#like they want to take away people's rights
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I am thinking about the batkids and their rooms at the manor.
When Dick was first brought to the manor, Alfred put wooden letters that spelled out his name on the outside of the door to his room. He wanted the boy to feel like he belonged, and denoting the room as his seemed like the best way. At first, they spelled out "Richard", and were painted in red, green, and yellow -- the colors that his parents had worn for their circus act, that didn't have any other meaning yet. Dick pried them off the door and threw them away. He didn't want to accept that this was permanent yet. There were new letters on the door a few days later, blue this time, and spelling out "Dick" instead. Those letters got pried off much the same and shoved in a drawer, and they didn't get put back until a year later. He was too short to put them in the same place, so they ended up crooked, and Alfred found it too endearing to fix.
When he left the manor years later, he considered ripping the letters off the door and throwing them in the foyer on his way out. But he left them, and there they remained, crooked as ever.
Jason got his own letters when it became clear he wasn't going anywhere. He helped Alfred put them up on his bedroom door, standing on a step stool to make sure they got in the right place. His were evenly spaced and neatly aligned, and he refused to tell anyone that he cried over them that night. He'd spent months wondering if he'd ever live up to his predecessor, not just as Robin, but in the family as well. And now he had his own letters, just like Dick's, and they weren't going anywhere.
And they didn't. Even after he died. Bruce and Alfred both considered taking the name down to make walking past that empty room less painful, but in the end, they didn't dare touch the letters, just like they didn't touch anything else in the room. Years later, Jason would sneak into the manor through his old bedroom window and find his school uniforms still hanging in the closet, his textbooks on his desk, an open novel on his nightstand, and, of course, the letters still on the door, more of an epitaph than the one on his actual tombstone.
Tim fought for his name on a bedroom door. It took a while, but he trained, and he learned, and he forced himself into the role that he knew he could fill. Part of him thought that no matter how good and useful he made himself as Robin, he'd never really fill the role that the two before him did. He thought there might not be room for him after Jason's death, but he did it. He was older than the other two when Alfred finally put the letters up on his door, but he did it.
Later, when he left in search of Bruce, he didn't think for a second of taking his name down off his door. He'd earned it.
Damian's name got put up practically as soon as he got to the manor. He didn't think much of having his name on a door. If anything, it irked him a bit, being lumped in with the others, but it would have annoyed him more if he didn't get his own name. For a while, his name on the door, marking it as his from the hallway, was the only reason you could tell it wasn't the guest room that it had previously been. He had no photographs, had arrived with no personal affects.
That changed, eventually. As he gained friends, he also gained photos of them. He put up sketches and watercolor paintings of his animals. A dog bed got put on the floor for Titus. But the letters had been there from the beginning, and he grew to appreciate them eventually. His room, with the name on the door, was safe, and he liked it there.
Cass's letters showed up without much fanfare. They were simply there when she exited her room one day. "Cassandra" in black wooden letters that matched all of her new siblings'. She ran her fingers over them with reverence. She'd never been allowed to leave a mark before. Her life was predicated on being a shadow, but there was her name, in big letters, somewhere where other people could see it.
Steph had a room. She didn't want to admit it, but when she crashed at the manor, it was always in the same room. Her name was put up, and she took it down, and it was put up again, and she took it down again until it became something of a game between her and Alfred. If Steph was staying at the manor and Alfred didn't find a wooden S in a random cupboard, then have to search the house for the rest of her name, then he knew she was in a bad mood, and he usually made her favorite cookies and left them outside of the door with her name still firmly in place.
Duke's letters were waiting for him when he moved in. His name in bright yellow letters that matched his suit already in place. Of course it was, it's tradition at this point, and he's part of the family now. He had bounced around for a while now, and the letters on his door made him feel...calmer. It was a sense of permanence, and one he could learn to enjoy.
Barbara didn't need a room. She had her own room, in her own house, but Alfred still offered to mark out a space for her. She declined. When she did stay over, it was either in the cave or Dick's room, she didn't need her own. Still, that didn't mean her mark wasn't left somewhere. There was a study downstairs with a desk that she sometimes did her homework on as a child if she was staying over for the night. Now, the desk held a computer that was wired into the Batcomputer's network, a photo of her and her father, and, of course, tiny wooden letters affixed to the side that spelled out 'Barbara'.
#batfamily#batfamily headcanons#batman#nightwing#dick grayson#red hood#jason todd#red robin#tim drake#robin dc#damian wayne#stephanie brown#cassandra cain#duke thomas#barbra gordon#batgirl#drabble#batfam#alfred pennyworth#dc comics#comics#superheroes#how many rooms does the manor have? no one knows#i'd assume a lot though#like so many#i hope i did okay with Cass and Duke#i don't know a ton about them
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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.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#charles leclerc#cl16#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x y/n#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc drabble
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You Were My Sunshine
Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.
Word Count: 3K
A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.
Masterlist
“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.
You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.
“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.
“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.
“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.
“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”
Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.
You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.
Your life is an open book.
Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.
You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere.
It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.
At least that’s how the team sees it.
They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:
Don’t worry about it.
After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it.
Everyone except Bucky.
It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.
Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.
That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.
He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane.
He just needs you. to know.
So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.
He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.
You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.
You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.
Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.
He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.
Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.
He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.
Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.
It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?
But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.
So why do it in secret?
After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.
Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.
He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.
After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.
It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.
So why don’t the Avengers?
You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.
You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.
He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.
He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.
“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”
You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.
“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.
A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.
Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.
You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.
“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”
Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.
“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.”
Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.
“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.
“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.
That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.
He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.
Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.
But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.
And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.
“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”
He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.
“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.
It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.
You are my sunshine
Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing.
My only sunshine
Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.
Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.
You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.
You make me happy, when skies are gray
You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you
Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.
Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away
Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.
Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these.
Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...
Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.
His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.
Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.
“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.
For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.
“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.
“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”
Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.
“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”
“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.
“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”
His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.
Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.
“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.
“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”
You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.
But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...
So you let him.
You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.
“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”
Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.
“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”
You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering.
“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”
His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.
With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.
In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.
This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.
And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.
#bucky barnes#avengers x reader#bucky barnes x you#steve rogers#tony stark#avengers x platonic!reader#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes oneshot#marvel fanfiction#clint barton
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Hammarby
Hardersson x Child!Reader
Georgia Stanway x Child!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: Georgia's new shirt is horrifying
You stare at her, eyes wide.
Georgia isn't quite sure why you're staring but you are.
You'd come into the locker room this morning with Magda and Pernille and sat in Pernille's cubby like usual.
Unlike the team, you come into the locker room already wearing your training shirt and boots. Pernille had once said that it's easier to get you ready at home then let you change with everyone else.
Georgia's frown deepens the longer you stare at her.
At some point during the time Georgia's been here and the time you've been here, you've slipped away from Pernille's cubby to stand in front of her.
"You feeling okay?" Georgia asks, confusion still seeping into her bones the longer you stare up at her," Is something wrong?"
You bite your lip and point at the shirt she was just folding up.
"Is that an AIK shirt?" You ask.
"Er...yeah?"
You wrinkle your nose up in disgust and turn away, hurrying off like Georgia's just murdered a kitten or something. You duck behind Magda, clinging to her tightly.
"Morsa!" You say, looking halfway to tears," I don't like Georgia anymore!"
"Hey!" Georgia exclaims," What?! I haven't done anything!"
"You have!"
"I haven't!"
"You have!"
"I haven't!"
"Georgia," Pernille pipes up," You're arguing with a child."
"We're not arguing!"
You scoff. "Yes we are!"
"We're not!"
"We are!"
Magda sighs, lifting you up onto her hip. You're getting a bit too old for her to be doing this but she doesn't really care.
"Why don't you like Georgia anymore?"
You shake your head. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Well, you can't just say you don't like Georgia and then not give a reason."
You take a deep breath before pointing accusingly at Georgia. "She came in wearing an AIK shirt!"
Pernille buries her face in her hands. "Oh no."
Magda whirls around. The fond smile she had previously been wearing was contorted into a look of pure horror.
"An AIK shirt?!" She demands and Georgia gets the feeling that she's done something egregious.
"Yeah? What's wrong with that?"
"What's wrong-? What's wrong with that?! Are you serious?!"
If Georgia wasn't currently terrified for her life, she'd make a joke about how similar you and Magda clearly are because you've get matching looks of outrage on your faces.
"Now you've set her off," Pernille mutters.
"AIK are shit!"
"Princesse! We don't use that language!"
You give Pernille a petulant look. "Morsa says that I can call AIK shit because they are! She said it's the only time I can use that word."
"She's right!" Magda declares decisively," AIK are shit and I can't believe you've done this! In front of my child?!"
"It's just a shirt!" Georgia sputters," What is going on?!"
"Magda is a Hammarby fan," Pernille explains," And so is Princesse. Both clubs play in Stockholm so..."
Georgia nods. "A City and United situation."
"A little bit."
"I can't believe you've done this!" Magda continues," This is meant to be a safe space! Look at her!"
You're sobbing now and Georgia's ninety percent sure they're crocodile tears but still, they make her feel awful.
"AIK is shit!" You repeat through your tears," Hammarby is better!"
"Hammarby is the best!" Magda says," It's okay, princesse, Georgia didn't mean it. She doesn't understand because she isn't Swedish. We'll help her learn from this."
"You're both so dramatic!" Pernille rolls her eyes, pushing you both out through the door before turning to look at Georgia again. "Don't mind them. This always happens when they find out something related to AIK."
"And the-?" Georgia gestures over her eyes.
"The tears? Yeah, a hundred percent fake. Magda told her it would make more people change their allegiance to Hammarby."
"They have...strong opinions."
Pernille stares at the closed door. "Yeah, Princesse inherited the flair for the dramatic."
Georgia chuckles. "How do you put up with them?"
Pernille gives her a sly smile. "I just don't mention AIK."
#woso x reader#hardersson x reader#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#the big adventures universe
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HIS FAVORITE.
pairings: suguru geto x afab!reader
warnings: cult leader geto, reader is very innocent, virgin reader, dub-con, corruption kink, cursed!reader
a/n: hi guys i am so unmotivated but geto is sexybutt 👅👅 and when it goes into desc of readers curse, its hinted that reader is very used to misogyny. please keep that in mind while reading!!
SUGURU GETO was no stranger to sexual advances.
but you were. his doting housewife, one he didn’t pick nor did you pick for him to be yours, but it worked.. well enough. you were somewhat of a sorcerer, your cursed energy was strong, but not utilized.
something about your parents not letting you go and learn. of course it irritated him to no end. nonetheless, he liked it.
that was fine though, right? your mother wasn’t the same as you— for she was just an ordinary woman married to a sorcerer. but you were different.
and that’s why your father proposed the idea to suguru in the first place.
he couldn’t figure out how to take your cursed energy. your mother couldn’t even see the curses. oh, geto would find a way.
most of all, he would enjoy finding the way.
a sweet pliant thing, obedient and comfortable with serving a man the rest of her life. that’s what he thought of you. your voice so sweet and small, just like your position.
underneath that sweet soft exterior of yours, there was that damn curse of yours. something your father muttered, geto didn’t care.
your father was stupid, to put it bluntly. he didn’t understand. that curse that nestled within you was the mere product of the people around you.
the desire, the need to please a man. he noticed it.
the way your eyes would look away. your lips would tremble. your hands, don’t forget the soft pastel nails, always folded politely into your lap.
even when you sat next to geto, his arm draped on your shoulder, you kept that similar poise.
your eyes again, facing everywhere but where he wanted. it was because you felt the need to please him. what if you didn’t? did men even enjoy that? you felt lucky to be in the presence of such a strong man. such a handsome one, too.
geto had a plan. he would help that curse nestle in you, to grow it, to make it stronger.
how? well, he knew.
your gratitude, love, devotion, or whatever one may want to call it- geto knew it would prove to his advantage. a sweet thing like you, would be so easy to use.
you grew fondly in getos eyes. he liked you, a lot.
now that the time between you two being married marked 5 months, and you slowly adjusted to his needs, he decided, he needed to consummate the marriage now.
he didn’t do it on the night of, you were too shy and unaware.
lingering kisses, and small grabs of your hips or waist, it helped loosened you up for what geto was hiding. you were his favorite thing, ever.
that curse of yours too, fueling you. he would make you realize it, especially now.
he had your back flat against his chest. your legs spread dumbly. your eyes watery, he was nearly knuckle deep inside your puffy cunt, your sweet moans and pleas.
“p-please stop! i never said to go this fast..!” you whined, as your slick coated his fingers. he leaned down, nibbling on your earlobe.
“be quiet. you can feel that feeling in your stomach, right?” his left hand wandered to your tummy, gently rubbing it. his right fingers still stretching you.
“that means you like this. hm?” he chuckled, licking your neck as you squeeed his fingers with your pussy. he knew you hadn’t ever had a man touch you.
“hn.. mhm..! p-please, go slower, i’ve never done this!” you cried, hot tears down your soft face as your nails dug into the sheets under you.
“im going slow.” he responded, speeding up the pace of his fingers. “shh, don’t cry. let it happen, it’ll feel good.”
you sniffled, muscles contracting around his fingers as your back arched, your mind going blank.
“ah..! hah.. mhmngh-!” you moaned, your hand finally grabbing his wrist for support.
“see, wasn’t so bad.” he chimed, leaning his head down to kiss you. you responded to the kiss, as he expected.
geto always enjoyed this, breaking a cute thing like you. he was going to break you, and mold that damn curse of yours into something he liked.
because, geto liked you. and he wanted to make sure you knew it.
#[🦭] jjk!#geto suguru#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#suguru geto smut#getou suguru x you#jjk geto#geto x reader#jujutsu geto#geto smut#geto x you#geto x y/n#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader smut#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen geto#geto jjk#jujutsu suguru#suguru geto#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk geto suguru#getou smut#getou x reader#getou suguru x y/n#jjk getou
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hot chocolate!
what about reader who hates people being anywhere near her except when it comes to spencer
i’m talking is lost whenever he’s not next to her or in the middle of looking at victimology realizes he’s not there and readers brain literally short circuits cuz she can’t feel his body next to her
BIRTHDAY GIRL | Spencer Reid x reader
description: The BAU knew not to be offended by your aversion to touch, just as well as they knew Spencer was special.
length: 0.9k
warnings: aversion to touch? fluff? Derek picks you up for like a second
“Where is she?”
“Where do you think?” Morgan sighed as Emily pointed over her shoulder with a lazy thumb, not so much as looking up from her paperwork to check if you were still there. Because she knew Reid was sitting at his desk reading, which told her all she needed to know.
Morgan’s eyes trailed up where her finger pointed out, striding over to where the two of you all but shared a swivelly seat as he positioned on the floor in between your legs, your fingertips brushing through his hair without much thought.
“Birthday girl!” Derek called, and you had only a few moments to snap your eyes from where they were focused on his scalp, before two strong hands swivelled you around in your seat and yanked you away from Spencer.
