#wille catches on and starts doing it more on purpose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshigray · 3 months ago

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˙⋆✮ FIRST PERSON SQUIRTER.ᐣ.ᐟ ✮⋆˙ | jjk men

꩜ᯅ꩜ choso, nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna & toji × how they deal with a squirter!?

contents: JJK men x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size differences (true form! kuna) - kissing/making out - thigh-riding - [anal] fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - sqůirtǐng (ofc) - facesitting - Daddy kink - 69 + doggy style + full nelson positions - overstimulation - clitoral play (grinding + swiping + pinching) - praising - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, baby, cutiepie, good girl, little thing, etc.) - degradation + humiliation - mention of blood and drool/spit.

word count: 5.3k

a. note: goin on a trip next week, so i leave y'all with this until the next one ☆ enjoy !!

ᯓ꩜ Chōsō Kamo

You giggled. “You ready, baby?”

He smiles back. “Bring it on, sweetheart.”

Having a partner willing to try new things with you is undoubtedly a blessing. Wouldn’t you want to try anything and everything with your partner—learning new things and sharing experiences with the person you love and cherish the most in this globe?

It adds to your trust in one another – an exchange enhances the companionship…even if it’s in the bedroom!

“Okay, Choso, get ready.”

Your boyfriend nods from below you, watching from between your thighs as you descend your lower half where his face is, and the two of you moan once the lips of your labia land on his awaiting tongue.

This was all your idea, by the way: you’re the one who pulled on Choso’s shirt as you two watched the television from his bed, his caramel eyes drifting to you after grabbing his attention. It was difficult to ask at first, stumbling with your words as this embarrassing request isn’t something you make regularly. Once you got your words out, it wasn’t surprising to see your boyfriend a little flustered as you were.

However, that didn’t stop him from accepting it – albeit bashfully – confidently, igniting a colossal quirk of happiness to affect the glow of his bedroom. So, here you two are, putting this new experience to the test.

“Mmmm, oh God,” you purr with chewed lips, fighting the urge to swing your hips as Choso mouths you.

Choso has his hips on your waist to keep you steady as he does his work, using his lips and tongue to please you in this new position. His tongue swims around your inner labia, the folds coated with your wetness mixed with his saliva. You exhale through your nostrils, your thighs sluggishly move to have your man attend to the surface, and you mewl at the flick of your clitoris. Oh shiiit…!

Having you on top of him like this was not something the brunet expected, thinking this would be a lazy day to hang out with his cute companion on this slow Friday. However, to have easy access to taste your fluids within his vicinity in this erotic position...he’s starting to like it a little too much.

“Ohhh, my God, Choso,” you shrill with a gasp. “You’re so good…Feel so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He questions below your waist, poking your clit with his tongue. “You like riding my face?”

He can’t see it, but you nod impetuously. “Yessss! Yees—Shhaaah! Fuck, your tongue…!” You lick your lips and bite as you bring your waist lower, his nose bumping on your clit. “More, give me moreee…!”

“Heh, sure thing,” he titters at your enthusiasm as his hands curl to your buttocks, bringing you further down to his level. You whimper as he sucks on your vulva with purpose, lapping his tongue around to tease your entrance before he pushes it in. Here is where Choso changes the atmosphere, fucking you with his tongue and collecting more of your essence to drink. All you can do is wail and swing your hips faster, and your boyfriend quickly catches the rhythm. Shit, tastes so good…!

“Uhhgg, feels so fucking good—Mmmaa!” Holy hell, this was too much! There’s so much going on underneath you outside your control, only having the command of your waist to influence. Your thighs jiggle as you resort to bouncing on your boyfriend’s face, and your hands ball on the comforter the two of you lay on.

Choso’s tongue goes frantic, wiggling the wet muscle around your insides and pulling you in to sink more into your overwhelming taste and smell. The more you bounce on his face, the more his nose hits your clitoris, your bud sending shocks up to your head to enlighten the exhilaration! Faster and faster you go, the same for the tongue lapping all over your vulva and sucking on you purposely.

“Choso..!! Cho—shiiiit—Chosooo!!” You cry out with trenched brows and closed eyes, electric shocks spiraling all over your body with all the growing pressure.

Your body then gives in, and you let your essence out of your system. Your fluids shower all over Choso’s face as you come on his tongue; your boyfriend is not swayed by the liquid hitting his face, just focused on slurping your wetness covering your cunt. Quivers force your thighs to jolt, jerking your whole frame as you let the waves of your orgasm hit until everything relaxes.

And when it does, you sigh heavily and lift your ass. Choso watches the sight before him, his spit blended with your come all within your inner thighs. The heat from his face spreads to his ears — oh, he hopes he doesn’t get addicted to this.

“Oh my God, Choso,” your boyfriend snaps to your call. “Your face, it’s all wet!”

“Hm? Oh!” It takes a second to realize that he is utterly drenched with your satisfaction, scoffing with a smile. “Guess we both got a bit too excited.”

You chuckle as you leave to grab a hand towel from his bathroom. “I’m sorry about that!”

“It’s okay,” Choso takes off his shirt, which was damp on his collar, and accepts the towel you give him. “As long as you’re feeling good up there, I don’t mind drowning a bit for you, sweetie.”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’re not funny.”

ᯓ꩜ Nanami Kento

Nothing puts the cherry on top of a hard day at work for Nanami than coming home and being pulled into your arms.

“Nnnmm, Kento, you feel so good…”

…And loving on him more affectionately.

You practically dragged your man into the living room, peppering him with smooches in your glee that he had returned home safe and sound, and he chortles as you beckon him to sit on the couch with you. The two of you winding down while watching the television, Nanami relaxing with a nice cold beer and taking off his necktie and blazer.

However, he’s unaware of you glimpsing through your peripheral, looking intently, sliding his tie off his collar and unbuttoning his shirt. You notice the sneak of his exposed collarbone, drifting your gaze to something else only for it to land on his pants. Lips flatten at the sight of his thighs; his hand patting on it makes you stare longer than intended, swallowing thickly to quench a dry throat.

He was taking a swig of his beer, watching the motion of his Adam’s apple with intent. Your fingers fiddling with the bottom of your sundress can’t jurisdiction your thoughts anymore, wanton desires stacking up and soon to fall like dominoes.

And when it does fall, you silently stand and walk in front of Nanami, the blonde noticing you come around to obstruct his view of the TV. “My love?” You don’t answer. “Something’s wrong?” No words yet…but you lift your dress, mocha eyes pinpointing to the cute design of your cotton thong. “Sweetheart…” you move to sit again, but not back on the couch—nope—instead, his pant-clad thigh, straddling the firm muscles, and your arms come around to cup his cheeks.

“Kento,” you finally speak, whispering for only his words to pick up. “I missed you.”

If there was one thing that could pull Nanami’s heartstrings, it was you – his pretty wife. So, when you express your love for him, of course, he has to reciprocate tenfold.

“Ooooo, yesss, Ken…please, go faster…Mmmph.”

You stay atop Nanami’s thigh, grinding your labia on his pants to the point that a damp spot is prominent in the tan color. The blonde doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he’s the one who slid your thong for his fore and middle finger to swipe on your clitoris. The touch is pleasant, fueling your waist to keep moving. With your back to his chest, he kisses you passionately from behind. Your sweet tongue meets his, influenced by the taste of alcohol, a strange combination that surprisingly gets the kiss steamier.

Nanami chews on your bottom lip, having you whimper so sublimely that shivers crawl his spine, sucking on your tongue as your hips go faster. Jesus Christ, the friction from grinding on the material of his pants feels so good, nestling in between your folds nicely and faintly bumping on your clit. However, that is for your husband’s fingers, tweaking the bud you perk to your tippy toes. Hahhh, so good!

“Mmmm, shit,” the golden-haired man curses under his breath before taking your lips into his again. “Come here, angel.” He slams his lips to yours, and you don’t plan to leave his taste as you throw your head back. One arm lifts your legs by the knees, the free hand having more access for him to stick his middle finger into your wetness.

You moan into his mouth, allowing your husband to please you with his fingers rubbing your inner texture. It starts slow until he adds the ring finger, dialing the pace for his fingertips to scratch onto places you could never reach. A hand finds his hair, his neat locks now getting disheveled because of you.

“Puhaah, ohhh, shit!” You shrill with puffy lips while Nanami kisses your cheek and chin, all the while his digits are brushing up on the upper wall of your vagina — you almost lose balance. “I’m close…!”

The magic words let Nanami know to keep doing what he’s doing, sucking the skin of your neck while shoving his fingers until his very knuckles. The clamp of your walls is sensational, addicting to the point that he doesn’t want to get his digits out yet — not until your high comes to an end.

And that doesn’t sound impossible; you scream as if you don’t have neighbors between your apartment, a watery liquid ejecting out of your glands and showering all around. Sprinkles of your clear juices hit the palm of Nanami’s hand and thigh, adding more stains to his pants to worry about.

Your heaving body slowly relaxes as your orgasm rattles your bones, Nanami laying more pecs on your beautiful skin as he permits your quaking legs to touch the floor again. Yet, you jerk when your toes feel something wet, snapping out of your daze and realizing what a show you made.

“O-Oh, my—“ you try to stand, but Nanami’s quick to catch you as your body is still under the shocks of your crescendo. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Kento, I messed up your work clothes.”

“No worries, I need to do laundry tomorrow anyway.” The blonde chuckles to your ear and kisses you again, massaging your waist.

“In that case…would you mind if I dirty your clothes some more?” Your butt presses up on the tent of his groin — which has been getting firmer and firmer once the man stuffed his fingers in you. “I’m sure you’d get some fun out of it.”

He raises a sandy brow with a smile. “Would I, or would you, since you’re the one who came onto me?”

“…A bit of both.” You both share a laugh as Nanami carries you bridally to the bedroom.

“Then I don’t mind at all.”

ᯓ꩜ Gojō Satoru

“Mmmm, can never get over this view~.”

“Can you stop commenting about it?!”

“Whaaat? I can’t say I admire my cutie’s beautiful ass in front of me?”

“You’re so annoying…” you grumble as you sigh and begin to lick the tip of his cock.

It’s been a while since you and Gojo had a good 69 session. He is busy being the strongest sorcerer of the modern era and being a full-time teacher, and you go through your day-to-day life swarmed up with work and routine. Lack of time to spend together is an onerous task to execute outside of sleeping and snoring in your shared bed.

But alas, when you two are finally resting and enjoying each other’s company this weekend, it’s a no-brainer that you two will end up skin-to-skin action sometime today.

You straddled atop Gojo, your ass facing him while his lower half was to your front, your hand stroking his length cock, following the curve up to the pink tippy top. The sight of precum starting to pool and spill over down your fingertips makes your cheeks hot, and the heat between your legs causes a twitch.

Gojo, however, grins before he kisses your labia, welcoming his tongue that invades the space between your folds. You moan as you stuff your mouth with his cockhead, treating him with peppered licks and sucks as you keep jerking him off. Fucking hell, his dick is just so lengthy, hitting the back of your throat with ease that you have to remind yourself to relax to not gag.

Lazy licks are dawned on your wet chasm, lapping from the clit up to the other end. He notices the subtle quakes of your thighs as he tongues you down and has him chuckle as he pushes his face into your frame more, his hands curling to cup your ass so he can fondle the flesh.

You mumble on his dick after he flicks your clit. “Mmmph…! Hmmmm…” Sucking on his shaft, you bob your head up and down to get accustomed to the limb. Climbing back up to the tip where you suck on it roughly with hallowed cheeks after drizzling it with saliva.

“Oh shiiit,” the white-haired man’s head hits the headboard of his bed, moaning at the attention you’re giving his cock. “So good at this, angel,” he coos as his hands curl to the front to massage and lightly pat your asscheeks like drums. “Missed this.”

“Mmmm, mmmahh…!” The tip leaves your lips, and you’re quick to keep stroking him as you lick around his crown. “Fuck, so big…”

“Well, thank you, baby,” he knows you’re probably rolling your eyes at that comment, chortling to himself. “Means a lot hearing that from someone who keeps winking at me over here.”

“Pfft, you’re so gross,” you top his cockhead to the flat of your tongue, blowing on it to make your tall partner shiver under you. “So full of yourself.”

“Mmmm, maybe so,” you whine as Gojo blows and sucks on your inner labia. “But you can’t blame me for that, right?”

“What…ever,” your feet come around and pulls his face back to your ass. “Just shut up and use that tongue—since you’re so confident.”

“Heh, so pushy.” But the thing is, Gojo is confident – narcissistically so. You saying that only probed him to flip a switch, and you’re unfortunately on the receiving end of his wrath.

Gojo’s tongue goes erratic, swishing around your vulva as if you can’t keep up with one lap after the other. Your waist goes to lift your ass away — fat chance, as his hands return behind your butt to keep you on him the entire time. The vibrations of his humorful laugh are felt in the very nerves of your folds.

You whimper aloud, the hand jerking his cock, straying off its rhythm as your body submits to the pleasure going around your lower half. He inserts his tongue into your opening, fucking your slit with pushes and pulls. He sucks your wetness with his mouth, and the hands placed on your ass grip on the flesh that has you standing on your very palms.

“—Khhh..! W-Wait, Satoruu, stop!” You cry, but the tall man only smacks your ass mischievously, having you clamping on his tongue without your conscience. “I-I said waaait!!” No signs of waiting as he stuffs his face further between your thighs; noises of him slurping your vulva sound so wrong!

Oh, my fucking God! Your legs tremble, a sign that you’re trying everything you can to alleviate. However, Gojo’s grip on you doesn’t make it an easy battle, latching onto you with vigor. No, wait, wait, stop i—“Ahaa—ahhhnn!!”

It’s no use; the fluid you release slips past your control, spraying out of the urethra and showering all over your thighs and Gojo’s lower jaw and neck. Your body yields, losing balance and slumping your whole body on top of your boyfriend as you come on his tongue and drizzle all around the space of your lower half. Shocks and quivers travel up your spine to your head to pound, leaving Gojo to keep lapping and swishing on your wet slit in victory.

“Mmmm, aahhhshit, so good…!” He blinks with hooded eyes as he licks his lips and spits on your vagina to lick slowly. “Taste so good…”

“Hahhh, ahhh, I..I told you to,” you stand on your elbows and look behind. “To…wait, dummy!”

“You told me to shut and use my tongue!” He backfires, not relenting even after sending your half-lidded glare. You groan and turn back to suck on his pink tip in defeat. “Fuck, love it when you’re all wet like this…and lucky me for being in the splash zone as you—Oww!”

You smack on his nuts. “You’re so annoying!”

ᯓ꩜ Getō Suguru

“Suguruuu…! Don’t do th–Ahhht!”

“Ahhhh, you sound so cute, baby.”

Geto plows you from behind, watching you grip the armrest of the couch as your butt is propped up and your face buried to hide yourself…Quite a futile attempt, if he says so himself, but adorable nonetheless.

Fucking in the living room wasn’t part of the daily routine today, yet here you two are. His hands grab hold of your waist as he conceals his girthy cock inside your tight cunt, stuffing every inch of him till the very hilt meets the lips of your outer lips.

Your breath is shaky as Geto’s hips move to and fro, sighing at the sensation of your tensed walls around him. You always felt way too fucking good, biting his lip to fight the urge to let his waist fly and piston himself right into you. And he enjoys the way you act as he teases you, the position giving him ideas on how to torment you idly.

Like now, as he skims a thumb around your asshole. The action of having you contract on him even more. “Nnnn! Nnooooh, don’t play with my ass…!”

“You sure? It’s been winking at me for a minute.” He chimes with a sly smile, licking his finger and switching his thumb to lather your hole with his saliva. Holy shit, the way you’re twitching around him is driving him nuts, as he hasn’t even put anything in yet.

“Do-Don’t say it like that!” You peer over your shoulder with furrowed brows, meeting the purple eyes that catch you. His hips go excruciatingly slow, your vagina feeling like a void as he pulls for absence before fulling you back as he pushes. “It’s em…barrassin—Ghhhh!”

He pushes the thumb inside while you’re distracted, and both your holes pucker in haste. “Awww, don’t be like that, my love,” his mellow voice doesn’t match the crudeness of his actions, throwing unpredictable snaps of his hips to throw you off. “Nothing about your body is embarrassing….God, your ass looks so sexy from the back—“

Another twitch of your slit—God, you’re too fucking cute. “What are you—Don’t say stuff like that…!” Your flustered reaction didn’t make it any better as Geto pushed his thumb inside until the dent and knuckle, wiggling it inside and pushing and pulling to toy with your rear. Your teeth clench onto the couch pillow while he increases the cadence of his ruts. “Mmmmm, ohmyGod…Suguu, please—“

“Hmm, you want me to stop?” He asks and observes for a cue to stop what he’s doing. You don’t say anything, though, just your hips swaying. It makes Geto scoff, “I get the feeling you don’t want me to; look at you moving your hips on your own, pumpkin. Your body’s so honest for me.”

“Haaahh, you’re soo…mean, Sugu…”

“Only when I know it makes you feel good,” he moves his bangs out for a bit. “Which is why,” then Geto slithers that same hand down to where your chasm is linked to his wet cock, and his fingers go erratically fast on your clit. “I wanna tease this a bit, too.”

Eyes widen as you shriek at the touch, moaning aloud once he removes his thumb from your ass to keep your butt onto him as he jackhammers his cock into you. Your frame is propelled with every push, the pokes on of your cervix knock you out like the wind, and the hard rubs on your clit have you seeing stars.

“—Ohhooo, oh–hoooo!! Sug’ruuu, waaiitt!!” It’s useless; he doesn’t stop, and more hits to your womb have you wailing uncontrollably. The fingers on your clit don’t let you rest, having you unable to speak a proper sentence and resort to letting your boyfriend pound into you. A few more pinches have your legs jerking, and you can’t help but let the wave smash onto you.

As your orgasm claims over your body, you squirt out, liquids falling onto the couch beneath you, point blank. Your eyes are sewn shut as your slit flutters on Geto’s penis, your substance leaking out of your glans and dirtying your thighs and legs. Oh God, no!!

Geto hisses at the feeling of you spasming on him, tilting his head to see what you’ve done. “Oh my, would’ya look at that~.”

“Shooop, don’t loook…!!” A hand moves to the side to “try” and stop him, but he catches it with his palm, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Don’t look at iiiit…”

“But you did so well!” Geto kisses your hand. “Maybe I should play with your ass more—“

“Suguru, stop!”

“Kidding~,” he was not.

ᯓ꩜ Ryōmen Sukuna

Sukuna relishes the feeling of you like this — your back to his front, your legs held up by his solid upper arms while the lower hands hold your buttocks, and your holes accommodating to his two girthy cocks — like the good pet you are.

He entirely suspends you, your entire frame contorted for your arms to grip the futon sheets below. Sweat and warmth are exchanged by bare skin, the glow of the candles highlights the unioned figures within Sukuna’s quarters, and your anus and vagina are full of nothing but the two cocks stretching you and rubbing your insides.

Sukuna bucks his hips with might, and his every push makes you dizzy. Toes curl as your ass is pulled up and down to meet his hefty balls, his dicks venturing further to torture your insides with satisfaction. Your vision gets a bit hazy as the heat gets to your head, and your head begins to pound.

“What’s wrong, little thing,” your lips flatten to hinder the moan wanting to escape as he speaks behind you, feeling his breath brush the hairs of your back. “You’re silent this time around.”

“Haaaah, my Lord…” The tongue of his stomach licks your lower back with a lazy kiss. “Y-You’re…too biiig.”

He hits you with a sudden rut and purrs at the clench of your entrances. “You say that, yet your lewd body seems to accustom pretty well.” Another hit of his hips causes the tips of his cock to brush up against your sweet spots effortlessly, and you finally unclench your lips to let a wail escape. “Your body only good for taking cocks like a real good whore, huh?”

“I’m so—Mmmph…! S-Shooo fuuuull…”

“No, you’re not,” he snickers as his lower left-hand sneaks around to cusp your clitoris, your precious pearl engulfed by the sheer thickness of his digits. “Not until I fill you with my seed like a sow in heat.”

The salmon-haired man picks up the pace to drill his cocks, churning your vagina and rear like toys. Your cries fly out quickly at the point, puffy lips losing ground to stay locked. Hands balled into fists as you’re threatened by the sheer mass of Sukuna, unable to fight out of this—forced to submit to him and his persistence.

Your slit and butt are so busy with his cocks, the length of your vagina grazing your G-spot by its underside, the walls fluttering involuntarily around him. The dick inside your butt feels so utterly good; the size of him is never something you can get fully habituated to. And the hand on your clit doesn’t stop playing with it, roughly pushing and grinding on it to the point of babbling and choking on spit.

“—Hnnngh, fuck. So tight,” Sukuna licks your back and nibbles on your skin, teasing to tear your skin to taste just a hint of blood. “Feel so good…”

“Ahahhh, I caaan’t…!” Your eyes begin to water as you shut them close, lack of vision enhancing the sense of touch where it has your nerves overly stimulated. Everything is happening all at once, and you can sense the climb once the tip hits your womb. “I can’t do iiit! You’re gonna break meee!!”

“Keheh, wouldn’t be the first time.” It’s probably for the best because you can’t see the smug-ass grin on his oddly comely face. More kisses are placed on your back. “Shut up and take it, dove,” he commands you, not leaving you any room to retaliate as his thrusts increase without warning.

Your mouth is agape, and your cries are unwillingly bouncing around the shoji-paneled walls. A bit of spit comes down your lips, your hands only finding Sukuna’s waist for your nails to dig into. The grumble of his stomach traversing to your core to rumble with the vibrations. Oh, God, noo!! You can feel it – the worse of the worse. Just when you thought your humiliation wasn’t enough at this moment, it was about to skyrocket in three…two…one.

Feverish ruts to your ass, have the reins slip out of your hold, all the restraint in your body withering with every harsh push and pull. Your head pounds like crazy, nothing but a blur can be seen in your eyes, and the clear substance expels out of your urethra, leaving out of your system along with your dignity.

And Sukuna doesn’t have to see it to believe it, grinning from ear to ear as he playfully smacks on your vulva to create more of a mess. The watered-down liquid sprayed out to his thighs and the futon sheets and sticking to your inner thighs and sliding down the crack of your ass. Tiny pinches to your clit help you jerk out more to ruin yourself, your body losing strength entirely and letting the cursed man keep you in your distorted position.

“Hmph, what a bad little toy,” he criticizes you like always, the tears beckoning to leave your watery eyes. “Look at you causing a mess on my bedding; who told you to do that?”

“I’m sorry, Lord Sukuna,” your expression borderline fucked out, yet the embarrassment keeps you humble. “Forgive me…my Lord.”

Sukuna slaps onto your clit with his palm; you pucker onto his girths immediately. “You dare ask for forgiveness after the fact—I should just throw you out in the cold with these wet sheets you’ve caused.”

“N-Nooo! I’m so sorry!!” Fuck, he loves it when you plead, so desperate for his word, his submissive and breakable dove. “Pleaseee, fill me up with your seed, and I will clean it up…! I-I won’t do it again…”

“Says who?” He finally lets your legs go briefly before he spreads them over with his lower arms. His upper hands find your chest to grope. “You’ve stained my sheets with your essence; you aren’t sleeping anywhere else tonight except here with me in this exact puddle you made for yourself, you dirty pet. Am I clear?”

His final words have your skin crawl as he nibbles on your nape, and you nod.

“Good.”

ᯓ꩜ Fushiguro Tōji

“Gahhh!! Ahhhhh!!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s it; keep clenchin’.”

Toji’s fingers are stuffed inside you, stretching your poor hole with pushes and pulls that take your breath away with ease—quite literally as your arms come around his neck to keep him close.

His bedroom is filled with nothing but you: your shorts and panties decorating his bedroom floor, the smell of your lotion on your now-sweaty skin intoxicating his senses, and your damp towel laid underneath you as you lie on your back.

