#(i was looking at photos from when we were young is a fic by me it's platonic hurt/comfort charmac)

[pucksandpower]

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.”

[lqveharrington]

Behind the Scenes | V.

summary: Being Vox’s girlfriend requires some patience after twelve hour work days.

pairing: Vox x fem!reader

includes: Vox and Velvette bullying one another, VALENTINO BEING A MENACE, mentions of Angel’s job, drinking, fluff, yelling, Vox being a baby, cursing, implications of being a prostitute, suggestiveness, both of them being teases (that’s it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i think writing hazbin fics is my stress outlet 😭

You were Vox’s. And Vox was yours. Every demon and sinner in Pride Ring knew due to Vox taking time out of his busy work day to shower you with compliments in every press interview or host show when you were brought up. Especially when Vox would be the first one to find you after you finished modeling for Velvette’s show, making sure the paparazzi had photos of him praising you with kisses and soft touches.

Of course, you reciprocated every moment… In the public eye. Behind the cameras and screens, Vox was very much loving. But he did work for almost twelve hours each day, which required patience from you whenever he came home to you in a sour mood.

“Do you need me for anything else, Vel?” You glance back at your phone as you pour red wine into your glass.

“No,” She scribbled down measurement adjustments for another model’s design, looking back up at her screen after hearing an electrical shock from your side of the phone. “But do tell your boy toy that you have a dress rehearsal early tomorrow morning, and that you have to be there on time.”

Vox wrapped his arm around your waist, glaring at the young overlord through your phone. “Fuck off, Velvette.”

You feel him resting his head against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses on your neck, your dead heart fluttering. “I’ll be there on time.”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes at your boyfriend’s actions before ending the call.

“What’s your damage today, handsome?” You ask before sipping on your drink, red lipstick staining the clear glass. You watch as he mutters something incoherent, static emitting from his hat. “Vox, talk to me.”

“That bitch Carmilla won’t meet up, and it’s been several days since our last update on Vox technology.” He sighs as he moves around you, his voice crackling with electricity. “Shareholders have been up my fucking ass all morning about it— Valentino keeps trying to get me to watch his stupid porn feels featuring Angel.”

He removes his suit jacket as he complains, walking toward the large living space including a minibar. Vox pulls at his tie and reaches for the whiskey underneath, “Now Velvette wants to be an ass and complain about me wanting to spend time with you—“

“My love,” You hand him a glass from the cabinets, letting your hand linger on his for a bit. “Vel’s my boss, and I’m her best model. She needs me for these rehearsals.”

“You’re really taking her side?” He tilts back his head and downs the drink in one go, pouring another.

You roll your eyes at his childish behavior, “I’m not taking sides, I’m pointing out a fact.” You sit on the stool by the bar, letting him slot himself between your legs. “If anything, I’m listening to you describing your day.”

“Mm.” He let one hand come down and rest on your hip, rubbing soft circles. “Tell me about your day.”

“Boring, tiring. Pretty much the same every day.” You grab his wrist to ensure he doesn’t go any lower or any higher. “According to your assistant, I do have a lot of things planned tomorrow. So that should be exhausting.”

Vox linked your hands together, “Sounds stressful.”

“Not as bad as yours every day.” You press a kiss on his palm. “I was gonna watch a movie while waiting for you, but now that you’re here—“ You shift your wine glass in your hand as he puts his own glass down, letting him trail his hands to your waist. “Want to join me?”

“Of course.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before trailing after you. “What movie are we watching?”

“Whatever the first thing I find.” You let Vox sit on the couch before doing the same, swinging your legs over his lap. “You need a new rotation on Voxflix, I’ve watched almost everything.”

“I’ll get on that.” He mumbled as he ran his hand up and down your leg, occasionally squeezing.

You hum and shift your gaze to the television, scrolling through the different movies. “How do we feel about—“

A ringtone filled the air, both of you freezing at the noise.

“Vox—“

“Give me a second.” He let you pull your legs away and pulled the ringing from his screen to his phone, camera-ready voice leaving his mouth.

You sigh but find a movie worth watching, pulling your knees up. Around halfway through, you decided that the movie was meretricious, heavily judging the poorly made movie more than the other ones you’ve watched. You typed your review on your phone, giving the movie two stars before—

“—THEN GET SOME LOW LIFE SINNER TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB FOR YOU!” You heard Vox scream from the kitchen, making you wince for the poor soul on the other end. “AND IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SHIT I GIVE YOU, JUST KNOW I HAVE YOUR FUCKING SOUL IN CONTRACT!”

You pause the movie and get up, taking slow steps to your hotheaded boyfriend. He shuffled across the kitchen, walking back and forth as his fans kicked on. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up like he was going to commit a crime.

“YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—“

“Vox,” You come up from behind and wrap your arms around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s outside of your work hours.”

“Fucking—“ He rubbed his temple as he heard the sinner go silent on the other line. Vox took one hand and laced it with yours, “You’re lucky my wife is generous you ungrateful fuck.” He ended the call before muttering more curses, turning you in his arms so you were facing his front.

You let your hands move up to his shoulders, massaging the heavy tension in them. “Am I your wife now? Is that what you’ve been telling those sinners?”

“Maybe.” He let out a loud groan from the sensation, fans still running. “The fucking bitch in accounting is—“

“You’re not working right now, stop.” You give him a pointed look. “I need you to relax.”

Vox wrapped his arms around your waist, walking you backward toward the living area once more. “God, I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too.” You chuckle as he peppers kisses on your face. You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you into his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Vox!”

“Yes?” He pressed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

You sigh in content but grab the corners of his screen, giving him a cheeky grin. “Tomorrow, my love. Velvette will murder the both of us if I show up late with bruises.”

“I’ll pay her to let you have a day off tomorrow.” He slipped his hand up your shirt, sharp claws bringing chills to your skin.

“So now you’re paying to be with me?” You raise a brow, stifling a laugh when he stops all movements. “Am I some kind of—“

“Of course not! Do not finish that sentence.” He pushed you down on the couch, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh at how protective he is over you from himself. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, I was kidding.”

Vox dropped his head down to your shoulder, “You’re such a tease.”

“I’m the best.” You squeeze his bicep. “But seriously, Vel will have our heads strung outside the tower.”

“Whatever.” He flipped you both over, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I’ll have you all to myself this weekend.”

You hum, pressing a kiss on the corner of his screen. “I’m sure you do, handsome.”

“My love, I will cancel all your plans this weekend if you tell me I can’t have you.” Vox traces his finger down your spine. “Don’t tell me you have any.”

“I don’t…” You turn your head as he runs his claws through your hair. You feel yourself warm as he wraps a blanket over the both of you, flicking the television to play with a snap of his fingers.

“What do we rate the movie today?” He played with the ends of your hair, face pulling a grimace at the movie’s corny script.

“Two stars.” You mumble as your gaze shifts to the television. As the television fades to black in an awkward transition, you see Vox staring at you rather than the screen. “What are you looking at, weirdo?”

“My beautiful girlfriend.” He squeezed your hip. “Who I love very much.”

You let a small laugh slip through your lips, grinning brightly at his words. “I love you very much too, weirdo.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[s-4pphics]

click!: in frame. 3 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 17.2k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, FLUFF????, angst, mentions of deceased family members, weed, sexual tension, SMUT AGELESS BLOGS/MDNI, they fuck a lot, fingering, pussy eating/face sitting, tribbing YAAY, slut shaming but consensual, fucking on camera, dirty talk mmm, STRAP SUCKING!!! SUCK MORE STRAPS!!, squirting, i think that’s it but i don’t remember tbh

A/N: omg finally….. heyyy idk when i’ll return to this fic tbh …. 😞😞 but i love them so much and i always will. fav couple imo… HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE LONG WAIT BYEEEEE LOL

Ellie’s trying her hardest not to panic. 

Her car is quiet, not a sound coming from either of you, ears comforted by the whistling winds and rustling trees… And Pickle’s quiet coos. She sits in your lap as your thumb caresses her head; Ellie’s can see how she looks up at you, eyes full of love. She's never going to stop reminding you of how much your kitty missed your presence.

Her mind races with unanswered questions, one of the main being why you haven’t said anything to her since the two of you left her father’s home. She yearns to hear your voice. 

She yearns for you… but you’re not yourself, at least from what she can remember. She can’t shake the curiosity that’s been pestering her since you’ve reconnected; What the hell happened to you while you were apart? The energy you brought to your formerly shared home was irreplaceable: your midnight rambles, your nerve-wracked pacing, your cheery laughter… Your laugh. She misses it terribly. It’s not the same. Nothing about you is. 

Ellie’s itching to ask, but her father’s statement blares red like a sonic in her mind. 

Did she tell you she’s in therapy?

You want to talk… You suggested it! Ellie’s tummy twists in anxious knots, hands tightly gripping the leather of the steering wheel. 

… What the hell happened to you? 

“We… we can sit anywhere.” Ellie whispers to you. 

She stands next to you by the front door while Pickle wanders around with her toy mouse between her teeth. You nod in acknowledgment but your gaze stays forward. Ellie peers downward when she hears subtle brushing of skin, catching glimpses of your thumbnail digging into your index finger. She grabs your hand to get you to stop. “Sit with me?” She asks gently, and you allow her to pull you towards the black cushions. You finally sit and she follows, keeping some space between you. Every bit of her attention is on you; She hopes it isn’t suffocating. 

“Your…” 

Ellie follows your gaze at your croak, inspecting the framed photo of young her and her parents at her high school graduation sitting proudly on the bookshelf. Your pupils are overcast in sorrow, and Ellie’s heart jerks painfully. 

“Your dad’s really nice.” You whisper. 

Ellie wasn’t expecting that, but she nods, “He… he really likes you. I know he was a little… standoffish, but he likes y—“

Her words are cut when two large tears dribble down your face like rain on glass. She scoots closer, brows furrowed in concern, one hand intertwining with yours while the other cups your wet cheek. “Talk to me, babe. What… what’s going on?” Ellie pushes as softly as she can. She doesn’t know how to help if you don’t say anything. 

“… Is it me? D-Did I do something?” She asks with a heavy heart, and you instantly shake your head. Your free hand comes up to land on top of hers, warmth radiating off your fingertips. 

“Y… Your dad’s r-really nice.” You exhale before releasing a choked sob. Ellie’s up in an instant, squatting in front of you as she tries to get you to calm down, telling you to breathe, to count, but you don’t. Ellie catches your weight as you fall against her, arms wrapping around you as she whispers comforts in your ears, blinking away her own tears. You’re holding her like she’s slipping from your fingers, each guttural sob synched with the squeezes on her shoulder. 

“Shhh, s’okay… S’gonna be okay.” 

Her whispers aren’t only for you. They’re for her, too. 

“Ellie…” 

“Yeah, babe?” Ellie’s lips brush against your forehead, and you sniffle. 

“… Ever been to therapy?” 

“Um… no?” She ponders with a huff at the ceiling, “I thought about it, but…” 

“It’s really hard,” Ellie’s heartbeat sounds like the beating rain outside, flowing into your ears like water on rocks, “Never do it. This shit sucks,” You snicker wetly. 

“… Noted,” She laughs softly and plants a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes shut when she whispers, “Wanna talk about it?” 

You nod into her neck as she rubs your back, “I just… I dunno where to start…” Your mind races, brain filled to capacity with every mistake you’ve made in the past year. 

“Just… say how you’ve been feeling,” She suggests. Her heartbeat seems louder… or is that yours? Your tears fall from your cheek and into her shirt. 

“I just… really miss my mom.” You say shakily. Ellie sighs from above and holds you tighter. 

“Me, too… it hits me out of nowhere sometimes,” She mutters, “We weren’t even… close like that, but it hurts…” 

“What happened?” 

“She died.” She says plainly. 

You snort, “N — not that! I mean why weren’t you guys close?” Ellie mumbles oh, fuck, sorry between hearty laughs and you smile. 

“I dunno… like, whenever I think back on good times, my dad’s always there. I never…” She pauses and your head rises to look at her face. She’s deep in thought, and you patiently wait for her to resurface. You brush the flyaways back from her face. 

“She just… wasn’t there…” She mumbles, “And when she was, we fought. All the time…” 

There’s so much more that she wants to say — you can see it in her eyes, how the trees in them brush with memory — but she chooses not to elaborate. She nervously fiddles with the charm of the necklace around your throat.

“My dad was like that.” You whisper back. 

“What happened?” 

You grin, “He died.” Ellie’s brows droop in confusion. 

“… I’m sorry?… ” 

“Don’t be. He ruined my life… Your dad’s really nice, by the way.” 

A small smile stretches across her face, “So I’ve been told.” Her fingers travel over your face, over your nose, “Wanna talk about him?” 

“… I think I should…” 

“Up to you,” She whispers and your chest nearly bursts, “I’m listening—“

Meow!

Ellie cranes her neck to look up at Pickle sitting on the arm of the couch, right above her head. “Sorry… we’re listening.” You giggle and pat Pick-Pick’s head before laying your head onto Ellie’s shoulder. Words escape before you can stop them. 

“I hit rock bottom when he died.” You breath wobbles, “Like, I thought I was there already when I dropped out but—“

“You dropped out?” 

Oh… You never told her. Fuck. You’re pitiful, “… Yeah…” 

“Why?” She asks, concerned. You cringe in embarrassment. 

“Just… I was sad. I couldn’t focus on anything. My grades were fucked, regardless, so.” You can practically hear the whirs in Ellie’s brain turning with a billion questions. You answer the most recurring. 

“No, it wasn’t because you moved out.” 

“… I’m sor—“

You sit up, “Don’t you dare. Stop.” 

The sadness in her eyes is evident, but she quiets. And then stands and bolts to her room like a fucking track star. 

“E — what the fuck! Ellie!”

You rush after her but she’s miles ahead, already chest to chest with you in her bedroom entryway…

Or chest to folder. 

No fucking way. 

“I — I owe you this.”

“Ellie—“

“Please.” She whispers, “I want you to see it.” 

After all this time. Her fucking portfolio. 

“It’s the most… important thing to me. I want you to see.” 

Her hand is gentle when it closes around yours and guides you to the couch. She simply sets the leather binder on your lap and kisses your cheek. 

“Consider it my therapy… or whatever.” She huffs. 

You laugh wetly. Why the fuck are you crying? 

Listening to her explain her passions to you was… an enlightening roller-coaster. She’s captured imagery that reflects her emotions in the most subtle, but brilliant of ways; there’s joy, there’s anger, there’s sadness, there’s loss. You two were a wailing mess when she dedicated an entire section honoring her mother. Her father. They have the most beautiful relationship. 

Romance was last. And it’s filled with you in red, right in front of that makeshift backdrop from your old apartment. You’re never gonna stop crying. 

There was a time where you couldn’t look at yourself no matter what you did, completely shrouded in self-hatred and neglect, but seeing these photos of you from another perspective, from Ellie’s perspective… 

You’re a wreck, but she holds you. Tells her how pretty you are. How happy she is to have you back. 

Your sobs are eventually tamed by her rubs on your back, the kisses on your forehead. She hasn’t said it, and neither have you, but you feel it. That electrifying pull that takes over whenever you are separated from each other. 

You wake up with a dead arm on Ellie’s couch… with Ellie’s arms around you. Your heart’s rhetorical legs are kicking its feet in the air with sparkles in its eyes. You attempt to adjust your position to alleviate the static in your hand, but Ellie’s arms squeeze around you with a grumbled whine. You hold back a snicker. 

“Ellie.” You whisper. “C’mon, babe, my arm’s asleep.” 

Another irritated whine. You laugh quietly and push your hips back to put some space between you. A bolt of electricity flies down your spine when a cold, stern hand latches onto your hip. 

“You know better. Stop.” 

Your brow arches curiously, “Whatchu gon’ do, Ms. Bott —“ You gasp, “Ellie, holy shit, are you a bottom?” 

“… We’re talking about this now?” She croaks, sleep cracking in her throat. 

“I’m curious! You’re great at it so I had to ask.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” 

You scoff, “Um, it’s a compliment. You take it like a G. Say thank you.” You push back again for emphasis. Another threatening squeeze on your hip. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hide a smile. She's so cute.

“I said stop. And I’m not a bottom.” 

“Okay, lemme paint the picture. Fuckin’ milf from the club asks you to slide some silicone in her ass for shits and gigs. You doin’ it or nah,” You snark and push back harder on her, “You squirted in my mouth six tim—“

A thundering smack rings through Ellie’s silent living room as pain ripples through your asscheek. “I’m not a bottom.” She says in your ear and you attempt to hide a shudder. 

“Light work, no reaction,” You groan and Ellie snickers, rubbing over the sizzling skin to soothe the ache. “You gotta strap?” 

“Do you ever stop talking.” She snaps in annoyance and lets you go. You take the opportunity to jump in her lap, suddenly full of energy. Her hands land on your hips to steady you. “I don’t have a fucking strap.” She mumbles, eyes full of your tits.

“I know that’s right, baby! Hashtag BringBackTribbing,” You laugh giddily. This is the most alive you’ve felt in a year, “I look good on top? Huh?” You ask, goofily squeezing your breasts over your shirt. You jiggle them for emphasis, and Ellie flushes. 

Ellie tries to hide a smile, “You’re—“

“Hot? Sexy? The best you’ve ever had?” You suggest playfully. 

“— Incredibly annoying.” 

“Annoyinglyyy sexy?” You hum, and Ellie’s eyes twinkle with adoration. You smile and grab her hands, lacing her fingers with yours. She squeezes gently before inspecting your fit. Her dad’s fit, moreso. You hope Mr. Miller doesn’t hate you for snagging his drip… again.

“Did you pack a bag?” She asks quietly. You shake your head, kissing her knuckles. She flushes. 

“We gotta get you some stuff… if you wanna stay a little longer?” 

Your jaw drops in excitement, “Are we… officially U-Haul lesbians?” 

“I didn’t say that—“

“Don’t have to,” Your voice lowers as you unravel your hands, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Wanna get me some trinkets to remember me by? Fucking…” You ponder, “Forget Me Nots or whatever?” You peck her ear, and her hands grab your ass. 

“T-That’s not what that means, you idiot.” Her back arches when your lips travel down her neck, “Are you in heat or something, what the fuck—“

“Mhm,” You grind down on her and she sighs, “been outta commission for a very… very long time.” You gasp like you’re dying, “Must… drink… life-blood—“

“Does tribbing —“ You move your hips faster, and whines escape you and Ellie, “aw, shit — fuck, cause chaffing?”

“Tryna find out?” You gasp when your clit catches on fabric. 

“Might fuckin’ be — fuck, like that —“ Ellie’s nails dig into your hips to help guide you on top of her, right where she needs you. The friction on your clit makes your thighs quiver. Ellie cranes her neck to connect your lips in a simmering kiss; your hands plant above her on the arm of the couch for leverage, pushing your hips down hard; She gets lost in it, no longer being able to keep up with your thirsty kisses as she whines for more. 

“Can’t fuckin’ — fuck — wait —“

You try to fight against her tight grip on your hips, but she’s forbidding, stern with her clutches. She pushes you up until there’s room to pull and kick her pants off, and you follow, tugging your shirt up and over your head before clumsily yanking your pants off, tossing the discarded fabric across the back of the couch. She’s upright when your lips reattach in a fiery kiss, tongues swirling messily against one another, releasing sighs into each other's mouths. 

Ellie’s hands are suddenly shy where they sit on your waist, unsure, silently pleading for guidance. You sightlessly grab her wrists and tug them up until they rest over your sports bra. She gasps in your mouth when your hands press down on top of hers so she can cup you, feeling your nipples rise underneath the fabric. You allow her hands to wander, squeezing at your chest and tweaking your nipples, body shuddering with every brush of cold fingertips against your skin. 

Heat pools in your underwear as she massages all over your skin; your chest, your thighs, the plush around your hips, anywhere she can reach, she’s on, icing your skin like snow. You’re shocked at how delicate her touch is despite the coarseness of her skin, the complete opposite of yours. You tore her apart the night prior, sunk as deeply as you could into her brain, her core, the concave of her spine; touched her from muscle memory. Almost instinctive, but she’s curious. Not controlling or domineering. She’s explorative and unfamiliarly soft, and you’re stunted, but the wettest you’ve ever been and she’s barely touched you. 

Her hands travel rise to pull your bra up, plush lips smacking against your collarbones as it's tossed to the floor. 

You’ve never not rushed to have sex; it’s always desperate and fast, but satiating for the time being. It does the job, gives you a boost of energy, gets you through the day until you’re craving it again. The dirtiness of it all… Ellie doesn’t feel like that. Dirty. 

Her hands feel like flowers against you, littering your formerly bruised skin with petals, orchids replacing the stood hairs on your neck and arms. The array of florals and green in her gaze are being passed onto you, and it’s making you lightheaded; it’s almost overwhelming. You’re torn between hiding from and searching for her. 

“Ellie…” 

She doesn’t answer, just traces your spine with her mouth on your neck. 

“E-Ellie…?” You’re unsure of what to say, but you need to know that she’s here with you. 

“Am I doing it right?” She hums against you, and your clit jumps in confirmation. She’s doing it too right and you need her closer. You nod and tug her bun out of her hair, fingers entangling with soft pili, strands softer than wool. 

“Lay down?” She’s not demanding… Your heart pulls at her tone. You pull away and keep your gaze down, at the wall, anywhere but hers until you're laying back on the couch, the cushions melding with your spine. Ellie’s mouth returns, dousing you in affections. She’s careful, each breath on your hips making you jerk. For the first time, your hands are stiff, frozen. You don’t know where to touch, so you keep them clenched by your face. 

“Good, baby?” She lures and you hum in approval. You’re not good. You’re about to start crying and your heart is fit to burst, to splatter and bleed tears all over her eggshell walls. You don’t know what to do. 

You feel wanted with every grab at your tits, how she inches your underwear down to litter kisses along the sensitive, each trail of her tongue littered with desire. Each breath you take tremors. 

I missed you so much, she keeps whispering against your skin, I missed you, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about you when I left. You say it back, how sorrowful you were whenever she crossed your mind, how you craved her in the wee hours of the night for years, fiending to breathe her scent. Her smell is wafts of blooming roses, fresh rainfall, the sun rays peeking out from behind the clouds and dousing the streets in light. 

Your underwear is down in seconds, but she doesn’t rush; makes you wait for her touch. You beg her shamelessly, hips twitching with every peck on your thighs, leaving maroon and purple blemishes on your legs before inching up, up, up, until her breath hits your dew. Your thighs quake when she licks experimentally; one quick swipe between your folds has you gasping, nails piercing the skin of your palm. Another swift flick over your pulsing bud, and you’re whimpering, hips bucking. 

Look at me… Look at me, look at me, look at me, please… 

The desperation in her voice lifts you onto your elbows, neck arched downward until you’re met with her clammy forehead and soft eyes, patiently waiting for your instruction. You smirk down at her with a scoff.

“You’re cute,” You mumble huskily and her feet kick like a doll behind her, kissing your inner thighs. 

“Show me what to do?” she asks with doe-eyes, nibbling at the skin. 

“Gimme your hand,” she extends her arm to you and you hold her wrist, licking her middle finger like a kitten. Her thighs press together and you smile, tongue darting out to swirl around the tip before sucking it between your lips. She makes a pained noise against your flesh when you pull her digit into the plushness of your hollowed cheeks, pushing her fingers in until in cranes at the back of your wet muscle. Your throat closes when you gag and she lets up with a soft sorry. An uncontrollable giggle garbles around her finger at her dark cheeks and scared eyes. You release her with a wet pop!

“You good. Ready?” Her head bobs. 

“Hm…” You ponder, “Pussy is like… like an Xbox controller.” 

Ellie blinks. “… Okay.” 

You explain, “You really gotta feel around for the… buttons and whatever. You needa press them from the inside and… outside. At least for me… Everyone’s different—“

“I’m not fucking everyone, I’m fucking you.” She states with confidence, and wetness gushes out of you like a faucet. She eyes your cunt like a predator to a bleeding carcass, lips curling over her fangs at the flesh between your thighs. 

Your voice shakes, “J-Just sayin’… You just gotta touch me and I’ll tell you if it’s doing the job or not.” She nods and her gaze changes. It’s focused and raunchy when her thumb lands on your clit; she wastes no time, pressing deep, calculated circles over the throbbing button, drawing more wetness from between your walls. You eye her like a hawk, how she traps her lip between her teeth, how she stares at your pussy with unwavering devoutness; she replies to every last one of your moans with her own, like she can feel the pleasure she’s spoiling you with whipping deep in her tummy. 

Her caress picks up when your hips move on their own, bucking into her fingers, desperately seeking pleasure that you’ve abstained from for so long; it electrifies the pit of your gut, your jaw slackening when a curious finger inches down until it reaches your leaking entrance. 

Okay? She asks quietly, and you nod earnestly. Please, baby, please, you beseech, walls hugging around the tip of her finger. She’s slow as she stretches you, gasping at the feel of you choking her lone digit, her hips twisting down into the cushion of the couch for friction. Pride grows hot in your core whenever her thigh twitches, dragging her pussy against the couch at every ragged breath. 

You hold a hand up to show her when she asks for help, arching your finger like a hook, and she follows wordlessly. Your head drops onto the couch when she grazes past that ridge that makes you see stars. You feel her smirk on your clit before she takes it in her mouth. Your lips part over every curse squeaked at the ceiling; it’s too much too fast, it’s sensitive, you can’t breathe, but she’s taking it, hitting right where you need, pressing all your fucking… Xbox buttons—

Ellie’s fucking messy; she’s trying to replicate your efforts from last night: every spit-filled swirl of your tongue is now being thrown back onto you… in the best way. She’s a quick learner. Spit globs on your clit, mixes with the juices that build around your spasming hole while she whines like a bitch. Her mouth glistens in the darkness and your eyes cycle. 

Wanna fuck you so baaad, what the fuck, she whines to herself over your cresting moans, begging for another, begging for her to reach deeper inside you. You feel so good, you taste so good, holy fuckin’ Christ—

Every word on your clit sends vibrations up to your ribcage, right in your chest where your heart pounds for her. The couch dips with her quick movements before you feel her breath on your cheeks, smell yourself on her, fingers still nudged inside you. Your eyes flutter open and a smile stretches, “Hi.” You whisper. 

She smacks a wet kiss on your cheek, “Hi. Am I doing okay?” She twists her fingers against your nerves and you gasp, reply sharp. She hides her satisfied grin with another kiss on your cheek, and you can’t even snap how you want to. You’re desperate to tip, to reach that peak you’ve neglected for so long, begging her please, baby, make me cum, in her ear, seducing her until her fingers dig deep inside you again. 

You praise her between jumbled swears to the heavens, and she keens, whimpering into your neck when she feels how tight your walls get on her, pushing another finger past the tightness. You’re mine, It’s a promise and she groans into your neck, fucking you harder, You’re mine, you’re fuckin’ mine, m’gonnacum! Your tongue unravels like thread and you lose focus on everything except the girl on top of you; you feel the forbidden words resting on the edges of your teeth and ready to spill, the ones you swore to never speak again; but still, the unfiltered emotions rush through your blood as euphoria spills onto her hand, dripping down to the couch. 

E-El! Ffuuuck — oh, god I l — agh! 

Your orgasm splatters thick all over your inner thighs, coating her fingers in white as she works you; you feel her smiling even as your brain wracks, she likes this… Maybe she’s not a fucking bottom. Your ears ring while a speckle of drool dribbles from your chin; she licks it up before kissing you, moans trading between both your mouths, your taste coating your tongue. It’s not until her thumb traces your clit again that your legs slam shut on her. She snickers darkly into the kiss and fights against the muscles in your legs. 

I’m not fuckin’ done, gimme this pussy, she grits over your protests; tries to nudge her fingers even deeper inside you, but she’s struggling; you’re winded up so tight. How are you still cumming this fucking hard? You grab her wrist as tight as you can, and she scoffs, letting up. 

“Fine. Meanie.” One last press to your mouth and she’s up, sitting on her knees while you whither, trying to fucking recover whatever strength you preserved… None.

You muffle into the pillow, “Ellie, what the fuck—“

Your slurs are cut with concern, a gentle hand on your thigh. For the first time, she’s not freezing, “Wait, are you okay? I though—“

You send her a shaky thumbs up, “I’m good, baby, just… fuck—“

“Oh, okay…” A moment of pause, “Can we scissor now?” 

“Can I fucking breathe!”

“You can breathe after! C’mon, U-Haul lesbian!” She pats your ass excitedly. 

“After Hot Topic. I need shirts.” 

“Nuh uh,” A kiss against your knee… up to your thigh, on your waist. “Wan’nit now.” 

“Unhand me, hooligan — ow!” You squeak when teeth sink into your side. Ellie sighs in dissatisfaction, but she lets you go. 

With one last wet kiss on your cheek, of course. 

Hot Topic has lost their entire mind. $15 for a ring set? You almost convinced Ellie to steal them but she said getting caught wasn’t worth it. 

