#and it takes a LOT to wrap our heads around it

[gingiesworld]

Rover

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader

Warnings : Just fluff

18+ MINORS DNI

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Y/N and Wanda were indeed the perfect couple, the two had met when they both attended the same college course. Throughout the years, the two had come up with the idea of opening up their own cafe together. It was a dream that the two of them had shared, along with starting their own family, Wanda giving birth to twins, Billy and Tommy.

“I’ll close up tonight.” Y/N told Wanda as she served her last customer. “You take the boys home and I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“Are you sure?” Wanda questioned as Y/N nodded.

“It’s only a short walk.” They told her before helping get the two five year olds ready. “I’ll be home as soon as I finish up, I promise love.”

“Okay.” Wanda smiled before she leaned up to kiss them before taking the twins to the car. The last couple of hours of being open was extremely slow, giving Y/N the opportunity to start most of the closing chores before they locked the doors. As they took the trash out, they had heard a quiet whimper coming from beside the bins. Slowly, they moved closer towards the source of the sound, soon finding a small Jack Russel puppy.

“Hey there.” They whispered as they slowly approached it. “You look cold.” They took off their sweater to wrap it around the dog, picking it up and holding it close to them. “I think I should take you home. The twins would love you.” They smiled before they went back inside the cafe to finish locking up. Soon starting the journey home, they knew that the twins would indeed be excited about having a puppy, but they would have to convince Wanda. So, they decided that they needed to stop off at the store on their way home, getting the supplies needed for the puppy. Once they had entered the house, the twins were both sitting on the floor with their toys as Wanda was sitting on the sofa. The twins were both already ready for bed, but the sound of the door opening caught all of their attention.

“What’s all of that for?” Wanda questioned as she put her book down on the table beside the sofa.

“Well, I couldn’t just leave him there.” Y/N reasoned as Wanda rose to her feet, Y/N visibly gulping as she tilted her head. “He was whimpering and cold.”

“What did you do?” She questioned, watching as Y/N had a nervous smile on their face, removing their sweater and revealing the puppy. The twins both ran towards them excited as Wanda’s eyes remained on Y/N with an unreadable expression. “You brought home a stray?”

“Technically, yes.” They tried as they let the pup on the floor with the twins. “But look at him.” They turned her around to face the twins with the puppy. “Look at how happy they all are.”

“We can’t look after a puppy.” Wanda told them. “We have a cafe to run too.”

“Well, I can always make the office into a sort of den for the puppy.” Y/N told her. “Just for while the twins are at school, and we both know that Agatha helps some nights with either closing or opening.”

“It will cost a lot of money.” Wanda told them.

“Well, to be fair, the twins cost a lot of money.” Y/N teased, causing Wanda to laugh as she hit their arm. “Just look at their smiles, maybe this is the right addition to our family that we need.”

“Well, we could have always had another child.” Wanda told them, chuckling as Y/N shook their head.

“No, at least with the puppy we won’t need to save up a college fund for them.” They started. “Or need to pay extra because they have tried to do some sort of stunt from Jackass.”

“That was you.” Wanda reminded them, soon their attention was moved towards the laughing boys, watching as they found some of the toys that Y/N had bought for the puppy. “He needs a name.” Wanda stated as the twins looked between their parents.

“Rover.” The twins yelled in unison.

“Rover it is.” Y/N smiled before they picked the puppy up. “I am going to bathe this little guy, while the two of you go to bed.”

“But.” They both pouted.

“He will be here when you both wake up in the morning.” Wanda told them both, leading them towards the stairs.

Once the time came for both Y/N and Wanda to head to bed, Rover had joined them at the foot of their bed. Wanda rolled her eyes when she saw Y/N’s cheeky smile, they knew how she felt about animals on the furniture but this is the one time she seem to let it slide.

“I would have thought you would have had me take him to the pound first thing.” Y/N spoke aloud as the two lay facing each other.

“You were right.” Wanda smiled tenderly. “Rover could be the best thing for this family, and he could also help with teaching you and the twins some responsibility.”

“I am a responsible adult.” Y/N protested making Wanda giggle before she cuddled into them. “I have kept two five year old animals alive for their whole lives.”

“Those animals seem to be our offspring and you know very well that I did a majority of it.” Wanda told them.

“You know I don’t do well at the icky stuff, besides I don’t fancy carrying a bucket with me everywhere I go.” They told her, making her chuckle as they kissed her head. “Okay, maybe I’m not the most responsible adult but you are stuck with me.” They booped her nose before they lay their head back on their pillow, their arms wrapped securely around their wife as they both fell into a peaceful slumber.

[mustainegf]

→ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟗

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find some understanding as my mind spiraled out of control. The only noises in the room were the soft hum of the fan and the steady breaths of James lying beside me. Tomorrow, he'd be off on tour again, and it weighed more and was heavier to handle than I had thought it would be. To me, he'd just got back, and it felt like I was going to lose him all over again.

I shifted, for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to find such a position that my body would agree with. But no matter how I adjusted, I couldn't settle. Not only could I not stop thinking about him leaving... but there was something else I couldn't get our of my head... something that also had to do with James.

James stirred beside me, his voice deep. "You've been tossing and turning," he said softly. "What's goin' on, hun?

I froze, I didn't know how to answer. I didn't want to burden him with just how fragile I had been, how badly I needed him. So I did what I always did in those kinds of vulnerable moments. I deflected.

"Just. hormones," I muttered awkwardly, hoping that would suffice.

"Hormones?" he replied, a hint of a smile weaving its way through his voice. "What kind of hormones?

I swallowed hard, my face starting to heat up. I knew I had to answer him, but I wasn't sure if I was ready for that kind of vulnerability. "It's just… the uh, second trimester," I started, my voice a whisper. "It… it makes me feel… um, you know, horny."

I was instantly regretful that I had said anything. Mortified, really. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Why did I say that? Why didn't I just blow it off?

After a moment, James scooted beside me, twisting his body so that he faced me. "You've been feeling like that and didn't say anything?

I bit my lip, mortified still. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," I admitted, keeping my eyes fixed on the popcorn ceiling. "I mean, with your injuries and everything that's been going on with us, it didn't seem right to bring it up…"

Again, the silence stretched, and my nerves were starting to get the better of me. Then James's hand reached out and found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me things like that," he said softly. "I'm here. I want to help you... especially if that's how you've been feeling."

It was as if he had removed a boulder from my chest. I turned my head slightly to his direction. His face was still not distinct in the shitty dim light of the room.

"You want to help?" I asked, the words barely audible.

James nodded, his fingers tracing light patterns down my wrist. "I do," he said firmly, filling his voice with warmth and affection. "Look... I love you... and I'm leaving tomorrow... I just- I want to have a chance to love this body of yours before I have to leave..."

I hesitated, something blooming inside me. Of course, I had missed him and yearned for the closeness again, yet wasn't quite sure how it would work. "But… your arm—"

"I'll be fine," he softly interrupted, squeezing my hand. "We can find a way, It doesn't have to be perfect. I just want to be with you."

The tenderness of those words completely disarmed me. I searched his eyes for some sign of doubt or hesitation and found a lot of love instead.

"Are you sure?" I whispered innocently.

He leaned in far enough that his lips brushed against mine in a soft, gentle kiss. "Always," he whispered against my lips. "I want to take care of you."

His voice melted away the last of my reservations. I nodded, my body melting as I accepted his offer.

We began to kiss again, deeper this time. His lips moved slow and sweet over mine, and the fire that was there between us began to build. His good arm wrapped around me, pulling me more into him, his injured one being careful to stay at his side. His hand stroked over my waist down to my belly.

"I don't want to hurt you," I whispered between kisses, my hands running through his long hair.

"You won't," he murmured, his lips meeting mine once more. "I promise."

The connection f our lips deepened as I shifted closer and my hands slid down his chest, feeling his skin beneath my fingertips. He groaned softly against my lips, and the sound reminded me of the many times we'd done this, yet somehow, it was different this time. I'd missed this, missed him.

But the more we shifted, the more I knew common positions were out of the question. His injuries would make it very uncomfortable for him to be on top, and I wouldn't dare do anything to make him hurt even more.

"Here," I said softly, breaking the kiss and moving back just enough to meet his gaze. "I'll ride you," I say gently, nodding.

For a second, James stared at me, in awe and love. "you sure?" he asked gruffly low.

"I want to," I admitted, my palm resting against his chest, feeling the soft hairs. "I want you to be comfortable too..."

He smiled, his hand gliding up to cup my cheek. "You're..." he whispered, his lips finding mine once more. "I love you..."

"I love you too," I said with a whispered voice, shaking with emotion. We started to undress, each movement sensitive and deliber­ate. James watched with wide wonder as I took my shirt off, his eyes feasted on the swollen curve of my belly. His hands were soft and extremely careful against my skin, touching my tummy in wonder, knowing that resting beneath, was his child.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, his hands gliding over every surface he could reach. "So beautiful."

I went red, more vulnerable than I'd ever felt, but his words were making me safe. Carefully, I straddled him, my knees at either side of his hips, and in a second James's hand found its place on my belly, holding it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And it was.

"Look at you," he whispered, looking me up and down. He drank in the details, the slight stretch marks on my belly, the way it swelled so warm. "Carrying our baby... I've never seen anything more.. beautiful in my whole life."

Honestly, they were never would I thought I would ever hear him say, and it was making my heart beat faster, my hairs prickle and my skin heat up. I leaned down, my hot mouth covering his, as I readjusted myself and positioned us together. His breath caught as I lowered myself onto him, and a soft moan escaped my lips.

Oh my God. We'd had sex before, yeah, but this? This was way different... fuck, it was good. Every thrust, every gentle push was bringing us closer and closer. James's hand never strayed from either my belly or hip, he worshipped me with every stroke.

"You're p-perfect," he murmured, his voice choked and heavy. "So perfect, baby."

I could feel the tears now, threatening to spill as the moment became too big to hold in. I loved him so much, loved this man who was the father of my child, loved the way he was looking at me now, knowing I was the most important thing in the world.

"James..." I panted as I bounced on him, feeling every agonizing ridge and vein clench inside me. "I love you... oh God, I love you so much."   His hips surged harder against mine, his good arm pulled me into him and we moved together. "I love you," he huffed, his eyes pressed to mine. "You're everything to me... You and our baby.. y-you're everything."

I writhed above him as both of our hips worked in turn, slapping over and over. I think he could tell the effect this was having on me, with the hormones and all.

I couldn't help but thick of how perfectly we fit together, even with the added weight of my pregnancy. Each gentle roll of my hips me whining. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I gazed into James' eyes. I couldn't help the tears, nor control them I was too emotional, too hormonal, and I loved him with all my heart... and fuck, this felt so good. His touch was worshipful as he caressed my belly and traced the contours. James' look softened, his thumb brushing away a tear from my cheek.

