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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Summary: a girl raised at her father’s knee goes from rising star to princess to queen (or in which becoming a legend runs in the Schumacher family)

You bounce excitedly in the passenger seat of your papa’s car as he pulls into the parking lot of the karting track. At 5-years-old, you’re too young to race officially, but he promised to let you drive some practice laps after the scheduled competition today.

“Remember, Maus, listen closely to the instructors and stay safe out there,” Michael says, ruffling your hair affectionately before getting out.

You scramble out after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides across the parking lot. You reach to take his hand, but freeze when a small crowd starts converging around your papa. Men in bright vests are rushing over, cameras flashing rapidly.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” You ask, startled by the commotion.

Before Michael can respond, a curly-haired woman thrusts a baby into his arms. “Oh my god, can you just hold her for one second? I need a picture!”

Your papa looks bewildered but graciously cradles the infant, giving an awkward smile as more and more people start shoving pieces of paper and pens in front of him.

“Excuse me, please, I have my daughter with me today,” he tries saying over the chaos, but no one is listening.

You shrink back, overwhelmed by the pushing crowd and flurry of voices pleading for autographs and photos. Where did all these people come from? This has never happened before when you’ve gone karting with your papa.

Sensing your unease, Michael gently passes the baby back to its mother and kneels down in front of you. “Hey, it’s okay, Maus. Why don’t you wait for me over there?” He gestures to a bench off to the side.

Part of you wants to cling to him, scared of all the strangers crowding around so aggressively. But you also don’t want him to have to worry about you on top of everything else. You nod bravely and make your way through the throng to the little bench, watching apprehensively as your papa tries politely handling the requests.

After what feels like forever, the crowd finally starts dispersing, though a few linger behind like stubborn cats begging for scraps. Michael shakes the last few hands and accepts some papers to sign before gratefully escaping over to you.

“I’m so sorry about that, Maus,” he says, looking apologetic as he plops down on the bench. “I didn’t expect such a scene on what’s supposed to be our fun day.”

“It’s okay, Papa.” You lean against his side, still a bit rattled but comforted by his familiar warmth. “Who were all those people? Why did they want your … uhh …“ You can’t quite remember the word for the scribbles people ask famous people for.

“Autographs,” Michael supplies with an amused chuckle, wrapping an arm around you. “And they wanted photos too, I suppose. I’m … well, I’m quite a famous racecar driver.”

You cock your head, trying to process this concept of your papa being some kind of celebrity. As far as you’re concerned, he’s just your goofy, loving dad who takes you karting and makes the silliest voices for all your stuffed animals at home.

“Really? Like the famous famous people on TV?” You’ve seen the paparazzi swarming the actors and musicians during awards shows, but you’d never imagined that could happen to your own papa.

Michael nods, drawing you closer with a squeeze. “Yes, somewhat like that, though it’s a bit excessive at a small karting event.” He laughs again and brushes some of your wayward hair from your face. “But you’re right, to you I’m just Papa. I don’t expect anything more from my favorite Maus.”

You beam at the affectionate nickname, all the earlier stress melting away. Who cares if strangers want your papa’s autograph or photos? All that matters is you two spending the day together like always.

“Can we go get our karts now?” You ask eagerly, bouncing a little on the bench. “I want to show you how fast I can go!”

“Of course!” Michael jumps up and scoops you into his arms with a playful growl, making you shriek giddily. “My little speed demon is going to leave me in the dust.”

He swings you up onto his shoulders and you cling on tightly as he strides toward the pit area. A few more people spot him and make a move closer with cameras and sharpies extended, but seem to think better of it when they see you perched up high.

The two of you spend the next couple hours karting together, trading places taking warm up laps and cheering each other on. At one point, a young attendant working the pit area approaches Michael somewhat nervously.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Schumacher?” He’s clutching a crumpled baseball cap in one hand, ducking his head shyly. “I’m just such a huge fan, would you mind taking a photo and signing this for me after your session?”

Your papa smiles kindly at the young man and takes the cap. “Not at all, no problem.” As the attendant walks away, looking elated, Michael turns to you with a wink. “See? That’s how you politely ask for an autograph.”

You giggle and mime zipping your lips. “Don’t worry, Papa, I won’t let the fame go to my head when I’m a famous racecar driver too someday.”

Scooping you up once more, Michael presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, last few laps — let’s see who can go the fastest without ending up in the grass!”

As evening starts falling, the two of you make your way back through the now nearly deserted lot after returning the rental karts. Most of the other karters have cleared out, leaving just you two strolling unhurriedly back to the car.

“Well Maus, despite the, uh, overexcited fans, I’d call this day a success,” Michael says, swinging your joined hands idly. “We both had our fun on the track, and I think you handled that crowd back there like a champ.”

You smile up at him, still so proud just to be his daughter. “I don’t care about all those other people, papa. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.”

Stopping beside the car, Michael crouches down and cups your face in his calloused racing palms, looking at you with such fierce adoration.

“Maus, you have me, always. No matter what happens out there,” he gestures vaguely at the empty track, “When I’m with you, I’m just Papa. My greatest accomplishment, my biggest award, is being your father. Verstanden?”

You launch yourself into his arms, hugging as tightly as you can. “Verstanden, Papa. I love you.”

“Ich liebe dich mehr, Maus,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your hair. “Now, what do you say we go get some victory ice cream?”

As the two of you climb into the car, you can’t keep the smile off your face, practically glowing with contentment. Sure, maybe your papa is some big famous racecar driver that everybody wants a piece of. But really, he’s just your papa — and you’re his whole world.

***

The ringing of the house phone cuts through the tense silence like a knife. You shrink further into the couch cushions as your mother rushes to answer it, shoulders visibly taut.

“Hello? No, I cannot make any comment at this time. Yes, I understand there is interest but-” Corinna breaks off, rubbing her temples wearily. “Please respect our privacy as a family right now. Thank you.”

She hangs up and leans against the wall, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. Before she can even draw a full breath, the phone rings again, shrill and insistent. With a muffled curse, your mother snatches it up.

“What? I told you, I cannot give any statements! This is a private matter. How did you even get this number?”

You watch apprehensively as she responds again, her voice rising in distress. In the days since your papa’s skiing accident, it seems like the entire world has been hounding your family, desperate for any scrap of information.

On the TV across the room, the endless cycle of news reports drones on lowly. Images of your papa’s broken, still body being rushed from the slopes into a helicopter. Flashing advancer texts speculating on his chances of recovery from the traumatic head injury.

It makes you feel ill.

Beside you on the couch, Mick sits blank-faced, looking nearly as pale and worn as your mother. At 14, he understands the gravity of the situation all too well. Your big brother has always idolized your papa, hoping to follow in his racing footsteps one day as well. The thought of him not being there to see the realization of that dream is devastating.

Gina is curled up in the armchair, her shoulders shaking every so often with muffled sobs. At 16, she’s arguably been taking this the hardest of all you kids. She keeps her face stoically dry in front of your mother, but you can see how red and puffy her eyes are from constant crying.

As for you, at 11-years-old, you’re somehow both numb and feeling everything all at once. Part of you still can’t fully process that this nightmare is real. That your hero, your papa, could be lying comatose in a hospital, hovering between life and death. The other part of you is overwhelmed in a tsunami of terror, panic, anger, sadness — any and every emotion crashing through you at all hours.

“Kids, I’m so sorry about this,” your mother says, defeated, as she rejoins you in the living room after ending her latest call. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened further overnight. “I know this is incredibly difficult and intrusive. But your papa is … he’s a public figure. People are concerned.”

“Incredibly insensitive is what they’re being,” Gina spits, uncurling herself from the chair enough to shoot your mother a resentful look. “We’re going through actual hell and all these people care about is getting a sound bite for the evening news!”

Corinna looks pained but doesn’t rebuke her. “I know, liebling, I know. But your papa has millions of fans all over the world who have followed his career for decades. Whether we like it or not, they care about him … and about us by extension.”

You think back to that day at the karting track all those years ago when you first realized your papa was what people called “famous”. How all those strangers clamored around him so aggressively just for a photo or an autograph. That level of fandom seemed exciting and novel at the time, when you were just a naïve 5-year-old. Now you see it for how intrusive and violating it is, this sense of entitlement people have to the private life of a public figure.

The phone starts ringing again, shattering the fragile quiet. Your mother squeezes her eyes shut and makes no move to get it this time. After four rings, the call goes to voicemail. A moment later, the tinny sound of an Italian voicemail being left blares through the speaker.

“Scusi, scusi, please, if there is any update on the condition of the great Michael Schumacher, any information at all! We are all holding vigils and saying prayers, but we must know how he fares! The world is watching and waiting!”

The words, pleading and demanding all at once, are like a slap across your face. The man’s voice is laced with such desperation, as if your papa’s life is mere entertainment to be consumedby the masses. You feel abruptly furious, incensed that a stranger’s morbid curiosity is given the same weight as your family’s anguish.

“Turn it off,” Mick mutters through clenched teeth, hunching over on the couch. “Just turn it off, Mama.”

Corinna nods numbly and reaches to end the voicemail, her mouth set in a grim line. Buzzing fills the room again as the TV drones on, the reporters’ voices a dull roar that you can no longer discern actual words from as your ears ring with white noise.

The shrill ringing of the phone cuts through once more, like a record scratching in your brain. Your mother flinches violently, hands coming up to clamp over her ears as she squeezes her eyes shut, finally at her breaking point.

Unable to watch this torture anymore, you surge to your feet and storm across the living room. You rip the phone from its cradle and hurl it against the far wall, the plastic casing shattering loudly. The ringing blessedly ends, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Mick and Gina stare at you with wide, stunned eyes. Your mother simply deflates, sliding down the wall to the floor as the adrenaline drains from her body. For several beats, no one dares breathe too loudly. Then, Gina starts to shake her head slowly, tears slipping free.

“Brava,” she murmurs, the barest hint of approval in her voice.

Your mother doesn’t scold you for the outburst. She merely reaches out a hand, silently beckoning you closer until you slowly cross the room again and sink to your knees in front of her. She cups your face in her palms, her own cheeks glistening with fresh tears.

“You’re right, liebling, you’re right,” she whispers brokenly. “This is about our family, not … not the world thinking they’re owed something.”

She pulls your head against her shoulder and you cling to her tightly as she begins to weep in earnest, great shuddering sobs wracking her whole frame. Gina scrambles over and tucks herself against your mother’s other side, and soon all three of you are tangled in each other’s arms, letting the tidal wave of grief crest over you.

Mick stays frozen on the couch, watching over your huddle with dark, haunted eyes. For the first time since this ordeal began, the four of you are united in simply feeling, truly letting yourselves shatter. No more putting on brave faces or pretending to be okay — from this moment, you can finally grieve as a family behind closed doors, blockading out the rest of the cruel, prying world.

Later that evening, after crying yourselves into an exhausted stupor, you drift up the stairs and sequester yourself in your bedroom. You bypass the framed photos of your papa on your nightstand, the sight of his bright smile and twinkling eyes too searing at the moment. Instead, you sink to your knees in the middle of the floor and clasp your hands tightly, bowing your head to murmur desperate pleas.

“Please, please let my papa be okay. I don’t care about all his fame or the stupid reporters. I just want him to get better and come home to us. He’s not just the famous Michael Schumacher to me. He’s Papa. He’s my whole world.”

The words spill out in a torrent, all the fear and longing you’ve been bottling up for the better part of a week erupting forth. You plead to any higher power that may be listening, bargaining away your future, your dreams, anything — as long as your papa pulls through this nightmare.

How many times had you taken for granted those moments of him just being your dad — making you pancakes on Saturday mornings, dozing on the couch during family movie nights, playfully tossing you into the pool when you grew too whiny in the summer heat? You’d give anything to have those simple, precious daddy-daughter moments back.

“The world can have his trophies and titles,” you whisper fiercely, tears slipping free to patter on the carpet. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want my papa. Please, please bring him back to us.”

You curl in on yourself, forehead pressing into the floor as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. All the adoring fans, the fawning media, the hangers-on clamoring for a piece of his glory — they only know the manufactured public persona of Michael Schumacher, legendary racer and famous celebrity. But to you, he’s always just been the quiet hero tucking you into bed at night, the gentle presence reading stories in funny voices, the mighty protector pulling you in for all-encompassing bear hugs.

You miss that wonderful, silly, tender father more than anything in the world. You don’t give a damn about his racing accolades or his fame. You just desperately need your papa back home where he belongs — with his family, the people who loved and treasured him most as simply Michael.

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

The raw ache of that longing consumes you utterly. You lay there amid the fading light from your bedroom windows, dreams and memories of your papa flickering behind your eyelids as you plead to any benevolent force that may be listening. All you want is the chance to make more joyful memories with him, to hear his rich laugh, to keep basking in his unconditional love for years and years to come.

Please, you beg the universe silently, one last time. Please let this nightmare end. Don’t let the brightest light in my world be extinguished before its time.

Let me have my papa back.

***

A tense hush has fallen over the dining room table, the clinking of utensils against plates the only sound cutting through the thick silence. Gina avoids everyone’s eyes, pushing food around her plate listlessly. Mick stares down at his half-eaten dinner, jaw working like he’s chewing over something weighty. You pick at a bread roll, too knotted with anxiety to muster much appetite.

Your mother is the one to finally break the stifling quiet, clearing her throat. “Kids, I know these last few weeks have been … incredibly difficult for us all.”

You risk a glance up at Corinna. Her eyes are tight at the corners, her mouth a taut line. Just like all of you, the constant vigil at your papa’s bedside, combined with the relentless badgering from the media, has clearly taken its toll.

“But we have to keep trying to be a family, yes?” She reaches across the table to grip your hand. “We’re all Michael has right now. We have to … to stick together for him.”

You nod numbly, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat at the reminder of your papa’s unchanged condition. The waiting, the not knowing if or when he’ll wake up, is a special kind of torment you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Mick abruptly shoves his plate away, the porcelain scraping loudly across the wood. You all flinch a little at the harsh sound.

“I’ve been thinking ...” he starts, then seems to reconsider his words, shoulders tightening fractionally. “Well, Y/N, you know how I … how I race under Mama’s last name?”

You frown slightly, uncertain where he’s going with this. “Betsch, yes. Because you wanted to make your own name without the expectation and pressure of being Michael Schumacher’s son.”

He dips his chin once, looking almost pained. “Exactly. And I think … I think maybe you should consider doing the same.”

The words sit heavy and convolulenting between you all like a sack of wet cement. You blink dumbly, hardly comprehending what he’s suggesting at first. When the implication hits you, you actually recoil as if he’d slapped you across the face.

“What? No. No, absolutely not, Mick. How can you even say that?”

“Y/N, just hear me out,” he pleads, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “With Papa … with what happened, the paparazzi and the fans, they’re going to be watching our every move even more than before. Especially you since you’re planning to continue competing-”

“Don’t you dare make this about his condition,” you spit, fury thrumming through your veins like struck lightning. “And of course I plan to keep racing — it’s what Papa would want! I’m not going to hide from his name like it’s some shameful thing!”

Gina is watching the exchange with wide, startled eyes, her food forgotten. Mick runs an agitated hand through his hair, shaking his head firmly.

“It’s not about hiding or shame, it’s about protecting yourself! Don’t you see how crazy things have gotten? All the reporters harassing us, the fans leaving awful messages online hoping for updates ...”

He leans forward, expression almost desperate. “If you race as Betsch, you can compete without having that extra spotlight. You can just be a normal kid on the track without people peering in.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck in waves of humiliation and rage. How dare he insinuate that inheriting your papa’s legacy is some kind of burden to be shrugged off? That the name Schumacher is a burden to bear rather than a badge of honor?

“I’m not you, Mick,” you bite out, fists clenching beneath the table. “Maybe racing under Mama’s name helped you deal with the pressure better and that’s fine. But I’m proud to be Michael Schumacher’s daughter! And if people can’t respect that, if they think it means they own a piece of me, then they can go to hell!”

“Language!” Your mother gasps, both appalled and slightly impressed. But you ignore her admonishment, too fired up to rein it in now.

“What, you think pretending to be someone else is going to spare me from living in Papa’s shadow anyway?” You shake your head adamantly, leaning across the table towards Mick. “It’s not, and you know it. Even if I raced under a fake name, everyone is still going to know exactly who I am and make comparisons.”

Slamming your palms on the table, you surge to your feet, chair screeching harshly against the floor. All the pain and uncertainty of these past few weeks is bubbling over into bitter, biting words.

“So why should I hide it? Why can’t I take pride in my name and my heritage? Maybe it’ll mean more scrutiny, but it’s a million times better than feeling like I have to be ashamed! Like I can’t fully honor Papa and make him proud!”

Chest heaving, you stare down a wide-eyed Mick, almost daring him to challenge you further. He seems to read the conviction blazing in your eyes, features softening into chagrin.

“You’re right ...” he murmurs with a wince. “You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

You hold his repentant gaze for a long moment before deflating back into your chair with a muted thud. In the ringing silence, you can hear your mother’s soft sniffles from the far end of the table. When you look over, she has her head bowed, hands pressed to her eyes as she cries quietly.

“M-Mama?” Gina ventures in a small voice, reaching across to grasp her mother’s wrist. “What’s wrong?”

Corinna lowers her hands, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. When she meets your bewildered gaze, her expression is a complicated brew of pride and heart-wrenching sadness.

“Nothing is wrong, liebling,” she assures Gina with a watery smile, before turning back to you. “Y/N, you’re so much like your papa, do you know that? So brave and determined … so full of that same fighting spirit.”

She dips her chin, lips trembling faintly. “He would be so proud to hear you defend his name like that. To see you ready to take on the weight of wearing it, regardless of what the world throws at you.”

More tears spill forth, but she brushes them away impatiently with the backs of her hands.

“But liebchen, you have to understand … Michael spent decades bearing that scrutiny and expectation. People analyzing his every move, always under a spotlight so harsh it burned. I never wanted that for any of you.”

Sliding her chair back, your mother crosses to kneel before you, cradling your face gently between her palms. Her eyes are shining but intensely serious, almost pleading with you.

“The Schumacher name casts such a long shadow, one so great that your own light can be eclipsed before you ever have a chance to properly shine. I don’t want you smothered by that burden, mein schatz. I want you free to make your own amazing mark on this world, completely unchained.”

You feel your throat grow tight at her words, the weight of them ringing so true and terribly sad. You reach up to circle your fingers around her wrists, holding her hands to your cheeks like vices.

“I know, Mama, I know,” you whisper roughly. “But that light you want me to shine? Papa is the one who sparked it inside me in the first place.”