She did buy two new Spidey-man shirts, though… For a whopping $45. Geek. Bring. Back. Stealing. 

After ranting about price spikes to the cashier, you and Ellie barely make it three skips down the strip before your eyes catch a glowing, maroon sign. You yank Ellie back before she can continue down, a villainous smirk glued to your face. 

“Oh, Ellliiieee,” you sing.

She spins, “Hm?” Your lower lips traps between your teeth, an arm holding her tight against you. She stiffens at your hushed proposal, fingers clenching around your hand. 

“You ever been to 9M Sex?” 

You hear her swallow before a shuddering exhale. 

“That’s not very subtle, is it?” She mumbles and you cackle. 

“So… what do you think?” You say, voice laced with seduction. 

Ellie refuses to make eye contact. She’ll die and rot if she does; her corpse will be infested with grime and maggots in the next twenty-seconds. She won’t look at you… or the twenty-inch, plastic-wrapped dildo held between your legs. 

She burns where she stands; how is the carpet not sizzling into flames from beneath her? 

“… I dunno.” Ellie mutters; She does know. Knows that you’ve been testing her since you stepped foot into this demonic space. You’re a succubus with violent intentions with every grip on her waist, every whimsy confession you throw in her direction after eyeing the lecherous items on display. 

I wanna use that on you… You whisper when you pass every vibrator imaginable, You’d look so cute in this, baby… as you point at a fucking maid costume, I wish I could touch you right here… 

It’s embarrassing how badly she wants you to. It wouldn’t take much convincing to lure her behind one of these lingerie racks and pull her underwear to the side with your tongue down her throat… again, she swears it. One more salacious twinkle from those brown eyes, and she’s all yours, whenever, wherever. Anyway you want her until you’re satiated. The rush you give her is intoxicating. 

“Oh, c’mon! It’s fuckin’ funny! How the fuck would this fit in somebody!”

“I’m sure they’d make it work,” Ellie cringes at how high her voice sounds. What the fuck is she, twelve? Closeted all over again? 

You throw the… cock over your shoulder like deadweight, and Ellie blushes. She’s oddly endeared at your shamelessness; It’s very reminiscent of when you two first met… Why does that feel like a lifetime ago?

Light is beaming off you, and Ellie can’t get enough. This is the happiest she’s seen you since you’ve reconnected; you’re goofy and loud and full of color, completely unapologetic… Is it wrong to say that she’s envious? She’s never met a person so… secure. The store is nearly empty, but she can’t help but think that you’d act the exact same if it were stacked to the ceiling with people, parading around with your fluffy handcuffs and cat ears to match with a smile that glows for miles. 

Ellie would give anything to have that… The ability to dismiss conformity. Leaving her home is still a journey for her. She’s forced out of her own thoughts by your gasp, “Ellie… oh my fucking god…” 

“What’s the matter?” 

“… Turn around right now.” She follows your line of vision and nearly passes out... There’s absolutely no fucking way. An eggplant… but silicone… With an adjustable strap? No fucking subtly. Ellie can hear the rusty, unoiled, screws in your brain churning, conjuring up something absolutely disgusting… Her spine tingles. 

“Babe…” 

“Y’know we’re buyin’ that, right?” Your lips are at the shell of her ear, voice alluring. “I refuse to leave without it.” 

Ellie gawks at that phallic vegetable; Why is it so fucking big? “I’m not having that shit on my card history.” 

“C’mon, suga mama. Get us somethin’ special…” Her spine quakes at your purr, “Don’t you wanna fuck me… Ms. Bottom?” She can hear the smile, and her teeth grit so tight, bound to snap. 

Ellie whips around with a snippy voice, “I’m not a fuckin’ — “ Her eyes travel to ensure your seclusion, “I’m not a bottom. I told you that—“

Your hands cover your ears, “Blah, blah, blah! Lalalala—“

“You’re pissing me off—“

“Get that eggplant and show me how much.” You’re sinful with the low airiness of your tone. “I’ll do whatever you want.” 

“Liar.” Her entire body gusts into flames. You pout and shake your head, “I mean it! Take care of me with the best root vegetable, mama.” 

“You’re insane…” 

Your brow arches, “Maybe so. I’ll make sure to use a coupon. Ain’t nothin’ like 40% off a nut.” You waltz past her without a care in the world, throwing all your supplies on the counter like they’re groceries. Even threw the cashier the sweetest wonderful weather we’re having, ain’t it!

Ellie swiped her card with her eyes glued to the floor, shoving the receipt that read have a sex-filled day! to the bottom of the bag. 

The air in Ellie’s home feels heavy. 

Your eyes are locked onto her. Her back is to you where she squats on the floor, refilling Pickle’s food bowl with salmon pâte while you rest on her sofa. She can feel the intensity of your gaze through her jacket; it scorches her bones and leaves cracks in the marrow wherever they travel, goosebumps rising on her skin. 

Neither of you have said much since returning home — particularly due to Ellie being intimidated by your sudden calmness. The energy you’re radiating has flipped completely, and it’s only been an hour; The second you picked up your sex shop bag from the service counter and climbed into the passenger seat, you went docile, zoned in on every movement she made with floaty pupils. She’s still shocked you didn’t start undressing in the car. 

Ellie gives Pickle one last kiss before standing, cringing at the pops from her knees. You’re sitting on the crack of the cushions with your legs crossed, hands politely folded and resting on the point of your knee. Your eyes remind her of clouds, plush and delicate. 

“What.” She rasps. You merely shake your head, “I can’t look?” You ask, eyes glossing. Hers match, crystallizing like diamonds in the dirt, “Do what you want. I’m gonna shower.” Ellie’s legs move with the pounding in her chest, halting when you say

“I’m coming with you.” 

“That’s fine,” She rushes. It’s not fine. Her body’s going to give out. It almost does when you frolic past her, the carve in your now bare back on full display, discarded Hot Topic shirt in hand when you push the bathroom door open. 

She follows like a dog. A wolf. She’s so fucking hungry. 

Steaming water beats down on both of you like rainfall as your mouths meld together, swallowing every sigh, every desperate whimper. But still, your arms stay pinned behind your back. Ellie’s tried everything: sucked at your throat, gripped your ass in her palms, licked up your neck, but you won’t fucking touch her. She’s dripping for you, aching for your hands to caress her; she thought pressing herself tight against your body would finally get you to crack, but you’re stone. Tough as brick. Completely unreceptive. 

She knows what you’re doing… You know what you’re doing, and your attitude is driving her up a wall. Your ego’s fucking huge, that’s for sure.

All this over Ellie enjoying bottoming; She’s not a fucking bottom, she likes to bottom, to be taken care of; there’s a difference. It’s not her fault you’ve perfected your craft; Your touch is addictive; every nerve underneath her skin vibrates whenever you glance in her direction, let alone touch her. 

When your lips reconnect, it’s harsh. Ellie’s bothered to say the least, and you try not to smile. Your giddy laughter is swallowed by her when she traps you against the cold, wet wall, your back barely arching away from it before she holds you down, attacks your neck with precision. Your thighs squeeze together with each suction on your skin, hips pushing down onto the thigh that’s pressed tight between yours. 

“I fuckin’ hate you—“ She spits in your ear. Your grin is pageant-ready. 

“Doesn’t look like it, bottom—“

A heavy, veiny hand cracks on your thigh, and you squeak, “Just admit it! It’s not a bad thing—” 

“I know it’s not. I’m not that, though.” 

“Okay, baby.” 

“Shut up. Turn around.” You teasingly kiss her chin before twirling like you’re on ice, cheek smashed against the wall and ass sticking out for her, wrists bound by an invisible string at the end of your spine.  

“I got some waterproof stuff—“

Be quiet, She snarls like you did on night one, and you’re silent. Ellie sucks the skin right under your ear and your leg kicks out slightly. Her curious fingers slip between your legs and are instantly coated in silk. Your weightless head falls onto her shoulder, sighing like an angel at the gentle flicks on your clit. Yeah? She whispers when you groan her name out, chest and ears beet red. 

Yeah, baby, fuck, you treat me so good, You mumble back and she inhales deeply, walls jerking, Such a s-sweetie pie, The noise she makes in your ear is very reminiscent of a wounded animal, nasal and high. Her working wrist gets sloppy seconds after, and your jaw slacks. She’s rushing, eager for you to cum, to make her dirty all over again. 

Ellie loves how deep your voice gets when you fuck; dry and thick and melts her like butter, makes her dizzy. She would beg you to talk back if she wasn’t on this fucking power trip; she wants you to shake under her. Humble you a bit. Y-Yeah? She croaks. 

Ellie’s blanking; She’d planned to say so much when you pulled her into the muggy space by the chain around her neck, but she can’t fucking think. You smell so fucking good and your skin is soft as cotton. 

F-Fuck yes, oh f — uck —

A nasty grin grows on Ellie’s face when your legs start to wobble, hips arching off hers to get her fingers closer to your pussy. 

Uh huh, She hums, squeezing your wrist in her stagnant hand and forcing it around until it rests over your pussy, hold it open for me. Your hips buck back harsher than she anticipates; Ellie barely catches herself, forced to hold you up, trapped completely between her and the wall, fingers attacking your well-exposed clit. Her tongue swirls on your neck as you ride her hand; She wishes she could see your face properly, take in the way your lashes flutter right before your peak crashes into you, how the brown in your eyes cascade into darkness, full of lust. 

It’s her favorite part; how your moans pitch as your walls squeeze in one tight pull. They spasm in harsh twitches as your clit jounces; Ellie feasts on every single quivery alert of your orgasm, boasts in silence after each exclamation of Ellie, Ellie, oh, fuck!

She’s officially made you cum twice. Four more out of you, and you're fair game. Her stomach twists as she holds you down; You’re so loud and she loves it, that satisfied twinge in your voice at its peak. Ellie’s arm is tight around your waist; There’s so much pressure where she whisks your clit, lips closing around her two fingers. 

A tight hand closes around her wrist when you beg her to stop, Okay, babe, fuck fuuu— ah! —

But she doesn’t let up; rubs you faster, spits nastily in your ear, Say you’re sorry, she gravels onto your cheek, Make it good, too. 

Ca — El — uhhh! —

Yeah? Want some more? Tell Ellie how sorry you are. 

Fuckfuckfuck — I-I’m — Oh god, I’m sorryI’msorrybaby—

Ellie feels merciful and drops her hand, and you go lax against her. She’s forced to smash her body against yours so you don’t drop to the floor. She lets you ride out your aftershocks, the last bits of cloud nine, lips pressing into your shoulder. 

Your panting eventually slows, “Ellie…” 

“Hm.” 

“I hope you know…” you scratch, “… that I’m boutta fuck the living shit outta you.” 

She kisses your shoulder before scoffing with an arched brow. 

“Okay.”

Ellie’s choices in room décor never fail to amaze you. She’s so endearing. 

Her adult room seems much more lived in; some clothes scattered on the floor and slung over her black love seat, laundry baskets, open drawers with neatly folded clothes… so many mirrors. There’s one by her nightstand, two small, circular ones stood on her dresser, two full-body ones by her window. You can see yourself in every direction you turn. Her walls are made with black brick and littered with green and yellow fairy lights, draped decorative leaves surrounding her Spider-Man(Toby McGuire and Miles Morales) tapestries. Multiple black, furry rugs cover the floor. And the posters… Bless her heart. You’ve never seen so many constellations and planets on one wall, let alone four. Her bed is so messy, though. Her poor stuffies are face-down. It’s a crime how fucking adorable she is; Your heart is jumping for joy. 

“You don’t make your bed?” You ask slyly. 

She pauses her towel-wrapping, “… For what.” 

“Um, for tidiness. Aesthetic, if you will.”  

She blinks at you, “That’s dumb as fuck. You’re gonna lay in it anyway. I want a kiss.” She walks towards you and steals one… and another, and another until you’re both smiling. Your arms interlace around the back of her neck. 

“Make your bed or I’m snitchin.” Your whisper is followed by a peck. 

“Snitchin’ to who?” 

“P-Papa Miller.” 

“Don’t talk about him when I’m horny.” 

She unravels your towel and lets it drop to the floor, “S… Sorry.” 

“You’re not forgiven. Lay down.” 

You sit on her bed like a cat scoping the scenery, “Or what? Gonna hit me? In my face?” You purr. 

She rests her hands on your knees, bending her spine to kiss you, “Maybe.” 

“No balls.”

She smiles and smooches your nose, “You’re right. I would never.” 

“What if I want you to.” 

She scoffs and stands upright, “I’m not… fucking hitting you—“

“What if I ask politely…” You deepen your voice mockingly, and she shudders, “Oh, Ellie Williams, my dearest flower, may you do me the honor of bruisin’ my cheek with an affectionate handprint?” 

“Dude—“

“You don’t have to… but if you wanna, I’m not opposed.” You fall back onto your arched elbows, knees pulled high in the air. Ellie’s stare is disgustingly enticing as her eyes travel from yours, all the way down to your calves, but she makes no moves. You love how patient she is. 

“Your hands are so fuckin’ nice.” 

She snorts and looks down at them, squeezing a tight fist and inspecting the blue-green veins. “They are? They don’t feel dry?” 

“I love how cracked they are. Scratch me up, papí.” 

Ellie’s nose turns up as her ears glow, feigning disgust, “Shut up.” 

You smirk and your thighs separate, inch by inch, gooey lines of slick snapping when your pussy’s on display, “Make me.” She swallows. Ellie decides her hair has dried enough, shaking the towel from her head and crawling on top of you in seconds. Her mouth mushes against yours; Her aggression is so delicate. Her lips stroke yours until they dust your cheeks, down to your temples. You eye the neon glow-in-the-dark stickers on her ceiling, “Gonna fuck me under the moon, space ranger?” She licks over your mumbles, nibbling at your lips. “M-Maybe…” 

“Havin’ second thoughts, bottom?” You poke and her jaw tenses.

“Put your fuckin’ leg up.” 

You oblige, flattening the other so she can straddle your lax thigh, “Goin’ back to our roots, I see. Traditional lesbianism.” You sigh when her dripping pussy hovers over yours. Ellie has the prettiest cunt; You’ve told her probably a thousand times, now, but fuck, it’s perfect: soft strands of hair submerged in slick, plush lips surrounding her red clit. Your pussy flutters like she’s crushing whenever Ellie finds her balance on top. She fits her shoulder in the arch of your calf, and you’re patient, dragging a light fingertip around her areola. Her tongue wets her lips before she closes the space between your pussies. The muscles in your thighs clench at your intertwined warmth. 

Ellie holds your gaze, forest shiny with arousal with a hand gripping your raised thigh. 

“Send me to the stars, space ranger.” 

She chokes a laugh before kissing your ankle, “You’re cute.” 

“No, you,” you cheese. Her smile matches yours before she experiments, finds comfortable seating on your lap before her hips grind forward, just barely. Her maneuvers are shy, a bit unsteady, but she’s entrancing; Ellie’s face is perfect… Have you ever told her how beautiful she is? 

A trembling whisper from her, Why’re you looking at me like that? shows that you haven’t, not nearly enough, at least. Astonishment settles in your vision; You’re stunned to silence by her. Breaths leave ragged through your nose, eyes trailing over every inch of her face; the curvature of her nose, every pore, every scratch and scar. She’s an image, a neglected picture that deserves all notoriety. To be hung in ancient museums; A modern Mona Lisa. 

Ellie… 

Mhm? 

I really like you… 

She’s motivated, hips pushing forward and back, pressing down, as tight as she can get the gap. H-How much? 

Too much, and it’s a fact. A terrifying one that you can’t ignore. She moans in response and holds the hand that rests on her hip as she rides you, the cup of her breasts jumping, the remainder of shower water mixing with fresh bubbles of sweat in between the valley, glistening under the last bits of sunset. Tell me, tell me, she begs and moves faster, and your heart rate skyrockets, from nerves, from… 

You're perfect, y-you’re so— Her mattress springs wheeze under the sudden pace of her thrusts. Your whimpers seem to drive her, I missed you so much. You’ll never fail to remind her; shame on you if she ever forgets. Wetness squelches between your bodies, the friction sparking the wires in your spleen, back arching with every catch of her clit on yours. 

Stay with m-me, Her voice breaks, and your hand is numb from how hard she grips it, Don’t… don’t go… I like when you’re close to me… Your eyes attempt to close, but you can’t allow it. You drink in every inch of her, and you burn warmer when she does the same, always returning to your eyes before beginning again. 

You’re gonna make me cum, She gasps brokenly, disappointed. You’re begging now, for every drop she has. You want all of it; the claws that sink into her are desperate when her head falls back, her nipples tighten, her pleasure racking off the walls. Your hips buck into hers and she squeals, tries her hardest to keep her balance, but she’s cracking. You feel her throbbing, can almost make out her heart pounding over yours; she’s warning you, she’s right there, and the incoming destruction is evident in her voice. 

Her cry is long and drawn as her clit beats, blush burning in her cheeks as she scrapes at your skin, pulls at your fingers to center as she transports to euphoria. Tears jerk in your eyes when you hear her confession, heart shattering in your chest as darkness takes over you; it’s disgraceful how you’re silent as she lays everything out for you to take. You cry in silence as she rides out everything she deserves. 

I love you… Don't leave me… I love you, baby, I-I love you… 

Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… Exhale… 

You count how many seconds it takes for Ellie to breathe. She’s sound asleep with her back to your chest, her arms outstretched in front of her. Your arm rests over her hip as you welcome every waft of her citrus shampoo. It’s doing wonders pausing your incoming breakdown. You’re so, so sick. 

I love you… Don’t leave me… 

It replays in your mind against your will. Over and over, it bounces around your skull until your temples pound. You’re not sure what’s more nauseating: the word she used or that she meant it. You could see it in her eyes, promises of adherence, careless and unbound yearning and devotion. You’re to blame, though. You practically pulled it out of her after your own declaration; I really like you… What an idiot. 

You admire her in every possible way. Her bravery, in particular. 

You don’t deserve to be in her presence, but still, you rob her of time. She showers without you present, and you desperately wait for return so you can hold her again. She’s scared that you’ll leave her when it should be the other way around; It’s been your only fear: her realizing that she deserves everything you aren’t. Someone happy, pure-hearted, successful, just like she is. 

Whatever attracts her to you must be an unimaginable pity. How could she love someone as manipulative and slimy as you? It’s unfathomable. 

And yet, you still lay next to her, under her stars. 

You separate from her as slyly as you can to sit on the edge of her bed, palms digging into your eyes before purring erupts from behind you. You feel nuzzles against your back and you snicker; Pickle’s a vessel of comfort. She never fails to appear when you're in dire need. She’s beckoned over with soft clicks of your tongue, taking refuge on your lap and licking at your thigh. Your lips mash against her little head, peppering kiss after kiss until leaps onto the floor, exiting the room and moving down the hall. You use kit-kat as an escape even if your heart aches to be near Ellie. 

The journey to her living room is slow due to you examining the framed pictures on the wall. Some are photos of just her, while others are her and other nameless people you don’t recognize, all smiling wide. She’s being hugged and kissed on her cheek by presumed friends — maybe family — all while holding the camera in her shaky hands, thanks to the blurred image. There’s photos of her on vacation, on beaches, photos of fireworks and birthday cakes, and so many photos of her father. 

There’s so much light in this hallway, even in void night, and she’s in the center of it. You can’t stop crying. 

Your body drags to the couch to retrieve your discarded backpack, digging for your phone. You haven’t touched it since you’ve been here, and you’re shocked to see that it’s still charged. The influx of missed calls frightens you; they’re all from work. You rush to listen to your last voicemail. 

“Hey, sweetheart! It’s Professor Meyers! Professor Rosnon’s been trying to get in contact with you, so I thought I’d reach out, as well. We’ve got an amazing offer for you if you’re interested! It’s too much to describe on the phone, so I hope we can meet up in person very soon and discuss the details. Get back to me as soon as you can. Enjoy the rest of your vacation, buh-bye!” 

That was yesterday morning. Fuck your life. 

Your sketchbook stares back with impertinence as your tears dry; It’s been months and still nothing from your imagination has transferred onto paper. Why do you continue to disappoint yourself, staring at a blank page with your pen in hand? 

“H-Hey.” 

You don’t react to Ellie’s call, just continue to tap your pen on the edge of your book. You can’t stop thinking about her hands. She appears from behind the couch wrapped in her Princess Bubblegum blanket, scratching at her nose. 

“I was cold…” She mutters with a soft laugh, “How do you stay so warm?” You merely shrug, tongue tied in indestructible knots. 

“Can I sit?” Your head jerks and she’s next to you in seconds, kissing your cheek, then your shoulder.

“What’s the matter, baby?” She whispers against your skin, and you sigh. 

“Just girly things,” You chuckle darkly before bluntly asking, “Are you mad at me?” 

“No — what?” Her voice is as delicate as rose petals, “Why would I be mad?” 

“I didn’t say it back.” You say. 

“… Say what back.” 

“You told me you loved me and I didn’t say it back. I didn’t… say it. I dunno why I didn’t!” 

She stares incredulously, “It’s… That’s fine—“

Your book goes flying into the cushion before you stand, “Ellie, it’s not fuckin’ fine! None of this is fine! I don’t know if it’ll ever be fine! I’m not… I’m not fine.” You exasperate, “Am I… I can’t stop… overthinking everything! I wanna make…” You sob and pace. 

“I want you happy. You deserve… aaalll the good shit that life has to offer!” Your arms flail, “You’re so… I can’t fucking think when you look at me! All my brain cells fucking explode and I never wanna look away! I just wanna sit and stare at your fucking face all day long! Fuck working, fuck a mortgage, fuck — fuck everything! Life is fuckin’ dumb and pointless if your not in the center of it! I’m so—“ 

“I love you.” She whispers, water in her eyes. 

“I can’t… accept that—“

“Me loving you?” 

“Yes! Well… no—“

“So you want me to love you?” 

“Ellie, please, I can’t fuckin’… breathe—“

“Yes, you can. And I’m so in love with you,” She says with certainty, and somehow, your brain convinces you that it’s conniving. “I was in love when I left… and I’m still in love now. You make me so… excited about life.” She continues mutedly, “If you don’t… wanna stay, I understand. But I had to tell you anyway.” 

“I…” You wail with knuckles in your eyes, “I love you so much…” Ellie’s sighs in relief at your cry. She chuckles wetly before you feel her arms around you, “You’re such a fuckin’ lesbian, it’s actually hilarious.” 

“Fuck off!” You holler into her shoulder, “This is your fault! Why are you so perfect! Fucking… fucking bitch—“

“Say you love me again,” she pleads into your sweatshirt, and you repeat it like a prayer. I love you, I love you, I love you so much! Ellie rocks back and forth where you stand, a delicate, scratchy hand rubbing your back under the cloth. 

You're back in Ellie’s room. Your pen is moving. On paper. 

When Ellie ushered you to bring your sketchbook to bed, you couldn’t stop laughing; continuously questioned your ability, trying to convince her how pointless that would be, but that gentle encouragement in her gaze got you here: on another blank fucking page with an exhausted pen. You hate lesbians. 

The lines on the sheet are subtle, gently grazed across white with little focus; The image isn’t super descriptive, but it’s shapely. It looks like… something; That’s all you need right now. Ellie’s watching curiously, eyes flickering between your busy hand and the slowly filling sheet. 

“Pretty.” She says. 

You snort, “It’s literally a blob.” 

“To you. Art is subjective.” Your eyes roll before they land on Pickle resting on Ellie’s throw pillow. “What, you hate it, too?” 

“Don’t do that! She loves it!” 

“Look at her eyes! Nothin’ but homophobia!” Ellie nudges your knee with hers in disapproval, and Pickle blinks. 

“Be quiet. Keep doing that.” She nods down at your paper, and you smirk. “Yeah, baby? Like when I do that?” You hold her faltering stare and scribble blindly, “It’s gettin’ you there?” 

Her cheeks grow plump and shine, almost reaching her eyes, “Stop… or no more kisses.” 

Your jaw slacks, “You wouldn’t dare!” 

“I would! C’mon, finish for me — “ Your body crashes with laughter at the innuendo, and Ellie cringes. 

“Can you focus for two seconds!” She scolds between your cackles. 

“I’m so — sorry, it’s just too good, holy fuck—“

“It wasn’t that funny.” She says blankly. 

“To you! Comedy’s subjecti—“ 

Ellie holds you down by your hips before jumping into your lap, glare sizzling past your teary eyes. 

“Oooh, la la, quite the dejavu moment.” You snicker up at her, book and pen forgotten. 

“Am I a joke to you?” 

Your brow curves scoffingly, “Might be. And what about it?” 

“I think you needa break.” 

“Word?” You toss your pen and book with the quickness, “What we doin’, space ranger?” 

“You’re not doing anything. I’m gonna ride your cock.” 

Your eyes turn to globes as she undresses herself above you, throwing her tee and maneuvering so she can kick her underwear over the bed, only clad in her fuzzy Saturn socks. 

“Where’s the bag.” 

“… O-Over there,” You point where you threw it mindlessly after your couch escapades, and Ellie’s up to retrieve it. You eye the dip of her back and gawk at her fucking ass when she bends over to rummage through the bag. “Are… are you serious right now?” 

“Yup. Take your clothes off.” She calls back plainly. 

“… Alright.” You unclothe into your boyshorts in stunned silence. Since when is she this bold? She returns with full hands: cotton candy flavored lube, a small bullet, and the longest fucking eggplant you’ve ever seen in your lifetime. She throws them onto the mattress carelessly with a shrug, “I think you need some inspo. Am I the best girlfriend?” 

Your heart jerks in your chest, veins reaching out for her “… ‘Course, baby… shit.” 

Ellie holds up the strap by the leg adjustment, “I’m sure you know how to put this on.” She throws it into your lap before popping open the baby blue lubricant. Your face burns when you swing your legs over the bed to pull the harness up your legs. You can hear her giggling as the aubergine jumps up and down above your pussy. She offers to help and you instruct her through tightening the bands until they fit snug around your hips and thighs. 

Your brain’s in overdrive; the curved girth of the silicone builds arousal in your underwear, envisioning Ellie’s plush walls stretching and pulsing around the purple length, her creamy silk building around the perimeter of the green tip at the base. Your clit leaps beneath the fabric. 

“Are you… You want some head? Like… before this?” Your fingers point at the eggplant. Ellie shakes her head with the bullet in hand. 

“Just lay down.” 

“Ellie—“

Her hands clasp your steaming cheeks, her lips brushing against yours when she murmurs, shhh… take good care of me? Your heart flutters where it sits in her hands, Don’t I always? You choke, and she hums with a smirk before her lips curl against yours. Poking fun at her for being a bottom is long gone; This is the most sure you’ve ever seen her in this setting. You’re often the hand that guides, lures her in, eases the unwanted tension and leads you both to gratification, but now she’s doing that for you; her tongue slides over your mouth one last time before balancing herself on the edge of the bed and dropping to her knees, eyes lined up with the fat tip of the toy. 

Oh … Oh. 

You’re one of the most… talented people I know. She flatters, so lustful and genuine. I know that side of you is still in there. It’s all gonna come back to you… M’ just gonna help. 

Is this your proposal of being my muse? You quirk. She shrugs, her hand closing tight around the length, Could be. Depends on how good you think I do. 

Always do so good, You acclaim, I love you… fuck—

Ellie kisses the tip before purring, I love you more… Anyone ever do this to you? 

… Is this a trick question? Uhh… Like… like, one time. Despite your doubts, you choose honesty. The memory is lackluster and quick. It was decent enough. Merely for experimenting purposes. 

The twinkles in her eyes catch flame, What’d you like about it. She asks, but it’s not a question; it’s sharp, and you almost start crying. 

I-I dunno—

Before you can lie, a glob of spit lands all over the head. The glare she sends you is both icy and hot as she massages in the wetness, gliding it all over. Your knees buckle under your weight, and she leers up at you. You like it like that? Nice’n sloppy? 

You’ve had… so much sex in your life, and never once, in the history of the universe, have you ever been this fucking wet. If you were to go on a casual midnight stroll right now, sloshy noises would echo from between your legs for miles. The glint in her eye is knowing, and spit gathers all over her tongue as it swirls around the tip. The sounds her lips make are sinister; your chest concaves in a wheeze. 

When the tip slides a hair deeper on her tongue, you choke a pained noise. She releases the tip when your body stutters again. She says nothing, simply shoves you down onto the bed by your thighs, planting herself in between them once more. There’s so much fucking spit; it slides down in droplets all over the sides of the silicone as she slobbers on the crown, preps it for when it slides down her throat. Her mussed blankets are clenched between your fingers; your breathing is ragged. 

Such a good fuckin’ girl, Your tongue swells, and Ellie keens, eyes sparkling underneath stray auburn when they flutter at your praise. Your cramped fingers brush the strands away before knotting in her hair. The bun at the back of her head slowly loosens, trapping your digits in her locks. A soft whimper leaves her when you pull. 

