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pucksandpower · 6 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.”

3K notes · View notes

wild-jackalope · 2 months ago

Text

Nsfw Links

pairing :: Yuta x reader, Yuji x reader, Toge x reader, Megumi x reader, Sukuna x reader, Satoru x reader, Toji x reader, Choso x reader

warning :: aged up Yuta, Yuji, Toge, Megumi, some of these are moaning audios, grinding, handjobs, oral, Choso isn’t always sub, thigh fucking, public-ish, tummy bulge, somno in the Gojo one, teacher student relationship, soft Sukuna mostly, I hate rough sex lol, other sex stuff

note :: lazy asf post, but it gets the most traction

Yuta Okkotsu

thru his shorts — you’re so evil, you don’t even wait to take off his boxers before giving him a hand job. Yuta doesn’t seem to care, though, he’s still whimpering and moaning like always.

nothing makes him moan more than you — you and the feeling of your cunt grinding on top of him, that is.

Feral — Yuta barely ‘fucks’ you, he’s a make love kinda guy! But there’s times when he’s been so far away from you for so long that he just can’t help himself.

Yuji Itadori

we can do other stuff… — well shit, you’re not sure you’re ready to get fucked by him? That’s fine! He gets it, sex is scary. But you’re wet and he’s hard, so maybe he can just show you what’ll it be like?

thinking of you — ever since he fell head over heels for you Yuji can only get off to the image of you in his head. When he’s all alone and touching himself through his pants he imagines you doing it.

Fingering you — loves loves loves to see your back shift and arch when he hits the right spot. Especially with your ass on display for him.

bouncy — he’s so strong, sometimes Yuji doesn’t even realise he’s shoving you into the bed whilst rutting his hips into you.

putting it in — He’s thick and you’re so tight. He can barely get half his cock inside you, but shit he really fucking wants to.

Toge Inumaki

kiss it before you eat — before he digs into your folds, he presses delicate kisses to your cunt. He loves to feel you shivers under his mouth at the sweet sensation.

face to face — since Toge can’t talk it’s important you’re able to see his face. When it’s screwed up in pleasure, you know he’s enjoying himself.

once he starts he wont stop — don’t think just because you’re wriggling around and squirming that Toge with take his mouth away from his favourite meal.

Megumi Fushiguro

slowly, we’ll work our way up — sex doesn’t always immediately just happen between couples! You and Megumi were the type to work your way up to it. He still remembers the first time you sled naked and wet up and down his cock. He came so hard <3

listen to him moan — he really tries to hold it together whenever you do something to please him; like head or a handjob but you can hear the cracks in his voice as he crumbles under your touch.

gentle touches — he starts slow, rubbing you through your thong and kissing you before he pulls it to the side and slides his long fingers inside you.

Sukuna Ryomen

keep it shut — as much as Sukuna loves to hear your little whines and moans, sometimes he likes to hear it muffled against his large hands while he fingers you.

tied up — rope is basically vanilla in your relationship. Sukuna just loves to have your body restricted with easy access to his every whim.

you’re his toy to play with — He’ll toss you onto the bed and play with your pretty pussy whenever he wants to. With how many times he’s done, Sukuna’s practically better at getting you off than you are.

Satoru Gojo

coming home to you — Satoru’s days are long and hard. It doesn’t help when you (who he barely gets to fuck on a regular basis) sends him lewd photos and nasty messages about how much you miss him. You know he’s going to fuck you good when he gets home, that’s why you’re already wet when you hear the front door unlock.

just a quick break — you looked too fucking good at the party. How could he not pull you into the bathroom and hump himself into you until he cums? Maybe if you’re lucky, he won’t cum inside you (he will).

favourite student — being put on a mission together with your teacher sounded fine, but sharing a bed kinda crossed the line. Although when you wake up filled to the brim with Satoru moaning above you the line seems out of sight.

Too big, but he wont stop — he’ll just convince you, you like the pain of being stretched out by his cock. Your tight pussy feels too fucking good to let you have time to adjusted.

Toji Fushiguro

what else did you expect? — you wore a short skirt around him. Of course he’s going to force you onto his cock like you’re his favourite fucktoy (because you are his favourite).

tummy bulge — what’s more to say? He’s so big and always fucks you so deep.

eye contact — you know Toji loves to see you black out on his cock, see your eyes roll back as tears slip down your cheeks. Just keep fucking look at him.

let me hear it, doll — of course he likes to embarrass you, and what’s more embarrassing that calling him daddy whilst he play with your puss?

Choso Kamo

just the tip — sometimes you’re not up to taking the entirety of Choso’s length and he’s more than willing to compromise for you! After all, it hardly matters he’s not all the way inside you, he still cums just as hard.

he’ll always offer up his thigh — don’t think Choso is the only pathetic sub in your relationship. He loves to feel you work yourself up on his thigh, holding you in a thigh hug reassuring that he will fill you up. Eventually.

size difference — he can’t bear to have you even an inch away from him. He wants to hug you, so close, so tight. So much that you can’t even touch the floor.

in your hands — nothing, really, just jerking Choso off <3

2K notes · View notes

fastandcarlos · 16 days ago

Text

Children Once Again : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: when you’re invited to the f1 as an ambassador the last face you expect to see is that of your childhood best friend

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by mclaren, landonorris and 792,057 others

ynusername: such an honour to be in monza to watch the grand prix, thank you so much to mclaren for the awesome hospitality 🧡

68,472 comments

username1: no way you finally for to go to a race!

mclaren: it was an honour to welcome you and host you at your very first f1 race 🧡

username2: hope you had the best time ever yn ❤️

kendalljenner: told you that you’d absolutely love it 😂

ynusername: @/kendalljenner I should’ve listened to you!

username3: ngl she seemed to be really close with lando when they were around the paddock together!

oscarpiastri: thank you for being such an awesome guest to have with us this weekend!

username4: papaya really suits you btw yn 😉

username5: and you got to go to monza too, that’s one of the best races on the circuit!!!

landonorris: can’t believe we finally got to see each other again, let’s not leave it so long next time 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris you’re still just as annoying as ever 😂

username6: wait wtf is going on here…did they already know each other??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, kendalljenner and 837,018 others

ynusername: never in a million years did I think I’d get reunited with this guy, nearly 14 years later and we’re back together again 🥹

71,950 comments

username7: wait so they were friends at school and reconnected? omg that’s adorable

username8: see the f1 really does change lives 😂

georgerussell63: how you managed to put up with him growing up is crazy to me!

ynusername: @/georgerussell63 it was hard work at times 😂

username9: I can just imagine them causing so much trouble when they were younger!!

landonorris: 14 years to make up for but the rest of our lives to be back together causing mischief again!!

username10: look at how happy lando looks to be back with her again

mclaren: we’re so pleased we could unknowingly bring the two of you back together again 🧡

ynusername: @/mclaren I owe you guys so much for inviting me in the first place

username11: this is just the sweetest story ever 😭

oscarpiastri: at least I don’t have to listen to you guys reminiscing anymore 🙄

username12: so happy they got to reunite together 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, ynusername and 2,038,173 others

landonorris: a dream weekend with my childhood best friend, still feeling just like big kids and like we’ve never not been each other’s lives 🥹

73,067 comments

username13: and you’re sure she’s just a friend are you???

alex_albon: these photos suggest you’ve had more than just a dream weekend to me

username14: you can just tell how fond of her lando still is 😭

danielricciardo: yeah, sure “just” friends 😉

username15: who is buying a friend flowers that are that nice!?

ynusername: you’re not gonna be able to get rid of me so easily this time around!

landonorris: @/ynusername good because I don’t want you to go anywhere anyway 🥺

username16: I don’t want these two to go their separate ways again 💔

maxverstappen1: you’ve known me since we were kids and yet you don’t hug me like that 🤨

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 stop reading so much into things 🙄

username17: you’re not kidding anyone norris 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, georgerussell63 and 782,607 others

ynusername: the first photo was lando when I surprised him at the race, now compare that to the last one after spending four hours with me 😂🧡

73,058 comments

username18: they couldn’t even stay away from each other for more than a week!!

maxverstappen1: I can so see why you two were the best of friends after meeting you 😂

username19: just look at how excited he is to see her 🥺

danielricciardo: it was a joy to meet you here and hear so many childhood stories of lando’s!!

username20: ofc cause only a friend would do something like this right??

landonorris: stop lying to people, I really was happy to have you here for the whole time 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris that’s why you banished me to the paddock for most of the afternoon 👀

username21: it breaks my heart knowing they spent so long apart when they seem to get on so well…

carlossainz55: it was fun embarrassing lando with you for the whole weekend!!!!

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I had no idea he was still as stupid as he was back in school 🤦🏻‍♀️

username22: he loves spending time with you really yn 😂

oscarpiastri: I’m sure I saw him shed a tear when you told him you had to go

landonorris: @/oscarpiastri definitely tears of joy!!

username23: we really missed out on this friendship for so many years!

alex_albon: still sticking with the friendship storyline I see…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername just posted two stories

replies

alex_albon: if you went out with one you’d be a true passenger princess!

ynusername: when do you plan on letting this go??

username24: can you two just hurry up and date already?

georgerussell63: look at how handsome he is yn, you can’t deny it 😂

username25: put us out of our misery please and just announce it!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

danielricciardo: why are you two kids holding hands!?

username26: I still refuse to accept that you two are just friends!

username27: are you playing us all by pretending to just be friends?

charles_leclerc: when will you two just wake up and see it??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 2,492,613 others

landonorris: don’t tell her but I secretly loved her back in school all those years ago, and I guess it’s fair to say I still love her just as much now ❤️

203,362 comments

username28: finally they’ve given us what we wanted for so long 👏🏻

alex_albon: can’t believe you tried to convince me that you two weren’t dating 🙄

oscarpiastri: couldn’t be happier for the two of you 🥰

username29: these two are the perfect reason as to why you should believe in destiny 😭

danielricciardo: this might just be the worst kept secret in the world!!

carlossainz55: i feel like I’ve watched a movie watching your romance unfold 🥺

username30: the fact he’s always been in love with her melts me 🫠

charles_leclerc: well aren’t you guys just the cutest 😭

username31: please don’t ever lose contact with each other again!

georgerussell63: you guys are perfect for each other, so pleased you managed to find one another again

username32: all these years and yet none of us knew that he actually only ever had eyes for her…

mclaren: congratulations to you both, secretly we’re taking all the credit for this 🧡

landonorris: @/mclaren you guys can absolutely take credit, thank you for inviting yn all those weeks ago!

