#sorry the vest looks goofy at one part!!

[sweetstarart]

More Cuphead Barn!! I originally made this to be an idle animation, but I'm not sure it fits too well : P

The one with his mouth open wouldn't be used, but I wanted to share him anyways!!

Also while I'm at it, here's a mugman bc I see him as the one fighting this battle!

[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.”

[tudorscrown]

last kiss | spencer reid

spencer reid x bau!fem!reader warnings: angst ig? heartbreak, mention of a breakup, fluff, y/n is mentioned!!! navigation | cm masterlist word count: 1052 words inspired by last kiss by taylor swift

i love how you walk with your hands in your pockets

You and Spencer were walking down the streets of D.C.. It was a cold night and you were returning back to your shared apartment from a Russian Film Festival that he always craved about.

"I loved the accuracy from the film! All the characters were played very well, except for Svidrigailov. I don't think Dostoevsky wanted him to be portrayed as sympathetic as he was played. He wasn't as nearly as gallant in the book--" Spencer looked at you and saw you shiver. "Y/N are you cold?"

Looking over at your humble boyfriend, you saw the worry in his eyes and quickly shook your head. "It's like sixty degrees out, Spence. I'm not cold." But despite your reassurances, your body betrayed you as goosebumps were very apparent on your arms and you involuntarily shivered.

"Here." Spencer said, shaking off his coat and handing it to you. You shook your head but Spencer only held it out more until you begrudgingly took it, slipping it over your shoulders, letting the warmth from Spencer engulf your being.

"Thanks." You said softly, your cheeks pinkening slightly. Spencer gave a tight lipped smile, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Despite the fact that you two were already dating, butterflies still erupted in your stomach every time Spencer was around you.

how you'd kiss me when i was in the middle of saying something

The first time Spencer kissed you was memorable for both of you, especially Spencer considering he has an eidetic memory.

"Do you ever think that if we weren't in the FBI, we wouldn't have to go through things like this?" You said, sitting on Spencer's hospital bed as he laid upright with a large bandage on his neck. He had gotten shot in the neck during a shootout with an Unsub and almost died if it weren't for Alex, who was next to him and got him to cover and aided him.

"Y/N..." He said but you cut him off, rambling.

"You got hit in the neck, Spence! A stupid bullet proof vest doesn't cover the neck! It barely does anything to the torso, I mean, Derek has welts for days--days!"

"Y/N--"

"No, you need to listen! You're smart enough to get an amazing job somewhere like CalTech or MIT, hell, even Harvard! You can't spread your knowledge if you're dead, Spence. I--" But that time it had been Spencer who had cut you off. He silenced you by bringing his hands up to cup your face and lean in.

You were taken completely by surprise as Spencer's lips molded to yours like puzzle pieces. Closing your eyes, you leant into his grip as he pulled away.

Spencer wouldn't meet your eyes--couldn't. He had a furious blush dusting his cheeks as he noticed the different fibers in the cotton blanket wrapped around his legs.

"Spence..." You said, lips parting in shock at the fact that your sweet, loveable, goofy, geeky best friend just kissed you!

But he took your shock for something else. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.." He said shyly.

You had no words and only brought your lips to his. This time, he was taken aback but came to his senses and kissed you back.

there's not a day i don't miss those rude interruptions

and i'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes

Now you sat on your bathroom floor, leaning against the wall in one of Spencer's old CalTech shirts. Your eyes were red and cheeks were puffy and tear-stained. You sat, thinking about the memories that you and Spencer shared, some in that very bathroom... your bedroom... kitchen... on sidewalks and watching Doctor Who movies (that you didn't quite understand) on the couch.

A ding from your cellphone lifted you from your daydream. It was Penelope.

your name, forever the name on my lips

You wanted to say his name. You wanted to be able to sit next to him on the jet and listen to him ramble about Dante or the Bronte sisters but you couldn't, not like how you used to.

You wanted to be able to lean against his desk and talk about profiles and try to figure out who was behind what, but you couldn't. Not anymore. You couldn't even look at the new arrangement of photos on his desk. He had a new life to look at now that you weren't there. Sometimes, you would occasionally pass his desk and see his life in pictures, remembering when you would watch him sleep and see how peaceful he looked. Now another girl will be able to do that.

He has another girl to recreate your memories. You wonder if he's forgotten you already.

and i'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are

and i hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day

Spencer got up early today. He was supposed to meet Max at the park so they could talk. Too bad it was such a beautiful day for such a sad topic of conversation.

and something reminds you: you wish you had stayed

He glanced around his room. When you and Spencer first moved in together, it was in your apartment and he had rented his out. It felt strange to him, living with someone else in an unfamiliar place but he settled into it. Now, he had to settle back into being alone. You weren't there in his bed, snuggling into his side, groaning about how early it was. You weren't there to listen to him rant about the inaccuracies to several Sci-Fi shows. You weren't there.

But Max was.

[lkfarrout]

Birthday Gifts (Stan x fem!Reader)

Summary: You find yourself at a party at the Mystery Shack, where you learn a few secrets about the host. Takes place during Double Dipper.

Warnings: Just fluff today :) Some kissing, but nothing sexual. Alcohol mentioned.

This is a long one - 4 chapters. But I wrote it all in a day so I figured I'd just put it all in one post. If you're confused about it being Stan's birthday during Double Dipper, check out this post. It's actually cannon!

And if you're curious, the song I reference is Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood.

Chapter 1

"Hey, watch it!" You grabbed your foot, wincing in pain.

The guy just shrugged at you and went back to dancing. If you could call it dancing? It was more like aggressively punching the air to the beat. As you made your way off the dancefloor, you could feel a lump rising in your throat and the tears began to flow. You looked for a door, any door. It had been a terrible night.

But for someone else, it had been a worse one. Stan Pines was alone in the kitchen, with two shots of liquor -- one in his hand, the other on the counter.

"Well, Stanford, here's to one more trip around the sun. I uh, I know I say every year that this'll be the last one I celebrate without ya, but this time I mean it." Stan clinked the glasses together, and downed his liquid courage. As he opened his eyes, he saw you come around the corner.

"Hey! Guests aren't allowed back here."

You jumped at the sound of his voice and began to frantically wipe your tears away, "Sorry, I'm leaving."

"Wait," his voice was softer now, "you okay?"

"Not really." You sniffled and stared at him. He was wearing a 70's disco outfit and a goofy fez. It was crooked, probably had to do with empty shot glass in his hand, you guessed.

"Ya wanna talk about it?" he asked, as he straightened his hat.

"It's nothing, I just. My friends ditched me tonight and its like, only teenagers here? And then this asshole stepped on my foot. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

He chuckled, "Well, sorry bout that, but if ya want to leave early, there's an exit fee."

You smiled a little at the joke, and then realized, "Oh, you must be Stan? Sorry I'm pretty new here and I still don't know everybody. I've heard of you though." You told him your name.

He took your hand and shook it firmly, "Good to meet ya."

"I see you're hiding the good stuff back here, huh?" You gestured to the liquor bottle, "Who's the other shot for?"

"Uh, nobody. You know what?" He slid it toward you, "You want it? Might make ya feel better."

You shook your head, "Oh, I was just making a joke. That stuff's pretty nasty."

"Okay, well, uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "then, how about a dance?"

You were a little taken aback.

"With you?" You asked.

"Hey, I promise I won't step on your foot."

Chapter 2

The song wasn't exactly slow, but Stan pulled you into him and the two of you started to swing to the beat. You noticed then how big his arms were, and how well his white shirt fit him. It was lowcut, and he had on a gold chain poking through a bit of chest hair.

He was saying something, but you were too distracted to listen.

"Well, ya ready?"

"Yeah," you nodded, before realizing you had no idea what you'd agreed to, "wait, woah--"

Suddenly you were looking up into his eyes, and all your weight was supported by his arm. "See? I told ya, dipping is my specialty."

Your hand searched for something to grab onto, and settled on his ribcage. He pulled you back up, and you felt something under his shirt.

"Are you wearing a gir--"

"Bulletproof vest?" He cut you off, "Yeah." He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "When the shooting starts, get behind me."

You laughed at him, "Yeah right, Stan. If that's a bulletproof vest," you poked him on the exposed part of his chest, "you're definitely wearing it wrong."

He shrugged, "Hey it was worth a shot. And it made ya laugh, didn't it?"

You smiled, "Yeah, I guess it did."

A few of the party-goers were watching the two of you curiously, but he didn't seem to notice. You passed several more songs in Stan's arms, listening to his jokes and stories, and even enjoying yourself. Eventually, a song came on that you recognized.

"Oh, hey, this song's in 3/4," you commented. Stan raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry I'm kind of a music nerd," you laughed, "3/4 is my favorite time signature."

"Why's that?" He seemed genuinely curious.

"Oh, just cuz, that's the one that you can waltz to."

"Oh, like the cotillion dances in The Dutchess Approves?" As soon as he said it, he started to laugh nervously, and his eyes darted to the ceiling, "I mean... what is that?"

You laughed at him, "YOU watch The Dutchess Approves?"

He was red now, "I... may have seen some clips of it."

You punched him playfully on the shoulder, "Don't worry Stan, I won't tell anyone your secret."

He smiled back, and the redness subsided.

Chapter 3:

"Uh, since you say that, ya wanna hear another secret? Ya can't tell anyone."

"Okay, what is it?"

He coughed, "Ah, y'know maybe not, its-- its dumb."

"Oh c'mon you have to tell me!"

He shrugged, "Alright, today's my birthday."

"Really? Oh, Stan, happy birthday!"

He shushed you and looked around the room, "Not so loud, okay? Nobody else knows."

"What? You threw a party on your own birthday and no one knows?"

"Yeah, and I wanna keep it that way."

You could tell he was getting a little uncomfortable, so you decided not to pry and instead opted for a joke to lighten things up.

"But, Stan, if no one knows, how will you get any gifts?"

"Oh please," he laughed, "I don't even remember the last time I got a birthday gift. I must've been a kid."

"Well that just won't do," you shook your head. "If I'm the only one who knows I guess its up to me to get you something."

"Oh, no, c'mon we just met, I--"

You kissed him on the cheek. Speechless, he rubbed a hand over the spot.

"There you go, Stan," you whispered. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, I, uh--"

Suddenly the music cut out, and the DJ announced it was time for karaoke. His touch lingered on you a bit before he let go. You both decided to get a little closer to the stage and listen to the blonde girl who was singing. Before you knew it, the song was over and a girl in a sweater and big orange bow was up.

After just a few lines she yelled, "Now I'm gonna do a flip!" And faceplanted. She popped back up with a smile, and Stan yelled, "That's my girl!"

Before you could say anything about it, the DJ asked, "Any other brave dudes want to try for the party crown?"

Stan elbowed you, "Hey you said ya like music? Why don't you get up there?"

"Oh, really, I couldn't--"

"C'mon," he insisted, "If you sing half as good as ya dance, you'll do great."

"Fine, but only because it's your birthday."

You flipped through the catalogue, "That one."

The song started with a country guitar lick and low saxophone. You pulled the mic out of the stand.

Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach blonde tramp

And she's probably gettin' frisky

Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink

Cuz she can't shoot whiskey

You watched Stan's eyes go wide. He was absolutely starstruck.

Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick

Showin' her how to shoot a combo

Oh, and he don't know

The crowd cheered as you started the chorus, and Stan whistled loudly. On a nearby beam, Dipper #8 sat unnoticed with a dollar on a fishing line. He shrugged, Stan seemed distracted enough.

As you decended the stage, several people complimented you, and Stan stood with his hands in his pockets and a crooked smile.

"Wow, Doll, if I knew ya had pipes like that--"

"Grunkle Stan, wasn't she amazing?" The girl from the song before popped up between you.

She turned to you, "You'll get the crown for sure!"

You patted her on the head, "That's okay, I don't want it. How about you go win it instead, huh?"

"I'm on it!" She ran back over to her friends.

The DJ's voice came back on over the mic, "Now we're gonna bring it down for a minute. Ladies, dudes, now's the time."

A slow song started to play and Stan pulled you back into his arms.

You laughed, "Okay, I have to know, what is a grunkle?"

Chapter 4:

The two of you continued to dance and talk for the rest of the party. He told you all about his neice and nephew, and pointed out a couple of employees. You only paused your conversation to cheer Mabel on for the party crown vote. After a while, guests started to file out and it was just you, Stan, the twins and their friends, and a few other stragglers.

"Do ya need to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I probably should."

"Alright, I'll walk you out."

There was no one else outside. Stan leaned against the door of your car, "So, uh, about that birthday gift ya gave me..."

"What, you didn't like it?"

"No, I just feel bad," he shrugged. "I think I should give it back."

You couldn't hide your smile as he planted a kiss on your cheek.

You tried your best to look smug despite your blushing, "Well, good thing I have another one for you." You pulled him in by the collar and kissed him, this time on the mouth. His hands grabbed your waist and pulled you closer.

"I don't care how many you have, I'm just gonna give 'em back."

"Yeah?" you teased, "We'll see about that."

The two of you kissed several more times before Stan pulled away with a chuckle, "I think I lost track, can we start over?"

You were about to suggest a truce, when you heard Mabel yelling from the porch, "Grunkle Stan! My friends are sleeping over tonight!"

Stan sighed, and yelled back "Okay, sweetie!"

He turned back to you, and you commented, "That's too bad you have kids to watch, y'know, cuz I was gonna invite you to a sleepover at my house."

"Yeah?" he chuckled nervously.

"Oh wait! Before I go, I have a real gift for you!" Stan waited as you dug around in your glovebox.

"Here," you handed him a napkin with your number scribbled on it. "Happy birthday, Stan."

[shimmerwindow]

I Never Really

Part Eight

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: Alcohol use, mention of marijuana, brief mention of cocaine (not consumed by any main characters), smut (18+ only)

Sexual content: choking, fingering, oral (f rec), unsafe sex, plain ol' fuckin, and of course I would be lost without a creampie

Playlist | Masterlist

If the last party had been a bit overwhelming, then this party could be described as sensory hell. Within only a few seconds of being there, you saw a group of zombies playing beer pong in the front yard, and two Sesame Street characters doing cocaine off the kitchen table. You were a bit nervous, sticking close to Sam’s side as he guided you into the house. His brothers stood in the living room, a drink in each of their hands, chatting happily with the group assembled out there.

“Sammy boy!” Jake exclaimed upon seeing the two of you, running over to give both of you a hug. He was dressed as a pirate, the pieces of his costume almost a bit too accurate, like he’d stepped out of a different era. When he wrapped his arms around you, you were hit with that familiar scent, memories of the last party rushing back to your head.

He looked you over, trailing his eyes over your figure the same way he’d done the first time you met him. It made something inside you ache, something you couldn’t quite describe. He caught your eyes and you noticed he’d put on eyeliner, just a bit, just enough to make his gaze feel even more piercing.

Josh followed close behind, pulling you into a tight hug. “You look incredible, sunshine. My lord.” He looked you up and down, gesturing at you with a point of his finger. “Doesn't she look amazing?” He asked, looking between Jake and Danny, who had come over to join you.

“Quite beautiful. Very angelic,” Jake said.

“You look outstanding. None of these guys deserve to see it,” Danny joked with a whisper, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth like he was telling you a secret.

A blush rose into your cheeks, and you shook your head. “I just…wanted to look nice. And you guys all look awesome.”

