#now ask her to beg for a seat for you

[cyberkdreamland]

People really gave up their hopes on Franco getting a seat next year because he let his hormones win and ruin his career by dating Argentina's biggest man-eater 😮‍💨👊🏼

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’ve been one of sukuna’s many concubines for quite a while now. yet, you still cannot get rid of the jealousy in your system whenever he interacts with the other women in his harem.

wc. idk around 1 to 2k

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (hurt to comfort), fluff, suggestive at the end. heian era. you call sukuna ‘my lord’. reader gets called ‘brat, little girl’. size difference. no part2, don’t ask i beg. not beta read.

“get back here, brat,” sukuna raises his voice as he follows you. he isn’t one to care about others’ emotional outbursts, yet here he is, chasing you after you’ve poured out your heart to him.

you don’t know why you’re this upset. you do know, however, that it’s childish of you to walk away mid dinner. you should’ve just stayed seated and refuse to let the thoughts consume you.

now you’re speed walking down the hallways of the estate—your legs carrying you as fast as they can without actually making a run for it. your mind keeps replaying the ‘unsettling’ scene that caused you to flee.

you remember it vividly. the sound of sukuna’s low, amused chuckle. how intrigued it was because of something another concubine told him—how he stopped chewing to say something back to her. which he rarely does.

hell, you’ve never seen him laugh around his other concubines.

“i do not wish to talk to you right now, my lord,” you reply, voice raised so the distance wouldn’t make it a hassle for the king of curses to hear you. you know that feisty attitude of yours entertains sukuna to no end.

he raises an eyebrow once he’s heard your voice; how it’s dripping with envy and hurt. you’ve never reacted like that before—at least not in his presence. it made him want to figure out why and how.

though, he can easily guess the reasoning behind your sudden defiance.

“oh, that so?” sukuna hums. he’s lenient with you this time around. he could catch up to you in under a split second, but he decides to give you that sense of accomplishment first before completely destroying it. he walks after you slowly, your fast steps being the same tempo as his slow pace.

you don’t answer. you’re stubborn. you have no right to feel jealous. you are a fairly new concubine—only a couple months ago did you join sukuna’s harem. yet, the time spent with him was precious.

he treats you differently. everyone notices that. everyone tells you the same. you know he does by the way he lets you off the hook with most stuff you say and do.

you don’t know what you did to gain his favouritsm, but it’s addicting. his attention is addictive. real addictive.

you had sworn not to develop any unneccessary feelings for that ruthless sorcerer. but, with the way sukuna treated you so gently behind closed doors, it was impossible not to.

you eventually reach the doors to your chambers. you slide them open and wish to close them behind you, only for a big hand to halt those movements. you freeze in place and refuse to look up at the owner of that said hand.

“look up,” sukuna demands. his voice causes goosebumps to appear on your arms, but you still don't budge. he clicks his tongue. that’s your first warning. two more and your punishment will be carried out, “we can do this the hard way too if you want.”

you turn your head, your fingers curling around the material of your kimono. you really should not feel this way about a little interaction between sukuna and his other concubine. that is none of your concern. what he does with those other women is none of your concern.

and yet. . .

“i don't want to,” you retort. sukuna walks into your room with a sigh. each step he takes forwards, you take backwards. your back finally bumps against the wall next to your bed.

sukuna towers over you, his tall and big frame making you feel vulnerable. especially with the way those red eyes of his are staring down at you. he crosses all four of his arms before speaking.

“tell me what’s running through that head of yours,” sukuna inquires sternly. he isn’t playing around anymore, you can tell. you glance the other way—knowing that he will laugh at you the moment you tell him why you’re upset.

you have a feeling he knows the reason behind your tantrum anyway.

“it’s nothing of importance, my lord,” you shake your head and relax your tense shoulders to make you seem less upset. your words have some truth in them—you don’t think your feelings of envy hold any value to him.

sukuna sighs again. he’s trying his best not to be annoyed at you. you’re his favorite and he wishes not to sadden you any further. he steps forwards, one hand moving to cup the side of your face.

his rough fingers play with a string of your hair, “i’m not stupid, little girl. i don’t like it when my woman is in distress.”

your heart skips a beat. this is what confuses you—how he can go from stern to gentle and vice versa. it’s surprisingly unexpected, which makes you long for more. even if his behaviour is confusing.

you look up at sukuna. your eyes meet for the first time in a good couple minutes. the corner of sukuna’s lips curls up into a satisfied smirk. that’s one step closer to getting you to open up.

“now,” the king of curses lowers his head to your eye level, the proximity all the more nerve wracking. he holds your jaw super tightly out of the blue. it makes you whimper.

“spit it out.”

there it is. the duality of the man strikes once more. you swallow the spit that’s been building up in your mouth. you bite your bottom lip lightly, trying to gather and form the right words to explain yourself.

sukuna wouldn’t understand. he’s a cold-hearted man who doesn’t care about such ‘trivial’ matters. he’ll just call you stupid, pathetic or whatever other derogatory term.

you stop your thoughts for a moment.

“it’s really just a stupid thing,” you mutter. your fingers curl around sukuna’s wrist—the one hand he’s using to firmly hold your jaw. you take a deep breath in, “i did not like it when you, errr. . . when that woman talked to you at the dinner table.”

your voice is clearly dripping with jealousy. pure, pure jealousy. and for what? because he talked to his other concubine. you feel stupid. you thought you discarded your personal feelings for the sorcerer before you the moment you turned into one of his many women.

“that woman?” sukuna tilts his head, feigning ignorance. that little grin on his face tells you enough. he’s playing with you like some form of entertainment. well, technically you are.

he wants you to be specific. he’s forcing you to be by acting like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

in all honesty, sukuna’s already forgotten what that woman had said to him. it wasn’t and still isn’t worth remembering. all he can recall is your adorable facial expression when you saw him interact like that with his other concubine.

that little frown on your face was priceless. it makes him want to keep teasing you.

“you know who i am talking about, my lord,” you huff, trying to look away, but get stopped by sukuna readjusting his grip on your jaw. he firmly yet gently taps your cheek once and you know what it means.

“attitude,” sukuna warns with a quick hiss. he can let you say whatever you want to him, but you also have some limits regarding which tone you use with him. you apologise quietly under your breath.

the king of curses nods in satisfaction before releasing the grip on your jaw. his large hand trails down to your neck, thumb rubbing up and down your throat, “so, my little girl is mad at me because i talked to another concubine of mine, huh?”

you nod mindlessly. sukuna can easily get you to comply with him—to obey his every word, simply with his actions. the terms of endearment he uses are the cherry on top. they slip off his tongue so easily with you.

“tsk tsk,” sukuna shakes his head. his hand is now on the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair. he’s staring down at you with a smug expression. he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger, “how childish of you.”

you knew that would be one of the things he’d say to you. what you didn’t expect is for him to go for a kiss right after. his lips land on yours firmly, and to no surprise, you instantly return the gesture.

your arms wrap around his neck—your chest pressing against his. sukuna wastes no time in picking you up and letting your legs encircle his waist. he’s not pulling away for air to breathe and you don’t either.

“you’re going to listen to me, yeah?” sukuna murmurs between passionate kisses. he’s holding onto you tightly with two arms, his free hands roaming over your body whilst he pins you against the wall.

when you whimper out a weak, high-pitched ‘yes, my lord’, he smirks against your mouth before turning to kiss your neck. he slightly bites the skin to make sure you’re paying attention to him.

“i don’t remember what that woman said,” sukuna continues, nearly out of breath because of the kisses he’s leaving all over you. he easily grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head on the wall, “i was too busy lookin’ at a much prettier concubine of mine.”

he pulls back a little so he can look you in the eyes. you’re panting and embarrassed by what he just said. one of his hands finds your face again, tracing the shape of your mouth.

“my favourite,” sukuna whispers whilst licking his lips. you can see it in his eyes: he’s silently planning out how he’s going to remind you of your place. your place as his favorite concubine.

he dips his head back down, aiming for the valley between your breasts. he closes his eyes before sucking on the surrounding flesh;

“guess i’ll be nice for once ‘nd show you just what it means to be my favorite so that you’ll never dare forget it again.”

[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 1

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Summary: You're hired to babysit little Megumi for the summer, but you end up taking care of his father, Toji, as well.

Author’s Notes: This is repost from my old blog! I initially got this as a request and it became my first Toji fic ever, and certainly not my last lol. I'm posting this again because I actually wrote a Part 2, check it out! Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth. 

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?” 

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. ��Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.” 

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!” 

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy. 

Toji, on the other hand, is another story. 

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you. 

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas. 

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby. 

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence. 

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very bad. 

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time. 

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with. 

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho. 

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.” 

And apparently, so are you. 

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job. 

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working. 

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen. 

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking. 

[catcze]

NSFW!! 18+ ONLY !! — Sylus. fem&afab reader, he fingers u good morning, banter, lovesick Sylus ♡

Thinking thoughts rn about waking up on the first morning of the new year to Sylus’s kisses on your face and his hand on your inner thigh with his fingers trailing higher and higher with each second. The way he hums when he feels you stir awake, the way he grins into your lips when you kiss back against him, still sleepy but so willing to return his affection.

“Let’s start the new year with a bang, shall we?” He asks, crimson eyes sparkling with coyness— and you laugh, because you’re too sleepy to tell if that was a pun, an innuendo, both, or something in between. You just know that goodness, you love him so much.

And Sylus huffs, because he wasn’t expecting you to be laughing at him when you should be gasping his name. His hand slipping under your sleep shorts remedies that, however, and soon your laughter dissolves into a soft gasp of arousal when his broad hand cups your pussy, roughened fingers stroking your folds through the fabric of your cotton panties.

Sylus groans alongside you, feeling the way you respond to him so beautifully— your pussy knows who’s taking care of her, and she’s already growing wet under his simple touch.

“You laugh, but you’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, hot breath brushing across your lips. “Do you want me to do something about it, baby? Hm?”

A whine is pulled from your throat when he pushes more insistently against your panties, stroking you just a touch rougher now, teasing your little cunt. “Yes,” you mewl, voice still rough from the haze of sleep. “Sylus, don’t fucking tease—”

“Manners,” he scolds, though he grins. His other hand lightly taps your thigh. “Is that any way to say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’?”

You scowl up at him, displeased at being treated like a little kitten who’s merely showing her claws, though the haze of pleasure that clouds your eyes dulls the edge of it. “Please fuck me, before I shoot you again. Thank you.”

And the bastard laughs, the sound sending shivers up your spine.

“Yeah, alright. Wouldn’t want to start the year with that kind of bang,” Sylus concedes, because he always concedes when it comes to you. His fingers tug the seat of your panties aside as they finally delve into the soft slickness of your pussy, two fingers dipping into your cunt, and you whine. He grins, seeing how your eyes flutter shut and your body shudders.

“Just relax,” he murmurs to you, over the sound of you whimpering his name as his fingers push deeper, up to his knuckles now, and the way your hand darts to his wrist, pulling him close, begging for more. “Just lay there and look pretty, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Full on nasty smut soon I swear let me just get motivated enough to finish it lol

Comms [ ♡ ]

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what—"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that—smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[pucksandpower]

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.”

[jinxvex]

HIII!!! girl your sevika x reader bartender fic was so hot her talking them through it omg 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 if you take request could you do sevika x reader established relationship nsfw head canons or sfw head canons anything that make you comfy :333

♱ gf!sevika (established relationship) headcanons!! ♱

omg!! first request!! thank you anon, i'm so geeked rn omg 😆

i'll do both sfw & nsfw because i'm seated 4 both 🤭🤭...

cw: smutty shit, dirty talk, pet names, that shimmastrap, roughness, daddy kink (DON'T BE AFRAID IT'S NUN WEIRD), vulgar language, just plain smut LOL

SFW:

♱ she loves taking care of you! she loves when you can’t reach for something and you have to ask her to get it for you (it’s canon that she’s tall asf). she definitely has a smirk on her face when you’re struggling to open something for a while and she comes over and opens it in on the first try… + trust, you wouldn’t even have to ask her to carry your bags/things because she does it unprovoked (ahhh!! 🫠).

♱ to stem off of that, she loves buying you shit with her poker money + providing you with anything you need. 

♱ you always catch her staring at you! it makes you so flustered that you always look away + she turns your chin towards her so that you’re looking into her eyes and goes “don’t be shy baby, it’s just me.” and “what? i can’t look at you?” with a cocky smile on her face (cuz why u playinggg LMAO). 

♱ loves to train with you and humble you by pinning you on the floor after your attempt to take her down. 

♱ calls you all kinds of sweet nicknames (even early on in the relationship, she doesn’t gaf.) “baby,” “babe,” “princess,” “angel,” “sweetheart,” “mama,” “doll,” “love,” “darling,” “beautiful,” everything you could possibly think of! 

♱ oh she’s not even looking at other women and she gets hella possessive/jealous if anyone looks your way as well (literally just wrote about this lol). 

♱ sevika is very protective of you in public and always has an arm resting on your shoulder and waist! (also so people know you’re hers).

♱ when you both go out to eat this woman always has to sit by you and rest her hand on your thigh because she’s literally OBSESSED with you. she would rest her hand on your thigh in the car as well! (she’s driving WBK). 

♱ she’s hesitant at first! but she eventually lets you craft her a skin and body care routine. she’s very set in her old ways and has the whole “use what works” attitude when it comes to skincare/shower routines. BUT! she does love watching you get excited when you talk about what ingredients in skincare will help with what.

♱ like i mentioned above, she’s more of a listener and prefers to listen to you talk.

♱ sevika feels SO guilty when she makes you upset. she will literally get down on her knees and look up at you, eyes asking, NO, BEGGING for forgiveness. “i'm sorry princess. forgive me, please?” 

♱ she loves doing arts and crafts with you IDC!! she may try and act like she hates it but she loves it deep down! she’s the same way when you ask to do her makeup. the only way she’ll tolerate you doing it is if you sit on her lap while you do while her hands rest on your waist/ass. (what if i said she would be feeling herself in the mirror after you’re done) 

♱ as much as she loves solitude, she gets more clingy as the days go by! every single day she falls deeper and deeper in love with you and would do anything if it meant making you happy. don’t get it twisted though, she hates rollercoasters/amusement parks full of people so if you wanted to go, go with some friends girl…

now... *mariah carey voice* it's timmmmee 😫😫😜

NSFW:

♱ to start strong, DARE I SAY, sevika has a thing for titles during sex. *ahem* daddy kink (don’t kill me!!). i headcanon she didn’t bring it up first though! you may or may not have let it slip out while she was fucking you hard into the mattress. a single “f-fuck daddy! right there!” and she’s pressing you deeper into the mattress as she slowly (but ROUGHLY) strokes her cock inside you. be prepared to repeat yourself when she asks, “huh? what did you say baby?” + “what did you just call me?”. she calls you a “dirty fuckin’ slut” for wanting to call her daddy (she loves it).

♱ also, be prepared for the “who’s your daddy?” jokes because she thinks they’re HILARIOUS + refers to herself as “daddy” in the third person.

♱ eating you out is her favorite pastime! + loves the way you taste and cannot get enough. 

♱ SHE 👏🏽 IS 👏🏽 AN 👏🏽 ASS 👏🏽 WOMAN. not to say she doesn’t love the rest of you but you’re always catching her staring at your ass and she is not ashamed! she will have that same “can’t look at my woman?” attitude. she will also come up behind you when you’re doing the dishes or laundry and will grope your ass and bury her head into your shoulder to inhale your scent. 

♱ a giver!! she prefers to give instead of receive because she’s giving dom!top but… who said she would refuse you giving her pleasure? never that. sevika loves it when you ask to touch her! she pushes your head down when you’re eating her out like she’s throatfucking you. “fuck baby, this mouth feels so fuckin’ good.” + “love this slutty fuckin’ mouth” 

♱ makes you suck the strap before you take it… nothing further…

♱ she loves seeing you in lingerie and tells you to give her a “show” (stripping your clothes until you’re in your lingerie and giving her a lil dance 😵). she’s all like “this all for me?” + “bend over.” when you show her your little outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

♱ eye contact is important to her! she will force you to make eye contact with her as she’s fucking you and if you don’t…. “gonna stop if you don’t look at me dollface.” + “look at me when i fuck you.”

♱ the dirtiest dirty talker of all dirty talkers OMG. it’s insane how nasty she can get with you but it makes you so needy for her! ↓

♱ “fuuuck this pussy’s so good to me baby.”, “shits so fuckin’ wet, you’re dripping all over me.”, + “look how i’m stretching this fuckin’ pussy out”… and the list goes on.