username33: this is the kinda romance that everyone dreams of, only this time it actually came true 🧡

ynusername: it was only ever you 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

1K notes · View notes

satoruhour · 1 year ago

Text

HIS FAVOURITE W— STUDENT !

a/n: dilly / @crysugu i am losing the pwp war i needed the lore to be in this HELP. anyway !!! professors bc i cannot stop my mind from spiralling while starting my university classes — im not entirely proud of this but eehhh ….

wc: 4k

warnings: ultimately semi-public sex for all, unprotected sex, cumshot, standing doggy, brief oral (m receiving), brief f! masturbation, brief fingering (gojo), geto is a professor who is also a camboy, camgirl!reader, f! and m! masturbation, mentions of bad dragon’s cumtubes, brief fingering, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink (geto), pussy slapping, spitting (on yo pussy), pet names, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, tit play, fingering, implied f! masturbation (nanami), mentions of murder, stripper!reader, riding, degradation, calls you ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, calls you ‘mama’ once too, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), deep-throating, slight face-fucking (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

professor gojo was… an interesting teaching figure. he didn’t have a set way of doing lectures or tutorials, nor was his feedback on assignments entirely coherent, but he was fun and unorthodox. he was also hot as fuck, as you’ve heard from your friends, but you never really got the deal even after seeing his photo on the university website or from miles away entertaining some starstruck student. his classes were always left with no vacancies, too, only able to see what your friends meant after stepping foot first into the lecture.

you were a tad bit early, greeted with gojo sitting at the front with his legs propped up on the desk as he shot you a nonchalant greeting and you think maybe you should’ve signed up for another lecture group, but then he speaks and the air is knocked out of your chest. professor gojo is charismatic when he teaches about art, design and media, captivating everyone with the stark white hair and blue eyes, but he’s clever with his glances because you aren’t realising he stares at you more than anyone else.

aren’t you in your second year? how did he not see you anywhere last year? why did you just sign up?

the smiles he gives you are sweeter than others, the words more sugar coated with lilts in his voice and you’re chastising yourself for not being any different from everyone else, soon turning into the girls who ask for extra tutoring sessions and sidling up to him on campus — at least you’d get the full experience.

“oh! sweetness, what are you doing here?” you’ve managed to get gojo just as he leaves his office, standing outside for quite some time thinking if you’d really want to do this. several lecturers and professors have already walked past asking if you needed anything, but no matter how much you wanted to say professor gojo’s name, it always turned into something like waiting for a friend.

“oh— uhm, professor gojo, just wondering if the grade for that major project is really set in stone?”

gojo makes a show of thinking, but you know you’re asking for the devil himself when he replies yes with a stifled grin and you’re asking if the two week period of appealing works for the major you’re in.

“you can submit other collaterals as an appeal but it might either boost your grade or bring it down,” the professor leans down with a sick smile on his face, because he’s had so many people outside just like this, nervous from his advances and yet not going through with what they thought they could do. but this time it’s you, the you who he imagined taking on his office desk or even in a lecture theatre for everyone to see, who wants the words to fall from your lips just so he could be your knight in shining armour.

“is there really no… other way to appeal?” you swallow when gojo switches the position and gets you in exactly where he wants you: your back facing his office, his face dangerously close to yours while his eyes slyly catching the way your thighs rub together.

gojo smirks to himself when you knock down yet another cup of stationery on his desk after “discussing” ways you could improve your grades, nails making unsatisfactory noises on the wooden desk while he can hear your cunt gush around him, made obvious from the squelch of your hole and he’s muttering praises into your neck from behind.

“this what you had in mind, baby?” just another girl in his roster, getting ruined just for a grade that wasn’t even that bad. what you didn’t know is that you were the only girl, getting professor gojo so hard in lectures and tutorial classes just from the sight of you that to finally have you — it’s a sweet reward. you shiver when his hand reaches to your front to rub at your clit and you’re grasping at nothing as moans leave your lips.

“y-yeah, professor—” gojo is filthy, lewd, lifting your leg to prop up on the desk just so he could get deeper in you, your pussy everything he imagined and more as he continues to fuck into you. you’re warmer than his hand, than some hookup’s mouth from the club, clenching around his cock so tightly his hips stutter.

“f-fuck, angel, tryna snap my dick off?” you let out an incredulous chuckle at that, hips moving back to meet his while the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fill the room. your juices are coating his length so well, too, that gojo’s eyes lock on your cunt that sucks him in over and over again, the spread of your pussy lips just amplifying his moans. the other spreads your cheeks and sighs at the translucent ring of cum at the base of his cock, hips fucking up to hit your sweet spot that you’re cumming with a shock down your spine — so hard, so deep, so intense that you’re jolting from the orgasm with whimpers of his name. gojo never truly is done with you after pulling out to cum on your ass, however, and you aren’t either.

there’s a thrill that runs through his veins when you back him up onto the sofa, a glimmer in your eyes that suggest you’re as intoxicated on him as he is on you, a sultry gaze taking over your shyness from earlier before he’s pushed onto the cushions.

“thank you for the meal, professor,” you giggle and gojo swears he’s reached his death when your mouth first closes around his still sensitive tip and he whines loudly, hearing your fingers fill your drooling cunt as your hand squeezes out leftover cum from before. a hand runs through your hair and your cockdrunk face is enough for him to see white—

professor gojo thinks you look heavenly between his legs.

✶ GETO

you sigh echoes throughout your dorm room, ending the stream and collecting your keep for the day as you grimace at the mess you’ve made on your sheets. it’s not like it wasn’t pleasurable, but on some days you’re wondering how long you truly need to serve gross men on the internet for it to be enough to pay off your university fees. sure, there were a few attractive people who commented and tipped you, but that was the extent of it. it’s not long before you can only think about cleaning up and taking a big fat nap, but a video in the sidebar catches your attention.

it seemed like a casual stream — no script or planned storyline apart from a heavily tattooed arm taking up half the screen, his pelvis just slightly off the thumbnail. he was faceless, too, filming rather from the chest down which was also inked, something that sends a chill to your core.

it’s only later when you’re slipping your dildo back into you as you watch this stranger pump his cock, guttural groans and slick noises filling your airpods that you realise the dragon wrapping around his arm looks awfully familiar. you’re so blissed out by pleasure, focusing on the needy moans that the man lets out before he cums with a grunt, so much cum leaking out from him. you’ve reached your high too, but you have no time to admire the stranger because it seemed like he was in a hurry, but not before you’ve caught a glimpse of his lip ring.

you know why he looked so familiar, now, standing in front of him in his office while his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, something he doesn’t do often. geto suguru doesn’t wear his lip ring in lecturers either, and now you think you know why because they match the video you’ve seen just last night. you aren’t even entirely sure why you were called in, and you think maybe it’s because you “accidentally” sent a friend request, but you’re taken aback when he asks you if you’ve already selected a tutor to be your mentor throughout your major project.

“surprised? i sent out the email a week ago, love.” you try not to let the name get to you, and the confession lingers at the tip of your tongue.

“y-yeah! i saw it, professor geto, just—”

everyone was no stranger to professor geto’s striking looks, always turning heads with his unconventional gauges and long hair that probably should’ve landed him in a modelling agency in the first place. except, he’s opting instead to teach linguistics, a fitting major for him to talk of the history of language and its formation of it, even slipping in some latin and greek to show its origins but you can hardly listen when all you can focus on is the tight pull of his shirt around his body while his hair falls around his face and you think maybe it was a bad time to think if his hair falls out of his bun while he rails someone. you hope soon it’ll be you, just so you can confirm it for yourself with no other reason involved (you’re a fucking liar).

geto clears his throat and you swallow and the flex of his forearms only distract you further, the dragon on his arm seemingly laughing at your torment as it moves along his skin — the other doesn’t miss your dilemma, staring at you for your answer with a dark stare and enjoying the effect he had on you. your brain doesn’t respond fast enough, though, and you’re blurting out the first thing as you watch the curve of his mouth turn in either distaste or satisfaction; you weren’t sure.

“i saw you stream yesterday—” and you slap a hand over your mouth, wanting to run immediately, but you didn’t expect him to smile after a moment of recognition, making the connections to your account until his mouth falls open just a little.

“you’re the little cutie who sent me a request last night, aren’t ya?”

as he asks the question you hoped he wouldn’t ask, you find there’s nothing on your mind except maybe seeing his tattooed arms wrap around you — and you did. they looked so much better up close, leading from one thing to another in that stuffy office soon they’re looking especially good with how he’s currently dragging the tip of his cock along your folds, collecting your slick as you hold onto his biceps after confessing sin after sin about you from—

“i’ve jerked off to your videos.” a burn on your cheeks when geto sets you on his office table, palms leaving hot trails along your thighs and skin. he lets you play with his bulge, hands probably forming bruises on you from how you relieve the tension in his pants.

“the way your cunt wraps around that dildo — makes me wish i was there fuckin’ your pussy instead.” a gasp and a moan when he preps you with both fingers as he sucks hickeys into your neck and plays with your tits, pinching your nipple that has you clenching around him.

“didn’t miss how you like to be bred in your videos too. think maybe you need some real cum, princess,” geto’s button up shirt is pried open by now, trousers just barely pulled down below his hips because he has a lecture in about half n’ hour. though, he wanted your pussy all to himself and if 27 minutes was all he was granted, he was going to make full use of it. geto groans into your hair when your legs wrap around his middle and he’s reeling at how he’s been watching your videos for the longest time and yet, nothing compares to having you fall apart by his hands.

a quick glance to his watch tells him fifteen minutes, eyes flitting back to the squelch of your cunt around him and he smiles smugly at the whimpers he knows so well. he’s sure it’s imprinted on his brain by now but his dick still jumps at the many variations you’ve let out during the 27; he’d commit every single one to memory. “professor— s-shit!”

geto angles his hips up, the curve of his cock hitting that spot just right that your back arches and you let out a drawn out moan, “yes, baby?”

“w-wan’ your cum in me, suguru,” you’re pleading with a drunk little smile and your face is twisted into such pleasure he’s only seen through pixels that geto cums almost immediately with a pained laugh seeing the real thing, hips stilling as he fills you up, up, up to the brim with hot, white semen that geto feels embarrassed to climaxing so quickly. but what can he do? when his favourite camgirl and student asks to be bred, it’s only natural.

how could he possibly say no?