Toji sits right beside you, near as you keep him from leaving. Not that he planned to — of course not. When he has his ring and middle finger shoved inside your vagina and grazing your inner skin with a mediocre pace, there’s no way the older man would want to stop now. Fuck, he loved how tight your cunt was, so snug to the touch and tender to his fingertips. It drove him crazy, just like you always make him. He can never get tired of you, honestly.

“Hahhhh, Tojiii, ahhaaa…” Your whimpers get louder and louder by the second, and your back jerks to the blunt of his fingertips, poking deep inside your chasm. “Gooohh, ohhhshit…!”

“Yeah, sweetie?” His forehead touches yours, skin-on-skin increasing intimacy. “Ya like it when I fuck you wit’ my fingers, huh?” You answer with a whine as he slows his digits down, teasing the walls of your entrance while pressing on your clit with his thumb. He scoffs, “So nice and tight fr’ me, huh…”

“Ahhhh..! Bu–But I just…finished taking a showerrr!!” You wail with pleading hooded eyes that are instantly locked with intense viridian ones. “You’re making me—mmm!—dirty again…!”

He raises a brow. “That doesn’t mean anythin’ to me,” more push to your clitoris causes your body to jolt closer to Toji, and he sneers. “Getting all ready and clean fr’ me, what a good girl…all the more fun fr’ Daddy to make ya all dirty and cryin’ all over again.”

A hand grips his shoulder, exposed by his black wife-beater. “Pleasee, Daddy, it’s too—Aghahh!” He sneaks his fingers back inside knuckle-deep; the deep chuckle you hear from him causes your ears to melt.

“C’mon, mama, I know you have it in ya,” he coos with a kiss to your forehead that has you dissolve under his scarred lips. “Wring my fingers up, make a mess fr’ me.”

Another kiss to your forehead makes you whine, the gentle atmosphere only lasting for mere seconds before the pace of his hand returns to a rhythm that has you screaming instantly. Jesus Christ, those thick fingers are no joke, the stretch enough to overwhelm your senses, along with how deep they reach inside.

Every push to your cunt has you breathless, and every dig is knuckles-deep and too fast to catch up with one after the other. “Ohoooo, D-Daddyyy, n-nooo!” Yet there’s no point in begging now—once Toji is deadset on something, it’s challenging to swade him off. Especially when it comes to you, his little sweet thing… “I’m gonna—ohfuuck!—I’m so clooose…!”

Your words only egg Toji on to keep fingering you as much as he can, ravaging your delicate insides with his hand alone. He purchases his face to your neck, sighing deeply at the alluring whiff of your lotion. He licks your skin before a kiss, and the pace between your legs becomes unforgivingly faster.

Eyes roll up to the ceiling as your body shuts down without your knowledge, completely taken aback by the climax that clenches around the thickness of Toji’s fingers. Also, the water liquid is excreting projectively from the continuous knock-kneed-worthy pleasure. You let loose with a howl, your back arching with every subtle buck of your hips.

Toji looks down with a salacious grin, taking in the sight of you spraying all over his bed. The towel is doing nothing but getting damper because of you, and he can only chortle at the sight and, lowkey, thank his intuition for wearing a wife-beater so you can coat his forearm. Dazed with euphoria, your body slumps down to the sheets, sweaty and sticky from the excretions and panting heavily. So much for a shower, huh?

Toji whistles and courses his free hand atop your head while besmearing your vulva with your juices. “Good girl, mama, good fuckin’ girl.”

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plutonianeris · 12 days ago

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Jupiter and your Future Husband 🖤💍

Jupiter in the 1st House or Aries: Right from the jump, this is someone who’s been captivated by you the moment they saw you. You walk into a room, and their friends literally catch them staring, eyes wide, like they’ve seen a goddess. They probably say things like, "Who is that?" or "Wow, she's incredible." Jupiter in your 1st House brings someone bold and super charismatic, like a breath of fresh air. He’s got a magnetic presence and a laugh that fills the room. He’s a natural optimist who sees you as a dream come true, and he isn’t afraid to approach you with that confidence. He’ll treat you like a queen right off the bat and isn’t afraid to show the world just how mesmerized he is by you.

Jupiter in the 2nd House or Taurus: This man’s been admiring you from a distance, patiently watching, maybe liking your photos on ig. There’s this quiet, steady admiration he respects your worth and wants to add value to your life. He has this natural vibe of wanting to spoil you, make you feel safe and secure, and show you how deeply he appreciates who you are. He might have been a bit guarded with his feelings before meeting you, but you light up something in him that makes him want to open up. He’s likely successful or financially stable, and he sees you as the ultimate prize a rare gem worth cherishing.

Jupiter in the 3rd House or Gemini: This one’s the type who will slide into your DMs with the most charming, witty comments that leave you smiling (He can "rizz" you up as the kids like to say these days). He’s been captivated by the way you express yourself your thoughts, your humor, the way you speak or write. When he saw you, he was instantly hooked, thinking, “Who is she?” and feeling that pull to get to know you on a deeper level. He’s smart, curious, and probably has a way with words himself. He might’ve been a bit guarded or aloof with his emotions before, but with you, he’s suddenly willing to talk about things he never thought he’d share. You’re like his muse, and he’ll love engaging with you in deep conversations.

Jupiter in the 4th House or Cancer: There’s something so soul-deep about this connection. He’s seen you as someone he wants to come home to from the very start, even if he couldn’t fully understand why. When you post a story or picture, he gets this little pang of warmth, imagining a future where he’s in the background of that photo, sharing those cozy moments with you. He’s gentle, warm-hearted, and would go out of his way to make you feel safe. With a deep sensitivity, he might’ve been through some emotional growth before you came along, learning to trust his heart again. With you, he feels seen, understood, and healed.

Jupiter in the 5th House or Leo: He’s been watching your social media and sees you as this radiant, captivating spirit. You’re a mystery he wants to uncover, someone who brings color and excitement into his world. He’s got a playful energy and is incredibly drawn to how unique and confident you are. When he saw you, he probably had to do a double take, thinking, “She’s the one.” He might be a bit of a creative himself, someone who values self-expression, and he’s absolutely infatuated with the way you live life so openly. He sees you as someone who’ll make his life feel like a never-ending adventure, full of joy, creativity, and romance.

Jupiter in the 6th House or Virgo: Here’s someone who admires the way you move through life with purpose and care. He’s low-key been following your life for a while, admiring your routines, your kindness, your dedication. You’re like his inspiration to be better, healthier, more grounded. He’s deeply thoughtful, maybe even a bit shy, but he’s incredibly genuine. He wants to work for your love, showing up in quiet ways that make a difference little acts of service that show you how much he cares. He’s got this gentle, nurturing vibe, and he’s completely mesmerized by how put-together you are. He sees you as a grounding force, someone who brings meaning and beauty into everyday life.

Jupiter in the 7th House or Libra: Your future husband has been patiently waiting for someone exactly like you. He’s the type who believes in true partnership and harmony, and he’s drawn to your warmth, your grace, the way you make everything feel balanced. When he saw you, he felt that instant connection, like this is it. He’s a natural romantic, the type who wants to hold your hand through life and be your biggest supporter. Before you, he might have struggled with relationships, maybe keeping people at arm’s length, but with you, he wants to go all in. You’re the missing piece he’s been searching for, the one he’s been ready to commit to forever.

Jupiter in the 8th House or Scorpio: Intense, magnetic, and maybe a bit mysterious, this man feels like destiny. The minute he saw you, he felt something deep shift, like he’d known you in another lifetime. He’s probably been through some serious emotional growth, and he sees you as someone who lights up the darkest corners of his life. He’s captivated by your strength and your vulnerability, the way you’re not afraid to be real. He’s not just looking for a fling he wants that soul-deep connection, the one that transforms both of you. When you’re together, it feels like a cosmic bond, something otherworldly and electric.

Jupiter in the 9th House or Sagittarius: This man has a wandering spirit, and when he saw you, he felt like he’d finally found home. He’s captivated by your mind, your ideals, and the way you’re constantly seeking knowledge. You’re like this beautiful enigma to him, someone who expands his world and makes him feel alive. He might’ve been a bit of a loner before, always chasing dreams, but you make him want to settle down. He’ll see you as his partner in adventure, the one who’ll travel the world with him and dive into life’s biggest questions. You’re his inspiration, his muse, the one who makes him want to reach new heights.

Jupiter in the 10th House or Capricorn: The moment he saw you, he knew he’d met someone who’d change his life. He’s got big goals, and he’s deeply inspired by your strength and ambition. You’re like this beautiful force, someone who embodies grace and resilience, and he’s in awe. He’s probably known about you for a while, admiring your accomplishments and how you carry yourself. He sees you as someone he can build an empire with, someone who brings out the best in him. With you, he feels like he’s found a partner who’s not only supportive but challenges him to grow. You’re the queen to his king, the one who completes his vision.

Jupiter in the 11th House or Aquarius: This man sees you as his best friend and lover all in one. He’s been quietly admiring you for a while, possibly through mutual friends or social circles. There’s this warmth to you, a kindness that he finds irresistible. When he first saw you, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to meet someone who just gets him. He wants to build something meaningful with you, something that goes beyond just the two of you. He’s drawn to your vision, your compassion, and he knows that with you, he’s found a true partner who’ll stand by his side through anything.

Jupiter in the 12th House or Pisces: Mysterious and deeply spiritual, this man feels like he’s known you across lifetimes. He’s the type who watched you from afar, maybe even feeling shy about approaching because he sees you as someone almost out of reach, like a dream. He’s been through his own journey, and he sees you as a guiding light, someone who brings meaning and beauty to his life. You’re like his secret muse, his angel in disguise. He’s mesmerized by the way you bring peace to his world, and he’s willing to put in the work to make you feel loved, safe, and cherished.

Jupiter Aspects and Your Future Husband's Qualities❤️‍🔥

Jupiter-Sun Aspects: With Jupiter and the Sun intertwined, this is someone who radiates warmth a natural optimist who just lights up any space they walk into. From the moment they meet you, they’re captivated by your energy, drawn to your glow. They’re probably fun loving and generous even to a fault, going out of their way to make you feel cherished. Imagine a partner who’s always planning little surprises, making you laugh, and showing you that life together can be an adventure. They’ll adore celebrating you and cheering on your dreams like they’re their own. With them, you’ll feel like you’re with your number-one fan.

Jupiter-Moon Aspects: These aspects bring such a beautiful, nurturing energy. When Jupiter meets the Moon, it creates someone who’s deeply attuned to your feelings, always wanting to make sure you feel loved and secure. This is the partner who brings you coffee in bed, senses your mood shifts before you even say a word, and makes you feel like you’re the center of their world. They’re the type who knows how to comfort you, who values a soulful connection and will create a safe space for your heart to flourish. With them, it’s a love that feels soft, deep, and truly devoted.

Jupiter-Saturn Aspects: When Jupiter meets Saturn, it brings a blend of optimism and groundedness. This partner believes in lasting love and isn’t here to play games. They might have an “old soul” vibe, or maybe life has taught them the beauty of stability and commitment. With you, they’re looking for something real, something solid. They’re probably successful or hardworking, and they’ll want to share that journey with you. They believe in a love that’s both supportive and fun a partner in adventure and a rock to lean on. With them, you’ll feel cherished in a love that’s balanced and true.

Jupiter-Mercury Aspects: If you’re drawn to a Jupiter-Mercury energy, you’re in for a partner who’s totally captivated by your mind. They see you as the perfect partner for exploring life’s wonders, both mentally and physically. Imagine someone who’s a natural conversationalist, sending you thoughtful texts, getting lost in deep conversations, and admiring the way you see the world. They’ll be there cheering you on as you follow your passions, and they’ll value growth and learning together. With them, life is a journey of shared curiosity, where each day brings something new to talk about, dream up, or discover.

Jupiter-Uranus Aspects: With Jupiter and Uranus joining forces, this partner is anything but ordinary. They’re a free spirit, maybe a bit of a rebel, and definitely unconventional when it comes to love. They might have a unique style or quirky hobbies that add spark to your connection. They’re the kind who sees love as an adventure, encouraging you to break boundaries and be unapologetically yourself. With them, romance won’t follow the usual script it’ll be spontaneous, thrilling, and always fresh. You’ll feel like you’re on a journey of self-discovery together, each step bringing out the most authentic sides of each other.

Jupiter-Pluto Aspects: Jupiter-Pluto aspects bring a magnetic, transformative energy. There’s an intensity in the way they love, a feeling that this connection is life-changing. They’re captivated by your depth and will want to know every piece of you, never settling for surface-level. There’s an aura of power about them whether it’s in their presence, their drive, or their passion for life. They see love as a force that empowers both of you, and they’ll support you fiercely through everything. This is a partner who sees you as their equal, a person they’ll build a world of strength, resilience, and passion with.

Jupiter-Neptune Aspects: When Jupiter meets Neptune, romance feels like a fairytale. This is someone who’s deeply compassionate and has a gentle, dreamy quality. They’re likely lost in their own world sometimes, and they see love as something magical. With them, life will feel like a daydream you’re not just a partner, you’re their muse. They’re the type to hold your hand under the stars, write you poetry, and make you feel like you’re living in a beautiful, endless love story. In their eyes, love is soulful, tender, and otherworldly, and they’ll make you feel like you’re living in a fantasy come to life.

Jupiter-Venus Aspects: This aspect is all about pure romance and indulgence. With Jupiter enhancing Venus’s charm, this is someone who loves to spoil you. They’re affectionate, thoughtful, and not afraid of grand gestures. Imagine someone who’s always surprising you with flowers, planning sweet dates, and making you feel adored. They have a big heart and see you as the person who makes life so much sweeter. With them, you’ll experience a love that’s joyful, warm, and overflowing. They’ll treat you like royalty, not just with gifts but with the kind of genuine adoration that makes you feel like you’re their world.

#astrology #jupiter in astrology #jupiter through the signs #jupiter through the houses #love astrology #romance astrology #astrology notes #jupiter observations

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pucksandpower · 4 days ago

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Changing the Game

platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it … and your life will never be the same

The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.

His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.

He’s been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.

A young driver — no, more than just young — barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.

He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve been hiding.

As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.

Sponsors.

Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.

He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.

“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.

The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”

“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”

The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”

Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”

“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”

“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.

His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.

But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.

Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.

“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”

Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.

“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”

You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.

“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.

“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”

“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.

“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”

“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”

You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.

There’s a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”

“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”

You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”

And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.

***

The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town that’s hosting the weekend��s race. It’s the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.

The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.

Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.

“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections — caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.

When the girl hands you the cup, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.

“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.

“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.

“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”

Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.

The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.

Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”

You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.

“It’s … complicated,” you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”

Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.

“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. “I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”

You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”

Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers you’re facing are still all too real.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”

Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”

You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.

“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.

Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”

You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

Fernando’s gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that you’ve been denied.

“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”

You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.

“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.

Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”

You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.

“So what now?” You ask, your voice steadier.

Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.

"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."

***

It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. It’s been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows it’s all been worth it.

You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.

“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”

Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”

You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.

As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.

Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.

“And you won’t regret it,” he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.

The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. It’s not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.

“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”

“Mercedes HQ,” Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.

You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.

“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.

“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”

He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”

You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.

The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside — modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldn’t get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.

“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”

You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.

Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.

Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”

You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.

Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”

You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”

You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.

You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”

You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.

Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”

Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.

“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”

You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.

But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”

Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”

You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.

Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”

***

The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.

Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and you’ve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t quite place.

You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.

“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”

Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”

The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.

You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.

Carlin Motorsport — Formula 2 Contract Offer.

Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”

“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”

You’re speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.

“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”

You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”

Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”

You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”

“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”

There’s a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”

The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”

Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”

You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”

The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.

“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”

You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.

“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”

Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.

“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”

You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”

Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”

You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.

***

The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. It’s the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.

He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”

You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”

Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.

Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”

“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”

Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”

You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”

Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”

You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.

Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”

You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”

“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.

The minutes tick by, and soon it’s time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.

“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”

You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”

You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”

And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.

As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.

Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.

Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re doing it,” he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.

The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.

As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.

“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”

The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.

Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.

When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”

You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”

Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”

You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernando’s mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.

As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t wait to see where this journey takes you

***

Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re supposed to arrive.

To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.

He’s represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.

On Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.

Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. She’s the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.

The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.

“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”

Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”

You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”

Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.”

You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.

“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”

Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”

Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”

You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”

Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”

Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”

Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.

Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”

Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.

“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”

You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.

“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”

Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”

Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”

You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.

“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”

You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”

Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”

The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.

By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.

As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”

You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.

Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re capable of."

***

The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.

Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.

You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.

As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments you’ve had since stepping into a race car.

Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“Enjoying your birthday?” He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.

You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”

“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”

You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”

Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”

There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”

“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.

Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.

You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”

He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?

Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernando’s heart against your ear.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”

Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”

You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.

He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”

You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.

“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”

“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”

As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you — the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.

And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.

***

The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve won the F2 championship.

In your rookie season.

The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, you’re here. A champion.

The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.

“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”

A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t on the track with you.

As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.

But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.

You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, there’s a thousand words unspoken.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.

You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”

He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.

When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.

“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.

He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”

You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.

Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.

Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”

For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.

“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”

You feel like you’re floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.

“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”

It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …

Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.

“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.

Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”

The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.

You shake your head, still trying to process it all. “I don’t know what to say.”

Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”

Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”

You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.

Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”

As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.

“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.

Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.

As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.

“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”

He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”

And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.

***

The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.

Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — the side that can make or break a career in F1.

He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.

“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”

You nod, knowing he’s right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.

“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”

A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.

“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”

He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.”

You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.

“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.

Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”

His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.

“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”

You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.

“How do you know when to cross the line?” You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.

He gives a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”

He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.”

There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.

“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.

Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.”

He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”

You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.

“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”

The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. It’s a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.

Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.

“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.”

He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.

“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”

He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re in the best possible hands.

The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.

By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.

As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.

After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”

You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”

He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”

You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”

Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”

His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”

***

The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy that’s almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.

He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. It’s your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.

Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”

You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”

Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”

You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”

Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.

“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-”

“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.

Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”

As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernando’s words.

“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”

Latifi’s eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.

You notice Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”

Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”

You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.

Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”

You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”

“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”

You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.

He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.

“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”

With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”

Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for what’s to come.

As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.

He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s final words echo in your mind.

Make them remember your name.

The lights go out, and the race begins.

***

The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the night’s events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.

Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.

You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.

“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”

Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.

“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”

“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”

“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.

The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.

A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.”

You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.

“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.

The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.

Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”

He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.

Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. “Seb’s a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.”

“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.

You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”

Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.

You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.

“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.

But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.

He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.

“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”

“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.

Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”

You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”

“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”

The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.

“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” he adds, nodding in your direction.

The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”

You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing you out there today … it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.”

Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”

You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.

“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”

“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”

***

Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.

“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”

Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.

“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”

Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.

You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”

Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”

The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar — more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.

Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.

“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”

Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”

“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”

Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”

“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”

You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”

Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.

But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”

You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”

You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”

You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.

As you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, he’s ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.

***

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.

Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with.

Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.

As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”

“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”

The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”

There’s a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.”

Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.

The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscar’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and full of promise.

Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. There’s something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.

The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.

The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.

When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”

For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.

“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”

“A little?” You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.

As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”

***

The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.

As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life that’s just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.

It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t even realize he was writing.

He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.

You’re lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.

“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”

He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.

“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”

You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”

For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness he’s not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.

The weight is nothing — featherlight, almost — but it’s enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”

Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.

“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.

You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”

Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.

“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.

“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”

He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”

Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”

You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s ever played.

As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s ever achieved.

Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”

Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.

This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.

This is his greatest achievement.

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violenteconomics · 3 months ago

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twst first-years that unconsciously pick up their upperclassmen's toxic character traits.

ace starts to act more temperamental and confrontational whenever something happens outside of his control. he's more anxious than anything, but it comes out in the form of sharp words.

(after so many overblots and life-threatening situations, he feels as if he could maybe put a stop to it if he had just a bit more control over other people.)

deuce lets other people mistreat him and order him around without putting up a fuss. he hates conflict and arguments more than anything, and is willing to do anything to keep things calm for a few more minutes. on the flip-side, he's not afraid to beat someone into submission if he has to, even if they're not wronging him on purpose.

(that's how trey and cater did it. riddle didn't overblot back when it was just the three of them, so clearly, things would've continued to be just fine if ace and deuce hadn't set them off, if they'd just been more like their juniors--)

whenever jack helps someone out, he starts expecting things in return, and the same logic applies whenever someone helps him out. it can never be a genuine thing. he's always standing with bated breath, waiting until the moment somebody tries to get leverage over him, or until he needs to cash in a favor.

(leona and ruggie are never genuine-- with themselves, with each other, or with him. with them, there's always, always a catch.)

epel starts getting really snide and sarcastic whenever someone doesn't meet up to his standards or says anything he disagrees with. but vil doesn't believe anybody who complains about it to him, because epel acts perfectly normal otherwise.

(why should epel be the only one targeted? why shouldn't other people feel that shame? why does he have to cater to other people? why can't people ever try to please him?)

ortho, who begins to think the worst of people all the time, even before ever meeting them. you have to do quite a lot to convince him that you mean well, and you better do it fast, or he might actually laser you for saying the wrong thing.

(people in this school are so mean sometimes. they don't try to understand idia. they don't try to understand him. even idia doesn't understand him, sometimes. awful, awful, it's all so awful.)

sebek becomes intensely vengeful over anybody who wrongs him, with his payback ranging from harmless things, like putting a frog in someone's bag, to dangerous endeavors, like setting someone's broom on fire mid-air.

(lilia lied. silver cried in his arms. if even malleus can do his most loyal companions wrong, anyone can. it's only fair that he gets a bit even every now and then. they deserve it, all of them.)

yuu is so disinterested in anything that's going on. they'll pretend to help, only to leave or disassociate or make excuses after excuses or just flat-out turn out to be completely unhelpful, with almost no attempt to prove the contrary.

(so many pretenders in this school. nobody's ever helped them out, so why shouldn't they return the favor?)

it's generational trauma that continues to be perpetuated throughout the years at night raven college, that's what i'm getting at.

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stormgardenscurse · 1 year ago

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guys don't like me...

Summary: They’re your best friends! But some of the people (NPCs) crushing on you beg to differ, and are starting to hate seeing the guys flaunt their closeness with you.

Characters: Ace, Epel, Deuce, Cater, Leona

Ace

He’s someone that does this on purpose. It started with dropping in randomly while you were hanging out with other people. Ace picked up on their jealous stares whenever he stood a bit too close to you or laughed at his jokes.

It’s the way you visibly look more comfortable once he’s arrived, because with Ace there you feel less of a need to uphold politeness or conversation-carrying; his personality draws eyes to him instead. And then the one he’s talking to and looking at is you, but despite how that should make you feel put on the spot, it doesn’t.

Ace dances between aggravating them on purpose and feigning ignorance. He glances at the others when you’re not looking before sporting a smile to ask if you’d go to his basketball match next week. You sigh and say of course you will, ruffling his hair so as to get rid of his smug grin. If Ace doesn’t win, then dinner’s on him. He agrees, happy to leave the room now that he’s left a mark on the conversation. The other students’ moods have dropped, but you don’t know why.

Ace is also the type to be casually touchy, to the point where strangers ask if you’re together - to which he offhandedly says ‘nope!’ only to share your drink (indirect kiss) and receive odd (and some frustrated) looks in the next minute.

What, is this not normal? Color him flattered that you’re so lenient with him then! (Big faker, horrible horrible)

Epel

Another one that knows exactly what he’s doing, but what else should Epel do when people are eyeing you when he’s also hoping to confess as well? It’s only natural for him to take advantage of his circumstances - he’s already closer to you than they are, and frankly, while he feels bad at the way they deflate when he enters the room and your eyes immediately catch his, Epel feels a sense of pride from how charmed you are by him. It’s like seeing a garden of flowers lean towards the Sun for its attention, only to find that the sunlight has a favorite.