♱ the dirty talk gets even more vulgar when you ask her to cum in you. breeding kink goes CRAY TO THE Z. ↓

♱ you’re all like, “yes! yes! c-cum in me, please daddy!” + she’s like, “gonna fill you up baby, gonna give you all this cum.” and “you gonna let me put a baby in you angel?”

♱ she LOVES it when you’re rough with her. scratch your nails down her back! pull her hair! mark up her neck!

♱ sevika does love soft sex as well. she is a softie at heart DO NOT FORGET! as much as she loves to degrade you and throw you around, she loves to worship your body and kiss you all over! she loves to praise and tell you how gorgeous you are. “you’re so beautiful baby, you know that?” + “you’re always so good for me, my good fuckin' girl."

hope you like anon!! thank you for the request! had fun writing this 😘

[fear-is-truth]

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐆 … rodrick heffley — loser!bf headcanons

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons

loser bf!rodrick, who makes a huge show of pda whenever his brother is around. he’ll sling his arm around your shoulder and be like, “yeah, greg. my girlfriend. isn’t she hot?” greg is still fully convinced rodrick’s paying you to be his fake girlfriend, though he has no idea where he’s got the money.

loser bf!rodrick, who lets you sit in on band practice and tries so hard to keep it together, but the second his bandmates start flirting with you, he completely falls apart. his drumming gets so off-tempo that they have to stop and start over.

loser bf!rodrick, who lent you his algebra textbook and completely forgot he’d been doodling your name with his last name all over the margins. when you handed it back, smirking, he looked like he wanted to die.

loser bf!rodrick, whose idea of a date is a night drive to the gas station, where you both load up on slushies and hot dogs. you sit in the parking lot and steal bites off each other’s food (even though you have the same toppings)

loser bf!rodrick, who awkwardly asked his mom to use the “nice-smelling” laundry detergent on his shirts because he knows you like to steal them after having sex and he doesn’t want you thinking he’s gross.

loser bf!rodrick, whose mom acts like you’re already part of the family, offering you snacks and calling you “sweetie” every time you visit. she loves to (unintentionally) embarrassing her eldest son by showing you all of his baby pictures. all the while rodrick hides in the basement.

loser bf!rodrick, whose dad corners you during family dinners and awkwardly tries to sell you on how “rodrick is really a fine young man, despite, uh… some quirks.” you just nod politely while rodrick sits there, sinking into his chair with a beet-red face.

loser bf!rodrick, whose bandmates are constantly making moves on you, asking if you “need anything” during practice or offering to carry your stuff. rodrick will get so pissed that he threatens to kick them out of the band. you think it’s hilarious how defensive he gets.

loser bf!rodrick, who always gives you the front seat in his van, no questions asked. greg has to squish in the back with the instruments, too bad lol.

loser bf!rodrick, who pretends to be terrible at eyeliner just so you’ll do it for him. in return, he paints your nails—or you can also paint his (in exclusively black).

loser bf!rodrick, who acts reluctant whenever you drag him into photobooths at the mall. the two of you end up making the dumbest faces before you lean in and kiss him right on the mouth… with tongue.

loser bf!rodrick, who lets you doodle on his arm with a sharpie, and he refuses to wash them off. they stay there until they fade completely.

loser bf!rodrick, who finally starts wearing deodorant consistently because of you. it’s not even something you asked him to do—he just noticed you sniffing his shirts a little more critically and panicked. now, he’s always freshly applied before seeing you.

loser bf!rodrick, who gets hard every time you kiss him.

loser bf!rodrick, who tries his best to keep his room somewhat presentable whenever you come over. he knows it’s still a fucking disaster by normal standards, but for rodrick, clearing a path to the bed is a grand romantic gesture.

loser bf!rodrick, who’s obsessed so with seeing your hickeys on him. he never bothers to hide them—in fact, he wears them like badges lol.

loser bf!rodrick, who almost accidentally used the wrong side of the condom when you had sex for the first time.

loser bf!rodrick, who absolutely melts when you tug on his hair during sex. he didn’t even realise he had a thing for it until the first time you did it. now, he practically begs for it without using words, tilting his head back and grinning like a total idiot whenever your fingers get close.

loser bf!rodrick, who keeps every random thing you’ve ever given him — notes you’ve passed to him in class, concert tickets, even candy wrappers.

loser bf!rodrick, who hates being bossed around but will do anything you ask, especially if it involves you kissing his cheek or ruffling his hair in thanks. he’s so whipped and everyone knows it.

loser bf!rodrick, who brags to greg about how sexy and smart and pretty you are, just to rub it in, but secretly feels like he doesn’t deserve you. he gets this dumb, soft look on his face whenever you’re around, like he still can’t believe you chose him.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[coryosbaby]

I am BEGGING you to write about hannigram x innocent fem reader. mayyyybee featuring age gap and breeding? :) she just asks them "what does break my belt mean?" and oh..

Caretaker… Hannigram x fem! Reader

Synopsis: it’s up to Will and Hannibal to take care of you, however that may be.

Content warning . 18+, MDNI age gap (reader is in her early 20s), spanking/usage of belts, punishments, dumbification, threesome, cum play, daddy kink . hard dom! Hannibal, soft dom! Will

Author’s Note: I didn’t know how to go about this (my brain isn’t braining rn) so I did smth similar :) this is literally pure filth like Im ovulating sorry

‧₊˚ 🩰 ⋅* ‧₊

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself.”

Will’s voice is soft as he gently rubs your sock clad feet, watching the small wince that you make when he grazes over a bruised toe. You adjust yourself on your bed, bottom becoming numb from how long you’ve been sitting. You slide the sleeves of your dress back up on your shoulders— they have a hard time staying up, and it’s something that annoys you incredibly.

“He’s right,” Hannibal chimes from the cushioned seat in the corner of the room. He closes the book in his hand and sets it on the desk beside him. It’s funny, how different these two men look in your pink, frilly room. “You’re working yourself too hard, little one.”

You frown, feeling the bed dip as Hannibal joins you and Will’s side.

“But ballet is important to me.”

“So is your health,” Will replies, and notices the way you seem to fidget in your dress. “Is your dress bothering you, baby?”

You nod, heat creeping up your neck when Will lifts the hem of it over your head. Now clad in your bra and cotton panties, you feel open and exposed. But since it’s Hannibal and Will, you feel safer than you’ve ever been.

“Come here,” Will says, and you crawl over to the place in between his spread thighs as he leans against your headboard. Hannibal follows in quiet suit, moving to Will’s side and holding your hand in his much larger one. Will’s hands play with your hair as you think back to something you’d been wanting to ask the two for a while.

“Can one of you use your belt on me?”

The soft scrape against your scalp stops at the question.

“What?”

“I mean,” you mumble, cheeks flaring. “I was watching a video.. ‘n.. the guy, he—“

“You’ve been watching naughty videos?” Hannibal inquires. You shake your head, wide doe eyes flashing.

“No!” You reply, too quickly. “No, of course not.”

“Hmm,” the man shifts, gripping the soft skin of your jaw gently with his hand. Looking into your eyes, he can see the deceit in them. “You have, haven’t you? You know what we say about those videos, darling. They’re bad for you,” he looks back to the other man in the room. “Maybe we will have to spank her after all. Don’t you think, Will?”

“Play nice, Hannibal,” Will warns, though his mouth pulls into a small, amused smirk. “She’s sensitive. Probably doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.”

“I do.” you whine, pawing at the sleeve of Hannibal’s suit. He chuckles, thumb rubbing gently over your wrist.

“Come here then, little one,” Hannibal coos. “Over my knee.”

Your eyes widen, pouty lips dropping open in awe.

“Now?” You squeak.

Will rolls his eyes, patting you softly on the arm.

“You heard him, Bunny. Go on.”

Getting on your hands and knees, panty clad ass now revealing the puff ball bunny tail on the back of the fabric, the two of them think you’re the cutest little thing they’ve ever seen. You hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone, and watch as Will hands over his belt to Hannibal. It’s your favorite one, plain black but with a belt buckle that has your initials imprinted. Will wears it often— he’s not one to have flashy accessories, but since it was a gift from you he cherishes it dearly.

Since Will is on Hannibal’s left side, you decide to position yourself with your face directed towards him. This leads to your arms and face being smooshed against Will’s thighs, and he gently rubs your head with his hands. Hannibal hums when your ass lifts up for him, bunny tail flickering as you move your hips to get his attention.

“We should keep these on, don’t you think?” He says, fingers grazing over the bunny tail. “Too precious to pull them down, lover.”

You nod shyly, letting out a puff of air when Will’s fingers begin fumbling with the hooks on your bra. He advises you to slide the straps off your shoulders when he undoes them, and you awkwardly shuffle them off. Will’s hands move around your back to grope one of your breasts. The feeling of cold leather against your backside makes you whimper, and Hannibal positions his hand on the bottom of your thigh.

“Move your hands behind your back,” Hannibal demands. “You aren’t in any position of control. If you want to stop, you know the rules.”

“Yes, daddy,” you reply, almost immediately. You move your arms back to link them together, Will’s hands gripping the both of yours tightly to make sure you don’t move.

“Good girl,” and then, “You’re going to count each one I give you. We will stop at ten since this is your first time.”

You nod, as much as you can with your face buried in Will’s lap. You can feel the hardness in his pants, right up against your cheek, and your mouth waters.

There’s a comforting rub against your left cheek before Hannibal brings the belt down. It isn’t too bad, a slight sting that makes you jump.

“One.” You say, quietly. Your ass lifts up for more.

“Good,” Hannibal praises, soothing the skin once more. “Are you going to watch those videos again?”

You stay silent, contemplating but also being quiet on purpose. You can’t deny that Hannibal getting angry with you makes your panties drenched.

At this, Hannibal slams the belt down onto you once again. A warning. You cry out this time, feeling a burning sensation along your skin.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he says sternly. “And don’t make me have to break my belt on you, little one.”

“What does that mean?” you whine, ditzy little head genuinely confused by such a simple term. You inhale the scent of Will’s pants, and from above you, the brunette’s hands gently soothe your back.

“Told you, Hanni,” he singsongs. “Doesn’t even know what she’s asking for.”

“Ignoring your interruption,” Hannibal says, annoyed (but not really). He directs his attention back to you. “Tell me, little one. Yes or no?”

You bite your lower lip, cheeks flaring as your arousal increases.

“Yes.”

Hannibal scoffs.

“You’re asking for it, aren’t you?”

The belt comes down on you again. You jump, tears beginning to pool along your waterline.

“What was that?” Hannibal demands harshly. “Was that a yes that I heard?”

“No!” You say. “No, daddy, I’ll never ever watch those videos again! I promise, promise…”

You thrash against the pain, and Hannibal’s palms rub the sore skin.

“Alright,” he replies. “but I’m adding five more. Naughty girls who don’t listen get punished.”

“Hannibal,” Will warns. “She’s fragile.”

“She’s a brat, is what she is, Will. Stop defending her,” Hannibal’s hands wrap around your hair, pulling your teary eyed face up and craning your neck. “Now count. Starting from three.”

The belt comes down again, and your hands ache, along with your bottom.

“T-Three.” You say. The belt comes down on you again, and again. You count to five.

“You really need to be harder on her,” Hannibal says to Will, who’s subtly grinding against your face as he watches you writhe below him. “She needs to learn that her actions have consequences.”

“I know,” Will sighs, then gently taps the tip of your nose, and smiles softly. “But look at how precious she is.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes, bringing out the sixth then seventh hit. You can already feel the blooming of bruises by the time you hit number ten, and your aching pussy grinds down into Hannibal’s thigh. He seems to allow this, and by the twelfth hit, he’s teasing you about it.

“Is this arousing you, lover?” He asks, amused. “You only have three more to go. You better enjoy it.”

“Mm, she is,” Will cuts in, reaching down between your legs to feel your soaked panties. “Little pussy is so wet,” and then, “You ruined your panties, pup.”

Mewling, you allow another smack to come down onto your ass.

“T-Thirteen,” you whimper out. “Could.. could you buy me some new panties, Will?”

Another smack. Another number. Will tilts his head, staring at your panty clad ass.

“Mm,” he replies. “I don’t know, Hannibal. What do you think?” His fingers grasp the puff ball tail and tug it up. This makes your panties ride up in between your folds, and you gasp, humiliated. “I think baby blue would really suit her.”

“That, or lilac,” the eldest man replies. “We’ll get you a new set, little one. But only because it benefits us as much as it benefits you.”

You smile, giddy with excitement to take another shopping trip. Hannibal rubs your ass again, and Will kisses you on the head.

“One more for us, alright?”

You nod, perky ass throbbing with heat. Hannibal slams the belt down, and this time you let out a sob. It was the harshest hit, one sure to leave a welt or two. Hannibal coos when he sees your look of pain, throwing the belt to the side and gently massaging you.

“Shhh. It’s alright. Come here, darling.”

You maneuver your body to slide in between Hannibal’s legs, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around your smaller form, and he kisses your hair, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder. You let out a few more stray tears while he and Will both soothe the ache on your bottom.

“You know we only do this because we have to.” Hannibal murmurs.

“I know, daddy.”

“Actions have consequences, and you asked for this sort of punishment. So we decided to give it to you,” he explains, and pulls away to wipe away your tears with his thumbs. “Did you enjoy it?”

You nod, a small smile grazing your lips.

“I did. I enjoyed it a lot.”

“Good,” he replies. “And since you’ve taken your punishment so well, I’m giving you the opportunity to ask for something. Whatever you want, you can have it.”

Your eyes brighten.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You lick your lips, contemplating your options with excitement.

“Hmm,” you say, and then finally come to your decision. You look over to your second boyfriend, who seems to be watching you with an almost love struck gaze. “I want Will… want his mouth. Please?”

Will licks his lips at the statement. Oral is one of his favorite things to give.

“Very well,” Hannibal says, then gestures for Will. “She can lay in between my legs. You lay between hers.”

Will nods, and you happily turn around and begin sliding off your panties. Spreading your legs, you look up at Will with doe eyes as he approaches you. His lips touch yours, sliding easily against the expanse of your mouth. When he pulls away, the scent of your arousal overtakes his senses. He groans, moving down in between your legs.

Hannibal’s big arms wrap around your shoulders, keeping you still. Will flawlessly licks a stripe up your slit, making you whimper and hold onto Hannibal for dear life as he begins to eat you like a man starved. His mouth works wonders against your tiny hole and aching clit as he groans into your cunt, drinking your sweet juices like it’s nectar of the Gods.

“How does she taste?” Hannibal asks, even though he already knows the answer. He loves to go down on you just as much as the other man.

Will pulls away, chin dripping and hair disheveled.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he gasps out, nosing at your folds. His thumbs spread them apart, exposing your hole that’s coated in creamy slick. “Cutest fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever seen.”

You clench, letting him see the opening and closing of your hole. You want him to stick his tongue back inside.

You don’t have to wait long for that, because a mere second later Hannibal’s big hand splays across the back of Will’s head and pushes him back down. Will lets out a moan at this, allowing Hannibal to guide his head up and down and every which way that brings you closer and closer to your peak. Hannibal smirks, watching the way you writhe under his tongue and watch Will with hungry, lidded eyes.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” He says, and you can feel his hardness pressing against your back.

Drool seeps down your chin as you nod.

“Mhm..” you whine out. Your hands go to the boy’s hair, and he whimpers when you tug on the strands.

“He likes when you do that,” Hannibal observes, his tone low. He kisses the shell of your ear. “Do it again.”

You comply, watching the way Will’s hips grind down into the mattress when it happens and the way Hannibal lets out a heavy breath. Will’s mouth works harder, bringing your clit in between his lips and lightly sucking. You gasp out his name, hips moving against him in tandem.

“Will, Daddy.. ‘m so close..”

“Close, yes?” Hannibal taunts, and his grip around your throat tightens. His biceps practically squeeze your neck as you near closer and closer to your high, your throat gasping for breath. When your orgasm overtakes you, Hannibal loosens his grip, but not quite. You let out a raw, pleasure filled moan when you cum, Will working you through until the point of overstimulation, your legs shaking and your sock clad feet pushing on his shoulders. He chuckles when he pulls away, a pleased grin forming as he wipes his slick coated mouth on the back of his wrist. And boy, is it a sight. He licks up the remaining remnants of your arousal with his tongue, hands splaying on either side of you and Hannibal’s legs so he can move up and kiss you filthily on the mouth. Hannibal is next, a tender peck that makes the cock against your lower back twitch. It has him licking his lips when Will pulls away, his lashes fluttering as he sighs in content. He presses a kiss to your mouth, too, and relaxes even further.