✶ NANAMI

“does that mean the poem is written from the cross’ perspective?” your hand shoots up in hopes of interpreting the text correctly, but also because, just maybe, that you wanted to impress a little someone at the front of the lecture theatre. beside you, you can hear the gasp of your friend along with the eyes of various other students. “sort of like— personification?”

nanami points to you with his glasses that he’s long removed, a small smile on his face. it’s not like you’re trying too hard, but of course you know your shit fairly well. you always have in every class, it was just a bonus you were so attractive that all nanami could think about was spreading your legs right on this desk. “yes, almost. anthropomorphism, something that was very common in poems or works written in old english.”

you were sceptical about professor nanami at first, especially since he was a lecturer who was transferred here from overseas only three months ago and is technically quarter of a white man, but he held command of the japanese language well enough for you to understand, both in speech and concepts. you were more interested in the lecturer himself though, piqued from the moment he explained his grandfather was danish and you turn to your friend, explains the blonde hair, doesn’t explain how he’s so insanely fine, giggling quietly to each other the first day.

as for your major, it was texts after story after poem, but you enjoyed it alongside giving your own input in class — something you knew would help your participation grades. you’ve raised your hand in more ways than one, always coming up at the end of lectures with a question, stopping him in hallways to show him the book you were currently reading. so that’s why you were confused when you were called to the front of the lecture theatre after everything’s over. it couldn’t be bad, right?

it wasn’t bad, it was much better, especially when nanami’s got your legs on either side of him on the lecture theatre desk while he takes his rightful place between your legs — somewhere he’s always longed to be. both the front and back doors are locked, with only your soft, muffled moans filling the room. but nanami has no shame, slurping up the juices that drip from your pussy loudly, possibly staining the desk below him. he’s cared before about the condensation of his drinks but when it comes to your sweet, sweet cunt? he doesn’t give one fuck.

“taste so good, sweetheart,” nanami moans wrapping a forearm around your thighs and just eats. he flicks his tongue over your clit, while the other hand goes up to squeeze at your tits, kneading and playing with them while you’re still at awe at the man on his knees, at how you’ve gotten one of the hottest professors in the university eating out of your pussy like it’s the last meal on earth.

you’re snapped out of your daze when nanami lands a few slaps onto your pussy, brown eyes boring holes into your skull. but this stare is different, as opposed to glaring down the mischievous boys who can’t stop making noise, this is…

“pay attention when i eat your little pussy, angel,” the demanding tone has you shivering, a small grin stifled when he nods in deserved approval and continues his assault. fingers slip in before you have time to react and your head is thrown back so hard it bumps against the wood but you don’t care, clamping down around his fingers. nanami’s pace is unforgiving, sucking hard on your clit while he pumps them in and out.

“feel good?” nanami asks through slurps as he catches your eye, licking one last stripe before gathering his saliva into a ball and he spits onto your clit, sight so lewd you clamp around his fingers. he admires how the way the glob of liquid runs down your cunt and mixes with your arousal that he can’t wait for it to be his cum instead.

“better than…” your voice trails off when he rubs in his spit, a thumb on your bud while he continues to move his fingers and your thighs are already trembling from how nanami knows all your sweet spots in such a short period of time. nanami simply chuckles at your sensitivity, meeting you halfway as you sit up to feel his lips against yours and he whispers against your lips—

“what were you gonna say, baby?”

you’re heaving for oxygen as he adds a third finger and you’re just hoping he’d show you his fucking dick already. hot breath fans across your lips and you smile to yourself seeing how your words affect him.

“better than fucking myself with my fingers thinkin’ it’s your cock, prof.”

✶ TOJI

it was nine in the morning, and toji could already feel a headache forming from the amount of absentees in his class, simply sighing before pulling up the details for today’s lecture, eyes unknowingly looking for you in the large lecture theatre. he finds that you’re already looking, clad in a cardigan and tired eyes — no doubt from trying to reach his deadline earlier than usual. toji found that you liked to do that, the first one to always submit your essays and assignments, so that’s why he knows what game you’re playing at when you’re asking the difference between first, second and third degree murder when you already know their definitions.

he would know — you got full marks the other time.

“hm?” toji only hums when he sees your enthusiastic face and a quick look down to your lower half shows how your legs spread naturally for him. the professor only licks his lips before he spots your underwear, entertaining you for now as you stare on earnestly, while nothing is actually entering your brain. that’s okay, though, you’re smart.

toji can count on one hand the amount of times you manage to catch him off guard, but he didn’t expect both of those times to be on the same day. it was a busy night at the club, trailing behind professor gojo, bored, until the clock hits 11 and the shift changes, some dancers retiring for the night whilst others make their way out. they emerge with pumps and skimpy outfits, but toji still hasn’t found someone worth wasting his loaded bank account on until you’re stepping out in a corset and garters and toji whistles lowly, eyes travelling up your person unforgivingly before he hears a small gasp.

his curiosity is piqued at the small noise, only to be greeted with your widened eyes and taut muscles at having seen your professor at the strip club you work at, but with a clap from somewhere backstage your body moves naturally into a professional stance, and perhaps a little more sluttily than other days.

your professor was hot, of course you would work twice as hard, twisting your body around the pole while you show off your assets — things you were covering just this morning in professor toji’s lecture. he taught criminology, a minor that you were trying out in your second year of uni and if it didn’t work, you’d drop it, but no matter how much you complained about the class, the green eyes that bore into yours in lectures always seem to ask you to stay. you never really knew whether he was looking at you or not.

at least now, you’ll make him.

toji’s hands tightened around the wad of cash he planned to waste tonight, all put on hold just from watching the way you put your body on display. he wouldn’t have imagined seeing you tonight at the strip club he let gojo drag him to, but he’s almost glad he’s here when you seem to be only dancing for him, all focus on the other patrons lost.

your eyes are still locked with toji’s, reminding you of the times in the lecture theatre where green was all you could see, a smile creeping on your face when one of your girlfriends behind you whispers that the man with the black hair and tight shirt wants a private session with you.

that’s all it took before you feel toji’s hands on your ass later in the private room, pulling you to his front with a smirk. “what’s a sweet girl like you doin’ here?”

you roll your eyes as you feign annoyance. your heart was pounding along with the music, finally being able to feel his toned body from the front., “cut the crap, prof. you booked me for a reason. what, here to talk about my grades or something?”

“what? can’t see my favourite student?” you scoff with a small smile.

“and how did you know i work here?”

“i didn’t, but seeing you work that pole,” toji grins, landing a smack on your butt before grinding his very obvious, large bulge on you and he’s loving the way it seemed to stimulate your clit, “i need ya to show me what i’ve been missing, mama.”

toji groans later while you’ve got his cock in his mouth, on your knees in front of him while you’re fisting the places you can’t reach. you take most of him easily, feeling the tip of his length reach the back of your throat. there, your eyes flick up to him, doe eyed and pleading. it isn’t long before you feel his hips bucking into your mouth and the cute twitch of his cock in your mouth, moaning around him as you knead his thighs, dragging him closer with what little strength you had.

“dirty fuckin’ slut, huh?” toji mumbles out breathlessly, tightening his grip around your hair before you start bobbing your head again, a plethora of lewd noises alongside the slurp of your saliva and his pre-cum mixing only makes your panties wetter and sends your cunt clenching around nothing. “who knew my cutest student was such a whore?” your head reels at the degradation, sucking in your cheeks even more while you slobber over him. toji swears under his breath when your tongue sweeps over his tip, collecting his pre-cum.

“it’s s’big in my mouth, professor,” giggling, you bob your head faster as the other’s noises increase in volume, and he’s left to tap the side of your skull, causing you to tilt your head in question. the vibrations of your moans has him grinding into your mouth, shutting you up until he’s cumming down your throat with a loud groan. toji spills so much into your mouth that you have to swallow twice, pulling on your jaw as you show him the remnants of the cum still on your tongue.

“’m sure they have it somewhere in the conduct about professors not having sexual relations with a student,” toji chuckles when he sees you peel off your underwear, eagerly wrapping his arms around your waist. “or even something about cutting corners to get your grades up…” it’s a little soft, trailing off when he feels you drag his tip along your pussy and he’s mesmerised with how your dripping folds accommodate him easily.

you pout in dramatics, thighs tightening around his when you take inch after inch of him before you’re bottoming out. there’s a deep sigh coming from you before you’re moving your hips lazily, a certain slur to your words that already show you’re drunk on your professor’s cock and toji only smiles.

“yeah, but my grades are perfectly fine,” you whisper with a small whine when toji squeezes your ass, something he never thought he’d get a taste of.

“plus, we’re not in the classroom now, are we, professor?”

9K notes · View notes

chlorinecake · 2 months ago

Text

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ִ ۫ 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 | 𝐋.𝐌𝐇

⭑ PAIRING: fuck buddy ! cat dad ! minho x f. reader

𖥻 SYNOPSIS: A broken air conditioner in your best friend's apartment leads to him having to shack up with you until things get sorted, but considering his sex drive, it doesn't take long for things to get steamy in a different way...

⭑ WARNINGS: KINKTOBER SPECIAL, swearing, temperature play kink, kissing, dry humping, masturbation (f. receiving), minho gets a bit jealous at one part, mentions of food, mentions of enhypen's jake, crying (barely), finger + tit + neck sucking (f. receiving), not proofread

𖥻 WORD COUNT: 5.2k - DAY 5

⭑ AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic was originally intended to be a gift for @minhosimthings 's 21st birthday, but since I was such an amazing moot and didn't finish writing it in time, I simply decided to save it for now hehe ^^

OCTOBER.

Not usually the warmest month of the year, but it had become precisely that for your close friend Minho when his apartment AC suddenly gave out, leaving him to sleep with nothing but his boxers on almost every night—

“Proof?” You asked via text while ending your three-hour long conversation with him one night.

Ding!

A picture of Lino and his sweat-glazed body took over your phone screen, his toned thighs just barely hanging off his gingham-dressed bed set with a spare pillow being placed precariously in the place where you're certain his bulge would be.

“Since you were so desperate to get a first-hand glimpse of my suffering… hope you're satisfied now,” his text read below the photo, and you smiled at the message, not even bothering to scold yourself for blushing…

“Trust me, this did the trick... can't wait to get you outta that hell hole and in some proper air conditioning, though...”