You meet her watery gaze steadily, willing her to understand the conviction taking root inside you.

“The joy and passion I have for racing doesn’t come from some anonymous dream. It comes from him — from the nights he spent giving me a play-by-play of his biggest victories, from the days we spent at the karting tracks making memories, from everything I want so desperately to honor.”

Leaning forward until your brows nearly touch, you let the pleasing words spill out directly from your heart.

“So please, please don’t ask me to race as anyone other than your daughter, yes, but also proudly as Michael Schumacher’s daughter. That name isn’t a burden or a shadow to me. It’s something I want to carry forward and make blaze even brighter.”

Your mother’s eyes slip shut as she draws in a shuddering breath. For a long moment, she simply holds your face cradled in her palms, seeming to bask in your impassioned words. When her eyes finally open again, they are overflowing with a fierce tenderness.

“Oh liebchen,” she murmurs, voice thick with an odd mix of grief and wonder. “You are your father’s daughter through and through. So determined, so unafraid to face the world head on ...”

She strokes her thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, swiping away the dampness there. “I only hope he knows just how brightly his fire still burns in you. How it is living on in the most brilliant way.”

Surging up onto her knees, your mother pulls you into a fierce embrace, tucking your head beneath her chin. You cling to her tightly, drawing strength from her warmth, her tireless support and love. Over her shoulder, you can see Mick and Gina watching silently, their own eyes overly bright.

When your mother finally leans back, cupping your face once more, her expression has regained some of its usual firmness and resolution.

“Very well, then,” she nods, offering you a watery but determined smile. “If you truly feel ready to take on the world, to claim that name and legacy as yours, then we will face it together. As a family.”

She rises lithely to her feet, drawing you up along with her. Gathering Mick and Gina in with the sweep of her arms, she folds you all in her protective embrace, holding your foreheads together in the center.

“You may be Schumachers, but that name does not define or limit you,” she declares, quiet but firm. “It is simply one part of your identity, one piece of the incredible legacy you inherited. What you choose to make of it, how brightly you make that legacy burn, is up to you alone.”

She pulls back just enough to meet each of your eyes in turn, her own gleaming with resolute pride.

“So let them watch, let them scrutinize and sneer and make their judgments. You will simply keep chasing your passions and living your truths. Yes, the world may know you as Schumachers, but you alone will define what that name represents, now and for generations to come.”

***

The roar of the engines fades as you cross the finish line, taking the chequered flag. The broadcast team erupts in excitement.

“Unbelievable! Y/N Schumacher has done it — the daughter of the legendary Michael Schumacher wins the Formula 2 championship in her rookie year!”

You can hardly believe it yourself as you start your cooldown lap, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The pit crew is cheering wildly, holding up the #1 sign. Your race engineer is on the radio, his voice cracking with joy. “You’re a champion, Y/N! A first-year champion!”

“What an incredible drive from the young German. Shades of her father with that relentless determination and racecraft. She’s carried on the Schumacher name proudly.”

As you return to the pit lane, you spot Mick getting out of his own car. He has a huge smile on his face, eyes shining with pride. You take a moment to drink it all in as you bring your car to a stop and he’s the first one there, ripping off your helmet so he can hug you tightly.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you!” He’s beaming as he pulls back to look at you.

“Aww, Mick ...” You blink back happy tears, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what you’ve accomplished. “I couldn’t have done it without you pushing me every single race.”

Mick shakes his head dismissively. “This was all you. You were the faster driver this season, plain and simple.” His face falls a little. “I really thought I had you there at the end, but you just wouldn’t give up.”

You grin cheekily. “Of course not! I’m a Schumacher — we never give up.”

“What a beautiful moment between the siblings. You can see the immense pride Mick has for his sister, despite coming up just short of winning the championship himself.”

The rest of the team surrounds the two of you, lifting you both up onto their shoulders as the celebrations kick into full gear. You lock eyes with Mick over the sea of smiling faces and he winks at you contentedly.

Later, after you’ve returned to the garage, you find a quiet moment alone with Mick. He pulls you into another hug, this one more lingering.

“I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You’ve worked so incredibly hard for this.” Mick’s voice is thick with emotion.

You squeeze him tightly. “Thank you, Mick. That means everything coming from you.”

He pulls back, cupping your face fondly. “I remember when we were kids, dreaming of following in Papa’s footsteps. And now look at us!”

You laugh, a few happy tears spilling over. “I know, it’s crazy! I couldn’t have done this without your help, you know. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

“A storybook ending for the Schumacher siblings. Y/N cementing herself as a future star, with her older brother not far behind.”

Mick shakes his head adamantly. “No, Y/N, this was all your talent and determination. I just got a front row seat to watching greatness in the making.” His eyes are shining with sincerity.

You throw your arms around his neck, struck by how lucky you are to have such an amazing brother. “I love you, Mick. Thank you for always believing in me.”

He hugs you fiercely. “I’ll always believe in you. You’re a champion now, but I know this is just the beginning for you.”

The team arrives then, champagne bottles in hand and ready to continue the celebration. You pull back and grin at Mick mischievously, cracking open the first bottle with a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you … for now.”

The bubbly liquid sprays everywhere as you both dissolve into laughter, reveling in this perfect moment of sibling bonding and love. Mick pulls you into a wet hug, so proud and grateful to share this with you.

“And an iconic image — the Schumacher children celebrating a Formula 2 title just like their father did in the upper series so many times before. A changing of the guard, with the name Schumacher set to dazzle racing fans once more for years to come.”

Later that night, after you’ve showered off the champagne and slipped into comfy clothes, there’s a soft knock at your hotel room door. You open it to find Mick standing there, shifting awkwardly.

“Hey, you’ve got a second?” His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, like he’s been crying.

“Of course, what’s up?” You gesture him inside, concerned by his demeanor.

Mick enters slowly, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. He seems to be struggling to find the words.

You rest a hand on his arm. “Mick, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

He nods jerkily, finally meeting your eyes. “I really am so happy for you, Y/N. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you accomplishing your dreams.” His voice catches with emotion.

“But?” You prod gently.

Mick’s eyes water again. “But … it’s also really hard for me. This was my dream first, you know? To become a champion like Papa.” He swipes at the tears angrily. “And now you’ve beaten me to it. I’m just … I’m struggling with that a bit.”

Your heart clenches at his quiet admission. You pull Mick into a tight hug, rubbing his back soothingly. “Oh, Mick … I’m so sorry. I never wanted to take that away from you.”

He shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all. You earned this, fair and square. I’m just … dealing with some complicated emotions, I guess.”

You push him back by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes intently. “Mick, listen to me. You are one of the most naturally gifted drivers I’ve ever seen. This is not the end for you, not even close. You’re going to be a champion too, I know it.”

Mick seems to deflate slightly at your words, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you state firmly. “We’re going to take this to the top level together. And we’re going to make Papa even more proud than he already is.”

A slow smile spreads across Mick’s face. “Together,” he repeats, reaching out to take your hand and give it a squeeze.

You squeeze back reassuringly. “Always together. You and me, just like when we were kids. We’re a team, remember?”

Mick nods, the brightness returning to his eyes. He seems lighter now, the melancholy cloud lifted by your words of encouragement.

On impulse, you throw your arms around him again, nearly knocking him over with the force of your hug. Mick laughs delightedly, squeezing you just as tightly.

“Thank you, Y/N. I needed to hear that from you,” he murmurs shakily into your hair.

You pull back just enough to grin at him cheekily. “What are little sisters for?”

Mick lets out a surprised bark of laughter, warmth and affection shining from every part of his expression as he gazes at you fondly. “You’ll always be my little sis, champion or not.”

It’s your turn to laugh, swatting at his chest playfully. “Well this little sis just kicked your ass this season, so show some respect!”

Mick’s eyes crinkle with mirth. “I’ll remember that for next year, believe me.”

***

It’s a crisp autumn evening at the Schumacher family home in the Swiss Alps. You’re curled up on the plush couch in the living room, flipping through a magazine while your brother paces back and forth anxiously.

“Will you please sit down?” You ask, eyeing him over the top of the pages. “You’re making me dizzy.”

Mick runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Sorry, I’m just … worked up, I guess.”

You set the magazine aside. “About what? We haven’t had a race in weeks.”

He stops his pacing to face you. “You know the season’s almost over, right? And Haas still hasn’t said anything about re-signing me for next year.”

“Oh, Mick.” You offer him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. You’ve had a solid season.”

Mick flops down next to you, deflating a little. “I don’t know. There are so many other options on the table. What if Haas decides to go a different direction?”

“Then you’ll find another seat,” you say firmly. “Any team would be lucky to have you behind the wheel.”

He manages a half-smile. “Thanks. I just wish I had your confidence sometimes.”

“What can I say?” You flash him a cheeky grin. “It’s a gift.”

The peaceful moment is shattered as both of your phones start ringing in unison. You exchange a puzzled look before digging them out.

“My manager,” Mick says, furrowing his brow as he answers. “Hello?”

You do the same, pressing the phone to your ear. “Hey, Nicolas, what’s up?”

For the next few minutes, you and Mick are silent, listening intently with rapidly changing expressions — yours elated, his crestfallen. When you finally hang up, Mick is staring at the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Well?” He asks, voice tight. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

You take a deep breath, trying to tamp down your surging excitement. “Ferrari wants me for next season.”

Mick’s face falls even further, if possible. “You’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” You can’t keep the grin from overtaking your features. “Can you believe it? Driving for the Scuderia! It’s a dream come true!”

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Mick mutters darkly.

You blink at his tone, smile fading slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drags a hand down his face wearily. “Haas declined to re-sign me for next year.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What? No, that can’t be right!”

“Afraid so.” Mick’s voice is flat, resigned. “They said something about … needing to bring in fresh blood or some bullshit excuse.”

You scoot closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Mick, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”

“Don’t be.” He tries for a nonchalant shrug, but it comes off as dejected. “At least one of us is moving up in the world.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You protest. “We’re teammates! We were supposed to take on Formula 1 together!”

Mick snorts humorlessly. “Looks like that’s not going to happen after all.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between you. You open your mouth, searching for the right words of reassurance, but come up empty. How can you comfort him when your own dream has come true at his expense?

“Hey.” Mick’s somber tone breaks the quiet. “I’m happy for you, you know. Really, I am.”

You meet his sincere gaze, feeling your eyes start to well up. “I know. But that doesn’t make this any less shitty for you.”

He manages a rueful smile. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”

“So what are you going to do now?” You ask quietly.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Keep grinding, I guess. Look for another seat, any seat, even if it’s not in F1 next season.”

“You can’t give up on F1!” You protest instantly. “You’re too good for that, Mick.”

“Am I, though?” He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Face it, Y/N, you’ve always been the better driver. This just proves it.”

You shake your head adamantly. “That’s not true at all! You’re every bit as talented as me.”

“Then why did Ferrari pick you instead of me?” There’s no accusation in his words, just weariness.

You falter, mind churning as you search for an answer that won’t come. “I … don’t know.”

“Exactly.” Mick closes his eyes briefly. “Maybe it’s for the best. At least this way, one of us still gets to live out the Schumacher legacy and race for Ferrari. Carry on the family name, you know?”

“But you’re a Schumacher too,” you say, feeling your throat start to tighten with unshed tears. “It should be both of us out there, not just me.”

Mick reaches over to give your hand a comforting squeeze. “Hey, don’t cry about it. I’ll be okay, really.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” You swipe angrily at the moisture gathering in your eyes. “It’s not fair, Mick. It’s just not fair at all.”

He levels you with a look that’s decades older than his years. “Life rarely is. You know that as well as I do.”

You fall silent, unable to formulate a response. He’s right, you realize with a pang. The two of you, of all people, should understand that success and failure often go hand-in-hand, even for the most talented competitors.

Pursing your lips, you lean forward and pull Mick into a fierce hug. He tenses for a split second before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I’m still so proud of you,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be my incredible big brother.”

Mick lets out a shaky exhale against your hair. “And you’re the most badass little sister a guy could ask for. Ferrari has no idea what they’re in for.”

You pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, emboldened by the warm affection shining in them.

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

He arches an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s that?”

A mischievous grin tugs at your lips. “That you’re not going to take it easy on me whenever you’re back on the grid.”

***

You take a deep breath as you pull your sleek new Ferrari up to the iconic factory in Maranello. This place holds so many memories — some joyful, others bittersweet. Your father cemented himself as a legend here, and you can’t help but feel the weight of that legacy on your shoulders now more than ever.

The door swings open and there stands Fred Vasseur offering you a warm smile. “Y/N, welcome home.”

You return the smile, unable to mask the flood of emotions. “It’s good to be back, Fred.”

He gestures for you to follow him inside. “I’m sure this place brings back quite a few memories.”

“You have no idea,” you murmur, taking in the familiar sights and smells. The rosso corsa that coats every surface, the scent of machinery and high-octane fuel … it’s intoxicating.

A tiny you runs through the hallways, giggling madly as your frantic mother tries to catch up. “Mick! Y/N! Get back here this instant!”

Mick peeks out from behind a workbench, sticking his tongue out at Gina, who playfully swats at him. You spot the perfect hiding spot — a massive green recycling bin tucked in the corner ...

“Y/N? Are you still with me?” Fred’s voice breaks you from your reverie.

You shake your head. “Sorry, got a bit lost in thought there. This place just … feels like stepping into the past.”

Fred nods knowingly. “I can only imagine. But today is about your future with the team.” He leads you through the winding corridors, pointing out various departments. “Over here is aerodynamics, that hallway takes you to the design labs ...”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Your father’s voice echoes down the corridor, his tone playful but tinged with desperation. You stifle a giggle from your hiding spot as his footsteps draw closer.

“Michael, any luck?” That’s Paolo, one of the mechanics. You chance a peek and see half the team has been enlisted to search for you.

Your dad scrubs a hand over his face. “She’s too good at this game. Should’ve known better than to play hide-and-seek in a place this size.”

You chuckle softly at the memory, prompting a curious look from Fred. “Sorry, just … reminiscing again.”

He gives you an easy grin. “By all means, feel free to share. I’d love to hear some of those old stories.”

You take a breath, composing yourself before launching into the tale. “Well, there was this one time when I was maybe … four or five? Mick and I were causing an unholy ruckus as usual, and Papa suggested a game of hide-and-seek to wear us out. Big mistake on his part.”

Fred’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Let me guess, you proved to be a master hider?”

“You could say that.” You grin mischievously. “I found this big recycling bin, crawled inside, and stayed completely silent while the whole team tore the place apart looking for me. Papa was just about to call in the overalls for backup when Paolo finally peeked in the bin.”

Fred throws his head back with a hearty laugh. “I can just picture your poor father’s face when they found you! He must’ve been both relieved and completely exasperated.”

You nod. “Oh, he wore that particular blend of emotions often when we were young terrors around here.”

The two of you continue chatting amicably as Fred shows you around the various facilities — the simulator room, the engine workshop, even the gym and physiotherapy center. With each new area unveiled, another flood of nostalgia washes over you.

You and Mick sprint into the wide-open workshop, engines and miscellaneous car pieces scattered all around. Gina is closing in, her longer legs giving her an advantage.

“Got you now, you little gremlins!” She scoops Mick up with one arm, then turns her sights on you.

You let out a shriek of laughter, dodging around a massive piece of equipment as your mother joins the chase. “Come here, Maus! It’s time for your nap!”

You shake your head furiously. “No nap! No nap!”

Corinna’s hand finally snags the back of your shirt, and you erupt into a fit of giggles as she pulls you into a hug ...

“That’s some smile you’ve got going there,” Fred notes with a wry grin. “I take it another happy memory?”

You give an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Just … remembering how this place used to be our personal jungle gym. Mick, Gina, and I would run absolute loops around Mama while she tried to wrangle us for nap time.”

Fred chuckles fondly. “I can picture three tiny terrors leaving chaos in their wake.” His expression softens. “It must be incredibly special to be back here after all these years. To follow in your father’s footsteps like this.”

You swallow hard against the swell of emotions. “It’s … overwhelming, if I’m being honest. But in the best possible way.” You glance around at the familiar setting with new eyes. “These halls practically raised me. And now … now I get to write my own chapter here.”

Fred gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You’ve got a long road ahead, but I have complete faith you’ll make us all proud, Y/N.”

You straighten your shoulders, giving him a determined nod. “I’m ready.”

As you follow him further into the factory, you can’t help but revel in the rush of coming full circle. Yes, this team, this place, is indelibly woven into your childhood. But now … now it’s time to create new memories.

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

The crowd outside the Ferrari headquarters swells as you emerge from the famous red doors for the first time as an official Scuderia Ferrari driver. Shouts and cheers erupt from every direction, fans pressing forward eagerly with pens and photos clutched in their hands.

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to graciously oblige as many autograph and photo requests as possible. But the throngs only grow more insistent, hands grabbing at you from all angles as the crowd closes in. Your heart races and you feel yourself starting to panic at the lack of personal space.

“Per favore, let her breathe!” An insistent voice cuts through the commotion in lightly accented Italian.

The crowd parts slightly as a familiar, lean figure pushes through — your new teammate. His green eyes meet yours with a reassuring look as he plants himself firmly by your side.

“Give her some space!” Charles barks out in English this time. “She can’t breathe!”

You shoot him a grateful glance as the fans reluctantly take a step back. Charles gently takes your arm and pulls you out of the scrum.

“Sorry about that,” he says with an apologetic smile, running a hand through his tousled brown hair. “I know how intense they can be around here.”

“No, thank you,” you reply earnestly. “I was about two seconds away from an anxiety attack.”

Charles chuckles. “Well, we can’t have the new driver cracking under pressure on day one.”

You make a face at his teasing remark. “Watch it, pretty boy.”

Laughing, Charles puts his arm around your shoulders in a friendly gesture. “Come on, I know just the place to escape the madness for a bit. Dinner’s on me.”

He guides you across the plaza and down a side street to a cozy trattoria — Ristorante Montana, known as the unofficial “Ferrari restaurant” frequented by team members. As you enter, a stout woman with a warm, welcoming smile emerges from the back.

“Ah, Charles! Welcome back. And this must be ...” Her eyes widen as they land on you. “Oh, la piccola principessa is all grown up!”

Flustered, you open your mouth to respond, but the woman has already swept you up in a tight embrace.

“Rossella, you’re smothering the poor girl!” A elderly man’s voice calls out in amused rebuke.

“Hush, Maurizio, and pour us some wine!” Rossella releases you and holds you at arm’s length, beaming. “Michael’s little girl, all woman now. I’ll never forget the first time your father brought you in here as a bambina.”