As jealous people sometimes do, his competitors try to subtly mention that Epel is quite cute for a boy, only for him to drop in (he wasn’t eavesdropping, just passing by) and invite you on a magic-wheel joyride. Your evident familiarity with this side of him only throws the others into confusion, and if they challenge Epel to a race, then… he can only accept it and beat them fair and square, no?

Slightly reckless but also very well-versed (to your worry) with going at high speeds, Epel wipes the floor with them. As to why you’re not a fan of this, it’s because he suggested you sit behind him to ensure he doesn’t cheat! (He’s doing this on purpose of course, but despite your comments of “you’re trying to kill me” you comply, which only strengthens his resolve as you wrap your arms around him to hold on for dear life.)

Deuce

(the NPCs are your friends from outside of school/your hometown! Implied that you and Deuce live fairly close to one-another)

He’s just a nice guy! A guy you think to rely on when you’re in trouble because there’s no one else as genuine and willing to help, in your book. And also the person you dare to open up about your struggles too, if only because Deuce Spade is no stranger to goals that seem unreachable at the moment - like every time you try to climb higher, the earth loosens and slips from beneath your feet and tests your strength.

If he ever hears the other students telling you that he’s a magnet for trouble, Deuce almost slips into self doubt before seeing the look on your face; the obvious disagreement, the hint of offense taken just at the idea. It makes him happy that you have his back even when he’s not around, but a part of Deuce didn’t want to be a wedge between you and your other friends either.

Their complaints soon die however when Deuce’s goodness manifests in a way no one can deny (not anyone with a conscience, at least). When you texted him and mentioned you forgot some ingredients for hotpot when your friends were over at your house, half an hour later there’s a knock on your door because Deuce has run over from his place with said ingredients, saying he had extra at home (“it’s going to expire soon, just take it, don’t worry”), and in a swell of emotion you almost burst into tears at the gesture (Deuce is the only one ever).

Cater

Who’s that guy that always tags you on Magicam? Cater likes being able to see his presence on your profile - it makes him feel more supported on the vast social media sites and quick-moving trends. Whenever you comment on his posts, a smile reaches his face at the sight of a comment that actually knows the context behind the pictures.

So of course, his jealous competitors are quick to ask you about your relationship with Cater. Were you dating? If not, why was he so clingy to you?

You never thought of Cater as clingy per se. Sure, he likes to throw his arm around your shoulder and give you celebratory hugs when something good happens, and texts you a lot - but that’s just how he shows affection in general, you tell them. He’s just a really good friend, and in your head you think that a part of you also relies on his cheeriness to keep your mood up. He always seems to be keeping the energy fun for the sake of others, that you wonder if he gets bored when you both just do nothing at his dorm, flipping through your feeds and doing meaningless quizzes about your personality type.

And then you recall how Cater always asks you for your results, comparing it to his as he leans his shoulder against yours to get a better look at your screen.

Does he know he treats you different? Maybe. But that’s for him to cling to as long as he can, before Cater has to fess up to his own emotions.

Leona

A mix of intimidation and annoyance is what your admirers tend to feel, whenever you’re with Leona.

You’re one of the only people that can approach him with a smile and ask the randomest things without fear of being shut down, and Leona simply regards you with a sway of his tail and comments here and there. If you’re feeling talkative, you strike a back and forth with him, engrossed in a conversation that onlookers can’t particularly intercept.

More annoying however, is when Leona knows they’re seething inside and just annoys them more by asking you if you could do something for him, like getting him food from the cafeteria. The goal wasn’t to make you run an errand, but have you ask him to go with you instead and buy it together. And with a purposeful act, Leona ‘reluctantly’ leaves his napping spot to be dragged away by you, hand pulling him lightly by the wrist or end of his sleeve.

Sometimes, you’re seen picking up an extra lunch while in the cafeteria line, thinking that you could save Ruggie some trouble by visiting Leona at the greenhouse yourself. Did you realize how much you were spoiling him? Leona says yes, though this awareness might be buried under several layers of him just being ‘a good senpai’ to hang out with. With time, he’ll make his stance clear though. No amount of daftness can ignore Leona when he wants to tell you something, after all.

#ace trappola x reader #epel felmier x reader #deuce spade x reader #cater diamond x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst x you #twst x reader #twst reader insert #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #storm writings #twst writing

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many-shades-of-violence · 1 year ago

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reacting to their s/o being pregnant I Corazon, Doflamingo, Law, Smoker, Sabo, Ace, Kid

Corazon, the gentle and caring soul he is, would notice subtle changes in your behavior and appearance before you even realized you're pregnant.

He'd probably start by making your favorite meal or fetching things you might need without even asking. Not because he knows exactly what's going on, but because his maternal instincts are subconsciously strong.

One day, he returned from work to find you asleep in his feather coat, nestled on your shared bed with a positive pregnancy test on the sideboard. Shocked, he slipped, inadvertently waking you up. As you opened your eyes, you saw the tall giant on his buttocks in front of the bed, all teary-eyed.

He'd approach you with a sweet smile and a gentle touch, hugging you in a warm embrace and assuring you that he's there for you no matter what.

"Mi amor, you've given me the greatest gift of all. I promise to be by your side every step of this journey, just as you've been by mine."

Doflamingo's reaction might be a bit unexpected. He's not known for his compassion, but the news would still surprise him since he's always keen on protection.

He'd likely raise an eyebrow and give a smirk at the news, questioning you with his signature teasing tone, "Well, well, how unexpected. Don't tell me you forgot your pill on purpose."

Despite his initial demeanor, he'd keep a close eye on you, ensuring your comfort and well-being, even if he doesn't openly express it. Despite trusting Diamante and Trebol with his life, he would keep them at an arm's length away from you.

His soft side might manifest through subtle actions like providing comfort during late-night cravings, secretly getting things you wish for, or wrapping you in his pink feather coat.

"Well, well, well, it seems life has thrown us an interesting curveball. Don't think I'm going soft now, but I'll make sure you're taken care of. After all, I wouldn't want anything to happen to the future ruler of Dressrosa."

Law, with his cool and collected exterior, might take a moment to process the news before his emotions catch up. He had already guessed what was up from your antsy behavior and Bepo telling him about your frequent late-night kitchen visits, but reality hit differently.

He'd likely pause, his gaze softening as he looks at you nervously biting your lip, almost certain he would react with disdain. Instead, a small, genuine smile would grace his lips, before he placed his hat on your head and embraced you in a warm hug, reassuring you of his stance.

Not much phased by obstetrics, he would start researching everything about pregnancy and childbirth, wanting to be as informed as possible to support you. Naturally, he would deliver the baby himself, his Room providing a secure and painless environment for you. He's too protective to let anyone else handle it.

While he might not show it outwardly, he'd be incredibly protective and make sure your needs are met, especially health-wise. Regular check-ups are a must, and if Shachi and Penguin annoy you, they can be sure to experience some rearranged limbs.

"You're amazing, you know that? I'm not sure I'm quite fit to be a father, but if we're going to navigate this together, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure you and the baby are safe and healthy. We've got this."

Smoker would show a mix of surprise and concern upon hearing the news, his gruff exterior cracking just a bit.

He´d ask questions related to your health, ensuring that you're taking proper care of yourselves. He'd be on high alert, especially since he tends to smoke heavily.

As time goes on, he'd soften around the edges, finding himself more attentive and willing to offer help and assistance, even quitting smoking around you.

He might not express his emotions openly, but his actions would speak volumes, like quietly making sure you don't overexert yourselves or subtly rearranging your environment for safety.

"I never planned for something like this, but just know I've got your back. Make sure you're taking care of yourself, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll be keeping a close eye on you."

Sabo's reaction would likely be a mix of joy and a hint of nervousness, as he'd want to ensure the best for you and the baby.

He'd start leaving cute notes or small gifts for you, showing his excitement in his own sweet way.

Sabo would take on the role of an unofficial cheerleader, always ready to provide you encouragement and reassurance.

He'd also engage in deep conversations with you about your future as parents and what you envision for your family. Luffy, Ace, and Koala would often visit and assist you with whatever you need.

"I can't even express how happy and blessed I feel right now. You and our baby mean everything to me. Let's face this adventure together, with all the love and support we need."

Ace would be the embodiment of enthusiasm and excitement, immediately hugging you and spinning you around in a joyful embrace.

He'd become even more attentive than usual, constantly checking in on you and asking if you need anything.

Given his troubled childhood and strained relationship with his own dad, he might face phases of doubt. However, if you have his back as much as he does during his enthusiastic phases, you'll quickly pull him out of it.

You can bet he'd be doing research on how to be the best dad, and he'd share interesting and quirky facts he found on the internet.

He'd proudly proclaim the news to Luffy, Ace, and Garp, and he'd be the one organizing a surprise baby shower with Marco's help.

"I still can't believe all of this. We're going to be parents! I promise to make our family life full of love and appreciation. Just trust me on this."

Kid's reaction might be a mix of surprise and a bit of concern about how this new development might affect his life plans.

However, as time goes on, he'd find himself growing more attached to the idea of becoming a parent.

He'd be the one to plan practical things like ensuring the home is baby-proofed and preparing for the baby's arrival in a pragmatic way.

Slowly, his tough exterior would soften, and he'd become more openly supportive and affectionate towards you, showing that he's fully invested in this new chapter of your lives.

"Honestly, I didn't see that coming, but I'm not one to shy away from challenges. We're in this together, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe. You can count on me."

#one piece #op #one piece x reader #corazon x reader #doflamingo x reader #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #sabo x reader #portgas d ace x reader #smoker x reader #my stuff #writing

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multi-kpop-fanfics · 6 months ago

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more than i can handle

pairing: wonwoo x seungcheol x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff, poly!au, non-idol!au - minors dni.

warnings: dirty talk, dildo play, heavy degradation (whore, slut etc), use of petnames (sunshine, princess, baby boy, pretty boy), dom!wonwoo, switch!reader, sub!seungcheol, kissing, makeout session, anal sex, oral sex (m rec), heavy mxm action, unprotected sex (pls stay safe), creampies, voyeurism, masturbation, hair pulling, sir kink, ass slapping, aftercare

word count: 5,517

summary: the abundance of snow outside won't stop you and wonwoo from restocking your fridge. and it certainly won't stop seungcheol from getting what he wants from his girlfriend and boyfriend - their undivided attention.

Disclaimer: Both Seungcheol and Wonwoo are depicted as bisexual in the fic, which is used only for the purposes of fanfiction and it is not an assumption of the members' sexual orientation in real life. If you're not comfortable with these themes, then this fic isn't for you.

Author's note: your favorite poly is back and better than ever hehe - big thanks to @wongyuseokie, @gyuwoncheol, @highvern, @ourdawnishotterthanourday and @wonuvs for beta reading this fic!

p.s.: if you read about snow and holidays pls ignore, it was in the works since december😭

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2024. No reposting allowed. No translations without permission allowed.

“...Thank you, Sir. I really appreciate the understanding. Have a nice day.”

Wonwoo ends the phone call with a satisfied hum and he slouches back on his chair, returning to his work at hand.

“So, what’s the verdict?” You ask him, sitting on your own chair.

“Work from home. There was absolutely no way I’d be able to move the car with so much snow outside.” Wonwoo replies.

“Does that mean we get to be with you all day long?”

“That’s right, sunshine.” He smiles sweetly and you get up and hug him excitedly, pressing your lips on his cheek.

“What’s the plan for today? Aside from working, of course.”

“I was thinking of just being cozy with the two of you, y’know? Like those cliché Pinterest aesthetic winter routines.”

“I thought you weren’t the hot cocoa type.” You raise your brow playfully as you go back to your laptop.

“Just because I’m a coffee addict doesn’t mean I hate everything else.” Wonwoo defends himself while fixing his glasses.

“Well you definitely hate my protein shakes!” Seungcheol butts into the conversation from afar.

“That’s because your protein shakes are atrocious.” Wonwoo deadpans, “No sane person puts chicken breast in a glass.”

“Ew, that does sound atrocious.” You grimace in disgust.

“This is why you’re still lanky and not buff, Jeon.” Seungcheol scoffs as he downs the rest of his shake.

“Maybe not everyone wants to be a muscle monster like you, Choi.” The younger man sighs and goes back to his task at hand.

“Oh wow, thanks for paying so much attention to me.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Cheollie. He has a lot of work to do, despite staying home.” You try to reassure your other boyfriend.

“Does that mean you’re willing to make up for lost attention?”

“I’m sorry, but I need to catch up with my assignments….” You rub the back of your head apologetically.

“In the middle of the holidays?!” Seungcheol looks at you baffled.

“But my exams start two weeks after the holiday break! There’s not a lot, I promise.” You cup his cheeks.

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at you with a huff.

You watch him walk towards the bedroom with heavy steps and guilt settles in your gut.

“I think I was insensitive…” You plop down on the armchair.

“No, he’s being dramatic.” Wonwoo replies without breaking contact with his computer screen.

“But he got a leave from his job just to spend it with us and we’re ignoring him!”

“Y/N, he’s doing it on purpose.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Wait a couple of minutes and you’ll see.”

You look at Wonwoo with a puzzled expression and return to your laptop.

Shortly after, you notice Seungcheol coming into the living room, clad in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tight muscle tee. He’s sporting his earphones, as if he was going to the gym for his daily work out session.

Except he starts working out right in the middle of the room, without giving a single fuck.

He starts by stretching out his legs and arms and then proceeds to put music in his ears, switching into the more intense part of his workout. It doesn’t take long for him to start grunting and moaning as he does series after series of exercises, the sweat accumulated on his body staining the fabric of his muscle tee.

“Cheollie?” You peek your head from behind your laptop. “Do you need some water?”

“No worries, princess. I don’t want to distract you from your assignment.” He gives you a quick peck on the corner of your lips.

In true Choi Seungcheol fashion, he does his best to actually distract you from your work by taking off his muscle tee and continuing his work out shirtless.

Wonwoo turns around and takes a look at his boyfriend, mouthing a “told you so” when he turns his gaze to you.

It takes all of his willpower to not bodyslam Seungcheol on the floor and fuck the living daylights out of him with the grunts and moans he’s letting out. He swears there’s a tent forming in his black sweats and he’s quite certain there will be wet spots on the fabric pretty soon. He puts on his noise canceling headphones to focus on his work and get it done as soon as possible.

You, on the other hand, are the epitome of distractedness and all you’ve written in your essay is utter gibberish, rubbing your thighs together to provide some relief to your aching core. Right now, all you can think of is being underneath Seungcheol and getting fucked into next week.

You get up from the couch and walk over to the fridge to grab some ice cold water. As soon as you open it, your eyes widen in horror when you see the lack of basic groceries and dairy products.

“Um, guys? We have a problem.” You shout at them, but none of them lift their heads.

You get back to them and tap their shoulders to get their attention.

“What’s up, princess?” Seungcheol removes his earbuds and pushes his hair back.

“Our fridge is empty. Like, the basics are missing.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He rubs his palms over his face.

“Are the stores even open right now?” Wonwoo asks.

“It has stopped snowing for now and there are probably tons of people who didn’t anticipate this weather. Some stores have to be open, even for emergency situations!” You rest your hands on your waist.

“Give me a second.” Wonwoo goes back to his laptop and with a few rapid clicks on his keyboard, he searches for nearby stores.

“There is one, about six hundred meters away from here.” He turns his screen to the both of you to see.

“It won’t be an ordeal to get there. All we need is sturdy shoes and warm clothes.” You shrug and move towards the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Seungcheol asks you.

“To get dressed and go get groceries. The fridge won’t get full on its own.”

“Hold on , I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.” Wonwoo gets up.

“I thought you were really fucking busy with work?” The blond man asks with irony laced in his words.

“I still am, but if you go out all sweaty, you’ll be bedridden for the rest of the holidays and none of us want that.”

“You’re not my mom, Wonwoo.”

“No, but I’m your boyfriend and I still care about your health. Now please go take a fucking shower, you’re all sweaty and gross.” He walks past the shirtless man, but Seungcheol stops him by putting his hand on Wonwoo’s chest.

“You better not think I haven’t noticed that little tent of yours, pretty boy. Two people can play a game.”

“Too bad there’s three of us in this relationship. And I won’t be the outnumbered one.” Wonwoo bites back and pushes his arm away to join you in the bedroom.

Seungcheol scoffs and pokes his cheek with his tongue.

Fine by me, he thinks, already thinking of the next step he’s gonna take.

A few minutes later, you and Wonwoo leave the apartment to go buy the much needed groceries and Seungcheol is left alone, an almost childish grin plastered all over his face.

He skips over to the bathroom, stripping himself naked and throwing the dirty clothes in the laundry basket. He jumps in the shower and lets the warm water run over his body, washing away the sweat from his work out session. He pours a generous amount of shower gel over his body and spreads it thoroughly over his skin, the cherry scent enveloping the small room. Even if the shower itself is relaxing, Seungcheol himself is way too worked up - and it’s not just because of the post workout adrenaline. The blatant ignorance he experiences from you and Wonwoo annoys him and turns him on to the point of lunacy.

He washes the suds from his hands and brings two fingers in his mouth, spitting on them and rubbing them over the rim of his ass experimentally.

He moans heavily when he pushes the fingers inside, cock twitching with need. He puts his free hand on the wall of the shower to support himself while stretching out his hole. He works his thick digits in and out of his ass, eyes scrunched shut and thighs flexing with each thrust. Every time he bites his bottom lip to suppress his moans, he fails miserably and moans even louder - he’s home alone, after all.

His cock is rock hard by now, the tip flushed an angry red and veins bulging over his shaft. He can almost feel the precum starting to build up and ready to leak all over, but he doesn’t want to cum yet and definitely not like this. He removes his fingers from his ass, satisfied with the stretch and washes away the rest of the suds, turning off the shower.

He fastens his bathrobe around his waist and goes into the bedroom, opening his side of the closet to search for his sex toy stash. He giggles when he finds the familiar box and opens it hastily, taking out his favorite knotted dildo. He grabs the lube from the nightstand drawer and looks around the bedroom to see where he’ll place the toy.

His gaze falls on the full bodied mirror next to the closet and an idea pops up in his head as he fiddles with the dildo in his hands. He removes his bathrobe and throws it on the bed, walking to the living room to get his phone. Once he returns to the bedroom, he kneels in front of the mirror and grabs his cock, slowly pumping it with his fist. He pulls up the phone camera and snaps a handful of pictures, flexing his biceps and thighs on purpose to make them look even more attractive.

“Damn, I don’t even have to filter them.” He checks them one by one, absolutely satisfied with the results.

He sends them to the group chat with a quick text, waiting for the two of you to open them and lose your minds.

“Are we missing anything else?” Wonwoo asks you while pushing the shopping cart down the aisle.

“Maybe some bathroom supplies? Just to be sure, in case it snows again.”

“I swear, if it weren’t for you, we would have died a long time ago.” Your boyfriend applauds you for your organizing skills.

Both of your phones go off at the same time and you fish your phone out of the pocket of your parka.

“What’s up?” He asks you while putting two ramen cups in the cart.

“Cheol texted the group chat.”

“He probably wants us to buy chicken breast for his godforsaken shakes.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

You open the messaging app and you let out a loud gasp, covering your mouth after being heard by other customers, instantly closing the screen of your phone.

“What happened, sunshine?” The tall man asks you with worry written all over his face.

“Um….How do I put this….” You scratch your heated cheek.

“Y/N, what did he send you?”

“See for yourself.” You point to his pocket and Wonwoo impatiently unlocks his phone

He clenches his jaw tight when he opens Seungcheol’s messages, the previous hard-on he was sporting now threatening to get bigger.

cheollie has sent three photos.

cheollie: it could be your hands but you’re working instead

“This motherfucker.” He pokes his cheek with his tongue and types back a quick reply. He puts his phone back in his pocket and pushes the cart towards the cashiers with quicker steps.

“Hey, what about the rest of the supplies?!” You tug at the sleeve of his parka.

“We’ll get them, sunshine. We just need to be quick about it.” He almost grits his teeth.

“You’re not the only one who’s hot and bothered because of Seungcheol.” You step in front of the cart.

“So you admit that you were having a hard time with your essay.”

“I never said I didn’t! Do you know how difficult it was to type on my laptop while he was groaning and moaning-”

“Like a bitch in heat?” Wonwoo completes your sentence with a lopsided smirk.

“Exactly! And he looks so beefy and thick and-”

“And unbearably hot, yeah I know. And God, it drives me insane.” He lets out a shaky breath.

“Wonu?” You ask him with a lowered voice.

“Yes?”

“Can we get out of here? Like, real soon?”

“I thought you wanted to shop some more stuff?” Wonwoo chuckles at your sudden burst of impatience.

“I still do, but I also have a hot boyfriend at home who could be doing God knows what.”

“Your other boyfriend is still here with you, though.” He pushes his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“My other boyfriend wants to fuck the boyfriend at home too.” You grin and pull on the other end of the cart. “Come on, time is of the essence.”

As soon as you step foot into the apartment, you are greeted by absolute silence. You opt to call out Seungcheol’s name, but Wonwoo covers your mouth with his hand. He tells you to keep quiet by mouthing the words. He nods towards the fridge and you take off your shoes, tiptoeing your way to the kitchen and place the bags on the counter as stealthily as possible. He takes off his shoes and parka, taking careful steps towards the bedroom.

The closer he gets, the louder he can hear noises coming from the secluded space. He notices the door being cracked open just enough to get a good view of what is happening inside and he takes the initiative of pushing it wide open to rest his body on the door frame and watch the show in front of him.

Seungcheol is bouncing his ass on the knotted dildo like his life depends on it, the muscles on his thighs and back rippling with every motion. His moans are airy, almost whiny and it makes Wonwoo’s cock drip in his boxers, his self control starting to run thin.

A small creaking noise on the doorframe alerts Seungcheol and he turns his head around, scanning his boyfriend up and down.

“Oh, don’t mind me, you can keep going.” Wonwoo waves his hand in dismissal.

“I wasn’t planning on stopping for your sake.” Seungcheol scoffs and keeps fucking himself on the toy, as if the younger man doesn’t exist in the room.

“If you want to grab my attention for real, you can try taking the knot in your ass and stay there.”

“Are you challenging me?”

“You’re the one who said your ass can handle a lot.”

“Hmph. Whatever.” Seungcheol scoffs as lifts himself off the dildo to grab the lube and pour some more over the toy, climbing back on it again to ease himself on the bulbous knot.

The initial stretch is always intimidating, but as soon as the knot disappears inside him, his body shudders and his nails scratch the wooden floor, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He wants to move so bad, so fucking bad-

“Don’t you dare move.” Wonwoo’s voice is rough and demanding.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” The blond man bites back and raises his hips ever so slightly, never breaking eye contact with his boyfriend.

“I don’t think you want to do this. Am I right, baby boy?”

Seungcheol freezes in his spot, thighs going weak at the pet name. His mouth quivers, the knot stretching him open and he struggles to keep himself in check.

Wonwoo walks with slow steps towards his boyfriend, kneeling next to him.

“What’s wrong? You went pretty docile just now, didn’t you?” He smirks.

“Fuck you.” Seungcheol grits his teeth.

“What did you say?” Wonwoo grips his jaw tight.

“I said fuck you, pretty boy.” Seungcheol sports a shit-eating grin and it earns him a harsh slap on the ass, making him whine pathetically.

“I prefer it when you make pretty sounds like the one you made just now.” Wonwoo runs his thumb over the pretty pink bottom lip and the naked man sucks the digit.

“That thing where you two start without me is getting annoying.” You shake your head in disapproval, stepping into the bedroom impatiently.

“Sorry sunshine, but baby boy is being a little impatient slut today.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I bet he thought of walking around the apartment completely naked just to get our attention.” You take off your clothes in a hurry, remaining only in your underwear set.

