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pucksandpower · 8 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

covenofagatha · 4 months ago

Text

A Helping Hand

You're helping your Professor gather ingredients for a potion she's brewing when you accidentally knock over a jar of sex pollen and need help.

Word count: ~3100

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, fingering, Top Agatha, magic cock, blowjob, magic cum, pure filth, teacher x student, age gap (everyone's legal)

Your brow furrows as you stare at the open spell book in front of you. You have a Potions test tomorrow for Professor Harkness, and evident by your lack of understanding of any of the words on the page, you are not going to do well.

“What’s wrong?” your roommate, Wanda, asks you. The two of you are the top witches at the Academy of Dark Arts, and yet, neither of you has a strong suit in potions.

And of course, the Potions teacher, Agatha Harkness, is the hardest teacher you have.

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to remember that, for the Wolfsbane Potion, you have to stir three times counterclockwise, say this incantation, and then stir four times clockwise, all while making sure I’m continuously pouring in Dragon’s Blood?” Your head hurts just from reading it from the book.

Wanda snorts. “Agatha doesn’t expect it to be perfect.”

You give her a look. You both know that’s a lie. Agatha is the teacher that makes you redo written homework assignments if you leave too much space between the words.

The Academy of Dark Arts was a home for witches like you and Wanda: witches that did not have a coven, or even a family. The Academy was supposed to teach girls to harness and understand their powers.

You have been here the longest, ever since you were twelve. You are almost twenty now. You had always put off taking Potions until you could no longer avoid it, mainly just because of how hard everyone else said it was. You had briefly interacted with Professor Harkness before the class, passing her in the corridors or making eye contact at meals.

And maybe, just maybe, you had developed a bit of a crush on her once you were in her class.

Who could blame you, though? She was the definition of perfection, with the way power just exuded from her, and the way her long, dark hair tumbled down to her lower back, and her piercing blue eyes that you suspected could see right into your soul.

But your little infatuation was not what you needed right now – no, right now, you need to study.

“I just don’t know anything,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t even read my notes.” Agatha often went so fast in class that you had no other option than to just scribble down everything you thought she said as quickly as you could.

And now you just had pages of illegible chicken scratch.

“She’s probably still in the green house, why not just go ask her for help,” Wanda says noncommittally, too engrossed in sketching a picture. How she is so calm with this test hanging over the both of you, you have no idea.

But you nod. That’s a good idea. You can go see Agatha, ask her to clarify a few things, and then stay up all night cramming ingredients and directions into your brain.

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, and then scoop up your book and your notes.

You pass by some younger witches in the hallway and you give them a tight-lipped smile. Wanda was really your only friend at the Academy, the other girls too boy-crazy or too self-absorbed for you to really connect with them.

Other than those girls, though, the Academy is quiet. No sign of any of your other teachers, and you’re sure they’re either in their private quarters or still grading papers in their classrooms.

You have to leave the main house of the Academy to get to the greenhouse, where Potions takes place. The cold November air stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water, but luckily, it’s a short walk.

“Hello, Professor Harkness?” you say timidly, knocking on the door as you push it open. She’s sitting at a stool, cutting plants with a sharp knife. Her hair flowing down her back and she's wearing a tight white button-down shirt on that’s tucked into high-waisted purple pants, and a long, navy coat.

She glances up and smiles when she sees it’s you. “Y/n, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to come see if you could help me clear some things up for the test tomorrow,” you say, a little flustered by how good she looks.

“Sure thing, hon. First, I need your help. Hand me those powders from over there?” She points the knife over to the counter by the sink and you oblige, grabbing the four vials and putting them down next to her. She picks each one up and examines the label closely. “Ah, shoot. Sorry, dear, could you find the jar with the powdered root of asphodel? It should be in the pantry somewhere. I thought I took it out, but I guess I forgot.”

“Yeah, of course.” You repeat the powder name in your head a few times so you don’t forget it and then go search for it.

You finally spot it on the fourth shelf, sitting in the middle of some other jars, and you reach up on your tip-toes to grab it. As you’re pulling down the correct jar, you accidentally knock it into another and it falls to the floor next to you.

“Shit!” you mutter, immediately crouching down to assess the damage. The jar of some unknown powder has broken and its contents are spilled everywhere. Without even thinking, you start to sweep the powder into your hands so you can try to put it back in the bottom half of the jar that’s still intact.

You didn’t even notice Agatha coming over after she heard the noise. “Everything okay – don’t touch any of that!” she exclaims, seeing the bottle that broke on the floor.

You drop the mound of powder in your hands and whirl around, eyes wide open.

“What is it?” you ask, afraid of the answer, but she doesn’t give you one, instead opting to pull you by the sleeve over to the sink.

“Wash your hands now,” she demands and stands there watching you scrub your skin until it’s red. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine,” you say, but as you say that, you notice something. There’s an unmistakable heat growing in your stomach. And it only gets worse when Agatha places a hand against your forehead. You lean into the touch and have to forcibly bite your tongue so you don’t moan.

She looks you up and down and you can feel yourself getting hotter. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed.

You’ve never felt this way before.

“Um, just out of curiosity, what was that powder?” you ask, wetness pooling between your thighs. The ache between your legs is becoming hard to ignore.

Agatha meets your eyes. “It’s called sex pollen.” Your heart skips a beat. “I honestly forgot it was back there. I came across some a few decades ago and wanted to study it.”

You swallow hard. “So if someone gets some of it in their system, do they just need to touch…” You feel yourself blushing, not quite believing you’re asking Agatha Harkness if masturbation is the key to get this heat inside you to die down.

She smirks. “You can’t get it out of your system by yourself.”

Well, fuck. “There’s no other way?”

“Where would the fun in that be?” She winks playfully, and you wonder if she’s ever used it, or used it on someone else. “But you said you feel fine so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Right,” you reply shakily. Her fingers brush a strand of hair out of her face and you literally clench at the sight of them. You feel so empty, so needy, so desperate for her.

“You said you had some questions for the test tomorrow?” She takes the root of asphodel that you had forgotten you were holding and beckons you back over to where she’s working. She pats the stool next to you and you sit, the pressure on your clit making you jump.

You just have to make it through this, go back to your room, and then drag Wanda out with you to a club or something so you can get fucked.

The only problem is, you’re not sure you can wait that long. Your hips have started squirming on the stool beneath you and you can’t control it.

“Um, so,” you start, opening up the textbook to the Wolfsbane Potion you were studying earlier. “The directions for this potion are–”

You’re cut off by her putting her hand on top of yours and you literally whimper at the contact. You stiffen and see her turn her full body towards you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, your darkened eyes, the way your hips are moving on the seat.

“Oh, you poor baby,” she taunts.

You give up the pretense of being unaffected by the pollen. “Professor, I’m so…I need…please…I think the pollen...”

She laughs. “Yes, dear, I think the pollen got into your system. Do you have anyone who can take care of you?”

You blush at the implication of Agatha asking if you have a fuck buddy and then shake your head pathetically. “I was gonna go out with Wanda and try to find someone,” you mumble. “I’ve never…” You trail off, not wanting your incredibly hot professor to hear you say out loud that you’re a virgin.

“Honey, you can’t have your first time with a random person from a bar,” she tuts. “Plus, sex pollen amplifies feelings you already have. Getting fucked by a random person won’t help as much as by a person you already want.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you whine. “Can you…will you…please?” You can tell the pollen is affecting your ability to think straight because there is no way you just asked your centuries-old professor to fuck you. You’re about ready to run out of the room and die of embarrassment when she grins.

“You want me to help you?”

Your breath catches. “Professor, please, please, I need it. I need you. I just feel so…hot.”

“I’ll say,” she says appreciatively, this time letting her eyes wander over you slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you regretting this when the pollen wears off.”

You shake your head. “I won’t. I’m sure. I want you so bad. I have for a while. And you said it has to be someone you already want.”

Her eyes darken. “Get on the table.”

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. She takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere else in the room, and then her hands are cupping your breasts and her mouth is on yours.

You moan hungrily into her hot mouth, feeling her tongue against yours. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling it gently, and she groans into your mouth. Agatha quickly undoes the clasp of your bra and finds your nipples, tugging at them. She kisses down your neck and your fingers leave her hair to hike up your skirt.

“So eager for me,” she whispers against your clavicle. You gasp when she bites down.

“Please, professor, touch me.”

“I am touching you,” she teases, fingertips lightly skimming down your stomach. You tense at the touch as she gets lower.

Your moan is downright pornographic when she first slides her hand into your underwear, sliding through your folds. She makes a sound as well.

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” she says.

“All for you,” you say weakly, hips grinding up and down against her fingers. She’s yet to touch your clit, but you fear the second she does, you’ll cum.

“My dirty girl.” Agatha finally pushes her middle finger into you and you clench down immediately, needing more. She easily finds the spot that makes you squeal, and her thumb brushes against your clit. “Do you think you can take another finger?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you enthusiastically agree and she slides in her ring finger as well. It’s a bit of a stretch but you’ve never felt better.

“Your cunt feels so good around me,” Agatha says, grabbing your chin with her other hand so you meet her eyes. “So wet, so warm. I want to stay here forever. You can’t get enough of my fingers, can you?”

“No, Professor, I love your fingers,” you babble, right on the edge. She knows it too.

“Be a good girl and come for mommy,” she whispers right into your ear, her hot breath warm, and the name, coupled with the way she twists her fingers and roughly strokes your clit, sends you climaxing.

“Fuckkkk,” you moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. She fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then slowly pulls her fingers, which are drenched, out of you. You can’t help but feel empty and the heat inside you isn’t completely gone.

Before you can say anything, she slides her wet fingers into your mouth and you lazily lap at your juices. She bites her lip at the feeling.

“How are you feeling now, baby girl?”

Her fingers leave your mouth with a pop. “Better but I still think I need more.”

Her eyebrow raises playfully. “My fingers weren’t enough to quell your thirst?”

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed.

“I think I know something that might help.” She waves her hand and a poof of purple smoke appears. You’re not quite sure what she did, but she gives you a wicked grin and unzips her pants, pulling out a purple strap-on.

Your mouth falls open.

She grabs a hold of the base and starts to stroke herself, groaning.

“Wait, can you-”

She looks up at you. “Feel it?” She nods. “I wanna feel you clench around my cock. Wanna fill you up.”

You let out a small gasp. “Mommy, please, I need your cock.”

She steps back over to you and runs a hand up your slit, collecting your wetness, which she then rubs on her cock. “You’re plenty wet already, but why don’t you get on your knees and show me how much of a good girl you can be.”

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You practically fall to the ground in front of her, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees. You look up at her, awaiting instruction, and she bites her lip softly at the sight of you.

She puts a hand on your head and pushes you closer. “Put a hand around the base and then run your tongue up and down the length.”

You do as you’re told and you delight in the loud moan that tears from her mouth. Her hand just rests on your head as you then experimentally suck the tip of her cock between your lips.

“Good girl,” she says gruffly, and her praise drives you to test the waters and go down further. You bob your head on her dick, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so hot.”

Meanwhile, the need inside you is growing so much you can barely fight the urge to slip a hand up your skirt. But you don’t. You figure Agatha won’t like that, and also, you want to focus all your attention on making her feel good.

“Such a dirty slut on her knees for mommy. So desperate for this cock,” she says and you groan around the strap-on, making her hands tighten in your hair. She pulls you back and a string of saliva connects your lips to her. “Get up.”

Once you’re standing in front of her, she flips you around and bends your front over the table so she’s standing behind you. She pushes your skirt up and traces your pussy with her cock, sliding it up your slit to your clit and then back. You’re grinding against her, trying to get some stimulation.

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks.

“Yes,” you answer, voice hoarse with anticipation. You feel her line the tip up with your hole and then slowly start to push in.

Both of you moan. She is so big but the stretch is exactly what you need. Once she bottoms out, she holds still for a second, letting you adjust to her size.

“You take my cock so well.” And then she’s pulling out and thrusting back in, picking up speed and intensity. You lift a leg up so she’s able to get deeper and you can feel her hips stutter. “You pretend to be so innocent but look at how desperate you are for me. Just a little slut, needing me to fill her up.”

“Yes, just a slut for you, mommy.”

Her nails dig into your hip and her other hand comes down to rub your clit. You clench around her.

“You’re so tight, so hot, you feel so good squeezing my dick,” Agatha murmurs, saying the filthiest things right into your ear. You’re so close and it’s only been a few minutes of her pounding into you.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. Her hand leaves your clit and you gasp.

“Not yet, baby, wait for mommy. Do you want me to fill you up?”

“Want you to fill me up, mommy, wanna feel you dripping out of me,” you babble.

“Oh shit, baby, gonna cum in you. Cum for me,” she says, and you do. This orgasm is even more intense than the one before and you feel her give you one last hard thrust before warmth spreads through your cunt. She stills for just a second and then gingerly pulls out. You can feel her cum dripping out of your hole and down your leg and it almost makes you cum again.

Agatha turns you around and spreads your legs so she can watch it better. She takes two fingers and lazily smears her cum mixed with yours all over your pussy lips. She raises her fingers to your lips and you eagerly taste both of your juices, moaning around them.

“Do you feel better now?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes.

You sigh dramatically. “For now. But who’s to say I won’t get into more sex pollen some other time?”

She chuckles and matches your smirk with one of her own. “Well, I guess I better keep a careful eye on you then.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha x you

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whatiswrongwithpeople · 3 months ago

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Unspoken Understandings

part 2 to “Shattered Silence” (Jayce Talis x reader)

Part 1

Summary: After that fateful night in the lab both ,Jayce and you, have been unsure how to address the sudden shift in your dynamic. However, sometimes all it takes is a certain yordle to force Jayce to take a break from his work and leave the lab.

Warnings: none, no spoilers for s2, no canon plot, a good amount of domestic fluff

Notes: I am really REALLY surprised about how much love “Shattered Silence” has received and hope that you enjoy this follow up just as much. <3 Once again , this has been written in my notes app, I hope I didn’t miss any mistakes.

Tags🏷️ @a-queen-blr @anxious-doodler @brabuscoffwe

The days after the break-in were a blur of frantic packing and moving. You had to find a new place fast—nothing too fancy, just something safe, something that could hold your things and the remaining bits of your research. But the weight of it all pressed down on you, your muscles aching from days spent running between your old and new apartment. You didn’t have the luxury of time to process what had happened the night you stormed into the lab, or even think much about him.

But the nights…

The nights were when you couldn’t stop thinking about how, despite everything, Jayce had held you. How, for a brief moment, you had leaned into him without fear of rejection. You’d allowed yourself to feel vulnerable, and he hadn’t pushed you away.

Now, you found yourself trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest every time you thought about him, but the silence between you both felt suffocating.

Meanwhile, Jayce had buried himself in his work. The breakthrough he’d been chasing for months was nearly within reach, and that goal, that obsession, kept him up at night. But even as his mind raced with equations and possibilities, something nagged at him—a thought that he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

It had started that night when you had collapsed into his arms, your trembling form clinging onto him like a lifeline. The way your body had felt in his embrace, how you had allowed him to hold and comfort you… something about it just felt right. And the days since? It was almost like he couldn't think straight without you. Your presence had become something he couldn’t quite get out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, your face would appear—raw, vulnerable, but somehow more real than anything else in his life.

But what exactly was that thing between you? Was it something real, or just the aftershock of an unexpected and stressful situation? Jayce couldn’t even bring himself to ask.

---

It was late when Heimerdinger found him pacing in the lab, his mind so tangled in equations that the pieces didn’t seem to fit anymore.

“You’re working too hard, Jayce.” Heimerdinger’s voice was calm, but there was a quiet insistence behind it. He hadn’t seen the young inventor so distracted in what felt like ages.

Jayce, who had been scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, didn’t even look up. “I’m close to figuring this out. I just need a few more adjustments,” he said, but his voice lacked the usual tone of conviction.

Heimerdinger tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze studying the younger man. It didn’t take long for him to figure out the nature of the inventor’s problems. “You were always quick to tell me how distracting it was when you were around her. How you could hardly think clearly when she was near.” Heimerdinger spoke , a nonchalant tone covering up the intention behind his statement.

Jayce froze, his pen hovering mid-air. He couldn’t remember ever having said that, but since the incident the times of feeling annoyed by you felt so far away. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was true. That really had been how he’d felt around you, hadn’t it? You had always found a way of breaking through his concentration, making him second-guess his thoughts and decisions.

But now? He didn’t feel distracted anymore. The thought of you didn’t pull him away from his work—it was more like you were... quieting the noise in his mind. Every time he thought about you, his thoughts slowed, calmed. The gears in his brain didn’t spin at a hundred miles per hour anymore. They… rested.

Sighing, Jayce met Heimerdinger’s knowing gaze. "It’s not the same,” he said, his voice quieter now, unsure. “It’s... different.”

Heimerdinger gave him a pointed look, crossing his arms behind his back as he looked up at the young man. “You’ve been working non-stop for days, Jayce. Sometimes the best breakthroughs come when we step away from the work for a little while. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep this up."

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but Heimerdinger was already walking toward the door. “I’m forcing you out of here. Take a break. Go see her,” he said, an almost cheerful tone in his voice. And with that, he was gone.

Jayce sat in stunned silence for a moment, the yordle’s words hanging in the air. Go see her? If he was honest to himself, he hadn’t even thought about it. A part of his mind harbouring a feeling of anxiousness regarding the inevitable confrontation. But something in Heimerdinger’s voice made him hesitate. It was as if the older man had seen through all the layers of self-doubt Jayce had buried himself under.

With the scrape of his chair he stood up. He needed to get out of the lab. He needed to breathe. He needed to see you.

---

It wasn’t hard to find your new place. Jayce had always been able to track down anything and anyone, with ease—Piltover wasn’t exactly a large city after all.

But as he stood outside your new apartment, his stomach churned. The weight of everything he had avoided saying hung over him like a dark storm cloud. He had no idea how this would play out—what could he even say? That he hadn’t been able to think straight since the night you’d come to him? That he’d wanted to be there for you, but had no clue how to navigate what had happened between you both?

But before he could completely lose his nerve, the door to the apartment opened, and you appeared.

You looked… tired. Your hair was pulled back in a messy up-do, and your shirt was slightly wrinkled, but there was something comforting about the chaos surrounding you. Not wanting to stare , his golden eyes quickly drifting to the space behind you. It was clearly your place now, your sanctuary, but it was still a work in progress.

You saw him before he could even open his mouth to say anything, and a flicker of surprise crossed your face. “Jayce? What are you—”

“I—uh, I came to check on you,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly awkward. His nervous gaze switching back and forth between you and the wood on your door. “See how you’re doing… with the new place and everything.”

You raised an eyebrow but stepped aside, allowing him to enter. “Well,” you said with a tired half-smile, “it’s been a lot of work. Still don’t know where half my things are.”

Jayce chuckled as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His mind reeling at how your presence suddenly made him feel less anxious, like he didn’t have to carry his burdens anymore . Not here, not now.

You motioned toward a pile of boxes in the corner of the living room, your smile sheepish, almost apologetic. “You wouldn’t happen to be good at putting together furniture, would you?”

Without a second thought, Jayce was moving toward the pile, rolling up his sleeves with a quiet determination. “I can manage,” he said with a grin, glancing back at you. “But only if you promise not to laugh at my attempts.”

You smirked, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. “No promises,” you teased, but there was a lightness in your voice now where tiredness had been before.

For the next few hours, the two of you worked side by side, not really talking, but filling the space between you with easy silence. There was something almost intimate in the simplicity of it—a shared task, each moment feeling like it stitched something new into the fabric of your newfound connection. The screech of a screwdriver, the soft clink of metal against wood, and the occasional, shared chuckle when one of you fumbled—it was like you were building something together, but not just the furniture. It was this. Whatever it was that had started to grow between you.