Derek hooked his hands around your waist, pulling you up into a giant hug that damn near squeezed the life out of you, and you accepted it with a tight grin, the discomfort clear on your face.
“You get a hall pass, today only, Morgan,” You said in between a forced smile, giving him a pat on the back gently, and he set you down to the ground, and the agent went yet another step further to ruffle your hair affectionately.
“Best hope that Penelope didn’t hear that, baby girl has got a tonne of cuddles with your name written all over them,” He said, a cheeky grin carrying his words as you straightened your shirt out, taking a seat back in your desk chair, trying not to look too afraid of the blonde bombshell that had been waited years to get her loving hands on you.
Derek chuckled at your expression, dropping a small, expensive looking bag onto your desk, the top looped with a blush pink bow that screamed something fancy.
“Until next year, dollface.” Derek shot you a wink, and you smiled at him, truly grateful despite your aversion to touch, and another hand sneaked up to the arm of your chair, whirling you back around to the man waiting patiently on the floor.
“You okay?” Spencer murmured, reading the flustered expression on your face easier than the words on the page, and you nodded silently, not wanting to seem almost rude by showing just how ruffled Derek’s closeness had made you feel, “They know you love them still,” He reassured with saccharine sweetness, because he knew what thoughts banged and clanked around in that brain of yours without even having to say it.
You nodded again with a sigh, trying to tell yourself that Spencer was right and you weren’t bad for not liking being mauled like a cute puppy at a kid’s party, and as if to prove you right, Spencer got to his feet, laying his book face down beside the present, and tucked your hair behind your ear, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. You preened under his touch, the only exception to your made up rule, your hand flying out to grab his wrist when he made an attempt to move away, not wanting him to let go for even a second.
“Do you want to go get coffee, birthday girl?” Spencer asked, sticking his hand out, prime for the taking which worked like a charm as you hopped out of your wheely chair, entwining your fingers through his and falling into step with him, judging the apple of your cheeks into his arm affectionately.
Touching Spencer was different, but then, he always had been special to you.
–
“Hey, angel, do you know where Spencer is?” Your voice was worried as you crept into Penelope’s lair, your eyes darting to every crevice of the room like he was waiting to jump out and scare you. Her pigtails swished as she shot a look at you, her cheeks rosy and sweet when she smiled knowingly.
“Hotch sent him upstairs to get more paper, fax machine ran out,” She explained, watching the way you wrung your fingers, “Don’t worry, honey, he’ll be right back.”
You nodded, feeling almost dumb for being thrown so far out the loop knowing he was an entire floor away, but then that was, what, one little elevator button up? You needed to get a hold of yourself. You were an FBI agent for christ sakes, you’d faced murders and kidnappers and psychopaths, being a few measly steps away from Spencer Reid shouldn’t be so-
You felt your whole body deflate when he strolled through the door to ‘the bat cave’ Garcia had forced everyone to officially name it, and your hands released one another to weave your fingers through the belt loop on his jeans.
“Sorry, Hotch really needed something sending over from LAPD,” He apologised, seeing the crease in your brow smoothing out almost immediately, and he kissed it just for good measure.
“It’s fine, no biggy,” You brushed off, even though your face painted and entirely different picture as you seemed to have relaxed entirely into mush, the cogs in your brain all but switching off now that he was back glued to your side. “You wanna go get lunch?”
Anything to win even an hour back with him, where you could kiss his face and lips and hands and there would be no consequence in the form of HR meetings and Hotch’s disapproving yet knowing glares.
He smiled, kissing your hairline again, because he knew Penelope didn’t mind loving gestures in the cover of her office, taking your hand in his and heading for the door, “There’s that new burger place on the corner, do you wanna try there?”
Hotch hid his smile as he watched his two youngest agents leave the precinct for food, your usually aloof touch all but smothering Reid as you walked as close to him as physically possible. He pretended not to see the small peck you graced Spencer’s lips, telling himself he simply couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork, and stuck his nose back into his report. It was your birthday, afterall.
#em’s inbox ᯓ★#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#matthew gray gubler x reader
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two millimeters | s.r
a/n: this was literally born bc i saw reid lying on the couch in the jet at the end of demons and thought ‘i would literally sit against that wall to watch over him on the way back’ so i wrote it
summary: spencer gets hurt and you’re not leaving his side
cw: season 9 finale spoilers for angels & demons, cm violence, hurt/comfort, unestablished relationship
wc: 0.6k
___________________________________________
two millimeters to the right, and it would’ve hit his carotid.
the sentence replays in your head like a cursed mantra, rendering your other senses useless. you couldn’t hear the doctor say you could see him now, or feel penny tug your arm towards the room. and you certainly couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw spencer reid in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and iv drips, with a big fucking gauze dressage on the side of his neck.
you knew your line of work was dangerous, being a federal agent who hunts down serial killers should be enough to prove that. but it never surprised you seeing the panic that overtook all of you when one of your own was hurt.
the pure terror you felt in this moment though, was something without parallel.
two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.
you’re not even sure how it happened. they were on the way to tell the preacher he was innocent, and instead he opens fire on federal agents? it was a cruel twist of fate, spencer doing what he could to protect his people and pushing blake out of the way but getting hit himself. it wasn’t anyone’s fault either, the preacher had military grade machine guns, and spencer would have done what he did for anyone. you made sure to tell blake that.
but your spencer was hurt. and all you wanted to do was take away his pain somehow, and toss it in a river to never be seen again.
two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.
“hey,” you hear a voice pull you out of your head. looking up you’re met with tired soft brown eyes lying down on the jet’s couch, “i’m okay, honey. please go sit on a chair.”
if spencer had all his strength he would lecture you on the dangers of not being properly restrained on an aircraft and the statistics of plane related injuries. but that was the problem, he didn’t have all his strength. and you were not going to let him out of your sight.
which is why you are sitting on the floor of the jet, perched in front of the couch where spencer laid, resting your head on the cushion his head was on, body leaning against couch’s frame. and you planned to stay right there until you landed back in quantico.
“looks like this flight is overbooked,” your section unit chief teased upon seeing you on the ground, “hopefully the brass sees our good work and gives us a bigger jet next year.”
morgan, hotch, even jj offered you their seats to at least get some rest, something you hadn’t had in days.
“i’m fine right here.” you spoke softly.
jj and penny looked at you in concern, but knew you wouldn’t be swayed to move anyway. your stubbornness always acted as a curse and a blessing.
spencer moved his hand to graze your cheek gently, “the doctors fixed me up really good, i promise i’m okay.”
you move your hand to rest on top of his, slowly rubbing your thumb into the curve of his palm, “and i promise i’m okay right here. i’m not moving.”
two millimeters. two millimeters. two millimeters.
two millimeters would haunt you for many years to come, but maybe right now you could use it to measure how much closer you can get to spencer till there’s only two millimeters between you.
spencer knew this was a war he was not winning, and let his hand intertwine with yours. if you weren’t so close to him you might’ve missed the faintest “thank you” escape from his lips. the jet takes off and the two of you are lulled to sleep almost immediately. the rest of the team unspokenly watched over you both, making sure you weren’t rattling around or spencer rolling around too much. and penny couldn’t help but take a few pics to show you later.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fanfic#mgg#dr spencer reid#spencer reid hurt/comfort#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid fic
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THE FEELING OF BEING ALIVE
‧₊˚ ┊synopsis ... of all the emotions you've ever felt, none were worthy of making you feel alive; that is, until you invited your best friend over to your house after a night out.
‧₊˚ ┊fandom ... bts.
ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ ft. ... jungkook x afab!reader.
‧₊˚ ┊genre ... long-shot.
ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ content ... smut (make-out, dry humping, tit play, bitting, cúm play, mi thinks a liiiil masturbatíon (m receiving), needy jk. if u squint u see that he likes u) - mdni pls !!, alcohol, mature language, best friends to ???, pet names (angel, love). i swear this is not angsty !!
ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ word count ... 3.8k.
‧₊˚ ┊cole's note ... this was so f-ing hard oh god hope it's decent lol ♡ enjoy !! - not proof read, eng is not my 1st language xx
What does it feel like to be alive?
All your life you have sought the thrill of feeling alive. Between complex relationships and obscene adventures, years of your existence were dedicated to searching for the answer to that question that tormented your mind so much.
It was impossible not to think about something else – you always felt empty, like a puppet in the hands of a destiny that had little interest in you. Any emotion you felt, you felt vaguely, there really was nothing that made you happy or left you crying. You were simply hollow. Nothing existed in you.
As such, you were searching. You desperately searched for emotions and stories that could bring a little meaning to your life. You didn't ask for much, just a small sensation that would make you finally understand why you were here, why you were alive. However, until now, nothing lived up to your expectations – you continued to live day after day with the hope of a change that never seemed to come. But you weren't going to give up.
For now, you just wanted to have fun – who knows; maybe it was in the loud melodies of the club or in the sweet drops of your drink that you would find what you were looking for most. Or even in the hands of your best friend that didn't seem to let go of your body.
The club was full, noisy. The intense smell of alcohol invaded the space, drowned out by the loud and absurd music that echoed through the walls of the place. Different people participated in jovial rituals between rhythmic movements and colorful drinks, filling the club with pure entertainment and euphoria. And you were one of those people.
With your left hand you held a half-empty glass, moving it above your head according to the rhythm of the music that was playing. Your right hand was resting on Jungkook's shoulder, who, with both of his hands, held your hips as he helped you sway to his favorite song.
Jungkook had arrived today from his tour. It was your custom to meet up whenever he returned home, spending hours talking about the singer's adventures, recounting everything he had missed while he was away from your life. And, as usual, you always ended up in a bar or club, wanting to end your day completely drunk on pure ecstasy.
For some time now your words had lost all meaning. Both you and Jungkook were too focused on the alcohol coursing through your veins to hold any conversation. Not that it was necessary. Between you and Jungkook, there was no need to exchange words – a simple look was enough to understand each other.
The song was coming to an end, Jungkook slowing your movements as he held your left hand and pulled your glass towards him. After sipping your sweet drink, Jungkook brought his face closer to yours, his lips almost kissing your ear to make himself heard in the midst of that commotion.
“It’s already three in the morning.”
You nodded and, after finishing your drink, you held Jungkook's hand and left the club, bypassing men and women who still insisted on having a good time.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
Jungkook wrapped his arm around your neck, pulling you close to him before starting to walk through the city towards your house.
The night was beautiful. Sky clear of any clouds, some stars shining shyly around a single, full moon. Silence soaked in a gentle summer breeze, the whole city asleep as you and your best friend walked the sleepy streets that led you home.
Small laughs escaped your mouths. Not because any jokes were being told, but because Jungkook insisted on hindering your steps, wanting you to stumble in the air for his entertainment. The path to your house was short, a little bumpy with so much laughter and pushing, but it was genuine, covered with a blanket of pure comfort.
“Wanna come in?”
You were looking for your keys while waiting for a response from Jungkook; with his hands in the pockets of his pants, looking at the building before him, Jungkook smiled openly at your question, having secretly wished that you would invite him in – he had just missed you too much.
In the elevator of your building, you laid your head next to Jungkook, closing your eyes for a moment, as you felt his hand grab your waist to keep you safe. The silence between you was comforting, enveloping you in a small hug of serenity and warmth; in the peace between you, you felt safe, Jungkook's hand always attached to you reminding you that, with him, you had nothing to fear – and that was just one of the many reasons that made you like Jungkook so much.
You turned on the light in your apartment with a tired sigh.
Upon entering your house, your body instantly guided you to the kitchen where you took two beers from your fridge and gave one to Jungkook. After a small sip, you held your friend's hand and took him to your room, where the stereo was eager to make you dance one last time.
You turned on the music quickly, lowering the sound a little as not to disturb the neighbors, and, still drunk with the emotions of the club, you let your body move slowly to the sound of the music.
Jungkook sat on your bed, drinking his beer while replying to messages that had been on his phone since the beginning of the night. He rocked his body unconsciously, his thumb tapping quickly on his cell phone screen, wanting to ditch his obligations as a friend so he could focus entirely on the beer, on the music, on you.
“T’night feels long,” you smiled as you changed the song, your head bobbing to the beat. “In a good way, ‘course.”
“The night only started when we arrived at the club,” Jungkook let out a small laugh and threw his cell phone to the other side of the bed. “If you wan’, we can extend it ‘till dawn.”
You looked at Jungkook and smiled – you sealed his suggestion with a simple curve of your lips and a flutter of your eyelashes.
Even before Jungkook got up, you placed your beer on your bedside table and placed yourself in front of your best friend. Jungkook gently tilted his head to look at you, smile on his lips, tenderness in his hands as he placed them gently on your waist.
You placed your forehead against his while your body slowly danced to the music that echoed throughout the room. Your smile was big, but not bigger than Jungkook's who was still looking at you tenderly, the sparkle in his eyes making him even more adorable.
You had drunk too much – that's what you believed, that's what you repeated to yourself when your hands fell on Jungkook's shoulders and your body decided to sensualize your movements. And Jungkook let you dance. Taking his hands off of you, Jungkook just stared at you as he watched you move so slowly and sensually to the music.
He opened his legs on instinct and you placed yourself between them, rotating your body. You bent down gently, your ass brushing against Jungkook in a movement that was too quick for his liking. He just smiled, his tongue touching his cheek in an attempt to control himself as he saw you turn your body again and take the beer out of his hand and place it next to yours.
You were smiling yourself, teasing Jungkook with your tempting lips. And even before you walked away from him, Jungkook grabbed your hips again, pulling you towards him.
Your foreheads came together once again, your smiles still stuck on your lips. And a silence followed, only broken by the music from your stereo. However, between you and Jungkook, there was no need to exchange words – a simple look was enough to understand each other. And, as such, you and Jungkook leaned in at the same time for a kiss.
It started slowly, Jungkook tasting your lips, while he gently squeezed your body; but he quickly became thirsty, hungrier for you. Your hands held Jungkook's face, your fingers caressing your friend's silky hair as he pulled you closer to him, more than was possible.
You moved a little away from Jungkook to breathe, your lips so close that you could still taste him. One tease, two teases and, before you could tease Jungkook's lips a third time, he quickly brought your lips together again, using his tongue to accommodate itself in your mouth.
Jungkook guided you to his lap with his hands, making you sit on his legs and pulling, over and over again, your body close to his. His lips separated from yours and trailed your face, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Jungkook's lips worshipped your neck, leaving wet kisses on your skin, making you sigh as he gently sucked your essence. Your hand tangled in Jungkook's dark hair, gently pulling some strands when his kisses felt more enjoyable, making him smile against your neck.
Jungkook still had his hands on you, but he wanted more.
Still lost in your scent and focused on your neck, Jungkook's hands went down to your thighs, squeezing you gently before moving them up again, hiding them under your clothes. You sighed when you felt Jungkook's warm fingers on your skin — the way he squeezed you gently made you feel important.