It’s only a mere moment of rest before you can feel that familiar throb again, and the sight of your two boys bulging through their pants makes you drool. You spread your legs, overstimulated pussy on full display.

Will, who had been laying at the foot of the bed in front of the both of you, watches with hunger. You lean away from Hannibal, instead turning yourself on your knees and presenting yourself to Will, who’s already positioning himself behind you eagerly. Hannibal, the most patient out of all three of you, no doubt, finally takes his aching cock out of his pants and wraps a hand around himself at the scene. You hear the rustling of Will’s fly being undone, then his length is pressed against your ass and wet, oh so wet, even when he slides it in between your folds and sheathes himself inside your little hole with one swift movement. Your mouth drops open at the sensation of being filled, your hands finding purchase on Hannibal’s thick thighs in front of you. His cock is hitting his stomach, red and leaking drops of precum down the tip, and you watch as Hannibal rubs it up and down with his hand. You look up at him pleadingly as Will begins to pound you into the mattress.

“You want daddy’s cock in your mouth, is that it?” Hannibal teases, and you nod. He sighs, directing the tip of his cock towards you. “Open wide, sweet girl.”

You happily obey, tongue lolling out to lick at his tip, his stringy precum sticking to your bottom lip and the head of his cock, tasting absolutely divine. Will’s hands roam over your ass as his cock bullies your gummy walls.

“Mm, Hanni got you good, didn’t he, baby?” He says, examining the marks. “Gonna have to put some lotion on that later.”

The use of the nickname in Will’s mouth is a mockery of your own. You nod, however, pouting.

“Mhm. But Daddy knows what’s best for me.”

“That’s right,” Hannibal grunts out, when you take him fully down your throat. “Dumb little girls like you can’t think for themselves. That’s why you need Will and I to take care of you,” and then, “God, darling, your mouth is just perfect.”

You hum, choking on him. Will’s fingers bruise your hips now, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh thrust. Your pussy quakes around him, clamping down on his length. His breath is warm against your ear as he pushes in and out of you.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby..” as he watches your ass bounce back against him.

“Look at that tight little pussy, practically choking my dick.” as he spreads your cheeks apart, watching the way you take him.

“Hannibal’s cock tastes good, doesn’t it?” As you come up for air and gasp, drool soaking your neck and chin.

You can feel when he gets close by the way his hips stutter, and with a lewd whine hes babbling endlessly.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says. “Gonna cum in this slut pussy— god, squeeze me just like that.”

“Please,” you whimper endlessly, and you can hear Hannibal let out a breathy chuckle.

“She wants it. She wants you to cum in her cunt,” his voice drops an octave as he watches the boy. “Come on. I need something to lubricate her more once I get my turn, don’t I?”

“Oh—“

Will’s eyes roll back, his body tensing up as he finally releases inside her. She clenches down on him, milking him for all he’s worth as he shoots rope after rope deep inside her gaping pussy. Hannibal’s fingers nestle into the boy’s hair as he rides out his orgasm, gently twirling the soft locks in between his fingers. You watch with your mouth turned into an o, burying yourself deeper against Hannibal’s chest in retaliation.

“There you go,” Hannibal coos when Will sighs against your chest, spent. “Good boy.”

“Tease,” Will mumbles back to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. His eyes look up at you and he smiles. “Are you okay?”

You giggle, nodding your head.

“More than okay.”

He looks down at the mess between your thighs as he pulls out, grunting. A trail of his spend pools out of you and onto the sheets.

His fingers begin to move up to your drenched clit— you need release to, after all, and Will is never a selfish lover—but before he can, Hannibal’s hand grabs his wrist.

“No,” he utters. “Let me, once I’m inside her.”

“Like I said,” Will grumbles, moving out from between your legs to settle back against the headboard. “Tease.”

Hannibal rolls his eyes, guiding you to turn around and face him. You bite your lower lip at the feeling of Will’s cum trailing down your thighs. Hannibal undoes his belt, pulling down his zipper so his pants are open and his briefs are exposed.

“Take me out, darling.”

She reaches into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his length out and giving it a few languid strokes. Will watches, his spent cock twitching against his stomach. He ignores it, instead deciding to move to your side and press a kiss to your heated cheek. His hand provides a comforting pressure to the back of your head as he settles it in your hair. Hannibal tilts his head, grabbing the back of your thighs and pulling you into his lap.

“Put my cock inside you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Be a good girl.”

Your lashes flutter at the vulgar term spilling from the usually polite man’s lips. Will’s hands scrape against your scalp and your brain is fuzzy with how good it all feels. Grabbing Hannibal’s length in your hand, you position your dripping cunt over the tip of his cock.

Sinking down makes your brows furrow. Hannibal isn’t as big as Will, but that isn’t saying much. The man still has a considerable size, and his girth stretches your gummy walls exceptionally. You whimper, settling down to the very base of his cock. Hannibal’s head tilts back and hits the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut to get used to the sensation of you wrapped around him. His big hands splay across your hips and Will nuzzles your throat affectionately.

“Daddy.” you whine, your little pussy beginning to rock onto Hannibal.

“Yes?”

“Fuck me, please?”

He smiles, pulling you further against him so he can brace his feet underneath you. His cock gives a few shallow thrusts, getting used to your heat, before moving into more dangerous territory. It isn’t long before he’s jackhammering into you, your head tilted back by Will’s big hands. He demands you open your mouth, and you do. A glob of spit lands on your tongue, which you swallow greedily. Hannibal groans as he watches the scene.

“Filthy little things,” he mutters, pulling you into a kiss. You both share Will’s saliva on your intertwining tongues.

Your thighs shake as Hannibal’s cock and balls leak with Will’s cum. The sound is utterly sinful— the gushing sounds of his cock pummeling your filled pussy, his balls slapping against your ass, the sobs tearing through your throat. Tears stream down your cheeks and you’re sobbing.

Hannibal’s fingers reach down to your clit, deftly rubbing against the swollen nub exactly the way you like. It isn’t long before you reach your peak, your pussy clenching down as a string of filthy words makes its way out of your throat, burying your face in Hannibal’s white button down and staining it with salty tears. Will is an absolute sweetheart, guiding your hips with his hands to help you, cooing little sweet sayings in your ear. He cakes your throat in pretty red marks.

Hannibal draws closer to his orgasm, small grunts and heavy breaths spilling out of his mouth. It isn’t long before he empties inside you, filling you up with a second load of sticky, white cum. He pulls your limp body off of his length, your pussy making a gushing sound as both of your boyfriend’s dribble out of you. The two men sigh when they see it, their cocks both twitching at the sight.

But all three of you have had enough for the day— or at least for the next few hours. Hannibal disappears out of the room for a moment to bring back a glass of water and lotion. He holds the water to your lips and sweetly coos, “you’ve been such an obedient girl. Drink, okay?”

You do, of course. You drink the whole damn glass.

After going into the bathroom to pee and wipe your cum covered thighs, Hannibal lotions your sore bottom with gentle hands. After this you finally crawl back into bed, moving onto your stomach and hugging your pillow tightly. Will chuckles.

“You don’t want a bubble bath?” He asks, because that’s usually what you request. But you just shake your head, your eyes fluttering shut. Not asleep, but almost. Will nods his head. “Later then, sweet girl.”

The boy crawls to your side, wrapping his big arm around you and pulling you to his side. Hannibal soon joins, his tie loosened and jacket off, pants unbuttoned. It’s rare to see him in such a messy state, relaxed. Only you and Will can help him unwind like this.

He lays on his back, and you lay your head on his chest, inhaling his strong, expensive cologne. Beside you, you can smell the aftershave that Will wears— Hannibal teases him about it, but you’re quite fond of it. It smells like home.

They smell like home.

You smile sleepily, watching with barely open eyes as Hannibal and Will’s hands connect over you. As you fall into a peaceful sleep, the two men on either side of you stay wide awake.

After a moment, Will chuckles.

“So I’m assuming we’ll be using my belt more often?”

“Guaranteed,” hannibal confirms, watching you drool onto his shirt in your sleep. He never mentions it to you because he doesn’t want you to be embarrassed. “Perhaps we can use it on you next time, Will”

The younger man scoffs, his cheeks flaring as he buries his face into your hair.

“Shut up, Hanni.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[rainrot4me]

Do You Think About Her?

Summary: Jeff liked to tease Toby about his lack of experience with women. So when coming home from a mission with the two, you decide to tell Jeff off, spurring him into a jealous fit to see how far he can push you both.

Characters: Jeff the Killer & Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Teasing, Toby is inexperienced, Jeff’s an asshole, fingering, cunnilingus, embarrassment, dub-con, blowjob, fucking in/on a truck, voyeurism, double penetration, vaginal, slight power struggle

Words: 5.0k

Jeff was known to make Toby the brunt of his jokes.

Whenever the twitching boy would stutter too much or laugh a little too hard, Jeff was always quick to jump on his ass and say something. Whether Toby took the remarks seriously or not, the pale killer never let up.

So whenever Toby accidentally let it slip that the farthest he had ever gotten with a girl was a blowjob, the whole mansion groaned with the frequency Jeff brought it up. Whenever he got a chance to embarrass the brunette you best believe he was going to, despite your belief that Toby could easily lay his ass out but just chose not to.

You had been sleeping around with Jeff for a while, the horny killer always willing to show you a good time whenever you asked for it. But that also meant dealing with his obnoxious mouth, and whatever bullshit insults he had conjured that day. So when you got wind of Jeff’s hounding on the boy, your heart ached. You and Toby were about the same age, and your backstories for how you ended up under Slender’s care were more or less the same. Bad home life turned murderous. There was a sense of familiarity in him, so you couldn’t just let your obnoxious fuck buddy run his mouth without you saying something.

“Listen, Jeff.” You groaned, curling your legs under you in the passenger seat of his old truck, heading back to the mansion after a particularly aggravating mission. Jeff eyed you, head propped on his fist as he leaned against the open window, the cool night air wafting in as he drove down the familiar back roads. Toby sat quietly in the back seat, staring out the window as his brown curls swayed in the wind. Slender had assigned the three of you together, apparently unaware of the high tensions between the two boys. It just made completing the mission that much more difficult. “You’ve gotta lay off Toby. The poor kids gonna cut your head off if you don’t quit talking about his dick.” You mumbled, staring at the dense trees flying by. Jeff groaned, sitting back against his seat as he turned a sharp curve, cringing at you. A slow rock song mumbled through the radio, the atmosphere nice besides the sour mood in the truck.

“Ain’t my fault the stutter’s practically a virgin.” He laughed dryly, looking into the rearview mirror and catching Toby’s nasty look at him, neck jerking. You were assigned some bullshit job to take out a couple of guys who vandalized the mansion, how they ever got that close and lived you had no idea. But with Toby bickering with Jeff’s snarky attitude, it was nearly impossible for them to focus. Two hours longer than it should have taken, you were finally headed back to the mansion, praying to get away from the two. 

“Don’t be acting like you weren’t a virgin before I came along.” You huffed, turning to catch Toby snickering lowly, looking back out the window quickly before Jeff could see. Jeff grits his teeth, rolling his eyes as he leans forward, staring daggers at you. “Oh, come on now. You’re talking real big for someone that begs for me to fuck them once a week.” He snarled, reaching his arm across the console and gripping your thigh tightly, glancing between you and the road. Toby was still laughing quietly, amused by the bickering not focused on him for once. But this time Jeff heard him, whipping his wide eyes around quickly to laugh at the boy. “No fucking way the virgin’s laughing!” He hollered, throwing his head back as he laughed annoyingly, just loud enough to prove a point. You slapped his arm, pushing his hand off your thigh as you hissed.

“Jeff.”

He rolled his eyes, glancing between you and the rearview mirror, snarling at Toby. The brunette just stared awkwardly between you two, back pressed flush against the seat as you turned to look back at him, nodding your apology. Toby smiled at you, his cheek twitching at the movement. But as you turned back forward, Jeff’s pale face sat shocked and angry as he glanced between the two of you. You glared at him, but that felt all too much as he faced forward quickly, shoving the wheel to the left and throwing the truck off the road, pulling next to the thick treeline and slamming on the brakes. You yelped, bracing your hands on the dash as he threw the truck in park and shut the engine off, the low rock song still beating through the old speakers. Toby cursed, groaning as he pushed himself off of Jeff’s seat and shook his head.

Before you could berate the pale killer, he was already throwing open his door, jumping out and quickly shoving the back door open as well. You watched as Toby struggled frantically against him, punching his shoulders as Jeff hauled him from the truck and onto the grass below. You yelled, throwing open your door and dodging to the opposite side of the truck. Jeff was already on top of the boy, loud grunts and curses ringing as they pushed against each other, fists flying and grappling the other. Toby was holding him off, but with Jeff holding his knee on his stomach, there was little Toby could do to fight him off. They were throwing their palms into each other’s faces, pushing their necks and nearly hurting themselves. So you yelled, instincts thrown as you gripped Jeff by his messy hair, tugging him back by the head until he was hissing. 

As you pulled him off of the smaller boy, you beat his chest with your fist, furious. “What the fuck are you doing?!” You snarled, pushing his chest back against the side of the truck with a loud thud. Thankfully this road was practically abandoned, nobody having any reason to travel back this far unless it was a hunting season, so no one just saw the throwdown that you just broke up. Toby panted behind you, your body standing between the two so Jeff had no choice but to focus on your angry face. “Fu- fuckin’ psycho…” Toby grits, spitting onto the ground as he sits up on his elbows. You still stared at Jeff, your questioning expression enough to make him groan. 

When Toby began to cough, you turned, reaching an arm out to help him stand. You gave him a once over, making sure Jeff hadn’t done any serious damage as you hauled him up. He was slightly taller than you, his goofy smile thankful as he pulled his mask down under his chin, wiping the dirt from his cheek. You sighed, turning back to Jeff and glaring, but getting caught off guard by his disgusted expression. Jeff towered over the both of you, his nasty scowl making you worried. 

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you two were fuckin’.” Jeff growled, pushing off the truck and shouldering the two of you apart, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets and staring into the woods. Toby and you awkwardly glanced at each other, the brunette stepping out of the way as you shuffled to Jeff’s side. “Jeff. You’re being unreasonable.” You grit, shoving his shoulder as he glanced at you, groaning. But he turned back to Toby, glaring daggers at the boy until he glanced back at you, a small smirk appearing on his sullen face. The pale killer shuffled to Toby’s side, throwing his arm around the boy’s shoulders, making him flinch away. Jeff held his head tight against his side, making the boy stare through his messy hair at you as you nervously watched. “Tell me, twitch. You ever thought about my girl before? While you’re jerkin’ it, maybe?”

There was a nasty grin on Jeff’s face as you blushed, crossing your arms as the brunette stared at the ground. Jeff didn't appreciate the silence so he hauled Toby’s head up, gripping him by the back of the hair and making his eyes face you. “Jeff-”

“Ah, ah. I’m asking him.” Jeff cut you off, nudging Toby by his side until his shoulders twitched under the pressure. “Whaddya say, Toby?” You glanced nervously between the two, both of their eyes on you as you waited for either an answer or for Jeff to shove off. Music still thumped from the truck, the cool night air blowing your hair gently until there were goosebumps on your skin.  Toby’s eyes frantically glanced between you and the ground, his freckled cheeks a dark tint as he searched for an answer. You had no idea what had gotten into Jeff, but you were growing tired and more embarrassed by the second. Toby closed his eyes, shaking his head as Jeff scoffed, shoving him back to the ground

“I guess we’ll just find out then, huh?” Jeff smiled wildly, stepping over Toby to move to you, your body subconsciously taking a step back before pale hands wrapped around your waist, pushing you in front of him. Jeff stood flush behind you, hands on your hips as he looked down at Toby, the brunette perched against the rear tire of the truck. You pushed against Jeff's hands, protesting lightly as he hugged around your waist, nudging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing lightly, keeping his eyes on Toby the whole time. You groaned, trying to squirm away from his grasp as he nibbled on your neck, kissing small pecks up your jaw and to your ear. Your cheeks grew hot, anxiously glancing between Jeff and Toby, the brunette’s eyes having a hard time looking away from you as Jeff ravaged the side of your face. 