For some reason, your eyes travel, only for a second, but you’re met with an elongated image of Ellie’s dotted spine, the goosebumps on her skin, the way her head bobs half an inch at a time, all in her full body mirror. You choke on a whine, and the muscles in Ellie’s back twitch. 

Oh my fuckin’ god, Your fingers tighten in her tresses and she whines, the arch in her back deepening. Your walls pulsate when you catch the glistens of slick spilling from her entrance at your sounds, both holes clamping down, pleading for you. Gonna let me fuck that pretty throat? 

Her moans are sloppy and wet. Her head bows, and you know she’s taking you deeper, nails digging into your thighs. It’s a curse that you can’t feel the tightness of her sunken cheeks. She pops off you, desperation leaking from her when whines, Fuck my mouth, baby, please, lips gliding all over the underside. You move on autopilot, sliding up further onto the mattress, feet planted on the floor and hips hanging off the edge of the bed. Ellie’s nasty; practically making out with your tip while you stabilize your position. It’s fucking messy, how her saliva drips down the base until it meets the harness, small beads building on your bare thigh. 

Stick your tongue out, you order before squeezing her face in your free palm. Her pink muscle lulls until it lays on the connective skin between your thumb and index, coated in drool. It’s not enough for you, though; Saliva builds in your mouth before it shoots onto hers, and she moans when it splatters all over her tongue, speckles landing on her cheek. A heavy hand comes down to pat her cheek, and she cries a quiet I love you. You smile and it’s dark, Uh huh, love you, too. Keep it out, your thumb drags on her bottom lip until her tongue rests flat over her bottom teeth. 

The hand that twines in her hair is harsh, Hands behind your back, you say and she does without questioning. You kiss her cheek before guiding her head steady towards the tip until it sits on her tongue. Her jaw widens when your hips rise off the mattress; you hold her still an inch forward, her mouth closing around the wrist. Her noises are quiet and docile, and she swallows; You shudder when you watch her throat close before pulling out. 

Okay? Want more? 

Her eyes plead like a puppy’s, tongue cycling on the prong. Breathe through your nose, Your hand loosens a bit in her hair, Just pull off when you wanna stop, okay, baby? 

One whine of approval and you’re pushing in again; Her hips twitch in the mirror as her mouth fills and you snicker; her thighs are coated in slick, a thin line dripping onto her furry rug. That’s my girl, fuck, you’re so cute, You grit and her fingers clench. The pace of your hips kick up slightly, testing to see how much she can take. You monitor her every move: the way her eyes float empty in her skull when her cheeks expand, how her breathing quickens when your thumb caresses her scalp, how tight her throat gets when you push too deep. 

Look at how wet that pussy is, Ellie moans over your thrusts. Slobber coats her lips and chin; dribbles all the way down to her chest. Your bottom lip traps between your teeth. 

You plunge too deep apparently; she gags and pulls off and explodes into a fit of coughs, forehead falling onto your thigh as she heaves. You kiss her head and apologize frantically… 

And then, she starts giggling. 

“Fuck — Fuck, I’m sorry —“

She snorts and coughs some more, and you’re stuck. You hold both of her sizzling cheeks in your hands and kiss all over her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry —“

“You’re really hot.” Her voice is croaky and broken and more slick gushes from you. How shameful. 

“Me?! Are you fucking — are you okay?” 

“Mhm.” She hums before pecking your lips, “Fuck me now? I’m… I’m so wet,” She whispers like she told you something secretive. You can bet every minuscule dollar you own that you’re wetter, but anxiety settles in your stomach. Your girl’s asking you to fuck the daylights out of her after nearly killing her with the fucking dick-shaped vegetable on your waist, and you’re panicking. 

“Ellie, I’m scared as fuck, not even gon’ lie—“

“Nothing to be scared of. I trust you.” Another kiss before she mutters, “Take care of me?” 

“P-Promise.”

Your mind rushes. 

The past twenty minutes have felt like a blur; you hardly recall pinning Ellie down on the mattress to keep her still while your tongue swirled inside her, how tight her walls clamped down on two fingers, how she scratched and squirted and squealed for you to fuck her. 

And now she’s beneath you, hips twirling up, desperate for friction as her nails tear at your hips, but you ignore her. You’re gawking at the lubricated strap that rests on her throbbing cunt, how the inches almost touch her belly button. You’re trapped in a daze as your hips move mindlessly, brows furrowed. 

W-What’s the matter, baby? She keens at you. 

Nothin’ You’re gruff, Thinking. 

And you are thinking… about how Ellie’s going to take this shit. The length is concerning on it’s own, but it’s so fucking wide and curves up. You recall the amount of times she’s winced when you fingered her. It should worry you; how far she’s going to stretch to take it all, how much her softness is going to resist against something so big. Your head is twisted where it wanders; conjures up disgusting visuals of her begging you to split her open, to make her take it, to give it to her as mean as you can. You can’t help it, though; She’s an angel when she cries. 

Agitation creases in her brows, “Gimme it—“

“I think it’s gonna hurt,” You slur. Her taste swirls on your tongue when you speak, and it makes you wetter. 

“I don’t care. Give it to me,” she snaps. “Want you… inside—“

Your brow flits, “Want me inside? I’ve been inside. A lot, actually.”

“Don’t fuck with me right now.” 

“Ellie, c’mon! Look at this shit! There’s no way—“ 

“I’m lying here telling you to do it! Fucking —“ She sighs in annoyance, “Let me get on top. You weren’t supposed to do shit anyway.” 

“Ellie!—“

“Stop talking and lay the fuck down!” 

You plop down onto your back with a slew of curses, and Ellie takes — snatches the reins from you; she leaps into your lap, lube in hand, scolding sizzling on her tongue. 

“I don’t wanna hear shit. Just… let me do it.” 

A cheesy smile grows, “… You’re not you when you’re horny—“

“What the fuck did I just say!” She squirts more fluorescent blue into her palm and blindly massages it into your strap. It’s horribly messy by the time she’s done, taking it in her hand and lining herself up without warning. 

“… Wha—“

Her non-lubed palm clamps on your mouth, silencing you with a hefty eye roll. Ellie arches a brow when you hold two thumbs up in silent encouragement. You love your girlfriend! 

Ellie steadies herself with a mumbled, please, God, don’t let me die, right above the tip before her hips drop not even an inch. You’re a hawk the way you eye her tiny hole expanding around the girthy crown. Her breaths are heavy and ragged, but she takes her time; hips rising when she’s taken too much, sinking when she’s comfortable, and you’re hypnotized by it all. 

Her hand drops from your mouth and plants on your chest when you’ve finally quieted — besides the mumbles of ohmyfuckinggod when her lips manage to swallow up the tip. Her bottom lip bruises from her teeth, tears welling in her eyes and her thighs twitching. She looks like she’s hurting and your heart shatters. Carnality be damned. 

“E-Ellie… baby, we don’t have to—“

You’re so… fucking big, she squirms, and you stiffen. 

Your nails latch — sink into her hips and your jaw slacks; gaping at how she struggles to take you, how she winces and gasps at the stretch until she’s halfway. You’re doing that to her, getting her nice and full; it takes all your strength to keep your hips flat on the bed despite every cell luring you to stuff her to the brim. 

… It hurt? 

I don’t — know — fuck, Ellie’s eyes flit in every direction: locks onto the ceiling, the bed frame above you, your breasts and your dick. Ah, shit — 

Good? You confirm and she hums, whimpering to herself until her ass rests on your thighs. Any traces of dark purple are no longer visible, only hints of bright green glowing from the base of the harness. 

You whistle lowly, Damn… you’re real as fuck. 

Gimme a sec, She sighs, and you raise your palms, Whenever you’re ready. 

The longer she sits, the more relaxed her face becomes; flush darkening on her cheeks and above her breasts, more slick ringing around the circumference. 

… This is very interesting, Ellie says aloud, and shocked laughter bursts through your chest. She’s fucking hilarious, actually. Scale of one to ten? Your brows give a mischievous wiggle, and she pauses, hips moving around, testing the waters. Her eyelids bat gently. 

… S-Seven ‘n a half? She moans, and you smirk, You sure? It looks like an eight to me. 

She glares playfully, Gonna have to work for that rating. 

You squint up at her before sitting upright, chest to chest, and her arms wrap around your neck for balance. I’m waitin’ on the green light, you whisper against her lips. She laughs weakly, One star rating on Yelp. Too much back talk. 

You kiss her around a smile before pecking all over her cheeks. She grabs the back of your neck to hold you still, melding her mouth on yours. You swallow her soft noises when your tongues intertwine, hands cupping her ass. Ellie’s jaw slacks when her hips raise and drop, gasping on your tongue. You lick into her mouth and hold her steady, nails deep in her soft skin when her pace quickens. 

You grin, Yeah? Better? 

Ellie nods and a hand slips between you, and you groan aloud when her fingers meet her slippery clit, the tips dripping wet in seconds as sloshing noises echo through her bedroom. Your arm wraps around her waist to yank her down, and she squeaks, back arching, chest shoving against yours. You done showin’ off? You grit against her cheek and she huffs. Ellie’s hands shove at your shoulders until you’re laying flat on the mattress, and you snicker. Her hold is strong on your chest as she bounces, her tits trembling every time she comes down. 

The way she says your name is intoxicating; so drawn out and velvety and makes your cunt tremor. Your eyes trap on how she touches herself; one hand settled on your chest while the other rubs at her clit, pulls at her nipples, makes them shine with her juices. You’re aching to touch her, but you stay put; let her have her fun.

You catch movement out the corner of your eye; Ellie’s trapped in another mirror off to the side, shrouded in pleasure: head thrown back while she cries at the ceiling, slurred flattery of how good you feel inside her igniting the flame in your core. 

Look how good you’re takin’ that shit, you groan and the muscles in her ass squeeze in the mirror; you can feel the ripples in her cunt pulling at your strap, and it nearly sends you. What you’d give to feel her flesh choking around you when she breaks, succumbs to pleasure while you explode inside her. It enrages you to no end. 

Your pupils meet at the bridge of your nose when a clammy hand inches up your chest to the column of your throat to rest. Ellie whines from above, a shaky C-Can I? You're about to make a mess all over her sheets. You hardly register the desperate bobs of your head, and her grip tightens around your neck. Pinches down on the sides, and your soul leaves your body. 

You like that? She snickers dark around a moan and fucks down harder onto your lap, You’re so fucking — holy, fuck —

Your hand clamps around her wrist and she squeezes harder; the hold is threatening, and your clit jumps. Your promises are wet and muffled; exclamations of m’yours melting on your tongue. Your girl is going to break you. 

Her efforts eventually slow, and you know she’s getting tired. You look up, right into her eyes and you nearly break. They’re pleading, imploring you to take care of me, make me cum for you; she eases into a steady grind, and the pressure from her hips add friction to your clit. You curse lowly, and she whimpers back. You’re already so close from how long you held off, but you don’t want to cum yet. She’s getting hers first. 

E-Ellie, get up—

You barely finish your command before she lifts up and off, strings of slick connecting her pussy and your dick together. Your maneuvers are quick; you’re up on your knees in seconds and grab her hips, guiding her until she’s on all fours, facing all of the mirrors at the front of her room. Your mouth waters at the sight of both holes pulsing sporadically, begging for your cock. 

Your hand deepens the arch in her spine until she’s face down on a lone pillow. Your heart swells when Ellie extends a shaky hand to you, fingers curling tight around the hand that rests on her hip. You kiss her wrist and she sighs happily. You grab your slippery dick and line it up at her entrance; her hips push back when you nudge inside, wet gasps leaving her as you split her all over again; but this time, you can see it. You’re moaning with her, a thin line of drool landing on her asscheek. 

It hurt, baby? You grunt, stupid with lust, body on fire, Huh? She can’t even talk, just shoves her face in the pillow and says your name, over and over. You push in deeper, and she groans, sobs, begs for you to fuck me, baby, fuck me fuck me fuck me, please—

That’s all it takes; your hands clutch tight on both hips to yank her back onto your cock. A shocked squeal rattles the four walls that enclose such filth when she’s finally stuffed full: she spurs on your aggression, jumbled yesyesyess hitting the pillowcase, her nails sinking into your wrist. Your strokes are deep; you watch how tight she grips your dick, plush pink milking every inch that leaves when you pull out, desperate to keep you in place, a light rim of cream building around her lips. 

You and Ellie’s teary eyes lock in the mirror on her dresser, her pink lips gaping around each crude praise she throws at you. It’s music to your ears.

You hi — hit it so good, baby! 

Just like that — oh, god, yeah! —

I love you so fuckin’ much!

Her messy hair flies in every direction, bounces with your thrusts, enticing you to grip it. Dark red wraps around your tight fist and you pull, and she goes stupid, eyes crossing in her skull and glossy drool hanging off the edge of her bottom lip.

Your yanks get her up until her sweaty back meets your chest, arch deepening when you lean into her, lips caressing her tinted ear. 

You love me, mama? 

She shudders on you, Fuck, yes — so fuckin’ much! Love this dick! 

Yeah? It’s yours?

F-Fuckin’ mine… A—All mine— 

You reach around to find her clit, and she gushes around you, Show me who it belongs to. You beg and she meets your hips, Get me fuckin’ nasty with it, cum all over your dick, baby, your words hit her like a threat, and she wails curses; sucks you all the way in when the tightness builds; you push in as deep as you can and it sends her over. Ellie’s thrashes and you're forced to hold her up, arm thrown around her chest while she grinds back onto you; you can feel how hard she’s cumming as the base jerks with her pulses, your name a constant on her tongue. You grind into her until she shakes, nails scratching at your hips to stop you. 

Ellie’s limp when you pull out, purple coated in white creaminess, and she whimpers like she’s begging you to come back home. 

Lay down, you choke. Your walls won’t stop clenching. 

She turns her head to kiss your neck before supporting her weight on her hands. 

Nuh uh, You tsk, On your back. Needa see you when I cum. You say, and she whines like a bitch, slick and cum flooding at her entrance. You help her maneuver and yank her closer until she’s staring up at you and her entrance lines up with your strap, eyes delicate and trusting and obsessed. The trees in them brush with ferocity and need for you; a tight hand squeezes her cheeks so her lips pucker, and you bend down to kiss her. It’s gross: desperate and uncoordinated tongues entangle with one another, spit spreading on the outside of each other's mouths, loud smacking noises filling your ears with lecher. It gets you hot, and you melt when Ellie’s hand blindly grabs for your dick to slide it between her sopping lips. Your body flattens on top of hers as she guides you in, her mouth opening around moans as you stretch her all over again. 

There’s still resistance; How’s she this fucking tight? 

Your hips follow her guide until you're nudged deep, barely half an inch of green exposed. Her thighs spread wider around your waist so you fit snug between, no space amidst your bodies. Your elbows rest on either side of her head, holding you up while your tongues swirl. Your knees dig into the mattress and your hips move on autopilot; your tongue dazedly licks over her lips to her jaw, bruising the skin a deep maroon. The sounds that erupt from her cunt are filthy, begging for your cum in earnest. 

Your eyes flutter open to study Ellie’s face; her body bobs when your hips meet, her eyes squeezed shut and her battered lips glistening, sinful verbiage spilling from her, completely brainless as her peak approaches. 

Your head drops into her neck and she holds you close, moaning against her throat with every deep thrust; the stimulation on your clit is nearly too much; You’re so sensitive, but you drill into her, take what’s yours. Her nails are deep in your back and it stings, wetness spilling from you from the pain. You’re hardly fucking her, just grinding your hips as you chase your release, filling her deep. 

She’s mumbling about how hard she’s going to cum. Yeah? You spit in her ear, Gonna fuckin’ cum? And she squeaks out curses in approval. Ellie’s moans pitch high before slick splatters on both your thighs, soaks through the sheets. You lift your heavy head to watch Ellie jerk and sob and confess her utter devotion to you as long as you continue to fuck her like this. You love her so fucking much; She deserves to feel this good; to wake up to pleasure and put back to bed with it.

Ellie’s orgasm breaks her; her babbles slur and crack as they hit your lips: you make me cum so good, fuck me ‘til you cum, I love you so fuckin’ much; she’s all over the place but she begs for your pleasure, begs for you to release . The pace in your thrusts rebuilds; you’re moaning in her mouth, clit throbbing in your soaked underwear. You can practically taste your release where it sits on the edge of your tongue, completely unbound when you slur promises;

Gonna give you all my fucking cum. 

You take in how far her pretty eyes roll at your confession, how cravingly she begs for you stuff her with sticky white; it makes your clit jerk, once, twice, until your walls pull in tight—

Ellie’s orgasm triggers your own; the pleasure is so intense that it’s painful and your vision whites out, all while she coats your waist in love and desire and slick. You’re both so loud and can’t keep still, sultry bodies trembling against one another. You grow lightheaded when Ellie’s hips fuck down and onto you to prolong your orgasm, voice dripping in seduction in your ear as she encourages you to fill her up, to keep her good and dirty. 

It feels like minutes pass when the pleasure finally subsides; you can’t stop shaking and there’s no strength in your limbs, resting completely weightless on top of your girlfriend. Your head rests in Ellie’s palms as she pecks all over your face, thanking you, asking if you’ve found any inspiration. 

You’ve never been so excited to draw an O face in your fucking life. You need new pens!

“… Ellie?” 

“Mhm?” She sounds just as wrecked as you feel, and a smile settles on your face. 

“D-Did I earn that eight?” 

She exhales a laugh before kissing your sweaty forehead, “And that five star Yelp review.” You wheeze out a celebratory yaaay and Ellie’s body rocks with laughter beneath you. 

The sun is going to rise soon. Ellie’s not tired. 

She loves dawn. It’s her favorite time of day: the giant, boiling orb just barely cresting from behind mountains, birds flocking and framing the rays of light, clouds orange and pink and a misty blue. She’s taken hundreds of pictures of that gorgeous scenery alone; It’s funny how she feels like something’s missing from them now that you’re back in her life. 

She wants you in the center of every picture she takes. In all of her favorite places… In her car, in her room, in water. You’re a fucking star on camera. 

A freshly showered Ellie rests on her bed(with new sheets… her blue ones are forever ruined) as she rolls up, eyes glued to the back of your head. You’re sitting on the floor, right on her fluffy rug, the sound of pen scratching against paper surrounding you, secluded in a space of peace. Proud can’t describe what she feels. 

Ellie seals the blunt as she imagines what you’re creating. You told her she couldn’t see until it’s finished, but she’s becoming impatient. Ellie’s nosy; She thought giving you puppy-eyes would work like every other time, but you simply got up and moved somewhere private with a twinkle in your eye. 

Ellie reaches for her lighter on her nightstand and sparks, “Wanna hit?” You deny calmly, focused, entranced by your imagery, and Ellie sighs. She's happy you’re easing back into drawing, but she wants attention. She’s in love; Sue her. 

Ellie puffs in silence. The more she inhales, the fonder she grows. Why’re you so far away? She smokes half the blunt before stubbing out the end, placing it on the ashtray on her small desk. She tries to be sly and creep behind you slowly to get a peak of your creation, but the shuffling of blankets exposes her. You whip your head and shut your book with quickness, a smirk on your face. Her bottom lip traps between her face to hide a smile when you ask, 

“Can I help you?” 

She inches closer until her lips graze your ear, inhaling her cinnamon body wash on you, “Come to bed?” 

“In a minute, baby, promise.” You whisper back when she kisses underneath your earlobe. She hums in disapproval, “Now.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

Ellie says the first thing that comes to mind, doesn’t even bother to play into your frisky threat. It’s terrorized her mind for the past four years, kept her company when you were gone and she had to settle with her own hand. 

You’re a fucking star on camera. 

“… You ever made a tape?” The proposal is quiet and husky, and your eyes turn to globes, stunned and instantly filled with darkness. 

“… Are you serious?” Ellie nods, her tongue teasing the shell of your ear, lips inching down to your neck, sucking at your shoulder. 

“Oh, you’re crazy.” 

“Come to bed.” Much more stern, and you shudder, tossing your book to the side. 

“How do cam-couples do this shit, what the fuck.” 

Ellie’s attention gets pulled from her tripod and lands on you, back arched with her iPad in both hands that extend out to the bed frame. The camera’s on you, trying to get the perfect capture of your ass, constantly adjusting your form. 

“It’s truly a skill,” Ellie mumbles back, securing her camera. She ensures that the plate won’t wobble before carrying it by the stand and placing it beside the bed. “You look excited.” 

“Excited like yaaay or excited like horny?” Your ass wiggles teasingly and Ellie snorts. 

“Both.” 

“Y’know, for someone who’s never done this, you look like a professional—“

Ellie scoffs, “I am a professional. Degree and two licenses—“

Your jaw slacks around moans and your hips thrusts back, “Fuuuck, that’s hot. Rub it in my face some more, it’s getting me so wet—“

Ellie stares blankly and you burst into cackles, dropping her device on the freshly made mattress.

“Nerdy Spider-geek wrecks school slut’s pussy non-stop orgasms—“

Ellie sits next to you, adjusting the lense, “What the fuck are you talking about.” 

You snort, “Our vid title. Or — orrr, I gotta better one! Constellation station makes astrology-loser girlfriend see the Milky Way—“

“No one’s gonna click that.” 

“I would!” The bed dips behind Ellie, and goosebumps rise on her skin when your lips connect with the muscles in her back. Graze all the way up her neck, “And you would, too. Lil’ freak.” Ellie’s core gives a tight squeeze. What a change of fucking events: used to be bullied over being the school’s freak show, and now her body’s begging her girlfriend to throw it in her face one more time. 

“I’m not posting anything.” 

You tsk, “A shame. Could’ve used that OnlyFans bag.” A dreamy sigh from you, “You know you can do whatever you want to me, right?” 

“I’ve been told.” 

“And I meant it.” You’re a fucking siren, “Your time to shine, baby. Nothing’s off limits in my book.” 

Ellie’s stern, “I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

“Whatever you like, I like. Wanna feel how wet you make me, space ranger?” 

You and Ellie are polar opposites, and somehow share the singular fucking braincell when you’re horny. You have the same effect on her. She turns her head to meet your eyes, “Can I fix the camera first?” 

A gentle peck on her cheek gets her body thrumming, “Ay, ay, captain.” And you fall back onto the mattress, rolling until you reach the other side of the bed. You’re up and running to the bathroom… with the 9M Sex bag in your hand. 

… Ellie’s never been more afraid(wet) than she is right now. 

The set up is ready. One tripod simply wasn’t enough to capture all that you bring; Ellie found another thrown in the back of her closet and got it situated, angled and ready, at the foot of the bed where her phone and iPad lay. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous like you didn’t just beat her walls down a few hours ago. This discarded blunt isn’t helping her, either. 

Ellie’s confident that she’ll faint mid-stroke—

“Smells like pussy in here.” 

Ellie blushes and turns at your call from the bathroom entryway. She’s engulfed in flames at the sight of you. 

… You’re cute. She’ll give you that. 

She scoffs a laugh around smoke at the alien antennas in your locs, and the green alien head on the triangle of your thong. Her eyes squint as she watches you pose in the doorway, bent over, squeezing your breasts. She scales your body as you prance over until you’re standing in front of her, staring down into her eyes. 

“Whatcha think, space ranger?” You seduce, pushing your tits into her face, “Wanna teach a clueless little alien about sexual healing?” 

“You’re… insane.” 

“You love it,” … She does. Fuck, she does. You leer at her, “Is she rollin’?”

… Weed? Always.

… Camera. Camera! 

Ellie drags her free hand up the back of your thigh while sticking her blunt between her lips, blindly reaching around to the camera. Her fingers feel around until a small beep slices through the weighted silence, the red light indicating the start of a recording. 

“She is now.” Ellie takes one last rip, and it chokes her a bit, smoke wafting up to your nostrils before she stubs it out, discarding her tray and lighter to the side. The scent gets you giddy. 

You hum, and Ellie falls back at your shove, and 

she’s pounced on in no time. Your finger locks around her Spider-Man charm to pull her closer. You’re slow at first, teasing her mouth with yours before pecking, licking over her lips like a kitten while she gets handfuls of your bare ass. Boldness sparks in her chest when she thinks about the camera directly behind you; her hands move mindlessly, pulling your asscheeks apart until the string is right above your stretched asshole, your pussy lips swallowing the tiny triangle. 

You moan into her mouth when the bunched fabric rubs against your clit; the fabric is already soaked through and sticky, and the kiss breaks with Ellie’s satisfied grin. 

Adrenaline jolts through her body when her mouth trails down your jaw, a tight hand clamped around your soft cheeks to force your head wherever she needs it. She drinks up every small noise you breathe into the muggy air, mouth tickling the shell of your ear like a feather, Ride my fucking face, she whispers — demands; it sounds like she’s begging, and you gasp. 

Do it, Ellie beckons, Show out, superstar. 

Your girlfriend is so fucking sexy… But, of course, your dark thoughts win. 

“S-Should I make, like… alien noises when I bust, or somethin’? E.T, phone home type shit?”

Ellie snaps with a glare, “Don’t kill my fucking vibe.” 

“Okay, damn! My fault! Just tryna be cute for the vlog.” 

“… It’s not a fucking vlog—“

“Day in the life of annoying artistic lesbians who are also gay—“

“I'm drying up.” Ellie’s palms dig into her eyes. 

“No you’re not,” you purr before climbing up her torso. She grabs your waist before you reach her chin. 

“Turn around. Want the cam to see your face.” 

Your antennas wiggle on your head when you switch positions, “… Beep bop beepboop—“

You fall over in hysterics at Ellie’s hollered laughter. “Oh my — PFFFT —“

“STOP FUCKING LAUGHING!” You scream back at her, wiping tears from your face, “I’m tryna be cute!” You huff and swing a leg over her waist, and Ellie silences. The length of your back is on display for her; You’re cracking jokes about fucking alien sex but she’s not listening. How could she when your ass rests pert on her chest, when the sight of your dripping cunt and tight asshole is right there? Practically on her chin—

C’mere. Back up a little. She whispers, but you’re shy, only inching up her chest with sparkly eyes. Ellie rolls hers before wrapping her arms around your thighs to yank you back. She snickers and eyes the wet alien over your clit. 

Her smile drops when a sly hand slides over your ass, index finger hitching into the string of your thong to pull it to the side. A moan leaves Ellie’s mouth when your pussy clenches from above, and you snort mockingly. 

You’re easy as fuck. Such a cutie pie—

Shut the fuck up, you only laugh harder, and Ellie’s hands twitch, irritation sizzling in her fingertips. You’re so fucking annoying and she’s soaking. She’d drink you for days. 

The next moments go by in a flash; your thong is shredded by icy hands, dangling limply from your waist as excited squeals leave your mouth. Ellie’s tongue is aggressive where it swipes all over your cunt, arms synched tight around the meat of your thighs to hold you still. Your smell intoxicates her, turns her mind lucid, makes her squirm and ache. Every second that passes, her excitement to re-watch your creation grows. She wishes she could see you. 

You love cameras, attention — limelight. You deserve every inkling of praise; mutters against your cunt how good you are, how soft your pussy is, how bad she wants to make you cry. Ellie growls into you when your hips start rocking on her face, testing the waters with your hands planted on her thighs. Her arms drop flat on the mattress, allowing you full access to use her. Ellie’s tongue lays over her bottom lip, and your movements bolden. Your hips curl, slick smearing all over her mouth to the tip of her nose. 

F—Fuck, baby, oh shit— 

Ellie moans like she’s urging you to drench her entire face. Her tongue slithers inside your cunt and you choke out her name, nails sinking into her thighs. The muscle moves inside you with purpose, swirling up against your walls as they squeeze down. The cries that leave are too much for her; she swears there’s a puddle left on the blankets beneath her. 

When you gasp, fuck, baby, cumming for you, Ellie whimpers and her thighs squeeze together. Her arms pull you as close as she can get you, slurping and sucking at your clit as it pulses through your orgasm. You beg her not to stop, thighs quaking around her head. Ellie alternates from flicking your clit to sucking cum from your slit, and she envisions your gorgeous eyes rolled back beneath her eyelids. 

Wanna make me cum again, baby? Yeah? Your sonics tremble alongside Ellie’s thighs. She knows you're smiling like an angel at the lens and she sobs for more of your cum, more of your taste. Your moans pick up with the snaps of your hips once more. 

F-Fuck me with your tongue, Ellie, You plead and she listens; Your walls melt around her, softness closing in around the wet muscle. Ellie’s whole body twitches when a soft hand rests above her boxers, right on her swollen bud and rubs. She's bucking up into your palm, desperate for friction, but you don't... give it. She groans against your lips and sucks you harder, and you squeal.

It doesn't take long for you to peak again; slick glides down Ellie's chin and drowns her, coats her throat in dreamy stickiness with her nails in the fat of your ass.

She slurps and eats you up until you're running up the mattress with her name melted on your tongue.