“Kookie…”
“Hm?” He moved his lips back, following the same path as before, loving every corner of your skin. “Tell me, angel.”
You opened your mouth slightly, letting a new sigh escape your lips when Jungkook squeezed you again and pulled you towards him, your intimacy very slightly feeling Jungkook becoming hard.
“We’ still friends, right?”
He kissed you a first time and smiled. He kissed you a second time and ran his hands up your back. He kissed you a third time and nodded.
“Best friends,” he corrected you, smile stuck on his lips, fingers stroking your back.
“Good,” you kissed Jungkook again desperately, as if he were the answer to all the questions that clouded your mind. You were greedy. You only wanted him. You just wanted more of him.
Your hands grabbed Jungkook's shirt and, as quickly as you could, freed him from the fabric, throwing it roughly to the floor of your room. You could finally feel him. Your fingers lingered on your best friend's chest; caressing Jungkook made you feel lost, totally intoxicated by the softness of his skin, by the absurdity of the whole situation – what were you doing?
You decided to be the one to love this time, your lips getting lost on Jungkook's neck while kisses were left as memories of a fantastic night. In the crook of Jungkook's neck, your teeth sank into his hot skin, making him let out a small sigh that lingered forever in your room. More. You wanted to hear more.
Without realizing it, you started to move your hips, resting your forehead on Jungkook's shoulder, the friction forced by you making you sigh softly. And him too. Jungkook held your thighs again, helping your movements, sighing with his eyes closed at the feeling of having you so close to him.
Jungkook was starting to get impatient. He wanted more of you. He needed more of you.
He quickly took off your shirt, wasting no time admiring your body, kissing your skin immediately as his hands toke off your bra. With your breasts exposed, Jungkook became hungrier. His lips began to kiss your collarbone, trailing along your soft skin in paths unknown to him; it was only a matter of time before Jungkook found himself with your breasts.
You let a small moan escape your mouth when Jungkook began worshiping your breasts. Your friend's tender lips kissed your boob thirstily, gently sucking on your skin, carefully biting your very appetizing nipple. Jungkook's mouth was an expert at worshiping you. And you could only moan softly, gently. One of Jungkook's hands squeezed your other breast, his slender fingers pinching, teasing your exposed nipple. He seemed starving, completely hungry for you; Jungkook just wanted more of you, more of your smooth skin, more of your sensual moans.
He lingered on your breasts, making sure every corner of your skin was marked with his saliva. Your moans filled the room, motivating Jungkook to continue, to not stop worshiping you. He was completely intoxicated with you.
“Kook…” your voice came out weak, in a whisper, covered in small moans and teasing sighs. “Jung…kook…”
“Yea, my angel,” Jungkook moved slightly away from your chest, now looking at you for the first time since he had undressed you. His sweet eyes roamed every inch of your skin, admiring how naturally beautiful you really were, feeling more and more needy with each passing second.
You gently moved your hips, pressing your intimacy to Jungkook's, causing you both to let out a small groan.
“Can we…” Jungkook’s fingers traced your body, outlining every curve and mark with a provocative delicacy that only left you sighing deeply. “Can we do… more?”
Jungkook's response came in the form of a kiss, massaging your lips once again while his big hands slid to your ass and squeezed it tightly. You moaned softly when Jungkook bit your neck hard, marking his devotion on your skin, leaving you a memory of a night that had become magical.
Your hands quickly grabbed Jungkook's pants, impatiently unbolting them, causing Jungkook to laugh a little. But you didn't care; you hadn't even fully heard him. You needed more of Jungkook, you just wanted more of Jungkook.
In a quick maneuver you pulled Jungkook's pants, leaving them lying on the floor surrounding his feet, and looked at him. Your eyes shone with desire. Wherever you focused your gaze, you could only see fascination painted on Jungkook's face; his lips were slightly open, begging for one more kiss from you, begging for one more contact with your body; his eyes, so sweet and bright, now consumed by the greed that ran through his body, were locked on you, silently asking you if you wanted more, if you should continue.
For a moment, everything was static.
Your hands were resting on Jungkook's shoulders. Jungkook's hands were resting on your hips. Your eyes were lost in Jungkook’s attractive features. Jungkook's eyes were lost in your delicate features.
Just a moment. Just a second.
You were going to continue. You just wanted to continue.
You rushed in for an intense kiss, answering the question dictated by your best friend's eyes. As he kissed you, completely soaked in your essence, intoxicated with your fragrance, Jungkook's hands looked for the button of your pants, wanting to undress you as quickly as possible – he wanted to feel you.
You left Jungkook's lap for mere moments, just long enough for your pants to fall to the floor. You didn't have time to waste. Every second was precious when shared with Jungkook.
When you sat down on Jungkook's lap again, he let out a groan. You were wet, a lot. Your fluids passed through the fabric of your panties. And Jungkook felt it. Through his boxers, Jungkook felt your excitement.
Your hand went down to your friend's boxers as your lips seduced his neck. Above the fabric, your hand caressed Jungkook's penis, feeling how hard he was – because of you. Your thumb gently pressed the tip of Jungkook's cock, gently caressing it stimulated by the pre-cum that painted his boxers.
“F…fuck, ugh!” He could only groan. Feeling your touch, even if it was blocked by a cloth, drove him insane. With his head tilted and his eyes closed, Jungkook allowed himself to be pampered by you.
His mind was completely covered with pure pleasure and euphoria. Your lips kissed Jungkook's neck, your hand caressed Jungkook's cock, and Jungkook felt special at that moment, important.
“I want…” Jungkook’s voice was lost in his moans, trying to release words beyond the profanities that trapped his lips. “I want… you. Agh! More… please.”
You held Jungkook's shoulders with your hands again and, now stimulated by the fluids that stained your underwear, your hips began to move gently. The friction you caused seemed divine, guiding your mind to paths of pure pleasure and desire, creating moans in your mouth that were released weakly. Your voice stuck to Jungkook's skin, fixing the euphoria that ran throughout your body in his chest.
With his hands, Jungkook caressed your thighs. Feeling your soft skin in his hands as you brushed against him drove Jungkook crazy. Sighs and moans filled your room, completely drowning out the music that insisted on dictating the rhythm of your movements – but you didn't hear it, you were too focused on Jungkook to notice what was happening around you.
You kissed Jungkook again, your hands pressing down on his body. Jungkook let himself be guided by you, ending up laying down on your bed while he delighted in your intense kisses and precise movements. Your lips were poisonous, corrupting Jungkook's composure, forcing him to moan into your mouth, to squeeze your thighs, to get harder and harder.
“Jungkook…”
How divine it was to hear his name being pronounced by your sinful lips, adorned by the pleasurable sighs that escaped you. “Yea, my love?” And how sublime it was to call you that word with his hoarse voice, immersed in the desire that was trapped in his intense sighs.
“Tell me…” you moved away from Jungkook’s lips and approached his ear, your lips almost caressing it, your tongue teasing his sensitive skin. “Tell me when you’re close.”
You kissed Jungkook's neck, once, twice, three times, and after marking your teeth in the crook of his neck once more, you straightened your back, freely rocking your body on top of Jungkook.
Your friend's eyes were locked on you, completely mesmerized by your sensual movements. There was something about the way your hips moved, the way you brushed against Jungkook so perfectly, that made him impatient for more, completely desperate for you. But he just looked at you, admiring your every movement, retaining in his memory every sound that came out of you.
You were covered in pleasure. Even though you didn't feel Jungkook's penis in its entirety, you were excited – the friction was good, too good, making your intimacy increasingly wet, increasingly thirsty for Jungkook. You wanted more, you wanted much more. But you just brought your hands to your breasts, caressing them with the memory of Jungkook's touch in your mind, moving your hips faster.
Beautiful. You were simply beautiful. With your eyes closed, head tilted back and lips slightly open, you looked magnificent. With hands on your breasts and intimacy soaked, you were divine. Unique. That image was unique to Jungkook. Something he felt was not for his eyes, too lewd for him to be aware of. But, fuck!, how perfect you were.
“I’m…” Jungkook swallowed a moan before speaking, taking a deep breath when you touched the head of his cock. “I’m… agh!, close… close…!”
You smiled at yourself. So fast it was. So hungry he was.
You kissed Jungkook again once, twice, three times, and before separating your lips from his, your hands held Jungkook's, guiding them to your ass, making you smile.
“Use me however you want.” Your voice sounded so low, so perverse in Jungkook's ear that he couldn't stifle a new moan. You were too much for him.
Squeezing your ass, Jungkook helped increase the speed of your movements, making the pressure on him more intense for both of you.
Both you and Jungkook were out of control. Lost in each other's moans, disoriented by the exaltation that coursed through your bodies as part of you. You hid your face in the crook of Jungkook's neck, his fragrance mixed with his sweat clouding your mind. Nothing else existed at that moment. You felt nothing else at that moment other than the excess pleasure that Jungkook gave you with each pressure on your intimacy.
“Jung… fuck! Jungkook, I’m…”
“I’m close,” he repeated, breathlessly, not fully hearing you. His mind was stuck on the way you stained his boxers, completely focused on how perfectly you caressed his penis. “Close…”
“Fuck! Agh, Jung… U-ugh!” You bit Jungkook again when you felt a knot in your stomach, your head spinning when you finally came. A feeling of freedom washed over you, trapping your lips and staining your panties.
You felt good at that moment, completely fulfilled while Jungkook still kept pace, caressing your intimacy excessively, forcing you to let out moans and meaningless words, totally drunk with pleasure.
“Please…” your voice was hoarse, low, not wanting to be heard in its entirety so well you were feeling. “Jungkook, please, aghn!”
“Again,” Jungkook asked between moans, feeling his limit approaching faster and faster. “My… ugh… name!… again.”
You obeyed out of instinct.
“Jungkook.”
Like an enchantment hovering in the air, Jungkook's name sounded once again, embellished by your tired voice, framed by the pleasure he caused you. And that was all it took. Enticed by your voice, Jungkook couldn't contain his euphoria – pearl strands marked stains on his dark boxers, a long, low grunt accompanying Jungkook's climax as he slowed down his movements until he left you motionless on top of him.
Both you and Jungkook were panting.
Still processing the ecstasy that completely washed over your bodies, you and Jungkook remained lying with your eyes closed – your head resting on Jungkook's chest, his hands still resting on your ass. There was a moment of pause. Brief seconds of silence that were cut by music that was too pure for the occasion.
You finally smiled.
You gently lifted your torso and moved a little away from Jungkook's intimacy, just enough to be able to tease him. Your fingers invaded Jungkook's privacy driven by curiosity and were quickly bathed in his essence. You let that white fluid paint your fingers as you created art on Jungkook's penis with his own essence – up, down, on the head, along the entire length.
A small moan sounded between Jungkook's smile, his head lifting a little to see you.
“What’re you doin’?”
“I just wanna see the damage I did,” you shrugged and continued to stimulate Jungkook with his own cum as you smiled to yourself.
“If you continue, you’ll have to take responsibility.”
“Doesn’t seem that bad.”
You looked at Jungkook innocently, the contrast in your wicked smile being enough to drive your friend crazy once again.
All your life you have sought the thrill of feeling alive. And that night, when held in your best friend's arms and drunk on the pleasure he gave you, you almost found the feeling of being alive.
Maybe, but just maybe, the feeling of being alive was similar to the feeling of being worshipped by Jungkook.
ㅤㅤ‧₊˚ feedback is appreciated ♡
#wild waters ʚɞ⁺˖⸝#ship of bts 𐙚₊‧₊˚#jeonjungkook#bts#jungkook#btsarmy#bangtansonyeondan#army#bangtanboys#bangtan#jungkook x reader#jungkook smut#jungkook x you#jungkook fluff#bts jungkook#bts x reader#jungkook fanfic#jungkook oneshot#jungkook scenarios#bts fanfic#jungkook fic#bts smut#jungkook fic recs#jungkook imagines#jungkook fic rec#bts fic#bts rec
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also maybe bsf!Rafe dealing with a drunken reader that keeps saying sweet nothings in his ear (but truly truly heartfelt) and Rafe has no clue how to take those things while he keeps taking care of reader (and making sure nothing happens to them)
did I go absolutely feral when I read this? yes. this is probably the most one of the girls rafe and reader coded idea I have ever read and I want to worship the ground you walk on for sending me this 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️ I love love u🦉nonnie <3
you render bsf!rafe absolutely speechless with your affectionate drunken words… <3 listen to fantasy by kali uchis & don toliver for this one <3 cw: slightly suggestive content (no actual smut!), mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, minimal usage of nicknames like babydoll <3 for: @ilyrafe who’s probably one of the most talented writers i’ve had the honor of getting to talk to :’) you’re the absolute sweetest gabi, i adore you so much 💟
part of this little universe <3
the purple strobe lights flash all over the dancing bodies at the party, highlighting the subtle skin on skin touches, the intertwined hands, the sweat dripping down the slope of the necks, and the smoke leaving the weed joints.
you and rafe would more or less usually get wound up in the dancing too, having the lights flash across you two in the otherwise dark party manor, your bodies pressed up, his arms always tight around you to keep you as close as he can.
but right now, instead of getting to dance, rafe is standing next to your sitting figure on one of the bar stools, your body leaning against his and his arm tightening protectively around you.
“c’mon rafe let’s go dance please!” you slurred, looking up at rafe with pleading eyes. he lets out a sigh of exasperation and tightens his grip around your shoulders, shaking his head.
“no, I told you, you’re way too drunk,” he grumbles. “you can’t even stand straight. you’d be trippin’ over an’ shit all the time on the floor, so no,”
you pout at his words, reaching out for the glass kept on the counter behind you but rafe pulls onto your arm with his free hand, tugging it away from the glass.
“I told you, no more drinks f’you,” he sighs. “c’mon babydoll, adjust with me here,”
he lets go of your hand and tugs you closer to him from his arm around your shoulders, and you snuggle up against his side. you look up at him, his eyes scanning around the crowds, his weed joint hanging limply between his two fingers.
you bury your face in his side, taking in a deep breath and letting his scent cloud your senses. “you smell very good…” you murmur, letting your glazed eyes flutter against his tshirt. “something new you’re trying?” you ask quietly, your arm coming up to wrap around his torso, your fingers fiddling mindlessly with the hem of his tshirt.
“it’s the same one as always,” he mutters, his gaze never stopping scanning around the crowds. his eyes have already zeroed on people who he noticed eyeing you in a way he wasn’t particularly fond of, and mentally preparing himself to not let them even in a two mile radius around you both.
“you sure? smells different…” you mutter, taking another deep breath. “well, whatever it is, you smell really good…” your words spill from your lips, the different sounds running into one another to sound slightly incoherent to rafe, yet he understands you perfectly well.