She gestures to a framed photo hanging on the wall of a much younger Rossella standing next to Michael, who is holding a grinning toddler — unmistakably you.

“He was so proud,” Rossella continues misty-eyed. “Just like I know he would be of you today, following in your father’s footsteps.”

You swallow hard, touched by the warm welcome and memory. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Charles watching you with a soft smile.

Rossella shifts gears abruptly, all business. “Now, what will you two have? The usual for you, Charles? And for you, la principessa, I insist you try the gnocchi al ragú. Just like my nonna used to make it.”

As Rossella whisks off to the kitchen, Maurizio appears with a bottle of deep red wine and two glasses.

“To new beginnings,” he toasts with a wink, pouring for you and Charles.

You raise your glass to clink against Charles’ with a smile. “New beginnings.”

Over pasta and wine, you and Charles fall into an easy rapport, bantering back and forth as the weight of the evening’s earlier stress dissipates. You find yourself repeatedly distracted by the dimpled grin that lights up his face whenever he laughs at one of your quips.

“So is this a regular hazing ritual you put all the rookies through?” You ask innocently. “Get them away from the crowds and ply them with wine so they’re too drunk to be nervous on day one?”

Charles barks out a laugh. “You’ve found me out! Although I do seem to recall my own initiation being a lot harder. Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.”

“Old age? You’re what …12?” You retort, eyes dancing with mirth.

The waiter arrives with the dessert menu, but Rossella shoos him away.

“No, no menu. I’m bringing you the tiramisu to share. My secret recipe.”

Charles groans in delight. “You’re a legend, Rossella.”

She pats his cheek affectionately before disappearing again. A comfortable silence falls between you and Charles as you each take a bite of the rich, velvety tiramisu.

“Mmmm, this is literally heaven,” you murmur happily.

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

Your eyes catch movement out of the corner and you turn to see Rossella returning, carrying a large framed photo under her arm. She sets it down on the empty chair next to you with a proud grin.

It’s a glamor shot of you from a recent photoshoot for Vogue Italia — hair and makeup impeccable, lips parted in a secret smile as you gaze directly at the camera.

Rossella rests a hand on your shoulder. “For me, bellissima? So we can hang la principessa right next to il padre.”

Touched, you take the proffered sharpie and scribble out a quick inscription before signing your name with a flourish at the bottom.

“Grazie mille,” Rossella breathes, throwing an arm around you to squeeze you against her ample frame. “You’ve made this old heart very happy tonight.”

When she finally releases you, you see Charles watching you both with a soft, almost wistful expression. You raise your eyebrows at him in question, but he just shakes his head with a smile.

As you and Charles prepare to depart, Rossella calls out once more. “You come back soon, eh principessa? I have more pictures to collect.”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder. “D’accordo, d’accordo. We’ll be back soon!”

Out on the street, you pause, conscious of the evening rapidly drawing to a close. You turn to Charles, studying him properly for the first time. His deep green eyes crinkle at the corners as he meets your gaze.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t swooped in to rescue me back there.”

Charles shrugs nonchalantly, but his expression is kind. “We look out for our own in Ferrari. That’s what teammates are for, no?”

A beat passes, the momentary tension thickening between you. Then Charles seems to catch himself, clearing his throat.

“Anyway, I should let you get going before your handlers send out a search party. Need me to call you a car?”

“No, no I’m good,” you reply quickly, trying to mask your disappointment at the night ending. “My performance coach has the car around front.”

You start to turn away, then impulsively pivot back. Rising up on your toes, you throw your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a brief, platonic hug.

“Seriously, thank you,” you murmur in his ear. “For everything.”

As you pull back, your faces are just inches apart. Charles’ eyes are warm, his gaze intense. For a dizzying moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss you. Then just as suddenly, the moment passes and he steps back with a friendly smile.

“Anytime, princesse. I’ll see you bright and early next week for our first time running the SF-23 on the simulator.”

With a wink, he turns and saunters off down the street, hands shoved in his pockets in that effortlessly cool way of his. You let out a long breath, flustered and exhilarated all at once.

Your performance coach has indeed been waiting with the car, looking mildly concerned. “Everything alright?”

You flash her a bright smile, practically skipping to the car. “It is now, Mara. It absolutely is.”

Your first day as a Ferrari driver was certainly more than you bargained for. But as you settle into the plush leather seats, you can’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Something tells you this new chapter with the Scuderia is going to be an adventure — in more ways than one.

As Mara pulls away from the curb, you catch a final glimpse of Charles striding confidently down the street. Even from a distance, you can make out the dimpled smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Leaning back against the headrest, you think back to the memory of his arm slung casually around your shoulders and sigh contentedly. Yes, you have a feeling this is just the beginning of what’s shaping up to be a very interesting partnership with Charles Leclerc.

***

Sebastian looks over the wine list, pretending to be engrossed in selecting the perfect vintage as he peers over the top of the menu. His eyes are fixated on the entrance to the upscale Italian restaurant, waiting for Charles and you to arrive.

This had better work, he thinks to himself. The two of you have been making googly eyes at each other for months now, but are both too stubborn to make a move.

Finally, the hostess leads Charles and you into the dining room. Sebastian ducks down, pulling the brim of his fedora lower over his face and adjusting the fake mustache he’s wearing as a disguise. He watches as the hostess shows Charles and you to an intimate table for two by the window, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your faces.

“There must be some mistake,” Charles says, looking around in confusion. “I was under the impression we were meeting Sebastian here for dinner?”

You look equally perplexed. “That’s what he told me too. He said to meet at 8 o’clock sharp.”

“Well this is just awkward,” Charles runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Should we wait for him or ...”

Before you can respond, the waiter arrives with a basket of bread and butter. “Good evening, my name is Gerardo and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Actually, we’re still waiting on-” Charles begins, but the waiter cuts him off.

“Ah yes, Mr. Vettel asked me to inform you that he will be unable to join this evening after all. A last minute obligation came up. He insisted I take excellent care of you both and that the evening is on his treat.” Gerardo smiles broadly. “So what will you have to drink?”

Sebastian smirks to himself at his cleverly orchestrated ruse from his secluded table in the back corner. He watches with bated breath as a flustered Charles and you exchange an awkward look.

“I’ll have a glass of Chianti,” you say finally, breaking the tension.

“Make that two,” Charles adds with a resigned sigh.

As Gerardo heads off to grab your drinks, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. “You know, we don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Charles says, ever the gentleman. “I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reply, offering him a warm smile that makes Sebastian’s heart melt a little. “It would be rude to ruin the evening Sebastian so carefully planned, even if he’s not actually here to enjoy it.”

Charles visibly relaxes at your acceptance of the situation. “You’re right, of course. If it’s a free dinner, we would be fools to turn that down!”

You both share a laugh, finally breaking the ice. Sebastian feels a swell of pride watching the two of you start to let your guards down around each other.

Over the next hour or so, Sebastian is delighted to see Charles and you become more at ease, trading jokes and stories over several delectable courses of pasta, veal, and freshly baked focaccia. He’s never seen either of you look so lighthearted and carefree, nor has he witnessed two people connect on such an organic, genuine level before. It’s positively magical to behold.

Gerardo arrives once more, this time bearing a decadent slice of torta della nonna for you to share for dessert. “Compliments of the house,” he announces with a wink before departing.

You immediately dig into the lemony confection with gusto. “Oh my god, this is dangerously good,” you moan through a mouthful of pastry cream and flaky crust.

Charles tries and fails to stifle a laugh at your unabashed enthusiasm. “You’ve got a little ...” he gestures vaguely at the corners of your mouth.

“What? Where?” You ask, attempting to wipe the stray crumbs and smears of powdered sugar from your cheeks.

“Here, let me,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table with his cloth napkin.

Sebastian watches with bated breath, his heart pounding in his chest, as Charles tenderly swipes the napkin along your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek in the process. The moment seems to last an eternity, the two of you locked in each other’s smoldering gaze.

Then, ever so slowly, Charles leans across the table towards you. Sebastian can scarcely breathe as he witnesses the magnetic pull drawing the two of you together. This is it, this is finally happening, he marvels silently.

Sebastian lets out an inadvertent yelp of glee and instantly slaps his hands over his mouth. A table of nearby diners turns to gawk at the strange mustached man.

“Ahem, sorry! Hairball,” Sebastian rasps out in a terrible Italian accent. He slinks down in the booth, burning with embarrassment as the other patrons slowly turn away with disgusted looks.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Charles and you also turn towards the commotion, the heated moment effectively ruined. Damn it, he was so close!

You and Charles eventually turn back towards each other, the awkwardness having returned. “We should, uh, probably ask for the check soon,” Charles mumbles, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got an early training session in the morning anyway,” you reply, the disappointment evident in your voice as you stare down at the table.

Inwardly cursing his rotten luck, Sebastian motions for the bill and slips his black credit card into the folder when Gerardo brings it. He knows the only way to redeem this night is to insist you and Charles stay for one more drink. Maybe add a little more wine confidence to help reignite that spark you both nearly combusted over just moments ago.

As Gerardo whisks away to process Sebastian’s payment, the older German steels his nerves. He removes his ridiculous disguise, straightens his tie, and makes his way over to your table with purpose.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Sebastian asks with an exaggerated wink as he reaches you. “It appears Mr. Leclerc and Miss Schumacher were stood up this evening. For shame!”

“Ah, Seb!” Charles laughs in surprise at seeing his friend and former teammate. “We should have known you were behind this madness.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “You’re a menace! I can’t believe you tricked us like that.”

Sebastian claps his hands together and flashes you both a devilish grin. “What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic who cannot abide two clearly smitten people tiptoeing around each other any longer. Now, Gerardo is going to bring you the finest Barolo they have, on my dime, and you are going to remedy this sexual tension situation once and for all over another bottle or three!”

Charles opens his mouth to protest, but you laugh delightedly and nod towards Sebastian. “You know what, I could go for another drink. What do you say, Charles?”

The older Ferrari driver seems to wilt under the weight of your brilliant smile, Sebastian can’t fault the man for that. “Ah, what the hell,” Charles shrugs, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Let’s see where this night takes us!”

Sebastian settles in, pouring you all generous glasses of the deep ruby wine when Gerardo delivers it. He may be getting on in years, but his matchmaking job has only just begun. One way or another, he’s determined to ensure his two protégés quit stumbling over each other and finally discover the romance that’s been blossoming under their noses all along.

Sipping his wine, Sebastian gazes at you and Charles, sees the tenderness flickering in both your eyes as you lean in closer together over the candlelight. He smiles contentedly to himself.

Mission accomplished.

***

The paddock is mostly deserted at this late hour, the muffled sounds of the teams packing up drifting in from the garages. You linger near the Ferrari motorhome, watching Charles sitting alone on a stack of tires, shoulders slumped. He’s been increasingly withdrawn these past few days leading up to the Japanese Grand Prix.

You approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Charles? You okay?”

He looks up, managing a small smile when he sees you. “Hey, mon amour.”

There’s a weariness to his voice that tugs at your heart. You take a seat beside him, letting your arm brush against his in a subtle show of support. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Charles is silent for a long moment, pulling his helmet off and turning it over in his hands. “It’s Suzuka,” he finally says, so softly you have to lean in to hear him. “Being back here … it’s difficult.”

Your brow furrows. Right, this is where Jules Bianchi crashed, his accident eventually proving fatal. Charles had been incredibly close with his mentor and godfather. “I can’t even imagine how painful this must be.” You cover his hand with yours. “Having to race on the same track ...”

“I relive that day over and over.” Charles’s accented voice is thick with emotion. “I can still see the footage of his car slamming into the crane, like it’s burned into my mind. He was my friend, my godfather, like a brother to me. And now every year, I have to come back to this place that took him from us far too soon.” He squeezes his eyes shut, a stray tear escaping.

“Oh, Charles ...” You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. His body is rigid at first before melting against you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tightly as his breath hitches with suppressed sobs, your own eyes stinging. How many times has he bottled up this grief, putting on a brave face for the world?

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur, stroking his back. “I can’t imagine the pain you’ve carried all these years. But Jules wouldn’t want you torturing yourself like this.” You pull away enough to frame his face with your hands, meeting his reddened eyes. “He’d want you to keep living, to keep pursuing your dream that he helped nurture. He’d be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Charles manages a watery smile, covering one of your hands with his. “You’re right. Thank you, chérie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours with a shuddering sigh. “I just miss him so much some days. Like an ache I can’t shake.”

“I know.” You brush away the dampness on his cheeks with your thumbs. “Believe me, I understand that ache all too well.”

A crease forms between Charles’s brows as he regards you intently. “Your papa.”

You give a solemn nod. “Everyone talks about him like he’s gone. But he’s not, he’s still here, still breathing. It’s just … he’s not the same man I grew up with anymore.” You blink back tears of your own. “Sometimes I’ll see flashes that remind me so much of how Papa used to be. And then that illusion is shattered and I’m grieving all over again for the person he was.”

Charles’ arms wrap around you fully, tucking your head under his chin. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Seeing those glimpses of the man he was, only to have that hope ripped away.” He presses his lips to the crown of your head. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, definitely doesn’t feel like it most days.” Pulling away, you try for a smile. “But we Schumachers are fighters. We don’t stay down for long.”

“That’s my girl.” Charles grins, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m lucky to have you by my side through all of this craziness. I don’t know what I’d do without your support, especially this weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” You turn to fully face him, clasping his hands in yours. “Charles, you’ve been my rock too, you know that? Signing with Ferrari this year, following in my father’s footsteps … the pressure has been immense. But you’ve never let me crumble under it. You’re always there with a laugh or a hug or some silly joke to make me smile even on the hardest days.”

Charles’s grin turns lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always makes your heart flutter. “Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours from inflating too much, future champion.” He leans in until his lips are a mere breath from yours. “But in all seriousness, we’re in this together, okay? No matter what the future holds, I’ll always have your back.”

“I know,” you murmur, feeling his words like a soothing balm over the parts of your heart still aching for your father as you once knew him. “And I’ll always have yours. We’re a team, on and off the track.” You close the distance between you, kissing him deeply.

Charles returns the kiss with fervor, his fingers threading through your hair to hold you close. The worries plaguing you both seem to temporarily fade into the background amid the warmth and solidity of his embrace. When you finally break apart, breathless, his emerald gaze holds an intensity that steals the air from your lungs in the best way.

“Je t’aime,” he murmurs, the endearment like a vow falling from his lips. “No matter what happens out there tomorrow, or any other race day, that will never change. You and me against the world, princesse.”

You flash him a coy smile, feeling desire begin to simmer low in your belly. “Is that a promise, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Mmm, I can make it one if you’d like.” Charles waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle as his hands roam freely over your back and sides, pulling you flush against him. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “Maybe I can find more convincing ways to pledge my devotion once we’re back at the hotel.”

“I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that,” you say breathily, leaning in to nip at his lower lip in a way that makes him groan. “Though if memory serves, I seem to recall you saying something about honoring the team’s curfew tonight?” You trail openmouthed kisses along the sharp line of his jaw. “Wouldn’t want to be … sleep deprived before the race.”

Charles’s fingers flex against your hips as he lets out a shuddering breath. “You’re really testing my willpower here.”

“Payback for all those times you’ve tortured me.” You punctuate the statement with a sharp nip to the sensitive skin below his ear, making him jerk against you with a strangled sound. Pulling back, you smirk at the glazed look in his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

He blinks slowly, then his gaze narrows in a way that makes heat flare across your skin. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.” His voice is low, almost a growl that sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“I look forward to it.” You lean in until your lips are nearly brushing his again.

“Tease,” Charles accuses, though his kiss quickly swallows any further retort.

You lose yourself in the press of his mouth, the exploring glide of his hands over your body, the undeniable chemistry that still sometimes takes your breath away. When you finally break apart, gasping for air, you stay wrapped in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Charles murmurs after a long beat of comfortable silence. “For always knowing how to pull me out of my own head. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s what partners are for,” you say simply, brushing back the silken strands of chestnut hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are so warm, so full of love and adoration, you feel it envelop you like a cozy blanket. “I’ll always be here to lean on, just like you are for me.”

Charles catches your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. “And I’m grateful for that every single day. Facing the good times and bad, together.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles. “I know Suzuka will never be easy, not with the weight of the memories here. But you make the burden feel lighter. Like no matter what, I’ll be okay as long as I have you by my side.”

You lean in, brushing a featherlight kiss across his lips. “Always. No matter what the future holds, you’re stuck with me, Leclerc.”

A slow, utterly content smile spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He steals another lingering kiss before glancing toward the pit area, where the last few stragglers are packing up for the night. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, I suppose we should try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

Sliding off the tire stack, he offers you his hand, that warm gleam still dancing in his forest-colored eyes. “Though maybe we could indulge in a long, hot shower first? You know, to … unwind after such an emotionally draining evening.”

You raise an eyebrow at his transparent attempt at nonchalance, but can’t help a smirk from tugging at your lips. “Why, Mr. Leclerc, are you propositioning me?”

“Would that be so terrible?” He tugs you into his arms, leaving a trail of teasing kisses along your jaw. “After all, we did have quite the … charged conversation just now. I’d hate for all that pent-up tension to distract us on track tomorrow.”

You let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands and lips leave tingles across your skin. “Well, when you put it that way … I suppose a nice, relaxing shower could be just what we need to clear our heads.” Looping your arms around his neck, you meet his heated gaze through lowered lashes. “Lead the way, liebling.”

Charles’ responding grin is nothing short of wolfish. “With pleasure.” Scooping you up in his arms, he heads for the parking lot at a swift pace, leaving the weight of Suzuka and its ghosts behind for the night.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you bring your Ferrari across the finish line, tires smoking from the incredible pace. Your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio, congratulating you, but the words are drowned out by the thunderous cheers echoing around the Autodromo Nazionale Monza.

You can hardly believe it. Your first season with the Scuderia and you’ve just won the Italian Grand Prix — on the hallowed ground that your father once ruled. The sea of fans decked out in red is a sight to behold, celebrating wildly as you complete the cool-down lap.

Pulling into parc fermé, you kill the engine, the high-pitched whine slowly dying away. Undoing the straps, you clamber out, still trying to process what just happened. This is really real.

“You!”

The familiar voice makes you turn. It’s Charles, beaming from ear-to-ear despite settling for second place today. He pulls you into a massive hug, squeezing you tightly.

“I can’t believe you just did that! Amazing drive!”

You laugh, giddy with joy and adrenaline. “I still can’t believe it either! Everything just … clicked.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Charles chuckles, ruffling your sweat-damp hair. “You were incredible out there. Absolutely brilliant.”

