#but that's just me having a somewhat happy day
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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.”
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for bucktommy prompts - tommy smiled as he looked down the aisle at his extremely soon to be husband.
This prompt actually came at the perfect time because I already had some semblance of an idea on my head, so thanks for pushing me to write it!
If anybody else has a prompt, send to my ask and I'll write a little something something ❤️
********
Buck nuzzled further into Tommy's warmth. He'd slip beneath his ribcage and tightly wrap around his actual heart if he could. Tommy squeezed his arms around him tighter
"We should probably get up." He said placing a kiss on the top of Bucks head.
"I don't wanna." He replied muffled into Tommy's chest.
"Me neither, kid, but we've got a big day ahead, plus an early flight tomorrow - I'd like to be at least somewhat prepared."
Buck knew he was right. The plans had all come together in a rush last minute. One minute they were discussing ideas for Bucks birthday, and the next the plans were made, tickets bought, and bags were packed. Despite Tommy insisting, much to Bucks chagrin, that he leave the clipboard at the station, everything had ran pretty smoothly. Mostly because Tommy was the one doing the organising. He may not have had a clipboard but he had a way of making sure things were done properly.
"What time is everyone arriving, again?" Buck asked.
"Food is coming at 6pm, everyone arriving 6:30pm."
"So we have some time then.." Buck climbed on top of him. Tommy always struggled to resist Bucks advances. The way he so eagerly wanted to show Tommy how much he loved him. He indulged Buck for a few moments, leaning up into his languid kisses, before gently pulling away.
"Hold that thought til tonight." He said, half lifting Buck from him.
"But-"
"Nope. Later, Romeo." He placed a kiss on his forehead and got out of bed.
***
"I still don't understand why we had to get this dressed up." Chimney complained pulling at his shirt collar.
"Because it's Bucks birthday and he wanted a nice celebration. Besides, it'll be good seeing eveyone and not have half of you in uniform or dirty turnouts."
They got out if the car and Maddie took a bag from the trunk.
"Whats that?" Chim asked.
"Oh just some party favours Buck asked me to bring."
"There's my favourite girl" Buck greeted them at the door immediately picking up Jee-yun into a hug.
"Look at you!" Maddie admired Bucks deep burgundy suit. "It's nice to see you dressed like a grown up." She teased. Buck smiled.
"It is a special occasion. Gotta make some effort."
"Since when have you thought birthdays were special?" Chim asked.
"I think that's kind of obvious Howie.." Maddie answered pointing behind Buck. Tommy walked toward them in a navy blue suit so perfectly fitted it had to have been tailored she thought. He smiled them and reached a hand to stroke Jee-yun's hair.
"Hi sweetheart."
"Hi uncle Tommy!" She excitedly responded.
"Hey guys." He kissed maddie on the cheek and gave a hug to Chim. Everyone else is in the kitchen"
"Yeah sorry were late. Someone wouldn't leave until she found her rabbit." Chim gestured to Jee-yun.
"No problem. Come on." Tommy and Buck led them to the back ontonthe kitchen where the rest of the 118 were. A buffet was laid out along the entire length of the counter, and an array of drinks sat on the island.
"Finally!" Hen called out to Chim as she walked over. "Whats with the curtains?" She asked pointing to the heavy black drapes covering the bifolding doors that lead out to the back deck. "That ocean view is the best part of this house."
"Uh.. there's a problem with the deck. Couple of the boards have weakened, and didn't want the kids to go out there when it's not safe." Tommy answered. Chimney noticed a look between him and Maddie buy didn't acknowledge it.
"Ah. Good thinking."
"Happy birthday, kid." Bobby said walking over.
"Thanks cap."
"You looking forward to your trip?" He asked.
"Trip?" Lucy asked
"Buck here is abandoning us for two weeks to go on vacation." Chimney answered.
"Ooh where you going?" Lucy.
"I'm taking him to a cabin in Vermont." Tommy replied kissing Buck on the cheek.
"Stop being so adorable" Lucy responded.
"Is everyone here?" Tommy asked Buck.
"Yeah, I think so."
"You ready?" He leaned in and whispered quietly into his ear.
"I am." He smiled warmly back. Tommy nodded knowingly at Maddie.
"Right, I think it's time for some real celebratory drinks." She announced before removing a couple of bottles of champagne from the fridge?
"Champagne? Fancy!" Lucy declared taking a glass. Maddie handed everyone a glass and asked for everyone's attention.
"I just wanted to wish my big little brother a happy birthday. I know that you wouldn't want to share this day with anybody else than those here in this room. I love you so much and I'm so ridiculously happy for you." She raised a glass and everyone followed suit.
"Happy birthday!" They cheered together.
"Also! I think Tommy has something to add.
Everyone looked to him standing a little awkwardly. The man fought fires for a living but standing in a room full of people made him nervous. He hated being the center of attention.
"Thanks everybody for coming. So, as you know tomorrow Evan and I are going on vacation-"
"Boooo!" Eddie called out eliciting a laugh from everyone.
"However, it's not just a typical vacation were going on."
Everyone's faced were a wash of confusion.
"You getting married or something?" Karen suggesting jokingly. Tommy and Buck looked at one another with a smile neither of them could hide.
"Wait.. you're.. are you eloping?!" Chimmed asked. Everyone was standing wide eyed waiting for the answer.
"Uh.. not exactly." Buck answered. "We're going on our honeymoon." Tommy moved to the back and pulled away the black curtains to reveal the deck.
Chairs were placed all around - a mismatch of them, begged and borrowed - facing two small potted palm trees, a few feet apart wrapped in twinkling lights. More twinkling lights and lanterns hung all above and around giving the whole deck a beautiful warm glow.
"My uh.. my sister was right." Bucks voice was a little croaky, thick with emotion. "There's nobody else we would rather share this moment with that you guys. Our family." He turned his attention to Bobby. "What do you say. Cap? You wanna marry us?".
Bobby smiled broadly.
"My pleasure, kid."
There was a few moments of silence before the room erupted into joyous noise.
Oh my god!
Congratulations!
I can't believe it!
You sneaky son of a..!
The next 10 minutes were spent with everyone embracing them both. And chastising them for keeping it a secret.
Maddie opened up the bag she had brought in, took out a box and opened it to reveal an array of small buttonhole flowers.
"Wait, you knew?!" Chim said to Maddie.
"Of course I did. Who do you think helped decorate?"
"I knew two of those chairs looked familiar. They're ours! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Howie, I love you - but you can't keep a secret to save you're life." Chimney started to protest but quickly conceded.
***
"I can't believe my little brother is getting married." Maddie told Buck after pulling him aside. Everyone else was taking their seat outside.
"I know, right?" He said, almost not believing it himself. "Is it.. is it weird that I kind of wish that Daniel was here to see it?" Tears formed in Maddies eyes, remembering their brother.
"No, its not weird. I think he'd be happy for you too." She said with a sad smile. "But hey, mom and dad are going to lose their mind when they find out, so you have that to look forward to."
"They're only now just starting to accept I'm dating a guy - I did not want to have to deal with their thoughts and feelings about marrying one. Besides they missed your first wedding so really im just carrying on the Buckley tradition."