“Ooh, she has the lace on.” Wonwoo whistles in a flirty way as he takes his thumb away.

“I always like to be prepared for any case.”

“Could you please p-pay some attention to me?” Seungcheol asks through gritted teeth, struggling with the toy inside him.

“Hm? What was that, Cheollie?” You kneel right next to him, “I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Please pay some attention to me.” He repeats his sentence a bit louder.

“We are right here, baby boy.” Wonwoo cups his neck lovingly, “Just tell us what you want and we’ll give it to you.”

“I need you, both, please.” The blond man exhales shakily.

Wonwoo and you look at each other, sharing impish glances, as if your brains thought of the same thing at the same time. He then gets up and takes off his long sleeved shirt and sweats, dropping the clothes right in front of Seungcheol. He then sits on the bed, patting his lap for you to join him.

You climb on the bed and in your boyfriend’s lap, leaving your other boyfriend shocked and visibly upset.

“You- I hate you both.” He grumbles while clenching his fists on the floor.

“If you want to join, then don’t cum.” Wonwoo looks him straight in the eyes while groping your ass. “Perhaps then we’ll consider it.”

“Wonu? I am right here, baby.” You get his attention by putting your hands on his broad shoulders and you rub yourself on his boxers to rile him up. And it works like a fucking charm, because he’s shoving his tongue down your throat like a man who hasn’t kissed someone in an entire lifetime.

His kisses are usually softer and more calculated, but not today - Wonwoo is far too riled up to care about details and the only thing he wants is to ravish you. He pushes you on the mattress and climbs over you, ruthlessly attacking your lips and neck with his mouth. He uses both teeth and tongue to abuse your skin, deliberately targeting your weak spots to elicit sweet noises from you.

He steals a few side glances towards Seungcheol, who is on the brink of tears from being edged for so long, droplets of sweat running down his flushed skin. The irrational, needy part of his brain wants to jump on the bed and kick Wonwoo outside, while keeping you all to himself. But he knows better than disobeying a pissed off Wonwoo.

Wonwoo pulls you by the arms and makes you sit on your knees facing Seungcheol, while he sits behind you, chest touching your back.

“Let’s give our baby boy a show, shall we?” He whispers in your ear and you nod, biting your bottom lip.

Wonwoo caresses your body with his hands, over your stomach and reaches your covered breasts. He hooks his fingers in the lace of your bra, tugging it harshly to let your mounds bounce out of the undergarment, a small ripping sound reaching your ears.

“Ease off the lace!” You whine, but he grabs your chin with his hand, the other glued on your chest.

“Act up and I’ll make sure you won’t cum at all, sunshine. Am I clear?”

“...yes Sir.” You sigh,

“Good girl.” Wonwoo kisses your cheek and relaxes his grip on your chin. “Good girls always get rewarded.” He murmurs in your ear, his hand descending lower and lower.

You let out a small moan when your boyfriend’s hand palms over your clothed pussy, slowly rubbing the lace hiding your clit.

“I can already tell you’re excited about this, sunshine. Soaking through your underwear like the needy little thing you are.” Wonwoo’s lips are glued on your ear.

“Please touch me more, Sir.” You whine, looking right into Seungcheol’s eyes.

“I didn’t hear you well, darling.” The dark haired man chuckles.

“Just touch her, you asshole.” Seungcheol groans, his cock twitching like crazy again.

“You don’t get to speak a damn word.” Wonwoo grits his teeth.

“Wonu, please!” You cry out, “I need you so bad, I’m gonna lose it!”

“You goddamn little shits.” He pushes you on the bed and gets up, standing next to Seungcheol.

“You want to get fucked? Now’s your chance.” He grips the blond man’s hair and lifts him off the knotted toy, practically throwing him on the bed like a ragdoll.

“Ouch, that hurt, you fucker!” Seungcheol snarls at Wonwoo, but the younger man pins him down on the mattress, despite being less muscular.

“Playtime’s over, baby boy. My turn now.” He discards his boxers, cock slapping against his stomach, bright red and leaking.

“Funny how you’re trying to act all dominant yet you’re leaking more than a broken faucet.” Seungcheol snickers, spreading his legs apart.

Wonwoo glances at you and offers you his hand to help you get up. You take it with a smirk and he positions you right between Seungcheol’s legs.

“You know what to do. And remember - don’t let him have his way with you.”

“Gotcha.” You grin devilishly.

“Princess, do you seriously think you can dom me? Please be real now.” Seungcheol laughs, but his laughter is cut short when he sees Wonwoo hovering right above his face.

“No. But we can dom you.”

You put your hands under Seungcheol’s knees and push his thighs apart to make room for yourself, putting him in a mating press instead of the opposite that usually happens in the bedroom. You position yourself right over his tip and slowly slide your pussy down his length, until it has completely disappeared inside you.

“O-Oh….Fuck, Princess, didn’t see that coming.” The blond man’s mouth goes slack from the novel sensation.

“God, no wonder you like this position so much.” You moan and start moving your hips the same way one of your boyfriends usually fuck you stupid.

Seungcheol throws his head back and grins when he sees Wonwoo pumping his cock with his hand, the tip dangerously close to his cheek.

“What are you waiting for, Wonu?” The older man snickers and moves his hand to touch his boyfriend’s shaft, but Wonwoo pins his wrists down and lets his cock rub the plush lips.

“For the right moment to shut you up.”

Wonwoo slides his cock inside and starts fucking Seungcheol’s throat harshly, finally letting out his pent up frustrations.

“Don’t be so h-harsh on him, Wonu, he might choke.” You point out the gagging, sloppy noises coming from above.

“Don’t worry, he can take it. Isn’t that right, baby boy?” Wonwoo takes off his cock for a few seconds.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol coughs a bit, but regains his breath like a pro, “Just make sure to fuck me like you both mean it, you weaklings.”

The comment makes you and Wonwoo’s blood boil like molten lava and you climb over Seungcheol’s body to push his thighs further apart and fuck him like a bitch in heat.

“That’s it, sunshine. Fuck him like the whore he is.” Wonwoo grunts as he facefucks your (and his) boyfriend, putting one hand on his throat to squeeze it ever so slightly.

“Shit, this feels so damn great,” you moan out loud as you ride his cock, “I can feel him twitching inside me, he’s close.”

“Of course he is,” Wonwoo leans closer and gives you a quick kiss, “Nobody could ever resist your beautiful pussy, sunshine. Especially us.”

Seungcheol starts moaning around the shaft bullying his mouth and he wraps his thick thighs around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Oof- God, he’s so damn desperate to cum.” You chuckle and run your hands over his torso to rile him up even further.

“Don’t stop until you are fully satisfied, Y/N. Baby boy is here to take whatever we’re going to give him.”

Your pussy stays glued on Seungcheol’s cock, rubbing it like a tight fleshlight until it starts milking him dry, sucking globs after globs of cum. The muscles of his thighs twitch behind your waist and his fists clench on the mattress, the shocks of his orgasm torturing his body.

Wonwoo detaches his hips away from Seungcheol’s mouth, letting the man breathe and spew a string of moans and curses.

“Princess, please, s-slow down! You’re- ah, fuck!” He whines loudly, tears stinging his eyes.

“She won’t stop until she has had her fill, baby boy.” Wonwoo digs his nails in Seungcheol’s wrists, “And don’t even try to stop her. Am I clear?”

“Shit- Yes, Sir.”

You rhythmically bounce your hips on top of his dick, your inner thighs beginning to burn from exhaustion and a thick, milky ring forms around your entrance. You can feel your own climax inch closer and closer, the pattern of your movements growing sloppier by the second.

“S-Sir I’m gonna cum, God I’m so close!” You cry out and plant your palms on the toned pair of pecs underneath you.

“Go on, sunshine. You earned this orgasm all on your own, you and your capable pussy.” Wonwoo stares at you with hungry eyes, watching you fall apart on the blond man’s cock.

Your eyes nearly roll in the back of your skull when you finally cum and you would be lying if you said it isn’t one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. You’re certain your brain has stopped working and you probably look like a lust-crazed animal.

“That’s it, sunshine. Ride it all out.” The dark haired man presses a kiss on the column of your neck, while Seungcheol is writhing and shaking under the two of you.

“I’m so….full.” You sigh in satisfaction and you feel the meaty legs around your lower back relaxing around you and plopping down on the bed. You carefully lift yourself off his lap and let out a long drawn moan when a sticky trail of cum runs down your thigh.

“God, I’m so spent.” Seungcheol groans, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Already? That’s too bad.” Wonwoo scoffs and flips his boyfriend face down on the sheets. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

“And I thought you had completely forgotten.” Seungcheol grins and bumps his ass directly on Wonwoo’s hardened dick. “Come on, don’t you want to fuck my ass already?”

You sit back on the headboard, your fingers ghosting over your chest and clit, your gaze entirely focused on your boyfriends.

“We even have an audience, pretty boy. I think you should hurry up and stick it in.”

Wonwoo chuckles as he lines up his cock and slowly pushes in, until he’s balls deep.

“Enjoy the show, sunshine.”

The tall man grips Seungcheol’s waist and begins thrusting slowly inside him, grunting at the tight sensation around his cock.

“How are you still tight after sitting on that monstrosity for so long?”

“Can’t betray my secrets like that.” The blond man sends a wink towards you.

“Wonu, go faster.” You say with a demanding tone, your fingers working circles on your clit.

“You heard the princess - Put your back into it, pretty boy.”

“Damn you both, fucking brats.” Wonwoo uses one hand to fist Seungcheol’s hair and keep his head down, now towering over him. He pistons his hips against his boyfriend’s ass hard enough to make it bounce repeatedly, smacking noises filling the room.

“Fuck - That’s what I’m t-talking about.” Seungcheol grips the sheets, lips parted open and moans spilling freely.

Your whines match your boyfriend’s moans, your hands working out your pussy at the same speed Wonwoo is thrusting. Two of your digits are covered in the cum left inside you from previously riding Seungcheol, acting as the perfect lube.

“Ass made in Heaven, damnit,” Wonwoo catches his bottom lip with his teeth, “Made to be railed by none other than me.”

“My toys would like to disagree.” Seungcheol half moans and the snarky comment earns him a slap on the ass, forcing him to whimper.

“The only noises I want to hear from you are whimpers and moans, you whore.”

Wonwoo gets rougher with his thrusts, his hand pulling Seungcheol’s hair by the roots, lifting his head to make him face you. “Now, I want you to look at her while I’m fucking you stupid and give her the most cunt-watering expression you have.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” Seungcheol breathes out, a fresh layer of sweat adorning his body.

Wonwoo delivers full-bodied thrusts, pulling and pushing his cock until the tip is barely inside and then fully sheathed again, knocking the air out of Seungcheol’s lungs. Salty tears cascade his cheeks, his body jerking forward with each movement.

“W-Wonu, you’re being too r-rough with him.” You comment shakily, two of your fingers rapidly plunging into your weeping cunt

“Rough, you say? Do you want me to slow down, baby boy?” Wonwoo asks his boyfriend, halting his hips.

“N-No, please don’t, please don’t stop, fuck!” Seungcheol pushes his ass back, chasing the stimulation.

“See, sunshine? Baby boy likes it rough and sloppy - and so do you.”

“I-”

“Keep your beautiful pussy stuffed until we’re done, will you?”

“Yes, yes Sir.” You nod furiously as you try to push back your orgasm.

“W-Won’t be too long until then,” Wonwoo groans loudly, “I’m almost there, fuck.”

“Please do it inside, please!” Seungcheol begs loudly, his body nearly giving out.

“Fuck, take it all, slut, all yours.” Wonwoo curses in his ear and finally topples over the edge, dumping a part of his load in his boyfriend’s hole. He takes out his cock, giving it a few more pumps to splatter the remnants of his climax all over Seungcheol’s ass.

The sight before you makes your head spin with more arousal and your walls clench around your fingers, your own orgasm washing over you and sending you to cloud nine.

For a good few minutes, mixed heavy breaths are all the three of you can hear. It’s clear as daylight that all three of you are beyond tired and barely able to move.

“My body hurts everywhere.” Seungcheol whines in defeat.

“Mine too.” You agree.

“I’m afraid both of you need to get up,” Wonwoo stretches his back, “We need to change the sheets, they’re fucked.”

“So are we, dumbass.” The blond man grimaces in pain.

“I am fully aware,” Wonwoo tries to lift Seungcheol up and you right after, “Now get up, we need to get you cleaned up.”

“You haven’t even prepared a bath!” You pout your lips in protest.

“Really going through the princess act, don’t you?” He lifts you in bridal style and carries you to the bathroom, gently placing you on the edge of the tub.

“As if you don’t like treating me like one.” You grin playfully.

“I would say this is Cheol’s duty, but I love you a little too much to not treat you like a princess.” He presses a kiss on your cheek and lets the water run. “Mind checking the water until I’m back with him?”

“Not at all.” You reply with a smile and he leaves the bathroom to return to the crime scene.

To his surprise, Wonwoo finds Seungcheol standing up and removing the dirty sheets, the skin on his ass and thighs stained from cum streaks.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t let you do all the work now.” The blond man picks up the sheets and the used toy from the floor. As soon as he takes a couple more steps towards the door, he can feel his legs screaming in pain.

“Ow fuck!”

“Whoa, careful!” Wonwoo sweeps at the right moment and catches him before falling, “Can you please not be so fucking stubborn?”

“But-”

“No buts.” He throws Seungcheol’s arm over his shoulder, “I need to get your ass to the bathroom.”

“What are you doing? The bath is ready!” You yell from the corridor.

“Coming!” Wonwoo yells back.

“Well, at least now we’re even, right?” Seungcheol gives a silly wink towards the dark haired man.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Wonwoo snorts as he helps the older man out of the bedroom.

“After being fucked like this? Definitely.”

“Stupid and incorrigible.”

“And hot and rich and-”

Wonwoo cuts him off with a quick kiss on the lips, catching him off guard.

“Can you please shut the fuck up?”

Seungcheol flashes a toothy grin and runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Yes, Sir.”

#svthub #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #wonwoo smut #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #wonwoo fluff #svt scoups #svt wonwoo #choi seungcheol #jeon wonwoo #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen #tw polyamourous

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c4teyezz · 10 months ago

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my fav jjk men with babies lol

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my fav jjk men x afab!reader

i kept the baby gender neutral for yall in case, i dont want ppl coming to me like “nO hE wOulD dEfinEtly hAve a-“ shut.

note: on nanamis part it mentions reader being pregnant 🤰

characters: gojo saturo, geto suguru, sukuna ryomen, higuruma hiromi, nanami kento, kusakabe atsuya, toji fushiguro

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Gojo Saturo

- spoils the baby 24/7 and the things the baby has are the best of the best, the price doesnt matter to him

- idk why but he likes taking a big whiff of the babies hair then going like “ahhhh!” after and then kissing their scalp

“look babe i just bought some new clothes for our little one” gojo said smiling up at you as you entered the room. gojo is sitting on the foam rug thing with the baby laying down on it

gojo held up the baby carefully while supporting their neck at the same time to show you their fit. “thats so cute!” you responded then sitting down with him, you look at the tags that gojo ripped out from the clothes “saturo what did i say abt rubbish- $200!? WE SHOULD BE USING THAT MONEY FOR THEIR FOOD”

Geto Suguru

- i feel like hes gonna be a fairly strict but not too strict of a father

- he loveeessss wrapping them up in his robes, hugging/carrying them around like that wherever he goes in the house

“ah-! let go of my hair!” suguru demanded but not doing anything to stop it, the baby just giggles at their fathers reaction not knowing that their lowkey hurting their dad bc obviously theyre just a baby…

you take a quick pic of the sight thats in front of you, giggling along with your baby

“damn this thing is strong!” he said

“dont call your kid a thing!”

Sukuna Ryomen

- he mostly watches you take care of “the brat” he calls them, but is willing to help as long as you give him clear instructions on what the hell hes supposed to do with “it”

- i can see him holding his kid upside down with their legs when theyre like 6 or something and sometimes he drops them on purpose before quickly and successfully catching them, he has no intentions of hurting them, hes mostly doing it to fuck with you. i mean he made the kid laugh so lol

“what the fuck its crying” he pointed out to you as you rock the baby gently in your arms

“yeah i can see that… and stop calling them ‘it’, theyre not some sort of rare space specimen”

Higuruma Hiromi

- even tho in the manga hes portrayed as the classic “no humor, cold, tired man in a suit” kind of guy, i honestly dont think hes just that, hes just like that in professional settings and when things are serious. i can see him make light jokes, like he did with itadori, so he’d definitely do the same with his baby

- he likes gently scratching the babys back, as he knows its relaxing i mean who doesnt like a good scratch on the back sometimes. he doesnt mind when the baby starts fiddling with his tie, but when the baby chews on if he definitely gets a bit grossed out

“bah!” hiromi jokingly surprised the baby which made the baby flinch and cry at their father, hiromi laughed at the baby’s raction “sorry” Hiromi gently apologised while smiling at them, then went back to scare them one more time by covering his face then quickly uncovering his face “boo!”

this time the baby laughed with their father and you recorded the fun moment

(this is also inspired by a reel i saw on instagram, it was so cute 😭)

Nanami Kento

- HANDS DOWN THE BEST FATHER DUH WTF??? do we even have to argue???? since the baby hes been cutting his alcohol drinking as he doesnt want the baby’s sensitive lungs to suffer from the smell. he also lovessssss skin to skin, when the baby popped out and it was his turn to hold the baby in his bare chest, he was over the moonnnnn

- ngl he would mostly take care of the baby more than you, his excuse is since you carried the baby for 9 months, so its his job to support and deal with the baby most of the time mwah mwah

you stare at him feeding your baby their bottle, whose also safely tucked in his loving arms

“kento can i feed them now?” you asked him

“go rest honey, you deserve it” he responded, kissing you on the forehead

“thats my baby youre hogging!”

Kusakabe atsuya

- omg he likes making the baby dance, the baby cant walk yet, so he’d hold them up and make them look like theyre dancing by making them look like their doing that default baby dance toddlers do or gently swing them side to side

- loves placing them on his chest as they sleep as he fiddles with their tiny hand. also he strictly calls them by their shorter version of their name or a random nickname that suits them

“mmph! stop trying to grab my lolly!” atsuya told the baby as it tried reaching for it, eventually the baby caught the stick of the lollipop and forced it out of their dads mouth and putting it into theirs

“hehe gross”

fushiguro toji

- he plays with them by making them pretend that theyre boxing with their hands

- naps naps napsssssss, he always puts them on his chest so that they can nap together on the couch. but sometimes when toji snores, he lets out a loud snore which scares the baby into waking up crying lmfaoooooooo

“hell nah”

“toji just wipe their ass already, im trying to show you how change their diaper”

“fucking hell…” toji muttered as he slowly lifts the baby by their legs

okay maybe hes not the best when it comes to helping sometimes, but at least hes willing to try

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maayong gabii lahat!!! (good evening everyone!!!)

hehe i just wanna say thank you guys for the likes, reblogs, comments, and followers so far :))))

damo nga salamatttt (thank you so muchhhh)

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rr311 · 6 months ago

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↳ 𝗄𝖺𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗄𝗂 𝖻𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗀𝗈

↳ 𝖺.𝗇; I got this idea from listening to a song ☹️ I’m so lonely that i had to write this because I need comfort in my life. it’s bad. anyways enjoy! the song in question

weird as it is, katsuki had a habit of showing you his soft side. one being he can’t keep his hands off you. he’s clingy, real clingy. It was shocking of how much he would touch you, and on top of that he was protective too. overprotective you would say. whenever you guys were doing practice missions and one of the guys (kaminari or mineta) would look at you with heart eyes, he would always stand behind you glaring at them. by the aura that flamed around him, they would end up getting scared or nervously laughing looking away from you. knowing exactly why you smiled shaking your head with a sigh turning around to spot katsuki looking away with a scoff, “don’t look at me like that.” you raised a brow placing a hand on your hip not even willing to argue with him, only shaking your head walking up to him. “you need to stop.” pecking his cheek as he grinned with a shrug. “not my fault those damn idiots keep staring at you.” l you shake your head watching him walk past you with a chuckle but gasp feeling him pull you by your waist as he did.

what else is weird that ever since he started to have that change in his attitude, he’s been showing affection around everyone but it would be small minor things. like holding your hand, whenever you guys are watching a movie or sitting on the couch he or you would put his arm over your shoulder, or whenever it’s just you two out in the dorms he would always back hug you enjoying the comfort he got from your warmth, giggling each time. “kat, what’s goin on?.” he would hum holding you tighter, “shut up loser..I just had a long day.” smiling everytime using your hand to ruffle his hair. he would do this so everyone knows who you’re with, though he didn’t like the constant teasing mina and kirishima did he still does it so no one gets any smart ideas with you. you even knew he did it to remind everyone that you’re dating him, but in reality.. he only makes that excuse so he can hold you 🤫.

he also loves touching you. like really much. though it was not a common thing he would tell everyone, touching is his love language. you thought it was cute teasing him everytime but he thought it was stupid pushing you away each time, but couldn’t help but have that cute grin on his face. the relationship was cheesy— according to kaminari and mineta probably due to jealously that bakugo out of all people got to pull you, but in reality it was cute and everyone thinks you guys look adorable together. bakugo would always yell at them feeling flustered but you would always laugh saying thank you to everyone, “awww look at them!.” mina cooed as she saw you both on the couch, katsuki’s arm wrapped around you as you were cuddled to his side eating. “they look like a married couple.” kirishima added on with a smile but his smile dropped eyes going wide as he saw bakugo’s eyes on them glaring at em both. mina and kirishima looked away from them pretending they were doing something as you heard katsuki scoff. “what’s wrong?.” you asked taking another bite from your plate looking up at him who looked at you with a frown, “pinky and shitty hair fan girling again.” he rolled his eyes as you laughed shaking your head. “let em. there’s nothing wrong with that.” you muttered, leaning up to peck his lips hearing them “awww!!” again giggling pulling back. katsuki groaned glaring at you as you laughed, “you did that on purpose didn’t you?!.” you poked your tongue out shrugging, “I don’t know..did I?.” before you knew it, he pushed you off the couch with a smug grin feeling your glare on him. “I’ll kill you!.” — “If you can catch me nerd!”

“they’re so cute together.”

“couldn’t agree more.”

#black reader #anime x black!reader #anime x reader #{ 🖋️} writings #fluff #bakugou x black reader #bakugou x you #mha x black reader #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha fluff #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #mha #my hero academia #black writers

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 24 days ago

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Let's talk Galadriel x Sauron Sexy Times (Freudian symbolism)

@rey-jake-therapist inspired me to write this, and then a few other users started to question about it. Buckle up, this is going to be wild.

According to Tolkien legendarium, can Sauron and Galadriel "do it"? The short answer is: yes. As long as Sauron is in physical form, it's entirely possible. And he can even get her pregnant, too (but it would cost him). Not only that, but they might have already done it back in Season 1, actually.

The long answer is more complicated. Why? Eldar customs, probably decreet by the Valar. I already talked about this shortly in this post. Tolkien’s writings about wedding, love and sex among the Eldar (Elves) can be found in “Morgoth’s Ring, Part III. The Later Quenta Silmarillion: (II) The Second Phase: Laws and Customs among the Eldar.”

Right away, Tolkien makes a distinction between Elves and Men: according to him, Men are horny as hell. Elves not so much: they like sex (the act): "the union of love is indeed to them great delight and joy." Casual sex is a no; and for the Eldar sex = marriage. So much so, that a couple is considered married if they exchange vows to the Valar (Tolkien never specified these vows, only that Manwë is mentioned) and have sex (no feast or celebration required): this usually happens when the couple is in flight, and exile, and wandering.