You worked in rhythm, so comfortable with him that it didn’t even feel strange. You caught yourself looking up at him a few times, watching the way he moved, how the muscles in his arms flexed when assembling the pieces and silently admiring the way the light caught the lines of his face. Jayce wasn’t just the scientist, the bold, sometimes aloof figure you'd known—here, in this space, he felt… real. Vulnerable, even. The arrogant mask you had become so accustomed to had slipped away, leaving only the person beneath. And for the first time, you saw him as someone who was just as human as you.

When the last piece of furniture was assembled, both of you collapsed onto the couch. The apartment was still a mess, but somehow, it felt more like home now. After hours of unpacking, moving boxes, and trying to make sense of the chaos, you and Jayce had both reached a kind of quiet, shared exhaustion. There was something about the way the late afternoon light filtered through the windows—golden and warm—that made everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Jayce was beside you on the couch, leaning back against the cushions with his sleeves still rolled up, hair unkempt and his face still a little flushed from the work. Normally, by now you’d be bickering with each other, exchanging sarcastic remarks til one of you would have enough and storm out of the room. But ever since your distraught form had stormed into his lab, that usual dynamic was missing. The crackling back-and-forth had faded into something quieter, something more... honest.

“So, this is it, huh?” you said, glancing around the room. It was a mix of completed and incomplete, a snapshot of a new beginning. “Still a long way to go, but... it’s getting there.”

Jayce surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the boxes and the half-finished furniture scattered around. “It’s... definitely not what I expected,” he said, his lips twitching into a smile. “You still got a ton of stuff for someone who has been robbed.” You laughed lightly, but it wasn’t a tense laugh like it would have been just a few days ago. It was more... genuine.

The silence stretched a little longer, and you found yourself thinking about how easily you used to hide behind the jabs and insults. You had both spent so much time pretending—pretending that you couldn’t stand each other, pretending like there was nothing more beneath the surface. But nevertheless, despite years of constant back and forth, Jayce had been the one your heart had led you to when your mind was in a state of absolute panic.

“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time pretending,” you said softly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. “Pretending like we couldn’t get along, pretending like I didn’t... care.”

Jayce’s eyes flicked over to you, something unreadable in his gaze. For a moment, he didn’t respond, allowing the truth to settle between you.

“I think I was pretending, too,” he said finally, his voice low and honest. “Pretending I didn’t want... this.” He gestured loosely between you two, his hand hovering in the air, as if the words were more difficult to articulate than the feelings behind them.

There it was. That truth you had both danced around for so long. And now, it didn’t feel awkward. It felt like a breath you both had been holding ever since Jayce had comforted you that fateful night, waiting for the right moment to exhale.

You turned toward him, your body instinctively moving closer. You didn’t have to think about it. The space between you was just too small now, too important to leave empty. As if by reflex, your hand reached out, softly brushing his arm, letting your fingers rest gently against his. The touch was tentative at first but you felt him respond instantly—his hand turning slightly, his fingers seeking yours, meeting you halfway.

It was subtle, a small connection that sent a rush of warmth through you. Neither of you said anything. The words didn’t feel necessary anymore. Jayce shifted a little, his knee brushing against yours, his hand gently drawing you closer. He wasn’t in a rush. You weren’t either. But as the space between you closed even more, something shifted, and you both knew the moment was right.

Jayce’s thumb traced along the back of your hand, his touch light but deliberate. Slowly, he turned toward you, his body leaning in, and you could feel his breath on your lips before his mouth even touched yours. It wasn’t a desperate move, but one full of quiet intent, like this was something that had been building between you for far too long.

His lips met yours gently at first—just a soft brush, testing, as though waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Neither of you did. The kiss deepened, slowly, naturally. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your head slightly as his other hand slid around your waist, his electric touch finding its way underneath your shirt, pulling you closer. The warmth of his body against yours felt so right, so easy, just like it had back in the lab when he had shielded you from your troubles, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You melted into him. There was no rush, no hesitation now. Just the soft pressure of his lips on yours, the tender way his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if memorizing the feel of of your skin underneath his fingertips.

When you pulled back, there was no immediate rush to fill the space with words. The air between you felt charged, but in a quiet, intimate way. You both breathed deeply, your lips tingling from the kiss, your pulse still racing a marathon in your chest.

Jayce’s hand lingered on your waist, his thumb absently tracing circles on your skin. “Guess we don’t have to pretend to not like each other anymore,” he murmured, his voice hushed, almost unsure, like the weight of everything was finally settling in. You shook your head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hand found his again. “No. I guess not.”

Jayce leaned back into the couch, his body angled closer to yours now. His eyes twinkled with that familiar teasing glint, but there was something new in the way he looked at you. Something lighter. “So, dinner? I think I’ve earned it.”

You chuckled, your fingers still intertwined with his as you stood. “You’ve already helped me move half my furniture, Jayce. You’re definitely sticking around.”

He flashed you a relaxed grin, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

Letting go of his hand, you turned toward the kitchen, starting to gather ingredients, and Jayce followed you, leaning in just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Need any help?”

You glanced at him with a smile. “Unless you’ve got a Hextech gadget to chop vegetables, I’ve got it under control.”

Jayce chuckled and stepped back, settling in at the table as you started to prepare a meal. There was something comforting in his quiet presence, in the easy rhythm of the evening. You moved around each other effortlessly, the space between you filled with warmth rather than words.

Soon enough, you set the table and sat down together, the simple meal feeling more like a shared moment than just food. Jayce took a bite, then raised an eyebrow in approval. “I’m impressed. Didn’t expect you to be this good at it.”

You laughed, your fingers brushing his as you reached for your drink. “I’m full of surprises.” He smiled at that, his eyes lingering on your face , as if trying to capture the moment.

After dinner, you started to clear the table and do the dishes when Jayce moved to help. You smiled and gently took the dish towel from his hands. “I’ve got this,” you said softly. He gave you a mock pout in return. “I was just getting into it.” Looking up at him, you smiled fondly at his behaviour. “You’ve done enough for today.”

Jayce stepped closer, golden eyes soft as his hand reached out for the towel again. “I don’t mind,” he murmured, his warmth filling the tiny space of your kitchen and wrapping around you like a safety blanket.

“Thanks,” you whispered, cheeks burning with a soft blush as you suddenly felt the quiet comfort of his presence in a way that made everything else feel far away.

Jayce leaned in to brush a kiss against your forehead, light but sincere. “Anytime.”

And just like that, everything felt perfectly in place.

#arcane #arcane netflix #jayce talis #arcane x reader #arcane jayce #jayce talis x reader #arcane imagines #jayce x reader #arcane jayce x reader #jayce arcane x reader #jayce talis imagine

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raysrays · 7 months ago

Text

Fatal Attraction Chapter Three (NSFW)

18+ MDNI‼️

CW for the entire story: Breeding, Size Difference,Size Kink, Jealousy, Scent Marking, Age Difference, Vaginal Sex, Possessive Behavior, Angst, Twisted, Creampie, Angry Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-pulling, Biting, Master/Pet, Light Dom/sub, Violence, Knotting.

Chapter One, Chapter Two,

Content disclaimer: This story is inspired by the amazing artist @PammyJammy117 on Twitter/X. I in absolutely no way own or claim the idea of the “Cryptid Rengoku” character. Please give credit to the original artist who inspired the story.

(If you want to be on a tag list for up coming chapters just let me know <3)

Sneaking out of a monster's den wasn't how I planned to spend my morning. My body was so sore that walking was nearly unbearable. The only reason I managed to escape was because I noticed Rengoku had a slight hearing problem.

Despite his large, pointed ears, he often asked me to speak up or claimed he couldn't hear what I was saying.

He must have been exhausted from last night too, because he didn't react to my footsteps. This "escape," if you could call it that, was likely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I tried to recall everything that had happened, but my mind remained hazy. I remembered the pleasure, the pain, and I remembered him saying something to me, but I was too wrapped up in the moment to grasp his words.

But none of that mattered now. The only thing that did was getting back to Tamayo to explain why I never returned with the firewood.

As I neared the edge of the woods, I could see the camp in the distance. My head started to spin again, and my vision became foggy.

I squinted and saw someone running towards me.

"Y/N, Y/N!" a voice called out.

Is that Yushiro?

That was my last thought before everything went black and my head hit the ground.

I was out.

—————————

When I woke up, the warm light was practically burning into my eyes. I knew exactly where I was.

As I slowly sat up from the bed, I saw Tamayo sitting at a desk in the corner of the room, appearing to take notes.

"You should lie back down. Whatever got you, got you pretty good," she said calmly.

She put down her pen and walked over to me, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling? What hurts?" She gently placed a hand on my forehead.

This was unusual. Tamayo typically gave me the "tough love" treatment, even when I was sick. So why was she being so compassionate now?

“I feel... surprisingly okay.” I moved my body slightly, not feeling nearly as bad as I had when I first made it out of the woods.

She smiled and nodded, pulling out another pen and a pad of paper. “That’s because of the medicine I gave you. You should be back to normal very soon.” Her smile was warm and reassuring.

“Are you feeling well enough to answer some questions? I need you to tell me everything you can remember about what attacked you.” She looked at me with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

I couldn't tell her about Rengoku. By the time he wakes up, I'm probably already in enough trouble with him as it is. I definitely don’t need to add to that.

I bit my bottom lip slightly as I scanned my body. Bruises and cuts covered my arms and legs, and even more were on my chest, according to Tamayo.

I looked up at her apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Tamayo, but I really can’t remember much. Everything happened so fast.”

She sighed, then her gaze stopped at my neck. “What about that?” She gestured to her own neck. “What happened there?”

I reached up and touched my neck, feeling the outline of teeth marks.

Thinking quickly, I decided to go along with what Tamayo believed. “I remember a little bit. It was large with sharp teeth, and it moved quickly. While I was collecting firewood, it ambushed me. It must have thought it had killed me and ran off.” The lie flowed out smoother than I had expected.

I watched as she scribbled my words on her notepad, making note of the beast’s appearance.

I fed her small snippets of false information about the supposed monster that attacked me. It hurt to lie, especially to someone who had always been so kind and patient with me, but what other choice did I have?

She tucked her pen behind her ear and set down her pad of paper, her gaze now fixed on me.

"Y/N."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"I owe you an apology," she began.

“An apology? For what?”

"Last night, when you didn’t return with the firewood, I grew frustrated. Remembering your reluctance to travel up north with us, I thought you had grown tired of monster hunting and just ran off."

She sighed and shook her head.

"So when Yushiro recommended sending a search party to check on you, I told him to forget about it."

My eyes widened at the implication.

"I’m so sorry, Y/N. If I hadn’t been so dismissive, you probably wouldn’t have had to suffer through the night alone in the woods."

She took my hand, squeezing it gently.

"I’m so sorry. Please forgive my negligence," she said, looking at me with genuine sorrow.

My heart ached seeing her blame herself for my "attack." I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault and that her life's work on monsters wasn't a waste.

But I couldn’t, because I’m selfish. Despite how much Rengoku scares me, I have strange feelings for him. I don’t want to see him captured and tested on.

“It’s fine, Tamayo, really. You don’t need to feel sorry,” I said with a gentle smile. “Besides, the medicine you gave me has almost completely taken away the pain. I feel fine now!”

She smiled and pulled her hand back. “Well then, if you’re feeling so much better, you can accompany Yushiro to the next village to gather more supplies.” She stood up and walked back to the desk to gather her paperwork.

And I’m back to work…

“There are some clothes for you over there,” she pointed to a small wardrobe in the corner of the room.

“Okay, thank you.” I cleared my throat slightly.

She nodded and exited the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

As I stood up to get the clothes, a sudden ache started in my stomach, the same nausea I felt when we went up north. The side effects of disobeying a cryptid, disobeying a mate.

He must be awake now.

Maybe running into town wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It would keep Rengoku from looking for me. He wouldn’t show his face in town.

I dressed quickly and left the small infirmary room. As I walked by, a few fellow monster hunters gave me only a cursory glance.

Stepping outside, I saw Yushiro standing near the door, absorbed in a list. When I approached, he looked up, his usual scowl replaced by an expression of concern and relief.

As I reached him, he diverted his gaze back to the list, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, is there a lot we need to get?” I replied.

He started walking, and I fell in step beside him. He handed me the list of supplies Tamayo had given him. I scanned it briefly—mostly food and medicinal herbs.

I handed the list back, and he slipped it into the pocket of his vest. We walked in awkward silence for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asked.

I glanced at him, but he kept his eyes forward.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for getting me inside and taking care of me,” I said, offering a faint smile.

He didn’t respond.

“That bite looked pretty nasty when I found you,” he said finally, glancing at the bandage on my neck.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I said, trying to downplay it. Reflecting on it, the pain hadn’t been intense—perhaps my body was still in shock, and the adrenaline had dulled the sensation.

We walked in silence until we reached the village. Once there, Yushiro pulled out the list, and we divided the tasks between us to save time.

I was responsible for gathering herbs and bandages, while Yushiro took on the rest. We parted ways, and I headed towards the market.

The market was bustling today, crowded with vendors and shoppers. After being shoved around more than I’d have liked, I finally reached a stall selling medical herbs. I quickly gathered what I needed and paid the elderly woman at the booth, then tucked the small pouch of herbs into my pocket and moved on.

Suddenly, a sharp pain flared in my chest and stomach. It felt like I might collapse. Rengoku’s influence seemed to be intensifying.

He must be really upset that I left. It wasn’t as if I planned on disappearing forever. I intended to return and visit him tonight, to show I could manage both him and my team without issues.

I gasped, clutching my chest as the pain grew more intense. It had never hurt this badly before.

I stumbled into a secluded part of the market, struggling to catch my breath and regain my composure. As I focused on the ground, a shadow fell over me, prompting me to look up.

A tall man stood before me, his muscular build evident through his clothes. When my gaze reached his face, my heart skipped a beat. His yellow and red hair, falling to his shoulders, forked eyebrows, and amber eyes were strikingly familiar. But something about his eyes was different—more intense.

“What are you doing all the way out here, little human?” he asked, smiling down at me.

My breath caught as the realization dawned.

“Rengoku?” I whispered.

He smiled wider, revealing his sharp teeth, and his eyes briefly flashed red despite his now human-like appearance.

My heart raced furiously. Even as a monster, he was alluring, but as a human, he was just as captivating.

He grasped my face, his smile fading into a look of displeasure.

“Why was it, when I woke up, that my human, my mate was gone? Especially after she pledged her loyalty and life to me?” His voice dropped dangerously low.

I was disoriented by how strange this all felt. His voice no longer had the echo I was accustomed to, and the clicking sound I had grown used to had vanished.

Am I hallucinating? Is this some side effect of Tamayo’s medicine?

His grip on my face tightened, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I struggled to find the words under the intensity of his angry gaze.

"I-I'm sorry, Rengoku. I didn't mean to make you come looking for me. Really, I intended to come back as soon as it got dark," I said, smiling nervously.

He tilted my head to the side, examining the bandage on my neck. His eyes turned back to their usual red.

"So, not only does my mate try to escape, but she also hides my mark, my claim," he growled.

He was furious, but I didn’t have time for this. If I didn’t leave now, Yushiro wouldn’t know what happened to me.

I gently lifted my trembling hand to cover his, still holding my face firmly. I needed to calm him down.

"Rengoku, please don't be upset. I had to leave, or no one would have known where I’d gone. They would have searched for me."

Oh, the irony...

He scoffed, releasing my face only to grab my wrist instead.

"They never would have found us. I would never let anyone take you away from me." He pulled me close against his chest, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"I told you, no matter where you ran, I would always come find you," he murmured, his voice echoing briefly.

I shrank back slightly.

"You're coming back home. There's no point in staying around these humans when your mate has a perfectly fine nest for you," he said, his eyes narrowing.

Before I could respond, I heard someone calling my name.

I turned to see Yushiro approaching with a basket of supplies, his face back to its usual annoyed expression.

Instinctively, I tried to pull my wrist away, but Rengoku's grip tightened painfully. I glanced up at him, his eyes filled with a deadly intensity.

As Yushiro drew nearer, Rengoku pulled me closer. I could see the confusion on Yushiro's face.

"Y/N, who’s this?" Yushiro asked, looking Rengoku up and down.

"Oh... this is just a friend of mine. We were just catching up," I said with an awkward laugh and forced smile.

Rengoku's body tensed beside me. I knew I was in trouble once this was over.

Rengoku's gaze shifted from me to Yushiro, and he practically towered over both of us. I could see Yushiro looking a bit intimidated by his size and presence.

Then, to my surprise, Rengoku's murderous look softened into a kind and friendly smile as he faced Yushiro.

I held my breath as Rengoku extended his hand to Yushiro in a seemingly friendly gesture.

"I'm Kyojuro, Kyojuro Rengoku," he said, his closed-mouth smile almost charming despite the anger radiating from him.

"Yushiro," Yushiro replied reluctantly, shaking Rengoku's hand. He was clearly uncomfortable.

Rengoku smiled as he stepped back, wrapping his arm around my waist, his hand digging into my hip.

"So, Yushiro, how do you know Y/N?" Rengoku asked, his voice calm but his grip on my hip bruising.

Yushiro looked confused but didn’t comment on the physical contact.

"Y/N and I work together. We're here on a supply run," he answered plainly, then furrowed his brows in confusion. "I'm sorry, did you say your name was Kyojuro Rengoku?"

Damn. Of course Yushiro would recognize a cryptid's name.

I quickly jumped in before things could escalate. "As nice as it is to catch up, we should probably get going, right, Yushiro?" I said, pulling the small bag of herbs from my pocket.

"Yeah, we should go," he agreed.

As I started to walk toward Yushiro, Rengoku grabbed my arm, stopping me.

"Y/N, we rarely get time to talk like this. I'm sure your friend wouldn't mind returning without you so we can catch up a bit more," he said sweetly, with a hint of warning in his voice. I had no choice but to comply.

He took the small bag from my hands and tossed it to Yushiro, who quickly caught it.

"You don't mind, right?" Rengoku smiled at Yushiro.

Yushiro looked from me to Rengoku before finally agreeing. "Yeah, it's fine. I'll let Tamayo know you ran into someone you know. She’ll be happy to hear you're not completely isolated," he said, then turned and walked away.

I silently pleaded for him to stay, to not leave me with Rengoku like this. But he vanished into the crowd, leaving me alone with him.

————————

Rengoku remained silent as he dragged me out of the village and into the woods. His anger was palpable, and I was too scared to try and fix what I'd done.

Once we reached a small clearing, he let go of my arm and turned to face me, still in his human form. I should have been terrified, but he looked undeniably good.

"So, we're just two friends catching up, are we?" The usual echo in his voice suddenly returned, and his eyes changed from amber back to their glowing red.

"I didn't mean it like that. What did you want me to say? I wasn't going to expose you right then and there," I defended myself.

He stepped closer, his face angrier now.

"You shouldn't have run off in the first place if you were worried about something like that," he growled.

I bit inside of my lip slightly. I guess he was right in a way, but that wasn't the point.

He suddenly grabbed my jaw, forcing my head to tilt to the side. He ripped the bandage off my neck, revealing his mark on my skin.

Pulling me close, his face inches from mine, he said, "My mate will never cover my mark again. Is that clear?" His echoing voice had a threatening undertone.

I nodded profusely, hoping he'd let go. But he didn't. His red eyes locked onto mine, filled with desire and something else...

"Did I not please you enough, human? Was our binding session not sufficient for you?" he asked, puzzled.

"I suppose not if you were able to get up and walk away without my notice," he growled lowly.

“I’m sorry, Rengoku. I swear, everything that happened today was just a misunderstanding. I was never going to leave for good,” I tried to make it not sound as bad, but it really wasn’t working.