Josh was dressed in a classic hippie getup, with a pair of huge sunglasses, flared pants, and a vest over his otherwise bare chest. Danny was dressed as a cowboy, and he’d gone all-in on the fit, cowboy boots and all. He had on a hat that looked far too nice for a Halloween outfit.

“Is that your hat?” You asked.

He tipped the brim at you, doing a goofy bow with one hand on the comically large belt buckle he was wearing. “Darn tootin’, little miss. Got it alongside the boots a few years ago.”

You placed a hand over your heart, returning the mock accent he’d put on. “Oh, my. What a gentleman you are!”

Jake offered to grab you and Sam a drink, and you happily accepted, following him into the kitchen while Sam took a seat in the living room with the other two.

“So, who are you trying to impress? Or make jealous?” Jake asked, taking the top off of a bottle of tequila.

“I’m sorry?”

He gestured towards you. “The costume. You’re the hottest one here, no contest. Did you get your heart broken recently?”

“I…no. Well…” You watched his hands as he poured you a drink that would certainly be too strong. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I won’t pry. Unless you want me to.” He handed you your drink, and started making another one.

You took a cautious sip, pleasantly surprised. You could barely taste the alcohol. “This is good.”

“Thank you. My secret recipe.” He finished his own drink, swirling it around in his hand for a moment while he leaned against the counter to face you. “I’m guessing you made up with Sam?”

You nodded. “He apologized. He explained how–” You cut yourself off. You definitely shouldn’t repeat his explanation to Jake, of all people. “He just explained why he was mad. But it’s all okay now.”

“That look in your eye,” he pointed at you, squinting his eyes. “You’re still mad at him, aren’t you?”

It was genuinely annoying how well Jake could see right through you. Like he was reaching into your brain and stealing your thoughts. It almost felt violating, the way he seemed to always just know.

“A little.”

“Because of that fight?”

You hesitated for a moment too long. “Yeah.”

He gave you a knowing smile. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“So what was his excuse?” He eyed you over the rim of his cup as he took a swig.

“I don’t want to get into it, honestly.”

“I won’t push. Just want to make sure you’re alright.” He was being genuine, that much you could tell for certain.

“I appreciate that, Jake. I really do.”

He gave you a smile, the kind that made you a bit weak in the knees, and gestured towards the living room. Sam and Danny were deep in conversation on the mantle of the fireplace, and Josh was in the corner chatting up some group of people you didn’t recognize. The two of you took a seat on the couch, and you made yourself small in the corner against the arm rest, your legs tucked under you.

Jake was a good talker. He made worthwhile conversation, even though you weren’t entirely in the mood to talk about anything. He asked a lot of questions, and the two of you would spiral off into a tangent regarding that question. At one point, he mentioned the band, the one Sam had said they were trying to drag him into.

“Do you guys have a name?” You asked.

He shook his head. “It's not serious enough for that, not yet. I want a name to come organically, when it’s time.”

“Makes sense. It would suck to pick a name and want to change it later.”

“Exactly.” He flicked his finger against one of your wings, sending it bouncing back and forth. “You should come to one of our little shows some time.”

“Where at?”

“We just play out of the garage, or back there, typically.” He gestured to the back of the house.

“Are you any good?” You smirked.

He laughed a bit, then gave you a wide-eyed, serious look. “The best.”

“Text me about it some time. I’d love to come, if I’ve got some free time on my hands that day.”

“I will,” you smiled.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, and you listened in to the conversations around the room. Sam’s voice reached your ears first, the sound of it so familiar and enjoyable that you seemed to pick it out of the crowd easily.

“She’s great.” He was still talking to Danny.

“You don’t sound very excited.” Danny's voice was harder to pick out, but you could hear it nonetheless.

“Nah, man, I was with her the other night. She’s a really sweet girl.”

Your skin prickled and your fingers tensed up. She. Her.

“She’s gorgeous,” he went on.

“Are you guys together, or what?”

“Not yet.”

You’d heard enough. Not yet. Those two words felt like a gunshot straight to your chest. You could barely hear Jake over the noise of your thoughts as he prodded you with a quiet “Hey.”

You didn’t respond.

“Hey.” He called your name, placing a gentle touch on your arm that finally snapped you out of your trance.

You blinked at him a few times, your fingers white-knuckled on the armrest of the couch.

“You okay?” He looked at you with genuine concern.

“Yeah, I just…” you cleared your throat. “I think I need another drink.”

“Not a problem. Follow me.”

You could feel Sam’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head as you walked away with Jake, back into the kitchen, where he mixed you up another drink.

“Stronger this time,” he warned, handing it to you.

“Thanks. I need it.”

“Listen, sweetheart. What's going on with you?”

You shook your head. “I already said I don't want to get into it. Just exhausted, that’s all.”

“Well, letting it fester doesn’t seem to be doing you any favors.” He pinched one of your wings between his fingers and pulled at it. “Come here.”

He led you out the back door, and the two of you took a seat around the fire. He slid his chair across the grass as close to yours as it would go. “I can keep a secret, if that’s what you need. Just talk to me.”

“Jake…” This was only the second time you’d interacted with him. You weren’t ready to open up about anything to him – at least, not in your partially-sober mental state. “I appreciate you worrying about me. I really do. But I can't get into specifics with you.”

He toyed with the ruffled sleeves of his shirt. “Then be vague.”

“Well,” you sighed. “Do you ever just feel like everything is crashing down around you all at once?”

He nodded. “I know the feeling quite well.”

“That’s just kind of where I’m at right now.” He was basically a stranger to you, but you couldn’t help but open up just a bit around him. He radiated an aura that made you feel seen and understood, and the way he was apparently able to read your mind lent greatly to that feeling.

“I don’t want to overstep, but you know you can come to any of us about anything. These guys–” he gestured at the house. “They care. I care. Sam, especially. He really–”

“He is the issue,” you blurted out, cutting him off.

Jake shut his mouth, rocking his chair back and looking into the fire, processing your outburst. “So…” he trailed off, clearly not sure how to proceed.

“I just can’t figure him out.”

“You did only just meet him a month ago,” Jake countered. “Just give it some time. Don't let one fight taint your entire image of him.”

You were quickly painting yourself into a corner with this line of discussion. You couldn't exactly tell him why you were upset, without a full declaration of your love for Sam. “You’re right.”

“He’s smart. Smarter than anyone else I know. Guys like that can be a bit confusing.” He gave you a small smile. “Just let it go, whatever you’re still mad at him about. Your whole world doesn’t have to fall apart over one argument.”

You wished that this was something so simple, something you could just let go of.

“You need a sippy cup for that?” He pointed at the drink in your hand, still mostly full.

“Yeah, actually,” you giggled. “A princess crown too.”

For just a little while, Jake was able to make you forget all about the pain that still throbbed in your heart. Your typical worries washed away with every sip of the drinks he made you as the minutes turned into hours. You watched as all types of ghouls, monsters, and characters shuffled around the fire. The occasional couple in matching outfits would sometimes come by, and you had to avert your eyes every time, your mind drifting to the other half of your angel-devil getup that was wandering around the house somewhere.

Sam made an appearance at one point, sitting right next to you. Jake gave him a side-eyed look, glancing between you and him a few times, but he kept his mouth shut. You were a bit nervous he would leave the two of you alone. You weren’t sure you could handle that right now. Just looking into Sam’s eyes was enough, you didn’t want any more than that. He could sense it, you were certain. Something had shifted, and the air between you was thicker now. Conversation between the two of you was brief and clipped.

When he finally walked off with some guys you’d never seen before, things felt different. Jake was gazing at you intensely, giving you that same look he’d given you at the first party. Looking at you like he could eat you alive.

“You know,” he began, leaning a bit closer to you. “We never finished our conversation from the other week.”

You wracked your brain trying to recall what he was talking about, visibly lost.

“So would you be mad if I was?”

His words seemed like complete gibberish at first. But when he raked his eyes over your body, it came rushing back in like a tide, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach and your legs crossing a little tighter. That had been his response when you’d asked him if he was flirting with you.

“Not at all.” You said it with no hesitation, not a doubt in your mind. He was enchanting in a way you couldn’t describe even with a thousand metaphors.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that reminded you deeply of a certain someone. If you couldn’t have him, then you’d take the next best thing. The thought felt evil, dirty, sickening, even. That you were even considering the one thing you knew would hurt him more than anything else…it wasn't like you.

As if right on cue, the yard became eerily silent. Something had drawn the crowd inside for now, and it was just the two of you, a group quietly passing a joint in the opposite corner of the yard, and the crackling of the fire. His hand came to rest on your thigh, just below where the stockings were wrapped in a neat little white bow. It was there for comfort, but the warmth of his palm singed your skin and sent flames raging through your body. Your stomach dropped, and you wondered how a man could make you have such a reaction to such a simple, innocent touch.

“You okay with this?” He asked.

Whether he meant his advances, or his fingers burning right through your skin to the bone, was not clear to you.

You would lie to yourself every chance you'd get, but you weren’t stupid. Jake was clearly into you. The tension was palpable now that the two of you were alone, if only just for a moment. You were a perfect level of drunk at this point. Still lucid, but your inhibitions dulled to just the right level. “I’m fine, but…this costume,” you whined. “It’s so uncomfortable.”

Jake looked at you with a fire in his eyes that could scorch you, so intense you averted your gaze. It was like he had grown bigger, eclipsing everything in your vision. He burned brighter than the fire that illuminated his stunning features in a brilliant orange. “Is that so?”

You nodded.

“What a shame it would be if someone took it off.” His tone implied that he was joking, but the look on his face said quite the opposite.

“Yeah,” you giggled. “I look so nice, I can’t imagine what I would look like with less clothes.” Flirting, especially the kind you were doing now, wasn’t something you did often. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever done this kind of thing before.

He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow. “Is the little angel trying to ask me something?”

“Am I not making it obvious enough?”

You knew the gravity of the choice you were making. This would be a secret you could not keep forever, actions you wouldn’t be able to take back. None of that mattered anymore, though. There was one man you truly, unequivocally wanted, and he was not yours. He would never be yours. If he wanted you, he would be the one next to you right now.

“Plenty obvious, dear lady.” He belted the words in an accent you’d heard a few times before. “Come with me.”

“I expected something a bit more romantic from you, Jakey.”

He smiled at you, but the fire never left his eyes. “I don’t think I need to seduce you any further. Shut up and follow me.”

You felt dazed, completely out of your body as he took your hand in his and rushed you through the house and up into his room. Before you had time to come back down to reality your back was pressed up against a door and Jake was mere inches from your face, eyes piercing straight through you, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck. He pulled off the headband that held a halo to your head, tossing it away somewhere behind him. So sickeningly poetic, an obnoxiously obvious metaphor.

“You’re sure you want this?” He asked, drawing a bit closer.

You weren’t completely sure of anything anymore. The one thing you knew was that this was real, he was here, and those gorgeous eyes were staring right through you. Eyes you saw in many dreams. You’d been holding back from running your fingers through his hair all night, and it had now become impossible to deny the way he made you feel. Your heart raced, blood rushing through your veins at an impossible speed. He smelled different this time, some different type of cologne. Yet there was still the underlying scent of him, of Jake.

He leaned forward and you were certain your insides turned to ice water when his lips met the side of your neck, placing a delicate kiss there. “I won’t take the most intense fuck-me eyes I’ve ever seen in my life as an answer, angel. Speak.”

“Yes.”

“I need more than that.”

“Jake, please…” you whined, drawing a gasp when his teeth raked across your skin. “Please just…just touch me.”

His fingers snaked up into your hair, giving a gentle tug to the side as he finally bit down on your neck. A soft moan escaped your lips as he sucked bruises into your skin. You knew you should stop him, tell him he can’t, people will see if he marks you up. But you just didn’t care anymore, and it felt far too good to stop him. So what. Let them see.

He wrapped his arms around you, walking you back towards the bed before almost throwing you onto it. He practically ripped his shirt off, throwing it to some dark corner of the room. He put a knee up on the bed beside you, and you leaned back as he leaned forward, until your little wings touched the mattress. He was crouched over you, silhouetted by the lamp light behind him. You were suddenly very aware of how quickly you were breathing.

“You alright?”

“Jesus, how many times do I have to say yes?”

“My name is Jake, actually. And I just want to make sure you’re happy, little angel.” He gave you such a sweet smile you thought your heart would burst right then and there.

“I couldn't be any happier right now.”

He descended onto your bare collarbones, biting against your skin with perfect pressure. You couldn't say a word, only gasp and whine under him. It felt too fucking good to finally have him like this.

You weaved your fingers through his hair, tugging at it gently, pulling him away from your neck. He moved willingly under your touch, more than you expected. You arched your back and reached for the zipper that held your costume around yourself, but his fingers wrapped around your forearms, squeezing just a bit too hard.

“Keep it on.”

“But–”

“I said keep it on. Did you not hear me, or are you choosing not to listen?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and he took your stunned silence as a chance to lean forward. There was a pause when your lips brushed. This was it, this was the point of no return. When you would awake from a dream where Jake had been right where he was now, sweat drenching your sheets and a throbbing between your legs, this was the thing you swore you would never do. This was the line you swore you would never cross, for fear of hurting Sam. None of that mattered anymore. He didn’t want you. He fought with you. He yelled at you. The line disappeared, and you crossed it without a doubt in your mind.

You pulled Jake in, unceremoniously, and your lips crashed together. He was soft, gentle, he moved with you. Your grip tightened in his hair when he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite. You pulled him away from your lips and he went with ease, staring at you with wide eyes.

He seemed so compliant, so eager to please you. You ran your thumb over his lips, and you couldn't help but envision him buried between your thighs. And as if he could read your mind, he began to crawl down the length of you, leaving kisses wherever his mouth could reach. He rested his head against your thigh, eyes flicking between you and the fabric draped across your lap. Like he was preparing himself.

“Jake…” You shifted your hips, growing desperate for some kind of touch.

He shushed you, trailing his fingers up your bare leg, just barely grazing the skin, making you shudder. “Wanna take my time.”

Painfully slowly, he pushed your skirt out of the way, the fabric gathering around your hips, your lacey panties on full display now. You propped yourself up onto your elbows to get a better look at him, though the sight of him there was almost too much to bear.

“You look soaked already. All I’ve done is kiss you, sweet girl.” A grin spread across his face as he met your eyes. “You need me that bad, huh?”

“Obviously,” you whined.

He ran his thumb across the fabric of your panties, gently pulling them to one side. He ran a finger through your folds, staring at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. “All for me?” he breathed.

“All for you.”

He tore your panties off as quickly as he could, and slid a finger into you, and you felt completely breathless, dropping back down against the sheets. He moved masterfully, working you open, playing with you like you were a little toy for him.

“Oh fuck, Jake…” you stuttered over your words, every syllable a whimper.

“Louder, angel.”

You looked down at him, his eyes blazing into yours, dark and hungry.

“But they'll hear–”

“Let them.” He dropped down, laving his tongue over your clit, and you couldn’t stop the choked oh, god that fell from your lips.

“I can’t, that's so…” you couldn't finish your sentence, your words interrupted by gasping moans that you bit back, mortified by the idea of anyone hearing you.

“I’ll just have to make you louder, then.” He spoke the words pressed against you, the vibrations of his lips making you writhe. You tangled a hand in his hair, unconsciously pushing him closer against you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all fucking night,” he growled between licks of your clit. “I waited long enough to hear you.”