I let out a loud whimper, my body squirming for release. Tears continued to shoot freely down my cheeks, mixing with the sweat that coated my skin. "Please, James… I need to cum," I pleaded, my voice breaking with white hot lust.

"It's okay… It's okay for you to cum," he repeated, his tone a comforting murmur against my cheek.

It was too much, and as I came, it wasn't just the pleasure that but the my emotions. All wrapped into that one moment.

I melted against his chest, my face streaked with tears, my body shaking right to my soul as I turned into a puddle of whimpers. James clutched me tight against him, but very softly, his lips pressed to my forehead, my cheeks, my lips.

"Hey, hey," he whispered softly. "It's okay... I've got you. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, burying my face in his neck. "I don't know why I'm crying."

He leaned in, whispering softly against me, "You don't have to apologize," and stroked my hair softly. "It's just the hormones, right?"

I laughed weakly through my tears, nodding against his skin. "Yeah. probably."

After a few moments, James spoke softly. "Can I finish?" he asked, his tone carefully measured to convey his understanding should I choose otherwise.

I lifted my head slightly, meeting his gaze with a tender smile. I nod, not wanting to leave him uncomfortable. "Yes," I whispered.

As I nestled closer to James, my hand found its way to his throbbing member, wrapping around him with a tender yet firm grip. With every stroke, I poured out my love, my grip passionate.

The feeling of his length pulsing in my hand only fueled my want to please him.

He was singing with praise and moans galore with every stroke of mine. Escaping lips of pleasure, muttered words of gratitude.

My other hand was gently massaging his tense balls, another point of contact, while my mouth went searching for the soft skin of his neck. I nipped and licked at his flesh, planting wet kisses along the line of his collarbone. My actions were mirroring the rhythm in my hand, tugging on his manhood.

As his orgasm very quickly approached, James's words of became a mantra, hurled with every second that passed. "That's it. Just like that.," he husked.

His climax hit him hard, his seed spilling forth in hot sticky bursts across his abdomen. It was a sight to see, watching him lose control, his face contorted in pure bliss. I watched as his seed painted his skin so beautifully.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, holding me close. "I love you so much," he whispered, his voice all soft gentleness. "I'm here. I'll always be here..."

After a while, James shifted beneath me, easing me off him and settling me back onto the bed. "I'll be right back," he whispered against my forehead.

I watched him stumble naked into the bathroom. I couldn't help but admire his naked body, so masculine and raw. I really was in love with him. Soon, he came returning a few moments later with a warm rag, and a clean stomach. James gently laid me back and helped spread my legs as he carefully cleaned me up. Full of love, and this such a quiet intimacy that bound me closer to him.

When he was done, he tossed the rag aside and got back into bed beside me. He wrapped himself around me, his arm splayed protectively over my belly as he kissed the top of my head.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"For what?" he returned softly.

"For loving me."

He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head again. "I'll love you always, whatever happens."   I buried myself in him as he spoke, my eyes closing, his warmth heating my own. I was exhausted, but wrapped up in James' arms, I was safe. And so was our baby.

[shirayuricky]

better than him | zhang hao & sung hanbin

(dividers by @cafekitsune) (requested by anon)

- apart of shirayuricky's 100 followers event -

pairing: zhang hao x sung hanbin x fem! reader (poly)

genre: slight angst, smut, fluff

warnings: unprotected sex (pls use protection), p in v sex, oral (m receiving), pet names (sweetheart, baby)

prompts used: 5 - "do you like it when i touch you like that?" , 10 - "bend over." , 28 - "mine." , 33 - "good girl."

word count: 0.7k

a/n: only the ex-crush part is actually a true experience of mine lol. thank you so much for requesting, anon :)

you felt a little down than usual. and whenever you feel down, you get touch-deprived too. you were sitting on the couch, watching a documentary on nature to kill off the time, and hopefully lifting up your mood.

sipping a glass of water, hao and hanbin walked towards you and sat on either side of you, you between them. "y/n, you seemed a little sad." hanbin said. "yeah, the man i used to have feelings for is apparently such a jerk." you sigh.

"he doesn't deserve you, y/n. you're an amazing girl. it's his loss for not being up to your standards." hao chimed in. hanbin agrees with him, head nodding slowly.

"i would want a comforting hug. that would do the job." you said. the both of them complied, two pairs of arms wrapping around you.

the three of you remained in that position, your eyes glued on the tv screen in front of you. "a documentary?" hanbin asked. "yeah. they say nature helps in easing the bad feelings." you answered.

"y/n, nature is nice, but you know? we can provide you another type of relief." hao said. "what kind of relief?" you asked. "we'll show you." hao answered.

hao leans his face closer to yours, lips almost brushing against each other. "can i kiss you, sweetheart?" he asked. "yes, you may." you accepted. he slowly kissed you, before he deepens it. and it made you gasp. hao took this chance and slid his tongue into your open mouth, swirling it against yours. he then lets go, the both of you breathless. "damn, that felt...hot." you admitted. "but there's something hotter than his kiss." hanbin said. "and what's that?" you asked.

hanbin pulled you towards him. "can i touch you?" he asked. you nod, giving him the permission. his touch started soft, caressing your shoulders and arms with a soft touch. but as the seconds fly, his touch starts to ignite a heat within you, his hands are everywhere. your shoulders, your arms, your chest and your thighs. he left every single inch untouched.

a lot of breathy gasps escape your lips, your hand on his back, trying to bring him closer to you. "do you like it when i touch you like that?" hanbin asked. "like it so much, hanbin.." you said in between gasps and soft moans. "stand up." hanbin instructed. you stood up as what has been told. "bend over." hao said, pointing to the armrest of the couch.

you bent over the armrest, both hanbin and hao undressing you before undressing themselves. hanbin approaches behind you, slowly pushing his cock into your already wet core. a lengthy moan escaped your lips as he began to thrust himself in and out of you.

hao made his way to you and shushed you with a kiss. it felt so difficult, hanbin was fucking you so good. "good girl." hao said in between kisses. before you could respond, hanbin pulls out of you and laid you down on the couch.

"suck on his cock." hanbin said, pushing himself back in you, thrusting roughly. you took hao's cock into your mouth, your mouth, tongue and the vibrations from your moans made his mind feel cloudy.

hanbin then applies pressure on your clit with his thumb, rubbing it at every thrust. "mine." hanbin said. "all ours to pleasure." hao continued. you are such a mess beneath the two, but you like it so much. "gonna cum for us, baby?" hao asked. you let out a hum, saying yes.

it didn't take long. moments after, you cum, your walls throbbing around hanbin's cock. and that made hanbin cum intensely, spilling his load into you. hao then did the same, painting your mouth white as some of his cum spills out of your mouth. you were fast enough to put it back to your mouth to swallow it.

the three of you are spent but satisfied, your body now between hanbin's and hao's. both of them took turns to kiss you. "took us so well, baby." hao praises. "he's right. and we fuck much better than the man you used to crush on." hanbin said. you giggled. "yeah, right. i don't deserve him at all." you said. "that's our girl." hanbin gives you another kiss.

safe to say, your mind is now occupied by the both of them. and of course, they have a lot of love and care to give to you.

[vintageshanny]

Officer Presley and the Librarian - Part 13 - Take My Hand

Content: The big day has arrived! Mostly just a lot of fluff and smut, ideal if you’re looking for a “feel-good” read, 18+

Catch up here: Officer Presley and the Librarian

“Baby, I know exactly what I should wear for the wedding!” Elvis came striding out of the closet with a pleased look on his face. He was still wearing his silky pajamas but was confidently holding up the leather suit with the lace-up pants that had you so…riled up in Las Vegas.

“You, you can’t wear that for our wedding,” you stammered, a flush spreading across your cheeks.

“Why not honey? I-I thought ya liked it?” A playful grin tugged up one side of Elvis’ mouth.

“I do.” Your eyes wandered over the suit as memories came flooding back. “Elvis!” you exclaimed, trying to stifle a laugh, your eyes catching a particular detail. “You left an…indentation in the pants!”

“Where?” Elvis turned the suit toward himself to see what you were giggling at, and a broad grin lit up his face at the way the fabric around the crotch was stretched and rippled. “Naw baby, that wasn’t me, that was your fault! Pullin’ at those laces with your teeth, makin’ me all hard inside that tight leather.” Elvis’ voice trailed off as he let the suit slip down to the floor from his grasp so he could pull you in close and bury his face in your neck.

“Mm-hmm, see, that’s why you can’t wear that.” You did your best not to moan at the feel of him licking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re gonna have me thinking all sorts of things.”

“Oh yeah?” You could feel Elvis’ smile against your skin. “What thoughts are those, baby?”

“You know,” you whispered, your face flushing. Despite all the intimate, vulnerable things you’d done together, you still felt embarrassed to say some things out loud.

“I don’t know, honey. Ya gotta tell me,” he teased, his hands roaming over your body as he continued his affectionate assault on your neck.

“I’d be thinking about, um, kissing you,” you nervously squeaked, feeling silly that the words you really wanted to say wouldn’t come out.

“Kissin’ me, huh? Like this?” Elvis’ mouth traced up your neck and across your cheek, landing squarely on your lips, his tongue gently pushing its way in. As he pulled back and looked at the blissful expression on your face, his soft lips, slightly parted, curved up into that crooked little grin that always made your heart skip a beat. “A big wet kiss like that, is that what you’d be thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Yes, a big wet kiss, but down here.” Your hand trailed down his chest and landed on the real cause of the warped leather pants, your fingers massaging him softly through his pajama pants.

Elvis tilted his head back and let out a low groan, a little shiver running through his body. “Would ya be havin’ any other thoughts?”

“Mm-hmm. Lots of other thoughts. Like kissing and licking every single part of you. Every single part,” you repeated as you slipped your hand inside his pants and caressed his balls. He jerked forward a little bit, almost falling into you as you wrapped your hand around his warm package, delighted to feel it growing firmer in your hand. “And I’d be thinking about how good it feels when I take all of you into my mouth. Thinking about how sweet you taste when I satisfy you.” Now that you’d started, the words wouldn’t stop coming. “How badly I want you inside me, letting me know that I belong to you.”

“Goddamn honey, that sounds so good,” Elvis moaned, letting you push him back toward the bed.

“It seems like he doesn’t wanna wait until our wedding night after all,” you observed, pulling Elvis’ pants down, exposing his hard, throbbing dick, sticky precum gathered at the tip, just waiting to be tasted.

Elvis let out a breathy laugh through his panting and looked down at you sinking to your knees. “All that sweet talk made him all excited, baby. He needs ya right now, he needs ya real bad. Please give him some kisses, honey.”

Elvis leaned back against the bed as you pressed little kisses all over him before welcoming him into your warm mouth. His moans filled the air as you gave him all the love and attention he’d been needing. You looked up into the ecstasy on his face as you tasted him and knew all you wanted for the rest of your life was to make him feel loved.

