#you don’t need to draw her you can just look at pictures of her being happy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you feel ill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

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

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

Let me have my papa back.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?” You prod gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

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

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mission accomplished.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“You!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But most of all, it’s home.

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

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did it.

World Champion at last!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To our champion! The Queen!”

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

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

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

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

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

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

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

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

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

You and Charles share an amused look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

3K notes · View notes

redwing4life · 5 months ago

Text

Home Cooked Meal

CHAPTER 4 | ASHES TO EMBERS

can be read as a stand alone :)

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbour!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut (finally) - dirty talk, pet names, oral f and m receiving, fingering, tit play, praise kink, hand kink?, ball play, hair pulling, unprotected PinV sex, aftercare, reader and bucky have dinner, swearing, fluff, let me know if i missed anything!

SUMMARY: You surprise Bucky with a home cooked meal after his shift, and it’s the best damn thing he’s had in years. The pasta was pretty good too.

WORD COUNT: 10550 (ngl i rechecked this three times cuz i didn’t think i wrote this much but turns out i did in fact write over 10k words im sorry lmao)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

Call me when you get home x

Your text still sits on Bucky’s lock screen, read but not opened, as he gets changed out of his work clothes.

It’s fair to say that the message intrigued him when he first read it half an hour ago, just before he left the firehouse. His legs sped up your building stairwell faster than normal, desperate to find out why you’re awaiting his call.

Knowing you would have said so if you were in immediate danger, Bucky sifts through the multitude of possibilities that await him on the other side of the ring tone; none of which ease the butterflies in his stomach.

He walks to his kitchen, phone in hand, to get a glass of orange juice. Pulling up your contact page, he presses ‘call’ and grabs the carton of juice from the fridge door.

You answer after just one ring, eager to hear his voice.

“Hey, Barnes!” God, Bucky loves your voice.

“Doll.” His voice is soft, tone rising at the end with curiosity. “You asked me to call, what’s up?”

The firefighter swoons at the adorable giggle you let out, the sound distant from the mic as though you’ve tried to hide it. “I was worried you didn’t see my text.” You admit.

Bucky pictures you biting your lip anxiously, an accurate prediction for your current state.

“What are you doing right now?”

Glancing down at the yet-to-be-filled glass in front of him, Bucky leans a hand against the kitchen island. “Just about to get a drink, what are-“

“Don’t!” You cut in. “Don’t get a drink, I need you to come over.”

“What, now? What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, James. Just come knock, okay? I’ll see you in a minute!”

And with that, the call cuts off with a dull beep; Bucky brings the phone down from his ear and stares at it in confusion. You’re being weird, never having hung up on him like that before.

Alpine meows from above the fridge, drawing her owner’s attention away from the phone, only to tilt her head at him.

Even Alps is confused.

Deciding to just do what you told, Bucky slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans, returns the orange juice to the fridge and sets off for the front door. He finds himself checking over his appearance in the entry way mirror, eyes scanning over his outfit before he smooths out his hair.

Although he won’t admit it, Bucky’s spent a lot more time in front of that mirror lately; checking his collar isn’t twisted, his hair isn’t too messy and there’s nothing stuck in his teeth. The need to look good, to look good for you, hasn’t gone unnoticed by his colleagues.

He considers using the spare key you gave him and letting himself into your apartment but shakes the thought away.

She asked you to knock, Bucky. Not break in.

With one final nod in the mirror, Bucky leaves his apartment, stepping into the hallway he’s spent so many mornings and nights in with you.

Old jazz music greets his ears when he approaches your door, the soft melody sneaking through the cracks of the door frame. Bucky smiles to himself at the thought of you dancing in your kitchen, heart warming when he notices your humming.

Knocking thrice, the firefighter steps back and nervously stuffs his hands into his pockets. You always make him nervous, those darn butterflies stirring in his stomach whenever he’s about to see you. And when he does see you. Actually, they’re there even when he imagines seeing you.

He takes a breath when he hears you shuffling up to the door, but nothing could prepare him for the sight when it swings open.

Rusty red fabric flows from your neckline to the middle of your thighs, small flowers dotted over the slightly orange colour. Two thin straps perched on your shoulders leave plenty of skin on show as your usual sun-pendant necklace sits between the v-neck of your dress. Which, by the way, perfectly presents the soft swell of your breasts.

It takes everything Bucky has to not drool at his breathtaking neighbour, but it takes even more to not dive on you and finally taste those pink lips.

Your skin is ablaze beneath his eyes and you revel in his reaction, the exact response you wanted when you pulled on the dress two hours ago.

“We’re matching.” You grin, taking a moment to enjoy Bucky’s red henley.

“It’s almost like we planned it.” A chuckle escapes him, eyes trailing up from your thighs to meet yours.

“Speaking of plans,” You reach out to pull Bucky closer, tugging his forearms until he pulls his hands out of his pockets, “I have a surprise for you.”

Is it letting me look at you in that dress all evening? Your neighbour thinks - hopes - as you lead him into your apartment.

Closing the door behind him, you take his hand in yours once more to guide him to your little kitchen/diner area. If you weren’t looking ahead, you’d see Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink at your touch. Seeing your hand encompassed with his own will never fail to drive him crazy.

When he eventually looks up from your joined hands, he’s stunned to a halt. You turn back to him when you feel him plant his feet and your features twist into a nervous expression.

“I- Doll, what is all this?” The firefighters eyes are wide at your ‘surprise’.

Your small dining table is set up for two; cream place mats lay beneath charcoal gray pasta dishes with wine glasses sitting at their corners. There’s even a little vase with pink and yellow tulips in between the two spaces.

“Well, remember that time when you told me you haven’t had a proper home cooked meal in years?” You watch Bucky closely as you speak, waiting for some sign of approval.

“You mean this morning?” He turns to you in wonder, thinking back to your conversation as he gave you a lift to the cafe. “I don’t know what to say, doll.”

You roll back on your heels, hands scrunching your dress at your sides. “Is it okay? I know it’s a little cheesy and it’s last minute but I thought it would be a nice surprise for you after working all day. I mean, it’s not exactly at your home but it’s pretty cl-“

Bucky takes two long strides towards you and brings his hands to cup your cheeks; your words die on your tongue when he looks down at you with tender eyes.

“It’s perfect, Y/n.” He smiles, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone. “You could feed me Alpine’s food and i’d still bow at your feet, sweets.”

Now you’re the one blushing. You heart skips when Bucky’s eyes drop to your lips with hunger in his gaze.

“Always so good to me, aren’t ya?” His words tempt a whimper from deep within you, a submissive whine held back by the last of your restraint.

“Well-“

The oven beeps, its sharp tone darting between your bodies and making you step back from Bucky’s hold.

“Uhh” Your mind is all over the place as the firefighter watches you with amusement, “I- I should, I mean- the pasta must be-“

“Go, doll.” Bucky shakes his head laughing quietly.

Your dress sways as you spin away to the stove, stirring various pots and tidying up the counters. Your neighbour watches you in awe, unashamedly enjoying the view; you just look so goddamn sexy in that cute little dress while you cook for him. He wishes he could come home to this every night.

“You need a hand with anything, doll?” Bucky’s voice sounds from behind you.

“Actually, yeah!” You glance over your shoulder. “Come here.”

If you keep bossing him about, Bucky’s gonna struggle not to tear that sweet little sundress right off you.

Settling in at your side, Bucky cocks his head. “What d’ya need?”

You scoop some of the creamy tomato sauce onto a spoon and bring it to Bucky’s lips. “Try this for me.”

With bated breath, you watch his full lips wrap around the end of the spoon, his eyes bearing into yours as he drags the sauce into his mouth.

Bucky has no business looking as dirty as he does in this moment; you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows before his tongue juts out to catch a few missed drops. And just when you thought your panties would survive the sight, a moan ripples from his throat and you clench around nothing at the sound.

“Good?” You murmur, hoping he doesn’t notice when you cross your legs.

He notices.

“Delicious,” Bucky takes the spoon from your hand and stretches across you to place it back in the pan, his right hand brushing against the small of your back, “you did great, sweets.”

Fuck. Me.

You regather your composure and ask Bucky to get the wine from the fridge. He pours you both a glass, setting them back on the dining table gently before returning the bottle to its home.

“Hey, could you bring the bowls over, please?” You call over your shoulder.

You plate up the sauce coated pasta while Bucky places the dirty pans in the sink, both working around each other like a fine tuned machine.

Before you can do it yourself, Bucky is picking up the bowls and laying them on the place mats, winking at you as he does so. He pulls your chair out for you, nodding for you to join him.

“For you, Madame.” He jokes, allowing you to sit down while tucking you in.

You watch him round the table and take his own seat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Bucky grins at you. The orange glow of sunset shines through your windows, catching your features with grace. Your eyes shine beneath the light and Bucky can’t help but find you angelic.

“You’re beautiful, doll. I don’t know if I said that earlier but, god, you look stunning tonight.”

Dropping your head, you play with the hem of your dress shyly. Your hair falls into your face, forcing you to push it behind your ears, though Bucky wishes he was close enough to do it himself.

With rose tinted cheeks, you look up at Bucky through your lashes. “You say that to all your neighbours, Barnes?” You raise a brow with your teasing voice.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs heartily, a sound you’ve come to adore.

“Only the ones who cook for me.” He winks.

“Doesn’t Ms Scott bring you pies every couple weeks?”

“And I tell her she looks ravishing every time.”

You giggle and tell Bucky to dig in, though you could happily sit and talk all night. While you both stop every now and then for a forkful of food, conversation bounces between you as it always does.

Tonight isn’t much different to a typical evening with the firefighter next door; usually you share some snacks and beers, cozying up on the couch as you watch tv. It’s become ritual for you to send Bucky a video of you playing the piano each evening, his phone playing the video on loop as he sleeps. It’s strange, but the music creeps into his dreams and keeps them peaceful, keeps him away from that burning building.

It’s been a few weeks since the night he was sent home early. Both you and Bucky felt a shift that night; waking up in his arms left you craving more, though you’ve yet to tell him as much. You left him sleeping peacefully that morning when you left for work with only a couple hours of sleep under your belt.

Bucky hated waking up to find the other side of his bed empty, no longer feeling your heat. The note you left him eased the disappointment slightly, your neat handwriting promising to come back in your breaks. Neither of you have addressed how right it felt to sleep beside each other that night, despite spending all of your free time together with unspoken words hanging over you.

Instead, you dance around each other like two ghosts doomed to never touch. The bond between you is stronger than any you’ve ever had, the magnetic lure undeniable for you both.

Your glasses have been emptied and refilled twice now - dinner long since been finished - and you’re starting to feel the buzz; those butterflies in your stomach have turned into a swarm of confidence, your brain taking a backseat from its usual overthinking.

“You expect me to believe that you broke down the door before Sam could? The same guy who beat you at your physical a few weeks back?” You tease the brunette, a challenging brow raised at his rather unimpressed face.

“What are you trying to say there, doll?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches when you tilt your head slightly, eyes shining with amusement beneath the exposed hanging light bulbs.

“Nothing to worry your cute little head about.” You watch Bucky relax into his chair slightly as you reach for your glass with a smirk. “Just that I doubt Sam has any difficulty kicking a door down, not with the way he’s built.”

The scoff to end all scoffs ripples from your neighbours throat; his bright blue orbs glare into you and his features twist into a scowl. Oh if looks could kill…

Bucky’s tone is flat, “Didn’t know you were such an admirer of Wilson’s build, Y/n.”

The lack of a pet name sends your confidence wavering, but not enough to keep you from having a little fun.

“Well, you know,” You bring the glass to your lips, “he’s hardly difficult to miss.”

Watching the deep ruby liquid pass over your lips, Bucky fights to hide the fury that’s flooding his veins, forced to look away from your smug grin.

He knows, he knows, that you’re lying through your teeth, trying to get a rise out of his usually impenetrable facade, and yet he can’t help but feel jealous.

Bucky’s painfully aware that he has no right to feel so possessive, not when he lays no claim to you. But the twist of his stomach is proof that he doesn’t much care.

“Maybe I should just give you his number and you can cook him a meal next time.” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, that’s alright, I already have his number.”

You’ve never seen Bucky’s head snap up as quickly as it just did, his gaze pinning you to your spot.

“You what?”

Gently, you place your glass back on the table. “Yeah, Steve gave him my number last week so he could get in touch.”

The fire in those blue eyes burns brighter with each word, his body so still that his chest is barely moving when he breathes. In fact, you’re not even sure if he is breathing. Hell, he’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

“Is that right?” Bucky’s gruff voice is laced with possessiveness, the low tone travelling straight to your panties till you swear you feel yourself throb. You wonder briefly if you have a jealousy kink and the sweet arousal dripping from your cunt only confirms your suspicions.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, “In fact, i’m going out for coffee with him next week.”

“Huh.”

Bucky’s chair screeches against the hardwood floor as he pushes himself back. You follow his movements with amused eyes when he stands up and grabs your plates before storming to the kitchen. You twist in your chair, watching him place the dishes in the sink and flick on the tap.

“James, what are you doing?” You ask.

“What does it look like i’m doing?” Oh he’s grumpy, grumpy.

Bucky’s shoulders are tense beneath his tight henley, his sleeves now rolled up as he starts scrubbing at the plates. It’s quiet while he concentrates on his work, only accompanied by the music still flowing from your speaker.

From the corner of his eye, the firefighter sees you rise from your chair, ears honed in on the sound of your feet pattering towards him.

It’s now hard for Bucky to focus on anything but your breath on his neck, goosebumps littered across his skin like a rash. You stand right behind him, tracing your fingers up from the small of his back; Bucky’s muscles tense momentarily before melting at your touch, just like always.

“Ask me why i’m seeing Sam next week.” You order, hands still roaming the taut fabric on Bucky’s back. The command makes him pause and clench his eyes shut. Why are you making him talk about this when it’s tearing him apart?

The brunette turns in your hold but you don’t release him, instead settling your hands on his waist.

“Why are you seeing him, doll?” Bucky sounds despondent, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks down at you.

“He asked me to teach his nephews to play the piano, Buck. I’m meeting him and the boys on Wednesday, Sarah too.”

A shocked ‘What’ tumbles from his lips as the information sinks in, his frown slowly falling away as he processes your words.

“Yeah…” You grin, though it’s more like a smirk, content with yourself proving he was jealous.

In a desperate attempt to save his ego, Bucky rolls his eyes playfully. “I knew you weren’t really attracted to that dumbass.”

You scoff and pat his chest lightly. “Sure you did, Barnes. Now scoot, you wash ‘em, i’ll dry ‘em.”

With his hands on his hips, he stays still as you nudge your way to his side, stretching to the window sill where your dish towels lay. Bucky’s never been in this position before, it’s always him who’s teasing you; this is new territory for him and it irks him that you riled him up so easily.

Once he shakes his head clear, the firefighter returns to face the sink and starts washing the dishes again. You wait patiently while he works, humming along to whichever song is playing.

“You like the old stuff, huh doll?” Bucky grins warmly at the slight sway of your hips, your radiance beaming like a lantern.

You giggle sheepishly and bite your lip, unknowingly sending Bucky spiralling. “I thought it was fitting for tonight, really leaning into the whole ‘housewife’ role.”

He raises a brow, “Does that make me your doting husband then, sweets?”

Realising what you said, your cheeks heat up instantly and your eyes widen. You attempt to backtrack but your words stumble over one another as though you’re a little school girl.

Bucky, however, is basking in the familiarity of control; your rosy cheeks never fail to bring a smile to his face, and boy is he beaming right now.

“I meant- It’s- You know what I meant, James.” You shoot daggers at him, though the idea of being married to your neighbour sends your heart into overdrive.

That swoon-worthy laugh greets your ears with haste, Bucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his chest reverberates with its force. It’s impossible to bite back the grin that’s fighting its way onto your lips.

Small tendrils of chestnut hair tumble from behind his ears, begging to be pushed back, but the buzz from the wine has dulled and you can’t find the confidence to do it, no matter how much Bucky’s eyes are pleading you to.

“You know, it’s sweet of you to teach the boys how to play.” He looks at you in adoration, the image of you spending time with Sam’s nephews triggering a warmth to spread in his chest.

A breathy laugh escapes you as your gaze falls to the kitchen counter. You blush at the compliment and slowly start drying the dishes again.

“Do you spend much time with them?” You ask with a brief glance his way.

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, Sarah is always throwing barbecues for the squad. They’re good kids, and I bet they’ll love you!”

“Oh God, I hope so. I’ve never taught before and i’m scared they’ll hate me and i’ll destroy their dreams and-” You ramble away without noticing the frown tugging at your neighbours brows.

“Teach me.”

Huh?

“What?” You freeze.

“You said you’ve never taught before,” Bucky steps closer to you, his cologne swarming around you like a warm hug, “so practise on me. Teach me something.”

You almost laugh at his words, mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that he’s joking. But Bucky doesn’t move, his blue eyes study your own, body so still that you fail to conjure a laugh. He’s not joking.

Hesitation is written across your features, drawing a single shake of Bucky’s head. “Come on, sweets. Please? For me?” He pleads.

“Okay.”

It’s scary how quickly you succumb to Bucky’s wishes; you fear you’d do awful things if only he asked and you’d even do it with a smile. You’re so doomed.

With a triumphant grin, Bucky plucks the dish cloth and plate from your grasp and carefully places them on the sink’s edge, before taking your hand in his and guiding you to your piano.

Nerves prickling beneath your skin, you trail behind him and silently revel in his touch. It’s hard to not stare at his perfect body as you stumble around furniture, the sharp muscles of his shoulders rippling as he tugs you with him. Flicking off the speaker on the way, you fall onto the small piano stool beside Bucky, and with such little room, your left thigh is pressed up against his. The solid curve of his muscles prod into your flesh and yet despite the fluttering it causes in your stomach, you’re far more focused on his hands.

From the bulge of his toned biceps to the trail of prominent veins in his forearms, your eyes drag down Bucky’s arms till you pause at the sight of his large hands. They lay spread across the span of his thighs, his right pinky finger mere atoms away from your exposed skin where your dress has ridden up. You find yourself craving the sparks that alight with his touch, so you adjust your position to make sure your leg brushes against his hand.

It certainly hasn’t gone amiss to the firefighter that you’ve taken a liking to his hands. Sure, he’s caught you staring at them before, but the hunger in your gaze right now is greater than ever.

The corner of Bucky’s lip turns up into a smirk as he reaches for your hands once more, lifting them to rest on the ivory keys of your piano.

“Wanna hear you play me something before you give me a lesson.” He admits, his words more of a demand than a question.

When you fail to respond, still caught up in scanning the crevices of his calloused hands, Bucky nudges your shoulder.

You shake your head with a dazed frown, “Huh?”

A playful chuckle falls from his pink lips, “I said play me something, sweets, before you start teachin’ me.”

You giggle sheepishly, sighing an ‘Oh’ before you gather your thoughts. Bucky returns his hands to his lap - a movement you struggle to ignore - giving you free rein of the instrument.

Running through some songs you could teach him, you settle for one of your favourites, or more accurately, one of Bucky’s favourites. The cool surface of the keys is harsh beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the Bucky-induced-heat flushing through your veins, hands stretching into place as you prepare the opening chords.

Rhythmic tones swarm around the two of you as you begin playing, masterfully dancing across the keys like it’s a second language. Your graceful motions always bring Bucky to a halt as you entrap him in your art.

He recognises the song straight away, lips turning up at the sweet melody. You didn’t even have to ask to know what he wanted to hear, you just knew. Bucky’s head feels light at the sight before him. A knowing grin has settled on your soft lips, your body ever so lightly swaying to the music, clearly getting lost the sounds.

It’s impossible not to feel the adoring stare of your neighbour, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. Warmth is pooling in the depths of your heart where it feels like you’re bleeding out, your love for Bucky forcing out the blood till the only thing circulating through your veins is him. No longer able to cope with the feelings swarming within you, your fingers abruptly stop mid song before you turn to look up at the firefighter.

“Okay, your go.” You state, but when Bucky raises a bemused brow your way, you continue to instruct him. “Come on. You’re gonna do the left hand, I’ll do the right.”

“Yes Ma’am!” Bucky chimes with a mock salute, earning him a glare.

It takes a few tries to move his fingers into the correct positions, both because he’s apparently wholeheartedly incapable of doing what you say but also because you may or may not zone out every time the veins of his hands stick out as he moves. But it’s still entirely his fault though. Entirely. ‘Maybe like 98% his fault. That’s seems fair.’ You think.

