#this was just rattling around in my head and also an excuse to show off my casting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 6 months ago

Text

La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you feel ill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

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

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

Let me have my papa back.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?” You prod gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

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

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mission accomplished.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“You!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But most of all, it’s home.

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

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did it.

World Champion at last!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To our champion! The Queen!”

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

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

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

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

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

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

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

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

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

You and Charles share an amused look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

3K notes · View notes

storiesfromafan · 3 months ago

Text

She's A Spitfire - Benny x Reader

A/N: I can't help myself. This one's a little different, readers sassy haha. And this one is a long one.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Also, feel free to send requests :)

Boys and their toys, you always think when it comes to your boyfriend and his other biker club buddies and their motorcycles. Or anything with wheels really. And for their love of them, you found your Saturday out with the boyfriend, and his boys, at what started as a car show. But now also sported motorcycles, from a few different clubs.

Troy and his friends were discussing who’s bike was better, or what car looked the best. You didn’t know, it was all so boring. So you and three other women, partners of other bikers, were sitting around on blankets, taking in the sun and gossiping. Leaning back on your arms, one leg stretched out while the other propped up, you tilted your head back, eyes closed taking in the sun.

“Jeez (Y/N), do you need to be more on display!” Becky said with a chuckle.

To her words you popped your chest out more, smirk crossing your red lips.

“Better hope Troy don’t see ya” commented Danni.

“So what if he does? I do what I want, not what he wants” you remarked, making them all cackle with laughter.

“Can’t believe the other clubs here” Pam said rattling off names. “...Rogues and Vandals” she finishes.

“Just more bike wired men, who enjoy vibrations between there legs, and have drinking problems” you said offhandedly, making the women laugh more.

You always say what you want, making people think you were born with no filter. And that was fine with you. Even if it does get you in some trouble from time to time. The last time it was between you and another woman at the clubs bar, she had been mouthy and flirting up a storm with Troy. You called her out, she ignored you. So, you gave her some truths from her choice in clothes to her hair and skin care routine. She wasn’t a fan of you after that, going straight to slap you, but you caught her hand and gave her a serving of her own.

After that no woman in that bar messed with you, or your boyfriend. But that didn’t stop Troy from messing around on you. His taste seemed to have changed to cutesy, good girls who wore sweet dresses and heels. Even with this knowledge you still put up with him. But his time was coming, you could feel it. When the time was right you’d get your revenge.

“Sweet lord and Jesus’s!” Breathed out Danni, looking across the way, her glasses pulled down her nose, eyes looking over the top of them. “He should be illegal!”

You rolled your eyes at her words. After all her taste was – excuse the language – in her ass about eight out of ten times.

“Oh my” Pam said moving to swing her body around to face where Danni was looking. “Is he real!?”

Alright, now your interest was piqued. Lolling your head to the right, you searched for what those two were gawking at. And boy did you find it. He was tall, strong build. Dressed in a black t-shirt, jacket, dirty white jeans and matching dirty boots. He had messy blonde locks that one could run their hand through, or as you like, to pull on. Of course he was a Vandal, as his colors said when he turned around to take a beer from another Vandal. Then he took a swig of it, making the simplest of actions make you think not so clean thoughts.

“Someone serve me a slice of that” Becky said with a dreamy voice. You all agreeing with her.

You moved a hand to draw down your sunglasses, needing to see him in the days full light. Glare be damned, you needed this. Without the glasses tint, he looked even better. He was talking to the man that gave him the beer, nodding his head to whatever said. Another two men walked over, one with his arm slung over the other in an attempted to keep standing up, possibly from a little too much to drink. They laughed, talking to blondie before the one holding up his buddy slapped him on the arm, head gesturing in your direction.

All four of you froze, like a deer in headlights as blondie turned his gaze to you all. His friends continuing to talk and laugh, no doubt mentioning you four staring. Maybe encouraging blondie to come over. But he didn’t move, eyes locked on you all, or was it you? You weren’t sure. He took another swig from his bottle, yet never took his eyes off you. Feeling the butterflies swarming your stomach, you put your sunglasses back on, before lolling your head back to where it had been. You had started to feel exposed by his staring, so you had to cut it off, and get back your bad bitch energy.

Benny had made his way over to Johnny and Brucie after taking a leek. They were in deep conversation about an upcoming picnic, discussing the finer details. Johnny had handed him a beer, which he thanked him for before taking a long swig.

“Some of the women think kids shouldn’t be attendin’. Saying too many men are getting stoned or drunk, doesn’t set a good example” laughed Brucie.

Johnny shook his head. “It’s a family picnic, kids have to be there. What ya think Benny?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah kids should be there” Benny said not really paying much mind.

It didn’t matter to him much if kids were at the picnic. But knowing how Johnny likes to bridge his family and club life. It was a small thing to let him enjoy both, even for a small time. It was then that Benny spotted Wahoo and Corky making their way over. Corky had his arm over Wahoo, using his counter part as a crutch from drinking too much. When they finally made it over, Johnny asked them the same question he asked Benny. They both attempted to make a few jokes about it, but they weren’t funny.

“I don’t care if there’s kids, as long as they stay out of my way” Wahoo said, Corky nodding his head.

Johnny nodded his head. Decision made, tradition will stand and its a full family friendly picnic. With that decided Benny listened to the two new comers talk about Zipco going on about Pinko's, before Wahoo's attention moved to across the way. A smirk formed on his lips before he turned back to Benny.

“Seems ya got an audience” Wahoo mused, slapping Benny’s arm and head gesturing to across from them.

Confused, Benny looked to where Wahoo had been looking. There on a blanket sat four women. Three of them were sitting up right and gawking, while the fourth was lounging back. Out of all of them, she was the one to catch Benny’s attention. The position she was in, her chest sticking out in her tight sweater, was a pleasant sight to the masses. Dark slacks covered her slender legs, making him wonder what they’d be like straddling his bike, or his lap. Over all she was a vixen, no doubt a spitfire, if the air she gave off implied.

Wahoo and Corky kept talking, making comments about the women. But then they talked about her. Voicing Benny’s thoughts. Yet he didn’t like it one bit. He thought those words and thoughts should just be from him, no other man. Feeling his mouth dry, Benny brought the beer to his lips and took a drink. But made sure to keep his eyes on her. The cause for needing that drink.

“You should go over there Benny” Johnny stated, watching the younger man. “Go introduce yourself”.

Benny thought it over, maybe he should. What’s the harm it could do? What’s the worst that could happen? You would say no, that’s nothing. Feeling confident Benny watched as the focus of his gaze put her glasses back on, turned her head, and go back to enjoying the sun. He handed Johnny his half full bottle before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up, the only time he took his eyes off her. After taking a drag, Benny looked to the women again, slowly releasing the smoke from his mouth.

“I’ll be back” was all Benny said before putting the cigarette back between his lips.

You listened to the sounds the girls made, Pam gushing over when blondie took a drag of his cigarette. You had to stop yourself from turning to look at him, you had to remain calm. You never give a man power over you, and by jumping at any little thing would do that.

“Oh lord! He’s coming this way!” Becky said slapping Pam’s arm. “Do I look alright!?”

“You?! What about me?!” Retorted Pam.

You sighed. “Calm down girls, he’s just a man” you sighed.

“A fine man, yes” muttered Danni.

Once more you sighed before turning your head slightly, watching blondie slowly walking your way. You reminded the girls to stay calm. But part of you was trying to tell yourself it too. Blondie continued to smoke his cigarette, which now you understood the girls reaction. He really did make anything look good. Finally reaching you, blondie came around to stand beside you, before squatting down. He took the cigarette from his lips and flicked it away, done with it.

“Hey” came his gravelly voice. “I'm Benny”. A beautiful smile crossed his sinful lips.

You did your best to keep breathing as you pulled down your sunglasses, looking Benny in the eyes, beautiful baby blues watching your every move. “Hi Benny, I’m (Y/N)” you replied sweetly, smile gracing your lips.

“Hmm, pretty name for a pretty vixen” Benny mused, making you chuckle. “Hey ladies” Benny added looking to the women sitting around you.

They weakly said hi back, unsure of their own voices.

“You know how to get women to quiet down, huh?” You mused pushing your sunglasses back up.

Benny laughed. “Don’t know, never taken notice before”.

You smiled at his honesty.

“But it doesn’t seem to work on you, aye?” Benny asked teasingly.

“Unfortunately, nope” was your simple reply. But in your head you were gushing.

“I like that” he stated looking you up and down. “You got a man?”

You smirked. “Yeah I do. Why? Think you could handle me?”

Benny chuckled, “more could you handle me, baby?”

“I can handle anythin' Benny. I’m not afraid of anythin’”. That was a lie, but you couldn’t back down. Nor could you stop yourself. His attention was electrifying. But part of you feared Benny could make you go weak, could even fall for him and his baby blues.

“Oh is that so?” Benny asked, smirking at the banter between you both.

“Yep” you replied tilting your head back and sighing, knowing full well you were teasing the biker.

And what about Troy? All you thought was Troy who? He had his fun with sweet girls, even though he had a sultry woman. If he was having his cake and eating it too, you could tease another biker. And if Troy hears about it, you didn’t care. You were done with his crap.

“Shame you have a man, as I’d love to take you for a ride on my bike” Benny said, with a sad face. “But, as you said, you have a man...”

You almost caved, melting at his words and sad look. But you stayed strong. It couldn’t hurt to give him some hope, right?

“Hmm, I guess it is for ya. But you never know, play your cards right and you just might get me on your bike”. You pulled down your glasses, shot him a wink before putting them back in their place.

Oh how Benny wanted to groan from your flirty ways, and that wink. Cherry on top. Licking his lips, Benny took a moment to focus. You were clouding his head, but in a good way.

“Alright baby, when you’re ready let me know”.

With that Benny stood up, and took his leave. He walked back to the guys he’d left. You watched him walk away, loving the view. All three women did, was just as good as him walking over. Then they turned their sights on you, all in a state of shock and awe.

“What?” You asked innocently. Though far from it.

All three began to talk, questioning you what just happened? If you were crazy? What about Troy? Could you to teach them your ways, and so on. You ended up laughing with every question. Laughing to the point you ended up laying on the blanket on your back, a hand coming to cover your mouth while sticking the other out in an attempt to stop them.

“Alright, alright. Enough!” You exclaimed, out of breath.

“Seriously (Y/N), what was that?” Asked Danni with confusion.

You shrugged, moving to rest your hands behind your head. “Dunno, but it was fun. Benny is quite the dish, am I right?”

“What about your boyfriend?” Inquired Pam.

Again you shrugged. “He doesn’t have to know”.

Becky scoffed. “Yeah, if you weren’t out in the open, surrounded by people. He’s gonna hear about it”.

“Oh well” you sighed. “Will make things interestin’”.

All three women shared a look. “Maybe. Or cause a brawl”.

You looked to them. “No doubt a brawl will happen. Whoever wins can have me”.

And with that you turned your face back to the sky, closing your eyes and trying to remain calm. Your heart was racing with the thought of Troy flaring up, you enjoy a verbal fight because it would lead to a hot make up session back home. But after learning the truth of what your boyfriend has been up to, you really didn’t want to have words with him. You thought about ending things, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, this could be your chance to drop him.

And Benny. Where do you begin with Benny. The man was gorgeous, dangerously tempting. Plus he was just as taken with you, as you were him. Or else he wouldn’t have been flirting. You’d gladly get on his bike, and let him take you for a ride. Take that anyway you want. Now you would sit back and see what happens.

Benny made it back to his friends, Johnny holding out his beer with a smirk. “Pleasant chat, hmm?”

He smirked taking the bottle. “Yeah, she’s a spitfire”.

The men laughed, Wahoo clapping Benny on the back. The men joked and talked, all about watching Benny and the spitfire. Benny took a swig from the bottle, chuckling at his friends. Glancing back over to her and her friends, Benny noticed that she was now laying on the blanket. It didn’t help him one bit. The things he was thinking he could do to her.

“So, when you taking her for a ride?” Corky asked wiggling his eyebrows, double meaning to his question.

Benny shook his head looking to the male. “She’s got a man”.

“When has that stopped you?” Laughed Wahoo.

Benny laughed at his question, he had a point. “She did say if I played my cards right and I just might get her on my bike”.

Corky and Wahoo hollered and hooted, Johnny just shaking his head with a smile on his face before taking a sip from his beer. Brucie clinked his beer bottle with Benny’s, showing his praise. Benny felt like he was on his bike, riding down an open road, the rush of freedom. But he wasn’t on his bike, or riding the open road. It was because of her. The spitfire, vixen with red lips and sultry presence.

“I take it the boyfriend is here?” Johnny suddenly asked, breaking Benny from thought.

He shrugged. “Probably”.

“I’d expect he’ll hear about you talkin’ to his girl, ya know?”

“Yeah. I can handle him” Benny said without a care, drinking more of his beer.

“The boyfriend should be the worried one” laughed Corky.

They know he was right, but didn’t voice it. They all know Benny was ruthless when it comes to a fight. To the point he has to be pulled off the other guy. Past brawls have proven that. Johnny having to wrap his arms around Benny and drag him back, which is hard when Benny sees red.

“Cross that bridge when it comes” Benny said, ending it there with him walking off.

It was later in the afternoon when Troy finally surfaced, after leaving you with your friends for hours. By now you sitting on the blanket, deep in conversation with the girls. But always keeping an eye on Benny, and seeing he did the same. You might have even kept teasing him, which got the desired effect; want. Yes, you continued to fan the flame, fully knowing that could or would it engulf everything.

Back to Troy; he came stomping over, a couple of his friends behind him. Troy had heard gossip through out the day of some biker hitting on a stunning woman. Gradually all the pieces coming out and he found out that woman was you. Furry filled him. His girl talking to another biker, another biker having the guts to speak to his girl.

“Oh shit!” cursed Danni. “Here comes the consequence”.

Not quiet getting what she meant, you looked over your shoulder to see your boyfriend heading your way. “Well, it took him long enough” you sighed, moving to stand.

Once on your feet, you dusted your legs and behind. Then you fixed your top, not even showing a care in the world. On the inside you were uneasy. Questioning how he was going to react. Would he yell and jump up and down? Would he quietly yell at you? You’re about to find out.

“(Y/N)! What’s this I’m hearin' about some Vandal talkin' to ya!?” Troy questioned, seething with anger.

You raised your bored gaze to him. “Just that, talkin’ to me. And?”

That didn’t help. Troy’s anger rose to furry. He grabbed your arm – tightly – and pulled you close. “What was that! Tell me now what happened or so help me”.

Your straightened up, keeping your face calm, as you tried to pull your arm free. “Troy, let go of my arm. You’re hurtin’ me!” Your voice raised in volume, but fell on deaf ears.

“Tell me if you’re whoring around” he yelled, starting to catch the attention of others.

“Ha. I’m far from whoring around Troy” you gritted out, still trying to free your arm. “Unlike you, of course”.

He growled, shaking you, grip only getting tighter. “What ya sayin’, huh!?”

Before you could think or say anything, you saw a fist come flying and make contact with Troy’s face. His grip finally freeing your arm as he staggered back a few steps. You held your arm, moving back from the man. Finally processing what happened, you turned to see Benny standing there, breathing heavy with tightly clutched fists.

“She asked you to let her go” Benny heaved. “No man should ever grab a woman like you did”.

Benny had just gotten back with Cal, after taking a walk to check out some bikes. Upon his return he witnessed a man, hell bent on reaching his destination, with an anger that only spelt trouble. And when he stopped before you, Benny knew what was to come. A verbal altercation or a physical one to defend you. As soon as he grabbed your arm, Benny began to slowly walk over, Cal and Johnny right behind him. Benny heard everything said. Accusing you of whoring around and his grip tightening to the point you were trying to get free, was what did it. And he swung his fist.

“You alright spitfire?” Benny asked looking over his shoulder at you. Choosing the new nickname over his favorite; baby.

You were putting on a brave face, he could tell but didn’t say anything. “I’m alright. But gonna have a nice bruise”.

Holding his cheek, Troy watched you both. A sneer on his face. “Take it you’re the Vandal this whore was flirtin’ with” he spat.

It only stoked the flame in Benny. How dare this man so easily doubt you, call you a whore. “If anythin’ I’m the one who talked to her” Benny defended flexing his hands, itching to connect them to his face some more.