You had to bite the back of your hand to keep quiet when he added a second finger, curling them in just the right way, your other hand grabbing onto his hair for dear life.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you whined, sounding downright pathetic.

“Really?” He pressed his thumb against your clit in the absence of his tongue, sending a shiver through your body. “The whole night you were staring at me like you couldn’t wait for this.” He brought his tongue back to your clit, drawing a needy whine.

He was good at this, finding every spot you loved so quickly, testing different movements and angles, figuring out what made you moan the loudest or grab his hair the hardest. You were quickly unraveling beneath him.

“You want me to fuck you?” He asked, his mouth still against you.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

He pulled away from you, looking up at you with those wide eyes that made you feel insane, his fingers still moving. Your own wetness was smeared across his lips, his mouth curled up in a sly smile. “You know what I mean.”

You barely gave it a second thought before you whispered out a quiet “yes.”

“What was that, baby?”

You repeated yourself, gasping out the word a bit louder this time.

He brought himself up onto his knees, placing one hand on the side of your head, looming over you while his fingers still worked you perfectly. “I need more than that.”

All of this, the talking, the way his voice was a bit more raspy than normal, the way his hair hung down into his face, it was all too much. You were rushing towards your peak far too fast, the buildup far too long, and the feeling must have reflected in your face a bit too clearly.

“Are you gonna cum? Already?” He said it so cocky, so snarky, with almost a laugh behind it. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

You nodded, words becoming impossible to form, your eyes slipping shut as your back arched off the bed.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, barely able to take in his dreamlike appearance. “Jake…” you whined, reaching for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He let you pull him closer, brushing his lips against yours as he collapsed onto you. “Yes, baby?” You could feel his lips curl into a grin and he tasted like you.

You couldn’t find words, only choked moans came out of you as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit. You were so close, holding yourself back, for what reason you weren’t entirely sure.

“Go on, do it.”

Just those simple words of coaxing were enough to send you crashing over the edge, a sound coming out of you that you didn't even know you could make. Your teeth latched onto his collarbones, biting and sucking at his skin and earning you a few soft moans from his lips.

“That’s it…good girl.” He whispered into your ear in a way that made you shiver and twist your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, your entire body on fire. It felt like it would never end, his words prolonging every sensation as he talked you through it, with words of praise and filthy commands. “Keep going, angel, doesn’t that feel good?” He asked as you started to curl in on yourself, trying to tuck your knees to your chest. Whatever he was doing to you right now, nobody had ever done before.

It felt like the longest orgasm you’d had in your life, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. When he felt you’d had enough, and you started reaching for his wrist to pull it away, he finally relented, slowing and eventually stopping. As you came down, he pulled back, looking into your eyes with that fiery gaze that pierced right through you. He needed the same thing, and god did it have you throbbing all over again.

“Fuck me,” you whispered.

In one fluid motion he pulled away and flipped you over, yanking your hips up and putting a hand on the small of your back to hold you down. You yelped, surprised he was able to just…throw you around like that. The sound of his belt clinking behind you was erotic enough to draw a small moan out of you. Then the sensation of him dragging himself over your core – you nearly collapsed back down onto the bed.

“Don’t worry, angel. Gonna fuck you nice and sweet.”

You buried your face in the sheets to hide the agonized groan that ripped out of you as he pressed into you. He filled you so perfectly, in a way nobody else ever had. And then he just…stopped. He leaned down over you, his forehead resting against your back.

“Jakey–” the nickname slipped out unconsciously. “Please move, please–”

“Patience, angel.” You could feel his chest rising and falling with shaky, quick breaths.

You made a pleading, desperate sound, tightening yourself around him and trying to rock your hips back against him.

“Oh, don’t fucking do that,” he growled.

You needed this for longer, needed him as long as you could possibly have him. You felt a pressing need to be good for him.

He pulled his hips back, and snapped them forward again, sending stars across your vision. You clawed at the sheets, downright unholy sounds escaping you as he settled into a rhythm.

His hands roamed over your body until one of them landed on your lower stomach, just below your navel. He pulled you closer with that hand, adding just a bit of pressure in just the right place. “I’m right there, baby. You feel it?”

You whimpered, your mind scattered in every direction – you weren't used to this kind of dirty talking. Of course you could feel him, impossibly deep, taking up every square inch of you. “Yeah, I do,” you choked out, each word punctuated by a gasp.

“You’re taking it so good, sweet girl.” His hand wandered a bit lower, grazing across your clit, just enough to make you buck your hips, but he gave you no more than that light touch.

“More, please,” you gasped, trying to draw deeper breaths to keep yourself grounded. But he knocked the wind out of you with every thrust of his hips.

He clicked his tongue and murmured a pitying aww. “Does my sweet angel need something?”

“I need to see you, please, I want to–”

Before you could finish your sentence he was spinning you around to face him, practically throwing you down onto the bed. The ease at which he could manhandle you was stunning.

You clawed at his chest as he guided himself back into you, and you were certain you’d leave scratch marks on his skin. His expression as he did so was something that you felt burn into the back of your mind, something you would never forget. Like a song lyric you couldn’t stop replaying in your mind. His jaw slack, his upper lip curled up just a bit in something like a sneer, his brows knitted together, his head tilted slightly to the right, as if he was trying to get a better view.

It felt gentler now. The rush and frenzy of it all had worn off, and he moved slowly and deliberately. When his eyes met yours, the sensations caught up with your mind, and a brick wall of bliss crashed against you. You dragged your nails down his chest, your back arching off the bed when he bottomed out inside you.

“Is that better?” The smirk on his face alone was enough to make you tighten around him.

“Much better,” you sighed.

He settled into a rhythm again, one hand wrapped around your thigh and the other gripping the top of the headboard. Like he was putting his body on display for you. He hadn't taken off the chains around his neck, and the amulets made a lovely clinking sound as they swung back to collide with his chest with every thrust. You lifted yourself up off the bed, trying to drape your arms over his shoulders–

He pushed you back down with a hand against your chest. He shifted, his hands coming to rest on either side of you.

“I want to be closer to you,” you whined, like a spoiled brat.

“I want to watch you.”

You pouted, wrapping your arms around his neck once again and trying to pull yourself up. But something held you back.

“You’re pinned, angel.”

It clicked – he was holding you down by your wings. The tiny bits of feather and fabric and wire strapped tightly around your shoulders. You wriggled under his grip, desperately trying to pull away, trying to get just a little closer to him, needing to feel more of him on you.

“You were taking it so good, baby,” he groaned. “Why all the fuss now?”

“Need you.” You tried to speak the words, but they came out as a full-fledged moan. It was almost embarrassing how needy you sounded.

His expression twisted into a cruel smile. “Need you,” he mimicked the way you’d moaned it, almost perfectly. “I need you to let me fuck you the way I know you’ll like it.”

You were stunned into silence, only able to take small sips of air through his thrusts.

But he mimicked that too. “You sound so pretty. I figured you would.” He always had a way of rendering you speechless.

All of his words, the perfect angle of his hips, the way you were pinned down, all of it was leading to a cliff edge you knew so well, the tension in your body rising to a level you didn’t think possible. It almost scared you a bit, and Jake must have read the fear in your eyes, from the way he grinned.

“Is the pretty angel gonna cum for me?”

You nodded frantically, words evading you.

“You didn’t ask permission first.”

Your eyes rolled back, your jaw dropping open in stunned silence at his words. Ask permission?

You managed to mumble out a “please” between moans.

“Nowhere near good enough,” he hissed. “Try again, or I’ll stop.” He wasn’t joking either, his hips slowing their pace, angling just away from your clit.

Every ounce of inhibition you had left went out the window at that moment, your eyes locking with his “Please, Jake, please, can I cum, sir? Please, I'm trying to be so good for you–” The words rushed out faster than your brain could process what you were saying.

He seemed to break a bit, his hips snapping forward harder than before. His hand came up to wrap around your throat, his fingers placed perfectly on top of your veins. “Say it again.”

“Please, sir,” you sobbed, feeling a tear roll down your cheek. “I can’t– I can’t wait any longer–”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He pressed himself against you again, grinding his hips into your clit, and it only took a moment before you were cascading off the edge into the abyss. It felt like falling, your entire body tightening all at once, before you burst into sheer bliss, a smile gracing your lips as Jake’s hand tightened around your throat just right. Through your clipped breaths you called his name, not a thought in your mind about who may hear.

Through your daze of pleasure, you could hear his voice, sweet and soft in your ear, talking you through it. “That’s it baby, cum for me, I’m right there with you,” before his words devolved into groans so sweet they could rot your teeth. You could feel him pulsing inside you, filling you, spilling out of you onto the sheets.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, his hand slipping off your neck to stroke the side of your face, brushing away the tears that gathered on your cheeks. He collapsed down onto his forearms, breathing heavily, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your voice came out of you cracked and broken, still the whisper of a moan on your tone. “Did you…”

“Yeah. I did. Fuck, I’m sorry.” He shook both of your bodies with silent laughter. “I swear I didn’t mean to. Are you…”

“Yes. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m going to.”

You giggled, a pure, clean sound that cut through the fog of tension in the room. “I forgot how good that feels.” You started to tremble, wrapping your shaking hands around him. “They definitely heard me, by the way.” You could hear laughter and conversation from the floor below – there was no chance they didn’t hear you shouting his name.

“Whatever.”

You laughed again, raising an arm to run your fingers through his hair, now damp with sweat. “That was…” you couldn't find the words to describe it.

“Too rough?” He propped himself up to look at you. “You look a mess.”

You could imagine it, mascara running down your face, hair disheveled, costume wrecked. “Perfect,” you smiled.

“Really.” He planted a kiss on the tip of your nose. “Glad to hear it.” Looking you up and down, he heaved a sigh. “You’re leakin’ on my sheets, though.”

“Sorry, sir.” You crossed your legs and shot him a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at you, a smile dancing on the corners of his lips. “Let me grab you something to clean up.”

“Not gonna do it yourself?” You teased as he rolled off the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

“What, you want me to eat it out of you? There’s a three course meal in there right now.” He shot you a look over his shoulder, and you felt a blush creep into your cheeks.

“So vulgar.”

“Nah, just rock and roll.” He tossed you a towel and you cleaned yourself up the best that you could, before rolling over to haul yourself out of bed. You stood on wobbly knees, a dizziness suddenly crashing down over you, like your mind had forgotten you were still drunk until this moment. Jake was there in an instant, his arms hooking under yours to keep you on your feet.

“Careful now.”

He helped guide you into the bathroom as a content daze washed over you.

“Shout if you need anything,” he said in a hushed tone, letting go of you and retreating from the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Emotions you hadn’t felt in far too long rushed together through your mind all at once as you sat down on the toilet. You hadn’t had time for sex in college. Too focused on your degree, too focused on your future, you had no interest in pursuing any of the men on campus. But maybe this is what you’d been missing this whole time. This was the piece of you that you’d been stifling, holding down. The reason you couldn’t seem to forget about Sam.

For now, you could push him out of your mind, the space he’d been taking up now replaced with Jake. And that horrible, nauseating feeling of butterflies you got around Sam didn’t happen when you saw Jake. He was safe. This was platonic, this was no-strings-attached, just a good time between two friends-of-friends.

You were suddenly very aware of how uncomfortable your costume was. You threw it off in a hurry, standing naked in front of the mirror, pondering your own reflection. He’d left a few rosy bruises on your collarbones and your neck. Your fingers brushed across them, the sight of being claimed making you throb, just a bit.

Are you sore? From fucking my brother? Sam’s words echoed through your mind at an alarming volume.

I wasn’t then. But I am now.

A knock at the door startled you out of your haze.

“You okay in there?” Jake’s voice called through the wood.

“Yeah.” Your voice was broken and hitched. “I need clothes though.”

He opened the door and you quickly covered yourself with a yelp. He was holding a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt in his hand.

“I’ve already seen it all. You don’t have to hide it,” he chuckled. “Put these on.”

You did as he said, noticing the warm scent of vanilla that drifted off his clothes.

“I would offer to drive you home, but I…don’t think I should drive.”

You shook your head. The idea of being alone after that was an unpleasant one at best.

“You can sleep here, if you want.”

“I’d like that very much.”

He grabbed your hand and led you back over to his bed. He’d already made it back up neatly, the covers turned down, the room softly illuminated by only a small lamp in the corner. It didn’t feel intrusive to be here, it felt like home.

“I’m gonna go see how the guys are doing. You get some rest, alright angel?”

You crawled under the covers, your body immediately relaxing, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you’d been holding onto. “Alright,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded.

You were nearly asleep before he even left the room.

Tag List: @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar

[hectorthedoggo]

i made a little oneshot with fugue es and enyu interacting. it's goofy and unedited but i don't wanna to edit it now so i'll just post it here :D

The warden woke up in an unfamiliar environment: the woods.

They shot up, whipping their head around. Where’s Milgram? Where-

They were met with the curious gaze of… themself? Who is imitating me?

Their outfit was different, though; it was a vest, and the cape had little pinpricks of stars. “Who are you?”

They flinched back at their confrontation, voice weak. “Ah! Uhm… my name is Es?”

Ah, that name suits them a lot better than me. “I am the warden of Milgram.”

“Milgram?” The kid who owned their former name brightened, tilting their head. “Like the psychological experiment? Y’know, that wasn’t illegal. Do you think it should have been? Wait, do you deal with things like law?”

The warden narrowed their eyes. This one’s a yapper.

However, as they analyzed the kid, their expression melted off. “Sorry, I talk too much.” Wait, is this kid supposed to be like us? I don’t appreciate it.

They stared further at Es. “Where are you from?” Wait, how are we going to interact with this person? They’re not a prisoner. What are we supposed to do?

I guess respect would be a good idea. But, what would normal be?

I have no idea. I’ll just try my best. Maybe I’ll try to act like I did in the first trial.

They smiled, nervously. “Ah, I usually live with my guardian. I got lost, though. I got moved by Kotoko, and couldn’t find my way back.”

“Wait, you know Kotoko?” Is there an overlap here? I don’t think this pathetic kid could be a good stand-in for us, though. Why aren’t they a warden?

Is there no Milgram here? Shoot, we don’t belong here. I’ll just act normal, but we’ll get home soon. I just have to not worry. We’ll be alright.

The possibility was scary, and scarily true. This Es doesn’t know Milgram… How do they live? Wait, they do look a little lost. 

“Yeah, she’s… persistent.”

This made the warden laugh a little. “No, she’s annoyingly persistent, isn’t she?” Like that time.

Es’ eyes lit up. “Yes! You get it! I told her: ‘get out of my house’, and she said: ‘no you’re abused’ or some stuff like that, and literally kidnapped me.”

“And you let that happen? Wait, is there no protective barrier?”

“No…”

The warden shook their head, in disapproval. “You know, as warden, we can have a protective barrier, against prisoners like her. We aren’t pushed around by the prisoners.”

Es looked intrigued.

“Being a warden? I mean, if Jackalope told me to be a warden, I would. Otherwise, he would say something like, ‘it’s too dangerous, you shouldn’t be doing something like that.’ I mean, he’s just worried about me.”

Their excitement fizzled out, and then they shook their head. “Wait, are you technically me? Cause, I mean, Jackalope said I shouldn’t interact with humans without permission, but he said that I was the exception for humans. So…”

The warden was more interested in the other part of their sentence. “Jackalope? I mean, I guess we could be considered the same person, but you have Jackalope, too?”