“There you go!” You cheer when the firefighter successfully plays the right notes in tandem.

“Would you look at that, not so useless after all.” Bucky winks at you and you blush lightly.

Glancing at him hopefully, you ask him to play the first chord you taught him.

“Oh, umm-“ He stutters, fingers flailing about and pressing random keys in search of the right pattern.

“Here, let me…” You chuckle sweetly at how utterly lost he looks and move to help him.

Leaning forward, you drag Bucky’s fingers over the ridges of ivorite, slowly placing them on the correct keys. You feel his lust-filled eyes trained on your face while you work, though it’s getting harder and harder to focus under his stare.

A frown tugs at your brows when your mind goes blank as to where Bucky needs to put his left hand, his still-wandering gaze burning into you and spreading to your cunt faster than you care to admit.

Of course, Bucky notices your breath quickening, chest stumbling up and down with shaky pants. His proximity is intoxicating and the will to fight it is slowly slipping past you, fingers itching to trace up Bucky’s thick arms to his neck so you can finally pull his lips to yours.

Bucky reads every inch of your skin like he’s studying for an exam. From the clench of your jaw to your eyes fluttering shut, he knows that he’s winning this tussle for control.

“Bucky…” You breathe, the wavering sigh rolling from your tongue like a stray secret.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky smirks with glinting eyes and you bite back a whimper.

Opening your eyes, you keep them trained on where yours rest on his. “I can’t focus with you looking at me like that.”

Bucky knows exactly what you mean but he can’t help but toy with you. “Like what?” He cocks his head with faux innocence that fools no one.

You turn to look up at the firefighter, eyes meeting his half lidded ones, the blue of his eyes barely visible behind his lust-blown pupils but the blue you can see is so impossible dark that you wonder if they were ever light in the first place.

Taking a breath, you wet your lips so briefly that Bucky nearly misses it. Nearly. “Like you want to kiss me.” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs, leaning in closer, “I want to do much more than that.”

Your body is alight with need. Craving his touch, a breach of the barrier between you, you practically whine your reply. “Then why are you just staring?”

“Well, I wanna remember you like this; sweet, angelic, so perfect in your little sundress.“

With the back of his hand, Bucky nudges the hem of your dress higher till his whole hand is spread against your thigh. You quash the aching desire to glance at where your bodies meet and lock your eyes on Bucky’s, whose lips are turned into a knowing smirk.

“Gotta savour it while I can.” He says as he pushes his palm further to your inner thigh, his pinky finger mere inches from your heat.

“Why?” You ask, heart racing.

It dawns on you that you may actually pass out when the firefighter leans in close to you, nose pushing your hair aside to expose the soft skin of your neck which now sits defenceless to his advances. The heat of his breath is electrifying, lips nearing your pulse point eagerly.

Bucky’s lips ghost over your skin as he explains, “Cause once I’ve had my way with you, you’re gonna be a hot fucking mess, sweets.”

A breathy moan tumbles from the depths of you chest at the crude insinuations of his words; your eyes flutter shut, an unintentional reaction that you’re grateful for as it hides the way your pupils roll to the back of your head.

Through the dark span of your eyelids, you picture exactly how Bucky will make you a hot fucking mess. Spread legs with his tongue delving through your folds, back arched as he pounds into your pussy with vigour, his hands guiding your hips back to meet his as he fucks you from behind. The images bear too much for you yet you can’t stop picturing the salacious scenes, not when your neighbour is pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

“James…” You sigh, voice carrying the weight of a thousand pleas.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

Nodding your head desperately, you whine, unable to form any words beneath his sinful tongue.

“Words, doll.” Bucky says, lips hovering over your ear. He’s struggling to hold back but can’t let himself touch you the way he wants to until he hears you spell it out for him.

Turning your head slowly, you peer at Bucky with half-lidded eyes and a slack-jaw. “I want you, James. Please.”

That’s all it takes to disintegrate the final remnants of the firefighter’s self-control before his full lips meet your own with a hunger that’s been brewing for months.

Bucky’s lips glide across yours, slotting between your own so easily it’s got you believing this is not your first kiss. It’s soft and sweet but so goddamn sensual that you can’t help but moan into his mouth, the now open gap giving him the perfect chance to slide his tongue inside.

You bring your hands up Bucky’s body and rest them on his neck, fingers tentatively feeding through the hair at the nape of his neck while you jostle for control of the kiss.

Forced to pull back for breath, you take a peek only to find those strikingly blue eyes already on yours.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky whispers, “you don’t know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

“Probably not as long as I have.” You scoff.

“Then let me make up for lost time.”

“Wait, what do y-“

Within moments, Bucky is lifting your legs over the bench and is knelt between them, his large hands teasing the hem of your dress as he keeps your thighs spread apart.

Your mouth is agape with surprise while you grab onto the piano behind you for stability, a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins. And as if he can read your anxious thoughts, Bucky looks up at you with the most sincere expression across his soft features.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, despite the deep desire shining in his eyes. He wants you more than anything, but he needs to know you want him too.

It’s an easy answer and you’re shaking your head faster than you care to admit, but the memory of Bucky’s prior words flash through your mind and you still just as quick.

“No.”

Watching intently as he runs a hand from your ankle up to your knee, the firefighter rolls his bottom lip between his teeth when your breath hitches.

“Then promise me you’ll tell me if that changes?” Bucky asks.

You reach down and run your fingers through his chestnut locks, tucking the few loose strands behind his ear.

“I promise.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweets.”

A hearty laugh reverberates through you, but you’re quickly silenced by Bucky’s lips on your inner thigh, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He kisses his way up to your heat, slowly pushing your dress higher and higher till the only thing between you and his mouth is the crimson lace panties covering your mound.

A sound you can only describe as a growl ripples through the room and you glance down at your neighbour to find him practically drooling at the sight of you. But then his eyes are on yours, his hungry, half-lidded eyes, and he’s tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Your breathing becomes laboured at his touch, your body, your mind, all of you at his mercy.

“Bucky, please…”

“Ah ah ah-“ The firefighter tuts, “-since when do you call me Bucky?”

You frown, back arching slightly in search of some friction on your core, too aroused to process his words properly.

“Look at me, Y/n.”

The stern nature of his tone lures your eyes to his once more. “What?” You ask, confused.

“I haven’t spent months goin’ crazy listening to you use my name only to have you call me Bucky when I’m finally between your legs.”

The throb of your pussy spurs you on and you tilt your head teasingly. “Touch me, James.” You say, and he obeys.

Bucky glides his hands up to your hips and drags your panties lower and lower, his lips chasing the lace till there’s no where left to kiss but your slick folds.

He hovers over your heat with bated breath before forcing himself to close his eyes and ask if you’re still okay with this.

“More than okay, James.” You answer truthfully.

“Good, cause I’m fucking starvin’.”

You feel his mouth on your pussy before you’ve even processed his words, tongue delving between your folds like he really is starving and you didn’t just feed him the best dinner he’s had in years. Though something tells him that title is about to be beaten the second you cum all over his face.

Your mouth curves into an ‘o’, the most pornographic of moans escaping you at the sinful sounds of Bucky’s mouth on your cunt. Drowning in increasingly intense waves of pleasure, your senses are dialled up to the max; with every flick of his tongue and suck on your clit, you find yourself falling deeper in your arousal. It becomes impossible to listen to anything Bucky’s telling you.

“Y’taste so sweet, doll.”

“Doing so good for me, aren’t ya? My good girl.”

“Let me hear you, doll, need to hear how good you feel.”

Whether it’s praises or orders, there’s no chance in hell of you understanding a word that falls from his lips, though Bucky doesn’t mind. The clench of your soft thighs around his head tells him all he needs to know - that even if your heads not fulling comprehending him, your body is. And the sheer amount of slick glistening across your cunt is enough for him to know that you’re ready for more.

The sensation of Bucky’s finger tracing along your pussy lips sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your hips lifting off the stool.

“James- oh fuck-“

Words die on your tongue when Bucky eases a finger inside you. White hot pleasure builds at your core, burning the last remnants of your self control, its embers coaxing a near-scream out of you.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweets. That’s- shit you’re so tight, pussy’s squeezing me and it’s just one finger.”

You mewl and squirm beneath him.

“How you gonna handle two of ‘em, doll?”

Bucky’s mesmerised at the sight of his finger gliding in and out of you, drenched in your sweet juices, too beautiful of a sight for him to give up by eating you out. But when you groan at the suggestion of two fingers, he drags his gaze upwards and is greeted with a view that’s evening better.

You, draped against the piano, head tilted back and brows drawn together while uneven sighs tumble from your swollen lips. God, you look heavenly, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud, but it makes little difference seeing as you’re rather preoccupied with the thought of Bucky fucking another finger inside you.

“James?” You call, reaching down to cover your left hand around the one at your sex, the other tugging on his hair.

“Yeah? Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” He panics, thinking you’ve grabbed his hand to stop him.

Instead, you look him in the eye and say “Are you gunna fuck another finger inside of me or what?”

An awe-inspired grin spreads across Bucky’s face at your question. He keeps his blue orbs on yours while he presses a kiss to your clit and pushes himself higher till he’s inches from your face.

He rests a hand against the piano, caging you in and says, “Anything for my girl.” before a second digit joins his first.

The stretch knocks the wind out of your chest but Bucky hardly gives you any time to adjust, his fingers pumping in and out of you even faster than before. His palm slaps against your bundle of nerves with every thrust, the force riding to your chest where your tits bounce in rhythm.

“So damn beautiful…” The firefighter says.

You look up at him through your lashes and pull his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue. With clashing teeth, the wet slapping sounds only feeds into the moment and Bucky’s suddenly very aware of the tightness in his jeans.

With each passing second, the cord in your stomach is getting so close to snapping that your mouth isn’t even moving against Bucky’s anymore.

“Fuck, James, I’m- I-“

“Shh, I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You gonna cum all over my fingers, doll? Gonna let me see you fall apart?”

You nod feverishly.

“Good girl, now let go for me.”

That’s all it takes for the damn to break loose and the fiercest orgasm of your life to rack through your body. It reaches every part of you, all the cracks and crevices you never thought could be touched, yet here you are, feeling every inch of yourself set on fire.

“That’s it, doll, that’s it.” Bucky comforts you while you lay victim to the aftershocks of his work, slowing the thrust of his fingers till your breathing evens and he moves to gently circling your sensitive clit.

“Holy shit…” You sigh, a satisfied and totally fucked-out grin playing across your lips.

Noticing how your hazy your eyes still are, Bucky smiles to himself while pressing loving kisses on your forehead.

“You did real good for me, sweetheart.” He listens to you hum beneath him as he moves to kiss your temple. “Y’look so pretty when you cum, you know that? Even prettier than I imagined.”

You twist in your seat to face your neighbour. “You’ve imagined this too?”

“Every night, doll.”

“Huh…”

Though Bucky’s eyes remain fixed on yours, it’s obvious that his mind has slipped away; he’s now clouded by memories of his x-rated dreams, ones that have ended with him pumping his embarrassingly hard length into his fist one too many times, and his cock twitches in his ever-tightening pants. You notice the movement at his crotch and, emboldened by his confession and the best orgasm you’ve ever had, you decide to take back some control.

“What have you pictured doing to me, James?” Your tone is so sweet, so innocent, that it takes a moment for your words to register in his brain. But when it does, boy, does a fresh wave of blood rush to his cock.

“You sure you wanna know? Cuz it ain’t all sweet and innocent.” He warns.

You say nothing and let your actions do all the talking; you slide a hand down to meet his left, the one still nestled between your sticky thighs, and tug it away from your cunt. With your eyes locked on his, you raise Bucky’s cum coated fingers to your mouth, slowly wrapping your lips around them and sucking your sweetness away. Making sure to give the firefighter a show, you swirl your tongue around his fingers before taking them as deep as you can, a knowing look in your eyes when you notice Bucky clenching his jaw.

After releasing his fingers from your swollen red lips, you press a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Tell me.”

What you can only describe as a growl rises from the back of Bucky’s throat and before you know it, you’re being carried to your bedroom, legs bound tightly around his waist while your arms wrap loosely around his neck.

He sits down on the edge of the bed; hands resting on your hips and edging lower to your ass, his fingers grip the supple flesh to keep you in place.

His force on your hips is pushing you down on his ample bulge, sparking a flash of pleasure straight up your spine that escapes you with a moan. Bucky chuckles softly with a sinful grin as you tilt your head back at the feeling.

“You wanna know what I’ve imagined us doing, doll?” The firefighter grabs your chin to bring your attention back to him. He runs the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging on it and letting it bounce back into place.

“I’ve pictured us just like this.” He drops his hand to your neck, tracing the curve of your collar bone till it meets the strap of your sundress. “You, naked and beautiful as ever, riding my cock like I know you can.”

You gasp lightly when he tugs your strap till it’s tumbling off your shoulder.

“And you’re telling me just how full you are, how stretched your little pussy is around me, choking my cock like a damn vice.”

Bucky’s filthy words send your hips into motion without warning; you grind your bare cunt over his crotch, the tent in his pants settling between your slick folds till his shaft is enveloped with your warmth.

“Does that sound good, doll? To have my cock buried inside you when you bounce on it? Fuck, I bet your cunt is dripping for me again,”

“It never stopped, James.” You whimper, your sensitive clit sending jolts up your frame as Bucky guides your hips over his.

“That’s right, you’re never gonna use anything else to cum ever again. You got me now, doll. I’m all you need. Me, my cock, I’m gonna ruin everyone else for you.”

You don’t even notice that Bucky’s hands are on the zip at your back, slowly pulling it down till the fabric are your chest goes slack, and with the straps already draped over your shoulders, the flowing material cascades around you, tumbling to your hips and leaving you defenseless to Bucky’s insatiable blue eyes.

“Fuck me, sweets, you’re- god- you’re perfect.” He leans in and kisses your collarbone. “So,” kiss, “So,” kiss, “perfect.”

Your eyes flutter shut, lost in the feeling of his touch, and Bucky smirks when he sees you. He teases a hand up your soft skin till it sits just beneath your tit, daring to reach up and play with you in the ways he’s always dreamt of.

“Is this okay?” He asks, earning an even more passionate grind of your hips as you push your chest closer to his open mouth.

He chuckles, “Needy, aren’t ya, sweets?”

You whine.

“Hmm, lucky for you, this is exactly what I imagined doing to you, what I’ve dreamt of for months…”

His lips wrap around your hardened nipple with haste, the warmth of his mouth a welcome sensation. He sucks at the sensitive nub, this tongue reaching out to soothe you afterwards. You throw your head back and moan loudly.

The sound of bucky loudly licking and sucking on your tits is driving you crazy, to the point where your hips are stuttering over his, practically drowning in the feeling till you have no control over your movements.

“God, I love your tits. Wanna act out every dream I’ve ever had of you. Fucking your tits, your throat, your cunt, anywhere you’ll let me, doll, please. I’ve needed you for so long.”

You blush at the word love, surpressing the hope that is stirring at the possibility that your tits aren’t the only thing he loves. Has he really wanted this as long as me? You wonder, picturing everything he just revealed he’s been wanting.

“M’So fuckin’ hard for you sweetheart, I know you can feel me. Dick’s throbbing, doll, it’s s’hard it hurts.”

You pull at his hair so he’s looking up at you again and capture his lips in yours.

“I wanna see you, Bucky…”

He groans and reaches for the hem of his shirt which he waists no time in tearing off. Your chest rises and falls heavier than before, eyes raking his physique just like you had that night he was leaving the shower at his place.

You trail a finger down his abs till it brushes the button of his jeans teasingly.

“All of you, James.” You look pointedly at his crotch. “May I?” You ask and when he nods, you climb off his lap and sink between his legs on the floor, you dress tumbling to the ground immediately.

Bucky’s abs tense as you work to undo the button, your hands tiny in comparison to his body. Next, you work the zipper up and over the bulge of his cock, the teeth desperate to come apart after being so constricted for so long. The two sides of denim snap away from the tent of his boxers, perfectly presenting where the firefighter so badly needs your touch.

He helps you kick off his jeans till the only thing between you is his boxers. You trace a finger up and down his shaft through the cotton, enjoying the sticky patch of pre cum leaking through the top.

“Have you ever imagined me sucking your cock, James?” You ask with half lidded eyes before kissing his covered shaft. “Cause I have.”

Bucky whimpers - whimpers - at your words, his hips snapping up to your face uncontrollably.

You begin to drag down his boxers, trailing kisses down down down, your lips greeting his tip when his cock flicks up against them before your eyes even get chance to glance at him.

Your eyes flutter shut at the salty taste on your lips, revelling in the breathy moans from your neighbour.

“Fuck- pl-please honey, I need your- argh- mouth around me!”

You make eye contact with him from your place on the floor and ask if he’s sure.

“More than anything.”

And with that, you take his thick length into your mouth, lips sealing around his angry pink cock head briefly when your trace your tongue over his slit, before gliding lower down his cock.

You take as much of him as you can, but you need time to warm up having never taken a cock as large as his before.

“You’re so big, baby.” You say as you pull off his shaft with a pop, “Biggest I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

A frustrated groan arises from the firefighter and you feel his hand on the back of your head, gently pushing you to his dick once more.

“Suck my cock, doll, just like we’ve both imagined, nice and deep, please.”

You take the base of his cock in your hands and guide his tip back to your lips.

“Atta girl,” Bucky encourages as you take him deeper and deeper.

He feels you relaxing your throat to take more of him and his balls clench at the feeling.

“Argh fuck, fuck, fuck. Good girl, oh my god, yes!”

His praises and curses cheer you on and you manage as much of him as you can, only an inch or so remaining that’s simply too thick to fit in your mouth. Lord knows how he’ll fit in your pussy, but you’re sure he’ll figure it out.

You bob your head on his length over and over till you’re in desperate need of air. You let your hands work your spit and his precum up and down his hard cock while you catch your breath and watch his beautiful face contort into one of extreme pleasure.

Your chest fills with pride at Bucky’s facial expressions; making him feel good is somehow more rewarding than anything you’ve done in your life and you find yourself content at the thought of spending the rest of your days pleasing him.

Bucky is oblivious to the gratified smile toying your lips and wholly unprepared for your next movement.

“Oh god- oh fuck, doll-” He groans, his breathing staggered and eyes clenched shut when you take his balls in your mouth, the skin sloppily wet from your work on his cock, and now enjoying the warmth of your mouth.

“Oh honey, do that again, felt so go- argh!” He’s interrupted by you tending to his sack once more, your tongue swirling around them and lightly sucking.

You moan around his pretty, swollen balls, the vibrations drawing a sigh of pleasure from your neighbour. The trimmed hair at the base of Bucky’s member is tickling your nose while you fight to taste every part of him.

With a final sharp suck, you release his balls with a small plop, plant a wet kiss on each and flatten you tongue to lick a bold stripe up his length. The tip of your muscle presses into the vein on the underside of his dick and Bucky thrusts upward, his hips bucking as he desperately searches for more.

As you ready yourself to glide his cock down your throat once more, you feel Bucky’s hand on your cheek, pulling you off him.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” You ask with a concerned frown, nervous that you’ve done something wrong to have Bucky stopping you. You wrap your hand around his forearm, the one outstretched to hold your hair, while the other remains enclosed around his cock.

“Nothin’ bad, sweets, it’s just that- fuck-“

You absentmindedly stroke your thumb over his girth, a motion you intend to be comforting but in reality, it just makes him throb even harder in your hands.

“-I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep using your pretty mouth like that.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

He laughs lightly and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Cause as hot as you’d look swallowing my load, I’d much rather cum inside that sweet pussy for our first time.”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth before pecking a doting kiss to his forearm and letting Bucky pull you to your feet. His eyes follow yours till he’s looking up at you from his seated position, his hands falling to your hips with an awestruck face.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” His voice is barely above a whisper. You blush crimson.

“Get on the bed, doll.” He orders. “Lay on your back.”

You do as he says and once you’ve settled, he crawls on top of you. It’s quiet for a moment as Bucky stares lovingly down at you, burning the image into his memory to remind him he has everything he needs.

“I should have found the guts to do this months ago…” You murmur, pushing the fallen tendrils of chestnut hair behind his ear. He looks so goddamn perfect; the golden glow filtering through your window catching every feature you’ve spent so long dreaming about, and now he’s here, really here, and you can’t help but stroke his cheek with revere.

“We have now, doll. That’s enough for me.” Bucky whispers. “Are you comfortable?”

You nod, truthfully, both in terms of your position but also for what’s coming. But then his elbows bend out and he’s lowering himself onto you.