You stifled a groan when Jeff’s cool hands slid under your shirt, pressing light touches against your skin. You gasped, tugging your shirt down as his arms pushed the fabric up, panicking against him. “Jeff- Stop-” You huffed, tugging at his arms, but the pale killer only laughed, nibbling behind your ear as he watched Toby carefully become flustered. You glanced at the brunette, his cheeks dark and knees pressed close to his chest, unable to do anything but watch you fidget under pale arms. Jeff was making a spectacle out of you, teasing the poor boy at your expense. But there was little you could do as he tugged your shirt up, despite your protests.

When he got your shirt over your head, you could literally see the panic in Toby’s eyes. You screwed your eyes shut, whining as Jeff reached behind to unclip your bra and tug it off your shoulders. The brunette was quick to look down, finding your feet inches away from him far more interesting. Jeff didn’t appreciate that, taking your tits in his hands and kneading roughly. “Oh, don’t get shy now, twitch. You gotta own up to how much of a pervert you are.” The killer smiled, pinching your nipples until he heard you hiss, your cheeks hot and breath heavy. 

“The o- only pervert here is yo- you, Jeff…” Toby grunted, eyes glancing up quickly to your tits but back down nervously as he caught the fingers on them. You desperately tugged on Jeff’s hoodie sleeves, teeth gritted as he finally let go and ran his hands down your waist. His cool hands were quick to unbutton your jeans, pushing his hand past your waistline and down into your panties. You yelped, grabbing at his arm and begging the perverted hand out, Jeff only groaning. “Oh, stop acting like you don’t fuckin’ love this, babe.” He hissed in your ear, gripping your wrists and tugging them behind your back, his left hand securing them between his body as his right reentering your panties. You whined, hips bucking frantically as his thick fingers slid between your folds, pushing your wetness onto the digits. Jeff chuckled lowly, pressing his right knee between your legs and forcing your thighs open as his fingers prodded against your clit. 

Toby couldn’t look away now, his flushed cheeks dark as his eyes widened. He was twitching frantically, his neck jerking against the mental override he was experiencing. You stared at him through heavy eyes, embarrassment tugging at your stomach as you begged the boy to look away. Jeff was always one for proving a point no matter the expense, so as he pushed his fingers into your entrance, stretching you wide, he was quick to snap at the brunette. 

“Well look at that, twitch. You ever fingered a girl before? Ever made her squirm this much?” Jeff teased, Toby’s head shaking slowly as his lips fell open, his eyes refusing to look anywhere else. Your arms protested against Jeff, but his strong grip held both of them easily, keeping your chest out and ass pressed back against him. His bulge was already evidently, his psychotic personality getting him excited at your struggle. His thick fingers curled inside of you, pushing little whines and hisses from your lips until you were hunched over, gasping as pleasure racked your cunt. Jeff was chuckling against your neck, nibbling on the skin and leaving little red marks wherever his teeth grazed. It made you whine, your eyes growing heavy and your face hot as you were forced to face Toby, hunched over so your face was right above his. A cool palm nudged against your clit, making your hips grind down and relish in the friction. Toby was so lost in the scene, his knees rubbing together nervously as he glanced quickly between your flushed face and Jeff’s hands shoved into your pants. His bulge was evident against his jeans, his hands gripping the grass below him as he nudged his thighs together, desperately trying to grasp at some sort of friction. 

Jeff ground his hips into your clothed ass, his bulge rubbing against you as he huffed against your neck. “Come on, tell the boy how good you feel.” He grunted, slotting his thick fingers in and out of your cunt quickly, your hips bucking against his palm. He was pulling gasps from you, every curl of his fingers making you mewl your pleasure. Your embarrassment had faded, excitement coursing through you as Toby began to palm himself through his jeans, his hitched groans making you whine as you locked eyes. “Ah… Jeff…” You groaned through gritted teeth when his thick fingers pressed deep against your walls, gushing your arousal around his cool fingers. The killer chuckled, letting your wrists go to snap onto your hip, pulling your hips back so he could grind into your ass easier. You felt your stomach knotting, your hips stuttering against his fingers as you began to whine, biting your cheek. “Toby…” Toby gasped under you, eyes wide as he ground into his hand, mesmerized by you. Eyes locked, you could feel yourself close to that familiar edge, chasing Jeff’s fingers as they curled deep. 

But as if he could sense it, Jeff tugged his fingers out of your warm walls, sliding them out of your pants and chucking wickedly as you whined. You were shocked, hips still bucking as he held your hips, refusing to let you move. You were teetering on that lovely edge, so close to getting off but so quickly stripped of that feeling that you could’ve cried. 

Jef tugged your pants down, pulling your damp panties with them until you kicked them off your ankles. You were completely exposed to the cool air, goosebumps riddling your skin as Jeff bent down, hooking his hands under your knees and tugging you up quickly. Your back was pressed flush against his chest, laying all your weight as your held your knees apart, your throbbing cunt face first with Toby’s face. You whined loudly, hands reaching back to grip Jeff’s messy hair as your cheeks grew dark, eyes pleading as you stared at the boy under you. “Go on. Make her cum.” Jeff commanded, holding you up easily as he watched Toby, beckoning the nervous boy. 

The brunette sat up unsurely, climbing onto his knees as he watched your dark face. He stripped his jacket, letting it fall to the ground behind him as he pressed closer, heavy breath brushing against your sensitive folds. You whined, hips trying to buck to his face but Jeff’s hands holding you still, tsking. “Go on, twitch.” Toby nodded nervously, sliding his fingers up to press your folds apart, eyes flinching to your face worriedly when you gasped. His freckled face looked so cute under you, his goggles pushing his bangs off his forehead and letting you see the flushed skin as he pushed closer. His tongue pressed first, licking a thick stripe between your folds before his soft lips pressed in, sucking on your sensitive clit. Jeff growled, pushing your hips closer to the brunette as you moaned, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “Oh, God-” You hummed, eyes slamming shut as Toby flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud. 

Your back arched against Jeff, fingers gripping his hair tight as you rutted against the warm tongue lapping at your arousal. Toby spread your lips with his fingers, flattening his tongue against your entrance as humming against you. He pushed further, slipping his tongue into your warmth and making you groan, your hand instantly shooting down to rub your clit and push you close. Toby’s eyes stayed hooded, watching eagerly as your fingers brushed against his nose, his tongue shoved into your cunt. “Le- Let me…” He grunted, sliding his hand up to shove yours away and take its place, slowly circling your clit with the pads of his fingers. You could barely breathe through all the gasps and whines that spilt from your lips, Jeff’s fingernails gripping your leg as he watched the scene unfold. He was smiling and huffing his arousal, teeth nibbling against your ear as he pushed your hips against Toby’s tongue, pulling your knees back further to give the brunette more access. “Does his tongue feel good, babe? You gonna cum on his face?” Jeff cooed, rutting his hips up against your bare ass as Toby lapped at your cunt, eyes fluttering shut as he tried to push deeper.

Nodding frantically, you could already feel yourself clamping down, Jeff’s lewd words making your core twitch as fingers rubbed against your clit. “Toby-” You whined, bucking your hips up as you felt your orgasm crash into you. Toby was quick to hold your hips, burying his face deeper into your cunt as he soaked up your arousal on his tongue, groaning at the taste. Jeff growled, teeth digging into your shoulder as Toby’s fingers rubbed your orgasm out, your thighs trying to twitch shut. When you finally breathed deep, Toby slipped his tongue out, hooded eyes gazing at your hot face, your cheeks flushed and sweaty. He smiled goofily, fingers spreading your soaked lips as he admired your still throbbing cunt, palming himself. Jeff slowly let your legs down, hooking his arm around your waist when your knees buckled from your sensitivity. 

“Damn, Toby…” He groaned, unzipping his jeans and freeing his heavy cock, the tip already smeared with pre. The pale killer gripped you to his side, staring down at the brunette still on his knees as he began to fist his length lazily. Toby sat back on his calves, eyes flicking nervously as he watched Jeff tug you towards the truck, pressing his back against the door and holding you in front of him. Toby stood awkwardly, fidgeting his hands as he watched Jeff push you back, gripping his hands around your head and bringing your mouth to his cock. You didn’t even think, mouth opening almost on instinct as you bent at the waist, bracing your hands against his thighs and taking the twitching length in your mouth like you had done it a thousand times before. Jeff sighed, gripping your hair into a ponytail and bobbing you slowly as he began to talk. 

“You wanna fuck her?” He grinned, grunting as you moaned your approval around his girth. Toby gasped quietly, eyes focused on watching you take Jeff so easily as his cock throbbed against his jeans. Jeff spread his legs wider, pressing his shoulders back against the glass of the door and cupping your cheek, forcing you to bury your face onto his cock, gagging against him. The pale killer groaned, eyeing Toby expectantly as the brunette nodded, his nervousness fading as he watched you submit to Jeff so easily. He wanted that. He wanted you to want him that way. 

Toby had always thought you were cute, his aggravation with Jeff spreading when the killer claimed you for his use. Toby thought the guy was ungrateful for such a pretty girl as you, wishing it was him who was dragging you upstairs to his room after a bad day. The bad thing about all living in the same hallway was the lack of noise privacy, so every time Toby heard your little whines echoing against his wall, there was little he could do against his straining arousal. 

But now, with your hips in the air and your cunt so beautifully waiting, Toby would show you. Despite his lack of experience, the brunette had watched enough porn to know what he wanted, to know exactly how he needed to treat you. The boy nodded, unzipping his jeans and sliding behind you, awkwardly gripping your hips. Your back muscles twitched and pulsed as you strained to bob at the pace Jeff was wanting you to go, the killer’s dark eyes grinning as he watched Toby nervously slip out his cock. The tip was red and leaking, twitching desperately as the brunette bent his knees, angling his head to press between your soft folds and find your entrance. You gasped, immediately pressing back against him but Jeff’s hands held your head, giving you little room to move as you slobbered on his length. 

The killer was being possessive, inspecting the brunette's every move as he pushed into you slowly, watching your expressions for any sign that you weren’t enjoying it. You moaned around his cock, tongue flattening against the underside and flicking against the gaudy veins that ran up it. Jeff huffed, relishing in the way your slobber pooled at the sides of your mouth as you screwed your eyes shut, focusing on not choking on his girth. But he wanted you to. He wanted to put on a good show for the kid. 

Placing his hands on either side of your head, he thrust quickly into the heat of your mouth, head knocking against the back of your throat and making you gag. He smiled, pulling back to the head before slamming back in, trying his best to pull any noises he could from your constricted throat. 

Toby watched carefully, mouth hanging lazily as he bottomed out inside of you. You were so warm, the heat swallowing him impossibly tight as he struggled not to move. His cock wasn’t as long as Jeff’s, but fuck did it still stretch you so good. You ground your hips back, moaning at the way the boy’s nails dug into your hips desperately. You had already ruined porn for him, your cunt gripping him the way his fist never could. He was already hooked. “God… O- Oh my god…” Toby gasped, shallowly thrusting into your cunt and drooling at the way your entrance tugged against him every time he pulled out. You were so pretty, your flushed skin warm under his scarred fingers, he couldn’t help but knead your ass apart as he ground into you.

In your opinion, the two boys were so impossibly different. Jeff was an ego trip, dick thinking before his brain did and making him a cocky little bitch who loved to show off. But Toby, on the other hand, was an awkward kid whose brain ran faster than the rest of him. It made him sensitive, but so dangerously impulsive at the same time. But right now, with their cocks buried on either side of you, their differences were even more prominent. Jeff was rough and loud, even on his best days caring only if you ended up babbling his name out of overstimulation. But Toby was nervous, inexperienced and trying his best to fulfill those urges he so desperately had. It was dizzying how differently they treated you.

You ground back against Toby, arching your back against his small thrusts and begging him to dare faster. He panted behind you, neck twitching and face contorting with every stretch he could feel inside of you. “Faster, twitch,” Jeff grunted, angling his cock in your mouth so he could fuck your throat, smiling at the way you gurgled on your spit. Toby hesitated for a minute, looking at the killer unsurely. 

“She wants you to go, ah, faster.” He hissed, snapping his hips as you gripped his jeans, begging for air. After so much time sleeping around, Jeff could read your body language like a book. It was beyond annoying, especially when he could tell you were aroused despite your bickering that you weren’t. But in this case, you thanked him by pressing your head down further, pushing your nose into his pubes. 

Toby nodded frantically, spreading his feet wider so he could angle himself up, slowly snapping his hips faster. He gripped your hips, his fingerless gloves nipping against your skin until you were whining loudly, gut-clenching in pleasure as his cock nudged against your g-spot. You arched your back, letting the brunette groan and hiss his pleasure behind you as you thrust your hips back, matching his pace. It wasn’t long before he was ramming into you, skin snapping loudly as he gave in and abandoned his nervousness. Jeff was eager too, nearly matching the brunette’s pace as he forced his cock down your throat, only pulling back every so often so you could suck on the head and catch your breath. “So- So warm…”

Jeff grits his teeth, challenging the twitching boy opposite of him as he stares daggers through his hooded eyes. “You gonna cum, twitch? Gonna spill in her?” Jeff was teasing him, the killer’s own orgasm quick on his heels as he slipped out of your mouth, slapping the wet length against your cheek. You were gasping, whines mixing as Toby snapped his hips, hissing. “I- I, ah, can’t-” He whined, your walls clamping against his aching cock, milking him quickly. Jeff grinned, popping his cock back in your mouth and letting you suck on the head while he talked. “Sure you can. Had her on the pill for a while now. Get to fill her cunt full whenever I want.” 

It was true. Jeff was so insanely horny that he had opted for stealing birth control pills from the pharmacy off the highway nearby just so he didn’t have to pull out. But you couldn’t complain, cumming around a cock was heavenly. 

Toby stared wide-eyed, a new fire igniting in him as he pressed his hands around your waist and began to slam his hips brutally. You yelped, eyes rolling as the boy thrust deeply into you, his teeth gritted and grunting. Jeff laughed wickedly, tugging your chin down with his thumb as he pushed his cock back into the warmth of your mouth, grunting as he matched Toby’s pace in your throat. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight when Toby gripped your hips and hauled you up, your feet leaving the ground. He hunched over you, breathing raggedly as he fucked up into your cunt, squelching and slapping loud in your ears. 

It was all too much, so many sensations and so full your body couldn’t resist itself anymore. You buried your around Jeff’s cock as you came, eyes rolling hard as your cunt clamped down against the unfamiliar girth. Your legs were spasming, feet kicking in the air as Toby moaned, digging his nails deep. 

They both buried in you at the same time, their ragged moans and loud breathing making your gut twist as you felt warm seed spilling into you. You tried to swallow quickly, choking on the salty liquid as Jeff hunched over you, gripping your head tight in his pale hands. Toby’s cock twitched inside of you, knees shaking as he let himself spill into your warmth. Jeff pulled out first, letting his leaking head rest against your swollen lips as tears spilt down your cheeks, your mind so hazy you couldn’t breathe straight. He chuckled, hooking his hands under your armpits and tugging you up against his chest, Toby slipping out of you with a groan. You panted against Jeff’s shoulder, eyes heavy and cunt throbbing as he picked you up and snapped at Toby to grab your clothes. 

So when Toby climbed into the passenger seat and Jeff sat you sideways on his lap, tugging you close to his chest, you breathed deep. Toby’s bangs were stuck against his forehead from the sweat, his red freckled cheeks watching you so closely as he ran his hand between your thighs, your head falling onto his shoulder as he fingered his cum inside of you. Jeff grinned as he started the truck, hauling it back onto the road and speeding towards the mansion, occasionally reaching over to press his thick fingers in with Toby’s and make you cry. The brunette pressed his chin against your head, rubbing your clit as Jeff’s fingers pressed Toby’s cum deep into your cunt, tugging yet another orgasm out of you as the same slow rock music pounded against the speakers. 

You could barely think as they dressed you, pulled up to the mansion and hauled you inside, Toby carrying you to your room and setting you between them as they cleaned you up. Jeff still bickered with Toby, rolling your eyes as you slipped into sleep below them. 

But as the weeks passed and Toby began showing up at your door with that pleading look in his eyes as frequently as Jeff, there was little you could do to resist. Even when the two showed up together, scheming some new position they wanted to try and arguing the whole time, your heart fluttered.

So when their sharp words turned to breathy groans, you realized that maybe the only way they could stand each other was if you were distracting them, giving them something better to focus on.

This is a birthday present for @carmoronic! Live it up!!!!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊��

[ellecdc]

poly!moonwater x potter!reader who has so many nicknames (trouble, ickle potter, little lion, treasure, amour, dove, etc.) that her boys are the only ones who remember her actual first name. please and thank you.

hehehehehhehehehehehehe

poly!moonwater x Potter!reader who is called anything but her name [1.2k words]

CW: siblings, swearing, background prongsfoot, Peter fearing for his life

….and tell your brother to try to avoid any more detentions between now and Christmas, okay? Love and miss you, my little lion.