Troy laughed. “No need to lie for her. She ain’t nothin’ but trouble”.

You felt anger rising, replacing the unease. “Other way around baby” you spat out.

Troy’s laughter died, eyes narrowing in on you. “Stay out of it sweetheart, the men are talkin’”

“Man” you corrected, “I only see one and he’s defendin’ me”.

That got under his skin, and Troy made to go for you but Benny grabbed him before pushing him back. “I wouldn’t even try it”.

Troy laughed dryly. “Might straighten her out”.

That was it, last strike. Benny lost it, fist connecting with Troy’s face again and then again. The first time Troy copped the full hit, but managed to get a half block in. Then he returned Benny’s fists with his own, getting a hit in. You moved away from them, calling out for them to stop but they weren’t listening. Troy’s buddy’s went in to helped their friend, but Cal and Johnny made sure they were taken care of. A full on three way brawl was taking place, with so many on lookers.

Troy managed to dodge Benny and step away from him, but unlucky for him Benny charged at him, tackling him to the ground and waling on him. This was when Cal and Johnny noticed the anger of their friend. Troy’s buddies just watching, afraid to step in to help him. Johnny was the one to grab Benny, but he couldn’t pull him away, until Cal helped him. They were telling Benny to stop, it was enough. Sitting on the grass, both men with him, holding an arm. Benny saw the damage he’d done, to Troy and his own hands. Spitting he went to stand, his friends moving to help him.

“Don’t ever say those words about or too (Y/N) again, or to anyone. Ya hear!?” Benny’s voice was breathless and more gravelly.

Troy just nodded his head, making noises in pain.

Benny turned to you. “Sorry about that spitfire, just don’t like a man disrespecting a woman”.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Thanks for coming to my rescue”.

He chuckled, “always” and winked. Yet it hurt from getting clocked in the eye.

“Alright, come on. Let’s get ya cleaned up” Johnny said patting Benny on the back, and starting to uncomfortably walk back to his spot.

Cal also patted Benny before walking back too.

Benny looked back to you. “Ya comin’ baby?” He asked, not caring anymore and just calling you what he wanted.

You smiled grabbing your bag and stepping up to him. “Sure Benny”.

He wrapped his arm around you and you both moved to pass Troy, before he grabbed your slacks. “What about me? Ya boyfriend?”

You looked to Benny, before moving from his arm and leaning down to Troy. “It’s over. Plain and simple”.

He sputtered. “Huh!? Who’s gonna look after me!?”

You smiled at his sweetly. “I dunno, maybe ask Anna or Stefanie or Doris to take care of you. Because this whore ain’t ya girl anymore”.

With that, you put Benny’s arm around you again and you both headed over to his friends. You helped clean up Benny’s hands and face. He liked having your attention on him, liked how careful you were cleaning and wrapping up his hands. Once done you took a seat next to him with a sigh, head leaning back against the car you were both sitting beside.

“Sorry you had to step in back there” you said softly. “I didn’t expect that to happen”.

Benny chuckled. “It’s my fault. I struck first, talk later. It’s my style”.

You laughed, a genuine laugh. “Well, how about we both say sorry then”.

Benny nodded. “Sounds good to me”.

A comfortable silence fell between you too. You looked over to your friends, who were glancing at you both occasionally. Were they still your friends? After all they were with other bikers in Troy’s club. So, where does this leave you, with such a public break up too. Only time would tell.

Feeling restless you sat up and turned to Benny. “Your offer still stands for a ride on your bike?”

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I feel like I need a change of scenery” you gestured to your friends, as well as Troy and his boys further behind the girls.

He nodded before standing. Benny held out his hand and you took it carefully, before he pulled you up, not caring about the pain. You wanted to leave, go anywhere from here and what happened. Leading you to his bike, it didn’t take long for him to get on and start the bike up, the roar catching people’s attention. Without trouble you got on behind him, hands wrapping around his body, hands resting against his firm stomach. Then Benny took off, heading out and onto the road. Letting his bike take you both wherever, and enjoy the freedom it gives you both.

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader

310 notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 2 years ago

Text

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version ie. Wherein Vil tries his very best to correct your abominable wardrobe and you swoop in to kidnap save an unsuspecting gentleman in distress.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“Your wardrobe is atrocious. And I’m not going to be seen with someone who looks like they rolled around on the floor of their closet and put on whatever stuck to them first.”

Firstly, your closet wasn’t big enough to step inside, let alone roll around in. So take that, Mister Metaphor.

Secondly, you didn’t even own enough clothing for that to be an option. Dressing yourself like some kind of confetti monster? Yeah, no. You had three pairs of donated, grey, uniforms and a couple over-large sweatshirts that Jack had kindly donated to you once fall set in. Today it just so happened to be Uniform #2 that was the clean one of the set. So.

All of that being said, from the sounds of things, your Crimes Against Fashion had spurred an emergency shopping trip. A shopping trip spearheaded by the Vil Schoenheit, and very hopefully being funded by his seemingly never-emptying wallet. Also, to be perfectly honest, Ramshackle was cold. And you would very much like some new socks and at least one fuzzy pair of pajama pants to go with Jack’s old crewnecks. Maybe a nice throw blanket. That alone was worth the blow to your dignity.

“Will I survive?” you lamented, as Rook fussed with your sad excuse for an umbrella.

“No,” Epel drawled, entirely unsympathetic. Not that you could blame the guy. An afternoon that the House Warden spent with you was one less hovering over Epel—one less hour stuck in front of a mirror, one less etiquette class that was more punishment than lesson. Perhaps one more secret rack of barbecue ribs snuck in from the Savanaclaw Dorm.

“Mon Coeur, you are going to get soaked,” Rook tutted, finally conceding on trying to fix your shredded nightmare of a parasol. You’d found it in one of the many dusty closets Ramshackle had to offer. One of the ghosts said they recognized it from their time on campus two-hundred years ago.

“Sorry.”

“It is far from your fault!” Rook gasped, and Epel rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you ask Vil to buy you one?” your purple-haired friend mocked, and you fought the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“Maybe I will,” you sniffed, indignant.

“More likely he’ll just see it an’ get all upset, and be like, ‘ah! How ugly this darn thing is! Throw it away before my eyes bleed!’” he crooned, dramatic—so caught up in his theatrics that he nearly dropped the little apple carving he was working on.

“Yeah, right. Like Vil would ever be caught dead saying ‘darn,’” you jabbed, and Epel hurled the fruit at your head. Rook caught it gracefully and returned it to the grumpy farm boy with a gentle toss. “But otherwise, spot on.”

“‘Spot on’ about what, precisely? Your collective complete and utter lack of decorum? This is a public space, show some class please.”

And with that scathing remark, Vil Schoenheit had officially entered the scene.

The venomous beauty’s purple eyes traced over you in the way that they always seemed to—picking apart whatever things he deemed worthy of plucking. His gaze landed almost immediately on your near-disintegrated umbrella, and it narrowed with distaste.

“You’re not bringing that with us. In fact, you might as well just toss it with the garbage on the way out.”

You and Epel made painfully long eye contact.

Rook shoved a red-and-white checkered parasol into your hands with an indulgent smile.

The journey to the outlets from there was actually pretty pleasant. Vil’s private car was swanky and smelled like the fancy sort of air fresheners that didn’t prick at your nose with an oversaturation of chemical fruitiness. He rattled off list upon list of ‘essentials’ that was sounding longer and more expensive by the minute. But (as he immediately confirmed upon seeing your mounting horror) this was to be a Schoenheit Expenditure, so you decided to let him enjoy himself and tally up a ridiculous amount of brand name garbage.

The stores had private parking. And that was immediately intimidating.

Vil fixed his ‘normal people disguise’ more firmly in place before walking you through the building with a surprising level of enthusiasm.

“It works a bit differently—” he continued, piling item after item into a cart that was already close to overflowing. “—Most of these products are meant to be customized, but I suppose we can look into that later. Off-The-Rack is not usually my preferred method of browsing, but it will have to do until we’ve bulked out your general wardrobe into something passable.”

He was muttering to himself like a mad scientist—holding swatches to your face, tugging bits of various fabric against your fingers. His efficiency and complete competence in all things was endearing, if not a bit terrifying.

Then, Vil draped a soft, amethyst, scarf around your neck.

“Here,” he said, still mostly buried in the racks. “You can wear this now—for the cold. This color suits you.”

“Really?” you hummed, doing your absolute best not to let your eyes fall to the price tag dangling off the end of it. You failed. “It’d fit you better,” you rambled, trying to take your mind off the triple-goddamn-digits you’d just seen. “It actually matches your eyes kind of perfectly, don’t you think?”

There was a pause then, and for a moment you worried that you’d said something irritating—maybe unintentionally questioning his fashion judgements or blablabla. One thing that you knew for sure was that when the King of Poisons had to stop and ponder on a reply, you’d done fucked up. And were his ears red? Oh no you must have really pissed him off—

“I am trying to focus on turning you into an even marginally acceptable member of society,” he rushed out finally, sounding strained. “So if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go grab us some coffees or something.”

“Don’t wander too far,” he called, sounding distracted. “And no—”

“No caffeine, decaf only. Stimulants will ruin your skin, and digestive tract, and blablabla,” you droned. “I know your drill.”

“That goes for you too, potato,” he tutted, a pleasant warmth coasting over the reprimand.

You waved him off with a grumble and headed out into the main building. It was bright—nearly unpleasantly so—and every surface looked like it was made of a stone so expensive that you probably wouldn’t even be able to pronounce its name.

You wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, wondering idly if a place this upscale would even have a café kiosk. Surely rich people still drank coffee, but you’d also heard something once upon a time about how ‘to-go cups’ and ‘not savoring the brew’ were some kind of gross social faux pas. You sighed, and as your shoulders slouched you felt a brush of sinfully soft fabric against the back of your arm.

You froze and reached hesitantly up to your neck. You were still wearing the purple scarf. You pinched at the ridiculously expensive cashmere with wide eyes. Did this make you a thief? I mean, no one had bothered to stop you or anything. Did these sorts of stores have different rules? Like an honesty policy maybe? And you technically hadn’t even left the building yet! So maybe—

WHAM!

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I just—I have to—!”

You were ripped out of your morality spiral by a sound like a storm, and you looked up past your assailant to see a herd of people stampeding in your direction. Immediately, your I-was-shopping-with-an-internationally-recognizable-superstar instinct kicked in, and you bodily hauled yourself and whatever poor sap who had nearly mowed you down into the nearest store and then into one of the changing rooms beyond that.

The tempest that followed was a roar of cacophonous noise, but thankfully brief. Only a few people ducked into the store you’d taken refuge in, and none of those ventured very close to your hiding place. You breathed out a sigh of relief. It sounded weirdly muffled behind the changing room’s thick, velvety, curtains.

“Th-Thank you for that,” stuttered whoever you’d just kidnapped.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, and turned to get a better look at your new partner in crime. Immediately you froze, an odd sense of recognition working through you. “Uhm—Are you Neige? Neige Le Blanc?”

“Leblanche,” he corrected gently, and then winced. Like he’d only just realized that maybe outing himself after being nearly accosted by a mob was not the best idea.

“Oh. Alright,” you said, dazed.

This was Vil’s arch nemesis? He reminded you a little of a cocker spaniel—with big, wide, heavy-lashed eyes and soft, dark, curls framing his perfectly petite face. Sure, he was lovely. And maybe you were a little biased here, but this guy—this, this walking cherub—was standing in the way of Vil’s absolute, tyrannical, reign over all things sexy? Sure, he was adorable enough. But most beautiful of them all? Come on.

“U-Uhm…” Neige stuttered, nervously clasping his fingers. “Do you… Want an autograph or something? As a thank you?”

“What?” you blinked, allowing yourself to be pulled back into the very surreal situation unfolding around you. “Oh. No thanks. I don’t want to be massacred.”

He gasped. “I know that they may not have left the best first impression just now, but I promise that my fans would never do that!”

It wasn’t his fans you were worried about. Vil’s high heels looked sharp enough to gut a man, and you did not want to be the first test subject for that hypothesis.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged.

“…I might have to camp out in here for a while,” he mumbled after a quiet moment, morose.

“Probably,” you sighed, sympathetic. “Sorry.”

“You, uhm, you don’t mind keeping this a secret, do you?” Neige smiled, wobbly.

“I’m not going to turn you over to your ravenous fangirls,” you reassured. Because sure, the mean-spiritedness of the residents of Night Raven College may have been rubbing off on you, but you had yet to become that heartless.

“Thank you,” he relaxed, genuine appreciation warming his dark eyes. And then he aimed that kilowatt, darling-of-the-world, smile in your direction and fired. “You’re my hero.”

For a moment you were honestly, thoroughly, dazzled. It was like you could hear songbirds and heavenly choirs singing all around you—filling the dark space with sparkles and warmth that danced merrily across your skin like the soft fizz in a soda pop.

But then, like a sign from God, your phone buzzed angrily in your pocket and you glanced down quick enough to catch a bright V.S. flash across the screen.

Oh shit.

You turned, ready to make a bolt for it and leave your companion stranded, when something atrocious caught your eye.

“Is that a sweater vest,” you gaped, poking at the stitched material poking out from beneath Neige’s RSA blazer. “With squirrels on it.”

“U-Uhm. Yes?” he squeaked, cheeks dusted pink.

How in the fuck does Vil think he’s less fuckable than this guy, what the fuck.

“I-I’m sorry, but did you just say—"

You hurriedly pulled the (stolen?) scarf from your neck and shoved it pointedly over Neige’s mouth, before wrapping it securely around the rest of his head. Your phone was buzzing again—longer and sharper this time. Like a certain someone was spamming you with indignant, ‘how dare you abandon my magnificent ass,’ essays.

“So that hopefully no one will recognize you,” you (lied) explained cheerfully, and tightened the makeshift gag. Now he could be the accidental thief. Neige gurgled his thanks into the fabric, or at least, you assumed that’s what he was spluttered out. It was hard to tell past the, you know, gag.

You peaked out beyond the curtains and observed the empty storefront like a proper super spy. All clear. Thank God.

You swiveled back and thumped Neige Leblanche on the shoulder with what was perhaps a bit more force than necessary, seeing as his knees had started to shake. He swayed in place, an odd shade of pink creeping past the barrier of the scarf and nearly all the way to his hairline. Hopefully he wasn’t about to faint or something—you really didn’t have time for that.

“Good luck,” you told him emphatically, before darting out of your hiding space and back into the horrible fluorescent nightmare before you.

“Wait!” you heard him call. “I didn’t even get your name—"

But at this point, your phone had graduated from spurts of rage to outright howling in indignation, so you didn’t have much choice but to keep on running. You pressed down on the green ‘accept call’ button with all the enthusiasm of a soldier being sent off to the front lines.

“What?”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me,” Vil hissed, doing an impressive job of keeping his voice low and level while simultaneously sounding ready to tear your ass to pieces. “Where are you?”

“I got lost looking for coffee with no caffeine. You know. The best part of the coffee,” you admitted. Sort of.

“You got lost?” he sounded incredulous. “In a single-story shopping center? With maps at every corner?”

“There were a lot of people,” you defended.

He sighed, clearly put upon, and you had the distinct impression that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just meet me back at the side entrance. We should leave—it’s starting to get crowded and I don’t want to deal with the stampede when I’m inevitably recognized.”

“Of course,” you agreed easily, and made your way up to one of these supposed ‘maps at every corner.’ And oh. It was actually… very well drawn and very helpful. Fuck you, huh? “Did you get everything you needed?”

“I got everything you needed,” he corrected. “And we will be trying every single item on when we return to campus.”

You whined, and man, oh man. You didn’t think it was possible to smack someone upside the head through a phone, but somehow Vil made it work.

It didn’t take long from there to find the exits, and just in the nick of time too it would seem! As a steady stream of eager ‘shoppers’ began to flood into the building—most of them twittering about ‘did you catch a photo’ or ‘I heard someone saw him around that one store!’ Vil watched them through the tinted lenses of his glasses, lips pursed.

You were just about to step back into the car and out of the chilly rain when an eruption of screaming broke out somewhere in the near-distance. You immediately braced for impact, but when you were not immediately trampled into a pile of gelatinous goop beneath the thundering feet of hundreds of fanatics, you chanced a glance upwards.