“Looking forward to it,” Lino texted back with a pink heart emoji, “goodnight now, kitty.”

“Night night!” You returned, feeling your cheeks warm up at the pet-name he used for you, and you used to hate smiling at your phone whenever you got a flirty message from someone, but when it came to Minho, you didn’t mind the butterflies as much…

You laid your head on your pillow, facing the ceiling as a gentle sigh fell from your lips, and the selfie that Lino sent you meddled in the back of your mind, causing your imagination to do wonders in making the photo come alive...

Despite being best friends who admittedly had sex with each other from time to time, Minho, had been the subject of your sexual fantasies for a while now, and you honestly couldn’t blame yourself for it…

I mean, let’s be real, he's got that dark and handsome thing going on with a platinum smile to match.

And let's not forget about his muscular build, too, which is the result of hours spent either dancing or hitting up the gym every week.

You’ve always had a thing for him, and you vividly remember the first night you two crossed the line between strictly friends and something a little more than that.

It was the night right after he got fired from his job, and while upon stopping by your place to cool off some steam, the both of you were two drinks passed tipsy as the sexual tension ran rampant between you.

Y’all were cooking dinner together, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him as he chopped vegetables and sautéed meat...

The way his toned muscles rippled under his T-shirt as he navigated the kitchen was too much for you to handle that night... you remember feeling your panties grow damp in that moment, just like they were now as you imagined him pinning you against the kitchen counter and fucking you completely senseless.

Sliding your hands beneath your covers, you found the hem of your pajama pants while imagining Lino was right before you, telling you to undress for him.

And although your eyes were closed, you could see the whole memory as clear as day, playing each moment over slowly in your mind as if watching a clip from your favorite movie…

You thought about how you put the spoon down that you used to stir the pasta before walking over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist while sighing at the contact.

Envisioning the way he looked back at you with a mixture of pleasant surprise and desire staining his gorgeous features, you remember feeling his hard cock press against your front.

And back then, it startled you at first… the fact that he had gotten so turned on just from being around you—

“Minho,” you remember whispering to him, and you did the same thing now as you laid on your mattress with a heavy heart, your fingers slowly gliding over your bare cunt in the same way that his fingers touched you before.

In your memory, he only responded by grabbing your waist and kissing you deeply, all before lifting you up onto the counter and spreading your legs apart so he could get between them.

He leaned in close, his breath warm yet shiver-inducing against your face as he whispered back, “I want you so bad, ____…”

He trailed kisses down your neck, making his way to your cleavage where he toyed with your nipple slightly, and you let one of your hands grope your tits to mimic the way he touched you then.

Arching your back against the mattress, you recall moaning faintly as he sucked and bit at your sensitive skin, his skilled hands roaming your body beneath the thin fabric of your shirt.

You reached down for the button on his jeans and undid it before pulling down his zipper to free his aching cock, and you remember stroking it gently as you felt it twitch in your hand.

Lino groaned at your touch, and it wasn’t long before he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you to the edge of the counter, positioning himself at your entrance while teasing your clit with the tip of his cock.

You whimpered, both back then and presently while laying in bed, and you begged him to fuck you as if he was actually there with you.

Using your index and middle finger, you jammed them inside your cunt, crying out in pleasure while imagining your pathetic digits were your best friend’s fat cock thrusting inside you.

You remember being fucked rough and fast by him as his balls slapped against your ass with every snap of his hips, and you could feel yourself growing closer and closer to orgasming.

“M-Minho, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, feeling your walls clench around your fingers as you kept fingering yourself to the memory of him making you love to you, and you eventually did just that…

Your climax ripped through your body like a freight train, and you imagined Minho’s orgasm following yours soon after, filling you up with his hot release.

Panting out loud, you slipped your fingers from your cunt, only opening your eyes slightly now as you melted back into reality, wishing that Minho could be right beside you now like he was back then…

You thought about the way he looked at you with a satisfied smile before pulling you into a tight embrace.

“I love you, ____,” his voice responded in the back of your mind as a gentle whisper, and you felt yourself becoming sleepy as you turned to lay on your side, still shaken up from climaxing so fast…

“I love you too, Minho,” you whispered to yourself as if he could hear it, smiling with closed eyes as you finally fell fast asleep, just mere hours from facing the morning ahead of you…

THE NEXT MORNING came by faster than you expected as a now fully clothed and much less sweaty Minho stood at your doorstep, a dainty porcelain dish resting in the grasp of his veiny hands.

You had invited him over to stay over at your place until the broken AC situation at his place got sorted out, and you were more than ready to spend the next few days with him under the same roof as you…

“I come bearing treats,” he chirped with a smile as you welcomed him in with a friendly hand.

He was wearing a dark turtleneck sweater and dark pants to match with an auburn, plaid trench coat to top of his gold accessories.

“Oh, Minho,” you began while taking the tray from him, a certain smell having distracted your train of thought, “you didn't have to go out of your way and… wait… is there espresso in this?”

“Mhm,” your friend nodded proudly while kicking off his shoes before making his way to your all-too-familiar kitchen where he opened the fridge door for you, “with mascarpone creammm, lady fingersss, cocoa powderrrr—”

“You made me tiramisu?” You asked with widened eyes, making him chuckle a bit at your shocked reaction.

“As a symbol of my appreciation since you opened your home up to me, of course,” Lino smiled before leaning against the kitchen counter, and you couldn’t help yourself from giving him a hug in this moment.

At first, his body tensed up at the way your hands felt upon wrapping around him so suddenly, but he eventually relaxed as you lazily spoke the words, “You feel like a human oven right now…”

“And you feel like a freezer,” Minho returned while chuckling, just as you broke from the hug.

“Yea... I guess that happens sometimes when your air conditioner isn't busted…” you shrugged sarcastically, and Minho gives you a painfully forced laugh before following your trail back to the living room—

“Where're your cats?” You inquire, noticing that he had brought all of their play and food gear, but the pets themselves were no where in sight.

“Oh, they're waiting for me in the car, actually,” he said, walking past you to put his shoes back on at the front door.

“So your precious little felines are too good for a local pet-sitter now?” You tease, feeling your heart warm up at the sound of him snickering at your comment.

“Not just that,” he began, “my little kitties are angel's indeed, but I'm not ignorant to the fact that they can be a handful... even for me...”

You let his words sink in, taking a mental note of what he said.

“Want me to help you gather them from your car then?” You offer, meeting him where he stood at the door now.

“Please,” Minho scoffed, side-eyeing you with a small smirk, “you doubt that I can handle my own three baby's or something? I mean... c'mon, have you seen my arms lately?”

“No, actually... just your thighs,” you said while tilting your head at him, clearly checking him out, and the look he gives you would’ve otherwise knocked you clean off your feet if he was any closer to you—

Beep beep.

The sound of Minho’s car blared in the distance as you pressed to “UNLOCK” bottom on his keys upon the two of you making your way outside together.

Single-handedly, Minho opens the door for himself, and you watch with a shy smile as he scoops his cats up in his arms, their dainty paws tugging and scratching at his jacket almost immediately.

“So much for making me feel loved and cherished, you guys...” Minho says jokingly as of his cats can understand his words, and you help by opening the door for him to come back inside when you get a notification from your phone.

The sound catches Minho’s attention immediately, but you’re not aware of the dinging until you hear it again… and again, til you hear it a total of five times.

“Looks like someone’s popular today,” your friend says from behind you while setting his cats down to roam the house freely.

“Eh, it’s probably just my boss,” you return while walking over to your desk to see who the message is from, “I have a meeting later today, and he’s probably just wondering if I’m still up for it…”

Her boss?… Sending her more than three messages in a row?… Minho thought to himself in the back of his mind, and his ears are quick to notice how quiet you get suddenly.

He waits for you to say something… anything at all, but you remain silent, a focused expression taking over your face now as your thumbs tap your phone screen like crazy.

Ding.

Another message comes through, and Minho can’t ignore the curiosity brewing inside him anymore.

“Who’re you texting?”

“A friend… good thing it wasn’t my boss…”

“What friend?” He asks again, and he’s trying to hide the irritation in his voice as you fail to look him in the eyes while speaking to him.

“Just Jake…”

“Jake?” Minho repeated, almost sounding disgusted that you had even said such a thing, “you mean that… that dog guy?”

“If that’s what people are calling him these days, then yes, that dog guy,” you return plainly, eyes still glued to your phone.

Minho makes sure your front door is locked before walking past you to grab the remote from your desk, clicking the TV on so his cats could watch something while sitting on your couch.

“Whatever,” he scoffed beneath his breath, and you only spare him a quick glance before going right back to texting, “you’re clearly more of a cat person anyways… right?”

“Lino, he was just wishing me good luck at my meeting, alright?”

Yea, the meeting you didn’t even bother telling me about, Minho thought to himself again before your voice interrupted him to say:

“It’s really not that deep…”

“Right… not like I'd expect much depth from Mr. Short-Stuff to begin with—”

“Bro, knock it off, will you? You two are literally the same height for crying out loud…”

“Who said I was talking about height?”

You look up from your phone, giving him a deadpan look as you sighed with frustration, “Minho…”

“Alright, alright, I'm knocking it off now, relax…” he said as the sound of a random TV show filled h the w background now, and he internally rolled his eyes at the way you were acting with him now.

“Thank you…” you replied half-heartedly before setting your phone down on your desk finally, “and enough about Jake for the rest of the time you’re here, please… he's not a concern to you…”

“Yea, of course,” Minho sarcastically agreed as he made his way over to sit on the couch with his cats, “no concerns… no worries… you and I are just friends at the end of the day, too, right?”

“Right… just friends…” you returned, just as the alarm clock on your phone went off this time.

“Shit, I gotta get ready… I’ll be doing my meeting here at my desk, so if you could turn the TV off once I come back, that’d be great, yea?” You asked in a rushed tone, and Minho simply nodded, right before you made your way to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Sighing, the poor guy couldn’t help but feel threatened by Jake’s presence in your life… and as hard as it was for Minho to admit, Jake was a good looking guy who had an equally attractive personality to go with it…

“We’re just friends,” Minho said to himself in a mocking tone as his cat Dori crawled into his lap, purring softly for cuddles…

“Yea,” he continued to say out loud, feeling the stress in his hands barely ease away as he massaged the top of Dori’s head, “friend’s who fuck each other…”

ABOUT AN HOUR had passed before your meeting was finally all done and over with, and to your favor, everything turned out great!…

Though, you still expected to be glued to your desk for at least another hour or two as your boss had assigned you with a new company proposal to work on.