“Jamie!” You called as you made it into The Three Broomsticks, shaking the chill off of your jacket as you folded the letter back up.

“What?”

“Mum says to fuck off with the detentions for the rest of the year.” You responded as you took a seat, reaching over Sirius to grab a chip from his and James’ plate only for James to snatch it out from under you.

“I have a hard time believing that the lovely Euphemia Potter said her beloved son should fuck off with the detentions, Trouble.” Sirius chided as he shook his head at you, though he moved the plate back within your reach and allowed you to help yourself.

“Honest to Merlin, hand to my heart.” You responded solemnly as you handed him the letter, watching as he furrowed his brows and held it out in front of him as if it were a royal decree.

“Well would you look at that,” Sirius murmured, “she really did tell ya to fuck off, babe.” 

James made a tsking sound as he snatched the letter out of his boyfriend’s hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Message received, bug.” 

“What did the little ickle Potter do now?” Peter asked as he plopped himself down in the booth beside James, ruffling his friends hair causing James to aggressively swat his hands away. “I only ever see James this worked up when his sister’s around.” 

“The fuck did you just call her?” You heard Barty demand from the other end of the pub, kneeling on the booth and peering over the other Slytherin’s to level Peter with a severe glare. “That witch is a Treasure, Pettigrew, and you will address her as such.” 

“Merlin’s beard…” Peter muttered as James snorted at his expense. “Okay…okay, sorry Junior.”

“You will be.” Barty spat menacingly before he slowly lowered himself back into his seat. 

“Oh don’t mind him, Pete.” You offered jovially. “He’s harmless.”

Your sentiment was severely undermined by Evan and Barty who had their heads lowered together as they kept their predatory gazes locked on the - now pale in the face - Gryffindor boy, though. 

“It’s hard to know what to call you sometimes.” Peter offered with a nervous shiver as he pulled his attention away from the otherside of the pub. “You’ve got so many.” 

“So many, what?” Lily asked as she took a seat at your table. 

“Names.” James said around a mouthful of chips. “She was called about four just now.” 

“Ickle Potter.” Peter whispered as he eyed Barty carefully.

“Trouble.” Sirius offered.

“lovebug.” James carried on.

“And Treasure, according to Junior.” Peter continued.

Lily hummed thoughtfully. “Four nicknames, that’s not bad.”

“Your mum called you her little lion in her letter.” Sirius added.

“There you are, amour.” Regulus sounded from behind you as he and Remus entered the pub; the three of you having split up to run to the post whilst Remus joined Regulus to Pippin’s Potions for a few supplies. 

“Amour.” Lily, James, and Sirius all chorused as Peter chuckled, causing Remus and Regulus to slow their strides and their brows to pinch in bemusement.

“What’s going on?” Remus chuckled somewhat nervously as he pressed a kiss to your hair before taking a seat beside you.

“We were just talking about your girlfriend’s names.” Lily explained.

“Names?” Remus laughed as he turned back to you. “How many do you have?” 

“Apparently a lot.” 

“Why? What’s wrong with ‘Y/N’?” He asked, and the entire table fell quiet.

“Why would you call me that?” You asked as steadily as you could manage. Remus’ brows pinched again before he turned to look at the table worriedly. 

“Remus.” You begged. “Why would you call me that?”

“What? Call you what? Your name?”

“That’s so rude, Rem.” You whined, your pout almost turning into a snicker when you heard Regulus breathe out a chuckle from behind you when he caught on, though you managed to hold strong. 

“I…I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. What- why can’t I call you by your name?”

You let out what sounded like a breathy sob as you turned towards Regulus and pushed your face into his chest. “He’s so mean to me, Reg.”

Regulus made a sympathetic sound as he circled his arms around you. “My poor girl.” 

“That was cold, Remus. Stone cold.” Sirius stated solemnly. “If James were a better brother, he’d beat you up for this.”

“I’m a perfectly fine brother, thank you.” James protested immediately. 

“I don’t see you fighting to defend Trouble’s honour.” Sirius argued. 

Remus looked between his two oldest friends for but a moment longer before he turned to see your shoulders shaking as you hid in Regulus’ chest.

“Dovey.” Remus cooed, moving to reach out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder only for you to jump up and turn to expose a beaming smile on your face. “What the hell was that about?”

“How many is that?” You asked no one in particular, though Peter, Lily, James, and Sirius all chorused “seven”. 

“For Godric’s sake; was this all over a silly nickname?” Remus asked in faux admonishment as he turned to level you with a look that did not translate when he was smiling at you like the lovesick fool he was. 

“It’s not a silly nickname.” You denied immediately, eyes soft and smile softer as you leaned further into him. “I love it.”

“You really had him there for a moment, amour. I think he actually thought you were sobbing into my shirt over something he’d done.” Regulus offered, shooting Remus a wink when he tried to scowl at his boyfriend. 

“It’s not easy to trick Moony so it’s always extra fun to see him sweat.” James agreed.

“You should spend more time with us, Trouble; see what other pranks you can help us out with.” 

“Sorry lads.” Remus said as he rested his arm over the back of your chair and trailed his thumb over your neck where the fabric of your jumper gave way to skin. “This dove is our Trouble.”

“And Treasure.” Regulus added as he knocked his ankle into yours under the table. 

“My little lion.” Remus whispered into your cheek, causing you to curl into yourself at the tickles from his breath. 

“My lovebug.” Regulus chuckled.

“Should we go on?” 

“No, no. Merlin’s saggy balls, we get it.” James groaned as he rubbed his eyes harshly under his glasses. “You guys are disgusting.” 

“No more disgusting than you and Pads all wound up after a win.” Remus retorted, causing Peter to nearly spit out his butterbeer. 

“Alright, alright.” You relented. “I think there are a few too many siblings here to be talking about this right now.”

“Agreed.” Regulus and Sirius chorused before glaring at each other. 

Remus simply chuckled and pressed another kiss into your hair. “Sorry dove.”

“You’re forgiven, Moons.”

[junislqve]

THAT FEELING WHEN / ’she looks perfect’

enhypen ｡｡ their “she’s perfect” moments

n : f!r / 1683 𝑤𝘰𝑟𝑑𝑠 . . . 𝓬 — 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 ⨾ kissing fluff enha in love est rs ⟢ 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗅𝘰𝗀𝗎𝖾

𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝘰𝗀𝗌 ♥︎ 𝖼𝗅𝑖𝖼𝗄

LEE HEESEUNG

one thing heeseung loved to do was watch his pretty girlfriend sit in front of her huge mirror while getting ready. loving the way you’d apply lip gloss on your lips knowing he’d kiss it all away in a minute anyway.

it was always one of those moments when he’d get to admire you as much as he’d like, his eyes chasing after every detail of your face in fear he’d forget about it if he didn’t.

“seung, can you pass me my bag?” you ask, unaware of the way his eyes glazed over, doe-eyed. “‘seung?”

“yeah?” he said, absentmindedly. you turn to him with a pout and only then did he snap out.

“my bag—“

“do you know how perfect you look right now?” your eyes flickered to his, “you look perfect all the time— how do you always look this pretty?”

PARK JONGSEONG

it’s always been hard to waver jay. he was never swayed that easily nor did he get shy a lot. so why was it so hard for him to focus on studying whenever you were around?

he had stacks of books all splayed out in front of him and a test to study for, yet all he could think about was how you looked smiling and laughing with your friends hours ago.

“jay?” hearing that voice, he thinks he’s never looked up that fast in his life, “hi, can i sit here?”

well, now he knows he can never get any studying done, “yeah, sure, of course.”

“have you been studying for long?” you ask, taking a seat right across from him, as if your mere presence wasn’t already a menace to his heart rate yet.

“no, i just started actually” a little white lie wouldn’t hurt. which he was glad for saying, because he spent the next two hours studying (mostly talking) with you. and he thought he’s gotten comfortable with talking to you, but that was until he attempted to crack a joke that gauged no reaction out of you.

“i mean, well, you’re always pretty— smart. smart and pretty” he sputtered, wishing he stayed silent, his dilemma was cut short by the soft chuckle you made. when he picked up the way your dimples showed and the way your eyes creased crescents, he knows he a goner.

SIM JAEYUN

your room was one of the places jake loved to be in. it didn’t matter what he was doing, it just felt better to do it in your room. it was nothing, however, without your presence. maybe it was because of your habit to leave music lulling away through every corner of your room, jake convinces himself.

he loved your room, and he loved you (though you didn’t know it yet) and he was completely fine with it. he was doing his project on your bedroom floor while you were sat on your window sill, typing up an essay.

it’s been hours since you both sat down in silence only letting the music to fill in the atmosphere.

“do you have a ruler i can borrow?” he asked, eyes still trained on his work. when you didn’t answer, his eyes turned to you for a moment, “hey, d—“

jake was reconsidering your friendship the moment he turned to look at you again, double taking at the sight. there was a beautiful sunset right behind you, and yet the only thing he could look at was you.

everything was fading away and you were the reason. all of his desires were begging him to reach out to you and ruin all that he’s built up until now, and while usually he’d create up a logical reason not to, this time, maybe a logical part of him wanted that too.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon has never prioritized a day more than his day-ins. where all he needed to do was lay in bed and rest as long as he wanted. usually, he’d ignore everyone who tried to disturb him during those days. but if it was you, all it took was a call and he’s right outside your apartment.

“why didn’t you call me earlier, baby?” he sighs, fingers carving through your hair lulling you to sleep.

“i didn’t want to bother you” you pout, looking up at him. if you were any more adorable, sunghoon thinks he might not be able to restrain himself from kissing you breathless.

“bother me all you want, i’m yours to bother anyway” he says absentmindedly. unaware of the effect his words has on you, he always knew what to say at all the right times and that never failed to make you warm.

only after half an hour did you finally decide to let the sleep overtake you. sunghoon who was about to ask you if you wanted to eat, looked down to see his girlfriend’s arms around him.

he carefully moved the hair out of your face, brushing the little strands to the side. at first, he found you adorable looking this peaceful, but after a while he found himself not being able to look away. his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb gently rubbed your skin.

his eyes roamed your face possibly about a dozen times, hoping he’d remember every last detail of it to the way your lips pout slightly in your sleep. he found it baffling how you could look so perfect even while sleeping.

planting a small longing kiss on your forehead, sunghoon laid his head on top of yours. not realizing the slight smile on your lips nor the way you snuggled slightly closer to him.

KIM SUNOO

the door to the apartment drew open and sunoo looked exhausted. he needed his girlfriend and thankfully, the moment he was in, you were right there in front of him, sat on the couch.

sunoo walked to where you were, arms going around your body, face on your chest, hoping he could just stay like this forever. he caressed your sides and inhaled your scent until he looked up to you and noticed the familiar pattern of the hoodie you were wearing.

“baby, is this my hoodie?” he asks, heart melting when he saw you dig your face deeper into the hoodie in embarassment. he was about to shoot you a comment until your eyes peeped out of the hoodie and gazed at him.

this whole situation was ridiculous, more ridiculous as he was suddenly unable to think of anything except for the way you stared up at him so adorably. the doe eyes you shot him was enough to make him nervous.

just as fast as you did, you covered your whole face back under the hoodie, leaving sunoo trying to recollect himself, acting as if the fact that you were buried under his clothes and engulfed in his scent didn’t make him drunk on your existence.

YANG JUNGWON

music was blasting loudly. and somehow, jungwon wasn’t actively trying to avoid the place. reason of cause? you. more specifically, the way your hands wrapped around his arm. a simple action enough to drive him nuts. maybe if he was aware of the way he was following you like a lost puppy he’d snap out of it, but for now, he’s stuck to you.

“wonnie, do you want some punch?” you ask, grabbing a clean cup and pouring yourself a glass.

“hm?” he attempted to register the situation and once he did, he carefully took your cup away from you, “are you sure this is safe? we both know you can’t handle your alcohol”

maybe that’s exactly what you need right now though, some alcohol in your system because the way your boyfriend had his sleeves rolled up to his arms and the way his hair sat messily on top of his head was making you insane.

“come on, wonn, just a little” you tilt your head to the side. and that was when jungwon had his little shit moment. the way you looked tonight in the dim lighting and that smile of yours, it was all too overwhelming for him.

all those moments he’s had with you is all catching up to him and his heart feels so full of love for you, he doesn’t know what to do. only then can he gulp, and nod at his girlfriend as he watches her eyes light up, giving him a split second’s kiss that had him grinning from ear to ear while following her from behind.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“riki come on! the sunset’s about to start”

your voice echoing from ahead, riki was struggling to keep up with your pace, his legs running as fast as he could through the road.

“slow down” he huffs, breathing heavily as his feet finally lands on sand and his pace slowing down. despite the need to heave, he continued his slow walk towards you, who had your back towards him.

he stood beside you and he turned to you, just about to scold you for making him run with you, but all his words died on his tongue as he saw the way your eyes reflected the sunset.

he willed himself to look ahead for a split second before his eyes trailed back to you, riki wondered how someone could look so pretty compared to the view right in front of him. he wondered how even though you annoyed him most times, he couldn’t look away from you right now.

he told himself it was because of how you looked dumb gaping at a sunset but even then you looked unreal, riki didn’t understand your fascination with sunsets when you could just look at yourself in the mirror.

but he’ll never tell you that, in fact, he promised himself he’s only going to look at you for that long only for this moment. only because the orange hues reflecting off your skin made you look perfect, only because he knew he couldn’t pay any amount of money to get to see something as pretty as that smile of yours. only this time.

spoiler: that wasn’t the last time.

juni : this took too long bruh

[pretty-little-mind33]

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

summary: You're under the influence of an unknown plant and things take an unexpected turn.

warnings: reader is under an aphrodisiac, age gap considering Logan trained her and he's ancient, protective!Logan, swearing, unprotected sex, riding, dry-humping

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

"Fuck," Logan curses, holding you in his arms as he runs to the plane. He'd told you not to wander, to stay focused, but you never listen to him when it's important. You're lucky he'd seen you when he did, just as that plant sprayed you and you collapsed to the ground. 

Something was wrong. He could fucking smell it. 

"Y/n?" Logan whispers, resting you in the seat as his hands cradle your head. The look in your eyes is vacant and you blink at him. Logan keeps caressing your cheeks, his hands shaking from worry. 

"What happened?" Scott asks a completely normal question, entering the plane followed by Jean and Ororo. 

"Shut up," Logan snaps at him, his gaze still focused on you as he sees the sweat dripping down your forehead and how much you're squirming. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as you thrash in Logan's hold, trying desperately to unzip your suit. 

You're too warm. 

"Can't you see she's ill, asshole?!" 

Scott holds up his hands in defense as he rolls his eyes. Jean walks over, pressing a hand to your forehead as she frowns. "Can you help her?" Logan asks desperately. His mind is racing, your scent becoming stronger and stronger. He's having a hard time ignoring it. 

Jean shakes her head. "N-not with something like this—it just has to pass—I'm sorry—" she whispers, sending you a sympathetic look as your eyes widen and you squirm harder, thighs clenching as moans fall from your lips. 

You feel like you're on fire. 

Logan curses, kneeling beside you as he keeps you firmly in your chair and prevents you from ripping at your clothes. He shuts his eyes, trying to ignore your moans and the pheromones you're emitting. You're aroused. So aroused and it's overwhelming his senses.

"Shh, bub," he caresses your hair, holding you down as the plane flies back to the school, "I know. I know it hurts," he says, still keeping his eyes shut because if he looks at you he might lose control. 

"Lo-logan?" you whimper, nails clawing at his hands, "N-need—"

"I know, shh, we're almost there," Logan growls, his voice harsh. He tries to keep you quiet, knowing how humiliated you'll feel when you find out this has happened in front of everyone. As your friend and the person who'd trained you, it's Logan's duty to watch over you. 

His thumb runs over your lip, keeping your sounds quiet as he looks into your tear-filled eyes and your lips atattch to his fingers. You keep squirming. 

Once the plane has landed, Logan wastes no time in picking you up and rushing you to your room. Gently, he sets you on your bed, sitting you up and looking into your eyes.

They're cloudy now and the effects seem to be worsening. You grab his shirt, pulling him down as his knee dips the mattress in between yours and he groans, steadying himself with his arms beside your body. 

Logan knows that look in your eyes all too well. 

"Sweetheart," he mutters, shaking his head. 