“and this shirt…” you mumble, your fingertips starting to sneak under the hem of his tshirt, tracing gently over the skin of the side of his torso, the sudden movement causing rafe to take a sharp breath, “you look very good in it… suits you… brings out your eyes…” your fingers start to trace small shapeless patterns on his skin, your eyes trailing over his arms in the half sleeved tshirt, “and… and your arms too… look good…”
rafe can feel his heart starting to thump louder in his chest from your words and the way your fingertips glide over his skin, but his eyes keep on examining the crowd, something he has done uncountable times already, but he isn’t so sure what his next move should be when your words is causing his breath to hitch in his throat. he moves his hand to take a hit of his joint, letting the joint stay in between his lips, his hand coming back down to his side.
your fingers come out from under his shirt and find his hand on his side, softly trailing over his fingers and forearm, tracing the visible veins gently.
“you always take such good care of me…” you murmur quietly, “always makin’ sure i’m okay…”
your fingers trail over the sensitive underside of his forearm, and you can feel goosebumps rising on his skin in the wake of your touch.
to give himself a grip rafe tightens his arm even more around your shoulders, his fingers starting to dig into your skin through the fabric of your clothes. he feels your fingers descend back down to his hand, starting to interlace with his which he doesn’t complain about at all, easily letting your fingers slip into his.
you give his hand a faint tug, which finally causes him to look down at you. you give it another tug, this one a little firmer than the first one. rafe moves in front of you, your back pressing against the bar counter as you look up at him.
you pull on his intertwined hand, bringing it closer to your mouth before you start to gently press kisses over the back of his hand, the kisses just slightly sloppy from your drunken and hazy mind.
“you’re so perfect… so caring, so loving…” your mumbled words spill out against his skin, “and just so so handsome...”
rafe has to hold back the sound wanting to escape past his lips, his teeth almost biting down on the joint in his mouth. he can’t help but look at you with your mouth running over the back of his hand and his wrist, pressing a kiss to whatever patch of skin you can succumb to, his mind starting to go into an overdrive.
you’re going to be the death of him.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron oneshot#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron concept#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron prompt#written by edith! 🪄#🦉anon! 🪄
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-✫CINDERELLA | JJK✫-
— pairing | idol jk x singer y/n (feat. 127's idol mark lee and mentions of idol jaehyun)
— summary | The Golden release party was filled to the brim, the whole night being about Jungkook and the release of his first solo album. It's hard for him to focus when you look that damn good and when other guys are checking you out.
— warning | smut, name-calling, rough sex, jealous jk, choking, unprotected sex (please use condoms i'm begging), creampie, oral (f receiving)
— word count | 1.3K
— song | Cinderella - Mac Miller
You and Jungkook had been fucking around for a few months. So naturally when it came time for his release party, you were one of the first to be invited.
Jungkook didn't think he was jealous, But then again people do have a hard time acknowledging their flaws. Seeing Mark chatting you up at the bar in the loft made his neck heat up. Mark Lee was a guy you went on a few dates with when you first got to Korea. He was a nice, funny guy but you two just didn't click like you and Jungkook did.
"You look great Y/n, How've you been. I haven't seen you in a while." He explains with a smile. "Thanks, Mark you're too sweet. I've been good. You?" You respond before taking a sip of your drink. "I'm good too, you know working, company's got me pretty busy." You nod. "Yeah I heard, Jaehyun told me all about you guys' tour, I'm surprised you're even here." He chuckles shrugging. The silence between you two is comfortable before he clears his throat. "So, um you seeing anybody." Before you could respond you hear a voice behind you. "Mark! Thanks for coming out man! I know how busy you and Jae are having you here means a lot bro!" He nods "For sure man," a little irritated that Jungkook interrupted. Jungkook puts his arm around your shoulder. "I see you met Y/n." You look at him and he smiles. "She's great right?" He asks before planting a kiss on your cheek. You look at him eyes widening a bit before looking back to Mark. "Yeah, we met last year... So, just catching up." He smiles lightly at you. "Well I'd hate to interrupt but could I borrow you for a second Y/n?" You hum giving Mark a small smile before Jungkook takes you by the hand pulling you away.
He walks up the stairs past idols hyping him and congratulating him on his release. He thanks them genuinely and you smile trailing behind him, his hand still in yours. You reach his bedroom and he pulls you in.
He backs you up to the shut door and kisses you deeply, almost hungry. "Jungkook," You say breaking the kiss. "Why were you talking to him?" He asks kissing you again. You bring your hand up to his face pulling him in while he kisses you, you wanted him just as badly. You use your free hand to undo his pants. Breaking the kiss, Jungkook kisses your neck. "You're jealous." You say your breathing hitches as he sucks your neck leaving a hickey. "I just don't like to share." He says quickly before going back to kiss your neck. "You aren't my boyfriend, Jungkook," you remind him. He hums, "We can change that." He whispers in your ear sending shivers down your spine.
He grips your waist pulling you closer before he lifts you. He kisses you sloppily, your tongues dancing together. He sets you on the bed shuffling your tiny dress up and pulling your panties down. You watch him kiss the inners of your thighs teasing. He grazes his thumb against your clit and you whimper. "He does it better than me?" He speaks softly. You shake your head quickly, his eyes are low as he smiles. "Words baby." He warns. "N-no he isn't! Please Jungkook, touch me." You beg him getting needier the more he traces his fingers along your skin. "I need you, only you." You say desperately.
He plunges two fingers into your wet cunt. "So wet baby." You moan as he curls his fingers inside of you, hitting the spot you love so much. His lips close around your clit as he fucks into you. You grab a handful of his hair as he eats you. "Fuck fuck fuck." you breathe out, getting so close to falling over the edge. You pull his hair as his tongue swirls around your clit. He moans like eating you pleases him (It does). "I'm going to come, please Jungkook I'm so fucking close," You cry out. "come for me baby, come on my tongue," He says quickening his pace. "Right there, right there, f-fuckkk." You come all over his tongue and he continues licking your clit until you come down. "S-stop I'm so sensitive." You push his head away as he smiles. You sit up on your elbows, looking at him at as he sits up. You notice how hard he is, his pants a little tighter displaying his thick cock. A little wet spot where his dick in tucked in his pants.
"Kook you're dripping." You tell him. "I know I almost came in my pants." He chuckles and you smile. "I'm serious, I only want you," you speak. "Say you'll be mine." He speaks crawling over you. "I'm yours, Kook." You say examining his face your eyes trailing from his to his lips. "Fuck me, Daddy." You say suddenly. He kisses you hungrily. "Fuck I'm gonna ruin you, baby." He sits up quickly taking his pants off and tossing them somewhere in the room. His cock is painfully hard, his tip red and leaking with pre-cum. He strokes himself a few times before lining himself up between your legs. He pushes his cock inside slowly giving you time to adjust to him.
you moan pornographically, and he shushes you. "Quiet baby, you don't want everyone to hear, do you?" You don't respond caught up in the feeling of being stretched out by him. "Move please Kook," you moan. "Suck a little slut begging for my cock, look at you." He starts fucking you at a steady pace. "Yes! Yes, Daddy please." He fucks into it a few times before pulling out. You groan at the loss of pleasure, whining. "Turn around." You quickly obey. He slides back into you fucking you deeply and quicker than before. "Fuck baby it's like your pussy was made for me." He throws his head back his orgasm coming closer. He pushes your head into the mattress making his strokes longer and slower, he feels deeper than ever before. "Oh shit, Jungkook, I-I'm gonna-" You come on his cock shaking as he fucks you and he groans as he empties himself inside you. "Fuck, baby." He slowly pulls out flopping beside you.
You look at each other and smile both chuckling lightly. "You're so pretty." He says softly. You blush hiding your face with your hands. "Don't be shy, my little Boston Creme." You hit his chest. "Really." You say laughing.
Suddenly you hear a knock at the door. "Jungkook!" It's Taehyung. "Come on bro, You're the man of the hour, you can fuck your little girlfriend later." He shouts through the door. You giggle as he rushes to get up. "Come on baby. They've noticed we left." He says putting his pants back on. "I'm sure they heard us Jungkook, we weren't exactly quiet." You remind him.
"Good. Mark will know you're mine." He flashes a smile helping you straighten out your dress. "You can't be this jealous all the time Kook, I told you I only want you.'
"I was not jealous." He protests.
"If that's what helps you sleep at night baby," you say with a chuckle. You leave the room and join the party. After a while you find yourself talking with Mark again. "So you and Jungkook." He starts, "Yeah, we're pretty close." You say innocently. "I can tell." He points to your neck and you quickly look in the mirror on the wall. A purple hickey clear as day on your neck. Your eyes widen as you look. Jungkook finds himself behind you again. "Sorry not sorry baby." He says hugging you from behind.
You smile to yourself, happy everyone knows you're his and his only.
✫ ------------------------✫
a/n: Thanks for reading, I'm only a writer's high rn hehe... feedback and requests are appreciated.
#jungkook jeon#jungkook#bangtan jungkook#jungkook smut#bts jungkook#bts army#jeon jungkoooook#bts#bts smut#jeon jungkook#bts jungkook smut#bangtan smut#bts recs#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you
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gonna just drop a bulletpoint story out there because this aint a lot to go off of but you're soooo right, speak your truth i love you. you're putting two of my favorite things together, ratio and kitsune / foxes
♡ kitsune! ratio who got eight tails, some joke its one tail for each subject that he's graduated college with a master's degree for
♡ he's really is far more playful than people give him credit for, although in his own deadpan kind of way
♡ like, no, he doesn't outright make jokes, but he'll say stuff that goes over people's heads and then loudly exclaim " why do i even bother ?! " with a feigned annoyance, but it's okay because its ratio and it's cute
♡ he really takes the ' sly fox ' thing to heart. i mean, he already works in the shadows, sly is just a part of who he is
♡ but he is still a good person !! people may often assume that he's not because of how he acts and they attribute that to being a kitsune, but he really does care about humans
♡ especially one stupid little human who likes to visit the shrine he lives at a lot
♡ yeah, you caught his attention, but he would much rather die than admit that to you
♡ he doesn't say anything when you offer him the good tuna while he's in his fox form, even though it irks him a little bit because he's a fox, you moron, not a wild cat
♡ shouldn't you be trying to run away from him anyways ? why are you so brazen about walking up to a fox ? don't you know that they're wild animals and they can hurt you if they wanted to ?
♡ you're so lucky that he doesn't want to, otherwise it would be a problem on your side
♡ he eats the tuna every time you bring it for an offering, enjoying it even though he bites back a snarky comment every single time
♡ he's smart enough not to bite the hand that feeds him. his shrine is so far out into the woods that you're really the only one who comes to visit him from time to time, something that he was silently grateful for
♡ he's not tied to the shrine, he can leave if he wanted to, and he's often out and about doing whatever he wanted to, usually finding a hapless human like you and quietly guiding them towards a better solution
♡ but you liked to visit the shrine every wednesday, so he made sure he was there every wednesday
♡ why ? because he wanted to
♡ when he finally revealed his true form to you, it was purely to educate you on something stupid that you had done, at least that's what he told himself
♡ you'd gotten cut by the bramble out in the forest while making the trip to him, and so of course he had to show his true form to bandage your wounds, that was only proper of him
♡ while biting your ear off about not even worrying about the wound until you were at the shrine. what if it got infected, or worse ? you truly were a foolish human
♡ all eight of his tails are angrily flicking the ground below him as he patches you up the best he can, meanwhile berating you for your idiocy, something that he cant stand
♡ and you're just smiling like a moron, too, despite being injured ! he can't wrap his head around you !
♡ finally, once youre all taken care of, he has to ask why you offer him food, when he just looked like a regular fox to you at the shrine
♡ possibly the most annoying thing ever, you don't have a good answer. no profound understanding, just because you want to
♡ he's so frustrated with you he's sure he may pop a blood vessel, and you offer to leave, but he tells you to stay. it would've made the trip and your injury meaningless if you left so suddenly without staying for anything
♡ and when the sun begins to set, you find him... following you away from the shrine ?
♡ ask him what he's doing and he's just going to give you a simple answer, and if this should've been common knowledge to you all along, and you were an idiot for asking
♡ " of course, someone has to watch over you to make sure you don't accidentally get yourself killed. "
— ♡ rationaliity 2024
#honkai star rail#hsr fanfic#honkai sr#dr ratio#honkai star rail x reader#x reader#hsr x reader#veritas ratio#hsr dr ratio#dr ratio x reader#drabble#ratio x reader#star rail#hsr veritas#veritas ratio x reader#veritas x reader
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Alright! So, Steve and Reader was in that stage when they're about to become a couple but then Nancy showed that on/off interest again and Steve pushed reader away. Nancy turned out to just feel lonely due to Jonathan being in California and didn't mean anything.
Steve now nurses hopes that Reader will give him another chance. Until he finds out through the grapewine (walkies) that Reader got dosed at a party but she called Eddie for help and he took her to the hospital.
And when Steve arrives, all hurt because she called Eddie and not him, she and Eddie is hugging and them finally telling each other they are in love. Leaving Steve standing there, contemplating what he's lost
I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻
Runaway girl
Y/N and Steve were the hot new gossip around the town. People were shocked to hear that Steve was finally moving on from his past with Nancy. Many people didn't think it was possible, but Steve had his head turned and stuck on Y/N.
Y/N was happier than ever. She always had a soft spot for Steve, and with his pretty looks, it didn't take long to fall at his feet. She had been patient and waiting for the day they could be official. But she knew Steve needed time.
She wasn't sure how much time was too much time. After four months of dating, kissing, and being together, she thought he would ask by now. Doubt filled her the longer Steve didn't ask.
While Steve took his time, he was unaware of someone who didn't need time to figure out his feelings.
Eddie had his eyes set on Y/N for the last few months. Of course, to his luck, she was hooked on Steve's arm. Eddie knew there was no way he could beat out the pretty boy of Hawkins. So he settled for a friendship and kept his feelings to himself.
But he couldn't help but wonder what Steve's problem was, and why he dragged his feet. If Y/N was anywhere near into Eddie, he would have made the move before anyone else could. But it was Steve, and he probably knew no one would step on his toes.
~~~
Steve sat in his backyard, sharing a cigarette with Nancy. She popped over and Steve was never one to turn her down. He liked when she wanted to talk to him when she wanted to be in his presence. Truthfully, a part of him refused to give up on her, on them. He had this glimmer of hope that they were still tied together and that would help them find each other again.
"You and Y/N have been dating a while, gonna capitalize on that?" Nancy asked, exhaling the smoke as she passed the stick over.
Steve shrugged and inhaled the cigarette, wishing it would answer for him.
"Uh, I'm not sure."
Nancy nodded, a knowing look in her eyes
"How are you and Jonathan?" Steve asked, passing the stick back to her. He watched as her lips formed around the cigarette and her body intake the smoke.
She shrugged, "I don't know. I think we might break up."
Steve saw his glimmer of hope expanding right before his eyes
"How come?"
"The distance is so hard. I just think of when you and I were together. How easy it was to be in the same state and town." She sighed, her eyes looking into Steve's wanting ones.
Steve got lost in the familiar look in her eyes
"Too bad someone else has your attention now," she whispered before she looked away.