“How about now?”

There’s a gleam in his eye and a playful smirk on his lips as he watches your chest heave, your body taking more of his weight now.

“No!” You giggle.

“No? Is this better?” Bucky teases, briefly laying his whole weight over you until you paw at his shoulders to push him off.

“James! You’re squishing me!”

The melody of your carefree laughter has Bucky melting and he pushes himself up onto his hands once more. His lip is tucked between his teeth, enjoying the view as he becomes increasingly aware of his cock now just one slip away from your pussy lips.

Quickly coming to your own awareness of Bucky’s rock hard length pressing into you, you sober up.

“Darling?” You tug on his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb.

Bucky’s brows pinch closer slightly.

“I need you inside me.”

His soft lips are crashing against yours within moments, his hand fighting between the nonexistent space between your bare bodies to grasp his cock and guide his tip to your bundle of nerves.

The sudden taste of how good Bucky can make you feel forces a sharp breath from you. It’s so much yet not enough, all at the same time.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? Let me take care of you how you deserve.”

After a meek nod with your hands finding refuge in Bucky’s soft locks, he trails his cock head down your pink folds till it catches on the dip of your entrance.

Bucky tempts a whimper from you as he slides inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his larger than average member.

“Fuck, doll, you’re so tight for me.” The firefighter moans, resisting the urge to snap his hips and bottom out completely.

You’ve yet to make a sound, the sting in your pussy not yet dissipating, and when you glance down at where your bodies meet, you realise you’re barely taking half of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky’s reassuring voice is ghosting over your ear, “you’re taking me so well, sweets. You need me to go slower?”

You clench your eyes shut briefly, “No, keep going, you’re just so…”

“So what?”

Bucky watches a deep red creep up your neck before returning his gaze to your eyes, that now dance across the room avoiding him.

A gentle grasp on your chin draws you to face the breathtaking man above you and you clench around his dick.

“What happened to the little minx who was practically beggin’ me to fuck her, huh? Don’t get all shy on me now, dollface. I’m so what?”

His words have you spilling yours without second thought. “You’re so fucking thick, James, cock’s splittin’ me in half.”

He groans and snaps his hips fully into yours, making you scream out, “Jamie!!!”

His scalp burns when you pull on his hair harder than before, your moans filling the room like a broken record. Bucky should be focused on the furrow of your brow, your laboured breaths, the way your cunt is choking him, anything about how perfect this feels, but all he can focus on is how with one thrust, you called him ‘Jamie’. And you didn’t just say it, you screamed it.

“Shit, honey, say it again.”

“Ja-Jamie…” You whine and feel Bucky draw his hips back before pounding into you once more.

“Again.” Your neighbour growls.

“Oh my god, fuck- I”

“Again.”

It takes everything you have to open your eyes and look at him. “Fuck me, Jamie.”

“That’s my girl.”

Bucky drives his length into you till his tip is hitting your cervix, the pleasure wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air out of you. You fight to breathe as Bucky drills into you, over and over, softly grunting with every thrust.

“Never felt anything as good as your cunt before, doll. Wanna spend the rest of my life buried inside you.”

You pull his lips to yours and, back arching from the mattress, dive your tongue into his mouth with vigour. He lets you explore his mouth while fucking you deep and fast, the headboard of your bed slamming against the wall and probably driving your neighbour crazy. Oh wait, he is your neighbour, and it is driving him crazy, but in the best way imaginable.

“So goddamn tight, sweets, y’pussy was made for me,” He swallows your whimpers happily, “don’t you think? You feel how good i’m filling you up, honey? Sliding in an’ out so easy, you’re so fucking wet for my dick.”

“Harder, Jamie.”

Goddamn.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll do whatever you want.”

You lose yourself in his thrusts; the sting has long turned into the most pleasure you’ve ever felt, and that’s saying something after the orgasm he lulled from you only a few minutes ago.

“Fuckin’ me s-so good, Jamie.”

“Ah- just like that, baby.”

“I’m getting close, James, need you to go faster.”

Your pleas send Bucky’s cock pulsing and he does exactly as you wish. He fucks you faster, fighting off the desperate urge to cum inside your sweet cunt.

“Jamie…” You sigh.

He grins up at you from his place at your tits, his tongue reaching out to tease your nipples. You push his head down till he takes your sensitive bud in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue over it while he gropes its twin.

The tight coil in your stomach is twisting to its limit and you find yourself dangerously close to cumming around Bucky’s hard, thick length.

“I’m so- oh fuck- i’m so close, James.”

He lifts his head and eyes you with lust blown pupils.

“Are you gonna cum for me, doll? God, I can feel you clenching around me, you wanna cream all over my cock? Huh?” He smirks at your pornographic moans. “Bet I’ll look so good covered in your cum, sweets, maybe I’ll let you clean me up, put that mouth to good use.”

“I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum,” You chant several times breathlessly.

“Let go for me, sweet girl, make a mess o’my cock. Cum, doll.”

Your body shudders as your hips grind up into Bucky’s, your walls tightening before he feels you gush around him. Practically screaming in pleasure, you bite down on Bucky’s shoulder to quiet yourself, though the pain travels straight to his member, still fucking into you with force.

“Fuck, James, you’re so perfect, never came so hard in my life- shit-“

He’s groaning into your ear, his balls slamming against you and filling the room with salacious wet slaps.

“You’re so wet and- fuck- I can’t- I can’t hold back much longer.”

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and lick up the side of his throat, tongue catching the salty beads of sweat in its path. Reaching his earlobe, you suck on it lightly and whisper into his ear.

“Want you to cum inside me, Jamie. Fill me up, please, I need your cum.”

“Argh, fuck!!” Your words send Bucky over the edge and his hips stutter while he finally lets go.

“Oh god, yes!” Bucky grunts. “Take my cum, doll, fuckin’ take it.”

Your tongue seeks his neck once more, pressing open mouthed kisses as his cock shoots streams of white seed into you, the spurts seemingly never ending.

“Fillin’ my cunt so much, Jamie- fuck- you feel so good!”

As his cock softens, his thrusts slow to a more bearable pace, both of you so sensitive from your orgasms. Catching your breath takes a minute or two, but in the meantime, you coax satisfied sighs from your firefighter by running your hands up and down his back; the light sheen of sweat greets your fingertips as you touch him tenderly.

With no words being shared, you focus solely on Bucky’s breathing, the rise and fall of his back beneath your hands and the weight of his body on yours. It should be uncomfortable, but you’ve never felt so at home in a place, let alone with a person, in your life.

“That was…” Bucky murmurs into your neck.

You finish his sentence, “Pretty damn good.” Laughter ripples through the muscles of his back.

“Yeah,” He agrees and pulls back slightly to look at you, “you feeling okay?”

“If by okay you mean ‘completely and utterly fucked out’ then yeah, I’m great.”

You grin cheekily before pushing his hair behind his ear yet again, an act you find yourself praying that you’ll get to do for the rest of your life.

“How are you feeling?” You ask sincerely.

Those blue orbs flick between your own, laced with an emotion you hope to be love. “Like I want to be with you like this forever.” Bucky admits. “That and completely and utterly fucked out.”

You laugh heartily, bringing a beaming smile to Bucky’s swollen red lips.

“Let me clean you up, doll.” He offers before pushing himself off you, much to your dismay. He disappears to your bathroom for a minute before returning with a damp cloth in hand.

“Can you spread your legs for me, sweets?”

He bites a chuckle at how quickly you obey him and gets to work, wiping away your shared cum from your pussy and goosebump-ridden thighs. The towel is warm and soft on your skin, lulling you to sleep, though you fight to keep your eyes on your neighbour.

“You’re so beautiful, James.” You say, reaching to place your hand on his that sits beside you hip, where he’s leaning his weight.

He smiles sheepishly and focuses on the job at hand. Once you’re clean, Bucky carries you to the bathroom so you can do your business, waiting patiently outside after putting his boxers back on and grabbing his henley for you to wear.

When you step out of the bathroom, Bucky’s holding his he let out in front of you. “You looked a bit cold so I thought you might want a shirt?”

You smile, “Your shirt?”

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck, muscles flexing at the movement, “You don’t have to, I just thou-“

He stops talking when you pull the henley from his grasp and tug it over your head. It swallows you whole and the sleeves tumble past your hands, but Bucky thinks it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him back to your room and back into bed, tugging the sheets over you both where you nestle into his chest.

“You’re staying, right?” You ask with the most puppy-dog eyes you can muster.

“Of course, doll.”

Smiling to yourself, you curl up against the firefighter. “Woulda cooked you a meal months ago if I knew that’s all it took for you to finally fuck me.”

a/n: filth. pure filth. so sorry that it took me a lifetime to post this - life got lifey and it took me ages to get this right. it’s my second time writing any sort of smut so i hope it was good for y’all. thanks for all the support, it means the world to me. love you guys, red ❤️

comment if you’d like to be added to the ashes to embers taglist 🧡

taglist: @armystay89 @rabbitrabbit12321 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @harrystylesandthegoobs @zannemes @noonespecial90 @m3ntally-unstable @blackbirdwitch22 @wintrsoldrluvr @pingpongfingfong @belleofthebooks @larienjenova @chaosbarelycontained @mostlymarvelgirl @trustworthy-jellyfish @ozwriterchick @nervousnerdwitch @suz7days @bethexo07 @ace-27749 @bellabarnes1378 @angelbabyyy99 @selella @itvy5601 @noonespecial90 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @ordelixx @krispybearbouquet @matchat3a @cl7ire @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @julvrs @anghstybean @eah-marvel-trolls @pono-pura-vida @touchstarvedforbuckybarnes

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justagalwhowrites · 4 months ago

Text

Just to be Sure

Your husband Joel is desperate to get you pregnant again.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Breeding kink smut. Joel really really REALLY wants to knock you up. Lots of pregnancy talk. Reader has given birth before and is at the age where she can give birth again so choose your own adventure for age gap but I picture them about the same age with Joel late 30s. Husband!Joel. No outbreak AU. Creampie. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 1k

A/N: Forgive me for this. I am completely baked and couldn’t shake the thought of Joel having an insane breeding kink. I think if there was no outbreak and Joel found a woman, he’d be DESPERATE to knock her up over and over. He is all about his family, wants so many kids to look after, he’s always begging her for just one more. This is that Joel. He’s filthy. I love him. Also I wrote this in an hour and a half while on an edible and barely proofread it fuck if we ball also sorry I wrote it half on my phone in bed OK BYE LOVE YOU!

“Fuck, Joel…”

Your voice trailed off, weak and breathless, your hands grasping uselessly at the sheets around you.

You weren’t sure how long he’d had you here like this, sweating and fucked out as your husband slowly worked his cock in and out of you. You just knew you had to be quiet, that your one year old was asleep just a room away, a feat that was damn near impossible as Joel pulled yet another orgasm out of you.

“What, baby?” He panted over you, one hand gripping the headboard as he buried himself inside you yet again.

“You…” You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to focus. “You don’t have to get me pregnant to..to…tonight, you know…”

“Oh I know,” he said, his voice heavy with need and scratchy with exertion. “Wouldn’t mind tryin’ with you for a few months, fucking this pretty pussy full of me every damn night, comin’ so deep in you that you’ve got part of me in you all day every day.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, you couldn’t help it, your pussy drawing tight and hot around him.

“But, see, I’m not sure I can wait that long,” he said, pressing somehow deeper into you and holding himself there for a moment, making your cunt clench around him, your legs scrambling for purchase as your next orgasm built higher and higher. “Need to put another baby in you now, need to see your belly grow, need to fuck you until you’ve got part of me in you for damn near a year.”

“Oh fuck!”

You moaned it louder than you should have, Joel’s large hand going from propping him up to clamped over your mouth as your orgasm took you, the heat of it shooting out from your core and through your entire being, your heart racing, channel throbbing.

“Oh goddamn,” he groaned, fucking into you even harder now. “That’s right little mama, pull another baby out me, that’s it…”

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you panted over and over again into his hand, mind reduced to nothing but your husband and how damn full he made you feel, especially with his bare cock buried deep inside of you.

It had been a year almost to the day that you’d last fucked without a condom. You’d been right at the end of your pregnancy, desperate for Joel and desperate for something - anything - to kick start your labor. The last time you hadn’t needed a condom, your contractions started 20 minutes after it ended.

Ever since, you’d been taking precautions. Not because you didn’t want another baby - you definitely did - but because you hadn’t gotten the OK from your doctor yet.

Today, that had changed. You’d gone to your check up and your doctor gave you a clean bill of health, including the OK to start trying to get pregnant again.

You’d figured Joel would want to get started trying that night. You just hadn’t counted on him pulling endless orgasms as a part of trying.

“Think you got one more in you, baby?” He asked, freeing your mouth to run his hand over your hair. You just whimpered. “M’close, wanna come with you. Come on, you can give me one more, know you can.”

You couldn’t find the words as he moved to suck your neck, so you just moaned and nodded and clawed his body closer and tighter to yours.

You could feel him smile against you then, the pace of his pounding cock picking up, the tip of him hitting the spot inside you he’d long ago claimed as his own perfectly with each stroke.

“Come on little mama,” he panted. “Takes better if you come with me, need you to fucking come baby, need to feel you fucking come when I make you pregnant.”

You weren’t sure Joel was fully aware of what he was saying but then, you felt like you were moving of your own accord, too, your hips rolling up against his, frantically pawing at him in a desperate attempt to pull him so close that it was like his whole being was inside you.

This orgasm claimed you quickly, going from starting to build to taking over you in a matter of seconds. You barely had a chance to warn Joel before it hit you.

"I'm gonna come," you managed just half a second before your channel started to fluffer around him. "Fuck, I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"Fuck, that's it," he said fucking into you with two more deep, devastating strokes before you could feel his cock throbbing heavily inside, the warm spread of his spend in your most intimate place drawing your orgasm out. "That's it, fuck, come while I put my baby in you."

His cock gave one final, heavy pulse before he collapsed on you, panting for breath as you went limp below him. Even as he lay there, damn near exhausted, he still managed to fuck his cock into you a few more times, driving his come even deeper.

When he was satisfied, he sat up from you and watched between your legs as he slowly, gently pulled his softening length from your aching, swollen sex.

“So damn pretty like this,” he said almost reverently. You felt the comforting warmth of his come drip out of you and then Joel’s finger was there, scooping it up and gently pushing it back inside your spent hole as it struggled to close after being opened by his thick cock for so long. “Gotta keep me deep inside her baby, s’where I belong.”

You just whimpered a little, still not positive you could form words as Joel lay beside you, his hand skimming slowly over your stomach down to the place that had grown your first daughter with Joel.

“Think our baby’s in there?” He asked softly, thumb brushing your skin in a gentle rhythm.

“I hope so,” you smiled at him.

“Don’t sound like you’re sure,” he smirked a little back. “Might just need to leave more of me in you, just to be sure.”

Your smile grew as his hand slipped lower.

“Just to be sure.”

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #smut fic #breeding kink fic #husband!joel miller

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iateyourparents · 10 months ago

Note

hello! could you write johnnie guilbert fluff? maybe a scenario where him and fem!reader are spending a day together (filming a video, doing random stuff) just being two people in love and jake and tara tease them and call them a married couple

deaf, mute and blind | j.g.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x fem!reader

summary: you, johnnie and jake are recording a new challenge video.

warnings: use of y/n, bad writing and grammar(i’m sorry but english isn’t my first language)

an: hi, thank you <33 hope you like it!

pictures are from pinterest :)

“Hi guys, it’s me, Tara, and today I’m here with Jake, y/n and Johnnie.” Tara introduced you and you all waved to the camera.

“Hi!” you greeted her viewers.

“Today I’m gonna torture my guests… No, but I wish.” she pouted and you all laughed “Today, my guests will be playing into deaf, mute and blind but…they will have many challenges and quests to do throughout the day. But they main goal is to do shopping and bake me cookies! Any words guys?”

“I hope I get deaf, cause I don’t think I can go much longer with them talking.” you rolled your eyes looking at Jake and your boyfriend.

“Hey!” Johnnie gasped pretending to be offended, placing hand on his chest “That hurt love.”

You only rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that was forcing its way onto your face.

“Alright, so now they will draw sticks and get to know what senses will be taken from them!” Tara showed her viewers three sticks and then she turned to you “Ladies first.”

You took the one in the middle and immediately looked at written words.

“Yeah! I’m deaf today!” You did a little winning dance. Next one choosing stick was Johnnie and he got mute.

“Oh, so I will be blind.” Jake stated “That’s good actually, at least I don’t have to look at your ugly faces.” he smirked and you laughed.

Tara handed you all your things - blindfold for Jake, duck tape for Johnnie and earphones for you.

“Let me also add, that the person who won’t do the most of their mini challenges, has to take a cold shower on the street!” Tara smiled mischievously.

“Is this enough to charge her with domestic abuse?” Jake asked kind of scared.

When everyone was ready Tara started talking to the camera and you could only guess she was explaining to people what you gonna do and not long later Johnnie took your hand to let you know you were going out. You both helped blindfolded Jake to the car and Tara drove you to the nearest store.

She turned on the camera and pointed it at you and Johnnie. You didn’t see anyone talking so you decided to speak “I think Tara already told you guys but we’re making cookies so now we have to find all of the needed ingredients.” you informed and Tara pointed the camera to Johnnie who was gesturing towards some alley. He took your hand and started dragging you there with Tara going behind you but you suddenly stopped, remembering something.

You quickly turned around and jogged to Jake to walk him to Johnnie and Tara. He said something that made Tara laugh and Johnnie’s arms shudder in a silent laugh.

You really started to regret wanting to be deaf one, because not hearing anything yet seeing it, made you frustrated. Also, not hearing Johnnie made you kinda sad. But atleast you listened to your favorite songs.

You all went to grocery alley where Jake gave you his phone so you and Johnnie could find all ingredients for cookies.

Tara was pointing the camera on you all the time and you decided to speak from time to time in case she and Jake weren’t saying anything.

“So we will be doing chocolate chip cookies. Or rather we will be trying to instruct Jake to do it without hurting himself or poisoning us.” you felt a light push on your shoulder and you laughed seeing how Jake was struggling with trying to not miss your form while hitting.

Johnnie swatted Jake’s hand when he tried to hit your shoulder again and side hugged you while looking for flour.

“Johnnie, we need flour for cakes, this one is for bread.” you told him and he gave you a ‘what the hell’ face and you knew that if he could talk and you hear, he would be asking about the difference.

“Alright, I think we got everything.” you stated when you found everything and you all went to cashier’s stands where everyone was looking at you like at idiots, but that wasn’t anything new with Johnnie and Jake.

Tara quickly paid when it was yours turn and you and Johnnie walked Jake to the car.

When you were at home you quickly started to prepare kitchen for your baking.

Suddenly, you felt someone tugging gently at your arm and you saw Johnnie pointing ahead of you. You saw Tara pointing the camera at you all and you took it as a clue to start talking.

“Alright, so now we will be trying to instruct Jake how to make cookie dough, wish us luck!” you smiled sarcastically.

You somehow were cooperating well, Johnnie was showing you the recipe and you were reading it for Jake who then with your and yours boyfriend help were making most of the work.

When cookies were in the oven you didn’t have anything better to do so you sat on the floor in front of the oven and you were just looking at the cookies.

Some time later Johnnie joined you, sitting next to you and placing his head on your shoulder. You hugged him into your side and he gladly snuggled into you, kissing your shoulder.

You sat there for a few minutes, when Tara came to you with a camera and some bowl and told something to Johnnie and then showed you her phone, where she wrote in the notes that now you will be doing random challenges before you could take the cookies out from the oven. It would decide who is the loser of the video.

You all stood in the living room and Tara came to you with the bowl and you took one piece of paper.

“I’ve got ‘activity without your sense’” you read it for them and viewers out loud and then showed the piece of paper to the camera.

Moment later Tara gave you another paper, which turned out to be an instruction what your activity was.

“So I have to call a random contact and try to have normal conversation with that person. That will be hard.” you sighed “Can Johnnie and Jake help me? Like by gesturing?” You looked at Tara and she only nodded.

You looked at the camera and smiled “I’m actually kinda scared that they will gesturing wrong things and I will make a fool of myself.” you laughed and you could see Tara snorting.

Your challenges were done, it wasn’t that bad or at least you were hoping so.

Then you took the cookies out of the oven and tried them when they weren’t hot. They were really good.

“Teamwork makes a dream work, i guess.” you smiled at the camera.