Es nodded, doing some 4d chess with multi-dimensional time travel to justify talking to them. “Yeah! Isn’t he such a good guardian?”

“I mean, for me, he usually disappears for a week or more, no notice. It’s annoying.” Especially when the other me has doubts or something. I bet they would still be into Milgram if he affirmed their loyalty.

I think he’s annoying, but he’s part of Milgram, so my loyalty must be to him.

“Well, mine’s better, worry not! He’s only gone for a day, at most. When he comes back, he’s apologetic, and he’s usually nicer to me after it.”

Wait, was that why Kotoko got them out? That’s a lame reason. I guess she’s just been dramatic.

I mean, we also don’t have anyone to take care of us, so I guess that behavior is justified, because Milgram leaves me alone too. 

Well, that’s because we have a responsibility to uphold, and Milgram thinks we’re responsible enough.

I’m assuming we’re the same age, so we’re both pretty self-sufficient. I think. Alright, so Jackalope seems like he’s a lot better in this place.

Es’ hands moved to warm up their arms, a comforting motion all too familiar to the warden. Wait, so should I be allowed to get attached to them?

I mean, it won’t be a long-term amount of time, so I guess they wouldn’t be a distraction…

They both had an idea of what was up with the other, of their unaddressed problems and delusions.

The warden got up, and abruptly gave Es a hug. Neither of them were sure why. They flinched momentarily, then awkwardly tried to hug back.

Both of them didn’t know how to hug. In any way. But, they both tried.

Es lightly latched onto them like a tick, and the warden lightly held them back. Hey, but this is nice. I can indulge myself once in a while.

They couldn’t see Es’ face.

Eventually, the warden detached Es from them. “Alright, Es. Do you think you could help me go back to Milgram?”

Es shrugged, like they didn’t just have a moment. “Honestly, all I want to do is get back to my tower. I really would want to help you, but I don’t know my way around the woods. I’d get lost.”

The warden nodded. “Alright. I guess we could wait for help.”

As if cued by the word ‘help’, the tent that the warden didn’t register earlier popped open, Shidou Kirisaki popping his head out. “Es, do you…” 

He trailed off when he saw the warden.

What? He’s here? “I can’t escape you, can’t I, you murderer.”

Shidou blinked, completely confused. “Uh… Es? Uhm, why is there another you here? I’m not mad, don’t worry, but did you tell them I was a murderer.”

Is he disregarding my presence?

Es shook their head. “No, they’re from another place or something. I mean, they have another Kotoko there, so I’m assuming there’s another Shidou there. And they’re not me, they’re the warden.”

The warden’s respect for this kid increased. They haven’t even seen us in action, but they respect our place as warden!

Shidou’s eyebags somehow got more pronounced. “Alright, so there’s two of you now…”

The warden wasn’t letting him off the hook easily. “So, judging by your reaction, you are a murderer. Why aren’t you in prison?”

“I- long story, but be assured, I won’t kill you. Uh, do you mind if I look at your hand?” He reached out to them. I’m not worried about that- wait, there’s no protection.

The warden defensively moved it to their chest. “I do mind. Get away from me, prisoner.”

However, the title didn’t hold any meaning here. He wasn’t a prisoner, and they weren’t considered a warden. 

I’m sure it’s alright. We’ll be fine, we just need to get back to Milgram, I’m sure we’ll be fine after that.

He moved towards them. “That looks really bad, though, so we should really get that cleaned out.”

The warden moved their hand to slap him, then remembered he technically wasn’t a prisoner. He, or maybe the others, could retaliate. I’m not sure if this man is still a pacifist here. 

“Fuck.” They swore. He can’t-

“Language.”

The warden realized that they might have to become a prisoner pretty soon due to his audacity.

Es watched this drama go down, not sure which side to take. They decided to try to stop it. “Okay… uh, warden, assault is illegal.”

Wait, they’re right. Fuck.

The warden turned to Es. “Is there anywhere we could go to get away from this man?”

Es grinned, and Shidou turned to them. “Woah, woah, Es, let’s not climb, do you remember what happened last time?”

It was too late. Es guided the warden over towards a tree, and said, “Follow me!”

Wait, I thought they said they didn’t know their way around the woods, so…

They took off their cape, and clambered up the tree. What in Milgram. “Up here, friend!” Up there? I’d have to take off my cape, and I don’t know how to climb.

They shook their head. “I can’t go up there. I can’t climb.”

“Es… oh my god.” Shidou looked exasperated, but sighed. “If it brings you joy. But, make sure to come to me for healing if you fall. Other Es, are you sure I can’t look at your hand? I can take away the pain.”

“Fuck off.”

“Language.”

This man wasn’t going to live to see the light of day tomorrow.

[edgessunflower]

Sorry if I request again, but can I request a Rhea Ripley x reader x Dominik Mysterio in which they all go to a rubber ducks store to buy one each? Tomorrow my mom is gonna take me there and I will have my own rubber duck 🥺🐥

OMG THIS IS CUTEEEEE

Three of a duck

Pairing: Dominik Mysterio x Fem reader x Rhea Ripley

Description: You and your partners go to a duck store and pick ducks out for each other

You laugh as Dom tickles you while Rhea walks downstairs smiling at the two of you, the three of you go out to a music store you wanted to show them and they absolutely love it. After buying some CD's, the three of you take a few pictures before having lunch at a local soup kitchen before heading off to a place that rhea saw and knew that she had to go there with the two of you knowing how much of a child at heart you were and despite dom being a gentleman he was still childlike and goofy and knew that the three of you would enjoy it and have a great time but after while of thinking decided to make it a surprise for both of you, you both occasionally ask where you were going but she would only answer with "It's a surprise", a finger to her lips, or "You'll both see" as the drive continues laughing at the two of you dancing to the music playing on the radio recording in between the drive whenever you were waiting at a red light. You lightly stroke dom's hair while staring out the window until you are parked and stretched realizing in what part of town you were in "Oh my god it's been forever since I've been here" you smile as you see the familiar animal shelter that was in between the japanese restaurant you'd went to on multiple occasions with your family even on your first date with dom and rhea and the shopping mall you had went to through out your life bringing back fond memories "Memory lane?" you nod as you turn and look at the two a few feet away noticing the place behind them and your eyes widen with a sparkle making the two burst out laughing before you're all walking hand in hand in the duck store feeling like kid again even running into your niece who was five months younger than you picking out a duck for herself and her girlfriend. Rhea picks a duck with a leather vest, lipstick, and black hair, dom picks a duck with long hair, purple and black shirt, and sunglasses, finally you pick a duck with a purple flower crown, lavender sundress, and a small bouquet of flowers holding hands together well more wings but made the three of you giddy as you head home and place them in the bedroom on the nightstand taking pictures of them and the three of you with them posting them on Instagram and setting the pictures as your lock and home screens on your phones before having dinner and a shower together followed by watching movies in bed.

[varibean]

hand over some varian headcanons to me and the rest of tumblr dot com

OK SO, gonna be a mix of canon and modern au

disclaimer i have so many varian Thoughts but they're all so mixed up so pardon the disjointedness of it all

varian has a big sweet tooth. he's got a weakness for little treats and when he goes off on his adventure he's trying so hard to be a Responsible Adult and eat well balanced meals but sometimes there's a lil voice in his head going "...cupcakes could be dinner."

hugo knows of this weakness and exploits it, constantly. He'll piss varian off just a bit too much and then later that day he's like "oh? what's this? rock candy i made myself with my own alchemy equipment? dyed it blue too, wow, imagine that."

varian hates this bc he KNOWS what hugo is trying to do, he's aware that it's a bribe, and part of him is going 'candy is NOT an apology' meanwhile the other part of him is going 'but he made it himself. with his own stuff. and he made it blue, he wouldn't put that much work into something unless he was actually a little bit sorry deep down, right?'

just becomes a thing that they do later in their relationship where hugo will still make him a lil sweet if he makes him mad or annoyed

his favourite sweet though is candied rose petals

varian doesn't like the crusts on sandwiches. especially sour dough, too tough and chewy.

doesn't want to admit that though so he'll usually eat them anyways. or give them to ruddiger bc he hates wasting food

bites his hands a lot. chews on his knuckles, he's given himself a few scars like that. the gloves are there to protect his hands from himself as much as they are to protect him from fire hazards

OK SILLY GOOFY HEADCANON BUT MODERN VARIAN LOVES FNAF OK LISTEN LISTEN TO ME HIS FAVOURITE ANIMATRONIC IS CHICA, HE WOULD GET OBSESSED WITH THE LORE, PROBABLY MAKES SOME PROTOTYPES OF THE ANIMATRONICS BEFORE SOMEONE IS LIKE "hm. don't like that. don't care for this."

modern varian doesn't really dress that different from canon tbh. he likes the way vest make his chest flatter, sometimes he doesn't even have to wear a binder

he gets bullied for this during his younger teen years but then when he goes off to college no one gives a shit, ppl either think it's kind of cool or they mind their business. everyone is showing up to class in their pajamas anyways, no one cares about the one dude with custom cufflinks and arm bands.

god speaking of binders and shit i have so many thoughts about varian's relationship with gender (modern and canon) and especially with him going on t so if anyone wants to hear that mess lmk but the quick version is that he's nervous about it bc even if he has some dysphoria he's also Ok with how he looks and he's scared about it being such a big step for him

never gets top surgery (i do like drawing him with top surgery scars sometimes so awijf I Contradict Myself Constantly)

he's really good at bowling. just, for no reason. he's a fantastic bowler, if he were to actually try he could get perfect games every time.

He Hates Bowling.

[joytraveler]

#80: Freak Show Starring The Hero

From the splash screen, it's clear right away who The Hero is-- he wears a leather vest, bell bottoms, a ripped sleeveless shirt, and has a huge spiked pompadour. Oddly, his head hovers over his body, with no visible neck! He's giving a strange hand gesture that's both peace sign and thumbs-up.

HNV: You know, if the game was just coming up with names for this guy, we'd probably still all be happy with this.

"Maybe he's descended from that cave man? Or the guy from Death Master.. I dunno I keep trying to connect these things in my mind" she shakes her head and presses start. "Not seeing many freaks yet but, that's okay, maybe we'll make some! Maybe he has a third eye under his head!"

"Er, under his hair. That'd be a twist, he takes off his face and he's just a floating eye with a body"

john_brown: i thought you meant like it was where his neck would be, like his head was being held in place by eyeball magic aroseahorseboy: we got a name EYEBALL MAGIC IT IS! ButterflyDefect: A Dream Man

Bea's game begins with a choice of five different stages to play through, including Public Library, DMV, Elementary School, City Hall, and Amusement Park.

"PARK!" She goes right to that one, who wouldn't!

Syrupentine: Parp! DueyDecimal: It is the only place you would actually see a freak show! aroseahorseboy: but would it star THE HERO

The stage starts in the middle; there's a little HUD at the bottom that shows where the player is, but the level goes in a circle with no beginning or end. The Hero is threatened almost immediately by a bouncing monster with no legs, just arms and a muscular body! When Bea tries to attack, it becomes clear why The Hero has no neck-- so he can sling his head like a bowling ball!

ButterflyDefect: I think this is off to a good start! That body thing is disturbing as hell pigbarrel: now that's using your neckless head, as the saying goes!! john_brown: are all the games like this?? I can get behind this Glockroach: If you're lucky, sometimes they're just weird and pointless and other times they're horrifying

Once the torso monster is disposed of. The Hero runs along, and his running animation is even stranger: his legs detach, spinning like wheels with a foot on each end!

"Okay I need to edit in the bongo drum noise later for this guy's cartoon run. If only Sonic was this much fun!”

His jump is also strange: he doesn't. Instead his legs stretch like rubber, planting in place first! He gets a LOT of height but he has to have something to grab onto-- like another monster which is hanging from the Ferris wheel, which is what Bea ends up grabbing.

john_brown: you know what this kinda reminds me of? it's like kirby from before he could copy powers. he used to be just this weird grab bag of powers that fought enemies who were helpless by comparison HNV: Yeah, this is like... stretchy arm werewolf or something, there's no theme. Like Kwisdo!

"Well, everyone's missing some parts, that's kind of a theme? There are definitely freakish deformities going on at least, I can't fault the game for not delivering on that. Oh well, it's fun in a really goofy way.”

The object of the level is to defeat all the monsters: there's a counter (marked "F") that shows how many are left. You don't have to fight them all, some of them you can trap, and there's one-- a walking pair of legs-- that is 'defeated' when The Hero bumps into it from behind and pulls its pants down, making it shuffle sheepishly offscreen!

pigbarrel: that was me. oh how embarrassing! i'm sorry aroseahorseboy: take THAT fresno nightcralwer Baconnaise: Pants are overrated anyway. free thyself, leggy friend

"I am the SLAYER OF HORRORS! Aw jeez, I hope this isn't just some harmless sideshow and I'm not just killing their performers. The body guys do a great musical number, normally.”

Once all the Freaks are defeated, a boss Freak appears stomping through the park: it looks like The Hero himself, as reflected through a funhouse mirror! This begins an intense battle, as The Hero can't seem to hurt his doppelgänger, but he can lead him through the park to be damaged by the many amusement features: first up, leading him through the shooting gallery!

"Must be The Villain. Or maybe The Anti-Hero! This is wacky and I think I love it" she says, leading him onto some rollercoaster tracks for the finishing blow! "Are they supposed to just have roller coasters randomly go through the park, or... well anyway he's dead.”

Glockroach: I would ride that in a minute john_brown: is normalnancy here? she kept bugging me to come to this stream and now i feel dumb for not coming until now john_brown: also i don't have too long to stay here, i can't stay for four hours ::(

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2

Shorter Part 3, sorry y’all 😭

“Does this have to do with the rose?” Dustin asks them as soon as they are alone in the car. ‘Damn,’ Steve thinks, ‘I should’ve dropped you off first.’

“What do you know about the rose?” Steve asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I know it’s from his secret admirer.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I do, Steve, he tells that story to everyone who will listen.” Dustin says as if it’s common knowledge.

“So who are your theories? I know you’ve got them.” Steve says

“I have no clue.” Steve looks at him confused “I really don’t. I even told Eddie that we could figure it out if we saw the note but he just shook his head and went back to grinning that goofy grin he had.”

“…And that’s bad?”

“Well no, I just figured he’d want help figuring it out, but that’s not the weird part about it all. He didn’t even have everything set up when we got there.”

Steve gives Dustin a confused glance, trying to keep his eyes on the road in front of him.

“Eddie normally gets there super early to set everything up, but even by time Lucas got there just before we were about to start, all of Eddie’s DM stuff was still in his bag. Literally only the tables and his throne were pulled out where they were supposed to be. He just kept staring at that damn rose with that lovestruck look on his face.”

“Hey, language! But yeah, that is weird? What? Don’t look at me like that, I’ve been around you all long enough to know that’s out of character for him..he loves that game.” Steve chuckles to himself, thinking about the party’s collective confused faces at Eddie’s soft one. “Alright, doofus, this is you. Tell your mom I say ‘Hi’.”

Dustin rolls his eyes and shuffles out the car door and up the drive.

Steve waits until he’s safely inside before backing out, and heading home.

‘holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshi—‘ Steve’s brain played on a loop, his face splitting into a grin.