All textual evidence seems to point out that the purpose of this act is to have children:

“. . . the act of procreation, being of a will and desire shared and indeed controlled by the fëa [soul], was achieved at the speed of other conscious and willful acts of delight or of making. It was one of the acts of chief delight, in process and in memory, in an Elvish life, but its intensity alone provided its importance, not its time or length: it could not have been endured for a great length of time, without disastrous "expense" . . . it is longer and of more intense delight in Elves than in Men: too intense to be long endured.”

Elves, usually, don’t have many children (Fëanor being the exception: he had 7 sons), because they spent a lot of both their body (hröa) and soul (fëa) creating them, and Elven pregnancies can last from 1 year up to 100 years (wild). They don’t need a magical pregnancy test, because both parents know when a child was conceived. This date is also the day they celebrate their birthdays (and not the day when they were actually born). They also don’t have children during war time.

The eternal bond (= marriage; because divorce is forbidden) between Elves happens during sex; when they have sex for the first time their bodies and souls become one (= “union of souls”), and it’s a more intense physical and spiritual experience than for Men. Elves who have not had that union together have not yet established that incredible bond.

After children, the Elves also lose interest in having sex all together, and devote themselves to “higher pursuits”. Meaning, once children are born, the couple is now celibate: with the exercise of the power (of generation), the desire soon ceases, and the mind turns to other things... they have many other urgues of the body and of mind which their nature urges them to fulfill.

According to Tolkien, "Elf libidos" only last for a period of one to several hundred years (in their immortal lives). And they look back at the memory of this time with nostalgia. By nature, Tolkien writes that the Elves are seldom swayed by the desires of the body only, but are by nature continent and steadfast. Meaning: they are able to control their urges.

Now, here's the catch.

Sauron, being a fallen Maia of Melkor, doesn't care about any of this. He doesn’t follow the Valar rules, and he hates the Eldar.

In "Unfinished Tales", Tolkien does point out Galadriel as an exception to all of these rules: Celeborn was the lover of Galadriel, who she later wedded. Again, Tolkien doesn’t goes into details here, so we don’t know if “lover” was purely romantic (kissing, for instance) or full-on sexual, really. Either way, it’s been established in “Rings of Power” just how “alien” she is among her kin, overall. And she is a rebellious spirit, going against Gil-galad, her High King, on several occasions, and against the Valar themselves.

Well, she ended up marrying Celeborn after him being her lover, but they only had Celebrían thousands of year later, though. And “Rings of Power” also created another question mark here, because Galadriel only mentions her husband one time: he saw her dancing, they got married, he went to war, and she never saw him again. In the lore, Galadriel and Celeborn, being royalty, most likely had a feast (ceremony). So… does this mean that in “Rings of Power” canon, Galadriel never had her “union of souls” with Celeborn? And that explains why she fell in love with Halbrand/Mairon?

In the lore, we also the have the “little” detail of Elves only having “libido” for a short period of time in their immortal lives.

This is sexual awakening right here. We’ve seen Galadriel being proud, strong-willed and rebellious, but in this scene she looks like a “teenager” (even though she’s thousands of years old, already). Mairon made her speechless with that look. And we also see Galadriel flirting with him after this.

But in “Rings of Power”, Sauron and Galadriel had their “blood marriage ritual” too, and this was their “union of souls”.

Now, we need to look at what Tolkien created in his legendarium: where sex = children, and, most likely, any sexual act that goes against that is frowned upon (consider a corruption to Eru’s creation).

But Mairon, being corrupted by Melkor, doesn’t have any problems in indulging in sexual acts what don’t result in any children (conceiving a child would also cause him to bind himself to his physical form at the time, and he probably doesn’t want that). Galadriel herself isn’t on the mindset for children, also, and she already rebelled against the Valar, herself.

Tolkien estate said no sex scenes, but we sure had a lot of sexual innuendo going on between Galadriel and Mairon, ever since Season 1:

First with Halbrand aka Repentant Mairon: with whim Galadriel had her “sexual awakening”. He pulls her out of the water, and she’s pretty much naked before his eyes. I already wrote a post about the physical attraction between them, so I won’t get into that here.

Freudian symbolism is associated with sex representations, and was developed by both Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung (dreams can reveal a person’s deepest unconscious wishes and desires), but it has been widely used in pop culture and cinema to illustrate several ideas.

Why is this sneaky bastard grinning about?

Well, in Freudian symbolism the mouth is also a symbol for the female genitals, while the spoon is a phallic symbol. The act of eating symbolizes sexual intercourse (= interaction between male and female symbols). What’s why Mairon is grinning: he’s fantasizing all kind of sexual scenarios here.

In Freudian Symbolism, knifes/daggers/lances/swords (any object resembling the penis in shape or that can be used to penetrate the body and cause injury) are phallic symbols. Meaning, they represent the penis. An erection (in which the penis raises itself against the force of gravity) is usually represented in connection with an air element (it can be ballons, airplanes, missiles, rockets, flying, snakes, etc.).

The Freudian symbolism behind this scene? Mairon has a boner, and Galadriel is touching it.

Recently, this scene has been talked about a lot (in reference to Celeborn being called a "silver clam"), but that's not the only symbolism happening in here:

The Númenórean smiths tease Mairon, and ask him how close is he with the "she-elf." This Maia is eating ("sexual intercourse") clams, here. Worldwide, the clam is a clitoral symbol, meaning it represents the female genitalia. What does this means? Eating Galadriel out is, probably, what Mairon wants.

Jealous Mairon peacocking for dominance:

Galadriel is right in front of his salad handling all of these swords (phallic symbol). And he wants to assert his dominance, here. The only “sword” she’ll be handling around here is his. And he’s the best at it, too.

Then, in Season 2:

Right off the bat, Sauron is using a snake themed armor. In Freudian symbolism, the snake is also a phallic symbol, representing sexuality, temptation, and erection; and also repressed sexual desires. Sure this is meant to illustrate him as the "great deceiver", but it’s possible to “kill two birds with one stone”, and he only uses this armor in this particular scene.

Now, we have to forget the fight, and concentrate on the dialogue and the symbolism here.

It has already been noted by many fellow fans that this fight is meant to illustrate Galadriel and Sauron history in Season 1 (the places where Sauron injures Galadriel). And I agree: the entire fight scene was Sauron taunting Galadriel with their shared past.

Fighting tactics speaking this whole move is very strange. Symbolically, it's pretty much on the nose, as they say: a crown (clitoral symbol) penetrating a sword (phallic symbol) = sexual intercourse. And Sauron does this very aggressively and right in front of her face. Then, he spins the crown and one sword in on his shoulder, and the other on Galadriel’s = they are joined.

Want details? Galadriel is on top (just like Tolkien intended), and then Mairon becomes “the lost king who could ride you” to finish.

And then we have Sauron sounding his most aroused and unhinged yet, while saying these words, with this expression on his face:

The next dialogue is Galadriel accusing him of everything between them (back in Season 1) being a lie, and another of his illusions. To which he replies (with Halbrand’s voice):

Then, enters Halbrand: he speaks to her almost whispering, a bit breathless, too, like a lover, and Charlie puts emphasize in two bits of his dialogue: “at your side” and “that feeling”. And the expression on his face: Halbrand looks desperate, tormented, yearning and nostalgic.

Which makes me ask the question: if this fight is meant to illustrate their past history... does this mean that these two have been sexually intimate already!?

Where, you might ask? In Eregion, of course. Where we have Mairon naked on a bed being healed, and both he and Galadriel stayed there, according to Elrond in 2x01, “for weeks” (which might suggest a whole month or more).

Some time after his “healing” and being working with Celebrimbor, we also see Mairon getting “touchier” with Galadriel, and whispering on her ear. What changed? When and why did he got so comfortable doing this?

We, the audience, assume that Mairon goes immediately to Celebrimbor’s forge after he wakes up, but is that true?

Celebrimbor asks him “shouldn’t you be resting?”. This can imply he had already awakened from the healing and he should be getting some rest instead of wandering around. And Galadriel, being in love with him, would surely want to be in the room when that happens. But he’s searching for her, instead. And the last scene we saw from Galadriel, was her and Elrond in the room where Mairon was being healed by the Elves.

And this is when they start to look at each other more passionately, too, like actual lovers (and not "just friends"):

Not only that, but he was already planning on forging two rings (surely, one for himself and other for Galadriel). In Elven tradition, the betrothals exchange two silver rings (in this case it would be mithril).

This would also provide a new layer to Sauron commanding his (new) Orcs to destroy Eregion right in front of Galadriel, to get a reaction out of her. He’s petty like that.

This could also explain Charlotte Brändström’s words of how Halbrand “really seduced her”, and how much in love with him Galadriel is.

Galadriel heartbreak on 1x08 and Season 2

Galadriel went through all seven stages of grief in Season 2, concerning Halbrand aka Sauron. We saw her crying or on the verge of tears. She was heartbroken, believing she was deceived, and all that she experienced with Halbrand was a lie. And she wanted to kill the motherf*cker, all by herself, until the bitter end. Do you have something to hide there, Gal? She even thrown Elrond under the bus with Adar in 2x06 just to get a chance to do it.

It has been noticed by some fellow fans, that Galadriel would, often, touch her lower stomach whenever having visions from Nenya, and we saw her planting seeds, too. This highly implies fertility. Now, this doesn’t mean she’s actually pregnant, mind you! But it can symbolize previous sexual acts.

It’s also worth mentioning that, in Freudian symbolism, jewels (such as rings) represent a beloved person.

What is Galadriel so afraid of? Wasn’t Halbrand “only a friend”?

When Sauron appears in 2x08, Galadriel is absolutely terrified, unable to move. She’s not scared of him, per say; she dreads that he might still be on Halbrand form, and she isn't certain on how she would react to that. But he’s in Annatar form, and she doesn’t have any emotional connection to it. Still, she’s only able to attack him when he had his back turned on her. And then, her expression when she sees Halbrand is very telling:

Sauron and Mirdania

Of course the “great deceiver” who manages to “deceive even himself” got himself a Galadriel doppelgänger when he returned to Eregion to put his “rings of power” masterplan in motion. And he only gets touchy with her whenever he thinks of Galadriel.

He also disposed of Mirdania when Adar arrived at Eregion (with Galadriel herself on a cage).

This whole business with Mirdania is something physical on Sauron’s part, because he sees the resemblance with Galadriel. And the fact that he touches her so tenderly is interesting to say the least, because (1) we’ve seen Sauron hating being touched throughout Season 2 (even by Mirdania herself), and (2) he’s an immortal spirit from the Unseen world (Maia); he doesn’t actually have any of these needs... Unless he's remembering touching Galadriel herself, and his sexual desire for her.

And what's the last injury that Sauron inflicts on Galadriel on their 2x08 fight?

Full-on penetration. And he doesn't go gentle with it, either. And it ends with him literally ejaculating (blood) inside of her (chest), aka blood binding.

This is pretty much what Tolkien wrote in “Unfinished Tales”, except the lover here is Halbrand/Mairon/Sauron, and he wants commitment (marriage).

Galadriel denies him in Season 1, and again in Season 2. And then, he forces them to bind together, all the same. This could also explain why Sauron was so certain she would actually bind herself to him, in spite of all the evil stuff he has done in Eregion.

And we have this “lovely” description of Sauron during his war with the Elves (which will be Season 3):

Now Sauron's lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor. He brooked no freedom nor any rivalry, and he named himself Lord of the Earth. A mask he still could wear so that if he wished he might deceive the eyes of Men, seeming to them wise and fair.

Sauron’s lust will know no bounds in Season 3, good to know. He already bore a hole in Galadriel for the rest of him to slither in, so, only Eru knowns what kind of mind palace shenanigans will he be up to… symbolically.

#a while back I did joke a lot went down off screen we didn't get to see #saurondriel #haladriel #sauron x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #galadriel x halbrand

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sticky-sugar · 3 months ago

Text

ask you something. (iwaizumi hajime x reader) chapter three

>> the floodgates have opened, and you're both a little more desperate than expected <<

tags/cw: very suggestive, innocent reader, possessive iwa/reader, slightly perverted iwa (he will in fact get worse <3), brat tamer!iwa

chapter two || masterlist || chapter four

he tastes like black coffee, bitter and sharp.

‘will you show me?’ you’d asked, waiting with bated breath for him to fill in the blank.

he hadn’t, and you’re convinced even now that he’d done it on purpose. ‘show you what?’ is all he’d muttered. but he’d shifted closer to you on the couch, his thigh burning against yours.

‘what happens at parties.’

he’d angled his body toward you, and you’d leaned closer. you could feel his breath on your skin, the heat radiating from his bare chest.

‘all of it?’ he’d whispered. your heart has lurched into your throat then, beating uncomfortably. ‘or just a little bit?’

your breath had caught, and your face had warmed to the point of being impossible not to notice.

you hadn’t answered him.

he hadn’t needed you to.

‘just a little bit, then.’

his hand had cupped your face, hot from the mug, and he’d turned you toward him. you’d closed your eyes, unable to meet his.

his kiss feels the same as it had a year ago.

you don’t know what to do with your hands, so you leave them in your lap, trembling as they fist the fabric of your pants. he’s careful with you, mouth gentle and sweet, just like you’d known he’d be.

his voice may be rough, but that’s all it is. you still wonder — what if — but you don’t think this is the time to push it. you don’t think this is the time to do anything but try not to faint. your head is staticky and light, and your body tingles as your limbs go numb, so it’s a non-zero possibility.

he angles his head, and you lean into it, settling your shaking hands on his chest. his lips are patient, pushing and then pulling back just a little, just enough to make you chase him. you try to keep your wits about you, but iwaizumi hajime’s mouth is warm, soft, and tastes like coffee, so your wits are the last thing you’re willing to hang onto.

when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, a test, your breath catches and then falls out in a stuttered mess. he tries again, pulling your lip between his teeth and running his tongue over it. you gasp, starting to pull away. he doesn’t let you, sliding his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, keeping you there.

“open your mouth,” he whispers against you, loud in this dark apartment.

“what?” you squeak, feeling his heart pick up under your palm as he scoots closer. his tongue slides across the seam of your lips, and you recognize that you were right — it hadn’t felt good at the party, but it feels good now.

“open.”

your heart skips, but there’s a fire burning in the pit of your stomach, lighting up when he talks to you like that. when he’s not so careful with you.

and when he groans quietly because you’re listening to him — because your lips part for him, because you do as he says — you know that listening to iwaizumi hajime is something you’re good at. you can do that, for as long as he needs you to.

his tongue swipes across your lip again, a warning, and then it dips hesitantly into your mouth, his head angled and his hand — searing hot — pressed against your spine. your breath stutters and stalls when his tongue brushes against yours, and he retracts it quickly, his own breath labored in your mouth.

when you return the gesture, slipping just into his mouth and then retreating to safety, you feel something shift with him. he has your permission now, your invitation to keep going.

he pushes his body against yours, and your hips are being grabbed and pulled in his direction. you’ve got your knees on either side of his thighs before you can put together that he’d lifted you into his lap.

you gasp again but don’t pull away, too caught up in your own heartbeat and the heat of iwa’s hands on your hips, seeping into your bones. he leans up into you, mouth hard on yours and breath heavy in between every rough push of his lips. you latch onto him, letting him nip and bite and suck. letting his tongue slide against yours, hot and wet and effortlessly good at provoking the addicting pulse of your own heartbeat between your thighs.

you whine and moan, too overwhelmed by these new sensations to have a sense of how loud you’re being, how loud your noises sound when they echo off of his walls. you’re wriggling without realizing it, your body reacting to him and wanting more. you shift your hips this way and that, and you push your chest flush to his, mindlessly craving the feeling of him.

he doesn’t laugh or comment or give any indication that you’re too much for him. he just holds you down in his lap while you move and swallows as many of your moans as he can. he just belts his arm around your waist tighter when you whine his name, that needy ‘haji’ echoing off his walls, too.

he just lets you pull away when you do, only steadying you so you don’t fall, because you’re gasping and burning with things you’ve never felt before when something hardens against your inner thigh.

“sorry,” he says roughly, his breathing uneven and forcing his chest to rise and fall in jagged pants. “can’t really help that part.”

you stare down at him with wide eyes. his cheeks are burning red, and his eyes are hazy and he won’t look at you properly, and his lips are wet and swollen and pink, so pretty in the dim light of the room. he’s got both hands on your body, still but firm, and his head is leaned back against the couch while he catches his breath.

“can i stay here tonight?” you just ask, quiet and nervous. his eyes fly to yours, alarmed and surprised, and you rush to explain. “my roommate asked me not to go back…”

“oh,” he breathes, relaxing a bit. “i thought you meant-“ he swallows. you try not to piece together the rest of his sentence, but it’s hard not to. “yeah, that’s fine. you can stay.”

“i can take the couch,” you offer. it’s empty, and he knows it’s empty, because he just smiles to himself and looks off into the kitchen.

“oh, you’ll take the couch?” he teases, snorting under his breath.

you purse your lips, ears burning. “if you want me to.”

“and if i don’t?”

silence stretches between you, and that burning feeling in your gut returns. your breath runs shallow, and your hands press just a little harder into his chest.

“then i guess i won’t.”

his eyes dart to his bed, still ruffled and warm, and then back to you. that olive green is heated — it melts you to your core, and you stand from his lap shakily. his eyes graze over you, landing on your trembling thighs and the way you press them together. he smiles to himself, clearly satisfied, but doesn’t say anything about it.

you do.

“uh-“ you stumble back when he stands, nearly tripping over his coffee table. he just grips your arms tight and pulls you back to him, chest to chest. “i’m not sure… what i’m-why i feel so-“

“you’re not sure?” he asks, quiet and dangerous against you. when you shake your head, unable to look him in the eye, he just grins, a little wicked. “none of those boys before me made you feel like this?”

none of those boys before me.

not quite friends, not quite more. not willing to specify, not willing to talk about it.

“no,” you breathe, eyes screwed shut. “first time.”

his inhale is sharp, sharp like the harsh tug of nerves in your navel.

“maybe you should sleep on the couch,” is all he says in response.

you don’t feel rejected, oddly enough.

—

things are back to normal. things are finally back to normal.

when hajime wakes the next morning, you’re still curled up on his couch. the small part of him that had worried that you would leave while he was asleep is appeased, and he makes you both fresh coffee and breakfast. he tries not to jump when he feels your forehead press between his shoulder blades, your body warm from sleep against his back while he cooks.

“can i shower?” you mumble sleepily. “got class at ten, and i look like a stripper.”

hajime snorts, glancing at the clock on the stove. it’s a quarter to nine. he nods. “grab whatever you want from my dresser.”

“thank you,” you breathe, and he thinks he feels your fingers ghost over his waist when you push off of him.

when you emerge from his bathroom, steam spilling into the room with you, he has to remind himself that you wearing his clothes isn’t new. he has to remember that he’s seen you like this before, that it’s normal.

you’re fixing a pair of his athletic shorts, adjusting the material on your hips and shifting his t-shirt around on your shoulders until it falls right. you smell like him, he thinks, when you sit beside him on the couch and pull the plate of eggs and bacon into your lap.

“thanks, haji,” you say sweetly, digging in.

god, your skin looks so good when it’s moist like that. he wants to run his tongue over your throat, to lick away the condensation and drops of water still lingering there. he wants to push his hands up against your torso and grope you while you whine his name, fingers hidden and doing terrible things under his own t-shirt. he wants to-

“haji,” you breathe, and he blinks hard, snapping out of it. you’re pursing your lips, your little smile overtaken by the warm rush of heat in your cheeks. “why are you staring at me?”

“i’m not,” he says immediately, lying straight to your face. “you smell nice.”

“i smell like you,” you giggle.

“well, then, i smell nice,” he barks, snatching his plate up and turning away from you, not even bothering to acknowledge how stupid he sounds. “what time’s your class?”

“ten,” you say, leaning forward with a teasing grin. “like i said earlier.”

right. you had said that earlier.

“well,” he snaps, hearing the edge in his own voice. he was right — you aren’t sensitive to it anymore. he doesn’t know why he doesn’t like that. “hurry up, then. i wanna go to the gym before my class.”

“okay,” you chirp, humming while you eat. “what’s your schedule today?”

that’s the first time you’ve asked since you got here.

“uh-“ he stutters, trying to remember his plan for the day. “class until two. clinic hours until four.”

“i’m busy until four, too,” you mumble. “i was thinking of going to that hiking club organizational meeting.”

he snorts into his coffee. “you hate exercise.”

“well, maybe i wanna branch out. try new things.” you say it jokingly, but he still cuts a hard glance at you.

if you’d said that to him yesterday, he would have thought you’d meant trying new things aside from him. away from him. try new people that aren’t him. he would have hated it, would have panicked.

today, he only watches you shrink under his gaze, embarrassed and shy and swallowing hard as you try not to be seen by him. he watches you come to understand the implications of your own words, alone in his apartment with him.

“never hurts to try new things,” he says simply. you meet his eyes, wide and laced with something he wants so badly to place as desire.

“yeah,” you mumble, nodding and fiddling with the string on his shorts. your breath is short, almost a pant, and hajime is only a little embarrassed to realize he’s half-hard in his sweats. “wanna try new things.”

everything’s back to normal.

—

at noon, he gets a text from you, asking if he wants to eat lunch with you and your friends.

his heart surges with excitement, because you really aren’t avoiding him anymore, and he responds that he would if he weren’t stuck in lab. but that he’ll pick you up and walk you to your next class if you want.

another test, just to make sure.

‘you don’t have time to eat??’ you say, and hajime can’t tell if this is a worried text or an accusatory one. if you’re upset he’s not eating or upset he’s not spending time with you.

he thinks of you being a little irrational, a little needy or angry with him for something he can’t control. pouting up at him with those pretty little lips, calling him ‘haji’ with a little attitude.

he has to turn away from his lab partner so he doesn’t see how hard hajime’s getting.

‘no time,’ he texts back, vague and offering nothing else. just to see. just to check. ‘but i’ll pick you up. is that fine with you?’

‘i guess.’ a minute passes, and then— ‘ill bring you some food, okay?? you gotta eat.’

you’re just worried, sweet and soft and pretty as ever. not giving him attitude. but, if he ignores that last message, he can pretend you are. he can pretend you’re as needy as he wishes you’d be, that pout sitting in front of his eyes while he finishes running the bio lab.

he makes it to the dining hall by 12:45, texting you quickly. you come outside with your friends, holding a tupperware of dining hall food, and he turns away, steadying his breath and trying to make it look like he hadn’t just run across campus for you. you introduce him to your roommate, and he smiles handsomely down at her. he doesn’t need to impress her — he’s been your best friend since you were learning to walk — but he knows girls talk. he wants her to think he’s good for you.

she shoots you a look of approval and whispers ‘so this is your man’ when she thinks he’s too busy opening the tupperware to notice, and hajime knows he’s cleared the bar. you nudge her, and he makes a point of getting distracted by the chicken stir fry you packed for him, just so he can hear you mumble ‘shut up’ in that embarrassed way he loves so much.

“thanks,” he says plainly, capping the plastic container. “i would’ve had to subsist on clinic granola bars until dinner.”

you pout, and he laments that it’s sweet but not the one he craves. “that’s no good,” you say, stepping close — too close to be friendly — and tugging on his sleeve. “don’t they teach you about nutrition in the exercise major?”

“sports science,” he corrects with a mocking edge, and then he flicks his eyes to your roommate. she’s watching the two of you with her arms crossed, a knowingly smirk spreading across her face. she can see something you can’t, something hajime wishes you would. “and the clinic granola bars are nutritious.”

“i’ll get you something from now on,” you say with finality, so deliciously close to demanding, and he just lifts his brows with a smirk.

“yes, ma’am,” he whispers, forcing a grin down when your face starts to radiate heat.

“okay,” your roommate says, clapping. “i’m leaving.”

you turn to her, eyes wide. “we’re going to the same class.”