“How the fuck — oh my fuckin’ god, put your head down—“

Ellie snickers at you struggling to get her in the frame of the iPad camera. She comfortingly rubs over your ass, “There’s a camera right in front of you, babe—“

“Not good enough. I’m tryna watch you hit it.” 

More jerking around. More flipping of the device. More sighs of annoyance before you strike gold. 80% of Ellie’s face is in frame… alongside her pretty titties. Mission somewhat accomplished. You watch her smile through the lens before sending a thumbs up. The iPad gets adjusted before you throw her one behind your head. 

“Uhhh… So what now?” 

“What do you mean.” 

“I just… stick it in?” 

“Mhm. Touch anywhere. Fuck me however you want. Make love to me. I’ll love it. I love you.” 

Your voice turns her into the largest puddle of pink glitter. That deep, broken twinge gets her bones sizzling. “I love you more.” 

Your hips buck back on her so hard that she almost falls over, but she managed to catch what you’re throwing. Barely. Her heart’s in her throat. 

“Prove it…”

Ellie can see your smile and her teeth grit at your snicker. 

“Fucking bottom.” 

Your head gets pushed down into the sheet, and you smile, antennas standing tall. You grin so goddamn wide. Lottery. Lottery— 

Everything is silent… Minus the little alert of the started recording when Ellie whispers against the curve of your ear, 

“Don’t start that shit again. Don’t.” 

You whimper as audibly as you can with a smushed cheek. It seems to push her; she’s reaching between your legs and your clit leaps in appreciation. In infatuation. Her fingers slosh between a deep brown and pink as she messily kisses your sweaty back. 

“Behave.” Her rubs are deadly on your clit, 

“I-I know we were joking earlier—“

“What now—“

“You like being called daddy?” 

Everything stops. Your brain never fails to ruin your satisfaction. “No, what the fuck—“

“Damn… forreal?” 

“Dude—“

“Just asking! You may proceed.” 

When Ellie senses that you’ll finally shut the fuck up, she does, and you’re happy again. 

“If you call me mommy, I’ll strangle you.” Ellie slurs wetly against the end of your spine. She tsks when she catches your ass and cunt squeeze down at the threat, walls sucking hard on the finger she hadn’t registered slipped in. Fucking high-fiving each other. 

The curve in your spine deepens when a certain tip rubs up against your clit. Nestles right in between the plump of your lips. Slides back and forth slowly. 

You’re so loud already… You’re watching your own nut build right in front of your eyes; You can’t help it. In front of your sexy ass girlfriend. Mainly due to the mirroring of Ellie staring at where you two connect with such thirst. She’s ravenous for you and you fucking love her. 

“Fuck me, baby, please, please.“ 

“I like that.” She states plainly, so you get louder. 

“Please, Ellie, please? Ple—”

A recording alert and a flash appears in your lens. Ellie holds her phone up as she captures you from the back; all over your spine, your ass, your holes that desperately twitch and beg for her entry. 

“Shhh, gotchu, honey. Just playing with you.” She coos quietly. Your body wracks at her voice and she hides a smirk with teeth in her lip. “Wish you could see how much you’re leaking right now. So fucking sexy.”

No brain. Brainless. You’re brainless. Just Ellie and pleasure and happiness and love. Your blinks are lost. You may never go back to your dad’s again. 

You can’t see her guide herself in but you feel it. Feel that nudge inside and your mouth gapes. The iPad tremors with your shaky movements as she presses in. She takes her time, captures every pant and jerk of hips before she halts them with a stern hand. When she’s fully sat inside you, she locks eyes with you in the front frame. Drinks in your muted pleads of her to wreck you however she pleases. 

Ellie holds your gaze when she pulls out. She’s battling; conflicted between watching how your eyes welt and shine or memorizing the stretch of your cunt. Jade crystals flit back and forth. Anywhere they can reach. 

H-How ya doin’ back there? 

A harsh thrust from your girlfriend earns her a guttural noise from your lips before she mumbles, Think m’ good. 

You are, baby, fuck—

Praise gets her going. She stops her own recording and tosses her phone some fucking where before hands close around your hips — tightly, so tightly. Holds you steady and still before she takes. 

Ellie might not use this fucking iPad footage. The screen fucking rattles every time she hits and crests deep inside you, bruising you. All that’s caught in the frame is your lovedrunk eyes and your loud, slobbery mouth and glittery antennas bouncing on your head. Quick glimpses of Ellie’s tits jumping. 

There’s a constant change of pace and it gives you whiplash. Her fucking goes from brutal to passionate to leisure to just fucking grinding while she’s fully submerged in your wetness. She’s experimenting, as she should! You treasure every grab and scratch and tug at your skin. She’s yanking and pulling at you like a fucking rag doll and your body goes lax. 

So does your fucking tongue, apparently. 

“The fuck did you just say?” Ellie spits down at you. 

But she doesn’t stop. She fucks you faster, and you start sobbing. 

“Y-You fucking heard me. I know you wanna—“

“I’m not saying that shit.” Her hips snap with intent to punish and the device falls from your hands, face planted deep in her soft blankets and tugging at her sheets. 

“Just say it! Sayitsayit—“

Ellie groans like an animal from behind you. Grabs the back of your neck and shoves your face down into her sheets, muffling your shouts and begs to degrade the living shit outta you. Call you disgusting names that got the two of you in that complicated mess when you first met. The slapping of wet skin and your screams make her crazed and wound up so tight that she almost slips. 

Ellie’s trying to ignore the piercing, tearful pleads of callmeaslutcallmeaslutimyourwhore but she’s leaking like a fucking faucet. Knows she shouldn’t reopen that fucking Pandora’s box when you’re so vulnerable, but she’s fuckdrunk and so are you. 

“You gonna cum?” 

You nod. 

“You like when I’m mean to you?” 

You nod faster and Ellie’s tummy squeezes. She scoffs a disgusting laugh before her body melds against your back, your angled knees slipping down the mattress so she’s fully laid on you, viperid tongue right at your ear… 

It's just this once... You know she loves you... One little jumbled slur wouldn't do too much harm. You're begging her for it, aren't you?

Something in your mind breaks over the next minute and a half. The last memory you have is Ellie’s teeth nipping at your lobe before she whispered, 

I love turning you into my nasty little slut. 

And that was that. You entered another universe filled with white noise and colorful lights and Ellie and… a lotta wet. You could’ve been in the Atlantic with how drenched her mattress is right now. You owe her an apology. 

Top 2 best nuts of your life and it’s not 2. 

Your pussy’s still twitching around her even though she’s left you immobile. You hardly register her mumble against your back, 

“I didn’t get my pic.”

You make a questioned, weak noise. Your index finger twitches, so she grabs your wrist to kiss it. 

“I needa pic of your O face. I’m starting a collection. We gotta run it back again.” 

Another broken wheeze. A death sentence is what you have. What your girlfriend will give you. 

Ellie was a virgin when you met her… but was she really? 

You have no idea what time of day it is, what day it is, or where your fucking cat has ventured off in the house, but you’re about seven —maybe eight— nuts deep, and your girlfriend is still fucking you. 

You thought she was joking when she shoved her phone in your hand and instructed you to capture the moment right before you bust all over her, but she actually meant it… What the fuck does she think you are? Smart? Not in this fucking state. How do you even work this goddamn phone again? 

C’mon, baby. I just need a good one. Give it to me ‘n I’ll stop. 

Her pleading moan is a double-ended sword. Your legs are so sore from being held in air as she plowed you, but you’re also a deranged, sex-obsessed, girlfriend-obsessed lesbo. Do you really want her to stop or has the dopamine melted all your brain cells? The amount of mid-orgasm photos you’ve taken over the past hour could’ve filled a museum, but Ellie’s always dissatisfied, saying that she can barely see your face because you kept wiggling around. What does she expect! 

She’s digging for that picture, though. Right at your cervix. 

Been such a good little slut. Taking it so good. Just do this last little thing for me. 

You’re nodding but you’re not listening. Bells and whistles ring in your ears as your filled hand shakes. The tightness in your walls steals your breath for a second. 

Tell me when you're boutta cum. 

You somehow manage to get a squeak out, barely audible, but Ellie gets the point. Her hands find refuge underneath your knees and bring them up higher while she mouths at your neck. It happens all over again; that cresting feeling right before you crash. 

I love you. Make it good. 

Ellie’s ears split at your shouts of her name, but she grins madly at the sound of frantic camera clicks coming from above her. She plants a doting kiss on your cheek. 

You hope you did. You really hope you did.

taggiessssss thanks 4 waiting :3 @dyk3ang3l @ellieloml @inf3ct3dd @fromminaa @womenofarcane @sawaagyapong @mina-281 @aouiaa @bbglmfao @i00rii @sakiigami @starologist @southelroys @diddiqueen @trackinglessons @ellieswhorcrux @villainousbear @p4ison1vy @tohoko @yuckyfucky @dollyfleurs @elsbunny222 @sevsbimbo @amiorca @alittlextrahoney @gato-chino @topiatwin @r3wbeef @elliesatchel @muthafuckingstargirl @callmewhenyoukan @macaroni676 @draculurasblog @ellieaesp @@gravygranules @elsblunt

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 1: Wrong Foot

Joel takes on a new contract as a bodyguard. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Non-consensual groping (not by Joel.) Mention of grief and child loss. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.1k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Next Chapter

Two years later - September 2024

“You really want me for this one?” he asked as he rode up the elevator at the nicest hotel in Austin. Even after two years protecting wealthy assholes, Joel wasn’t used to shit like this. The fast elevators and the plush carpets and the trappings of wealth that provided everything his charges needed. Everything, it seemed, except safety. 

For that, they needed him. 

Protecting people, as it happened, was something Joel was good at. It almost surprised him how good he was at it. It forced him to be aware of what was happening around him for a change instead of just moving through the world like a ghost. It took that awareness for him to even realize just how dead he’d been in the years since the death of his daughter.

Usually, things went fine. Most often, he was shepherding tech or oil executives with inflated egos from business meeting to business meeting while they were in town and looking the other way when they cheated on their wives or put half his salary up their noses. Nothing ever happened with those assholes. 

Occasionally, though, his job got interesting. Rabid fans tried to mob some pop star Joel had never heard of at a club on 6th Street once and he had to carry her out, forcing his way through the crowd before she got crushed. Then there was the supermodel who was posing for photos with fans when one little college-aged fucker thought it would be smart to grab her ass to cop a feel. Joel took a little too much pleasure in punching him so hard that he fell to the floor, knocked clean out. The football player had been the biggest trouble, though. Some hotshot asshole who’d just won the Super Bowl coming back to his college town to party. He picked a fight with the wrong drug dealer and damn near got shot for it, Joel whisking him away and getting winged in the shoulder by the bullet for his trouble. 

He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he liked when the work got dicey. Being shot at was the closest to alive Joel has felt in years. Getting to lay out some asshole without the cops trying to arrest him for it had been the highlight of his month. It made him very good at his job and he liked that, both things that surprised him. 

“You’re my best guy,” Tommy said. “You’ve seen more action on this job than almost any of the other guards and they want someone with a good history. Plus you don’t give a shit about… higher profile clientele. I can’t put fuckin’ James on a job with someone he knows, he’ll fan boy over ‘em. Remember when that one band came through?” 

“Jesus,” Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been an easy job but it was one that he’d had to do most of the work on, James practically giddy the entire time. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what, this some pop star or somethin’?” 

“Not sure,” Tommy said. “They’ve been playin’ it real close to the chest, won’t ID ‘em until we sign an NDA.” 

“So you got no idea what we’re workin’ with,” Joel said, grinding his teeth. 

“Just that it’s someone people know,” Tommy said. “Long term contract, real good money. They mentioned a stalker, they’re bringing all the information along on that to review, wanted you to see it before we signed on.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“Well,” he said. “Least it’ll be interesting.” 

They made it to the top floor of the hotel, only four doors and Joel fought the urge to laugh. God, this breed of rich asshole was a whole new level. 

Tommy led the way to a door labeled Presidential Suite and knocked, a young woman with close cropped dark hair and a headphone in her ear answered the door. 

“One second,” she said, tapping her headphone before she smiled at the two men. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Miller. My boss prefers to have people come to where she is when she travels, I’m sure you can understand…” 

“Of course,” Tommy said. “Happy to go wherever you need.” 

“Can I get you anything?” She asked, leading the way into a hotel suite that had to be damn near the size of Joel’s entire house. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Also have a variety of Coke I think you call it here if you’d like that.” 

“Water’s fine,” Tommy said. 

“Still, sparkling?” She asked. “Also have cucumber, lemon, mint…” 

“Uh,” Tommy blinked for a moment and Joel fought the urge to laugh. “Still’s fine. None of that other stuff.” 

She nodded before she looked to Joel, her brows raised. 

“Coffee,” he said. “Black.” 

“Of course,” she smiled, leading them to a sitting room and gesturing to a couch. “Quinn will be with you shortly.” 

She disappeared and returned with their drinks, handing them to each of them with a smile before she tapped the headphone again. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost syrupy sweet as she went to another room. “I appreciate you waiting since you’re apparently so willing to try to fuck us over…” 

Tommy’s eyes went wide and he looked at Joel, the conversation becoming almost silent as she closed the door behind her. 

“Definitely ain’t from around here,” Joel said. 

“Guess not,” Tommy said. 

It wasn’t long - Joel only drank half the coffee which was far better than he was expecting it to be - when another door opened, a woman closer to his own age coming out, dressed in an expertly fitted gray suit, her dark hair in long, tiny braids that hung to her waist. Sarah had always liked hair like that, always begged Joel to let her get them. He wished he had whiskey for his coffee. 

The woman was on the phone, too, but she was on speaker. 

“I don’t care,” she said. “You know the deal and I’m not going to just sit here and pretend that you don’t because you decided today was the day to play fucking games. Call me when you want to handle shit like a fucking grown up.” 

She hung up and sat heavily on the couch opposite them, the girl who answered the door almost scurrying into the room and hovering near the large coffee table. The woman in the suit - Quinn, Joel assumed - giving her a single nod and she rushed off, quickly returning with a bottle of water and several folios. 

“Tommy,” Quinn smiled. “While it’s good to see you again, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I’m looking forward to getting this settled so we can stop meeting like this.” 

Tommy smiled back. 

“Can’t say I disagree,” he said. “Wanted you to have the chance to meet Joel, he’ll be the lead on this contract assuming we go ahead. He’s one of my best guys, got the history you asked for…” 

“I’m sure being your brother doesn’t hurt,” she smiled a little. Joel raised his eyebrows and looked to Tommy but she answered his unspoken question. “We pulled backgrounds for everyone on your payroll. We can’t be too careful.” 

She tossed one of the leather folios on the table. 

“This is what we’re up against,” she said. “Redacted, of course, so you can’t ascertain who my client is but you’ll have access to the full versions should you accept the contract and sign the necessary NDAs. We’ve naturally brought them to the police and they believe the threat is credible. They have a lot of information - some of these were sent to my client’s private residence, for example - and it’s clear they’ve seen my client in person numerous times. We have reason to believe they will follow my client wherever she goes and there is genuine concern for escalation…” 

Tommy picked up the file and looked it over, nodding slowly, before passing a page off to Joel. It was the photo copy of a printed letter. 

You were beautiful today in that green dress. 

One day, you’ll come home to me. One day, I’ll make you see. 

Joel passed the page back to Tommy. 

“I can see why you’re concerned,” Tommy said, handing the folio back. “Don’t seem like anything we can’t handle. I think we’re alright to move forward with the contract as discussed…” 

There was a knock at the door and the girl ran to go answer it, Quinn ignoring it completely. 

“Excellent,” she said, grabbing another folio and passing it over. “This is the contract and the NDA, already reviewed by your legal team. We just require a wet signature.” 

Tommy nodded, looking over the pages, anyway, and Joel was starting to wonder why he’d had to be trotted out like some kind of prize show pony just to sign some damn paperwork when there was a commotion at the door. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” the girl was saying, her voice oddly pleading, the total opposite of how she’d been on the phone. 

“Oh I’m sure Quinn won’t mind,” another voice - a new one but there was a tug of familiarity to it that set Joel’s teeth on edge - said. “I am her favorite client, after all.” 

Quinn’s head snapped in the direction of the sound and, in a sweep of gauzy clothes and floral perfume, you were there. 

Joel recognized you immediately, everything about you seeming to have been built to be remembered. The whole world remembered you, it had been years since he’d been able to escape you. The biggest movie star on the planet, helming major franchises and winning fucking Oscars, on the cover of gossip rags at the fucking grocery store and on billboards advertising perfume and on Saturday Night Live. In person, from the second you appeared, you were a force. Your face, your voice, the way you held yourself, no wonder he always noticed you when you were all around him. No wonder his daughter had been obsessed with you. 

Your face was a poster on her wall, a picture where you had the slightest, confident smile on your lips but your eyes always seemed sad. You turned those eyes to him, ranging over him like you were taking stock and Joel’s heart stuttered before your gaze turned to Tommy and back to Quinn. 

“So glad you got the meeting started without me,” you said, all saccharine sweetness, stepping over Joel’s legs and sitting down on the edge of the couch between him and Tommy. You crossed one elegant leg over the other - your pants ever so slightly sheer so Joel could just make out your thigh below the loose fabric - and leaned forward, taking Joel’s white china coffee cup off the table and helping yourself to a sip with a jingle of your bangles that were piled high on your wrists. You gave him a wink as you did, setting the cup back on its saucer before leaning onto your leg, your arms folded in front of you. “I’m sure the fact that I didn’t know it was happening has nothing to do with wanting to cut me out of the decision making for something that’s going to be apparently integral to my life over the next year.” 

“I just don’t want to bog you down with petty things like this,” Quinn waved you off. “You have enough on your plate, that’s what you pay me for…” 

“Oh I’m sure that’s all it is…” 

Quinn leaned forward, too, meeting your steely gaze from across the table. The knowing smile that had been on her lips just a second earlier was gone. In its place was a no nonsense expression that Joel imagined carried her far when dealing with Hollywood assholes. She, it seemed, was done coddling you. 

“The studios know,” she cut you off. “Someone at the police station leaked it. And they won’t insure you without higher levels of security, especially if you want to spend this much time outside LA. You want to keep working? You need security. At least until we get to the bottom of whoever is sending you letters.” 

“Have you tried telling them how well the tickets will sell when I die?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m sure they’ll be champing at the bit then, especially now that they can just replace me with CGI for whatever isn’t in the can…” 

“That’s not funny,” Quinn said sharply. 

“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.” 

She glared at you. 

“Do you really want someone like that getting close to her?” She asked, her voice almost unsettlingly earnest and gentle. You almost deflated then, giving in. “It’s not safe, babe. I’m trying to keep you safe. It just so happens that it’s also in the studio’s best interest so you don’t have to foot the entire bill.” 

“You must not have told them about the boost in ticket sales, then,” you said wryly. She rolled her eyes. “But fine. If you really think there’s a risk to her? I’ll do it.” 

Joel wondered who this “her” was. Knowing movie stars, probably some tiny fucking dog you carried in your goddamn purse. 

You looked to Joel for a moment, your gaze oddly cutting, like you were seeing through every part of him before turning your attention to Tommy. 

“When does your contract begin then?” 

Tommy glanced at Joel, almost asking if he was actually OK with this. Clearly, this wasn’t what Tommy had expected either. Joel gave a minute shrug. 

“Tomorrow,” Tommy said, looking back to you. “Joel here will be your point man but you’ll also be working with a few other guys from my company. He’ll get you oriented tomorrow and we can work out a way to ensure your protection that’s minimally disruptive to your daily life.” 

You scoffed. 

“Something tells me having a wall of muscle follow me everywhere is going to disruptive,” you said. “But the studio says jump, we say how high, right?” 

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Quinn said.

“We all know who does,” you muttered darkly, getting to your feet. “Well, since all this was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, I think I’m done wasting my time here.” 

You turned to Joel and he found himself in the unnatural position of looking up to someone, his jaw tight as you levied those exacting eyes on him again. 

“See you in the morning,” you said, reaching down and helping yourself to another sip of his coffee with a wink before stepping over his legs and heading out the door in a whirl of soft perfume and flowing fabric. He looked back to the coffee cup. Your lipstick was on the rim.

Joel tried not to think about how you looked at him as Tommy finished up with the formalities, the conversation between his brother and Quinn a drone he couldn’t really make out over the noise in his head as his leg bounced impatiently.

When Tommy had looked at him just now, the silent request for permission, he should have bowed out. He should have said he didn’t want to put his life on the line for some spoiled fucking brat and gone home. But he hadn’t and he couldn’t back out of this now. It didn’t matter how much you made him think of his daughter. It didn’t matter how your eyes seemed to cut him to the quick. He owed Tommy. When he’d started in this business, he’d told his brother that he could do this work and sometimes that meant doing shit he wasn’t comfortable with. He would just have to live with that. 

Eventually, Joel gave up on sitting still. 

“Be downstairs,” he said gruffly to Tommy when the conversation with Quinn lulled for a moment. He didn’t wait for a response before going for the elevator, relieved that it as empty on the way down to the lobby as it had been on the way up. 

But the ground floor of the hotel was not the quiet place it had been when Joel had arrived. Instead, there was a press of people just outside the doors, phones up and loud enough that he could hear them through the glass. He frowned for a moment before he realized what it was, the metal of your bangles catching the light as your arm rose above the crowd, a phone clutched in your hand as you took a selfie. 

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, stalking over toward the door. 

At least, he thought, he wasn’t on duty until tomorrow. If you really wanted to handle shit that bad on your own? Fine by him. 

The doorman held the door for him and Joel gave him a stiff nod as he tried to force his way from the building, but the press of people was becoming suffocating, every inch of sidewalk crammed tight. 

“Can I get a selfie?” 

“My girlfriend loves you, can you say hi to her on video?” 

“Can I have an autograph?” 

“Look, I’m happy to give you all whatever you want,” you said, voice friendly but still curt. “But I need a little room to breathe, OK? I’m not in a rush, we’ve got time, it’s…” 

Someone from the outside edge of the crowd shoved forward, sending the press of people toward you, Joel tall enough that he could see how they tripped and jostled, sending you stumbling into the person at your back. You had to fight for the space to stand up again, the man you’d fallen into’s hand running up your side to your chest, cupping the underside of your breast as you tried to find a way to separate from him. If it wasn’t for the look on his face, Joel might have given him the benefit of the doubt. But his lecherous smile gave him away, and the thinly veiled look of disgust on your face told him you knew exactly what this man was trying. 

Something that hadn’t existed much since Joel lost everything took over. It was rage, blind and violent and coursing through him sharp and heady. That rage didn’t give him a chance to really think, but then, it never had. Not when he was a kid and his dad was on some bender, not when he was some hotheaded teenager looking to pick a fight with a bully at school, not when he was at a bar and saw someone who could have killed his daughter. It was no different now as he practically dove into the crowd, forcing the group apart and not caring if people got pushed into the street or shoved to the ground.

“Move!” Joel yelled, not that it seemed to do much beyond warn people that he was coming for them. He reached you in a matter of seconds, towering over the man who’d decided to take advantage of your vulnerable position to grope you. The man - more of a kid, likely some student at UT who didn’t know his ass from hole in the ground - gaped up at him, his eyes wide and his hand still on your breast. 

Joel took your arm and pulled you, roughly, away from his grip, tucking you behind him before refocusing on the kid in front of him. 

“You think that shit’s funny?” Joel asked, his hand curling into a fist. “Touchin’ a woman without permission?” 

“I was just…” he looked afraid and something inside Joel flared with pride at that. Look at what he could do, he thought, it looked like he was capable of something after all. 

“Know what you were just,” Joel cut him off, mockingly, before grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him back into a marble pillar. The kids head smacked against it with sickening crack. “Do that shit again and I’ll bust your jaw.” 

Joel released him and the kid slumped to the ground before he turned to find you, looking down at the kid with your mouth slightly open. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him, ducking your head down low to ruin the picture for anyone who might be trying to take one. “Let’s go.” 

He looked around, the crowd thinner now but all watching him. 

“Move!” He roared again. This time, they listened, parting like the Red Sea as he ushered you quickly away, back into the hotel. He looked to the door man, trying not to glare at him too hard. “Those assholes don’t come inside, we clear?” 

“Yes sir,” the man said quickly.

Joel looked to you next. 

“Where’s your car?” 

“Valet,” you said, your forehead in your hand. “I didn’t get a chance to even grab it yet, someone must have tipped off some fucking gossip blog that I was here…” 

“Got the ticket?” Joel asked. You sighed and fished it out of your pocket and handed it over before Joel took it to the front desk and told them to have your car brought out back. He also got directions to the loading dock before going back to find you, in the same spot on the plush lobby couch, fingers laced together, elbows braced on your knees. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, making you jump before looking up at him. “They’re bringing your car around back, we’ll get you out of here without those fuckers knowin’.” 

You looked back down at the ground before giving a stiff nod. 

“Thanks.” You got up and took a deep breath, raising your chin, an almost serene look on your face before looking to him. “Lead the way.” 

He did as you asked, watching like a hawk for anyone who might be stupid enough to try to talk to you. But no one seemed to pay you any mind, even as the two of you cut through the dining room - closed between lunch and dinner service - and into the kitchen, where dozens of cooks were working to get set for the evening. They just ducked around the pair of you, sometimes giving Joel a dirty look for getting in their way, and then you were at the loading dock. 

“Here,” Joel said, jumping down from the edge of it to the alley still damp from rain from the night before. He held his hands out to you. “I’ll help you down.” 

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself,” you said. You were more cautious about it than Joel but you jumped down and landed lightly beside him, brushing your hands free of the dirt from the dock before crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your jaw was tight, the only sign on your calm, uncommonly beautiful face that something might be wrong. Joel crossed his arms, too. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

You looked at him for a second, your brows raised ever so slightly. 

“Fine,” you said after a moment before staring straight ahead again. 

“You sure?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said and then you laughed once, sharply. “I mean, no, I’m not but what the fuck am I going to do about it? It’s part of the job, isn’t it?” 

Joel ground his teeth. 

“Shouldn’t be.” 

“Regardless,” you shrugged, glancing at him again. “Thank you for your help. You didn’t have to do that and… Well, I appreciate it.” 

“Sure,” he said as your car came around the corner. You dropped your arms before turning to face him. 

“Looks like it’s you and me starting tomorrow,” you said. “I’m sure your boss will give you all the details but I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“Joel,” he said after a moment. “Miller.”

You smiled, a small, almost hesitant one, the slightest upturn of your lips. 

“Joel Miller,” you repeated back to him. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…” 

“Don’t need to tell me your name,” he said. “Pretty sure everyone on Earth knows your name.” 

You laughed again in that same, humorless way as your car stopped beside you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I suppose they do. See you tomorrow, Joel.” 

“See you tomorrow, ma’am.” 

He watched you pull cash out of your pocket and smile more broadly at valet who was damn near gawking at you. You discreetly handed him the money as you shook his hand and Joel stayed there in the alley until he couldn’t see your car any more. 

“Holy shit,” the valet said and Joel looked down at him. He had to be about 18 years old, still wet behind the ears. Probably had fucking posters of you up in his room that he jerked off to before he went to bed. He held up the cash. “She gave me 100 bucks!” 

Joel looked down at him, making sure to draw himself to his full height. 

“You gonna tell anyone we got her out this way?” He asked. The kid swallowed hard and shook his head. “Good.” 

Joel tried not to grind his teeth as he went back inside to find his brother. He wished it wasn’t too late to back out of this. You, he thought, were going to be far more than he’d bargained for. He just hoped he was ready for it.

***

“I’m not wearing this.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Seriously dude?” You asked, incredulous. “Can’t you wait like… two days before picking a fight?” 

“Have you seen this fucking thing?” Ellie’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs as she held up the hem of the blue plaid skirt that, you had to admit, looked sickeningly unnatural on your 14-year-old niece. “You could put a whole circus up this thing! And how am I supposed to kick someone’s ass in a fucking skirt?” 

“First of all, language,” you said. She rolled her eyes. You ignored her. “Second of all, you shouldn’t be kicking anybody’s ass. Why are you starting your day thinking about ass kicking? You haven’t even met these kids yet, I highly doubt you’ll need to kick someone’s ass your first day.” 

“I’d like to be able to kick someone’s ass if I need to,” she said, incredulous. “Come on. You know this is insane.” 

You sighed as the doorbell rang and you checked your watch. 7 a.m. on the nose. Well, at least the man was prompt. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “Run upstairs, put on something else…” 

Ellie took off as Esmo, your household assistant, appeared next to you, Joel by her side. 

“Morning,” he said, voice gruff. You looked him over quickly, a side arm at his belt on a pair of jeans that fit him entirely too well. You doubted they were tailored, either, they just fit him like that, the bastard. Just your luck that you’d get stuck with a bodyguard who was unnaturally good looking but also an asshole. “Thought we could get started with…”

“Sorry, that won’t work, things are a bit off the rails this morning,” you said to him quickly, not giving him a chance to respond before turning to Esmo.