——————

The (now) third time Eddie "hears" from his secret admirer is definitely not when he was expecting. It kind of makes sense, if his secret admirer really is into him still he'd know that Eddie plays at the Hideout on Tuesday nights. But if he's being honest with himself, the rose flung up on stage while they were still drowned in spotlight was the second most surprising thing of the night. Actually, make that third.

First was the size of the crowd. Being accused of a ritualistic murder does have one benefit then, it has a tendency to make you seem more metal than you might actually be (especially within the metal community). The dingy little bar was actually packed tonight. So many people were there to see Eddie and his bandmates that it was the start of his nervousness. And Eddie never gets nervous about playing, it’s like breathing to him.

Secondly (and the second reason for Eddie to be nervous that night) was that Steeeeve Harrington himself was there to see him play. Him along with Buckley AND Nancy Wheeler had even dressed up for the occasion, pulling out as much black and grungy looking pieces from the backs of their wardrobes as they could find. Eddie swears Wheeler is wearing one of the old band tees Robin stole from him and Steve is wear-holy fuck. HOLY FUCK. Steve Harrington is wearing his (His! Eddie Munson���s!) battle vest. How the fuck he managed to keep it is beyond him but…yep. Eddie’s vest looks just as good on Steve now than it did in that upside-down hellscape.

Only a second had gone by in the time it took Eddie to process all of this before the lights go down and the spotlight is blinding him to everything beyond the stage.

“Get your head in gear, Munson, you’ve got a whole bar full of people to blow away… shit” Eddie mumbles to himself before stepping up to the mic.

And of course, no matter his surprise or nervousness about anything (or anyone) in the crowd that night, the show goes off without a hitch. He’s saying his goodbyes to the crowd as they cheer, holler, and whistle for them, some people are even throwing things. A couple of coasters with phone numbers scrawled on them are frisbee’d onto the stage around him, one (1) singular pair of panties (wtf this is insane), and from his right, just before the lights come back up in the bar, a single red rose tied with a black ribbon.

Time slows down. That’s the only way he could’ve snatched it out of the air the way he did.

He catches it and the crowd lets loose a few wolf whistles. Eddie grins so wide his face hurts. “Thank you guys so much, we’ll be here next week!” he jeers and lifts the rose in his hand in the air like he’s showing it off. The lights finally come up, and Eddie looks directly toward where the rose came from, trying to see if he recognized any of the faces. The only face he recognizes is Steve’s, off a good bit to the left from where the rose came at him, and who is also looking around for who it would’ve come from. Steve looks up at Eddie, and shrugs, he didn’t see anything either.

‘Of course he’s going to act like he didn’t see anything if he’s the one who threw it.’ Eddie’s brain helpfully supplies.

Nope. NOPE. Not going there, that’s so impossible. Steve was a good friend, even if he was blissfully unaware of the affect he had on Eddie.

Eddie shrugs back at Steve before turning back to the guys and helping them pack up their stuff.

“What does this one say?” Gareth asks him when they’re lugging the last of the equipment off the stage.

“Ermph durnup.” Eddie mumbles around the rose stem in his mouth. He sets the amps he was carrying at the back door to be loaded into his van (Which Steve was so graciously helping with). Eddie spits the rose out into his hand as Steve comes back into the doorway. Now ALL of them waiting on Eddie to read out the note. Even Robin and Wheeler have come backstage to watch them work. “Haven’t read it yet.”

“What’s happening now?” Nancy asks, confused. ‘Was she really never around during any of the re-tellings of this story?’ Eddie thinks to himself

“My secret admirer threw this to me as we were wrapping up our set.” Eddie waggles his eyebrows at the older Wheeler “I tried to see who it was, but by the time the lights came back on and I could actually see past the stage, the crowd was already thinning out.”

“They probably didn’t want to be recognized just yet? Even I looked around as soon as I could see again, but yeah, everyone had started dispersing.” Steve chimed in from the doorway he was leaning against, arms crossed across his chest. Damn were his arms always that huge?

“Uh_uh yeah, I do love a guy with a flair for dramatics.” everyone chuckled at that

“Of course you do Munson” Steve smiled at him “Now hurry up and read it!”

“OK, OK, this one says ‘You alone can make my song take flight’.” Eddie sings the line softly, redness creeping up his cheeks as his friends react around him.

“Ew, that’s so gross I’m gonna barf.” - Robin

“That’s so sweet!” - Nancy

“You’re going to be talking about this for weeks aren’t you?” - Gareth

Various well-meaning eye rolls come from the rest of his bandmates as they take care of the amps Steve had been neglecting.

And Steve, Steve was looking at Eddie with the warmest, fondest smile he’d ever seen.

Hmm…

____________________________________________

Pt. 4 will be here! Thank you for reading!!

Now on AO3! Several Notes of the Most Amiable Nature

Tagging everyone I can!: @manda-panda-monium , @destielinimpala , @ilovecupcakesandtea , @maya-custodios-dionach , @thefreakandthehair , @youmakemyhearthowl , @phantypurple , @kerlypride , @hagbaby420 , @yes-im-your-mom , @tinydragonhuman , @beeing-stuupid , @ineffablecolors , @m00gl3ness , @background-noise-headache , @jojobeaner , @bitedownonmydestiel , @orangeandthefairroadkill , @llamaoftheinternet , @captain-daryn , @undreamingscatworld , @britishmysteries , @sharpbutsoft , @funnymagicman-named-dandy , @allbymyselfexceptformycactus , @wearelosersyoudumbfuck , @itsthebeckyzone , @thegingervulcan , @urmomification , @wonderingglances , @calciferousoai , @csinnamon-fox , @straight4joekeery , @alex-axolotl , @nitro502 , @whorenerdking , @skeletoneddie , @eddiehashands , @prosedumpofmaya , @werewolfpeterparker , @bigboyandmetalhead , @stevethescareington , @xxbottlecapx , @starkdusk , @legitcookie , @withacapitalp

[multiqts]

Pretty Boys

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!reader Warnings: explicit themes, bdsm themes, dom/sub themes, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), sub!george weasley, soft!dom!reader, cockwarming, aftercare not included but implied Word Count: 1.5k Description: After saying something to George the day before, you fear you had offended him. But when you meet in the room of requirement you find out the truth. A/N: this fic was inspired by an old blurb I read! Read it here!

You noticed it immediately. In class he would fidget with his clothes and squirm around in his seat. He was avoiding you all day. You'd like to think you knew your boyfriend very well. You couldn't help but think that it was last night's conversation that may have triggered this behavior in George.  George and you had been talking about your likes and dislikes in bed. George was happy to talk about his turn ons, but you were more apprehensive. To get you to start talking he tried rattling off some things that he thought might peak your interest to no avail. "So, what are you into then?" he pressed. You looked around.  "I guess I'm into kinda pretty boys?"  "Pretty boys?" his brows furrowed.  "Yeah I don't know, I think I like it when a guy is more dainty, like how women are expected to be?"  "Oh," was all that George said.  "But that doesn't mean I'm happy with what we have," You chimed.  Even if there weren't proper roles in your relationship, it was safe to say that George was a bit more submissive to you. He liked pleasing you. He was still very masculine. You thought that when you said that it might have hurt his feelings. But, you finally had the chance to quell your fear when you asked him to tell you what was up. You saw him in the corridor and stopped in front of him.  "George," even when he was right in front of you, his mind was somewhere else.  "Yes," he replied simply. He was still as fidgety as he has been all day fumbling with his fingers as you spoke to him.  "Is something wrong? You've barely spoken to me all day. If it's about what I said yesterday,"  "No, everything's alright," he dropped his hands and feigned confidence in his words. "But, can we meet in the room of requirement tonight?'' Now you were worried for a completely different reason. Dating one of the Weasley twins, you had to have tough skin. That didn't mean that if you saw one of their pranks coming you didn't break out into a bit of a sweat. But, he was usually cooler about them than he was right now. Right now, he was nervous and antsy. A far cry from the goofy troublemaker you knew. "I- um- I have to get to class," he stated.  "Alright," you nodded. Then you parted ways.  You were practically counting the hours before you met George in the room. Once dinner was over you dashed down to find him. You weren't sure you had even seen him in the great hall. Nonetheless, you finally found the wall that led to the room of requirement. You looked around to make sure no one else saw you enter, since its use was less than encouraged after it was found. When the coast was clear. You entered to find your boyfriend pacing in anticipation. He stopped the second he saw you.  "So, what did you need me for?" you asked innocently. You thought you already knew the answer.  "Well I thought about what you had said last night," Oh no, this was definitely not what you thought.  "George, I'm sorry if I-"  "Please let me finish," He interrupted. You let him continue. "I thought about what you said about you liking pretty boys and I couldn't stop thinking about it," he reached for his vest and pulled it over his head. Once it was off he dropped it to unbutton his shirt. Now, you had no clue what was going on. "I thought about you- um- calling me pretty and- fuck me this shirt is hard to unbutton" he looked down at his trembling hands as he spoke. "Then, it was all I could think about," He finally got the last button off and revealed a lacy baby pink bralette. A second piece, presumably the garter belt, with lace straps hugged his waist and led down into his trousers so you couldn't see the full piece. All of the fabric was dotted with embroidered roses. "I got so hard thinking about being your pretty boy Y/N" You looked up at him stunned. He looked marvelous with freckled skin blushing against the sheer fabric. The blush creeped up to his face as you stepped closer. He didn't take your silence well though. "Merlin, this was a mistake" He cupped his temples and put his head down in shame.  "Oh on the contrary dear," You reached up and ran your

finger between the elastic of his bottom piece and his skin. His flesh still hot even in the cold room. Your action made goosebumps run up and down his skin. You released one side of the lingerie, the elastic snapping back against his stomach. You took that free hand and raised your finger to his chin so he was looking at you. "But, you know that if you don't want this you don't have to right? You don't need to do something just 'cause I like it'' he shook his head.  "Did you not hear the part about how I was wanking to the idea of this? '' he laughed. You smiled and led George to the couch in the center of the room. He laid down on it, and you ran your hands down his body. He threw his head back and whined for you to touch him more. You happily obliged. Your hands made their way down his long body and to his bottoms. You unfastened his belt and undid his button. Hands pull down his trousers and reveal the rest of the lingerie. It was beautifully intricate. And the pinnacle of it, he had the rosy panties that just barely contained his bulge. You looked up at him with a sultry smirk.  "I guess you weren't lying," you teased. You palm at the light fabric. George moans needily at the soft touch. You haven't given what you or he needed just yet, but what you have given him was so good. "So naughty, George," He couldn't contain himself.  "Y/N please, I just need you to fuck me," his desperate pleas made you so wet, you could practically feel the slick pool between your thighs. He was practically pushing himself out of the delicate underwear as he grew harder and harder. You finally put him out of his misery by slipping his dick out of the thin undergarment. He whined as the air hit his skin. You licked a stripe up his cock and he threw his head back on the arm rest of the couch. His ginger hair gorgeously fanned out on the arm rest. You finally started stroking him up and down and George seemed to have lost all his senses. He thrusted his hips the second your hand moved. You could tell he was already coming undone as his eyes fluttered shut. "I think you deserve a reward for being just so perfect for me," he perked up instantly, his eyes looked down at you droopy with lust. "What do you think my pretty boy?" you finally said it. George sucked in a breath before desperately moaning  "Yes! Y/N! Please, I just need it! Whatever you think I deserve I'll take!" always so responsive your George. You finally got up off the couch and George watched with half-open eyes. You slowly slid off your clothes and George's breath sped up as he watched you crawl back on top of him. You positioned yourself to align with his erect girth that was standing straight up. You moaned as you sunk yourself down, unable to wait any longer.  "Merlin, George you are so perfect for me y'fill me up so well love," you praised. Your hips met his again and again bring each other closer to your orgasms. George was so caught up in the sensations to acknowledge your praise. He would just respond with the occasional whine or groan. "So pretty, so fucking pretty for me George," you cooed  "Can't- can't- hold it" This is why he loved you so much. You could reduce him to a side of him that he never showed the world. You could reduce him to the part of himself he repressed during the day. When he was with you he was your Georgie. He was your pretty boy.  "Don't hold it then Georgie. Let go, make a pretty little mess for me sweetheart," That was all he needed to hear. You felt his hot seed fill you up and that was what sent you over the edge. You came all over your boy still coming down from his high. Both of you overstimulating yourselves when you continued to grind against each other. Finally your hips faltered and you just laid your head on George's chest. He tiredly wrapped his arms around your torso and you two just listened to the sound of each other breathing before you spoke. "Y'know people are probably looking for us right?"  "Yeah," he sighed. "But, let's just lay here a

little yeah?" You nodded and tried to move your hips to get off of George but he quickly brought them back down. "Can we stay like this, please?"  "Sure" you smiled.

[metalheadcowboy]

ok so we have steve wearing eddies vest sooooo obviously we need eddie wearing steves jacket!!!!

NO BECAUSE I WAS LITERALLY JUST THINKING ABOUT THIS!!!

👏👏👏

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

"This is the cheesiest shit, like, ever, even for you, Steve-o."

Steve chuckled, sliding his Member's Only jacket off of his own frame, goofy grin spreading from ear-to-ear as he slid the faded fabric onto Eddie's shoulders, "Like you don't love it," he quipped, giving the jacket a few adjustments before stepping back as if to admire his work.

Eddie shook his head, "Never said I didn't," he spoke, Steve's own body heat trapped within the thin layers seeping into his skin like sunshine. The smell was addicting, Ralph Lauren cologne laced with the slightest hint of cigarette smoke making his head spin, "Maybe I should forget my jacket more often."

Steve rolled his eyes, sliding his hands up under his jacket being worn by Eddie as if the action were muscle memory, "Yeah, right, well you'll be damn sorry when I don't give it to you next time, Eds," he teased, letting his hands wander, fingertips sliding ever so slightly under the hem of Eddie's shirt making him jump.

"Oh, bullshit," The curly headed boy scoffed, reaching up his arm to wrap around his boyfriend's shoulders, Steve leaning ever so willingly into the touch, readjusting the jacket for Eddie before quickly returning his hands to their assigned spots.

"How so?" Steve questioned, eyebrow quirking upward. Eddie smiled lazily, looking at him with those void brown eyes that encapsulated the light of the trailer park streetlight above them.

"Because..." Eddie trailed off, looking around for a second, as if to see if anyone might be watching, like anyone around here would really give half a shit, the trailer park didn't house snitches, unless they were really looking fro trouble. The older boy leaned in, just close enough so that the tips of their noses brushed together, "I always get what I want."

Suddenly Eddie connected their lips with a purpose, clashing teeth and bumping noses before they fell into their routine, slotting against each other like two piece of a puzzle. Steve parted his lips for Eddies tongue like he always did, letting out the sweetest whimpers reserved only for his boyfriend. Eddie ran his fingers through the wispy hair at the nape of Steve's neck, tugging softly when he decided he wanted a reaction.

Just as Eddie was about to pull away for air, Steve pulled away first, instantaneously attaching his lips to Eddie's neck like a leech, grabbing fistfuls of his own jacket as he did so. The long haired boy let his head swivel back, bearing his neck at Steve's will with a moan, muffled by him biting his plump, abused bottom lip.

Before long Steve shifted his thigh between Eddie's, standing awkwardly as the younger boy dry humped his hip, "Woah, woah, woah," Eddie slowed, causing Steve to stop all movement, pulling away with the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes the other man had ever seen. He brought his hand to Steve's cheek, thumb rubbing against the solid jut of his cheekbone, reveling in the way that his boyfriend leaned into the touch like some sort of house cat, "Gettin' a little rowdy there, bucko, you could at least take me to dinner first," he teased, smirk softening into a smile when Steve pouted.