Hearing the praise from your boyfriend means everything. You know how hard he’s worked, how much he’s sacrificed to get this far. And he’s still your biggest supporter.

The two of you finally pull apart as the rest of the team makes their presence known, congratulating you with bearhugs and massive pats on the back. You did it — you brought the victory home for Ferrari at the Temple of Speed.

After the chaos of the post-race celebrations dies down a little, it’s time for the podium ceremony. You can’t wait to stand up there, basking in the adulation of the wildly passionate Tifosi. As you make your way out with Charles and the third place finisher, the crowd’s cheers swell to a new eardrum-bursting level.

Climbing the steps, you take your spot on the top level, heart racing as you look out over the endless sea of fans. The air is filled with brilliant red smoke, passionate flag-wavers creating mesmerizing patterns. You’ve seen Grands Prix in Italy before, but being up here, having actually won — it’s on another level entirely.

Speeches are made, anthems are played, and then it’s time to crack open the podium champagne. As the bottles are picked up, a rolling chant starts building in the grandstands:

“La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

The sound shakes you to your core. Tears instantly spring to your eyes.

Charles, beside you on the second step, grins and nudges you. “Listen to them! You’ve done it — you’ve made them fall in love with you just like they did with your father.”

Looking down at him with misty eyes, you mouth, “Thank you,” so overwhelmed that you can’t speak. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The two of you share a soft kiss as the chanting grows louder and louder.

As you pull back, gazing out over the surging tide of humanity, faces beaming up at you in adoration, it finally sinks in. This moment — winning at Monza for Ferrari, with Charles by your side, the Tifosi embracing you wholeheartedly — is beyond anything you ever could have dreamed.

The emotions pour out in waves of joy and pride and disbelief. You raise your bottle high, echoing the chants and cheering your heart out to the crowd. They roar back even louder, feeding off your energy in the way that only this group of diehard fans can.

Once the champagne showers subside, giddy fans whistling at you and Charles canoodling on the podium, it’s time to head back down. But the celebrations are just getting started. The team wants to keep the party going.

On the drive over to Maranello, you find yourself sandwiched in the backseat between Charles and your race engineer, Ricky. Everyone is grinning like maniacs, high on the thrill of victory, singing drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

“Solo per lei! Principessa di Monza!” Ricky bellows, gently elbowing you. The rest join in, filling the car with the chant of “Only for her! Princess of Monza!” You can’t stop giggling, leaning into Charles, deliriously happy.

Once you finally roll up to the factory, the party spills out of the car and into the streets. The entire workforce has turned out, waving huge Ferrari flags, beating drums and sounding air horns in celebration. You’re immediately swarmed, being passed from hug to hug as champagne is sprayed in joyful arcs.

They finally manage to sweep you, Charles, and most of your garages inside the factory, where long banquet tables have been set up in the main hall. An enormous cheer goes up as you enter, sparkling wine sloshing from hastily poured glasses all around you.

The meal that follows is a total blur — amazing food, flowing alcohol, raucous toasts, and the happiest pandemonium you’ve ever witnessed. You keep getting tugged from conversation to conversation, everyone wanting to hear how the race played out from your lips. Charles sticks by your side the whole time, looking on with sheer pride.

At one point, you end up going shot for shot with Fred Vasseur, the team principal pouring vodka like his job depends on it. “La mia principessa!” He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy. “You’ve made us all so proud today!”

He hoists his glass. “To our Princess! The Princess of Monza!”

The chant starts up again all around you. “La Prin-ci-pess-a! La Prin-ci-pess-a!”

You beam at them all, squeezing Fred’s hand. No words can describe this feeling, being embraced so completely by your team — your family. This is what you’ve dreamed about since you were a little girl. Following in your father’s footsteps, bringing glory to Ferrari, carrying on the legend.

The party rages on long into the night. At some point, you lose track of time completely, delirious with exhaustion from the whirlwind of emotion.

You come around for a moment, blinking in the dim glow of the factory lights. There’s quiet rumbles of laughter around you, echoing off the walls. Looking around blearily, you realize you’ve been tucked into a makeshift bed fashioned from a pile of Ferrari t-shirts, nestled in one of the car assembly spaces.

Charles is there too, cradled against your side, one arm wrapped protectively around you. The rest of the team — your PR officers, engineers, mechanics, everyone — is strewn about in similar nests, all of them totally conked out.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle deeper into Charles’ embrace, feeling his lips brush the top of your head. This bizarre, wonderful scene seems to encapsulate everything about being part of the Ferrari family. It’s chaotic and overwhelming and unlike anything else in the world.

But most of all, it’s home.

As you start to drift back to sleep, savoring the lingering scent of champagne and motor oil, one final chant echoes in your head:

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

The last few laps feel like they’re happening in slow motion. Every turn, every gear shift, every tiny input to the steering wheel is magnified tenfold as the circuits count down. The pressure is immense, but you’ve been here before. You can do this.

“Stay calm, stay focused,” your race engineer’s voice crackles over the radio. “The calculations look good. Just bring it home steady.”

Nodding to yourself, you downshift entering the stadium section, the roar of the massive crowd surrounding the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez swelling in your ears. This is it — your chance to join the likes of motorsport’s greatest heroes by winning the Formula 1 World Championship.

Your first victory at Monza, being crowned the “Principessa di Ferrari” by the adoring Tifosi, was a dream come true. But this … this is what you’ve worked towards since you were old enough to understand what your father achieved. To etch your name into the history books forever.

The laps tick by agonizingly. Every time the pitboard comes into view, your heart rate spikes. But you’ve got a comfortable gap to second place, managing the race perfectly. Just a few more corners now.

“Final lap, final lap,” your engineer calls out. “Looking brilliant. Stay comfortable and you’ve got this!”

You suck in a deep breath to steady your nerves. Out of the sweeping Curve 3 and onto the pit straight, the crowd’s thunderous cheers are reaching fever pitch. You can see the seas of red-clad fans absolutely losing their minds, knowing the woman they idolize is about to achieve immortality.

Crossing the finish line, you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding for what feels like ages. The emotion is overwhelming — a combination of pure elation, disbelief, and total exhaustion.

You did it.

World Champion at last!

You cruise around, yelling unintelligibly into the radio as the celebrations kick off around the circuit. There’s confetti in the air, smoke flares going off in brilliant shades of red, and a full-throated roar that could probably be heard all the way back in Europe.

Pulling into parc fermé, you switch off the car, letting the weight of the moment sink in. Tears of joy prick at your eyes as the magnitude of your achievement hits home. Ever since you were a little girl, running around watching your papa, this has been the ultimate dream for you.

And now, it’s finally happened. You’re a World Champion. Just like him.

The first person to reach you is Charles. He comes sprinting over from his own car, bounding past the marshals without a second look. One glimpse of the huge smile plastered across his face is all it takes for you to dissolve into giggles and delirious tears.

“You did it! You brilliant, brilliant woman, you did it!” He shouts, grabbing you up in his arms and spinning you around in a whirlwind hug.

“I can’t believe it, Charles! It felt like a dream … like it wasn’t really happening!”

You’re both laughing and crying at the same time, drunk on the euphoria of the moment. Clutching each other tightly, you press your foreheads together, trying in vain to compose yourselves.

“I’m so proud of you,” Charles murmurs, gazing at you with adoring eyes. “You worked so incredibly hard for this. You deserve everything.”

Surging forward, you capture his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. For a few brief moments, the two of you are alone, lost in the depth of your emotions and your all-encompassing love for each other. Nothing else in the world matters but this perfect second frozen in time.

You finally break apart, breathless, when the rest of the team sweeps in to congratulate you. They swarm around in a laughing, whooping mass, jumping up and down, hugging, chanting your name over and over.

“To our champion! The Queen!”

The cry comes from Antonio, one of the veteran mechanics who’s been with the team since your papa’s days. He clasps your hands tightly, gazing at you with pride.

“Sei la regina! The Queen of Ferrari!” He hollers over the raucous din, tears shining in his eyes. “Just like your father, you’ll reign forever!”

Your eyes start brimming over again, overwhelmed. The tears roll down your cheeks, smearing streaks of sweat and grime from the race. But you can’t stop beaming.

All at once, the rest of the crew picks up on Antonio’s declaration. Their cheers and chants coalesce into one booming refrain:

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

The sheer adulation washes over you in waves, every face beaming up at you in utter reverence. You find yourself struggling to take it all in. In a few incredible seasons, you’ve elevated yourself into the realm of legend in their eyes.

Charles wraps his arms around you from behind, steadying you as your knees start to go weak. You can feel his smile radiant against your neck as he cheers and whoops right along with the rest of them.

“You hear them?” He chuckles, kissing your temple. “It’s all for you, mia regina! My Queen.”

Hearing your love, your partner, your other half call you that sets off a fresh round of giggles and sobs. Turning in his embrace, you loop your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply.

When you finally part, you look out over the still-roaring crowd, many of them carrying elaborate signs with intricate drawings depicting you as a regal sovereign. Some have fashioned ornate crowns out of random merch and foam, holding them high. Others set off flares and smoke bombs in Ferrari red.

For a moment, their euphoric cheers fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears. Closing your eyes, you let the enormity of the moment wash over you, embracing the pride and humility and disbelieving joy.

This is your coronation. The new ruler of the Scuderia — la regina di Ferrari.

“La Regina di Ferrari! La Regina del Mondo!”

You can only chuckle in disbelief, Antonio and Ricky carefully taking your hands to hoist you up onto their shoulders in throne-like celebration. Charles is right by your side, standing vigil as your King Consort.

As the party spreads out around you, confetti and smoke filling the air, you look out across the ecstatic crowd. All you see are fervent faces, worshiping you as their new Queen of the World.

It’s a delirious scene that you never, ever could’ve imagined. And yet it feels so natural, so right. Like you were born to be in the center of this storm of jubilation. This is your true home.

And now, you’ve taken your rightful place as its ruler.

Mexico City burns long into the night in tribute to the newly-coronated Queen. Tomorrow, the party will likely continue all the way back to Maranello. But in this moment, you’re lost in the swirl of ecstasy, allowing yourself to be swept up in the currents of adoration.

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

Jules can barely contain his excitement as you and Charles help him into the little red race suit. He’s practically vibrating with energy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Easy there, petit coureur,” Charles chuckles, ruffling Jules’ hair affectionately. “We’ll get you suited up and on the track soon enough.”

“I’m gonna beat everyone!” Jules declares confidently. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“That’s my boy,” you say with a wink. “Just like your Papa and me.”

Charles grins and pulls Jules into a hug. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Today’s just for fun though, remember? No official points or anything.”

“I know, I know,” Jules says impatiently. “But I’m still gonna win!”

You laugh and swing him up into your arms, peppering his face with kisses until he squeals with delight. “Whatever you say, liebling. Now let’s get you out on that track!”

The three of you make your way out to the karting circuit, hand-in-hand. You can already see a small crowd starting to form along the fences, phones and cameras at the ready. A familiar scenario, even at such a low-key local event.

“Mama, Papa, look!” Jules points excitedly. “Those people want to take pictures!”

“That’s right, schatzi,” you say gently. “Your Papa and I are pretty well known in motorsports.”

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

Charles laughs. “Something like that, I suppose. More like … really famous racecar drivers.”

“Whoa ...” Jules seems to be processing this new realization. “You’re the best ever, right? The bestest?”

You share an amused look with Charles. “Well, we’ve had our fair share of success,” you hedge.

“Your mother is a multi-time World Champion,” Charles says proudly. “As am I. We did pretty okay, I think.”

“Woooaahh!” Jules looks absolutely awestruck, like his little mind has been blown. It’s both adorable and bittersweet — your own child, only just now grasping the level of your accomplishments and fame.

The crowd has grown considerably by the time you reach the pit area, people pressing against the barriers in hopes of getting a glimpse of the royal family of Maranello. A small team of event staff try valiantly to keep order, but it’s a losing battle.

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

“Oh my god, is that little Jules? He’s so cute!”

Jules clings a bit closer to you and Charles, startled by the commotion. You pull him protectively against your side.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “Just some fans who are excited to see us.”

Charles gives the crowd a regretful smile and a small wave before ushering you both past the security team and into the pit area. The calmer, more controlled setting seems to ease Jules’ nerves.

“Why were all those people yelling and taking pictures?” He asks with a small frown.

“Like I said, we’re pretty famous racers,” Charles explains patiently. “A lot of people know who we are and want our autographs or photos with us.”

“Like celebrities!” Jules says, the admiring light returning to his eyes.

You laugh and ruffle his hair again. “Something like that, yeah. Your Papa and I have had a very successful racing career over the years.”

“The best careers,” Charles amends with a wink at you. “Multiple world titles each.”

“World titles?” Jules looks utterly baffled by the concept. “Like … the best in the whole world?”

“Exactly,” you confirm, feeling that familiar swell of pride. “We were the fastest drivers in the world, for a few years at least.”

“Whooaa ...” Jules seems torn between awe and disbelief. “You’re like … superheroes!”

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Charles laughs, “but I suppose to some we come pretty close, eh?”

He scoops Jules up and swings him around, making him shriek with laughter. You watch them with a content smile, suddenly aware of how blessed you are to have this life — your incredible husband, your precious son, the career successes you both achieved. It’s more than you ever could have dreamed.

“Alright,” Papa says, setting Jules back down. “Why don’t you go grab your kart and we’ll get you out on the track? Think you can take on the world champions?”

Jules gives a determined nod, that familiar fire blazing in his eyes — the same look you’ve seen in your husband’s familiar green ones a thousand times over the years. “You bet! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

With one last hair ruffle, you send him scampering off excitedly. Charles slides an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” He murmurs against your temple. “So much like us at that age. I can already tell he’s going to be a hell of a driver someday.”

You lean into his embrace with a contented sigh. “He is … and just look at how the crowd reacted to him. He’s barely grasped that we’re famous, and now he’s already getting mobbed himself. Our little star in the making.”

Charles makes a rueful sound. “We’re going to have to get used to that, I suppose.”

“Oh, I think we can handle it,” you say lightly. “We’ve had plenty of practice being in the spotlight, after all.”

He laughs and drops a kiss to your hair. “That’s true enough. As long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Exactly.” You turn in his arms to face him properly, cupping his jaw tenderly. “You, me, Jules … nothing else matters as long as we have each other.”

Charles’ eyes are warm with devotion as he gazes down at you. “My soulmate. My family. How did I ever get so lucky?”

He leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet, the rest of the world temporarily fading away. You lose yourself in the familiar comfort of his embrace, the love you share-

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

You break apart with a laugh to find Jules making over-exaggerated gagging noises nearby.

“And the moment’s ruined,” Charles teases, keeping an arm looped around your waist.

You bend down to Jules’ eye level with a mock stern look. “You just wait until you’re all grown up with a sweetheart of your own. Then you’ll understand.”

He scrunches up his nose theatrically. “Never! Girls are gross!”

You and Charles share an amused look.

“If you say so,” Charles chuckles. “Now let’s get that kart fired up.”

Jules’ entire demeanor shifts in an instant, that fierce competitiveness surfacing once again. He scrambles into the cockpit of his little kart and takes firm hold of the wheel, looking suddenly years beyond his age.

“You’re going down!” He declares brazenly. “I’ll leave you both in the dust!”

And just like that, the proud parents are replaced by your familiar racing mentalities — the thrill of competition, the desire to win. You share a conspiratorial grin with Charles.

“Is that so?” He taunts playfully. “In that case, no more taking it easy on you two.”

You bend down to kiss Jules’ forehead, unable to resist a parting quip. “Promise you won’t be sad … because Mama always wins.”

With that, Charles heads off to grab his own kart, leaving you and Jules alone for a brief moment. He looks up at you with shining eyes.

“You’re my hero, Mama,” he says simply. “And Papa too. I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

You feel your heart swell fit to burst, filled with more love than you could possibly put into words. Bending down, you pull your beautiful little boy into a fierce hug, eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

“Oh liebling … you already are. You’re everything we could have dreamed of and more.”

You press a lingering kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed with affection. When you finally pull back, there are indeed tears shining in your eyes.

“Now go show your parents what you’ve got, baby,” you say with a watery smile. “I can’t wait to see you out there.”

Jules gives you a determined nod, eyes blazing with that trademark fire. “You got it, Mama! Get ready to lose!”

With that, he slams down the visor on his helmet and revs the little engine. You step back with a laugh, watching him peel out onto the track with all the confidence and flair of a seasoned pro. Like parents, like son indeed.

By the time Charles rejoins you, his own kart idling beside yours, Jules has already completed a couple of warm up laps. You can’t resist shooting Charles a smug grin.

“Well, well … looks like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He drives just like you.”

Charles snorts, clearly trying to downplay his obvious pride. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s all your genes coming through.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a sudden commotion from the fences draws your attention. The crowd has grown even larger, people pressing against the barriers with raised phones and voices calling out excitedly.

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

You share a resigned look with Charles as event staff rush to try and control the growing swarm.

“This is what it’s going to be like from now on, isn’t it?” You murmur. “Our little family, constantly in the spotlight.”

Charles shrugs, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he watches Jules blaze by. “What else is new? We’ve been there our whole careers. At least this time, we get to share the fame together … as a family.”

You lean into his side with a contented smile. Out on the track, Jules whips past in a blur of determination, completely unbothered by the fawning crowd. Just a little boy living out his dream, regardless of who his parents might be.

“You know what?” You say softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Charles drops a kiss to your hair as the roar of the crowd and engines swells around you. “Me neither, mon amour. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

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ghostfacd · 2 years ago

Text

THE KING AND HIS QUEEN, — king george iii

pairing: king george iii x fem!queen!reader

summary: your new life of being queen has been quite a struggle adjusting to. thankfully, you have the perfect king to stand right by your side.

genre: royal!au, fluff, mentions of arranged marriage, reader said to be a princess from france but ethnicity is not specified, plot kind of differs from queen charlotte: a bridgeton story, talk of wanting children

author’s note: the plot is different from that of the netflix series so don’t come at me ! wanted to write for george because his character is very intriguing to me and also bc the actor for young george is so mighty fine 😋😋 enjoy!

“Are you alright?” The king asked you. His face examined yours, locking his eyes onto your frame.

“Yes my king,” you say, staring down at your plate with a forced smile. In all truths, you were not alright. You had just wedded the week before, and the life of a queen was taking much more of a toll on you than you’d expect.

You remembered like it was just yesterday. Well, technically, it was. It was barely a week ago.

“Will Her Royal Highness, Princess of France, take His Majesty, The King as husband, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part; according to God's holy law?”

“I, Princess of France, in the presence of God make this vow, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law.”

“Very well, you may kiss the bride.”