“Do you still have the name of the uniform store?” You asked her. “If you do, can you see if they’re open? I think we’re going to need to stop for pants…” 

“Yes ma’am,” she said, quickly pulling out her phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to get pants, the requirements were very clear…” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said quickly. Esmo had only been working for you for a few weeks and it felt like the two of you were still getting used to each other. She insisted on calling you ma’am. You insisted on doing too much for yourself. It was a delicate balance. “She’s just…” 

“OK,” Ellie came thundering down the stairs in the same sweater with a button down shirt and tie but jeans instead of the skirt. “Ready!” 

“Store opened at seven,” Esmo said, pocketing her phone. “I can take her and…” 

“I want to do it,” you cut her off, catching a glimpse of Joel’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye as you looked back to your niece. “Alright trouble maker, ready to go?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Girl,” you said. “Language, please!” 

She made a face but made her way to the front door, anyway, her thumbs looped through the straps of her book bag and you turned to Joel, still surprised at just how large he was, even after being against him the day before. 

“Assuming you’re along for the ride on this,” you said, jerking your head for the door. “But we gotta book it, with an extra stop we’re already not going to be early for her first day.” 

He still had a look of almost shock on his face but he followed behind you as you grabbed your keys and wristlet from the bowl by the door, Ellie bouncing impatiently from foot to foot. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were excited,” you teased as you made you way to the Porsche SUV you’d gotten specifically to haul Ellie around. “Almost like you want to go to school instead of hanging out with me all day.” 

“Spending time with old people does get… well, old,” she smirked, heading for the passenger seat but you stopped her. 

“Absolutely not, you’re in back,” you said, jerking a thumb toward Joel - who still hadn’t spoken. “This man has a good foot on you, we’re not making him sit back there.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she huffed but obeyed, throwing her book bag against the opposite door before clambering in as Joel went for the driver’s seat, holding out his hand for the keys. You gave him a look but he just raised his brow, his arm still extended expectantly. 

“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll let you follow me around like some guard dog but I’m keeping some last vestige of my autonomy. I’m driving.” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“No.” 

“And why not?” You asked. “Because you have control issues?”

“Do you know evasive driving tactics?” He asked. “How to watch for pursuers and safely out run them?” 

“No, but I did my own stunt driving for the Fast Track franchise,” you said wryly. “Think I’ll be fine. Now move, you’re making us late.” 

He ground his teeth. 

“We’re talkin’ about this,” he muttered before stalking off to the passenger side of the car. 

“Yeah I bet we are,” you said under your breath as you got in the car and programmed the GPS for the uniform store. 

“So,” Ellie said in a teasing tone as she leaned between the front seats as you started off. “Who are you?”

“Put on your seatbelt,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes but sat back and obeyed.

“This is Joel,” you answered for him. “He’s going to be around quite a bit.” 

“Is he like another assistant or some shit?” She asked. 

“Language,” you said and you caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes in your rearview mirror. “And no, not an assistant.” 

“Ohhhh,” she smirked. “So he’s like a boyfriend then, got it…” 

Joel rolled his eyes. 

“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “I’ll be protecting your…” 

“Bodyguard?” Ellie interrupted and leaned forward again, frowning. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You didn’t have one of those in LA, what the fuck?” 

“I have a bodyguard because you can’t go five minutes without saying fuck,” you said wryly. “My life is under constant threat because of…” 

“Please,” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You have a worse mouth than I do. But seriously, why do you need a bodyguard? Is something going on?” 

You saw Joel moving to talk but you spoke before he had a chance to. 

“This is just a different place than LA,” you said quickly. “People here aren’t used to people like me just showing up in grocery stores and stuff. It can get out of hand quick so the studio wanted me to have Joel around. It’s just a precaution.” 

She seemed skeptical but was satisfied enough by the bullshit explanation you’d just given her that she sat back, pulling a Savage Starlight comic book from her book bag and you smiled a little. A lot might have changed in the last few months but at least Ellie was still Ellie. 

You made it to the uniform store and told the woman inside - who was seemingly trying not to gape at you but was failing miserably - what you were looking for. She grabbed a few pairs of uniform pants in different sizes before leading Ellie to the fitting rooms and you hung back, waiting for her to change with Joel by your side. He stood facing you, eyes constantly sweeping the store as though this strip mall just outside Austin were a war zone. 

“No one told me you had a kid,” he said eventually. 

You smiled, sadly. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “I have a kid. That’s a pretty new development, though.” 

That made him pause, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked to you. 

“I adopted her,” you said. “A few months ago. Her mom was a single parent and like a sister to me. When she got cancer, the first thing she asked me was to take Ellie if… I told her that she was nuts, that she’d be around forever and she wouldn’t need me to do anything for Ellie besides take her to Europe for a cool aunt vacation when she turned 18 but… well, now I have a kid.” 

“I…” His voice trailed off. “Shit. I’m sorry.”  

You shrugged. 

“It is what it is, I guess,” you said. “She’s why I’m here. Things in LA… I’ve always been in her life. I was the second person to ever hold her. But I’ve always kept the paparazzi far away from her, I’ve made sure she has privacy and that she was as sheltered from that part of my life as she could be. I want to settle into this with some version of normal, one that isn’t possible when I’m in LA. And you, Joel, are throwing quite a wrench into that.” 

“Oh this is so much better,” Ellie threw the door to the changing room open with a flourish, in a pair of blue pants that perfectly matched the blue of the sweater. “Not as good as jeans but better than that stupid freaking skirt.” 

“Alright,” you said. “We’ll take five of those and then we have to get you to school because there’s no point in loading you up on uniforms just to have you miss your first day, let’s go.” 

You weren’t as early as you wanted to be - you’d been hoping to have a chance to meet Ellie’s teachers before the day started but that plan was shot - but at least kids were still arriving. You grabbed a baseball cap from your glove box, Joel stiffening as you reached between his legs to open it and you resisted the urge to smirk at that. As though you’d be trying to come onto him at all let alone with your niece in the car. 

Hat on so you were somewhat disguised, you walked with Ellie and Joel to the front of the stone building, one that had clearly taken inspiration from the ivy league schools the kids who went here were all but destined to attend. A gray haired woman in a charcoal pantsuit rushed out to greet you, an almost stern look on her face. 

“Welcome to Austin Preparatory Academy,” she extended her hand. “I’m Amanda Stark, headmistress here.” 

“Good to meet you,” you said, taking her hand, feeling Joel standing oddly close to your back. “This is Ellie, she’s looking forward to starting here today and…” 

“We’re looking forward to having her,” she smiled a little at Ellie before redirecting her attention to you. “But I’m afraid there’s been some… ah… miscommunication about the uniform. Girls are required to wear skirts. I’m sure we have…” 

“No miscommunication,” you smiled a little, steeling your spine. From the moment you’d caved to Ellie, you knew this was coming. But you’d been prepared to fight far bigger battles over this kid, this wasn’t going to be any different. “Ellie just prefers to wear pants. It wasn’t a problem at her last school, I’m sure it won’t be a problem here.” 

Ellie stuck her chin out, smirking a little and defiant as ever and you resisted the urge to elbow her. She could at least act like she wasn’t going to get her way. 

“But it is,” the headmistress said. “The uniform code here has been this way for decades and…” 

“And I’m sure you’re not suggesting that just because something has been done one way that it should continue to be done that way at the expense of students’ comfort and learning experience,” you finished for her, smiling tightly.

“We have expectations for our students,” she said, her jaw clenched. “Just like they will have one day to be successful in life, and…” 

“And you’re wearing pants,” you nodded to her suit. “And so am I. Of course, if you’re suggesting that neither of us is successful then…” 

“No, no of course not, that’s not…” 

“Wonderful!” You said brightly. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’m sure Ellie won’t cause any disruption wearing the uniform pants and now I won’t need to spend my day contacting every major news network here in Austin and asking them to come here and chat with me about your archaic gender rules and expectations. Sound good?” 

You watched her grind her teeth for a moment. 

“Of course,” she said after a moment of silence hanging in the air. “But we are close to the start of the school day and…” 

“Yes, I don’t want to be a distraction,” you smiled before turning to Ellie, tucking a hair that had already broken free of her ponytail behind her ear. “Alright kid, behave yourself, OK?” 

“Yes Sissy,” she rolled her eyes. Your heart still tightened a little when she called you that. She sounded so much like her mother, Anna. You loved that Ellie called you the same thing her mother had but still, it stung.

“I’ll be back to pick you up,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Have a good first day, OK?” 

“Oh I will,” she said and you watched her head into the building with the headmistress at her side until you couldn’t see her anymore. 

“OK, she’s dropped,” Joel said, his voice tight. “Let’s move, this place isn’t secured.” 

“Well that sure seems like a gap in security, doesn’t it?” You said, brows raised. 

“One I would have fixed if anyone had bothered to tell me you had a damn kid,” he practically growled. 

“Probably a bad idea for your boss to not have insisted on bringing me into the conversation then, wasn’t it?” 

He looked at you, his face hard. 

“Keys.” He held out his hand.

You laughed once. 

“Keys?” You said. “Really? Just ‘keys,’” you grunted it like he did, “that’s it?”

“Your kid is inside,” he said, hand still out. “Don’t have her to use an excuse now so, keys.” 

You looked at him for a moment, the firm set of his jaw, the flecks of gray just starting in at his temples. He was a good looking man, tall and broad with a rugged look to him. He’d make a good cowboy in a western, you thought, or maybe a hardened detective. But protecting someone like you seemed out of place for him. Beneath him a little, almost like he was a sell out.

“No,” you said simply, ducking around him and heading for the car. 

He followed closely behind you, even his footfalls gruff and angry. You sped up a little but he stepped in front of you, anyway, his oddly large body blocking your door. He opened his mouth - probably to try to order you around again - but you cut him off before he had the chance. 

“I’m not letting you drive,” you said. “It doesn’t matter what you do or what you say. If you want to drive, you’re going to have to pick me up and move me so, if you want to get out of here quickly and without causing a scene, you’ll get in the passenger seat and we can go.” 

For half a moment, you thought he might actually throw you over his shoulder. Instead, he just grunted and stalked around to the other side of the car, ripping the door open roughly. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. All this pretense over some stupid letters from some over zealous fan. 

You got in the car and dropped the keys in Joel’s lap. He frowned, picking them up. 

“You want to have the keys so bad? Fine.” You pushed the button and the car roared to life. “I’ve got them right where I want them.” 

“You gotta come to terms with how this shit is going to work,” he said sharply. “You can’t just do whatever the hell it is you feel like. I get that you’re some spoiled fuckin’ actress who only ever does exactly what she wants whenever she wants but I got news for you, I don’t give a shit how many movies you’ve been in or awards you’ve won. I care about keeping your ass alive and to do that, you gotta listen to me. I ain’t one of those fuckin’ ass kissers you spend all your time with so we can do this the hard way or the easy way but either way, it’s gonna be my fuckin’ way. Understood?” 

You watched him for a moment, your tongue between your teeth to keep from snapping at him. It was something you were used to, something you’d been doing since you were a girl, always shutting up while the people who were more powerful than you - people you’d made fucking rich - made every decision for you. 

That was one thing on set and in your career and even for posed fucking paparazzi shots but not in your real life. 

“I need coffee,” you said, putting the car in drive. “Coffee?” 

“I’m sure you got people who can do that for you,” he said, his jaw clenched. 

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked before nodding down to his wrist. “Oh, also? Your watch is broken.” 

You pressed the gas harder than you should have, the car jumping sharply forward, wondering just how far you could push your new shadow before he backed out.

Next Chapter

A/N: OK I'm already in love with writing how these two push each other's buttons. Annoying Joel Miller is my passion, I can't wait to drive this man absolutely insane over the arc of this fic.

Thank you so much for being patient as I wrapped up Yearling and went on vacation! I'm hoping to update this once a week going forward so you won't need to wait quite so long between chapters from here on out. I hope you enjoyed getting to know these two a little better!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler

[princessxt]

hiii, i loved your hotch fic so much, could you maybe write a spencer reid x daughter one where he and the team interview y/n as a potential unsub and then reid finds out she's his daughter that he didn't know about, or any plot you want to write :) i hope you have an amazing day <3

You can make a request in the comments or by asking me a question!

You can see the list of who I write about here

like and follow to encourage me to keep posting<33

She Looks Like You

Pairing(s):Spencer Reid x Daugther Reader

Gender:Fluffy

Warning: none?

——————♥︎♥︎——————

Spencer never imagined himself in a family, with a wife, children, a dog and a house with a white picket fence. Contact with girls his age was embarrassing, as he generally couldn't stop talking about subjects that bored the girls. He had only two relationships in his life, and in both of them, the ending was devastating for Spencer. The first was in his last year at college. He met a lovely girl, dated her for a few months, but she disappeared from college. without telling Spencer. For a while he thought the worst could have happened to her, but when he contacted her family, they just told him she was fine and for the boy to leave her alone. And in his second relationship , well, we all know what happened to Mavie.those were the losses of Spencer's life.

He could get over it, after all, he didn't think he would have a family anyway.

He knew that his work took a lot of time, and that could strain a marriage, in addition to how dangerous it would be, considering what happened to Hotch's wife. He may have been shaken by his last relationship, but he didn't let it destroy him. , and now you're here, trying harder than ever to continue saving lives.

The case the team was on was not a case of a serial killer. A couple had been murdered, and the only evidence the local police had was a strand of hair, from the killer, which according to the tests was a woman.

It didn't take long for the team to put together a profile, which led to a young girl.

They didn't have the motivation, but they had in mind that during an interrogation she could say something that would be useful for the case. When the young woman was already in the interrogation room, the agents entered.

"Are you Y/N Y/L/N?" Hotch asks, sitting in front of the young woman, making the young woman look at him with contempt. Spencer was behind Hotch, just watching her, finding her face familiar.

"Unfortunately"She throws her body back and leans against the chair, bored.

"Do you know why you're here?" The older man looks at the files in front of her, waiting for the right moment to show them to the girl.

"It looks like I'm suspected of something." She looks at Hotch, staring at him.

"Do you recognize this couple?" He shows the photos of the crime scene, with the dead couple in one of the photos. Her reaction was not what the agents expected. In the profile, they said that when the killer saw the photos of the crime scene , she wouldn't have a negative reaction, and would just stare at the photos, without a sign of remorse, but Y/n, the moment she saw the photos, turned her face away, feeling her stomach turn and her lunch return to her throat. Place your hand over the photos and close the file.

"Look, am I going to get arrested?" She looks at Hotch, angry that he showed her those horrible photos.

"You can leave at any time. But first, we need a DNA sample." Hotch takes the folders off the table and places them on her lap.

"DNA? Don't you need a warrant for that?" She gets up and grabs the coat that was on the chair.

"Not if you let us collect it willingly and make everything easier." Hotch follows her with his eyes, watching her go to the door.

"Bad luck for you, I'm not the type to make things easy." He opens the door and leaves, without looking back, leaving Hotch and Reid alone in the room.

"Do you think she has something to do with murder?" Spencer finally speaks.

"Her reaction wasn't what we imagined. We need a mandate, we'll only know for sure when the results come out." Hotch gets up from his chair and leaves the room, going to provide the mandate.

A few hours later they were already at the door of Y/n's house, with the warrant in hand, ready to collect the DNA.

They knock on the door and the girl answers, looking disappointed by the agents at her door.

"Let me guess, they came to get my DNA?" The agents agree and she gives them space to enter.

"Mom, those agents are here!" She shouts towards the second floor of the house.

The agents deliver the warrant to the girl. A few minutes later, a woman, approaching 35 years old, appears. Spencer could recognize her from miles away. It was Melissa, her first love. The one who disappeared without telling him anything.

"Do you really think my daughter killed that couple? This has to be a joke." She sits next to her daughter and takes the warrant from her hand, reading it in a few seconds.

"I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid." Hotch follows the manual, and introduces himself to the girl. When she hears Reid's name, her body tenses, and being a profiler, Spencer notices it. .

"A saliva sample and a strand of hair. Get it over with." The girl gets up and comes face to face with Hotch, who takes all the materials needed to do the collection. He takes the saliva sample and the hair, leaving the house then.

They take the sample to the laboratory. The next day, the result went directly to Garcia.

"Guys, I have some bad news, the DNA is not compatible. I'm sorry" Garcia says on the other end of the phone, the team sighs in disappointment, knowing that whoever killed the couple was still out there.

"Wait, here in the files it says that she is compatible with an agent." Garcia says and everyone looks at each other.

"What do you mean compatible with an agent? Is there any document saying she's adopted?" JJ says and gets closer to the phone.

"It doesn't say anything, I'll try to get into the file, just a minute." She stays silent and everyone in the room can hear the keyboard making noise. A minute later, Garcia sees the last thing she could imagine on her screen. one "Oh no" and the whole team is confused.

"Garcia, what did you think?"Emily asks, crossing her arms.

"I'll send it to you" is the only thing she responds. After that, the agents received a file over the phone, and what was written left everyone in shock.

"Spencer, is she... is she your... daughter?" Derek asks, staring blankly at the document. Spencer didn't know what to say or how to react. This had crossed his mind when he found out that Y/n's mother was Melissa, but he believed that if she was pregnant she would have told him.

"Reid, is that possible?" Hotch looks at him, who was motionless.

"I dated her mother during college, maybe it is." He didn't know if he wanted that to be true or a lie. He started thinking about everything, and remembered the date of birth he saw in Y/n's file. a few months after Melissa disappeared. He no longer had any doubts.

"Thanks Garcia, if you find out anything else let us know"JJ hangs up.

"So, she's no longer a suspect." Emily tries to change the atmosphere in the room, drawing everyone's attention to the case.

"Spencer, can I talk to you?" Hotch calls him and they leave the room.

"This is something very important, Spencer. Go figure it out, take the rest of the day off and talk to Melissa and Y/n, you have a lot to discuss" Spencer agrees. He grabs his things and goes to Melissa's house, knocking on the door.

She opens the door and says "I was waiting for you. I knew that after Y/n's exams came out you would come here. You can come in." She gives Spencer space to enter.

"You knew, and you didn't tell me anything."Spencer stops in front of her, in disbelief at everything that was happening.

"Would you like something to drink? Water, juice, beer." She goes to the kitchen followed by Spencer.

"You can sit"She points to some benches on the kitchen counter. She goes to the fridge and takes out 2 beers.

"I don't drink." Spencer says dryly.

"Then some water"She takes a bottle of water.

"Where is Y/n?" he takes a sip of water, calming down.

"He's at a friend's house, he won't be back until night, we have all the time in the world to catch up." She mocks the last part.

"Does she know? That I'm her father?" He says.

"She don't even suspect it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He looks at her, remembering the past, the time when they were together.

"You were about to graduate and join the FBI, I knew that when that happened, she and I would be in the crosshairs of anyone who wanted revenge on you. I did it to protect my daughter."

"I would quit the FBI without thinking twice. I would graduate and look for a good job so I could take care of her. You should have told me, given me the chance to see my daughter grow up" At that moment, Spencer's eyes were about to look fills with tears, thinking about all the memories he missed in his daughter's life.

The silence in the kitchen was embarrassing. Neither of them knew what to say.

"I want to be part of her life from now on." Spencer breaks the silence.

"I don't know if she'll want to. Last night she spent the night talking about how idiots you and your colleague were." She laughs.

"I want to at least try, help me get her to support me." He looks at her, who avoids looking into her eyes.

"I can talk to her tonight, explain everything, and if she wants to see you, I'll call you." She says and finally looks the doctor in the eye.

"What is she like? Is she smart, kind?" He asks wanting to know more about her.

"She looks like you. She's smart, kind to people she likes, but she has my personality." She smiles remembering her daughter.

The rest of the afternoon was peaceful, they talked a little more about her the girl. When Spencer returns to the hotel, he waits for a response from Melissa, to find out whether or not Y/n wants to have contact with him. It doesn't take long until he receives a message from Melissa.

*Tomorrow, at 4 pm at the cafe in the center, she will meet you there*

He smiles reading the message, but feels nervous about having contact with the girl, now that he knows she is his daughter.

The other day, Spencer couldn't stop thinking about her date with Y/n, he thought about bringing something to please her, but he didn't know what she liked.

When it was time, Spencer went to the cafe, sitting at a table and waiting for Y/n. She arrived some time later, going directly to the table. Both, not knowing how to greet each other, just exchanged a "Hi".

"So, did your mother explain everything?" Spencer tries to calm the atmosphere. The girl only responds with a "Yes."

Spencer and Y/n knew that creating a father-daughter relationship would be a challenge, but they both liked being challenged.

——————♥︎♥︎——————

Hii, if you have a better idea for a title, you can tell me in the comments!

[wandaslamb]

Cabin In the Woods

Parings: Dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ Non-con, Knife play, cutting, blood (just a little bit), pet names (bunny, baby doll, sweetheart, angel), body betrayal, fingering, cunnilingus, hair pulling, daddy kink, chasing, obsessive, stalking, pervy nat, if I'm missing things let me know :)

a/n: hi!!! this is my very first fic, and I really would appreciate it if you left some type of feedback :))) I was really nervous to post this, considering I haven't written a fic in years, but I got bored one day, and here it is!! I hope you guys enjoy it, and maybe I'll turn this fic into an actual AU

Word count: 4.5k

After your long semester and treacherous finals and projects you had to finish, you decided that you wanted to go to an Air BNB to relax and take time off from the real world. You always liked the woods; it was calming, and you and your parents always went on camping trips when you were younger. Getting older, you found escaping to the woods after a long, hard time and reconnecting with nature was very rehabilitating. So, seeing this offer, you decided to pack your bags and go out for a week. 

There was a slight knock on the door. You assumed it might have been Wanda, the lady who let you stay in her lovely cabin. "Hello? Anyone home?" The knocking continued till you got up and answered the door. 

"Oh..thank god someone answered!" A woman who didn't look like Wanda from the pictures in the cabin stood there. She wore a simple tank top with ripped jeans and black boots to finish the look. She had deep red hair that was messily tied up in a bun. She looked like she had a backpack with a camera around her neck; she must have been a hiker. 

"A-are you okay? It's pretty late out.. are you hurt?" Seeing someone out this late was very strange. When you would go out, it was close to sundown, but you always made it back in time before the sun fully set. 

The woman let out a nervous laugh, "I'm fine, I'm not hurt or anything, but um," she trailed off, clutching her camera in her hands.".. Fuck this is so embarrassing..but I'm uh, pretty lost.." her voice trailed off before she decided to muster up the courage to look at you. 

"Listen, I know... I know. I was trying to get some pictures of the area, and the lookout points weren't doing them justice, so I kind of.. Went off the trail. I mean, I did get a few good photos in the process!" she let out a deep sigh, catching the concerned look on your face." sorry, Besides the point. Can you possibly point me in the right direction of the trail?"

 "Well...I haven't been here for a while, but I can help you." You peeked your head outside past her and recollected your memory of the path you would take when you went on your walks before speaking again.

"got it.. Back up the hill, stay to the right of the river.." She smirked, "And there isn't any chance of you walking back with me?" You didn't know the lady, but the kindness in you wanted to go with her to make sure she got back safe, but how would you get back in the dark?

"I'm kidding! Of course not... It's getting dark for a young girl like you to be out this late anyways.." she grabbed onto the straps of her backpack, sighing, "Well... Thank you! I'm sorry for barging into your peaceful weekend; maybe I'll see you and whoever you are here with hiking tomorrow?" You gave a shy nod and told the woman goodnight before closing the door and going to bed. 

The next day, you spent the whole morning and afternoon cooking breakfast and sitting by the river writing in your journal. Since the river was so close to your cabin, you decided it would be nice to hang out there before returning. The weather was nice; some birds were chirping in the distance, the water was calm, and there weren't many people around. 

The sun started to set, so you decided it was time for your walk. It was pretty late; the sun had almost entirely set, but you figured no one would be around, and you wouldn't travel far from the cabin; you went on your journey. The woods at night were more serene; the stars you never get to see because of the city lights lit up your path along with the moon; the woodland creatures were more than likely asleep at night, so the bunnies, deer, and birds you saw while you were at the river were long gone. 

It wasn't before long you heard a crack deep in the forest that made you jump, assuming you were alone. "Oh, it's you!" you heard a familiar voice say before turning towards it. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sneak up on you... I mean, it's not hard to spook someone when they are hiking at night." the woman let out a deep laugh before you glared at her for scaring you. 

"Well, I was going on my daily walk... I lost track of time and…what are you doing out here??" You folded your arms, waiting for her reply. "What am I doing out here? More photography..now that I know my way back, I won't get lost if I decide to go out and take some shots of the moon or... Other things.." she leaned against the tree before smiling again, "So, did you get any of your friends to come hiking with you?" You started to look down, but her laugh and deeper voice took you out of your thoughts. 

"Oh… don't tell me you came to that cabin alone... What is a young girl like you doing by herself in a cabin in the woods?"

"I just wanted to take some time off after my semester in school; I assumed no one comes out here, so-" The woman stood up straight; it wasn't until now that you noticed that she was a lot taller and more muscular-looking than you. She had defined muscles along with her shirt, showing off her toned abs. 

"Oh, you are a lot braver than me; I mean, your not worried something happened to you while you were out here; I get it it's pretty remote out here... But Shit can happen, right?"

"Yea… I guess you are right; I just assumed because, on the listing, the lady said people don't come around the area as much, so it would be quiet and peaceful… "You brushed off that she was standing slightly close to you, and you backed away a bit. "Anyways, where's your camera? I'd love to see some of your pictures if you don't mind.." giving her a soft, warm smile, you leaned against the tree. 

"Oh, it's here! I know it doesn't look like much. But I've gotten some really.. Really good photos so far. It takes great close-up shots...We could go back to your cabin and get you out of the dark, and I can show them to you. Only if you want.." she licked her lips before leaning over you against the tree.

"I didn't say this earlier, but you are very pretty. I mean, I could take your pictures too if you want.." The woman's deep voice rattled through your head, and the prominent shyness started to creep up on your face because of how close you were. "Come on! Why do you look so nervous all of a sudden? I mean, you know I've taken photos of you already... what's a few more?"

"You…what?" Your smile quickly turned into a frown, and hearing her laugh only made you feel worse, "It's not like you can stop me, pretty girl.." there was darkness in her eyes that made your body feel cold. You tried too hard to get from her, proving extremely hard because she trapped you between her and the tree. But you managed to get out of the way and make a run for it. 

"You know you only make it worse if you run!!" You paid her no mind instead, running as far as you could. You couldn't run to your cabin because she knew exactly where it was. Maybe the service road could be some help? 

You heard heavy footsteps come after you, but you were determined to get out of the woods. Your breath was ragged, and your running started to slow down; you assumed that you would be more fit to run long distances, but your daily pilates proved you wrong. 

It wasn't long until your arm got pulled, and your body got pressed against the ground. "You can only run so far, bunny.." her breath beating down your neck as you tried to catch yours. 

"Haha... I got you~ awe, bunny, look at those pretty wide eyes, you struggling to catch your breath. I told you there was no use to running; you should have listened to me, darling." she moved a piece of hair behind your ear, now straddling your back, "What really was the plan here? You came out to stay at a cabin alone, you answered the door for a stranger and went out a night completely defenseless. If I didn't know any better, it was like you wanted someone to." She stopped and laughed. She saw the tears roll down your face onto the forest floor. 

"Well... I don't want to spoil the surprise I have planned for you…" she smiled, taking her thumb and wiping your falling tears before she ran that same thumb across her tongue, letting out a guttural moan. 

You just knew you were dead; you watched way too many true crime videos to see what happens to people who are in your situation. You felt her start to bite and kiss the side of your neck, starting to leave a bruise on it, making you whimper in the process. 

"Was that a whimper? What a sweet little bunny..! Do it again.." she returned to a different spot, moaning on your neck, marking you as hers. "I feel you shaking, sweetheart, don't be scared... I'm going to make you feel good.." You started to kick at her, trying to free yourself yet again. 

"Hey.. hey... I can hold you down with one hand and choke you with the other. Do you want me to fuck your pathetic little body on the ground like the little slut you are," she growled in your ear, sending shivers down your body, "or are you going to come back to the cabin with me, like a good little bunny?" she nipped at your ear earning a small yelp from you, "ill.. Come back w-with you please.." you managed to squeak out. 

"Good girl, now come on.." she slowly got off you, still holding onto your arms. "I don't think I need to tell you; what would happen if you try to run again, do I?" You started to get a bit antsy, tears spilling down your face before you heard a flick of a knife that was swiftly held up to your throat. 

"Ah ah ah... Now you are all quiet, aren't you?.. I'm astonished you seemed like a very smart girl; you fell for the lost little hiker act... Such a gullible little bunny.." she chuckled before pushing you to walk. Not before long, you both showed up to the cabin. The knife is still at your neck. Your arms locked tightly in her other hand. 