You clutch onto him, your clothed pussy now rubbing against his knee. You can't help yourself and Logan knows this. He moans softly, head dipping as his hair falls over his eyes. This is wrong. He knows how wrong this is. 

"L-lo," you moan in his ear, trying to satisfy the ache. "Please, lo, please—"

You're begging is making this so much harder for him and he gives in a little, adjusting his knee to give you more friction. You're practically dry-humping him now and he feels so perverted. He wraps his hand behind your head, bringing your forehead to his lips. "Shhh, there, you're okay."

You shake your head. "N-no–more–please—"

Fuck, he can't do this, he tells himself and yet, minutes later he finds himself laying on your bed, cock buried deep inside your dripping cunt as you bounce on him frantically, chasing a high that will take your pain away.

Logan's hands grip your hips as he tries to control himself and not lose control of his claws and hurt you. 

"Y/n, slow down," he almost whimpers. He's afraid you're pushing yourself too far. 

"Feels so good, thank you," you whine, nails digging into his shoulders as your bouncing slowly begins to slow down. You're becoming tired and by the clenching he feels around his cock, you're also close. 

Logan grits his teeth, trying to hold on for you but it's hard when you're practically using him. 

"Shit, fuck, honey," he groans as you finish with a cry, burying your face in the crook of his neck as your tears wet his neck. You bite down on his shoulder, the effects of the plant finally beginning to fade. Sweat dampens his hairline and he catches his breath, wincing from the pain of your bite. 

He feels you tense as you slowly regain some sense. He soothes a hand up and down your back. "Y/n?" he whispers. 

You make a pitiful sound and slowly sit up. Your hair is a mess and you're still seated on his cock. You scramble off him, eyes wide. Logan sits up and grabs your wrist before you can run out of your room— "Hey! It's okay—"

You're humiliated. You remember what you did; throwing yourself at him and riding him like an animal. Logan sees your expression and his eyes soften. He gently pulls you closer and embraces you. "You're okay," he promises, "I wanted to help you."

"I'm sorry," you whimper into his shoulder again. 

Logan clicks his tongue. "None of that, alright? I should be sorry for giving in. You weren't in your right mind."

You stay silent, just shaking your head to reassure him that he hadn't done anything wrong as you hug him tighter.

He soothes you, keeping you close, and when you press your cheek into his shoulder, Logan sighs. He inhales your scent for what he thinks is the last time. He doesn't want to let you go, he can't imagine not having your body warm against his, and unbeknownst to him you feel the same. 

"I got you," he murmurs and you tighten your arms around him even more.

[hoffmansgirl]

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗕𝗢𝗬 ━ nicholas a. chavez

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ author's note. based off this request... enjoy ♡

↱ cw. nsfw (+18)! switch!reader x switch!nicholas, begging, dirty talk, oral (m+f receiving), praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv, creampie, this one's kinda sweet ☹️ | wc. 2929

𝓣he last few days were pure torture for nicholas.

he just came back home from filming, gone for almost three months; three agonising, incredibly hard months. of course he was happy to see his girlfriend after such a long time. they would cuddle for hours, and she'd ask him all about the movie he was currently working on. y/n was so excited, eyes sparkling with excitement every time she spoke to him, yet she could feel the shift in her boyfriend's behaviour. something was so off.

he was more... touchy than usual. hands on her body every time and every second, kisses needier, body reacting to even the slightest touch. nicholas often found himself staring at her when she was doing casual stuff around the house, shorts riding up on her thighs as she stood on her tiptoes to get something from the cupboard, cock twitching uncomfortably in his pants.

three months. three months without sex. of course he masturbated, and of course y/n would send him a dirty picture every now and then. but it wasn't enough, not at all. and ever since he got home, he was waiting for something, anything; an occasion to push his fingers under her panties, or under her t-shirt to grab her boobs.

and y/n wasn't oblivious to it. his erection pressed against her in the most unexpected moments, he pushed into her slightly, trying to get her to notice. nicholas' desperation was so visible, but she wanted him to break. she wanted him to ask for it.

it was a friday afternoon, and instead of going out, they stayed in, deciding on watching friends.

"mind if i take a shower first?" y/n asked, walking down the stairs, eyes lighting up at the sight of her boyfriend already curled up on the couch, waiting.

"no, no. of course not", he replied mindlessly, looking through his instagram. his eyes met hers, and the sight of her standing there, smiling, almost made his stomach hurt with need.

"be right back. love you!" she ran upstairs quickly and nicholas heard the bathroom door closing shut. he exhaled, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. it's been so hard. and y/n acted as if she didn't notice the shift in his behaviour. he knew she wanted him to beg for it, but he didn't really know where to start. and most importantly, he was ashamed of feeling that way. why was sex the only think he could think about? why did it keep him up, dick hurting as she pressed her ass against him with purpose, pretending to be asleep?

before he could find the answer, y/n appeared at the top of the stairs, looking absolutely scrumptious.

face flushed from the bathroom's temperature, his t-shirt hanging on her body, ending mid-thigh, and he wondered if she even wore any panties underneath.

y/n rubbed the towel on her damp hair as she walked down the stairs. she took a seat next to nicholas on the couch, lashes fluttering as she looked up at him.

"y/n...", he started, quite unsure how to talk about his need, as his problem seemed so ridiculous.

"yes, babe?", she cocked her head, brushing a hand through her hair, throwing the towel on the floor mindlessly.

his breath hitched, usual confidence fading as he gazed at her, looking so effortlessly hot.

"i..." nicholas hesitated, and before he could think about it, his lips were already on hers, hands tugging at her - his - shirt, guiding y/n to straddle his hips. y/n melted into his touch, smiling into the kiss. "what is it, nick?" she let out between kisses, but he was all over her again, hips thrusting up to meet her thong-covered pussy.

"no, no. you have to tell me first", she whispered, pulling at nicholas' hair, causing him to groan. his eyes fluttered shut, chest heaving with each breath, cheeks flushing slightly. "what do you want?"

she grounded herself on his lap, cunt pressing on his hard-on purposely.

"fuck- i need you. need you so bad, doll", he muttered, chasing her lips with his', and she grinned, allowing him to force his tongue into her mouth, exploring every inch of her as she whimpered softly. and it drove him crazy, the taste of her, the feeling of her skin against his hands, everything she did.

y/n bit on his lip, pulling away just for a second before placing wet kisses on his neck, tongue twirling around his skin, her long nails clawing at his arms.

she moved down, sucking on his nipple softly, tongue lapping at the bud, earning a satisfied groan from nicholas. she licked, sucked and bit every part of his hard chest, teasing him, playful smile on her lips.

"fuck- shit, i want- i want your mouth", nicholas whimpered, chest heaving as she worshipped him, the upper part of his body sticky from her saliva.

"but baby, i am using my mouth", she grinned, meeting his half lidded eyes before dropping to her knees between his legs. she traced the bulge in his pants with her hand, breathing deeply at the sight of him.

"suck my dick. please, just- stop teasin'", nicholas' hips lifted up from the couch as y/n tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. she took his boxers off in the process, and his cock sprang free, angry red and leaking with pre-cum. y/n's eyes widened at the sight of him, so defenceless and desperate, her own arousal soaking her black panties.

"is this why you've been acting so weird lately?" she asked, teasingly running her hands over his muscular thighs, and his cock twitched at the sensation. nicholas' head fell back against the couch, yet he kept an intense eye contact, bucking his hips up. his cock bounced, and he could almost feel her own need as she bit her lip at the sight.

"yes, yes, yes", he chanted as she stuck her tongue out, taking his dick in her hand, guiding it to her lips. "needed you so bad, doll. fuck, yes", nicholas muttered lowly at the sensation of her mouth closing around his pink tip, tongue swirling around it as if she was licking at a lollipop. she looked up at him, the sight of his well trained body making y/n moan around his shaft. she was so eager to please him, so eager to feel his cum paint the back of her throat. it never failed to amaze him, the way she was worshipping him, taking her sweet, sweet time teasing him, enjoying it almost as much as he did.

nicholas' hands found her hair, and he tugged at it, causing another moan to escape y/n's mouth.

she sucked on the tip softly before pulling away, a string of saliva still connecting her lips to his cock. her tongue darted out as she licked at the underside of his shaft, greedily tracing the pulsing veins adoring it. her tongue reached down to lap at his balls, huge and full of cum, almost begging for her attention. nicholas' cock twitched and his whole body contracted at the stimulation.

"more, please, doll-" he blurted, breathless, and she looked up at him as she left soft kisses on the insides of his thighs. slowly starting to stroke his big cock in her hand, the other tracing over the muscles on his stomach.

he met her eyes, biting his lip at the sight of her on her knees, being so good for him, before throwing his head back in pure bliss. the teasing made him feel lightheaded, heart beating so fast that he thought he might just drop dead any second.

"you're so big" y/n mumbled, almost as if she was talking to herself, swiping her thumb over his sensitive tip. she watched his face with wide eyes, amazed by the sounds that left his mouth and the way his muscles tensed. she thought that in this exact moment, she had complete control over him for the first time ever.

never taking her hand off his member, she got up from her spot on the floor. nicholas' eyes snapped open, wide and desperate, as she leaned over to kiss him.

y/n took her sweet time, never stopping the slow movements of her hand, and he whined into the kiss, his own needy hands already roaming over her body. nicholas melted into her touch, hips starting to rise from the couch as he grew impatient, he needed more. y/n smiled into the kiss before pulling away, every move graceful and thoughtful.

"can i sit on your face, pretty boy?" she asked softly; nicholas' eyes sparkled beautifully and his cock twitched, and she took it as a 'yes'.

what he didn't expect was her turning her back on him, ass on full display as she straddled his chest, and the realisation of what she had in mind finally bloomed in his mind.

before he had the time to think about it, y/n was already straddling his face, and he inhaled, breathing her in greedily. her sweet pussy glistened with wetness, and his cock twitched when she leaned over to be face to face with his his length.

nicholas wasted no time; he wet his lips before swiping his tongue against her clit, straight up to her hole. he gripped y/n's ass in his big hands, pressing her against his face even more, a soft groan leaving his mouth at the taste of her.

she cried out and wrapped her mouth around him, trying to take him as deep as possible. the sensation of nicholas' mouth on her pussy combined with the taste of him had her head spiralling.

she was thankful he wasn't teasing her, going straight into licking, sucking and kissing at her clit, not a single thought in his head as he ate her out.

"fuck, i missed this pretty mouth of yours- and this sweet pussy. so good, so mine", nicholas whined pathetically, making y/n moan around his shaft, gagging slightly when he hit the back of her throat. she grabbed his thighs for stability, licking the underside of his shaft before focusing on his tip again.

nicholas' hands squeezed y/n's butt cheeks tightly as he sloppily made out with her pussy, tongue darting out to flick at the little button hidden between the folds. his mouth closed around it and he sucked hard enough to make her see stars. he could feel y/n's legs beginning to shake as she whined around his cock, bobbing her head quickly, just how she knew he liked it.

"shit, doll, i'm gonna cum-" he managed to get out, already on edge from her previous teasing, as he threw his head back.

y/n moaned around him, taking him in fully, encouraging him to fill her mouth. nicholas groaned shamelessly as his hips twitched, cock getting even deeper in her mouth, nails digging into her flesh with enough force to leave marks.

his vision went white for a second as he painted her throat white, and she took all it without protest, still bobbing her head on him, milking him dry until his whole body started to twitch from overstimulation. y/n let him leave her mouth with a "pop", breathing heavily, swallowing all of his cum momentarily, the taste of him only turning her on more as her pussy clenched around nothing.

before she had the time to react, she was already on her back, legs spread as nicholas towered over her, still slightly lightheaded from the earth shattering orgasm he just experienced.

"i just can't get enough of you" he whispered, arms on both sides of her head as he leaned down, nose brushing against hers. he then started to leave sweet kisses all over her neck, chest - focusing on her breasts for a little longer - before finally kneeling down between her legs, spreading them just a little wider, pupils blown with lust as he took in the sight before him.

"nick-" she didn't get to finish as his mouth came in contact with her pussy yet again, moving his tongue around her clit in fast circles. y/n's back arched, and her hand found place in his hair, the sight of her boyfriend between her legs making her legs shake slightly. he left open mouthed kisses on her slit, making out with her pussy sloppily, before forcing his tongue into her little hole, nose bumping against her clit. nicholas' eyes snapped open to watch her, and his cock twitched yet again, begging for attention, when she made eye contact with him. and y/n felt it too; she clenched around him, legs threatening to close around his head, but nicholas was quick to spread her thighs open, arms wrapping around them tightly. he was being oh so messy, her sweet juices covering the lower half of his face, obscene sounds echoing in the living room - but he didn't seem to care at all.

"come on, pretty girl, give it to me", he almost begged, and y/n tugged at his messy hair again, the feeling of his warm tongue on her clit making her cry out yet again. groans left nicholas' mouth as he devoured her, and one last suck of his mouth around her clit was enough to send her spiralling. y/n moaned his name out loud, and he responded with a satisfied moan as his girl's sweet essence filled his mouth. nicholas lapped at her hole, eager to not miss a drop of her cum, and she twitched in overstimulation. he didn't stop for another minute or two, too lost in his own pleasure, soft moans leaving his mouth as he placed soft kisses and licks on her clit to calm her down.

when he finally pulled away, y/n's legs flew shut, chest heaving with uneven breaths. nicholas smiled proudly before kissing her softly, and she wrapped her legs around his torso, running a hand over his broad shoulders. she could feel nicholas' cock pressing against her thigh, leaking with pre-cum yet again, and her pussy clenched at the feeling of him.

"i need to be inside you, baby", he whined desperately, hiding his face in the crook of her neck; her chest tightened at his voice, so defenceless and needy.

"use me, pretty boy", y/n breathed him in, and he wasted no time in running his tip over her clit, teasingly slow. she moaned at the sensation, hips bucking to feel more of him; nicholas certainly didn't like that, as he pushed her down, hands gripping at her hips tightly. after teasing her for another second or two, he forced himself into her, the wetness coating her walls making it easy for him to move.

satisfied moans left both of their mouths, and nicholas sat back on his knees, watching his cock slowly disappear in her tight hole, mouth slightly agape at the sight.

"you're so wet for me, so warm", he breathed out, gripping y/n's thighs, forcing her to open her legs just a little wider. he watched her face twist in pleasure as he buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching in anticipation. y/n gripped at the couch cushion tightly, her eyes rolling back into her head; the sensation of his cock kissing her cervix with every single move of his hips almost unbearable.

y/n lost it the moment nicholas' fingers came in contact with her perky nipples, rolling them between his long fingers, occasionally squeezing the soft flesh of her breasts in his palms. she gasped breathlessly, sound almost inaudible as pure ecstasy filled her mind.

"look at me, c'mon, doll", he panted, holding himself back, even though his thrusts got more aggressive, desperate, sloppy. y/n opened her eyes, meeting his own immediately, and she clenched around him. hard. "fuck, nick- i- i'm gonna cum" she managed to choke up, and her hands found his strong arms, holding onto them for dear life.

"yeah? come on then, give it to me. i want to feel you cum around me", these words, combined with his powerful thrusts and the look of pure ecstasy on his face sent her over the edge. nicholas was quick to lift her up from the couch slightly, the new angle making him go even deeper; she clenched around his cock as she came, moaning his name like a prayer.

nicholas shut his eyes at the sensation, and kissed her once again, his restless thrusts not stopping even for a moment. the taste of her made his head spin, cock twitching as y/n bit on his lower lip, shaking from overstimulation, cunt gripping him tightly. he buried himself fully inside of her and let go, ropes of cum filling her womb, and he grinded his hips against hers to ride out his orgasm, groans leaving his mouth as he fell forward, entire body shaking.

"holy fucking shit", he managed to get out, and y/n fell back on the couch with him, completely fucked and spent. nicholas hid his face in the crook of her neck, leaving soft kisses there, and she played with his hair mindlessly.

"i love you", he whispered softly after a couple of minutes, finally letting his body relax. y/n smiled at the confession. she planted a kiss on his forehead, heart beating hard in her chest; the love she had for him almost overwhelming. "i love you too, pretty boy."

━━━━━━━━━━

2024, hoffmansgirl ©

nicholas alexander chavez masterlist ✿ | about the author

tags (comment to be tagged in my next nicholas writings): @destrolid @tater-tots-thoughts

[morgue-friends]

"A Maiden's Token" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, count orlok is his own warning, blood kink, penis in vagina sex, sexual tension, creampie, oral (f receiving), death is mentioned, no aftercare, reader probably has stock-holm syndrome.