And just like that, you were proclaimed Queen of Great Britain and Ireland.

“You’re spacing out,” George inquires, face filled with concern. You almost wonder why he cares. The two of you were not inlove. The marriage had been an arranged deal between your father and his since the day you were both born. Your fate had been sealed as soon as you came out your mother’s womb.

“Leave us.” He motions to the guards standing. They obey him like robots, leaving at his command. Now, it was just the two of you alone.

“YN,” for the first time since the two of you met, he had said your first name. No ��my queen’ but just YN.

“Yes, my king?”

“Please, just George.”

You sigh, finally deciding to look him in the eyes. “Very well. George?”

“You know you can always tell me what is wrong, right?” He looks almost saddened. Or was it pity? You didn’t know him very well—the two of you rarely communicating since the marriage had been finalized.

“Of course my king,”

“George.” He corrects.

“Apologies, it was out of habit.”

He stands up, motioning you to come over to him. With raised eyebrows, you do as he wants, your long gown flowing onto the marble floor beautifully.

“Come with me,” he says, taking your hands into his. “To our chambers.”

You flush up at the feeling of George’s hands holding yours. You hadn’t had a boyfriend before marrying him, your father being very keen on keeping yourself innocent and pure for the King of Great Britain.

When you two arrive at the large tall entrance of the chamber, George waves off the two guards standing in front.

“Marital duties?” One of the dukes asked. “Great job Georgie, knew you had it in ‘ya.”

The King rolls his eyes at this, though he makes sure the duke hadn’t caught it. When you’re both inside the chamber, George finally lets out a breath of relief, situating himself onto the large mattress.

It was even larger than yours back at your palace in France. It was meant for the King and Queen, you and George, to sleep in at night and perform your marital duties.

“Sit, please.” George says, patting the empty space next to him. You sit down awkwardly, not sure where to look.

“Listen, I know it’s hard,” George lifts up your chin with his finger. “Adjusting to your life as my queen. The Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. But I assure you, as long as I live, I will make sure nobody will ever lay their hands on you or our future children, and that I will provide you with my love and support as I do with our country.”

Your eyes softened at his mini speech towards you, and your heart fluttered with joy. You were scared the two of you would end up in a loveless marriage like your Father and Mother had been—only together to provide the next heir of France. The heir ended up being your brother, your parent’s firstborn, King Charles of France. Second in throne was your other brother, Prince Louis, the spare. The only reason your parents had you was because your father had wanted a daughter to spoil, not because they were “inlove”. God no.

“Thank you my king. I appreciate this greatly, you have no idea. The stress of being Queen has taken quite the toll on me, and I was afraid of confiding in you about my worries.”

“You have no reason to be afraid,” George takes your hand, placing a soft kiss on it. “You are my wife, and I am your husband. You should never be afraid to confide in me. We promised that only death can do us part, and that we will love each other in sickness and suffering.”

“You are right my king,” you say, placing a peck on his cheek. For the first time, you were making a move, not him.

The two of you stay in each other’s embrace for the next hour, a comfortable and comforting silence fulfilling you both.

For the first time since you’ve step foot into Britain, you felt safe and loved. Loved by the King himself.

“You mentioned protecting me and our future children?” You tease him as you pull away. He bashfully looks down, letting out a small embarrassed laugh.

“Yes, my queen. The future heir, our lineage.”

“I hope it’s a boy,” you blurt out. You wanted your firstborn to be a boy because you’ve always seen your big brothers as a clear example of well raised princes, and you wanted the same for your future children.

“A boy would be ideal,” George says, pulling you close to him, “but I wouldn’t mind a girl. Spoil her rotten and braid her hair.”

You laugh, nodding along with George’s words. “I suppose a girl wouldn’t be so bad. As long as our future baby will be healthy.”

“Yes.”

The next few hours are spent with you and George mapping out the future, forgetting all your responsibilities for just the moment. George wanted Edward for a boy and Marionette for a girl, Nette for short. He expressed to you how he always dreamed of a normal life, farming and doing astronomy. However, he was grateful for growing up in royalty, never surrounded by poverty.

And just like that, the night you and George connected had flew by and you were expecting your second child in a few weeks time.

“Edward!” You say, giggling at the boy running around your legs. Edward was five, and quite the rowdy one. He took after his father’s handsomeness and had the eyes of George, the same ones that had looked at you with concern 6 years prior on that fateful night.

“Mummy!” Edward shrieks in delight. His eyes brighten when he sees his Father, who picks him up in an instant.

“I hope you’re not giving mummy a hard time,” George says, booping the young prince’s nose. “Are you, Prince Edward of Wales?”

“Course not daddy!” Edward scrambles to be let down on the ground, making George grunt as he sets the boy down. “Just wanted to hang out with mummy, that’s all.”

“Yes, my handsome little prince was doing no harm dear,” you reassure your husband. He rubs your baby bump softly, admiring your beauty.

“Just worried about you and Marionette is all,” he says with a soft smile.

“Me and Nette are fine,” you say, “now Edward, would you like me to tell you the day I became Queen?”

“Yes mummy!” Edward grins excitedly.

George can’t help but admire his little family as you told the story to your son Edward, brushing small strands of his brunette hair out of his face. In a few weeks, little Marionette will be arriving, and he couldn’t wait.

He wouldn’t trade what he had now for anything, not even for the whole wide world.

#king george iii #king george bridgerton #king george iii x reader #king george iii imagines #queen charlotte bridgerton #queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #king george x reader #king george smut #king george iii smut #king george #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

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starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies · 7 months ago

Text

The Princess and The Pogue | J. M.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: Your daughter comes home from school telling you about a local OBX fairytale. It turns out it’s about you and your husband.

Listen to But Daddy I Love Him for full experience

Requested by @idontevenknowbsblog

A/N: This turned out way longer and more angsty than I had anticipated but I’m a sucker for the angst. I just can’t help it. I’m sorry this took me a million years to finish!

As I am an adult, all characters I write for are written as adults. Any minor characters will be aged up to the general range of their actor’s age.

Warnings: allusions to domestic abuse, controlling parents, forced engagement, so much fucking angst, only kinda proofread

Word Count: 3.5k

Your daughter’s tiny feet press against the back of your seat as you head home after picking her up from school.

“Mia, stop kicking,” You laugh, “Mommy’s trying to drive.”

“Sorry, Mommy.” Your daughter giggles. “I’m just so happy today!”

“I’m so glad you're happy, Baby.” You smile at the five year old in the rearview mirror. “What did you do at school today?”

“We got to draw all our shapes today and we sang the alphabet song a bunch of times!”

“Ooh sounds like a fun day.”

She claps excitedly. “Oh and Kylie’s older sister told us a fairytale at recess!”

“A fairytale? Very cool. What was it about?”

“Did you know a princess used to live here? A long time ago. She ran away with a pogue because her evil king father wouldn’t let them be together.”

Your eyes widen at her words, a small smile forming on your face as she tells the story that takes you back to what seems like a lifetime ago.

“Mom, I’m headed out,” you yelled through the foyer.

“Ok, hun.” Your mom poked her head over the stairwell. “Just don’t stay out too late. We have that business lunch with the Cameron’s tomorrow and it’s very important that you be there.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” you promise, “besides I’m just going to hang out with Sarah.”

“We just love that you and Ward Cameron’s daughter are friends. It looks so good for your father’s business for the families to be close. Especially with you set to inherit the company someday.”

With Ward Cameron being the biggest real estate developer in the Outer Banks and your dad owning the biggest construction company, the two men worked closely on most of their deals. They were also the closest thing to friends that either of the men had. The two richest men in the island made for a powerful team.

“Glad I can help you keep up appearances,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that, hun?”

“Always happy to help the family.” You gave your mother a forced smile and made your escape, slipping outside and into Sarah’s waiting car.

“Ready to go see your man?” She grins at you and you return the gesture.

“God, yes.“

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with JJ Maybank. Considering the very different lives the two of you led it was surprising the two of you ever even crossed paths, but that was one of the perks of being Sarah’s friend. When she fell in love with John B and got involved with the pogues she dragged you along with her.

It wasn’t like you had anything against the pogues. In fact, you had admired them from afar your whole life. Their freedom and adventures were something you envied, forever stuck in your kook bubble. You didn’t have a choice but to follow the plan your parents had created for you.

JJ, on the other hand, hated kooks with a passion. He had a hard enough time with Sarah joining the group and when she brought you in, arguably the even bigger kook princess with the even bigger kook king of a father, he vowed to himself he would never accept you. After all, you represented everything he hated, the life he always dreamed of but would never attain.

He would sneer and call you “princess”, his voice dripping with disdain, doing everything in his power to piss you off, but you didn’t mind. You loved his passion and the way he would do anything to protect the people he cared about. You ignored his insults, treating him just as well as you would anyone else.

Before he knew it, your soft words and beaming smile had softened JJ. He began to actually look forward to your presence in the group, feeling sad when you couldn’t get away from your parents to spend time with them. Then, one day the two of you were the only ones to show up to a pogue hang out. You ended up spending hours just talking and getting to know each other. The rest was history and you had been together from that day forward.

Unfortunately, you knew that your parents would never let you spend time around a pogue, let alone be in a relationship with one. So, like Sarah and John B, you and JJ had to keep your relationship hidden. Thanks to the help of the pogues, the two of you had been successfully seeing each other behind your parents’ backs for over a year.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at 8:00,” Sarah reminds you. She pulls up to the little cove where you and JJ liked to meet. “We only have a couple of hours tonight because of that lunch tomorrow. Don’t want our families to get suspicious.”

You nod. “Got it. I’ll see you then.” You slip out of her car. “Tell John B I said hi.”

“Will do.”

She pulls away as you make your way around the rocks hiding the entrance to your spot.

“Hi, princess.” Your boyfriend grins at you in the orange light of the sunset, pulling you into a hug.

“JJ,” You breathe him in, soaking up the comfort he gives you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby. Four days without you is four days too much.” JJ leads you over to the blanket on the sand, sitting back so you can settle between his legs.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t get away much this week. My parents are going crazy about this lunch tomorrow.”

“Aren’t they always crazy?” JJ jokes, poking your side. You squirm a little bit, trying to escape his prodding.

“I mean, yeah. They’re just extra crazy this week.” You settle further into his chest, JJ giving up his attack in exchange for wrapping his arms securely around you. He nuzzles his head into the side of your neck. “But, it’s okay because at least we have right now.”

“How long do we have until Sarah comes back to pick you up?”

You let out a sigh. “Two hours.”

“That’s it? Damn.”

“I’m sorry, J.” You look back apologetically, but he just shakes his head.

“Hey, don’t apologize. We just have to make the most of the time we have, like usual. It won’t be like this forever.”

“Right.” You give him a small smile, turning back to face the sunset before he can see the doubt in your eyes. You hoped JJ was right, but you had no idea how things would ever change.

As expected, your time together flew by too quickly and before you knew it Sarah was back to take you home.

JJ was reluctant to let you out of his embrace. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right? After you finish up with all your kook business?”

“Of course, baby. I wouldn’t miss it.” You give him one last goodbye kiss, distracting him long enough to slip out from his arms. He pouts, but lets you go, knowing if it was your choice you would never leave.

You stare numbly at the wall, unable to will yourself to move from your position balled up on the bed. You aren’t sure how long you've been laying there looking at nothing. You didn’t feel anything, having cried out all your tears hours ago. A buzzing sounds from the other side of the room, your phone going off once again, but you don’t pick it up. It’s probably Sarah calling again to see if you’re okay after what happened at lunch. You’re not.

Having sat in silence for so long, you jump when you hear a rattling at your window. It takes you a minute to clamber over to the window with the lights out in your room. You hadn’t realized how dark it had become outside.

You peek out warily, trying to determine the source of the noise. “Shit.” You mumble under your breath as you realize JJ is perched in the tree closest to your room.

You unlatch the door so he can climb inside, turning away from him quickly. You’re thankful for the darkness in that moment as you scramble to make yourself look presentable, flattening your hair and wiping at your face. You pull down the sleeves of the massive sweatshirt you’re wearing, one you stole from JJ months ago, making sure you are completely covered.

“JJ, what are you doing here,” you whisper, “What if someone sees you?”

“I was worried about you. You were supposed to meet me hours ago, remember?” He sounds frustrated.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” You run your hand down your face stressed. “I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

“You forgot? Y/N, I’ve been calling and texting for hours.” JJ moves closer, but you step back. “I thought something bad had happened.”

He takes another step back. Again you back away, trying to keep him from seeing your face. Brows furrowed, JJ moves towards you again. This time you can’t move away fast enough, bumping your dresser as you try to get away.

“Woah, wait.” JJ takes your face in gentle hands. “Have you been crying?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you off that easily.

“Baby, what’s going on? Is it something I did?” The worry in his eyes brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You shake your head, willing them not to fall.

“No, no. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Something with Sarah?” You shake your head again.

“Your parents?” That stills you. “It is your parents. What is it? Did something happen at lunch?”

You don’t answer.

“Talk to me, baby. I can’t make it better if I don’t know what’s wrong.” JJ’s voice is so sincere and his touch so soft. He really thinks he’ll be able to fix whatever the problem is.

You gather your strength and gently pull away from him, not wanting to see the look in his eyes when you tell him.

“My father and Ward Cameron have decided that it is in the best interest of their respective businesses for our families to be officially joined.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

You feel like you're going to be sick, but you force the words out anyway. “I am set to be married to Rafe Cameron.” You keep your eyes on the floor, waiting for JJ’s response. He stays silent.

“I had no idea they had this planned until my parent’s announced it at lunch.”

“What do you mean you’re marrying Rafe Cameron?” He tries to keep his voice calm. But you can hear the venom behind his words anyway. “You can’t just marry Rafe.”

“I don’t have a choice, JJ. They practically signed my ownership papers over to Rafe right there.”

JJ is pacing your room now, hands constantly running through his hair. “He can’t just do that. You’re an adult, Y/N. Tell him no.”

“I can’t tell him no JJ.” He stops in front of you, the look on his face half shock half anger.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just tell me that your father is marrying you off to Rafe and not even try to fight him on it.” You turn from his intense gaze, unable to handle it any longer.

‘Y/N-” JJ reaches for your arm to turn you around and you flinch back hissing in pain. Your sleeve rides up, revealing a number of dark bruises.

“I tried talking him out of it, JJ. He made it clear saying no wasn’t an option.”

JJ seethes, body tense with anger. “He hurt you.” It’s not a question which is just as well because you have no response.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He growls.

You lay your palms flat against his chest. “No, you’re not. We can’t make this situation any worse than it already is.”

“He can’t just get away with this!” JJ’s voice rises with his anger and you shush him quickly, looking back at your door.

“Please, Y/N.” His voice cracks on your name. “Things can’t just end like this.”

The pain in his words breaks your heart. You let the tears fall freely, unable to hold back the emotion any longer.

“I’m so sorry, JJ.” He cradles your face in his hands like he did at the beginning of the night. “There’s nothing either of us can do to change this.” JJ brushes his thumbs against your cheeks, brushing at the tears. “You should go.”

“No, Y/N.” He has tears running down his face too. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“Please, JJ. You have to go before something wakes him up. I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds you here.”

JJ’s eyes flit down to your wrists, taking in the bruises once more before he nods slowly. He won’t be the reason your father hurts you again. You lips press against his slowly, both of you pouring all the love you have for each other into the kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

“I love you, too. Always.”

With those last words, he slips back out your window, closing it quietly behind him. You watch as he climbs back down the tree and crosses the property. As he finally fades out of blue, you sink down to your floor, your knees unable to hold the weight of your body as it’s wracked with sobs.

You don’t leave your room for days. All you can do is lay in your bed and cry, mourning the loss of the man you love and the life you had planned.

If it was up to you, you would never leave that room. Unfortunately, your parents have other plans. They parade you and Rafe all over town, making sure everyone on the island knows the two of you are “madly in love” and engaged to be married in the spring. The whole pageantry of it makes you sick.

The cherry on top of the whole ordeal is the engagement party that you parents planned for the weekend. They rented out the whole club and invited every kook on the island. You’re pretty sure it’s your own personal hell.

Sarah pins one last curl to your head. “Done. You look beautiful.”

You give her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Sarah.” You were dressed in a white sundress that your mother had bought for the party and Sarah had done your hair and makeup to perfection. The whole look was stunning, but you just feel like a trophy being shown off.

Sarah gives you a sympathetic look. “You ready for this?”

“No. But I have to be.”

It takes everything in you to keep a smile pasted on your face as Rafe takes your hand and leads you out to the throng of people. Everyone smiles and hugs you, offering their congratulations. You do your best to seem gracious and excited, but all you feel is emptiness and the faces move before you in a blur.

You make it two hours into the party before you can’t take it any longer. The panic that has been creeping up your throat all night takes hold and you have to break away. You excuse yourself from Rafe, claiming a need to run to the bathroom. He gives you a harsh look and makes you promise to hurry back, but ultimately lets you go.

You hurry away from prying eyes, not letting yourself break until you get inside. Chest heaving, you gulp down air like you’ve just run a marathon. One of your hands is pressed against your chest, the other braced against the walls to hold you up as you stumble towards the bathroom.

Before you can make it more than a few feet an arm catches you around the waist, pulling you into an alcove you had never noticed. You stumble back, trying to pull yourself together, not wanting whoever grabbed you to see your harried state.

“Hey, hey. It’s just me.”

Familiar hands rub up and down your arms, grounding you. You look up to see the blue eyes that you love so much.

“JJ,” you whisper, breaths still coming fast and hard.

“It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

JJ holds you close as you will your body to calm, feeling safe for the first time all night.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you, talk to you.”

You sigh, looking at him with sad eyes. “As happy as I am that you’re here, you have to go. If anyone sees you. My father, or Rafe-”

“What if you didn’t have to worry about them anymore?”

“JJ, we’ve been over this. I can’t break this engageme-”

“What if we just left? You and me. Right now.” His eyes bore into yours, willing you to see the possibility.

You can’t act like you haven’t had the same thought yourself, but you just didn’t see how it would be possible. “How would that work, JJ? My father controls my whole life. My money, my future, everything.”

“You don’t need anything he has to give you, Y/N.” His voice is pleading.

“JJ…”

“We can figure it out. You have a degree, I have experience. We’ll get jobs. We’ll make it work.” He reaches a hand into his pocket. “I know I can’t give you a life like this-”

“I don’t want a life like this.”

“-but I will do everything in my power to give you a good life, to make you happy.” He holds up a simple, beautiful band of silver. “Will you marry me?”