Neige Leblanche was being herded out of the main entrance by a troupe of security guards, each one holding a different black umbrella over his head. It created a shadowed canopy that, despite the rain and gloom, somehow managed not to dull the radiance oozing off him and his perfect-perfectness. The fair beauty rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head, as if perplexed by the swarm of people ducking in and out like a pack of dogs circling a big, juicy, steak. Nevertheless, he waved to each and every fan—smiling demurely and sweetly as he went.

“We should go while they’re distracted,” you whispered, tugging at Vil’s arm. “And in case the swooning is contagious.”

He didn’t move. There was an odd sort of look on his face, one that usually preceded some of the most brutally cutting insults you’d ever heard.

You turned back to the growing mob, curious about what could have possibly snagged his attention—and ire—so completely.

Wrapped artfully around Neige’s neck, and flapping neatly alongside the chilly autumn breeze, was your purple scarf.

The dainty actor lifted the soft fabric to his lips, burrowing his chin into it not unlike how some adorable little round-cheeked bunny might photogenically cuddle into a—a cloud. Or a pillow of cotton candy. Or something else equally as cute and ridiculous. Neige’s cheeks bloomed a fetching shade of pink and his wide, brown, eyes glittered from over the folds of cashmere. His audience squealed.

“Well, at least it’s not you they’re mauling this time,” you hummed, shooting Vil another hesitant glance. That sour expression had twisted into a familiar and awful icy sneer that you hadn’t seen him dawn in a very long time. “Vil?” You called. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” he blinked, seeming to come back to himself. That frigid snarl was washed away by a mask of complete stoicism, and honestly, you weren’t sure which was worse. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Shall we?”

The hand he offered to help you climb over the many boxes of clothes and into the backseat was stiff, tight. It clapped around your wrist like a pair of manacles, and he didn’t let go until you were out of the parking lot, past the backroads, beyond the gates of Night Raven, and all the way back into the lavish halls of Pomefiore.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil x Reader #vil shoenheit #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Pomefiore x Reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #My Writing #Heroes vs Villains Pomefiore Part 1

3K notes · View notes

juyeonszn · 1 year ago

Text

I WANNA SHOW YOU OFF

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 1.65k

GENRES smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, idol!juhak and non-idol!reader, stupid man not getting the hint, jealous juhak 🤭, DOM JUHAK !!!! this deserves its own warning phew, marking, no foreplay bc we ball like steph curry, little bit of exhibitionism but also not really, unprotected sex, sex against a wall?? standing upright?? what is that position called, creampie lol

SUMMARY you hated when men flirted with you, but god if it didn’t result in such a thrilling experience.

MORE im actually yelling like no way i’ve done 9 of these…. each time a fawntober fic goes up i rattle my brain around in my head to make sure it’s not empty 😭 ANYWAYS!!! if u enjoyed, please reblog <3

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

You couldn’t wait to get out of here.

Your feet were starting to ache from the uncomfortable heels you were wearing. Your faux smile could only handle staying on your face for so long. Your head was throbbing from all of the superficial conversations. You were just about ready to crash.

That was the thing about being the girlfriend of a successful idol, you had to accompany him to these company parties despite everyone being so fake. The only genuine people were the idols themselves. All of the higher ups and staff members were just too vain and shallow minded, you could hardly talk to them without feeling like you’d lost multiple brain cells.

To be fair, you weren’t required to attend these. Haknyeon technically wasn’t even supposed to have a girlfriend, for the sake of maintaining his image for the fans. But everyone at his company knew of your existence and he liked having the excuse to parade you around like a little trophy.

His group members often teased him for being the first to get into a relationship. The two of you had been friends way before he even began idol training and preparing to debut. During that time, you’d lost touch, thanks to his rigorous training process and dedication to his craft. But a couple years into the limelight and you found your way back to each other. Fate was a funny concept.

You were currently standing at a high-top table, mindlessly chatting with some guy from the PR department. Haknyeon had disappeared to grab you some drinks to kill time before you could finally leave. Sunwoo stayed back to keep you occupied while he was gone, but at some point, you heard Eric calling for him and he, too, had wandered off. You kind of wished you went with him, now stuck with this random man you didn’t know.

“You’re really pretty, Y/N,” the guy says, smiling at you. “Haknyeon is very lucky.”

You laugh awkwardly, thanking him for the compliment. He kept inching closer to you, making it palpable that he was flirting in spite of his awareness towards your relationship. The dude clearly couldn’t take a hint, oblivious to your uncomfortability. You didn’t want to be rude, though. These were the people who worked with your boyfriend on a near daily basis.

Where the hell was Haknyeon?

“Does he treat you well?” He asks, clearly steering the conversation in a specific direction. You know what he’s aiming at, but you pretend to be ignorant to his attempts.

“He’s an exceptional boyfriend, actually. He treats me like a princess.” You state, eyes darting around the large event hall in search of said boyfriend. If he didn’t come to your rescue soon, you feared you’d say something worthy of putting his career on the line.

“If that’s truly the case, why is he nowhere to be found? How could such a good partner leave his girlfriend all alone like this?” The gaslighting is hilarious. The fact that this guy genuinely felt he was so much better than Haknyeon, that he was much more attractive, was laughable. He sincerely thought he was powerful enough to come between your secure, loving relationship.

“Here you go, baby,” a drink is placed in front of you, a kiss left on your temple. “What are you and Seojun talking about?”

Haknyeon’s arm wraps snugly around your waist. To anyone else, he’d look normal. He was remaining neutral, lips pulled into a thin line but curved at the ends so it appeared that he was being nice. But you knew otherwise. You knew this calm was just a facade to hide how pissed off he really was. His jealousy wasn’t because he didn’t trust you. His jealousy was because he didn’t trust others.

Namely Jung Seojun, the PR department’s resident fuckboy.

You glance up at your boyfriend, surprised there wasn’t any drool rolling down your chin. You couldn’t help but be drawn into the darkness of his eyes and his clenched jaw. The best part of this was what lies ahead of you once you get home. Maybe this night wasn’t a total bust.

“Oh. Um. Just, you know, the usual pleasantries…” This dude was a shitty liar. He was fortunate that he hadn’t actually made a move on you, lest he wanted to keep his job. Ju Haknyeon didn’t play around when it came to you, the love of his life.

Thankfully, you don’t stay at the party much longer. He tried to keep his cool until it was deemed acceptable to make his exit, but at a certain point, he just couldn’t anymore. The drive home wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a thick tension filling the atmosphere. If it weren’t for the driver in the same car, you’re sure his hands would’ve been all over you.

So, the moment you step through the threshold of the dorms, door barely locked, Haknyeon’s pinning you to the surface. His lips are searing on your own, rough but soft all at once. His fingers don’t know where they want to rest, first tangled in your hair and then digging into your hips only a second later. Your head is dizzy, spinning around a mantra of his name and nothing else.

He bunches up the fabric of your dress, pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “Who the hell did he think he was? Talking to my pretty girl like he was deserving of her presence?”

“Hak…” You sigh, his mouth trailing down the side of your neck. He nips and sucks at the base, and then again where it meets your jaw. You hated when men flirted with you, but God if it didn’t result in such a thrilling experience. Your regularly sweet, gentle boyfriend becoming someone nearly unrecognizable drove you crazy.

“Hmm?” His hands hook under your thighs, picking you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You can feel him this way, already so hard and ready for you. You don’t think you can handle waiting for all the foreplay, your entire body tingling with want and desire.

“Need you to fuck me,” you whine, head lolling to the side when he sucks at that particularly sensitive area on your throat. “Want you so bad…”

“Yeah, princess? Gonna fuck you so good that you’ll be ruined for anyone else. No one can give it to you like I do.” He chuckles into your skin, pushing your dress up further and kissing your shoulders after the straps have slid off. Ju Haknyeon might actually be the death of you.

That was your favorite thing about sex with him. He was so uncharacteristically cocky, so uncharacteristically aggressive in the way he manhandled you. You moan when he shoves aside your underwear, undoing his slacks enough to slip his cock free. He presses into you slowly, forehead falling to your shoulder with a groan.

One of his hands comes up to fist at your hair, yanking back so he can bite at your jugular and exposed chest some more. He thrusts up into your cunt with what feels like ease in spite of your walls squeezing him. His hips snap up and meet your ass with every kiss of his cock to that spongy spot deep inside of your pussy. Everything is moving too fast, but not fast enough at the same time.

“W-What if someone comes home?” You gasp, fingers getting lost in the hair at the nape of his neck. As much as you were enjoying this, you don’t know what you’d do if one of his members walked in on you. For sure, you’d be mortified, unable to show your face around the dorm ever again.

“Who cares? Let them see how well you’re taking it,” he mutters, sucking in your supple skin and ensuring bruises are left in his wake. “I should let everyone witness how good I fuck you, right baby? Marking you all up so the world knows your mine.”

A loud moan rips from your vocal cords, his cock so deep inside of you that you’re starting to see stars. Haknyeon grins against your sternum knowing that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. You wanted him to stake his claim on your body, wanted anyone who could see to know that you were his. Even the way he fucked into you had that same purpose, like his dick was meant to be there. It was almost as if your cunt was acclimating to the shape of it.

“Fuck, feels so so good, Hak…” You whine, lower half squirming when that knot in your stomach is about to unravel. Your toes curl and your back arches off of the door, legs spreading wider in an attempt to suck him in further. “I’m gonna— oh god— I’m—”

You don’t even finish your sentence, your orgasm washing over you without a moment’s notice. The feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock has Haknyeon groaning, twitching and spilling into you seconds later. He fucks his own release back inside of you, teeth sinking into your collarbone to steel himself.

The two of you stay like that for a minute, catching your breaths in spite of his cum beginning to leak out of you. He kisses the crown of your sweaty forehead. “You did so well, princess.”

Just like earlier, you’re interrupted before you can reply, the sound of keys jingling on the other side of the door. You share a look of terror, scrambling to his room so you don’t get caught. You both flop onto his bed in a fit of giggles, recalling how he’d said he didn’t care who saw you in such a compromising state.

“You’re all talk, aren’t you?” You tease.

“Oh, just you wait, baby,” he shakes his head, moving to hover over you. “I’ll make you regret that you said that.”

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz haknyeon #tbz haknyeon #ju haknyeon x reader #ju haknyeon smut #haknyeon x reader #haknyeon smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

155 notes · View notes

pebblume · 9 months ago

Text

guys i haven’t had time to write in weeks and it’s driving me INSANE. to help cope here are a bunch of percabeth fic ideas i have rattling around my brain that i may or may not get around to writing at some point

annabeth is assigned for cabin inspection and percy slept in (cue speed cleaning and attempted flattery and bribery to avoid punishment). this one is deeply unserious

since we didn’t get it in the show with the spider trap in the tunnel of love i’d love to write some other situation where annabeth gets scared by spiders and percy helps her through it and they talk about their fears

ok ok. hear me out. pjo tv trio watching the lightning thief musical. i’m normally not into “characters watch their own media” type fics, but i think it could be fun to write while also allowing for some introspection! they’re just experiencing this weird uncanny valley where everything is familiar but it’s so different at the same time and also everyone is singing?? percy laughs at his own jokes of course and grover is a theatre kid so he’s nerding out and annabeth is confused (the only musical she’s ever seen is the wizard of oz) but entertained. i think it could be silly

lovesick au with an extra dose of angst. percy gets accidentally drugged with aphrodite’s love magic (and naturally annabeth is the first person he sees) so now she has to deal with a very clingy percy who's sweet and considerate and would do anything she asked but it's not her percy. like she wanted him to like her back but not like this ;-; happy ending tho obviously

hypervigilance and hyperfixation - annabeth has always had to be aware of her surroundings and never let her guard down (ptsd from her childhood and being a demigod), until this boy comes into her life and now all her attention zones in on him whenever he’s within a 50 yard radius. just a little drabble on all the little things you notice when you’re constantly aware of your crush and how even their annoying habits or flaws become hopelessly endearing

annabeth with glasses would be so cute?? (credit to @vicwritesfic for the idea!). basically just some percabeth moments told through glasses: annabeth first getting them and percy helping her feel comfortable with them when she gets self conscious, annabeth losing them in the lake and percy retrieving them, percy trying her glasses on because i think that’s a universal glasses wearer experience, percy finding her asleep at her desk with her glasses askew and taking them off gently, etc. etc. you get the idea

ok y’all know that saying that’s like “you know you like your crush when they get an awful haircut and they’re still attractive to you”? that’s it, that’s the fic. i’m thinking percy gets an unwilling haircut and he gets all embarrassed because his head is a fuzzy egg now, but annabeth still finds him cute because she's down catastrophically bad. he gets his curls back at the end tho don’t worry!

percy is cursed to be honest when he lies to a god and now he can’t stop telling annabeth how pretty her eyes are and how much he admires her; he can’t even use sarcasm - he’s defenseless! basically an excuse for me to torture percy and make him finally talk about his feelings

post tlt. annabeth ran away again after fighting with her father, but instead of going back to camp she goes to stay with the jackson’s (with the obligatory shows-up-on-their-doorstep-sopping-wet-and-pathetic scene and sally decides to adopt her immediately). it was supposed to be for a weekend, but percy convinces her to just stay until they have to go back to camp (about three weeks) and cute domestic shenanigans (and angst) ensue!

percy just got his driver's license after the titan war and takes annabeth for a ride to montauk to meet grover (she obviously has to tease him about the time he was 12 and crashed a car because he was too busy looking into her eyes). they sing along to their favorite songs and percy gets road rage and they stop for ice cream. basically a chance for them to be normal teens because they deserve it!

pen pal au where percy and annabeth write each other letters during the school year (takes place after tlt). just little moments in their lives told through letters and photos and mementos (sally insists on express mailing annabeth blue cookies after a fight with her parents ofc). it’s not the same as having each other there in person, but it helps with the distance. my way of coping with the hiatus between tlt and SoM ;-;

bi percabeth my beloved!! fic about percy’s bi awakening after reflecting on all his boy crushes (childhood friend, luke, beckendorf, etc). he comes out to annabeth after the war and they have this very touching moment where they talk and hug it out. then annabeth is like “oh also I like girls” “you couldn’t have led with that??” “i didn’t want to steal your moment!”

i've also been drafting out some percy pov chapters to my fics "i miss you like a little kid", "nothing's going to hurt you baby", and "punched in the gut (feels like being in love" so those are in the works!!

phew. and that's not even all of them (i think about them an unhealthy amount). i miss writing these two so much, but i won't really have a chance to breath from my school work until spring break so wish me luck ;-;

as always you can find my finished fics here :3

#percabeth #percabeth fanfic #baby percabeth #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo disney+#percy jackson disney+#pjo series #fanfic ideas #ao3 #pjo fanfic #the percabeth brainrot is insane

64 notes · View notes

missyandthemisfits · 1 year ago

Text

Souya ‘Angry’ Kawata - Big Sis Baji

A/N - Hey so got a couple different headcannon ideas floating around for this one, but I feel like Baji might only really approve of his sister dating a few folks - Souya is one of the few. Couldn’t stop writing this I love Bluebell so much 💙

Anywho

Souya ‘Angry’ Kawata x Baji’s Older Sister

. • . O . • .

• It goes without saying that Souya would not only fall hard, but pretty damn quickly after a friendship has been established- but let’s backtrack a bit-

• Souya meets (Name) at a Toman meeting one evening, the meeting adjourned pretty quickly due to the low, consistent growl of Mikey’s stomach

Good thing it was informal, just the Captains and Vice Captains of each division, maybe one or two others

But honestly, that begged an even bigger question; who was this vaguely familiar dark haired beauty? And what was she doing talking with Mikey and Draken so casually?

He was just about to shrug it off when Baji approached

“There a reason you tossin’ that mean mug at my sister?”

Baji was half joking … but also half serious

He knew Angry meant no harm but it still sort of ticked him off - he’s very protective of his own when it comes down to it

“Huh?!”

- Is what Angry said, vein popping as he stuck his neck out. Now what he meant by that was ‘Was I really?’

We all know this boy is kinda bad at communicating with people

“There a problem here?” Nahoya chimes, already itching for a fight, any excuse would do

“Keisuke! Are you picking fights again?”