Fourteen days, that's how long you've been here. That's how long you've been left on your own every daybreak and then expected to entertain death itself every evening. As the sunset on the snowy horizon, you made your way back into the castle, dragging your tattered dress by what remained left of it through the snow. Upon entry, you were shocked to see that the fireplace was still lit. Occasionally, it would flicker out during sunset as if the castle consciously knew a force of darkness would be awakening.

With a sigh, you lifted your dress and dropped down by the fireplace suddenly out of breath. Maybe it was the consistent blood loss or the freezing temperatures of the European mountains that you were succumbing to. As far as you knew, he hadn't given you any reason to believe that you'd have an extended stay at the castle. At the end of the day, your chances of reaching the next morning relied solely on the temperament of a man. Your mother had taught you well enough about men to know that when they get bored, they tend to move on.

You felt the presence of tears threatening to depart from your eyes as you thought of your poor mother. She must be so worried and heartbroken. Ever since the two of you arrived in Europe after leaving America, her overprotectiveness of you has grown enormously. When you told her of a Count from a neighboring country requesting your services for painting a self-portrait of him within his own castle, she warned you against going and you decided to shelve away her concerns as mere fairytales. You gripped the silver locket necklace hanging around your neck for security and sighed. Your mother had gifted you this locket on your most recent birthday, and holding it helped you think of all your fondest memories with her.

Now, here you sit, sleep deprived and undernourished. He left you only bread, some grapes, wine, and a bucket of water. You were thankful for the water as you refused to be inebriated in your current situation. It was almost shocking to see he had the decency to have the water refilled each day, but you knew it was only because he'd hate to let his food source run dry.

Suddenly, you were startled when you heard the pouring of wine into a goblet behind you. You hadn't even heard him ascend up the stairs of the castle, and yet there he was in his full glory at the head of the dining table. Now, whether he did ascend the stairs and walk right past you or he simply just appeared at the table was something only god himself would know.

"You have been crying." The Count's thick accent hung heavy in the air, his voice sending a rippling wave of goosebumps over your skin. The tone of his voice was accusatory and not at all sympathetic. Even with English clearly not being his first language, you could hear his overwhelming disappointment. Over the two weeks he's kept you here his English had somewhat improved either by hearing you speak it whether you were asking to excuse yourself to find somewhere to use the bathroom in the empty bucket he gave you. Or from your begging and pleading for him to just let you go home.

Your cold hands desperately wiped the tears from your eyes, and you stood to your feet. He watched you approach the elegant dining table, and you took your seat as far as you could away from him. It was painfully obvious that this night would go just about the same as every other night. You two would intensely stare at eachother while you'd ate your bread for dinner, he'd make you get up and walk to the guest bedroom where he'd make you strip naked and feed from you and then you'd pass out from the pain and awake in the morning to the Count missing and nowhere to be found.

It wasn't even like he needed to feed from you. From your understanding, as he explained it, he'd go into the nearby village and 'have his fill' after he had siphoned a small amount from you. It made you feel like some kind of appetizer or twisted desert for him to be keeping you alive this long. Even with his figure shrouded in darkness, you could still tell by his posture that he was growing impatient with waiting for you to finish your 'dinner'. It was almost like the flickering flame of every candle avoided his very figure as if the fire itself was scared of this entity.

When you finally finished, you stood up from the table and waited till he rose from his seat before you allowed him to lead you to the guest room. You had gotten so used to his grotesque heavy breathing that when he suddenly stopped, the silence was deafening.

"You are crying again." At least when he said it this time, he sounded somewhat amused. It was like he knew that you've accepted your fate and that there wasn't anything you or god could do about it. The door to the guest room opened slowly without him having to touch the handle, and you stepped inside, fingers already loosening the ties of your corseted dress. "Forgive my tears, my Lord." You cringed at the title you gave him. Of course, an entity this dark would be so egotistical to have you address him as a Lordship. You had wondered if this kind of evil was something that would come from inside someone or from the beyond.

"Why would I need to forgive such fragility? You are a human girl. It is in your nature to be weak and fragile." A vein could have popped in your forehead, and you wouldn't have even known it. His words made you seethe and boil with anger, you had to bite your tongue so hard not to say anything that would get him to eviscerate you on the spot.

"Ah, there she is, my cochetă, my minx, be angry so that all your blood may flow freely." Your body winced at the nickname he gave you. He had called you it frequently rather than your real name. Even when you had unknowingly signed away yourself to him in a contract, he addressed you only by 'cochetă' which he explained was romanian for Minx since you weren't at all fluent with the language yet. You dropped your dress and undergarments off in a chair away from that bed so that you may spare it from any more trauma. After taking your seat on the bed, you draped the blood-stained blanket over your shoulders in an attempt at making you feel like you haven't soiled your modesty.

"I have seen all you have to offer. You will not hide from my eyes." With in an instant, you removed the blanket, not from your own will but because he compelled you to do so. Another tear fell down the side of your face, and this one he wiped away with the side of one of his long pointed nails. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and the Count leaned over you and dropped his face to below your exposed left breast. His breath against your skin felt like ice, and you shut your eyes in order to brace for the pain that never came.

Instead of the feeling of two fanged teeth penetrating your heart, you felt the knuckle of one of his fingers brush against your clit and your back arched. Your eyes widened, and you sat up to meet his stare. There he stood, completely unafflicted by your reaction. In fact, it was almost as if you were the one who did something wrong. Impulsively, a heat pooled in your lower abdomen, it's warmth radiating down your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut in hopes to catch your breath and calm yourself down. What he did to you was only causing a natural response from your body, and you had no control over such responses.

Nonetheless, you still felt the urge to mentally shame yourself for being a such sinful whore who's body responds like that to the touch of something - someone so heinous. It was almost as if the devil himself had cursed you with such blasphemy with the way your nipples hardened to a peak and your thighs squeezed together, trying to prevent you losing yourself to sin any further.

You didn't even open your eyes back up when you felt his cold hand grab a hold of one of your thighs, you were then pulled further down the mattress closer to the edge of the bed and to him. A hand that was so cold that it felt like it was devoid of any life and any warmth worked it way up your chest and grabbed one of your breasts. You bit your lip to hold back a gasp when the peak of your nipple was rubbed back and forth by his thumb. It wasn't until you felt the contact of his mouth around one of your nipples that your eyes shot wide open.

You looked down to see that he had your left breast peaked in his mouth while he suckled on your nipple. Your body betrayed you once again, and that heat you were feeling at your core seemed to grow much hotter. A swipe of his cold tongue against your nipple made you look down again, and you got a good look at the head of the man doing this to you. He had since discarded his hat in the dining room, and now you have a much closer look at the spirit you were dealing with. The back of his head was rotten and decayed even under the several thin tufts of brown hair on his head. It felt like you were looking at a corpse of a man that should have been locked far away in a coffin in the depths of hell.

You weren't even paying attention when a hand parted your thighs and brought attention back to your clit, he pulled back the hood and started rubbing slow deliberate circles around it, being mindful of his claws. He switched to your right breast, and at this point, there was no use controlling your gasps and whimpers anymore. He was so gentle with you. Maybe this was foreshadowing that tonight would be the night he'd finally get rid of you, and this was just him rubbing salt in the wounds and making the evening last as long as possible. He'd never touched your nether regions before, but when he fed from the blood of your heart, he'd often rub his hands around your waist as if he was mockingly consoling you the way a lover would.

The hairs of his thick mustache tickled your nipple and you weren't ready for when he dragged downward a long lick from your breast, to over your stomach and then finally stopping at the mound between your legs. You exhaled deeply when he resumed and dragged his blackened tongue down your slit, getting a taste of your wetness in his mouth. This wasn't something you should be enjoying, just the symphony of approving noises that left your lips made you feel appalled with yourself. It wasn't until you felt his lips lock around your clit that you became heavy lidded and utterly defeated.

You settled with the idea that he's being so cautious with you because he's going to make you reap what you sowed when it was time for him to experience his own pleasure. And regardless of how good he made you feel in this very moment, you still hated him. He tricked and imprisoned you in this hellish imitation of a castle. He left you alone and unattended during the day, allowing a pack of wolves to ensure you never take your leave. It was because of him that your mother was a several weeks journey away, worried sick about you, and you weren't even sure if you'd ever see her again.

You were on the verge of crying again until he rose to his feet, his figure demanding your full attention. His clawed hands fiddled with the buttons of his trousers, and your breath hitched. The hefty fur cape he wore would frequently would drape over his frame and seculde him in almost total darkness. You never knew what his daily wear looked like since he seemed content in hiding in the shadows of your vision only to reveal slightly more of himself to you when he fed from your body. What came to your vision when he glanced back at you was the erect bulbous head of his cock. It was engorged and jutted upward toward the ceiling as if it demanded your gaze on it.

He crept closer to you, staring intensely as if trying to gauge your state of mind, trying to see whether you were going to fight or flee. Instead, you just allowed your head to fall back onto the mattress. It was pointless to do either of those, and deep down in the darker realms of your subconscious, this behavior from him was welcomed. When the head of his thick member prodded at your entrance, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes tightly.

Instead of thrusting inside, he thrusted his shaft upward, dragging it along your slit to coat himself in your wetness. When the shaft slid up against your clit you couldn't help but mewl out, still feeling that knot in your lower belly that was just waiting to be undone. When he finally seized the moment to thrust inside you, your eyes shot open, burning and stinging with tears. The Count let out what sounded like an inhuman hiss as his length seeped into your heat, inch by inch. The stretch was almost unbearable. It felt like you were being split right down the middle into two halves of yourself, and you weren't sure what half you pitied more. Your mouth opened to make a noise, but nothing came out. Such an intrusion of this nature left your throat speechless and strained. He pulled his hips back, and a clawed hand shot up to your face and held you in place upon his re-entry.

Those pointed nails of his were so sharp it felt like you had needles digging into your skin. Beads of red came into your vision dripping down your face from how much pressure those thick claws of his put into your flesh. When you tried to snatch your face away from his hand, he only pulled out and thrust into you more harshly. The squelching noise your cunt made around his length felt nothing short of sinful. To your disbelief, you learned he still had more of his shaft left to give you when he pushed himself further inward to the hilt. The thick head of his cock struck your cervix like hammer and a painful cramping sensation followed behind it. He hummed a noise of satisfaction as if he was he was impressed you were able to take all of him to the hilt.

Your breasts bounced on your chest when he roughly pulled out entirely only to shove himself back in. You gave a whine in response, and it was only then that he had seemingly guaged a fine line of pleasure and pain for you. Adjusting himself, he started up a pace of feverent rutting that made your legs tremble pitifully around his waist. The pressure of his hand on your face left when he leaned over to get a taste of the clotted blood that dotted across your forehead. His body was so much larger than your own that he had to contort himself over you to be able to taste the crimson he created and be able to continue his rutting.

The frequent movement of your body from the impact of his hips against yours was beginning to loosen that knot you felt in your belly. Your moans grew louder, and so did the beating of your heart against your rib cage. Inducing this creature to feed from you because your heart enticed him was the last thing you needed right now. The pace of his thrusts harshened, and so did the primal look he had in his eyes. Having him over you and staring at you like this, as if he were a lion and you were a weak gazelle soon to be eaten. For such an entity of darkness, he had such expressive eyes, sometimes they were so black you could see your reflection. Sometimes, they were so white and cloudy, you'd wonder where he had come from, heaven, hell, or neither.

"Please..." You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, but in your heart, it felt like it was for release. Release from the built-up pressure in your belly, release from the castle, or even release from life itself. Your hand reached up, and you cupped the flesh of his face. His skin was so cold, so rotten, and yet there was a feeling of life as if there was perhaps a soul present, but you knew better. There wasn't any life within him, as he was death itself. There was no soul within him, as he claimed the souls of others.

The closer his body, his cock, brought you to this peak of of pleasure that you pleaded for, the wider the smile grew on your face. A smile that didn't go unnoticed as his lips claimed the skin of your neck in what felt like possessive kisses. Perhaps this union of flesh solidified the extent of your stay at the castle through your own submission and your yield to the power he had over you. Those kisses trailed up to your own lips, and you tasted death from his mouth to yours. You tasted your own blood from him, and you tasted his hatred and his darkness, and yet you no longer had fear for it. With a painful clench of your walls, you came undone, your release washing over you in thick waves.

The spasming, clenching, and squeezing of your canal made the already deep and ragged breaths he took erratic, as did his rutting a few quick snaps of his hips and you felt a spurt of cold fluid inside you. The chill of it rose up your spine as it felt as if death itself had released into you. A deep animalistic growl vibrated off of the stone walls around you and bounced around in your skull. When he removed himself from you, you felt the remainder of his spent coat your inner thighs.

You looked away as you sat up on your own elbows, trying to balance yourself, and when you looked up, expecting to meet the eyes of a starving beast, you were met with an empty room. He had left you, spared you even. You couldn't imagine the type of carnage and havoc he'd wreak upon those villagers tonight. Reaching up to clutch your necklace for security and your hands found nothing but skin. He was gone and had taken your necklace with him. He took it as if you had bestowed upon him the honor of having a maiden's token.

[pathologicalreid]

extraordinary measures | s.r.

in which your life hangs in the balance after a brutal attack, and Spencer has to hold himself together for the sake of you and your baby

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: fetal abduction, potentially inaccurate medical information, entirely from spencer's pov, very violent crime, mom!reader, hospitals, medication, spencer lashes out at jj, rossi's son. word count: 4.41k a/n: the people said dad!spencer angst and i delivered. also! trying something new with formatting my posts. i pay for canva pro and need to get my money's worth.

The hospital staff had moved them into a conference room, giving the BAU more space to spread out – and so Spencer’s pacing wouldn’t disturb the other people in the waiting room. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Not to us. Not to me. Not to her.

The statistics on fetal abduction were alarming. Before today, there had only been thirteen cases since Spencer had joined the BAU. Today alone, there had been two.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice said, followed by two knocks on the door, “I’m so sorry, but have you had the chance to fill out some of the forms that we gave you?”

Answering for him, Penelope grabbed the clipboard off of the table and passed it to the nurse, “The insurance card is on the top,” she informed the nurse. Nervously, the blonde looked between the medical professional and Spencer, “Is there any update?”

The nurse cringed slightly, “I don’t have one. I’ll see if they can send someone to talk to you.” She nodded assuredly before peeling out of the room.

“Can I get you anything?” Garcia asked helplessly. He had already been given tea, water, coffee, and a sandwich, but he didn’t want any of it.

Shaking his head numbly, Spencer dragged his hands down his face as he replayed the events of this morning in his head.

He wasn’t even supposed to be working, you were due any day now, but Emily had called him with the case and gave him the choice of working. He was supposed to go with you to the check-up, but you had encouraged him to go save a life.

The woman who had been found this morning had her abdomen crudely cut open and her baby was born via a botched cesarean section, but her baby was too premature and didn’t make it. They were both found in an alley near the hospital by a garbage man. Then, while he and Luke were at the medical examiner’s office, his phone started to ring.

You had been discovered, bleeding out, outside of your obstetrician’s office, and if you hadn’t been so close to a building full of doctors, you probably wouldn’t have made it as far as surgery right now. The fact that you had been brought to surgery should have been enough to give him hope, but he hasn’t been raised to be hopeful, he was raised to be pragmatic. The reality of the situation was that in cases of fetal abduction, the mothers rarely made it out the other side.

He was left with Garcia to keep him company, she stayed as a watchdog, mainly looking through traffic footage on her laptop as she made sure Spencer didn’t go entirely off the rails. “You’re going to burn a hole in the floor,” she said offhandedly, begging Spencer to just sit down for a moment.

With a huff, he took a seat next to Penelope, leaning his head back on the taupe drywall, “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

“We’re going to wait, we are not going to catastrophize, and we will listen to any and all updates that the doctors give us,” she said determinedly, nodding her head as she did so. “We only know what we know and assuming the worst will just lead to feeling worse.”

Closing his eyes, he agreed, listening to the bustle of the hospital from inside the secluded, makeshift waiting space. He wished he knew more about your status when you came in, there were the crime scene photos – which Penelope was under strict orders not to show him – and a quick mention from a resident about blood loss, but nothing else.

“Dr. Reid?” A new voice said, snapping him out of his stupor as he rose to his feet, staring at the doctor who came in with his scrub cap on, “I’m afraid there isn’t much news. Things are still touch and go. They’re hopeful that they can get the bleeding under control, once they do that, we’ll know more. I’ll come out and let you know, alright?”