Your home-printer had just finished spitting out a stack of 25 sheets of paper that you were expected to have proof-read and revised by the next morning.

Yes, you genuinely did love your job… but sometimes, the workload could be a handful, and it wasn’t helping one bit that Lino and his cats were having a play date just a few feet away from you.

Cat toys like fuzzy balls and squeaky fish decorated your floor like a daycare center as the three animals crawled on every surface they could in your home.

Paying Minho a quick look, he was still sitting on the couch, Soonie laying on his chest as he brushed over her fluffy body with his hand, cooing at the sleepy creature…

Seeing Minho behave so lovingly with his pets always touched a soft spot inside you, and that’s when he senses your eyes are on him, turning his head on the couch briefly to return a glance.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” He began, and the cat visibly purred at the feeling of Minho’s deep voice vibrating against her body.

“Very,” you said softly, looking away now as you reached for the nearby stapler, clipping the stack of paper in place, “so beautiful that it’s distracting, in fact…”

“I wasn’t talking to you, silly,” Minho chuckles, making your eyebrows screw into confused squiggles—

“I was asking Soonie about you…” he finishes, looking back at your for a second with a loving look in his eyes, and you try not to smile at his words, only because you know how much he likes teasing you for getting flustered with him…

You loved the way Lino’s presence always had a way of warming you up from the outside-in, and you almost started to feel guilty for giving him such a hard time earlier.

Clink!… Splash…

“Dori, watch out!” You called out suddenly with a loud voice, and Minho turns to see what you’re yelling about.

“That’s Doongie, ____… she’s the orange one, remember?” Minho asked jokingly, but you’re too distressed now to pay his humor any mind.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have bought so many cats so I could recall their goofy names better…” you sighed with a broken voice now, looking at the mess before you that Minho was still oblivious to…

Dori, Doongie, or whatever he name was had leaped onto your desk out of excitement, only to knock over your cup of coffee, causing it to spill all over the documents you just printed…

And yea, it was obviously an accident, but this was the second time today that you ran into an obstacle since Minho arrived, and you couldn’t hold back your anger anymore…

“Heyyy, that’s not nice,” Minho began with a pout, though his voice sounded quiet in your ears as your eyes started to brim with frustrated tears, “my kittie's were very respectful when you first joined the family… even when you always stole their daddy’s attention…”

With a quiet sniffle, you wiped the tears from your eyes as fast as you could before Lino could notice it, sulking to yourself as you thought about how long it’d take to reprint all the papers and go over them with new revisions again…

“You’re right, Lino,” you said in a weak voice, picking up the curious orange cat from your desk as she was only starting to track coffee-paw prints all over your keyboard, “And sorry, Doongie… I shouldn’t have yelled at you...”

Everything was stressing you out, at this point, and it only made you feel worse for being such a miserable host to Minho, especially in his first day over.

“I’ll come back in a bit to clean this up, but I just need to lay down for a minute if that’s okay?” You whispered, and by time Lino could process everything that was happening l, you were already walking off back to your room.

“C-clean up?… ____, come back please,” Minho stood up from the couch, calling after you only to have you shut the door at his words… literally…

A small sigh fell from his lips as he walked over to where you sat, and he’s just now becoming aware of the huge mess of coffee and soggy papers all over your desk.

“Oh, Doongie…” Minho sighed again, looking back at his cat who sat quietly at the very top of the cat tree set, playing with one of the fuzzy toy balls she had carried from the floor, “way to go ruining my romantic moment…”

MINHO TOOK IT upon himself to help and tidy things up while you were regathering yourself in your bedroom.

Sure, he usually didn’t handle household chores much beyond cooking or baking, but he still made it his duty to correct some of the damage he had cost in one way or another.

A pile of dirty dishes in your sink became the centerpiece of your kitchen, coupled with the mini trashcan in the corner being filled to the top with old coffee pods, crumbled up sheets of paper, and takeout containers.

Though, by now he had already replaced the dirty trash bag with a new one, wiped off the coffee splatters from your desk and keyboard, printed a new copy of your work documents, and jotted down all the revisions you made to the best of his ability,

All that was left to do now was tackle the dishes you left behind...

Running some warm and bubbly water for the dishes, Minho slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, grabbed a sponge, and started scrubbing away.

You could faintly hear the clinking of plates from your room which made you run out to see what he was up to.

“Hello again, stranger….” Minho greeted sarcastically, despite the way he smiled at you.

“Hey…” you returned quietly while walking behind him and wrapping your arms at his waist... a gesture you're just now realizing you did a little too frequently to call yourselves just friends...

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you continued, looking beside his frame to watch as he rinsed the bubbles from around the sink, “I should be cleaning my own messes, Minho... you're supposed to be a guest, for Christ's sake…”

“I know,” he says softly, mirroring the tranquility in your tone, “just figured you could use the extra help, though…”

Slipping off the gloves, he hangs them over the sink, before removing your hands from hugging him, “Go in the den real quick, and I'll meet you in there...”

And either being too exhausted to object or simply obedient to his dominance, you do exactly as he says, walking back to the living room and taking a seat on the couch... and you're glad to find that his cats are sleeping in their shared kitty bed, resting soundly together.

Meanwhile, Minho was busy rummaging through your fridge, looking for the dessert tray he had brought earlier. He wanted to cute you a nice square of tiramisu from the dish before heading back to the living room, a single fork clad in his grasp.

You watched him with a raised eyebrow as he approached, placing the plate of tiramisu in your hands. He then settled at the end of the couch across from you, reaching down to grab your ankles and pull your legs toward him.

That was odd, you thought to yourself, very odd...

“So, let's skip the bullshit here and cut straight to the chase,” he began in a low voice, shamelessly letting his fingers trail up your calves before parting your legs open at the knees; “You’ve been trying to avoid me, haven't you?”

You let yourself blink a few times before challenging him in a similarly catty tone, “I don’t know, have you given me a reason to?”

“Of course not… Hell, I even made you this fancy ass dessert from scratch... you should be praising the air I breathe right now...”

“Alright, Gordon Ramsey... give me a second to taste it first and then I’ll decide if you deserve that much…” You replied, taking the fork that he handed to you from his grasp before sticking it into the fluffy treat and bringing it to your mouth.

“Finally... now how's it taste?” He asks, tilting his head at how long you took to swallow such a small bite.

“It's delicious,” you return with a nonchalant voice to egg him on even more, even though deep down you had to fight the urge to take another bite.

It was almost shocking how good it tasted, and his ratio of all the ingredients was worth cultivating an entire culinary study for...

Though, your train of thought was soon interrupted once he leaned in closer to you, resting his flexed hands on the couch armrest you laid your head on, caging you beneath his frame...

“Y'know... you seemed much more pleasant over text the other night, but now... you're cold… what changed?” Minho asked, and you fought the feeling of nerves growing within your stomach, thinking back to how you imagined him on top of you just like this while you fucked yourself dizzy with your fingers...

“Maybe it’s this,” you whispered, tugging at the lower hem of his shirt, as a glint of playfulness flickered in his eyes, “you should know by now how bothered I get when thing's keep getting in the way of my desires...”

“Good, then. I’ll keep it on so you have something to hang onto,” he returned through a smirk, and you scoffed at him, right before taking another bite of the tiramisu.

“Please, just drop the act, ____,” Minho chuckled at your failed attempt at being intimidating, “You’ve practically been eye fucking me this whole time, anyway, so it's no surprise you’ve been so moody all day… you need me to fuck your nerves away, huh?”

“Oh, don't flatter yourself, Minho,” you retort, even though the dirty manner of his words makes you feel a rush inside.

Clink.

You take the fork, digging into the tiramisu once more as you gathered a hefty forkful, right before feeding some to Minho.

Though, a bit of the cream lingers at the corner of his mouth, and you moisten the tip of your thumb with your own spit before swiping at his lips and asking, “You always eat this messy?”

And Minho only responds with the fattest smirk you've seen all day, grabbing your wrist as he took your whole thumb in his mouth, humming around it as he sucked it clean before releasing it with a pop.

“You freaky bastard—”

“Just admit that you miss my touch…” Minho interrupts your insult, his voice laced with seduction as he shimmies all the way between your legs now, pressing his crotch against yours, “you’re doing anything you can to put your hands on me, anyway… so why don't you just take what you want?”

His question meddles in the fog of your mind, and you feel your heart rate start to increase just from having his body pressed so close to yours...

It was different from the times when you'd innocently hug him... it was different from the fantasies you had in the darkness of your room while completely alone... and above all, it was different when you were sober, fully present to experience every emotion bubbling inside you, even the nervous ones.

“Poor baby,” Lino pouts, and his voice pulls you back from your thought, shivering from wishing as he takes the cold, metal fork and runs it along the side of your neck, “you're too shy for your own good...”

His words resound in the back of your mind again, and you're not sure how long they linger there, but before you know it, he has his lips against yours, kissing you deeply as the thought of tiramisu is long gone, the pastry plate sitting on the floor now.

And he's groaning into your mouth, the taste of espresso on his tongue making you chase his lips even more, but only for his hand to keep pushing you down by the chest.

“M-Minho,” you mumble in between kissing him, “could you stop teasing me for one fucking second, please?...”

He lets himself chuckle at your neediness, smiling against your lips now as he whispers, “Sorry, kitty... I just like getting you worked up sometimes...”

And that's when your turn comes around to make him feel flustered as you let one of your hands find the base of his neck, and his breath hitches as you squeeze slightly, watching as the sexiest smirk overtakes his face now.

Leaning back down, Minho kisses you even harder now, and his hips can't help but to grind against you, and even though his movements are gentle at first, you let out a desperate moan that let's him know to keep going.

Both your bodies were heating up like crazy now as Minho's hand slowly crept under the soft cotton of your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your stomach.

His breath was just as hot against your lips as his tongue danced with yours, making you shiver with anticipation as you both explored and claimed every inch of each other's mouths.

Foul wet sounds were filling the space now as his pelvis kept bumping into yours, rolling against you in fluid waves as if he was doing the sweetest dance of lust with you.

Minho's hands found their way under your shirt again, but this time he reached for the clasp of your bra, unhooking the latch with deft fingers and freeing your aching breasts from the confines.