~~~
Y/N sighed as she dialed the familiar number
It rang once before he picked up
"Munson"
"Hey it's me, could you pick me up?" Y/N asked as she looked around the diner
"Deadbeat not show again?" Eddie said, he sounded annoyed and he deserved to be. He always had to pick her up when Steve decided to bail. "Where are you?" He asked, already grabbing his keys.
~
Eddie pulled up to see her sitting on the curb. She wore a simple shirt with jeans, but she was breathtaking.
She stood up once he parked. But he was already walking towards her. He opened his arms and she wrapped her arms around him. She held back her tears as she felt comfort in his warmth.
"Hungry?" He asked, his voice muffled in her hair
He felt her nod against his chest
"Well I know this great place and it's not too far away. Wanna join me?" He asked
She pulled back and smiled. Her heart skipped as he smiled back at her. Throughout all the pain Steve caused, Eddie was the one who healed her. She felt something towards him, something she wished she and Steve could have.
She accepted his hand and laughed when he walked them through the diner doors.
~
"Thanks for always helping me out," Y/N said, shyly looking up from her burger
"When are you going to push him to the curb? He's been toying with you for the past few weeks." Eddie sighed. It hurt him as much as it hurt her. But Steve would always be pulled in Nancy's direction.
"It's hard, Eddie. I put in so much work for him and me to work out, I struggle to just give up on it." Y/N sighed
"Listen, I'm saying this as a friend. I really care about you, and he doesn't. He doesn't love you and he's not going to. It'll forever be Nancy. And you deserve to be treasured for being you. You beat Nancy in my book any day." Eddie said as he reached forward and held her free hand.
"I'll never be her," Y/N said sadly
"And you don't need to be her to be loved."
Y/N looked up at Eddie and gave him a small smile. He was right, she could find someone who loved her for her
And he was sitting across from her
~~~
Y/N wasn't sure why she attended the party. She wasn't one to get trashed on the weekends but Eddie was busy and she didn't want to be alone.
Her life had picked up ever since she gave up on Steve. He wanted to push her away so she made it easier. Eddie was what she needed and boy did she want him. He was gorgeous, inside and out.
His humor always made her laugh, she never felt sad around him. His smile froze her in the spot but made her stomach flutter when he pressed it against her lips. It's been months and months of feeling wanted and loved. But she found herself in that same spot, wondering when they'd speak about their feelings and make it official.
With all that on her mind, she needed a way to let loose. She planned one drink or two. But somehow the first drink had her thrown off. She could feel her skin melting in sweat, her head pounded and she felt the need to throw up everything she ever ate.
She found the closest phone and dialed someone she knew would show up.
~~
Steve sat on his couch as he ate a slice of pizza. The gang was eating a quick dinner before the boys would leave for hellfire, Dustin was already with Eddie. Which bugged Steve, but whatever. Nancy wasn't around, she went to California to save her relationship. Leaving Steve an idiot once more.
"HELLFIRE CANCELED. Y/N IS IN THE HOSPITAL"
Steve's ears rang as the walkie traveled through the living room. Panic in everyone's eyes are they flew off the couch.
Steve felt like he was transported to the hospital, he barely remembered leaving his house. He knew he just had to get to her. He felt anxiety taking over as he raced through the halls. He never worried about losing her, but now it was all he feared.
He found her room but froze as Eddie sat on the chair next to her. He zoned in on their hands intertwined and how close his face was to hers.
When the fuck did that happen?
"I'm so glad you called me. Happy you are safe and with me." Eddie said, Steve felt the blow to his chest. She called Eddie? Since when did she have Eddie's number.
"I was so scared and all I wanted was for you to be there." Y/N cried, the events still creating tears in her eyes. Eddie pulled her into a hug. Squeezing her tight to remind her he was there now
"I love you so much, and I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here." She sobbed
Steve felt his heart tug
He was so lost in making sure Nancy wouldn't leave, he forgot that Y/N could too. He figured he'd win her back like he always did. A sorry smile and puppy eyes, saying he won't do it again. But they both knew he would.
"I love you too,"
Steve swallowed the lump in his throat as they shared a tearful kiss
"Oh good you're here!" Dustin said relieved as he ran into Steve, standing outside her door.
"I'm just leaving" Steve snapped as he walked out.
Tags!
@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson request#eddie munson fluff x reader#eddie munson angst#eddie munson angst x reader#ashwhowrites#steve harrigton x reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x reader#steve Harrington angst#steve Harrington angst x reader#steve harrington requests
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One thing I haven't seen talked about is Crystal's character arc, and specifically the way the timing of it interacts with Charles' arc. They stumble over each other in the worst possible way en route to their respective character growth, and from a narrative perspective, it's absolutely genius.
I'm going to preface all this by saying: none of this is a criticism of Crystal. Part of what makes her such a dynamic, refreshing character is that you don't get to see women in fiction written the way she's been written. You don't get to see women with her flaws that aren't throw-away mean girls or villains. You especially don't get to see women with her traits who learn and grow and become better people. So yeah, I'm going to talk about Crystal's character flaws. No, this isn't Crystal hate. We love our girl in this house. Okay? Okay. Let's start.
Crystal's character arc, at its heart, is all about her learning to be a better person because she has good influences that love and support her for the first time.
When the show starts, Crystal is not a nice person. She's abrasive in a way that's specifically designed to push people away. She's used to getting her own way, and it shows. She's used to having no meaningful connections with anyone, and it shows. She's breathtakingly selfish, in the very literal sense of the definition. She is focused on her self. Her problems are front and center to her; everything is about what she needs, and what she wants, and how she's struggling.
Jenny calls her out very early on. In episode one, Crystal is complaining about the boys, and Jenny, for all her cynicism, strikes right at the heart of the problem. She tells Crystal, "Everybody is always thinking about themselves, all the time." People only care about their own problems. And she says, correctly, that that's what Crystal is doing, too.
This moment is a revelation for Crystal. For the first time, she considers what her behavior looks like from another person's perspective. As she says, she gets mad at herself over it, and that awareness allows her to do something selfless for the first time in the series. She takes a step back and insists that instead of focusing on her problems, they go to help a little girl. It's a big moment for her.
But importantly, she's not done growing as a character here. She's only just getting started.
On my first watch through, I didn't realize how often, over the next few episodes, Crystal redirects things to her problems during conversation, but it's quite a lot. She's still focused on herself – selfish, in that most literal definition of the word. The issues most important to her are her issues. She's starting to learn to think about other people, but she's not there yet. The process is still underway.
Which brings us to Charles.
Charles' arc is a different sort of self-reflection. He's terrified that he's a bad person the way his father was and the way the boys that killed him were.
During the course of the show, he gets systematically stripped of his confidence and made to feel helpless, and just like Crystal needs outside influences to help her reach a more stable place, Charles does, too. He desperately needs reassurance that he isn't everything he's afraid he is.
But my goodness, the timing in their arcs is such a trainwreck when you put them together, and it is brilliant.
Let's start with the Devlin House.
Crystal has some amazing character growth here. She displays genuine concern about Charles, makes an attempt at comforting him, and learns to work with Edwin even though she still doesn't particularly like him at this point.
Charles, meanwhile, is beginning to fall apart. He's just had the worst night of his afterlife. He's been viscerally reminded of how helpless he is. He couldn't stop the Devlins from being killed over and over, just like he couldn't stop his own father's abuse. He messed up his attempted rescue so badly that he was completely out of commission until the case was finished. He managed to help not one single thing. He made no impact at all. He couldn't help those girls any more than he was able to help himself, while he was still alive.
So they get back to the butcher shop, and what do we see? Monty immediately coopts Edwin. Niko doesn't know what's happened because she wasn't there and Charles has been all fake smiles with her. And Crystal goes off with Niko, leaving Charles to flounder on his own in the wake of everything. She's still learning how to support other people. She isn't there yet, and it's extremely on display in this moment.
Then we get the lighthouse episode, and they both get put through the wringer here. Crystal gets her hopes and expectations jerked around by the Night Nurse in the very worst way, and Charles gets hit with a whole pile full of trauma. All that helplessness wells to the forefront again. Combined with being forced to relive some of his worst memories and the desperation to keep Edwin safe from hell, Charles lets himself act on his anger for once.
And what does he get in the aftermath? Horror.
Everyone who cares about him is horrified by what he's done. Edwin goes so far as to call it extreme. They don't know the half of it, of course; they haven't seen what the Night Nurse just put him through. But in this moment Charles is at his absolute lowest, and all he sees is confirmation that he's exactly as terrible as he thinks he is.
That's why Charles shrugs off Edwin's attempt at comfort, here. When he needed to be able to do something to protect Edwin and also himself – when he needed to believe that he could be better than what his father always was – all he sees is the confirmation from the people he cares about most that when push came to shove, he really is a bad guy.
Then comes the aftermath. And this moment is such a brilliant, awful clash of both of their character arcs. It is so delightfully messy.
Because Charles starts to open up to Crystal here. He starts to lay himself bare, the way he ends up doing with Edwin in episode 5. He's on the verge of admitting something that he's been worried about for literal decades. He tells her, "I've been angry for such a long time."
And what does Crystal do? She's still in the midst of her own character growth. She's still struggling to support other people. She's still learning how to. In a lot of ways, though she's made progress already, she's still that selfish girl that Jenny called out in the very first episode.
And she shows it here it with the absolute worst possible timing. No sooner has Charles started to talk about what's bothering him than she cuts in with her own problems. She's tired of riddles and spirits and demons and not knowing who she is. And the look on Charles' face. The moment when he visibly sets aside his own problems, because Crystal doesn't need any more disasters on her plate? It's heartbreaking. You can actually track the subtle change in his expression there. The actor does a phenomenal job.
And then comes the kiss. And what spurs it? Crystal saying she needs something real.
This moment isn't about light-hearted attraction, the way the earlier flirting is. It's Charles setting aside what he needs – comfort and reassurance and a moment to talk through the things that have been tearing him apart – to give her what she says she wants. He can't even feel it. And Crystal isn't far enough along in her character growth here to realize how selfish she's being. Like Jenny said way back in episode one, she's only thinking about herself.
And then comes the absolute unmitigated disaster of episode 5.
Straight out the gate, Charles leans in for a kiss. From his perspective, they have something together; there's affection there. Charles "I think I'd miss kissing" Rowland, who has been starved for meaningful physical contact for thirty years, is not in a hurry to give this up.
But Crystal is fresh out of a nightmare where she conflates Charles with her abusive ex. She withdraws; she calls what they had a distraction. She cuts it off almost as soon as it's started, so focused on her own worries here that she misses how damn fake Charles' smile is, to cover up that he's coming to pieces.
To be clear, she's absolutely not in the wrong here. It is 1000% her prerogative not to jump into a relationship again while she's still struggling to work through what happened with David. But the arc of her narrative is still early enough that she does it all without so much as the awareness that her focus on her own issues has hurt Charles terribly.
And then the episode really kicks off, and both of them are in shambles in very different ways.
Crystal is projecting her issues with David onto Charles. She has a lot of history, and David seems as though he's exactly the right sort of toxic to leave lasting a lasting impact. But Charles hasn't done anything to deserve her assumptions, and he takes the brunt of her temper here and throughout the episode.
Charles is desperately projecting onto the dead jocks. He very badly wants them to be good guys, because he sees himself in them and he needs himself to be a good guy. He snipes back at Crystal for the very first time in this episode, and he does it in the worst way possible, accidentally prodding her where it will do the most damage.
They're both hurting. They both say some truly painful things to one another.
She does not need to hear that she has unsorted hangups about David still plaguing her while she's unable to move past them. He desperately does not need anyone to tell him that he has rage issues while he's still struggling to think of himself as a decent person.
They apologize, in the end. They start to move past it.
But it's telling that Charles doesn't try to open up to Crystal again. He goes to Edwin instead, even though Edwin is the one who called his actions regarding the Night Nurse extreme. He gets the reassurance he needs so badly; he gets the connection he was looking for with Crystal from Edwin, instead. (I have a lot of thoughts on why Charles initially tries to open up to Crystal so quickly, but it is very much an aside, and this is already extremely long, so it will have to wait for another write-up.)
But the important thing here is, Edwin is the one to offer Charles what he needs to overcome the self-doubt eating him alive. Edwin provides the physical affection Charles was seeking in the form of that long-overdue hug. Edwin is the one who's able to reaffirm for him that he's not just a good guy, he's the best person Edwin knows.
And for all intents and purposes, Charles' major character arc ends here.
Charles has a few last little moments to go on the path to rebuilding his own self-image, after this, but for the most part his concerns have been resolved. He saves Crystal in episode 6 and Edwin in episode 7, proving to himself that he's able to make a difference in the face of overwhelming odds. He's not helpless, no matter what the Night Nurse told him; he can be a force for good in the world. By the end of the series, his crisis of self-doubt seems to have been largely overcome.
But it's the conversation with Edwin at the end of episode 5 that really allows him to work through his most pressing issues. Edwin is there to help support him when he stumbles. Edwin provides him the comfort he was looking for while Crystal was too worried about her own problems to notice how badly he needed the help.
Crystal, meanwhile, still has a ways to go after episode 5. The last three episodes are where she does her most important character growth.
In episode 6, she learns some hard lessons about keeping secrets and letting people help and appreciate you even when you can't offer them anything in return. And Charles, importantly, is there for her every step of the way. He consistently offers her physical and emotional support. He models for her, in a very real way, what it looks like to have someone prop you up when you need the help.
And in turn, Crystal steps in to save the boys. She's the big damn hero at the end of this episode.
The breakthrough continues into episode 7. She's so intent on helping to get Edwin out of hell that she literally goes to face her own demons, not for herself for once – not for her own purposes or needs or wants – but because she wants to help someone else.
And episode 8, at long last, brings her to the culmination of her character arc.
Crystal is at her absolute lowest here. Her family, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, didn't even realize she was gone. Her precious memories, that she's spent the entire series trying to regain, have showed her that she's not the person she hoped she would be. She's overwhelmed enough that she means to flee, to cut herself off from her new friends entirely.
Then the boys get kidnapped. And just like that, she makes up her mind.
For the first time since the start of the series, she sets aside her most important issues in order to let what other people need take precedence. She disregards all of her own personal concerns and focuses instead on others. She's finally stepped out of those selfish impulses that Jenny calls her out on, all the way back in the first episode. She's finally learned how to support other people when they need it.
Crystal has finally figured out how to be there for others, despite having troubles of her own.
It's a lovely arc, and it's beautifully done.
Charles' is just as touching.
And god damn, but it was a brilliant narrative choice to have their character arcs line up in exactly the wrong way.
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first meeting: college!sukuna and f!reader
content: smut (degradation, masturbation (feet are involved for f), m oral, light slapping (1), manhandling, spit), a little bit of crack, i love yuuji and he's my metphorical little brother okay (he's 9), reader has siblings because i said so, also bigbro!sukuna
It’s not the sound of the sheets rustling that wakes him up, but an ass pressing on his groin. Not like he can complain about not sleeping much; the pretty moans still reverberating in his skull are a testament to that.