Then you could finally take off the earphones and you were never as grateful for hearing Jake and Johnnie as now.

“God, it’s so good to hear people again. I missed your voice.” you told Johnnie who smiled widely at you and kissed your cheek.

“I’m glad to see again, but I’m scared of how many bruises I’ve got today.” Jake laughed while still trying to get use to the light in the room.

“Alright guys, they made it.” Tara smiled at the camera “I can’t with how cute y/n and Johnnie were today. Literally goals. You were like and old married couple.” she giggled and you smiled.

“So, who’s the loser?” Jake asked after few minutes.

“You Jake.” You laughed “You didn’t do any of your challenges correctly.”

“That’s true.” Tara smirked “You will do your punishment later.”

You stopped recording for some time so Tara could get all of the needed things for Jake’s punishment, so you and Johnnie went to sit on the couch while hugging.

“I really missed your voice today.” you admitted again quietly.

“And I missed talking to you.” he smiled “And kissing you.” he kissed you.

#johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert #johnnie #jake webber #tara yummy #tarayummy #sam and colby #snc #colby brock #sam golbach #deaf mute and blind

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povlnfour · 1 year ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ SECRET LOVE SONG (CL16)

pairing: charles leclerc x girlfriend!reader

summary: an anonymous account starts posting photos found on a private account supposedly belonging to f1 superstar charles leclerc. as the photos start circulating, an unknown face joins the picture that leads to speculation charles has a girlfriend he’s been hiding.

*faceclaim: seo soojin, but please imagine her as you see fit

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 9,016 people

anonymousf1 post dated 23.06.22, captioned ‘shirtless season in full swing’

view all comments

user UM. IS THAT CHARLES???

user wait we’ve never seen these photos before right?

user @/user nope don’t recognise them? could be wrong but

user check the bio on the account they’ve all come from an account called see.el.sixteen ? CL16??

user whilst i don’t support leaking people’s private accounts… thank u for these beautiful photos

user @/user i just want to know who took them

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 10,713 people

anonymousf1 post dated 28.12.22, captioned ‘day 1 - day 2 - day 3’

view all comments

user i know these are being leaked but i’m giggling over how simple his caption is

user HES SO BOYF CODED HOW IS THIS MAN NOT TAKEN

user hating the method loving that we’re actually getting charles content

user @/user IKR PHOTOS FREE FROM THAT FILTER

user gonna be that person and say i’m eating this content up

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 15,481 people

anonymousf1 post dated 04.08.23, captioned ‘caught’

view all comments

user who is he looking at with so much love

user i need to know who took these bc the way he’s looking at them…

user all this boyfriend content,,, not so sure this man is single anymore

user WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 23,107 people

anonymousf1 post dated 03.02.23, captioned ‘in between study sessions’

view all comments

user WHO IS THAT

user UM

user THE MESSAGE ON THE HAND??? DID SHE DRAW THAT??? IS HE TAKEN??? IM SO LOST

user first photo and how pretty he looks distracting me from the fact he poSTED A GIRL?

user heyyy admin post a clearer one so i can see her

user @/user literally i wanna see how cute she is

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 28,100 people

anonymousf1 post dated 12.05.23, captioned ‘❤️’

view all comments

user IS THAT HER?

user oh my god she’s HOT

user THE SINGLE RED HEART. IM READING INTO IT.

user wait she’s so pretty

user THE POLAROIDS WITH THE DRAWINGS ON THEM☹️☹️☹️

user so this is charles’ girlfriend?

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 34,512 people

anonymousf1 post dated 06.06.22, no caption

view all comments

user oh so it’s been going on for a YEAR???

user trying to pretend i’m not reading into them laying that close in swimwear

user oh so this is definitely his girlfriend huh

user heartbroken bc he’s off the market, ecstatic bc he’s happy

user @/user until he learns his entire private account is now on the internet

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 35,407 people

anonymousf1 post dated 19.09.23, captioned ‘singapore your sights are perfect’

view all comments

user THE CAPTION — HE MEANS HER☹️

user i love watching the likes go up with every post

user THATS DEFINITELY HIS SHIRT TOO

user we don’t have confirmation they’re dating but i’m taking This as confirmation that they’re dating

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 38,990 people

anonymousf1 captioned ‘happy birthday sweet girl’

view all comments

user oh. Oh.

user SWEET GIRL☹️☹️☹️☹️

user i know i’m here for charles… but i’m absolutely obsessed with her

user DOES ANYONE KNOW HER INSTAGRAM

user @/user I THINK THIS IS HER ??? @/yourusername

user @/user DAMN SHES PRIVATE BUT THE ICON IS DEFINITELY HER

user @/user at least we know her name is y/n

anonymousf1 just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by 47,501 people

anonymousf1 post dated 19.10.23, captioned ‘3 years with you. hoping for 30. and more if you’ll let me’

view all comments

user THREE WHOLE YEARS??? HES HIDDEN HER FROM US FOR T H R E E YEARS?!?!?

user oh my god it’s official. they’re actually together

user THE SECOND PHOTO THEY ARE SO CUTE HELLO

user y/n is mother already

user i want to pinch her cheeks but also slam my head on a table

charles_leclerc just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by yourusername and 1,127,805 others

charles_leclerc secrets out i guess. not the way i wanted it to happen but glad i can finally show you off. mine forever❤️

view all comments

user HE MADE IT OFFICIAL OHHHH HE LOVES HER

user sorry your privacy was invaded king but thanks for giving me a new woman to obsess over

landonorris finally i can stop editing y/n out of the photos i take

user MY FAVOURITE COUPLE ALREADY

user @/yourusername go public so i can cry over how pretty you are pls

yourusername @/user 🤭 bet

yourusername just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

liked by charles_leclerc and 204,561 others

yourusername privacy is sexy but so are you

view all comments

user MOTHER.

user THANK YOU FOR ALL THE CHARLES CONTENT

user 10/10 recommend stalking her account guys she posts the best charles pictures

user MA’AM THANK YOU FOR LETTING US IN IVE WANTED TO SCREAM ABOUT HOW HOT YOU ARE FOR FOREVER

charles_leclerc always been a woman of few words. love you baby❤️

yourusername @/charles_leclerc i love you more

charles_leclerc @/yourusername you’ll have to fight me on it

——

a/n:

first quick charles post bc this idea came to me last night and i wanted to make it happen <<33 there will be a proper au for him later in the week (just need to edit all 5k+ words) but for now ta da

as always, let me know your thoughts!!! and it goes without saying,,, privacy IS sexy, don’t leak people’s photos unless it’s in social media au form <<33

- giselle xx

taglist (found here): @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @ironmaiden1313 @champagnelovers101 @alessioayla @hobiismyhopeu @mingkyungseokie

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc scenario #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader

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lordprettyflackotara · 5 months ago

Text

hitchhiker || chapter three || the proxies

tw: mentions of murder (the usual), descriptions of gore, simpy Tim

a/n: the next chapter is going to be sum else. prepare yourselves now ;)

<— chapter two

You turned to Nova, who quickly led you over to your living room.

“I understand being excited about this case but I could’ve invited him in if you weren’t here,” You sighed. Nova’s curls were in space buns, her bare baby face staring back at you with a frown. “Well I guess it’s a good thing I was here then. Last thing you need is dick from a literal hitchhiker,” She argued sassily. She put her hands on her hips, giving you a motherly look. You rolled your eyes, Nova reaching out and grabbing your wrist.

“I have to show you, you’re the only person I can trust,” She explained. She led you over to your living room, documents and photographs laid all over your white living room carpet. “Is it really okay for me to see all of this?” You questioned. She sat down on the floor, excitedly patting the spot beside her. “Absolutely not but that’s why no one else is going to know, right?” Nova said, arching an eyebrow. You joined her on the floor, the sight of all the papers overwhelming. “Right,” You agreed. Nova began dividing up the papers, placing three in front of you.

“They found Winston’s body. Did an autopsy and everything,” Nova began. Your eyes widened in horror. “Found his body? He’s dead?” You gasped. Nova nodded. Her face flashed a glimpse of sadness for a moment before it hardened again. “He was slaughtered. His body was completely dismembered, his torso the only thing left,” She explained. You felt your stomach churn. “Oh God,” You whispered. She began looking for a certain paper, shoving the others aside.

“My guess is that they tried to make his corpse unidentifiable. But they were morons. They didn’t account for his daughter’s name being tatted on his chest. Dead giveaway.”

You arched an eyebrow, “They?”

“I think there’s three of them.”

She pointed at the photographs in front of you. Each one contained individual silver bullets, with different backgrounds. “Those bullets are from a revolver and they’ve been found in all of these cases. From Florida to South Dakota to Oregon,” Nova told you. She brought out three more photos of two women, one man. “Those murders were of the head chiefs investigating this symbol,” She told you. She then held up a crumbled piece of notebook paper with an X through a circle.

“Meanwhile in Rhode Island, Utah, and New York, we’ve found at least four victims with a similar slash wound to the throat,” Nova told you. You cringed at the thought of her bluntly showing you the gore, but instead she held up diagrams of the bodies. Each were drawn and had notes dissecting every little mark on the victims body. “Every single one of them were slashed in the throat with the same blade. Look, same start and end point every time. No jagged edges, just a straight blade,” She pointed out. Nova braced herself as she showed you another pile.

“Now the third set of the victims seem to have it the worst. In Texas, New Mexico, South Carolina and countless other states, there have been findings of bodies like this,” She told you. She set out at least ten papers, the drawn diagram autopsies. You felt your stomach churn as you soaked in all of the pictures. “T-they’re all-” You stuttered, swallowing. Nova nodded affirmatively. Each drawing showed only the torso of the victims, the arms, head, and legs completely chopped off. In each of the drawings the torso itself seemed mangled, torn apart.

“It looks like they’re shot or sliced to death, before they’re dismembered,” She said. You felt your mouth run dry. “One of them shoots the victims or slices them, the third dismembers them,” She told you. You couldn’t make sense of what you were seeing. You grabbed the dreaded symbol of death. The paper was so crumbled it would’ve torn it if you weren’t careful. “I don’t understand, all of this torture and despair over this symbol?” You asked. Nova shifted through the papers, digging out a report. “I don’t know what it means, but I know whoever it belongs to doesn’t want it getting out there,” Nova said. She nervously bit her bottom lip as her eyes darted across all of her papers.

“Who was the first detective? How did they find it?” You asked. She brought out a picture of a tall detective, his hair buzzed and green eyes lit up as he smiled for the photo. “This is detective Wolf. He was investigating a triple homicide. It looks like a daughter murdered her entire family at fourteen and escaped. When they went through the home drawings with those symbols were everywhere,” Nova said. She showed you a picture of the girls bedroom. Pictures of the symbol were plastered all over her walls, along with words scratched onto the walls itself. He’s coming. There’s no escape. It’s him.

The words appeared to be scribbled onto the wall with raw charcoal. Jesus Christ they should’ve gotten that kid some pencils. “Now they just assumed the girl to be schizophrenic. That was until they found the same symbol all the way in Kansas,” Nova told you. You noticed the under eye bags that hung under her chocolate orbs. When was the last time she had slept? “Similar case. Teenage boy lost his shit, stabbed parents to death while little sister was at daycare. Investigated his room and guess what? Same symbol. Same ominous words,” She told you. Digging through her vanilla folder she held out a newspaper article to you. “Now here’s the funny part. Detective Wolf wasn’t killed until the symbol was found again. It’s like whoever this symbol belongs to went back to cover their tracks,” She rambled.

You put your hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her addictive trance. “I think you’re onto something,” You admitted. She looked at you, her lips dry and face paler than usual. This case looked like it was draining her energy. “But with that being said you need to watch your back. Whatever gang or person or thing that’s behind this has no problem traveling to slaughter someone to keep it sacred. You need to watch your back,” You advised. Nova gave you a tired smile. She placed her hand on yours. “I’m going to solve this case. Just keep a lookout for me on the civilian side of things, alright?” She asked. You nodded. You watched as she grabbed her papers, putting them in a particular order as she organized them back into her folder.

“Why don’t you crash here for the night? Take the bed and i’ll join you in a bit. I think old episodes of friends are running at this time of night,” You suggested. Nova clipped the folder together, securing her findings. “Thanks, you’re the best,” She said. You both rose to your feet, Nova quick to throw her arms around you. “I don’t know what i’d do without you,” Nova mumbled. You squeezed her tighter, knowing how the stress of cases affected her. And truthfully, you didn’t know what you’d do without her either.

“Hey don’t stay up too late, you have work tomorrow!”

You did in fact stay up too late, resulting in you falling asleep on the couch. You were awoken by knocking on your front door. Groggily you dragged yourself over to the door, trying to remember if you put on make up last night so you could rub your eye. You were so tired you didn’t look through the peephole, opening the door. You became fully awake at the sight of Tim. Quickly you brushed your hand over your tangled hair, suddenly becoming self conscious of your appearance. But why should you be? He’s the one that left dinner. He looked he hadn’t slept, his brown eyes looking back at you. He wore his standard mustard yellow jacket, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. You opened your mouth to speak, Tim quick to stop you.

“I know what you’re going to say and before you do let me just say, i’m sorry,” He rambled. You shifted your weight to one leg, looking up at him. Maybe you were a simp. Maybe you were just down bad. But you decided to overlook his weird behavior. “Apology acknowledged. The roses…?” You started to ask, your voice trailing off. Tim awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re for you. I didn’t know what your favorite flower was but I assumed roses would do for now,” Tim said shyly. It was your first time seeing him so relaxed when speaking. He appeared to be alone, Brian and Toby no where in sight. “Apology accepted or denied?” Tim asked you. You took the roses from him, smelling the delicate flowers. “Acknowledged for now. Don’t push it,” You say sternly but in a soft tone. Tim gulped as you signaled for him to come into your apartment.

“You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” You commented. You reached under your kitchen sink, grabbing a vase for the flowers. “Neither do you,” He deflected, trying to change the subject back to you. He liked talking about you. Talking to you. Your face went red as you looked down. “Oh well uh, I was up late with Nova. Fell asleep on the couch,” You admitted, embarrassment practically dripping off of you. You grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting the stems of the roses. “Is Nova your roommate?” Tim asked curiously. You put some water in the vase, finishing cutting the stems. “Oh no she just has a key to my place. Comes over during the day usually but she spends the night sometimes,” You explained.

Tim walked over beside you, leaning against the counter. He was much taller than you, his gaze fully centered on you as put the roses into the vase. His mind was rattled for many reasons. Some suspected Nova had a crush on you but you were oblivious. Some thought Nova was going to endanger you because of her line of work. And some were just flat out jealous a stranger he didn’t know got to spend the night with you instead of him. “Want some coffee?” You asked. Your sweet voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I’d love some,” He chirped. Your apartment was extremely small to Tim. It looked like you had attempted to make it tidy, but with it being so small all of your items looked cluttered.

“Straight black right?” You asked, setting the vase on your counter. Tim gave you a small smile. “You remembered,” He commented. You popped the empty coffee pot into the machine, pushing a button so the coffee would brew. “Hard to forget when you didn’t order anything else,” You replied. Huh. You were not as oblivious as Tim thought you were. Tim was typically nauseous ninety percent of the time. The only time his body ever really ate a hearty meal was when Masky fronted. If anything, Masky was so gluttonous it explained Tim’s consistent nausea.

Another suspected reason was Tim’s diet. Tim’s diet consisted of coffee and cigarettes. Yum. “So about last night I uh… I want to make it up to you,” Tim told you, trying to continue the conversation. The smell of coffee filled his nose, the scent flooding your apartment. “I thought that’s what the roses were for?” You asked. Mentally you felt like you had every right to be stand offish. Tim and Brian disappeared randomly. And although you were grateful for some time alone with Toby, that didn’t excuse their actions. Especially when no explanation was provided. Not one that’s good enough anyways.

“They are but I wanted to um, ask you if uh, you wanted to go out with me sometime today. Just the two of us,” Tim asked. He felt like a fourteen year old kid who just asked out his middle school crush. You felt your face flush pink. Did Tim just ask you out on a date? “I work until around ten tonight. Are you okay with that?” You asked slowly. After your previous breakup you hadn’t had too much experience with men. A tension began to bubble in the room, one you hadn’t realized was there before. Was Tim trying to hit on you? “Works for me. I don’t think much will be open but we can always walk around the Davidson park,” Tim suggested. He could feel his nerves eating at his bones as he awaited your answer. Davidson park was a massive park given to their town by the state, large oak trees and multiple kinds of flowers planted all over the place.

The coffee had finished brewing, your hand wrapping around the coffee pots handle. “What about Brian and Toby? I know Brian doesn’t like me but Toby and I had a nice walk home together,” You said dryly. You went to grab two mugs, the only two that were clean. You stared at them in the cabinet, your hands hovering over them. You mentally scolded yourself when you realized they were both hello kitty themed. Thanks Nova. “Don’t take Brian personally. He has a hard time socializing. We never stay in one place too long and he’s scared of getting attached,” Tim explained. Technically he wasn’t lying. You tried to nonchalantly pour you both cups of coffee, ignoring Tim’s eyes examining the hello kitty mugs. “What about Toby?” You questioned. One mug had hello kitty dancing and in the other one she’s winking with a wand. You mentally face palmed. Not exactly like there was a more ‘masculine’ mug you could hand him. Or honestly, literally any kind of boring adult mug would’ve worked.

“I think it’s great you guys like each other but i’d like the honor of getting to know you too,” Tim answered quickly. You poured both cups of coffee, deciding on Tim getting the dancing hello kitty mug. He took it without question, sipping the steaming coffee like it was nothing. “Alright let’s call it a date. I’ll meet you at Davidson park around eleven?” You suggested. Tim nodded, watching as you scooped a spoonful of sugar. He couldn’t help but want this routine all of the time. He’d make sure you were taken care of, pampered and fed. With the lack of clean dishes and yesterday’s clothes still on your body, it was apparent to him you were struggling. He didn’t want you to struggle ever again.

As Tim sipped his coffee, all he could think about was all of the ways he wanted to take care of you.

“Hey y/n?”

“Hmm?” You hummed, grabbing your almost empty creamer from your fridge.

“Nice mugs by the way.”

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loveinhawkins · 7 months ago

Text

picturing Eddie first meeting Dustin and thinking yeah, he knows how this goes: he’ll be a larger than life, comical figure in this kid’s life for, like, not even a year before he leaves Hawkins High in the dust.

And sure, Dustin is, like, ridiculously endearing even when he’s being a cocky little shit in campaigns, and that suits Eddie just fine, ‘cause he can be a cocky little shit at the best of times, downright obnoxious really, he thinks—a part of him’s never outgrown the juvenile, no matter how many times he repeats senior year.

Plus Dustin is crazily good at solving riddles, so Eddie’s remaining months leading Hellfire are definitely gonna be a fun challenge.

Then March comes.

And Eddie’s shaking apart in a boathouse, seeing impossible, terrible things on a loop in his head, Chrissy, Chrissy, God no, please, and Dustin’s there, with a wisdom far beyond his years, calmly leading him out of the dark.

Eddie half expects it to be a trick, but no. Dustin Henderson believes him.

You don’t know me, Eddie wants to say.

But there’s a constant defiance in Dustin’s expression, even when he’s clearly trying to keep things light and breezy, there’s nothing to worry about! Like he’s just daring for Eddie to contradict him.

There’s something assured in how the kid does things, Eddie thinks. He can see how the years of all this shit have shaped him, have him flitting between maturity and earnestness: something born from a childhood that’s not been lost, just altered.

He watches Dustin walk with Steve Harrington in the woods—can read the shared history and fondness hidden in between layers of snark; they’re family, he knows that without a doubt.

What trips him up is that Dustin keeps looking back, keeps drawing him back into the group with complaints that he’s walking too slow, and his eyebrows are raised meaningfully, like he’s really saying that there’s room for Eddie here, too.

And Eddie doesn’t know how to convey the sudden gratitude he feels closing up his throat—feels too jittery still, too raw to do anything justice.

He keeps close when Dustin tears off through the woods, heart in his mouth as the night darkens, Dustin, can you slow down? Dustin!

He pulls Dustin back from the lake’s edge just in time, then feels Steve’s watchful eyes on him—spots a flicker of approval, like he’s passed some sort of test.

And that feeling only grows the longer he’s around Steve, lying through his teeth in The Upside Down, I don’t even know why I care what that little shrimp thinks, and Steve’s giving him this knowing sideways glance, like maybe they’re something of the same; Eddie feels a sudden, unexpected rush of joy at the thought, dancing in and out of Steve’s space, still super jealous as hell, by the way.