You whined into his mouth as his hands cupped the weight of your tits, letting his thumbs teasing your nipples to hardness as your hands got equally busy, clinging at his shirt as you fought to get it off of him.

As your palms made contact with his warm flesh, you dug your nails into his back, urging him closer to you as a shaky grunt slipped past his own lips now, glaring at you with darkened eyes as the pain you caused mixed with pleasure.

Breaking from the kiss, Minho left a trail of wet kisses along your jaw before stopping at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

He sucked and nibbled, marking you as his, and your eye rolled to the back of your head at the tantalizing feeling of his rough bulge humping against your clothed cunt.

It wasn't long before you two decided to change positions, though, straddling Minho's lap so that his rock-hard erection was trapped between your two bodies, allowing you to rock your hips at the perfect angle to draw him over the edge.

And you both were cursing under your breath at this point, practically drooling at the sensation of you rubbing your heat against his hardening length through your clothes.

Forcing you down and against his body, Minho captured your mouth in his again, claiming it with urgency as his tongue mimicked the rhythm of your hips.

You felt your arousal start to seep through your panties, and that was likely the last straw Minho needed to let himself go, whining beneath you as your hips bucked against his erratically.

“Oh, fuckkk!” You cried out, feeling your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as Minho, with one final thrust, felt himself cumming in his pants, a warm and sticky stain rising to the surface of his pants now as you cried out each others names, waves of pleasure consuming you both...

Panting and covered in the evidence of your mutual pleasure, you let your spent body collapse against him, hearing his heart race against your head as you laid on his chest.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, a satisfied yet tired smile on his face, “that went by so fast, but it felt so good,” he went on, “so... fucking... good...”

You laughed at his words, feeling how his warm breath tickling the top of your head.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that,” you added, just as one of his hands moved up to stroke your hair slightly...

Snuggling impossibly closer to him, you hear him let out a sigh, one that started in agreement and ended in painful realization...

“I should probably get cleaned up now so you can finish revising that company proposal before the morning comes,” Minho says, but his words make you cling to him even harder, making it obvious to him that you had no intention of leaving him alone again anytime soon...

⋆♱✮ Thank you to everyone who made it to the end of this highly belated birthday fic, which actually concludes DAY 5 of my Kinktober Event !! If you're interested in reading more works like this, feel free to check out my main enhypen masterlist or my kinktober masterlist by clicking one of these links !!

⋆♱✮ PERMANANT TAGLIST:

@squoxle, @nishiimuranights, @ashgonedash

@yourmomscuntis2tighy, @wonbinisbabygurl

@watamotee33, @addictedtohobi, @ot7sevenlvr

⋆♱✮ KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@pasteltheghost16 @fawnpeaks @melonvrs

@mheretoreadff @skzfelixlove @inishij

@yaorzu-blog @andromedawillburyyou @ramyeonzprincess

@zaihypen @simjaeyunns @gardenwonnies @hynier

@idontknowhowtomakeusernames @enhymeowz @minhosimthings @stormy1408

@crownj1min @jay-0n3s @gacktsa @leeknowinggg

@d-dilemma @mrsjohnnysuh

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ozzgin · 10 months ago

Note

The wonderful wizard Ozz. I have had this concept stuck in my head like a worm!

Could you imagine a Darling escaping from their Yan, not to run but just to feel the rain on their skin? I've been consuming this prompt like a heroin addict and I can't seem to get enough!

If I were to expand your prompt, I quite like the idea of a Yandere that can't really go full yandere because Reader is just too willing. He loves yandere content and can very much relate, but none of the escalations can happen if, well, the object of his obsessive affection doesn't protest in the first place. Is it too far fetched from what you'd imagined? Let me elaborate:

Yandere! Male x Willing! Reader

AKA: When you want to be a Yandere, but your Darling unfortunately cooperates.

The Yandere has been stalking Darling for months. Journal entries, walls plastered with photos (and the occasional creepshots), recordings. He just can't get enough of his Darling. He loves everything about you and can barely function throughout the day, fantasizing about your life together.

Enough is enough and he finally decides to make you his. He's been consuming media of similar tropes, with obsessed men pleading for a chance and having to force their way in because of rejection and fear. He's prepared for everything. Your tears, your trembling voice, your hands pushing him away. He finds you, approaches you and confesses his feelings, knuckles white as he grips his fists in anticipation. Your eyes widen for a moment, before narrowing in a smile. "I had no idea! Sure, I'll go out with you." Huh? Wait. This wasn't...this wasn't in the plan. Somehow he'd been certain you'd refuse. He must've mumbled the last part out loud, because you respond with "Why would I say no?"

A very good point indeed. You will change your mind, however, once you learn the extent of his love. You're holding his hand and following along as he takes you to his place, completely and utterly unaware of what you're about to witness. He can't truly be your boyfriend if he has to hide his very nature, after all. You might be disgusted, frightened, offended. He can already hear your screams, demanding explanations. It's all out of love. "It's okay if you don't understand", he mumbles to himself, watching your frozen body as you gaze into his room. You take a couple of steps towards the nearest wall, tracing the hundreds of images with your fingers. "Wow. You never mentioned being into photography", you remark, impressed. "It's like an exhibition! But...you might have to work on your angles", you blurt out, a little embarrassed, pointing to one of the creepshots. "This isn't very flattering. Did you take it in a hurry? It makes my legs look disproportionate." He can only stare, taken aback. "S-sorry" is all he manages.

Okay, but don't imagine your life will continue as usual. You've only seen a glimpse of his adoration. Now that you're officially dating, he cannot allow anyone else to have access to you. You have to understand, he cannot protect you properly if you're not under his watch all the time. As much as he cherishes you, he will have to be rough if needed. That's what he tells himself as he shoves the required tools in the trunk of his car, speeding towards your apartment. Once there, he fidgets on the sofa, considering his speech. You seem to be just as uneasy - perhaps you're predicting what's to come? - casting your eyes down and giving short answers. "I think you should move in with me." He states solemnly. You gasp and throw a hand over your mouth, and tears quickly well in the corner of your eyes. "How did you...how did you know?" You say between sobs. Huh? "I didn't want to burden you with my problems, seeing as we just started dating...but my landlord won't renew the lease. I was so scared I'd be homeless."

He clicks his tongue. This isn't very yandere, more like the average couple experience. You bring the final moving box to his car, fitting it in the trunk. "By the way, what's with all the rope?" you ask. "Just move it aside", he sighs. How can he explain it? He's been training, sweating and bleeding for a marathon and right before the whistle, they handed him the first prize. His muscles are aching for the sprint that never happened. Of course he's grateful to have you at last, but somehow he feels like he hasn't proven his dedication properly. You just don't get it, do you? How sickening his love is for you.

As the days pass, he eases into his role of...how does one even call it? Pseudo-captor? When you found his journal, you blushed and confessed how no one before him put this amount of effort into knowing you. All the male contacts from your phone vanishing? It was about time you cleaned up your acquaintances and it was nice of him to help. The AirTags he's hidden in your bags and pockets? You appreciate his safety concerns. Nowadays, with all these perverts freely walking the streets, you can never be too sure.

One morning he wakes up to an empty bed. He jolts up, dazed. Could it be his wish was finally granted? You must've gotten tired of him and tried to escape. Oh, silly little Darling love. You should've known there's no more walking out once you said yes. He checks his phone and pounces out, ready for the hunt. As he sprints along the street, he finds you suspiciously close to his home. Not very smart of you to...what are you even doing? Your hands are raised up, fingers fanned out under the pouring rain. You notice his presence and turn to face him with a wide, childish grin. "I haven't done this since I was a child. When was the last time you felt the rain on your skin?" Only now it occurs to him he's been running in this downpour and his clothes are soaked. He was too focused on finding you.

"I thought you escaped", he almost whispers. "Escape? From what?" You tilt your head in confusion. He places his cold, large hands over your cheeks. "Do you comprehend I'm very much obsessed with you? I'm not joking around. You're never, ever leaving me. You're stuck here forever. I mean it. I really do. I'd rather kill you with my own hands than let you go. Because I love you." You take a moment to admire the intricate patterns of his irises, pupils dilated in a spiraling madness. By the end of his erratic oration, he's panting and digging his nails into your skin.

"I know."

#yet another parody I'm so sorry #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere obsession #obsessive love #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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nottsangel · 7 months ago

Text

the red means i love you — r.c.

pairing: dark!rafe cameron x dark!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, murder, vaginal sex, extreme violence, stabbing, blood, knifeplay (carving), bloodplay, possessive and obsessive behaviour (reader and rafe), fingering, hair pulling, slight spanking, toxic relationship, reader and rafe are both fucked in the head

word count: 5k

summary: in a relationship fueled by hidden obsession and jealousy, you and your boyfriend are more alike than you initially thought.

moodboard // m.list // blurbs m.list // taglist

You hummed along to the song blasting from your speakers, stretched out on your stomach while absentmindedly scrolling through TikTok, your long nails tapping against the screen. With your boyfriend away on their annual family vacation, you were left restless and bored. Since you started dating him a year ago, you've spent practically every moment together, causing your hobbies and personal interests to gradually fade, along with your sense of individuality. He was the centre of your world, everything in your life revolved around him— you were willing to go to any lengths for him, and you knew he would do the same for you. What you both didn’t know, was how far you would be willing to go for each other.

Yawning while watching the nth slime scoopability video on your TikTok for you page, a notification popped up on your phone— rafe_cameron posted a new picture! You instantly tapped on it, having notifications turned on for a reason only to find a photo of your boyfriend on a yacht, clad in nothing but his blue swimsuit. Fuck. His defined abs, the tight shorts showing his bulge through the fabric, his hair messy and slightly wet— you instantly felt an ache between your legs, prompting you to rub your thighs together.

Though it had only been a few days since you had last seen him, his absence weighed heavy and the picture didn’t help. You found yourself analysing every single detail of the picture, but your focus kept going back to his bulge as you could practically feel his cock filling you up so perfectly like he does every night again, except for tonight. You were desperately craving his touch, and just as you were about to reach your hand into your shorts to relieve the achy feeling, your mood was ruined when you checked the comment section.

oliviaprentiss4: looking good Cameron! 😍

Bang. You threw your phone aggressively at the wall while letting out a piercing scream as your breaths grew shallow and fast, anger coursing through your veins. Fucking bitch. Of course it’s Olivia, who goes after your man every chance she gets. Despite Rafe's constant assurances that she's just a friend and nothing more, as a girl yourself, you can't help but notice the subtle flirtations — the way she twirls her blonde locks while gazing up at him with fuck-me eyes whenever they talk. You're not stupid.