With the doctor leaving, Garcia reopened her laptop, “You see? We can’t assume the worst because we just don’t know enough yet.”

“Garcia,” he interrupted, hopeful for just a moment of silence to digest the new information – if you could even call it that.

Nodding succinctly, she returned to her work, “Right, okay.”

With the arrival of JJ, Penelope left to check in at the office, and since a profiler was bound to know more information, he asked JJ for an update. His baby had to be almost three hours old now, and he knew nothing about them.

He was left disappointed, there was no information on the UnSub or the baby, “What’s the point of it anyway?”

“Everyone is working on it, Spence. No one is going to rest until this case is closed,” JJ tried to reassure him.

Spencer wasn’t sure he was ever truly going to rest again, “Where is someone supposed to go with a newborn baby? The umbilical cord has to be still attached.” Statistically, women were more likely to commit cesarean abductions, and they usually did so after the loss of their own child or because they told someone they were pregnant and needed to produce a baby. “No one can tell me anything about my child, JJ, don’t you understand that? Can’t you try to understand how that feels?”

Bracing herself, JJ nodded, “You’re angry, I get it, you-“

“No, you don’t. My wife is bleeding out in surgery, and I have no fucking clue where our baby is. I have never met them. I don’t know if I have a son or a daughter or if they’re alive and you have the nerve to tell me that you ‘get it’?” He peered over at the blonde profiler. You should’ve been the first person to hold your baby, and instead, you might never live to find out what happened to you.

She was silent for a moment, “You’re right. I- I can’t even begin to process what you’re feeling right now, but all we can do is keep working on the case.”

Dropping his head in his hands, Spencer shook his head, “Then go work on the case,” he insisted, “I don’t… I need to be alone right now.”

Just as the four-hour mark approached, the glass door opened again, and David Rossi walked in.

“Are you here to lecture me?” Spencer asked, his voice raspy from crying in the solitude of the room, he wondered if JJ had told everyone how he lashed out at her.

Crossing one leg over the other, Rossi answered, “Nope,” he said, popping the last syllable. “I’m just here to sit and wait, same as you, kid.”

Nodding, Spencer leaned his head back and closed his eyes as a protection against the fluorescent lights of the hospital, “How did you manage?”

There were some things – life events – that were left unspoken in the BAU. Traumas that people didn’t want uncovered, horrors that the team didn’t need to relive, but Spencer needed answers, and this was the only way he could think to get them. “Manage what?”

“Losing your son,” he answered, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he kept his eyes closed, wondering if he too would lose a child. Birth and death within the same day.

Clearing his throat, Rossi took a moment before responding, and Spencer wasn’t sure if he was appalled at the question or if he simply wasn’t sure how to respond, “Well, I’m not sure I ever really did. Not for a long time, at least,” he admitted.

Digesting the information, Spencer shifted in his seat, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Everyone just keeps telling me to wait, but…” he chuckled to himself, “Y/N always jokes that if patience is the companion of wisdom, then I have to be the exception.”

He had always been told to wait. Wait for his turn. Wait for the perfect person to show up. He had waited, and he had gotten you, but all of that waiting had led him here. In this beige room where he had signed papers asking doctors to use extraordinary measures to try and save your life.

“Dr. Reid?” One of the doctors from earlier called his name, knocking on the glass door. Instinctively, Spencer stood up, wiping his hands on his pants and looking at the doctor expectantly, “Oh, please,” the doctor said, “Take a seat.”

Hesitantly, Spencer lowered himself back down into the hospital chair, he couldn’t help but feel like that was a bad sign.

“All things considered, your wife is very, very lucky,” the doctor informed him, “She’s not fully out of the woods yet, but they’re setting her up in recovery right now. I’m just waiting on a message from my colleague, and then I’ll be able to bring you up to see her.”

A flurry of questions flew through his mind at once, “What are you still concerned about?” He asked, leaning over and resting his elbows on his knees.

Nodding, the doctor continued, “Y/N lost a lot of blood in the attack. When you factor in the trauma of having a baby and a four-hour surgery, there’s a lot of healing that has to happen, and right now she doesn’t have the strength for it.” His phone chimed, and Spencer jolted, trying not to get his hopes up if it wasn’t about you, “Come with me,” the doctor said.

Rossi offered to let the rest of the team know and Spencer rambled off a random confirmation as he followed the doctor through the doorway, feeling like he was floating. As they walked through the hospital, Spencer grew more and more anxious.

Your hand was cold. In fact, your hand was so cold that Spencer asked the doctor to turn the volume on your vital monitor up so that he could have the constant reassurance that you were alive.

Blood was being transfused still, he had already forgotten the doctor’s estimate on just how much blood you had lost, but if he had the urge to read through your medical chart, he was sure he could find out. The only problem was, ever since the doctor left, he hadn’t been able to do anything except stare.

Every once in a while, he pinched your index finger, testing the capillary refill time out of his own morbid curiosity while blood was being returned to your body. Agents and officers stood outside of your hospital room in a steady rotation. The BAU wasn’t sure if your life was still in danger, but they weren’t willing to take any risks.

There were countless law enforcement personnel involved in this case now, if not directly investigating the case, they were at least contributing to the search. The Manassas Field Office, DC Metro, the Maryland Police – they were all out there looking. Out the window, he could see news reporters gathering out front to start their afternoon broadcasts.

It had been four hours. Four hours and there was still no word on the baby or the UnSub. The baby would need to eat soon, and Spencer found himself depending on the UnSub to have had the forethought to take care of the newborn.

Every couple of minutes, you would mumble something in your sleep, and he willed you to stay asleep. Selfishly, he wanted you to stay asleep until he knew the baby was safe – until he knew he could have something good to tell you.

Penelope was stationed right outside the door. She likely thought he hadn’t noticed her return, but the clicking of her keyboard gave her away.

Infrequently, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he tried not to concern himself with it. Garcia had made contact with your mom, being sure to reach out to your family before any other news hit the airwaves.

He adjusted the way the nasal cannula rested on your face before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles and resting your cold fingers against his cheek, as if his face had the capacity to warm your whole body. Briefly, he wondered if the team would be willing to have a desk agent bring you a blanket from home.

The team would probably find a way to get him a helicopter if he requested it.

Flowers and cards flowed into your hospital room, arriving from people who knew you to people who had seen your story on the news. He had to look away when a small stuffed elephant was delivered by a nurse, knowing that the baby it belonged to was nowhere to be found.

Much to his surprise, he looked away from the stuffed animal just to find you looking back at him. The sorrow in your eyes a staggering reflection of that which could be found in his own. One glance at you and he knew that there was no need for him to break the news to you – you were well aware.

Spencer remained wholly silent as a slew of medical professionals filtered in and out of the room, a cacophony of directives and questions sent your way as tears filled your waterline. He captured your hand in both of his, holding your hand like it was a lifeline to everything he knew as the truth. He was here, you were here, and you were both alive. Tethered to you in the woven web of life, he refused to falter. Not now. Not when you needed him the most.

He answered the questions that you didn’t know the answers to and watched, tight-lipped, as your doctor kept you informed. Dr. Lasher was picking and choosing from your chart, telling you anything pertinent, and leaving out anything that she thought could wait for later.

Once the doctor had cleared through an extensive list of maladies, everyone let you have the room. “Darling,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to adjust the way your hospital gown rested on your shoulder, covering some of the exposed wires.

“There are no leads?” You asked tentatively, the pain in your voice exacerbated by the swelling caused by the breathing tube you’d had during surgery. Your eyes were glassy, and Spencer didn’t know if it was from sorrow or pain or fear. It was a question he was afraid to ask.

He shook his head, “Not yet, but everyone’s looking,” he fed you the same reassurances that had been given to him. The same reassurances that he hadn’t believed.

You moved your hands, laying your palms flat on the sterile white sheets and starting to push yourself up, only to be met with Spencer’s hands guiding you back down to the pillows. “I’ve gotta go,” you mumbled, “I wanna help. Spence, please let me help.” Fresh tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him in desperation.

The way your bottom lip quivered was what broke him, he tilted his head to the side, “You can help just fine from right here, okay?” He looked out into the hallway, wondering which member of the team was around for you to talk to. “I’ll be right back,” he told you, squeezing your hand before retreating to the hallway, never letting you out of his line of sight.

“Hey,” Penelope greeted, the compassion in her voice giving him pause, “How is she?”

Exhausted, terrified, in pain – all applicable at the moment. Spencer thought about answering for a moment before skipping Garcia’s question entirely, “Who’s around for a cognitive?”

You didn’t quite have the energy for a full interview, but you were so adamant about helping that he couldn’t refuse you, not today. “JJ’s one floor up, do you want me to call her for you?”

He thought about it for a moment, he hadn’t handled his last interaction with JJ with the most care, but you needed someone to talk to and it couldn’t be him. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Please.”

Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing your hair as he tried to comfort you. In all of the time he’d known you, he’d never need you so defeated.

Not much came out during your cognitive with JJ, either there was a mental block in the way or you hadn’t seen much when you were attacked. Whichever one it was, Spencer was fighting himself internally on whether or not he should be thankful.

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured, keeping his voice low as you fought off sleep. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he cooed, “You need to rest.”

You fought sleep with everything you had in you, which wasn’t much anymore. The cognitive interview had gone too long. Your nurse was the one who put her foot down and ended it, even when you wanted to keep going. “It’s not fair,” you cried, slow tears making their way down your cheeks.

Very slowly, Spencer could feel his heart breaking as your exhaustion and desolation worked together to make you as miserable as possible, “I know, lovey. I know,” he assured you as tears filled his eyes.

Glassy eyes looked up at him, “I just wanted to be a mom,” you whispered, your speech slurred with sleep.

Letting his own tears fall to the white sheets of your hospital bed, Spencer nodded, “You are a mom.”

He didn’t add anything. He didn’t have it in him to make a grandiose speech about how you would always be your baby’s mother, and, luckily, he didn’t need to. Your eyes finally fell shut, final tears falling from your face as Spencer found himself grateful that sleep finally took you.

Never leaving your side, Spencer pulled the chair back up next to you, resting his chin on your bed's armrest and watching you sleep. Very slowly, color was beginning to return to your face, yet you still looked so different from when he had left the house that morning.

Unsure how long it had been, Spencer shot up straight when Penelope came rushing to the doorway, placing a finger to his lips, he nodded toward your sleeping form. Even so, the technical analyst waved him over.

Carefully, he slipped his hand out of yours and walked around your bed to Penelope, “What is it?”

Tears filled the blonde’s eyes as she looked up at him, she put both of her hands on his upper arms and cried, “They found your baby. It- they’re pulling up to the ambulance bay right now.”

Spencer’s lips parted in shock, having fully prepared himself for the day to end in undeniable heartbreak. “Are- is the baby okay?”

Penelope nodded, “They’re going up to the NICU right now to get checked out but apparently the EMTs said the baby looks completely unharmed.”

Turning to look at you, still asleep on the bed, Spencer gave Penelope a quick embrace before returning to your bedside, “Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to wake you up from sleep that you still needed. “Honey,” he said, gently cupping your cheek with his hands as your eyes fluttered open.

You hummed groggily, squinting up at him under the fluorescence of the hospital.

“The baby’s here,” he murmured to you, making sure you didn’t jump up at his words. “They’re headed up to the NICU for a quick check, and-“

“Go,” you cut him off, your eyes wide and full of tears. “Please go hold them, Spence,” you cried, voice rough with sleep.

His shoulders slouched forward slightly, looking between you and Penelope in the doorway, “I’ll stay here,” Penelope offered immediately. “You go, I’ll stay.”

You nodded up at him, closing your eyes as he bent forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “I love you,” you breathed, placing a hand on your chest as if it would slow your racing heart.

“I love you too,” he responded before stepping out of the hospital room, following the directions that Penelope had given him in order to get up to the NICU.

Adrenaline made his stomach churn as he approached the NICU, wondering what he’d say to the people there until someone recognized him as The Dad. He still had to scrub his hands, but they let him through until he saw the bassinet. Even more, he saw the tiny baby kicking its legs inside of the acrylic container.

Emily stood by on high alert, ready to pounce on anyone who even looked at the baby funny, and Spencer just couldn’t stop staring. “Come here,” one of the NICU nurses said to him, obviously having been brought up to speed on the situation. With a smile on her face, she told him, “It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” he breathed, walking right up to the side of the bassinet.

The nurse nodded and adjusted the hat on her head, just slightly too big for the newborn’s head, “If you want, we can get you set up in a chair here, and you can give her a bottle.”

“Please,” he responded, earning another smile from the nurse, who had him take the crying baby in his arms before handing him the prepared bottle.

It broke his heart to watch how quickly she took to the bottle; he still wasn’t sure if she had eaten anything until this. He knew the nipple wouldn’t let her take in too much at a time, but in his subconscious, he was still worried about it being too much for her.

He rocked gently, “Hi, honey,” he cooed down at her.

“She’s a good eater,” the nurse observes, writing something down on a piece of paper. “We’ll keep an eye on her for just a little while, but we know how badly she needs to get down to her mama.”

Setting the now empty bottle down, Spencer looked up at the nurse, “Is she okay?”

The nurse nodded at his concern, “She’s on the small size, but she’s full term. Of course, not everything is going to be noticeable right away, but we did a full newborn exam on her and all of the tests say she’s a perfectly healthy baby.” She looked on as Spencer gently cupped the baby’s head, “Does she have a name?”

You and Spencer had made a deal, he would pick a boy’s name, and you would pick a girl’s name. Smiling softly, he murmured her name to her for the first time, “Genevieve,” he answered. A big name for such a small baby, maybe, but it was the name you had chosen.

He started making his way back down to you, feeling like he was floating through the taupe hallways of the hospital before he finally made it back to your room. Penelope excused herself when he emerged in the hallway.

“Spence,” you whispered, looking up at him with hope in your eyes for the first time since you had woken up after surgery.

Smiling at you, he sat on the edge of your bed, “Five pounds and fifteen ounces. Seventeen and a half inches long. Perfectly healthy.” He glanced behind him as he heard the wheels of the bassinet coming toward your room, turning back to watch your reaction as you saw your baby for the first time.

He was glad for his eidetic memory, he’d never want to forget the way your face lit up with recognition, “Oh, a girl.”

With the baby settled on your chest, there was nothing better for the two of you to do than watch her sleep. Every once in a while, she’d coo or squawk and immediately capture your every attention all over again. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked you. The blood transfusions had been completed, leaving you on a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics, fluids, and lots of pain medication – two of which prevented you from breastfeeding. Although, because of her size and traumatic birth, the NICU doctor suggested that some formula would help her grow properly.

You hummed contentedly, “Tired. I hurt just about everywhere,” you admitted, not taking your eyes off of your newborn. “I’m so… just grateful,” you whispered, “Is that odd?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I know exactly what you mean.” For as terrible and horrifying as the entire ordeal was, it could’ve been much worse. He almost lost both of his girls in one day.

“Does the team want to meet her?” You asked, worried about entertaining guests with the baby.

Spencer chuckled softly, keeping his index finger pointed within Genevieve’s reach, testing her palmar reflex, “I’m sure they do, but we’ll wait and see how you feel tomorrow and revisit. Okay?”

Your head bobbed in confirmation, watching as your daughter very slowly woke up, “Hi, Vie,” you greeted her quietly, gently rubbing her back with your fingertips. You didn’t have the strength to fully hold her, but she was more than happy to just lay on you, “Sweet, sleepy girl.”

“Do you want me to take her, and you can get some sleep?” Spencer offered, noticing the way you were trying to hide a yawn from him. “We aren’t going anywhere, we’ll stay right here in this chair,” he reassured you based on the apprehensive look you were giving him.

Slowly, you nodded, helping as best you could and pouting in sympathy when Genevieve – Vie – cried out at the sensation of being moved from her warm spot on her mother’s chest to the warm spot in her father’s arms. Thankfully, the newborn calmed down just as soon as Spencer settled her in his arms, “Don’t go,” you whispered, letting your eyes fall shut as you allowed sleep to wash over you.

He hummed, “We won’t,” he muttered in response.

Sleep took you with little resistance, leaving him with Genevieve in the silence of the hospital room – save for all of the machines that you were still hooked up to.

She wouldn’t be up for much longer herself – newborns spent most of their day sleeping – so Spencer took his opportunity to watch her eyes wander around the hospital room. “You can go back to sleep too, little love. I’ll watch over the both of you,” he spoke to her in a reverent tone and adjusted the hat on her head.  “I’ll keep you safe, Vie. No harm will come to you, not as long as I’m your dad.”