“yeah, but-“ her eyes find his, and he knows she can see how badly he wants to be alone with you. “-i’m not in the mood to third wheel. that guy from last night is ghosting me.”

“third wheel-“ you protest, mouth open dumbly, and she just kisses you on the cheek.

“see you in ten, babe.”

you turn to him once she’s gone. he doesn’t bother to hide the smug grin on his face.

“coffee?” he says innocently, checking his watch. “i can make it happen in three minutes.”

you flush, but you don’t do more than mumble ‘jerk’ under your breath before following him. he laughs, picking at his new lunch while he walks you.

neither of you address why he’s so smug, why you’re so embarrassed.

why the air between you is so charged, something so very acknowledged and unacknowledged at the same time, something so obvious that it’s left unsaid.

—

you find him in the library after your club meeting. ‘third floor stacks’ is what he’d texted you when your meeting had gone over time, and you’re wandering the dark aisles of the empty stacks now, searching for him.

“third floor stacks,” you mutter to yourself. “couldn’t be more specific?”

“did you need me to be?”

you scream, the sound sharp and echoing, and whirl around. iwa’s poking his head out of one of the aisles, one you’d already looked into. you must have missed his shadow in the dark.

“haji, no one uses the stacks.” you stomp over to him, huffing in annoyance as you drop your backpack at your feet. “it’s creepy and dark and full of spiders in here.”

“it’s also where the books are,” he teases, and you realize he’s got a small stack of health sciences textbooks at his feet. “how was hiking club?”

“good,” you say, surveying the shelves around you. “there’s a retreat in a couple weeks. getting to know each other or something.”

he hums, crouching and scanning the titles. “sounds fun – if you like hiking, i guess.”

“i could like hiking.”

“you could, yeah. but do you?” he chuckles when you sniff in annoyance at him. “let me know when you figure it out.”

“there’s a meeting this weekend,” you offer. “going to a trail nearby, something for beginners, apparently.”

“take enough water. and food. and a hat and sunscreen.” he rattles the list off distractedly, and you get the feeling he’s reading out of a mental textbook.

“i’m asking if you wanna go,” you sigh, standing over him and digging the toe of your shoe into the linoleum. he blinks away his to-do list now, his eyes clearing as he looks up at you.

when he stands, towering over you now, it takes everything in you not to wither. because he’s got his short sleeves rolled up to his shoulder, a habit since high school, and his jeans are dark and fit him just right. and there’s writing on the inside of his left forearm, the call numbers for books he needs scribbled impatiently in black pen.

and he smells good and is standing close and has eyes that make you want to fold like a lawn chair. and he’s smirking, those stupid lips curling in a way that makes you ache for him, and his warmth — the heat he always radiates without trying — is washing over you. making you feel drunk.

drunk, still hoping uselessly that he can’t tell. hoping he can’t see the fog in your head, reflected in some traitorous haze in your eyes. hoping you’re not drooling, because it feels like you are.

hoping you’re not imagining that he’s stepping closer to you, his gaze cast down his nose and burning right through you.

“i dunno about that,” he says, barely above a whisper. “it’s not really my thing.”

“you’re athletic,” you argue weakly, hearing your own words slur in your ears. “be athletic.”

“i play club volleyball twice a week.”

“but you don’t hike. different muscle groups.”

“is that right?” he chuckles. the sound goes straight between your legs. “you got a source for that?”

“haji,” you whine. you know how you sound, but you’re starting not to care. you’d been desperate to hide your feelings for him before — your attraction, spilling off of you in thick waves. now you’re just desperate for him, and he’d shown you last night that that’s okay. that it’s allowed.

it shouldn’t be allowed. you’ll stop trying to control yourself if it’s allowed.

“yeah?” he asks, and you know for sure this time that he’s stepping closer.

“please?” you say, tilting your mouth up toward his, an invitation.

he doesn’t take it. you wait a moment, just in case, but he just stares down at you expectantly. you frown.

“haji,” you ask again — beg, really.

he just lifts his eyebrows. “you haven’t told me what you want.”

your frown deepens. he watches it happen. “you know what i want.”

“do i?” he smiles, tilting his head to the side and pretending to be confused. your impatience grows. “i’m not sure i do.”

you can’t help it. you stomp your foot. you stomp your foot like a spoiled princess and glare up at him. “don’t be mean-"

and then you gasp, loud and echoing in the aisle, because he’s grabbing you by the hips and pinning you roughly to the shelf.

“h-hey,” you stutter, laughing nervously up at him. he’s staring down at you with molten eyes, excitement dancing in his gaze and making his hands tighten on your waist. a shock of nerves courses down your spine. you don’t know what this is, but there’s a tug in the pit of your stomach that tells you you don’t hate it. you don’t hate it at all.

“who're you talkin’ to like that?” he asks, laughing quietly in your face. “you’ve never been the bratty type.”

“‘m not bratty,” you argue. the tick of light in his gaze makes it clear that you’re making it worse. “i’m telling you what i want-”

“mm-mm,” he argues, dipping his head low and brushing his nose against yours. his eyes drop to your lips. “you’re really not. but you’re free to remind me.”

“haji,” you complain, feeling embarrassed. embarrassed that he’s pegged you for what you are — desperate.

when his lips brush against your ear, you latch onto his biceps to keep yourself upright.

“you’re never this shy, you know,” he whispers. “you’re usually a little too honest.” you pant against him, arching your back and pressing your chest against his. something hard pushes against your hip, but you know now that that’s a good thing. that it’s good when iwaizumi hajime feels like that.

“ask me,” he breathes, dropping his lips to a spot under your ear. his breath makes you shiver. “ask me what happens in the stacks.”

your breath catches audibly, and you shift unconsciously against him, all too aware of the quiet grunt he lets out when you press your hips against his.

“h-have you ever been here with a girl?” you ask, your face on fire and your eyes pricking with humiliation. “in the s-stacks?”

he smiles, irritatingly pleased. you realize that the rough edge doesn’t need to be in his voice for you to feel pushed around by him. bullied by him.

you don’t know how to tell him that this is the feeling you’ve been waiting for.

“no, i can’t say i have,” he mumbles, shaking his head. your heart jumps at the admission. “do you wanna try it out with me?”

“yes,” you breathe, immediate and wanton and embarrassing. “yes, please.”

his lips are so rewarding, brutal and rude on yours. he forces his tongue past the seam of your lips without warning you, but you open up for him gratefully, and he moans into your mouth, praise to your ears.

“haji?” you ask when he breaks away, breathless and unable to think about much except for the searing hot line he’s kissing down your throat.

“hm?” he asks distractedly, and you realize only when his teeth scrape against your skin that he’s marking the same place that the blond guy had last night. covering any trace of another man on your skin.

“you’ve really never been in here with anyone?” he shakes his head, and shivers start at the crown of your head and spill down your body when he passes his tongue over the spot he’s just bitten down on. “then—how many girls have you been with?”

he snorts when you ask, but you can feel his arms tense under your fingertips. he sets one hand on the shelf behind you, caging you in. “you really want me to answer that?”

he’s nervous. he doesn’t want to tell you.

you definitely want to know now.

“yes,” you say, your voice wavering — because he’s sucking on a spot that makes your knees weak — but you say it with certainty. “tell me.”

he sighs, rough and a little frustrated, and pulls away to look you in the eye. his brows are furrowed.

“four. but you can’t be mad.” you are mad. your chest swells with jealousy, green and ugly. he must see it, because his mouth — pretty and swollen from kissing you — sets into a hard line as he stares down at you. “you dated after i left, y/n. you can't be mad.”

he’s mad, too.

that shouldn’t make you as giddy as it does.

you lift your brows, leveling him with a smug smile. your nerves flip in your stomach, strong and swooping over each other in uneven turns, but you lean up into his face, anyway. “not mad.” he scoffs in disbelief. your heart dances when he glares down at you like that. “just want you to teach me.”

his eyebrows fly to his hairline, clearly surprised with the turn this conversation’s taking. but there’s something in his eyes that conflicts with it. something that makes you think he might have been wanting you to ask.

when he looks at you like that, asking doesn’t seem so hard.

“please, haji?” you whisper, holding out against the heated look he’s giving you. “teach me?”

he looks devastatingly interested, eyes stuck on your mouth, but he still protests. he still protects you, still keeps you innocent.

“if you cross that line with me, you can’t take it back,” he murmurs, almost like he's reluctant to say it.

you just lean into him, arms around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair. “don’t wanna cross it with anyone else.”

“christ,” he breathes, his sigh warm and promising on your skin.

footsteps sound behind him, only a few aisles away. iwa steps away from you, eyes hot on yours as he leans against the opposite shelf. your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you glance at it quickly. your roommate’s asking about dinner.

when you look up again, he’s trailing his eyes down your body shamelessly. you just bend and scoop up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. his eyes find yours, brows lifting curiously.

“bye, haji,” you whisper teasingly, grinning when he narrows his eyes at you.

you hear him sigh loudly when you turn the corner, his breath coming out in a sharp ‘fucking shit’. your face burns with nervous excitement the entire walk to dinner.

taglist: open! add yourself here

@gangsterthomasbrodie @feiwelinchen

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime

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ena-writes-stuff · 2 months ago

Text

— unscheduled break.

˒ ⌕ with his work consuming more of his time, the special evenings you once shared become rare. feeling the strain of this separation, you decide to visit him during a livestream.

— warnings: smut, female reader, use of his real name

— words count: 2.3k

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He had warned you an hour ago that he was going to start a stream on his secret Twitch channel. It was a well-established routine: every now and then, he would lock himself in his office to dedicate a few hours to livestreaming, attending meetings, or even catching up on emails. During these periods, you chose to stay in his room, using the time to work or study something that needed to be resolved.

Despite the routine often feeling solitary, there was a valuable compensation: when evening arrived, after dinner, you knew you would get to enjoy moments together. It was a special time reserved just for the two of you, a moment you eagerly anticipated. It was during these hours that you could snuggle in his arms, feel his warmth and scent, and be enveloped in a comforting embrace. Sleeping next to him, feeling his scent mix with yours, made everything sweeter and more meaningful. These little things, these shared moments, were what made the wait and loneliness of the day more bearable and gave purpose to the time spent apart.

But, since last week, things had changed drastically. The frequency of your time together had decreased significantly. He was increasingly busy with work, and this extra load was causing a misalignment in your schedules. There were days when you would wake up early in the morning and find his office still lit, with him immersed in his work. It seemed that instead of starting his day by your side, he was beginning earlier and ending later. Other times, you would be woken up in the middle of the night when he tried to get into bed in the dark, after you had spent hours waiting for him and eventually falling asleep.

He had promised to make up for the lost time, to find a way to get things back to normal, but that promise seemed distant and increasingly unlikely. The special moments that used to mark the end of the day, the cuddles at night, now felt like a distant echo of a time that was no longer a reality. The longing for those hours together grew each day, and the time that once seemed so well-balanced between work and personal life was now heavily tilted towards work and stress. The yearning increased, and you had the chance to have a few minutes with him at that moment, if you could manage to stay quiet enough. The desire to be by his side, even for a brief moment, was intense, and your heart pounded with anticipation for the reunion.

So you decided to do something that had long remained just a timid, almost impossible thought at the back of your mind. Entering his workspace, even for a fleeting moment, was a risk you were willing to take. The room was silent except for the constant sound of the keyboard and Alexis' own loud voice. As you opened the door, you made sure the creak was as discreet as possible. The door itself made a low noise, a sharp sound that seemed to fill the space for a moment, but not enough to penetrate the ambient noise and reach the microphone picking up your beloved's voice.

“Hey, babe,” his voice softly echoed as he finally turned to face you. Despite the visible exhaustion on his face, he seemed determined to keep up with his work marathon. The idea of playing Fortnite for two hours as part of the job seemed surreal, but it was the reality of the moment. “I’m still live, and I think after this, I have a meeting with—”

The conversation was taking a direction you were familiar with. Your eyes wandered between your boyfriend’s face, the muted microphone, and his two computer screens. On one of them, the Fortnite game continued; his character was standing still, a clear indication that he had stopped focusing on the game to pay attention to you. The screens' glow reflected off the glass screen, mixing with the fatigue in his eyes.

“I miss you,” you said, your voice heavy with the sincerity of your feelings.

He blinked, as if the simple recognition of your desire for connection had awakened a new level of awareness in him. “I miss you so much too, my dear,” he replied with a tired smile. “Just a little longer, and the stream will end. After that, we can meet and talk more.”

“No,” you cut off the idea, with a slightly whiny tone, not wanting to think about when that would actually happen, allowing yourself the luxury of ignoring any other complaints or excuses he might make. “Here. Now.”

The words came out softly, almost a whisper, as you moved closer, your body gently leaning toward him. Your lips sought his with a touch of delicacy, as if they were made of the same ethereal material as dreams. The kiss started soft and exploratory, the taste of his sweet kiss filling your tongue, as you indulged in a subtle game of intimacy.

Alexis, in turn, responded with an instinctive caress on your waist, his hands sliding slowly in an affectionate gesture. He wasted no time giving in to the kiss he had been longing for, his emotions spilling into a deep and genuine kiss. Each touch, each movement, seemed like an unspoken promise, a reaffirmation of the desire that had grown between you. The moment extended, the connection between you both strengthening with each passing second, while the world around seemed to disappear, reduced to a sequence of soft sighs.

“It’s better if we stop; I think chat is already missing me…” Despite the frustration of losing contact and pleasure, you merely nodded, acknowledging that he was right and that it was the best course of action. The tingling sensation you felt as you dragged the back of his hand across your cheek brought immediate relief, as if a painter was spreading colors on a blank canvas. He really knew you, inside and out. “But I’m really tempted to just…” he whispered, not needing to finish the sentence for you to understand what he was thinking.

He wore a black pair of shorts that contrasted his tanned skin, and on top, he had a tank top, both of which screamed 'comfort' when you looked at him. His dark hair was tied in a ponytail, a move that must have been a daily routine. With a mix of curiosity and boldness, you gently brushed my fingers against the sudden bulge that had formed between his thighs. The intimate contact was undeniable, and after so long of abstinence, he was putty in your hands.

Your palms slightly tingled with the power it gave you; as a studious and outspoken individual, this kind of control was intoxicating, if not a bit unexpected.

“My love, can you please help me out?”

As Alexis’ voice zapped through your system, your legs betrayed you, buckling underneath your weight. Like a marionette pulled by strings, you tumbled to the floor in front of his office chair. A fiery wave of desire blossomed within you, an urgency to kneel and serve him, to satisfy his every whim. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the keys of his keyboard, his voice quivering as he tried to string together an excuse for the delay. He knew he was failing, couldn't hide the truth: you being to obey, to give in to his demands, all while he broadcasted to his viewers who were oblivious to the situation. The lack of webcam, a small mercy, spared them the spectacle.

Your heart raced, nerves and hunger warring within you. Sweat dampened your skin, the clinging tendrils of your hair a reminder of your flustered state. The thought of pleasing him, of serving him, sent a shiver down your spine as you lowered his pants, the underwear he was wearing followed suit, revealing his erect manhood that seemed to be craving for your touch. With your heart racing, you stood there for a moment, taking in the sight before you, your gaze lingering on the pulsating flesh that begged for attention.

Lovely.

Your mouth moved to his throbbing member, lips wrapping around it as your tongue teased the sensitive tip. You swallowed greedily, desperate to take him in, before pulling back to tease. Your hand joined in, skillfully caressing his length in a rhythmic dance. You were eager and satisfied, ready to serve.

As your eyes watered, you tried to keep your focus, swallowing hard as you felt the thick cock invade the recesses of your throat. The sudden force caught you off guard, but you couldn't show it. Your gaze flicked to Alexis’ face, a silent reminder of where you were, a girl with her mouth full, sucking off your boyfriend that tried his best to focus on the game and not to moan in pleasure. Your hands worked diligently, gripping his shaft tightly. You caressed him fervently, your fingers playing teasingly with his heavy, aching balls. With each stroke, you reminded yourself why you were doing this — for him. Your tongue danced eagerly along his length, willing to give him everything he craved.

You fixated on his every reaction and micro expression, drinking in the visuals he provided. Your attention was abruptly pulled away when he let out a dangerously loud whimper. Your hands flew to his mouth, shushing him. "You're being too loud, baby," You whispered, your lips curling into a soft, amused smile. You watched as he hurriedly muted the microphone, the shuddering moan that escaped him only further fueling your excitement when you saw he unmuted again. "Hush, love. Quiet, remember?" You reminded him, keeping your voice low.

You watched as Alexis nodded, the rocking motion coming to him with ease. You could sense the rising pleasure within him, and though he strained to suppress it, soft whimpers and gasps of air still managed to escape. Your hand found its way to his thigh, gently squeezing and whispering, "Shhh, shh, baby. I know it feels good, baby."

It became increasingly clear that the intense pleasure his body was experiencing was taking a toll on his performance. Sure enough, he lost another match in the game, slamming his hand against the table in what could have been frustration from losing, or an attempt to alleviate the mounting arousal. The tension in the room was almost palpable.

"FUCK!" Alexis screamed, gripping a fistful of your hair and forcefully pushing his erection against your face. In a split second, he decided on a plan — pretending to be so enraged the he’d cut the live stream. He reached for his computer, shutting down the stream as his cock invaded your mouth once again. Now it was just the two of you and that was the perfect moment that you would be able to worship him.

He fixed his gaze in your eyes, being able to see the way you stared at him. The look of his own perdition. He sighed heavily, moving his hip while the low moans escaped. For a moment, he tilted his head back, just feeling the pleasurable sensations that ran through his body when he had your tongue sliding so well through his cock.

You really knew how to drive him crazy with your touches and if for some moment he thought he didn’t, he had been too foolish. His cock went in and out of your mouth easily, he was already in ecstasy, fucking on cloud nine.

There was a sheer ecstasy that washed over his face. His body trembled, a testament to the intense delight that consumed him. Drunk with lust, he succumbed, the intensity of his orgasm palpable between you. He allowed himself to spill any drop of sperm into your throat, letting the overwhelming sensation take over him.

Your gaze drifted to Alexis, who had collapsed into his chair, his body slick with perspiration. His heavy breaths echoed in the silence of his office. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, leaving a smear of moisture in its wake. You couldn't help but notice the flushed hue that spread across his features, a testament to the pleasure he'd just experienced.

Observing him in this vulnerable state brought a twisted sense of satisfaction, knowing that he, the studious and outspoken one, was now rendered weak.

He finally looked down, his eyes expressing a mix of concern and regret as he observed the uncomfortable situation you were in. "Shit, I'm sorry, my love…" he murmured, his voice laden with remorse, as he carefully lowered himself to hold your hands. With a gentle and protective gesture, he began helping you to rise, offering support and trying to alleviate the discomfort you had been enduring for the past few minutes. "Come here, sit on my lap," he said with a voice that conveyed tenderness and a genuine desire to make you feel better. He adjusted his position to ensure that you were comfortable and secure, his gaze fixed on you with a care that seemed to say more than words could express.

And that’s how you both finally managed to enjoy the lost time. You were comfortably seated on Alexis's lap, feeling the softness of his touches and the sincerity of his affection. Each tender kiss on your shoulder and each sweet word whispered in your ear seemed to fill the space between you with a renewed and profound intimacy.

As you settled into Alexis’ embrace, a new perspective began to emerge.

Maybe interrupting him at work from time to time wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

#quackity x reader #quackity fanfic #quackity smut #quackity #quackityhq #alex quackity #quackity drabble #quackity imagine #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #qsmp x reader

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

Text

Die With a Smile

Charles Leclerc x death!Reader

Summary: desperation is a dangerous thing — six seasons without a World Drivers’ Championship has left Charles willing to do anything for glory … even pay the ultimate price (or in which Charles Leclerc sacrifices everything for Ferrari and, thanks to you, learns that death is nothing like he expected)

Warnings: major character death

Charles Leclerc has always been one for precision. Calculated. Calm. But now? Now there’s nothing left. Precision has eroded into a recklessness that terrifies and excites him in equal measure. The pursuit of glory is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Melbourne is hot, the air thick and sticky with anticipation. He stands in the paddock, helmet in hand, eyes tracing over the sea of faces. Reporters, mechanics, engineers — all of them moving with purpose. The season begins here, but he can’t shake this feeling that something else is starting too.

He frowns, scanning the crowd again. Something — or someone — has caught his attention.

You stand there, leaning against a barrier, watching him. Quiet, still. You don’t belong in this chaos, yet somehow, you fit. It's not like the usual glances from fans or the admiring stares from strangers. No, this is different. He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you pulls him in, like a thread slowly unraveling.

His grip tightens around the helmet. “Who’s that?” He mutters under his breath, half to himself, half to anyone nearby.

Pierre, standing a few feet away, catches the tail end of his question and follows his gaze. “Who?”

“There.” Charles nods subtly toward you. You’re still there, eyes locked on him. Unblinking. He swallows hard.

Pierre shrugs, oblivious. “No clue. Probably a fan or something. You good?”

Charles doesn’t answer. You’re not a fan. You’re something else. His heart thuds in his chest, a slow, deliberate beat, like a countdown. He can almost hear it. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“I’m fine,” he says, but the words feel empty. He’s not fine. He feels like he’s balancing on the edge of something dangerous, and you’re the reason why.

Suddenly, the world around him — the voices, the clamor of the paddock — fades, and it’s just you and him. You, watching him with a calmness that unnerves him. And him, standing there, frozen, unable to look away.

“I’ll see you after the race,” Pierre says, giving him a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. Charles doesn’t even register his friend’s departure.

He doesn’t move, his body rooted to the spot as if some unseen force has pinned him in place. It’s stupid. Ridiculous. Why can’t he look away?

There’s a flicker in your eyes — something fleeting, something dark. His pulse quickens. He knows that look. He’s seen it before, in mirrors, in the faces of men with nothing left to lose.

But you … you wear it differently. Effortlessly.

Charles takes a step toward you. His boots hit the asphalt with a dull thud, and suddenly, he’s walking, moving through the crowd without really seeing anyone. His focus narrows, sharp and deadly. He can feel it, the pull, the way his every step is dragging him closer to something he can’t explain.

And then he’s standing in front of you.

You don’t smile. You don’t say anything. You just watch him, your expression unreadable, like you’re waiting for something.

His throat is dry. “Who are you?”

For a moment, silence stretches between you, thick and unyielding. And then you tilt your head, ever so slightly, as if considering the question.

“Does it matter?” Your voice is soft, almost too soft, but it cuts through the noise around them like a blade.

He blinks, thrown off balance. He expected — he doesn’t know what he expected. Something more. Something less. But not this.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing hard, “I think it does.”

You shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest, but your eyes never leave his. “And why is that?”

He hesitates. Why does it matter? He’s not sure. All he knows is that standing here, with you in front of him, he feels something heavy pressing down on him. Like time is slipping through his fingers, like he’s running out of chances, running out of-

“You’re in my head,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you in my head?”

You don’t answer right away, but your gaze sharpens, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. “Maybe because you’ve been looking for me.”

His breath catches. “What?”

“You don’t realize it yet, but you’ve been waiting for this. For me.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He feels like the ground beneath him is shifting, like everything he thought he knew about himself is crumbling.

“You’re wrong,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. “I’m not waiting for anything.”

You raise an eyebrow, and for the first time, a ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s not a kind smile. It’s knowing. Cold.

“Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. The world around them feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker, like it’s closing in on him.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

That sound again. It’s louder now, reverberating in his skull.

“You’re scared,” you say, and it’s not a question.

“I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but no words come out. Because you’re right. He is scared. But not of you. He’s scared of what you represent. Of the way his pulse pounds in his ears, the way his chest feels tight with something he doesn’t understand.

And you know it. You see right through him.

“This season,” you say, your voice low, “it’s your last, isn’t it?”

He stiffens. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t expect to come out of this alive.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter, hollow. “I don’t have a choice. I either win, or …”

“Or you die.”