The dark haired beauty in question huffs over, stern look, hands on her admittedly curvy hips

“Relax-,” She reaches up, yanking on his ear with no remorse

“How can I? God, all this time and you’re still causing me trouble!”

Nahoya is hysterical at the sight of Baji’s embarrassed, defeated face. Souya on the other hand starts to grow flustered, finally putting the pieces together

“I’m sorry about him!” She bows a bit in apology, an ear still between her soft fingers, “You’re um… Souya and Nahoya, right?”

Souya opens his mouth to speak but Nahoya beats him to the punch

“Yea, what of it? Who the Hell are ya, anyway?”

Souya gives his brother a look but she only laughs, completely unfazed

“She’s in our class, Nahoya…,”

“Oh yeeea, must’ve been catching some Z’s or somethin’. My bad!”

Souya shakes his head and she suddenly grabs his hands in both of hers, successfully startling him

“Well it’s nice to meet you both again. I hope we can be friends!”

He’s flustered, eyes on the ground, but stutters out a small “yea…”

From then on, at least when they decided to show up to class, she makes a point to eat lunch with them, occasionally walking them to Toman meetings

She’s much kinder and more bubbly than what they expect, not to mention a total Otaku - something Nahoya found hilarious but Souya silently found cute

She was also very stubborn but that apple didn’t fall too far at all

Doesn’t take Nahoya too much longer to start making excuses as to why he can’t tag along - Souya is seriously confused, and honestly worried his brother has an issue with (Name) - he could be fickle like that

“Nah, she’s cool. For a girl anyway.”

Blue is even more confused

“Then…what’s up?”

Smiley starts to snicker, Angry’s brow furrows

“Ya like her, don’t you?”

Souya feels something tug at his heartstrings-

Did he…?

He definitely enjoyed her company - the evening visits to Convenience Stores, the late night chats about the latest chapters of whatever manga, even the study sessions were pleasant.

And at some point he’d gotten used to it- pretending his palms weren’t sweaty, ignoring his racing heart rate, chalking up the absent minded stares to ‘looking out for her’ in his mind, somehow oblivious to the fact he couldn’t keep his eyes off her-

It…was starting to make some real sense

He took a moment to exhale shakily and nodded, face the color of beets. Nahoya shrugged

“Sooo…ask her out already.”

“WHAT?!?”

He’s panicking at just the thought, rattling off a million and one excuses like ‘She probably already has someone’ and ‘Her friendship is more than enough’

UGH so sweet, so obviously smitten

Only takes a few more days for Nahoya to lose patience & snatch his phone, typing up a message and hovering over ‘send’ devilishly

“Either you send it or I do - what’s it gonna be?”

Souya is mortified as he begrudgingly hits ‘send’, burying his hands into his thick hair after dropping his phone to the carpeted floor

“I can’t do this-,”

“Seriously? All you did was send ‘Can we talk’ - quit bein a wuss.”

They start to get into it and almost miss the vibration, both peering down at the screen

‘Sure! Your place or mine?’

He scrambles to get his phone before his twin, barely getting a ‘I’ll come to you!’ in before having his phone stolen again

“Wear something cute~,” Nahoya mouths the text out, pressing send before tossing the phone at his brother

Doesn’t know whether to be pissed, scared, or excited at this point- so be settles for a jittery combination of the three

Puts on his cleanest pair of khakis and a semi-formal, sleeved shirt because??? Reasons??? So cute bless him

She put on just a little bit of makeup, flowy dress stopping mid-thigh, as if this wasn’t difficult enough for the boy

So nervous he’s having trouble standing - but manages to squeak out something -

His face is covered by his shaking hand and his eyes are squeezed shut, his other hand in a death-grip on his trousers

“I’m sorry…? I didn’t quite catch that one, Souya-,”

Blurts it out louder than he meant to this time, backpedaling IMMEDIATELY in an attempt to take it all back

“I- no- what I mean is- ah-,” starts to give up, “You can just…go home now…I already know it’s a long shot. Sorry I wasted your time…”

Refuses to look up

She’s hugging him close in the next moment tho burying her face into his shirt.

“Please don’t make me leave…not before I tell you I like you too.”

He is SO shocked

Like his legs start to give out

Eventually wraps his shaky arms around her and buries his face in her sweet-smelling hair

They’re there like that for a while

Neither of them wants to let go but eventually, a text comes through from Nahoya and Souya jumps

“S-sorry,” she waves it off, “I can…walk you up stairs if you’d like? I-I mean if that’s s-something you want!”

She shakes her head and smiles, glancing back at the apartment window

“I’ll be okay from here. Besides, my dad would totally kill me if I brought up a cute boy, or any boy for that matter-,”

His heart starts beating faster if you can believe it - so much so he almost thinks he’s having a heart attack

“Well… Goodnight.” She squeezes his hand before reluctantly letting go and waving, practically running back into her apartment building

He’s just…on cloud 9

Total romantic though so eventually he decided that the confession wasn’t nearly enough for this girl

Writes an entire love letter and places it in her locker, finding officially asking her out much easier that way

Before he knows it, she’s racing to embrace him outside the school gates, pulling away just enough to hold his hands gingerly with a laugh

“Honestly, I thought we were official already, but yes a thousand times yes, Souya.”

His face heats up like it has many times before

Can’t help but tear up a little

…Keisuke is one of the last people to know funnily enough

Shocked but not bothered so that’s good

Dassa green light

In The Relationship

Souya is so very sweet, everything done with timid, thoughtful care

Long before they even started dating, she happened to try his bento once and loved it - made mental notes on her likes and dislikes about it and started curtailing it specifically for her enjoyment

So yes absolutely he starts making her lunch for her twice a week - she promises she’ll be just fine without it, he swears he enjoys doing it for her - he really does tho

Random food based games like ‘Guess the secret ingredient’ after he’s comfortable enough to know she wouldn’t mind it

Grocery shopping dates, because he loves the market

Dates to anime cafes because a) she’s really into anime and b) he finally has a reason to go and try the food there - Nahoya promised he would but he’s far too easily distracted and forgetful

Also yea, Baji’s sister? Kind of flirty when she’s interested in someone so like she flusters him on accident AND on purpose?

Definitely super cute when he’s all blushy and squirmy tho

Takes MONTHS to get to the FIRST kiss - and she’s most def initiating it, no way around that

Typically will initiate all the kisses but there are telltale signs when he wants one

Starts to play with his hands, his eyes darting from her lips, to the ground, to whatever’s in this distance, back to her lips

Teasingly presses her nose to his, nuzzling and lying in wait occasionally

“You’re gonna have to kiss me at some point ~”

And he does eventually work up the nerve to close the very small distance

She becomes the official taste tester for both twins, quite the honor

His love language is light physical affection and words of affirmation

Absolutely melts at the lightest caress to his cheek, subconsciously leaning into it every time

Compliments are NOT something he’s used to but boy does he love them, all of them

They make him all tingly but the real personal ones about how pretty his eyes are or how soft his hair is or how cute he looked in that outfit last night?

He could just die and go to Heaven on the spot

Petnames include “Angel, Honeybee, and Sweetness”

Apologized profusely the first time he let one slip out

But she reaches for his hands, removing them from his face, and places gentle kisses on each fingertip, something she often did when he was overwhelmed - and once again he finds himself melting into her touch

So very, very soft for this girl

Bonus

Keisuke honestly had no idea his sister was into one of the ‘ogres’ - granted he didn’t get to see her much after the divorce

He was fairly curious as to why she chose him

“He’s so very kind and honest…always going out of his way to help his friends and family selflessly. And have you tried his cooking? It’s so good! How could I not fall for him?”

He smirked from his spot on the swing set, satisfied with answer

“Yea alright…just don’t go having any babies, I’m not ready to be an uncle.”

“What the Hell, Kei?!”

He laughed as she punched him square in the arm

As long as she was cared for and happy

. • . O . • .

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers souya #tokrev souya #souya x reader #angry x reader #tokyo rev x you #angry kawata #souya kawata #blue ogre #Bluebell #tokyo rev fluff #the first of many

247 notes · View notes

messrmoonyy · 2 years ago

Note

okay how about Tess and reader having a bet to see who can crack first without sex and reader cracks and begs Tess to fuck her? Thank you our lord and saviour messr 🙌🏻

Bet on it

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

A/n- hello. Thank you for the manners lmao it’s ben annoying me people don’t have the decency to be polite. ANYWAYS. I was really looking for an excuse to write about going down in Tess cause it’s been rattling around in my head for so long, so I took this as the excuse. Pls tess gimme one chance I beg tho I won’t lie I don’t like this one all that much but. Have it. What are you gonna do, ask me for a refund?

Warnings- 18+|| tess. Smut: mommy kink. Like it’s pretty strong, oral ( Tess receiving ) , fingering ( Tess and reader receiving sorta )

Word count- 3.7k

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated

It was all Joel’s fault.

Him and his stupid fucking mouth. And maybe Tess too. Either way, you refused to take any blame.

It wasn’t your fault you were… loud. It also wasn’t your fault the walls were paper fucking thin and he just so happened to live next door. The man was damn half deaf and 9 times out of 10 he was passed out anyway, some brain rotting concoction of pain killers and whiskey knocking him out for the count. So it’s not like you’d made any real attempts to be quiet anyway, you just assumed he couldn’t hear.

How were you supposed to be quiet when you had someone like fucking Tess between your legs. You’d like to see anyone keep their mouth shut with her fucking the life out of them. Well. You wouldn’t actually. But that was besides the point.

He was probably just pissed because his sex life was non existent.

‘ you can’t go a single day without goddamn jumpin each other. It’s like livin next to a pair of rabbits ‘ he’d said. Of course you being the stubborn fuck that you were, had said you absolutely could go a day. Joking that it was Tess who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. And she had scoffed at the mere thought of her being the needier of you two.

So that was how the bet had been born. To see who could last the longest. Who would crack first. You’d expected it to only last a couple of days at the most. Tess jumped your bones every chance she got normally, couldn’t keep her hands off of you. But now she was behaving like a fucking nun.

The first few days had been fine. But by day 3 you were regretting it. So by day 8 you’d had enough. You felt like an animal in heat, like you were going insane. She wasn’t even doing anything particularly alluring. Just her presence alone was enough to make you insane. Her voice. Her face. The way she held you when you slept. The confidence she oozed in any and all situations. You were head over heels for the woman, how were you supposed to behave any differently?

Bit knowing how stubborn she could be you’d almost immediately accepted that she wouldn’t break. It wouldn’t stop you trying though. You were trying your hardest to make her crack, from deciding walking around the apartment in your underwear was perfectly normal. To ‘accidentally’ brushing against her when you shared the rationed water in the shower. But other than the occasional glance up at you she wasn’t breaking. In fact when you’d tried another tactic of leaving your button up only half way done up. She’d simply stood and buttoned it right up to the collar for you, leaning in close to your ear and whispering ‘ nice try ‘

By day 10 you decided you didn’t give a fuck about honour or pride anymore. You were done.

You were sat at the table, fingers drumming against the wood as you watched her. She had the sleeves of her shirt rolled in a way that showed off her forearms, she fucking knew you had a thing for that. She was doing it on purpose, knowing you’d snap. You were sure.

You needed to touch her. Needed her to touch you.

You didn’t think it was actually humanly possible to be as desperate as you were. Before ending up in Boston you’d gone years without anything. And yet, now you weren’t even going to make it to 2 weeks. Were you that enthralled by her? That addicted? It was almost embarrassing.

Especially when she seemed as cool and collected as ever.

You tried to ignore her, looking back down at your rota of assignments for the week. But you could still see her from the corner of your eye, wetting the pads of her fingers to turn the page in her book more easily.

You didn’t know if you should be mildly offended or not. That she seemed to be doing much better than you were. Though she had always been the better of you both at masking her true emotions and feelings.

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Waking up every morning to soaked underwear because your dreams had been filled with nothing but her, missing the way her fingers felt on your skin, how her teeth felt nipping at your neck. You missed the hickeys, the bruises she always left on your hips when she was feeling particularly rough. The scratch marks you’d leave down her back in response.

You were done.

You got up from your spot at the table and made your way over to her in purposeful strides, plucking the book from her hands and climbing into her lap. She quirked at eyebrow at you, a smug smile already creeping it’s way onto her face.

“ I was reading that “ you shrugged running your hands down over her shoulders and arms, over her chest and grabbing at the collar of her shirt.

“ this bet is fuckin stupid. I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore “ you whispered, a whiny tone to your voice like some spoiled little kid that was being declined something they wanted. She simply scoffed

“ it was your fuckin idea “

“ I know I know. It was stupid. I’m stupid. Joel’s fuckin stupid “ you tested the waters lightly, pulling open her shirt where she already had the first couple buttons undone. Not revealing anything particularly scandalous, but still overjoyed just at the sight of more of her skin “ please. Please fuck me. Touch me. Let me touch you. Anything. Mommy please “ you whimpered the last part, pulling out every trick in the book to make her crack.

“ oh you’re begging now? “ you whispered a yes, nodding you head. You unbuttoned her shirt with haste, her hands still placed firmly on the fabric of the chair rather than you. You rolled your hips against her, pushing her shirt from her shoulders and tossing it carelessly behind you. But before you could touch her she grabbed the back of your neck, making you look at her.

“ this was your idea baby girl, and you want to end it? “ she looked far too smug and you hated her for it. But you were so desperately horny it was making your brain fuzzy. Your hands traveled down to her jeans, desperate to unbutton those too “ I know your tricks. You just want to win ”

“ I don’t care about winning, Fuck if you won’t touch me let me touch you “ you said, dropping your head to press kisses across her neck “ please mommy” her spare hand that was still on the armrest shifted slightly, still didn’t touch you anywhere you particularly wanted her. But moved. You were working her down “ please let me touch you. Let me taste. I’ll be so good I promise. You win. You win “

You hands trailed back to her chest, grabbing at her through the material of her bra, grabby hands groping at her with no shame.

“ you wanna make mommy feel good? “ the low, sultry, tone of her voice made butterflies explode in your chest. You lifted your head, nodding and not letting your hands stop their wandering.

“ please “ she looked entirely too smug and you knew you would never hear the end of it. She would hold the fact that she had won over you for the foreseeable. But you’d be pissed about that later, in that moment you didn’t give a fuck. The only thought whirring around in your brain was getting your mouth on her, you wanted to taste her on your tongue, wanted to make sure she’d never want to go so long without you again “ can I? Please “

She observed your face for a moment, then gave you a small nod and it was all the confirmation you needed. You slid down from her lap and onto your knees on the floor.

“ always look so pretty on your knees for me “ she mused as you grabbed at her jeans, tugging them down her legs as she lifted slightly so you could get them off “ just so we’re clear, you know this means I win and I’ll be tellin Joel that you lost and not me right? “ you nodded fervently, mildly surprised that she was actually letting you rid her of her clothes. Almost expecting the entire thing to be a joke, making you keep going with the stupid fucking bet until you actually exploded.

But clearly she was as desperate for it as you were. She was just better at controlling herself. She always had been.

“ I know. I don’t care “ the way she was already clearly wet when you tugged her underwear down her legs too, was proof enough that she was well and truly done with the bet too. You practically drooled at the sight, already anticipating the familiar taste of her in your mouth “ wanna taste you. Can I. Please mommy “ you begged and she reached down, lifting your chin and making you look up at her.

“ my poor baby, so desperate “ it was almost mocking. She was fucking loving the fact that she had won “ gonna show mommy just how desperate you are? Hmm? “ in response you ran your hands over her thighs, pushing them apart and tugging her closer “ show mommy what a good girl you are “

She took a sharp intake of breath as you buried your face between her legs, sighing blissfully as the taste of her flooded your tongue. You wanted to reach every part of her, your tongue dragging between her folds, devouring her. No desire in making it last, a burning primal desire to have her coming on your tongue the only thing you could think about.

You spread her with your fingers, lapping at her hole and not letting a drop of her arousal go anywhere but your tongue. Relishing in the small sounds it earned you.

“ that’s mommy’s good girl “ she sighed, her hand threading into your hair and tugging lightly so that your scalp prickled. You hummed a response, not slowing in your ministrations, tracing a pattern with your tongue from her entrance to her clit. Your chin and lips were slick with her. She filled all of your senses.