“A misunderstanding, I see,” he said, his tone dark.

“Well then, my sweet little mate, let’s ensure there are no more misunderstandings…” he purred in my ear.

“Wait, what are you—?”

His hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck.

“This time, I’ll make sure you don’t have enough strength to get up and walk away from me,” he purred, licking up my neck.

I blushed intensely, embarrassed by my position.

“R-Rengoku…” I breathed out shakily.

His hand moved to my throat, squeezing lightly.

“Kyojuro,” he corrected firmly. “Address your mate accordingly. I won’t tell you again.”

I gasped for air.

He didn't squeeze hard enough to restrict my air flow, but it was still painful.

He squeezed harder, his other hand moving between my legs. He began to rub me through my clothes, his movements slow and teasing.

I struggled to breathe, but my body was already reacting to his touch. My hips instinctively bucked towards him, desperate for more friction.

He chuckled at my desperation. "So needy for someone who ran away from me, aren't you?"

My body was trembling with need. My breathing grew labored, and I was finding it harder to hold back.

I needed him, and I needed him now.

He removed his hand from between my legs and released his grip on my throat, allowing me to gasp for air.

Grabbing me by the collar of my shirt, he led me to a nearby tree, shoving me against it roughly.

He quickly tore up my clothes again, leaving me exposed. He then tore off his own clothes, discarding them on the ground.

I stood frozen, taking in the sight before me. I knew he was strong, but this was beyond what I had imagined. He was attractive as a monster, but his physique as a human was just as perfect.

His body was muscular and defined. I felt my core grow wet, and my clit throbbed as I gazed at his naked body.

"Are you ready, mate?" he asked, his eyes glowing bright red.

"Y-yes," I stammered, nervous and excited.

He stepped forward, his lips colliding with mine. I melted into his kiss, his tongue invading my mouth, tasting every inch.

His hands explored my body, groping my breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples.

He broke the kiss, his mouth moving to my neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

I moaned, enjoying the sensations. His cock, still just as big and thick as I remember twitched, the precum dripping onto the ground.

"You're mine," he growled against my skin.

His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me off the ground. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pressed his cock against my slit, rubbing the tip up and down.

"Do you want me, mate? Tell me how much you want my cock inside you," he purred, his eyes blazing red.

"Please, Kyojuro," I moaned.

"Say it. Say that you belong to me, and only me," he demanded, his voice echoing.

I'm yours, Kyojuro. Only yours," I whimpered.

With a growl, he slammed his cock inside me, his claws digging into my thighs.

I cried out as the pleasure consumed me. His cock was huge, filling me to the brim.

"You feel amazing," he groaned, starting to thrust.

My back arched as he pounded into me, his cock stretching my pussy.

He fucked me hard and fast, his pace brutal and relentless.

I could tell he was taking his anger out on me, the rage he felt when he realized I had escaped. But I didn't care. I needed him just as much as he needed me.

He panted and groaned, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. He was fucking me so hard and fast, I thought I might break.

I screamed out in pleasure, my orgasm approaching.

"Cum for me, mate," he purred.

His cock throbbed inside me, his seed spilling deep inside. The sensation pushed me over the edge, and I came, crying out his name.

He groaned as he continued to thrust, prolonging my pleasure.

“Y/N,” he growled my name into my ear.

“Yes?” I panted softly, still trying to catch my breath as I came down from my high.

He grabbed my chin, pressing his forehead to mine.

“If you ever leave our nest to go off with some other man again, I’ll kill him where he stands.”

His threat made my blood run cold, but I was so lost in the moment, consumed by pleasure, that I didn’t register how sincere he was being.

He finally pulled out, setting me back on the ground. Exhausted and sore, I could barely stand.

He looked down at me, his eyes primal with need. His anger was slowly dissipating, but I knew this wasn’t enough for him. After all the trouble I’d caused, I could tell this was only the beginning.

“We will return to our den now, and we will continue this… bonding.”

I watched as his body shifted back into its usual form. The monster I was used to. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to this a little. He bent down and picked me up as if I weighed nothing.

His smile returned, and his ears perked up, but I could tell I wasn’t forgiven. So, I decided to silently agree and hang on to him while he carried me to this “new home” of ours.

Next>>

259 notes · View notes

yes-divine-ruler · 2 years ago

Text

Mr Anderson - Kai Anderson

x fem!reader

cw: uni professor/student relationship (student is of age), oral (both receiving), smut, spanking w a belt

wc: 3.2k

You sat down eagerly at the front of the lecture hall, sliding your tote bag onto the desk. You take out your laptop and your folder of loose leaf paper, organising it in front of you. You were early five minutes, giving you the time to compose yourself before your professor arrived. It wasn’t like political philosophy was anything special. The information being relayed to you was dull, but the way it was being taught was what had your undivided attention.

Mr Anderson flew through the double doors of the lecture hall with a minute to spare. In a hurry, he paces over to his desk, tucking in the front of his button up shirt into his slacks. It was black today, like his pants and polished shoes. He wore a heavyweight coat that he shrugged off and rested on the backrest of his chair. Your breath catches in your throat just looking at him. Undeniably, Mr Anderson was the sexiest man you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d have him to thank for your perfect attendance and grades. He wasn’t only nice to look at, but he believed in you. He made everyone feel like they had the potential to succeed.

You take your pencil case out of your tote, and discard the bag by your feet. Your hands shook as you tried to unzip your pencil case. Mr Anderson always made you feel like a nervous wreck. It was mortifying, especially when he’d notice.

“Okay everyone, welcome back to political philosophy,” Mr Anderson gains the attention of the class. His sudden introduction startled you, and with fingers like butter, your pencil case slides off the end of your desk. Your pens sprawl across the carpet at the front of the hall.

Mr Anderson stops shortly, and let’s out a small laugh, approaching your desk. Your face heats up as you get a whiff of his intoxicating cologne. He even smelt godly.

“I’m sorry, Mr Anderson,” you apologise, getting up to collect your pens on your own. Mr Anderson was already one step ahead of you, and passed back your pens in a closed fist.

“You have to be more careful Y/N,” he teases, and all you can do is offer him a small, weary smile in response.

Mr Anderson continues on with his class. You pay close attention to everything he says, noting down what was important to remember. It doesn’t take long before you’re scribbling in the margins of your notebook and keeping a trained eye on the way his body moved. You didn’t think you were anything special. Not special enough for your professor to see you as anything more than what you were. He knew your name but, he barely treated you different to the other students.

You spent the rest of the lesson trying to conspire up ways to stand out to Mr Anderson. The semester was almost at an end, and with only a few weeks to go, you knew you had to act fast. It would be a heck of a summer if you could just get inside his head.

The following week you turned up to class dressed to impress. Mr Anderson was in early today, looking more organised and less flustered than last week. His hair was tied back into a man bun, accentuating his sharp, dark features.

“Y/N! Good to see you,” Mr Anderson doesn’t even look up at his desk to greet you. You huff, deciding to stand opposite his desk so he would notice you. He drops his pen, and his gaze finds yours.

It doesn’t take long before he’s noticing your outfit next. A shopping trip to the mall scored you a tight-fitting white top with a low neckline, and the tiniest pair of shorts you could find. Your hair cascaded down your back in small waves. Never seeing you in anything but sweats, Mr Anderson’s eyes almost bulged out of his head.

“Hi Mr Anderson,” you spoke sweetly, taking a printed copy of your political essay out of your tote, “I ended up finishing my draft last night, do you think you can help me look over it after class?”

Your sudden change in appearance and your confident demeanour had your professor speechless. He tried to form the words to say, but couldn’t help taking glances at your copious amounts of cleavage. Knowing your plan was working, you set the essay down on the desk.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You cross your arms over your chest and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, sure. I’ve got an hour after class. I can help you,” you saw Mr Anderson’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. Your plan was well in action, and you’d cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier.

It wasn’t only Mr Anderson’s attention you’d snagged. As your classmates filtered into the hall, you noticed a lot more stares in your direction. You’d even managed to persuade one of the guys in your class to sit at the front beside you. No one was usually inclined to sit beside you, especially at the front of the hall in Mr Anderson’s direct line of vision. This new found confidence and attention gave you the drive you needed to seal the deal.

“Hey,” the guy next to you whispers to you as Mr Anderson begins the lesson. You turn to look at him and offer him a small smile.

“Y/N right? I’m Kyle,” Kyle smiles back and tears off the corner of his note-page. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion as he slides it over to you. Before you have the chance to read what it says, a hand slams down on your desk.

“Give me that,” you look up to see Mr Anderson had halted his lesson just to get the note you were given.

“Sir, this isn’t high school. We’re allowed to pass notes,” Kyle scoffed, earning himself a few laughs.

“I don’t care, it’s still not appropriate. Y/N? Now please,” Mr Anderson holds out his hand and you hesitantly pass over the note.

He crumples it in his hand and walks coolly back to the front of the hall. You don’t have the nerve to look back at Kyle, who you can now see is typing furiously on his phone. Mr Anderson makes eye contact with you. Something in his gaze burns. In response, you slump in your chair and try to finish the rest of the lesson without pulling your hair out.

When class is over, you wait until everyone’s gone before you approach Mr Anderson again. Mr Anderson stands at the double doors, holding it open and letting everyone leave.

“Hey,” Kyle stands in front of your desk, “sorry about that, don’t know why Mr Anderson is being a dick. Can I grab your Snapchat?”

You try not to laugh as you nod your head. Kyle was cute but, he wasn’t the type of guy you craved. You craved a man who stood over you and took control. Like Mr Anderson.

Regardless, you type your username in his phone and give him a wave as he leaves. Maybe Mr Anderson will see the exchange and feel the way he did about the note.

“Y/N, come sit,” Mr Anderson shuts the door of the hall, locking in from the inside. You leave your desk to sit next to him behind his own.

“I haven’t had a chance to read over it yet, shall we do it in sections?” Mr Anderson tucks in his chair, coming in closer to you. His knee brushes yours, sending a tingle up your spine.

“That’s fine Mr Anderson,” you respond, your gaze burning into the side of his face as he reads.

“What made you want to dress so different today? Change in weather?” Your eyes widen at his question. You clear your throat and let out a small laugh.

“Um, kinda. I was sick of wearing sweats. Suddenly everyone is noticing me,” you bat your eyelashes at your professor as he shares your laughter.

“Ah well. Sounds superficial to me. They should appreciate you regardless.” His comment stumps you, but with your new found confidence, you lean closer to him to whisper.

“I saw you looking too, Mr Anderson,” you purr, “you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

Mr Anderson subtly chokes on the sip he’d just taken from his keep cup.

“Sorry?” He asks, turning to look you in the eyes.

“You heard me,” you push, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I could feel it. I thought you might like it.”

Mr Anderson suddenly goes stiff. His eyes turn dark as he turns his entire body to face you. You try and keep your confidence high knowing that passed this point, it was either make or break.

“That isn’t appropriate Y/N,” he growls sternly, getting up from his chair. Shit. You blew it.

You open your mouth to speak, but Mr Anderson has other plans.

“You’re telling me, you dressed like a whore to get my attention?” His lips form into a snarl as he waits for your response. You wanted to just curl into a ball and die.

“Um, I dont know what to say- I-”

“Get up.”

In shock, you hesitantly follow his orders, standing from your chair. You were so close you could feel his cool, minty breath fan your face.

Mr Anderson’s hands find your hips, and in surprise, you gasp. His cool hands turn you around and push your hips into the edge of the desk.

“I’ve always noticed you, Y/N,” your back presses against his chest as he hovers behind you. A dull pulse ignites between your thighs, making you feel lightheaded and slightly dizzy. He had an effect on you six feet away from you. The close proximity was almost too much.

“You’re my best student,” he whispers, pressing the front of his pants to your barely covered ass, “you don’t need to compromise yourself to be that.”

His big hand sits between your shoulder blades, and in an instant, he has you bent over his desk. Your tiny shorts had ridden all the way up, exposing almost the entirety of your ass cheeks.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, as you hear the buckle on his belt rattle as he unclasps it.

“Yes, Mr Anderson,” your breathing picks up pace as you get more excited. Everything you’d dreamed of the whole semester was coming to fruition.

“You have to promise me something,” he says as you feel the cool leather touch your exposed skin. Your body breaks out in a frenzy of tiny goosebumps as he sways the belt across your ass.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, not your friends, not your family, no one. You must understand how bad this is for me, to be giving into you,” Mr Anderson pushes up against your ass again, digging your hips harder into the edge of the table. You let out a small whimper, loud enough for Mr Anderson to notice. The bulge in the front of his slacks only grows hearing the sounds you’re making.

“I promise sir,” you whine, turning your head to look behind you. You see that Mr Anderson had taken off his belt and unfastened his pants. His dark grey boxers were the only thing stopping you from seeing him fully. You’d imagined so many times how big it must be.

“Good girl,” Mr Anderson mewls, before he strikes your ass cheek with the thick leather strap of his belt. You gasp loudly, your body withering beneath him at the pain. When the sting is over, the dull pulse takes over, this time, much more unbearable.

“Let me take these off,” Mr Anderson reaches around to the front of your shorts, unbuttoning them to pull them down your legs. You step out of them, almost shaking in anticipation. It reveals to him your tiny, lace panties.

“Fuck,” you’d never heard Mr Anderson swear. It was so sexy hearing him so worked up that another wave of pleasure coursed through you.

“You’ve been misbehaving, Y/N,” he says, the belt caressing your ass again, “wearing those slutty little clothes just for your professor, those tiny panties,” Mr Anderson was almost shaking in excitement too.

“Please sir,” you plead pathetically, bracing yourself with your hands on the table, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. I think you need to feel how wrong it is.”

Another moment passes before Mr Anderson strikes your ass again with the belt. And then again. And again. Until tears prick at the corner of your eyes and your throat goes dry. Your ass was sure to be burning red by now, and it was definitely sore as Mr Anderson caressed his work with his fingers.

“You did so well, I’m done, that’s all your punishment,” he says softly, before he’s pulling your panties down your legs. The cool breeze hits your soaking folds, and it was only then did you realise just how turned on the pain made you.

“Holy shit,” Mr Anderson let’s out a low whistle as he gets on his knees behind you. You wiggle uncomfortably as he spreads your cheeks, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“You’re soaking fucking wet,” he growls, before his fingers make their first contact with your pussy. You almost cry out as Mr Anderson teasingly runs a finger up and down your slit, collecting your sweet arousal. He smears your slick across your clit, applying a small amount of pressure on it. Your knees buckle, but Mr Anderson’s hold on you keeps you up right.

“You little whore. Who would’ve thought, Y/N, a good student, sickly attracted to her professor,” he blows on your cunt, provoking another pleading whine from you.

“Please, sir. I can’t wait,” you cry, pushing your ass out and closer to his face.

Mr Anderson hums, coming in closer and caving to his own desires. With your cheeks spread open for him, he dives in, his tongue prodding between your folds. You moan as he violates you with his tongue, bringing it down towards your sensitive bundle of nerves. He sucks your clit into his mouth, before he’s moving his tongue towards your second hole.

“Oh my god, yes! Yes, fuck!” Your eyes shut as the pleasure rocks you, your nails digging into his desk for leverage. Mr Anderson’s tongue swirls around your tight hole, before he’s back to your dripping cunt. His mouth works expertly against your heat, humming contently at the taste of you.

“Fuck. Come here,” Mr Anderson stands and pulls you away from the desk, pushing you down onto your knees.

He lifts your shirt, above your breasts, seeing you’d also failed to wear a bra. Your nipples stood to attention, as you stared up at him with doe eyes. Mr Anderson pulled out his heavy cock, and your eyes turned the size of dinner plates just looking at it.

“Open,” he commands, his fingers locking around your jaw and wrenching your mouth open.

You took him in your mouth willingly. Mr Anderson takes advantage, shoving his cock so far down your throat it triggered your gag reflex. You look hopelessly up at him as his fucks your throat, collecting all the saliva he could around his thick cock. More tears collect in your eyes as you stare up at him like a lost puppy. His gaze burns into yours as flashes of lust, anger and need glaze over his dark eyes. He desperately needed to be inside your tight, dripping cunt and he didn’t have much time.

“Get up,” he commands again, watching you rise to your feet. With your chests pressed against each other, Kai goes in for the kill. Capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, he pushes your ass back against the desk. You moan into his mouth as his tongue dances with yours, exploring the entirety of the inside of your mouth. His lips are soft and smooth and he tastes extraordinary. It exceeded your dirtiest, darkest thoughts about him.

His hands push your hips down onto the surface of the desk, and then cup under your thighs to hold your legs up. His lips detach from yours, and with one hand, he guides his leaking tip towards your entrance. Mr Anderson spits, directly on your pussy, and a moment later he’s stretching you out. Inch by inch, he sinks inside you. Your head tilts back from the intense pulses of pleasure, and a tiny whine escapes your lips.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Mr Anderson seethes, using his weight to keep your hips down as he finally bottoms out inside you.

“Oh Mr Anderson! Fuck!” You moan, just as he begins to rut his hips. He slams himself inside you, filling you completely, before pulling almost all the way out.

He repeats the motion, his face screwed in pleasure as he pounds into you.

“Such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he growls, his fingertips digging in your skin and leaving red prints, “you look so fucking good right now.”

You could help but watch where your bodies met. You knew you were on the brink of finishing. Mr Anderson’s cock disappeared inside you, only to come out glistening in your arousal, time and time again. His thumb rests on your swollen clit, circling it with more of his spit.

“Is my good girl gonna cum? Are you gonna finish on Mr Anderson’s cock?” His thrusts only got harder, the tip of his cock deliciously prodding at your sweet spot.

“Yes! Yes sir, can I cum?” You asked, seeing stars in your field of vision as the knot in your abdomen begged to be untied.

“Good girl, cum. Cum for me,” Mr Anderson fucked you so gruellingly and deep it tipped you over the edge.

You let out a pleasured cry as you came like you’d never cum before. Mr Anderson was close behind you, finishing inside you and fucking his cum deep into your pulsing cunt. When he pulled out, still stimulating your clit, a small stream of arousal soaked the front of his shirt. He groaned as you lay, fucked out and panting to catch your breath back. Unfortunately, having wet your draft essay in the process.

Mr Anderson took a moment longer to soak in the image of your bare body, before you finally sat up.

“Why are you wet?” You asked, scrunching your nose in confusion as you got off the desk to dress yourself.

“You squirted on me, sweetheart,” Mr Anderson chuckled, as all the blood drained from your face.

“Oh I’m so sorry sir,” you were quick to reach forward and try and wipe at his dress shirt.

“Your essay too,” he smirked, picking it up in his hand and showing it to you. You groaned.

“I really did want you to read that,” you pouted, trying to take back the wet, and probably unreadable, essay.

“Uh uh,” he tutted, shoving it into his bag, “I’m keeping that. Ill be able to read it.”

The blood returned to your face with a furious heat as your cheeks blushed in embarrassment.

“Y/N, remember your promise,” Mr Anderson cupped your cheek and ran his thumb affectionately over your cheek bone, “and I’d like to see you again.”

Your heart fluttered hearing he wanted to see you again.

“Okay Mr Anderson, thank you,” you smile at him, ready to leave the lecture hall and freak out on your own about what just happened.

“Oh and Y/N,” he stopped you a final time as you reached the hall doors. You turn and face him.

“Call me Kai, outside of class, of course.”