His breath hitches. The way you say it, so matter-of-fact, so final — it shakes him. Because it’s true. He’s been feeling it for months, this gnawing sense that if he doesn’t win the championship, there’s nothing left for him. He’ll push until he breaks. And he doesn’t care anymore.

But how do you know that? How could you possibly know?

“You don’t get to decide that,” he snaps, more harshly than he intends.

You don’t flinch. “You’re right. I don’t.”

The implication hangs between you, unspoken but loud. There’s something inevitable about this. Something neither of you can control.

He takes a step back, suddenly needing space, air — anything to break the tension building between you. But even as he moves, he can still feel the weight of your gaze on him, can still hear the ticking in his head, louder and louder, counting down to something he can’t escape.

“You’re wrong,” he says again, though this time, it’s more for himself than for you. “I’ll win. I’ll be fine.”

You don’t argue. You just watch him, that cold, knowing smile still playing at the edges of your lips.

“We’ll see,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

And just like that, you turn and walk away, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as you appeared, leaving him standing there, heart racing, mind spinning.

He should be focusing on the race. On the championship. On everything he’s spent his entire life chasing.

But all he can think about is you. And the way his time feels like it’s running out.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

***

The roar of the engine fills his ears, drowning out everything else. The speed is intoxicating, the way the car moves beneath him, barely hanging on to the asphalt, the tires biting into the corners with every turn. He’s pushing harder than he should — he knows it, and he doesn’t care.

Spa is unforgiving today. The clouds hang low, threatening rain, and the track is slick, treacherous. Charles feels the tension in his body, every muscle taut, every nerve on edge. There’s no margin for error here. He’s on the edge, teetering, dancing with disaster. But that’s where he’s been living for months now — on the edge.

He downshifts hard coming out of Blanchimont, the rear of the car twitching beneath him. His heart pounds against his ribcage. He’s faster than he needs to be — faster than is safe. But he can’t let up. The rest of the field is closing in, and the gap between him and the car ahead is shrinking. Just a little more, just-

Then, suddenly, the car snaps.

A violent jolt sends him skidding off the track, the rear tires giving way, and for a brief, horrifying second, he loses control. The world tilts, and all he sees is the blur of gravel and barriers rushing toward him. Instinct takes over. His hands are a blur on the steering wheel as he fights to regain control. The tires scream against the ground, the car skidding sideways, throwing him against the seat belts with bone-rattling force.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his heart pounding in his throat. He’s losing it, the car sliding further into the runoff area, the barrier looming closer.

But then — somehow — he recovers. The car snaps back into line, and he breathes out a shaky breath, his knuckles white from gripping the wheel. He’s back on the track, the car steady beneath him, but his heart is still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Charles, are you okay?” His engineer’s voice crackles through the radio, tense and urgent.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he’s not fine. His hands are trembling, his vision is still blurred with the image of the gravel, the barrier — the almost crash. For a split second, he saw it. Saw what could have happened. What should have happened if his reflexes hadn’t kicked in.

He pulls the car to a slow halt, off the track now, coming to rest just inside the gravel trap. The engine hums, a low, steady sound that does nothing to calm him.

He sits there, breathing heavily, his head resting against the seat, eyes closed. He’s been reckless before, but this? This was different. He came so close to-

And then he feels it.

A presence.

His eyes snap open, and there you are. Standing just beyond the fence, not more than twenty feet from where his car rests. You’re watching him, the same way you did in Melbourne, your gaze locked on him with that unnerving calm that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s imagining it. The adrenaline is still pumping, his mind is spinning, and maybe — just maybe — you’re a hallucination. But no. You’re real. You’re standing there, just beyond the track, watching him.

His breath catches in his throat.

“Charles, talk to us. Do you need assistance?” His engineer’s voice comes through the radio again, but he can’t respond. He’s frozen, staring at you through the shattered remnants of the race.

“Charles?” The voice repeats, more urgent now.

But he can’t tear his eyes away from you.

You tilt your head slightly, as if you’re considering something, as if you’re weighing his fate in your hands. And then, without a word, you take a step closer to the fence, your eyes never leaving his.

“Not yet,” you say, your voice somehow carrying through the din, through the chaos of the race and the pounding of his heart. It’s soft, almost a whisper, but he hears it as clearly as if you’re standing right next to him. “But soon.”

His blood runs cold.

He knows what you mean. He knows, deep down, that this is a warning. He can feel it, the weight of it pressing down on him, like the ticking of a clock in the back of his mind, counting down to something inevitable.

He swallows hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the words stick in his throat. “Who — who are you?” He manages to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t answer. You never answer. Instead, you just watch him, your expression unreadable, like you already know how this ends.

The world around him feels distant now, like everything is moving in slow motion. The sound of the engines, the cheers of the crowd — it all fades into the background, leaving just you and him, locked in this strange, silent moment.

“Charles, we need you to respond,” the engineer’s voice cuts in again, breaking the spell for just a second.

He fumbles for the radio, his hand shaking as he presses the button. “I’m — I’m fine,” he says, his voice strained. “Give me a minute.”

There’s a pause on the other end, but they don’t push him further. Not yet.

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to make sense of what’s happening. He’s been reckless, yes. But this? This feels like more than just a close call. This feels like a warning. Like you’re here to remind him of something he’s been trying to ignore.

“Why are you here?” He asks, his voice barely audible over the hum of the car.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. But your eyes — they tell him everything. You’re here because of him. Because of the choices he’s making, the risks he’s taking. You’re here because he’s running out of time.

“You said … in Melbourne …” His voice trails off as he struggles to find the words. He remembers what you said. That he’s been looking for you, even if he didn’t realize it. That his time was running out.

And now, here you are. Again. Watching him.

“I don’t need you,” he says suddenly, his voice rising with a mixture of anger and fear. “I’m not done yet.”

Your expression doesn’t change. You don’t flinch. It’s as if you’ve heard these words a thousand times before.

“I will win,” he says, more to himself than to you. “I’m going to win.”

You take a step closer to the fence, your gaze unwavering. “We’ll see.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and final. He can’t tell if it’s a promise or a threat. Maybe it’s both.

He clenches his fists around the steering wheel, the leather cool against his skin. He wants to shout at you, to demand answers, to make you go away. But deep down, he knows you’re not the kind of thing you can just wish away. You’re something else. Something bigger. Something he doesn’t understand.

And yet, you’re here. Watching. Waiting.

“I don’t have a choice,” he mutters, his voice breaking. “I have to win.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The truth is already hanging between you.

Tick. Tock.

He can hear it again. That ticking. It’s louder now, more insistent, like the hands of a clock speeding up, racing toward some unseen finish line.

Charles shakes his head, as if trying to clear the sound from his mind. But it’s no use. The ticking is there, buried deep in his skull, a reminder that time is slipping away.

“I can still do this,” he whispers, almost desperately. “I can still win.”

Your gaze softens, just for a moment, and he wonders if you feel sorry for him. If you pity him.

“Maybe,” you say, and it’s the closest thing to compassion he’s heard from you. “But at what cost?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die in his throat. Because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what it will cost him. He doesn’t want to know.

You take one last, lingering look at him, your eyes scanning his face as if memorizing every detail, and then you turn, your figure disappearing into the haze of the track, swallowed up by the world beyond the fence.

He sits there, still trembling, still shaken. His fingers slowly unclench from the steering wheel, and he lets out a long, ragged breath.

“Charles?” His engineer’s voice again, but softer this time. “Are you okay? We’re ready to bring you back in.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His mind is still reeling, still stuck in that moment when you stood there, just beyond the fence, watching him. Judging him.

“I’m coming in,” he finally says, his voice hoarse.

The car hums back to life as he nudges it forward, back onto the track. But his hands are still shaking. His pulse is still racing.

And in the back of his mind, the ticking continues.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

***

The rain is relentless in Suzuka. Sheets of water hammer down on the track, turning every corner into a hazard, every straight into a test of nerve. The spray from the tires rises like smoke, blurring the lines between the asphalt and the dark sky.

Charles can barely see more than a few meters in front of him, but he doesn’t let up. His foot is heavy on the throttle, fingers gripping the wheel like a lifeline. He’s teetering on the edge of control, dancing that fine line between dangerous and deadly.

Every lap feels like a gamble. He’s driving blind, trusting the car to hold steady, trusting himself not to make a mistake. But the mistakes are creeping in. He can feel it. The tires are slipping, the rear end twitching beneath him as he pushes harder, faster. The rain pounds against his helmet, and the world outside the cockpit is a chaotic blur of water and noise.

“Charles, we need you to back off,” his engineer’s voice crackles through the radio, thick with concern. “Conditions are getting worse.”

He doesn’t respond. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, every muscle in his body tense, every instinct screaming at him to keep pushing. He knows the risks. He knows what’s at stake. But slowing down isn’t an option. Not for him.

“Charles, can you hear me?” The voice comes again, more insistent this time.

He blinks, his vision briefly clearing through the rain. And then he sees it.

A figure. Just beyond the barriers, standing at the edge of the track, half-obscured by the downpour. At first, it’s just a blur of motion, but as he hurtles closer, the figure sharpens into focus.

His breath catches in his throat. It can’t be.

Jules.

It’s impossible, but there he is — Jules Bianchi, standing on the side of the track, just where the runoff ends and the grass begins, his face calm, serene. Just like Charles remembers him. His heart leaps into his throat, a wave of emotion crashing over him, threatening to overwhelm him.

“Jules?” He whispers, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine.

He blinks, just for a second. But when his eyes open again, Jules is gone. And in his place, there’s you.

Charles’ chest tightens, his hands shaking on the wheel as the car skids slightly on the wet track. You’re standing where Jules was, your gaze locked on him, calm and unyielding. The rain pours down around you, but you don’t move. You don’t blink. You just watch him, lap after lap.

“What the hell …” His voice cracks, his heart pounding harder than it should.

He can’t take his eyes off you, not even as the car barrels down the straight. The rain is coming down harder now, a relentless torrent that threatens to drown him in its fury. His mind spins, struggling to make sense of what he’s seeing. First Jules, now you — both of you standing there, on the edge of the track like ghosts from different parts of his life, haunting him.

Lap after lap, you’re there. Always in the same spot, just beyond the barrier, watching him. He blinks through the rain, but you never leave.

“Charles, please, respond,” his engineer’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with worry. “You need to slow down. The rain’s too heavy. We’re going to box.”

“I’m fine,” Charles snaps, his voice strained. “I’m staying out.”

He can hear the hesitation in the silence that follows. They don’t want to argue with him — not now, not when he’s like this. But he knows they’re watching, knows they can see the telemetry, knows they can see that he’s pushing the car beyond its limits.

He doesn’t care. He has to keep going. He has to — for Jules.

But why are you here? Why now? Why after Jules?

His hands shake on the wheel as he takes another corner too fast, the rear tires sliding out before he regains control. His heart is racing, his mind a mess of emotions, and still — you’re there. You’re always there.

Charles grits his teeth, his jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “What do you want from me?” He mutters under his breath, his voice trembling. He knows you can’t hear him, not through the roar of the engine and the crash of rain, but it doesn’t matter. You’re in his head now. You’ve been in his head since Melbourne.

And now, Jules too?

It’s almost too much. The memories of his godfather crash over him, a flood of grief and guilt he’s been pushing down for years. Jules’ voice, his smile, the way he believed in Charles even when Charles didn’t believe in himself.

But Jules is gone. Has been for a long time.

So why did he see him?

“Charles, box, box,” the radio crackles, cutting through his thoughts again.

“I said no!” He snaps, his voice sharper than he intended. His breath is coming fast, too fast, his chest tight with something he can’t name.

He takes the next corner harder than he should, the car sliding dangerously close to the wall. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his body tense, rigid. His mind is racing — too fast, too chaotic. The rain pounds harder against the car, and visibility is almost zero now, the track a slick, treacherous river beneath him.

And then, as he speeds past the spot where you stand, something shifts.

He swears he hears your voice. Soft, almost a whisper, but unmistakable. “Charles.”

It’s like ice down his spine. His heart skips a beat, his grip faltering for just a second.

He jerks the wheel, the car sliding as he corrects it, narrowly avoiding the barrier. His pulse is racing, his breathing erratic. He glances toward where you’re standing, but you don’t move. Don’t say anything else. Just watch. Always watching.

“Damn it,” he mutters, his heart pounding so loud he can barely hear anything else. “Damn it!”

The ticking is back. That familiar, maddening sound in the back of his mind. It’s been there for months now, growing louder, more insistent with every race, every lap. And now it’s deafening, drowning out everything else, a reminder of the time slipping through his fingers.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“You’re running out of time.”

Your voice echoes in his head, soft and calm, but laced with something darker. Something inevitable.

“I know!” He shouts, his voice hoarse, desperate. He knows he’s running out of time. He’s known it for months. Every race, every moment, feels like it’s pulling him closer to the edge, closer to you.

But he won’t stop. He can’t stop.

Jules wouldn’t want him to.

The thought of Jules — of his godfather, watching him, believing in him — gives him a surge of strength. He clenches his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he pushes the car harder, faster, through the rain-soaked chaos.

“I’ll win,” he mutters, his voice fierce. “I’ll win for him.”

The car slides again, the tires struggling for grip, but he doesn’t care. He pushes harder, faster. The track is a blur beneath him, the rain blinding, but all he can think about is Jules. About you. About the ticking clock in his head.

And still, you’re there. Lap after lap, you watch him. Unblinking. Unwavering.

“You don’t have to do this,” your voice whispers in his mind, soft but relentless.

“I do,” he growls, his teeth gritted against the storm. “I have to.”

There’s a flash of lightning overhead, illuminating the track for a brief moment, and in that instant, he sees you clearer than ever. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, everything falls away. The rain, the track, the car — it all disappears, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time.

“You can’t outrun this,” you say, and there’s something almost sad in your voice. “You know that.”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles are white. “I can try.”

You don’t argue. You never do. You just watch him, like you always do, waiting. Waiting for him to understand.

He takes the final corner, the car sliding dangerously close to the wall, and as he crosses the line, the checkered flag waving in the rain, he feels it.

The ticking stops.

And for the first time in months, there’s silence.

But it’s not a relief.

It’s a warning.

Because he knows — deep down — that this isn’t over.

Not yet.

You’re still watching. And he’s still running.

But he can’t run forever.

***

The lights of Abu Dhabi shimmer under the night sky, illuminating the track like a stage set for the final act. The crowd is a sea of red, Ferrari flags waving in anticipation, in hope. This is it. The final race. The decider.

Charles sits in his cockpit, the engine vibrating beneath him, the roar of the crowd a distant hum behind his helmet. He’s been here before — so close — but this time, it’s different. This time, he feels it. The championship is within his grasp. The ticking in his head has been growing louder all season, but tonight, it’s almost deafening.

Lap after lap, corner after corner, he’s been inching closer to victory. Every second matters, every move counts. His heart pounds in sync with the car, the pressure of the moment squeezing at his chest, but he doesn’t let it crack him. Not now. He can’t. Not when everything he’s fought for is just beyond the finish line.

“Stay focused, Charles,” the voice of his engineer comes through the radio, calm but urgent.

“I’m focused,” Charles mutters, his voice tight with determination. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirrors — no one behind him. He’s clear.

The laps tick down, and with each one, the championship feels closer, heavier. The car is holding together, despite the heat, despite the pressure he’s putting on it. Ferrari has given him everything, and now he’s about to repay that faith. The Tifosi will finally have what they’ve been waiting for.

The last corner comes too quickly, but his hands are steady on the wheel. He navigates the turn, his body leaning into it as if willing the car to stay glued to the track. And then he’s there — the straight before the finish line, the end of the race.

“Go, go, go!” His engineer’s voice rises, the excitement breaking through. “You’ve got it, Charles!”

The chequered flag waves ahead, and in a breathless moment, it’s over.

Charles crosses the line. World Champion.

For a second, he’s still. Then the realization crashes into him like a tidal wave. He’s done it. He’s won. The championship is his.

The radio crackles again, his engineer’s voice cutting through the noise. “Charles — Champion of the World! You’ve done it! We’ve done it!”

A shaky laugh escapes Charles’ lips. “We did it. We actually did it,” he breathes, disbelief and euphoria blending together.

He can hear the team screaming over the radio, their joy contagious. “Grazie, Charles! Grazie! You’re the World Champion!”

He laughs again, more freely this time, his body shaking with adrenaline. “For Ferrari. For the Tifosi.”

His eyes well up as he glances at the sea of red in the stands. It’s everything he ever wanted. Glory. History. His name etched forever in the annals of the sport. He lifts a hand, a small wave toward the crowd, though they can’t see him from inside the cockpit.

“I can’t believe it,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I actually did it.”

His heart is racing, but it’s not the same as before. This time, it’s relief. It’s joy. It’s everything he’s sacrificed for, everything he’s given to this dream.

He presses the brake pedal gently, ready to slow down for the cool-down lap, to take it all in, but-

Nothing happens.

A frown creases his brow. He presses again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Panic flickers at the edge of his mind. “No … No, no, no …”

He pushes the brake pedal to the floor, but the car doesn’t respond. It doesn’t slow. The speedometer remains steady — too fast, too uncontrolled.

“Brakes aren’t working,” he says into the radio, trying to keep his voice calm, but his heart is pounding again, this time for a different reason. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.

“What? What do you mean?” His engineer’s voice is sharp, laced with fear.

“The brakes!” Charles snaps, his breath quickening. “They’re not working. I can’t slow down.”

He can feel the car resisting him, the engine still pushing forward, the barriers coming closer. The panic is rising now, clawing at his throat, tightening around his chest. He tries to steer, to find some way to slow the car, but there’s nothing. The barriers are closing in, the speed too high, too dangerous.

“Charles, try the emergency system-”

“I already have!” His voice cracks, desperation breaking through. The car is screaming beneath him, the speed a deadly weapon now, not a tool of victory.

And then he sees you.

You’re standing right by the barrier, just ahead, as if you’ve been waiting for him all along.

His heart stops for a second, time freezing around him. You’re so still, so calm, watching him. Watching him as the car barrels toward you, toward the barrier, toward the inevitable.

“No …” Charles breathes, his voice barely a whisper. His hands are shaking on the wheel now, his vision blurring from the speed, from the fear. He can see the crash coming, can feel it in his bones.

But you don’t move. You just watch.

His chest tightens, and the ticking is back, louder than ever. It’s all he can hear now, that maddening, relentless ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You don’t have to say anything. He knows. He’s always known. He’s been running toward this moment, toward you, since the beginning.

“Charles, try to-” His engineer’s voice cuts in again, but it’s too late.

The car slams into the barrier with a deafening crash, metal crunching, glass shattering. The world explodes around him, spinning, breaking apart. Pain flares through his body, white-hot and sharp, and then everything goes dark.

He’s still. Silent. The only sound is the faint crackling of the radio, his engineer’s voice distant, broken by static. “Charles? Charles, can you hear me? Charles?”

But Charles can’t move. He can barely think. The pain is numbing now, his body heavy, unresponsive. His vision is blurry, the world around him fading in and out of focus.

And then, through the haze, he sees you again. You’re walking toward him, slowly, steadily, through the wreckage of the car. The world is quiet now, eerily still, as if time itself has stopped.

Charles’ breath is shallow, his heart struggling to keep up. He can feel it — the end. It’s here. It’s always been here, waiting for him.

You come closer, your footsteps silent, your face calm, almost peaceful. You stop just beside the cockpit, your eyes meeting his.

“Is this it?” Charles whispers, his voice barely audible, his chest tight with the effort of speaking. His vision is fading fast, the darkness closing in. But you’re the only thing he can see clearly.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. He knows.

You kneel beside him, your hand reaching out, and for the first time, you touch him. Your fingers brush against his skin, cold and soft, and in that moment, everything stops.

The ticking in his head goes silent.

The world fades.

And Charles Leclerc, World Champion, breathes his last breath.

He’s gone.

But his name — his glory — will live on forever. He gave everything. Sacrificed everything.

For Ferrari. For the Tifosi. For the dream.

And now, he is part of that legacy, forever written in the stars.

He won.

He died for glory.

***

The streets of Maranello are overflowing with grief.

Charles stands next to you, or at least what’s left of him does. His soul, untethered from the wreckage, feels weightless, though the weight of the moment is crushing. He can’t feel the ground beneath him anymore, can’t feel the warmth of the sun or the bite of the wind. All he can feel is the suffocating sorrow of the crowd, pressing in from every direction.

And the crowd. Dio mio, the crowd. Thousands — no, hundreds of thousands — of Tifosi flood the streets, a sea of red and black, their flags raised high, but there is no joy in their colors today. No triumphant cheers. Just the sound of sobs, muffled by hands pressed to faces, by the raw weight of a collective heartbreak that can’t be put into words.

The Ferrari factory looms behind them, draped in mourning banners, the Prancing Horse emblem hanging in black, somber and silent. The air is thick with the scent of incense, flowers — and death.

It’s impossible to look at them, and yet Charles can’t tear his eyes away. Grown men, hardened by life, stand with tears streaming down their faces. Fathers and sons alike, clutching each other as if holding on will somehow stem the flood of loss that grips them.

Charles looks at you, his breath — if he had any left — shuddering in his chest. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

You’re silent, standing beside him, your presence both a comfort and a reminder. This is what it means to be gone. To be remembered, but no longer part of the world.

“Do they …” He trails off, his voice thick with disbelief. “Do they miss me this much?”

You glance at him, your eyes calm but unreadable. “What did you expect?” Your voice is soft, but there’s an edge of inevitability to it, as if the scene before him was always written in the stars, just like his fate.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. Or at least, he tries to. The motion feels more like a memory than a reality. “I thought … I thought they’d move on.”

You tilt your head, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across your lips. “They won’t. Not from this. Not from you.”

His eyes flicker back to the crowd, his chest tight. There’s no end to them. They fill the streets, every inch of space, like blood rushing through the veins of this small Italian town. He sees children on their fathers’ shoulders, wearing tiny Ferrari caps. Women clutching scarves, their eyes red from crying. He’s never seen this kind of devotion, not like this. Not for him.

He spots an elderly man near the front, his face weathered and lined, but the tears falling down his cheeks are fresh. He’s holding a photo of Charles — young, smiling, a memory of a better time. A time when the world still held onto hope.

Charles feels his throat tighten, his eyes burning despite the fact that he can’t cry anymore. “Why …” He swallows hard, his voice cracking. “Why are they all here? Why does it hurt them this much?”

You turn to face him fully, your expression steady, knowing. “Because you were theirs. Il Predestinato. The one they believed in. You gave them hope, and you gave them your life. They will never forget that.”

The title rings in his ears. Il Predestinato. The Chosen One. It always sounded so heavy, a burden he could never quite shake. And now, he wonders if it was ever truly his to bear.

A sudden commotion pulls his attention back to the crowd. The sea of red parts for a moment as a car rolls slowly through. Charles recognizes it immediately — a Ferrari, sleek and dark, the hearse that will carry his body through the streets of Maranello. It’s draped in the Italian flag, and atop it sits his helmet, the red and white standing stark against the backdrop of mourning.

The Tifosi bow their heads, some reaching out as if trying to touch the car, as if touching it will bring them closer to him. The car stops in front of the factory, and Charles watches, numb, as his casket is pulled out, carried by men he’s known for years. Faces he recognizes, but that seem distant now, like shadows from another life.

“They’re broken,” Charles whispers, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for this.”

You don’t respond immediately, just watching the procession with the same stillness you always carry. Finally, you speak, your voice low and quiet. “Sacrifice always leaves something behind. Even if it’s pain.”

Charles inhales sharply, though the air doesn’t fill his lungs the way it used to. He’s not sure how to process what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling. There’s a weight in his chest, heavy and suffocating. It’s not like the fear he felt in those final moments before the crash, but something deeper. Something that feels permanent.