You gave him one more kiss as he softened under your tender gaze and whispered “You can go back in your blanket and rest now.”

“Wh-wh-why do ya sometimes comment on his blanket?” Elvis asked, blushing a little bit as he pulled his pants up and lay back on the bed.

You curled up beside him and carefully considered how to respond. “Because I love it. I love that he has a warm blanket to stay in when he’s resting. And I love how it feels when it moves up and down, especially inside of me.” You could feel your face heating up at the thought. Truthfully, you sensed that Elvis was sometimes self-conscious about the blanket. You didn’t really know how common it was, but your ex-boyfriend did not have one.

“Ya really love it?” Elvis sounded surprised and a little doubtful. “Ya don't, uh, w-w-wish that it looked different? That’s a first,” he added under his breath, making your heart break a little that anyone would have made him feel bad about it.

“Of course I love it. I wouldn’t change a thing. And not just about, y’know, Little Elvis. I wouldn’t change a thing about you at all. Every part of you makes up this beautiful man that I fell in love with, that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Elvis smiled and turned his head away, but not before you saw the tears welling up. He quickly defaulted to humor to change the subject. “Well, I guess that suit is out, if it’s gonna lead to ya pullin’ my pants down at the altar,” he laughed. “So what should I wear instead?”

“I always liked how you looked in that white suit from your TV special. Y’know, when you sang ‘If I Can Dream.’” You hummed a few bars of the song and smiled.

“Oh ya watched that?” Elvis asked with surprise.

“Of course! I watched it and thought, ‘If only that handsome man in the white suit would pull me over on my way home from work.’”

“Real funny, sweetheart!” You giggled as Elvis tickled your sides.

“It really was an incredible performance, though.” You let your hand rest on his chest and toy with the wisps of hair coming out of his pajama top.

“Thank ya, honey. I felt nervous ‘bout it. It was such an emotional song.”

“That’s what was so beautiful. There’s this thing that happens to you when you’re performing. I saw it at your shows in Las Vegas, too. Something comes over you, and it’s like you're completely lost in the passion of the performance. It’s really magical to watch.”

Elvis leaned over and kissed your forehead. “I’m an emotional man, I guess. I hope ya don’t mind it.”

“Just one of many things I love about you.” You wrapped your arms around him tighter, basking in his warmth.

*************************************************

“Which dress do you like better?” Lisa had arrived in town in the early afternoon, and the three of you were now looking through racks of wedding dresses at a bridal shop. Luckily, Lisa had taken a liking to you when you met over the summer, but you still felt oddly nervous about having the approval of a six-year-old.

Lisa scrunched her nose up in concentration and pointed to the dress with an empire waist. “That dress will have room for the baby.” You looked at her in shock and started to sputter a response, but she continued on. “Mommy says you must be having a baby to get married so fast.”

“Tell Mommy she should mind her own goddamn business,” Elvis muttered.

“Mommy wouldn’t like me ta say goddamn,” Lisa said calmly, the oddness of this whole conversation apparently lost on her.

You cleared your throat and broached the subject carefully. “What if we did end up having a baby? Would you like a little brother or sister?”

“Brother!” Elvis called out, refusing to accept he might be wrong.

“Would he do whatever I say?” Lisa asked curiously.

“Well, maybe not whatever you say, but I’m sure he’d look up to you a lot,” you explained.

She shrugged and turned back to the dresses. “I guess it would be okay. Can I wear pink for the wedding?” You smiled and nodded, relieved that the conversation had gone much better than you anticipated.

*************************************************

“You ready, sis?” Your little brother Jimmy, dressed in a powder blue suit, looked over at you, ready to take your arm and walk you down the aisle.

Elvis had insisted that he would have someone take care of every detail of the wedding, and true to his word, the backyard at Graceland had been transformed. White chairs were set up with a red carpet laid between them leading up to a makeshift altar. You could see Elvis, looking so handsome in his white suit, waiting for you at the other end of the aisle. Lisa had already walked down with her little basket of flower petals, and there was now nothing but thirty feet standing between you and the love of your life.

“I’m ready,” you whispered.

As you made your way down the aisle and then took your place right across from Elvis, a wave of emotions hit you. It was like you were floating through space, all the sounds around you muffled and distant until you were pulled back to Earth by the pastor saying your name.

“I understand you’ve each prepared your own vows?”

You nodded and stepped closer to Elvis, grabbing his hands in yours, surprised to discover that you both were trembling with emotion as you began to speak.

“Elvis.” You cleared your throat nervously and started again. “Elvis. One of the first things I noticed about you is your hands.” There was a slight tittering in the crowd, and you realized that might sound more risque than you’d intended. You blushed and continued. “These are hands that are so giving, so generous, so strong. These hands-” Your voice started to crack with emotion. “These hands built a better life for your family. These are hands that protect and take care of everyone around you, without hesitation. They have created a world that I am so lucky to be a part of. When I put my hand in yours, I know I am safe and loved. I look forward to holding onto these hands for a lifetime.”

You saw that Elvis’ eyes were glittering with tears as you finished your vows, and he turned and addressed the crowd jokingly. “If any of y’all mention I was up here cryin’ like a baby, I’ll come after ya!”

“I didn’t see nothin’!” one of his friends called out from the back, eliciting chuckles from the crowd.

Elvis turned back to you. “Baby, I’ve never known a woman who appreciated and loved every part of me, even the parts that I try to hide. You lift me up and support me in all the ways I need. You are the answer to every prayer, and I will spend my life loving you in every way that I know how.”

When the pastor finally announced you were husband and wife, both you and Elvis had tears running down your cheeks. That didn’t stop Elvis from dipping you backward for a dramatic first kiss. He grabbed your hand as you paraded back down the aisle together, joined as one.

*************************************************

“DId you enjoy the day, baby?” Elvis asked as you snuggled in next to him in bed, feeling a little chilly in the special white lingerie he had given you.

“It was beautiful,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“What was your favorite part?”

“Getting to tell all of our family and friends how special you are and how much I love you. And feeling your heartbeat when we danced together.” You smiled and reached to unbutton his pajamas. “But another favorite part is about to happen.”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Having my husband make love to me.”

“Oh, I think we can make that happen.” Elvis let you pull off his shirt, and he slid his pants down and kicked them off. “Honey, you look so beautiful.” He traced his fingers over your growing abdomen and then up over your breasts, squeezing them gently before pulling the straps of your negligee down, exposing your nipples to the cool air of the bedroom. “What a sight,” he whispered before leaning down to take each breast in his mouth, sucking at your hardened nipples. His hand wandered down and slipped under the negligee and inside the front of the matching white panties. He played with your soft folds, feeling the wetness grow as you moaned out his name.

“Elvis, I need you inside of me!”

“Don’t worry baby, I’ma take care of my wife.” Elvis slid your panties down and rolled on top of you, his hardness poking your thigh before he lined himself up with your entrance. “I want this ta be so special, baby, so I’ma try ta take it slow.” He looked you in the eyes as he started to slowly push his way in, forcing you to open up and accept him inside of you. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed bein’ inside of ya like this.” You could feel yourself clenching around him, squeezing as he pushed himself all the way in, as deep as he could go.

“Oh, God, Elvis, I love you,” you called out, ecstasy overtaking your every thought.

“I love ya too, baby.” Elvis continued looking in your eyes as he rhythmically thrust into you, slowly but firmly, taking his time until the all-consuming pleasure was too much for you both to bear.

Tag list: : @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @lookingforrainbows @arrolyn1114 @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @doll-elvis @artlover8992 @richardslady121 @everythingelvispresley @raginginkedslut @msamarican @pebbles403 @i-r-i-n-a-a

[into-deepspace]

Hello! Hope you're having a great day!

May I request for Rafayel's reaction when MC comes out as non-binary? It's something that's never left my head since I started playing lnds. I can't help but worry if it'd change things for him even though I know it won't (insecurity did a number on me🥹). What if MC wanted to present themes as masc/femme? How would he react?

Sorry if this is too long and complicated and I understand if you don't want to write for this but if you do write it it'd mean the world to me. Thank you for reading this ask🌸🌸

aaa of course!!! dw it wasn't long or complicated at all! i had a lot of fun writing this, and i rlly hope i did rafayel justice here <33 i feel like it ended awkwardly but ah what can u do. anywayyyy:

as you are

rafayel/mc • nonbinary mc • 1.6k • ao3 link requests open, reblogs appreciated! mild hurt/comfort || coming out || tooth-rotting fluff || established relationship

MC stares at themselves in the mirror fixing their hair nervously. In twenty minutes, they’re meeting Rafayel at a cafe, one of their favourites. They’d made the plans several days ago, and have been nervously thinking through every possibility ever since. After all, coming out, no matter who it’s to, is nerve wracking.

“I need to talk to you,” they’d sent him, late in the evening when both of them really should have been asleep. Despite the late hour, typing bubbles immediately popped up from Rafayel’s end. He sends a sticker of a distressed yellow bird, then a message.

Rafayel, 11:48 PM are u breaking up with me :(

A bit frantic, MC typed back a quick response. Of course Rafayel, ever dramatic, would assume the worst.

MC, 11:48 PM No omg?

Rafayel, 11:48 PM DUN SCARE ME LIKE THAT THEN???? Those are FIGHTING WORDS. fighting words i tell u!!

MC sighed, but couldn't help but laugh a bit. It was never a dull moment with him around, one of the things they have always loved about him. They explained that no, they're not breaking up with him, but they did have something a little more serious they needed to talk with him about.

Rafayel, 12:03 AM okayyyy spill the beans cutie wait no serious I Am Prepared To Listen To Your Words. Please Begin.

MC, 12:04 AM Actually, i wanted to talk in person Can we meet @ our usual cafe on saturday

They waited nervously for Rafayel's response, picking at a stray thread in their blanket. But as usual, they had nothing to worry about

Rafayel, 12:05 AM ofc ofc ill buy u a tea and a cake and we can talk <3

They couldn't help but smile at their phone. He was always so sweet, so ready to adjust and accommodate. They just hope he’ll be the same way about this new revelation.

Now, MC has been going by their chosen name for a long while, so long that most people don’t even know the name they were given at birth. They’ve always presented a little more [femme/masc] than their peers, and Rafayel didn’t seem to mind any of that. If anything, he encouraged it, saying that the way they expressed themselves was art in it of itself. But would this, their coming out, be a piece of the puzzle that he wasn’t okay with?

MC sighs, smoothing their clothes one last time and telling themselves that they really do need to get going. Sitting here and stewing in their anxieties isn’t going to make anything better. They grab their bike helmet and make their way down to the street, setting off.

An uneventful drive later, they arrive at the cafe and park, fixing their hair in their phone camera after they take their helmet off. It seems Rafayel hasn’t arrived yet, which means they can go in and order for themselves. Usually, they’re fine with Rafayel paying for their treats, but what if he’s upset this time? What if he realizes he’s spent money on someone he can’t accept.