He hears a yawn before feeling two hands searching for his warmth. He lazily obliges and scoots a little bit next to the body he has next to him. He lets these roaming hands touch his body, trying not to cringe. He’s not fond of physical contact if it’s not on his cock, and having someone grab his bicep while sighing dramatically about how strong he feels makes him want to puke. But you’ve got to give ‘em what they want before taking what you want.
He curses in his mind. He broke the first rule: never let a chick sleep in your bed after you fuck her. His head is killing him, the sun entering from his bedroom window making him squint. He must have fallen asleep. He remembers everything from last night: whoever says alcohol makes you forget stuff is just weak. One of the guys he shared the complex he lived in threw a goodbye party since he was moving out, and he wasn’t one to refuse free alcohol. His ex-almost-roommate invited a bunch of people from college, and Sukuna remembers that there were a couple of girls that didn’t stop whispering to each other while looking at him, chuckling behind their hands and blushing. One in particular was pretty, dancing and smiling at everyone before focusing her gaze on Sukuna and never leaving it. A classic. He played her game a bit, and she twirled when he asked her to, acting innocent when he asked her if he could lick salt from between her boobs before taking a shot of tequila. Boobs that turned out to still be salty when he licked and sucked her nipples an hour later, and twirl she did, but this time on his dick, the innocent act all gone. He fucked her like he owned her, and she got fucked like she wanted to be owned by him.
“‘Morning, ‘Kuna,” a whisper in the quiet of his room. Sweet, sweet voice whose hands are now traveling towards his hardening cock. He looks at the clock in front of his bed and makes sure to not roll his eyes too obviously, opting to grab her ass to make the process of riling her up faster. He has to leave for practice in 30 minutes, but a blowjob will do.
His hand travels to her front, expert hands finding her clit immediately. He barely touches it and she trembles in his arms, already panting. So responsive. He smirks. This will take less than he anticipated.
“You’re wet already? You’re such a slut,” he groggily says in her ear. She moans. She likes that shit. His fingers find her opening, making sure to take some of her wetness before focusing on making small little eights on her bundle of nerves. “Spread these legs and shut the fuck up. The whole dorm already knows you’re enjoying yourself, you made sure they heard you last night,” he points out, biting her lobe. She opens her legs like the smart girl she is, and whines every time his middle finger catches on the hood of her sweet button. She babbles something along the lines of so close, so close, but right now he pays it no mind. “Don- don’t you dare stop-” another moan. Sukuna dips both his middle and ring finger in her opening, grinding his palm on her clit, feeling her arch her back against his chest. He knows his stuff: he’s degrading, demanding, evil, but he likes his women pleased thoroughly. Her pussy is squeezing him hard, when he suddenly registers what she said and gets away from her, bored. It’s not the first time some random girl thinks she can make him do whatever she wants just because she made him cum the night before. Which is not even completely true, because he always pulls out, even wearing a condom, and finishes with his hand. There’s no way a bum who lets a stranger fuck her is becoming his baby mama. He’s too young to deal with future college dropouts.
She starts complaining, saying how he’s so mean, ‘Kuna, you’ve been doing this all night, please let me cum, I’ve been so good to you, but Sukuna just manhandles her and gets her on the floor. He seats himself in front of her, grabbing her hair roughly and positioning her head right in front of his standing dick. She yelps, forced to look up at him and his red irises. Her eyelashes flutter, her mouth opens a bit, and she gets wetter. He’s so big and strong, his arm flexing from how he’s making her strain her neck, looking down like a king does not even toward a servant, but toward a roach.
“You’re not going to tell me what I can and can’t do, bitch,” he starts saying, glaring at her menacingly. “And I remember you cumming quite a lot yesterday, actually,” he adds smugly, and she shuts her mouth. She did cum a lot. He never missed the chance to make her scream his name. “Now start sucking, I’ll let you get off on my feet. You should be thanking me, I don’t usually let brats like you stay a second time.”
He then squishes her cheeks with the hand that’s not in her hair, making her pucker her lips. She looks at him with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. She’s quite literally hanging off his every word. He’s so sexy. I can’t let him be upset with me, or he won’t let me see him again! I want to be his girl so bad.
“Open up,” he tells her, and she doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s equally aroused and scared. She sticks her tongue out, getting her hands behind her back and her feet under her ass. Obedient little thing. Sukuna goes to spit into her open mouth, but he makes sure to miss and spits on her cheek instead. She flinches, but she doesn’t move.
“Oops,” he grins, then collects his saliva from her face and slips his digits past her lips, choking her with them. “Swallow,” he commands.
“But-” she tries to speak, and he responds by pressing down hard on her tongue and making her gag.
“I said swallow, whore,” he repeats, rougher this time. She makes sure to listen to him, starting to tear up. He gets his fingers out of her mouth and lightly slaps her cheek with that same hand. 20 minutes left.
“Good girl. Now suck this cock,” he orders. She doesn’t miss a beat, bobbing her head up and down. He pushes her head down how he pleases, and she starts grinding on his foot. The only sound that can be heard inside of the room is the obnoxious slurping she’s making to accommodate his length inside her mouth. He’s big, girthy, with a pretty black band on the base she’s never quite reaching, and he tastes good, so good. Almost like yesterday after cumming he scrubbed himself clean in an extra meticulous manner. Almost self deprecating, almost as if he wanted to remove his skin as a whole. Almost as if he regretted fucking a stranger just for the pleasure of it, again. But like most things about him, it’s only ever going to be an almost. Even for himself.
It’s so humiliating, choking on his dick while desperately trying to find relief, but she has to do it. She has to. His imposing aura doesn’t make her do anything that he doesn’t want to be done. Also, sucking the cock of one of the hottest guys on campus is a major turn on for whoever gets to do it, and she’s not passing up the opportunity to tell her friends from her hometown about it. She’s been at this college just two weeks and she already achieved this? They’re not going to believe their ears.
She doesn’t know that she’s not special: he’s known for fucking random girls, but they still flock to him like moths to a flame. Maybe it’s his bad boy aura, or them thinking they could change him, but the only real fact is that he’s still fucking and they’re still getting their hearts broken. Not like he gives a single fuck, anyway. As long as he gets an orgasm out of it.
“Hollow those cheeks,” he grunts, and she obliges. He’s getting bored, her head game isn’t that strong, and at this rate he’s never going to cum in time. He looks at the clock again. He has 5 minutes. This girl is sure taking her sweet time, and he’s pretty sure she already came 2 different times from how wet his foot is feeling and how she’s losing momentum again. Disgusting. Nasty whore.
He concentrates on feeling at least a bit of euphoria, making his orgasm nearer. He’d fuck her throat, but he doesn’t feel like it this morning since his head is still hurting a bit, and whatever he decides to do is law inside of his room. He’s about to nut, and he knows her jaw must be hurting, but it’s not his fault he lasts long. They never complain about it when they’re getting pounded, either. 2 minutes.
Suddenly, someone knocks at his door. He rolls his eyes and ignores it. Then, another three knocks. His eye ticks. Time slows down for him: he sees the girl at his feet widening her eyes and hazily looking up at him. He has a quick realization: he was about to cum and now he’s not going to. Then, a slow one: he’s pissed off because of the quick realization. He acts as if he didn’t hear it, again, and the girl opens her mouth again, but whoever is on the other side must be pretty persistent, because they start knocking and this time they don’t stop.
Now he’s not only pissed off, he’s angry. Who the fuck disturbs him on a Saturday morning?
He scowls, scoffs and then stands up. “I’m fucking coming,” he loudly says. He almost hears someone say fucking finally, but he’s not sure of it. He gives them the benefit of the doubt.
He doesn’t spare the girl on the floor a second glance before getting her out of the way by her hair and putting on a pair of sweatpants. She tumbles, not sitting prettily anymore. She looks disheveled and a bit out of words. He senses she didn’t get the memo since she hasn’t moved from her place. She’s pissing him off, too. He hates dumb bitches.
“Dress yourself up. You have ten seconds before I open this damn door and let whoever the fuck is here see you like this,” he coldly says. She tries to respond, and he loses all his patience.
“Ten, nine, eight…” he starts counting fast. She wobbles over her dress as fast as she can and pulls it on her head, trembling, mascara from last night still on her cheeks, a bit of her spit on her chin. He’s so scary when he’s mad. Sexy, too, but really fucking scary. She finds that she’s not able to look up at him anymore, almost bowing while she brushes her hair with her hands. He’s not a king anymore, he’s a tyrant.
“But ‘Kuna, I thought we-”
He snickers, then stops looking at her again. “Girl, I don’t even remember your name. There’s no us. And stop calling me like that, it’s so fucking annoying.”
She feels like crying. She realizes that the degrading persona in the sheets wasn’t an act, he’s like that in real life too, and she gave it to him like he was special. Like she was special.
He slams the door open and instantly feels a punch on his naked chest. Huh?
“Ew,” you say surprised, jumping back, cleaning your hand on your jeans and making a disgusted face. He raises an eyebrow.
“Ew? Who the fuck are you? What the fuck do you want?” he curses. Who do you think you are?
You stretch your lips, giving his figure a once over. He’s half naked, gray sweatpants low on his hips, very tattooed. A really big contrast with the color of his hair, which is a bright pink. He’s tall, and very strong if his bulging muscles are an indicator of that. You guess he’d look scary if you weren’t slightly upset.
“I’m your new neighbor, if you can call it that. They told me I’d find you here, and I guess I found you,” you tell him trying not to sound too bitter about the fact he so obviously ignored you while you were knocking.
“No shit,” he answers, completely uninterested.
You tell him your name, stretching your hand to shake his. “Hope we can live peacefully for the next couple of years, yeah?” you say, trying (again) to be nice, forcing yourself to smile a little.
He looks at your hand without bothering to extend his, keeping his arms crossed. He looks utterly disgusted. ”Bye,” he says and he goes to turn back inside his room.
This guy is rude. You don’t do well with people who are rude for no reason whatsoever.
“Well then, I would’ve said I’m sorry for accidentally punching you since I was just about to knock again, but I’m more sorry for my hand who touched you,” you remark, not smiling anymore and glaring at him.
He raises his eyebrows. Oh, he really doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t even know who you are. Disturbing his peace and acting entitled? Hell no.
“Be grateful you still have a hand,” he growls, glaring at you just as hard.
“Be grateful I let you know I’m moving in without throwing all your shit out of our bathroom, bitch,” you immediately respond.
He chokes on a laugh.
“Yeah, sure. There’s no way they gave me a girl as a new roommate, stop using excuses. Did we fuck? Are you here to tell me I’m a big meanie for not contacting you again?” He juts his bottom lip out, like he’s mocking a toddler. “Get the fuck out of my face,” he tells you, starting to close the door in your face.
“No, dumbass, I wouldn’t touch you with the hands of another girl, imagine what I’d do with mine. If you don’t get your shit out in 3 minutes you’ll be washing yourself with hand soap,” you wittily remark.
“‘Ku- Sukuna, who’s that?” You hear from the girl inside of his room.
“Oooh, a girl. Is she the one who put the stick up your ass? Pegged you real good huh?” you ask him, fake smiling.
He looks pissed off to the max.
“Shut the fuck up. Both of you. You, get the fuck out of my room,” he says to the scared girl, “You, we’re done talking, I hate pretentious bitches like you,” he adds giving you a disgusted once over.
He doesn’t expect you to just stare at him, though, and it takes him off guard. He’s confused: not everyday someone tests his patience so hard first thing in the morning and even manages to react like nothing happened. It makes him want to murder you and your stupid attitude.
“Bro, you’re like, so fucking annoying. Whatever, little miss princess who orders everyone around and pretends that they should listen, too,” you tell him, unblinking.
Suddenly he’s all up in your face, towering over you, and you have to pretend that your breath doesn’t hitch. Finding yourself two centimeters from someone’s nose was not on your today’s bingo list. Much less if the person in this situation is more than 200 pounds of pure muscles.
“What the fuck did you just call me?” He grits through his teeth. You can smell a bit of a smokey undertone in his breath, like he’s not a big smoker but still a smoker.
You get even closer, effectively touching your nose with his. He might be scary and the fact that he has a pair of tattooed eyes under his real ones is kind of freaking you out, but you’re not going to let a guy step on you on your first day of college. This should be one of the best years of your life, dammit.
“I called you a princess. Is that pissing you off, princess?” You repeat. He goes to shove you away but you’re faster and get away on your own.
“3 minutes, asshole. That’s all you have,” you say while walking toward the room close to his, not looking back. You feel his gaze on your back, and you flip him off before slamming your door closed.
Now alone, you start organizing your stuff to make space for the bed frame that should be arriving in a matter of hours. The lady at the reception told you that you’d have a male “roommate” and you planned on asking him for help, but there’s no way you’re asking anyone anything if they’re that big of an asshole.
You hear a light knock on your door and you almost jump out of your skin, startled, until you hear a foreign voice calling for you.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
You open the door and almost faint. “Oh my God, he shrinked,” you whine.
The pink haired kid you find yourself facing looks confused.
“Shrinked?” he says pensively. Then he must see how you’re glaring at him kinda meanly, and he gets it. “Oh! You must’ve encountered Sukuna. I’m Yuuji, his brother, nice to meet you,” he clarifies while rubbing behind his ear and smiling gently at you.
You’re so relieved by this piece of information that your demeanor changes radically.
“Well, I must say you two look identical. Minus the fact he’s a total asshole,” you tell him, rolling your eyes and relaxing. He chuckles while nodding, and you keep on rambling. “I’m sorry for not being nice immediately, but it’s been a long day. You know, moving in and all…” you try justifying yourself, smiling sheepishly.
“Sure, I get it. I just wanted to see who’s gonna be here for the next year. If you need a hand with anything don’t hesitate to knock on my door!” he says excitedly. He looks like a softer version of the beast of the man you just came across, and he radiates puppy energy. You can quite literally see his metaphorical tail shaking and his big puppy eyes blinking happily.
“Oh! You live here? I thought this was supposed to be a dorm for college students,” you ask, curious.
“Yeah, because it is. Big bro convinced the principal or whatever to make me stay, though. I wouldn’t have had a home to stay at, anyway,” he shrugs. You widen your eyes: these are not things you tell a stranger about. This kid is either too naive or too used to things like these. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, like this is a recurrent conversation for him. Like it’s basic knowledge for anyone that comes across him and his brother.
“Oh. I’m sorry for- prying?” you try saying, embarrassed, before changing the topic. “My door is always open too, you know. I have siblings, I don’t mind being interrupted from time to time since I’m used to it. Maybe we could play together? What do you like to do in your free time?”.
He looks at you with big brown eyes. He’s serious for three seconds, and he looks older, wiser. You can feel the way you’re starting to sweat, when he breaks out in a big smile.