Maddie lightly smacked him on the arm. He raised his hands in defence.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry." He laughed.
"Seriously, I'm so happy for you, Evan." She brought him into a hug.
"I'm happy for me too."
***
"So Buck told me you dont have a best man?" Eddie asked Tommy as they walked outside.
"Actually I wanted to talk to you about that." He turned his attention Chimney. Chim looked around before looking back at Tommy.
"Me?"
"You saved my life. I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for you." Chim smiled at him. "More importantly, if you hadn't of called asking for my help I wouldn't have met Evan. So all this-" He gestured to everyone taking their seats on their beautifully decorated deck "-wouldnt be happening if it weren't for you."
Chimney sniffed away the emotion he felt and reached out to shake Tommy's hand.
"Absolutely." He smiled and Tommy pulled him into a hug. The same type of hug he gave him after he saved his life - tightly held with his face against Chimneys to show just how grateful he was.
"Speaking of best men, you better go see if your boy is ready." Chim told Eddie. It was a given be would be Bucks best man.
Things started to quiet down as eveyone started to settle into their seats. Tommy stood at the front. Chimney to his side, looking towards the doors waiting for the love of his life to come out.
Tommy thought that it was only when you were about to die that your life flashed before your eyes. As he stood waiting, heart thumping in his chest so hard he thought for sure everyone could hear it, he thought about all the choices and moments in his life that lead to here.
All the hiding, all of the hate, all of the heartbreak. His parents, the army, even Captain Gerrard. All people and experiences that pushed him further away from who he wanted to be. Further away from happiness. He thought about all the times he'd come home from work to an empty house. All of the birthdays he'd spent alone. All those moments that he was convinced that he would never be loved.
As his eyes swept across everyone sitting in front of him - Chimney, Hen, Bobby, and everyone else he'd gotten to know at the 118 since they reconnected - his heart warmed even more. He finally had the one thing he had yearned for since he was a child. A family.
And as Maddie pressed play and the sound of Lauren Daigle's 'Hold On To Me' began playing out, the biggest smile spresd across his face as the most beautiful man he'd ever had the privilege of knowing walked out and he saw the rest of his life walking towards him.
Evan.
***
Tommy helped a drunken Lucy into Hens car, the last of the guests to leave, then walked back into the house and closed the door behind him. Buck was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, waiting. Tommy walked towards him slowly.
"So, Mr Kinard, what do you want to do now?" Buck closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Tommys neck.
"Show my husband how much I love him." Then he crashed his lips into Tommy's.
#buck x tommy#bucktommy#tommy kinard#911 abc#911 buck#911#evan buckley#911onabc#evan buck buckely#911 spoilers#bucktommy fic#bucktommy prompts#bucktommy prompt#tevan#kinley#tevan fic#thomas kinard#oliver stark#lou ferrigno jr
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I would love to just sit on a roof top and talk to you about anything and everything. Hear all of your opinions on everything.
Wait what the hell that’s so sweet I’m the mayor of yapsville when you get me started on something I have An Opinion on, so I promise you’d probably quickly regret it.
But picture us. Me and you on a roof. And I tell you the following, as the wind blows our hair and the sun starts to set:
- Andrew helps Renee dye her hair
- When they move in together, Andrew always finds his t-shirts or random belongings shoved under Neil’s pillow. Harmless stuff, but usually stuff that belongs to Andrew. Kept safe, untouchable below his pillow like the few belongings he had in the beginning.
- Dyslexic Kevin Day
- Allison helps Neil get his hair back into a good condition when he starts to grow it out post-TKM. She helps him do treatments and recommends the best products. She braids it when it gets long enough. She shows him how to properly tie it back, she teaches him how to properly look after the texture in his hair.
- Andrew has a folder in his camera roll for nobody else but himself of things that make him smile on the inside. Most of the time it’s stupid things, like a terrible advertisement stuck to a lamp post, or an ugly dog, or an awfully parked car. Silly things that make him laugh that he screenshots or snaps a picture of. There’s eventually hundreds of pictures in there. There’s photos of Neil, when he falls asleep on Andrew’s shoulder and Andrew’s too proud to tell him how cute he looked. Photos of Neil in his suit before a banquet, photos of him doing dishes or handing him dinner. There’s photos of Andrew and Renee after they’ve been sparring. There’s photos of things he’s seen in stores that remind him of Kevin, or Neil, or Renee. Sometimes Aaron. There’s even a few photos of Kevin in there, too. Nobody know this folder exists. Not even Neil, who doesn’t even know half of the photos of himself in there even exist. Because it’s just for Andrew. It’s just for him to collect the little joys in his life now that he can somewhat actually feel it.
- Kevin has to wear a brace on his hand/wrist every now and again, and he still sees a physiotherapist once every few months to check up on his hand.
- Matt goes to Andrew the first time he thinks about relapsing. He doesn’t even think about it. Neil is very confused when he comes back to the dorm to find Matt and Andrew playing video games together, but doesn’t question it.
- Dan tags along to night practice every now and again. Nobody acknowledges that she isn’t usually there, they just let her join them on the court and practice as usual. It makes Kevin really happy, actually, to see her trying to better her skills with them. Usually she just joins them when she can’t sleep and needs to get out of her head.
- On the OG foxes last night together before the first of them graduate, they all find themselves around a fire pit in one of their parents houses, or on property Allison rented out, and they tell each other stories and share some confessions in a mostly-funny, kind of emotional way. They cry and laugh and hug and shock each other with some of the things they say but it’s a really beautiful moment before they’re finally split up for the first time
- Dyslexic Kevin Day (again)
#thank u to whoever tagged the Andrew tweets thing with that hc about his camera roll#makes me want to cry just#thinking about him collecting things that make him laugh#it’s a beautiful diary of his recovery and healing I think#one photo here and there#to#so many photos a month#so many photos in a week#maybe he conditions himself to be happy when he takes pictures on his phone because that’s all he’s been doing#laughing at something and snapping a pic
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Hey Easy could you do just all the mercs (or just who you would like to pick) with a reader that is almost always happy and go lucky showing actual sadness for once of course if you don’t want to that’s fine
Thanks for reading this even if not :)!
Offense and Defense x Cheerful Reader Showing Sadness
Now I'm not sure if you meant it as "they've been hiding it" or "they just got a little sad", but I'm going with the second one! Also, thanks for being my first ask! Sorry it took so long, Cali is super hot rn!!!!!
CW: None I don't think.
Scout
You and him probably go together like peanut butter and grape jelly. You always have something to say, or you always laugh at his remarks. At the very least, you always give him a smile.
He busts your chops!! Which is, unfortunately, how he finds out you are upset.
"WOW, that match sucked. You gotta stop suckin' out there so much. Practically bringin' down the score by, like, a gazillion points." He chuckles, turns to you, and sees the absolute destroyed expression on your face.
Aweeoohhhh shit.
"Hey man, I didn't mean that. Don't make that face at me! Look, uh, what's wrong? Why're you all down an' crap??" NGL he's not very good at this.
If you decide to tell him what ails you, he immediately starts trying to hype you up.