Your nose. Your eyes. Your mouth. The velvety feel of her walls when you dipped your tongue inside of her, the sounds of her quiet breathy moans and vulgar sounds of how wet she was. It’s what you had been yearning for for days, what your dreams had been filled with. A never ending stream of praise as you made her feel good. You moaned against her, the vibrations clearly doing her wonders.

You own cunt was flooding your underwear, your clit desperate to be touched. You were half tempted to reach down and touch yourself, but she deserved your undivided attention. So you settled with squeezing your thighs together.

“ makin mommy feel so good. Just like that baby “ her voice was breathier and you couldn’t help the smile that crept it’s way onto your face. It was no lie that she was a god when it came to making you feel good, she knew exactly how to pull you apart in minutes. But she was much more difficult to navigate, harder to read. She wasn’t like you. She often urged you to be loud, to make noise and be vocal. But she was the opposite.

For someone so rough and confident she was much more gentle and soft in her reactions. It was all in her breathing, the sharp intakes and the shuddering breaths, the quiet curses that never usually went much louder than a whisper, only getting anything else from her if you managed to get her completely relaxed.

And the near breathless commands and instructions she still gave you, keeping you in check. Keeping you exactly where she wanted you doing exactly as she wanted. And showering you in the praise she knew you so desperately craved from her.

And nothing made you feel better than watching her fall apart. Because of you.

The tight grip on your hair grew impossibly stronger when you slipped in a finger, adding a second when your first was met with no resistance, burying them inside her to the knuckle.

“ fuck “ she whispered under her breath, her eyes falling closed for a moment. You watched her face carefully as you worked her open on your fingers, scissoring and curling them in some attempt to touch as much of her as you could. Stretching and massaging her velvety soft walls with your fingers, honing in on one spot when you noticed her reactions change.

“ such a good girl doin so well for me baby “ the way she was clenching around your fingers told you she wasn’t going to last much longer. So you kept at the pace, fingers curling up and hitting the same spot over and over. Tongue and lips practically abusing her clit in a way that was making your jaw ache, not that you cared “ like makin mommy feel good? Huh? “ you hummed an answer against her that drew another heavenly sound from her throat.

Nothing brought you more joy than watching her fall apart above you, knowing that only you could get her like that. Only you got to see that blissful look on her face, her eyes closed and soft breathy moans leaving her throat and going straight to your cunt.

“ that’s my girl. Like that. Gonna make mommy come. Is that what you want baby? “ you nodded, detaching yourself from her with a mildly obscene wet sound.

“ Wanna feel you come on my tongue“ you practically whined, begging for the privilege of being the one the push her over the edge. To gift her with the same earth shattering orgasm she so often gave to you “ please mommy “

“ since you’ve been such a good girl for me “ you didn’t wait a second longer, withdrawing your fingers and replacing them with your tongue. You gripped at her thighs, holding her in place, your eyes fixed on her face so you could watch every second “ that’s it baby, make mommy come. That’s my good girl “ her tone was higher, breathes quickening the rise and fall of her chest.

You started to rub soft circles into her clit with your thumb, relishing in the way she was clearly losing her composure. Squirming slightly in the chair, pushing your face closer until she was all consuming in your mind.

It was becoming slightly difficult to breathe but you weren’t about to complain. If you were gonna die you figured that was pretty alright way to go out. The searing heat of her on your tongue was enough to make you forget every single other thing in your mind.

A few more thrusts of your tongue and she was gone, head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut, heavenly sound after heavenly sound falling from her lips like music to your ears. You didn’t stop for a second. Lapping up every drop of creamy, sweet release she offered you.

You didn’t stop until she gently tugged your head back, your actions clearly bordering on being too much for her. You rested your head against her thigh, looking up at where she was running a hand through her hair and attempting to regain her composure.

“ you couldn’t have done that a week ago baby? Fuck “ a grin found its way onto your face, happy for the verbal confirmation that she had been struggling just as much as you had. She was just far better at hiding it.

“ I do good mommy? “ you asked softly, pressing a kiss to the silky soft skin of her thigh. She looked down at you with a soft smile and nodded.

“ so good baby. Come here. Up here “ you crawled back up into her lap, readily accepting her kisses when she pulled you in, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue “ seriously baby I needed that when you decided to walk around in your fuckin underwear “ she said when she pulled back, tucking her fingers under your chin.

She looked otherworldly. Her face flushed and glowing, the light sheen of sweat on her forehead and the hazy look in her eyes that could only come from having your lover between your thighs. It made you squirm a little in her lap, your panties completely soaked. You almost wondered if she could feel it.

“ I don’t know how I made it this long “ she laughed at that, her eyes flickering down to where you were wiggling around. She gave you an almost sympathetic smile, the backs of her fingers brushing along your jaw before pushing your hair away from your neck.

“ does my baby need some attention from mommy now? “ you almost sighed in relief, nodding your head “ you want mommy to fuck you? Hmm? “ her nose traced along your neck, lips brushing against the skin and making your cheeks flush and goosebumps follow in her wake.

Her hand came up, palming at your tit through the thin material of your T-shirt as she began working a deep purple bruise onto the tender skin of your neck.

“ mommy “ you whimpered, eyes falling closed as she marked you up in the way you adored most. It made warmth pool in your belly every time. Knowing she wanted to mark you. Brand you. You were hers. You belonged to her. Completely and utterly. And she wanted people to know it.

The friction of the cotton of your shirt against your nipple sent sparks straight to your cunt, your clit throbbing. Desperately wanting to be touched. You needed her fingers. Her mouth. Anything. You were so desperate you even wondered if you’d be able to get off just from the way she was grabbing at your chest.

“ please I can’t- “

“ it’s okay baby “ she cooed, soothing the last of her possessive marks with her tongue before lifting her head again “ tell mommy what you want. Use your words “

“ you. I. I want you. Anything just please- “ you cut yourself off with a pathetic mewl of a sound as she dipped her hand past the waistband of your sweats, fingers brushing over the soaked cotton of your underwear.

“ holy shit “ she mumbled mostly to herself, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at just how wet you were for her. She hadn’t even touched you “ my baby’s so desperate huh? “ you nodded, dropping your face to her shoulder and hiding from her gaze “ my poor sweet baby “ she cooed, running a soft hand up and down your spine “ if only you weren’t so stubborn you wouldn’t be in this mess would you? Mommy could’ve been eating this perfect little pussy days ago “

Your face burned at her words, still squirming as she ran her finger lightly over your swollen clit through the soaked material of your underwear. It was too light to really do anything, but just enough pressure for you to know she was there. It was infuriating.

“ I need more. Please mommy I can’t take it anymore “ her spare hand gently nudged your face up from where you’d been hiding, cupping your cheek in her hand as her eyes scanned your features. You wondered if your desperation was evident on your face.

No. You knew it was.

“ can you do one thing for me? “

“ anything. I’ll do anything “ she smiled, clearly pleased with your willingness to obey without even knowing what she was going to ask. No questions. No second thoughts. Just complete obedience to her every command. She brushed her thumb across your bottom lip before pushing past and hooking it into your mouth. Her smile grew as you moaned softly, sucking without her even having to ask.

“ I wanna hear all those pretty noises you like to make for me. Can you do that? “ you nodded quickly, knowing there wasn’t even a remote chance you’d be able to keep yourself quiet. Not after 10 days of absolutely nothing from her “ that’s my good girl, mommy loves when you’re loud for her “

You rolled your hips, no patience left in you anymore. She took the hint, rubbing at your clit through your underwear with two fingers. The friction of the cotton, the pressure of her fingers, and the fact that you had been wanting to come for days, meant you were going to be done ridiculously fast.

“ I know baby, I got you “ she cooed as you whined in a frustrated desperation, fingers wrapping around her wrist as you rutted against her hand some more. Your orgasm was so close you could practically taste it “ I know you’re so desperate to come, don’t fight it baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s got you “ you closed your eyes, focussing solely on grinding into her hand, cheeks on fire at the crude squelching sounds your cunt was making as you moved.

“ mommy- “ you whined, biting down lightly on her thumb that was still in your mouth, not holding back a single moan. Letting them all tumble out of your throat without a care.

“ I know baby girl. Gonna show me how pretty you look when you come for me?” You nodded, increasing the pace that you rolled your hips, ignoring the way your legs were beginning to cramp up “ such pretty sounds “ she mused as your moans increased in pitch, your orgasm teetering on a ledge already.

Maybe you should’ve been a little embarrassed. She wasn’t even touching you properly, a barrier of cotton between her fingers and your cunt. But you weren’t at all. A Selfish desire to come being the only thing you could think about. You’d be embarrassed later.

Your climax was intense. 10 days of lusting after her with no release finally coming to a head. She praised you all the way through it, and only withdrew her hand from your sweats when you slumped against her with a content sigh.

She ran her hand up and down your back lightly, pressing kisses to the side of your head.

“ better? “ you hummed a response, trying to live in that afterglow for as long as you could. If you were being completely honest, it had been good to finally get… something. But you weren’t entirely satisfied. Thankfully Tess was rarely ready to call it a night without making you come at least twice. And was also as if she could read your mind.

“ don’t get too comfy baby. We have 10 days to make up for. Mommy’s not done with you yet “ you squealed as she stood up, taking you with her and carrying you over to the bed. You wrapped your arms and legs tightly around her as she lay you down, not wanting her to go anywhere “ now. Let’s teach that fucker next door a lesson shall we? “

#tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfic #x you #smut #anna torv #tlou #other characters for exposure:#ellie williams #Joel miller #lgbt #lesbian #fluff

257 notes · View notes

asmogorna · 9 months ago

Note

Sorry to send another ask so soon (and idk if someones asked this already) but if you have any headcanons for Jon I'd love to hear them!

OK SO im really sorry it took me THIS long to get to this i quite literally.. forgot i had smth in my inbox woopsies. the reason i remembered is cause mootie posted some Spine hcs and i was like "woah"

alsooo im not good at putting my thoughts onto "paper" especially in english so you will have to excuse me

anywho my jon headcanons some sad some random /ref

First of all i think that his relationship with Peter Walter I would be far from close. he would be seen as the type of child who's both "too much mess to take care of" and "strong enough to take care of himself" if that makes sense. Peter did love him as his creation but would openly admit that he's not his proudest one, meanwhile Jon wouldn't feel much connection at all. he sympathized with his creator but only in a way he would with any other human being, there was more gratitude than love

Jon struggles with constant malfunctions and his mechanisms are a mess (partially because he gets himself in trouble all the time), so at one point Peter would get tired of fixing him so frequently, and tell him that he can just "walk some things off". That thought stuck to the bot and he would think of all of his malfunctions as slight inconveniences, i mean, he can still perform so why pay attention to the constant neck pain or powering up struggles ? it just became a habit and he kind of forgot that things like that shouldn't be ignored

After a long while when Peter Walter VI grew up enough to start learning more about how automatons work, Jon would be used as a "lab rat" (not really but its just what he himself called it) for young VI to practice fixing mechanisms. thats pretty much when he heard "Wait this cant be right" about his messed up physical state for the first time in a long while. little Peter didnt get to fix all of the things that were wrong with Jon's body, but he did manage to take care of some of them, which almost surprised Jon with how nice it felt to not hear pieces of broken gears rattle in his head every time he moved (who wouldve thunk)

ok now to more lighthearted stuff !!

Jon actually has a very strong bond with Sam ! He loves watching the mustached man work and sometimes follows him around, just enjoying his company. At first Sam thought that the tone-gold automaton was creepy and uncanny, but grew attached to him and his stupidity (/lh). i also think that Sam would be one of the few Walter workers who dont baby the Jon and actually treat him like they would treat any other robot :3

Also Jon just loves his robot family endlessly. shocker !! im not sure how explain it but i think hes the only one to look at other Walter automatons and go "bro i love them so much" at all times. in his head at least. obviously he teases them and argues with them but he wont think twice before accepting a hug from his siblings (except for Upgrade theyre rivals /j)

Speaking of Upgrade !! They feel the most sibling-ish to me (aside from Rabbit & The Spine) because they constantly poke fun at each other yet they still are willing to give each other help and comfort when needed. She once had to carry him all the way back to the Walter manor because they forgot to take some extra cans of crystal pepsi

Also Upgrade got in an accident once which caused her to have a fractured face for a couple of days, and Jon was there the entire time to comfort her and constantly tell her that shes still very pretty

Unlike with other robots, the food that Jon eats doesnt just fall through his uncovered jaw/run into his boiler or anything like this, instead it just. disappears. once he closes his mouth the food just vanishes into the unknown, yet Jon claims that he enjoys the process of "eating" (nobody knows how it works)

LITTLE GIRLS THAT GO TO SPG SHOWS LOVE HIM !! once the band finishes performing, he constantly gets pulled away by a small giggling pink-ish blob to join their tea party or hula hooping contest. thats why he has quite a knowledge on "girly" themes and educates other automatons on the matter

THATS IT FOR NOW TY FOR READING :3

#steam powered giraffe #spg #the jon spg #idk how to tag this uh #i love jon #i love him sm #hes my girlfriend #spg headcanons

42 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years ago

Note

The ‘Rook is cute’ post reminded me!!! Rook has two surprised faces; one ‘not too surprised,’ which is the one we know, and one ‘oh no’ face, which is VERY similar, but his brow’s furrowed and his lips are pursed! You can see when Deuce and Sebek ask about his family in Halloween or in Book 6 throughout the Last Part. He shows it some other times too!!!

[Referencing this post!]

You’re right!! 👀 *yoinks this ask as an excuse to talk more about R00k and J word*

Rook’s usual surprised expression is on the left (I’ll call this A), and his alternate surprised expression is on the right (I’ll call this B):

Notice that his brows are not visible in A, his mouth is more subtle, and his head appears to be tilted up and slightly back. Of course, he also has his hands up in an exaggerated move; it’s a very playful demonstration of his emotion.

In B, Rook’s brows are pinched mouth is slightly more severe (pursed, as the Anon says), and his head is tilted more down. These are very small differences that you wouldn’t notice unless you were really thinking hard about it or comparing them side-by-side.

Now, here’s my take 🤔 A is the “fake” expression and B is the “real” expression. I wouldn’t say that Rook is a fake person in the traditional sense. By “fake” I mean that he sometimes purposefully exaggerates his displays to control how others perceive him. It’s by no means malicious; Rook most likely just wants to create a certain narrative around himself (similar to how he manipulated his heartbeat to speed up in order to gain Sebek’s trust when Sebek accused him of being a traitor). Likewise, I believe Rook intentionally acts silly so people don’t take him seriously. This would naturally give him an advantage against them, since people would lower their guards around him and more easily play into his hand. Others would be too focused on his ridiculous demeanor to think about how he’s outwitting them (think about the skincare delivery of episode 6 and how Idia reacted to Rook showing up).

I do think, in part, that expression A can also be genuine and heartfelt! Rook’s just a very loving and theatric person; this is just how he expresses himself, whether it’s a front or just natural to him. In the same vein, I also think that expression B is real—and a better look into what actually rattles Rook to his core. He can play off his surprise fine with A, but B is much more uncomfortable and difficult even for him to hide. B most notably appears when Deuce and Sebek start prying about Rook’s family. He gives a very evasive and generalized response, but they keep pressing about it until Trey lies about having seen a ghost nearby. It’s clear that Rook is secretive and doesn’t want to divulge details about what his family does. There is real distress in his face, a violation of his privacy made apparent. It’s times like these when Rook’s truest emotions shine through the happy-go-lucky facade he wears on a daily basis.

We also see a similar (albeit MUCH more subtle) facial change in Jade! On the left is his normal neutral expression, and on the right is his so-called “angry” expression.

The only differences here, as far as I can tell, are the eyes and mouth! Neutral Jade has light reflected in his eyes and a straight mouth whereas angry Jade has dull eyes with no light, as well as a slightly more noticeable frown. Angry Jade’s eyes may also be slightly more narrow. It’s even harder to read Jade because of how well he controls the emotions he portrays to onlookers! He’s cool as ice and probably plotting revenge in the second picture!

dhkswbu;tqfau:-5ae) I really love small character details like this!! It’s like a “spot the difference” game 😂 It really makes sense for their characters while still working within the limitations of the game.