“I told you, right?” Dustin says, grinning widely as Steve drives them out of Forest Hills at breakneck speed. “He’s awesome.”

And Eddie feels the fondness of his own smile, feels it right down to his core, because he gets that Dustin’s only being so forthcoming because Steve can’t hear him right now.

Kid worships you, dude. Like, you have no idea.

It hits him then, while roughhousing with Dustin in the grass (a deliberate distraction, trying to make the kids forget about weapons and fire): that he’s never really been the kinda guy who people want to stick around, but now…

Now he’s starting to think that he could be.

Starts to imagine, starts to hope—and that’s huge, something that would’ve seemed impossible mere days ago—as he sees Robin and Nancy laughing at his antics, their weapon-making temporarily forgotten.

They like me, Eddie thinks with wonder, they really like me.

And he wants—sudden and fierce, with all he has—to change the world for them, to make it so Robin Buckley would just be spending spring break watching arty films, dreaming of Paris; so Nancy Wheeler would never need to hide guns in her bedroom, would never have to carry an unimaginable grief.

Steve looks over, too—his laugh carries across the field, and Eddie is caught by the warmth in his eyes; even as Dustin manages to playfully tackle him, he’s still thinking of Steve, and maybe, maybe…

The lightness fades as they go over the plan, but not the emotion: Eddie keeps that tucked away, safe, a promise to himself.

“Uh, are you sure about this?” he says in an undertone to Steve, when it’s first revealed that it’s him and Dustin paired up together.

Steve’s eyes are apologetic, “Sorry, man, I’ve tried every—if there was a way to just, like, sit it out, I’d have—”

“No,” Eddie says urgently, “I mean…” And he points at himself before nodding discreetly to where Dustin is—currently talking up a storm with Erica, something about vents that he can’t make sense of.

“Are you sure?” Eddie presses, trying to put all he’s not saying into the question, I can see how much that kid means to you, I’ve known him, like, six months, Harrington, that’s nothing, why, why do you—

Steve shakes his head. A little smile breaks through his concern. “Yeah, of course,” he says, like it’s nothing.

But Eddie can feel the weight of it. A passing of the torch.

And he doesn’t know how to put what he’s feeling into words: that, apart from Wayne, he’s never really allowed people in, never allowed them to matter like this.

As they drive back to the Creel House, as time runs out and nerves build, he tries to show everything he can’t say; he helps Nancy take stock of supplies, offers Robin his shoulder so she can sleep, and he knows that’s not enough, barely scratches the surface, but it’s all he’s got.

He sits in the back of the RV, watches Steve, tense and silent in the driver’s seat, and knows with certainty what his mission is: get Dustin Henderson safely back home.

And no, Eddie doesn’t know how any of this is gonna go.

But he can hope.

He can try.

#the dynamic between them all makes my heart ache. just working through some thoughts ❤️#eddie and dustin #eddie munson fic #henderfam #steve and dustin #eddie and dustin fic #eddie munson analysis #dustin henderson analysis #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hcs #steddie #eddie and the party #eddie munson ficlet #eddie and dustin ficlet #implied steddie #pre steddie #eddie munson

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fluentmoviequoter · 9 months ago

Text

Broken Heart Mender

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After hearing Tim tell Angela why he's not in a relationship with you, you pull away and make yourself sick with a broken heart. After too long without hearing from you, Tim finds you and promises to make everything better.

Warnings: reader gets sick (vomiting, headache, losing weight, crying), slight miscommunication, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

“You know, you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work here,” Smitty points out.

“And you’re here a lot for someone who doesn’t work at all,” you argue playfully.

“She’s got a point,” Tim adds, shrugging at Smitty’s offended look.

You smile at Tim as you walk out, needing to return to your own station after spending too long on paperwork (to visit Tim). He’s been your friend since you were a rookie, and now he’s so much more.

You and Tim are safe places for one another; whenever one needs it, the other becomes an unlicensed therapist, a no-strings-attached hugger or cuddler on bad days, and a good listener, no matter the time or problem. Part of why you’re so willing to do such things for Tim is because you have feelings for him, a long-harbored crush that grows each time he’s kind to you or asks for your advice.

Tim, however, will happily listen to your problems and provide a shoulder to cry on, but he prefers to show his care by being what some (Angela) might call a ‘protective menace.’ He’s had feelings for you for as long as he can remember and shows it by staying close and keeping you out of harm’s way.

Whenever you run into each other at work, you find a way to stay together, and while Tim protects you, you try your hardest to make him smile. You like doing small things for him to make him happy because he deserves it. Likewise, he stays close because you deserve more than anyone can ever give you.

The only problem is that you’re both scared to let your feelings show, so you disguise it as friendship, a special bond that no one can break. Only a few people, those willing to look, can see that there’s more to your actions and words than a time-tested and bulletproof friendship.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs when he sees Angela sitting at his desk.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asks.

“You have questions to answer,” she replies, moving out of his seat and blocking the door. “I want to know about you and your friend.”

Tim rolls his eyes at her tone and air quotes. She has asked him about you before, but she’s relentless.

“Why aren’t you in a real relationship? Why haven’t you asked her out?” Angela inquires.

“Not your business, Lopez,” Tim answers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You slow as you near Tim’s office, his voice and Angela’s drawing your attention as your smile drops.

“Just tell me why you won’t let her in that last little bit,” Angela demands.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but we won’t work. We’re not made for each other, we’re not soulmates, and we will not be good for each other, not like that,” Tim snaps.

Swallowing, you feel like your heart physically drops into your stomach, making you nauseous as you fight tears. You leave before Tim or Angela notice you’re outside, unwilling to see Tim after learning how he feels.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What does that mean, Timothy?” Angela asks, quieter as she digs for the real reason.

Tim shakes his head, not ready to admit that he doesn’t consider himself relationship material. Regardless, you deserve someone better than him, though he has never considered it the other way around: you are too good for him and always have been.

“You’re right, it’s not my business. But it is hers,” Angela reminds him before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Distancing yourself from Tim is hard, but after his comments to Angela, it’s what you have to do. Tim doesn’t have feelings for you and thinks you aren’t good enough, which hurts. More than your feelings, you are mentally distraught. Your emotions are all over the place, swinging aimlessly from anger to denial to an overwhelming sadness that makes it impossible to do anything but cry.

After a long night of fighting with your emotions, you try to eat breakfast and realize that the hurt is physical, too. Rushing to the bathroom, you empty your stomach before moving to the floor as your tears continue. Losing Tim is the worst pain you’ve ever experienced, and this is only the beginning.

The alarm on your phone goes off, and you pull yourself off the bathroom floor and get ready, ignoring the pain building behind your eyes and the churning sensation in the pit of your stomach. It will be a long day, but if you can power through, you will take some time off next week.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is neck-deep in paperwork for a Metro case, but every spare second he has is spent calling and texting you. You don’t answer, and Tim can't do anything as his worry increases. He realizes Angela was right, and you deserve to know how he feels and why he keeps you so close, yet not close enough.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the day, you haven’t been able to keep a single thing down, and you’re not sure if the emotional or physical pain is worse. Collapsing onto your couch, you let the tears begin anew as your week of PTO begins and your life as you know it ends.

Each day seems worse than the last, as you get sicker and sadder with each passing moment. When you summon the courage to step on the scale on Sunday morning, just three days after hearing Tim’s comments, you’ve lost a concerning amount of weight. You know it’s dangerous, but between the constant crying and the anxiety and sadness eating at you, there isn’t much you can do. There isn’t much you want to do except find a way to make yourself good enough for Tim Bradford.

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s been days since Tim heard from you, and he’s worried. When Mid-Wilshire gets called to assist your station, he hopes to see you. Tim searches the crowd of blue until he finds your partner.

“Bradford,” your partner greets.

Tim asks where you are, curious as to why you aren’t together, and your partner explains that you’ve been off work since Saturday, sick with something.

“Do you know if she’s okay?” Tim asks.

“All I know is it has to be bad for her to take this much time off,” your partner explains with an apologetic shrug before being called away.

Tim’s protectiveness kicks into overdrive, his worry keeping him from being able to focus on anything else. He finds his captain and tells him what's going on before asking if he can go check on you.

As he drives to your apartment, Tim hopes it’s not as bad as it sounds while beating himself up for not coming to visit you sooner. The ignored calls should have been a sign that something was wrong, but he let work get in the way. Though you aren’t there to hear it, Tim promises he will never neglect you again.

✯✯✯✯✯

It takes a minute to realize that the pounding sound is someone knocking and not an effect of your headache. Stumbling to the door, you answer it without checking who it is. When you see Tim’s face, you try to close the door, but you’re too weak, and Tim is too quick.

He rushes inside, looking at your pale face, unruly hair, and how your clothes hang off of you: an indicator you're unhealthily losing weight. It’s enough to push his protective side to action even as he fears the worst.

“You should go,” you tell him.

Tim ignores you, walking to your kitchen and setting water on the oven to boil. While he waits, Tim straightens up your apartment, moving quickly from room to room. He hasn’t spoken to you yet, and as you watch him, your emotions take over again.

With a few tears running down your face, you raise your voice and say his name. “You need to go.”

“No,” he answers simply. “You need help, you’re obviously sick and you’re not answering my calls.”

Tim's presence and how he acts like nothing has changed, and he’s still the protective friend he pretends to be, hurts you.

“Tim, get out!” you demand.

“Let me help,” he argues.

Shaking your head, you walk to your room and close the door, curling around your pillow as you cry. Each noise Tim makes in the kitchen feels like he’s laughing at you, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

He lets himself into your room after knocking, setting a mug of tea beside your bed, and rubbing your back. He notices how you stiffen but thinks it’s because you’re sick.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

“I want you to go.”

Tim nods, more to himself than you, and walks out of your bedroom.

You hear the door close behind him and roll over, unable to decide if you want to drink the tea or throw it at the wall.

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, you wake, and the first thing you remember is Tim leaving yesterday. Yes, you asked him to, but it still hurts. The cold mug beside your bed is a cruel reminder of everything you’ve lost. Rolling out of bed, you reach for the water on the nightstand. After the first drink, you race for the bathroom, wondering how long it takes for a broken heart to heal.

Someone pulls your hair out of your face, a kind hand pressed to your back as you cry. When you feel able, you lean back against the tub behind you. Tim moves back, wetting a washcloth before he kneels beside you. As he wipes your face and neck with the cool rag, you wonder what he’d do if you gave him an out.

“I heard what you said,” you admit quietly. “That we wouldn’t be good together.”

Tim slows his movements as he listens to you.

“It hurt.”

Fresh tears break over your waterline, tracking down your cheeks. Tim realizes that he’s the reason you feel so bad; that one comment made to protect his feelings, to hide them, made you feel so bad that you’re now physically sick.

“Hey,” he begins, moving to sit before you when you turn away. “Listen, I know you don’t want to believe me, but I only said that to get Angela to leave me alone, to protect myself. I don’t think that.”

“But you said it,” you point out tearily.

“I know, and I’m sorry. The truth is we wouldn’t be good together, but not because of you, never because of you. It’s me; I am not made for relationships and I’m not good enough for you.”

You choke on a sob, leaning toward Tim. He extends his arm, letting you move against his side.

“Since we met, I’ve wanted more,” he whispers against your hair. “But I was scared you’d realize I’m broken and leave… like everyone else.”

Shaking harder against his side, you cling to him as all your emotions mix. There is a chance this is a dream, but if you have to lose Tim, this seems like the best way to say goodbye.

“C’mon,” Tim urges gently, pulling you with him as he stands.

With a gentle hand on your back and one on your shoulder, Tim leads you to the couch. Covering you with a blanket, he promises to come right back. When he returns with a glass of water and a pack of crackers, you turn toward him.

“Are you going to leave?” you whisper.

Tim shakes his head. “Never.”

Nodding, you accept the crackers. After you eat a few and drink half the water Tim gave you, you sit back.

“I cleaned your apartment last night,” Tim tells you. “You want to change and clean up?”

You take a deep breath, and Tim senses your apprehension before adding, “I’ll help you.”

Taking Tim’s hand, you follow him back into your bedroom. After you change into the clothes he hands you, you sit on the bathroom vanity and let him wash your face and secure your hair.

“When’s the last time you ate? More than a few bites, I mean,” Tim asks, laying a hand on your thigh.

You shrug before admitting, “Last Wednesday.”

Tim’s jaw clenches, but he hides it with a quick nod. “I’m going to make you some more food. I know you probably don’t want to eat, and you don’t have to eat much, but you need something.”

Moving your hand onto Tim’s, you interlace your fingers with his. He leans in, releasing a chuckle when you throw your arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you to the edge of the vanity.

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear.

“I missed you too,” he responds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you dry the ends of your hair while you exit the bathroom, you feel like a new person.

“We need to talk,” Tim says when he sees you. Your smile falls, and Tim takes your hand. “Not like that,” he promises.

“Like what?” you ask, curling your legs under you as you sit beside him.

“I meant what I said, but I need to make sure you know that. I have feelings for you, I have for a long time, I’m just terrified to show them because I’m not good enough for you.”

Boldly, you press your finger to his lips to stop him. He raises his brows at your movement, smiling with you.

“Yes, you are. You’re more than good enough. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Tim pulls your hand away from his face, kissing your finger as he does so. “Even though I broke your heart and made you sick?”

“Broken heart sickness is curable, and you’re a pretty good doctor,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“I promise to make it better, and never do it again.”

You nod, trusting him entirely. Now that you’ve had a shower and heard that Tim feels the same, your stomach growls.

“It’s working already,” Tim says.

“I’m hungry again,” you marvel, smiling at Tim.

“I’ll offer a trade,” Tim begins. “A home-cooked meal for you, and a kiss for me.”

You nod, but Tim adds, “And I promise never to lie to protect myself again. I’ll tell you exactly how I feel, as long as you do the same.”

“I feel like I love you, Tim Bradford,” you reply, pulling him in for the promised kiss.

Your kiss is better than he expected, and Tim loses himself in the feeling of you until your stomach growls again, and you laugh against his lips. Tim broke your heart, but he put it back together with a piece of his; the best-broken-heart-mender in the world was by your side all along.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

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mopopshop · 4 months ago

Note

OR paige babysits rya while at practice because alara has too much work and caleb is being an ass! 🤗

To The Rescue (Paige Bueckers x OC)

———

Caleb: Can’t take Rya today.

Alara: Srsly? This is the 4th time you’ve backed out on taking Rya.

Caleb: Got shit to do.

Alara: Does that mean work?

Caleb: It means you don’t need to worry about it

Caleb: I’ll pay for a sitter or smth but I can’t take her

Alara: Gee thx, fuck off.

---

You slam your phone down in frustration, pissed off that Caleb’s putting you in a shitty position once again. Still annoyed, you call Paige to see if she can help out.

"Hey, babe," you say, trying to keep the stress out of your voice. "Caleb's being an ass again and I’m swamped with work. Instead of dropping her off at his is there any chance you can watch Rya for me?"

"Yeah baby, no worries" Paige responds without hesitation. "I have practice in 20, but she can come with me. She loves being at the gym anyway."

"Thank you," you sigh, relief washing over you. "Seriously, you don’t need to do this"

"No baby I want to, it’s fine" Paige assures you. "Plus the team loves her, it’ll be great”

---

After the call, Paige gets Rya dressed and takes her to the gym. The team is used to seeing Rya around, and they all greet her warmly as she enters, holding Paige's hand.

"Hey, Rya!" Jana calls out "Ready to be our cheerleader today?"

Rya giggles and nods enthusiastically. "Mhm!"

Paige sets Rya up with some coloring books and snacks on the bleachers. "You stay here, okay? If you need anything, just wave, and I'll come over."

"Okay, Paigey," Rya says, already engrossed in her coloring.

Practice begins, and Paige focuses on the drills and plays. She glances over at Rya every few minutes, making sure she's okay. Rya waves at her occasionally, and Paige waves back, smiling.

During a break, Paige jogs over to Rya, who excitedly shows her a picture she colored. "Look, Paigey! I drew you!"

Paige looks at the colorful drawing and grins. "That’s so good, Ry! Imma keep this forever."

Rya beams with pride, and Paige ruffles her hair. "Alright, babes, I gotta get back to practice. But you're doing great over here."

As practice continues, Rya's presence seems to energize the team. Her laughter and enthusiasm are infectious, and even Geno can't help but smile when he sees her cheering them on.

After practice, Paige scoops up Rya and spins her around, both of them laughing. "Did you have fun today?"

"Mhm! Got to color lots and be with you" Rya says, hugging her tightly.

Paige kisses her cheek. "And I love having you here. But let's get home, okay? Mommy’s probably waiting”

---

When Paige brings Rya home, you’re finally finished with your work and eagerly waiting for them. Rya runs to you, chattering about her day at the gym.

"Mommy! I watched Paigey play, and I drew pictures, and it was so much fun!"

"That sounds amazing, baby," you say, lifting her into your arms. You turn to Paige, gratitude shining in your eyes “Thank you so much, P.”

Paige smiles, leaning in to kiss you. "Anytime, baby. We had a great time, even Geno was asking to bring her back” she laughs.

You pull Paige into a hug, feeling incredibly lucky to have her in your life. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Paige kisses the top of your head. "You'll never have to find out."

———

#women’s basketball #ncaa women’s basketball #ncaa #wnba #wlw #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers blurbb

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literaila · 8 months ago

Note

how do u think satoru would react to reader in a depressive episode, especially what do u think the kids would do

obviously, they’ve all noticed.

the past couple of weeks have not been lived through ignorantly. and you have not been acting normal.

the differences are just that, at first. tiny inconsistencies in your otherwise normal personality, your routine.

and then it becomes more than just a… change.

it starts off simple; megumi’s brows furrowing when you ask him a question—something about his teacher, or what kind of drink he wants in his lunch that day—and then forget what you’ve just said as soon as he answers.

tsumiki watching, smiling along idly, as you rub your temples, sighing with every other sentence and squeezing your eyes tight like you’ll be able to wake up if you try hard enough.

and satoru noticing when you linger in your room a bit longer, as the days pass. staring when you freeze looking at the wall in the morning, zoning out so hard that he has to shake you back to life.

just an accumulation of things that might indicate that something is up.

but as these moments—moments when you’re lost in your head, trying to conceal your entire being from all of them, and pretending that it’s all normal—increase, the three of them learn a little something about observing.

and lying to themselves, of course.

eventually, though, when megumi or tsumiki inevitably say something—usually when you’re not in the room, off hiding somewhere—satoru just shrugs.

(he’s going to lie his way through this, just like everything else, thank you).

“it’s a bad day,” he’ll say, like the two children will comprehend that. like they don’t know what a bad day means. “she’s just tired.”

he could make a million excuses for you. oh, you didn’t get enough sleep last night. oh, you’ve only had one cup of coffee today. oh, the world is a truly terrible place and it’s only natural that it runs you down.

but he leaves them with the simplest of explanations, instead. maybe it’s his subtle way of denying that there’s anything wrong. that you could be upset about something. it doesn’t matter, anyway.

and tsumiki, ever so trusting of all of you, listens to him. if satoru says that you’re okay, then so does she. she’ll draw you a picture at school or try to help you make their lunches in the morning, but you’re fine. her questions end with an answer.

megumi, on the other hand, has never believed a word that satoru has said.

so when the older man swears that you’re okay, that they don’t need to worry, megumi only begins to worry harder.

he sees that look on your face when you walk in the room, and megumi knows. maybe it’s because he’s the most attuned to you, out of everyone, in particular. maybe it’s because he’s observant, or too worrisome for his age (as you tell him).

but he knows.

and if satoru says one thing, megumi’s going to believe the other.

(plus the two of you have always had a symbiotic relationship. you worry about him, and he worries about you. you laugh at him, and he gives a little lip twitch in return).

so satoru is not surprised when megumi brings it up for the fourth time in a week.

“you want me to what, exactly?”

“you can talk to them, can’t you?” he repeats, giving satoru a bland look. something like ‘are you serious.’ “they know you.”

satoru snorts. “i don’t think my bosses will appreciate me telling them what they can or can’t do.”

megumi gives him another look.

and yeah, so satoru already does that. they still don’t appreciate it.

he sighs, smiling at the boy. anything to mess with him, really. he ruffles megumi’s hair. “kid, she’s fine. i can’t just tell them to give her a couple of weeks off. there has to be a reason. and,” he adds, cheerfully. “i’ve been told it’s impolite to speak on someone’s behalf without their input.”