"Psh, naw. No way. Somebody like you? Gettin' upset over somethin' small like that? Not a chance. You're freakin' awesome. How's somethin' stupid like that got you worked up? Naaahh."
While he might suck at comfort, he is your hype king!!
If you decide to not tell him, he just sighs and slings an arm around your shoulder.
"Ah, well, whateva it was, it's probably stupid anyways. Let's go get a burger or somethin'."
To be honest, He's always gonna end up taking you for food.
Soldier
As much as it doesn't look like it, Soldier loves and needs routine. And while the mercs are chaotic, they're an organized chaos. Somewhat. And that applies to you as well. You're smiley nature is one of the solid vertebrae that makes up the backbone of Soldier's usual day. So when you're NOT that, well...
He gets a little antsy. And by little, I mean majorly. And by ansty, I mean freaked.
He's on like donkey kong! He spares no time trying to figure out why you aren't you! Are you a spy? A commie sent to infiltrate their base that looks just like you?
Of course, his first suspicion was that it was due to the absolute STATE of America.
With a hand on your shoulder, he shakes you, nodding in solidarity.
"I get it, private. I, too, am brought down by the thought of our great nation SUFFERING like this... BUT WE WILL SAVE HER!!! WE WILL TEAR THOSE NON-RED BLOODED NON-AMERICANS A-"
At this point I would assume you get him to stop, or cover his mouth at the very least.
You either explain to him what's wrong, or just tell him that it is DEFINITELY not America related. (although, maybe it is? Who knows.)
It's a coin toss on whether he understands or not. Actually rephrase that. It's a coin toss on whether or not he's in the right mindset to listen, then it's ANOTHER coin toss if he'll understand.
Whatever the case is, he'll still be at least a little sympathetic.
Whether it be bone-crushing hugs, or grabbing you by the hand and rocket-jumping to lift your spirits (ah, ah, ah?)
Pyro
SO. I got stumped on this one ahaaaaa. I had time to think about it though.
I think Pyro doesn't really see in Pyrovision, as shown in the comics. It's just, you know. A way of getting through the day. It probably took him time to figure what to disguise as what. What I mean is, it took work to convince his mind to lie to him. Except for fire. Fire is just pretty to him like that.
So you being a generally already happy person saved him that work! Because of that, there is probably no Pyrovision you.
And when he sees you down in the dumps, BOY does that throw him off. He goes through 20 different emotions in 2 seconds!
Finally, he approaches you after dinner, grabbing at your arm and hands, shaking them. He mumbles at you, which you.. can't understand.
You get what he's trying to say though, and whether you tell him or not, it makes no difference.
He's gonna drag you everywhere! He wants to fix your problem, and he's gonna do it anyway he can. Just be patient though, because his way may include fire, fire, and more fire.
Engineer
Man oh man does he love how you brighten up a room!
You just being around gives him motivation to keep on keeping!
Also you inflate his ego by 100000x
With that being said I don't think he would be surprised if he found you upset at some point.
You are a human, and at some point, you'll get sad!
Doesn't mean he tries any less harder to make you smile again.
He's very subtle with it. Almost annoyingly. Maybe a bit patronizing too.
Although he'll just impatient eventually and out-right ask you what's wrong.
"Now listen here, y'gotta stop all this wallowing! What's got you all bunched like that?"
If you tell him, he'll wrap an arm around your shoulder, and lay on some ol' southern wisdom, before dragging you off to wack somethings with a wrench.
If you don't, he'll try to give you space, but just know he'll study you like a creature.
"Are y'sure yer fine?" "Engineer." "I'm just askin', I'm just askin'!"
Demoman
A shining star in his alcoholic bends, barely lucid days, and murky depressed nights.
You are always there to guide him through dark times with a beaming smile and a shoulder to lean on.
He also finds himself losing words when talking about chemistry, just because you have that soft little smile on your face.
Just like Engineer, he's not surprised when you walk around the place like someone kicked your puppy.
He's not a fool.
With a gentle hand on yours, he'll furrow his brows and ask you if you're alright.
"Ye ken, a'm 'ere tae listen if yer feelin' lik' talking."
He'll offer advice and lots of comfort if you need it.
If you'd rather keep it to yourself, that's fine as well.
He'll still sit by you, keeping you company.
Whether it be a big problem or small, he knows about unhealthy coping mechanisms, and would rather be by your side then leave you to your thoughts.
Heavy
Thinking about your positivity on the battlefield gives him strength and hope. So while he doesn't show it as much, he loves how enthusiastic you can be.
That being said, if you're sad, he's even sadder. Not a lot of people get how emotional this man is.
His first thought is that you might be disappointed by something, so he does what he can to figure it out.
If its not that, then he basically pokes and prods until he finally gets to the point where he thinks it's socially acceptable to ask.
"Vhat ees wrong? you walk aroahnd, all sad. Talk to me."
He will sit down and listen if you decide to tell him, before taking your hand as lightly as possible and telling you it will all be okay.
He mmmmmight argue with you for a bit if you don't want to tell him, but he'll get the message at some point.
He offers to show you something instead, to take your mind off of it.
He'll take you to the rusty tin roof of the base, pointing at the dark sky.
You two will exchange stories about the stars for the rest of the night.
#tf2#team fortress 2#tf2 x reader#team fortress 2 x reader#scout x reader#soldier x reader#pyro x reader#engineer x reader#demoman x reader#heavy x reader
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Month of Emmet Quick Write #8
Prompt #8: Cozy
It's been an entire year since Ingo returned from Hisui and Emmet wants to celebrate. Dawn too. And even though things haven't gone back to the way they once were (and they never will), maybe that's okay. So long as everybody's together again.
Read the whole thing below the cut.
“I am Emmet. Remind me again what we are looking for.”
“Twice-spiced radishes, sootfoot roots, muffin mix, some raw honey- oh! And potatoes! Lots and lots of potatoes!” Dawn led Emmet along by the arm, her eyes shining as they came across more and more stalls peddling out-of-season vegetables and once-in-a-lifetime cooking supplies. She swung her arms as she went, chattering about this and that as she led the much taller man through the open market.
Emmet wasn’t exactly comfortable with his brother’s newest charge. My brother’s awfully young, very excitable, somewhat weird charge. He had been introduced to Dawn in the past back when Ingo had first returned from Hisui. It had taken Ingo some time to remember a young girl he knew. Somebody named ‘Akari’. Funny, Emmet chuckled inwardly. It had taken Ingo an entire month to remember the familiar stops and schedules of their shared lives in Unova; it had taken Ingo only a single day to remember Akari- ‘Dawn’ as she was properly named in the present.
“What dish are those ingredients for?” Emmet asked innocently.
“Lots of things!” Dawn replied cheerily, sweeping an errant lock of hair out of her face. “We gotta get authentic ingredients if we really want to surprise Uncle Ingo! And I think he’d really like two particular dishes- he liked them a lot back in Hisui.” Dawn paused, frowning. “Actually, I think he liked them too much… Did he actually ever eat anything else?”
“What are you referring to?”
“Potato mochi and tundra stew.” At the mention of the latter, Dawn’s face shrunk in on itself as if having tasted something sour. “Still have no idea why he likes the stew so much. Eugh. You wouldn’t like it. It tastes bitter and horrible like gnawing on beetroots.”