TAGLIST: @evanpetersfanblog @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud @laynna-mcknight @humdrumexistence ce @simp4petermaximoff f @evan4ever @paujmr @jangsuzchap @meganxfox @divineruler r @spill-the-t -t @hihidora

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kawakalalala · 1 year ago

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Outlaw: 1

INTRODUCTION POST!

wc: ~1.8k

tags: pretty much just kissing, nothing too crazy yet!

a/n: thank you all so much for being patient with me while i crank this bitch out! i’m really excited to see what u guys think :3

You’d heard the voice before. Hundreds of times. His voice rattled your bones like a late August thunderstorm over the lake.

“Hands up.”

You turn with your hands in the air expecting just to see Jerry Anderson, the sheriff who’d been after you since you were old enough to run.

There was never even a thought to not run. You could weasel your way out of anything; you’d been running your whole life. But something in you kept you from grabbing at the gun on your hip.

“Ain’t nowhere to run no more, huh?”

You weren’t sure what came over you. ‘Easy’ wouldn’t have even begun to describe how quickly you could kill this man. In a hundred ways. But you knew what you needed, and you knew what the way to get that was. It was surprising for you to see a second person, behind him, taller and broader, with a face hidden by the shadow of a hat.

“Looks like it.” You drop down to your knees and lay down your revolver, kicking it out of reach. The Sheriff was surely on top of the world right now. He’d been trying to get you for years after the killing. It was personal, but not on purpose.

The broader figure starts to move, slowly becoming illuminated by the soft glow of your campfire.

You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Abigail Anderson. You almost didn’t recognize her, but there was no way you could've forgotten the way her freckles bit her cheeks, the soft bump in her nose, and the softness of her jaw. She’d worn her hair in a braid then too, but now it was long enough to dangle past her shoulder blades. Had that much time really passed?

She passed you and walked up to Belle, the liver chestnut overo mare. She wasn’t as fast as she was when you met her; she needed a little more grace around turns, and her white fur started to bleed into warm brown on her face. You loved her more than you could love anything, because there wasn’t much to love about the life you led.

“Don’t tie her to your horse,” you turn to face Abigail, “she’ll bite him in the ass.”

She exhales with the faintest likeness of a laugh.

“How d’ya suppose we’ll get her back to town then?”

You shrug, knowing she’d follow you wherever you went. You don’t notice you’ve been handcuffed until you go to stand up.

Jerry Anderson was kinder to you than he should’ve been, considering what you’d done to him. His hand is heavy on your shoulder as you pull yourself onto his wagon.

✦✦✦

You wake up to the light from your cell’s window prodding at your eyelids. Large enough to see everything, (including Belle, hitched up outside, still sleeping).

“They decide where I’m goin’ yet?” You shout at Abigail, scribbling away on some papers near the front door.

There were a handful of things that were convenient about your position: the sheer size of your town made it so it was only necessary to have a few cells in the sheriff’s department. (if you could even call it that.) And that you always had company.

“No. We ain’t even sent out the mail this mornin’. Give it some time.” She laughs.

“Whatcha doin' over there?”

“Nothing,”

“Well ‘nothing’ seems quite time-consuming.”

She finally turns around and looks at you, and you see her clearly now. The light scar across her cheek, her soft blue eyes, her supple, soft pink lips, and the toothy smile she gives you when she asks, “What are you getting at?” Seeming only slightly annoyed.

“Nothing.”

“I’ll be sure to get the mail with your papers sent out today,” A smile pulls at her lips, but you don’t notice it.

You’re picking at your nails when you ask, “This all you do all day? Seems like I’m a mighty fine companion to keep around.”

“What do you do all day then? Steal and kill?” She turns back around in her chair.

“Pretty much,” you stand up and stretch, a groan escaping your lips. “I love murder.” You try to stay as deadpan as possible, but you can't hold back a giggle, sitting down with your back against the cell door and peering out the window at Belle.

“I’m serious,” her tone changes, “Why on earth would you want to live runnin’?”

“It was freeing once, “ you tell her, the back of your head against the heavy metal bars of the door, “but freedom gets lonely sometimes.”

“Seems real convenient that this revelation is gettin’ had after you been caught,” there's an edge to her voice, but it’s still smooth and cool, like a stone in the palm of your hand.

“It ain’t no revelation, darlin’, I just finally made a choice,” you say matching her edge as best you could, “and your Daddy ain’t do no catching, I let him have me. ”

“Bless his heart,” she says, “but I’ll believe you there. He couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the directions were on the bottom.” You both laugh, and for a brief moment, you forget what brought you here in the first place.

She turns around to look at you. For a brief moment, you and Abigail are 12 years old again. The wind whispers her name, and you’re watching the sunrise on your walk to school. You like her because she doesn’t talk about boys. She doesn’t talk about much of anything. You like her company, and she likes yours. At the end of your twelfth summer, she doesn’t want to walk with you anymore, and you don’t ask, or even wonder why. You walk to school alone until you drop out at 15. You turn to look at her.

The door opens, and you watch as Jerry walks in. The way he looks at you makes your stomach churn.

“Mornin’ sir,” you smile at him, and he ignores you.

“You can put her outside y’know,” he says to Abigail, like you aren’t even there. “them stalls under the barn lock.” He laughs, and your blood boils.

“We’ll see.” Abigail tries to forget about the hard part of this job. She’s always trying to forget about the hard part of this job. She knew you once.

You hold your tongue until Jerry leaves. He talks to Abigail a bit longer, and makes another offer to “get rid” of you for her.

Part of him stays when he walks out the door. Suddenly you realize what you’ve done. The fantasy of a free life might’ve been attainable if you were a less successful bandit, but there’s no way you’ll ever be a free woman.

You’re never going to be free. You’re going to die here, with a failed childhood friendship and a man who wants you dead. You’re never going to feel the sun on your skin again.

You’re going to die here or somewhere worse. You’re going to watch your life walk by you and you’re stuck behind bars because of a stupid one-off thought you had. Your breathing gets heavy and your head spins, and suddenly you’re grabbing onto anything you can get ahold of.

You should’ve fucking shot him.

✦✦✦

“What in the hell was that?” her voice is cool and smooth, even when she tries to have any semblance of urgency.

“Dunno.” You’re both on the ground. Her right hand cradles the back of your head, holding your hair off your neck, and her left holds a glass of water to your lips.

“That ever happen before?” Her eyebrows are furrowed with concern, and you stay silent, taking a sip.

She doesn’t seem to mind. She watches you intently, readjusting her hand on your neck. You set down the water and look at her.

“Why’ve you been so damn kind to me?” Your eyes well with tears, and her furrowed brow softens, just a little. “I’m a criminal, Abigail, I’m not- I’m not a good person.”

“I ain’t a good person neither.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “Have some more water.”

“Okay.”

You’d never been one to listen to anyone. You were entirely uninterested in being told what to do. But the way she spoke to you was different. You didn’t seem to have a problem taking orders from her, because she genuinely seemed like she cared. She wasn’t patronizing or arrogant.

“I’m sorry I stopped being your friend.” Her hand is warm against your skin.

“That was so many years ago.”’

“Don’t make me less sorry.” Her hand moves slowly from your neck to your jaw.

“I’ll give you a second chance,” Your eyes dart from her blue eyes to her lips, and for a moment, everything goes silent.

“I’d like that I think.” She inhales sharply, and drops her hand. “I got some paperwork to fill out. D’you need anything?”

“Yeah, I think so,” You say before kissing her softly, just once. You pull away and look at her, and you lift one hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She looks at you like you electrocuted her. “Think that’s all.”

Something clicks in her head and she lunges to kiss you. It's sudden, but it’s soft. She’s soft. You reach down to replace her hand on the meeting of your neck and jaw, and she places another hand on the small of your back. Tension releases in your shoulders that you hadn’t noticed was there in the first place. You place a hand on each of her shoulders and push her backwards, still following her lips with yours. You can feel the muscle in her shoulders, but she’s pliable and obedient in your hands.

Your tongues dance against one another with the same cadence as the wind in the grass at the end of your twelfth summer. And as the light of the sun on your twenty-sixth summer falls over the same grass, you pull away from Abigail to look at the small smile pulling at her mouth, the flush across her cheeks, her pupils blown and her lips only slightly swollen.

“Whatcha lookin’ at me for?” Her voice is almost a whisper.

“You’re beautiful, Abigail. Damn near the most handsome woman I ever seen.”

She can’t bring herself to say anything in response. She can’t even bring herself to look up at you. She can’t bring herself to lock you back in here, and sit out at her desk and watch, let the state take you away and hang you for your crimes.

“I’m gonna get you out of this goddamn place.”

“You’re what?”

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou x reader #tlou2 #lesbian #abby anderson hcs #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #tlou #the last of us #tlou fic #tlou abby

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zeroseuniverse · 3 months ago

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Designed With Love

Word Count: 947 Summary: In which you adore your boyfriend and his love for fashion. Genre: Fluff!!

Navigation

Hwang Intak was and always had been your muse, there was something about the way his brown eyes sparkled when he took in something beautiful. He could find beauty in anything and that might be your favorite thing about him, as the leaves changed in color and the trees he would speak as if a friend was leaving for a trip and would be back soon.

But you? You made it your life mission to make him always look at himself with those sparkly eyes, the day he expressed an interest in fashion and modeling you had bought at least 10 magazines on the topic and did research for a month, secretly practicing stitching and hemming to make outfits he would love. Her worn notebook had been filled with sketches and notes, plenty of ideas sprawled throughout the worn leather.

That same book was laid out on the table in the local coffee shop that you loved. You had come here to get some space from your chaotic family and your boyfriend had said he needed to run a few errands for his family before he could hang out. So you were happily drawing out your latest idea, it had come to you last week when Intak had cried over some kdrama, he rambled for hours about all of the different subtle ways the main couple had expressed love without actually saying the words. Ever the hopeless romantic, you wondered just how many times you both had shared actions together that subtly told each other just how much you loved each other. You looked around the cafe remembering all of the memories you both held together in this cafe, you could remember the day you had gotten forced into a blind date by your mom and Intak had dressed up in disguise to watch over the event, though the disguise was thrown away the second the clock struck 5 and the date didn’t show, he slid into the booth across from you and ordered your favorite food and drink. That was the night the man had confessed his feelings for you, and because of him, you forgot you were even stood up. You could remember the cold morning in the winter when you both warmed up with hot cocoa and snuggled together in the booth as you helped each other with homework well you helped him because he fell asleep during class since he had a late night at practice, thankfully you had written notes for him and walked him through everything.

Intak had finally finished the errands, he woke up as early as he could to get them knocked out as quickly as possible. He typically had a busy schedule and all he wanted was to cuddle up with his partner and watch a movie. He blissfully entered their usual cafe ready to order a drink for both of you before heading over to your house, but when he walked in and saw you already sitting, scribbling away his eyes lit up. He rushed over to the booth, accidentally catching a look at your oh-so-secret journal he gasped, “Is that me?”

The sudden voice startled you out of your focus, eyes snapping over to your boyfriend in a panic, quickly slamming the book shut, “My love! You finished your errands so fast.” You cooed hopping up to greet your lover; However, you had unfortunately gotten dodged, and he slipped around your frame quickly grabbing the book. He opened it to a random page before you could even turn around to fight for it. When you finally turned around you saw his eyes scanning over the pages, his eyes sparkling as he took in all of the delicately written notes. Things from how the colors affected his appearance and which fabrics were the most comfortable to him, he flipped the page, gasping when he saw the sketches.

“I’m sorry if it’s creepy. I just- I know you love clothes so I was trying to”

“Baby, these are amazing!” He cooed, sitting down in the booth to keep looking through the journal, you awkwardly sat next to him, not knowing what to say about this situation, “How long have you been doing this?”

“A few years…” You answered, watching as he trailed his fingers over the pages with such a tender touch, his eyes were welling up slightly as he was filled with so much warmth.

“How come you never told me?” He wondered, setting the journal to the side, hand now reaching out to grab your own, eyes looking directly into yours. “I wanted to wait until I was good enough. I wanted to make something so pretty that you would love it.” You explained, feeling silly for keeping it a secret now, “I’m starting a class to learn how to make the clothes next week, I was hoping to make you an outfit for our anniversary.” His smile resembled the sun with how bright it was shining.

“I would love that, but ya know…” He started, causing your heart to pound, terrified he’d think your idea was idiotic, “How about we take that class together? We can design clothes for each other. We can dress each other up!”

You couldn’t stop your heart from bursting from just how adorable your boyfriend looked with the excitement plastered over his features. And the idea? It was so romantic, your heart throbbed.

“Let’s do it.”

And once the deal was sealed with a kiss, Intak hopped up to go order your usual orders happy to learn all about designing over some coffee and a snack. Listening to your voice as you spoke about your passions was a bonus too.

#p1h imagines #p1h #p1harmony #piwon imagines #piwon x reader #piwon fluff #piwon #hwang intak #intak x reader #intak imagines #intak fluff #intak

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theclosetcreature · 2 months ago

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Chapter 3 - Questions and Answers

You open the door to see the worst thing you could imagine. Nothing. Nothing at all. Your house is the same way you left it. Nothing missing. Nothing broken. No evidence to show that someone was in here. But you know someone was. Someone was here and you know it. You can feel it. But you have no proof, so you pretend nothing is wrong.

"W-well uh, let me go get that book and quill." You say as you walk inside. Ignoring every part of yourself that is telling you to get out you walk towards your chest. Opening your chest you check for anything out of place. That is when you see it. Everything in your chest is the same except for one thing.

A single stone block. You never smelted any cobblestone. You grab the book and you run out as fast as you can, slamming the door shut as you leave. This startles Mr. Puzzles causing him to jump back a bit. "I got it!" You exclaim. "Let's go sit down somewhere and talk, I have a few questions to ask you." You say handing the item to Puzzles.

After a little bit of searching, the both of you found a tree to sit under. It was faraway enough from your house and the woods for you to not be on edge the entire time.

You sat down but before you could ask your first question Puzzles handed you the book. It said "Are you ok? I noticed you have been acting strange ever since Brian went missing." Lying you said. "Don't worry I'm fine, I'm just a bit sad that Brian's gone." By the look on his screen you can tell he does not believe you.

"Now let me ask you a question." You say handing the book back to him. "How come you don't attack me when I look at your face?" You finally ask the question you have been wanting to ask since you first met him.

It takes him a bit of time to write his answer but eventually he hands the book back to you. "I do not know." Well that is disappointing. There are some words scribbled out but you cannot make out what they say. Looking back at him you notice that he is refusing to look at you. Did you say something wrong?

"Hey Puzzles, I'm sorry I asked that question." Mr Puzzles looks back at you with a confused expression. "Why?" He says. Now you are confused. "I thought you were upset." You say. He shakes his head. What a strange guy.

"I have another question. No offense but why do you look like that? I mean most endermen don't have a TV for a head or wear clothes." He pretends to be offended, bringing a hand to him head. How dramatic. After that he takes the book and begins to write but then he stops.

He is just staring at the book with a worried expression. "You good?" That snapped him back. He nods and continues writing. Once he is finished he hands and book back to you. "I don't remember why." Wowie you sure are getting your questions answered.

"Well, I have one last question. How did you make that campfire? Do you know how to craft?" That was two questions but he takes the book and writes down his answer. "I did not make the campfire it appeared one day in my cave. I do not know how to craft." YIPPEE!!! An actual answer! But if he cannot craft then that means there is another person out there. Hooray!!!

"Uh oh, it's starting to get dark now. I guess we will... Have to head back now..." You did not want to go home. "Hey Puzzles, you don't need to sleep, right?"

(I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭😭 I have no excuse I'm just really good at procrastinating 😔 but I'm really excited to write chapter 4 so hopefully I'll finish that one sooner :D)

#smg4 #mr puzzles #enderman au #fanfic

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jazziejax · 8 months ago

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𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairings- Priest!Art Donaldson x Reader, Priest!Patrick Zwieg x Reader

Summary- Odessa and Antoinette get a creepy letter in the mail

Warnings- religious talk, swearing, inside thoughts, not well written…

Jazzie’s Notes!- I just wanna preface this with saying that I don’t really know how to write this style of writing. I have to learn to write well in first person, but then if I do that, I would have to switch person to person all the time. Let if know if this is good or not, don’t be afraid to give feedback. Also, this isn’t meant to offensive to a religious group, I am religious myself. Sorry for any spelling errors!!!

Word Count- 5,313

Antoinette’s life was far from perfect. She lived in a crappy apartment in a sketchy part of New York with barely any money to afford to live. But she tended to find the bright side of most things. She shared said apartment with her best friend, and she always dreamed of living in New York. Plus, her job was a cute diner with a surprisingly stylish apron. She felt like one of those girls in the rom-com movies. Life could be worse.

“Hi, what can I help you guys with today?” The chipper voice of the young lady said as she pulled the notepad out of her blue apron pocket. She looked expectedly around the group that sat at the diner booth.

“Uh, can we get two French toast meals with the strawberry and whipped cream on them, no bacon or eggs on one of them? And two chocolate chip pancake meals with no whipped cream, just the bananas and blueberries. Four milkshakes, one chocolate with no cherry no whipped cream, one strawberry with the cherry and whipped cream, one vanilla with just the whipped cream, and another chocolate with the cherry and the whipped cream.” Said a blonde woman in one go, before looking up to smile at the waiter.

What a…hearty breakfast. Is it even breakfast time?

The girl squinted, caught off guard by everything that was thrown at her so fast, and didn’t write anything down past the ‘no eggs no bacon’ part. “Um, okay, yeah. I totally have all of that. I’m just gonna repeat it back to make sure it’s correct.” The curly-haired waiter smiled, looking down at the small amount of words scribbled on the yellow paper. Before she could even start talking, the blonde girl spoke up again.

“Oh, no need.” She smiled sweetly, which was obviously fake and condescending by the way she then waved the girl off before continuing the conversation she was in with her friends. Antoinette's eyes darted from one person to the next, utter shock but not surprised at how they all just continued to ignore her presence. She offered a small smile, whispering a small “Okay.” Before walking off to tell Lonny what she remembered of the order.

Which also didn’t go in her favor.

“Why the hell didn’t you write it down?” The older man asked, his New York accent thick on his tongue as she looked down at the small piece of paper the girl handed him.

I totally didn’t even think of that.

“I tried, she was going too fast and wouldn’t let me stay any longer to get it correct.” The girl whined. “I can tell you what I remember from my brain.”

My brain, what am I, seven years old? I need to expand my vocabulary.

“I don’t need what you have in your brain, I need the order on paper! I’m running a restaurant here, curly fry, not a school!” The grump yelled, before moving around the kitchen to continue to cook. Antoinette just stood there, arms stiff at her sides as her eyes drifted towards the open box where the orders got dropped off to see the more than half-empty restaurant. Her brows furrowed inwards only a smidge as she looked back over at her boss.

“Lonny, they’re the only people here.” She stated. All she got in response was the slam of the man’s fist against the metal table out of frustration. Not caring, or rather not paying attention, Antoinette continued. “I mean, them and the homeless guy that sleeps in the booth at the very back. And the occasional person with a laptop to charge.” She shrugged.

Lonny then turned, glaring from afar at the girl who was at least a foot taller than him. Granted, he was a short man.

“You’re lucky I like you curlyfry.” The man grumbled. “Now write down what you can remember then get back to work.” He hissed, turning to the batter he had before him. Antoinette was almost tempted to ask, what work? but refrained from making the situation worse. “Okay.” Was all she said before starting to scribble what she caught of the order on the paper.

My handwriting is atrocious, I need to work on that. Ooh, that’s a big word. Maybe my vocabulary isn’t so terrible. Hey, they do say bad handwriting is a sign of intelligence.

“Also, can you go kick out that homeless guy?” Lonny started, talking to the girl over his shoulder.

“Why can’t you?” She immediately asked, not even thinking over the statement. The older man threw his head back, letting out a deep sigh. “Because I’m working. Ya know, the thing you don’t do.”