You fixed your gaze intently on the wall, attempting to collect your thoughts and calm your breathing as a plan dawned upon you. Swiftly grabbing the lip gloss from the bedside table next to you, you hastily reapplied it before gathering your phone from the ground and switching to the camera app. You raised your phone in the air, pushing your tits up and pulling your top down just a tad bit, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination as you snapped a few pictures while switching poses.

Brandon is gonna fucking love these, you thought to yourself while scrolling through your camera roll, referring to a fratboy you met at a party before you started dating Rafe. You hooked up with him once, seeing him as nothing more than just a one-night stand, but he became obsessed with you after that— replying to your Instagram stories daily and asking you to hang out at least once a week. You knew he would comment if you posted a few sexy pics, and you were right.

brandontheman: cute top, but im more interested in whats under it ;)

You bit your lip as an amused but sinister smile spread across your face, knowing it would infuriate Rafe. Clicking back on his profile to check the new picture once more, you noticed new comments had been added. Your smile abruptly vanished as you glanced at Rafe's comments section again, feeling the anger that had started to subside returning with force.

rafe_cameron: @ oliviaprentiss4 Thanks liv.

Liv. He fucking calls her Liv. Fucking asshole. You muttered curses under your breath, fists clenching as your breathing quickened and your jaw tightened again. He could've simply ignored her. Or deleted her comment. Or blocked her when you started complaining about the bitch four months ago. But no— the fucking idiot calls her Liv, for everyone to see, including you.

With hands trembling from sheer rage, you redirected your attention to your phone before switching profiles. rafe_cameron. Now, you wouldn't exactly label yourself as toxic for having his profile logged in on your phone. You're just, you know, keeping an eye on him, with the best intentions after all. Even though he was unaware that you peeked into his phone to get his password when he was showering. Hmm. Okay, maybe you were a little toxic, you can admit that much. But being toxic means being smart so you went to settings and disabled notifications, ensuring Rafe wouldn’t suspect a thing before tapping on his chat with Olivia.

As you scrolled through the chat, nothing new caught your eye, which didn't come as a surprise given that you checked his profile on a daily basis. It was the usual— Olivia showering him with compliments whenever he posted a picture of himself, and him graciously thanking her. You shook your head in disbelief, your jaw tensing with anger at his consistent responses to her. She was a big problem— a serious threat to your relationship, and you desperately needed to get rid of her. You took a deep breath, hoping your plan would succeed, before typing out a message.

rafe_cameron: hey liv.

oliviaprentiss4: hey rafey!

Rafey. Oh, this bitch really wants to die.

rafe_cameron: my girlfriend is out of town tonight. wanna come over?

oliviaprentiss4: sounds good! I’ll be there at 9!! 🤍

Not a girl’s girl, huh? You scoffed at how easily she agreed to a man cheating on his girlfriend, yet a small smile tugged at your lips as it seemed that your plan was starting to take work. Now you just had to figure out how to get inside Tannyhill, but let’s be real— breaking in is the easiest part of it all.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the Cameron’s estate except for a few lights that you hastily switched on when you arrived five minutes before nine. It was quiet; the only sounds in the eerie mansion were the ticking of a clock and a few birds chirping outside.

You were impatiently sitting on the couch, waiting for Olivia, with your knee bouncing up and down— not from nerves though, but rather, excitement. A wicked grin spread across your face as you heard the doorknob turn, followed by cautious footsteps on the wooden floor. Olivia gasped audibly when she spotted you, her face flushing bright red as she stumbled over her words, too stunned to articulate a coherent sentence.

“I- Sorry, Rafe said- I mean. I thought you wouldn’t-“ “You thought what, exactly? That you could fuck my boyfriend without me knowing? God, you really are such a stupid, fucking bitch.”

Your words hit her hard, causing her to freeze in place as she fiddled with her fingers nervously. She realized she fucked up bad when she caught the insane, psychotic glare in your narrowed eyes, which was filled with unmistakable hatred directed at her. It sent shivers down her spine— she came to the stark realization that you were more than simply a jealous girlfriend; she was fearing for her life.

You rose from the couch and marched towards her, causing her to take steps back in panic, her eyes widening in terror. But you were quicker, consumed by rage. She cried out in agony as you seized a handful of her blonde hair, and violently hauled her towards the ground until she smashed into the floor with a loud thud.

“Tsk, so many men, and still, you had to choose mine. Dumbest decision you could make, Liv. And you’re gonna fucking regret it.” You hissed as you straddled her. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling disoriented from her head hitting the floor as she confusedly gazed up at you. It was over for her. You knew it, she knew it. The poor girl gulped when you took a knife out of your back pocket— the pocket knife that Rafe bought you to defend yourself from men. Oh, if only he knew. Thank you baby, best present ever.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do. I will use this cute little knife to stab you, okay? Not just once though, no, there’s no fun in that.” Now, this was the moment where she broke down in tears, pleading for you to let her go. You revelled in the sense of power, devoid of any trace of empathy, as you observed the girl's panicked state with streaks of mascara running down her face. What the fuck did she expect? It’s the consequences of her own actions.

You gripped her face tightly, sharp nails pressing into her skin as you forced her to meet your gaze, her eyes wide with fear and brimming with tears as they met yours. She was frozen in place, paralyzed by an overwhelming sense of dread. “Hey, hey, just shut up for a moment and let me do my thing, okay? This is my moment and I can’t have you fucking it up. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You paused and slowly closed your eyes, savouring the momentary bliss until Olivia interrupted you, prompting an irritated exhale and forcing your eyes to reopen. “Let me go, please! I wasn’t even gonna do anything with him! I promise!” she attempted and pleaded for one last time, despite knowing deep down that it wouldn't change anything. Your hatred was too strong, as evidenced by your eyes— the psychotic look on your face caused goosebumps to form all over her body.

“You think…” you started, breath quickening in growing anger as your jaw tensed, shaking your head and snickering in disbelief, “…you can fucking LIE TO ME?” you screamed before raising the knife in the air, not wasting any more time as she only fuelled your rage further, followed by bringing it back down, right into her chest next to her silver necklace with the letter ‘O’ attached to it. She let out a piercing scream out of agony before you quickly pulled the knife out, blood spurting in every direction possible just like in slasher movies, making you forget for a moment that this was real life. You were so caught up in the moment— it felt therapeutic in a way to finally release all of your pent-up rage.

“Don’t” stab. “touch” stab. “my” stab. “man, Liv.” stab, stab, stab.

Your heart raced as you witnessed the life drain from her ocean-blue eyes, a rush of power and exhilaration consuming you as you smiled down at her with a manic glint in your eyes. You experienced a strange sense of peace along with a wave of relief washing over you. Problem solved.

Standing up again, you had to steady yourself as you felt slightly lightheaded with adrenaline rushing through your body. You wiped the remaining blood from your face with your shirt before hearing a faint scream coming from upstairs, making you gasp as your heart beat out of your chest. What the fuck? You were convinced that no one was home, the entire Cameron family on their yearly vacation far, far away.

The screams came to an abrupt halt followed by a loud thud before hearing a person grunt, as if they were struggling while carrying something heavy. Fuck fuck fuck. This was when you started to panic. Whoever it was coming down the stairs right now was about to witness you fully covered in blood with a fucking dead body lying next to you on the floor. It was over.

“Shit man… why’s it never the skinny, short guys she fuckin’ falls for?” you heard a familiar voice complain, making you blink your eyes a few times as you saw your boyfriend descend the stairs while dragging a lifeless body behind him. “…Rafe?” you uttered, making him snap his head to the side, startled by your sweet-laced voice calling out his name.

First, his gaze fell on you, locking his blue eyes with yours, both widening in shock while staring at each other. Oh, he really fucked up, he thought, until he noticed the corpse next to you with the knife in your right hand, fresh blood dripping from it onto the floor. He then turned to face the body he was dragging down the stairs, blinking several times as he attempted to process the bizarre situation.

“Oh shit. We’re like that one Spiderman meme, babe.” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side as you watched the body comically fall down each step with a thud, leaving a trail of fresh blood behind. Rafe looked at you in astonishment, before his face quickly turned into one of absolute fury with nostrils flaring and his eyes narrowing. You knew that look on your boyfriend’s face— he was about to freak the fuck out. “ooohh my god, oh my god… what— what the FUCK are you doing?!”

Your face instantly dropped as you scoffed at the hypocrisy, “What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing?” you hurriedly marched towards him, casually stepping over the girl’s lifeless body with the bloody knife still in your right hand. With your faces merely inches away, you stared into his enraged, narrowed blue eyes before turning your attention to the body resting against the stairs. Brandon. The poor boy has been beaten to death with what you assume Rafe’s baseball bat, which has been sitting in the corner of his room untouched for quite some time, always leaving you wondering why he still had that thing. Well, that question was answered now. Brandon’s face was nearly unrecognisable, it was not a nice sight. He was covered in blood from head to toe, and it was clear Rafe used Brandon’s body to get all his aggression out.

Your attention was then drawn to the once-white carpet he was standing on, which was now ruined and completely covered in blood. “Oh, and real smart, Rafe. Letting a body bleed all over your fucking carpet. What are you gonna tell your family, huh?” You snorted, taking in the mess that Rafe had made all over the house.

“That’s… that’s what you’re fuckin’ worried about here!? Just… I— I don’t know, say you were on your period or some shit, jesus.” he rolled his eyes and shook his head, obviously not thinking about the fucking carpet right now as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts while squinting his eyes, still trying to figure out who the body was on the other end of the room.

“Is that— is that Oliv-“ “ON MY PERIOD, RAFE?! I’D BE FUCKING DEAD ALREADY IF THAT’S HOW MUCH I BLEED EACH MONTH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”

Rafe briefly closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, attempting to block out your exasperating voice but failing miserably as it was the only thing he could hear at that moment. His breathing accelerated and his eyes narrowed as his frustration reached its boiling point, his vision blurred with a red haze of anger before punching a hole in the wall, the impact echoing throughout the room, sending shockwaves of sound outward. “FUCK! Why do you— why you always gotta fuck things up for us, huh? Can’t you just be a normal fucking girlfriend for once? Jesus fucking christ.”