“I like you. I don’t mind talking about the way I lack a family, but it’s nice when people act interested in more than that, you know? I like-”
“Brat, how many times have I told you to not bother people with your yapping?” you hear a deep voice saying from outside your door. The child in front of you lowers his metaphorical puppy ears, turning to look at whoever called him.
“But she’s nice! She asked me about it!” he responds. You hear footsteps approaching your bedroom.
“Who are you even talking-” Sukuna stops mid sentence, glancing at your still standing form, then raises one side of his upper lip, almost like he’s snarling. You reciprocate with a scoff of your own.
“Her? Nice?” he says mockingly.
“Wouldn’t even have guessed you were brothers by the way he has manners you clearly lack,” you respond, glaring at him. He clenches his jaw and you think he’s trying to reign in his temper in front of his little brother, but that must be your impression, because the next thing he does is get him in the air by his collar. Yuuji trashes a little bit, but Sukuna is too strong, and at one point he just gives up.
“Let’s go. You’re not talking to her anymore,” he says to his mini counterpart, beginning to turn around while dragging him behind his back.
“But she asked me to play with her! Come on, bro, I’m bored when you’re not here,” Yuuji says while pouting. In all of this you just stood next to your open door. You almost pity the little puppy, he genuinely seems like a good kid, and maybe it’s the big sister in you but you’d hate your little brother to be bored and sad while doing nothing.
“If you help me set up my room, we can play aaaall day,” you suddenly say, getting out in the hallway and winking at the smallest of the two. Sukuna stops dragging his little brother and snaps his head toward you.
He narrows his eyes. “You little-”
Yuuji manages to free himself from his brother’s hold and comes running in front of you.
“Deal! Deal!” he responds excitedly, then gets into your room and starts unpacking by himself. You chuckle, then smile to yourself: he makes you miss home.
“If you so much as crumple his shirt, consider yourself a dead woman,” you hear Sukuna’s breath on your neck. Your hairs stand and a shiver runs down your back.
“Sir yes sir,” you say, gulping loudly. It’s not until you hear him walking away that you turn around.
“Yo, big guy, did you manage to free the bathroom from your ugly 3 in 1 body wash?”
He flips you off, then gets out without saying another word.
#sukuna x reader#sukuna jjk#sukuna ryomen#sukuna fic#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna smut#college au#big brother au#sukuna crack#sukuna ryomen smut
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All In 11
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)
based on the winning option for this poll
Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes
Note: it's a new week
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
Your phone buzzes against your leg, ripping you back to reality. Your eyes widen and drift away from the stream of font. You sit up and mark the page with your finger as you reach for the jittering cell.
You scramble to grab onto it and hesitate to hit the big green button. The screen doesn't look like usual, not that you get many calls. You tap the button and the image changes at once, Bucky startling you as he appears.
"Hey, doll," he grins and winks at you, moving the camera to lean against something. "How's it going?"
"Uhhhh," you drone, surprised. He can see you too. You know by the little reflection of yourself in the corner. "Hi. Fine." You put the book down with no mind to losing the page, "um, you?"
"You busy, doll?"
"Reading but... no."
"Mm," he hums, "glad to see you enjoying your treats but... no pajamas?"
He steps back and you get a view of him from waist up, the edge of a counter in the lower edge. You pout then give a sheepish smile, "sorry, I haven't... had a chance."
"That's okay, doll, I just wanted a peek before I went to work," he undoes his shirt button by button and pulls it off, revealing his muscular torso. You gulp at the lines of his muscle along his stomach, "why don't you put them on now and give me a look."
"Oh, uh..." you glance at the wall. It's late. You're pretty sure Roxie already left for work and your mom will probably be settling down. "Right, uh..."
"Just want something to think of when I walk the floor," he purrs.
"Sure, er," you nearly choke, "I'll just-- one sec."
"I can wait, doll. I've been waiting, haven't I?" He purrs.
You feel a pang of guilt. You place the phone down so the lens faces the ceiling and climb off the bed. He's given you a lot, too much honestly, and now you feel like you owe him. It isn't fair to take his kindness without anything in return. And he isn't asking much, is he?
You dig in the bag, the crinkle loud as the only other noise is the subtle movement from his end. You fish out the soft pajamas and peer over, making certain the phone is still flat. You change far away from it, paranoid.
You look down at yourself in the tank and shorts. Oh gosh. It's a lot less than you usually wear. Your legs are showing, your shoulders, and a bit of your tummy.
"Doll?" He says and you flinch.
"I don't know... I don't think it fits."
"I'm sure it fits just nice," he insists, "show me."
"Oh, uh..."
"I'm just looking, doll, I'll only think of what I really wanna do," he snickers.
You cross back to the bed and pick up the phone, careful to stay out of view. You turn back and prop it up on the dresser, overly aware of the unflattering angle as you do. You give a wide-eyed look and back up so you're all in frame.
You hug yourself shyly and sway.
"Let me see ya," he orders.
You put your arms straight and notice how he leans in to look at the screen, smoothing his hair back. He keeps his hands over his dark strands and growls. A flutter starts in your stomach.
"What do you mean too small? That fits your perfect," he says.
"I... really?"
"Sure, doll," he turns and you realise he's getting ready.
He combs his hair stands straight. He grabs a new shirt and buttons it as he peeks again. You near the camera and move it so he can only see your face.
"Damn, doll, I'm gonna be all over the place," he says, "you're so sweet and sexy."
"Bucky," you squeak.
"I don't lie. That's the one thing you should know about me. I will always let you know exactly what I want."
You blush hotly and a tap on the door nearly makes you drop the phone. You hide it behind you and shuffle closer. You clear your throat.
"Uh, yeah?" You call through.
"Hey, honey, everything okay in there?" She asks. Shoot, she must have heard you.
"I'm watching something," your heart hammers, "sorry, I'll turn it down."
"It's alright, honey. Just thought I heard you..."
"No, just a show," you wisp out.
You quickly back away and go as far from the door as you can. You look down at the phone as Bucky tucks in his shirt. Ugh, that was embarrassing. He heard all that; surely he must realise how lame you are.
"Mom sounds real sweet," he says, "must be where you get it."
"She's working tomorrow. Don't wanna keep her up," you explain quietly.
"That's too bad, doll. I'll just have to keep waiting... wanting," he shrugs and pulls on a dark jacket, "what do ya think? Look good?"
He poses for the camera. He looks great, as always. You feel smaller than ever.
"Yes," you answer softly.
"Yes? That's it?" He sounds disappointed.
"Very handsome," you eke out.
"Handsome?" He squints as he picks up the phone.
"Er," you search your repertoire and borrow from his, "sexy?"
"Are you asking or telling me?" He chuckles.
You giggle. You don't think you've ever told anyone they are sexy. You've never been that bold.
"Yes."
"Yes?" He laughs.
"You're, er, oh, sexy," you touch your hot cheek and look away.
"You are adorable, doll," he growls, "that's exactly what I need to hear." He grazes his fingertips over his beard, "unfortunately I gotta get on it so... tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," you confirm.
"Don't worry about a thing, doll, just bring your gorgeous self."
🃏
The next day is restless. It's worse having hours to wait around for... what? You don't know.
You spend your time reading, or trying to. Breakfast is small, what your roiling stomach can handle, and you put on an outfit that you think is acceptable, not that you have much to choose from. It might be strange if your mom or Roxie notice the lack of uniform. You could say you change at work?
Ugh, lie after lie. It's all so much.
You don't get very far in the book and your phone buzzes, a reminder from Bucky that your fate is coming. You grab your purse and sit out on the stoop, the sunlight beaming down. It would be a nice say if you were so damn uptight.
Merv pulls up in the sleek luxury car and you get up, checking over your shoulder to see if there's any curious tug on the curtain. Your mom's already at work but Roxie is puttering around somewhere. She could be sleeping or not.
Merv gets out to greet you. He opens the door and you thank him. He sits in the driver's seat and Springsteen drones from the radio. You smile as he shifts into gear.
"I know this one," you say.
"Of course, a classic," he praises. "And how are you today, miss?"
"Good, you, sir?"
He laughs as he steers, "very good, miss. And how could I not be." He peeks at you in the rear view, "with sunshine in my backseat."
You smile bashfully and cross your legs. You can't help the shake in your foot. You're more and more nervous with each second and turn of the wheel.
As if noticing your unease, he turns up the music, "I like this one too."
You sigh and ease into the drumbeat. The tempo keeps your heartbeat in check. You're thankful for his subtle comfort.
You turn to watch through the tinted windows. You never noticed how scenic this city is. You never went many places to have the chance.
He keeps the volume up and you let it carry you through the long journey across the city. He pulls up to the casino and steers around to the hotel entrance. You peer through then back at him in confusion. He turns the knob down.
"Mr. Barnes says to give your name at the desk," Merv instructs, "have a good day."
"Thanks, you too," you unbuckle the seat belt and sidle across to the door.
You get out with reticence. Staring up at the grand facade, you're more unsure than you've ever been. You've come this far, you have to keep going. You really have no choice as Merv slowly rolls away.
You step forward. It doesn't get easier the further you get. Your pulse hammers behind your ear as you enter the lobby and a flash of deja vu overcomes you. That night with Roxie, the morning after, and everything since. How does it all feel as if it happened so fast and yet so long ago?
You go to the desk, feeling entirely out of place. What if Merv is wrong and you shouldn't be there? What if they just look at you and laugh? No choice, keep going.
You stop on the other side of the desk and give a stiff smile.
"Hello, welcome, checking in?" The modelesque concierge asks. She's stunning and you're all the more self-aware.
"Uh, I think? My name is..."
She keeps her pristine smile in place and her eyes lights up. She doesn't even bother typing into her computer. She flits away and returns with one of little folders with the room keys inside. Oh, this is really happening.
You thank her and slowly back away. You make a slow advance towards the elevator and wait beside a couple with their suitcases. You step on with them, avoiding a glimpse through the transparent walls.
You unfold the folio and read the number, pushing the floor number, then stand back on your heels. You keep your eyes on the door, the motion alone making you dizzy.
The couple gets off before you. When it's your floor, you thankfully scramble off and take a deep breath. You once more check the number and follow the hallways to your assigned suite.
You swipe the card several times, you still don't have the hang of it. The door opens and you enter meekly. You focus on every move. Shut the door, slip the card back in the folder, put it down on the corner table.
You look up at last and let yourself marvel at the suite as you delve further in. The smell of pollen greets you with a large bouquet of roses. The suite is huge, even bigger than last time. Two rooms just the same and a full kitchenette and spacious bathroom. You don't go onto the balcony, not wanting to test your stomach.
You go back inside and glance over the table draped in a red tablecloth beneath the crystal vase of flowers. There's also a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries and various colours of macarons. You've never had the delicate cookies before but you'd watch countless recipe videos, wishing on day to try them yourself.
There's an envelope too. You take it and run your nail along the sealed flap. You open it carefully and slip out the card within.
'Enjoy yourself, doll. I'll join you shortly. B.'
As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. Oh gosh, you're not ready. What does he mean? Join you? You hoped for a little long before... before...
You stand frozen but when the door doesn't open itself, you go to answer it. You slowly twist the long handle and open it just a crack. You peer around the edge and blink in confusion.
"Hello, dahling," the woman's affectation drags out her syllables, "well look at you, how precious."
She presses on the door and you let her force her way in. You're dumbfounded. Who the heck is she? Another long-legged beauty you can't compare too.
"Lovely hair," she remarks as she closes the door without a care, "oh, and your skin, yes, perfect canvas..."
"Sorry, er, I think you have the wrong room--"
"Mr. Barnes sent me, dahling," she trills in her way, "and I see you are very much in need of my visit so let's begin. Mm, yes, I have a vision," she struts forward, a rose gold chest in her hand, "not very much, you have a natural lustre I adore."
You retreat as she advances on you. She lifts her chest onto the chaise and flips back the lid, revealing an assortment of precisely organized palettes and tubes. You're horrified and humiliated as you realise why she's there. Maybe you aren't as pretty as Bucky keeps telling you.
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#fic#bucky barnes x reader#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#casino au#avengers#winter soldier#captain america#marvel#mcu#all in
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Paint Me
Benedict Bridgerton x inexperienced!american!fem!reader
summary: After a brutal critique of a newly displayed art piece in a museum, newly debuted reader finds herself apologizing to the artist who heard her. After multiple meetings, the time they spend together becomes precious to her. One slip up causes Benedict Bridgerton, a know “Rake” amongst the ton, to be left with the decision to marry the young woman or a duel.
This is part one! Here’s part two!
cw: suggestive language
word count: 4k
January 28th, 1817
Your parents sat across from you in the carriage, both sets of eyes on you as you watched all of the scenery pass by in the window. You didn’t want to leave your old life behind, but you felt like you had no choice since you just wanted to please your parents. That was your biggest problem; wanting to please everyone around you so badly that you’d sacrifice your own happiness.
You were set to be debuted the night you had arrived and were a nervous wreck. You had no interest in being married off to a perfect stranger, but you felt like you didn’t have any other choice. Maybe if you played your cards right, though, you’d be Queen’s Charlotte’s diamond of the season.
But that wasn’t what you wanted. You didn’t want everyone’s eyes on you and honestly couldn’t bear to be the talk of the town or worse, a victim of Lady Whistledown’s latest gossip. You wanted absolutely no part in that.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” your mother told you, almost in a mocking tone. She never cared for how reserved you were and was always trying her best to push you into friendships with people you wouldn’t have touched with a ten foot pole.
“Oh, leave her alone, Vivian,” your father nudged her. “She’s allowed to be nervous, this is her debut.”
“Well, I’m not nervous,” your sister, Lilith piped up. Of course she wasn’t. Because Lilith was perfect. The perfect eldest child that your parents seemed to favor over you no matter how close you were to your father.
You didn’t like the feeling, but you envied your sister. She was very outgoing and not to mention beautiful, two things you didn’t think you were even close to being. At least, the outgoing part. You were more reserved and had been laughed at for it your whole life.
I’m sorry, could you speak up? No one can hear you.
You’re not very talkative, are you?
Why don’t you say something?
Those words always lived in your head, and no matter how hard you tried, you always found yourself either speaking too loudly about things you were passionate about or not speaking loud enough. That would have meant that you had to take authority and you knew absolutely nothing about that.
The carriage rolled to a stop and you turned away from the window, rubbing your hands together to remove the sweat from them. You then reached up and subconsciously fiddled with the diamond necklace that your father gave you before you left America. You always wore it and it was something you messed with when you were particular nervous or needed something to stimulate your mind.
The carriage door opened and you were the first to step out, your eyes widening as they took in your new home. It was far bigger than the one you lived in back home and you wondered why that much space was needed for your family of four. The place could have easily fit many families of your size and still have room for more.
You headed inside and briefly took in the main level before making a beeline for the upstairs, desperate to see your new room since that was definitely going to be where you spent most of your time. You had a lot of new books to read and were just looking forward to it having to share with Lilith anymore.