Antoinette softly gasped in offense, placing a hand over her heart. “I work. I’m getting this order to you right now.” She said, tripping g the paper from the bit pad and sliding it over to the order station. “Plus, Joey’s gonna be here any second for my shift to end. Although a little late. He can handle it though.”

“Yeah, but I asked you, and I want it done now.” The man spat, never once looking back at the girl as he continued to make the dough for his bread at the cooking station.

“Well, I can’t because I have to wait.” She said, starting to take off her apron. Lonny screamed in annoyance, turning to face his employee. “What did I tell you about that word?!” He screamed desperation and anger in his tone.

“That it’s only used by stinky European teenage boys.” Antoinette related like a mantra at this point. “So stop it!” He yelled as she then tried to walk out of the kitchen, actually having to pee. “And what did I tell you about telling me when you have to pee.”

“I just thought you should know!” Antoinette yelled back through the closing kitchen door. She sighed, starting to continue her way to the bathroom before briefly pausing when she realized the table from earlier was now looking at her in irritation and confusion.

Great, they probably heard me talking about having to pee.

She smiled at them, her dimples being the cherry on top of her adorable face. “Your food will be out shortly.” She said as she encapsulated one hand in the other, voice now calm in contrast to her previous yelling. She went to walk about before stopping once more. “Hopefully.” She said before continuing, taking her apron off in the process and laying it on a hook in the back where her bag and coat were.

She wakes in the dingey bathroom, pulling down her pants and squatting over the bowl. Finally, in some semblance of peace, she had the same thoughts she had every time she used the bathroom at the diner.

My calves have to be extremely strong after doing this for four years. Can they hear me? Gosh, I hope they can’t hear me. I think I’d kill myself. Well no, I wouldn’t because that’s a sin.

Finished, the file looked over next to her for the toilet paper, seeing the roll bare but the sake of two thin sheets stuck to the adhesive. “Aw, man. No paper.” She said to herself. She then tried forward, scouring her mind for a solution to such a predicament. Here she was, leaning forward with her rosary handing in her face, squatted over the toilet seat with urine dripping from her privates.

Today couldn’t be any worse.

Just then, the door shot open and slammed into the girl's head. Antoinette yelped at the harsh contact, not even paying attention to the scream let out by the man above her as she focused on her now throbbing head and tried not to fall into the toilet bowl. “Dammit, Antoinette, lock the door next time.” The man groaned. Antoinette held her head as if her hand would bring some sort of red to the area.

“Ok, Joey can you go grab me some toilet paper? We’re out.” She said, trying to focus on how embarrassing this whole ordeal was.

“Uh, yeah, give me a sec.” He said through the door before drifting away.

Antoinette sighed, her head flopping down as she was once again left in that weird position, now even more embarrassed that someone saw her and that she was hit in the head. And it was her coworker.

Lord. I’m sorry but I must die today.

Joey then came back with a new roll of tissue, handing it to the girl through a crack in the bathroom door, even though he could see the girl in the small bathroom mirror. A few seconds after a flush and the sink running, Antoinette emerged with an awkward smile on her face to see Joey standing in front of the bathroom door.

“Hi.” Was all she said, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“Hey.” The taller olive-skinned man said back. They stood in front of each other for a few moments in silence.

“You should go—“

“Sorry about—“

They stared at the same time, pausing before awkwardly laughing.

“I was gonna say sorry about your head. I kinda just barged in.” Joey continued, smiling down at the girl in front of him.

“It’s fine, I was sitting there very awkwardly. Squatting rather.” She stared, brushing it off. “I was saying that you should head on in there and…do whatever you were going to do.” She shrugged. She could feel her heatwave pick up just being in his presence. And the longer she looked at him in those sultry brown eyes, the feeling of a hot pool started to rumble in her lower stomach. She might’ve been a virgin, but she wasn’t stupid.

Well, not entirely.

She knew she found Joey attractive, but the feeling she got when she stood too close to him was not okay in her book. It triggered her fight or flight, but instead of running away or throwing fists at him, she wanted to jump into his arms.

Yeah, I can’t do this. It’s time to leave.

“Well, it was nice speaking to you Joey, have a nice day. Oh, and Lonny wants you to remove the homeless guy from the booth in the back.” She spat out in a hurry as she grabbed her bag from the hook, along with her coat, and walked back to the front. She passed the table on her way out, seeing that they were now eating. “Oh, you guys got your food. Great.” She said with a small customer service smile as she continued walking.

“Yeah, our order is actually wrong—.” The woman from before couldn’t get out much more before Antoinette was cutting her off.

“Sorry, I’m off the clock. Bye.” She cheesed on her last words and walked out of the door, a bell ringing above her head. She scurried to the alley on the side of the building, to see her bike still double-chained to a random pipe in the next building over. It was basically a little game at this point to come around the corner and see if her bike was still there. Sighing in relief, she rushed over to the baby blue bike with a wicker basket in the front. She unclasped her key from her wrist and unlocked the heavy-duty chains she bought with her last few dollars when she moved to New York. This elderly couple had given her the bike when they saw the girl walking in the rain, saying it was their daughter’s old bike. But since the girl was lost and confused in a very nice neighborhood, she had to buy some chains so she didn’t get jacked before she could get to enjoy its labor.

The girl opened the basket in the front of her bike to place her chains into when she paused at the sight of something wrapped in the large bin. The thing was moving underneath the black cloth and Antoinette was just frozen. She glanced around at the alley to see if anyone was watching her but spotted not a single soul. Sighing, the girl reached out and pulled back the back fabric, being sure to keep her head as far away as she could whilst also being able to see within the basket. Seeing that whatever it was didn’t violently react to her movements, she eased forward to see a tuft of sandy white hair.

What in tarnation is this?

Now confused, the girl leaned forward and pulled the cloth back more to see two small kittens in her backseat, one was this sanely blonde color, the darker part of its body being its nose area and its tail. The other kitten was a mix of colors, mainly orange and black with white spots here and there. Antoinette’s heart immediately melted at the sight of the two kittens.

“Awww!” The girl said, pouting at the creatures who lay in her basket. Well, one creature lay while the other moved around in the basket as best as it could. “Well, aren’t you two just the cutest?” The girl gushed as she lifted the blanket with them two in it to place the chains at the bottom of the basket. Once placing them back down, she looked at the cats, who eventually acknowledged the woman above them with tiny meows, as if they were speaking to her speaking voice. Antoinette nearly cried as she continued to fawn over the cute little animals.

“Yeah, you two are coming home with me.” She said as she mounted her bike and washed her way out of the alley. “Des is just gonna love you two!” She said excitedly, closing the top of her basket and riding off into the New York City streets.

“Why the hell are there kittens in the kitchen?” The light skin girl said as she walked into the small flat and hung her keys and coat near the door before turning to her right to see two kittens in the kitchen licking at a bowl of milk on the corner. Antoinette smiled at the girl as the light from her laptop reflected off her large glasses.

“Hello, Odessa.” The girl said formally laying one hand on top of another as she sat straighter in her seat. The lighter girl furrowed her brows, eyeing her friend across from her in the small kitchen.

“What do you have to say?” The girl demanded out of her rather than asked, already tired from a long work day and knowing Antoinette had something up her sleeve.

She’s sneaky for a catholic…Well, aren’t they all? According to history.

“Well, to answer your previous question, these cats are here because some holy being left them in my basket on my bike.” She started. She could see Odessa was about to speak again but she interrupted before she could. “And before you say anything discouraging, I’d just like to say I did some extensive research. The multicolored one is a calico kitten, and did you know that approximately one calico in 3,000 is male? And guess what? He’s male!” The girl with glasses said, faking her shock again to add to the dramatic value in front of Odessa. The leather-clad girl just leaned against the kitchen archway with her arms folded, face stoic. Seeing that Antoinette was waiting for some sort of reaction before she continued, the woman slightly opened her mouth to let out a small gasp, glancing over at the kitten near her feet.

Antoinette smiled before continuing. “And that quiet and mysterious beauty is a ragdoll kitten. They have an above-average life span, fully grown at 4 years old, quiet by nature, as you can tell. And they are one of the largest cat breeds out there, which is also kind of confusing because you’re supposed to mix other breeds to get a ragdoll cat.” She said, trailing off at the end as she looked at her laptop in confusion, those two facts not making much sense in her mind. Shaking off the thought, the spec-wearing girl looked over at her cooler friend, who just stared at her. Antoinette put on her best smile.

Well, not her best. She was sort of anxious about the whole situation so the smile was kind of awkward, the girl showing all of her adult teeth while her eyes waited on an answer, her brows giving away her concern.

After a moment of silence, the two just looking at one another, Odessa cracked first.

“We can’t keep the cats.” That was all she said before all hell broke loose.

“But, I did so much research on them! I could probably work as a veterinarian with all the knowledge I know now.” The girl in pink whined.

Odessa just started, moving to put her hands in the pockets of her leather pants, the tattoos on her arms showing.

“It was basically a sign from God- well the universe that I’m meant to keep them. They just appeared in my basket, begging for my care.” She continued, changing her words when she saw the girl's brow spike at the mention of the guy up above. That still didn’t get a reaction out of the girl, Odessa just moved across the small kitchen and past the tiny table to the fridge. Antoinette followed her moments within her seat, desperation etched into her face.

“I mean, it won’t cost us much. I can use the bin we use for our socks as their litter box and just use sand from the cigarette pot downstairs.” I’m grasping at freaking straws here.

Odessa turned around once she had the beer in her hands and used the counter to pop the lid off. “And for now we can just give them milk, ya know since we always have some that go bad and we’re lactose intolerant anyway.” She continued, taking her glasses off her face to look at her friend.

Odessa cringed at her words, and leaned against the counter now, which was only about three feet away from the other girl. “That sounds like a terrible life for these poor kittens, Antoinette. And us.” She said before taking a swig of her beer. “We can’t afford them.”

“I mean, it's not like we’re poor. We can take care of them.”

“We have a box television in the year 2023…” Odessa started, “And it’s not even in our living room, it’s in the kitchen and it’s the size of a basketball.” She finished, pointing over to the small television on the corner of the table that softly played reruns of old television shows with the antenna that aimed at the small kitchen window. “We don’t even have fucking cable.”

“Language,” Antoinette muttered. “I mean, at least we get to watch Sex & The City and Living Single for free.” She smiled over at Odessa, who gave her a simple stare. “We can’t afford them, Bennie.” She said softly.

Antoinette then deflated, shoulders sagging as she leaned back in the old wooden chair. She had lost all hope as soon as the girl said that name, Odessa only calling her that when she was serious about something. Mainly because Odessa hated nicknames. “Okay, I’ll find them somewhere tomorrow.” She softly whined before putting her head in her hands. Odessa pursed her lips in sadness, patting the girl on the shoulder for comfort before making her way out of the kitchen. It only took her about three steps before she was in what most would call a living room, but Odessa liked to call it her room. Since it essentially was her room.

The far wall was made of brick, with a green couch in front of it that let out into her bed and a small back circle table in the middle, on top of an ugly carpet.

The girl sighed as she turned and dropped down onto the couch, letting her back hit the seat cushions. The old ceiling light hurt her eyes and made her already terrible hangover headache worse, so she threw her arms over her eye, placing her face in her elbow. Getting home late last night from one of her small concerts, she liked to call them, at the bar she worked at, she got a little too wasted. It was a recurring theme for her honestly.

Get up, go to work at the bar, wait till 10 to start performing, do that until about 2 am, get drunk afterward and either go home with whoever she decides to lay with that night or go to her humble abode. She didn’t perform every night, but when she did, that was usually the routine. And now she was suffering the consequences of getting drunk and staying up until 5 am when she had to work only hours later. At least she didn’t perform tonight, now she could stay in longer since it was only 6.

Her head becoming too much, the girl sat up from the couch to head to the bathroom to see if she could salvage some pain pills. But before she could, the sight of a pile of letters caught her eye. Reaching over, she grabbed the small pile to sort through.

Bill, bill, bill, creepy letter, postcards, bill, rent, perfume samples…What the hell?…

Odessa paused at the sight of the letter, the off-white paper wax-sealed with a red stamp. She squinted, looking at the seal to see if she knew the symbol from somewhere. Looking at it in just the wax form, she couldn’t quite make it out but she knew it looked familiar. Standing up, she kept her eyes on the letter as she walked back to the kitchen.

“Did you see this creepy ass letter in the mail?” She asked, standing the the archway and turning the letter to face Antoinette, who had her head propped on her chin as she sadly looked at places where she could drop the kittens off. Speaking of kittens, they now lay in the girls’ lap, curled into one another in almost a yin and yang symbol.

Antoinette looked up, squinting at the girl who was blurry since she didn’t have on her glasses. Odessa walked forward, placing the letter in front of her roommate.

Placing her spec on, Antoinette inspected the letter more, immediately recognizing the symbol. She furrowed her brows, glancing up at the even more confused Odessa. Gliding her long bare nails under the wax seal, she popped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. “Ohh, handwritten.” She said to herself as she looked at the unfolded paper.

She was silent as she read through the letter, causing Odessa to just stand before her and wait for the girl to speak. She watched Antoinette read the letter, her face going through a mix of emotions. First, her brows raised in surprise in the beginning as she hummed in contempt. Then her eyes widened as she continued before she got to the end of the letter and gasped.

“What is it?! You’re making my blood pressure rise.” Odessa said, watching the girl intensely.

“It’s from Saint Mary’s.” She started, not looking up to see Odessa cringe at the words. “They said a lot has changed in the last four years. Mother Agnes died, and they refurbished the church and built it. And they even have new staff, but the community is failing. They sent letters to all the kids that grew up in the foster home to see if they’d come to work there to improve their quality of life. Pay and free housing included.” She finished, looking up at the girl before her.

Neither of them could look each other in the eyes at the news, both of them still processing everything. Mainly the information about Mother Agnes dying. There was a sense of relief as if the girls had been haunted by everything that woman did to them. And in a sense, they were. They’ve endured too much pain at the hands of Mother Agnes. So much pain that they had to live with their whole lives, and leaving there didn’t help as much as they thought it would. They just now had a place to express such feelings out loud. Although they never did. Conditioning at its finest. Just thinking about their youth made Odessa want to break down and cry after so many years of pushing those memories away. And Antoinette…she could have a panic attack just being back at such a place.

After a moment of silence, Antoinette read over the letter again and again while Odessa just started in thought, someone finally spoke.

“We should do it.” She said softly, not looking up in fear of Odessa’s reaction.

“And why the hell would we do that?” The other girl asked harshly, offended that Antoinette even thought of such a possibility.

“Because it could help.” She answered softly. “We could use the money.”

“We have money. You and I both work.”

“You said it yourself, Des,” Antoinette said looking up, her hands slightly shaking as she played with the letter in her hands. The thought of going back wasn’t doing her psyche any good, but she felt as if this was a good opportunity. Maybe this could be good for us. “We don’t have the money.”

“I said that about your cats. Me and you are living just fine.” Odessa spat, her words harsh as she looked down at the darker-skinned girl. Antoinette subtly flinched at her tone, looking back down at the letter in her hands. Odessa saw her small movements and immediately felt bad, she wasn’t making the situation any better.

“It could be good for us.” Antoinette started again, not looking up this time. “We could go there and help out. Make it a better place than it was when we were there. Be nicer to the children so they…don’t end up like us.” She said. Her words hung in the air for a moment. “I mean, what other place is gonna offer us free housing and a job?”

“We go back just so we can be in debt to those people?” Odessa stated, ignoring what the girl previously said about helping the children. “So they can treat us like some charity case? Like they did when we were foster children?” She continued to ask, staring at the top of Antoinette’s head since she refused to lift her eyes from the wax she was ripping off the paper envelope. “I’m not going through that again, not for some people who didn’t give a damn about us then.”

“There’s new people.”

“Yeah, and who do you think taught them what they know?” She asked, folding her arms. There was a thick silence between them.

Antoinette nodded, never looking up. “You're right.” She closed her old laptop and adjusted the kittens into her arms. She then tucked her laptop under her arm and stood up. “I’m gonna go to bed now, good night.” She said softly, walking past Odessa and into the small room on the other side of the living room. Odessa sighed, placing her head into her head as she heard the girl's door softly close from her place in the kitchen.

Antoinette didn’t come out of her room after that, but Odessa could hear her shuffling around in the very small space. She now lay on her bed couch, looking over at the skinny door every time she heard the slightest moment from the room. She would wait to see if the girl would come out in the middle of the night like she always did to ask her random questions, say a random fact, or go to the kitchen to get some water and get caught up in the small television. But none of that ever came.

As soon as Odessa thought sleep was about to finally meet her halfway, she got caught in the words Antoinette said earlier. About helping the children.

Now, Odessa was far from a children's type of person. She was far from a people person, honestly, but she had to make a living somehow. So, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was so affected by the girl's words as soon as they left her mouth. But deep down, she knew why. And so did Antoinette.

Even in the foster home, Odessa would always protect the younger kids from punishment. Taking all their lashing so she didn’t have to hear the cries of children being hurt. Antoinette is one of those kids when the others would blame things on her. And she would take their pain with no words since the age of fourteen. She never vocally expressed the pain she felt emotionally, mentally, and definitely not physically. That mentality infuriated Mother Agnes to the point she would single the girl out and beat the girl harder to see if she could make her break. But Odessa only let tears slip when she was alone.

Now Antoinette didn’t know the severity her words would have on Odessa’s mind, so she couldn’t blame the girl. But she knew that the girl was right. Odessa would do anything in her power to make sure no other kids ended up like her. She would do anything to not hear the cries of pain from children who busted and wanted to be accepted and loved.

And with that thought, she got up from the bed and walked over to Antoinette’s room. She opened the small door that led to the tiny room to see the girl’s back facing the door, looking out the window at the city as she lay in bed and petted the two cats.

“I changed my mind.” She said softly.

Antoinette glanced over her shoulder. “About the cats?” She started. “Nah, I think you’re right. I don’t think I can care for them properly.” She said sadly, turning to look back out of the window.

“No, not about the cats,” Odessa stated.

There was a pause between the two, Antoinette processing the girl's words. She then sat up in her bed and turned to face the girl at her door, five feet away from her. “What made you change your mind?” She asked softly.

“You were right. About everything.” She shrugged, biting her lip. She was anxious about the whole situation. Coming to such a conclusion about her feelings and the thought of going back to the town brought more bad memories than good. But also to how her best friend would react. But that was all washed away when she saw the girl smile.

“Can I bring the cats?” She asked, pointing to the sleeping kittens in her bed. Odessa giggled, looking at the pleading smile on her friend's face.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, they’ll have more space to grow. Its a better life than here.” She said shrugging.

Antoinette then gasped. “Oh! Now I can get one of those cute wax melt sets so I can’t write back to them.” She smiled excitedly. “Oh, this is gonna be so great!”

Odessa smiled at the girl's excitement. “Now get some sleep, we have some things to sort out before we head up.” That was all she said before she closed the door behind her and made her way back to bed. She let out one final sigh before closing her eyes and letting sleep take her away.

Antoinette smiled at the door as it closed before looking down at the animals at her side. “Ya see, prayers do get answered, guys.” She said, holding up her right hand that was wrapped in her rosary, showing it to the sleeping cats. “Oh, you guys can’t hear me. Or understand me. Or understand religion. I need to go to bed.” She hugged before plopping down onto her pillow with an anxious smile and closing her eyes.

Let me know if you guys like the story and if you’d liked to be added to the taglist!!!

#challengersmovie #challengers #art donaldson #patrick zweig #mike faist #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson x reader #josh o connor #josh o’connor x reader #josh o'connor #priest kink #fleabag #jazziejaxchallengers #jazziejaxwriting #jazziejaxllb

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a-vast-horizon · 3 months ago

Text

Everything You Thought You Wanted

[Fandom: Pressure (Roblox)]

Sebastian makes a deal with Innovation Inc. and they’re able to make him human again, but humanity isn’t everything he hoped it would be.