A normal girlfriend? Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces at his words. Each syllable fell like a knife to the heart, leaving you more vulnerable and hurt. In that moment, you realized with a sense of sorrow that no matter how much you loved him, it would never be enough. Tears from sheer rage and heartache began to well up in your eyes as your grip on the knife tightened. You felt so misunderstood— why couldn’t he just see that no girl could ever love him the way you do? That everything you do is for him?

“I— I did this for you, Rafe, for us. Can’t you fucking see that? She was gonna— fuck— she was gonna ruin what we have!” you spoke in a trembling but urgent voice, swaying the knife in front of his face as blood splattered all over the walls, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “I’d do anything for you, you hear me? ANYTHING! Nothing is ever gonna get between us, Rafe. And no one— no one will ever love you more than I do.” His eyes were eerily still, devoid of any trace of humanity, as he stood frozen, listening to your ramblings. It only fuelled your rage more, as you so desperately tried to get it through his head that you did it for him, with the best intentions, but Rafe gave no reaction.

“I just— I just don’t get it… How the FUCK is this my-“ you continued with tears streaming down your face but gasped when you were abruptly interrupted by Rafe grabbing your face, leaving a red blood imprint on your cheek before pushing you against the cold wall followed by his lips meeting yours in a fervent urgency. His body was pressed against yours with his hand gripping the back of your head, pushing you deeper into him to intensify the kiss as your tongues danced together. At that moment, all your surroundings melted away as you were lost in the overwhelming need for each other.

Because oddly, it turned him on— your insanity turned him on. It stirred a sensation of warmth, a tingling feeling, and a deep sense of gratitude within him. Knowing someone loved him to the point of being willing to do anything for him, even if that meant killing— that was all Rafe needed in his lonely existence, longing for someone to love him with the same intensity he felt for them. Rafe Cameron just needed to be loved.

“You’re— you’re… fuckin’ perfect.” Rafe whispered, his voice laced with an unfamiliar sweetness as his blue eyes intensely gazed into yours. Perfect? You blinked a few times as you shook your head, unable to process the sudden change in demeanour. “W-what?” you stared at him before he cupped your face with both hands, a look of solace and devotion on his blood-stained face. “Listen to me, yeah? ‘m never gonna let you go, I fuckin’ promise that. I’d do anything for you— anything, you hear me? Gonna take good fuckin’ care of my girl, a’ight?”

A relieved smile graced your lips, a chuckle escaping as you found comfort before you leaned in to kiss him once more, the embrace deeper and more intense than before, filled with longing and desire. He pushed you towards the couch, making you stumble backwards while feeling more aroused with each step you took. It was a bizarre scene— both of you covered in fresh blood, hungrily touching every part of each other’s bodies, with two corpses on the floor next to you, still bleeding all over. But that wasn’t any of your concern at that moment. All you cared about was how his skilled hands moved over your skin, making you crave him even more.

Rafe, on the other hand, felt he still had something to prove— as if murdering a man wasn’t enough. He needed you to know how good he could make you feel. He needed you to understand that no man on this planet could treat you better than him. You could see it in his lustful eyes as he pushed you back on the couch, followed by him crawling on top of you and attacking your still blood-covered neck with hungry kisses. The ticklish feeling of Rafe’s mouth made you giggle as the metallic tang of blood flooded his senses, coating his tongue with an iron bitterness that lingered long. He didn’t know whose blood it even was, maybe both of theirs together mixed with yours, by the way he was so aggressively biting and sucking on your skin.

“Mine. All fuckin’ mine. Got it?” he snarled as he withdrew and grasped your face tightly, forcing you to look him into his intense eyes. You agreed with a nod, flashing a naughty smile as you gazed up at him coyly through your lashes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Don’t wanna go around killin’ the entire neighbourhood.” He growled, before trailing his lips to your earlobe, gently sucking on it as his expensive cologne filled your nostrils. “But I will if I have to.” His voice raspy as he spoke, making you become wetter with each passing second.

“Hm, i don’t doubt that.” You remarked before a moan escaped your lips caused by Rafe’s hand groping your tits under your shirt, massaging them over the laced bra that he bought for you. “But know that I would kill the entire female population of the Outer Banks.” He couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle, still wrapping his head around just how insane his girlfriend truly was. “You’re so fucked in the head, shit.“ he whispered, pulling your bra down and toying with your nipples, making you bite your lip, “Just how I like it.”

Rafe then grabbed the knife from where you had dropped it next to the couch, skilfully twirling it a few times. You observed him with a rush of anticipation, uncertain of his intentions. He slid the knife beneath your top, eliciting a gasp as he swiftly sliced through the fabric, ruining your clothes, before repeating the action with your shorts.

“Rafe, what the fuck!” You hissed in annoyance as he destroyed your clothes. “Those were my favourites! Oh, don’t you fucking dare do the same with my underwear” It was evident he wasn't taking you seriously, the smug smile on his face only grew bigger before he slipped the knife under your bra and cut it open as well in one swift motion.

“Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. You know I can buy you anything you want, yeah?” Your lace underwear was next, leaving you inwardly agitated as he cut the fabric and flung it across the room. Seeing your dejected expression, he released an exasperated sigh. “Stop with the whining. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, a’ight?”

He seized you by the hips and quickly turned you around, pressing your face into the cushion before you could comprehend what was happening as in an instant, you found yourself face down with your ass up, angled towards him. “Fuckin’ soaked already, huh?” He suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair and raised your head, then stuck his blood-covered fingers into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his digits with a mixture of blood and drool running down your chin while feeling his clothed boner press against your bare ass. “Yeah— that’s right baby. Lick my fingers clean like a good fuckin’ girl.” You could feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs before Rafe scooped it up with his now clean fingers and slipped them into you from behind, making you let out a hitched breath at the sudden sensation as you moaned his name.

It didn’t take long for his digits to find your g-spot as he skilfully rubbed against it, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your pornographic moans combined with the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you made it difficult for him to control himself any longer, so he abruptly pulled out, causing you to whine at the sudden loss of contact. “You bitch! I was so fucking close!” Rafe’s hand reeled back before you felt a stinging pain on your ass, making you jolt forward on the couch. “Watch that fuckin’ mouth if you wanna cum.”

You heard the unbuckling of a belt behind you followed by feeling Rafe’s erection teasing your folds, dragging the tip up and down as his precum mixed with your wetness. Growing increasingly impatient, you tried to push yourself back onto his cock, to no avail as he held your hips firmly. “Aww, poor girl wants it bad, huh?” his voice laced with faux sympathy. “Then beg for it.”

“Rafe just fucking do-“ your words were quickly interrupted by him grasping your hair and leaning down to your eye level. “I said fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Fuck. Please, okay! I need to feel you! Just, please, fuck me” Rafe pushed himself into you in one quick thrust, swallowed by your warmth as he watched his cock disappear into your body. He gave you no time to adjust as he stretched you out completely, causing a brief sensation of pain that was quickly replaced by pleasure. He let out a sigh at the feeling, one hand on your lower back and the other on your hip as he quickly set a brutal pace— deep, erratic thrusts hitting your sweet spots so perfectly. Your nails scraped against the leather of the couch, nearly tearing it apart as you pushed yourself back onto Rafe’s cock, making him grunt at the sight. He massaged your inner walls so perfectly, making you moan his name loudly over and over again.

Rafe suddenly stopped in his tracks, cautioning, “Stay still or this will hurt, like bad, a’ight?”, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion before hearing him reach for the knife once again from next to him, sending a gulp down your throat. You tensed, anticipating the sensation, well aware of what was about to happen, just as you felt the sharp edge of the blade against your delicate skin while he was still balls deep inside of you. “So fuckin’ pretty all covered in blood, shit.” You could feel the letters he was etching into your skin— R.C., his initials. Once he was done, he tossed the knife on the floor before quickly pulling out, causing you to whine at the sudden empty feeling as he leaned down, licking up your blood that was dripping from the fresh wounds, mingling with Olivia's still-stained blood on your skin. “Forever mine.”

Rafe slapped your ass once again, causing you to cry out from the stinging pain of his hand making contact with the fresh carvings on your skin. “Now, where were we?” He slipped into you again as he mercilessly continued his thrusts, strangled noises leaving your mouth at the sudden feeling. He noticed your moans were muffled by the pillow so he grabbed a handful of your hair and tugged it firmly, pulling you back to meet his thrusts.

“Shit, look at ya now. Not so tough anymore, huh?” Rafe groaned as he pounded into you, his brutal thrusts making your eyes roll to the back of your head as your vision started to blur. “Shut— up.” You muttered in between his thrusts, your mind all fuzzy as his tip repeatedly hit your cervix. You clenched around him when he kept hitting that one spot inside you, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

You arched your back with your eyes fluttering shut as felt your orgasm approaching. “I’m— I’m so fucking close, oh my god” You moaned out with your mouth agape, nails digging deep into the skin of his arm that was wrapped around your body as the sensation became too much for you.

“Come f’me, doll. Gonna fill you up so fuckin’ good” Rafe’s hand snaked around your body to rub fast circles on your sensitive clit, making you moan loudly as your orgasm abruptly struck you, causing you to clench hard around his cock with buckling knees. All your muscles tensed as you saw stars, a wave of pleasure fully overtaking you with Rafe still pounding into you, chasing his own orgasm. He came not too long after you, slow and drawn-out curses spilling from his lips with his head thrown back as you could feel the familiar pool of warmth fill you up to the brim, completely emptying himself inside of you as his orgasm hit him.

He rode out his high before he carefully pulled out as your chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, each breath a struggle to fill your lungs with air while trying to regain your breath. “My pretty, pretty girl.” Rafe praised, staring at your cum-dripping cunt with a grin on his face.

As you opened your eyes, the harsh reality crashed over you like a wave, sending a shiver down your spine at the sight of the lifeless bodies lying across the floor. Panic laced your voice as you turned to face Rafe, desperation evident in your words. "Rafe? What the fuck are we going to do with the bodies?"

His response was surprisingly calm, his tone carrying an unsettling assurance. "Don't worry ‘bout that. I'll take care of it, a’ight?"

The eerie composure in his voice sent a chill down your spine, hinting at a familiarity with murdering that made your stomach churn. "What? How— how do you know how to clean up bodies?"

A sinister smirk crept onto his handsome features, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion and disbelief before his blue eyes stared deep into yours, holding you in their gaze with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Princess, what do you think happened to poor Jake last month? And Dylan before that?”

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