You stare up at him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Say you’ll marry me. We can leave right now. I have a plan to get us off the island. Your parents won’t know until it’s too late. Just say yes, please.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod vigorously. “I’ll marry you.”

You rip off the gaudy ring currently on your hand and JJ replaces it with the silver band. He kisses you so deeply you think you see stars.

“I love you, JJ Maybank,” you whisper when you part.

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N, so much.”

You could stay in that moment forever, but you both know you don’t have time to waste. JJ begins to pull you to a side exit, but you stop him. There’s one last thing you have to do before you leave.

You find a piece of paper, scribbling out a few quick words and titling to your father.

Have fun explaining to the Cameron’s that your daughter ran off with a pogue

Y/N Y/L/N

You set the folded paper on the center table, placing Rafe’s ring next to it.

“Ready to get off this island?”

You grab JJ’s hand. “God, yes.”

JJ was right, the two of you figured it out. You both found jobs on the mainland and created a happy life for yourselves. You and JJ got married a few months after you ran off and Mia came along a few years later.

You had kept in touch with the pogues of course and they let you know when your father and Ward Cameron’s businesses had come crashing down, forcing the two men off the island. They had no power anymore, so eight years later you decided to move back to your home. People had gossiped at first, but they moved on to the next big thing when they realized that neither you nor JJ cared what they had to say. You wanted to be in the place where you grew up and fell in love, and you wanted Mia to be surrounded by the friends that you called your family.

Mia was just about bouncing in her seat by the time you got home. You hurried to get her out of her carseat so she could rush inside and see her dad. Friday’s were always her favorite because JJ got off work early and was already home by the time you brought her back from school.

She pulled you along by the hand as she continued on about her fairytale. “The evil king disappeared and they lived happily ever after.”

JJ scooped Mia up as the two of you entered the house, making the little girl squeal in delight.

“Daddy!”

“Who lived happily ever after, Mia-mine?” She giggled as he burrowed his face in her little belly.

“The princess and the pogue!”

JJ’s eyes met yours over Mia, giving you an intrigued look.

“Kylie’s older sister told her a fairytale at lunch about a couple that used to live on the island.” You tell him with a knowing grin.

“A fairytale? That’s awesome, baby.” JJ lowers Mia back down to her feet. “Hey, why don’t you go wash up and Mommy and I will make you a snack.”

“Okay, Daddy!” The little girl runs off happily.

You make your way to the kitchen, JJ coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “So the princess and the pogue, huh?” He smirks as you turn to face him.

“Who knew we’d become an OBX fairytale?” You reply.

“It makes sense. It doesn’t get much more ‘happily ever after’ than this. Right, princess?”

You give him a gentle kiss. “Right, pogue.”

Writing Masterlist

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x y/n #obx x reader #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #stars writes #starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies

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justmeinadaze · 3 months ago

Text

Don't Be So Hard Part 4 (Steddie & Plus Size Reader)

Warnings: Older Dom (30s) Coach Steve Harrington/Older Dom (30s) Professor Eddie Munson & Young (20s) Fem Plus size Sub Student Y/N, SMUT, overstimulation, choking, light degrading, use of the stop light system, DP, dirty talk, lots of praise and aftercare.

ANGST, LOADED IN ANGST, *dances in angst*

This chapter begins with a meeting and people in Hawkins being shady bitches in regard to Eddie being a professor and the play the school is putting on. Mentions of Y/N's weight (so brief, more than anything is alluded to when it comes to the lingerie in the play), Mentions of what happened in chapter 1 with her assault. Martin's dad is a dick and victim blames, brings up her father and Steve's.

Steve loses control a bit with Y/N and they get into a fight. Boys get jealous slightly. Um...OH cliffhanger ending but not quite like my others. You'll see. It will make you feel things but...you'll see!

Word Count: 6138

Series here/Donate to Me

You listened quietly as you sat in the back of the auditorium, listening to the parents, faculty, and dean of Hawkins University speak. You told Eddie and Steve you would be in your dorm and asked them to call you when it was over but both men seemed so on edge all week the moment they found out about the meeting.

The coach told you a lot of times these meetings were randomly called when parents wanted to complain about a “murderer teaching on campus” but something seemed off as the day slowly approached so you snuck in before it began through the booth entrance and waited for it to begin.

“Ah you little troublemaker.”, Theo teased as he sat beside you. “Got a weird vibe to? Yeah, Ms. Lilah was talking about this meeting with a friend while I was at work so I got curious.”

“Alright professors and parents let’s get started.”, the dean announced trying to hush the people in the room. “Now this meeting here was called forth by some of the parents…”

“Pfft ‘called forth’.”, the boy beside you whispered as you smiled his way.

“We’re concerned about how downhill this school seems to be going!”, one woman yelled.

“There’s a killer still teaching class, our football team keeps losing and they’re doing plays of satanic garbage now?!”, screamed another.

“Ok, Ok! Let’s not let this get out of hand.”, the dean shouted as he sighed.

Both your men were sitting in a corner and you could tell they were already annoyed by their demeanors alone.

“First and foremost—”

“First and foremost, satanic garbage? Really?”, your theater teacher interrupted as she rose to her feet. “It’s a play about being yourself and—"

“By parading around half naked?”

“Oh, Mrs. Martinez, I didn’t know you were a fan of the film.”

“Pfft, we don’t watch that filth in my house. This town has enough chaos in it.”, the woman spits.

“It does which is why I feel like these kids should be open to expressing themselves. Everyone in my play is consenting and perfectly fine with the wardrobe.”

“They may be but WE aren’t. Why would I want to see people like Benjamin Lineck and Y/N Y/L/N parading around in that attire?!”

Eddie leaned forward, prepared to say something before you see Steve bring him back.

“What’s wrong with that? Both my students are brilliant performers and have worked hard for their parts. Why don’t you be man, Paul, and say what your real issue is? You don’t think a boy or a full-figured woman like Y/N should be ‘parading around’ in lingerie.”

“Full-figured? Really? How about—”

“Hey! Enough!”, the dean shouted trying to regain control. “We aren’t here to bad mouth students. Your concern is the material in the play which was also a concern of mine. From the scenes that I’ve seen I’m not worried and it seems Lilah here has taken great care to keep as much detail focused on the story.”

“Recast it.”

“What?”, Lilah laughed. “No way. Even the dean just said your problem is with the material not my actors. No way.”

“It seems the problem is Y/N.”, Martin’s father sighs aggressively. “She’s the lead in the play, right Lilah? She’s the reason my son was kicked off the team and we’ve been losing—”

“No, your son was kicked off my team for assaulting an innocent girl.”, Steve defended.

Theo’s hand reached for yours and desperately seeking comfort you threaded your fingers through his.

“He also made threats and disrespected me and another professor.”

“Your friend the murderer?”, Jared countered.

“You know what? I’m really sick of your fucking attitude.”, Eddie growled as he stood up placing himself chest to chest with the other man. Trying to calm him, Steve placed his hand on his chest to bring him back to his seat but he just pushed against him. “You people accused me and hunted me down based on how I dress and a fucking game I play! You’re doing the same thing with Y/N and I’m not going to let you!”

“ENOUGH!”, the dean shouted so loud even you jumped and Theo ran his thumb along your skin trying to calm you. “This is my school and I WILL be heard! Now, in regard to Mr. Munson and his employment here, he wasn’t charged with a crime and is an excellent teacher to the students of this school. We have evaluations every semester and his marks are always high. This matter has been discussed at length and unless there are new developments it will not be brought up again. As for the play…I will take a vote amongst the student body and faculty and if they deem it inappropriate I will cancel the production. We already know how you parents feel. For the football team, Mr. Harrington have you found a full-time replacement for Martin Click as of yet?”

“No, sir. I didn’t want to replace him fully until your investigation was finished. I’ve been using his back up but Mr. Hunter stated the pressure from the town has been too much. He, uh, left my team last week.”

A heavy sigh left your chest at his words; he hadn’t told you that.

The dean nodded as his eyes took in the angry faces below him.

“Stay low, ok? And stay here.”, he whispered as Theo let go of your palm and tip toed to the aisle. “Excuse me.” All eyes turned towards the boy in the back as he waved their way. “Uh, I know I’m not supposed to be here but I may be able to help. I was a quarterback in my hometown. I never tried out because it kind of seemed like…people had their fantasy team in this town.”

“Oh yeah because this is a good first impression and who we want representing our team.”, another parent snarked.

“Yeah but at least I don’t tear girls shirts and push them to the concrete.”, Theo shot back.

“Allegedly!”, Martin’s father yelled.

“No, not anymore. Based on Y/N’s testimony to me and the confrontational conversation I had with Mr. Click Junior, I agree with Coach Harrington’s decision to remove him from the team and I hereby expel him from my campus.”

“What?! You can’t do that!”

“I just did. This meeting is over and everyone drive safe.”, the dean sighed as he rolled his eyes.

Scooting back to your side, Theo waited for people to leave as he blocked you from sight with his body but unfortunately he couldn’t hide you from everyone.

“How does it feel, Y/N? Ruining someone’s life?”, Martin’s father shouted with distain your way. “Your father would be ashamed of you.”

Your eyes widened in anger as you stepped towards him but a fist blocked you as it flew across the other man’s face. Theo straightened in front of you as Eddie held Steve back so he didn’t hit the man again. Jared spit blood to the side as he squared his shoulders.

“I can’t wait to tell your father what you’ve been up to, Steven. I know he gave up on you a long time ago but I imagine he never fully understood how bad things could get with his name’s sake. The final nail in the coffin would be if you and the freak here were fucking but even you wouldn’t sink that low would you? Still have some standards?”

As the man spoke, Steve kept try to push Eddie out of the way to get to the man in front of him but the metalhead kept his ground.

“Get out of my auditorium now.”, Lilah growled as she put herself between everyone.

“Or what?”

“Try me, Jared. I have no problem taking you out but I imagine you do with me. Want to uphold that ‘reputation’ right? Your son isn’t that smart I’m afraid.”

The man huffed as he promptly turned on his heel and slammed open the doors as he left.

“Are you alright, Steve?”

“M’fine.”, the man grumbled as he flexed his hand and winced at the pain in his knuckles. “What are you bothdoing here?!”

“I talked her into coming. I had a feeling something was off—”

“You lie and defend her a lot. Are you two an item?”, Eddie snarks causing you narrow your eyes his way.

“No, Mr. Munson, we aren’t. Theo is my friend and just helped defend me.”

Their seemingly calm but annoyed eyes racked over you but you had been with them long enough now to recognize when they were furious. At you or the situation though you weren’t sure.

“Don’t listen to what they said, Y/N, honey, ok? None of this is your fault and fuck them. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, Lilah.”

“Theo, why don’t you walk Y/N back to her dorm and—”

“Actually, I’m, um, going to my mom’s house but if you could walk me to my car I’d appreciate it.”

“No detours, Y/N. Just straight to the house, ok?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Munson.”

***

You knew what Eddie meant and didn’t stray as you headed to their house. After letting yourself in, you hastily got an ice pack ready before you heard a car squeak and the front door fly open.

“…have to talk to me! I don’t like when you get silent like this!”, the metalhead shouted as he followed his boyfriend into the living room.

“You! What were you doing there?!”, Steve shouted when his eyes found yours.

“You both seemed concerned about the meeting so I just…I wanted to know what was going on.”

“You could have gotten in a lot of trouble if the dean or any of those other fucking people noticed you there.”

“I-I-I didn’t expect them to blame me like that—”

“Of course you didn’t, little girl, because you don’t know this town like we do!”

“Just because I didn’t have a ‘posse’ come after me before doesn’t mean I don’t know how cruel people in Hawkins can be! You think Martin Click is the only one to hurt me and make fun of me!?”

“Well, you definitely have a good amount of people protecting you.”, Eddie sassed as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Really? I haven’t forgotten about that comment you made. Theo is my friend and he’s a good guy—”

“That fucking made out with you on my desk AND we get to see kiss you on stage constantly.”

“Oh my fucking God! I’m not doing this with either of you! I just wanted to make sure Steve was ok—”

Reaching for the ice pack you had been holding, Steve threw it hard against the adjacent wall making you jump back as Eddie’s eyes scanned him over with concern.

“I’m fucking fine. What I’m not fine with is you sneaking around and putting yourself in danger!”

“Said one of the men who puts me in danger by being in a relationship with me!”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips as his eyes darken and he straightens to his full height.

“I’m sorry…”

“I’ll bet your fucking are.”, Steve growled before abruptly reaching forward to grab your throat. “You’re always sorry.”

“Baby, let her go.”

“She’s fine, Eddie. Right, Y/N? Tell him you’re fucking fine.”

“I’m…I’m fine…Mr. Munson.”, you responded, your voice incredibly strained with how hard the other man’s palm was wrapped around your neck.

“Ok, sweetheart.”, he replied cautiously as his gaze shifted between you both. “You remember the word right? If you get uncomfortable…”

“Yes, sir. Ahhh!”

Guiding you to the bedroom, Steve practically pushed you the entire way and all but threw you on to their mattress. As he tried to pull down your pants, he became annoyed, tearing them with his hands before tugging them the rest of the way on to the floor.

“Wear these fucking tight pants like a fucking slut.”, he grumbled as he roughly yanked your legs apart. “Don’t fucking cum, little girl. Do you hear me?”

“Y-Yes, Mr. Harrington.”

He was ruthless with the way his tongue flicked and sucked between your legs, bringing you to the edge multiple times before taking away your pleasure. Eddie gently propped you up with your back to his chest and you were grateful for the feeling as you pressed your sweaty forehead to his cheek.

“You’re doing really good, pretty girl.”, the professor whispered as his palm brushed your damp hair away from your face. “Steve, how many more—”

“As many as their needs to fucking be, Edward!” The metalhead’s head ticked to the side at his name. His partner only ever did that when he was extremely upset and wanted to feel in control. “My fucking dad, this town, and those stupid fucking people think they can tell me how to be or who to fucking love? Keep your legs open, Y/N! After everything I’ve sacrificed for these people and it’s not enough.”

“You—You both are—mmm ahhhh—more than enough for me.”, you cry and Eddie kisses your cheek.

“Oh please! Like you fucking care.”, he spits as he pushes two of his long, thick fingers inside you. “You can leave whenever you fucking want to… go off to fucking…Hollywood with your young, buff boyfriend who can apparently to it all it seems. He can keep you safe better than we can since loving you is putting you in more danger!”

You barely registered it but his partner did as his wide eyes scanned over Steve. You were too busy trying not to cum as he didn’t pull back this time but had yet to tell you it was ok.

“Steven, stop.”, Eddie commanded in a firm tone that the other man ignored. “Red, Steve, stop. NOW.”

When the man’s fingers only slowed but didn’t completely come to halt, your professor slid out from behind you and shoved his boyfriend away from you.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“The fuck is wrong with you?! She said she knew the fucking word, Eddie!”

“Yeah and I know you! What the fuck was that?! You tell her you fucking love her this way?! After saying she doesn’t care and that she’s going to leave us, you fucking asshole! That’s not fair to her. We can’t take her out on dates or show her off but at least us conveying how we feel shouldn’t be hidden under all the bullshit you just did.”

“Eddie…”, you sniffle as they glare each other down. “It’s ok…”

“Get the fuck out.”, Eddie commands as he points past Steve towards the door.

“This is my house to. I don’t have to go anywhere.”

Your professor steps forward and bumps his boyfriend with his chest, making him stumble backward as Eddie guides him towards the bedroom door.

“We agreed that we’d protect her so that’s what I’m doing. I’m protecting her from you.” Steve’s eyes widened as he glanced around the room as if finally recognizing where he was and who he was with. “You don’t want to leave fine but I’m not letting her anywhere near you till you get yourself together.”

With one final shove, Eddie pushes him out into the hallway and slams the bedroom door in his face locking it tightly behind him.

As quickly as he can muster, the metalhead lifts you into his arms and places you on the edge of the tub as he fills it with water.

“I-I-I was doing ok. You didn’t have to stop h-h-him.”, you cry as you wipe your eyes.

“Look at me, sweetheart. Everything is alright. You may have been able to handle it right now but sometimes Steve… goes overboard…when he’s angry. I think it comes from years of growing up with his parents but even when we fight which is rare he has a bite to his words.”

After carefully guiding you into the bath, you remain silent as you allow him to clean you and massage any part of your body he can reach.

“I’m sorry I went to the meeting. You both seemed so worried and I couldn’t wait. I didn’t expect them to turn on me like that.”

“You’d be surprised how quick they turn.”, he sighs. “We were worried because Steve already knew the town was pissed off about their recent losing streak so he assumed they wanted to talk about what happened with Martin. I didn’t expect them to talk about your play or you like that.”

Your fingers reached out to caress his face and he smiled as he placed his hand over the back of yours.

“Thank you for trying to defend me with his father.”

“I’m sorry for what he said about yours. Y/N, your dad would be so proud of you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Not even with you two?”

Eddie heavily exhaled as his eyes closed and he shook his head.

“No, baby, not even with us… what is wrong is hiding you…hiding that you’re ours and that we can protect you. Y/N, when that kid stood up for you and I saw him shield you behind him, I was glad he was there but also really fucking jealous.”

“I know. I heard it in your tone.”, you giggle as his grin widens for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah. What I mean is… I couldn’t push you behind me. I couldn’t tell those people to fuck off because you’re my girl and I’d take a fucking bullet for you. I almost died trying to save Steve and my friends and I’d do it again to save you. I don’t even need to think about it. You and Steve are safe with me and I want all of Hawkins to know that.”

Your lips tenderly find his before he helps you out of the bathtub and dries you off.

“Eddie? Do you love me to?”

Pausing for a moment, he smirks your way and slides one of his shirts over your head.

“You caught him saying that, huh?” After getting you into some comfy shorts, Eddie climbs into his bed with you and you promptly curl up into his side resting your head on his chest. “I’m sorry he said it like that.”, he whispers as his fingers play with your hair. “Um, what if I said that I do love you…very much…”

“I would say that I love you to, you and Steve, but that scares me. I don’t want to ruin your careers or the life you’ve made here.”

“I would probably say something back like how it scares me to but not as much as how hard I fell for you. It was the same with Steve. I wasn’t expecting to fall for him but here we are 10 years later. I—we—also don’t want to ruin your life either. You deserve all the good things, Y/N.”

“So do you.” Quietly, he continued to rub your head as you listened to his steady breathing as his chest rose and fell. “Eddie…I love you.”

Pulling you tighter to him, he tenderly kissed your forehead.

“I love you to, Y/N.”

##################

In the middle of the night, the sound of low grumbles woke you as you opened their bedroom door and tiptoed out into their living room to find Steve asleep on the couch as he tossed and turned.