Sebastian waved off another group of expendables, rifling through the stack of research they’d left with him. A lot of classified files–that was probably good. It had to be good, right? Knowledge was power, and this information was the only power he had when it came to negotiating with other labs.

Urbanshade couldn’t fix what they’d done to him; his own file had made that clear. But that didn’t mean it was impossible. All the other top secret research labs out there had plenty of scientists and researchers of their own, and they'd be able to find a way to make him human again. They had to be able to.

He added the new files to the waterproof crate he’d been filling. It was almost full, a solid 50 pounds of confidential Urbanshade research and samples, a tantalizing offer to any of their competitors. He hoped. It wasn’t like he had many other options but to hope, and to keep sending updates over the radio.

He was already reaching for the radio when it came to life, a message cutting through the static.

We’d like to make you an offer.

Since he was first taken there, Sebastian had never been more than a few hundred meters from the Hadal blacksite. The closest thing to freedom he got was working on maintenance, able to swim out in the open ocean, but with a heavy collar locked around his neck and armed guards watching his every move. He’d never had the chance to cross a large body of water, and therefore he had no idea just how fast he could be.

Every little flick and twist of his tail rocketed him forward, and it only took a few minutes for the blacksite to be entirely out of sight. The ocean was dark, the only light out here what he himself provided, and he was lugging a waterproof crate stuffed with fifty pounds of classified data and P.AI.nter’s computer mainframe, but he felt freer than he had in over a decade. For the first time since his arrest, there was no one here to guard him, to tell him what he could or couldn’t do. He could go anywhere, he could do whatever he wanted!

Just for the hell of it, he looped into something like a backflip, cutting through the water with ease. The Urbanshade guards would never have allowed it on a maintenance run, and the Hadal blacksite pools weren’t big enough to accommodate this type of movement, so he’d never gotten the chance to try it before, but it felt so natural. He couldn’t help but grin as he took a second to corkscrew through the open water. For the first time in a decade, he was in control of himself, and he was happy.

“I need you to hold on just a little longer, Sebastian,” the woman in the white lab coat said. Even though he knew she wasn’t one of the scientists that had done this to him, that she was helping him, he still had a hard time caring enough to remember her name.

Of course, the pain made it hard to care about much at all.

It had been painful growing to the size he was now, but as it turns out, growing bones was a lot easier than shrinking them. The chemical cocktail burning through his veins was supposed to eat away at his bones little by little, letting them shrink down to the size they were supposed to be while his reconstructed DNA worked on remembering just how big that was.

His first session, he’d grabbed the metal table hard enough to dent it while trying to ride out the pain. Now, as hard as he gripped the edge, it didn’t budge. Slowly but surely, the treatments were working.

If only they didn’t hurt twice as bad as everything Urbanshade had put him through.

It felt like days before the last of the chemical was flushed from his system, though the clock on the wall proved the whole round of treatment hadn’t even taken an hour. The woman flipped through his chart, scribbling notes with a pen.

“Good news,” she said. “As long as your body keeps responding as well as it has been, you should only have four more rounds left.”

Sebastian leaned back against the table, staring up at the ceiling light until spots danced in his eyes–just two of them, now, the third surgically removed and the cavity packed with gauze until his skull remembered it wasn’t supposed to have a third eyesocket.

“Great,” he choked out.

“One more step, you’ve almost got it,” the physical therapist coached. “Lead with your shoulder, let your leg follow that movement.”

Sebastian tried to do what the PT said, just like always, holding tight to the railing as he dragged his right foot forward across the floor. His legs had only grown back to size a couple weeks ago, and they were still mostly numb except for the occasional wave of pins and needles, but the scientists had been eager to get him using them again as soon as possible. Sebastian was pretty sure he was holding himself up with his arms more than he was walking, but the PT seemed happy with his progress, at least.

It felt so slow and clunky to stumble along the rails or push himself around the facility in a wheelchair after years of slithering around the Hadal blacksite faster than any human could run, but the possibility of being able to walk on his own again was tantalizingly close now. When they’d first put him on the bar setup, he hadn’t even been able to stand. Now the PT said he’d likely be able to bend his knees and lift his feet within a month.

His knees. His feet. Parts of himself he thought he’d never have again, and now here they were.

Sebastian Solace left the Innovation Inc lab a little over a year after he’d entered it with P.AI.nter’s computer in his arms and a fat wad of cash in his pocket. Innovation Inc. was already seeing returns on some of the Urbanshade data he’d brought them, and he’d been well compensated for it. Innovation had helped him get set up with a new identity and an apartment in the city, and he walked out of the facility on his own two feet.

Sure, it wasn’t exactly perfect. He still had the gills that had been the point of the damn experiment in the first place, there were a few sparse patches of scales here and there that the scientists thought might not fall out, and he was still a good foot taller than he’d been before Urbanshade. No point getting hung up on that, though. He was human, and more importantly he was out. He’d be back to Innovation Inc. for a few medical check-ins, but other than that, he was done with that part of his life. He and P.AI.nter had the whole world in front of them now.

The apartment Sebastian moved into would barely have fit him a couple years ago, but now it was roomy. He had a bed he actually fit on, all of him and not just part of his torso, and it was soft. There was a desk in the corner where P.AI.nter’s computer sat, letting it see the whole room. He got a TV and a sofa and a table, and for the first time in over a decade he had a kitchen to cook in. Not that he had any idea what to cook, but it was nice to know it was there.

He spent the first month catching up on everything he hadn’t had since his arrest. Pizza was greasier than he remembered, but even more delicious. Fast food was more expensive, but worth every penny. He’d immediately gotten brain freeze eating ice cream for the first time in eleven years. And up here on the surface there was more than just food to be excited about. They’d made a sequel to his favorite movie, though once he tracked down a DVD of it, it wasn’t as good as the first movie had been. There were video game systems he hadn’t even heard of, whose controllers felt odd in his hands as he played.

Most importantly, the internet had come a long way. It took Sebastian a while to get the hang of it, P.AI.nter coaching him through using a phone whose touchscreen didn’t register his fingers half the time, but he found his mom, his siblings. He had a phone number for them now, an address that wasn’t the same one he remembered but was close enough to visit.

It took him a few days to work up the nerve to call, a few seconds of silence over the phone line to choke out a quiet “Mama? It’s me.” She was suspicious at first, and he couldn’t blame her, but once she came around–

He hadn’t let himself feel how much he missed her all those years, not until he heard her voice again and started sobbing.

Sebastian was still wary of sleeping. It felt too much like sedation for him to be comfortable with, especially in the hazy moments he was first waking up and couldn’t determine what was reality yet. Sleeping in a bed helped a little, but not enough for him to stop pushing himself to stay awake until the last moment.

When he managed to fall asleep, Sebastian dreamed of the water. There were the nightmares, of course; the suffocating feeling of breathing water before his gills were fully developed, being squeezed into a too-small tank for observation, working on wires with a heavy collar around his neck dragging him down. But those weren’t the only dreams. On lucky nights, he relived those moments after his escape, weightless and swimming freely in open water that went on forever. His body spiraled and turned on a dime with the slightest thought, his tail twisting and rippling gracefully behind him, the darkness broken only by the faint light from his eyes and his lure.

He woke up with the taste of saltwater in the back of his throat to a set of clunky legs that tripped over air and for a split second, he was disappointed. But this was what he had wanted. This was what he had asked for.

The city was noisy and bustling. More people lived here than Sebastian had seen at the Hadal blacksite in ten years, every one of them with a life and a dream and no idea that the person walking past them with a scarf wrapped carefully around his neck had ever been a monster. It was overwhelming to go from near-isolation to society.

He got weird looks sometimes. He walked slowly and carefully, still trying to get the hang of legs again, more like an old man than one who was thirty. He flinched at loud noises and shot to attention at flickering lights. He wore clothes that were out of style, he didn’t know technology or pop culture.

Sometimes he bitterly wondered whether people would have even stared at him any more if he was still a sixty-foot sea monster. He may have looked the part of a human, but he clearly didn’t do a good job acting it anymore.

P.AI.nter tried to reassure him that he was just out of practice, that he would get the hang of being around people again eventually. Sebastian hoped it was right.

Sebastian leaned out the window of his apartment, elbows resting on the sill, cigarette between his teeth. There were some things about being back on the surface that he vowed to never take for granted, and easy access to cigarettes was one of them. He sucked in a lungful of smoke and then exhaled it, watching it drift lazily away on a slight breeze.

The apartment was close to the shore, and the window overlooked the beach. It wasn’t one of those sandy, idyllic beaches where parents took their children. The waves crashed down on a sharp minefield of rocks, wearing them down too slowly to dull their sharp edges.

Sebastian had crawled up that beach, rocks scraping his scales, claws digging for purchase to pull him out of the water. He breathed in more warm smoke and remembered the chill of the ocean depths. He shifted his weight on his feet and remembered his tail coiled under him.

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” P.AI.nter said. “You can’t seriously be missing the blacksite. That place was the worst.”

“I’m not missing it,” Sebastian said, taking another long draw of his cigarette.

“This is everything we used to talk about!” P.AI.nter said. “We’re both free, you’re human again, and I get to draw instead of mining Roblux. All our dreams came true!”

Sebastian nodded in agreement. He remembered those conversations, long hours spent reminiscing about the surface world and talking about what they would do if they ever made it back. Somehow, through all those hours of talking, he had never stopped to think about what it would actually feel like to be there.

He ground the cigarette out on the windowsill even though it was only half burned. He felt entirely too warm even without the smoke.

[kudos and comment on AO3]

#sebastian solace #sebastian pressure #pressure #roblox pressure #pressure sebastian #fanfiction #zen talks #zen writes

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aylish91 · 5 days ago

Note

I don’t know if you’ve answered an ask like this before, so sorry if you have, but what does your writing process look like? Is there a certain space you like to write in? A time? Music? Do you have an outline that you follow or do you write more according to your mood? Do you have to plan to write or do you jot things down as they come to your mind?

I’ve found that I need to like write out a bunch of garbage - like at least three chapter’s worth - and sit on it for a bit before I tear into it and rearrange it and I’m just wondering how writing looks for other people.

Thanks in advance, I really admire your writing and how lovely your descriptions always are :)

Thank you so much for the ask and for liking my writing!!! It really means a lot!