Just as they’re pulling their card from their wallet to pay for their drink and pastry, an arm wraps around their waist and lips press against their cheek, startling them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rafayel says, tone light and joking as he slips their wallet from their hands, tucking it back into their pocket. Ignoring their protests, he turns to the person at the register. “Add a vanilla iced coffee to that please, with… hm, six sugars.” MC can only watch as his drink is added to the total and he slots his card into the reader, looking pleased with himself.

Rafayel takes their hand and walks them over to a table by the window, pulling out their chair for them with a dramatic flourish. Normally, MC would laugh at his antics, but they’re too nervous right now to manage anything more than a tight smile. Rafayel, of course, notices right away.

“What’s wrong, cutie?” he asks, taking their hands as he kneels in front of their chair. MC takes a shaky breath, trying to school their expression into something at least neutral.

“I’m okay,” they say. “I promise.” For a moment, Rafayel tilts his head and searches their face. Then, with a sigh, he stands, pressing a kiss to their knuckles as he does.

“Okay,” he smiles. “We’ll talk once you’ve got something tasty to keep you company, okay?” This prompts a smile, a little more real this time, from MC.

“Okay,” they whisper.

Ever the gentleman, Rafayel goes to retrieve their order, tasting his own drink before adding two more pumps of sugary syrup to it and sprinkling cinnamon across the top. He comes back to their table, setting MC’s portion in front of them. They taste their own drink and nod in satisfaction, cutting a piece of their pastry to place into their mouth.

“Do you want some?” they ask, offering a forkful to Rafayel. With an easy smile, he waves away their question.

“Nah,” he says. “This here is sweet enough.” He shakes his drink, the ice in it rattling as specks of cinnamon swirl around. MC nods, taking the bite for themselves.

They let themselves savor the moment for a bit before speaking. After all, they don’t know if this is something they’ll ever have again. They make their way about halfway through the pastry before they take another long sip of their drink and fold their hands in their lap.

“I have something I need to tell you,” they say, before they can lose their resolve. “...Please don’t be upset with me.” Rafayel smiles, reaching across the table with his palm up, gesturing for their hand. MC obliges, tangling their fingers together, and Rafayel squeezes reassuringly.

“I won’t be,” he promises. “You can tell me anything. I swear.”

MC takes a deep breath. They appreciate that he’s putting his usual jokes and quips aside, sensing the nervous gravity of the moment, but it almost makes them even more anxious. Biting their lip, MC decides it’s better to rip the metaphorical band-aid off in one go.

“I’m nonbinary,” they say simply. “And I’m sorry I’ve been keeping this from you.”

Rafayel blinks for a moment, silent. MC feels their eyes sting.

“What?”

“Uh.” Out of all the scenarios they’d mentally prepared for, this wasn’t one of them. “You know,” they begin, “like, I’m not a guy, but I’m also not a girl. It’s-”

“No, I know what nonbinary means, silly,” Rafayel grins. “Why would you ever think I’d be upset at you over this?” MC feels the sting in their eyes become welling moisture, and Rafayel scrambles to drag his chair around to their side of the table and pull them into a tight embrace.

“I thought you were gonna tell me that you were moving away, or that you lost your job or something!” he says, rocking them back and forth, gently, slowly. With a shaky breath, MC tucks their face into Rafayel’s shoulder, smiling to themselves. But he’s not done, continuing as he pulls them tighter.

“And if you come to me tomorrow and say you feel some other way, or that you want to change your name or buy new clothes or change your hair, that’s okay! MC, I love you no matter what. I promise, something like this is never ever going to come between me and you.” They’re full on sobbing now, the relief that comes with acceptance and the lovely promises spilling from Rafayel’s lips making all sorts of emotions surge in their chest.

Rafayel pulls back, cupping their face with one hand and wiping their tears away with the other. He smiles, a radiant and loving thing, and MC can’t help but give a breathy, relieved laugh as he leans in to place light little kisses along their cheeks.

“I don’t know why I was so nervous,” MC admits. “You never did anything to make me worried about this.” Rafayel shrugs.

“It’s a big thing to tell someone,” he says. “I’m proud of you. I know this took a lot.”

“It really did,” MC acknowledges. Rafayel ruffles their hair affectionately before scooting his chair back over to his side, keeping one of MC’s hands in his own.

“Okay, okay,” he says, buzzing with energy now that the serious moment is waning. “Finish your pastry and then we can go shopping.” MC blinks, surprised.

“We weren’t planning on going-”

“Uh-uh!” Rafayel cuts in, waving a hand in their face and startling a laugh from them. “Shhhh, we’re going shopping. You wanna go buy pretty things with me soooo bad. You would never think of saying no to this lovely face of mine.”

“Oh, my god,” MC laughs, nearly dropping their fork. “You’re so dramatic.” In response, Rafayel gives a pleased smile and makes a motion as if flicking hair behind his shoulder. MC shakes their head good naturedly, taking another bite of their pastry.

They do, in fact, end up out in the shops, and Rayafel buys them a jacket they’ve been eyeing for a long while. The two of them swing their intertwined hands between them as they walk, enjoying each others’ presence. It’s late in the evening by the time they decide to part ways, and even then, Rafayel convinces MC to sleep over at his house.

A couple hours later, laying in bed, MC watches Rafayel’s sleeping face with a soft smile. They never thought they’d be lucky enough for a relationship like this.

[eddiebuckley-diaz]

People some times censor names so they don't come up in searches (this fandom is real bad for harassing people for having different opinions - it makes sense that people take precautions)

Really wish people would block tags like anti tommy or whatever so people didnt have to do this

Yeah okay, that makes sense for the asterisks! Despite being on tumblr for years, I will never get all the ins and outs of things.

Thank you for explaining that part :)

I have tag blockers but it’s ineffective if people aren’t even bothering to tag it as anti though :/

(Plus I just am not understanding what the issue is with Tommy exactly…)

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine yours and ex-husband Gojo's son possessing both the six-eyes and limitless, just like his father.

You'd ask him how was school and he'd beam while toeing off his shoes.

"Sensei and I spent hours perfecting my domain." Sen stretched out his shoulder. "I'm so tired!"

Sukuna may have been rough around the edges (to say the least) but surprisingly his teaching style worked like a charm with your son.

Even more surprising is that Sen and Sukuna seem to actually like each other. They're Kyoto Jujutsu High's strongest mentor-mentee duo. That little detail is best kept away from Satoru.

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo dropping off some flowers to you ("as friends!") and when you head to the kitchen find a nice vase, his eyes lock on another bouquet sitting on your dining table.

"You got another admirer, sweetheart?" he'd say jokingly, assuming they were from Sen or you bought them yourself. Your silence suggests otherwise.

He'd walk up behind you and put his big hands on your hips. Whispering in your ear, "Who're they from, baby? Does he make you feel the way I do?"

Tired of his tendency to get in your business, you turn around and push him off you. "It's none of your business. Stay in your lane before Sen puts you through a wall again!"

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo coming over again with Sen's (tentative) permission.

Gojo would drape himself all across your couch and say, "Y'know, there's still time to transfer him to Tokyo High. There's no rules against it and I'm literally the only one who can properly teach him how to use our cursed techniques."

"It would be nice to have him learn with another six-eyes user, but he's doing very well at his current school," you'd tell your ex. "He and Sukuna work very well together."

"And how well do you and him work together?" he'd ask casually.

"Excuse me?"

"Mom, I'm back!" Sen would burst through the front door and wrap you in a giant bear hug. He only spares his father a fleeting glance. "Don't you have anything better to do other than bothering my mom?"

Satoru would ignore the comment. "Hey, kiddo, what do you think about transferring schools and learning from me? I could teach you a lot about your abilities! What do you say?"

Sen's face would contort with disgust. "No thanks. I actually want to learn how to fight, not just rely on limitless and the six-eyes to carry me."

The evening would end with Satoru storming out the house, Sen locking himself in his room, and you taking a few pills for your growing headache.

~

Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[queenpiranhadon]

"The fuck are you doin' up so late, hah?"

"I could say the same to you, Ryo."

The pink haired man in your college dorm rolls his eyes. "I had football practice. You know that. What's your excuse?"

You shrug. "Homework."

He squints at you in annoyance, kicking off his shoes without much care as to where they went, much to your protest. "Didn't you take like a billion AP courses back in high school? Why're you so busy?"

You raise an eyebrow at him. "I still got exams to study for." you yawn, tiredly. "What time is it?"

Sukuna sighs. "12:36."

You blink, your sleep deprived mind trying to wrap itself around that information. "They kept you till midnight?!"

He sighs, discarding his jacket and throwing his sweaty shirt onto his desk chair, joining the accumulating pile of laundry you know you'll have to do later. "We're going against Tokyo tomorrow. Said we needed to work our asses off to beat Satoru Gojo."

You raise your eyebrow. You didn't know much about football, but Sukuna forced you to go to enough games that you had the general idea. "The quarterback? They do realize you're only second to him stats-wise, right? It's very possible you'll beat him. The strongest has a lot of weaknesses too."

Sukuna grins, kissing your head before slipping into the shower.

He's not sure when he fell in love with you. You two were on basically on opposite sides of the spectrum that was college social circles. And then one day he saw you in the library, barely sparing a glance at him and brushing past him to leave.

To be honest, he was kinda shocked. Most girls tended to get extremely flustered or excited when they saw him, and you...you basically didn't give a shit.

But Ryomen Sukuna never encountered rejection - even if indirectly.

He wasn't going to start with you.

Eventually, you started to warm up to him, and you saw a different side to the merciless and arrogant heartthrob that walked through the halls of campus with such confidence it was almost palpable.

The next semester, the two of you became roommates.

Now, where there was you, there was Sukuna. The definition of a power couple, you supplied the brains and he the brawn.

Sukuna never really thought he was one for love, but when he steps out of the shower, finding you slumped over your papers, asleep, he seems to fall in love with you all over again.

You were strong.

Maybe not physically, by the determination and fiery look in your eyes he saw everyday was something he always respected, and eventually, something he fell in love with.

Slipping on a shirt and sweats, he stacks your papers to the best of his ability, before carefully lifting your sleeping form gently. "Damn woman, you're gonna be the death of me...falling asleep on me like this..." he mutters, a soft look in his eyes.

He'd rather die than have anyone see him like this, but you? You were an exception.

And as the brings you close and feels the soft lull of sleep beckoning him closer, he realizes you always would be.