“What’s in the stew?”
“Usual stuff. Cut-up potatoes, wild grains, sometimes rice, snow radishes and-“ Dawn’s scowl suddenly deepened. “Urm… Maybe I should just… get that particular ingredient on my own. It’s nothing bad!” she squawked, rushing to explain herself as she fumbled with the hem of her dress, not quite meeting Emmet’s eyes. “It’s just… gross. I think it’s gross! Some people like it! I just think it’s nasty.”
The two spent another hour or two gathering ingredients from the open markets of Driftveil before eventually finding a small ferry to get them back across the waters to the western ports of Nimbasa City before noon had broken. From there, Emmet helped wave down a tram for the two of them to make their way back home.
Emmet unlocked the door, blinking. Ingo’s still gone. “Strange,” he murmured, stepping to the side and allowing Dawn to pass him. Today made a year’s anniversary of Ingo and Dawn’s return back from Hisui. Dawn hadn’t planned anything for herself and had preemptively decided to spend the day hanging out with Ingo after getting her mother’s permission. Emmet was more than fine with the opportunity. If Ingo was happy, he was happy too. Of course, despite Ingo being back home for so long, Emmet had noticed that Ingo hadn’t fully settled.
There were a few things here and there. Ingo probably didn’t know it but Emmet had begun picking up on cues that his twin was hiding things; bad things. The body scars were the easiest to see. Tearing scars along his arms on hot summer days. A snippet of a criss-crossing scar across his back after stepping out of the bathroom for something or another. Electrical burn marks hidden well by his work gloves. Uncle Drayden had noticed Ingo favoring his right knee over his left during bad storms. Iris had noticed Ingo’s tendency to hoard food and to that extent, old clothes. Elesa had noticed that Ingo flinched when the subway trains would roll into the platform too fast. Emmet had noticed that Ingo was quieter, never quite reaching the same levels of volume that he easily met and surpassed in the past. Emmet never asked. Ingo never spoke about them, almost as though he were either ashamed of doing so or that in doing so, he would stir up bad memories.
Ingo had his days. Some days, he would wake up and barely speak, still performing his job but with no life as though a ghost had possessed him. Some days, he wouldn’t eat. He would pick at his breakfast and work straight through his lunch, going straight to bed after a grueling shift at the station without so much as washing his face or brushing his teeth. Some nights, Ingo would go for walks. Long walks. Long walks at night, specifically with the pokémon he had befriended in Hisui. The pokémon that Ingo confided his troubles in when Emmet couldn’t overhear anything and the ones that often escorted him home in the dizzying hours of the early morning.
Both Emmet and Elesa had agreed to not smother Ingo and let him adapt slowly. And Ingo had been returning back to his old tracks gradually the more and more his family watched over him and ensured that he was seeking the proper physical and mental help that he needed after experiencing such a thing as amnesia-backed, time and space displacement. That they would support Ingo in his slow but steady recovery. And though Ingo was reluctant to speak about his experiences in Hisui, Dawn had come up with reintroducing the better parts of their joint-kidnapping by reminding him of the memories they both shared along each other: the food from Hisui.
“How are the muffins looking?” Dawn called, carefully checking the consistency of the stew that she had quickly assembled while Emmet hadn’t been paying attention.
Emmet peered into the oven, nodding. “They’re almost done. Are you making some kind of glaze or topping for them? Wait. I thought you said we were making mochi and… stew?”
“The muffins are the appetizer,” Dawn laughed. She put the lid back on the stew and went to clean her hands. “My old friend Rei- he taught me how to make them so that I could eat while travelling to complete the pokédex. I got real good at it and eventually taught Uncle Ingo how to make them. We often shared them whenever we ran into each other which was a lot- way more than you think! He had a… specific way of making his. Something to do with pecha berries.”
Emmet snorted. “Pecha berries? Yyyup. My brother has a sweet tooth.” He carefully skimmed over the directions for the recipe he was about to prepare. “I don’t doubt he would use pecha berries for muffins. Which are already sweet.”
“The raw honey is gonna be the glaze and that’s already kinda too sweet, even for me. He’ll love these, I’m sure of it. Ooh! And I think they’re done!”
The front door clicked and opened, Elesa’s boisterous voice and Ingo’s tired but slightly amused grumbles filtering into the house. Dawn immediately dried off her hands and flung herself out of the kitchen, nearly carrying Ingo off of his feet as she threw her arms around him.
“Uncle Ingo! You’re back!”
“Ah, Ak- Ahem. Dawn.”
Emmet only listened in, dropping the potato mochi into the pan to cook them exactly as the recipe ordered. And as he cooked, he could hear several more voices join in. Ah. There’s Uncle Drayden. And Iris, too. He dropped the thoroughly cooked pieces of mochi onto a covered plate at his side, humming as he dropped in another piece. I can hear Cilan very slightly. Cameron sounds like he’s here too.
He let his gaze travel over toward the packed party sitting in the living room, watching as Ingo and Dawn bickered over something small. And then Emmet saw exactly what he had been hoping for.
Ingo was talking. He was smiling, using his old over-exaggerated hand gestures as he spoke animatedly to Drayden and Iris who were staring at Ingo with amusement. Ingo’s voice carried clearly into the kitchen.
He’s… happy. Emmet supposed that if Ingo was happy, he was too. Ingo was safe and sound and happy, surrounded by people who loved him. And that eased Emmet just enough into carefully preparing a plate of muffins to take out to the living room.
#pokemon#pkmn#pokémon#submas#monthofemmet#monthofemmet2024#subway boss kudari#subway master kudari#subway boss emmet#subway master emmet#emmet#pokemon emmet#ingo and emmet#pokemon ingo#dawn pokemon
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Hi,
Just a question I wanted to ask about. How do you head-cannon the familial(or perhaps lack thereof) dynamics of the other major covens in twilight? eg. Egyptians, Denali, Irish etc
I was thinking about this the other day like with the Denali - Carmen and Eleazar are physically older and perhaps frozen at a more mature age but physically younger members like Kate have been around for longer and I was just intrigued by how these factors might affect their dynamic. Also with the Egyptian coven and how with them ‘generation gap’ literally takes on a whole new definition that makes one wonder if they genuinely do have a unique rapport with each other after being in close proximity for so long.
Feel free to ignore - just my little brain dump lmao. Love reading your posts and hope you keep writing!
Have a great day!
I conceptualize Eleazar and Carmen as the 'Alice and Jasper' of the Denali coven. They are a couple who join an established, venom-linked couple sometime later. The Denali sisters had their 'mother' for presumably centuries, and then existed as a trio for a long time before Eleazar and Carmen show up, so while I'm certain they did shift the dynamics somewhat, I don't see them as 'parental' in any real way. They are similar to Esme and Carlisle in personality, but that's where it ends for me. The sisters are very loyal to the memory of their mother, and they've been around too long to let anyone 'parent' them. To be fair, I feel similarly about Jasper; I don't think Esme and Carlisle 'parent' him; he's old enough to be Esme's grandfather, for one thing, but I also think he doesn't need or want the parental stuff. Affection, friendship, companionship, mentorship (re: vegetarianism), sure! "Jasper honey wash your face and put on your boots it's time for school! Did you finish all your homework?" I can't see it.