Brace yourself, it’s a bit of a long one. It’s got some peeks of things though~

~~~

I have two places that I like to write at the most: Shoved in the corner at the table with my laptop and in the corner at my computer desk on the desktop. (I like to have notebooks or paper around to write down random thoughts. Hehe.) Time of day usually doesn’t matter, just whenever I am not desperately busy.

Unfortunately, my brain gets distracted remarkably easily. I cannot have music on while I am writing, otherwise, I find myself unable to think about what I’m writing and only about the song. It also gets me sucked into YouTube or doomscrolling.

As for my writing process… It really depends on what I am doing or writing.

For example, a lot of the requests I have written have been “in the moment” type of things. I get an overall sense of what I want it to look like, start typing, and see where the words take me. These take a lot of, what I like to call, “daydream time”. The story stews and rolls around in my brain in bits and pieces until the right combinations make their way into one coherent piece. As you can imagine, the amount of time that takes varies. Sometimes I can crank it out after thinking about it, within a day or two. Sometimes what my mind wants doesn’t end up working in the document and it takes several chunks written, sliced, and completely redone before it starts to form properly. (All versions or thoughts I don’t want to forget or that I might still use, get put at the end of the document.)

*** A tip I have been implementing a lot more lately is: It is perfectly okay to start over. It could be a scene, an opening, or an entire document. Sometimes what you want, is not necessarily what it needs. If it’s not working, don’t force it. It never turns out to your “standards” and just ends up wasting a lot of your time. If you need to, work on the next part or something else until your mind settles enough to figure it out. ***

For other projects or WIPs, my imaginings fester long enough or hit hard enough that I write down everything I can about it so I will remember. It is all chaotic. More serious works get vague chapter outlines or fully paraphrased if I have more in-depth musings. My favorites even get background information for future chapters~ (There are even times I write a whole scene on paper.)

Now, keep in mind that I am all over the place and very disorganized. My notes can and have been done on random bits of paper, written in a document or notebook, or scribbled on anything I can physically get my hands on. Many a quote has been put on random doodle pages because I didn’t want it to disappear once my squirrel mind flitted away. Guardians of the Deep was paraphrased on an old stained paper on my nightstand/dresser at 3:00 in the morning because I refused to let the dreamed inspiration leave me…

With all the information I store, I eventually write based on the information and what the visions have left me. I only get about a chapter or one short done before I too am leaving it for a bit. Depending on how fast I want to get it out or how busy I am, it might be for several hours or a couple of days. I find that time helps me spot things that could be better, fixed, or that I have missed (After all, all first drafts are going to be a little bit awful and I still manage to miss stuff after the go throughs… Sigh. Hahaha!). It also helps get my mind out of it’s tunnel vision. After that, I simply try to edit the best I can and post.

It’s wonky and all over the place, but it seems to work for me.

#igobyshaggyhere #asks #my writing #forgive my handwriting and atrocious spelling mistakes #write fast make many mistake #sleep deprivation #writing process #sneak peeks~#look closely at some of them pictures~#undertale #horrortale #underswap #underfell #sans #papyrus #pratetale #drunk marriage #sea of hope

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norris-lando · 1 year ago

Text

all of the girls you loved before

Carlos Sainz x reader

summary: In which you and Carlos reminisce your relationship on your wedding day.

based on the song All Of The Girls You Loved Before by Taylor Swift

warnings: -

author's note: AAAH. I'm not so sure about this. I just wanted to write something overly cute. I hope you guys enjoy this :) And please, let me know your thoughts!

word count: 2.4k

You were nervous but excited. With people rushing around you, helping you get dressed and put on your makeup and doing your hair, everything started to feel so much more real. The day was finally here. You and Carlos were finally getting married.

You could still remember the first time you laid on eyes on the man that you were soon going to be calling your husband.

It was race day in Miami and your friend dragged you to the GP against your will. You had never been interested in Formula 1 but agreed to go with her so that you wouldn't have to listen to her whine about it any longer.

flashback

The sun was shining high up on the sky and it felt almost burning on your skin. You were annoyed because your friend had went running off on her own somewhere and you were lost. The crowd off people walking around didn't help and even though you tried to call your friend over and over, she didn't answer.

Frustration was building up in the pit of your stomach as you desperately pushed past the sea of people in search of your friend. You had just about had enough of the aimless wandering when you suddenly ran into something — or rather someone.

"Oh," you let out a gasp, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

Your trail of thought came to a stop as you looked up at the handsome stranger you had bumped into.

Deep, brown eyes stared back at you as a small, apologetic smile was dancing on the strangers lips. He seemed to be in a rush and the driver suit hanging low on his waist should have been an indicator as to what was causing his rush.

"No, no, no, it's okay," he hurried to say.

You could hear the accent in his speech and it, along his very cute smile, made your legs wobbly. Your hands became clammy from the sweat and you could swear you were blushing just a little bit.

Something came over you. You weren't usually like this. You didn't really put yourself out there when it came to guys. But this time was different.

You extended your hand and said, "I'm y/n."

The stranger gladly accepted your handshake, taking your hand in his.

"Carlos," he said as he introduced himself. "Nice to meet you."

You could hear someone call his name from a distance. His gaze hesitantly pulled away from yours as he looked in the direction where the voice came from.

He let go of your hand, his eyes returning to yours. "I'm sorry, I have to go," he looked around for a moment as if he was waiting for a miracle - something that would inevitably tie you together.

Carlos, as much as you, didn't want this moment to end. From the very first time your eyes locked and your bodies touched, it felt like everything you had ever been searching for was right there in front of you. As if the stars aligned.

"Can I give you my number?" You quickly said. The words came out so fast out of your mouth they almost merged into something unrecognizable.

Embarraced, you started to rummage around your purse for a piece of paper and a pen.

"I'm sorry, I know you're in a rush," you scribbled numbers on the tiny piece and handed it to Carlos, "but if you want, you can call me. Or text me. Or something. Whatever you want. You don't have to-"

A laugh escaped Carlos' lips. He took the paper from your hands and you stopped rumbling.

"I'll call you. Or text you," he said and gave you a wink before he disappeared just as soon as he first appeared.

For a moment you stood still, thinking what just happened didn't really happen. You had to pinch yourself but it still felt so unreal.

You shook your head as your gaze dropped down on the ground, smile hanging from your lips. What did I just get myself into, you thought.

end of flashback

The door to the dressing room opened and your mom walked in. She had her hands on her mouth, hiding the fact that her mouth was wide open in awe as she saw you in your beautiful wedding dress.

"Oh, darling," she said, trying to carefully wipe the tears of happiness falling down her cheeks.

A wide smile grew on your lips and this time it was you who was trying to stop the tears from falling.

"You're gonna make me cry and they just finished my makeup," you told your mother as you pulled her in for a hug.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm just so happy for you." She held you by your shoulders, looking at you with a sentimental look on her face. It was a proud moment for her - seeing you get married.

There were times when you, along with everyone who knew you, thought this day might not ever come around. It wasn't like you didn't have men lining up, left and right, pining over you. But they just were never right or the timing was wrong. There was always something. It felt like no matter what you did, your relationships always came to a dead end.

That is, until Carlos came along.

flashback

Butterflies filled your stomach as you waited for Carlos. It was your first date and he had promised to come pick you up.

You looked around, the street busy with people coming and going. It felt reassuring to you to know that no one knew how nervous you really were. To know that you probably weren't the only feeling nervous at this moment.

Two teenagers walked by you. Their faces were lit up with bright smiles as they clung to one another. It looked like they were in their own world - like no one else mattered. You couldn't help but smile as well at the sight.

Soon enough Carlos was in front of you. He rushed out of the car with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Carnations. They were your favorite and the smile you had grew wider.

"Hey," Carlos handed you the flowers, "I got you something."

You graciously accepted them, taking in the smell and the colors of the flowers.

The two of you stood there for a moment, neither of you really making a move. The bouquet of flowers still in your hands as your eyes draw to it yet again.

A small, slightly nervous, laugh came out of your mouth. "Sorry, I-" Your sentence didn't find a satisfying ending. Instead, you just sort of shrugged and gave Carlos a hug.

"Thank you," you said, "for the flowers."

The vibration as Carlos hummed as an answer made you giggly. It was a new feeling for you, one no guy had ever made you feel.

"Should we?" Carlos shuffled over to his car, opening the passenger door for you.

You had no idea what he had planned for the two of you but you were eager to see what the night was going to bring your way.

end of flashback

The guests where sat down. Everyone was in awe at how beautiful the church looked as they waited for you to walk down the aisle.

Carlos was standing at the end on the long walkway leading to the altar. Lando, who had been chosen to Carlos' bestman, was by his side, holding a small box in his hands that contained your rings.

On the other side of the altar, your best friend was waiting for you almost as eagerly as Carlos. She was wearing a beautiful bridesmaid dress and she had a hard time keeping her composure. The two of you always had felt like you were long lost sisters and it was a big day for the both of you. Your best friend more than happy to see you tie the knot today with the man you loved.

Soon enough, music started playing. Everyone turned their heads towards the big double doors.

Carlos was holding his breath and Lando gave him a small pat on his back as a way of reassurance. Your mother was wiping tears of joy from her cheeks.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors opened.

flashback

"Babe?"

The house was quiet as you walked in. No lights were on and it seemed to you like Carlos might have been out somewhere.

You took your jacket off and put your bag down on the table near the door. Sighing, you walked over to the couch in the living. You had had a long day at work that left you tired and you couldn't wait to get off your feet.

As you were looking for the remote, hoping to turn on the tv and binge-watch whatever show you were addicted to at the moment, a voice coming from the other room startled you.

Carlos was calling your name and you finally realised he was, in fact, at home and not out as you had at first assumed.

You dragged yourself up from the couch, walking towards the sound.

Carlos was waiting for you in the dining room. Candles were lit and the table was set for the two of you. Flowers were arranged all around, giving off a nice smell. There was a bottle of champagne on the table with two champagne flutes to go along with it.

"What- what is this?" You asked, almost embarrassed with the state you were in after your long day at the office. The last thing you were expecting was a surprise dinner. Though, you were thankful since a hunger was creeping in your stomach.

Carlos had a wide smile on his face. He was nervous, his hands shaking slightly and he hoped you didn't notice.

"I wanted to do something nice for you," he said as he embraced you in a hug.

"Are you hungry?"

The timing was perfect as there were noises loud enough for the both of you to hear coming from your stomach right after Carlos' question. You laughed and told him yes.

Carlos took a hold of the back of the chair, pulling it as he gestured for you to sit down. He took the bottle of champagne and poured you a drink before sitting down himself and filling his glass as well.

The two of you wined and dined as you talked about your days. There was music playing quietly.

"Thank you, this was amazing. And the food was really good," you said with a smile as you put the cutlery down on top of your plate.

You were going to but didn't have time to get up. Carlos beat you to it. Pulling something out of his pocket quickly.

It was a small, black, satin box and as your eyes caught it, you knew exactly what Carlos was going to do next.

He was kneeling in front of you. The box flew open and it revealed the most beautiful engagement ring you had ever seen. The jewel shining bright as light reflected on it.

The surprise and happiness was evident in your face as Carlos' eyes met yours. He was trying to find the right words as he cleared his throat.

"Y/n," he started, "you have made me the happiest man on Earth. And sometimes I still can't believe this is real. That I get to wake up next to you, that I get to call you mine and share my life with you - with all the good and the bad."

Tears of happiness were beginning to form as you listened to his words.

"So, y/n, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

You jumped up from your seat, pulling Carlos up from the floor as well. The two of you holding each other in your arms tightly.

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," you screamed.

end of flashback

The look on Carlos' face was filled with so much love as he looked at you walking down the aisle. He was sure you had never looked more beautiful as you did in that moment.

Your father had his arm wrapped around yours and you couldn't have been more thankful. You needed the extra support as not to fall down in the high heels you were wearing.

Your mother was wiping tears away with a small handkerchief. There was a smile on her face. From the corner of your eye you could see your father look at your mother, a smile on his face as well.

The walk down the aisle felt long but it finally came to end. Your father giving a kiss on your cheek before he went to find his seat. Your best friend giving you a thumbs up.

A laugh escaped your lips. This was all you had ever wanted and you couldn't be happier.

The ceremony began. The priest giving a small speech. You and Carlos exchanged your vows. And finally the moment you had been waiting for since the day you first met Carlos.

"Do you, Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro, take y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

Carlos held your hands in his as his brown eyes looked in yours.

"I do," he said.

The priest turning to you, he said, ""Do you, y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n, take Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

"I do, I do, a thousand times I do," you said, referring back to what you had said when Carlos first asked you to marry him.

Your words made Carlos and your families let out a chuckle and you looked around the church.

The priest held a genuine smile your way. His gaze shifted between you and Carlos as he said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Carlos pulled you in for a kiss. Your lips colliding as the crowd cheered loudly.

#formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #cs55 #writingcs55 #writing allofthegirlsyoulovedbefore

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animatorweirdo · 1 year ago

Text

Why Elves Should Not Drink Coffee

(Not gonna explain myself. This was just an idea that popped into my head. I hope you enjoy it. )

Warnings: Coffee Madness.

---------------------------------

*You and Elrond spending some time together*

Elrond: (Name), what are you drinking? I do not think I have seen that kind of drink before.

You: Oh, It’s just coffee. It helps keep me awake in the morning.

Elrond: It helps you keep awake. That sounds like something that could help many improve workflow and avoid falling asleep during important times.

You: Yeah… hold back on that statement.

Elrond: ???

You: You see… it was me and my friend who first introduced coffee, and it proved to be more trouble than good because of its potent effect on elves.

Elrond: What do you mean?

You: Coffee is pretty harmless to humans since it only causes anxiety, tiredness, addiction, and something in between. To elves… it causes them to be extremely hyperactive.

You: During the first three days, there were already four incidents.

1 Incident

You: *Groans* I hate Mondays!

Camilla: Oh, stop whining.

Faye: Hey, you two. What are you drinking?

You: Coffee because I hate my life. Wants some?

Faye: Sure.

Faye: *Drinks a whole cup*

Faye: *Smacks her lips* An interesting taste. Well, I need to get back to work. I see you two later.

You: *Watches her leave* Camilla, coffee is safe for elves, right?

Camilla: Should be. Why?

You: I don’t know. I just feel like we made a grave mistake.

You: *Shrugging your shoulders* Oh, whatever.

*Later that day*

*You and Camilla arrive at the healer’s wing*

You: And then he was like: I’m not a little boy. I’m an alpha male, and I will — Oh my god! What happened here?!

*You two witness the main infirmary in a mess. Sheets on the floors. Patients aggressively tied with bandages, and everyone staring at Faye with pure terror*

You: Faye…Everything alright buddy?

Faye: *Visibly shaking like she was on overdrive, smiling and speaking fast* I’m fine! I never felt better! I’m quite active today! We should get to work! There are patients and medicines to be sorted. Oh, what a wonderful day! Sun emoji, smiling face, and a rose.

Faye: *Walks off*

You: Did she just mention a sun emoji?

Camilla: I think that’s our cue not to give her coffee in the future.

2 Incident

Maglor: I heard about the incident in the healer’s wing. I hope your friend is okay.

You: Yeah, Faye is alright. It was a pain in the ass to wait for her to tire herself, but we managed to get her down and rest.

You: To think coffee had such a strong effect on her.

Maglor: Well, accidents happen.

You: *Remember something* Wait! I remember serving you once coffee. Did you end up giving your brother some by chance?

Maglor: You did, but I did not feel any different. I gave some coffee to Maedhros since he seemed to have trouble focusing on his work, but now that you mention it. I haven’t seen him in a while.

You: How long has this ‘while’ been?

Maglor: Around… three weeks?

*You two stare at each other in silence*

You & Maglor: Oh Shit!

*You two quickly arrive at the study where Maglor last saw Maedhros*

Maglor: *Opening the door* Maedhros! We’re coming in!

*You two find him in a messed up study. Thousands of papers were stacked, and the red-haired elf was still sitting on the table, his hair messed up and dark circles under his eyes, and his left hand black with ink.*

Maedhros: *Falling front and back on the chair* What do you two want? Can’t you see I’m busy?

You: Doing what? You’re just scribbling on the desk at this point.

Maglor: Brother?! Have you not moved an inch since the last I saw you?!

Maedhros: What are you talking about?

Maglor: It’s been three weeks!

Maedhros: *stops in thought* Three weeks?

Maedhros: It doesn’t matter. I have work to do.

Maglor: *Grabs the back of his chair and pulls him away from the desk* Oh no, you don’t! You’re going to sleep!

Maedhros: *Starting hissing at him*

You: I need to tell Camilla to avoid sharing her coffee recipe.

3 Incident

*After getting Maedhros to rest*

You: Okay. That was awful. I can’t believe this brown juice could make your brother last that long without sleep and food.

Maglor: It seems coffee is more potent toward us than we imagined.

Curufin: *Appears out of nowhere* What is more potent toward us?

You: My friend’s coffee recipe. It’s only supposed to serve as a morning drink, but turns out, you elves turn ten times more active if you drink this.

Curufin: *Stares at the cup of coffee, thinking* Hmm…?

Curufin: *Grabs it and takes a drink*

You & Maglor: No!

Curufin: *Stares at you two confused*

Maglor: Brother— how are you feeling?

Curufin: I— feel fine?

You: You sure? No sudden urges to do something or test your limits to unimaginable expectations?

Curufin: I think you both are overreacting. I do say that this is a fine-tasting drink. My compliments to your friend.

Curufin: *Leaves*

You: Someone who compliments Camilla’s coffee must have a soul just as dark as hers or none at all. By the way, did you notice any changes in him?

Maglor: I— can’t actually say. Let’s keep an eye on him, just in case. Who knows what might happen if he turns out like Faye or Maedhros?

You: I’m already scared just thinking about it.

*Later*

Curufin: *Standing on the table, messed up hair, and yelling invention plans* Don’t you see?! This is our chance to defeat Morgoth! We just build this here and there! Then we just—!

Celegorm: *Visibly scared* Holy shit! Calm down! What has gotten into you?!

*You, Maglor, and all the nearby elves hiding in the vicinity*

You: Oh my god! Can your brother be more insufferable than this?!

Maglor: This feels like typical Curufin, but ten times more confident his plan will work in the end and if he was ten times angrier than Caranthir.

You: Well, no shit. He’s literally yelling at us like a German soldier in the Second World War and even Celegorm out of all people is scared!

Curufin: TOD ALLEN ORKS!!!

Celegorm: *Crying at this point* What are you even saying?!

Present day

You: After that incident, Curufin was banned from even getting near coffee, and what’s even more ironic was that when he finally cleared his head from the caffeine rush. He blamed me and Maglor for embarrassing himself even if it was he who drank the coffee and ignored our warnings.

You: After that, Camilla and I made sure that coffee was banned for the greater good.

Elrond: Sounds reasonable. But those were only three incidents. You told me there were four.

You: Oh yeah! Actually, that happened way after. I’m not sure if you remember, but you and your brother had a part in this one.

4 Incident

*You, Maglor, and the twins having breakfast*

Elrond: *Points at the pot of coffee* Ada, can I have a taste of that?

Maglor: *Slightly sleep-deprived and not fully comprehending the question* sure.

Maglor: *About to pour him a cup of coffee*

You: *You slap his hand away in panic* Don’t give him that! You know what coffee does to you! They’re gonna be jumping off the walls!

Maglor: Calm down. I’m sure it doesn’t have that strong effect on children.

You: You sure about that? A sugar rush is something, but do you really want to know what a coffee-filled elven child can do?

*You two then see Elros having a taste and Elrond drinking from the pot*

You: Boys!

*The twins look at you without an expression.*

You: How… are you feeling?

*Later*

Elrond & Elros: *Laughing maniacally, running and jumping on the walls*

You & Maglor: *Chasing after them*

You: I bloody told you so!

Present day

Elrond: Oh dear! I do not wonder why I can’t remember much of that day.

You: Well, you and your brother were knocked out on the bed after a full day of running and hiding. Let's just say. Maedhros did not enjoy having to avoid jumping children on caffeine energy drinks.

Elrond: *Chuckles as you two arrive in the kitchen*

You: You know, now that I think about it. The coffee was made from my friend’s recipe at that time. She always liked to drink it strong, so maybe if I tone it down a bit. It could be less potent toward elves.

You: *Stops* Oh no!

Elrond: What’s wrong?

You & Elrond: * See your coffee pot empty*

You: Where did all of my coffee go?

*You both hear a crash in the distance and someone screaming*

#silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #tolkien #silmarillion imagines #middle earth imagines #silm fic #middle earth x reader #crack fic #maglor x reader

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 8 months ago

Text

Click My Heels But I Am Stuck Here - Chapter Three

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Work Summary:

Rolan is battered, beaten and exhausted. After everything he’s been through to get to Baldur’s Gate, he still has no reprieve from violence and prejudice.

But wouldn’t it just be so sweet to fuck his master’s pretty little wife?

AU where Tav is Lorroakan’s wife.

Chapter Summary:

Lorroakan is out of town, and Rolan finally gets to spend some time alone with Tav.

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5980

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

warnings for allusions to domestic violence and sexual abuse

---

Rolan was wearing his best robes, his hair neatly combed and tied back in its usual style. He had been incredibly liberal with his use of healing potions, to ensure there were no traces of cuts or bruises on his face. Normally, he would’ve considered this wasteful, but tonight, it was important.

Lorroakan was away on a trip, which meant that Rolan finally had the opportunity to see Cal and Lia again. According to their most recent sending conversation, Lia had befriended some Harpers who were willing to help her and Cal sneak into the city for the evening, and then get them back to the refugee camp safe and sound.

Rolan felt himself on the verge of heart palpitations. It had been two months since he’d last seen either of them in person. Sending spells and scribbled notes delivered by pigeon weren’t the same. And he was seeing them today.

The tower was a breath of fresh air now that Lorroakan wasn’t here. It felt good not to have to tiptoe around. Myshka was taking full advantage of this, sprawling out in the middle of the library. When Rolan walked in, the cat looked up and started purring at once.

Rolan bent down and scratched him under the chin, and the cat responded by jumping up onto his shoulder. Rolan gave a feeble protest – he was going to get fur all over his robes – but gave up when the cat lay himself across his shoulders.

“You’re in a good mood today,” came Tavya’s voice from behind him, and he spun around so fast that he almost lost his balance. She was smiling at him. He took a deep breath to calm himself. She wasn’t Lorroakan.

“I’m seeing my siblings at the Elfsong Tavern tonight,” he said, unable to keep the smile from spreading across his face.

She beamed back at him. She was wearing an oversized jumper and loose-fitting trousers, her hair messily tied back into a ponytail rather than its usual braids, and still, she was exceptionally pretty.

“I’m glad to hear that. You must miss them. Did you come all the way from Elturel together?”

Rolan nodded jerkily, surprised that she had remembered where he was from. “Yes. It was a long and perilous journey but we made it. I’m lucky to have them.”

“Well… I hope you have a good evening.” She took a step towards him, reaching out, and for an irrational moment, he thought she was going to touch his face, but she scratched Myshka under the chin instead.

Standing this close, he could smell her perfume. He could count the freckles on her nose. It was a wonder she couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked. The words were out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to process what he was saying.

She looked up at him, mouth falling open in surprise. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to intrude-”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.”

She closed her mouth, tilting her head to the side contemplatively. “This old tower does get pretty lonely,” she said. “It’s not like I have many opportunities to make new friends. Lorroakan doesn’t like me going out in the evenings.”

He gave her a questioning look, and she faltered.

“I mean… He’s just worried about my safety, is all,” she clarified, stumbling over her words a little.

“Of course,” he said.

“Did you really mean it? I don’t have to come. I don’t want to interrupt a reunion with your siblings.”

“They’d be happy to meet you,” he said, “and hopefully soon they’ll be let into the city proper, and I won’t have to spend months apart from them.”