“you don’t care about being polite,” megumi argues, crossing his arms.

satoru groans internally. he’s really not going to let this go.

it’s not that satoru necessarily disagrees, but anything he does to help you is going to be refuted with a “butt out,” or “leave me alone, satoru.”

“true,” he says, grinning as he mocks the boys stance. “but i do care about being yelled at. particularly by your mother.”

“she needs a break.”

satoru rolls his eyes. “she’s getting one. the next couple of days are free, and she’s taking a nap right now.”

megumi frowns, even deeper than usual, and stares satoru down until he breaks.

“megumi,” the man groans, childishly, pushing the boy out of the room. “you don’t need to worry about her. chill out. just go back to reading about rocks or whatever you were doing.”

“it’s geology.”

satoru waves a hand, indifferent.

(secretly trying to come up with a way to get you to talk to him. he can’t ask because you’ll just ignore him. he can’t force it out of you because that would get the two of you nowhere.

what other options are left, really? you’ve put satoru in a terrible position).

“then can we get something, instead?” megumi asks, almost pleading. “flowers, or… whatever girls like.”

“y/n already has flowers. i bought them.”

“buy something else.”

“who taught you to be this stubborn?”

megumi only scowls at him.

satoru sighs, scratching his head. he knows he should do something—but he’s so used to sitting around and waiting for you to fix everything.

yes, he does recognize that it’s a terrible habit, and completely unfair. he also recognizes that he is the worst person in the world.

eventually he sighs. “okay. how about i order dinner?” he asks, almost wincing. it’s the most natural response—everything can be fixed with food, in satoru’s sophisticated opinion. “that’ll be easy. want to go ask mom what she wants?”

megumi practically runs to your room, leaving satoru with no time to remind him that you’re probably asleep, knocking just briefly—from what satoru can hear—before going in.

he tip-toes up to the door, also wanting to check in.

satoru is nothing if not nosy.

and he might as well let megumi do all of the dirty work.

“um, i don’t care,” he hears you saying. “whatever you guys want.”

“it’s for you.”

there’s a pause. then, “really, megs, i’m not very hungry, so…”

megumi is frowning down at you when satoru steps in.

“good nap?” he asks, smiling and sitting at the edge of your bed.

“you don’t need to get dinner. it’s my turn.”

he waves a hand. “i feel like takeout.”

you frown, about to argue when megumi speaks up, glancing between the two of you with an almost furious expression.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft but mad. like usual. satoru realizes that he’s been tricked into contributing to this.

“what?”

“why are you upset?”

“upset?” you repeat, eyes widening. “i’m not upset, megu—“

“are you sick?”

“no,” you say, immediately. “i’m just a little tired but it’s—“

“megumi,” satoru interrupts, trying to ignore the almost hurt look on your face—the glance you send his way, pleading and worried. he knows you hate this the most. “let’s let mom sleep some more, okay? tsumiki and you can decide what you want—“

“no.”

and neither of you can argue, or console the confused boy, before he’s climbing into your bed with a determined look on his face.

satoru tried to grab on to him, but megumi is having none of that, shaking him off before he can get a good grip. you’re looking at satoru anxiously, and this is the worst.

if satoru knows anything about you, it’s that you don’t want to be coddled. you don’t want to accept any help, even if it’s from your sweet, concerned son.

“megumi—“ you say, though, satoru notes, don’t make any attempts to move him when he struggles to get under the covers with you, or when he just sits by your side, barely touching you.

“i’m staying here.”

“really, bud, i’m okay. you don’t need to worry about me.”

“you’re sad.”

“i’m not.”

megumi looks at you, and satoru watches as you both share a glance. an internal conversation he’ll never get to be apart of.

for once in his life he’s not even jealous about it.

“it’s…” you say, but the two boys watch as your shoulders slack and your face drops. all at once, you lose color, life, and just sit there. “it’s fine.”

you say it to them, but it sounds more like a reminder to yourself.

satoru’s face falls. he has no idea what to say, what to do to help you—he’s spent so much time denying that there was anything wrong, that he could do anything to help, and now he’s got no answers.

he feels like an idiot, sitting there. megumi shouldn’t be taking more initiative, he should be the one worrying about you, the one to go to—

megumi doesn’t say anything though. he only moves closer to you, not complaining when your arm wraps around his shoulder and you hold him to you.

like a life vest. a support in all of the vastness.

he doesn’t need to say ‘it’s okay,’ or ‘i’m here for you,’ for the words to ring out across the the air.

and, satoru realizes, quickly, he’s only doing what you do for them. what you do best.

climbing in beside them and making sure they know that they’re not alone. being that support, no matter how unwanted.

megumi’s learned from the best.

“sorry,” you mutter to him. “i know im gross.”

megumi shakes his head and settles into you even further. and the boy doesn’t cuddle—or, at least, without being forced—but your face softens as he leans against you, allowing this kind of intimacy.

and, maybe, satoru thinks, that’s the problem with all of you.

no one knows quite what to say. what to do to help someone with something that they can’t understand. neither he or megumi is sure how to dig you out of this hole.

none of you are very good with words.

but, at least, satoru knows how to be good at this.

he sets his glasses on your bedside table, and he moves you both over with ease, smiling when you both grunt at his intrusion.

and then you’re a tower of people, all leaning against one another. building blocks stacked on top of each other.

you relax into satoru almost instantly and he kisses the top of your head, feeling some sort of pride—just at the fact that you’ll let him be here, with you.

maybe that’s the thing with families, he thinks. no one needs to say anything for it to be okay.

and the uneasiness sits there with all of you. the past couple of weeks—the distancing and disassociating—linger there.

there’s nothing he can say to make everything all better. he could destroy the entire world right now, save for your house, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

but this is nice. a hug might not fix everything, but it won’t make anything worse

and after a minute or two, you say: “where’s tsumiki?”

and she peeks her head out from your door, smiling at all three of you. it takes her three seconds to jump on the bed, having been waiting there the whole time, the final piece to your messed up puzzle.

#not sure what any of this means but 🤫#a typical family #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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muffinsin · 1 month ago

Note

ok but how would the sisters react to their g!p s/o accidentally doing something sexy? for example, they walk in as reader spills wine or something down their shirt...just picture it...sitting on a loveseat, manspreading in some nice trousers...red wine dripping their neck/chest because their shirt is open? are we going to be toast? 🧐

Ohh, I see👀 “Are we going to be toast?”, dear anon, yes XP. They are, after all, insatiable. Let’s get into it! ;)

Masterlists

Bela

Some would assume being the eldest comes with a lot of experience in about every single way

A lot of lovers, a lot of flirts and sex, among them

In Bela’s case, you know better

Not indulging in many before you, she’s easily flustered by just about every little thing you do

A single kiss enough for her to lean into you, a hand on her hip enough to make her fluster, low whispers, promises of what you will do enough for her to squirm and flush beautifully

And all this, being flustered so easily, was revealed before she found out about the appendage between your legs

Now that is truly something to make your blonde beauty fluster easily

While she’s normally quite controlled, you make her lose control far too easily

Such as today

You’re not particularly aware of what you’re doing, sitting in the armchair in her room, drinking the wine her family is so very known for, and reading one of her favorite books

You take no notice of your legs, wide apart as you manspread like you usually do, nor how full the glass of wine is

You don’t recall filling it this much at your last refill

Still, you pay little attention to it, instead fingering the pages of the book gently as each page is turned

Bela walks in on you like this, and her breath hitches immediately

Her thick, shapely thighs push together instantly as pleasure hits between her legs

Your legs, spread wide, allow her to see the bulge in your fancy trousers

She can see it even through them, the pants outlining it nearly perfectly

She sees it and can automatically use memories to add to it, so that she can perfectly picture your tip, surely being slightly pink from being pushed up against the trousers

Your balls, set against them in the obvious outline

And of course the large shaft, thick and long, enough to make her see stars when you’re halfway in already and enough to have her claw at whatever she can when you’re fully pushed in

Her eyes wander, somewhat shameless as you aren’t aware of her just yet

She finds your blouse, white, not entirely buttoned to the top

Your nipples are pushed against the fabric and your collarbone is revealed

She feels her face heat up immediately and desire rise within her

Too absorbed in your book, you haven’t looked up and taken notice of her just yet

Poor Bela is trying hard to keep it together, to hold onto her facade of the cool-headed, composed heiress

Then though, you grasp for your glass again

And as you set it against your lips, wine spills over, the fullness of the glass having surprised you

You gasp as it drips past the rim of the glass, past your chin and onto your chest

Your eyes meet hers as she inhales sharply, and you smirk upon seeing her flushed cheeks and clenched thighs

Slowly, the red wine stains your shirt, drawing her attention to your erect nipples and soaked chest

Then, before you can even mutter a word, she’s on you, her golden eyes revealing desperation she isn’t known for

“Bela,”, you chuckle, but you too gasp quickly when her hands drop to your bulge and squeeze

She needs you now, wants you now

And you’re all too eager to give all you have to her

Wasting no time, you bring her dress up to her hips

She’s straddling you, her thin fingers playing and tearing at your blouse as her dress is hiked up

You groan when her smooth, pale ass is revealed to you

Her cheeks are nearly fully on display thanks to the thong slipping between them, and you grow almost painfully erect at the sight already

You know she’s tight, and your cock aches as you dwell on the memory of taking her, all of her, granted to use her body and holes for the pleasure you both seemed

As you allow your hand to slide across her ass, you wonder if you will be granted to take her like that again today

She’s moaning in your ear already, adorably sensitive- and wet, no doubt

Soon, your blouse is entirely unbuttoned and her hands drop to your lap

As you massage her ass and tease her by sliding your fingertip across the panties cupping her still, she works on undoing your pants and freeing you

You know, you will no longer have time to read now and quite frankly have no desire to do so just now anyway

Not when you could be doing Bela instead

By the end of it you’re all but covered in black lipstick marks, your cock a mix of pink and red, black lipstick marks and white, creamy cum sticking to it

You’re breathing heavily as you hold her hip, ensuring she doesn’t fall, and keep her close to you

The both of you sit, exhausted, upon the armchair you ruined and stained, slashed and wore out

You don’t mind

She will get a new one

She always does

Cassandra

One thing you learn about your girlfriend early on?

She’s rather insatiable, bold, eager, dirty, and just about as naughty as one might think she is

And when she sets her eyes on something, she wants it, and she wants it the moment she spots it

This also includes you

Often, you find yourself cornered by her, groaning, moaning, panting as she bobs her head up and down between your legs

Or perhaps granted a view of her strong backside as you thrust forth and back and slam your hips to her full, jiggling ass cheeks

Or something simpler, like her hand in your pants, sometimes agonizingly slow as she rubs you to an orgasm, at other times so fast you can barely contain yourself as you spill in her hand and your underwear

One thing is always the same, though

There’s always a certain look in her eyes before this happens

A hunger, a desire for touch and pleasure

She easily and effortlessly seduces you, and it seems you do the same to her

Today is no different

You’re sitting in a loveseat, sharpening one of her weapons for her

A small gesture, but one you know she will appreciate, even adore

Romance is different with Cassandra, it’s its own kind, one you’re proud you’ve figured out

She’ll practically swoon when showed her sharpened sickle, you know

You hum a little to yourself, then jump when the door slams open and a certain brunette enters

Her eyes are immediately on you, and again you notice the hungry look in her eyes

They’re set on you, or to be more precise; on the visible bulge between your rather spread legs

You know, manspreading isn’t quite helping her contain her lust

You’re practically teasing and tempting the nymph-like woman at times, and you can’t help but enjoy it

She’s on you in an instant, moaning and hissing when the tip of her sickle digs into her side

Your dick twitches a little at the sweet sound, aching as it pushes against the rich fabric of your trousers

Her desire is clear as day, her sharp nails already digging into your shoulders, her crotch hovering above your lap

Today, you feel like teasing her. You feel you’re up for the challenge

As such, you bring your palm down, your fingers gripping her wrists tightly just when she’s about to reach for your crotch

She raises her eyebrow, her golden eyes deadly, but so very tempting and seductive

You smile at her, squeezing the wrists held in your hand. While stronger than all mortals, Cassandra is quite petite, at least in some places

She allows you to proceed though, her eyes and smile as challenging as yours

“I was just about to help you prepare for your next hunt”, you hum, and relish in her gasp when you tip the sickle slightly, the tip digging harder into her side

You let go of her wrists when you’re sure she won’t just take what she wants again

Instead, she reaches for the bottle of wine

You watch as she easily tips it and presses the rim of it against your lips, and groan as soon the sweet taste of it hits your tongue

Only does more and more come, so much so that you have difficulty swallowing all of it

And as such, it’s not long at all until some of it drips at the sides of your mouth, sliding down your chin

Only is Cassandra’s attention to longer on the bottle

Instead she watches, chest heaving and hips rolling slightly, as droplets of wine drip to your chest, then down to your breasts

A stain in your blouse marks its trail

Her mouth waters

The bottle is removed from you, and you jump when she simply drops it and it smashes on the wooden floor

Then, she’s on you in an instant, like a predator having caught its prey

You groan when her nails tear into your thighs, then the trousers are all but ripped from you

By the look in her eyes, you know it will be a long day and night

Daniela

Often, you tease your girlfriend, make her feel all hot and bothered, a whimpering and flushed mess, her head filled with the dirty thoughts you’ve inspired

Usually, you’re not aware that you’ve teased her

Daniela is just so very- responsive

For example, sometimes she gets almost feral when you simply allow her to sit in your lap, unaware that she’s fully feeling your bulge press against her ass cheeks

When she begins to squirm adorably on top of you, her chest and cheeks flushed, her fingertips brushing against you

Her cute little moans, her skin covered in goosebumps

Or when you simply mean to hug her, yet your hands on her hips make the sensitive woman gasp and squirm closer to you already

And so what if you grope a little? If you think with your cock as some might say, and boldly take what you want

It usually ends the same type of way, with her eyes hazy and wide, her mouth open and moans spilling past her soft lips, a wide smile on her lips

Perhaps, with her plowed into the bed by you, her arms held, the view of her backside nearly enough to make you cum already

Or with her mouth on you, your head thrown back and your hands in her hair

She’s eager and insatiable, eagerly swallowing and taking all you give her, always, at any time

Today is no different than others as it comes to this

She’s sat on your lap as usual, attempting to read one of her books

Only is it proving difficult

Her flushed cheeks and occasional whimpers tell you all you need to know, really

You manspread without thinking, attempting to ease the discomfort between your legs

In turn, she squeaks in surprise, clinging to you in favor of preventing her fall

Only does this mean she’s directly pressed up against your cock, covered merely by the thin layer of your trousers

You groan lowly, setting your hand on her hip

You’re breathing lowly, wondering whether she’ll act

Then, nothing

She hums and settles down again, as though nothing happened

Perhaps today’s one of the days she attempts to act shy and innocent, despite the naughty thoughts swarming her mind

A slight smirk forms at your lips

You want to see just how long she can keep the facade up, or whether you’ll get to take her like this, tearing innocence away from her yet again, just the way the two of you enjoy it

She’s gasping when you move her book from her, and the knowing smile on her lips tells you she knows exactly what game the two of you are about to start

She moves her hand to your neck, but just then you move slightly

It’s not much, nor too fast, but enough for the tip of her sharp, claw-like nail to nip your neck

You hiss and she draws back immediately, yet her eyes only widen, the gold in them merely a small ring within clouds of black

She watches, as though enhanced, as a drop of blood drags from the small wound and down your neck

Immediately, the teasing thing has a reaction on your girlfriend

She bites her lip and whimpers, easily sinking into your touch when you squeeze her hips

Daniela gasps when she’s rocked to you, held tight as she tries so very hard to win this little game of yours

Alas, she doesn’t really stand a chance, not when you grab her by the hair and tug her to your neck

Immediately, moans and the wet slurping sounds of her mouth on your neck follow

She’s whining and groaning, eagerly rocking against your crotch, her fingernails digging into your clothing

A promise, a plead, a wish to be taken

How could you deny her?

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: If you want to picture me writing any part of this series, picture someone maniacally giggling to themselves the words “this is a surprise tool that will help us later” as they type. Chapter Title from Stand Up by The Revivalists.

Word Count: 9k...

Chapter Summary/Warnings: An opportunity to flip Sister Sage emerges. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff

Read on A03!

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

“Everything is… disturbingly clean.”

Ben watched Cocksucker and Butcher in the living room, the former looking around in shock as the latter’s gaze bounced between Ben and Her with a half grin.

“Don’t tell me you two started bloody fucking,” he jeered, and Ben didn’t appreciate the speed at which She scoffed.

“Not everyone only thinks with their downstairs brain, Butcher.” She said with an eye roll. “We’re not children you had to put in a time out until we could play nice, we’re adults who found a common ground.”

“The common ground of fucking?” Butcher’s grin spread widely across his face. At the deepening of her glare, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t doubt you, Love, it’s Soldier Boy who can’t damn well breathe without his dick in something.”

Ben opened his mouth to defend himself, but She somehow beat him to the draw. “Well, Ben’s down to only trying to fuck me twice a day, and it’s the small victories like that which have kept us from killing each other.”

“Ben?” Cocksucker looked between them in befuddled horror. “Since when do you call him Ben?!”

She returned Cocksucker’s stare with a flat look Ben had seen many times and was glad to not currently be on the receiving end of. “It’s his name. I can’t say ‘Soldier Boy’ all the time, that’s a fucking mouthful.”

“Fuck yeah, it is.” Ben winked at Her, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he was met with only an eye roll.

Butcher chuckled, giving Her an amused smirk. “Not fucking, my puckered arsehole.” He paused, his teeth showing as his delight in his own words grew. “Or should I say, your puckered arsehole?”

Cocksucker choked on air. “I’m going to be sick.”

“If he throws up on the carpet, you can not make me clean it, Sunshine.” Ben snapped, eyeing Cocksucker with a grimace. “His weak, pussy stomach ain’t my problem.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s been worse messes in this room.” Butcher wiggled his eyebrows, and Cocksucker gagged again.

“There’s not much left after to clean,” Ben said with another smug look, unable to find it in him to care how his words fueled the accusations She so clearly wanted to rebuff. She’d live, and all the bitchiness she wielded like a weapon would hopefully circle around into admitting the clear attraction he knew she felt.

“What, you all dried up after forty years asleep?” Butcher sneered.

Ben scowled, taking a rough step in the man’s direction, the drum in his chest abruptly sounding in the distance of his ears. “You want to say that to my fucking face? I’ll show you how dried up I am—fuck!“ He lurched back as he felt a sharp sting on his arm.

She appeared at the side of Ben’s vision, Her fingers still smoking as she pointed at Butcher. “You. Never, ever make me visualize that again.” She scrunched her face in dramatic disgust. “And you.” She turned the finger to Ben. “He did ‘say it to your face’, stop being such a fucking baby. And both of you need to repeat everything you think in your head before you say it. We get it, your dicks are both huge, either suck each other off or put them away.”

“I second that,” Cocksucker mumbled, residual nausea on his face. “The shutting up thing, not the other part.”

“Thank you, Hughie. Now.” She gave Butcher a titled-head frown. “What’s the mission.”

“Don’t have to be a mission, Love, we could just be checking up on our two favorite-“

“Shut up,” She snapped. “Nobody has come to visit in two and a half weeks. And then, just after the news about Sister Sage, you two are suddenly, and I’m sure completely coincidentally, in our living room. So, what’s the mission?”

“How do you know about Sage?” Cocksucker, matching the surprise on Butcher’s face, asked.

“I have a phone, dummy.”

Ben looked around the room, trying to figure out where She could’ve possibly hidden a phone from him. “No, we fucking don’t.” He narrowed his eyes at Her, suspicion building in his chest as anger clouded his head. “Have you been fucking leaving without me?”

“When would I even have the time to leave without you?” She snapped.

“When you go to the fucking bathroom all the damn time for no fucking reason. If you’ve been lying to me-“

“Jesus Christ, I was on my period the past week. You can come do an inspection of the toilet bowl next time if it’s that important to you.”

“Fucking,” Butcher faked coughed to poorly cover his words. Ben was sure a deaf baby would’ve still have understood them, and She certainly did.

“Can it,” She shot at Butcher before turning back to Ben. “Phones aren’t big blocks on walls anymore, grampa, they look like this.” She pulled out a weird black rectangle and waved it in his face. “And you’ve definitely seen one before, dumbass.”