A/N: This might be ooc shhhhhh this was just rlly cute I love him hehehe

[screampied]

just need a oneshot where toji being so extremely soft with his pregnant wife.😔

៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, toji's a big softie, calls reader 'mama' + 'baby' & 'darlin'

wc. 2.0k

toji rubs his eyes, pure static forming into his irises for a bit as he’d awaken up from his nap. with a quick glance at the clock, it read two thirty. in the background played the intro from some old western movie that was on repeat. ah, ever since you’ve gotten pregnant he’s always been staying up with you, ruining his sleep schedule in the process. not that he necessarily minded, you were his wife and he’d do anything for you,

his ears twitch a bit as he hears a sudden ruffling noise of feet — verdant eyes of his focus on you and it’s you trodding towards him and he smiles. “heyy,” he murmurs in a drowsy tone, he figured you’d be awake. toji stares at you so lovingly, the cute baby blue nightgown you wore, winnie the pooh slippers that dragged across the fleecy carpet. with a yawn, he pats his lap for you to take your seat. “y’er lil waddle never stops bein’ cute, mama.”

“stop.” you frown with a pouty look, he’d always tease whenever you do your cute little walk. he grows to adore it, the cute rounded bump on your belly only getting larger. pretty soon, you were about to reach your second trimester. time flew by so fast, it was almost like before you could blink, you’d be meeting your beloved new baby. you slowly make your way onto toji’s lap and he slings an arm around you. he smells good, you were a bit tired already from that ten second walk, cute..

“sorry baby,” toji utters in a soft voice, kissing the back of your head as you relax into his embrace, leaning back. “was gonna wake ya up but ya looked so peaceful,” and he brings a kiss near the inner crevice of your neck. “miss me already?”

you still remain with the cute glowering expression. with a sigh, you shrug. “yes, actually. missed you a lot.”

“awww,” toji caresses against your thighs, his touch was delicate and gentle. as he spoke in a gruff voice, he nips a few more kisses toward the corner of your neck as you faced the other direction. “missed you more. ‘n i missed our girl too,” and that catches you by surprise, he’d always refer to the baby’s gender as a girl. as if he could read your mind, he chuckles before leaning his head against your shoulder. “whaaat? got a feelin’ ‘s gonna be a girl.”

“i think it’s gonna be a boy,” you mumble, feeling your heart flutter a bit. oh, it was always like this between the two of you. the constant banter of the gender, toji just knew it was gonna be a girl while you thought otherwise. he’d be happy with either or though. you, likewise. toji watches with half-lidded eyes as you turn your body a bit to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. you plant a kiss on his chin, lips brushing against his stubble and he hums in amusement. “did you get any sleep at all? you have eye bags, ‘toj.”

“ah, ‘m fine,” he grins at your concern, the scar slashed near the right side of his lip twinging in response. you were so cute—the pregnancy glow you had bestowed on you, he could stare at you all day. toji leans in to kiss your nose, yet he notices your deadpan. with a grunt, he surrenders.

“okay okay, the most i got was maybe four-ish hours,” and the look of worry on your face made his heart twist. toji pats your head, smoothening his tone. “don’t worry, baby. it was for a good cause. was up all night readin’ that book you bought like last week.”

with your brows furrowing in confusion, your lips part at your abrupt realization. “oh— the pregnancy fact book?” and then you giggle. “really? i thought you said books were boring, toji.”

“trust, they are,” he sulks, bringing his wrist to rub his eyes. you take a brief glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday. despite it being unable to tell time anymore, he still flaunts it, all because it was a gift from you. with a low sigh, toji moves a few strands out of your face. “but, ‘m willing to try new things for you—er, for us. and it’s quite informative, it told me about y’er strange cravings ‘n it checks out.”

you frown. “what’s wrong with my cravings? you told me you like them.”

“well, darlin’ i love you a lot okay,” and he paints a wet kiss against your cheek. “but if i have to eat another peanut butter pickle sandwich with you, ‘m gonna lose it.”

“it’s not that bad,” you protest, bringing a palm near your stomach to rub it. the bump was easily growing as the weeks progressed—you couldn’t help but be excited once the week of forty rolled around. “you just have a bland appetite.”

toji rolls his eyes. “peanut butter and pickles, baby. not jelly, pickles. pickles?” and you look at him, he’s gently holding both of your shoulders before you giggle. “and i thought nothin’ could top the toast ‘n ice cream.”

you deadpan again. “okay now you’re just being dramatic.”

“i love you,” he boops your nose. “i love you and y’er weird food cravings,” and toji’s eyes trail down toward your tummy. so cute and round, he gingerly moves the fabric of your gown up to reveal your skin, a palm ghosting against your belly. “any cramps today? pain i should know about?”

“no,” you hum, immediately relaxing from his touch. the warmth of his hand made your breathing slow a bit. he moves it around in a smooth circular rotation before brushing a thumb against your belly button. “kinda scared toji.”

leafy, viridescent eyes meet its way back up to yours before his face softens. “what for, darlin’? good scared or bad scared?”

in a sweet, timid tone, you puff out a single shaky breath. “like … both i guess? i’m excited of course but ‘m kinda scared. we’re having a baby, toji. pretty soon i’ll be on my third trimester,” and he’s so attentive as you’re talking, quite literally getting lost in your eyes. who knew that you could turn this man into such a soft sap, he adored you. as you continue to rant, toji strokes your cheek with a warmhearted simper. “i watched lots of videos about birthing and it looks scary.”

“not gonna lie to you, baby. ‘s gonna be scary, but y’know what? ‘m gonna be right there with you,” and he strokes a thumb against the enlarging stretch marks growing against your belly. he’s gentle, tracing a finger against each one before his eyes avert back up to you. “i’ll be right beside you. holdin’ y’er hand ‘n all,” and he kisses the crown of your head. “y’er gonna be the prettiest mommy. our girl’s lucky to have you. i’m lucky to have you.”

for some reason, those last few words struck right through the veins of your heart. mentally, you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry—

but alas, your eyes start to swell up, bottom lip quivering and toji notices immensely at your change of body language.

“awww, was that too much?” he purrs, bringing you towards his chest. you sniffle, your nose digging into his neck and an arm of his cradles you. toji starts to rock you, he presses another kiss against the top of your head before humming. “didn’t mean ‘ta make ya cry, darlin’ but ‘s true. ya don’t gotta worry that pretty little head, ‘m gonna be right here for anything..”

a solid tear drops against his tank top before your chin rests against his chest. you slowly look up at him with that familiar pouty expression before he swipes a thumb against your eyes. “cutie,” he takes your tears away, your lashes all damp and long. “y’er even more emotional because of the baby too. hormones, aw yeah i know these facts by heart.”

“you’re such a dork,” you wipe your face with a laugh, the mood suddenly light again. toji was gonna be spewing out pregnancy facts at you all day, you knew that now. whilst you sat up, trying to re-collect yourself, you speak in a soft voice. “but really, thank you toji. i love you,” and you grab ahold of his hand. your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing it tight. “you’ll be a great daddy.”

“heyy girl, don’t make me cry now,” he teases, a thumb of his running across the softness of your hand.

toji’s face relaxes, the more he stares into your eyes, the more he falls more and more in love.

toji was just as excited as you, maybe even more.

he couldn’t wait to start this new milestone, this new journey with you. a baby, the two of you would be proud new parents. the thought of it alone brings a soft smile to his face before he leans in to kiss you.

you return the gesture,

closing your eyes while feeling his warm lips mash against your own. toji was so weak for you, happily so.

life was worth living for him again now that he had you and the growing baby in your stomach. once you met him, he thought he’d never move on. he was a broken man who came to the mere conclusion that he had no purpose— all until you came along. toji didn’t believe in second chances, but maybe he’d start. you were his everything, and he couldn’t have been anymore grateful to have you in his arms at this right particular moment.

after a while, the kiss departs and toji smears a thumb against your glossed lips. “you drive me crazy,” he whispers, soft jade like irises peering into yours for about fourteen seconds before he sneaks a kiss near your jaw. “oh, you just reminded me. i ordered somethin’ the other day.”

with your interest piqued, you watch as he grabs out his phone— toji opens some shopping app, swiping a thumb near the check out section before showing it to you. what you were staring at was a cute huge pink sticker for cars that displayed the words of, ‘BABY ON BOARD!’

“you’re so cute,” you lean in to hug him, finding his enthusiasm adorable. a hand of his strums against your back before he leans against the couch. “you’re really set on it being a girl though, huh?”

“yeah,” he presses his nose against yours. “or if it’s a boy, we can name ‘em toji. such a manly name.”

your eye twitches. “one of you is enough,” and he smirks, feeling your thumb play against his scar. “but toji, ‘s like the afternoon. you should go back to sleep.”

“not tired,” he shakes his head, wrapping two arms around your sweet frame. your scent had him always wanting more of you, so sweet. toji pats your back gently before his face buries into your neck. “i’d rather stay up ‘n talk with you.”

“but i was gonna go back to sleep,” you pout.

toji huffs with a smile, kissing the shell of your ear. “oh, you want me back in bed, ‘s that it? darlin’ you could have just asked.”

you blankly stare at him and he guffaws, standing up and pulling you with him. “ah, c’mon. let’s go sleep for another fifteen hours i guess,” he teases, and he helps you walk. toji gawks at your cute waddle. so cute, you felt like you had so much water stored in you. entirely full, your heels slide against the floor before you hold onto your husband’s bicep. “there we go, one step at a time.”

“i’m not a baby, toji.” you mutter, secretly feeling yourself get hot from his doting affection. he’s holding onto you and you’re holding on to him.

“y’er my baby,” he corrects, and once the two of you reach the empty bedroom filled with infant supplies and boxes of baby furniture, you take a seat on the edge of the mattress. toji towers above you as you sit, cupping your face with a sly smile. “wife,” he coos in a gentle voice, two thumbs fondling against both sides of your temples. “i love you. never forget it, yeah?”

“i .. love you too toji.”

he hums. “heh, before we sleep though. how about some pickles?” and your face lights up.

[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.”

[tender-rosiey]

1am thoughts, thinking about Gojo introducing kid Megumi to his newborn baby and Megumi being protective of them and even calling them his little sister/brother at one point and gojo is running LAPS he's just overwhelmed and happy over a small yet powerful phrase.

to protect — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this is so cute i am gonna cry also megumi is like 11-12 here

you’re finally back home, after a long day at the hospital. you’re finally engulfed in the comfort of your bed while your husband is still sat up with his little girl bundled in his arms.

he hasn’t let go of her since you have been discharged.

“’toru, honey, you have to sleep soon; you can hold her tomorrow,” you sleepily murmur to your husband.

he nods and whispers, “I know. It’s just I—I can’t believe it’s real,” he kisses her forehead softly, “that she is finally here, our little princess.”

a tired smile makes its way to your lips. you hum in understanding, gently caressing his cheek. he sighs happily, before looking at you, “but you, missy, actually need to rest. you’ve had a long day.”

you frown and he chuckles, and his hand moves to stroke your hair, “rest, pretty. you were a champion today,” you move to nuzzle closer to his side and your arm wraps around his torso.

and so his little girl is comfortably nestled in one of his arms, while the other is wrapped around you so his hand can pet your head lovingly.

satoru truly feels like he is holding the world in his hands right now.

suddenly, the door slowly creaks open and a very familiar face peaks from it. satoru chuckles, “come in, megumi; they’re both asleep anyway.”

the boy carefully pads his way to gojo.

he is so used to seeing him being all goofy and unserious, so it catches him a bit off-guard how serene and quiet he is being right now. megumi looks at the sleeping baby then whispers, “what’s her name?”