“No…no… please…”

As he groaned, you fell to your knees beside him and tenderly moved his hair away from his face.

“Don’t…don’t hurt her…please…”

“Everything’s ok, Steve. Shhhhhh, baby. I’m right here.”, you tried to sooth as his nose scrunched in what looked like pain.

“Run, Y/N…Run!” With that his eyes snapped open as he shot up, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, hey. It’s ok, Steve. I’m here.”

He didn’t say a word as he forcefully pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you as he cried. You continued to pet his head as you held him to your chest, whispering comforts as you tried to calm him.

“People in Hawkins were trying to hurt you. I tried to tell them…I told them you did nothing wrong but…they wouldn’t listen… you were so scared…I couldn’t…”

Your lips kissed his sweaty forehead before trailing down his cheeks to dry his tears.

“Steve, everything’s ok. No one’s going to hurt me but if they did I know you and Eddie would keep me safe.”

Leaning back, his large hands cupped your face as he kissed your lips.

“I’m so sorry for yelling and taking my anger out on you. That asshole was saying all that bullshit and then he mentioned your dad and I just lost it. It made me think of Eddie and what he went through…I just felt so out of control.”

“I know, Mr. Harrington, I know.” At your words, his head hung as he pulled away but you quickly grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you again. “Use me to find your control again…both of you.”

As your gaze shifted towards Eddie who had been watching from the hallway, Steve’s lips kissed your cheek before trailing down to your neck.

“Please, Mr. Munson...use me.”

The metalhead slowly stepped forward and descended to his knees in front of his boyfriend as you moved off his lap out of the way. Lifting his hips, Steve helped him pull down his shorts, groaning when Eddie spit over his tip and stroked it along his length.

Cupping your cheek in his palm, he brought your lips to his, lightly whimpering against them as his partner enveloped him into his mouth and bobbed his head.

“Fuck, baby. That’s it.”, Steve mewled as his fingers threaded through his long hair.

When his free hand lightly tugged at your shirt, you got the message and as soon as you tossed it aside he lowered his head to your breast eliciting a soft moan as his tongue swirled and sucked on your nipple.

“Both of you…use me.”, you repeat with heavy pant as Steve grips Eddie’s throat to passionately kiss his lips before guiding him beside you on the couch as both sets of hands roam along your skin and their mouths suck at either side of your neck. “Please.”

“Sweetheart…you always say…you need time because…our cocks are too big. I don’t think you can handle that…right now.”, Eddie exhales out between each kiss of your skin.

“But we’ve—”

“We’ve done some stuff yeah because you were curious but that’s different.”

“Please, Mr. Munson. Pleeeeeeeeease.”, you whine making Steve chuckle.

“Yeah, Professor. Show her how it’s done.”

Eddie playfully narrows his eyes at his partner before falling back against the couch to remove his boxers. When you straddle him on his laps, out of habit, your hands run along his bare chest making him mewl as his fingers take hold of your thick waist.

“Whenever you’re ready, princess.”

As Steve starts to stand, you quickly take hold of his shoulder and place a tender kiss on his lips.

“I love you.”

The coach blinks a couple of times as he scans over the softness in your face. They never expected to meet you let alone start a relationship with someone they trusted so completely as to tell you their deepest, darkest secrets. While Eddie was in the hospital after their battle, he would sit beside him in the chair and imagine what a life could be with him.

He pictured dancing at metal concerts outside of town or even screaming along to one of Eddie’s songs as he played on stage. He envisioned lying in bed with him while holding his hand kind of like he had been for the past couple of weeks except the metalhead would be smiling and laughing at something goofy Steve probably said. He imagined holding him to his chest as he slept, playing with his hair, and reminding him in every way he could think of that he was safe.

Since they started seeing you, he pictured dancing at a wedding with you in a beautiful white dress that showed off every one of your gorgeous curves while he and Eddie were in crisp black tuxes. He saw you at a game he was coaching in the bleachers with the man you both loved at your side holding a baby that looked exactly like him while they clapped their little hands at something happening on the field.

Steve saw a future with you both he desperately wanted and would do anything he had to, to protect you both.

“I love you to, Y/N.”

Your grin grew as you focused on Eddie again, surprised when you were met with his lips.

“I love you to, pretty girl.”

Clinging to his neck, you lowered yourself onto his cock as you whimpered at the familiar stretch.

“I love you to, Eddie. So much…fuck.”

“There you go, baby. You got it.”, he cooed as you rolled your hips slowly. “Take your time. We have all night.”

“God, you feel so good. Is…is it going to hurt. I mean more than when we…”

“When we put the toy inside your ass?”, Eddie finished for you. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m not going to lie to you. But then it will start to feel good.”

Your forehead falls on his and he cups your face in his hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Did I tell you I was Steve’s first?” He smiled when you giggled and shook your head. “Oh yeah. Obviously, he had been with women before but he had never explored that part of himself.”

Lips kissed your back and the metalhead scooted his body down till his neck was leaning against the back of their sofa. Something cold made you gasp before Steve’s lube covered fingers ran between your cheeks. This part you knew from playing with them prior and your eyes squeezed closed as Eddie continued to watch your face.

“We had been together for about three months—fuck, I could sit here for hours inside you telling you stories—and he asked me if we could try. Y/N, I swear, the way those big, beautiful eyes looked up at me…I thought I was gonna bust.”

After placing a palm on your shoulder to steady himself, your breath caught in your throat as you felt Steve’s cock lightly press against your hole.

“When I started to slide inside of him? Fuck me, baby, he was so tight I lost my fucking mind.”

As slowly as he could, the man behind you began guiding himself into your behind. Your fingers that were clinging to the base of Eddie’s neck dug into his skin as you bit your bottom lip to keep from screaming.

“It’s alright, honey. You’re doing so—fuck—so good.”, Steve whispered. “I’m going to push a little more in, ok?”

You nod aggressively before you remember the rules.

“Y-Yes, Mr. Harrington.” As he continued, a sharp burn coursed through your body as you lifted your head and grunted in pain. “Wait! Wait…yellow, please…wait.”

“Ok, pretty girl. That’s alright. Tell me when you’re ready. L-Like he said, I could let you warm my cock all night and I’d still cum.”

“He came before I even started moving.”, Eddie continues as his thumbs stroke your skin. “I fucked him a couple more times that night and then after we laid in my bed talking about the future.”

“Ok, green. Y-You can keep going.”

“Good girl, baby. Thank you for telling me.”, Steve praised, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Taking ahold of your waist with both hands, he subtly rolled his hips bumping into something inside you that had your eyes rolling.

“Shit. Was that the spot, sweetheart? Your pussy just choked my dick.”

After a couple more minutes pass, you feel Steve’s warm body and you realize they are fully sheathed inside of you. You had never felt anything like this and the overwhelming ecstasy of the moment had tears falling down your face.

“What color, Y/N?”

“G-Green, Mr. Munson. I’ve never felt anything this g-g-good before. Mmm—use me. Please…I need you to.”

Testing the water, both men thrust their hips and a moan they had never heard from you escaped your lips. Your own movements took over as you bounced against them, their guttural grunts of approval keeping you motivated.

“Atta, girl. You like—mmph—feeling us inside you at the same time?”

“Yes, sir. Fuck, you both feel so good.”

While Steve pumps into you, Eddie plants his feet and thrusts up to meet each of your movements with a hard one of his own. Their hands cling to you tightly, sure to leave bruises you don’t mind wearing.

A sweaty chest leans against your back, pushing you against your professor’s chest and you laid your head on his shoulder as you listen to both boy’s lips smack together as they passionately kiss.

“I’m sorry.”, Steve murmurs softly.

“I-I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“I hate—oh, fuck—I hate the way they s-still talk about you. You’re both…perfect.”

“Shhhh… don’t focus on that right now, baby. Just…feel our beautiful girl. H-How tight her holes are…fuck. E-Every time your cock slams into her, s-she—mmm—squeezes tighter around me.”

Pulling himself halfway out, skin slaps against skin as his cock roughly hits that spot deep inside making you moan and clench around Eddie.

“Like that?”

“Fuck, Steve. Just like that.”

Limply, you cling to the man in front of you as you allow them to take over. Matching each other’s rhythm, it doesn’t take long before your orgasm washes over you and crashes like a wave as you shudder against them.

“Good girl, princess. Good fucking girl.”, the long-haired boy praises as his fingers thread through your hair to hold you tightly against him as they chase their highs.

Steve cums first, his palm gripping the back of your neck as he slams his release into your ass and after a few more rough thrusts Eddie follows coating your walls with his spend.

“I know, honey. Shhh. It’s ok.”, the coach softly comforts when he hears you groan as he carefully pulls out and Eddie does the same.

Taking you in his arms, he carries you to the bathroom and holds you to his chest as his partner gets the bath ready. Wincing as he lowers you, they continue to murmur soft praises before Steve climbs in with you and the other man sits on the tub behind you as you lean against his leg.

“How are you feeling?”, the pretty boy asks, smiling when you nod.

“I’m worried about you.”, you answer gently as Steve tilts his head. “Jared said he was going to talk to your father. I don’t want him to cause trouble for you both.”

His gorgeous eyes scan over you and his boyfriend as Eddie pours warm water against your skin making you moan as you tip your head back so he can kiss your forehead.

“My dad already thinks I’m a fuck up like he said. I don’t imagine how much worse Jared can make it unless I tell him about me and Eddie.”

“After the quake, he didn’t try to make amends? I would think something like that would bring a family closer.”

“It brought us closer.”, he grins as he gestures between himself and the man he loves who smiles back. “It made me realize I wanted to be happy. My parents weren’t even in town when everything happened.”

“Are you going to let Theo try out?”

“Can’t say no to someone who wants to see you safe to.”, he chuckles.

“Speaking of, we may be a bit more protective for a while, sweetheart. You have no idea how Martin will react to being expelled or even the town as a whole so.”, Eddie advised as his eyes flick towards Steve who nods in agreement.

After getting you clean, the long-haired man carries you to their bed where you fall asleep tangled in their arms.

######################

Walking down the hallway, you can feel eyes bore into you as you stroll past. The dean had sent the survey asking students and facility their thoughts on the play but that was nothing compared to the gossip of Martin Click being expelled and being fully removed from the team.

“Hey, Y/N.”, Theo beamed, ignoring the people around him. “Coach Harrington put me on the team as the new quarterback.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, I’m excited. Let me walk you to class.”

As your eyes search his, you see something behind them.

“Coach Harrington asked you to keep an eye on me, didn’t he?”

Pursing his lips, he nods as he loops his arm through your own and leads you towards Eddie’s room.

“He said after last night and with everything going on, he trusted me to look after you. He’s a good guy unlike his dad.”

“Have you met him?”

“Ah no but like everyone else I’ve heard the rumors and small-town gossip about the Harringtons.”

As soon as you reach your next class you pause noticing the sign that read “Class Cancelled.” You had just seen Eddie that morning and he hadn’t said a word about cancelling class. Opening the door anyway you are met with complete and utter chaos.

The desks had been flipped over with the chairs thrown randomly around the room. His own desk that he taught from was on its side with all his papers tossed every which way on the floor. On the board in front of the class “FREAK” was scrolled across in big bold letters. As you headed for his office you noticed the lock had been busted and it was even more messy with all his books and documents damaged.

Images were dangling from the ceiling above and as you pulled one of them down, you realized they were pictures of the people that were killed in 86.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s strained whimpers caught your ear and you found him in the corner with his knees to his chin, his head down in his folded arms with one of the pictures scrunched in his hand.

“Go get Mr. Harrington. Now.”, you commanded sternly.

As soon as Theo ran out of the room, you knelt by your professor’s side and slowly pulled the picture from his desperate grasp. It was a school photo of Chrissy Cunningham taken for the yearbook in her cheerleading uniform, her smile bright on her adorable face.

“Eddie, it’s ok. Come back to me, baby.”

His head shot up when your fingers touched his hair as his palm instinctively grabbed your wrist.

“Fuck…fuck, Y/N. I-I-I’m—”

“No, no. It’s ok. Come on, let’s sit in the classroom and wait for Steve. You shouldn’t be looking at these.”

When you rose to your feet, he promptly wrapped his arms around you as he pressed his face into your stomach and cried. Neither of you cared in that moment if you got caught or if someone walked in. He just needed to feel safe again.

“Jesus Christ.”, Steve panted from running to the room as his wide eyes took everything in. “Eddie, baby.”

Falling to the floor, his partner immediately clung to him as he climbed into his lap. While rocking him back and forth, he whispered comforting words as you stepped back to give them some space.

“His office is trashed to.”, Theo relayed. “When we spoke, it was heading to the locker room so he probably hadn’t seen it yet. It’s nothing like this though.”

Your wide eyes suddenly meet his.

“Oh, no. Lilah.”

“Y/N, WAIT!”, your friend calls as you run out of the room towards the auditorium.

You hear your theater teacher shouting before you even open the door.

“Those little shits are going to get it! I’m not letting this town fucking scare me away!”

In the middle of the stage were all the set pieces she and her team had worked so hard on, now in shambles and charred as if they had been burned right there.

“We don’t know it was them.”, the town sheriff sighed as his deputy continued to take pictures.

“Of course it was them! Are you fucking kidding? Martin gets expelled and then the morning after they set my stage on fire with my things!? That’s just a coincidence?!”

“Mr. Munson and Coach Harrington’s offices were destroyed to.”

Lilah looks at you completely shocked before anger fills her face as she gestures your way.

“See?!”

“Is everyone alright?”, Chief Hopper asks right as all three men appear behind you. “Alright. I guess I have an idiot and his father to go talk to.”

#################

@joannamuns9n @dckweed @corkadymu @lilaclazer @aol19 @nailbatanddungeon @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @too-efn-old-to-be-here @eddiexmunsonlover

I think I got everyone

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thevelvetvampyre · 6 months ago

Text

The screening // cillian murphy x reader:

Summary: Your uncle Chris sets up a private first screening of Oppenheimer as a surprise after being gone for months filming. Cillian Murphy was also invited, much to your surprise. A few glasses of red wine later and a shared blanket leads to the actor getting handsy and needy for your touch.

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Fem!reader

Warnings: Age gap, smut, pure fantasy (not connected to real life Cillian), pro-longed teasing, fingering, dry humping, Blowjob, he’s a little pervy (BIG love), unsuspecting reader but all consensual (for the most part), pure smut + little to no plot / context

——————————————————————

“Uncle Chris!” You screamed with your hands reaching outwards, your legs moving as fast as they could through the white corridors to run into your uncle’s arms. It had been only a couple months since you’d last seen him but he’s just the absolute rock in your life, you wouldn’t know what to do without him.

“Hi Angel!” Your uncle knelt down onto one knee with open arms for you to run into. You did as such and soon you were being lifted off the ground in the biggest bear hug you had ever received. After spinning you around a couple of times he plopped you down and held your shoulders with a wide grin on his face.

“How are you my dear, are you excited to watch the film tonight?” He was so humble for all he had accomplished and he had never left you behind. Being your fathers brother was already exceptionally cool, nevermind having him adore you and treat you as his very own.

“I’m alright, and obviously I am! I’ve missed you so much” You pulled him into another hug and he let out a small chuckle. Looking up at him through your squinted eyes with a smile frozen on your face, you noticed his face had fallen into one of a curious nature.

“What is it?” You questioned, your brows furrowing.

“Now before I say this, I need you to promise me you won’t be upset my love” Letting go of the hug you took a step back and felt your heart thump a little harder.

“Well, it depends what is it” You crossed your arms and your eyebrows knitted tighter together.

“I also promised a certain someone that I’d show him the film before it got out to the public too. I understand you may be uncomfortable but I can assure you he’s a lovely man and won’t be any trouble for our family time” Uncle Nolan’s hands came up in defence, he knew how important this was for you to spend some alone time with your Uncle as you hadn’t seen him in so long.

“Who?” A million names flashed through your mind wondering who the mystery man could be. Your arms dropped to your side as you put your defence down.

“Right… well, it’s Cillian. Cillian Murphy. I just… I figured it would be fun and even exciting for you to see it with the man himself. I promised him and I could only get one copy. So why not just have a movie night together? Hm, what’d you say?” His face had fallen to one of a sympathetic and cautious look towards you. Of course, this wasn’t a big deal. But having the Cillian Murphy round for dinner and a movie was a massive deal. This wasn’t just an average man who knew your uncle.

Your heart stopped in place and you could’ve sworn your cheeks heated up. Your mind raced back to the first and only time you’d met the actor so far. Oppenheimer was on it’s first day of being filmed and your uncle shockingly invited you down for a couple of hours before the shooting began. You remember meeting all the incredible actors and having them shake your hand, treating you as royalty as you were the same flesh and blood as Nolan himself. All of them were sweet, treated you a little childish but sweet nonetheless. Small talk was being made when Cillian came over himself to talk to your uncle. As soon as his eyes met you, he continued his conversation as you continued yours but he had his attention glued onto you. His eyes trailed up and down your body as he licked his lips in between words and practically eye-fucked you right there in front of the whole crew. Now, you may be 28 years younger than the man but my god, did this cause a primal reaction within you. Your uncle noticed the staring between the pair of you and introduced you to each other, suspecting it was nothing more than curiosity of who the other was. His eyes glimmered as he traced your face and firmly gripped your much softer hand within his. While still gripping yours, he introduced himself as you did too. As soon as it had started, the moment stopped and your hand was empty of his. Remembering the scent of him, using that same hand to curl within you to hit your sweet spot and wishing it was him would be your fate for the months to come. But now, the man would be coming to your uncles house for the night, with you there. A sense of dread, nerves and excitement had filled you.

“Oh… um. Yeah, that’s fine” You said breathlessly.

Nolan had seemingly breathed a large sigh of relief. “Oh good. I’ll get dinner prepared.”

Your uncle smiled and walked over before quickly rubbing your arm and planting a kiss on your cheek, swiftly leaving the room and turned a corner to not be seen for the next few hours. Tonight would be one hell of an interesting one.

————————————

Sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging and one hand on the phone scrolling thorough one app or the other, your social media spree was violently stopped when the doorbell had gone off.

“Ah, here he is!” Uncle Nolan moved swiftly to the door and out of sight. The only thing you could hear was the door unlocking and the familiar thick Irish accent you had been craving to hear groan for the past couple of months.

“Cillian! I’m thrilled you could make it” Your uncle’s enthusiasm towards the man was unmistakable.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world” Cillian had chuckled.

The two voices started to get louder and louder as they made their way down the hall and came to a sudden stop once they had entered the kitchen. You slowly look up off your phone and make eye contact with the Irishman and saw a dark look painted on his face.