If Ben thought back, admittedly not even that hard, he had. Cocksucker and Butcher had both used them the first time around, he’d spotted them in the shows and movies he had been making their way through at Her direction, and even seen Her using the one invading his personal space at that very moment. However, he’d known he’d eat a fucking whale dick before he asked Her what they were then, in the exact same way he was now going have to pretend that She was the stupid one trying to pull one over on him.

“I think I remember if I’d seen something that fucking dumb looking, Sunshine.” She just glared at him and turned away, so Ben decided to count that as a him victory.

“If one of you doesn’t tell me what the plan is now-“

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Love, we’re getting there. Hughie?”

“Gross,” Cocksucker muttered, his scrunched face of disgust turning into shock as Butcher pushed him forward. “What! Why me?”

“You use all those posh fancy words, mate.”

“He hates me!” Cocksucker gestured to Ben, before saying Her name in a pathetically begging tone. “He made you do it last time, right?! Tell Butcher he doesn’t fucking listen to me!”

Ben grinned as She gave Cocksucker one of the most half-assed apologetic looks Ben had ever seen. “I mean, he doesn’t. But I wouldn’t call him Butcher’s biggest fan either.”

“I’m right fucking here,” Ben grumbled. “I can speak for my damn fucking self.”

She gave him a sarcastic, simpering smile. “Ben, do you like Hughie, or Butcher? Is one prettier? Would one of them talking be better than the other?”

“No, they’re both ugly, pussy ass idiots who sound just as fucking boring as their pussy ass counterpart.”

“Who’s acting like who’s not here now?”

“We don’t sound the same at all…”

She ignored Butcher’s snark and Cocksucker’s weak protest. “Lovely. So if someone could answer my fucking question, that would be great. I, personally, couldn’t give a flying fuck who.”

Cocksucker sighed. “What did you read about the Sister Sage situation?”

“Is someone going to tell me who ‘Sister Sage’ is?” Ben grunted, giving Her an expectant look. Right now his best guess was some nun with plant-based powers, and he couldn’t think of a damn way that would be helpful.

“She's a supe whose power is intelligence. She’s the smartest person in the world, and a member of Homelander’s team.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, she was. She got fired. I saw Vought’s press release about ‘creative differences’, but it’s painfully obvious bullshit. She made one appearance on TV where she spoke five words, most of the time she’d just hovering behind Homelander looking mad.”

“Yeah, we think she made Homelander upset somehow, which isn't hard to do, so he cut her loose.” Cocksucker nodded. “Either way, we want to try and talk to her. Flip her. Or-“

“Uncle Sam here is going to neutralize her.” Butcher spoke over Cocksucker with a smirk at Ben.

“Neutralize?” She looked between them with wide eyes. “Neutralize as in kill, or neutralize as in remove her powers?”

Butcher winked. “We’ll see where the night takes us. You two have fifteen to get ready, chop chop.”

She began to make her way up the stairs, but Ben remained firmly where he stood, glaring his best daggers at Butcher. “You better have brought my fucking shield this time.”

“What, you going to start crying if we didn’t?” Butcher jeered, and before Ben could move to punch him in the face, Cocksucker piped up from the side.

“Annie and MM are getting it now, they’ll meet us there.”

Butcher grunted in annoyance at Cocksucker’s affirming words, but Ben ignored it and turned to examine Cocksucker’s increasingly pallid face. His heartbeat was rising, yes, but it didn’t seem to be because he was lying, more likely the pussyfuck was just afraid. “Good,” Ben grunted, pausing to listen for a relieved stutter in Cocksucker’s chest. At the sound, Ben turned and marched up the stairs.

He wasn’t sure how it had happened, because he certainly hadn’t done it, but Ben’s suit had been cleaned of the dust and dirt from its last use. It was folded semi-neatly in his dresser, on top of underwear and socks. It was a quick change, he remembered being incredibly instant to the designer all those years ago that any needless, bullshit complications would lead to a forcerful reiterment and be fixed by their replacement, and made his way down the hall to Her door. He paused, unsure of if he should knock or simply walk in. He’d never knocked before, and She’d never bitched at him about it, but she’d also made it incredibly clear that, if he saw her naked, she’d “claw out his eyes like Jesus”. He’d asked for elaboration, in a way he thought had been quite fucking polite, and She’d left the room only to return a minute later with a copy of the Bible that was hurled at his head. Ben had not bothered to read it, but he quite liked his eyes, as did most women, so he had no interest in losing them to one impressively violent and crude one. However, knocking was also plain fucking stupid. As such he found himself just standing at the door, all the way until She opened the door and jumped back at the sight of him.

“Fuck, Ben, you scared me.” She’d placed a hand over her chest, fucking over dramatically if you asked Ben, and stared up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I was just waiting for you.” And he fucking had been. Originally, the plan that had brought him here was to make fun of Her for clearly cleaning his suit and certainly going through his underwear drawer, now it just felt fucking stupid. She’d just caught him standing outside her room, she had too much ammunition to use against him now.

She tilted her head at him, giving Ben a look he didn’t understand or like, but just nodded. “Well, I’m ready. We should go.”

He nodded, stepping aside for her to pass him. She blinked at him a moment before doing such, and only after she was starting down the stairs did it occur to him that he’d let her go first. She hadn’t even asked. But she would’ve, he reasoned. He’d just been saving the headache of Her whining about it. Really, it had been a calculated move from his subconscious, which hated her finding every nerve of Ben’s to get on just as much as the rest of him.

Butcher and Cocksucker were right where they’d left them when Ben reached the bottom of the stairs, and She made her way to Ben’s side as they exited the safe house. Her body was less rigid and alert than last time, her heart almost perfectly calm, and though her eyes didn’t once leave him, she wasn’t vigilantly scanning his every twitch as they walked to the car. Even this car ride was more relaxed than the last, with Butcher not checking on them every damn second in the mirror, Cocksucker looking less like he was about to shit his damn pants, and Her body comfortably in the seat and not curled into the door. Ben appreciated that it was a real, windowed car this time, because that stupid fucking van had been deafening and fucking stuffy and boring to sit in. This satisfaction was squashed almost immediately when they pulled up to a warehouse that looked one fucking well-placed shit from collapsing, and Ben saw that same stupid fucking van parked beside where they stopped.

The back doors were open, and Ben could hear four moderately steady heartbeats from inside it. As they unloaded out of the car and made their way to join the others, Ben watched Her out of the corner of his eye, hearing the telltale warning sign of gnawing on lips and tapping of fingers in rhythmic movements. He’d noticed last week, then had his suspicion confirmed during their fight a few nights ago, that all her rapid, tense tapping was still controlled, always following the same pattern. For the fucking life of him, Ben couldn’t figure out what the pattern was, but he knew it existed, and it always went hand in hand with glassy eyes. Sure enough, when he turned to fully look at Her, clouds were forming behind her gaze, which had itself gone slightly slack. But before Ben could grab Her, ask her what the fucking problem was, if it was something he needed to worry about, She’d walked past him to sit beside beside the small, Asian woman he’d seen several times before. The woman smiled at Her, and she returned it without hesitation. She said a name, Kimiko, in a soft, kind voice Ben had never heard and though Kimiko didn’t say anything—thinking about it Ben hadn’t heard her speak once—the tapping slowed to a halt as they began a weird half-conversation with a lot of confusing fucking gestures.

Ben glanced around the van, looking for his fucking shield. When he didn’t see it, he turned to glare at Butcher, who’d moved to talk to MM.

“Hey!” Ben pushed himself into their conversation, ignoring their whiny glares. “You promised my fucking shield.”

Butcher rolled his eyes. “Technically, Hughie promised it.”

“Where is it.”

“Calm the fuck down, Gov, I’m sure it’s here somewhere. MM, would you give the giant cunt his stupid shield?”

“Nope.”

Ben’s head whipped to glare at the man, who wasn’t even fucking acknowledging him. “Give me my fucking shield.”

“Can’t,” MM said, meeting Ben’s glare with an angry, cold one of his own. “Didn’t fucking bring it.”

“I was promised I’d get my shield back. If you pussies can’t get it, I’m certain I could fine someone who will.” Ben threatened, the drums starting to sound once more. “I don’t have to put up with bullshit-“

“Yeah, you do,” Her voice called from behind him.

Ben turned to look at her, and saw Butcher and MM do the same.

“This doesn’t concern you, Sunshine.” Ben snapped.

She just shrugged. “You want a private conversation? Lower your fucking voice. And I feel like any conversation where you start saying you’re going to leave does concern me, because I’m the one that’s going to have to smite your face when you try. And that’s just going to be a fucking bummer.”

“My face too nice to burn?” He taunted, barely noticing the fade of the pounding against his chest.

“No, I just would have to fill out a fuck ton of dogshit CIA paperwork after. So just suck up being away from your blankie for another week, and sit the hell down.”

“I don’t have a fucking blankie,” Ben scowled at Her, but she only smiled back at him and returned her attention to Kimiko.

“You heard her,” Butcher sneered from behind him. “Listen to your mommy and sit the fuck down.”

“Don’t make it weird, Butcher.” She called, not looking back at them for a second.

Ben turned to give Butcher one last, venomous glower. “If I don’t get my fucking shield next time, we’re going to have a fucking problem.”

“We’ll get you your shield, Gov, don’t loose your damn mind.”

Ben grunted, turning to take the seat next to Her, but carefully listened to Butcher and MM’s hushed whispers as he moved.

“Bloody hell, MM, you had one fucking job.”

“I am not helping him, Butcher. Don’t send me to do your damn dirty work.”

Butcher scoffed. “I’ve had you do much dirtier work, mate. This was a fucking cake walk, and you still fucked it up.”

“I’m going to tell you one last time, and it better get through your thick, dumbass head. I am not doing anything, fucking anything, for that racist piece of shit.”

Ben opened his mouth, subtle eavesdropping was a fucking overrated pussy move anyways, to defend himself. Collateral damage fucking happened, it wasn’t his fucking fault Vought was always sending him-

“What’s the big deal with the shield?” He heard Starlight mutter behind him, a question clearly addressed to Cocksucker.

“Dunno, but he was really weird about it last time, almost threw me out a window cause I touched it-“

“I can fucking hear you,” Ben twisted roughly to face them. “What is it with you pussies and pretending I’m fucking deaf?”

Starlight sighed, giving him an annoyed glare, as Cocksucker responded weakly.

“We just, we don’t think you want to talk to us-“

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben grunted.

“Don’t talk to him like that!” Starlight’s eyes started to glow, and Ben rolled his own in response.

“Fucking try it, Bitch, I’ll blow you back to Vought. If you have a question, fucking ask it.”

“Fine,” Starlight held Ben’s anger with her own. “What’s the big deal with your shield? Are you compensating? Do you get performance issues without it?”

“Annie,” Cocksucker’s heart had picked up, and he was grabbing Starlight’s arm tightly. “Don’t make him mad.”

A thousand, perfect insults pushed against Ben’s head. Fucking amazing hits that would have Starlight crying to Cocksucker for weeks. But he could hear Her heartbeat behind him, stuttering for only a second as she listened to the argument. He heard that rhythmic tapping again, and so he pushed the words down, and gave Starlight a taunting sneer.

“Listen to your little cocksucker.” Ben taunted. “I’ll let it fucking go this time, because I’m feeling fucking generous. But next time? I kill both of you pussies.”

Ben turned away, and once his back was fully to them, he pulled out the crumpled list that now always sat in his pocket, trying to figure out if She had added “broad” at any point. While the bottom was filled with Ben’s own scratchy, hastily written additions, the top to middle of the paper was written in her neat, clipped handwriting, and close to the top was the sentence loose broad with the doll face - Buttercup from the Princess Bride??? Ben frowned at it—why couldn’t She have underlined the word—and leaned to the side, nudging Her shoulder with his own. When she didn’t turn from her soft conversation with Kimiko—how She could possibly be so invested in a conversation with a woman Ben was pretty fucking sure was mute was beyond him—Ben shoved it under her face.

Her voice died off, hands pausing mid-air, and she slowly turned to stare at him. “What are you doing.”

He pointed roughly to the sentence. “What does that mean?”

She squinted, grabbing it from him to hold closer to her eyes. “I was probably confused why you’d call Buttercup that. She’s famously not loose for like, the whole story-“

“No,” he tugged it back. “Why did you write that sentence down? What’s so bad about ‘loose broad with the doll face’?”

Her lips quirked up. “That’s what’s so urgent?”

“Is it loose, or broad?” He ignored her amusement.

“I think both together. Loose isn’t great, but I’d be lying if I said I never called my mother loose. Broad is just…” She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard the word ‘broad’ out the mouth from anyone who doesn’t have an active memory of at least one world war.”

“So broad is fine?”

“If you want to sound a thousand, sure. I’ve definitely heard you say worse.”

Ignoring the age jab, Ben locked and loaded his next insult for Starlight. He would let the “compensating” comment go, he was forgiving like that, but there was no fucking way she wouldn’t say something else soon. And he’d be fucking ready for it. He shoved the list back into his pants, where it had stayed since he first caught Her using it. At first it had been going to take a one way ticket down the toilet, but then he’d noticed how when he used those words on the paper, She’d frown and not talk to him for a damn hour. It was a fucking annoying, inconvenient, bitch move because during that time she wouldn’t laugh at his jokes or tell him how stupid modern technology in movies worked or bombard him with annoying comments that made him want to grab Her pretty, taunting, insufferable face and teach her some manners. She’d just be quiet and mad, and it was like he was alone, and suddenly he would hear the drum. So he’d kept the list and, whenever he noticed the bitter silence showing its ugly head, he’d write down what coxed it out. Eventually She’d noticed, and started to help him. If it hadn’t proved an effective strategy to keep her off his ass about stupid fucking shit, he’d have lied up, down, and sideways about keeping it. But they hadn’t had any of those moments he’d grown to detest since she had, so he’d kept in his bitterness about the stupidity of the whole thing in check and counted this a win.

“Look alive, fuckers.” Ben looked up as MM stood, one of those alleged “phones” in hand. “Sage will be here in five minutes. She’s agreed to meet me, Starlight, and Hughie. Frenchie and Kimiko, I want y’all outside, nearby, and ready in case she’s pulling one over. Butcher, go home.”

“Nah, mate. I’m a part of this, Mallory said so. Could make me go home if you tickled my balls and topped me off.”

“Well, then you’re going to have to stay in here.” MM turned as he said Her name. “You’re staying in here with Soldier Boy. If we need you, you’ll hear the signal.”

She hummed in acknowledgment. “What’s the signal?”

“The Deep’s massive tits.” MM gave a tired exhale as Her mouth fell open in amusement. “Frenchie made the signal. Make sure they,” both Ben and Butcher receive rough jabs in their direction. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Before either Ben or Butcher, whose mouth and protesting words had somehow begun faster than Ben’s own, could argue, MM was following the rest of the already mobilized team out of the van, and the doors were slammed behind him.

Tense, angry silence was in the air for only a minute before Butcher spoke.

“Now that everyone’s gone, will you two admit you’re fucking?”

Her heartbeat picked up slightly, and Ben leered at Butcher.

“Watch it, Dick Van Dyke, I’ll cut your fucking face off.” From beside him, Ben heard Her snort. “What do you find so funny?”

Ignoring his angry look, She gave another small giggle. “I don’t think that insult is as good as you think, Ben.”

“It was a fucking amazing insult-“

“Dick Van Dyke is American.”

“No, he was in all those stupid fucking British movies, like that one about the magic fucking nanny-“

“You’ve watched Mary Poppins?” Butcher laughed, and Ben considered ripping off his lips and feeding them to him. One bitchy, melodramatic woman who constantly cut off his words was more than enough. He didn’t need another fucking asshole, whose comments were not nearly as unwelcomingly entertaining, doing the same.

“Only because your hound dog bitch threatened to burn off my fucking dick if I didn’t.” Ben grumbled, and She gave another laugh.

“You enjoyed it, you cunt. And you told me a story about how you met Dick Van Dyke in the 60s. When he was, as he is now, incredibly American.”

“Sunshine, are you going to let me defend your honor or not?”

“My honor?” She gave him a face of giddy disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He said we’re fucking!” Ben waved wildly at Butcher. “I’m not going to let him talk about a lady like that-“

“You literally goaded him on barely an hour ago. And called me a ‘hound dog bitch’ like, five seconds ago.” She pointed out. “Even if that wasn’t true, you’d have a whole lot of misplaced faith that I have ‘honor’ to begin with.”

“I don’t think you’d know honor if it ate you out ass to cunt.” Butcher made an exaggerated face of thought, and was met with only a flat look.

“So taint? Ass to cunt as in taint?” Her voice was bored, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Butcher shrugged. “No lady with honor knows the word taint.”

“Then we’re lucky I lost the title of ‘lady’ years ago,” She said with a toothy, fake smile. “And you,” a glare was shot at Ben. “Are not helping the ‘we’re fucking’ allegations by defending my honor, dumbass.”

He wasn’t, he knew that. But her heartbeat had settled, no longer clawing into Ben’s brain, so he just grunted. “Fuck me for trying to help.”

“I won’t,” she smirked. “That’s the whole point.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt. Butcher,” She turned away from Ben once more. “What time did MM say Sage would arrive?”

“He didn’t.” Butcher answered, making an angry face at the closed door. “Something about not trusting us to stay here.”

Just then, Ben’s careful ear on Her heartbeat, which had slowed fully in the past minutes, was distracted by steps, followed by voices.

“I’m glad you agreed to meet us.” A man’s voice, too low to be Cocksucker, had to be MM.

“Well, even though I know what you’re going to say, I’m still intrigued by how you plan to say it.” Ben didn’t recognize that one. It sounded calm and controlled like Hers usually was, but only had the edge of anger. Her voice was always lined with vague amusement, at everything all the time. This woman didn’t sound like it was capable of laughter, even mockingly.

“Well, if you know what we’re going to say, can you just tell us your answer now?” That one was self-righteous and insufferable. Starlight.

“No.”

“Is that… your answer to what we’re going to say or whether or not you’ll tell us now?” Unsure, nervous, pathetic. Cocksucker.

“The later. I’m not going to tell you the answer until everyone joins us. Do you think I’m fucking-“

“Ben?” A pair of fingers snapped in his face.

Eyes refocusing, Ben realized She had moved so he was face-to-face with her concerned glare and frown watching him carefully.

“If that cunt fucking blows his bloody lid, I’m going outside, MM can suck my-“

Ben scowled at Butcher over Her shoulder. “I’m not going to fucking explode. I have a fucking handle on it-“ She gave Ben an incredulous look that he ignored. “And I’m trying to listen, so shut the fuck up so I can listen to what those pussies out there are saying.”

“You can hear them?” She dropped back to her seat, leaning forward with an intent stare. “What are they talking about?”

“I could tell you if you would shut the fuck up.” He grunted, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t move back. Ben paused, no longer hearing voices at all. “They moved.”

Butcher pushed off the wall. “What do you mean they moved? The fuck did they go?”

“I can’t tell you if you don’t shut-“

The door of the van was pulled open, and Ben jumped to his feet, hearing Her heartbeat start to rise as she did the same. But, instead of the blood and chaos Ben expected, was ready for, a short woman with a gleam in her dark eyes stood on the other side.

“Butcher, you look just as shitty as I expected. Should’ve listened to MM about staying behind.” Her voice was the cold, methodical one. Ben hated it, and hated how it matched her smug, stone-like face.

“If you’re as smart as you claim to be, Sister, you should know I do what I bloody want.” Butcher gave the woman a hateful, mocking smile.

She just gave a small nod back. “Well, I am ‘as smart as I claim to be’, and you are ‘doing what you want’. Reliable as always, William.” Her gaze turned to Ben. “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you, Soldier Boy. I knew they would be going for some sort of Hail Mary, and even though I was hoping for something more intelligent, maybe flipping Neuman, this will work fine. And you…” Her voice trailed, and a disarming smile grew across her face. “I don’t know you. I know everybody.”

Behind Ben, Her heartbeat was like thunder. “Glad to be an exception to such a weird and creepy rule.”

“Who are you? No, wait.” Sage titled her head. “I want to guess.”

The tapping had begun, and the drums had started their march from Ben’s chest to his head.

“You’re not Butcher’s friend, he doesn’t have any. You’re not CIA… not Vought. Not with Nueman, she wouldn’t be that stupid. I’ve seen pictures of all the supervillains Homelander tried to make, and-“ A first, true smile split across Sage’s face just as Her heartbeat became deafening. “Oh! Interesting. That hit a nerve, but how?”

Ben stepped forward, fists clenched, as Sage’s eyes scanned Her closely. “I don’t know what kind of big shot you think you are, but I’d shut the fuck up now before I make your mouth fill up with blood.”