“d/n,” satoru answers fondly.

megumi nods then observes her for a small while, “she really is a perfect mix between the both of you.”

a soft and quiet laugh escapes satoru’s lips, “you’re right,” he looks up at megumi with a grin, “you wanna hold her?”

the boy is taken back and his expression betrays him as nervousness takes over his face. his eyes don’t leave the girl and his gaze is more than troubled, “…what if I hurt her?”

satoru shakes his head, “you scared? she is my daughter; she is the strongest baby ever,” he grins, “no one can hurt her.”

megumi rolls his eyes, but quickly directs his focus to the little girl. he takes a moment, before he extends his arms. satoru gently places her in his arms. megumi’s hold on her is protective, and he doesn’t look as awkward as satoru thought he would.

actually, he is quite the natural.

he gently rocks her, and he can’t help but smile at her sleeping face. megumi whispers to her, “hi there.”

she coos at him, and starts swaying his arms around. she slowly opens her eyes, and a tiny smile appears on her chubby face. megumi’s eyes widen a little, and he immediately looks at gojo, “she is smiling.”

satoru laughs, “she is a very smiley baby, but i think she likes you a lot. she only smiled at y/n and me,” he feels you stir a bit in your sleep.

he pulls you closer and rubs your shoulder then he giggles at how quickly you fall back asleep. while satoru is occupied by you, megumi is staring in awe at little miss gojo.

later, satoru wakes up in the middle of the night to check on his little girl in the adjacent room. he groggily gets up, after kissing your forehead. he walks there, and when he finally reaches the room, he notices the lights are already on, and the door is left a bit open.

he peaks a little into the room, and sees megumi standing by the crib. he is fondly looking at d/n, and gently petting her head. he is whispering something to her, but satoru is still able to hear it all the same.

“don’t grow up to be annoying like your dad, please.”

satoru scowls, and contemplates bursting into the room, and bullying the hell out of megumi. however, he ultimately decides against it. he doesn’t end up regretting the decision.

megumi gently boops her nose, “you’re like a little sister to me now, so I promise to protect you.”

she squeals and makes grabby hands at him, and he chuckles, “you believe me, huh?”

satoru slowly backs away from the door and walks away. when he is a safe distance from the door, he starts running and bursts into your shared room.

he dramatically falls to the ground, “that was… the cutest thing ever! after d/n and y/n’s smiles, of course.”

he stands up, proudly. his heart is at ease as he now knows that there is yet another person to look after his baby girl, if something happens. a content grin is on his face as he enjoys the silence and comfort. it’s short lived, as always.

a pillow is thrown at his face, and he stumbles to the ground.

“that’s for waking me up, satoru!”

“noooo, baby, I am sorry!”

“uh—,” megumi awkwardly stands at the door, holding d/n up, “guys, she pooped.”

satoru grins, and excitedly stands up—with a camera that he got out of nowhere to take photos of her—he coos, “aww! your first shit, pretty girl? what a good girl!”

megumi places her on the changing table beside your bed. the smell of her great ‘achievement’ fills the door, and he takes the chance of gojo being distracted to run out of the room, before another nuclear explosion drops.

the girl is gleefully clapping upon seeing her dad, and he reciprocates the smile tenfold. he gently holds her feet and sways them slightly, “such a big girl, already pooping!”

“want daddy to change your diapers for you?” he coos and the girl just puts her thumb in her mouth and starts kicking her feet. he chuckles and slowly opens the diaper. he is met with the vilest smell, and he can’t believe his sweet daughter can produce such smells.

however, he quickly composes himself, and tries to make his way through the travail of changing the diaper. he proves to be too weak because he, after a moment, looks at you, “uh, babe, teamwork makes the dream work?”

you groan, falling back to the bed.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[sweetiecakesss]

Not Lower Than 9 | Aventurine (18+)

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Synopsis: Land lower than 9 and he fills you to the brim.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇Tags: Aventurine, Breeding, Lots of CUM, Feral and Touch starved Aven, Biting, Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it!!) No plot just pure smut.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇Note: The game reader and Aven played is based off of Aven's Boss Battle <3

How long has it been since Aventurine and you started playing his little game? At first, It was innocent and a friendly bet. You didn't expect him to take it far and then burying himself inside you, letting your warm cunt wrap around him and filling you to the brim with his seed with every roll that you failed to reach due to your stupid luck. Putting him in an advantage from that alone.

Your hands held onto Aventurine's wrist for dear life, the pads of his fingers rubbing small circles around the bud of muscle in between the folds of your pussy. Your legs shook as he moved his hips up to you in a slow manner.

"Doll, We're still playing." He let out in a breathy tone against your ear, pausing as he kissed the side of your face before lightly biting on your ear. "Pick up the dice and roll…Remember our rule, No lower than 9."

Turning your head back to look at him, you saw how his eyes narrowed at you as you cried tears of extreme pleasure. Your legs continuing to shake as you moaned.

"Aven--- I can't…Need youuu.." You let out as I squirmed on Aventurine's lap, your hips unconciously circling against him and only making things worse as you let out an over stimulated babbles of cries.

"Yes you can, My pretty gem. You can do it, o be a good girl and play the game…" Aventurine let out in a growl as he snapped his hips up, you let out another cry as your eyes widened. Trembling hands slowly reaching for the two dice that was ironically ominous and placed on the table in front of you, grabbing it you shook the dice in between in your hands before tossing it down on the table. Revealing a five.

Your eyes widened as you eyed the number on the two dice, turning your head; you looked back at Aventurine. He only gave you a smirk.

"Would you look at that…" He let out before his hand pulled away from clit and wrapping it around your neck as his other held onto your hip, guiding you to stand up as he then bended you over against the table before fucking you senseless.

His hips never faltering as his hands gripping onto your throat with enough force to make you roll your eyes back.

fuck fuck fuck fuckkk! was all you could think about from all of this, this game has been going on for about an hour now, your pussy filled to the brim from all the loses you got from playing a silly dice game with Aventurine.

"C-can't…! 's too much!…" You let out, your hand reaching back to much Aventurine away but unfortunately all he did was hold onto your hand that tried to push him away and pinning it against your back.

"Don't lie, Doll…You can take it. Just one more and we're done, yeah?" He let out, kissing your shoulder as he continued to snap his hips and fucking his cock into you. The tip of his cock hitting the deepest parts of you, skin against skin resonating in the room along with the sound of Aventurine's cum seeping out of you with every thrust he made.

"Doing so good for me," He let out pausing as he let out a soft growl and bitting harshly on the skin of your shoulders earning a loud cry from you. "Sorry, My little gem…Just so hungry for you--Fuck, gonna cum."

Aventurine then lets go of you, briefly pulling out.

"N-No…!" You let out in between your babbles of cry as he turned you around to make you look at him, he chuckled.

"Don't worry, Doll. You'll get what you want." He assured you as he then easily lifted you up and placing you on top of the table, His hands guiding your legs; lifting it up and placing it against his chest before he used his free hand to line the head of his cock against your slit before pushing in with a snap of his hips.

"Fuck!!" You screamed. Leaving your mouth agape in an O, back arching as he bit on your ankle while snapping his hips against you. Your entire body shaking under him, his hands keeping your legs stable against his body so you wouldn't accidentally kick him.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

With one thrust, you lost it. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head as you sprayed Aventurine, letting it out and squirting on him. Your body trembling as you continued to cry nonsense. Aventurine chuckled before kissing and rubbing onto your legs, his hips still not faltering.

Low growls escaping his mouth, arms wrapping around your legs. Your limp body growing tired as the only noise escaping your mouth was nothing but quiet and soft cries and whimpers.

"gonna cum…Gonna Cum--FUCK!" Aventurine growled before fully snapping his hips against you, coating your walls in white. Pulling out of you, Aventurine's gaze moved and stared at your oozing cunt.

His cum from earlier endeavor oozing and mixing with the recent one, dripping onto the floor with each breath you took. Aventurine smiled as he looked at your fucked out expression; Leaning down he placed a soft kiss on your stomach as he wrapped your legs around his waist.

He kept quiet as he just peppered your body with nothing but love and affection, a silent appreciation for how good you were to him.

"We should play this game often…" He let out in between soft kisses, you raised your head and glared at him, earning a chuckle from Aventurine.

[hihomeghere]

Fakin' it | Arthur Morgan/Reader

Word Count : 3k Summary : After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? Warnings/Tags : Enemies to lovers <3, unprotected piv sex, guns, cursing, reader has female gentailia, fingering, one bed, fake marriage

Of course the job that went bad had to be with Arthur. Why Dutch had put you two together was beyond you. Everyone around the gang knew that it was volatile anytime you two were together. But, you were cunning, quick minded in a pinch. Arthur was strong, easily able to take down a man twice his size, not that someone of that caliber came along often. To put it simply, you were the brains, he was the brawn. As much as you hated to admit, you made a good team on jobs. This time however, a simple robbery had turned into dozens of O’driscolls around every corner. You two had barely made it into a hotel unscathed. 

“One room.” Arthur said, setting down some coins on the table top as you watched the door. Your hand resting against your gun in your dress pocket.

“Name?” The man asked with a smile.

“Callahan.” Arthur said looking back at you. “Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.” He said, turning back to the clerk. You heard footsteps outside of the hotel, you turned quickly grabbing Arthur’s arm.

“Sweetheart.” You cooed, internally cringing as you called him by that name. You looked at him with wide eyes, “Come on.” You said with a nervous smile.

“We’re newlyweds, a bit excited if you can’t tell.” He chuckled, turning back to the clerk, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Of course.” The clerk said with a knowing smile, you wanted to barf as Arthur squeezed your waist. “Up the stairs to the left.” He said, handing Arthur a key.

“Much appreciated.” Arthur said his hand on the small of your back as you two climbed the stairs. As soon as you turned the corner you nearly ran to the door, Arthur slid the key in the lock and turned it, ushering you inside. As soon as the door was closed behind you, he was locking it just as fast. 

Once you got in the room you moved away from Arthur’s side, letting out a sigh as you looked around the room. One bed, of course, you two were acting as a couple.

“Mr. and Mrs. Callahan, really?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to look at Arthur. 

“Less eyes on us if we’re a couple, not cause I wanna play house with you.” He said with a grunt, barely raising his head to look at you. He walked over to the bed, moving to take his boots off.