#Jade Leech #Rook Hunt #Rook Hunt thirst #Jade Leech thirst #notes from the writing raven #Trey Clover #Sebek Zigvolt #Idia Shroud #spoilers

154 notes · View notes

v-o-i-d-e-d · 1 year ago

Text

I’ll Follow Your Lead - Christmas Party

~Also on my Ao3 and Wattpad~

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 6

~Sorry it took me so long, I got busy with the end of the semester! Also I’m sorry if I messed up the Italian, I am not fluent so I used a translator which means it may be wrong~

Christmas Eve had fallen upon New York City bringing singing, cheer, and…crowds. Dorothea huffed a strand of hair away from her face as she sloppily wrote down a man’s order. Her hand was cramping from writing so much and her hair was a few good shakes away from coming undone. The café had never been busier. Dorothea was at her wit’s end running back and forth from the kitchen to the counter, to the tables, and back again. She was supposed to have help, but the other waitress never showed up.

“Excuse me! I haven’t had my order taken yet!” A woman called from the other side of the dining room. Dorothea barely hid her grimace as she excused herself from the man she was helping. The woman rattled off a complicated order as soon as Dorothea was in good earshot. “And don’t forget to add the cinnamon on top,” the woman wagged her finger in Dorothea’s face and she fought every urge to bite it. Turning to prepare the multitude of orders she had sloppily written on her notepad, she paused. Jack was there. She had no idea how long he had been there, but there he was. However, what stopped her was not his presence but the fact that he had grabbed a notepad and a pencil and was taking people’s orders. As if feeling her stare at him, Jack looked up and smiled at her. Dorothea flashed a relieved smile before hurrying to the counter to start making orders. As she was making the orders she had taken, Jack came up to the counter and ripped the top piece of paper off of his notepad.

“All right, I’ve got a few of the orders but some more people just came in so I’ll go grab their orders. You stay here and just make the food,” Jack said. He winked at Dorothea before turning around and heading for the new customers.

They worked in tandem – Dorothea making the orders and Jack serving the guests – until the café closed. Dorothea had closed earlier than normal for the holiday but to her, it wasn’t nearly early enough. Dorothea talked to the last customer as she showed them out the door. It was a young woman a little older than her who was new to the city. Dorothea was sharing some directions to the nearest, and most affordable hotel. Jack stood behind the counter, wiping down the equipment and putting dishes away. He watched as Dorothea kindly ushered the woman out and as the door finally closed her shoulders slumped down and she sighed loudly.

“Thank the stars that that’s over!” The girl said as she made her way back to the counter. She sat down on one of the stools and Jack walked around to join her.

“That was one hell of a crowd. You’d think people would be at home on Christmas Eve,” Jack said.

“Well, you would be wrong. If the place is open, people will come no matter what.” Dorothea reached up and tugged on the dark red ribbon keeping her dark curls out of her face, letting them fall down her back. Jack watched her closely and studied how she ran her hands clumsily through her tangled hair to try to tame it. He never knew her hair was that long – the full length of her back. He had always seen it messily pulled up with her ribbon.

“Your hair-“

“Is a mess”

“Is beautiful, is what I was gonna say.”

Dorothea turned to face Jack with a surprised look on her face. Her hair had been up all day and was no doubt dented in the middle section from being held up by the ribbon and was definitely frizzy. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sure. Anyway, I’m certain you didn’t come here just to help me with the holiday crowd. At least not for free!” The girl got up from her spot and walked into the kitchen. After a moment she returned with a cinnamon bun and slid it in front of Jack. “Here ya go! And it’s on the house tonight.” She had said tonight but she had every intention of never letting him pay her for food ever again.

“Really?”

“Really. You earned it. I saw you dodge those particularly handsy old women earlier,” Dorothea feigned a serious face but only for a moment before bursting into laughter at Jack’s reddening face. He shook his head and sighed.

“The stuff of nightmares I tell you. I’ll be traumatized for life.”

“Oh, I am quite sure. That blonde one looked about ready to pounce!” Dorothea laughed again and this time Jack joined her. He picked up the sticky pastry in front of him and took a bite. He paused.

“This is delicious. More delicious than your other ones!” Jack spoke with his mouth full and Dorothea shook her head in disapproval but smiled at him anyway.

“It’s from my personal batch. But don’t go asking for seconds now because they’ll be plenty more at the Christmas party.”

“Christmas party?”

“Yes, and you’ll be coming with me,” Dorothea left no room for argument as she walked back into the kitchen. When she returns she’s carrying two large containers presumably holding the rest of the cinnamon buns.

“Where is this party?” Jack was confused. Dorothea never mentioned a party in the weeks prior and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to go to some fancy event.

“It’s at my friends’ restaurant downtown. Don’t worry though it’s very casual and there won’t be that many people there. It’s just some fun and free food so I thought maybe you’d enjoy it,” Dorothea explained as she tapped her finger on the lid of the top box. Her eyes didn’t meet his as she talked. She was worried that he didn’t want to go and she had already told Margarette that she would bring him – something she now regretted. Jack nodded and took another bite of his pastry.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” He didn’t sound angry, just curious.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you would want to come but I had already told them I’d bring you so…” Dorothea trailed off as she gently set the boxes on the counter beside her. Jack laughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“So you’re trapping me?”

Dorothea scoffed, “Of course not!” she paused and handed him a napkin to wipe his hands and mouth on, “Well, I guess so. But it doesn’t matter now because you are going,” Dorothea nodded her head with finality and Jack narrowed his eyes at her. He knew he was going to go with her. She knew he was going to go with her. It was hardly a question as to whether he would do almost anything she asked but he wanted to have some fun anyway.

“What if I had plans?”

“Well, do you?”

Silence followed for a moment as the two stared into each other’s eyes.

“Give me one good reason why I should go,” Jack crossed his arms and leaned forward on the counter with a smirk.

“Because I would be sad if you did not,” Dorothea said without hesitation. It was true. Not only would she have to tell her friends that he didn’t want to go but she would not be able to properly enjoy her evening knowing Jack wasn’t there.

Jack laughed a little at her answer but when he noticed that Dorothea’s serious expression didn’t change, he stopped. Her brown eyes stared at him as she patiently waited for his final answer and Jack’s blue ones stared right back. “All right, when do we leave?”

Dorothea watched as Angeline and Jack walked in front of her. The young girl had been asking Jack a million questions since Dorothea had brought him by the lodging house to get her for the party. Jack told Angeline stories about him that Dorothea had, of course, already heard and the young girl was hanging on his every word – absolutely smitten with the boy. Jack glanced over his shoulder at Dorothea and smiled as he continued his story. Dorothea smiled and looked away, pretending to be occupied by the pastry boxes in her hands. She felt her cheeks warm and cursed herself for not being about to control her blush.

“Dory!” Angeline paused to allow Dorothea to catch up before linking arms with her. “Did you know that Jack is a really good artist?” Angeline wiggled her eyebrows at Dorothea and giggled. Dorothea looked at her in disapproval of her antics.

“Did he tell you that himself?” Dorothea scoffed. Jack rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “How humble of him to say about himself.”

“Have you ever seen any of his drawings?”

“No, because he is very rude to me and tells me I’m not allowed,” Dorothea said with the dramatics of a child. Jack’s mouth dropped open in shock as Dorothea pretended to wipe tears from her eyes.

“That is not true! I was not rude!”

“You absolutely were!” Dorothea argued back and stuck her tongue out at him. Jack gently pushed her shoulder and Dorothea gasped. “See? And now he’s putting his hands on me, the brute!”

Angeline’s giggles bubbled from her lips as the two teens continued back and forth. The young redhead stood between them and linked arms with Jack as well. She liked Jack and most of all she liked how happy Dorothea was with Jack. In the two years Angeline had known the older girl she had not seen her tease and taunt anyone but her. Dorothea had been so serious before hardly any nonsense – all work. Now, Dorothea went out with Jack quite often and always came back to the house in a good mood. It made Angeline happy.

Soon they arrived at the restaurant. The front entrance was closed but the inside was lit up and the smell of food wafted from a few of the open windows.

“Follow me!” Dorothea said as she led the two down the alley and to the back entrance. The door to the kitchen was already open and Margarette could be seen hanging fresh pasta. The woman stops and quickly places everything down before greeting the trio at the door.

“Ciao, miei cari!” She says as she holds her arms out to give hugs. She hugs Angeline tightly and then tells her to take Dorothea’s boxes and sit them on the counter. As Angeline walks away with the boxes, Margarette envelopes Dorothea in a tight embrace.

“Merry Christmas, Margarette,” Dorothea greets before gently separating herself from the woman.

“And this must be Jack!” Margarette smiled brightly and her eyes crinkled at the corners. Jack returned her smile and held his hand out to shake hers. The older woman laughs a bit and pulls Jack into a hug just like she gave the other two. “Dorothea, dear, you never said he was handsome!”

“Margarette!” Dorothea hissed as she quickly walked past them. Jack stepped away and laughed.

“What? He is and un uomo come lui non capita tutti i giorni, cara,” Margarette walked back to her pasta preparation and Dorothea’s face flushed. Jack watched her hastily set her cinnamon buns out on some trays she had found. He walked over to help and to ask what Margarette had said but before he could get the words out, Elmer entered the kitchen.

“Dorothea, Angeline, my darlings!” Angeline rushed to greet the man with a hug and Dorothea smiled at him from her spot next to Jack.

“Hello, Elmer! This is-“

“Jack, of course! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, dear boy,” Elmer walked over and extended a calloused hand for Jack to shake. Jack smiled and firmly shook the older man’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, both of you,” Jack said looking to Elmer and then looking to Margarette.

“Of course! We’ve heard a lot about you!”

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Dorothea blushed and refused to meet Jack’s smug gaze.

“Oh yeah? All good things, I hope,”

“Oh, only the best.”

The rest of the night was filled with a few other friends dropping by and raising glasses of sweet wine to toast the holiday. The band had come in and played some songs while the men, including Jack, played a few friendly games of poker.

“Dorothea, he’s a doll!” Rita, one of the musician’s wives said. “How long have you known him?”

“Only a couple of months, we are just friends,” Dorothea said. She looked over at Jack to find him with a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips and his blue eyes concentrated on his cards. The soft light of the restaurant offered him a golden glow that had Dorothea in a trance. Rita watched the girl stare then shared a look with Margarette, who had also seen Dorothea’s not-so-subtle glances.

“Well don’t be so sure, sweets. I think there might be something else going on there,” Rita said.

“What do you mean?” Dorothea finally broke her stare to look at the dark-haired woman beside her.

Rita shrugged her shoulders, “I only mean to say that he seems to make you happy. Nothing more,” she said as she sipped her wine. Dorothea took a sip from her own cup and looked back at Jack who was already looking at her. They both looked away and Dorothea smiled.

“He does. Make me happy, I mean. He’s been a good friend.”

Jack quickly looked back at the cards in his hand when Dorothea’s eyes met his. He hadn’t been looking for that long but he had still felt caught.

“So, Jack,” Elmer took a long drag from the cigar he held between his chubby fingers, “Where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“I’m from Chippewa Falls, in Wisconsin. I came here after my parents died,” Jack said as he played his turn.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear about your folks. Since you’ve been so good to our Dorothea you just let us know if we can do anything for you, dear boy. A meal, a nice room, a job, you name it,” Elmer said as he gestured with his cigar. Jack raised his eyebrows in interest. He could use a steady job that wasn’t just selling his drawings. And, he thought, if he worked here he could see Dorothea more since she obviously comes here often.

“What kind of job?”

The party had begun to settle down and Dorothea was sitting on the floor by the large fireplace at the back of the dining room. The adults had been conversing lowly and saying their Irish goodbyes for the past 30 minutes and she didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Elmer and Margarette. Angeline had joined Dorothea a little while ago, complaining that she was ready for bed. Shortly after the young redhead had sat down, she had fallen asleep on Dorothea’s lap. The older girl gazed fondly at Angeline and gently stroked her hair out of her face.

“Hey.”

Dorothea looked up to find Jack taking a seat on the floor beside her. He had his sketchbook and tools in his hand and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He must have gotten another one Dorothea thought.

“Hello. Did you enjoy the party?” Dorothea’s voice was just above a whisper so as to not wake the sleeping girl in her lap. Jack nodded and took a drag from his cigarette.

“It was great! I had a lot of fun. It was nice to play poker for fun instead of for a living, ya know,”

Dorothea laughed and Jack smiled brightly.

“Yes, I’m sure it is. I am glad you had a good time. Everyone seems to like you, though I’m not surprised.”

“Why is that?”

Dorothea sighed and stared ahead into the fire, watching the flames dance across the logs. “There’s just something about you, Jack,” She paused and looked at him – brown eyes meeting blue ones, “You make it easy to like you,”

Dorothea was stuck. She had been staring for too long, she knew that, but she couldn’t look away from his sincere gaze. He couldn’t look away either. Something in the way the flames reflected in her eyes and made them turn a honeyed brown and the way the warmth had cast a rosy hue to her cheeks made it imperative for him to watch and study her. He knew this image of her would stay in his brain forever and that he would definitely capture it on paper later. In another room, they could both hear a clock chime twelve. It was Christmas Day.

“Merry Christmas, Jack.”

“Merry Christmas, Dorothea,”

Both teens finally looked away from each other. Jack took a final drag from his cigarette, and Dorothea went back to softly playing with Angeline’s hair while watching the fire. Neither of them in a hurry to get up and both of them unaware of the small green sprig with red berries hanging above them.

#jack dawson #jack dawson imagine #jack dawson x reader #jack dawson x oc #rose dewitt bukater #Titanic #Titanic (1997)#titanic x reader #fix it fic #original female character

96 notes · View notes

miss-shawdowsinger · 2 years ago

Text

Soothing Darkness - Azriel X reader fanfic

Chapter 9

Summary: Starfall is here. Y/N decides she needs some space so goes to find her own place to watch...

Warnings: talks of past trauma, swearing and fluff

AN: Eeeek so I love this!! I hope you love it as much as me ❤️⭐

Chapter 1

----

“Stop fidgeting” Nesta snarled at you as she completed the finishing touches to your hair. She let the ringlets fall down your back pulling the loose strands away from your face. The dress she was letting you borrow was like nothing you had worn before. It was a dark blue, almost black in some lights and floor length. The material sparkled even in the dimmest of lights. It was long sleeved but backless with a low neckline that showed off the top of your breasts. “Alright, I’m done. Go have a look” Nesta pointed to the full length mirror in the corner of her room.

You stood before the mirror, taking in your own image. The difference you saw from the girl in the mirror a couple of months ago to now was incredible. You had a full toned body, not the weak one you used to have. Your hair had grown longer and your eyes seemed brighter. You sighed deeply.

“You don’t like it?” Nesta snapped. “How can you not, you look beautiful” she spun round with a pair of silver stilettoes in her hand and held them out for you to take.

“No, I love it” you quickly said. “It looks amazing. I just wish Gwyn and Emerie were going to be here tonight” the thought had rattled through your brain all afternoon. You wanted to enjoy Starfall with all your friends. Nesta would be there, but she also had Cassian and her family.

“I feel the same but at least we have each other” Nesta smiled, stopping you mid thought. “I will leave you to put these on” she handed you the stilettoes. “Everyone would have arrived by now, so I better go play host but come find me when you are ready”. You nodded in agreement before she left the room.

You sat on the bed, putting the silver shoes on. They lased around your ancles and up to your calves. It took you a lot longer than you would admit to fiddle around with the laces to get them to sit neatly. You stood in front of the mirror one last time. The dress was beautiful and it hugged your new figure perfectly. You took a deep breath, debating if you could get away with just hiding for the night. Before you could let your thoughts get the better of you, you made your way out of the room and headed to the party.

The room wasn’t as full as the last party, but the atmosphere was still as loud. There were refreshments and small nibbles on tables. Most guests were happily chatting away with quiet music playing in the background. You wondered the outskirts of the room, trying to find Nesta.

“You look like you need a drink” you turned to see Mor with a glass of wine outstretched to you.

“It’s like you read my mind” you laughed and took the wine gratefully. You had only briefly seen Mor since the Winter solstice ball. Sometimes she would arrive just after training and have lunch or be messenger for Rhys to Cassian and Azriel.

“Where are your friends tonight? Gwyn and…. Emerie is it?” Mor feigned not knowing Emerie’s name with a little side glance at you.