"I did," he whined softly, scratching softly at the small of Eddie's back with dull nails.

Eddie chuckled low and gruff in a way that caused the butterflies in Steve's stomach to explode, "I know, sweetheart," he purred deep, sliding his hand from Steve's cheek to the back of his head, "Tomorrow, okay?"

It was a promise that Steve wished his boyfriend would make for tonight, but he could wait, would wait, "Okay," he mumbled, Eddie giving him one last genuinely sweet kiss on the lips before pulling away.

Just as Eddie went to shrug off the Member's Only jacket he had been lent, Steve grabbed his wrist, quickly catching his attention, "Keep it," he said, gently rubbing the smooth underside of Eddie's wrist when he received a perplexed look in return, "Tomorrow, remember?"

Slowly, the corners of Eddie's mouth upturned into one of the cutest smiled Steve had ever seen, "Yeah," he agreed, "Tomorrow."

Before Eddie could get away again Steve leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the delicate skin of the other boys cheek, pulling away to see a light dusting of rosy red flush across his face, "God, got me blushing like a school girl, Harrington, Christ," he rambled, pulling his hand back to scrub down his face.

"Yeah, well," Steve shrugged, walking backwards towards his car, "I have been known to have that effect on people."

Now it was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes, "Dork," he snarked, no real malice behind his words.

"Nerd," Steve returned fondly, resting his hand on the top of his car, preparing himself to duck inside.

Eddie crunched his nose before giving a short, yet dramatic bow, "Until the 'morow King Steve, how I will miss thine soft lips and supple skin."

Steve scoffed, shaking his head, "You really are a dork," he retorted and in return Eddie just grinned, giving him one last wave before seeing him off, Maroon BMW tires working against the gravel before screeching screeching onto the asphalt of the main road.

Eddie just stood there for a minute, even after Steve had left, before retiring to his trailer, swinging the door open with a certain kind of confident swagger that he only had after being with his boyfriend.

Even when he got inside he left the jacket on, even zipping it up with his back against the cold metal door, letting his nose bury itself into the collar, taking a deep sniff of Steve's lingering scent.

"You look like a dick," Wayne spoke out of the blue, and Eddie swore he jumped a mile, quickly trying to regain his composure.

"I- what?" he stumbled, furrowing his eyebrows, yet Wayne just smirked against the rim of his coffee mug.

"The jacket, son," he quickly gesturing his head in the direction of his nephew. Eddie just looked down at himself, like in the few seconds of interaction they'd had he forgot what he was wearing.

He let his fingers fiddle with a loose seam on the cuff, "Oh," he acknowledged, "Yeah," he agreed with a study laugh, letting himself fall into the kitchen chair adjacent to his uncle.

There was a silence between them for a minute before Wayne spoke up once more, "So," he sighed, scratching at the stubble on his jaw, "The Harrington's kid, huh, then?" he grumbled, gaze fixed on Eddie's wide orb-like eyes.

"How'd you figure," Eddie questioned, hand moving to twist the rings that graced his fingers, anything to keep his hands busy.

"Well," Wayne began, "For starters I don't know a single other person in this town who drives a car 's flashy as his." This made Eddie laugh, something genuine and fond, straight from his gut. " 'N second, I have eyes, y'know? And swapin' spit with the boy in my own front yard ain't somethin' I'm likely to miss."

At this Eddie blushed profusely, not even thinking about the possibility that his uncle could've seen them. Hell, he didn't even really realize he was home until he set foot through the door, "Shit, sorry about that," he apologized quickly.

"Ah, it ain't no skin off my back, kid," Wayne assured, causing Eddie to let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, "Not me you gotta worry 'bout, 's everyone else."

Eddie bit his lip and nodded, thinking back to when he looked around before kissing Steve, thinking about if he really looked everywhere, if maybe he should have checked again, if maybe it was stupid of him to think he could take advantage of such an opportunity guilt free.

And almost as if Wayne could sense Eddie's anxiety, he opened his mouth once more, "Just want you to be happy 'n safe, Eddie, 's all I ask."

This made Eddie smile, worries fading as he looked at the genuine, sincere look his uncle wore. And if he weren't so exhausted from being out all night maybe he would have even felt the signature sting of tears brimming his eyes, but no dice, "Thanks, Wayne," he replied, "seriously."

Wayne just nodded, signaling the end of their conversation and Eddie left it at that, feeling warm both inside and out.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

NSFW Alphabet: Rick Flag

Someone said they wanted it and I’m not entirely sure I’m qualified but I had the inspiration to do it and I don't see myself getting off the Rick Flag train anytime soon so. Have fun? 

I tried to be gender neutral with this but some of it probably reads as female reader, sorry in advance.

Obviously nsfw, so anyone under 18 can politely fuck off.

Smut-ish below the cut!

• A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

It probably depends on where you are. Out in the field? He'll make sure you're good, spare a torn piece of cloth to clean you up all while he keeps his hands on you and slips any clothes or gear back into place. Might be quick and efficient but he does give you the softest fucking kiss before you head back to the group. It's all about the looks and silent conversations that you two bounce back and forth.

It drives Harley nuts because no one else but her notices. She thinks it's fucking adorable though.

At home he can ask those questions out loud, can rest himself against you, inside you, and just breathe. Definitely pulls you in as close as physically possibly for as long as he can.

• B= Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

On himself: shoulders. I don't know why don't make me explain

On his partner: he likes the hips and ass, likes to grab (when he knows he has permission of course) and squeeze and hold. He likes to leave marks and slightly tender spots.

• C= Cum (anything to do with cum basically. . . I'm a disgusting person)

I get the feeling he likes to come on you, especially on the thighs or ass/lower back depending on if he's taking you from behind or not.

I feel like it might have something to do with marking you? Like maybe he can't leave physical marks (especially if you two work together) but this way he can have that image of you in his head, fucked out and panting for him to cum, please Rick, cum on me, anywhere. And it just does things to his brain that can't be put into words, the sight of his cum slipping across your skin.

It's completely up to you about how to clean up. Tell him to lick you clean? Absolutely, he's on it. Wanna drag your fingers through it and suck them clean while he watches? He'll watch and wait for you to be done, so he can get you messy again.

• D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Not really dirty, I guess? But he keeps a sexy picture or two of his partner on him during missions. Polaroids maybe, not trusting of technology for something like this. The pictures don’t last long, he'll always burn them, he doesn’t want to chance them being found by the wrong people and he tells himself he won’t bring one next time but he always does.

He doesn’t even have to look at it for it to get to him, just knowing it’s tucked away in his tac vest, pressed as close to his skin as possible, makes his heart pound. It’s something no one but you and him can touch.

• E= Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Man fucks, okay? Not a crazy amount but when he does, he fucking does it. Maybe not a lot in his younger years, while he was growing into his height, but he learns quick and is great at adapting.

• F= Favorite position (this goes without saying, will probably include a visual)

God or whoever gave him some damn fine shoulders that were meant to have legs draped over them so he can and will do that while he’s buried deep inside you. Give him full permission to manhandle you and/or tell him how to position you and just enjoy.

•G= Goofy (are they serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Usually sort of serious, especially after a mission that goes wrong (more so than usual) or if there's a close call involving both of you. That intense, good 'ole fashion "holy shit we're both still alive" fucking.

But if he ever is on the goofy side it's probably more by accident than anything but he likes the sound of your laugh and he just rolls with it.

I mean, considering his job, he has to have gotten pretty good at just rolling with the punches.

• H= Hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes)

When he gets the chance to he'll keep up with trimming but nothing fancy.

• I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

He can be romantic in his own way. Don’t expect candles and flower pedals or soft music. Well, your favorite music at least. He will  pick up on all your favorite things, stuff you share little by little just by being together and try his damndest to give you a special evening with all those things rolled into one.

His intimacy feels like it would be more subtle, close to the chest, but very intense.

• J= Jerk off (how often, what are they thinking about)

Yes. How often depends on the level of crazy he is currently surrounded by at the moment. But on the whole, not a lot. He likes to save that for you.

When he does he usually thinks about his partner *see D=Dirty secret.

• K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Competency kink: I think he has one. Someone that can do their job and do it really well, who just gets shit done? Sign him the hell up to yearn from a far until someone locks you two in a closet or something to work it out.

Frottage: Let him fuck your thighs. Or sit on his lap, pin has hands to your hips and tell him you’re going to make him come without taking off a single piece of clothing or he’s not coming at all DRY HUMPING IS SEXY FIGHT ME

• L= Location (favorite places to do the do)

Shower, bed, against the wall so you can cling onto his shoulders for dear fucking life. On Waller’s desk if he could get away with it. On the jet maybe.

• M= Motivation (what turns then on, gets them going)

Kick his ass while sparring and it will definitely turn into a much more fun form of exercise. Or in a real fight, if you pin him, expect to see a thoroughly pissed yet aroused Rick Flag.

Alternatively, gentle touches. Teasing, like I say down below, he can dish it but he can’t take it.

• N= NO (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Blood or knife play. Nope. He’s had too many nightmares about you covered in blood and injured for that. Not to mention the amount of times he’s seen you in real life, injured and bleeding.

He’s fine with leaving bruises and even some light welts but nothing that breaks skin.

• O= Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He invites you to sit on his face, no I will not be taking criticism. He loves to be able to have a grip on your thighs and ass while he makes you shake and he doesn’t consider it a job well done until you're practically melting against his mouth. 

Is not afraid to take direction, tell him what works, grab his hair and guide him.

As far as receiving, he won’t outright ask or expect it. But is a big fan of slow, sloppy bj’s I have no explanation, yet again, I just know that have his legs shaking. Likes to grab your hair but not really take control, more just moving along with you. Cradles your jaw and throat with one hand and if you deep throat him? Game over.

P= Pace (are they fast or rough? slow and sensual? etc)

Listen, if you ask him (or just flat out tell him) to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name, he will ask just to make sure you mean it and then he will wreck your shit. Sometimes that’s all he needs too.

But rough doesn’t always mean fast. He’ll put his weight behind his thrusts and oh fuck, have fun walking tomorrow. Also have mercy on your neighbors and just get rid of the headboard.

Q= Quickie (their opinions in quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

It comes ha ha get it comes? with the territory that quickies will happen. He’ll take what he can get out of them and what he wants is to make you come as many times as he can so he can have the sound, taste and feel of you fresh in his memory and that’s that on that.

As for what he prefers? Quickies have their charms but he would much rather take his time and not have to worry about anyone walking in on you two or having to stop to go break up a fight between the crazy ass criminals that are his team. 

• R= Risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

He takes enough risks in his day-to-day life so probably not anything crazy as far as public stuff but experimenting is very much on the table for him. More comfortable with it in a relationship or with someone he's known for a while.

S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

2 rounds but oohhhh does he make them last. He makes full use of his mouth, fingers, and any toys you both feel comfortable using until you’re begging him to just fuck you.

“What’d you think I’ve been doing, honey?”

“You know what I mean”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get there, just cum on my face one more time, I know you got one more.”

• T= Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't see him personally owning any but he wouldn't at all mind using them on/with a partner if they were available.

• U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you like there is no tomorrow. Can totally dish it out but can't take it, not for as long as he likes to think he can.

Slowly drives you crazy. Absolute king of undressing you with his eyes from across the room and pinning you in place with a look. Can and will drag it out until you're the one to grab him and drag him somewhere that's relatively private to let him know what you think about all that teasing.

• V= Volume (how loud are they, what sounds they make)

Sort of quiet. But he does make these deliciously low sounds that you can feel when his chest is flush against you, making you shiver. But you can get some achingly good sounds out of him if you encourage him, let him know you like it.

• W= Wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

This may just be me but this man is a switch that leans toward the submissive side.

• X= X-ray (let's see what's going on in those pants, pictures or words)

He’s 6 foot 2 inches tall. You do the math aka I’m blushing too hard just thinking about it.

• Y= Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Pretty in the middle as far as sex drive goes, unless he’s been away from his partner for a good while, then be prepared for a whole weekend in bed.

• Z= Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Doesn’t knock out right after, unless he’s dead tired. Has trouble falling asleep on a good night so he probably gets up to get something to clean you both up with and settle in with you in his arms (or him in yours) to focus on the sound of your breathing, your pulse, hoping it helps him get some sleep.

[fweasleyswhore]

Let Me Take Care Of You - G.W.

a/n: this popped up in my brain and I wanted to get it out, this is with George because I felt like he fit the idea a bit more also i deadass haven’t written smut before like not as a joke haha funny so im so sorry if this is ass

Pairing: George Weasley x fem!Reader

summary: Reader confesses her feelings for George after the disaster of Bill and Fleur's wedding and spend a night together for the first time, which they can only wished would have happened earlier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: Slight dom!George, slight sub!reader, mostly passionate smut, 18+ themes

The night was winding down. It was a beautiful ceremony, candles were floating around in the tent giving off a soft glow. A few straggling couples slow dancing. I was sat admiring the tent and the company when I felt a presence behind me. I looked up and my heart skipped a beat. George stood behind me, his hands placed in his pockets and the goofy grin he adorned everywhere was plastered on his face despite the bandage wrapped around his ear. 

I turned in my chair so I could see him better. “Hey, George.” I beamed up to him. 

“Hello, darling, would you want to dance?” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to me. My breath hitched in my throat as I nodded and he pulled me out to the dance floor. I had liked George since I met him, he always seemed to bring light in my life that I lacked, but I had never acted on my feelings. I didn’t want to lose him. 

“You look beautiful tonight.” He whispered in my ear as we slowly spun around the room. His hand was placed on the small of my back, the other interlaced with mine. My free hand rested on his shoulder, our fronts were pressed flush together. I felt my face heat up at his words and our proximity. 

I put my head on his chest and locked my arm behind his neck. “George?” I said softly. I decided now was a good time to tell him how I felt. I needed to. I wanted to say this, look back up at him and kiss him. He hummed and I felt the way his chest rumbled as he did so. “George I think I lo-” 

My words were cut off by a loud crashing noise. I whipped around to see the cause of the crash. In the middle of the dance floor was a blue light. 

“The Ministry has fallen. They are coming.” As soon as it had spoken it was gone. The tent went quiet for a moment until flashes of black smoke started appearing. I watched as Ron, Hermione, and Harry apparated away. I grabbed my wand I had placed in my dress pocket and held tightly onto George’s hand. 

Bill grabbed Fleur and started dragging her away. I watched a death eater begin on them. 

“Stupify,” I yelled and he shot back into a table and collapsed. 

“Y/N, we need to leave, there are too many.” At George’s words, I looked around, wizards and witches were fighting or apparating away. I looked up to him and nodded seeing as there wasn’t much we could do other than get hurt. He grabbed my hand tighter and started bounding towards the Burrow. We started a protection spell on the house once we got there, it finished with enough time for everyone to get in. 

Bellatrix Lestrange stood outside, I saw her from the kitchen window pacing outside. “Where did Potter go?!” She screamed. I wasn’t sure if it was aimed at us or her henchmen. Soon enough all the death eaters disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. 

Molly was sobbing at the kitchen table, Arthur was consoling her. Fred was having Ginny clean a cut on his leg. Bill and Fleur weren’t around, I assume they apparated somewhere. Lupin and Tonks were arguing about if it was worth it to apparate home. 