“Less eyes.” You scoffed, looking around the room, walking over to the window. You pulled the blinds back, peeking out to the streets below. 

“The hell you think you're doing?” Arthur hissed, his hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Looking.” You said glaring up at him. “Is that a crime?”

“Do you want to give away our position?” He growled, his eyes dark.

“I think it’s pretty damn clear we’re in one of these shops, now we have to wait it out until they’re gone.” You said pulling away your arm from his grasp. He let out a deep breath, his jaw clenched as he looked away from you.

“How many are out there?” He asked, holding his hat as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know, maybe a dozen?” You said crossing your arms.

“Dutch said to keep a low profile,” He muttered to himself, “We can’t go out there guns blazing.” He said, setting his hat down on the bedside table. 

“That’s obvious.” You said, shaking your head. He scoffed, looking up at you.

“Are you trying to piss me off, or is that just one of your special talents?” Arthur said glaring at you.

“Oh I have lots of talents.” You say, stepping closer a scowl on your face. 

“If only one of them was keeping your mouth shut.” He growled. 

“God, what is your problem?” You huff looking away from him.

“My problem?” He scoffs getting up from the bed. “You’re my problem." He said, his chest almost touching yours as you looked up at him.

“Feelings mutual.” You huff, glaring up at him. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as you walked away from him. 

“We’re gonna have to wait it out.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The hell are we gonna do?” You asked throwing your hands up. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna take advantage of this bed.” He said laying back down on the bed, placing his hat over his face. You bit your cheek looking at him as he crossed his legs. He did have a point, the bed looked a whole lot softer than your cot back at camp. You mulled it over for a second before sitting down on the edge of the bed. You unlaced your boots, laying back on the bed. Your eyes quickly drew heavy, the adrenaline of the chase finally wearing off. 

The sun was setting when you woke up, the light slowly disappearing behind the horizon. The room was quiet except for Arthur’s breathing. You sat up in bed, looking over at him. His hat had fallen off his face when he rolled over sometime during his sleep. He looked so peaceful when he slept, it was like seeing a completely different side of him. It’s at this moment you really appreciate how beautiful Arthur truly is. The bridge of his nose is high, broken one too many times. His plump lips parted slightly, like two petals. His sandy brown hair falling over his forehead. 

You wanted to reach out and move it out of his face, but thought better of it. You didn’t want to disturb him and it wasn’t often that you saw him without a furrowed brow. 

Just as you were laying back down you heard heavy footsteps up the stairs. By your guess, four, maybe five men. You sit up quietly, feeling your heart pound against your rib cage. Arthur sprang up in bed as soon as they kicked open the first door. They must have turned right when they went up the stairs. The yell of shock sounded farther down the hall. He turned to you, his eyes wide. He reached for his gun belt on the floor but you stopped him. Your brain was running through all the situations. Four or five men, sure you and Arthur could take them, but that’s not exactly a low profile. 

Against your better judgment you picked the solution with the least amount of bloodshed. You swung your leg over Arthur’s waist.

“The hell are you doing-“ Arthur hissed before you covered his mouth with your hand. Your fingers started working on the buttons of your blouse as you rolled your hips forward. Arthur looked up at you with a wide eyed expression, his bright eyes frantically moving between his gun belt on the floor and the door. His stubble lightly scratched your palm as you held your hand over his mouth, his plump lips almost kissing your palm.

You forced a high pitched moan as you moved your hips faster on the bed, the bedframe hitting the wall. Creating the illusion you two were having sex.

The gears slowly started to turn in Arthur’s mind, his hands gripping your hips as he propelled you faster. The bedframe was now rocking against the wall, as you pulled your arms out of your blouse, leaving your chest bare. Your nipples hardened from the cold air as goosebumps sprung up on your skin. Arthur’s eyes were closed as he turned his head, forcing a low groan. Although you knew his groans were fake, the way his body reacted to your touch was more than real. You kept up with your moans, trying to put on a good enough show.

The door was soon forced open, as two O’Driscolls entered  the room with their guns raised. You scream, Arthur is quick to pull your chest down to his. You were pressed tight against him, his warm hands keeping you flush against him, all of him. His work shirt rubs against your nipples in such a fucking delicious way, it doesn’t help tbe adrenaline coursing through your veins. You can’t see anything, your head buried into Arthur’s neck, his stubble now rubbing against your cheek.

“Get the hell out of here!” Arthur yells, hidden by your upper half.

One of them clears their throat before exiting the room, closing the door behind them. You hold your breath waiting for their footsteps to retreat down the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief as they meet back up with the other men, walking down the stairs.

Hesitantly Arthur moves his hands off your back, you sit up covering your breasts with your arms. Arthur, however, was staring up towards the ceiling. His jaw clenched as he avoided looking at you.

You moved off of his waist, grabbing your blouse before slipping your arms through the sleeves. You buttoned it up, swallowing thickly as Arthur cleared his throat. 

“Now uh-“ Arthur said letting out a sigh, “I want you to know that I didn’t see nothin’.” The bed whines slightly as he stands up. 

“I know you felt something.” You said, shaking your head as you blush from head to toe. 

“Now-“ Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair as you turned to face him, his eyes flicking around the room before settling at your feet as he held up his hand. “We can just pretend this never happened, it was a matter of life and death.”

“I understand that.” You looked at him, fully looked at him. His gaze was low, his chest rising and falling quickly, his cheeks flushed. God, he looks wrecked.

Your eyes trailed over his body as he stood there, his hand on his hip as he popped his knee out. Your eyes moved down further, almost popping out of your head as you see how painfully hard he is pressed against his pants. 

“Are you-“ The words fall out of your mouth before you can think to stop them.

“Jesus.” Arthur sighed looking down, his hand rubbing his eyebrows.

“You are.” A nervous chuckle leaves your mouth as your eyes trailed up and down his body. You felt heat begin to spread between your thighs as he met your eyes. Your heart is still pounding against your rib cage from the encounter with the O’Driscolls. 

“I’m-“ He started throwing his hands up, “I’m sorry, alright but you can’t expect me- I’m only a man.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Nothing to be ashamed-“ He cut you off, shaking his head, “There is plenty to be ashamed of, I shouldn’t be getting so… so worked up over you.” He said motioning to you. You couldn’t help that you were also getting worked up, you subtly rubbed your thighs together. Trying to get any friction where you needed it most. Heat bloomed in your stomach as the tension in the room only got worse. He furrowed his brows, studying you.

“Wait,” He chuckled, shaking his head, “You feel it too.” He said, crossing his arms.

You scoffed, looking off to the side. “You wish.” You said, hating the slight tremor in your voice. Arthur strode across the room, stopping in front of you. He reached towards you, tilting your chin so you would have to look at him. 

“Tell me you don’t want this.” He said softly, his other arm encircling your waist pulling you flush against him. You stayed silent, looking up into his blue eyes. Slowly a smirk worked its way onto his face, “That’s what I thought.” He chuckled, cupping your cheek. He leaned forward brushing his nose against yours. Giving you the option to pull away if you wanted, his eyes softening as he looked into yours. You took the plunge, capturing his lips against your own as you threaded your fingers through his hair.

A groan rumbled through his chest as his hand tightened around your waist. You felt dizzy as his lips moved against yours, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth allowing his access as he pressed into you deeper. He rubbed himself against you, his hips pressed against your lower belly. 

You pulled away, breathing hard as you looked up at him. His face was flushed, his mouth parted slightly as his chest rose and fell rapidly. You unbuttoned your blouse for the second time, just as feverishly as the first time, but now for a completely different reason. Arthur followed your lead, pushing his own suspenders down, his skillful fingers unbuttoning his own shirt. His eyes returned to your body as he ripped his shirt off of his shoulders, settling onto your breasts. He stared down at you, an almost predatory expression on his face. He closed the distance between you, his hand wrapping around your waist as the other kneaded your breast. You let out a soft gasp, which quickly turned to a moan as he ran his thumb over your perk nipple. 

“Arthur.” He stared down at you, his eyes darkening as he watched you shiver against him. He flipped you around, his hand pressing you down onto the bed. His other hand flipped your skirts up, before pulling down your underclothes. He let out a soft groan as his eyes connected with your almost dripping pussy.

“This all for me?” He cooed, swiping his finger through your folds. You gasped, nodding as your hands gripped the quilt. 

“Yes.” You breathed, “Yes all for you.”

“Good girl.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he sunk a finger into your heat. You gasped as he slowly started pumping his finger inside of you. He leaned over you, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Yeah you like that don’t you?” He said nibbling on your earlobe. Your breath hitched in your throat as he added another finger, scissoring them inside your walls.

“Fuck Arthur.” You melwed, pressing your forehead against the slightly scratchy quilt underneath you. “I need you.” You huffed, your walls clenching around his fingers.

“I’m gettin’ there.” He chuckled, pulling his finger out of you, you sighed at the loss. You could hear the rustling of clothing behind you, the distinctive metal on metal as you pulled off his belt. His warm calloused hands ran up your backside, gently spreading you before the head of his cock met your entrance. 

Jesus Christ he was big. 

He spit into his palm, pulling away as he spread his spit over the head of his cock. 

“What the hell is taking so long?” You asked impatiently, turning your head to look at him. His eyes met yours, a wicked grin on his face as he forcefully shoved his cock through your folds. It was like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs as you were propelled forward onto the bed. His hands pulled your hips back and speared you onto his dick. 

“Arthur!” You yelped, your fingers gripping the quilt as he thrust his pelvis flush to yours. 

“Christ woman.” He groaned, laying his forehead against your bare back. You moan as he pulls his hips back before thrusting back into you. “You sound even better when you ain’t faking it.” You can feel the chuckle rumble through his chest more than you can hear it as he speaks. 

“Arthur, Jesus." You pant, almost drooling over the way his cock hits that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Mmm.” He moans, tight lipped as he tilts his head back. You push back against him, meeting every one of his thrusts “Yeah, atta girl.” His praise only spurred you on, your thighs shaking as you pushed your ass against his pelvis. “You close?” He whispered, his warm hand moving down your thigh between your legs. His thumb circling your clit was enough to send you over the edge. You were grateful your upper half was supported by the plush bed as your legs gave out under you. A high pitched moan worked its way out of your chest as you all but collapsed on the bed. Your walls fluttered around him, milking his cock. 

“Shit.” He panted his breath fanning on your back as his forearms caged you in, his hips stuttering as he released his seed inside you. He groaned, resting his forehead against your back as he collapsed on you. His sweaty chest sticking against your back. He pulled out of you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He whispered. 

“S’okay.” You said breathing hard, his cum seeping down your thighs. He kissed down your spine, his hand lovingly squeezing your hips. 

He grabbed a towel from the dresser, cleaning your thighs off. 