You claimed the first room you walked into which had to be about three times the size of your old one. It was already set up with your new furniture that looked much better than your old stuff. Maybe living there wouldn’t have been so bad.
You collapsed onto your bed and felt your eyes get heavy from the very long journey you had just taken, finding yourself quickly falling asleep right there and not even fighting it. It was what you had deserved for sitting through all of your mother and sister’s comments without a single complaint.
A knock on your door woke you from your nap and you opened your eyes to see your mother standing in the doorway. She had a stern look on her face and you wondered what you had done to upset her now. It seemed like you were always doing that despite your need to please her. She never agreed with the way you spoke or the words you liked to use. She just didn’t like that you were smarter than her.
“Y/n, what are you doing in bed, you’re supposed to be getting ready.” Her voice was more angry than it should have been and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her dramatics. You had plenty of time to get ready since the ball didn’t start for a few hours.
Just then your apparently new lady’s maid hurried into the room with your dress for the evening which you hadn’t even seen yet since your mother had picked it out, but you knew that you were going to hate it since you never saw eye to eye on anything, especially clothing. Your mother stepped into the room and closed to door with every intention of making sure that you actually wore the dress since you always seemed to want to change last minute.
The dress was a shade of green that wasn’t flattering on you in the slightest. Your mother fluffed up the sleeves as she looked at you in the mirror. If you were honest, you hadn’t even wanted to go to the ball, but you felt like you had to. You just wanted to make her happy even if you had to sacrifice your own happiness to do it. She had been so excited for you, but you knew that was just because she was interested in finally getting rid of you for good.
“Well, don’t you look absolutely beautiful,” your father complimented as you descended the stairs. He looked at your mother and gave her a slight glare when she hadn’t said anything to you. Your mother honestly didn’t like the way you looked at all and didn’t feel like she should have lied to you, so she just directed her attention to Lilith like always.
“Y/n, doesn’t your sister look beautiful?” You felt your heart break at hearing those words. How could she say that? Your sister did look beautiful but didn’t you as well? Why were you always second to her? Why did it always feel like it wouldn’t have mattered if you were there or not? Sure, your father cared for you like a parent should have, but it almost felt like he was only behaving that way because he felt bad for you. At least, that was what you were telling yourself.
“You do look beautiful, Lilith,” you practically whispered, staring down at the floor. You found it hard to maintain eye contact so you always settled for something else, whether it was the floor or the wall. Just as long as it wasn’t other people’s eyes, it was safe.
“Thank you, y/n,” she nodded. “I suppose you look beautiful too.” Her tone sounded annoyed, almost as if she was forcing herself to say the words. You almost wished she had said nothing, but Lilith always found an excuse to speak, no matter what came out of her mouth. You were convinced that she just loved hearing her own voice.
You said nothing and turned on your heel, keeping your eyes on your feet at you did so. You wiped a tear that had fallen down your cheek and headed towards the carriage that had been waiting for you and your family. You got inside and moved closer to the window, covering your face with your hand so no one could see you crying. Your mother and Lilith would have just told you that you were being dramatic and your father would baby you and you weren’t in the mood for either of those things. You just wanted to get the night over with so you could go to your room and paint. That was the only way you were able to deal with your feelings. You surely couldn’t take them out on your family, so you had to deal with them in healthy way and painting was the only thing that seemed to relax you.
The carriage door opened once again and your father slipped inside, taking the seat next to you. He silently wrapped his arm around you and you rested your head on his shoulder, suddenly having a flashback to crying into that very spot when your mother had said something you hadn’t particularly liked. He was always there when you needed him, the only person in that damn family that even bothered to understand you. He rubbed up and down your arm and you sniffled, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill.
“I’m sorry,” was all he said. That was all he always said when the cycle would repeat itself and even though it was nice that he was making an effort to make you feel better, you didn’t appreciate that he never stood up to your mother or your sister even. He didn’t defend them, but he definitely didn’t put a stop to their behavior either. Because to his core, your father was nothing but a coward. He’d rather just comfort you in secret instead of actually doing something useful. His words were becoming pointless and you were beginning to not believe them anymore. After all, they were only said to stop your tears, not because they had any actual meaning.
“It’s okay,” you nodded, leaning up to look up at him. The look on his face seemed apologetic at first glance, but you knew it was nothing but fake. Just a way to stop the waterworks so you could all be a “happy” family again.
Your mother and Lilith sat on the other side of the carriage and it rolled onto the path to take you all to the ball. The silence between the four of you was deafening and despite you looking out the window, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you. You could tell she was glaring at you, but you honestly couldn’t have cared less. She could be mad at you all she wanted, it was always going to be because you were just being yourself and not an exact replica of her like your sister was. You had tried so hard to be like her, but eventually you got tired of it and your mother couldn’t stand having a daughter that liked things that she didn’t. God forbid you had your own interests.
You swore that she was going to make a snide comment, but she kept quiet. You kind of preferred her speaking over the quiet, because at least then, you’d have something to focus on so all of your thoughts in your brain would mute a little bit. Anytime there was any silence or when you were alone, all of your anxieties would amplify to the point where you could barely think. You always needed some sort of distraction to keep you sane.
The four of you planted your fakest smiles onto your faces and entered the ball that Lady Bridgerton happened to be hosting, trying your best to look like you hadn’t just had the most tense carriage ride in history. That was all going to be left behind and you all had to act like you actually loved each other. Easier said than done.
You slowly distanced yourself from your family before placing yourself by the nearest wall. You definitely weren’t going to speak to any suitors and most definitely weren’t going to dance with any of them either. That was all Lilith. You were sure she was going to end up engaged by the end of the night and you’d be alone just like always, but that was how you liked it.
“That is a lovely dress.” You turned to your left to see the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. She had lovely brown skin and her pink dress complimented it beautifully. Her hair was put up in an elegant updo and you hoped that someday, you’d look half as pretty as she did. You looked around to see who she was speaking to and realized that you were the only one around.
“My apologies,” she smiled. “Viscountess Bridgerton, but you can call me Kate. And who might you be?” Bridgerton? So that must have been Anthony’s wife that Francesca had told you about in her letters when the two had tied the knot a few years ago. She was even more beautiful than she was described. You turned back to the woman in front of you and remembered that she had asked you a question. What was it? Oh right, your name. What was that again?
“I’m y/n,” you told her as your eyes moved to decorations that were on the wall a few feet behind her. Kate nodded, a smile on her face, thinking that you were nothing but adorable and found that you reminded her of her little sister, Edwina. And because of that, she felt the need to help you out. To protect you. She didn’t know you, but she wanted to help you find the perfect match.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss y/n,” she smiled wide and for whatever reason, it made you feel better. For once, talking to someone didn’t feel like a chore and it seemed like Kate was genuinely interested in having a conversation with you and not doing it just because she had to. She could see the anxiety and nervousness in your eyes and just wanted to help you out, to let you know that you had a friend. Someone who would make you feel less alone.
“You too,” you nodded and she gestured to the refreshment table with her hand.
“Would you like to get a drink?” All you could do was nod and she led you in that direction, greeting people on her way as she did so. Kate carried herself with such confidence that you were mesmerized by. You had confidence, but not in that way. You could have never just walked up to a stranger like she did and introduced yourself. That was a terrifying thought to you and the way she did it without a second thought was fascinating.
Kate grabbed a cup filled with lemonade and handed it to you before taking one for herself. You took a sip then looked around the room, your eyes catching on a familiar face. The gentleman made his way over to you, a wide smile on his face as he engulfed you in a hug.
“I see you’ve met the troublemaker,” Anthony winked at you and you felt yourself blush. It was a nickname the boys had created for you since you had been anything but a troublemaker. They just always liked to tease you as if they were your own brothers.
“Oh, have I?” Kate let out a laugh as Anthony draped an arm over her shoulder. They seemed to be just as in love as Francesca had said.
“It’s what we used to call her when she was little because she’s the exact opposite of trouble.” He was laughing a little too hard and your cheeks were flushing in embarrassment. Kate nudged Anthony once she caught sight of the embarrassed look in your face.
Looking at Anthony, all of the memories you had of him came flooding back. He was always there for you when you got hurt, acting as an honorary big brother when something went wrong. You honestly missed him and hated that you had been from him and his family for so long.
Benedict stood by the entrance of the building with his mother, Violet. He honestly had no interest in being there, but he couldn’t say no to his mother. Other than Gregory, he was the only Bridgerton son who hadn’t been married and even though he had expressed no interest in it, he still wanted to keep his mother happy by attending the balls.
If he had it his way, he’d be at the studio with one of the women he had been sleeping with or working on his piece for the gallery that was supposed to happen in a few weeks. He had barely even started it and probably would have been at least halfway through it if he hadn’t agreed to come to the ball that night That was his priority at the moment, not finding a wife like his mother had so desperately wanted him to do.
He locked eyes on you talking with Kate and Anthony and figured that you must have been one of the new debutants since he hadn’t seen you before. At least, he didn’t think he had. He would have remembered a beautiful woman like you. His brother seemed to be talking you like you were old friends so he wondered just who you were.
“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” Violet leaned over to him as she noticed Benedict watching you. Had he been staring? He swore he had only just glanced.
“Mother-“ He agreed to showing up, but he never said anything about dancing. He just liked to observe. And he wanted to observe you.
“Benedict.” Her voice was filled with warning and even at his age, he was still kind of afraid to disappoint her, even though he had done that enough already. He couldn’t do it again.
“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll dance with her.” He turned to his smiling mother then made his way towards you, putting on his signature smile that always made women fall to his feet. He absolutely loved seeing the way they would do whatever he asked as soon as he gave them a flash of his teeth. He wondered if you would do the same.
The conversation halted as Benedict stood behind you. You turned around and your eyes widened as you caught sight of the man. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. You wondered what he wanted from you and began to fiddle with your necklace again, assuming that he was possibly going to ask you to dance. You were going to say no, of course. You couldn’t dance with anyone. You would just look weird and awkward and be too aware of your movements. You honestly weren’t even sure if you knew the correct steps.
“Benedict,” Anthony greeted his brother. That was Benedict? You supposed it made sense since you hadn’t seen him in eight years. He had gotten so much taller than you now, the top of your head coming to his chin. And he was attractive. Much more so than you remembered.
“Anthony, Kate,” he nodded in their direction then averted his gaze to you, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips. Anthony knew exactly what his brother was doing. He could see the flirty look in his eyes and was going to shut whatever was going on down as soon as possible.
He had seen to many women hurt by Benedict and he wasn’t going to let you be one of them. Anthony didn’t know you, but what he did know was that you were definitely out of his league. You were sweet and kind and Benedict was nothing but a jackass. Anthony wasn’t going to let your heart get broken by his stupid brother who never seemed to be able to keep his dick in his pants.
“And you are?” He didn’t remember you? You supposed that eight years was enough time to forget about someone, but you honestly thought he would have remembered you just like Anthony had. And you had spent much more time with Benedict when you were children so you didn’t know why the memories of your weren’t clicking in his brain.
“Benedict, this is y/n,” Anthony reminded him as if it was something that Benedict should have known, but that name was not ringing any bells whatsoever.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss y/n,” he greeted, his tone more professional but still a little flirty. “Would you like to dance?” He held his hand out to you and you stared at it, knowing that if you didn’t, your mother would find out and give you a lecture, but if you did, all of three steps would mix together in your head and you’d fall flat on the floor and everyone would laugh at you.
You nodded and hesitantly put your hand in his, letting him lead you out onto the floor, looking back to Kate and Anthony, hoping that they would save you, but they just gave you warm smiles as you got further and further away from him.
Benedict stopped to the far left of the floor and rested a hand on your shoulder blade while the other took your hand. You turned your head to the side, looking around the room and he looked down at you, realizing that you had no idea what you were doing and decided that he was going to have to teach you how to do the dance.
He took your other hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile even though you weren’t paying attention. You were still looking around the room, nervousness obvious in your eyes. Weren’t you just a shy, little thing. He could have taught you so many things, but tonight, he’d stick with the waltz.
He leaned down so his lips were right by your ear and your breath hitched at his closeness. His hot breath on your skin as he whispered to you. No man had ever been that close to you and it was making you nervous.
“Just follow my lead, I’ve got you.” He leaned back up and watched you turn your face back to him, giving him a small nod. He smiled down at you as the dance began. You moved around the floor, Benedict taking the lead, looking down at you to make sure that you were okay as he did so. All he was focused on was you. It was as if nothing else in the room mattered and he had no idea why he was so captivated by you.
He didn’t know why you were so nervous. You were a natural when it came to the waltz. And he liked watching you move along with him, seeing your dress move back and forth, wanting to run his hands up your thighs as he spread them apart, watching you come undone as he buried his head between them, licking and sucking as you grabbed onto his hair. And he’d make sure he could see your head being thrown back, hearing the delicious moans fall from your lips.
He wanted so badly to remove your dress so slowly, hearing you beg for him because he wasn’t moving fast enough. Whining his name as he took off your under garments as slowly as possible, kissing every single inch of your body as he bent you over the nearest surface he could find, pounding into you as he told you what a good little slut you were.
You both continued to move around the room gracefully and you were avoiding his eye contact still, his hazel ones boring into you, a smirk kicking up at the corner of his lips as he watched you. Benedict knew he’d have to dance with you more than once to hopefully bring you out of his shell. You’d definitely be a different person by the time he was done with you.
The dance finished and Benedict brought you back over to Anthony and Kate, not wanting your time together to end, but knowing that he had to dance with the other debutants to please Violet. He bowed before you and you gave him a curtesy as he bid you a goodbye.
“It was a pleasure, Miss l/n,” he said once he stood back up.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr, Bridgerton,” you smiled shyly and the man swore he was going to melt. Benedict knew that you had meant the words in the most innocent sense, but his cock, definitely didn’t. There was no hint of flirting in your tone, but he was going to pretend that there was. That the attraction wasn’t one sided.
And you had to be attracted to him, right? He knew when a woman had fancied him, but for some reason, he couldn’t get a read on you. You were going to be a tough one to crack. He’d have to spend more time with you to figure you out.
Even after he had moved on to other debutants, his mind wouldn’t leave you. He wanted to do the most filthiest things to you and knowing that you were most likely a virgin made it even more exciting. Knowing that you could have been his first sent a rush up his spine.
But he couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. Considering how protective Anthony had been of you, Benedict wasn’t looking to get killed, especially not over a woman. So, after he finished the dance, he left the ball, on the hunt for someone to hook up with since anything with you was definitely off the table.
You spent practically the entire night with Anthony and Kate and for the first time, you felt like you had real friends. They both seemed interested in what you had to say and didn’t treat you like a child just because you were young. And they were respectful of your soft spoken voice, neither of them asking you to speak up or telling you that they couldn’t hear you.
You entered your bedroom with a smile on your face and got ready for bed, thinking about the new friends you had made and that you actually had a good time at the ball despite not thinking that you would. You laid down thinking that maybe, just maybe you’d actually like it there.
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