“They had other plans unfortunately” you weren’t sure if telling Mor about Emerie’s date was a good idea but you smiled knowingly.

“Ahh” she took a long gulp from her wine. “That’s a shame. Come on, lets go see the others” Mor linked her arm with yours and led you to the balcony. There were more guests on the balcony then inside, ready to see the stars shoot across the midnight blue sky.

“There you are” Nesta was the first of the small group to see you and Mor arrive. Cassian was by her side, along with Rhysand, Fayre, Nyx. “I thought you had gotten lost, or you had made a run for it” she whispered the last bit to you.

“I found her looking like a bit of a lost puppy” Mor squeezed your arm and you gave her a fake scowl which she laughed at. You greeted everyone whilst sipping from your wine, already needing a top up. You were about to excuse yourself when a familiar face stepped out of the shadows and joined the group. Azriel wore his black jacket and trousers with a white shirt. His hazel eyes caught yours and he smiled. His smile nearly made your knees buckle.

“Y/N” Rhys pulled your attention away from the Illyrian. “May I have a quick word?” he gestured to step away from the group and you weren’t about to refuse the high lord. You glanced a look at Azriel, who’s brows were knitted together slightly as you followed Rhysand to a quiet part of the balcony. “How are you?” Rhys voice was soft but laced with concern.

“I’m alright thank you” you nodded barley able to keep contact with his violet eyes. “You?”

“I’m good” he chuckled slightly. “I meant after everything a couple of months ago. I’m sorry I haven’t been around to check on you. I hear you are still living in the house?” he took you by surprise. You knew the high lord of the night court wasn’t what most people knew him to be. But you never thought for one moment that he would want to or feel he had to check on you after what had happened, let alone apologise.

“Oh” words failed you. “I’m better but yes I am staying here…. but it’s only temporary, I didn’t mean to outstay my welcome” You began to nervously ramble. Rhys held up his hand to stop you.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean that” he smiled politely. “Stay as long as you need, you could never outstay your welcome. There is plenty of room. I just wanted to make sure you feel safe”. Safe? You still had sleepless night, woken up by past terrors but you couldn’t be more safe then where you were.

“I do” you nodded. “Thank you”.

“Is the training helping? I hear you’ve progressed”. You glanced back at the two Illyrians on the other side of the balcony. Cassian was laughing at something Mor was saying and Azriel was looking in your direction. He quickly turned his attention elsewhere when he noticed you looking his way.

“Yes, the training has helped a lot. Cassian and Azriel are good teachers” you swallowed. You were unsure where this convocation was heading. The High lord of the night court was asking you about your daily life, you were staying at his house. It all felt very unreal.

“They are my best worriers” Rhys smiled. “I’m sure Azriel has made it clear but I assure you that nothing like that will happen again. You have my word” his violet eyes met yours. There was no hesitation or white lie there. He meant what he said, and you could see the guilt that hid behind his stare.

“I believe you” you said it more for him then for you. His face softened with relief. Just from the short convocation with Rhysand you could tell he really cared for the people of Velaris. He didn’t want anyone to feel unsafe in his city. For that, you could trust him.

“I hope you enjoy tonight. If you ever have any issues please let me know” Rhys patted you lightly on the shoulder. You nodded your thanks to him as the two of you began to make your way back over to the group. You noticed another two people had joined. Amren was now stood with Fayre and Elain was stood next to Azriel. Her blush pink dress matched her soft complexion as her beautiful long hair fell to one side. Your heart dropped as she smiled so longingly at the Illyrian you had grown to care for. He was smiling back as they exchanged pleasant convocation.

Mor handed you another glass of wine as you reached her side. You had to stop yourself from downing the whole thing. You kept your attention on Mor as she spoke to the group, trying to ignore Elain and Azriel. You could see them in your peripheral vision, you could hear her giggling at something he had said. It was like you were being punched in the gut but you put on a front. You didn’t want anyone to see the truth of your feelings towards the spymaster. This silly schoolgirl crush you had on him.

“It’s about to start” Fayre picked Nyx up in her arms and strode to the railing of the balcony. Everyone formed a line along the rails to get a good view at the stars above. You were about to join when you saw Azriel lead Elain over to the balcony her arm snaked through his elbow. They stood next to one another and looked out waiting for the stars to fall. At first there was a small gap between them but Elain began to lean into him, closing the gap.

Fuck it. You gulped back the last of your wine. The last thing you wanted was to have to watch them flirt with each other all night. As everyone’s attention was on the view ahead of them, you took the opportunity and left the balcony. You knew there was another, quieter balcony you could go to that was only two floors up.

You picked the hem of your dress up as you started to climb the stairs. The last two Starfalls you had sat at the window in your apartment watching by yourself. This year would be no different apart from the better view. When you reached the second level, you were the only one there. You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped out into the night and leaned your forearms against the railing of the quiet balcony. You could hear the faint chatter from two floors below, but this seemed right somehow. More peaceful.

Staring out at the dark sky, you wished your mother were here. Starfall had always been her favourite holiday in Velaris. You would climb to the roof of the bakery and sit out all night with snacks as the stars shot across the sky. This would be your third Starfall without her.

“So, this is where you ran off to” a voice broke through your thoughts. You spun round to see Azriel stood in the doorway to the balcony.

“I didn’t run” you gulped as your heart leaped into your throat. “I just wanted to watch somewhere more quiet” you half lied.

“Mind if I join you on that?” he waited in the doorway.

“Don’t you want to watch with the others?” with Elain, you thought.

“I quite enjoy the quiet too” Azriel’s shadows circled around his neck. “I’ve spent many Starfall’s with them, I’m sure they won’t mind if I spend this one two floors above them” he smirked.

“If you are sure, then go ahead” you smiled. He made his way across the balcony and stood at the railing beside you. He rested one of his arms on the rail with his body turned to face you.

“You look beautiful” his deep voice sent shivers up your spine. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment.

“A bit of a difference from fighting leathers?” your voice came out slightly squeaky. Azriel gave a small laugh as his eyes met yours.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak a star shot across you vision. It lit the black sky up with colour as more stars started flying. It was beautiful, each star seemed to paint the black canvas with bright light. You and Azriel stood closely together staring up and watching as hundreds of bright stars danced together.

The two of you stayed like that. Hearing the downstairs balcony gasp and laugh as Stars fell so closely you could almost touch them. Azriel’s forearm rested right next to yours. His wings slightly held behind your back to allow his closeness. His warmth radiating onto you as you silently watched.

“It’s nice that you do this every year” you said as a star rushed past your head, leaving a bright green trail behind it. “Spending it surrounded by the people you love” you briefly looked down at the group on the balcony below. Your eyes landed on Elain as she stared up to the stars. You breathed in a sigh, thinking about the way they looked at one another. Why wasn’t he with her now?

“How did you used to spend it?” he asked as you turned you attention back to the skies.

“With my mother. She used to absolutely love this” you said as a small tear fell down your cheek.

“My mother did too” his voice was laced with sorrow. You glanced up at him. It was the first time Azriel had spoken about is actual family to you. He stared out at the falling stars, his eyes shining with their bright light. “It was one of the few things I actually knew about her”.

“I’m sorry” you didn’t know what to say. He carried on staring out at the sky above, his face unreadable. He sighed softly.

“There isn’t anything to apologise for” he shook his head. “It was my father and step-mothers fault I barely knew her” you stayed silent. You didn’t want to push him with questions so you waited to see if he wanted to carry on. “I was born a bastard. My step-mother hated me. I was a constant reminder of my father’s adultery, so she locked me away for the first eleven years of my life. Out of sight, out of mind” Azriel’s teeth clenched as he gripped the railing in front of him. “The room was always dark and small. It had no windows, no room to fly.

“I was only able to see my mother for one hour every week. I didn’t learn much about her, but it was the only kindness I was ever shown. I imagine if she had the chance, she would have been a good mother. It wasn’t until I was eleven when my father dumped me at windhaven to train that I actually spent any time out of the room. I was miles behind everyone, I’d never even used my wings. I had to learn how to fly when everyone else had been flying as long as they could walk. If it wasn’t for Rhys and Cassian I wouldn’t have survived. But I never saw my mother again.” he finally looked up to you. Your eyebrows knitted together as you felt the tears sting your eyes.

“Azriel, I-“ you couldn’t find the words. His hazel eyes glanced at the scar on your neck and then to his own scared hands.

“When I was eight years old my two half brothers thought it would be fun to experiment on me. Illyrians have fast healing powers and they wanted to see how fast they truly were” his voice turned cold. Your chest tightened as you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to listen to the horrors he endured. “They covered my hands in oil and set them on fire. My fathers warriors heard me but they were too late to save my hands” he stared at his scared hands, flexing them in front of his face.

His face had returned to the one you saw on the night of the attack. Laced with nothing but pure anger as he stared at his hands. Your heart pounded in your chest. You wanted to do anything, say anything that would bring him comfort but you couldn’t find the words.

“These” he flexed his hands. “I was left with these ugly, ruined hands as a constant reminder” he growled, a mixture of pain and shame plastered on his face. You couldn’t bare to think about what ran through his mind or how he viewed himself whenever he looked at the scars.

“No” your almost shouted voice came as a shock even to you. He turned to face you, still holding his hands in front of him, his face unreadable. Your heart broke for him as his hazel eyes met yours. Without thinking you took his scared hands gently in yours. “There is nothing about you that is ugly Azriel. Not to me.” the words flowed out of you.

His eyes widened slightly as you held his warm hands. You looked up at him, waiting for him to push you away or break the ever growing silence. But he just looked at you, stunned. You swallowed as the stars kept falling behind you, illuminating his beautiful features. He closed the distance between the two of you. His tall frame towering above you, sheltering you from the cold wind.

One of his hands dropped yours in order to caress your cheek, sending warm shivers throughout your body. Your breath hitched in your throat as his eyes flicked from yours to your lips. Time slowed down as Azriel tilted his head down, his throat bobbed slightly. The world seemed to go silent as his lips met yours.

His lips were warm and soft as he kissed you. His hand moved to the back of your neck tilting your head while the other now sat at your waist, pulling your body into his. Your heart began racing as he held onto you, deepening the kiss. His tongue grazed along your bottom lip asking for permission. You granted it, by opening your mouth.

He took full access, moving his tongue against yours in perfect harmony. Using his hand on your waist, he pulled you even closer to him. Your bodies now fully flushed against one another whist your arms wrapped around his neck. He broke this kiss for a split second, allowing you to catch your breath before reattaching his lips to yours. He tasted amazing on your tongue. His hands wondered down your spine to the curve of you ass, leaving a hot trail behind them.

Every fibre of your being was telling you to give him more. To give him everything but he pulled away. He leant his forehead on yours whilst you caught your breath. Both his arms now held you around your waist, keeping you in place against him. His hazel eyes met yours. Sudden dread arose in you.

What if he regretted the kiss? Was it just a heat of the moment thing and Elain was downstairs waiting for him? You would never be able to look at him again.

He smiled brightly before placing one gentler kiss to your lips. The dread faded away as quickly as it came as you returned his smile. Still catching his breath, he said “You have no idea how long I’ve….”

“There you are” Azriel was cut off. The two of you spun round, releasing each other quickly. The heat from him leaving you cold instantly. You were both too caught up in the moment to hear that someone had approached and was now waiting in the doorway with a huge smirk plastered across his face. “Rhys wondered where you were and told me to come find you” Cassian had his arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised in a knowing look.

“Of course he did” Azriel almost growled at Cassian.

“After you” Cassian gestured to the door, trying to keep himself from laughing. Azriel turned to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a gesture for you to go first. You moved across the balcony to Cassian who winked at you as you passed him. You gave him a rude gesture which only made him laugh more.

You felt as if you were being escorted through the house as the two Illyrians followed closely behind you. Glancing back, you saw Azriel’s face back to it’s unreadableness and Cassian smirking to himself. You couldn’t believe what had just happened. Azriel had kissed you. You could still taste his lips on yours as you made your way to the main balcony.

The small group were where you had left them, gathered along the balcony as Starfall came to an end. You joined them, standing next to Nesta as Azriel stood at your other side between you and Elain. His warm presence once again at your side.

“Where did you run off too?” Nesta snapped.

“I went to find somewhere quiet to watch Starfall. I’m sorry Nesta” you cringed. Not completely a lie. You tried to steady your racing heart as your cheeks burnt with the thought of what had just happened. Nesta said something else but your attention was occupied with Elain and Azriel’s convocation.

She had asked him where he had been, and he simply said to find you. “You missed it” she sighed sadly. “You’ll have to make up for it next year” she smiled shyly at him. He just nodded in response unaware of you eavesdropping.

The rest of the night was full of drinking and dancing until there was only the small group of you left at the house of wind. You all retired to the living room, huddled together on sofas in front of a warm fire. There was a small space in between Mor and Fayre which you took gladly.

Azriel took as seat on the sofa opposite you. Every so often you would catch his eye and smile, heat flushing your cheeks. Your mind was going crazy as you listened to the group around you. What was going to happen now? Would you wake up tomorrow and he regret the whole thing? What would have happened if Cassian hadn’t had interrupted?

“Did you enjoy Starfall Y/N?” Fayre asked sweetly. Tearing your attention away from your own thoughts, you looked at the beautiful High Lady.

“Yes, very much. Thank you” you could feel Azriel’s eyes on you as you answered. “Was this Nyx’s first?” you deflected.

“Yes” she beamed holding the beautiful baby in her arms. “I think he rather enjoyed it”.

An hour passed before you finally decided to take your leave and go to bed. You said goodnight to everyone that was still awake and left the room. There was a small piece of you that wished a certain someone would follow you but that would have made things a bit too obvious.

As you shut your bedroom door behind you, you allowed yourself to smile. You couldn’t control it anymore. Your fingers featherlight touched your lips where Azriel’s had been just a couple of hours ago. The warmth they had brought as his body pressed against yours. Your mind played the scene over and over in your head.

Although you were playing the kiss over and over again in your head. Azriel had also confined a small part of his past with you. How he was treated. He was right when he told you that he understood how you felt, way back when you told him about your own past. All you wanted him to know was that there was no part of himself to be ashamed of and he had kissed you for it. Tomorrow. What was tomorrow going to bring? You would not only have to face Azriel but Cassian. Cassian had caught you holding one another closely. You just hoped that whatever tomorrow brought, it wasn’t going to be awkward.

Chapter 10

#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #batboys #cassian

199 notes · View notes

ynmnrmt · 9 months ago

Text

You & Me & Rhea Makes Three: Chapter 6

rhea ripley x m!reader x m!reader's girlfriend

word count: 3,831

warnings: explicit sexual content, themes of domination/submission, dubiously consensual nonmonogamy, nonconsensual sex

a/n: So, I could flannel and wring my hands here and claim there's a grey area, but I'm not going to - this chapter contains an explicit rape scene which I am presenting as erotic material. I'm not fucking around here, I'm stating this clearly for the benefit of you the reader, if you don't like the sound of that do not read on. If, on the other hand, you do like the sound of that, then SMASH THAT KEEP READING

(The story so far: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five)

Jennifer is away for work. Another dreary training seminar in the middle of nowhere. She always apologises as she recounts it all for how boring it all is, be it a word association game about customer retention, or sitting in a circle to pass a ball back and forth which somehow represents customer satisfaction, or even attempting to collectively manifest customer relations.

“It’s the ball one again,” she confesses, framed awkwardly in your phone, so that it looks like she is looking up at you from the upside-down world. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, I need to find something better than this.”

“You’ll be back by the end of the week,” you say, in a cheery hand-on-the-shoulder way.

“And I know we said we were going to have phone sex,” even having negotiated it at length you do have a little tingle of surprise to hear her say it, “but they booked us all double rooms. We’re all fucking paired up, I don’t have a minute to myself.”

“I wish,” you say, and mean it, “I could reach through the screen and hold you in my arms and make everything better.”

In the background as you say this, the door rattles and Rhea walks in, glowing from her run. “Is that Jen?” she mouths – then, without waiting for a reply jumps into view next to you. “Hey, sexy,” she waves hello, then sing-songs “missing you” and pulls your phone up to her face to give the screen a sloppy wet kiss.