I think Eleazar is also like 'the Jasper' in the sense that he has some useful skills and knowledge from his time with the Volturi. He's not the leader -- Tanya is -- but she may rely on him for certain things, just like Carlisle can turn to Jasper for his knowledge of newborns and vampire warfare.
Beyond that I see them as adopted siblings of the original sisters and probably each have unique relationships within that framework. Maybe Irina was closer to Carmen while Tanya is closer to Eleazar or whatever.
With the Egyptians I think there is a more parental role for Amun and to a lesser extent, Kebi. Amun is Benjamin's creator and while that bond doesn't always become parental, given how young Benjamin was (15) it seems like it most naturally would in this case. I don't think Kebi necessarily sees him as a 'son' in quite the same way . . . maybe more like a step-son. He's Amun's son and she loves Amun so okay, this kid is here to stay, but I think she resents on some level that she has to 'share' Amun's affection with him. Tia is definitely IMO a daughter-in-law rather than a daughter. Amun puts up with it because it makes Benjamin happy and he wants to keep Benjamin around. But with Amun there's always that overlay of what he REALLY cares about is the power. I think he does have a lot of affection for Benjamin but it's hard to separate that from his pride at having this amazingly powerful vampiric offspring.
There is a huge generation gap though! Amun and Kebi are literally from Ancient Egypt and Benjamin and Tia are from like, early 1800s Egypt. Completely different religion, culture, language, etc. I remember finding it a little strange in that short film that they were talking about Benjamin stealing fire from Ra; it's the 1800s, Egypt had been a Muslim-majority country for several hundred years by that point. (Also 'Ra' was probably some dude Amun knew back in the day!) Interestingly, 'Tia' was a name used in Ancient Egypt. Not sure how common it was in the late 1700s/early 1800s though.
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Please make a part 2 of jeonghan fic "go away" I want revenge so bad 😭
u ask and u shall receive hehehe!!! i’m so happy i got so much love on the first part! i hope u enjoy ml<3
𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝟦 𝗒𝗈𝗎
⇝ 𝗒𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗇
ఌ 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍<𝟥
ఌ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－ 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽！𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗈𝗅 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗒𝖽𝗈𝗆！𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
ఌ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌－ 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌， 𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌， 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗈𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋， 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 （𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖼）， 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 （𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖼） 𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾， 𝗃𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 （𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋），𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾 𝗅𝗆𝖿𝖺𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗍？？？ 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌， 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗑！！！！ ， 𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀<𝟥
ఌ 𝖺／𝗇－ 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍，，， 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀？？？ 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗌？？？ 𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 （𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒）
seungcheol’s lips tasted so good against yours. but the wonderful taste of revenge was better. jeonghan has begged you to come to this party with him just for him to ditch you. you still had fun somewhat if you ignored your best friend. he was happy without your company or so you thought. he was watching you on one of his best friends lap.
cheol’s hands were roaming your body in a way that made jeonghan’s blood boil. he sat across the room with a drink in hand. his grip on the cup tightened when he saw cheol pull away to whisper something to you. it made you laugh. that made him even more mad than his touching against you. cheol knows of your plan to make him jealous. he wasn’t stupid but he didn’t mind it.
cheol was the only one paying attention to you this whole night. when cheol gets up to lead you to dance with him. jeonghan can’t help but watch your every move. the girl that was kissing against his neck was lost completely. getting fed up with jeonghan’s lack of attention.
“get off me.” he slightly pushes the girl away not enough to hurt her but enough to be a fucking asshole about it. she scoffs in disbelief as she looked to where jeonghan was so focused on. rolling her eyes again as she walked away. you were now grinding against cheol with a big smile. cheol can’t help but to call you out on your behavior.
“this is about jeonghan isn’t it?” he whispers into your ear as he keeps dancing with you.
“w-what?” you were shocked by his sudden question.
“ i can see him death glaring me. it’s okay y/n.” he holds your waist tighter as he kisses your cheek.
“are you okay?” he ask as he gets in front of you. cutting off jeonghan’s view of what the two of your were doing.
“yea- he brought me here then ditched me. then he’s gonna get upset that i’m having fun? he’s unbelievable.” you honestly don’t understand why you aren’t madly in love with seungcheol instead. he was a good guy. jeonghan was too i guess but his behavior is really making you hate him. but clearly that was a lie. all you wanted is to have jeonghan hold your hand and take you cute dates. the bastard can’t even give you the time of the day. you didn’t realize you were tearing up until cheol said another thing to you.
“y/n? don’t cry i’m here. i can take you home okay? just say the word. ” he pulls you into a hug with a sigh.
“i’m s-sorry- this is so pathetic i can’t even do revenge right.” cheol sighs shaking your head.
“i’m sure you made him very mad.” he leads you off the dance floor back to where you were seated. you look over to where jeonghan was but he was nowhere to be found. you sigh as you lay your head as cheol’s chest.
“i’m sorry cheol- i’m not trying to drag you into this.” he shakes his head.
“i’m already involved. both of you are my close friends. don’t apologize.”he wipes the tears from your eyes with a smile.
“you still look beautiful even after crying.” he teases with a smirk before he’s interrupted by jeonghan’s voice.
“you ready? i’m leaving.” jeonghan doesn’t even acknowledge cheol. cheol doesn’t take it to heart though he just laughs in disbelief.
“hello to you too.” cheol says under his breath.
“let’s go.” jeonghan puts his hand out for you to grab and you do. a little too quick. you give cheol as soft smile as he waves you bye. you know he will text you to check on you later.
“jeonghan why are you practically dragging me? you didn’t want to be around me but now you do?” he scoffs at your words.
“that’s before you were throwing yourself all over him.” you guys finally get to the car as you guys get in you get help but to see the dark look in jeonghan’s eyes.
“what did you expect me to do hangout by myself? you just left me.” he looks at you but you can’t tell what he’s feeling.
“are you serious? you’re still on about that? i told you how i felt and what i wanted.” you can’t believe your best friends words.
“i seriously hate you sometimes jeonghan. you’re such a dick! you know what i’ll walk home-“ he grabs your arm as you try to get out of the car.
“you don’t mean that. and are you crazy? you are not walking anywhere this late just stop it.” he looks at you for a moment and you honestly don’t know why but you just want him to kiss you.
“i hate you jeonghan.” he holds your hand softly as he shakes his head.
“no you don’t.” his voice is now quieter as he looks at you.
“i really do.” you can’t help to feel nervous at him inching closer.
“prove it then.” he pulls you closer to kiss him. you kiss back without hesitation. he smirks into the kiss as it gets rougher quickly.
“i hate you.” you murmur in between kisses as he pats his lap.
“jeonghan the window-“ he shakes his head.
“its tinted. we can get in the back?” you like that idea a little more. you mentally curse at yourself for being so giddy to touch him. the two of you crawl to the back.
“you really wanted to make me mad huh? well you succeeded. i’m fucking mad and i don’t want you to touch anyone else.” you roll your eyes at you as he pulls you to straddle his lap.
“oh but you can kiss as many people as you want?” you are ready to go back inside to hangout with cheol again. but honestly you don’t want to leave jeonghan’s side.