I couldn’t find George. My eyes scanned the area once more but I couldn’t find him. I felt my eyes tear up as I turned back to look out the kitchen window. I tried to remember if he had left the house after we cast our spell. Deep in my thoughts, I didn’t hear him walk up behind me. 

“Y/N?” His voice was soft and gentle. I whipped around and immediately jumped on him. He returned the gesture, his arms wrapped around me and pulled me up so my feet were off the floor. I wrapped my legs around him to pull him closer afraid that if I didn’t he would disappear. 

“Where were you?” I whispered harshly into his neck. 

“Making sure my ear wasn’t bleeding. Y/N are you alright?” His grip on me tightened. I felt him move away so I pulled my head up to look him in his eyes. His eyes were scanning my face looking for a sign of injury. 

Then I felt like it was the right moment. I unwrapped my arms from around him and cupped his face. His eyes stopped scanning my face as they looked directly into mine. I let my eyes flicker to his lips and then back to his, he repeated my action almost like he was communicating the same words. 

I closed the gap and pushed my lips onto his. He kisses me back with no hesitance. His grip on me tightened, one of his arms traveled down to hold my thigh and support me. Our lips moved a few times, finding a rhythm with each other. Once we did it was a new experience. George sucked and bit on my lips as we kissed causing me to let out a soft moan. I ran my hands through his hair and tugged lightly earning a soft groan from him. 

We pulled away to breathe and he set me on the kitchen counter. Suddenly remembering his family was there I looked around making sure no one was watching our moment before I put my eyes back onto him. 

“Do you know how long I wanted to do that?” He asked with a slight chuckle. His hand found my thigh and he pushed up the skirt of my dress to draw small patters above my knee. 

“Why did it take you so long?” I panted out. He was making it harder to catch my breath. 

“Tonight I watched my family fight to stay alive, and I realized that there is so much happening right now,” He gulped as he showed his vulnerability. “Y/N, I want you. I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember and I don’t want to fight this without having you beside me.” His eyes moved from the floor to my eyes and I saw him, the real him. He wanted to be loved, he wanted to share his love, and with the war building up he was afraid he was never going to be able to do that. 

“George I can’t imagine fighting this without you. I can’t imagine my future without you.” I grabbed his hand that was on my thigh as I said this. With each word I said I watched as his scared expression molded into a smile. 

“Really?” He whispered. 

“Definitely.” I replied. His lips were back onto mine and we shared a short but passionate kiss. 

The rest of the night we helped clean up. I helped Arthur get Molly to bed where he stayed with her then I helped Ginny clean up Fred’s leg and set him up a temporary bed on the couch, not wanting to climb the steps to his room. Once everyone was taken care of I found myself in George’s room. I wasn’t staying in here but I wanted nothing more for him to hold me while I fell asleep. 

The door creaked open to a very disheveled George. His purple and white speckled shirt had been rolled up his arms, the vest piece completely gone, his tie hung loosely around his neck. 

“Hey.” He spoke gently once he noticed me. I was sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Hey,” I replied taking him in. “I’m sorry, I know you're tired I just don’t want to be alone tonight.” I began to wring my hands in my lap, waiting for him to tell me to leave. 

“I was hoping I would see you again tonight.” He made a few strides and sat next to me on the bed. I leaning into him immediately, resting my head on his shoulder. He snaked an arm around my waist and we sat like that for a few minutes. I turned my head so I could look at him. 

“George, I don’t know what this war is going to take from us.”

“Hopefully not my other ear.” He butted in. I couldn’t help but laugh, he pulled me closer as I did. 

“I was trying to say that from here on out I want to be with you, I-I want to be there when you go to sleep and be there when you wake up. I want us to have little moments with each other when we can, I have spent the past few years wanting something with you and I won’t continue without letting you know. I don’t know what that kiss meant to you downstairs but that was everything to me.” I spoke slowly and I stared at my hands. I was too afraid to look at him in such a vulnerable moment. 

“That’s all I want. That kiss downstairs was my future Y/N.” I picked my head up to look at him grinning wildly. 

“I’m your future?” I asked sheepishly. 

“You’ve been my future for the past couple of years, the plan at least. Y/N I’m in love with you.” I threw my arms around his neck and tossed myself into his lap. I peppered kisses on his cheeks while smiling. Pulling back I looked at him, he was smiling back at me, his eyes were looking into the darkest parts of me but he was smiling. I knew I would always be safe with him around. 

His hands began to rub into my sides gently. He leaned up, closing the gap between us. Our kiss was slow, methodical, and passionate. It quickly escalated into more hungry and fast as we continued. Without thinking I rolled my hips into his earning a groan from him. We broke apart. His face was flush, lips parted and slightly swollen as I bet mine was too.

We stared at each other for a moment trying to gauge each other and plan what to do next. Keeping eye contact I rolled my hips again. His jaw clenched and his hands tightened on my hips. 

“Do you want this?” He asked. His voice was deep and husky. His eyes were dark and it sent shockwaves through my body, straight to my core. 

“I need you, George,” I whispered back. That was all it took for him to tighten his grip on my hips and kiss me again. The kiss was hot and fiery. I began to grind into his lap again causing us both to groan. I could feel him harden beneath me as I rolled my hips into him. I continued to roll my hips, throwing my head back as he nipped and sucked at my neck. 

“George...” I moaned out his name, I could feel him smirk against my neck. 

Before I could prepare he flipped us over, I was laying on my back and he hovered over me. 

“You’re so beautiful Y/N.” My face began to flush as he looked at me with pure adoration in his eyes. He began to pepper kisses onto my face and the butterflies in my stomach dispersed as I began to laugh. 

“Are you sure?” He asked pulling back to look at me in my eyes. 

“Yes George, please,” I whined, I could feel the familiar feeling in my core that felt both like butterflies and sinking. I desperately needed his attention on my body. 

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” I nodded and he attached his lips back to mine. His hands traveled down my body, he pushed up my skirt up my thighs and it pooled around my hips. I broke the kiss and pulled it up above my head. Looking back up to George he took me in, trailing his fingers around the lace of my bra my breath hitched much like his own. My heart rate sped up as his fingers trailed down from my breasts and to the waistband of my matching lace panties. 

He pulled on the waistband of them, letting it bounce back onto my hips. Leaning back he pulled his shirt and tie over his head. I took him in, his toned chest and stomach eyeing the ginger trail of hair that could be seen down both. 

He undid his belt, pushing down down his trousers while maintaining eye contact. I watched him until my eyes flickered down to the tent in his underwear. I could hear him chuckle as I eyed his length, my eyes widening as he grew under my gaze. 

He moved again to sit in front of me on the bed. His hands moved up my legs and rested on my things, lightly kneading them, his lips soon followed. He repeated his assault on my neck on my thighs, nipping and sucking until he reached my covered core. 

His eyes flickered up to mine as he halted his actions. I nodded permitting him to continue. His hands came up and they traced my lips causing my breathing getting heavier. He pushed my panties to the side and reached out to delicately lick my clit. I dropped my head back and let out a loud moan. 

“My family is in the house you know.” He laughed against my core, his breath fawned over me sending shivers through my body. 

“Sorry.” I whipped my head up to see him smiling at me. 

“It’s ok, I want to hear you.” He said and summoned his wand. He placed a quick silencing spell on the room. “Don’t hold back darling.” My face heated up at the nickname and I quickly nodded. 

He turned his head back to my core and started to aggressively lick and suck at my clit. I couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from my mouth as he continued his attack. His fingers came up, tracing the entrance to my core adding to the pleasure I was feeling. I reached behind myself and unclipped my bra to massage at my tits. 

He inserted a finger into me making me exclaim as he pumped it slowly while curling it. He pulled his face back to watch me as twisted and pulled on my nipples, adding to the overwhelming feeling crashing around me. 

“So pretty.” He fawned. I didn’t have time to have to be flushed at his comment as he inserted another finger into me making me scream out his name. He gently licked at my clit now and again as his fingers mercilessly pumped into me. Curling his fingers to hit that one spot over and over again his attention picked up on my clit. 

“George, I, f-fuck! I’m gonna...” I breathed out. The ability to make words passed me as my legs began to shake, the familiar feeling of a knot filled my stomach and my eyes clenched shut. 

He hummed onto my clit, acknowledging my plead and that was enough to send me over the edge. I came hard and saw stars as he continued his attack, milking my orgasm for all it could give him. He pulled his mouth away, soon after pulling out his fingers, massaging my shaking legs as I caught my breath. 

“Do you want to keep going?” He asked. I looked up at him, propping myself up on my elbows as I looked down at him. The tent in his underwear looked bigger as ever and his chin was glistening with my arousal. 

“Please.” I nodded. I grabbed him and pulled him on top of me. One of his hands propped him up while the other cupped my face as we kissed. Our tongues fought each other for dominance, I moved my hand down and palmed him through his boxers. He let out a groan which I used to my advantage to explore his mouth. 

He moved his hand from my face to grab my wrist. I halted all my actions and watched as he pulled his cock free of his underwear. My eyes widened at the sight of him, I felt myself grow wetter and rubbed my thighs together at the sight. He pumped himself a few times as his eyes raked over me, chuckling lightly to himself.

“Needy, are we?”  He taunted. He started to move his hand slower around himself, his eyes were dark as they looked into mine. I wiggled under his stare again letting out a whine. 

“George, I need you.” I managed to breathe out I heard him groan at my words. 

“As you wish.” He crawled on top of me, I linked my legs around his waist. My breathing intensified as he trailed his lips up my torso until he was trailing his lips along my jaw. He nipped and sucked behind my ear causing me to let out a breathy moan. I could feel him pressing against my entrance so I shifted my hips needily trying to take him in. He lifted his head and looked at my face as though he was committing it to memory. 

“Please…” I whined. He smiled down at me and reattached our lips. One of his hands found mine and he pulled it above my head, interlocking our fingers and leaning against it. His other hand trailed down my body until he found my hip, holding it steady. Our lips were still pressing against each other when he pushed into me. I moaned into his mouth causing him to pull away and smile at me. He continued to push into me, filling me up to the hilt. Being quite large, I involuntarily clenched around him trying to adjust to his size. He groaned and placed his head in the crook of my neck. He peppered kisses to my neck and didn’t move, letting me adjust. I felt quite full, in a good way, the stinging sensation I felt at first passed quickly. I ran my free fingers through his hair, beckoning him back to me. I kissed hard signaling for him to start moving. 

Slowly he pulled out halfway then pushed back in with more force. I moaned out his name as he repeated these actions, each time thrusting into me with more force than before. Hoisting my leg around his shoulder he continued his pace, this time hitting that spot deep inside of me that made my toes curl and my lungs lose the air they once retained. I was a moaning mess, saying George’s name like a mantra. Each feeling was both too much to handle and not enough. The familiar feeling of a knot was building up in my lower stomach. My legs began to shake and my breathing sped up as I felt myself tighten around him making each thrust leaving me feeling more full. 

“George, p-please, I need…” His hips snapped into me cutting off my sentence and turning it into a moan. He trailed his hand up and cupped my face. He picked up his pace causing my whole body shake begging for release. 

“What do you need baby?” His voice was husk and sent shockwaves through my body. As he continued his brutal pace and didn’t grant me my release I felt tears prick my eyes as it all became too much to handle. 

“F-Fuck, please George. Please.” A few tears fell as I tried my absolute hardest to hold back from falling apart. 

He leaned his head down and nipped at my ear. “Go on darling, cum for me.” He whispered into my ear. At his words I let myself fall apart, shaking and clenching around him. He continued to thrust, slowing down and stuttering until he filled me up, thrusting a few times as the aftershock of my orgasm made me spasm and let out a few small moans. 

He slowly pulled out of me and laid on top of my chest. Picking up our intertwined hands he placed a kiss on the back of mine. Brushing my fingers through his hair I tried to catch my breath. 

He rolled over and pulled me with him, now resting on his chest I could hear his heartbeat go back to a normal rhythm. 

“Y/N?” I hummed as a response, waves of fatigue fell over me and I traced small patterns onto his pale chest. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you, not anymore.”

I smiled at his words, shifting slightly so I could look up at him I beamed. “That took too long to happen,” He nodded eagerly and I laughed at him lightly. “I just mean I’m ready to fight for us.” 

He grabbed my hand resting on his chest and interlocked our fingers yet again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

We fell asleep, tangled together breathing in each other and I never felt more complete than I did at that moment. 

[peterrparrkerr]

Gun kink - read on ao3

I wrote this for fifi. They helped me come up with this idea.

*-*

"Oh, hello Mr. Stark, I got your coffee!"

Tony glances up from his folder with lab results to see the gangly young man walking over excitedly.

He's wearing his usual outfit -a pair of brown tweed trousers and a cream button down long sleeve. His outfit is never complete without a sweater vest, and today's is tan with brown edges and stripes across his torso in blues, purples and oranges.

The poor thing has a stack of folders in his arms, balancing a four coffees on the top -which wobbles precariously as Peter makes his way through the busy lab.

"You know you can make multiple trips?" Tony asked, smirking pulling at his lips as he sets his own folder down to grab the coffees.

Peter blushes, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, but then the coffee would get cold, and I might forget which folders to get," he says.

Tony reaches forward without thought, pressing his forefinger into the frame of Peter's glasses, right over his nose, and pushing it up.

Peter's cheeks turn dusky pink and he mutters an embarrassed "thank you."

Tony takes a step back, clearing his throat before setting the coffees on the table before offering his hand for the folders.

"What do you have for me?"

Peter blinks, processing Tony's question before he jolts into movement. "Oh, yeah, this one here is for the Extremis test trials."

A folder is handed to Tony. The older barely has any time to flip through it before Peter's pulling out another folder -almost losing them all in the process- and slapping it over the one Tony has.

"This one is for the new arc reactor power station, tech said they found a bug in the coding and wants you to look into it before bringing it to the board."

A third folder is handed over. Tony can't help but chuckle lowly at how awkward and frantic Peter is as he flips through his stack, looking for which folder he needs.

"These need to be signed or Mrs. Pepper said she was going to shove her heel up your -ahem- uh, your butt."

His cheeks burn redder and Tony's smile widens. Damn the kjd sure was cute.

"And these ones are all internships, job applications and test subject forms," Peter concluded, adding the rest of the folders into Tony's arms.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony hummed, looking down at the folders. "I'll take a look at these when I get a moment-"

"Oh, yeah, I can take them to your office," Peter rushed.

"Thats alright- oh, okay, uh, thank you," Tony grunts as Peter grabs the stack of folders again, holding them to his sweater vest and using his shoulder to push his glasses up his nose again.

"You're welcome, Mr. Stark," Peter grinned before making his way to Tony's office.

Tony returns to his lab results, frowning down at the graphs.

"We're going to have to fix these numbers," Tony muttered to Bruce in passing, pointing to the red jagged line ascending up the front page.

"If we want to start human trials with this new vaccine we're going to need to figure out what's happening with-"

"Oh, yeah, I'll take a look at it and get back to you," Bruce hummed, tapping his finger on the page. "I didn't realize those numbers were so high."

"Me neither," Tony scowled, snapping the folder closed and dropping it on the desk.

He goes back to work with the other employees, checking over progress and fiddling with his own projects.

He's lost in his own world when the lab door opens, the doorknob slamming into the wall behind him.

"Tony Stark!"

Tony scowls and lifts his head, only to blink at the man standing in the door.