“Hey, Rhea,” says Jennifer, still downcast and tired. “God, I wish you guys were here. We’d find a way to fit in a double room, obviously.” You and Rhea both chuckle at that. Her arm is pressed against yours, damp with sweat, it is all too apparent she has been for a run – and it makes your heart beat faster, remembering the long hot summer when the water and electricity were off. Then Jennifer is distracted. “Oh hell, I’m sorry, I have to go. The counting mung beans workshop just started. I’ll speak to you soon. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

“Love you,” you say.

“Love y-” adds Rhea, but then the call cuts off. “Oh, poor thing.” She plucks at her neckline, takes a whiff of herself, and jerks her head back. “God – excuse me!” And she repairs off to the shower, even though you don’t mind at all and tell her so, the dark stains on the back of her shirt define the muscles underneath so beautifully it doesn’t even occur to your lizard brain to look at her ass until she’s already out of the room.

Try not to have too much fun, the words rattle in your mind. Jennifer has gone off to this tedious seminar, leaving you alone with your other girlfriend, and worse still is being so impossibly nice about it all. You clench a fist and pound the couch – you don’t wish you were there with her, you wish she was back here, happy and safe. Yes, and you also wish you earned enough that constant horrible work outings didn’t have to be part of her life.

You resolve to have all the things she likes waiting for her on her return, a great elaborate gesture, anything to try and show the depths of your feelings. All the pillars and domed roofs of your grand design turn into fog when Rhea emerges from the shower, fresh and pink in just a towel, to skip through to her room. That image, her shy little smile as she clutches the towel to herself, remains burned into your consciousness long after she comes back through, dressed now, and flops on the couch next to you to cool off.

“I wish we were there with her too,” she muses, head back on the cushions. “We could cheer her up. Not like that,” she adds, and gives you a playful shove, even though you neither said anything nor changed your demeanour in any way.

“They don’t make you go on any awful training days, do they?” you ask.

“There’s enough health and safety shit. It’s not like it was.” Yes, there’s one you can nod sagely at, because nothing’s like it was. She’s spread out next to you, still warm from the shower, and you try not to let it distract you, but through the material of her quite conservative shorts, you can make out the shape of her vulva. “Ah, I can’t wait till Jen’s back – although I do like it when it’s just us. Sometimes, it’s sort of like we’re cheating on her.”

“Yeah,” you reflect.

“But we’re not, obviously.”

“See, sometimes I worry about where exactly the lines can be drawn, and-”

“Oh, I think I pulled something,” groans Rhea, and plops her leg in your lap. “Would you rub my calves?” It would be rude to say no, that’s what you tell yourself, but you barely need the prompt to put your hands on her. And when you do it’s not even a rub but more of a squeeze, a grope, hungry grabs at her body and her tattooed flesh – but this seems to do the job, because she swivels around in her seat to throw her other leg over you too.

“Look, Rhea,” you say, now doing something to the muscles of her calf that’s between a massage and a gentle pull, trying to get back to the point, “Jen’s really special to me, and-”

“And to me!” Rhea sits forward, in wholehearted agreement. “If she was here, you could take a leg each, instead of you having to do them both yourself.” You can’t even object to the simple purity of the idea. “You know I would never do anything to hurt her, right?” And you nod, there’s no polite way to question that. “So obviously I’d never cheat on her, just like you wouldn’t, but, um, sometimes it’s fun to pretend, you know? I hope she’s thinking about us right now, I hope we can at least cheer her up that way.” Her legs are like an unimaginably comforting blanket, right over your lap.

“I hope so too,” you say vaguely, as you try to shift so she doesn’t notice your hard-on, then you make the complete wrong move and bump it into her.

“See,” she says, as if she’s about to share a secret, “I know how much you love her, you’ve got a boner just talking about her.”

“She’s very special,” you reply, wanting to hang your head in shame.

“She’s perfect,” says Rhea, now she’s got her arms around you, she’s crept closer so it’s her thighs across you, but she’s not actually sitting in your lap and you really have your doubts that would work. As your erection tries to winkle its way between her legs, she muses on “I’ve honestly never been happier, than I have with you guys...and I was proud to wreck that guy who tried messing with you.”

Immediately you feel awkward, far more awkward than you did simply poking at her. Three of them, there had been, and Rhea went for them without a second’s hesitation. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything there,” you say, and squeeze her thigh like a child, hoping for forgiveness.

“Oh, sweetie, no, you don’t need to be – look,” she says, she sweeps her legs down and comes forward to look you in the eye, “I know when most people say this stuff, they’re just saying it, but I genuinely don’t believe you’re obliged to act in a certain way because of your gender. I really don’t.” And she gives you the sweetest smile, for a moment you cannot bear to meet her gaze. “Besides,” she adds, “I get a bit of a thrill showing I’m stronger than men.”

“Oh,” you react, unable to even try and conceal your own excitement.

“And the thing is,” she says, gently taking your hands in hers, “it’s for exactly all those reasons that I say I reject, all those gender conventions – which I guess makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world.”

“No, you’re not,” you insist, for reasons that have nothing to do with the actual question. “And – and I hope you never feel anything less than perfectly feminine.” Which is probably the wrong thing to say, but you squeeze her hands, and she squeezes yours back and beams – and then she grips them hand and brings them up over your head. You fall back and now she’s on top of you.

“One of the things I always felt was really unfair,” she husks, the cloud of her hot breath making your head spin, as she gets both your hands gripped firmly in one of hers, “is how, in a lot of places, legally speaking women can’t rape men – which is just nonsense.”

“Yeah, i-it’s just stupid,” you agree too quickly, and it’s true, you always thought that was profoundly unjust on the face of it, though any outrage you felt was eclipsed by the little twinge it gave you imagining yourself in that scenario. Your cock is still pressed excruciatingly against her legs, but now it’s from the front, and again you squirm to try and make it better and make it a hundred times worse. It was a crazy thought anyway, it was hardly even a thought, obviously there’s no escape from her goddess-thighs – and if there was, could you bring yourself to take it?

“And I imagine the worst part is when they do get an erection,” she says in an irresistible, candlelit voice, “and they worry that on some level they did want it – which is bound to get really confusing if, like a lot of people, they have secret fantasies about someone they like doing that to them. I know I do.”

“I would be happy to help you with that,” you say immediately, any filter between mind and tongue long gone. She giggles affectionately.

“How about you?” she asks, as she dances from side to side on her hands and knees over you, swaying gently from left to right and back again. “What if Jen just grabbed you and held you down sometime?” You daren’t answer, but then you don’t need to, not when you dig further into her thigh. “And obviously, she,” Rhea’s lips brush along the length of your face, it seems like it’s random, yes, and your erection is probably completely random too, “if you really wanted her to stop, she would, because she loves you.”

“But I couldn’t bear to ask her,” you casually confess, “not by that point,” and Rhea laughs in understanding fashion in a way that makes you laugh along with her, yes, neither of you could stand to deny her, not in that situation. Then, showing amazing skill with her one free hand, she’s unzipped your trousers and takes hold of your cock. “Wait,” you say, not saying no, just asking her to wait, “wait, Rhea, Jen’s not here-”

“Oh, I know,” she sympathises, as she eases down her shorts that barely concealed anything anyway, “but let’s pretend she is.”

“Rhea, seriously, wait-” and now she kisses you, properly, not an ounce of force behind it, just her mouth against yours. You squirm, you burn internally, in this moment you don’t love anyone quite as much as you love her. You even try to break out of the iron grasp of her hand around your wrists, you know she’s stronger than you, and maybe you didn’t really want to anyway. Then she moves and then you are inside her.

“You make me so wet when you wriggle,” she says, and she’s telling the truth, all you can see is the devilish delight on her face and the halo of light around it. Her next forceful kiss is a lick at first, up across your cheek while she fucks you, but your lips end up locked with hers all the same.

“Please,” you say, when your mouth is free of hers, “stop – help -” and all the while her hips bang against you, as if drawing poison from a wound, you do not want to call it rape even in your own head because it feels so good. The way she presses down on you, the way she squeezes you, of course you don’t resist.

“Oh fuck – oh fuck,” Rhea wails, her lip draws against your face with the worlds, she’s hardly even holding your wrists any more. In fact, she gives up on that and just takes hold of your arms with both hands, because “I love holding you this way – doesn’t it feel so sensual?” As she keeps going you hear something break in the couch and her vulnerability makes your heart run liquid, you feel bad at having resisted at all.

“Rhea,” you try not to choke, “I don’t want this-”

“Oh sweetie, I don’t want it to end either, I’m so close already – please, hold out a little longer for me, please do that for me,” it seems like every word is punctuated with the light headbutt of her kissing you again. Because you love her you do hold on, as best you can without use of your hands, you bite your lip and project mental energy in any other direction, you feel your spine warp, and when she cries out with joy you can no longer resist and go off, torrential inside her. But her magnificent form doesn’t stop moving, the way she goes up and down your cock isn’t even slowed, perhaps it’s sheer momentum but more likely every lap she’s run and weight she’s lifted paying off. And as she keeps riding you and keeps enjoying it, the pain of her using a part of you that doesn’t want to be used, that, that is the finest feeling in the world.

You lie together afterwards, Rhea’s still on top, she sewing-machines the side of your neck with tiny pecks that are gentler than seems possible from her. “You’re perfect,” she confesses, in her post-sex flush that makes her seem flawless herself. “And the best part is, we know this is all okay. I know you worry about this, but Jen isn’t going to mind, not really.”

“Mm-hm,” you say, still not really convinced and muffled by Rhea’s hair anyway.

“I still feel all tingly thinking about it.” Yes, to be sure, you do too. “Obviously if we didn’t want it, that would be monstrous – but we did, so it’s just a fun, sexy thrill. I mean, if I thought I’d hurt you or something, I couldn’t forgive myself. Not for that.”

Immediately you conceive of this as the cruellest sort of manipulation. But deep down, you know it isn’t, not really, because you had wanted it, maybe not with a completely clear conscience, but you had, you’d burned for it. You squeeze her big, fabulous body, and for a moment you see her smile, as if she is blocking out the sun. Then she rests her head on you, between your chest and your shoulder, a gesture at normality that must have her long legs hanging off the end of the couch.

There’s a noise, a twinkle. It’s your phone. With Rhea on top of you, it’s some struggle to get your fingers into your pocket, but eventually you manage it. When you see Jen’s name pop up on the screen, there’s the familiar dread, the feeling that finally the other boot is about to drop. “What does our girlfriend say?” Rhea asks sweetly.

When you open the message, Jennifer hasn’t actually said anything. The message is a picture, her naked in striking moody light, the tangled bedsheet nearly covering one of her breasts. She hasn’t shown any of her face above the mouth, a sensible precaution, but at least now she looks as if she’s enjoying herself. You look at her arms, her stomach, soft and rounded where Rhea’s is hard, and not for the first time you wish she was here.

“Hello, hello,” says Rhea, you can feel the smirk twist her face. There’s another twinkle, and a text from your girlfriend pops up reading maybe you can pretend I’m there as well. God, how you’d love to. “Aww...she might just break my heart one day,” and Rhea’s lips are so close to yours that when she says it, your mouth moves too.

“She’s so pretty,” you say longingly, perhaps this moves Rhea’s mouth as well, and you want to cry but know you cannot show that weakness.

“Maybe, um, maybe we should go again? For her?” Her fingers rest lightly on your chest, but there’s no way in hell you could move them.

You had thought, an entirely theoretical but perfectly plausible grand plan, that you would greet Jennifer with a smorgasbord of all the things she likes. There would be the white chocolate cookies, and beer on ice – not wine, she feels faintly obliged to drink that on special occasions but you know what she’d choose given the chance. You’d have queued up one of those documentaries on Bigfoot hunters, yes, of course you and she would show up in the viewing figures the same as a genuine nut, but the craziness is still fun. And you’d have wrapped her up in a blanket and ordered in whatever takeout her little heart desired.

When Jennifer opens the door, she sees you on the couch, slimy with sweat and gasping for breath, wearing a t-shirt but no trousers or underwear, that least dignified form of nudity. She barely has time to put her suitcase down before Rhea creeps up from the side and snarls “You have no idea how much we missed you”, and grabs the front of her shirt. There is one sharp tug, the buttons spray everywhere, and for a moment she looks scared, horrified even – but that only lasts until Rhea bows her head and rubs her face in amongst Jennifer’s breasts.

“Oh!” flutters Jennifer. “Oh, Rhea…” And she shoots you the same sort of guilty glance you know you’ve given her more than once.

“And I missed these, too – come on, come sit with us,” though there’s no real request about it, Rhea scoops Jennifer up in her arms, and it seems as if they share a long slushy bonding look – but scarcely a second in Rhea throws her down on the couch, and you manage to scrabble out of the way just in time. Then you clutch her, protectively, though there’s no kind of protection you know how to offer that could stop Rhea as she flops her whole weight down on Jennifer’s other side.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you tell Jennifer, and for a while she doesn’t stop saying how much she loves you – pressing her face into your neck, as if something’s wrong. “H-” you gather yourself a little, “how was the – thing?”

“I’m fucking sick of it all,” she says, still nestled within you. “The whole time I was just thinking about being back here. With you.”

You find her hand and hold it tight. “You’re safe now,” you say gently.

“Yeah,” adds Rhea, “we’ve got you.”

“Have – have you two just been fucking, the whole time I’ve been away?” asks Jennifer. There’s no judgement in it, just curiosity, but it still goes straight to the black pit of your stomach.

“Not the whole time,” teases Rhea.

“You sent that picture,” you say, “it set us off,” and while this is true as you say it you know that it is a lie. And now you have the painful realisation that you never even sent a reply – but Jennifer giggles in response.

“There was one thing,” she adds, immediately you are in that intense, bottomless state of not knowing where this is going. “I did think – well, we’re not, Rhea, you don’t want children, right?”

Rhea runs a hand over her rock-hard stomach, as if imagining it swollen by pregnancy, and shrugs “Could be a novelty act, I don’t think it’s been done before.” Then she thinks, and says “There’s a reason for that, of course.”

“See, I just think,” Jennifer falters, she’s looking at you now, touching your chest, eyes full of hope, “I really wanted to – would you not come in her, any more?” And a nervous glance to Rhea with it.

“Yes!” you blurt out, faster than you’d meant to. “I mean, sure, if that’s what you want.”

Rhea gently takes Jennifer’s hands in hers, the muscles bulge in her arms but you can tell she’s not using any force here. “I have to ask,” she says, “is this about you wanting it all to yourself?” For a second, Jennifer is frozen. Then she nods, violently, all of her hair shaking with the motion. And Rhea’s expression softens, and she says “I’m so glad you said that. In fact, never mind that, I’m proud of you, I’m glad you’re setting a boundary. This whole time I’ve been worried that you’re just going along with all of this but really you haven’t actually liked it.”

“O-of course not!” insists Jennifer. Rhea smiles gently down at her, and kisses her gently on the cheek, another thing you really wish you’d done.

“Are you sure?” you ask her, and she gives you the same shaky, exaggerated nod she did before, but it’s the expression on her face that really gives you the answer.

“That’s good,” says Rhea, and brings her hands up to Jennifer’s shoulders, and starts to rub them gently. “Because in that case, I’ve got a surprise for you.” And she pulls Jennifer down, face-first, into her vagina, because of course she is not fully dressed either. “A nice sticky treat for you.”

Jennifer gives a little blocked “Hmph!” of surprise, but that gives way to the sloppier sounds of her tucking in to Rhea – and, yes, what Rhea took from you about half an hour ago. You goggle at them, not knowing what to think or do. Rhea looks fondly back at you, and with one hand in Jennifer’s hair reaches out to you with the other.

“I think she’d really like it-” Rhea begins – and then a little start, a flush, that shows Jennifer’s tongue has found a particularly soft area. She gathers herself and tries again, “I think you should do her from behind. Since she wants you so much.” And down between her thighs, there’s that frantic nod again.

You climb around behind Jennifer, and ease down her underwear – but before you do anything more you lean over her and whisper in her ear how much you love her, and how you want this to be good for her. Even when she says something that is of course muffled by Rhea’s vulva but sounds a lot like “fucking stick it in before I burst” it feels as if you are taking advantage.

#rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x you #rpf #rhea ripley fanfiction #rhea ripley smut

15 notes · View notes