“i won’t do it. i want to kiss you.” you can’t believe his words so you don’t. right now they sound very promising but you know jeonghan. he kisses you roughly as he helps you grind down against him.
you can’t count how many times this has occurred but you don’t care anymore. you just want him bad as ever. jeonghan bunches your skirt up against your stomach.
“can i?” he asks already know the answer as you shamelessly nod.
“please.” you feel his fingers on the top of your clothed cunt. you are already wet and you know it. jeonghan has a effect on you and he knows it. he pulls your ruined panties to the side as he holds eye contact with you.
“you really hate me huh?” he teases with a evil smirk as one of fingers slowly push into you.
“you’re dripping angel.” you look away from him in embarrassment.
“s-shut up.” he smiles at you as he grabs your face with his other hand.
“don’t look away from me k? tell me how it feels.” he adds another finger inside you as your mouth falls open.
“w-wait jeonghan- can i touch you?” you push his fingers out of you as you climb off his lap.
“anything you want angel.” you watch him as he licks his fingers clean. he smirks at you after. you unbutton his pants as you pull out his dick out of his boxers. giving it a couple strokes as you watch him shudder.
“d-don’t tease i swear- s-shit.” you cut off his words giving the head a couple licks.
“don’t tell me what to do okay? just enjoy hannie.” you wanted to give him back his teasing. you know he was needy but you just wanted to drag it on more. you took him into your mouth as you roughly started to bob your head up and down.
“fuck angel- if you keep going at that pace i’m gonna- ahh- i’m gonna cum.” he rubs your hair back as he throws his head back in pleasure.
“feels s-so good angel.” you keep that exact pace until you’re tearing up from how far he is in your throat. you feel him twitch a little in your mouth before your pull off of him.
“fuck- why’d you stop?” he looks at you with a confused face.
“you can finish by yourself right? i think i’m gonna take cheol’s offer for taking me home. i’m tired. bye hannie!” you kiss his cheek as he’s left in shock and a hard on as he watches you make your way back into the house to find cheol. you just smirk at yourself for teasing him. you know he’s really mad now. but that’s what he’s deserves for ditching you. you still hate yoon jeonghan.
#seventeen#svt#svt fanfic#jeonghan x reader#svt smut#jeonghan fic#jeonghan x y/n#svt imagines#seventeen fanfic#jeonghan angst#jeonghan smut#jeonghan seventeen#scoups#cheol#svt fic#svt scenarios#svt x reader#seventeen seungcheol#seventeen scenarios#dividers by plutism#divider by plutism
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Venti Week day 1: Old Friends
For this! Really overdue, apologies. I'm not completely happy with it but I could always polish it for something else later, haha.
A conversation between Venti and Vennessa after the webtoon prologue.
It was the evening after... that. Everything that had happened still hadn't fully sunk in for her. Her imprisonment. Facing the dragon again. Someone she thought was a mildly obnoxious bard, the ancient god of Mondstadt, descending on her people and healing their wounds and laughing in the faces of her captors. Her people's silence as they trudged back to their homes in the aftermath, words beyond them.
-
Wind gently rustled the grass around Vennessa's feet. She stood near the edge of a cliff overlooking Mondstadt.
The exchange after he asked them to make good on their word had been short but heavy with meaning. Venti had left, but not after implying- a hint of sharpness under his playful tone like a knife tucked under a carpet- that the nobles would change the way they do things or he would be back.
She hadn't expected him to be back this soon. He stood ahead of her, back turned and quietly watching the city. Should she be surprised? Her brain still wasn't working properly.
Venti turned his head to glance at her, the green of his hat and cape dulled in the setting sun's glow. Attire that had been shed for something white and radiant and revealing hours earlier.
She continued to stand there. Staring.
He inhaled.
"So."
She blinked. "So."
He glanced away, perhaps fidgeting slightly; it was hard to see much at this angle.
"I should start by thanking you again." he said, head turning back. "You caused quite the scene back there! It gave me the perfect opening to step in."
"Opening?" she replied. "Did you need one?"
"Technically no, but I prefer to help Mondstadt in a way that involves its people," he said, "and I'm reluctant to replace one tyrant with another."
"Right. Because you're... the god of freedom."
He winced at that. "...Yes."
Both of them stood in silence for a moment. Vennessa tried to pull herself together.
"I should thank you for helping my people as well. If you had come seconds later... I don't want to think about what would have happened there."
"Your role shouldn't be underestimated either! The fire burning in your soul is unparalleled. I suspect your prayers are what finally shook me awake."
...Awake?
"You were asleep?"
"Indeed," he replied, before turning back to stare at the city, "though I'd thought I would wake up somewhat sooner than this."
He paused.
"It's really been this way for centuries, hasn't it?"
"It has."
Venti didn't speak further. The breeze tousled their clothes, cold against Vennessa's bare skin.
Vennessa paused, wondering if she was about to cross a line.
"Venti."
Venti turned back to face her.
"Yes?"
"Are you... okay?"
He smiled.
"Of course! My energy reserves are regrettably somewhat depleted, but my public reappearance will accelerate my recovery significantly. I'll be right as rain within a-"
"I meant emotionally."
He froze mid-sentence. If not for her experience reading people she would have missed his eyes widen almost imperceptibly- just for a second.
"Venti?"
"It's fine." A pause. "I'll fix things."
"That wasn't a yes."
He laughed. It sounded a little strained.
"You shouldn't worry about me. You said it yourself; I'm a god, remember? I exist to serve Mondstadt's people. And I haven't been doing that. It's their feelings that matter here."
That last part was oddly familiar. It brought her back to countless sleepless nights before matches, stroking her sister's hair as she rested, crushing down her fear and telling herself she just had to hang on a little longer. She could feel once they were free.
Clearly Venti hadn't let things become this way on purpose. From what little she'd heard about him in legends...
"...You left to give them freedom, right? I guess that included the choice to-"
"Have they been free?" Venti snapped. The breeze suddenly intensified. "Free to express themselves? To self-govern? To live?"
Vennessa didn't know what to say to that. He was right, but...
Suddenly a dam broke, words pouring out of him.
"Do you know what a thousand people praying in desperation sounds like, Vennessa? Because I do. They've been flooding in since my little stunt earlier. But Mondstadt was so quiet before. How many generations did that take? How many people begged and begged for my help, still believing someone listened and cared?"
Wind whipped wildly around them. Sparks of teal in his eyes and hair grew in number and intensity the more he spoke.
"Venti-"
"And that includes you! And your people! You've suffered for generations and I did nothing! Why aren't you angry?"
Vennessa paused at that.
Should she be angry?
Her head was still swimming with everything that had happened. Emotions had swirled around her psyche like dust, the air too turbulent for them to settle into anything coherent.
Maybe she should be furious- should call him spineless and a coward and demand justice for everyone that came before her. But that somehow felt wrong. Like there was more to this.
Something in his face reminded her of Lind outside the city's gates. Trapped. Terrified.
"Did you actually choose to leave? Or was there some god business that-"
Venti laughed almost hysterically.