He's wearing a bomb jacket, rigged with what looks like enough explosives to take down this half of the building.

The lab employees are all out of their chairs, some on the floor, others pressed into the wall. Tony can't move. His throat closes -he can't breathe.

"You murdered my wife," the man growls. The hand holding the detonator wavers, his grip white knuckled.

"I-" he can't get his words out. He knows he's got to. He knows he needs to de-escalate the situation so security has time to grab him, but Tony can't.

He can't do anything but stand there with wide eyes.

"Drop the detonator."

Both Tony and the man turn to the voice, and Tony's eyes widen when he sees Peter.

His ever present grin is replaced with a scowl, eyebrows furrowed and there's a glint to his eyes that make Tony shiver.

"If you shoot me I'll blow this whole place up," the man snapped, crazed eyes turned towards Peter.

Peter -the goofy intern who tripped over his untied shoelaces and stuttered and blushed. Who was standing there, calm, cool and collected.

Tony hears one of his employees let out a whimper.

"You don't want to do this," Peter said, all playful lilt gone from his voice. "Its not worth it."

The man's thumb moves towards the red button and Tony feels his breath catch.

"My wife died because that man-" the man waves the detonator at Tony, making his heart drop with how careless he's being with it. "Refused to treat her."

Tony takes a small step back, heart in his throat.

"Put the detonator down," Peter ordered again.

"No," the man sneered.

It happened in slow motion. Tony watched as the man's thumb lifts, hovering over the red button.

He hears the shot ring out, hears his employees scream in fear. Tony watches as the man's head snaps back -he didnt even see the bullet.

Blood dots his forehead, and then his knees are buckling and he drops like a rock.

Peter's the first to move, gun still aimed at the bomber. The detonator is taken from his hand as carefully as Peter can.

Seconds later, security shows up. Employees rush out of the room using the service door to the staircase.

Tony's stuck in place, still trying to process it all. Peter's talking with the security team while they wait for someone to take care of the body.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, but he jolts when a hand presses to his arm. He turns his head to see Peter looking up at him with concern.

"You okay, Mr. Stark?" He asked, not removing his hand. Tony blinks and gives a nod, mouth dry. "Lets go to your office," Peter suggests.

Tony nods again, managing to unstick his feet from the floor and following Peter to his office across the floor.

"Who gave you a gun?" Tony manages once they're safely in the office.

Peter glances at his waist -where Tony can see the gun peaking out under his sweater vest- and then up to Tony.

"Oh, uh, no one, its mine."

"You just- carry a gun?" Tony asked, dropping into his office chair with a huff.

"Its my job," Peter shrugged. He leans against the desk, thighs brushing against Tony's knee. "I was hired to be your personal detail."

Tony blinks. "What?"

"Yeah," Peter shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "Mrs. Pepper was worried someone might be after Extremis so she hired me to keep an eye on you when you weren't out and about with Happy."

"You're a bodyguard," Tony deadpanned.

Peter grimaced a little, ducking his head. "Yeah," he winces, running fingers through his hair.  "I'm sorry I lied to you. Its just that Mrs. Pepper said it would be better if you didn't know, and she's kind of scary."

Tony huffs a laugh at that. Peter's been a little afraid of Pepper since he got hired on.

"I just-" he starts, taking a deep breath. "I can't see you as part of a detail."

Peter gives a rueful half smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is it because I wear glasses?"

Tony can't help the bark of laughter that shakes his shoulders. He shakes his head before waving his hand at Peter.

"No- its all of you," he said. "You're dorky and you trip on air and fumble everything. I don't exactly picture you as a gun weilding bodyguard. No offense."

Peter shrugs, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "What do you picture me as?" He asked, leaning further back against the desk.

"A dork, honestly," he huffs. Peter laughs this time, sharp and light all at once. "Is this all a cover? The clothes and the awkwardness?"

Peter's cheeks turn red and he ducks his chin in embarrassment.

"Would I be cooler if it were?"

Tony blinks, then huffs a laugh and grabs Peter by the front of his sweater vest.

"You've got a gun in your pants, I don't think you could be more cooler," he confessed, pulling Peter off the desk.

The boy goes easily, allowing Tony to tug him onto his lap, cheeks turning redder and redder.

"I could wear a leather jacket," Peter offered, voice breathy as he settles on Tony's thighs.

"No, I like the sweater vests," Tony hummed, brushing his nose against Peter's cheek. His hands grip Peter's sides, one brushing against the gun at his hip.

"Are you gonna kiss me?" Peter asked, voice a low murmur.

Tony shivers, squeezing Peter's hips as his lips ghost over the younger's.

"Are you going to use that gun on me if I do?" Tony questioned, cock hardening against his slacks. Peter whimpers, hands sliding under Tony's lab coat to grip his shoulders.

"I might," Peter breathed. Tony surged forward at that, kissing Peter filthy and feeling the gun digging into his side as Peter melted against him.

[goldencorecrunches]

Hello ur wangningxian fic had me fucking SCREAMING hello hello I was trying to practice driving but I was too busy YELLING anyways amazing job I'm so fucking hyped for pt 5!!!!

YOU’RE SO NICE HELP I KEEP STARING AT THIS MESSAGE ME HEART MELTIN HERE YOU GO HON -- (Part I) (Part II) (Part III) (Part IV)

--

They don't return to the table. It had been a stupid idea anyway, Wen Ning thinks; too serious, too tribunal. Wei Ying doesn't like to talk about it, like he doesn't like to talk about anything that's really fucked him up, but he knows family dinners for him growing up weren't the most comfortable affairs. Instead he and Lan Zhan budge over on the couch, though there's already enough room (there's always enough room, if it's for Wei Ying), and Wei Ying, tripping on his tiptoes the way he does when he's nervous, perches on the L-shaped edge of the cushion. The reflective vest Lan Zhan has bullied him into wearing whenever he goes out night-running dangles off one shoulder, coquetry in neon orange. 

He is too far away. 

Wen Ning extends a leg and prods at Wei Ying with his toes, making Wei Ying yelp, ticklish, and for a moment nearly smile, until Wei Ying gives in to what he clearly wants and scoots up against Wen Ning's side, the third overlapping piece in their tableau. A very wiggly tableau it will be, indeed, now that Wei Ying has joined it. They would not have it any other way. "So you guys kiss now," Wei Ying says, into the hole in the leggings over Wen Ning's thigh. Wen Ning keeps thinking he should fix that, and then forgetting. "How long has that been going on?"

"Just tonight," Wen Ning says, making his tongue go slowly. Behind him Lan Zhan makes a small noise, negative; one of his hands withdraws from Wen Ning's waist and reaches for his phone. They wait while he types, Wen Ning looking at the contrast between Wei Ying's cheek and his own black spandex, Wei Ying staring into the crack where the cushions meet the back of the couch. He seems like he's worn himself out; he curls around Wen Ning's leg like it's a stuffed toy.

It is times like this that Wen Ning is reminded of how much slighter Wei Ying is, than either himself or Lan Zhan. He imagines lifting his leg and carrying Wei Ying up atop it, like a fragile sparrow, hollow-boned, fluffed up against the cold. "Almost nine days," the lady in Lan Zhan's phone says. "When Wen Ning brought you back from the library. Kissed him then. Did not plan it. But." His fingers have stilled; Lan Zhan types with one whole hand, cradling the phone in his other, instead of with his two thumbs like everyone else. It's hopelessly endearing: our little old-fashioned man, Wei Ying calls him, and then tugs at his hair or tweaks his ear. "But you liked it? Mm. Can't blame you for that." Wen Ning can feel the flex of Wei Ying's jaw as he mumbles. A small hum like the vibration of a string starts at the top of Wen Ning's scalp and travels down through his body. The nausea has not left him, or the guilt, but Wen Ning plunges his hands into that hum and lets it fill all his corners. Now that they are speaking, it is better; though they've barely begun. The waiting was the hardest part. It's never as bad as you think it will be, he tells himself. He bites his tongue to get moisture back into his mouth. "We did- we did-, we haven't done anything between then," he says. Lan Zhan's arms tighten around him. Wen Ning leans back against him gratefully. "Um. When we went to that weird cafe with Lan Zhan's brother? That was what we were talking about." Behind him he feels Lan Zhan nod. "I wondered," Wei Ying says. He curls tighter, the movement like a brace before a leap. "Were you going to tell me?" Oh: Wen Ning's lungs have been stolen away. One of Lan Zhan's hands leaves him again, this time to reach out and press down on the top of Wei Ying's head. It's a bad angle; he has to strain, and even so he mostly gets the end of his ponytail. Wei Ying hides his face in the crook of Wen Ning's knee. Wen Ning has to blink rapidly and swallow, twice when the first time isn't enough. He's not sure what he means to say; what comes out is clumsier and more honest than he wants. "I didn't want you to feel left out. I'm sorry." Against his neck, Lan Zhan grunts agreement. He's petting the rough-chopped ends of Wei Ying's hair, the ends sticking up between his knuckles and then smoothing flat again. "Just," Wei Ying says. It's difficult to hear him, pressed as far as he is into Wen Ning's leg, but Wen Ning doesn't imagine he or Lan Zhan are right now giving him anything but their complete intent focus. "You have to tell me if you don't want me around any more, okay? That's rule, ah, rule eighty-nine of being my friend." He laughs, his shoulders twitching. Wen Ning needs to hug him so badly it's rooted his ass to the tasteful cream-colored microfiber. "Okay," he says, chokes on it. "Yeah. D-deal. Definitely want you here though. Right Lan Zhan?" "Mn," Lan Zhan rumbles emphatically. Wei Ying droops. He goes from light upon Wen Ning's knee to hundredweight, sinking like a stone in water. Somehow, Wen Ning manages to curl his leg and reach his arms and get Wei Ying bundled up against them both, his hair splaying out over Wen Ning's throat and his sharp wrists tucked up against Lan Zhan's sternum. He's still laughing, a little, and Wen Ning listens carefully in case the tears he can hear behind them start to spill over. "'S funny," he's saying. Wen Ning slings an arm over his him and wraps even closer. "I thought, hah, I thought out of all of us it would be me who would fuck up and accidentally kiss someone, but wow, Lan Zhan! Who knew you had it in you!" His body can't seem to decide whether it wants to tremble or to sag. It tries to do both, with different parts. Wen Ning looks up from under his eyelashes to see how Lan Zhan reacts to Wei Ying's implication that he'd kiss him, and sees Lan Zhan staring solemnly back at him, the same emotion reflected. He frowns and reaches to set Lan Zhan's hand on Wei Ying's hip where his has been. Lan Zhan resists him. "Like, you guys are my best friends, you know? My best friends, and I've told you this but I mean it, and if you two want to go off and kiss I'm really really happy to let you do that I don't want to get in the way and make you not want to be around me any more because I'm--" Lan Zhan is trying to communicate something to Wen Ning with a frustrated glare and the minute tilt of his chin. Wen Ning has an inkling what it is, and staunchly ignores him, because despite the warm-butter feeling spreading over him Lan Zhan is wrong. "--and I was like, to myself, what if it doesn't break everything? But obviously that's absurd, I always break everything, and--" "Wei Ying," Wen Ning says, in desperation, as Lan Zhan gives up all pretence of fighting fair and begins attempting to shove Wei Ying completely into Wen Ning's lap. He knows Wen Ning won't try to pull away when Wei Ying needs to be held, the bastard. "If you, when you, you, you, you-- kiss Lan Zhan! Please! He wants you to!" It is an uncomfortable position to be frozen in, for the beats that follow. Wei Ying's elbow is digging into the soft part under Wen Ning's ribs, and Lan Zhan's ankle is somehow twisted underneath them all. There's a heavy thud from the apartment above; as the three of them clutch at each other and stare, barely breathing, they hear harried footsteps and the muffled tones of a child being scolded. "Ooh, someone's in trouble," Wei Ying says. And then: "Wait, no. I meant. What?" Lan Zhan is glowering in abject betrayal at the wall over Wen Ning's right shoulder. His ears are slowly turning pink. "Hhhn," Wei Ying says, like a untied rubber balloon, and then-- frantically, scrambling over their tangled legs-- It is not that Wen Ning isn't jealous of what they have, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. It is rather, to be witness to so wonderful a thing feels like a privilege. When Lan Zhan's hands come up to frame Wei Ying's face, when Wei Ying's lips part, it is more than beautiful; it is necessary. Wen Ning can feel himself grinning, wide and goofy, even as he loses feeling in his calves. It's just-- it's been such a long time, and he's-- he's happy for them. He's so happy. He's...crying? "Oh," Wei Ying says, "Oh, oh, oh," and twists in a violent motion, and Wen Ning is, for the third time in his most immediate history, completely blindsided by the knowledge of a mouth over his own. I haven't brushed my teeth, he thinks, which is a nonsense thing to think, because he did brush his teeth this morning, of course, and he hasn't even started getting ready for bed yet, and also, he had Lan Zhan's tongue in his mouth not even an hour ago, and he had Lan Zhan's tongue in his mouth and now he has Wei Ying's-- He becomes dimly aware that Lan Zhan is stroking his arm, where it's curved to trap Wei Ying flush against his chest. Wen Ning makes the executive decision to panic about this later. There are too many things happening right now to keep track of freaking out. For example: the discovery that brushing the tips of his fingers over the soft skin behind Wei Ying's ear makes him gasp and shudder all over. "Lan Zhan," Wen Ning says, amazed. It's too momentous a thing to keep to himself. "Look." He does it again, and they both watch Wei Ying's eyelids flutter. It feels like there's a volcano under his skin. "M-maybe we should stop and talk ab, about this like adults," he says. It comes out breathless. He does not want to stop and talk about this like adults. "Nonononononono," Wei Ying says, hands shooting out to fasten on their shoulders. "We did talking, now is kissing, can we do more of the kissing? I like kissing. I like kissing you. Both. Both of you." His face screws up. "You might have a point. I think I might pass out? But in a good way?" Lan Zhan looks deeply alarmed. He and Wen Ning maneuver Wei Ying so he has his head between his knees, their hands meeting over the bony seam of his spine. Lan Zhan squeezes Wen Ning's fingers. The volcano turns into a horde of extremely peppy wind-up toys. Or maybe this is what butterflies feel like? "Running," Lan Zhan says, gathering the strands of Wei Ying's hair back from his face. It takes Wen Ning a moment to understand; in his defense, he's fairly certain his brain has been forcibly disconnected. "Right, um, electrolytes. And sugar." He peels himself away (Wei Ying makes a pathetic noise, which twinges at Wen Ning's heart, but he's in good hands) and nearly faceplants on the edge of the rug as pins and needles shoot up his legs. Because Lan Zhan is a good and righteous man, he has the kind of orange juice that's full-sugar, and without bits. Wen Ning pours them all glasses just to be on the safe side, and also takes the opportunity to stick his head in the freezer and think thoughts that are not about confirming his love for his two closest friends via double fellatio. When he returns Wei Ying is sitting upright, Lan Zhan's arm around him. He refuses to drink until Wen Ning is cuddled up with them. See, Wen Ning's therapist says, as he tucks himself against the long line of Lan Zhan's body, Lan Zhan's eyebrows knitted as he rewinds the movie back to the beginning of the scene the left off on. Wei Ying slaps indiscriminately across the limbs within reach when Lan Zhan reaches the right spot; he makes the whole couch rock, and Wen Ning thinks he might burst, from loving them. Not as bad as you thought, at all. So much better.