"Open the door.." your shaky hands unlocked the door, letting you inside. She led you both to a couch in the middle of the room before she sat on it, grabbing your hair and pulling you towards her, making you cry out. "You have such pretty soft hair, bunny.." she let go of it, grabbing your chin and pulling you in for a kiss, instantly dominating your mouth. 

She bit your lip, making you whimper in her lap, making her pull away, now sadistically smiling at you. "Mmm, you like it when I bite your lip, hm? I felt that shiver, sweet girl.. "she let out a deep breath "fuck, I couldn't help myself after seeing you hiking from that lookout point. Your gorgeous ass and thighs in those leggings, your cute little face when you got tried...I got myself off before I got up to where I was. I snapped photo after photo of you while you played in the river and when you went out to journal in your pajamas every morning. But I knew pictures weren't enough, no... I had to have you. I had to be the one that makes you tired, to make you whimper and moan for me. I need to see you... All of you, bunny. Let's get you out of these, hm?" you felt the coldness of her sharp knife press against you, cutting your shirt off along with your sports bra. 

She moaned when she saw your breasts pop out of your bra before dropping the knife and taking them in her hands, teasing you, smiling when you started trembling in her lap. 

"I know you are excited, darling... I am, too.." she ran her palms up your stomach before wrapping them around your neck.

"N-no, please.." she tilted her head before frowning at you, "No? Did you just say no.. to me?" her voice became monotone. She looked like she wasn't happy. 

"Look at me." you didn't. You were too busy in your mind, assuming the worst was about to happen to you until you felt a sharp sting across your cheek. "I said. Look. At. Me." she gritted through her teeth. "You're going to listen to me, bunny? I'm going to get these leggings off, then you're going to go up to that bedroom of yours and lay back on your bed... Do you understand me?" you looked down at the knife in her hand that was dangerously close to your chest. "Look at me. Look at me in the eyes, not the knife, baby.." your eyes slowly met hers. "Good girl.." 

Tears started to pool up again, making her give you a fake pout, "Baby doll, you do not have to cry.. I'm going to make you feel so good. And you're going to make me feel good, too.." you started to sniffle and chose not to say anything else. 

"Now, we are going to walk... And you're going to feel this knife pressed against your throat. If you do anything stupid, you will be sliced open..is that clear?" you nodded, whimpering.

"Say yes, Daddy.." you heard the smile in her voice when she said that. 

"Y-yes, Daddy.." she let out a satisfied hum, "there we go.." You both made your way up to the bedroom, lying on the bed as you were told. "Just like that... Good little bunny!!" smiled, pulling out her camera, "Let me just... capture this moment.." she started taking pictures of you pouting when you began to cry again. "Baby, don't cry! I need you to smile! Let's see that pretty smile, okay?" 

After a few more pictures, she removed her bag, set the camera on the nightstand, and walked over to you. "Hmm, can you do one last thing for me, bunny?.. Give me your wrist." she took your wrist, chaining them to the bed. 

"You can pull off them now, but it won't matter.." she giggled. 

"W-why..?"

She chuckled, "Aren't you the curious bunny.." she smiled, getting close to your face. "Because baby, I'm going to fuck you so good you aren't going to want to go anywhere..not... That'd let you anyway. Now.. open your mouth." 

You looked at her, opening your mouth before she squeezed your face, making you stick your tongue out before spitting on it. "Aht aht.. Don't swallow it, doll. Keep your tongue out nice and pretty for me.." she started to take off her clothes, and you watched as she did, seeing all the scratches you had left from trying to fight back. "seems like you put up a small fight.." she climbed over you, giving you a complete view of her glistening pussy. Seeing how wet she was from this whole interaction didn't even compare to how much you were dripping on the bed. But you were scared shitless. Your body felt otherwise. 

She lowered herself on your face, grabbing your hair and making you moan against her. "Come on, sweetheart, you're going to eat Daddy out, okay? Clean up the mess you've made of me." you absentmindedly started to lap at her clit, earning her deep moans and her pulling your hair even more.

"Mm yea.. Use your pretty little tongue... Fuck.." her head was thrown back, her toned stomach was all you could see. You, too, caught up in her sounds, and she tasted didn't even notice when she reached back and started rubbing your puffy little cunt through your panties with her fingers making you moan against her, sending vibrations thorough out her body.

"Mm, don't stop licking, keep fucking going. Holy Shit… being such an obedient little slut.." she gasped when she felt your wetness seep through your panties. "Such a dirty little girl turned on by getting used like the whore you are. Letting a fucking stranger use your mouth to get off." her breathing got ragged as you got faster and more sloppy with your licks and sucks, making her cum all over your face. 

"Ah ha.. don't you look pretty angel.. Covered in my cum and your drool…I need another picture.." she grabbed the camera off the nightstand again, snapping some pictures. 

"You want to taste yourself, doll?" she moved her fingers up to your mouth, plunging them down your throat, making you gag a bit. "Taste good, doesn't it? I have to get a taste for myself later, but since you've been a good bunny for me, it's time for your reward.

You thought it was your chance to do something. You started squirming, and it made her a tiny bit upset. "Do you think squirming is going to do anything? You can't get away from me… did you forget I have a knife? I don't want to use it on you, but I will if you keep struggling. You're such a pretty girl... My pretty girl and I would hate to mess you up... Let me cut this underwear off, and then I'll put the knife up…" She flicked it open again, causing you to buck your hips as she got close to cutting them off, making her knick your thigh in the process. "See..this happens when you don't listen to daddy.." 

"No- no, please... Stop, please!" your tears started to come back; she shushed you, licking the blood off the knife before straddling your waist. "You can say no all you want, bunny, but it's happening no matter what.." she cut them off, exposing you to the cold air of the cabin, your scent making her moan.

"Look at you, bunny.. you're dripping down to your ass," she ran her softly up your slit before licking it clean, letting out a satisfied moan. You jerked your hips at her noises, making her giggle. "Oh.. you jerked pretty hard there... Does it feel good? I've barely even touched you.."

She got off your waist, looking down over you, "If I were to just... push my fingers into you now, they would slide in so easily. But I'll be nice... Just circle warm you up a bit."

"No! Stop it, please.." you cried out. Your voice was almost gone, and you watched as she rolled her eyes. 

"Here we go again with the no… you're being so stubborn. I think it would just be better for the both of us if I just.." she took your now ripped panties and shoved them into your mouth.

"Shut. You. Up. There.." she had a satisfied smile on her face. "Oh, don't look so terrified... It wasn't like you were going to wear those panties again anyway... Now where was I… right." she smiled, continuing to circle your clit, moaning before sticking two fingers in you and making you scream. 

"Aww, look at you taking two fingers like a good girl; you usually can only fit one in. You brought that new toy with you on your trip but couldn't even fit that. And look at you now, being a big girl, taking two of my fingers so easily." She really has been watching you this whole time. You were sure you closed the curtains... Maybe she had heard you mumbling to yourself about it...

The room was full of sounds from your aching cunt, her deep moans from seeing your pussy grip her fingers, and your cries of pain that soon turned into pleasures. She started to use her thumb to rub your clit. 

"What if I was to add another finger..oh.. Was that a moan, bunny?" she bit her lip before laughing, "Let me hear it again.." she started to move her thumb faster, making you arch your back before pushing down on your stomach and fingering you harder. 

"Oh, I think you're getting closer for me, baby; we can stop, though, for a second.." she pulled her fingers out of you, making you whimper and clinch around nothing, missing her fingers being inside of you. She started to laugh, seeing your face begin to tear up again. 

"Look at you... It's pathetic! First telling me no and now wanting me to finish you off... You're so adorable, bunny.." she went in her bag and got something to put on. When she came back, she had a strap without the toy. She started to look at your bags before taking the brand-new toy you brought and attaching it to it. "It's so cute that you picked out this one... This might be a little too big for you, don't you think?" she was right; you had picked out a toy that was way too big for you. You ultimately chose it because of its appearance; it was a clear and pink silicone toy with little hearts in it. You didn't read the size when you ordered it and ordered a 9-inch. 

"Don't worry, bunny, ill make it fit.." she lined herself up with your entrance rubbing the tip up and down your slick-covered cunt. "You make me so fucking wet bunny... The way you took my pussy in your mouth like a good slut. You were such a good girl, making me feel so good. But now it's my turn to make you feel even better." she slowly pushed herself in, making you moan out, her holding your hips still as you took almost half the cock in you. 

"Mm, look at that.. God, I wish you could see how good your cunt looks stretched around this toy.." She started to rub your clit again, pushing more and more into you before you felt her bottom out into you. "That's a good girl!! See, I knew you could do it.." she started slowly but started to pound you when she felt you loosen up a little bit. Your back was arched as she held your hips, mumbling dirty names in your ear as she fucked you senseless.

"Doesn't it feel good, bunny?" your face was puffy from all the tears you were letting out as she started to kiss them away. She mumbled into your neck, "I know, I know… it's so hard to go slow when you're making cute noises like these. I want you to scream for me... But there is always tomorrow for that angel; you are all mine. I don't have to rush; you didn't think this was the last time we'd do this, did you?" your heart sank as tears rose in your eyes. 

 You whimpered about how the owner of the house would be looking for you, but nothing came out except muffled sounds in between her thrusts. She chuckled and looked down at you.

"Honey, no one is going to look for you. Your mine for the next few days... Maybe even longer. Fuck! You feel so fucking good. I don't think I'll ever let you go.." you were trying your best to stifle your moans, not trying to be loud to let her know you were slightly enjoying her movements. She stroked your face with her hand before cupping your face.

"It's so cute watching you try to be quiet; you can let go for me, bunny... No one is going to hear you. It's okay.." her breath was ragged again, and her thrust became sloppier.

"You're doing so good for me, sweetheart. Sweetheart, let me help you.." she reached into the side table drawer and pulled out a small vibrator, widening your eyes. 'How did she know that was there?' you thought. But you were completely snapped out of it before she unchained one of your hands and put the vibrator in your hand before guiding it to your clit. 

"Oh fuck!! Your clinching so hard around my cock, bunny… I want you to come for me, doll.." she slapped your face, "aht aht I want to see your pretty little eyes, come on now look at me while you cum, come on be a good girl for me.." the tears pricked at your eyes, but they seemed only to egg her on. 

"Mm, does it feel good, angel? Me pounding you with your toy while you have a little vibrator on your clit?" her moans got louder, and so did yours. It wasn't until she removed your hand with the vibrator from your clit you let out the most pornographic moan, squirting on her and the bed as she pulled out of you. 

Your body was spazzing as she unchained you pulling you into her lap and holding you as you came down from your high. She reached over to grab a water bottle from her bag and gave it to you, making you drink it as she smiled down at you. There was a faint buzz from the other nightstand as you tried to catch your breath; the woman reached over to get what seemed to be your phone. She let out a small chuckle before moving the strand of hair out of your face and showing you your phone. 

"Look, bunny, the owner said you don't have to worry about the payment... She said she'd be home shortly... Though I don't think the cameras did you justice, she'd want to see you for herself.." She sat the phone down before laying you back down on the bed. 

"But let's get you cleaned up first. I want my wife to see how adorable you are when you aren't covered in sweat and cum.. Maybe you can show her the pictures when she comes. How does that sound?" 

And with that, she went to run the bath. You weren't going anywhere anytime soon, not that your legs worked anyway. She carried you to the bathtub, settling you in before going downstairs. It wasn't until long before you heard the words, "Oh Nat, she's perfect... Our perfect bunny."

[reallyromealone]

Title: visiting grandpa

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: Haitani brothers

Fic type: story

Pairings: none

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, grandpa reader, fluff

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

"there's my little cabbages" an elderly man smiled as he sat on his engawa, the Haitani brothers always made a point to visit their grandpa at least once a month "we brought you that fancy coffee gramps!" Rindō said as they held gifts for the Old man, the Bonten executives always getting stuff on their trips and missions for their grandpa-- hell the house slippers the elderly man wore were 3000 dollars.

Though they didn't tell him that, the old man always fretting over them spending so much though this was the man who sacrificed everything to raise them so it was worth it.

Even moving from the country to Tokyo when their mom vanished to make sure they were cared for.

And now they cared for him.

"We got you some stuff too! I know those ladies at the market are all over your Haitani charm so we got you some cologne!" Ran said as the elderly man stood up and the three went inside, the house of every fond memory stored in one spot "I got you boys some treats, such a long trip" (name) said sweetly and on the table was the cupcakes the two would get as children after a week of school, same sprinkles and everything "you boys travelled so far, rest your bones" (name) said fondly and the two men smiled, feeling like they were children again and their grandpa was making dinner.

"So how is investing?" (Name) Asked curiously as they are his pride and joys, the elderly man even learning how to use a phone to talk to them more "ah, everything is great gramps!" They never told him their real jobs, they didn't want to break his heart so they lied.

"I'm so proud of you both, I put that wonderful photo on the wall you two sent me!" The old man pointed to a photo the two sent him while getting lunch "the sweet young woman next door helped me do that... She's single you know"

"Gramps!"

"What? You two are handsome young men and I want to see you two married!"

"In due time gramps... Rinny here has a boyfriend now and I'm looking around for a girlfriend" Rindō and Ran watched as their grandpa looked surprised and gestured to show a photo "you know, I was friends with a gay when I was younger!" The two smiled at their grandpa's gesture of showing his support "he is a handsome young man! You bring him next time"

"Of course gramps"

"Now finish your fish"

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (1) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n hello, this is called welcome to part 1 of a fic no one will read :) also i have a taglist now (yay?) so shoot me a reply if ur interested in being added <3

masterlist | prologue | part 1 | next part

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 2h omg my f1wags debut??? y'all i've really made it 🫶

EB BAR @theemptybottlesbar · 2h us when our frontwoman decides to hard launch her relationship that we were scrambling to denounce: 🙂🔪🩷 ↳ camilina gfs fr @ drummergf · 1h the EB Bar admin working overtime bc lina insists on stoking the flames of this ridiculous rumour ↳ lina bui x2 grammy winner @urdaisea · 1h media literacy where? this is a fucking confirmation bestie

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by oscarpiastri and 103,273 others

selinabui me when i lie to myself and go date yet ANOTHER athlete 🤠👍 this one goes vroom vroom in expensive cars (p.s. dear news sites, pls stop using my old photos)

cameliazzz all that expensive media training chucked down the drain i see

eb_jonno the orange jumpscare holy shit lina it's like u hate him or smth ↳ selinabui @eb_jonno wdym he's very cute 🫶

landonorris Oh hello there ↳ oscarpiastri @ landonorris 😀 ↳ mclarwins @ landonorris OMFG LANDO WHAT ↳ selinabui @ landonorris bro why are you acting like we've never met or smth ↳ pi4str1 @ selinabui there's something about her that's so 😭

TWITTER

🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 5h ok i fear we need to start weighing up the pros and cons ↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 5h pros: WE'RE FREE FROM AMERICANS, he's actually cute, we already follow f1 bc of guanyu, he's aussie <3 cons: white, he's another fucking athlete, orange ↳ 🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 4h 'free from americans' SO TRUE we were in the trenches with t*mmy

piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 3h everything i find about this girl is just 😬 ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 3h oscar, get the FUCK away from that girl ↳ clovie @ luvyouvie · 2h omg why, what's up with her?? ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 3h kinda the classic rockstar shit and her ex is tommy howard (nfl running back)

liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 18h SELINA WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS??? WHERE DID THIS ENERGY GO 😭😭😭

↳ emme @flowersforcami · 18h as smo with a footballer ex, the comment on massive egos is so true T_T

↳ Ryan Forrest @ryanforrest93 · 17h Every time that interview pops up on my TL, I just get reminded of how YOUNG she was going through all of that nonsense. She was barely 20 and totally being gaslit by that arsehole. ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 17h ^^THIS!! yes!! it was crazy that ppl gave her so much shit about staying with tommy even after the cheating but it was her first real relationship and it fucked her up massively

INSTAGRAM

zhouguanyu24 Margaret Court Arena

liked by selinabui, oscarpiastri and 59,283 others

zhouguanyu24 Went to go check on the baby sister 💪

selinabui my personal photographer fr (good luck tmr 💚)

emptybottlesbar Always stoked to have family stop by for a listen! Best of luck on the track 💪 ↳ selinabui @emptybottlesbar he doesn't need luck. he needs his team to fix the pit stop problem. he needs divine intervention

zhouguanyu_br piastri is dating zhou's sister?? ↳ jemma.wren @zhouguanyu_br cousin actually, in chinese culture they refer to paternal cousins as just siblings

stakef1team Looking forward to seeing Lina in the garage ↳ selinabui @stakef1team oh lmao that's not happening 🥰 ↳ pastry81 @ selinabui IJBOL she said you ain't SHIT see you in the papaya garage

cameliazzz thanks for dropping by on ur race weekend <3 hope it was worth your while (and family-friendly 🤫) ↳ zhouguanyu24 @ cameliazzz Thank you for keeping her alive ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz why has it taken you over 20 minutes to go get pizza 🤡 ↳ cameliazzz @ selinabui why are you asking in ur cousin's comments 🤡🤡🤡 (they need to cooka da pizza)

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

emme @flowersforcami · 34m walk with me here... if zhou went to friday's show, do you think oscar did as well? and if so... did they just watch empty bottles' almost 2 hours set of lina and kas flirting 😭 ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 22m i literally can't think of anything else now :) do you know what the encore song was? ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 21m kaslina duet of we don't talk anymore (og by charlie puth) ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 20m oh how do we even defend them

EB BAR @theemptybottlesbar · 1h whole team in shambles... @EB_selina we hope it was worth it

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h every linami realising they need to defend her stage persona to piastri fans... ↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h WE SWEAR ON OUR HONOUR THAT THIS GIRL IS A TOTAL LOOOOOSER. SHE'S NOTHING LIKE WHAT THE MEDIA WRITES HER AS. HER ONE HOBBY IS SUDOKU. SHES A COMPLETE DOORMAT 😭😭 ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 1h ok well, hang on... i think they get the point

piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 5h after a literal night of deep-diving, i take back everything i've ever said about selina bui bc she's such a cutie honestly i get it, i kinda want her now

INSTAGRAM

oscarpiastri

liked by cameliazzz and 113,292 others

oscarpiastri Finally got the green light to 'hard launch'

selinabui sorry i needed to be vetted so hard :/

logansargeant Oh so we're keeping secrets from each other now #fakefriend ↳ oscarpiastri @ logansargeant Sorry, did i forget the bit when you were there when we met or something 🙂

2cami4lina oh she let him in the studio, we're fucking done for

ausgp Some extra Aussie luck for the home race ↳ pi4str1 @ ausgp she's australian??? ↳ emptybottlos @pi4str1 do a simple google search first - the whole band is australian 🤡 they all grew up in sydney

piastri_lina but wait, the way i lowk manifested this... ↳ emptyb-aid @piastri_lina lock ur doors i fear i'm coming for you

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife

[bella-rose29]

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe. 

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter. 

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating. 

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned. 

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more. 

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship. 

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different. 

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway. 

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind. 

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night. 

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up. 

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died. 

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm. 

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked. 

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all. 

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong. 

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls. 

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning. 

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words. 

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him. 

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more. 

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm. 

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze. 

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet. 

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat. 

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move. 

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon. 

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his. 

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye. 

[dorkydiaz]

LONG MAY YOU ROAR [bucktommy | soft & gentle | 1k] a/n: hi uhh so this randomly popped into my head, and it's the first time i have ever really written in tommy's pov so it's far from perfect but it doesn't really make sense to tell it from another so i tried something new weee. there's some bonus sweet buckley siblings implications <3 title barely has anything to do with the fic/i do not want to be too sad about it, i just love robin from ttpd and it's about childhood so it fit... well enough. tw for mentions of canonical childhood cancer and death of a child

Tommy stands in his boyfriend’s living room, beer in one hand and he takes in the decor. He’s seen it all before but he's still getting to know the man that’s fussing over dinner in the kitchen. And there is something new, resting on the tv stand, is a photo of a boy riding a bicycle, his back toward the camera. It’s the first time Tommy has noticed it. He had never seen any pictures of a young Evan before, it never struck him as strange, not very many people kept baby pictures around their adult home – that’s why this one felt somewhat strange. There were the photo booth strips, Polaroids, and school pictures of Chris and Jee on the fridge or placed in a drawer around the loft, but no other kids were present in this space. Nothing else is so formal. He figures it has to be Evan, and it was special for some reason. So he picks it up and turns to his boyfriend who is smiling and making his way over to him, finally satisfied with letting the lasagna finish baking. 

“Who is this handsome young man?” he asks, a gentle teasing lilt in his voice. 

And Evan’s demeanor shifts, he’s still smiling, but it turns sad and bittersweet. His whole body sags ever so slightly. Tommy watches as his Adam's apple bobs, he takes a deep breath with his eyes closed and steps closer. He traces the edge of the frame, his eyes transfixed on the back of the bike. “This is my brother. Daniel.” Evan swallows again. 

“You’ve never mentioned…Could he not make it to the wedding?” He asks, but there is a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him that there is more to the story. 

“You could say that,” Evan responds with a dry hough of a barely there laugh. “He, he um, he died when I was little. Leukemia. I never really knew him. Our parents–” He shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” 

“I want to. It’s just, that I haven’t told the story so far removed from finding out. I told the 118 right away, while I was still numb. And the very messy deep personal feelings version to my therapist, but I’m still working through a lot. So, I don’t know. It might be hard for me to explain it all.”

“Well we can sit down to start,” He says gently with a smile. Taking Evan’s hand, running a soothing thumb over his knuckles. Evan nods and follows his lead to the couch. 

“I just, it’s hard to know where to start,” Evan sighs. 

“What about why you only now have this picture up?” 

Evan smiles a little. “Maddie gave it to me for his birthday last week.” he clears his throat, “So, basically I didn’t even know that I had a brother until just before Jee was born.” Evan looks over at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He lets the words flow over him, and his brow scrunches, tilting his head in confusion.

“My parents kept several secrets from me, forced Maddie to keep them too, for thirty years. They all came to light when I stumbled across that picture in Maddie’s baby box. The past few years since then have been busy, and she found it again after her move and everything and had a copy made for me and had it framed. He has the right for his life to be remembered and celebrated after being a secret for so long.” 

“Why was it a secret?” He lets the question slip out, “If you want to share that.” 

“Well, um,” Buck ducks his head a little, “Have you ever seen My Sister's Keeper?” he asks, looking back at him with a questioning look on his face. It isn’t what Tommy is expecting in the slightest. But Tommy has seen the movie in question, and the dots slowly begin to connect. And Evan has this look in his eyes that tells him he’s right. 

“Oh, Evan.” 

“It just never worked for him though. Sometimes I still feel like I failed him somehow.” Evan rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “I was always treated like a disappointment by my parents and didn’t know why until I was thirty years old, I was never going to be absolved of a sin I didn’t even know I had committed. Maddie though, she raised me. She always treated me like any kid would want to be treated. So, now we celebrate his birthday when we can and Maddie tells me about him. She always comes up with new stuff she remembers after keeping it tucked away for so long. Or how I remind her of him and stuff. It’s good for her to talk about him, and for me to hear it.” 

Tommy smiles at him at that, “I have never been under the impression that your relationship with her isn’t very special. Thank you for telling me about this part of your family.” 

“Well, you knew most of all the other members of my family before me, as Chimney likes to remind me.” Evan laughs and relaxes back into his arms, tucking his face into Tommy’s neck. “Thank you for listening.” he runs his fingers over his hands, “I wanted to tell you. I just never knew how to bring it up, or what base talking about a dead brother was.” He can feel Evan’s small smile against his neck, and he laughs gently too. 

“Someday soon I’ll tell you about my family too.” He twists his fingers in Evan’s curls. 

“Whenever you are ready. I’ll wait.” Evan places a light kiss on his jaw. 

The oven beeps declaring the lasagna to be finished and Evan groans, ungluing himself from his side. Once Evan is back in the kitchen, Tommy lifts the photo up again from the coffee table and gently returns it to its home. 

[gorchards]

Love Lines - Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

word count: 4,118

a/n: Hi there! This is the first fic I've ever published so go easy on me lmao. Y/N is (very loosely) inspired by Rika because I love their dynamic and I'm a sucker for the childhood friends trope. I don't think the reader is specifically gendered but bc of this they may be fem-coded. Fic under the cut! Hope you all enjoy!

You and Yuta Okkotsu had a long, long, history. When you were in elementary school, you had proposed to him. Of course, you didn’t fully know what you were doing when you did- you were so young at the time. Then again, neither did he, when he wholeheartedly accepted. And for a long time, you two had been inseparable. During high school, the two of you had realized that perhaps there was something to that proposal you had originally made, and had begun dating. 

In some ways, it was better than what you could have ever dreamed. He was sweet, comforting, and always there for you. Just as he had always been, of course! But somehow even more than before. He was braver with you, and would come along on whatever random excursion you thought up. And he had changed you, too. His greater involvement in your life added a sparkle to it that you hadn’t experienced before. He made you feel stronger. He grounded you when you felt like you were going to fly off the  handle, and soothed you when you were spiraling. 

But… You were also more involved in his problems than ever before. The reverse was true of course. But he always had to take time to mull them over, and all that time he spent made you so anxious for him. You were so involved in his problems now, that it was starting to take a toll on your own mental health. You expressed this to him, and he tried his best to ease your fears- assuring you that things would all work out.

 That was a turbulent period of life for the both of you. So many things were changing in your individual lives. And during that change in your relationship with him, you began to realize there were a great deal of challenges that he had never let you in on before. It became overwhelming for you to see, and have him refuse your repeated attempts to help. He was so worried that you would eventually feel like he was a burden to you, but in doing so, he had unintentionally pushed you away. You couldn’t take it- and it made you feel that if he could have been hiding the fact that he was being bullied from you, what else was he hiding? Did you even know the real Yuta Okkotsu? Thoughts such as that plagued your mind toward the end... and it would eventually become too much for you.

Though it wasn’t that simple, that was ultimately the reason you had broken it off. Mounting pressures in your own life made it feel impossible to keep up with how much healing you realized he needed. Yuta had attempted to mend things- checking in with you often, trying to at least remain friends. He still cared about you, of course. He had assured you that he was still just a call away if you needed him. But even that became suffocating to you with time. In the end, you sent him a long, painful message about how you just couldn’t remain friends with him. And then, you blocked him. 

Since then, a mere four years after your breakup with Yuta, you had completely thrown yourself into your college work. Of course, along with spending any excess time you had with your family and your other friends. But it seemed to do little about the fact that he never really left your mind. At least once a day, a thought like this crossed your mind: “Oh, Yuta would love this!” Or, alternatively, “I wonder what he’s doing right now…?” You would still find yourself looking at the photos you had taken him, or of the two of you together. For a moment in time, you could pretend that nothing had changed between you and Yuta.

But then, cold hard reality would set in and crush your heart. You had not spoken in many years…and with how you left things, you might never again. Were you not used to the weight by now, perhaps you would have reached out. But apologizing now? After the state you left him in? You were sure that would make you cruel. 

Occasionally you would sit and imagine how he may have moved on from you. With how little he posted on social media, you weren’t sure exactly what he was up to, no matter how many times you refreshed his instagram. But even after all this time you still felt like you knew him inside and out. And so, you were completely certain that someone else must have been taken by his sincere smile, unkempt hair, and gentle eyes that you once admired daily. If looks weren’t enough, you couldn’t think of one person who wasn’t looking for a devoted and sweet boy like him. 

Maybe it was even that upperclassman who was in his class that you were often jealous of. They had grown very close over his senior year because being with you had made him more sociable. You could imagine Maki being the kind of girl who wouldn’t hesitate once she found out he was single. Unlike you, who had stalled for as long as possible in an effort to keep things from changing between you and him. And in the long run, you couldn’t seem to do that, either.

You yourself had tried to move on already. You had waited what you deemed a respectable amount of time before trying your luck with romance again. But in every person that you had dated, you never found Yuta. You would compare them all to him. You quickly found yourself growing dissatisfied and restless before ultimately breaking up with the string of suitors that followed him. So you had sworn it off for the time being, shifting almost all of your focus to your educational goals. You wanted to start working as soon as possible, and trying to find someone while agonizing over the Yuta-shaped hole in your heart was only going to slow you down.

One fateful day though, you strode into a local coffee shop near your campus. Nothing different than any other study sessions before. All signs pointed to it being a normal day, if a bit more productive than usual. That alone was enough to put a little spring in your step. You stood in line looking over the menu, puzzling over what you would get. A vanilla chai, perhaps? Or would a matcha latte be what you were craving… You hoped you would be able to decide before you reached the cash register.

The time to order came all too fast. “Good afternoon, what can I get for you?” The barista asked, slightly more terse than she usually was. You imagined the cause for this was due to the line of customers behind you that had slowly mounted since you had gotten in it. 