Tavya nodded. “It’s a shame they can’t live here. Lorroakan is…” She looked as though she was choosing her words very carefully. “…particular about his space.”

“As is his right,” said Rolan, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“Of course,” she said cautiously. “I need to change into something more appropriate for an evening out. Do I have time to bathe?”

Rolan blinked, trying not to focus on the image that her words had brought up in his mind. “I’m leaving in an hour.”

“Okay, good, I’ll be back.”

She gave Myshka one last scritch and then headed towards her bedroom.

Rolan was warned of Tav’s approach by the sound of her high-heeled boots clicking against the stairs.

“Does this look alright?” she asked, and he turned to face her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out in the evening.”

In Rolan’s opinion, she looked a hell of a lot more than ‘alright’. Her dark brown hair fell in loose curls down to her mid-back. She was wearing dark lipstick that stood out against her pale skin. She’d opted for a dark green dress with a modest neckline, that nonetheless clung to her curves.

Rolan realised that he was staring. She was looking at him expectantly, and he remembered that she’d asked him a question.

“Uh… You look…” He searched for a word that was complimentary, but not too complimentary. “Nice.” Her face fell a little, so he quickly said, “The dress is lovely, the green really suits you.”

“Thank you, Rolan.”

She gave Myshka a kiss goodbye and then the two of them set off. The cobblestones weren’t all that friendly to her boots, so he offered her an arm, which she accepted gratefully.

He wondered if he should be nervous to be seen like this, arm in arm with his master’s wife. Did the people of Baldur’s Gate know her face? Would anyone tell Lorroakan?

But Tav didn’t seem too concerned, and he was sure she knew better than he did, so he tried to relax.

The Elfsong wasn’t too crowded when they arrived, so Rolan immediately spotted his siblings sitting at a table in the corner. He made eye contact with Lia from across the room and she practically leapt to her feet.

Rolan met her in the middle and she threw her arms around his neck.

“Rolan!” she gasped, squeezing him tight. She wasn’t usually so physically affectionate with him, but this was situation was far from usual. They hadn’t been apart for so long since their parents had taken him in.

He felt Cal’s arm wrap around him, so he pulled one arm free of Lia’s grip to embrace his brother as well.

“We made it,” said Cal. “Baldur’s Gate.”

Neither of them seemed too keen on letting him go, but eventually he had to pull back, albeit reluctantly. It had been so long since he’d been held.

He stood with them at arms’ length, taking them both in. Cal’s hair was growing out. Lia’s, on the contrary, had been roughly chopped to just longer than chin length. They both looked thinner than the last time he’d seen them, with clothes that looked a little more threadbare, although they were smiling at him.

He was suddenly very aware of the fineness of his own robe. It was one of the few things Lorroakan had given him. He couldn’t have his apprentice looking scruffy.

Rolan must’ve frowned at the thought, because Lia’s face fell. She cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down. For a moment, he was worried that there was some injury he had missed. She was worryingly perceptive.

“You’re looking well,” she said, and he felt the tightness in his chest loosen. “Come, we’ve got a table, let’s sit down.”

He turned, and found himself almost running right into Tav. That brought him up short. For the briefest of moments, he had completely forgotten that he’d brought her. He looked down at her guiltily.

She didn’t seem all that upset to have been ignored. Instead, she held up a bottle of wine.

“I got red, I hope that’s okay,” she said.

Rolan could feel the eyes of his siblings on him, so he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Cal, Lia, I hope you don’t mind that I invited Tavya tonight.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Tavya,” said Lia. “Charmed.” There was a glint in her eye that Rolan didn’t like, and he was determined to snuff it out before she said anything to embarrass him.

“Tavya is a friend of mine. She is Master Lorroakan’s wife,” he said. Lia raised an eyebrow at that.

“Please, call me Tav,” said Tav.

The four of them sat down at the table and Tav immediately set to pouring the wine. Rolan tried to offer to pay her back for what she’d paid for it, but she waved him away. He felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t like she was lacking for money.

It was a good thing, too. Seeing his siblings like this made him realise that he should be sending them more of his meagre paycheque. It wasn’t like he had much to spend his own money on, as room and board were provided.

Tonight, he would treat them to a good meal, and tomorrow he would start saving more to ensure that they weren’t going hungry.

“Are you both well?” he asked, eyeing the way his sister was taking a deep swig of wine. “Perhaps we should get some food in us before we get too deep into festivities.”

“You’re no fun,” said Lia, but didn’t protest as Rolan stood up to go and order at the bar. Tavya reached for her pouch of gold, but Rolan pretended he didn’t see. It was one thing to accept drinks from her but he didn’t want him thinking that he’d invited her here purely to mooch off her kindness.

When he returned to the table, Tav seemed to be in deep conversation with his siblings. Lia was giggling. That surely couldn’t be a good sign.

“What are you laughing about?” Rolan asked as he sat down in the chair beside Tav.

“We hear you’ve befriended a cat, Rolan,” said Cal, a teasing note in his tone.

“Well, Lorroakan ensures I have a lot of work to do, so I hardly have time to befriend anyone else. Myshka enjoys the relative comfort and, uh, peace of my bedroom.” He glanced at Tav. He wondered if he’d said too much. Even alluding to Lorroakan’s violent nature seemed risky.

“I’m not surprised your bedroom is peaceful, it’s not like you get any action,” said Lia, and Rolan’s jaw dropped. The wine must’ve been going to her head already.

“Lia,” Cal admonished, but he was laughing too. Rolan snuck a look at Tav, and found that she was grinning. Zurgan. This was embarrassing.

Lia reached for the bottle of wine but Rolan was faster, deftly sliding it out of reach. “I think perhaps we should slow down on the wine until we’ve eaten something.”

“Boooo,” said Lia, trying to swipe the bottle from his hands, but Rolan held it away from her.

“So, I hear the two of you have made friends with some Harpers,” said Tav, and Rolan was grateful at the subject change. “Do you know Jaheira?”

“We met her in the Shadow-Cursed Lands,” said Cal. “She put us in touch with some people to help us once we got here. The Harpers have been a real help around the refugee camp, making sure everyone gets fed.”

Not well enough, thought Rolan, eyeing his siblings.

Tav took a sip of her drink and nodded. “That sounds like the Harpers.”

“You’re familiar with them?” asked Lia.

“Oh yeah. I met Jaheira when I was just a little girl. I wanted desperately to be a Harper but my father never would’ve allowed it,” she said wistfully. “I heard them described as a band of bards and rogues who do their best to help people, and I thought I’d fit right in.”

“So which are you?” asked Lia.

“Hm?”

“A bard or a rogue?”

Tav chuckled. “A little of both, I think.”

Rolan opened his mouth, wanting to know more, but at that moment, their food arrived. The man was just setting down a plate of Rothé ribs in front of Tav when he did a double take.

“Well, I’ll be! If it isn’t Miss Tav!” he said bombastically.

Tav let out an awkward giggle. “Good evening Alan.”

“It is you! It’s been an awfully long time, Miss. Something must be keeping you busy these days.”

“My husband,” she said, and didn’t clarify any further.

Alan shook his head. “Such a shame. The old regulars still ask about you sometimes. You used to light up this place.”

Cal and Lia were looking at Tav with curiosity, but Rolan was just confused. At the look on his face, Tav said, “I used to play here sometimes.”

“She’s being modest,” said Alan. “She’s the finest violinist I’ve ever heard, and a dab hand at the lute as well. Beautiful voice too.” The violinist part Rolan could vouch for, but he’d never heard her play the lute or sing. She was blushing now. “Why don’t you give us a song? For old times’ sake? Business hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I’d certainly like to hear you sing,” said Cal.

“Me too,” Lia agreed.

Tav looked at Rolan then. “What about you, Rolan? What do you think?”

Rolan couldn’t deny that he was intrigued, but the idea of saying so was mortifying. “I think that you are an excellent musician, and you should only perform if you want to.” Alan was still hovering beside them, expectantly.

“Would you at least let me finish my ribs first?” she said, mock-angrily.

“Of course, of course. And the food is on the house. Anything for an old friend.”

Tav groaned. “Fine, I’ll perform for you. Will you bring my friends here some bread? And perhaps some sweet buns for dessert?” She gestured at Cal and Lia. “They need fattening up.”

Cal let out a startled laugh. Rolan watched Lia, eyes wide. She had a bit of a temper, and he wasn’t sure if she’d take that as an insult. To his relief, she just snorted and raised her goblet of wine.

“I’ll drink to that,” she said.

Ribs were difficult to eat in a ladylike manner. Tav tucked a napkin into the front of her dress to protect it and then she dug in.

It was hard for Rolan not to stare. Tav didn’t eat much at the tower, and the food she did eat was eaten daintily with cutlery. Right now, she was digging into her Rothé ribs like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Sauce coated her lips, so she ran her tongue over them to clean them off. Rolan felt a stirring deep inside him, and quickly looked away.

He found himself making eye contact with Lia, who, again, just raised her eyebrows at him. He glared at her, hoping she’d get the message.

Fortunately, she quickly became distracted by her own meal. Rolan was sure he’d been right that his siblings hadn’t been eating well, and their reactions to the food in front of them only reinforced that belief.

He would’ve been embarrassed by their table manners if Tav didn’t have sauce dripping down her chin right now.

Rolan himself couldn’t bring himself to eat with such reckless abandon. He ate his dinner slowly, trying to make a good impression.

None of them spoke much while eating. When Tav was done, she wiped her mouth with her napkin.

As if he’d been watching them, Alan appeared by their table once more, looming over Tav with an expectant look on his face.

“Let me go wash up,” she said, indicating her sticky hands and face.

“Excellent,” said Alan. “One of our regular bards has offered to lend you her lute. It’s a shame I couldn’t find a violin at such short notice.”

“I’m rusty with the lute, but I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as Tav was out of sight, Rolan turned his attention back to his siblings, and found them both watching him intently.

“You know…” said Lia, and Rolan already knew that he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say. “She looks a little bit like Louisa.”

Rolan felt his stomach do a flip. He hadn’t heard that name in a long time.

Cal tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I can kinda see it,” he said.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Rolan hissed. His cheeks were hot. Louisa had been a human girl back in Elturel that his siblings had often teased him about having a crush on. She certainly had long dark curls like Tav’s, and the same petite frame, but that was where the similarities ended.

It didn’t matter anyway. Louisa had been polite to him, but she clearly wasn’t interested, and he hadn’t seen her since Elturel fell. He hadn’t thought about her in almost as long, since his focus had been keeping his family safe. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

“Whatever you think is happening, isn’t,” he said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

“I know,” said Lia. “But please be careful, alright? She’s Lorroakan’s wife.”

“I’m very aware of that fact, thank you,” he snapped.

“She’s coming back,” warned Cal, and Rolan sat up a little straighter.

Indeed, Tav was heading back to their table, but she was waylaid by Alan, who handed her the lute and ushered her over to the little raised platform that served as a stage. There was a stool waiting for her, which she hopped up onto.

The crowd grew quiet. It was a strange thing. Perhaps the audience were old fans of her from her days before Lorroakan, and they’d been anticipating this day. Or perhaps they just saw a beautiful woman holding an instrument and wanted to know if she was any good.

She plucked a pretty little melody on the lute, and the crowd’s silence deepened. It was like she was casting some kind of spell on them. Rolan wondered if she was. He hadn’t studied bardic magic – he had never considered it worth his time – but he knew that there were some who could cast powerful spells with the aid of music.

Tav opened her mouth and started to sing. Her voice was high and sweet and clear and Rolan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He wasn’t the only one. He had no idea that it was possible for a room full of drunks to be so rapt.

Her song was unfamiliar. The lyrics told the story of a bird being kept in a golden cage, and eventually losing its voice. At the end, the bird gained its freedom, but only in death. Its spirit flew through the skies of the city, singing beautiful songs.

As Tav’s final notes played out, there was a moment of silence before the crowd erupted into rapturous applause.

“Rolan,” said Lia softly, and he turned to look at her. “Are you alright?”

Rolan cleared his throat, realising that his eyes were watering. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” He glanced between his siblings again. “I am… sorry. For bringing Tav without asking you two. I’m sure you were hoping to catch up with me alone.”

Cal shook his head. “Don’t apologise. She’s lovely. And it’s good for us to get a sense of what your life in the tower is like.”

“Of course,” said Rolan, feeling a little uncomfortable at the fact that he had been lying to his siblings about the reality of his situation with Lorroakan. He didn’t want them to worry about him.

“And besides, if the Harpers let me join officially then we’ll be able to come visit a lot more often,” said Lia.

That cheered Rolan a little, but he couldn’t help but feel nervous. As much as he missed his siblings, keeping that at a distance meant it was easier to keep them in the dark about the way Lorroakan treated him. Would they lose respect for him if they knew he couldn’t stand up for himself?

Of course not, a small voice in the back of his mind murmured. They love you.

Still. Distance from Lorroakan kept them safe. Would Lia be safe with the Harpers?

Before he could think about it any further, Tav started up playing again, this time strumming a far more upbeat tune. There was a roar of appreciation from the crowd, so he assumed that they must’ve known the song, even if he didn’t.

From what he could piece together over the sounds of the crowd, it was a bawdy tale about a young noble woman going out into the world and making all sorts of trouble for herself. He couldn’t help but smile at that.

He reached across the table and took one of Lia’s hands in his own. She looked slightly bemused at this uncharacteristic display of affection, but squeezed his hand back.

“Tell me about the refugee camp. Is everything alright there?” Rolan asked.

“It’s lively,” said Lia. “Lot of people coming and going. It’s not exactly… peaceful.”

Again, Rolan felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t been able to get his siblings lodgings in the tower. At the tower, they would be safe and well-fed and always have a bed to sleep in. Well. As long as they stayed out of Lorroakan’s way.

“It’s not so bad,” said Cal. “There are lots of orphans, though. It makes me sad. You see all these families torn apart. It reminds me of how lucky we are to still have each other.”

“I’ve missed you,” said Rolan, reaching out a hand to Cal now too, who grasped it immediately. “It’s lonely without you. The only people I interact with on a daily basis are Lorroakan and Tav.”

“What about customers?” asked Lia.

“Ugh. Customers.”

“Please,” said Cal, “You know how Rolan feels about the general public.” Lia let out a guffaw.

Rolan just rolled his eyes. “I think we need more wine.”

All in all, it was a good night. He drank and talked with his siblings. Tav would occasionally pop up between songs for a drink and a brief chat before she would get dragged back onto stage by her adoring audience.

At around a midnight, a young half-elf man – a Harper, as Rolan understood it – with long dark hair came over to their table and apologetically informed Cal and Lia that it was time to head back to the camp.

As they gathered up their things, Lia gave Rolan a hug and whispered in his ear. “That’s Geraldus. Cal fancies him.”

Rolan looked Geraldus up and down, and then looked at his brother. He had chalked it up to the alcohol before, but now that he was really looking, he could see that Cal was blushing a little as Geraldus set a hand on his arm. Rolan raised his eyebrows at his brother, but Cal quickly looked away.

“I think I’ve sung more than enough to cover my supper.” Tav’s voice broke out over the hubbub. She was pressing the lute back into Alan’s hands, although he seemed very keen for her to keep playing. “My friends are leaving, so I think it’s time for me to head home.”

She wouldn’t be swayed. Although she had only just met them, she gave both Cal and Lia hugs before they left. They came back to embrace Rolan one more time, and then they were gone, being swept away out into the night air of Baldur’s Gate.

Rolan had a funny, tight feeling in his chest. He missed them already. He had no idea when he’d next see them.

“Are you alright?” asked Tav.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” His tone was clipped, trying to keep the emotion at bay.

“One more drink for the road?” she suggested, and he agreed, if only to quiet the burning feeling in his chest.

As they settled back at their table with a final goblet of wine each, Tav said, “That must’ve been hard for you. Saying goodbye again, I mean.”

Rolan didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way you love your brother and sister. It’s so nice to see.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No one?”

“I have no siblings,” she said.

“Your parents?”

“My mother died when I was very young. I don’t remember her at all. And my father…” She grimaced, swirling her drink around in her goblet. “Well, let’s just say I don’t have warm feelings towards him.”

“… Lorroakan?” Rolan’s tone was cautious.

Tav looked back at him, disbelieving. “You think I love Lorroakan?”

“Well, you did marry him.”

“Not by choice.” She took a deep swig of her drink. “Well, not my choice, anyway.”

Rolan sat frozen, staring back her. She looked suddenly very tired. They were both drunk and she was clearly exhausted. He should take her home before she could say something she’d regret. Still, he was rooted to the spot, in expectation of what she might say next.

“I’ve never been loved the way you love your siblings either. My father loves me the way he’d love a particularly shiny gold piece. Lorroakan would be happier if I were some kind of life-size doll that cooked his meals and kept his bed warm. He’d sew my mouth shut if he didn’t love hearing me call him Master while he’s bending me over his desk.”

Rolan’s face heated up. Tav grimaced, as if her words had only just caught up with her. Her ears had gone completely pink.

“Ignore me,” she said. “I’m drunk. I shouldn’t say such things. It’s unbecoming of a lady.”

“Myshka loves you,” Rolan interjected.

She looked at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“These patrons love you.” He gestured around the bar.

“They hardly know me.”

“Still. You had them hanging on your every word tonight.”

She finished off her drink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then gave a small burp. Laughter bubbled up in his chest.

“And what about you, Rolan?” She planted her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “Would you miss me if I died?”

“I… Uh… You’re kind to me,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

“Oh, I see. You’d miss the things I could do for you,” she said. Rolan couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not.

“No, I mean…” He sighed. “I enjoy your company, Tav.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “I enjoy your company too, Rolan. Now…” She put her hands on the table and unsteadily pushed herself to her feet. “I should get home before I embarrass myself any further.”

“You haven’t-”

“My tongue has been far too loose tonight. If my husband heard what I’d been saying…” She shook her head, lips pressed together in a tight line.

“He won’t,” he reassured her.

“I know.”

Rolan drained his goblet and stood up as well. She took hold of his arm to steady herself. He let her lean on him as they walked out of the inn.

“I never asked,” he started, feeling a little awkward. “How did you know about my healing potions?”

Tav gave a wry smile. “Myshka saw you sneaking out the empty bottles. He didn’t understand what you were doing, of course, but I did. I figured that since Lorroakan is my husband, I should try to help you if I could. I may not have chosen him, but I do feel somewhat responsible for his behaviour.”

Rolan furrowed his brow. “Why?”

She pursed her lips. “Lorroakan is a simple man. As his wife, I have certain… methods of influencing him. It wasn’t always easy, but I’ve been married to him for five years now. I can foretell the changing of his moods, most of the time at least. I know when to simper and fawn, I know when to ask him for things I want, and I know when to hide.”

He stopped in his tracks. Tav stumbled, the heel of her boot catching between two cobblestones. She would’ve fallen had he not caught her, a firm arm wrapping around her waist to hold her still.

“Tav,” he said, his tone serious.

Tav grimaced, not meeting his eye. “Sorry. These bloody boots. They’re not great on cobblestones.”

“Tav,” Rolan repeated. “Why do you need to hide from Lorroakan?” She just blinked at him, her eyes wide. He sighed. “Has he hurt you?”

She forced a smile onto her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was an expression he was familiar with. It was the same one he wore when serving customers in Sorcerous Sundries. She was shutting him out, and he hated it.

He was still supporting most of her weight. Her hands were clutching at his upper arms for balance.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I know how to handle him.”

“Tav…”

“We should get home.” She patted his shoulders, and he reluctantly released her. “I’m tired.”

“… Of course.”

Because who did he think he was? It wasn’t his place to intervene in his master’s marriage. So what if he hurt her? That wasn’t any of Rolan’s business.

The image of Tav, beaten and bloody, flashed across his mind. He blinked it away.

Tav was fine. She was uninjured, right in front of him, fussing over the heel of her boot.

“It broke off,” she said, holding up the broken piece of heel. “Shit.”

It wasn’t all that far to Sorcerous Sundries, but Tav had already been unsteady before her shoe had broken.

“I could carry you,” he offered.

Tav blinked up at him. “It’s alright. I can just go barefoot.”

“And get your feet cut up on broken glass and Gods-know-what?” He scoffed. “Come on. You can climb up on my back. I may be a wizard, but I’m stronger than I look.”

“Okay,” said Tav. “Can you bend down?”

Feeling nowhere near as awkward as he should’ve, Rolan squatted, allowing Tav to clamber up onto his back. As her arms wrapped around his neck from behind, he had to suppress a shiver.

He hooked his hands underneath her knees, and once he was sure she was secure, he stood up.

“Woah,” Tav breathed. Her mouth was far closer to his ear than he anticipated, and he felt a twitching in his groin. It didn’t help that the smell of her perfume was everywhere. “I don’t normally see things from this high up. Is this what it’s like to be tall?” She rested her chin on his shoulder.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re drunk,” he said.

“So are you!”

“Let’s get you home.” He started to walk.

“Onwards, good sir,” she said, and then descended into a fit of laughter. She had a lovely laugh. He didn’t think he would ever tire of hearing it.

If he had been sober, perhaps he might have considered how the two of them would appear from the outside. His master’s wife was on his back, her chin on his shoulder, giggling breathlessly. Perhaps he might’ve worried what the neighbours would think if they saw them. As it stood, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Your hair is coming loose,” she said suddenly.

“Oh.”

“I rather like it. You should wear your hair down.”

He laughed nervously. “I find it gets in the way.”

She touched the knot he’d tied it into earlier, and a shiver went down his spine. He could indeed feel the loose strands sticking to the back of his neck with sweat.

“May I?” she asked.

“Go ahead.”

Deftly, she untied his hair, letting it fall down to his shoulders. She didn’t stop there, though. She mussed it, detangling and straightening it out, until it was as though it had never been tied back.

If he hadn’t been walking, Rolan would’ve closed his eyes, leaning into the sensation of having his hair played with. It was a weakness of his.

“I like your hair down too,” he said. “It suits you.”

“Really?” She laughed again. “Lorroakan hates it. It gets everywhere. He says it makes me look scruffy.”

“He’s an idiot.”

She giggled, wrapping her arms back around his neck. “He is. In so many ways.”

“Only Lorroakan could be married to a woman as beautiful as you and still find reasons to complain.”

Tav inhaled sharply. Rolan’s brain caught up to his mouth a moment too late, and he bit his tongue hard. Before she could respond, they rounded the corner onto the square that housed Sorcerous Sundries, and he cleared his throat loudly.

“Here we are,” he announced, entirely unnecessarily. “Almost home.”

“…Mhm.”

Neither of them spoke as they crossed the square. He didn’t set her down until they were standing under the awning of the shop. As he unlocked the doors, Tav pulled off her boots.

Barefoot, the height difference between them was even more apparent. He pulled back the heavy door and held it open for her.

“Thank you, Rolan,” she said, walking into the shop. “You really saved me from the peril of stepping on glass shards, or a twisted ankle.”

He followed her inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He locked it and checked the wards were all still in place. It was a fairly involved process, so he was surprised to find that she was still standing there when he was done. He had expected her to head straight for the portal.

The two of them walked together up the staircase, close but not touching. Rolan let her lead the way through the portal. It was dark in Ramazith’s tower when they made it inside.

The hallway that led to the master bedroom went past Rolan’s room, so the two of them continued walking together. When he stopped outside his bedroom door, she stopped too.

“Rolan,” she said. “I wanted to thank you for inviting me out tonight. It was nice to meet your siblings. They seem lovely. I was going out of my mind with boredom in this place.”

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Hearing you perform was…” He searched for the right word: complimentary, but not effusive. The only one he could think of was, “Incredible.” It was accurate, at least.

She laughed a little shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The light was low, but because of his darkvision, he could still see her clearly. She was blushing.

A very stupid part of his brain told him to kiss her. She looked up at him, her pretty eyes finding his. Her lips looked so soft. She looked as though she was expecting him to do something, or say something. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his room, peel her out of that dress and make her scream his name.

But she was his master’s wife. If Lorroakan found out, he’d probably kill both of them.

And besides, why would a woman like her ever want a man like him? If she let him kiss her, it would be because he was the only man available who wasn’t her husband. It wouldn’t be because she actually wanted him. Not really.

“Goodnight, Tav,” he said.

She stared at him for a few seconds more. “Goodnight, Rolan.”

She disappeared down the corridor towards her own room. Rolan couldn’t help but watch her go, wondering if it was a mistake. As soon as she was out of sight, he opened his bedroom door and slipped inside.

He didn’t bother to change into pyjamas, simply stripping naked and climbing into bed. He took his rapidly hardening cock into his hand, his mind conjuring images of what could have been if he’d been a weaker man.

---

Notes:

in case you missed it last chapter, you can see what Tavya looks like here

Next Chapter

#rolan x tav #rolan x female tav #rolan x female oc #holy rolan empire #bg3 fic

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