“I’m good,” she gave Ben a sideways look. “Although that’s also interesting. Now, you aren’t military, or a terrorist. You don’t seem quite as idiotically rage-blind as the others, you might even be intelligent. Or, well, intelligent by human standards.”

“You going to keep shooting in the dark, and waste all our time?” Her voice had moved closer, and Ben knew he’d only have to turn his head slightly to see that glassy-eyed stare focused on Sage, who only hummed.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry about that. My shot in the dark has floodlights compared to yours. But time is a finite resource, especially now. You just have to come on out to join the party, and we’ll get started.”

Ben twisted to find Her exchanging doubtful looks with Butcher, who spoke first.

“How do we know you ain’t just killed them, and are luring us out to finish the job?”

“Because that’s fucking stupid.” Sage said with an annoyed frown. “And I’m frankly a little insulted you think I'd do something that plainly dumb. You would’ve heard it. In fact, Soldier Boy can probably hear them, alive, right now. I just told them to stay there and be quiet or I’d start screaming about Starlight trying to kidnap and traffic me. People would hear me, we’re at a warehouse in Queens, not fucking Montana.”

Ben gave an eye roll as all eyes turned to him. “Why do I have to fucking check? There’s a goddamn window right there. Just fucking look outside. Or those pussies can just grow some fucking balls and tell us they’re alive.”

“Ben,” Her voice was tired, and he could still hear the pressure of her heart against her ribs. “You can hear them anyway. Just fucking tell us, please.”

“Fine,” he grunted. He could hear them anyway, so he gave a tight nod after making a whole stupid fucking show of listening for signs of life, but fuck him if this was going to become a regular thing. Ben was not, threat of dick-burning be damned, going to be reduced to recon.

But Her stopped trying to claw out of her when he confirmed Sage’s words, and Ben felt an odd, satisfying rush through him when he heard it.

“Can we move?” Sage stepped aside with an exaggerated sweep of her arm.

Butcher left first, and before Ben could follow, a hand grabbed his arm. He turned back to see barely-contained panic on across Her face—panic he could feel with the tightening of her grip.

“Sage can’t know,” She whispered to him. “Don’t tell her.”

“About what?” Ben frowned, trying to ignore where she still held his arm. Firmly. Unflinchingly.

She didn’t even pull back as she spoke. “Me. If she knows about me, she’ll tell Homelander. He’ll know I’m in New York. He’ll know I’m working with Butcher. He’ll find me and bring me back. Don’t tell her.”

Disturbingly, it wasn’t only the angered acceleration of her heart eating at Ben. It was realizing that her face wasn’t full of panic. It was fear—real fear—in her eyes. He’d never seen her just afraid. He’d seen her infuriated and nervous and exhausted but never simply, rawly afraid. He didn’t like it. She hadn’t become that hollow shell he’d seen at the beginning, or that unbearably tragic picture, looking far away as she told him about Homelander. She was just as unbendable as he knew her, but paralyzed. Made of only pure, useless fucking fear.

So he meant every fucking word he spoke. “I won’t. We’re not going back there.”

“We?” She didn’t let go, her face unreadable.

“I’m not going back in the fucking box, you’re not going back to that pussy Homelander. I’m going to kill them, and you’re going to let me leave. That was the fucking deal.”

She nodded, glancing down at her hands on his arm, and her hold on him loosened. “That was the deal.” She echoed, and walked past him without another word.

They stepped out onto the street and began to follow Sage into the warehouse, Butcher’s Pussysquad walking ahead of them. The moment Ben was at the door, MM turned, raising a flat palm to halt him. “No, you stay right fucking there. You are not a part of this.”

“I’m not listening if he’s not.” Sage said smoothly, looking Ben up and down.

“Great, you two can bond over hating convenient conversation.” She muttered from next to Ben, glaring a hole in the floor.

“Fuck off, Sunshine. I’m charming and endearing, not a bragging, self-assured bitch.” He muttered back as the argument about where he should stand stretched on for far too fucking long.

“You are the most braggadocios, self-assured bitch I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I’m not the bitch that just used ‘braggadocios’ in a sentence like an asshole pussy.”

“At least I know the word at all. I think you came out of the womb knowing only pussy, bitch, and fuck and decided that was more than enough.”

“You sound like a fucking bitch right now.”

“You sound like a cunt who wants to fuck his mirror all the time.”

Ben looked back down to see a thin-lipped, but painless, smile creeping across her face. “One day you should ask my mirror how it is. I’ll receive a fucking amazing endorsement, and you’ll beg me to give you a fucking chance.”

“Endorsement’s a pretty big word, pretty boy. Are you sure you don’t need to sit down now?”

He did a double-take. “Did you just fucking call me pretty-“

“Oi, either fuck right now or come and do your fucking jobs.” Butcher yelled from inside, the argument apparently over with a victory for Sage.

“Please don’t fuck right now,” Cocksucker mumbled, and She rolled her eyes, leaving Ben’s side to stand amongst the group.

“I think I’ll manage to keep it together.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone and was painted across her face, but she didn’t flinch away as Ben came up behind her.

Sage was eyeing Her still, and Ben liked the woman less by the second. Even as Starlight spoke, Sage’s attention didn’t move, remaining locked on Her as if trying to pick her apart.

“We know how Homelander screwed you, Sage. He’s screwed all of us.”

“Screwed feels like a bloody generous term for ass-fucking to completion and then cutting off our balls.” Butcher muttered.

“Butcher,” Cocksucker sighed. “Unnecessarily gross.”

“I don’t know,” the French Prick, having apparently re-joined the group when Ben hadn’t been paying attention, mused. “The visualization helps.”

Cocksucker gaped at him. “How?”

“Well, either way-“

“It raises the stakes, no?” The French Prick cut off Starlight, a look of impossibly genuine concentration on his face. “Screwing is gentle, possibly playful. Monsieur Butcher's words make the issue far more…” As he searched for the words, Kimiko made another weird fucking gesture, and a smile spread across the French Prick’s face. “Oui, Mon Coeur. Fucking urgent. Far more fucking urgent.”

“Great, more urgent.” Starlight blinked, clearly giving a pathetic attempt to regain control. It was glorious for Ben to watch. “Now, we think-“

“It was still gross, things can be urgent and not gross.” Cocksucker frowned at the French Prick.

“Hughie,” Starlight hissed.

“Shit, sorry Annie-“

“No, petite Hughie, the gross nature of the words is what makes them so urgent.” The French Prick argued. “It makes them more difficult to ignore.”

MM gave an attempt to push back that didn’t involve nearly enough shouting or threats for Ben’s taste. “The words don’t matter, now just listen to Annie-“

“Words fucking matter, Mate." Butcher interjected. Ben agreed, if they didn’t then the whole stupid fucking list would have been for nothing.

“Not right now, Butcher, right now all that matters is we listen to Annie-“

“Well, Butcher’s technically right. Words do really fucking matter.” She chimed in from Ben’s side. “Language is a pillar of culture, and different words will have the same translations but different meanings across cultures.”

MM gave Her a disbelieving stare. “You too?”

“What words have different meanings across cultures?” Cocksucker asked, sounding somehow genuinely interested.

“More often than not, it’s symbolic changes, such as colors and animals having different connotations or there being a wide variety of words for one language that only has a few.”

“This can’t wait?” Starlight asked, throwing MM a hopeless look. Ben hoped it couldn’t. As utterly boring as the words coming out of Her mouth were, he’d never seen her so enthusiastic about something that wasn’t a piece of media to be explained. Her heartbeat was rising, yes, but it was beating like a drug, not a gun, against Ben’s head. This, this was tolerable, and if Starlight fucking stopped it he might have to kill her.

It was MM though, who said Her name firmly. As she trailed off, he looked at her with raised eyebrows and a frown. “You done?”

Ben could hear the chew of Her lip, and she nodded apologetically, shooting a nervous look to where Sage was watching Her with narrow eyes. If Ben was smart about it, he was pretty sure he could kill Sage, MM, and Starlight in one move. Unfortunately, that would probably make Her all bitchy and angry at him, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid. Maybe he could make it look like an accident.

“Great,” Starlight sighed. “Sage, Homelander has fucked all of us.” Butcher gave an approving grin as Starlight threw him a dirty look. “He needs to be stopped.”

“And what makes you think you can stop him? You’ve tried numerous times, and every attempt has blown up in your face more spectacularly than the last.”

“We have a plan.” Starlight said, standing up straighter.

“Then you don’t need me.”

“That’s what I fucking said.” Butcher grumbled.

“But they didn’t listen to you, which means whatever you’re trying isn’t a revenge-blind, foolish Butcher special.”

“Love, if you’re implying I’m a fucking idiot-“

“Wasn’t implying. Outright said it.”

“We can still bloody kill you-“

“Butcher,” MM said with a glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Well, I ain’t bloody wrong. Her power is ‘smart’, she’s not a fucking threat. We got the real threat on our side.” Butcher gave Her a wide, smug grin.

Right at Ben’s side, She froze.

“The ‘real threat’?” Sage asked, and turned slowly to examine Her once more.

“Soldier Boy,” MM said, looking between Her and Sage. “You know what he can do. We didn’t bring him back for nothing.”

“No, but you did bring him back… Why?” Sage wondered aloud, and Ben could hear the insufferable gears of her bitch brain turning. “Because you had the real threat. Not him, something worse.” Sage’s mouth turned up just the gleam in her eyes returned. “The Anomaly.”

“I- what are you- I don’t know what-“ Ben didn’t need to see Her eyes to know that the fear had returned. It was in every word She spoke, and he wanted to rip it out of her and shove it into Sage. “You don’t- I don’t-“

“He told me you died. Horrible accident, fourth shot of V didn’t take, and you combusted. I knew he was lying, I just thought he’d decided he wanted more secrecy and moved you, killed you himself, or you’d escaped and were on the other side of the world. Very, very stupid of you to come back.”

“If you know what happened to her, you should know what a fucking monster Homelander is.” Starlight said. “You should listen to what we have to say.”

“Not interested anymore.” Sage gave a dismissive gesture, another fucking smile creeping onto her features. “The Anomaly, alive and working with Starlight and Butcher? Working with Soldier Boy? This is good, this changes things.”

Ben braced his arms at his side, his anger feeding into the beat against his chest, moving forward as She took a weak, stumbled step further behind him. “You listen, or lose your fucking life.”

“I think I’ll just go. I had a much more dramatic reveal, but you have been set up, and this building is surrounded.” Sage sighed. “I would say I wish I could’ve played into the theatrics you all love a little more, but I’m actually incredibly fucking relieved I don’t have to. I’ll see everybody soon, and good luck with whatever you’re planning. I’m sure it will be entertaining.”

Before Ben could give in to the drums, or even more to grab her, the warehouse was flooded with men in black suits.

“Fuck,” Butcher shouted, pulling out a gun from thin fucking air. “What’s the point of having a super-hearing supe if you can’t fucking hear a warehouse full of enemies?”

“Sound-suppressing suits,” the French Prick yelled, taking a step behind Kimiko as he too pulled a weapon from nowhere. “I was developing them with the CIA, Vought must have gotten their fucking hands on them.”

MM pulled out his own gun, and Ben was now pretty fucking sure they were all keeping them up their asses. “Does Mallory know about them?”

“Oui, but they must have just gotten their hands on them, I finished them only two days ago.”

“When we made the fucking plan to meet with Sage,” Cocksucker had, like the cowardly pussy Ben knew him to be, moved behind Starlight. “But she can’t have known we had Soldier Boy, why would she spend time to get them?”

“Sage is nothing if not careful,” MM fired up at the descending men. “We need to get out of here, right fucking now.”

The words had hardly left MM’s mouth when the warehouse lit up with bullets.

“Are you just going to let Sage fucking get away?” Ben yelled, remaining firmly planted where he was, bullets bouncing off him like rain.

“Excuse us, Gov, not all of us are bloody immortal. And we quite like living, so shut the fuck up and be useful.” Butcher ran past Ben, firing back as he did.

Ben scowled at nothing, punching one of the men backwards like a bowling ball when he got too close. “She’s going back to Homelander, that feels pretty fucking important-“

“The doors are fucking blocked!” Cocksucker’s shrill, pussy yell cut Ben off. “They’re everywhere!”

“Then move them, you fucking pussy!” Ben threw another up into the ceiling.

He felt fucking alive. All around him, Butcher’s team was being the most useful they’d ever need in their pathetic pussy lives. The French Prick was holding something weird and long that Ben would very much like to use later, Butcher and MM were firing with an intent to kill that Ben appreciated, Kimiko ripped off a man's head with ease, and Ben was starting to hate her a little less than the rest of them. Even Starlight and Cocksucker were vaguely helpful, even if Starlight was mostly invested in keeping Cocksucker and his weak punches safe. It was fucking perfect, right until Ben threw another man into the wall, leaving a dent in the concrete, and saw Her.

She was right where they’d left her, smoking but not yet burning, men trying to grab her but falling back with screams as they did. Her bloodless, frozen face was trained on where Sage had stood, and despite the chorus of gunshots and shouting through the warehouse, her heartbeat was as loud as if Ben were right next to her. The tapping was fast—faster than he’d ever heard it, her eyes were unblinking and glazed, and blood was dripping from her lips as she chewed through skin.

She was going to fucking blow.

Another man, in almost slow motion, grabbed Her. But not on the arms or shoulder like the others had attempted. Right on the fucking neck. Ben watched as the idiot's hand landed on Her throat, watched her eyes widen and clear, and watched the man let out an undignified, pussy-like shriek as he recoiled back. But it was too fucking late. The smoke stopped, for only a second, and Ben could’ve sworn the ground fucking shook.

Everything went up into flames.

“Fuck!” Ben heard MM roar from somewhere behind him. “Everyone out! Get the fuck out!”

Ben sent another man flying back, directly into the fire, as he kept his eyes on Her. Still frozen, eyes no longer clouded, looking almost fucking oblivious to the flames around her. She didn’t seem to be burning anymore, only standing in the fire that had burst from her. Her eyes were full of that fear again, shooting upwards as the first piece of the roof fell down with a crash.

“The doors! Open the fucking doors!”

Ben turned to find Butcher shouting as Kimiko and MM struggled with the warehouse entrance. Ben glanced back at Her, but his line of sight was cut as another piece fell. Somehow, over all the noise, Ben heard Butcher once more.

“Soldier Boy, get your cunt ass over here and be fucking useful. Open the fucking doors!”

Ben grabbed one of the idiotic men who hadn’t either burned or tried to scramble away, throwing him directly to the warehouse door. The man shot right through the building, clearing a hole to the outside with a crunch. In the momentary shocked silence of the groups struggle, fire crackled, and another piece of the warehouse fell.

“Out!” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw MM practically push Cocksucker through the hole. “Now! Get out!”

Ben stared at the hole, Her heartbeat ripping into him. He could leave her. The building would fall, and he could fucking run in the time it took to pull her out. He could be fucking free, ahead of schedule, no killing Homelander and saving a stupid fucking world full of backstabbing pussies required. They’d find another way to kill Homelander, or not. It wouldn’t be his problem. Ben couldn’t even see her through the smoke and debris anymore. It would be so fucking easy to leave, kill Butcher, and escape.

But Her heartbeat wouldn’t fucking stop. It would keep going and going into his head. And the drum hated it, every time it sank into him, it fed the fucking drum.

He wasn’t moving. He needed to fucking move, or they’d realize his plan and try and knock him out. He wasn’t going back in the fucking box.

And She wasn’t going back to Homelander.

“Fuck!” He yelled at no one, partially hoping she’d just walk out, or someone would call him forward. But all the team had left them, and now the warehouse was just Ben, Her, and a bunch of ill-fated Vought shit-eaters.

Ben turned, throwing the wreckage as he did. It probably wasn’t helpful to the general state of the building the way he did so, but he wasn’t in the mood to be a fucking careful or gentle pussy. He reached Her, and found her passed out, face almost empty. If it weren’t for the sound of her breath, the still-quick flutter of her heart, Ben would’ve thought her dead.

“If you don’t become at least 10% less of a bitch after this Sunshine,” he grumbled at her unconscious body. “I’m throwing you right back in here.”

But he hauled Her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ignoring the way she seared into his skin, and walked through his previous path to the exit.

———-

The ride back from the disastrous mission made Ben want to blow everyone’s fucking brains out of their heads. There were weird looks, hushed questions about what happened that he had to pretend he couldn’t hear, and a whole lot of self-righteous, sad faces. It was made worse by the fact that She didn’t even wake up until they were fully back in the safe house, meaning Ben had to fucking carry her inside. Butcher offered, but Ben had just glared at him—as far as Ben was concerned, the dick just wanted to take advantage of one of the only “safe” times to touch her—and refused to even respond.

Ben dumped Her in her room, and marched back downstairs to find Butcher still in the fucking living room.

“What the fuck do you want?” Ben grumbled, pushing past him to the kitchen.

“Well, I would usually tell your girlfriend, but seeing as she's taking a bloody little nap you’ll have to do.”

“She’d cut off your dick if she heard that,” Ben snorted. “Take it from my personal experience.”

“Good thing she can’t. Just tell her we’ll be back in a few days for operation Quick and Bald.”

"Operation Quick and Bald?" Ben huffed a sarcastic laugh. “I am not fucking saying those words.”

Butcher smirked. “Your head, Gov. See you in a few days.”

And Ben was left alone in the kitchen.

It took all the way to morning for Her to wake up. She stumbled into Ben’s room with a frown and a determined look.

“Teach me how to fight.”

Ben gave her a lazy half-grin from the bed. “Welcome back, Sunshine. Anything you’d like to say to me? A thank you, for instance. Though I would also accept acts of gratitude.”

“I’m not sucking your dick. Teach me how to fight.”

“I’m good. Not in my job description.”

She glared at him. "Technically, you don’t have a job. We’re not paying you. Teach me how to fight.”

“They’re not paying you either, Sunshine. We’re both victims.”

“I’m legally dead, they can’t pay me. And you’re the farthest thing from a victim, Mr. Body Count in the Thousands. Teach me how to fight.”

“No.” Ben had no interest in doing more for these fucking idiots. He’d already saved her life once in the past day, that should earn him enough fucking gratitude to coast for at least a damn month.

“Please, Ben, this can’t keep happening where I lose control, someone could really get hurt.” She rubbed her eyes in obvious distress. “People did get hurt.”

“So? Hurting people is what we do. You shouldn’t be in the field if you can’t fucking handle it.” Ben repeated the words he had so often told himself through the years. It had always fucking worked for him. She shouldn’t be any different.

“I can’t fucking handle it?!” She scoffed in disbelief. “That’s a mighty stupid thing for the pot to say to the kettle.”

Ben shot her a cold look. “I know how to fucking hold my own, Sunshine, I don’t need someone to fucking save me. You can’t fucking control yourself at all, and it’s a goddamn problem.”

“Nobody made you go back, you could’ve just fucking left me.” She hissed.

"Well, I didn’t,” Ben growled. “Don’t make me fucking regret it.”

“I could say the same for you. You’re only out of the box because I wanted you here-”

“Aw, Sunshine, you wanted me?” He mocked.

“I wanted your powers here. You’re just the vessel.”

“I saved your fucking life, bitch.”

“And I’m sure you’re not going to be a fucking cunt about that forever.”

“You need me.” He shot to his feet. “Don’t fucking forget it.”

She took a step forward, her face venomous. “No, you need me. What do you think happens if they decide I’m a ‘problem’ now, huh? They send me home, and just trust you not to go all revenge-fueled vigilante? If I burn, you burn, Ben. So fucking teach me how to not be a ‘problem’, or it’s your fucking head.”

He bared his teeth at Her. “If I teach you how to fight, will you stop being a fucking pussy and thank me for saving you?”

“Teach me how to fight, really fight and not just throw a punch, and I’ll buy you a fucking fleshlight.”

“What the fuck is a fleshlight?”

She gave him a mocking smirk. “Trust me, you’ll love them.”

Ben paused, examining Her face, angered but firm. “I want three of them.” He still wasn't sure what they were, but She had been frustratingly fucking accurate about what he would and wouldn't like.

“Deal.” She extended her hand, and he glared at it.

“If I hate them, you’re cooking me something.”

“You’d volunteer to be poisoned?” She laughed. “Your funeral, dumbass.”

He ignored her words, and shook her hand as aggressively as he could. “Meet me in the kitchen in three hours. I’m going to make you fucking cry.”

She grinned. “Looking forward to it.”

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