You were able to make a split-second compromise with yourself, out of courtesy for your noticeably antsy barista. “Good afternoon! Could I.. uh… Could I get a matcha latte, with a little vanilla?” You paused for a moment, feeling your stomach growl just a tad. “Oh! And one of your muffins, please!” Hopefully, this would satisfy you for a solid cramming session.

You gave the barista your name, sitting down near the counter patiently as you waited for your little snack to be called out. You began to scroll through your music, hoping to find a playlist that would get you in a focused mood. You were about to select one of your many playlists, when you heard your name being called. 

“Latte for Y/N?” You could just hear the barista’s voice over the mounting chatter. So, you jumped up from your seat and scurried over to pick up your little study session snack. You thanked the barista, and moved to return to your table when you heard your name again.

“Y/N?”

You knew that voice. And you knew it wasn’t the barista calling you back for your wallet. The whole world came to a standstill for you, as you tried to decide whether or not you should turn around. It’s like all of the many programs in your brain had suddenly crashed at the sound of Yuta Okkotsu’s voice.

“How?” was your first thought. How was it possible that you had ended up at the same restaurant, on the same day, at the same time? You hadn’t physically seen him in years. You hadn’t talked, or called, or texted since your last conversation. Just when you were getting good at forcing yourself to suppress your thoughts of him- why would the universe put him here, and why would it do so now?

Say you did turn around. What would that even do? Surely it would just bring up painful memories for the both of you. And you really didn’t want to make him cry again. You feared that if you turned around he would look exactly the same as the day you broke up with him. 

Maybe it wasn’t him. After all, your mind could be playing tricks on you. If you didn’t turn around to face this hypothetical Yuta, you would never have to truly face your feelings about him, either. And even if he was there, you could just pretend that you didn’t hear! Then he would just move on, and you still wouldn’t have to think too hard about how leaving him had affected both of your hearts.

You felt a hesitant hand tap your shoulder, resuming the activities going on around you. Ah. You had waited way too long thinking it over. And you felt it would be so mean of you to speed walk away now, after he had worked up all that courage to approach you. So, slowly, you turned yourself to face him.

There stood Yuta Okkotsu, a half-full cup of iced coffee in his off-hand. But he looked noticeably different than you last saw him. His hair was styled in an uncharacteristically stiff fashion; It was gelled down and parted slightly to his right. Starkly different from the wilder hair you remembered him having. He was a bit taller, too. His clothing leaned more toward “smart” casual, rather than the comfortable styles you recalled him wearing.  And his face looked…  mostly the same, aside from the bags beneath his eyes, which seemed smaller than you remembered.

“It’s… It’s you.” He spoke, a bit short of breath. Like he couldn’t believe that you were standing in front of him. He looked a bit tense, as he had feared the worst. 

If it wasn’t you, he would have embarrassed the hell out of himself. He would have gotten over it, but it would only prove how hopeless he was at getting over you. Imagining you in public like that might have made him hole himself up in his dorm until his friends inevitably dragged him out and convinced him he wasn’t clinically insane. 

Conversely, if it had been you, he feared that you would have a viscerally negative reaction to his presence- that over the years you had stopped caring about him, and even grown to hate him. He knew that was ridiculous- you were passionate and reactive, but you were always polite. Still, the fear gnawed at him, perhaps more at the notion that you had grown to loathe him rather than that you would rebuke him.

But there you stood. Eyes widened in shock, and surprisingly still. But he didn’t see any hate in your expression. Still, he braced his heart for disappointment when you opened your mouth.

“... Yu ... ta?” It came out as more of a question than you had intended. You felt like you were in a trance, but did your best to shake yourself out of it. “What… What are you doing here?’

He accidentally let out a chuckle in response, and then motioned his cup to his little set-up in the corner of the coffee shop. “Studying… for my, uh, finals. And getting coffee. What are you doing here?” 

You motioned over to your laptop bag that you had yet to open. “Same as you, actually! What a coincidence!” You said with a little laugh, and just a hint of awkwardness in your tone.

The both of you remained silent for a moment before he decided to break it. “... Would you like to sit with me? It’s getting crowded in here.”

Oh.

His breaking the silence had surprised you even more than you already were. He didn’t typically do that, even when you were together. He was comfortable with it with you- and besides, he much preferred to look into your eyes. Again you were stunned into silence. What would be the right thing to do here? 

You knew what you wanted to do. You wanted to sit down and have lunch with him. You wanted to talk endlessly about what you had missed in the last four years. You wanted to give him your new socials, your new number, your new address. You had dreamed for years that you would run into him again like this.

But on the other hand, you also wanted to do what was right.  What made sense. And it didn’t make any sense to let him back in your life after all this time. You weren’t sure you could handle it even if it did. There was just so much history, and so much baggage between the two of you. You didn’t want to mess anything up further- for him, or for yourself. That wouldn’t be right at all.

His voice cut through your thoughts. 

“... I’m sorry I… I can see you’re uncomfortable. I’ll… I’ll go.”

Shit. That’s not what you wanted. That little sad look in his eyes.

“What?” You replied. A reaction of pure panic. Pure desperation. 

He turned back to you, averting his gaze slightly. “... I shouldn’t have asked… I just thought…” He looked right at you. “I thought… It would be nice to have coffee.”

“... It would.” You said, trying to soften your tone. Just coffee, you told yourself. It didn’t necessarily mean anything to have coffee with an old friend.

If he weren’t listening so intently to every word, he might not have heard you over all the noise. Now, it was his turn to be stunned. “It would? You think?” He asked, his eyes meeting yours again.

“... Yeah, it would.”

~

And so you sat down at his table. Suddenly, you felt very aware of yourself. The way you were sitting in your chair, the way your hands gripped your coffee cup, the sweat pooling from every gland you had… The sheer anxiety that built in you every moment that ticked by without a word.

“So uhm… Did you end up applying to TMTC?” He asked.

Tokyo Metropolitan Technical College. Your dream school. He…remembered?

“I did but…Well, I didn’t…I’m going to TMU. But I do have a few friends there.” You said, staring into your latte. “Ah, their sister school! That’s even better!” He replied, smiling a tad awkwardly. “That makes sense. You’ve always been really smart.”

“And where do you go?” You asked. It felt weird to you that you didn’t already know.

“Ah… well… I went to a community college at first… And one of my professors also works at TMC so I…” He trailed off.

“... You’re going there?” You looked up at him, your brow raised. A clear suspicion was evident in your expression.

“...Not… Not because I thought you’d be there.” He said, swallowing nervously.

Your heart twinged a little.

He continued, being unable to make eye contact with you. “Not- Not that I didn’t think you would! And not that I- I just… I would have been a fool to give up a chance like that. And our majors were far enough apart that if… If I did run into you… And you didn’t want to see me… Then you wouldn’t have to. Not that I didn’t want to see you I just-”

You laughed a little, causing him to stop his rambling. He didn’t act any differently than the boy you remembered. And even after all this time, you knew him like the back of your hand. He was still your Yuta.

“...Something funny?” He asked, throat still painfully dry. He took a sip of his drink.

You shook your head. “No… Nothing. I see why you did it. I’m just a tad jealous is all.”

“Do you… Like it at TMU?” Swiftly, he tried to change the subject.

You looked back up at him. “I do.”

The truth was, you felt a little lonely there. You had your friends, and you adored them. You got really lucky, and hadn’t yet had a mean professor. Your dorm was always cozy. The campus was beautiful. It would have been perfect if… He was there. 

Yuta. He was once your best friend, your companion…he was your home. Not a day could go by without you thinking of him. Something about his absence made days feel more monotonous. You felt like when you sat down here with him, you had been snapped out of a trance that you hadn’t been able to get out of for four long years. 

Yuta blinked when you failed to say more, and tried to coax something more out of you. “What do you like about it?”

“I see you’ve gotten nosier than ever, Yuu.” You teased.

Yuta’s face paled. “I’m sorry! That’s not what I-”

“Relax. I’m joking.” You had to laugh again. He was always so reactive to your teasing. Always took everything so seriously. That still hadn’t changed.  “Tokyo is gorgeous. I mean- I’m sure you can tell. You’re here too after all. But especially the campus! I don’t always have time to enjoy it with all the work my professors give me but…I really like going there. When I have time to go out with my friends we always have a ton of things to pick from. Makes it pretty hard to choose just one!”

Yuta smiled softly, leaning on the table as he listened to you earnestly.

You missed that fond expression of his.

“What is it, Yuta?”

“Huh…?” He froze, before sitting up and straightening himself out. “Oh- I just…Well you sound- IT sounds so pretty over there. I haven’t had the chance to go yet. I think I have a friend who goes there…” He said, tapping his chin.

“Who? Maybe I know them!” You said, leaning forward on the table.

“Her name’s Mai. Or- I think we’re friends. She’s Maki’s sister actually, you remember her? She sometimes joins our study group when we go to their house.”

Your eyes widened. “Mai Zenin?”

“Oh, yes! Do you know her?”

Knew wouldn’t be quite the correct word. You weren’t close at all, but you had worked on a few projects together. She was rather tight lipped about her personal life, and wasn’t much for conversation. But she was smart, and always did her part.

Despite the last name, you hadn’t connected the dots.

“Oh, not really. Our majors are close, so we have a few classes together.” You said quietly, looking into your cup.

Yuta did not fail to notice your change in demeanor.

“... Was she… rude to you?” He asked.

You looked back up at him. “Oh, nothing like that! I just… I had no idea.”

To think. You were two connections away from seeing him again almost this entire time. 

You weren’t sure how that made you feel.

“I didn’t either.” He chuckled. “I know she can be a bit…well, I’m sure you know.”

You found yourself smiling again. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But we always get a good grade when we work…. together, separately. She’s just…”

“A little intense?”

“Ohhhh yeah. You could say that again.” You said with a snicker. “Runs in the family I guess.”

Talking like this again… you found yourself so happy. This joy was something that you were only able to capture when you were with him. You felt a little nostalgic for your life before- Your life with him. It almost made you want to turn back the hands of time, or at the very least, let him back in again.

But that would clearly be selfish. Even from what little you had discussed, you could tell. Something was different. He had friends- plural. Likely new ones… maybe even a girlfriend.

He was happy.

Happy without you.

Not that you weren’t happy on your own, per se. But without him, the monotony of life had become so heavy. You felt as though everything was about your classes, your degree, your future job. Every moment you had, you spent working toward some distant future plan.

Yuta had always slowed you down and kept you in the moment. He put a colorful tint on your life when he was in it. 

In high school he was shy and awkward around other people…everyone except you, that was. You couldn’t help but wonder how that might have changed in three years. Maybe he…

“Y/N?” Again, he snapped you from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“...You’re doing that thing you do.” 

That thing you always did when you thought too much. That far-off look you got when he couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t bear to let you go there again.

He couldn’t bear to let you go at all.

You shook your head, but you knew exactly what he meant. “Just… just thinking is all, Yuta.”

“... Well, I have an ear if you need to talk it out.” He replied softly. His hand twitched slightly, out of instinct. He wanted to take your hand and squeeze it, but… He realized how awkward that could make you feel.

He still… he still cared? Really, and sincerely? After all this time?

You shook your head. It wouldn’t be right.

“That’s sweet Yuta, but… but I should be going. I really have to study.” You abruptly stood up and started gathering your things.

“What?” He stood up, eyes widened in a panic that he was trying to hide. “But we hardly-”

“My finals are soon, and I’m sure yours are too.”

“Y/N-.”

“Yuta I… I enjoyed this little chat with you but… Well I’m happy you’re doing well and I hope that you do well in your studies but I have to-”

“Y/N.” He grabbed ahold of your hand, and you froze. 

 Yuta took a deep breath. “...Sorry, I just…Y/N, I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you never want to see me again I’d…I’d understand. And…” 

He had to take another deep breath, and you could see tears beginning to brim in his eyes. “But you… you mean so much to me. After all this time you… I still miss you. So much. You’re..”

The love of his life?

“...My best friend. Maybe that’s… weird of me to say. But it’s true. Even though we didn’t have that much time together today I… I’m really happy to hear from you. And I want to see you again.” He looked right into your eyes.

Into your soul.

You could see how desperate he looked right now. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. You knew that if you were still together, he would have immediately taken you in his arms and kissed them away. But when you looked at him you saw how much he was holding back in order to avoid driving you away again.

It was then that you realized just how much you had been holding back yourself. Everything you had been feeling, and trying to hold deep inside with all the willpower you had left was about to burst out. You missed him so much.

“Yuu…ta…”

You swallowed harshly, stepping back. Yuta hung his head as you began to put your things into your bag.

Then, he felt you tap his shoulder. He attempted to subtly wipe the tears from his eyes before he locked eyes with you again.

You took his hand and placed a scrap of paper in it. 

“What’s this…?” He asked.

“...My new number. I…I would like to see you again too.” You whispered.

“You…you couldn’t have told me that first?” He chuckled, drying his face with a little smile.

You felt your lips curl up. “Sorry. I know you hate surprises.” You squeezed his hand, before letting it go.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean it looked…for a moment I thought-”

“I’m one hundred percent sure.” Well, now you were. “I’ll see you soon Yuta.”

“I’ll see you soon Y/N."

✧ Start (You are here!) ✧ Next ✧

✧ Masterlist ✧

[wardenparker]

CONGRATS on 2.5k!! You deserve every follow! ❤️ For the co-writer (along with @absurdthirst) of the Whiskey fic that made brain go BRRRRR and got me into reading/writing our fave corndog, how about our Agent with the prompts: "Should we make it official?" and/or "Put me down!" Have fun!

Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels. 2,300 words. "Put me down!"/"Should we make it official?" (Sequel to: "Wait! Please don't go!"/"There is no 'us'." ) Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack hits the door, heads turn. The sharp, confident gait of a man on a mission who will not be stopped just shimmers in the air around him. Eyes sharp and narrowed, they scan the floor, looking for someone. For you.

“Can I help you, sir?” It’s the weekend, so a greeter is stationed at the door of the upscale retail store, to help direct customers through the maze of shelves and displays. It is the middle of the city so there are plenty of different kinds who come in every day, but this is definitely the first cowboy that’s ever set foot inside the Lexington Avenue Sephora.

Jack says your name and throws the woman a charming grin. “She’s helped me before so I’m hoping to see her again.” He lies, knowing that you won’t talk to him otherwise.

"Sure! Of course." The new girl smiles warmly, blushing a little as she's easily taken in by the charm that drips off of Jack like dew drops. "She's in fragrances today. All the way at the back of the store."

“Thank you kindly.” He tips his hat like a gentleman and starts for the back of the store. The past two weeks have been miserable. He’s drank, he’s raged, he’s blamed you for expecting too much. Then, when you rejected the bouquet of flowers he had sent to your parent’s house after misusing Statesman resources to find where you were, he had come to a hard truth. He had done you wrong. He hadn’t spoken from heart, not made himself uncomfortable for the sake of growth. Holding onto the fear of losing you if he loved you had caused him to lose you. And no surprise, he had loved you, because he is miserable without your voice in his ear, your fragrance on his sheets and your love in his heart. Now, he’s here to get you back.

You're there in the last aisle, helping a young lady find a specific gift she came looking for, in the uniform dress that you hate but tolerate for the sake of your new job. It doesn't pay well enough and it doesn't distract you enough to dull the constant aching hurt inside you after having walked out of Jack's place, but that's why you had started it the second after arriving back at your parents' place. To try to forget him. It isn't working. Not at all.

"I'll be right wit—" The figure looming a few feet away was only a shadow. It's the second you look up that your mouth runs dry and you feel sick to your stomach all over again. "I'm not sure I can help you, sir," you manage, hating the way your heart wings with so much hope. Hope that he wouldn't be here unless he had come for a good goddamn reason. But you have to stay strong. "You might want to try elsewhere."

“But sugar—” Jack drawls, grinning in pure relief at seeing your pretty face again somewhere else than in his dreams or the photos that haunt his walls. “You’re the only one who can help me.”

“Then you’ll have to wait.” Jack’s appearance has thrown you off completely, but you manage to finish up with your customer and take a deep breath — even hide your shaking hands behind your back — before you look at him again. “You came to my work?” Your voice is incredulous. Quiet. “It had better because you’re out of cologne.”

“You blocked my number and your daddy— well, I didn’t think you’d want there to be a brawl on your parent’s front lawn.” He huffs, annoyed that the old man had waved a hammer at him. He knows he could disarm him, but that would make you even madder at him.

“Ginger helped you find me?” You guess with disappointment. But Ginger is his friend. You can’t blame her for being on his side. “I left Jack. And I did it on purpose. Hell, we didn’t even have enough of a relationship to call it a breakup.”

“We had a relationship.” Jack snorts. “We have one still, this ain’t over, sugar.” He promises, “Not by a long shot.”

"We can't do this here." If he wants to have it out all over again, the least he can do is pay you the courtesy of not getting you in trouble at work. This is definitely going to get you in trouble. "I'm not going to lose my job because you can't take no for an answer."

“I love you, sugar.” Jack breaths out, finally saying the words he’s needed to for a long time. The words you deserve.

If there had been anything in your hands, you would have dropped it immediately. As it is, you feel like crumbling – falling down on the spot or running to him – something utterly undignified that would definitely get you written up at minimum. Your eyes mist and your shaking hands tangle around each other, but you can't break down on the sales floor. And beyond that? As much as you want to believe him, to let the anger and the heartache drip away so you can just go home to him where you want to be? It seems completely unbelievable to you that you walking out his door was somehow the magic tonic he needed to learn those damn words.

"My manager is watching," you murmur to him, glancing past him to the petite ice queen several yard away who has zeroed in on an employee not forcing product on every single person in the store. "We can't—it's not—you have to go, Jack."

“I’m not leaving.” He frowns, tossing the overly made-up manager a single look before focusing on you. “Did you not hear what I said?” He asks. “I love you, sugar. I need you.”

"I heard you." The water pressing at the back of your eyes is proof of that, and the way your voice cracks, but you can feel your manager's eyes drilling into your face and that gaze is angry. "I heard you. And we will talk about this, but I can't afford to lose this job and that might happen if you don't go."

“You don’t need this job.” Jack reminds you. You hadn’t had it when you left, so it’s not like you’ve been here for years.

"I have bills to pay," you remind him, rolling that tick in your jaw backward a little and swallowing the bitter pill that you decided to take all on your own. The undefined thing you had going with Jack had come with a big allowance, but it wasn't a sugar situation. That would have at least been a title. "Therefore, I need to keep my job. And the girl who just got hired can get sent out the door just as easily."

“You don’t need to worry about that.” He shakes his head and reaches for your hand. “Come on, sugar.”

“Why, Jack?” You have to keep your voice down as you snatch your hand back, but it’s still a hiss. “So I can be your stay-at-home friend-with-benefits again?”

Jack has many, many faults and one of them is impatience. His jaw clenches and he knows that he needs to get you alone to talk to you, others starting to warily gaze your way. Instead of answering you, Jack drops his shoulder and scoops you up like it’s nothing.

“Oh my fucking god, Jack!” The screech it earns from you is nearly instant, knowing that you have absolutely just lost your job over his stunt and not really knowing what in the hell he plans to do now. “Put me down! Right now!” He’s stronger than you and you don’t stand a chance of wriggling free in the dress you’re wearing. It will be up over your head if you even try.

“Nope.” His gait is just as determined as he passes by your manager, her jaw on the floor. “She quits.” He tells her and continues on to the door and outside.

“JACK!” Your shit is still in your locker and that’s going to be a black mark on your resume, but right now all you can do is beat your fists on his back and shoulder in protest. “What the hell are you doing? Put me down!”

By his Bronco, Jack finally relents, bending down and setting you on your feet. “Now, we can talk.”

Huffing and puffing like you’re about to summon a personal tornado, you don’t even hear him for all the blood pounding in your ears. “What the fuck was that?! Do you know how embarrassed I’m going to be when I have to go back in there and get my purse?”

“It’ll be the last time you go in there.” He predicts and he smirks at you. “And you’ll be flustered too badly to even think about what those crusted old biddies think.”

It’s a reasonable threat, considering how good he is at flustering you. The whole reason you’ve been so upset is because you do love Jack and you wanted this to work out. But standing out there on the street pressed between him and his Bronco? You feel like you’re about to be sold a familiar looking head of cattle after your own just happened to go missing.

“So what’s the play here?” You work very hard to keep your tone skeptical. “You tell me how much you need me so that I’ll come back to you and then nothing really changes? As usual?” He did say the words, but you’re so scared to believe them. To believe him. There’s a chance he doesn’t mean it and that terrifies you.

His eyes narrow, aware that he deserves that little barb but he shakes his head. “No. That’s not what’s going to happen, baby girl.” He huffs. “You are going to go get your purse and then I’m taking you home, where you belong. And I’m going to make you scream my name before you fall asleep on my chest as we plan.”

That all sounds…ridiculously good, actually. It would be a relief to go back to him. To not have to miss him anymore and feel like your heart has been split in two. But all you do is raise one eyebrow in a show of disbelief. “Plan what, exactly?”

“You’re marrying me sugar, today, tomorrow, or the next day.” He growls, smashing his lips against yours and moaning in relief when you melt against him. Pulling away to caress your cheek. “What do you say, baby girl? Should we make it official?”

“Do you…really mean it?” Months of telling him that you wanted to know where you stood with him — wanted commitment from him — only to be sidelined or waylaid or otherwise put off for just a little while longer, they all melt away in the face of the biggest offer of commitment he could possibly make.

“Gotta ring in my pocket.” He confesses, leaning in and brushing your nose with his. “Sugar, I’ve been such a damn fool.” He murmurs. “I thought I could avoid losing you if I didn’t admit I love you. And I just hurt you, something I never wanted to do.”

“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense cowboy.” It makes Jack Sense, which is not much at all, but still your arms twine around his waist right there on the sidewalk. “But I’m just gonna brush past how long it took you to show up at the party and embrace the fact you’re here at all. Because I didn’t want to leave. I miss the hell out of you.”

“I’m a damaged soul, sugar.” He admits softly. “But I want to be better, I want to give you everything.” He sighs and leans in to kiss you again. “Come home?”

“Everyone is damaged somehow, cowboy.” Melting measurably more with another press of his lips to yours, you lean into the solid wall of Jack’s body completely. “We just have to talk about things from now on, so we don’t get more damage along the way. Okay?”

“Whatever it takes, baby girl.” Jack promises, wrapping his arms around you and holding tight. “I’m never letting you go.”

You’ve cried so much these last few weeks, it’s almost startling to realize that the tears in your eyes now are happy ones. Ecstatic. Overjoyed at having your Jack back in your life, and for the right reasons. If you were separated by more than a few inches it would have been a lunge to kiss him again, but as it is you wrap up in him and hold on tight. “You really have that ring? Because I’m gonna flash it everywhere when I go back into that damn place to get my purse, and then you’re gonna take me home. Our home.”

“I sure do, baby girl.” He has to take one hand out from around you and it almost kills him, but he wants to prove how serious he is. Pulling a small black velvet box from his sports coat. “Tell me what you think. If you don’t like it, we can go pick out any ring you want.”

"How could I not like it?" It's from him and that's all that matters. But the second he pops the little velvet box open, the tears in your eyes spill over and your heart is in your throat. "Baby...it's...it's...I love it. I love you." It's beautiful, and it's real, and he means it.

Leaving was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but if it was the kick in the pants that you both needed to know that the love you have is real? Then it was worth a little ache.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[drewsbuzzcut]

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/740429391926083584/right-where-you-left-me

How do they get back together? Please say it’s the model reader that goes after Mat instead of the other way around.

Lessons Learned

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

warnings: insecurities, mentions therapy, cursing, minor angst, slight mentions of blood, and I think that’s all

pt 2 of Right Where You Left Me

It’s been a lousy, dragged out month of self pity and anger. You’re upset with the way you handled things with Mat. You were proving your one sided point of you being too young right all because you couldn’t communicate with him. Why, you, thought breaking up with him rather than talking with him was a more beneficial idea? You have no clue. Mat is one of the most understanding people you’ve come to know. But because you’re you, you’ve also stayed clear of anything that has to do with Mat. Not that he was calling or texting you anyways. He is probably so done with you.

The day after everything went down, you realized your mistake but it was too late. Even if it wasn’t too late, you’re too stubborn to do anything about it. You don’t really deserve Mat, but you want him so bad.

During your flight back home from your latest photo shoot, you think over every little thing. You want to talk to Mat, but you can’t stop the thoughts of him not wanting you back, or worse, moving on from flooding your mind. You chew on your bottom lip until you taste blood and your leg hasn’t stopped shaking. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

Before you can overthink it, you get an uber to Mat’s place and hope that he’s home.

His front door looks daunting, but it also reminds you of all the good times you’ve had in his home. You shake out your nerves and knock on the door. You’re met with silence. A minute passes and you knock again. It’s followed by more silence. You lean your forehead on the cool wood, trying not to let yourself get discouraged.

“Y/n?” You hear his voice behind you.

You quickly look up, snapping your head over your shoulder to face him. His hair is longer than it was a month ago. His eyes are tired and so is his body. His large bags look extra heavy in his hands. All your thoughts disappear when you connect your eyes with his.

“Hi. I didn’t know you weren’t home,” you say.

“We just got back from a roadie,” he answers, a nervous hand going through his hair.

Your fingers fidget with a loose strand of thread from your tank top. You try to form the right words in your head, but you feel intimidated under his gaze.

“Oh. Well I should probably leave and let you get settled in. It was nice seeing you,” you say and move away from his door.

“Y/n, you’re here for a reason. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You blurt out.

You watch him through squinted eyes, because not even you buy your lie. You bite down on your lips and throw your head back with a groan.

“Okay. Fuck, I’m not fine, but you just got home so I’m sure you don’t feel like talking right now,” you slap a hand on your forehead.

You’re frazzled, but then you hear a small giggle fall from Mat’s lips.

“We can talk, but first we have to go inside,” he gestures to his front door but you quickly shake your head.

“No. I can’t go inside. Besides, it’ll be quick. I just wanted to tell you that I fucked up. I’m insecure and I fucked up big time. I broke up with you because I hate the way people possibly perceive me when they find out we’re dating. You’re older than me and wiser, so I get intimidated by that. That other person from the party just made me really jealous, and I lost my cool which made me not communicate well with you. I became my worst insecurity. I became this little, naive girl who can’t display her emotions, who can’t communicate. I suck and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you rant, voice thick but strong.

“You’re shaking” he reaches out a hand to place on your arm. It's an immediate warmth that you feel and you close your eyes to relish in it.

“Yeah, well I’m really scared right now,” you whisper.

“Why?” He asks back in a whisper.

“Because I love you, but I don’t know if you still love me or even want me,” you admit, taking a chance to peer up at him.

“Always. I always want you and I always love you, but I need there to be a change,” he says and you feel your heart fall.

He’s not being unreasonable, but you wish you could just automatically change. You’d put in the work anyways, especially for him.

“You’re right. I’m a sucky girlfriend and you deserve better, so I have been going to my therapist a lot more. I’m working on how to properly communicate. I’m also trying to remind myself that I’m enough for you and that I can handle your life and our life together. I’m trying,” you explain.

“I’m proud of you,” you smile at his statement.

“Thank you. I should probably get home and let you unpack. I’ll call you later and maybe we can go on a date,” you suggest, smiling shyly at him.

He stays silent which you take as his agreement. You squeeze his arm affectionately and start to walk away, but you feel him tug on your hand. He pulls you towards him and you spin into his arms, your hands subconsciously connecting behind his neck.

“What makes you think I want my girlfriend to leave? I haven’t seen or talked to you in a month. I want a kiss. I want to love you in my bed. I want you right here in my arms,” he secures his arms around your waist and whispers in your ear.

You can feel butterflies flutter in your stomach and your cheeks heat up.

“But you said that I needed to change, so I thought maybe we should have some space,” you explain.

“Well I know it’s going to take some time to make changes, and you’re not the only one who has to change. I also don’t want any more space. We went a month without each other, I want you with me at all times. I love you,” he assures you.

“I love you. I’m so sorry. I promise I’m going to change. I want to be the girl you deserve, the girl you need,” you cry, your tears finally breaking through. All your tension releases from your shoulders and you can’t help but shake in his arms.

“You’re my dream girl. Like I said, it’s only you. You’re the love of my life. Please come inside, take a shower with me,” he pleads, his large hands traveling down to squeeze at your ass.

“Fine. Kiss me first,” you tug on his shirt.

He leans down, sucking your top lip between his two lips. Your body melts into his- especially when his tongue dips into your mouth.

“You’re perfect,” he says into your mouth.

“No, you are,” you grab the keys from his front pocket, smiling at the way his breath hitches at your touch. You unlock his door and drag him in.

You were about to make up for all the lost time.

a/n: Enjoy bffs!!