The casket reaches the steps of the Ferrari factory, where the company’s executives, drivers, and engineers are gathered. They stand in silence, heads bowed, their faces etched with sorrow. Charles feels a pang of guilt, sharper than he expected.

“Was it worth it?” His voice is barely a whisper, almost lost in the overwhelming noise of the crowd.

You turn to him, your expression unreadable. “That’s not for me to decide.”

He clenches his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But I gave everything! I died for this!” He gestures toward the casket, the crowd, the broken faces of his friends and family. “I sacrificed everything for Ferrari. For the Tifosi.”

You meet his gaze, unwavering. “And now, you have to decide if that sacrifice was worth it.”

Charles looks away, his heart — or whatever’s left of it — aching. He doesn’t know the answer. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

As the casket is carried up the steps, a priest steps forward. Charles recognizes him immediately. The Pope. The sight would almost be surreal if it weren’t for the gravity of the moment. The leader of the Catholic Church, come to bless his body, to give him the final rites. It’s more than Charles ever expected, more than he ever thought possible.

The Pope raises his hand, his voice carrying over the crowd in solemn Latin, offering a prayer for Charles’ soul. The crowd is silent now, the only sound the soft rustle of flags in the wind and the distant sobs of those too broken to hold back their grief.

Charles watches, his chest tight with emotion he can’t quite name. “Will they remember me?” His voice is small, almost childlike in its vulnerability.

You don’t hesitate. “They will never forget you. The Tifosi will name their children after you. They will pray for you, mourn for you, even as they themselves fade. Your name will live on, even when their names turn to dust.”

He blinks, trying to process your words. It’s everything he ever wanted, everything he worked for. To be remembered. To be loved. To be immortal in the eyes of those who mattered most to him.

“But will it be enough?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Will it ever be enough?”

You turn to him, your gaze softening just slightly. “That’s something only you can answer.”

Charles looks back at the crowd, at the faces of the people who loved him, who believed in him, who now grieve for him. He doesn’t know the answer yet. Maybe he never will. But for now, all he can do is watch as the people of Italy — his people — mourn the loss of their hero, their champion, their Il Predestinato.

And perhaps, in their grief, in their endless love for him, he will find the answer he’s looking for.

As the Pope finishes his prayer, the crowd begins to chant.

“Forza, Charles! Forza Ferrari!“

The sound rises, a wave of devotion and heartbreak that crashes over the streets of Maranello. Charles listens, his heart aching with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

He is gone. But his name, his legacy, will live on forever.

And maybe — just maybe — that’s enough.

***

The afterlife is nothing like Charles imagined.

For one, it isn’t dark. There are no flames licking at the sky, no eerie fog swirling at his feet. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel either. Instead, there’s an odd stillness, like time has stopped moving but everything else remains in place. It’s hard to describe, really — neither peaceful nor unsettling, just … different.

He’s not sure how long he’s been here. Time doesn’t seem to exist in the way it used to. Days blend into one another, or maybe there are no days at all. Just moments strung together in an endless loop.

The one constant in this strange new reality is you.

You’re always close by, never too far, but never imposing. It’s a strange sort of companionship, one that Charles hadn’t expected to find in death. He watches you sometimes, your presence steady, your movements fluid and quiet. You’re not like anyone he’s ever met. And it’s no wonder — how could you be? You’re death.

But there’s something else about you, something he can’t quite put into words. You’re not cold or distant, despite the weight of your title. There’s a kind of sadness that clings to you, something that pulls him in even when he tries to resist it.

He’s sitting beside you now, his back against an old stone wall, looking out into the expanse of … wherever this place is. It’s quiet, as always, the only sound the faint rustling of something distant. Neither of you speak, but the silence between you is comfortable, not awkward.

After a while, Charles breaks it.

“Do you ever get lonely?”

Your head tilts slightly, as if the question surprises you. You don’t answer right away, and for a moment, Charles thinks you won’t. But then you shift, your eyes focused on some point in the distance, and your voice, when it comes, is soft.

“I suppose I do.”

It’s not what he expected you to say. He always thought of you as solitary, but not necessarily lonely. You were death, after all. You weren’t meant to have attachments, were you?

“How could you?” He asks, genuinely curious. “You’re … you. Death doesn’t get lonely.”

You let out a soft sigh, one that’s more resigned than sad. “Death doesn’t exactly allow for much companionship.” You glance at him, your eyes steady. “Most souls don’t stick around for very long. They move on. They’re not meant to linger.”

Charles absorbs your words, turning them over in his mind. It’s true — he’s the only one here, the only soul who hasn’t moved on. But the idea that you might be lonely, after all this time, unsettles him in a way he can’t explain.

“Do you know why I haven’t moved on?” He asks, his voice quiet.

You shake your head, your expression soft but unreadable. “No. I don’t understand it.”

He leans back against the wall, his mind racing. Why hasn’t he moved on? There’s no reason to stay, no unfinished business, no regrets strong enough to tether him to this place. And yet … he’s still here. With you.

You shift slightly beside him, your gaze drifting out into the distance again. “I’ve never had anyone stay this long,” you say, almost to yourself. “Most souls are eager to move on. They want peace, or closure, or something more.”

Charles frowns, looking over at you. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want them to stay?”

You pause, considering the question. “No,” you say eventually. “That’s not how it works. They’re not meant to stay. Neither am I.”

“But you get lonely.”

Your lips press together, and for a moment, Charles thinks he might have pushed too far. But then you nod, just once. “Yes.”

There’s something in your voice, something quiet and raw, that tugs at something deep inside him. He doesn’t understand why, but it matters to him. Your loneliness matters to him.

“Is that why you’re still here?” You ask, turning the question back on him. “Because of me?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come. He’s not sure. Maybe it is. Or maybe there’s something else at play, something neither of you understands.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But I don’t think I’m ready to leave.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and there’s a softness in your gaze that catches him off guard. He realizes in that moment how much time you’ve spent alone. You, the embodiment of death, the one who has seen everything end but never experienced the simplicity of someone choosing to stay.

He leans forward, his voice quieter now. “Have you ever-”

He hesitates, the question hanging in the air between you.

“What?” You prompt, your voice gentle.

“Have you ever … I don’t know. Experienced anything like this?” He gestures between the two of you. “With anyone else?”

You shake your head, almost sadly. “No. Death doesn’t leave room for that.”

Charles watches you for a moment, his mind spinning with the weight of it all. It seems so unfair, that you should be condemned to an eternity of loneliness, of watching others move on while you remain.

“Everyone deserves at least one thing,” he says softly, almost to himself.

You tilt your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

He swallows hard, his gaze locking onto yours. “Everyone deserves to experience their first kiss.”

Your breath catches ever so slightly, your eyes widening just a fraction. “Charles …”

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “You should have that. You deserve it.”

You don’t respond, but your eyes search his, and for the first time since he met you, he sees something flicker there. Uncertainty. Vulnerability.

He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. But you don’t. You stay still, watching him, waiting.

And then, gently, Charles presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, barely more than a whisper of a touch, but it’s enough. Enough to make the world tilt on its axis for a moment, enough to make the weight of everything around you both fall away.

You don’t pull back immediately. Neither does he. For a few seconds, it’s just the two of you, suspended in the stillness of the afterlife, sharing something fragile and beautiful.

When he finally does pull away, your eyes are still closed, your lips parted ever so slightly. Charles watches you, his heart — or whatever it is that beats in his chest now — pounding in a way that feels almost human again.

You open your eyes slowly, blinking as if coming out of a dream.

“I-” You falter, your voice soft and uncertain. “Why did you …”

He smiles gently, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “Because I wanted to. And because you deserve it.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, just looking at him as if trying to make sense of what just happened. But there’s a warmth in your gaze now, something that wasn’t there before. Something new.

“I don’t understand you, Charles,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughs quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t understand myself, either.”

You stay like that for a while, in the stillness of the afterlife, the weight of the world no longer pressing down on either of you. There’s no rush, no need for answers right now.

For the first time, in a long time, neither of you feels alone.

***

Time is strange in the afterlife.

Charles doesn’t know how long he’s been here — whether it’s days, months, or even years. There’s no ticking clock, no sun moving across the sky. It’s just … still. He’s gotten used to the quiet, to your presence nearby, and to the sense that nothing is rushing forward like it used to.

But something shifts one day. You’re sitting beside him, as usual, but there’s a new energy in the air, something that tugs at the quietness and pulls at the stillness. You turn to him, your eyes meeting his with a softness that he can’t quite place.

“I have something to show you,” you say, your voice quiet but clear.

He blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

You don’t explain. Instead, you stand, offering him your hand. He hesitates for a second, but then he takes it. There’s always been an unspoken trust between you — something that keeps him tethered to you, even in death.

The world shifts around him, the stillness breaking apart. For a moment, everything spins, the ground slipping from beneath his feet as if he’s falling — but it’s not unpleasant. It’s more like drifting. And then, as suddenly as it starts, it stops.

Charles finds himself standing in a hospital room.

His breath catches, his mind scrambling to make sense of where he is. The sterile smell of disinfectant clings to the air, and the beeping of machines fills the silence. He looks around, trying to orient himself, but nothing feels real.

“Where-”

You don’t answer his question directly. Instead, you nod toward the center of the room. “Look.”

Charles follows your gaze, and his heart — if he still had one — stumbles in his chest. His older brother, Lorenzo, stands by the bed, his face soft with emotion. He’s holding someone’s hand. Charlotte, his wife, is lying in the hospital bed, her expression tired but glowing. But it’s the small bundle she holds against her chest that steals Charles’ breath.

A baby.

It takes him a moment to fully process what he’s seeing. Lorenzo’s wife. His brother. And a baby.

Charles steps closer, his movements slow, almost cautious, as if he’s afraid the scene will shatter if he gets too close. He watches as Lorenzo reaches down to stroke the baby’s tiny head, his face filled with a tenderness that Charles hasn’t seen in years.

“Lorenzo?” Charles whispers, though he knows his brother can’t hear him. His eyes are fixed on the child in Charlotte’s arms, a strange sense of awe and disbelief washing over him.

You step beside him, your voice soft as you speak. “I wanted you to meet Charles Tolotta-Leclerc.”

He freezes.

“What?” His voice barely makes it past his lips, and he turns to look at you, his eyes wide, searching your face for any hint of a joke. But you’re serious.

You nod toward the baby again. “They named him after you.”

Charles stares at the tiny bundle, his mind struggling to catch up with what you’ve just said. They named the baby after him? His head spins, a strange mix of emotions swirling through him — shock, disbelief, and something that feels dangerously close to pride.

Before he can fully process it, Lorenzo’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“I miss him,” Lorenzo says softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish he could be here. I wish he could’ve met him.”

Charlotte smiles up at him, though there’s a sadness in her eyes. “He would’ve loved him,” she says, her voice gentle. “He’ll be watching over him, I’m sure of it.”

Lorenzo’s expression tightens, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “I hope so,” he murmurs. “I hope he’s watching over us. Over Charlie.”

Charles stands frozen, his entire body — or soul, or whatever he is — going still. The weight of Lorenzo’s words crashes into him like a tidal wave, leaving him breathless. He watches as his brother’s eyes fill with unshed tears, and it breaks something inside him.

“I wanted him to be here,” Lorenzo says, his voice cracking. “I wanted him to be part of this, to see my son …”

Charles can’t take it anymore. He feels the pressure building inside of him, the ache in his chest growing unbearable. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes — not physical tears, but the kind that burn and sting nonetheless.

You’re beside him before he even realizes it, your presence calm and steady. You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to. He can feel your understanding, your quiet reassurance.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I’m watching.”

But no one can hear him.

Lorenzo’s voice cracks again as he continues. “I named him Charles because … I want him to be like you. I want him to grow up knowing who you were. What you stood for. And maybe … maybe he’ll feel like you’re with him, even if you can’t be.”

Charles presses a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatens to escape. The emotions are too much — grief, pride, love, all tangled together in a way that feels like it’s tearing him apart.

He looks at the baby again, the tiny life cradled in Charlotte’s arms, and something breaks open inside him. He didn’t know it was possible to feel so much after death. He thought everything would fade away, that he wouldn’t have to feel the weight of the world anymore.

But watching his brother, watching this moment … it’s almost unbearable.

You step closer, your hand resting gently on his shoulder. “It’s okay to feel it,” you say softly. “It’s okay to cry.”

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “I-I didn’t think it would be this hard,” he admits, his voice barely audible. “I thought … I thought I was ready to move on.”

Your hand stays steady on his shoulder, grounding him. “You gave everything for glory,” you say gently. “For Ferrari. For the Tifosi. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to let go.”

Charles shakes his head, tears streaming down his face as he watches his brother, his nephew. “I don’t know if I can,” he chokes out. “I don’t know how to say goodbye.”

You don’t rush him. You let him stand there, watching, crying. He can feel your quiet strength beside him, your understanding. You’ve seen it all before, but for him, it’s new, raw, overwhelming.

Lorenzo leans down, pressing a kiss to his newborn son’s head. “He’s going to know all about you,” Lorenzo murmurs. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Charles can’t stop the sob that escapes him this time. He crumples forward, his hands covering his face as the grief finally spills over, uncontrollable. He feels like he’s breaking apart, like everything he’s held inside for so long is crashing down around him.

And then, you’re there. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, letting him cry into your shoulder. You don’t say anything, but your presence is enough. It’s steady, grounding, and for the first time since he’s been here, Charles feels like he isn’t alone in his grief.

He cries for a long time, the emotions pouring out of him in waves. He cries for the life he left behind, for the family he didn’t get to see again, for the child named after him who will never know him. And through it all, you stay with him, holding him, comforting him.

When the sobs finally subside, Charles pulls back slightly, wiping at his eyes. He feels raw, drained, but there’s a sense of release, too — like something heavy has been lifted from his chest.

“He’s going to be okay,” you say softly, your voice gentle. “Lorenzo will take care of him. He’ll grow up knowing who you were, what you meant.”

Charles nods, his throat too tight to speak. He looks back at the hospital bed, at Lorenzo and Charlotte, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something like peace in his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

You smile softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You don’t have to thank me.”

But he does. Because in this moment, he knows he couldn’t have faced this alone. Not without you.

Charles watches his brother one last time, his heart heavy but full. And though he knows he can never return to the life he once had, there’s a strange sense of comfort in knowing that a part of him still exists in the world — in the form of the tiny child cradled in Charlotte’s arms.

“I’ll watch over him,” Charles says softly, his voice steady now. “I promise.”

***

The air between you is different today. Charles can feel it before you even say a word. It's in the way your eyes linger on him a little longer, the way your silence stretches. You’ve been together for what feels like an eternity, yet time is meaningless here.

He looks at you, waiting for the explanation, the gentle unspooling of whatever truth you’re about to offer him.

Finally, you speak. “I think you’re ready.”

Charles frowns. “Ready for what?”

“To move on.”

The words hang in the air, heavier than he expected. His chest tightens, and he shakes his head, the instinctual reaction coming out almost before you finish speaking.

“I don’t want to move on.” His voice is sharp, edged with panic. He doesn’t fully understand what “moving on” means, but he knows it sounds final. It sounds like goodbye, and he’s not ready for that. Not now. Not after everything. Not after you.

You watch him quietly, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “Charles, you’ve already moved on in so many ways. This-” you gesture between the two of you, “-this isn’t goodbye.”

He stares at you, his mind racing. “Then what is it? You’re telling me I have to leave, but I can’t — I can’t leave you.”

You laugh softly, the sound rich with irony. “I’m death, Charles. You’re dead. Why would you have to leave me?”

The realization hits him, and his protest falters. His hands fall to his sides as he processes what you’re saying. You’re death, and he’s already passed beyond life. There’s no need to fear separation, because you are intertwined with whatever comes next.

“So, I’m not really going anywhere?” He asks, cautiously hopeful.

“Not in the way you think,” you assure him, your voice softening. “But this place — it isn’t where you belong anymore. There’s something else waiting for you.”

Charles exhales slowly, relief and uncertainty swirling in his chest. “Something else?”

You step closer, your hand reaching out to brush against his arm. “You’ve done everything you needed to do here. You’ve won. You’ve found peace with your family. Now … it’s time.”

He looks into your eyes, searching for something — reassurance, maybe. He’s been with you through all of this, and yet, the idea of leaving this limbo, this stillness, feels daunting.

You tilt your head slightly. “Trust me.”

He wants to. He does. But there’s a tightness in his throat, a reluctance that refuses to fade. “What if I don’t want to go?” He murmurs, almost to himself.

You give him a knowing look. “Charles, you’re not going anywhere that I can’t follow.”

Something in him eases at your words. He nods, but there’s still a lingering hesitation. His life — his death — has been defined by choices. Choices to race, to sacrifice, to push past every limit. Now, there’s nothing left to fight, no championship to chase. This is the last choice he’ll have to make, and the finality of it shakes him.

“Okay,” he says, his voice quieter than he expects.

You smile, your fingers wrapping around his hand. “Come with me.”

The stillness of limbo shatters. The world around them changes, the coldness and vast emptiness giving way to something warm and vibrant. Colors he hasn’t seen in years flood his vision — deep blues, rich greens, and the golden light of a sun he hasn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Charles blinks, trying to make sense of where he is. There’s no pain, no exhaustion, just … peace. He stands there for a moment, taking it in, but then, something — someone — catches his eye.

He freezes, his heart — or whatever’s left of it — stopping in his chest.

Jules.

Jules is standing just a few feet away, watching him with that same familiar smile. The smile Charles grew up with, the one that got him through the hardest days.

His breath catches, and before he can stop himself, he runs.

It’s instinctive, like muscle memory, like he’s a kid again chasing after his godfather. His feet carry him faster than he thought possible, and when he reaches Jules, he throws himself into his arms without hesitation.

The warmth of the embrace floods through him, and Charles buries his face in Jules’ shoulder, a sob catching in his throat. He clings to him like he’s afraid to let go, the weight of everything — of life, of death, of everything in between — finally crashing down on him.

“I missed you,” Charles chokes out, his voice thick with emotion.

Jules laughs softly, holding him tight. “I missed you too, mon caneton.”

It’s overwhelming, this feeling of reunion. The tears fall freely now, and Charles can’t stop them, doesn’t want to stop them. He’s never cried like this before, not even when he won, not even when he died. But now, in the arms of someone who meant so much to him, it feels like everything is breaking free.

He pulls back, wiping at his face, but before he can say anything else, another voice breaks through the haze.

“Charles.”

Charles turns, his breath catching again as his eyes land on his father. He’s standing there, just a few feet away, watching his son with eyes full of pride.

“Papa …” The word slips from his lips, almost a whisper.

And then he’s running again, straight into his father’s arms. He feels like a child, all over again, seeking comfort and love and everything he’s missed. Hervé holds him, strong and steady, and for the first time in years, Charles feels like he’s truly home.

“I’m so proud of you,” Hervé murmurs, his voice full of emotion. “You did everything you said you would.”

Charles pulls back, his hands gripping his father’s shoulders as he looks at him, tears still streaming down his face. “I did it, Papa. I won.”

“I know,” Hervé says softly, his eyes shining. “I always knew you would.”

Charles nods, his throat too tight to speak. The pride in his father’s eyes is everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever worked for.

But then, he turns.

You’re still standing there, watching quietly from a distance. Charles’ heart twists at the sight of you, at the thought of everything you’ve been through together. You’ve guided him, stayed with him, and now … now he understands.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with gratitude.

He steps forward, closing the distance between you, and when he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your skin as he leans in.

His lips meet yours, soft and gentle, and in that moment, everything else fades away. There’s no race, no championship, no death. Just the two of you, together, in this place beyond life and time.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and he knows.

You smile at him, your eyes soft. “Glory was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Charles nods, his throat tight. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It was worth it.”

And somewhere, in the distance, the ticking starts again.

For someone else.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He knows what he has to do. The weight of it settles into his chest like a stone, cold and heavy, suffocating the brief warmth of your kiss. His hands tremble as they slip away from your face, his fingers lingering for just a second longer, as if he can’t quite let go.

But he has to.

His breath shudders, a ragged thing that cuts through the silence. His lips part, but no words come out. There’s nothing left to say. You see the understanding in his eyes — he knows the truth now, the path that’s been laid out in front of him since the moment he died.

He belongs with them.

With Jules. With his father.

Not with you.

He turns, slowly, his back to you now. And just like that, the warmth is gone. It’s like the sun has disappeared from the sky, leaving nothing but the cold, endless void.

You want to stop him, call out his name, reach for him, something, anything, but the words die in your throat. He doesn’t belong to you. He never did.

“Charles …” you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you anymore. He’s already too far away. Already slipping through your fingers like sand.

He walks toward them — Jules and Hervé — his pace steady, purposeful. The space between you grows wider with every step, a chasm opening up that you can never hope to cross.

Jules smiles at him, that same familiar smile, the one that Charles would have given anything to see again. And his father … God, the pride in Hervé’s eyes is almost too much to bear. It’s everything Charles ever wanted. Everything he fought for, died for.

But you …

You stand there, watching.

Helpless. Silent. Alone.

Charles doesn’t look back. Not once.

You knew he wouldn’t.

You knew this moment was coming from the second you saw him in Melbourne, when his time started ticking. You were never meant to keep him. You were just a part of his story — a brief chapter in the long, winding tale of his life and death.

And now, that chapter is closing.

The void stretches before them, a vast expanse of nothingness, and as Charles reaches the edge, Jules and Hervé step forward to greet him. They wrap their arms around him, pulling him into their embrace, and for a moment — just a moment — Charles is home.

He glances over his shoulder, but not at you. His eyes skim past you, unseeing.

“Thank you,” he whispers, but the words aren’t for you. They’re for the life he left behind. The glory. The fame. The endless pursuit of something more.

And then he steps into the void.

You feel it before you see it — the pull, the way the world shifts as he crosses the threshold. It’s like a part of the universe is being torn away, a piece of the puzzle you’ve held together for so long is finally gone. And you’re left behind, standing on the edge, watching as they fade into the distance.

The ticking stops.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re alone.

It’s funny, in a way. You’ve spent eons like this — watching souls come and go, guiding them from one world to the next. But with Charles, it was different. He stayed. He stayed longer than anyone else, long enough for you to feel something you weren’t supposed to feel.

Loneliness. Loss.

You told him you couldn’t be left behind, that death doesn’t experience separation, but that was a lie, wasn’t it?

Because now, as you stand there in the cold, empty void, watching the space where Charles once stood, you feel it — truly feel it — for the first time.

Heartbreak.

It’s a strange, hollow thing, the way it grips your chest, squeezes your lungs until you can’t breathe. You’ve seen it a thousand times, watched as humans crumbled under the weight of it, but this is different. This is personal.

This is yours.

He’s gone. He made his choice. And even though you knew it would end this way, it doesn’t make it any easier.

You take a step back, your feet moving of their own accord, retreating from the edge of the void. There’s no point in staying here. There’s nothing left to hold on to.

Charles is gone.

You close your eyes, trying to push down the ache in your chest, but it won’t go away. It lingers, sharp and raw, reminding you of what could have been, of the brief moments you shared that weren’t supposed to matter but now feel like everything.

For a second — just a second — you wish things had been different. That you could have kept him. That maybe, just maybe, you could have been something more than death. Something more than a shadow in the background of his life.

But that’s not who you are.

You open your eyes, the void still stretching out before you, endless and unforgiving.

Somewhere, far in the distance, the ticking starts for someone else. Another life, another death, another story to watch unfold.

But none of them will be Charles.

You’ll carry him with you, even if he never looks back. Even if he forgets your face. You’ll remember the way he smiled at you in the moments between life and death. You’ll remember the way his voice cracked when he thanked you.

And you’ll remember the way he kissed you, soft and brief, like a goodbye he couldn’t quite say.

You’ll remember it all.

And that, perhaps, is the cruelest part.

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