"Oh, that's it. Are you making excuses for me because I'm Barbatos? Because I could smite you where you stand? It's okay, you can still leave! I'm not even your-"
Screw worrying about lines. While she still couldn't say she knew him, god or not, he clearly needed help.
Gathering her resolve, she marched through the cutting gale between them and threw her arms around his shoulders. He made a sound almost like a squawk.
"V-Vennessa?"
"You asked if we could be friends."
"But-"
"Friends help each other when they're struggling."
"But you don't have to be-"
"And I'm not doing this because you're Barbatos. I'm doing it because I want to and you helped me."
"Only after-"
"I don't care what fuckups you've made in the past. All I've seen is you trying to fix them in the present. And I could do that with you."
He was as stiff as a board. The winds around them thrashed, confused and warring against themselves. He tried to push against her chest, push her away, but she squeezed him harder.
"You don't owe me anything. You could die! Your people could too!"
"That's always been the case, Venti. You've given us the first glimmer of hope that things could change. And do you know the most important thing my elders taught me?"
"That the gods should be there for you?" he mumbled into her.
She pulled back a little to look him in the eyes. He was like a deer in torchlight.
"That we shouldn't do everything alone."
Something within him tore. His face crumpled as he pulled himself back into her, a quiet whine escaping his throat.
"I'm sorry." He was almost inaudible.
"I told you-"
"It's just-" he paused- "it's been so long since anyone said that to me."
She hugged him tighter, raising one hand to rest on his head.
"Maybe people should do that more."
"But they need me-" he said quietly, his voice cracking, "to be perfect for them. To not do this. I'm their last line of defense, I can't be weak, I-"
"But you're not perfect."
He went silent again.
"At this point I'm not sure anyone can be," she added. "But that's why we lean on each other. To cover each other's weaknesses."
"You're genuinely not leaving?" he choked out.
She laughed gently. "We both have people on the line if this mess isn't fixed, right? And didn't someone say they owed me some keys?"
His breath hitched. His hands tightened their grip on her clothes.
"It's okay, Venti. I'm not going anywhere. You can be a person around me."
As Venti, archon of Mondstadt, person with feelings, her friend, lost the last of his composure and sobbed into her chest, she knew that her life would never be the same again- that the world would never look the same to her again.
But if even the gods were fallible, so were the Lawrences.
Things could change for the better.
They just had to keep going.
#VentiWeek2024#genshin impact#genshin#venti#genshin venti#vennessa#genshin vennessa#lyre writes#been a mess the last few days augh#but that aside! i love me some venti & vennessa we need way more of it#vennessa being sisterly to him... clenches fist.........
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Stela, how have you been? It’s been so long it’s actually crazy. I know I could’ve just DM’ed you but there is just something so nostalgic about sending asks that I had to do it.
There is always at least one day a year when I reminisce about my tumblr days and you’re always one of the first people to pop up in my mind.
Sometimes I really miss it here, but I guess it will never be like the time when we were in the skam fandom, since everyone had absolutely nothing to do during the pandemic. I think it was really nice that we created a world of our own here and it really got me through those tough times.
Sorry for the rant, I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore, I always feel like using tumblr again, but then I get here and get kinda sad due to all the nostalgia and feeling that it will never be the same. It’s so weird that a “rede social” (ops não sei como falar em inglês) can make me feel this way.
Well, at least I’m always glad to see that your still somewhat active. Always wishing you the best <3
Saudades.
Ju 🩷
Juuuuuuuu!
Hello, friend! Thank you for remembering me 🥹
Wow... I can't even recall when was the last time someone sent me an Ask. Nostalgic INDEED!
But it's so good to hear from you again! I really hope you are thriving, living the best life and super busy being happy 🖤
As for me, a lot changed since the Golden Days of Skam France fandom... I got a job, but I don't know if I already told you that, and then I quite said job last year after almost three years of silent hating kkkkkkkkkk
And I move to Australia to study English. I'm living here for five months now. And it's been... an adventure... let's put it that way kkkkkkkkkk
Oh, and I have a new obsession now. I believe you have noticed, but I was hooked by a 8 member K-pop boy group 🫣 (and 1 of them in particular stole my heart and he's keeping it captive since then 🫣🫣)
Ah... now I really miss the old days. We had a beautiful community in here, it was trully special. And I agree with you, I don't think we can recreat the same space again. But I treasure the memory of our little bubble. People like to trash talk the internet and social media, but we would never find each other without tumblr (and our matching obsession) and for that I will always be gratefull!
Ju, thank you so much for the warm hug that was this ask 🥹🫂🖤✨
Sending you lots and lots and lots of love!
Saudades
#ju 🍬#ask#you really brought a smile to my face 😊#man... now I want to rewatch skam france again!!!#saudades 🖤#lovely lovely people
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#wanting to date and go out with the one person that's basically ignoring you.....😀#i mean he's not ignoring me BUT he's not NOT ignoring me either#and i seriously need to stop trying to get his attention okay? i know#but he's still my crush unfortunately#also i'm aware he just wanted to fuck once lol#i got fucked twice this year by two different guys#and both have ghosted me right after fucking 🤪#i know there's nothing wrong with me and they're missing out on being with me#but that's just me having a somewhat happy day#wait until i'm having a shit day and i can't help but think that i suck at everything and i'm not good/hot enough-#for guys to want to keep fucking me 🤪🤪🤪#but yeah the thing is. i still want him#and i want him BAD#and i'm out of ideas#i don't really feel like getting another tattoo#i mean don't get me wrong i always want a new tattoo i just don't have ideas NOW
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This is all you need to know about me.