[catmomjudy]

There were lots of posts over Father’s Day about Buck and Bobby’s father/son relationship (with the 911onabc Instagram actually presenting them as father and son alongside the more traditional father/child relationships on the show).

Bobby has been pretty much acknowledged as Buck’s “Dad Who Stepped Up” in canon:

(GIFs: @neverevan, @kenneth-black) I collected this info for a reblog I did the other day, but I figured it was deserving of its own (expanded) post.

Up until 6x11, Buck and Bobby’s relationship was fairly accepted but never stated outright. Fans accepted it as part of the “family you choose” vibe of 9-1-1 (as stated outright by Eddie in 3x11). But many signs were pointed out (similar to the way fans point out hints in the relationship between Buck and Eddie):

The way Bobby gives Buck chance after chance, right from the start (1x01), going back and forth between compassion and “tough love”

The way Buck gets under Bobby’s skin—“I made you mad” as Coma-Buck says in 06x11—when he’s doing his best to keep everyone away (S1)

Bobby helping Buck learn to tie a tie (1x06)

The way Bobby jumps on a suicide bomber to save Buck (2x18)

Bobby’s extreme and emotional reactions during the lawsuit arc (S3a).

Et cetera, et cetera.

But what about Athena?

I often see “Athena being Buck’s mom” on lists of things that make people DNR a fic. And I get it: Some fics push it to the point of overt mush, and also tend to be the same fics that woobify Buck (who, as I’ve posted before, is a real, live Adult). And “mush” and Athena Grant don’t really jive.

But I think something “Athena is not Buck’s mom” complainants also forget is that Athena is BOBBY’S WIFE. And she seems to be fully cognizant of how Bobby feels about Buck. So, she quite often makes efforts to support and nurture that relationship.

And Athena rocks the step-mom vibe with Buck pretty well. It’s just more subtle (kind of like it was with Bobby until 6x11, as outlined above):

(Gif: @neverevan, @mattoidmeerkat)

7x03: Why Buck? Why does she specify “Buck” in this instant, if it’s not to imply “If your boy could see you now!”

3x14: This is one instance (I think the dumpster diving with Taylor in 4x11 is the other, and there may be more that I’m not remembering), but, just like with Bobby and Michael, Athena has that “Mom Radar” going and has a habit of catching Buck up to no good. And that look isn’t “Cop Face.” It’s classic “Mom Glare” with a side of “I’m Very Disappointed In You Young Man.”

(Gif: @mattoidmeerkat; Photo: Official still)

6x11: Athena is the only one other than Chris who gets to give a true speech to Coma Buck. The step-mom and the step-son.

2x10: Buck at family Christmas dinner at Athena’s house. And remember that Hen was/is Athena’s best female friend, so Hen and Karen being there isn’t necessarily related to the firehouse. So, Buck has been invited to his captain’s fiancée’s house for Christmas dinner with his captain’s fiancée’s family.

And there’s more!

In 3x04 (the Dinner from Hell), Athena is the one to invite Buck:

Bobby: I still can't believe that you invited him without talking to me first.

Athena: I just wanted him to know that no matter what, he's still family. Thought dinner would give you two time to work things out.

And in 3x10, Athena is the one who Buck calls about the Christmas party. He obviously felt comfortable enough with her at this point to do that:

Bobby: Athena, what are you doing here?

Athena: We came to save you. Someone said you were ordering takeout for Christmas dinner.

Buck: I did vote for turkey. ( Laughs )

(Dialogue from: https://tvshowtranscripts.ourboard.org/)

(Gif: @fireladybuckley)

It should also be obvious from the above gif that that extremely cute photo/gif of Buck from 3x10 that people like to post (and gush over) is Buck’s expression when he’s greeting ATHENA.

Also note that 3x10 is also the ep where Buck first outright stated his feelings for Bobby, so showing his comfort with Athena (and his bashfulness and happiness at being thanked and complimented by her) right next to this is quite telling.

(Gif: @mattoidmeerkat)

🤷🏻‍♀️

(Gif: @fireladybuckley)

[insomniac4000]

Right Person Wrong Time A Willne fic

Will sat there, his blue eyes brimming with tears as he stared at the photo. You were there, big smile on your face, eyes listening, nails manicured to perfection as the diamond and sapphire ring sat on your forth finger of your left hand you held up so proudly. The problem? The man in the photo next to you wasn’t him. He was tall and with dark hair but that was where the similarities ended, his eyes were dark not only in colour but Will always thought there was a dark tone to them and he didn’t like the way he was holding your left wrist in the photo, it was possessive in nature like he was telling the whole world to back off, it was like it was a specific message to Will to leave you alone.

The first time you had introduced Will to David it was a polite meeting but awkward, it would have been obvious to anyone else that the pair took an immediate dislike to each other but were putting aside their differences for you. That was only eight months ago, a month before Will and Mia broke up and now only eight months later you two were engaged, it was moving quick, too quick for Will’s liking but he knew he had to be the supportive friend, the role he had played to you since you first met at uni.

“Come ‘ere,” Will managed to say when you had come home after your weekend away where the engagement took place. He opened his arms and you fell into them giggling, still on a high from all the excitement.

“All we need to do now is find someone for you, we’re thinking of getting married in December so you’ve got a little while to find a date,” you explained to him as the pair of you let go of the hug and made your way to the sofa.

“December?” Will asked his voice going a little high.

“I know, I know it’s soon but David said it’s doable.”

“I thought you always wanted to get married in summer,” Will replied crossing one of his long limbs over the other, his grey tracksuit bottoms riding up his ankles as he did so.

“I did, but David said doing it on our first anniversary would be sweet, and he doesn’t want to wait,” you shrugged.

“What about what you want?” Will asked. For the past few months he had grown tired of watching you bow down to David’s every whim. He knew he didn’t like David but this was more than that, he had slowly started seeing you change and he was worried for you, he had never thought David was right for you and now other people were starting to see the same thing which had only increased his worry, it had proved it wasn’t just Will’s dislike of David clouding his mind there was something happening and it only increased his concern.

“It’ll be fine, it’s just a compromise,” you explained fiddling with your hair, a habit you had since you were very young.

“Y/N a compromise means you both have to give up something. Look I’m not going to dictate anything to you but it just seems to be you’re the one giving up stuff more. You’re moving in with him even though that means giving up your dog, now he’s planning the wedding? Something just makes me feel really uneasy,” Will told you earnestly. You looked at your lap in embarrassment, Hercules was your six year old black Labrador whom you adopted four years ago. David had managed to convince you it was the best thing for you to move into his rented home rather than he move into your house which you owned, you can’t remember how it made more sense to do this but it did. The saddest part was there was a no pets rule so in a couple of weeks time Hercules was moving in with Will.

“If you’re having second thoughts about taking him then I can make other arrangements..” you suggested causing Will to shake his head furiously.

“No, I’d much rather have him here where you can see him and know he will be looked after, I just think it’s sad you’re having to give him up,” Will told you in earnest, you nodded in both understanding and in agreement as you let out a small sigh. Your life had changed so much in the last few weeks, you remember pleading with David to let you keep him, you had even argued about it, in trying to make it up to you he had booked a last minute get away to the Maldives which is where he ended up proposing. Your mind was in a spin, you had so much you needed to do and sort out and very little time in which to do it in, you didn’t know whether you were coming or going most of the time now and spent a lot of your days confused. Usually it was spending time with your friends including Will which gave you some much needed down time but right in this moment you were feeling more confused than ever.

You had cut that visit short, you genuinely had a headache but there was also a slight discomfort being on Will’s sofa that you hadn’t felt before. It was a mix of feeling there was something wrong with you being there mixed with not feeling as welcome as you had before but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Really you had mainly gone there to pick up Hercules as Will was looking after him during your break. When you got to your house you were a little surprised to see David sitting on the sofa on his laptop, he had told you he was going to work most of the day so assumed he would be at his own flat.

“Hey babe, great news,” David smiled. You frowned at the sight of his feet with his brown shoes on resting on your coffee table, it was one that you had picked up from Marketplace and had antiqued yourself. You house was small, two bedrooms and one bathroom but it was yours. You had scrimped hard to gather enough money together to buy it and you had a hobby of making furniture and interiors unique so everything in that house meant a lot to you, now you were thinking about it you were very sad that you were going to have to say goodbye to all of it.

“What?” You asked clipping off Hercules’ lead before sitting down next to him, you tapped his legs in an attempt that he would get the hint and place his feet down but he never did.

“I’ve found our wedding venue, although the only date they had was November 20th which is a little earlier than planned but we’ll sort it all out.”

“What?” You managed to choke out, to say you were in shock was an understatement, you had only been engaged for less than twenty four hours and hadn’t even talked about potential venue ideas.

“It’s the country club a friend of my uncle owns, I didn’t want to wait considering we want to get married so soon, it’s an old family friend so we can get a great deal but still need a deposit to secure the date.”

“David, please PLEASE tell me you didn’t put a deposit down?” You asked, you ran your hand down your face as you watched his mouth slightly twitch into a scowl. A country club would be way down on your list of places you wanted to get married, not that you had anything against them say but you preferred old buildings, or something a little bit different, something with character.

“Why wouldn’t I?” David replied nonchalantly not seeing the problem.

“I would like to think we would make big decisions like that together!” You exclaimed raising your voice a little, you were angry and hurt. All of the excitement over the engagement had just washed away from you, it was like all of the fun, joy and anticipation had been taken away from you.

“Well I’d like to think that my fiancée would be a bit more fucking grateful I’m actually helping out instead of sitting on my arse!” David snapped back, causing you to physically step back a little, you had never heard him that angry before and in your opinion he didn’t have a right to be.

The following day Will made his way into the office, he was filming with James which he loved, despite the challenges that came with it but he was struggling to muster up any excitement.

“Hey man, how are you?” James asked with a concerned look on his face as the northerner walked in and slammed his backpack on the desk.

“Fine,” the Geordie sighed but the musician frowned and placed a hand on Will’s shoulder.

“I saw on social media. How are you doing?”

“I was okay, she came over to get her dog and she was just so different, he’s going to control every aspect of that wedding and then her life and then I’m never going to see her again.” Will sighed in despair.

“Do you really think he’s that bad a person?” James asked, he had only met the guy once and although David seemed a bit stuck up there were no major red flags.

“He’s making her give up her dog James, the guy’s a prick. Let’s film this video,” Will added sadly taking off his hoodie to start the shoot.

Everyone in the office was worried about Will, from Mikey and Orlaith whom he saw for multiple hours a day, to Jim who saw him once a week when he travelled up to film, to other people he shared the office building with such as Chris, Theo and Chip. On multiple occasions Chris asked Will to go out with him to see if they could get him a girl and he could forget all about you but Will never took it up. Will was honest when he went onto The Fella’s podcast and said all he did was go to work, go home and watch the TV. His mind was always clouded by you, mostly the thought was were you okay as he had a feeling that deep down you weren’t happy, and Lord knew he was miserable. The two of you had met first year of uni in the halls, he had the room opposite you. He was a hapless eighteen year old who didn’t know much of anything, you taught him to cook just a few basic recipes but it stopped him from living off kebabs and vodka. When you had to move out of halls the two of you moved into a house share together with two other friends but Will then broke your heart when he  announced he wasn’t going to pursue his degree anymore. The two of you had one drunken kiss one night but when the two of you both admitted it was a mistake and you were better off friends in order to save face and that was that. Will then got a girlfriend and from that moment the pair of you had never been single at the same time. When Will got with Mia you honestly had thought that was it, they had drifted apart a couple of months before the split but by that point you had started to date David and you assumed that they would get back together. The moping shocked you a little as you had never seen Will like that before but little did you know Will wasn’t just mourning his relationship with Mia, he was also starting to mourn his friendship with you.

Will sighed when he heard a knock on the door, it was seven pm so he assumed it was some kids messing about or something wanting to sell something, the sound of the football match flowing in the background, Will wasn’t sure what the score was or who was even playing, his mind too preoccupied with other things. His phone buzzed, to his surprise he saw your name flash up, he scrambled off his sofa when he read the words ‘it’s me I’m outside’.

He opened the door, the rain hammering down causing your hair to be stuck to the side of your face, Hercules was by your side and similarly soggy.

“Come in out the cold, what’s happened?” Will asked rushed, noticing the suitcase by your other side.

“We had an argument. Will…” you started but couldn’t continue as you watched the tall man walk straight over to the kitchen. He placed the kettle on before shuffling to the bathroom, not a minute later he reappeared with two towels, throwing one in your direction before placing the other one over Hercules who thanks Will with a good shake.

“Did he hurt you?” Will asked not looking at you once, he couldn’t take it if you said yes and he could see something.

“No, well he grabbed my wrists to try and stop me from leaving,” you explained. If Will wasn’t touching your dog right now he would have balled his fists up, you continued to talk after some silence, it being evident Will wasn’t going to fill it.

“You were right Will. He’s all wrong for me, he tried to tell me it was because you were jealous but I don’t care of that’s true or not. He organised the whole wedding without me, I can’t believe I almost let him give up Hercules, I mean how stupid can I be,” you started wail, you weren’t just upset you were angry at yourself. The mullet haired man embraced you as quick as he could, the pair of you stood there swaying from side to side for a while enjoying each other’s company. You two hadn’t hugged like that since your grandmother had died.

Very few words were exchanged that night, one of the things they really treasured about their friendship was they could be in each other’s company and know exactly what the other person wanted. The spare room was offered without question, tea was drank and coffee was purchased the next morning. You thanked Will as the pair of you sipped your beverages, hot for you and cold for him.

“Can I ask you a question?” Will proposed as he swivelled in his seat to face you.

“Shoot,” you replied giving him a small smile, so much had happened over the past few days all you wanted to do was cry but you were determined to keep a smile on your face, it was just who you are.

“You said yesterday that you didn’t care if I was jealous of that arsehole or not, I just want to know what you meant?” Will felt guilty for doing so but the thing that made him up most of the night was because he was playing that part of the sentence over and over in his head, he needed to know.

“It’s not important,” you shrugged it off taking another sip of your coffee.

“It is to me. I know I was right about him but I have to be honest, part of me was jealous,” Will admitted sighing, he felt like he was going to burst if he kept it in much longer. Your eyes widened and jaw dropped as you took in the information.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You exclaimed, you’d had enough of men lying to you and using you and never thought Will would be part of that list.

“Because I’m a selfish bastard and can’t wait until you meet someone new and I go through all of this heartache again. I’m also a gentlemen and know you’re far from in the position to go down the road again, I just need you to know.” There was silence after Will spoke which was deafening to him.

“If only you had told me this five fucking years ago. You’re right Will, I need some time to get over all of this, but when I do you’ll be the first person I call,” you said placing a hand on his knee. The right time will come.

[flatoutin-eaurouge]

The stable boy to your horseman 1/2

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x Michael Schumacher

@schumi-honey, @hakkineninen and I were cooking in the discord. I got a little too excited and had to split the fic in half. There will be a part 2... a little more romantic 🤭

(Photo cred.)

He stood in front of him with a big radiant smile, his hand caressing the mane of Michael's horse. His resumé was well-nigh blank, but the boy with all his innocence, had written a motivation letter in mostly broken English, containing a list of all the pets he owned, used to own or dreamed of owning. Ranging from "just" cats and dogs to rodents to reptiles to insects. Very irrelevant for the job, but very endearing all the more.

Michael wondered how the young man had ended up inside his stables. Maybe he shouldn't have invited his mother to help him interview the applicants. She was known to be prone to fall for boyish naivity and innocent charm. All other candidates were very experienced, fluent in English, quite a few years older than Michael, but they all had - according to Mrs. Schumacher - an air of misplaced arrogance.

"Horses don't like that, Michael! They know a bragger when they smell one."

Michael had foiled through the resumés and stared at the photo of the only outlier in the range of applicants. A boy with a thick Northern-European accent, big blue eyes and a mop of blonde neatly combed hair. A school boy dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Now what...

"In what world is this a good idea?"

"You can learn everything. However, what you can't learn is 'reading' horses and calming them. Some people have an instinct for it."

Michael scrutinized the boy, taking him in from head to toe. The frolicsome appereance of the man made Michael feel a little bit skeptic towards him. This was a very serious job in a very serious sport. You can't come here to cuddle with the horses and all the other animals that had caught the Finn's eyes on their way to the stables a few minutes ago.

"So, is that how you do it? Charm your way in? Used to get what you want because of the way you look and act?" Michael waved Mika's resumé in front of his big blue eyes.

Mika was suprised to hear the skepticism in Michael's voice. The Finn challenged him with a look as his eyes twinkled with mischief. "You kept it? It's basically a  blank paper, you know?"

"Yeah, I can see that. Is that why you gave such an irrelevant list of weird creatures you like to pet? To fill in the blanks?"

Mika didn't look at Michael as he caressed the soft nose of the horse with the back of his finger, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "It's a clever way to fill in the blanks...I agree, but all of it is true. I did not make it up 'just because'."

"Yeah? So you like salamanders and rats and stick insects...? I mean... stick insects?! You like twigs with legs?"

"They are organisms with an own will. They're very interesting, Mr. Schumacher."

The false politeness irked Michael. "Don't call me Mr. Schumacher. My name is Michael."

Mika wiped his hand on his jeans, then stretched it out to Michael. "I'm Mika."

"I already know your name, I read your resumé remember? Not that there was much to read." Michael reached out, but instead of grabbing the Finn's outstretched hand, he went for his wrist. "Listen. It's no playground here. I'm here to win!"

"Then we are on the same page."

Michael rolled with his eyes and stared at the blonde boy through narrow eyes, scrutinizing him again. Who did the guy try to impress having so many top buttons of his shirt undone? He was athletically built, fit and slender, but not particular muscular. The only really impressing thing about him was his sun-kissed golden hair... and his adorable little nose.

"We better be. I hope you know how to make horseshoes, because if you don't... what's the point of you being here?" Michael turned on his heels. "Your dinner is served in the kitchen with the chamberlains and the maids, by the way."

With a little tilt of his head he left Mika alone with the horses.

Michael walked to the large driveway of his mansion to wave his mother goodbye. She would return to Germany where she lived and where, coincidently, next race would be held. They would soon be reunited.

As his mother got into her shiny Rolls Royce, Michael noticed a slightly taller shadow appear next to him. The unexpectedness made him startle. He swiftly turned around to look who was invading his space.

Verdammt! Of all people working at the mansion, it was his new stable boy waving at the woman who had granted him the job he wanted. The man seemed to feel rightly at home.

And his mother, bless the woman, seemed to love it. She laughed out loud and waved at the new addition to Michael's staff. "Good luck you two!"

As soon as his mother was out of sight, Michael took a very obvious step away from his stable boy. "What are you doing here, man? Start doing something that can convince me you were a good choice after all." He leveled Mika with a stare and left him at the driveway.

Mika watched Michael go, noticing the impressive sway of his strong hips and the solid line of his broad shoulders. The German seemed hard to please. Maybe he had all right to be... he was a world champion after all.

A little perplexed by his not so warm welcome, Mika walked back to the stables. He stared at all the horses that were now his to take care of. All beautiful and stately Friesians. Mika wondered how Michael climbed on top of those horses. Did he need a crate? Or was he expected to give Michael a leg up or a helping hand? He blushed a little at the thought. He wanted to convince the German he was the right man for the job.

Feeling a little nervous all of a sudden, he wandered towards the anvil located in one of the corners of the stables. There was a rack with pliers and hammers on the wall and an intimidating looking oven next to it.

He took one of the pliers and studied it. All right, Let's make a beautiful horseshoe that I can show Michael later this day. He had time to practice now right?

Michael was sitting at the desk in his study room foiling through his fan mail. Lots of boys and girls had been asking for his signature, his advices or his hand in marriage. Michael spend a lot of time responding and making sure his replies did justice to the efforts of his fans. Replying accordingly to his fans required his full concentration.

That concentration was harshly interrupted by some frantic knocking on the door of his study room.

"Michael!" A louder knock. "Michael!"

Michael sighed and put his pen down. "Who is it?"

"Me."

Michael rolled with his eyes. "Who is 'me'?" He expected he already knew the answer. It was probably blonde and naive. "Is 'me' Mika?"

"Yes."

Michael got up with an exaggerated sigh. He walked to his door and opened it with a harsh swing, almost smacking Mika in the face. "Can't believe you wandered around my house to look for me! With your Wellies on none the less!"

"Look!" Mika held up the iron plier with a slightly disformed horseshoe at the end of it. "Watch out though! I think it's still hot. My first time doing it!" A big radiant smile.

Michael took his stable boy in from head to toe. He was wearing an oversized leather apron and leather gloves and looked way too proud of himself.

Michael didn't want to admit it to himself, but his stable boy looked kind of hot in that leather gear. He had no right to be that hot, he was too innocent looking! 

Mika stared at him expectantly. "How did I do?"

Michael quirked an eyebrow at him and chuckled. He stared at the sinuous metal being held in front of him. "That's not gonna win me races. Poor horse that has to wear that."

Mika shoulders slumped in an instant and the smile vanished from his face. Subconsciously, his bottom lip started to tremble. He didn't say anything but he looked so disappointed.

Michael stared at him in confusion. Was the damn guy seriously on the brim of tears? Seriously?! He was dealing with an adult or...?

Mika didn't start crying, but Michael suspected it was a close call.

"Okay." The Finn turned around to leave the room.

Michael felt overcome with guilt all of a sudden. There was something so jolly about his stable boy that it felt almost illegal to make him sad. If only he knew how to console the guy instead of making things worse... He reached out to grab Mika's arm. "Hey, why are you so quick to tears?"

Mika turned around and seemed a little alarmed by Michael's reaction. "What makes you say that? I am not crying, am I?"

"It's just that I think you should be able to take criticism and not look like a rain cloud after I try to lecture you. The horseshoe does look... incorrect." Michael strategically avoided the word "shitty".

"I will do better next time." With his face twisted in disappointment, Mika gently freed his arm from Michael's grip and took his leave.

Michael stared at him in disbelief. What did I do? Is he being a crybaby or am I being too mean to him?

Mika walked back to the stables with a glint of tears in his eyes. Am I really such a loser? He wanted to please Michael so badly. He looked up to the charasmatic German boy. Michael was a strong character and very popular with his fans. Not afraid to speak his mind.

He sought solace with the horses.

Michael's favourite horse seemed to sense the sadness of the new stable boy. With a soft neigh, the animal walked towards him and rested its head on Mika's shoulder.

The warm and calming presence of the horse grounded the Finn. He lifted his hand and started to pet the animal's long black mane.

"You have beautiful mane, Enzo! I should braid them some time!"

The horse bumped his nose against Mika's cheek and started to nibble on his blonde hair, making the stable boy laugh despite his drying tears.

"Oh, you want to style my hair too?"

Mika patted the horse's furry muzzle and then sat down on a bale of hay to lose himself in his thoughts for a couple of hours.

"Hey, are you still here?"

Mika looked up from his daydream. To his surprise he saw Michael entering the stables again. The German was sporting a - what seemed - genuine smile.

"I'm very sorry for just now. I'm glad my horse is nicer to you than I am."

"Animals are purer and more deserving creatures than humans." Mika paused for a moment. "...in general I mean. It was not a dig at you!" he hurried to add.

Michael chuckled and sat down next to him on the hay bale. He looked Mika into his eyes and felt a sudden warmness fill his heart. It was a strange, but very intense feeling. It was a if he bodidly enjoyed sitting close to the Finn.

"Listen. I'm truly sorry, okay? It's just that I am participating in a very professional and very serious sport. I'm very much used to being around extremely established and experienced people... it's okay if you're still new to things... it's just."

Mika listened intently.

"You know..." Michael continued. "I'm going to send you to the best farrier of Monaco for a crash course. Just make sure you don't look completely clueless at the race in two weeks time."

"I'm joining you there?"

Michael fought the urge to roll with his eyes, and the urge to grab the dumb handsome blonde and shake some sense into him. "Yes, of course."

Mika's broad smile reappeared again. He made a little jump. "Thank you, Michael!"

It was a couple of days later and Michael had barely seen his stable boy around. The guy was too busy taking lessons from Jean Todt the farrier. Michael was too proud to admit he missed Mika's presence.

Right now he was practising in his very own indoor riding arena as he saw Mika enter the building. The friendly boy smiled and waved at Michael, but Michael ignored him in favour of giving his horse the spurs.

The horse galloped at full speed to the far end of the riding box, breezing past Mika, who was watching them fly over the riding surface.

Mika watched them with rising admiration. Such speed and such grace. Michael seemed to be one with his his horse, his strong body spurring the horse on with rhythmic flowing movements. It was quite a sight to behold. A sight that kept him glued to the ground.

Michael was a little distracted by Mika's presence. For some reason he felt a sudden pressure to do well and to show off in front of the Finn. He wanted to make the man's eyes boggle in awe. So he urged his horse to go faster and faster and faster... not even at the race track he had taken so many risks.

He looked at the side to see if Mika was still watching him and then lost control over the rein. He felt himself slipping off his horse and in his panic he tried to grab his horse's mane, but he missed the long black hair by a fraction and crashed onto the riding surface with a loud thud. Sand and dust were catapulted in the air. A severe pain struck the German horseman.

Mika blinked with his eyes in confusion when he saw the black horse galloping around without its horseman, but then he noticed Michael on the ground with his face contorted in pain.

"Michael!" He exclaimed in concern and climbed over the barrier of the riding arena. Mika hurried to where his employer lay on the ground in a boneless heap. "Michael, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

Michael stayed silent for a moment. He was conflicted between asking his stable boy for help and playing the situation down in order to make the Finn look stupid. He chose for the latter.

"Of course I'm okay! What are you looking at!" He barked into the direction of the boy.

"It looked very painful. I can help..."

Michael was too proud to accept help from his inexperienced stable boy. It was embarassing enough that he had fallen off his horse in front of the Finn. "I don't need your help or your symphaty!"

"Are you sure?"

Michael felt his blood boil and mingle with the cold sweat tracking down his back. He bit back his tears. "Go away!"

Mika stared at him for a moment. For a fraction of a second his bottom lip seemed to start trembling again, until he balled his fists and pressed that trembling lip in a fierce thin line.

"Alright. Good luck walking to a medic yourself then!" He grabbed the rein of Michael's horse and left Michael sitting in the sand.

"Poor horsie! Did you get hurt?"

The horse neighed and bumped its nose against Mika's arm. Its nostrils were flared because of the extreme exertion.

Michael stared at the Finn perplexed. He had never expected an outburst like that from him. He was usually so sweet and innocent. The sudden change in behaviour irked him. "Mika, don't talk to me like that! Get back here!"

Mika ignored him. "Did you hear that noise, Enzo? Or is it just me?"

Michael tried to get up, but couldn't because of the pain in his ankle. "Mika! Get your ass over here!"

Mika stood at a distance feeding Enzo some carrots. Not a care in the world. He didn't even spare a glance in the direction of the furious German, until Michael slammed his fists in the ground and started crying. "Mika. It hurts so much!"

Tears streamed down his flustered cheeks. He was in pain and he couldn't walk. He could no longer pretend it didn't hurt. "What if I ruined my championship chances hurting myself?!"

Mika sighed and walked back to the fallen horseman. He really was too good for this world, wasn't he?

"You said it hurts? That's what I asked you a minute ago," he replied sternly, towering over the crying German. He then crouched down next to him and cradled Michael's hurt leg in his arms.

"Where does it hurt?"

Michael sniffeled and wiped at his tears. "My ankle."

Mika nodded. He placed Michael's leg down gently and started to carefully pull at the black shiny riding boot with one hand, while supporting Michael's calve with his other hand.

Michael felt his cheeks heat up all of a sudden. Mika was so kind to him. How on earth was he still kind to him? It made him feel embarassed about being so mean to his stable boy minutes ago. He blushed when Mika took off his sock and started studying his swollen ankle with great intent. He scooted Michael's riding pants up and studied the rest of his leg with his strong hands.

"I'm sorry." It came out of nowhere.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry for being such an ass to you!" Michael's eyes started watering again. "You're so sweet! You didn't deserve that! I'm so sorry, Mika!"

The Finn stared at him and smiled. "All good." Mika was forgiving like that. "Just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine." He placed Michael's ankle carefully back on the ground and gave his hand a little squeeze. "Speaking of medicine. I think it's only sprained. You need some rest, painkillers and a bandage."

Michael blinked with his eyes. "You are so kind you know that!"

Mika nodded. "Yeah, I know." He wiped at Michael's tears and offered the German his hand. "Ssshhh, don't cry. It's okay. No need to be embarrassed."

With a loud whine Michael let himself be pulled up and against Mika.

The stable boy weaved his arm around Michael's back to support him. He gave the horseman a soothing smile. "Come with me. It does look painful. I will grab an icepack and call a doctor."

Michael melted against him and looked him into his eyes. Emerald meeting saphire. "Do you think I can attend the race in two weeks?"

"I think you can."

"Where are we going now?"

"To your living room. I'm going to call a doctor for you."