“Hi Mr. Murphy” you practically whispered. You couldn’t even fake a smile your stomach was in such a tight knot.

“Hi…” His voice trailed up as he smirked a guilty grin to your uncle.

“Oh come on Cillian, it’s only been a couple of months” He said in shock.

“Y/N” you giggled.

“Ah, right. Sorry. Days are too long it’s felt like years” He gave you a sincere smile. “Hello Y/N”. You were a tad disappointed he’d forgotten your name but the way it rolled off his lips a few moments after made up for the whole mishap. An awkward silence filled the room and the air got thick with tension.

“Right! Dinners ready, so please, if you’d like to sit down”. Your uncle broke the tension.

———

During dinner you could feel Cillian’s eyes burning into your forehead, not use to the attention and unsure of what to do to avoid the awkwardness you didn’t dare look up to the man opposite you.

Suddenly, the metal knife had clacked onto the floor.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Cillian ducked beneath the table to retrieve his knife. After about 6 seconds of him underneath you crossed your legs in insecurity to the fact you wore a skirt, now exceptionally short as you sat down.

“You alright there?” Uncle Chris asked.

“Yep” Cillian said breathlessly. “Got it”. His face slightly red coming out from the table.

“Darling, would you be so kind to fetch our guest another knife please” Your uncle said to you pointing the fork full of food in your direction.

“Sure” you said and stood up, patting down your skirt as you made your way to the kitchen.

As you reached the cabinet you huffed as you grabbed a knife and slowly closed it as you turned around. As you turned, you squealed as Cillian was standing a near few feet away from you.

“God- you made me jump” you said holding one hand to your chest.

“Sorry” He chuckled and crossed his arms as he lent on the counter.

“Can I help with something?” You said in an attempt to break the thick tension your eye contact was creating.

“Your uncle” He pronounced each word slowly and deliberately “asked me to fetch a bottle red wine for us.”

“Ah, well it’ll be here” You turned around and tip toed as you reached upward to pick up the wine off the shelf above. After 10 seconds of struggling to reach it, hoping the man would help you, you suddenly felt a cold breeze under your skirt and heard Cillian groan. Finally reaching the bottle you turned around and found him staring at your legs.

“You know… you should really buy longer skirts.” He said getting up off the counter and closing the distance between you. “I could see the black lace you’re wearing when I went under the table. It’s incredibly inappropriate to be wearing close to nothing when you’ve got guests over” He reached his hand out and grabbed the red wine between you, placing his hand over yours on the bottle and pausing to stare down into your eyes.

You gulped at the contact and how he said the words in such a threatening tone.

“Um… sorry Mr.Murphy” You whispered.

He chuckled at your easy compliance. “Darling please, call me Cillian” He snatched the wine and made his way back out the kitchen. You stood there in shock, frozen, watching as he left to the dining table and feeling a pulse in your panties at the nickname he just called you.

—————

Finally, dinner was over and the small talk was done. The glances you and Cillian kept snatching at each other was starting to build a warmth in your stomach and cause a heat on your cheeks. You walked around the table picking up each plate and bringing it to the kitchen sink before placing the dishes down and starting the water. A couple minutes later, a large set of hands found themselves snaked around your waist, a hot breath fanning on your neck and causing to the stop moving in shock.

“Such a good girl, cleaning the dishes” You heard Cillian groan into your ear. His breath smelled like wine and you could tell he was a little tipsy from the slight slur of his words. His chest was breathing heavily and you felt him press himself harder against your back.

“Why’d you stop? The faster you get these dishes done the faster we can start the movie”. His words sent shivers down your spine, you hesitantly started scrubbing again and the force of you moving caused him to groan under his breath. He pressed himself further against you and you tried your best to keep scrubbing and ignoring the heat building between your thighs. Just then, his hips twitched and you could feel a hard prod in your back, his hands gripping further into your side. His boner was painfully obvious now, you could practically feel his entire length on your back and he felt so big, it caused you to squirm as you continued your chore.

“Mhm, you feel that?” His lips were now pressed against your neck, his breathing tickling your skin. “How old are you baby?” His hips pushed hard enough for your hips to bang into the counter, causing you to welp.

“I um- I’m 20” You said slightly turning your face to look into his eyes.

“Such a young thing” His hand tucked the hair behind your ear. “I told you this skirt was too short. M’ thinking about the way you’d look bent over this counter” Naturally, he started slightly grinding against you now, bending his knees down to get a feel for your ass on his erection. “You always look this sexy?” He said, moving his head backwards while still keeping his hands on your hips to see how he looked rubbing against you. “You always dress so slutty for men twice your age?” You lowered your chest a little to give him more room, snapping your neck back to look at him as seductively as you could.

“No, sir” You said placing the last dish down, reaching your hand up to turn off the tap. He caught sight of this and brought his chest up to your back, pressing his hard on even harsher into your rear end. You whimpered at the harshness of his movement and he groaned again at the fast friction.

“No, no. We wouldn’t want Uncle Chris hearing now would we?” You removed your hand off the tap and stayed still as he had you pressed over the counter. He lent back again and glued his eyes onto your ass, swirling his hips on your skirt and having his mouth fall open agape, eyebrows furrowed, as he grind on your ass. Suddenly, he pulled your hips back which caused you to be bent over even more. He harshly placed his boner onto the back of your folds as you felt his cock press into your mound.

“I bet this pussy would feel so good around my cock” He thought out loud, causing you to moan at the sudden friction on your clit. His pace was still agonisingly slow, yet still being able to flood your underwear with desire.

“Cillian! Y/N! You guys ready? I’m about to start the screening!” Your uncles voice didn’t make Cillian stop moving. In fact, he still continued to grind on you and even grabbed your ass and swung his head back.

“Yes, Chris! I’m coming” Cillian chuckled with his eyes squeezed shut, forcing one more hump into you before pulling back and grabbing his clothed erection. Hearing your uncles voice scared you, threw you back into the reality of the situation you were in. You swung yourself around and pressed your back against the counter as you pulled your skirt down.

“Don’t look so embarrassed sweetheart, I’m sure your uncle is used to all the Hollywood whores” He tucked his boner up into his waistband and covered his shirt over the top, chuckling as he turned and walked out the kitchen. Again, there you stood in the kitchen frozen as to what just happened.

———

In the living room, a second bottle of wine was opened and had 3 glasses on the coffee table waiting to be drunk from. Neither your uncle or Cillian had sat down yet, as they stood next to each other figuring out the TV screen. Your uncle’s voice was slurring and his ability to stand straight was weakening. Finally, he plopped himself down on one of the sofas as you sat on the one next to it, grabbing the fur blanket and placing it over you. As you sat closer to the end than the middle, Cillian placed himself in the small opening next to you on your right and the end of the sofa, your uncle too drunk to notice Cillian’s seating choice he pressed play and the film began.

“M’ a bit cold love, you mind sharing that?” Cillian said grabbing the blanket and sliding it over himself. Now with his crotch and hands covered, you sat anxiously next to him as the film began. This was of course too close for comfort considering what just happened in the kitchen and you felt almost intimidated by his presence, still feeling the warmth of his body next to you and having that scent you’ve been craving go up your nose you figured the situation could be a lot worse.

15 minutes into the film, you felt a strong warm grip snake around your thigh, you jumping up and squealing in surprise. Before Cillian could say anything, your uncle slowly turned around and looked at you.

“Whats that M’love? You okay?” He gave you a sincere smile.

“Uh, yes Uncle Chris. I’m okay” You tried to sincerely smile back. “Mhm, good” He turned his focus back onto the screen.

“Good girl” Cillian whispered in your direction, now having his body slightly turned to face you with his right hand on your thigh. Considering how loud the speakers were in the at home cinema, it didn’t surprise you that your uncle didn’t hear his comment.

His hand would occasionally grip your thigh at different strengths for the next few minutes, slowly moving more and more up in anticipation and desperation. Each time he would squeeze, you would slightly whimper at the contact and hear him groan at your reaction to his touch.

“Mmm, so soft. You like me touching your thigh?” He purred into your ear. You shot him a look with wide eyes at his louder comment and gulped a response. All you could do was shake your head yes.

“Lemme feel more” he grunted as he quickly shifted his hands up to your groin, his index finger resting above your folds. Of course, because the skirt was so short it had ridden up by now.

“So dirty, wearing practically nothing for me.” Cillian had fully shifted now and was facing you, pressing his finger harder onto your clit and slowly started to rub delicate circles.

“Fuck, already so wet” Your hips twitched up in response as you laid further back into the sofa, giving him more access, wanting him to touch more. His pace stayed steady under the blanket with a delicate touch as he twirled circles with the tip of his finger, watching your every reaction to his movements. Your brows furrowed and your breathing was inconsistent, persuading him to start to pick up his pace to watch you come undone.

“Are you already gonna cum? Here? In front of your uncle?” Shame had filled you from his actions and how well you were responding to them, feeling embarrassed from your arousal and eagerness to cum on his fingers right there.

“You two enjoying the film?” Your uncle said, not bothering to turn back as his eyes were slowly closing. Cillian continuing to rub on your soft spot as your uncle spoke, never diverting his attention off of you.

“I-uhm-yes” You choked on your words. The heat in between your thighs was growing unbearable, wanting to undo right then and there. It had been so long since you had any sexual encounter, so you were extra sensitive to this mans experienced touch.

“Mhm” Is all Cillian could say, his eyes still glued on you, fastening his pace.

He pulled his fingers back and you could feel your stomach drop, squirming on the sofa wanting to be touched again. Just then, he swiftly shifted your panties to the side as you laid further back.

“Spread your knees for me love” He grunted under his breath. Of course, you did as you were told.

His middle finger circled outside your opening, slightly dipping in to pick up some of your arousal before feeling the full length of your folds. He did this a few times before circling once or twice on your clit. As you sat in anticipation, twitching at each slight touch he was giving you, he would differentiate the pressure he was applying onto your sensitive parts causing you to whimper and grow frustrated. Your eyes started to tear at the lack of and pressure of contact you were receiving. If your uncle were to look over now it’d be beyond obvious what was happening but luckily, he was drifting off to sleep due to his consumption of the wine. You glanced at Cillian as his eyes were stuck on you, his finger slowly breaching your entrance and your eyebrows furrowing in reaction. He slowly pushed his finger all the way to his knuckle and in response your head fell back and hips twitched up.

“Did you really think I forgot that gorgeous name of yours?” He spoke as he pulled his finger out again.

“I haven’t been able to forget your face since I saw you” He grunted as he shoved his finger back into you, causing a slight whimper on your part. You held his hand that was quickening up it’s pace as it fucked you, curling his fingers to prod your sweet spot.

“So tight, honey. Have you never been touched like this before?” He was breathlessly whispering as his finger fucked at a turbo speed into you and curling his knuckle to make you squirm and moan under your breath. You couldn’t speak from the friction, if you did you’d wake your uncle up from how loud you’d scream. He pulled out and gently pushed in another finger, causing your head to turn away and cover your mouth from making any sounds.

“I wanna hear you baby, moan for me” He said, finding that pace again that had you building up a knot in your stomach. “C’mon, look at me. I’ve been wanting to hear that sweet voice of yours for months” He taunted you as his fingers stopped moving and focused on aggressively curling them into you. All you could do was look at him for a split second before your eyes rolled back and you let out a small squeak, scared to even breath from how loud you wanted to scream around him.

“Mhm, that’s it” Your walls started to clench around him as you felt yourself building up. “You look so sexy like this” he praised.

“Cill-oh fuck- I’m cumming” You mustered. You said this possibly too loud while shifting aggressively in your seat and you couldn’t keep still, Cillian strong enough to keep you grounded with his fingers inside you and his face following your movements.

“Such a good girl. Cum for me” He praised you. Removing the blanket to see the damage he was doing, but still blocking your parts from your uncles view, he groaned at the sight of his fingers attacking your pussy, watching as you squirted slightly around his knuckles. Grunting at the sight beneath him, he fastened his pace and even moaned himself at the pleasure he was giving you. One of your hands was fisted into the pillow next to you and the other was around your mouth, muffling your sounds. The room filled with wet noises, which you hadn’t noticed in the state of your orgasm. Cillian grunted at himself as he felt you squeeze around him and squirt onto the sofa and blanket, not slowing down his pace as he shifted closer to you.

“Oh fuck- yes- just like that” Cillian whispered as he peered his head down to watch your pussy as you came.

Your head flung back and your eyes squeezed, shaking violently as the rush came over you. You felt a wave of cool fall from your head to your stomach as you finished right there and then, in front of your sleeping uncle, onto Cillian’s hand. He continued pumping in and out of you till you rode out your high, slowing down to give you time to recover. He pulled his fingers out and laid back to look at you with his fingers in the air.

“Suck” he commanded. You shifted carefully, still in a state of euphoria, and grabbed his hands and placed the two fingers in your mouth. You sucked them as seductively as you could as your tongue twirled around them. You’d never tasted yourself before, it was an odd taste as you weren’t use to it but still sucked his fingers clean of any of your liquid. As you pulled his fingers out of your mouth, you glanced down and saw a tent in his pants pointing directly at you. He chuckled as he looked down at his erection through his pants and grabbed it.

“Would you like to see it?” He asked, watching you carefully as he began to palm himself through his pants. All you could do was nod your head yes.

“Say it- I need to hear you say it” He was already breathless as he started picking up the pace that he was palming himself at.

“I want to see it” You said quietly. He nodded at you in encouragement.

“I want to see your cock” the words felt filthy but completely right.

Cillian moaned deeply as his head swung back, still grabbing at himself through his pants. Without looking back up, he grabbed your much smaller hand and placed it onto his boner and pressed your hand down in a signal to start petting him too. You watched in awe as your hand wrapped around his size, slowing moving your hand up and down as you watched his reaction to your touch.

“Take it out-I-I need to feel you” He said, eyes still shut as he struggled to get his words out through his breaths.

You did as you were told and unzipped his pants, he raised his hips to help you push his pants to his thighs and he raised his jumper higher onto his stomach, giving you a view of his cock through his underwear. After groping his size through the thin material a few times, his head swung down to look at your actions as his eyebrows were knitted together and his mouth open ajar. He gave a loud huff and groaned back at his impatience and you saw his adams apples bob as he swallowed.

“You’re so big Mr.Murphy” You whispered.

“Fuck- don’t call me that” He said in a grunt.

“Why? Does it turn you on?” You felt his cock twitch in your hand at your comment. He gave a fake cry and shifted his hips up in anticipation. “Y/N, please. Touch my cock” His eyes teary as they looked at you. Before continuing, you gazed back at your asleep uncle, making sure he was still out cold before continuing.

You pulled his cock out of his underwear and it sprung out onto his stomach. Lifting his jumper even higher to make sure it didn’t touch his tip, he watched as you grabbed him again in your hand and slowing started to pump at his tip. His head was already red and leaking precum down the sides of his shaft and twitched at any small friction you gave him. He groaned slightly at your touch and you began to pump faster, spreading the bead of white across his top with your thumb, causing his hips to twitch and he moaned at the touch.

“Does it feel good Mr.Murphy?” You asked innocently.

“Fuck-y/n” he said breathlessly through his teeth as he gripped your arm. “Use your mouth”

You stopped moving your wrist and looked at him through your swollen eyes, watching him lay next to you in vulnerability and desperate for more.

“Ask me properly” You grinned, his eyes now full of lust.

He reached up and grabbed your throat and gripped it till his knuckles turned white “I said, use your mouth” Although his grip was tight around your neck, you still smiled in pleasure and even felt yourself pulse at the sensation. He let go and you laid on your stomach next to him, still holding his length in your hand. Slowly, your mouth reached over and sucked his tip slightly, twirling your tongue around his head as you tasted the slightly salty substance spread on your palette. He groaned at the sensation and his head fell back. His hand left the side of the sofa and found it’s way intertwined through your hair, gripping tightly at your scalp as you began to take him in further down your throat.

“Oh fuck- just like that” he breathlessly said, snapping his head up to watch as you bopped your head around him. You looked at him through your damp lashes as you struggled to reach his base, beginning to gag as your nose tickled on his public hair. His expressions were encouraging you to go further as his eyes squeezed and he groaned through the small opening of his mouth, twitching his hips up and forcibly pulling your head further into him. Using your hand to wrap around the part you couldn’t fit into your mouth, his eyes fell open and looked to down at you in a face of exhaustion and desperation, his eyes seemingly heavy and dazed.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well” He praised. You could only muffle out sounds as his shaft filled your throat.

You pulled him out and moved your tongue onto his balls, twirling and sucking them while stroking his cock with your hand. The sudden movement caused him to twitch in your hand as his legs started to tremble.

“Oh my god-yes” He moaned out, gripping onto your hair tighter as his head sunk further down into the couch and his back started to arch.

Once you’d given his balls the attention they deserved, you moved your mouth back onto his length and starting bobbing your head at a fast pace, hollowing out your mouth and filling the room with suction noise.

“Fuck-keep going, I’m about to cum” He edged you on. Suddenly the point of being quiet was out the window, the walls had echoed his violent moans as they bounced throughout the house and he held your throat in place as the warm liquid shot down your throat. His head had pulled back and his hips had lifted off the couch, his grip was rough in your hair and his groans were deafening. He snapped his neck up and watched as the black mascara smudged down your crying eyes and drool had formed at the sides of your mouth, feeling the heat of him coat the walls in your throat.

After the moans had subsided and his grip lessened on your hair, you began to slowly bob your head around him again, watching as he winced in sensitivity from his orgasm. He pulled your head up and chuckled at the mess you had become. Suddenly, he pushed your head towards his and placed a wet, open mouth kiss onto yours, shoving his tongue in and twirling it against yours.

You sat back and for the first time in 40 minutes actually paid attention to the screen. He laid there with the softening cock out as he panted and caught his breath, occasionally looking over at you and petting your hair.

“I should come round more often” he said sincerely as he twirled your hair in between his fingers.

“I’d like that” You blushed.

“Next time I’ll have you cumming around my cock instead” for the words he was speaking, he did look incredibly sweet doing so.

A cough from your uncle had disrupted the moment, Cillian quickly pulling his pants up and getting under the blanket as he did before. Your uncle rubbed his eyes and sat up, turning towards the pair of you.

“Sorry, I dozed off there- hope I didn’t miss much” He said groggily.

“Nope, not too much. The film is fantastic” Cillian said earnestly. God, he was such a good actor.

“You two haven’t drank your wine! Come on, finish up” Your uncle laughed.

The pair of you lent forward and picked up your glasses, the three of you cheering to the movie night in.

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