#Genuinely happy smiling Shego gives me the power to defeat my troubled mind#Drakken smirking like that gives me different feelings that are as well positive but somewhat questionable#BUT SEEING THESE TWO TOGETHER SMILING AT EACH OTHER DESTROYS ANY SAD FEELING I HAVE LIKE AKFIAKGKSS LOOK AT THEM#I love these two so much#they're the perfect combo of intellectual strength and the wordt combo of pride vanity and greed#gosh they're just perfect I#i want them to be happy so badly#just a little world take over? sure go ahead as long as you two are happy together I won't mind#i could stare hours at them#drakgo#I just want them to KISS#MUWAH MUWAH ON THE LIPS#eeeee <3#💚💖💙💖💙💖💚#shego x drakken#dr drakken x shego#Drakgo my beloved#day after tomorrow I'll go crazy on drawing these two again
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depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed
#and wdym that lifestyle changed so quickly into being out and about and an active member of the world??#very proud of myself#and i mean it wasn't that quick of a change#it was like 1.5 years primarily depression bedrotting with occasional school -> primarily depression bedrotting ->#primarily depression bedrotting with 3-9 hours of work weekly -> straight into 31+ hours school+9-12 hours work weekly#so there was somewhat of a gradual progression#but still#also wowza i wake up 7-7:30am every morning now. 1pm was an early wake up for a not so insignificant amount of time#i mean of all fundamental growth years to miss out on the ages like what 12/13-15 aren't too bad? they would suck in a different way if i#had been socially involved#anyway it's just. yea i'm proud of myself but it is a crazy lifestyle change#and even when i was deeply depressed in a horrible routine i feel like i learned a lot. how to regulate my emotions and cope well and find#the joy in everything. bc if i stayed in bed all day then i would at least be happy about the sun or whatever#and for the while of being not at school at all i WANTED to be at school i just could not find one bc our school system is so cute like tha#(basically every school is at capacity and the local school that has a guaranteed place for me would have been an all boys or girls 😭)#but i miraculously found and got into this school and miraculously made it work so well for me socially and now academically#it's also a good time to get back into school for my education bc any later and it woulda been pretty bad for all my certifications and uni#ive missed out on so much maths that its not worth it to me to try and catch up but my teacher knows that#but ive always hated maths regardless i only ever understood it for the first half of yr 7 then my attendance dropped#and after my recent exam i decided to try harder at school. but i still got an A on the exam i didn't study for!! academic weapon fr#i'm just idk thinking back to myself in the past few years#and how hopeless it all felt. but i got out of it!! i beat the depression and social anxiety and found a good place and made the most of it#and during the peak of my depression i remember i went out someplace near my old school and panicked so so badly about seeing#kids from my old school. and the friends at the time didnt really check on me when i went to shake and cry in a side street lmao#i kept the best of that friendgroup and have better friends now. but anyway now i take a bus each morning with some kids from my old school#and you see these hands? they look like they're shaking to you?#anyway yeah it's just cool i got to this point :) i really had no hope for so long but now i have a life i'm living and a future i'm build#--ing towards#which is funny i just decided some random day last november after watching some better call saul 'huh actually lawyer would b pretty cool'#and will i get there? we'll see but i do have hope now
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:c
#i luv my friends ;-; i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind when i’m not living right by all my friends lmao 😭#i’ve literally been hanging out w ppl like at least every other day if not every day#we made semi spontaneous plan to go to pride tmrwwweww 🥹🥹 i’m excited#i just am so happy that i get to spend sm time w ppl rn bc we’re all somewhat free bc summer 😭#also idk i was just thinking abt this recently but like#it’s kinda new to me to like actually be comfortable/confident in knowing my friends want/like my presence ;-;#even then i’m not that confident LMAO bc after sm time together i’m like surely they’ll get sick of me#like we’ve seen each other every day the past like three days#but no 🥹 ugh like idk man i had one elementary to sort of middle and high school friendship#that like fucked me up i feel like lmfao 💀#like girl sidelined me so much for other friends that i just#:l and cried so much bc of that 😀 anyway 😀#so like idk i’m just so grateful rn 😭😭😭#also was thinking abt it recently bc my mom made me feel judged/ made me feel like she was annoyed that i was staying here on campus#when i technically don’t need to and my main/only reason is bc friends#and after that conversation w her i got kinda annoyed bc i was like#i have had so many conversations w you where i was sad af or frustrated that my friends wouldn’t reach out to me ever#or my friend who never paid attention to me when other friends were around#like i don’t think she’s actually judging like me staying for friends but it was that one conversation we were both kinda annoyed idk#and i was just like . pls#anyway 😀 i always have so many friend thoughts i always be overthinking it LOL#anyway anyway i need to be up in like 6 hrs LOLLLLLL pride tho yay 🥰🥰🥰#rip me not having clean cute clothes for this LOL 🤪#ong last yr i tied my hair in a ponytail w like rainbow hair ties tied down the ponytail……#idk if i have those but if i do maybe i should do that again LOL#idk might be too lazy tho we’ll see how much time i have to get ready when i wake up 🤡#jeanne talks#TOO MUCH BYE
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ik for a fact the moment i bought the ps5 that it'd be my dead sims era
#sorry guys im not chronically online 24/7 anymore i dissapoint#i was sad mimimi in my nest then just spam exo christmas songs for weeks until i felt somewhat normal again#im doing better 😁😁 and not touching sims 😁😁#irrelevant though: i got mentioned on simblr appreciation day not one but 5 times? found out a bit too late but thats like.. crazy#thank you for having me in your thoughts <3#i'll reply to the posts eventually i just need to get over the replying as a chore thing 😭😭#on a serious note i don't think my posts are THAT good to leave an impression they're.. generic#most of the high-performed posts are pure algorithm luck and the stuff i enjoy posting only a few do care about#but eeeeeeeeeeeh whatever right#anyway its 4am i couldn't sleep hence why this post was made#happy holiday and merry chrismas to those who celebrate it 🫶#dippi.txt
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#....................................#everyone please look away .. ha.. i just need to save this somewhere#ha.. jongseong-ah. happy birthday#happy; happy birthday#my jongseong who has grown so much who has worked so hard who went through so much#jongseong who i have loved for a long time#jongseong who is unapologetic with everything he does.#jongseong-ah.. i love you. thank you for making me happy thank you for being born thank you for always working hard. thank you for always#trying to be a better version of yourself#jongseong who thinks his iland self is embarrassing and shameful and doesnt want new engenes to see him then.. i will never understand how#it was for you and all i can do is be sad and upset with you. but iland is how i got to know the jay that was so selfless so hardowrking#so kind and so thoughtful... i think it's sad and somewhat ironic that the version that you dislike is the one i fell in love with first#jongseong i hope you continue to live your life without regrets. i hope you always have courage and strength to carry on no matter what#happens. i hope you dont think so little of yourself and gain more confidence. i hope you know that so many people love you#i hope you continue to do all the things you love with the people you love and those who love you. i hope youre surrounded by people that#take care of you as much as you take care of them. i hope you spend your days with a light heart#jongseong who's born in the spring whose love is so warm and sincere who's like a light that makes my heart bloom#i love you. let's be happy let's be together for a long time. take care and eat well.#happy happy birthday jongseong-ah.#0420
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ANOTHER ONE
#my art#dnd oc#friend oc#kairos#getting lots of practice drawing fucked up FREAKS (affectionate) recently#also yes this lovely lady is from the same campaign as bell (zombie boy posted yesterday) and osiris lol#can you tell there's a sort of. death and undeath theme in that campaign#also i did thankfully have some feedback on this one since it's evie's character!! so hopefully somewhat more accurate lol#not entirely pleased with her face for some reason but i still like it#i am reminded of that one graph that shows talent and perception? yknow the one?#where as you grow more skilled there's a point where your perception of your art matches how good it really is#but then your skill doesn't necessarily grow with your perception of it so you start thinking your art is bad again#or that you're getting worse but it's still better than your previous art you're still getting better#idk i think that may be what's going on here lmao#i know this is decent and its much better than anything i was making even just a few months ago#but its still weird in my brain lol#or maybe im not too happy with it because i didnt spend a ton of time on it like i usually do on things like this?#this one took me like. 1 day total from sketch to finished product?#gathered reference images and started the sketch late monday night#did almost the whole thing yesterday and just added finishing touches today#so maybe i just didnt put enough effort into it idk#also also this is my 11th finished piece of the year#which is significant because in the ENTIRETY of last year i only made 11 finished digital art pieces LMAOOO#so in a month and a half i have done what i did in all of 2023 B)#a bit worried that im gonna burn out soon and not make art for a long time again but im feeling fine so far#other than the aforementioned slight displeasure with what im making now#hoping i can continue making good art all year!! or at least having fun making it even if it isn't good lmao
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