“Who would have thought you’d known about aftercare.” You chuckle softly, your heart rate slowly coming back to normal.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me sweetheart.” He huffs, a small smirk on his face as he tucked himself back into his pants. He reached down, pulling your bloomers back up over your hips. 

“Oh yeah?” You chuckled, grabbing your blouse as he grabbed his shirt off the floor.

“Yeah, Mrs. Callahan.” He smirked walking towards you, buttoning his shirt as he stood in front of you. You rolled your eyes, buttoning your blouse. He wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” He said, his hand trailing down your jaw. 

“Alright, fine. Mr. Callahan.” You huffed, a blush covering your cheeks as you rested your hands against his broad chest. 

“Next time,” He tightened his grip on your hips, his lips against your ear, “You’re riding me.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

taglist:

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@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

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@gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[areislol]

"i'm gonna marry mama when i'm older!"

pairings. argenti, aventurine, blade, boothill, dr. ratio, gallagher, gepard, dan heng/imbibitor lunae, jing yuan, luocha, sampo, welt, jiaoqiu, moze x afab/fem! reader

warnings. fluff, wife! reader, use of "mama", "papa" and "mommy" and "daddy", [c/n] = child's name, sampo being sampo, lots of girl dads

a/n. baby fever hit me. #foreverwithmybabydaddy

wordcount. 4.7k

synopsis. how do they react to their child wanting to marry you, his wife?

playfully teases your child

sampo —

✧ "well, well, seems like i've got a little competitor! but you’ll need more than charm to steal your mom away from me!"

✧😐😐 <- how he actually feels inside

✧ listen, sampo LOVES his little him to DEATH. but for some odd reason hearing his son suddenly burst out saying that he was going to marry you made his face go all sour and ugly.

✧ but he knows that he you would never allow that and that it was all fun and games, still, his smirk grows larger as his son barks back. "nuh uh!! mama loves me more than you, so i will marry mama first! not you!"

✧ a loud, audible, dramatic, heartbroken, gasp can be heard from sampo's wide open mouth, letting out a strangled noise. "you!! never!! my wife loves me more than you!" you let out an exasperated sigh, watching as your husband and your son bickered back and fourth on who you loved more.

✧ "c'mon!! tell him that you love me more than him!" "that would break his heart, sampo! absolutely not!" "but... he's breaking my heart..." ah, there goes his little pout and his puppy eyes that always magically work on you.

✧ "come on... please? pretty please? I'M BEGGING YOU I'M LOSING THIS ARGUMENT TO OUR SON!!!"

✧ your eyes flicker between sampo and your son. sampo is begging you, clinging onto the hem of your shirt as his kneels down while your son on the other hand is staring at his father in confusion and.. embarrassment? you stifled your laughter back, the sight of your six-year-old child giving his own dad a stink eye was hilarious.

✧ "are you laughing at me...?" sampo looks up at your face, eyeing your expressions and follows your gaze, turning his head he faces his son who stares right back at him. "oh..."

✧ "daddy why are you always doing weird things?"

aventurine —

✧ aventurine would laugh heartily and say, "oh, planning to take my spot, are you? well, you’ve got some big shoes to fill!" he’d probably challenge his child to a fun, friendly competition to see who can win over their mom’s heart.

✧ he knows that his child actually has no chance in marrying you, but hey, it's worth a shot to see how far they'll actually go.

✧ "babe!! little [c/n] here wants to marry you~" he says, beckoning for you to side beside him, your child's eyes sparkled at the sight of you sitting down beside him, they grip on your leg, hugging it tightly.

✧ "can i really marry you when i'm older?" you cock your head to the side, eyeing aventurine and your child. "what's all this about?" you asked, aventurine simply pulled you in close to him, his arm wrapped around your waist as he hoists his child up and onto his lap. "mmm... nothing really. so, who do you want to marry, me or this little kid here?"

✧ you caressed your child's hair, letting out a hum in thought. "well... [c/n] i'm already married to daddy..." you replied, and gosh do you feel your heart crumble into a million pieces when you see your child pout, their chubby cheeks prominent. b—but..."

✧ "it's alright sweetie, you can still try, but i don't think mommy will ever marry you—" "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "WHY ARE YOU—"

✧ in the end you calm your baby down with aventurine who's gripping his shirt over his heart. both you and aventurine settled on letting your child compete with his dad in trying to prove themselves to "marry you one day". once they're put to sleep in their room, aventurine hugs you from behind, his arms snaking around your waist.

✧ "you only want me, right?" he sighed, face nuzzling in your neck. "well of course you're my husband. but don't get their hopes up too high okay? or else they might start crying in your ears again." you laughed. aventurine only let out yet another sigh, leading you away from your child's room.

✧ "child or not i don't want anyone else who wants to be with my wife."

moze —

✧ moze immediately perked his ehad up at the sound of his daughter's voice.. wait.. did he hear her correctly?

✧ though his face remained stoic as ever, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. he turns to his child, raising an eyebrow with his typical quiet intensity. "you want to marry your mother?" he asks, his voice low but carrying just the right amount of teasing. "you’re going to have to be real smooth if you want to outshine me."

✧ his gaze flicks to you for just a second, a glint of warmth in his otherwise composed demeanour. then, in true moze fashion, he quickly shifted gears, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, as he continued to joke around with his child.

✧ "do you even have a plan? flowers? chocolates? you’re up against some serious competition here," moze adds, his tone dry but playful.

✧ despite his typically reserved nature (but over time you got to really know the true moze and not the 'crow feathered weirdo'), moze had a way of making these rare moments with his family feel special. he ruffles his child’s hair, his smirk widens slightly. "maybe i’ll teach you a thing or two, but you’ll need to practice. being this smooth doesn’t come easy."

✧ moze glances at you again, his silent affection shining through in the way his eyes softened when they landed on you. though he wasn’t one for long speeches or grand gestures, his love for his family was always clear in these moments.

✧ he continues keeping his child entertained with more jokes and a rare display of his dry wit. though he acted cool and composed, these were the moments that he held onto, the ones that made him forget, if only for a while, about the covert world he was usually immersed in.

✧ "seems like i've got competition.. i won't easily be beaten though."

overprotective about you

gepard —

✧ gepard would likely have a soft, almost tender smile when he hears his child say they want to marry you, their mother, his wife. his voice would be gentle, filled with a mixture of pride and love.

✧ "marrying your mother is an honor and a responsibility. you must be ready to protect and care for her, just as i do."

✧ he would explain that love is about more than just affection—it's about commitment, duty, and being there for each other through thick and thin. kneeling down to his child’s level, he places a hand on his child’s shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze as he speaks.

✧ "if you're willing to do all those things then i think mommy wouldn't mind if you proposed to her." and oh does he thank the lord every day for blessing him with his child whose eyes sparkled at his encouraging words. "mhm mhm! i will!" and such chubby cheeks too.. he pinches them affectionately, a tender smile on his face.

✧ even after the conversation ends, he gazes lovingly at you, feeling grateful for the family you've built together.

✧ gepard stands behind you, arms snaked around your waist, his much larger and warm palms resting on your stomach, he hums softly on your head, kneading the soft fabric of your shirt. yeah, he could definitely get used to this life.

✧ "maybe [c/n] wouldn't mind another sibling, hm?"

blade —

✧ blade’s initial reaction would be a mix of surprise and seriousness. (though your daughter probably can't read his expression) you were out shopping and left your child an your husband together in her room, it was trashed with toys, toys and more toys...

✧ blade was subjected to his daughter's antics, but of course he allowed her to do her thing (reluctantly). out of nowhere, she spoke, her words catching him off guard.

✧ "i'm gonna marry mama!" "...no you won't." "i will!" "...."

✧ "......................................................"

✧ blade leans down slightly, his intense gaze locking with his child’s eyes. there’s a seriousness to him, one that contrasts with the lightheartedness of the situation. his voice is calm yet firm

✧ "love is not something to be taken lightly," he begins, his tone gentle but unwavering. he wants his child to understand that while the sentiment is touching, the reality behind such words is far more intricate. "when you say such things, make sure you understand the weight of your words."

✧ weight?? of your words?? what does that even mean???? <- your poor, confused child. blade sighs, what was he thinking? could this little child of his understand his words?

✧ blade watches his child closely, looking for signs of understanding despite knowing that inside the depths of his daughter's eyes, is nothing. just pure bliss and not living naively in the world.

✧ he’s aware that she's still young, that the world of love and marriage is something that shouldn't concern them (blade is never letting his precious daughter marry anyone let alone DATE). yet, he also knows that these early lessons are important. he wishes to prepare her, to ensure she grows up strong and resilient.

✧ blade’s gaze softens just slightly, though his posture remains firm. he’s not one to easily show affection, but there’s a quiet tenderness in the way he holds himself at this moment. his child’s innocent declaration has stirred something within him, something he rarely allows himself to feel. ✧ "alright alright, fine. stop sulking."

✧ "YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

boothill —

✧ "you’re serious about that, huh? well, you’ve got to be strong and steady if you want to take care of someone like your mother."

✧ gosh, he's just so elated with the fact that little him gets him!! like, who wouldn't want to marry you? exactly!!! he gets it!!

✧ his rugged exterior momentarily softened by their innocent declaration. his voice would be slightly gruff, but there's an underlying warmth that shows how much he cares.

✧ when his child suddenly declares that they want to marry their mother when they grow up, he doesn’t make a big show of it. instead, he quietly observes the interaction, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of his lips. boothill gives his child a small and gentle squeeze on the shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly, acknowledging the sweetness of the moment, but he doesn’t say much.

✧ but deep down, boothill just wants to lunge himself at his child, smothering them in his love, but refrains from doing so, remembering your words. "don't tackle him or anything, he's still small and fragile!!"

✧ ruffling his hair, boothill picks up his son up in his arms, a grin forming on his lips as he feels the all too familiar grubby hands gripping his hat, tilting it to the side, a fit of giggles erupted, apparently the sight of his hat covering the side of his face was hilarious.

✧ "is it really that funny, junior?" he sighed, carefully hoisting him up to make it more comfortable for the both of them. "ah whatever, let's wait for mama to come back from shopping alright?"

✧ at the mention of your name your son's head perks up, stopping his giggles. "mama!" he exclaims, this time fully yanking his hat off. boothill shakes his head at his actions.

✧ he knows that love is complicated, something that can’t be fully understood at a young age. to him, this is a reminder of the purity of a child’s love—something untainted by the complexities of adult life.

the romantic

jing yuan —

✧ "ah, you’ve got good taste, my little one. but remember, love is a journey, one that requires patience and understanding." he’d likely share a romantic story or two, expressing his deep affection for you, his wife.

✧ jing yuan would smile warmly at his girl's declaration. how sweet of her to be wed to you, although he knows it's impossible, he couldn't break his sweet child's heart.

✧ jing yuan would chuckle softly, his hand ruffling his little one's hair as she gazed up at him with bright, innocent eyes. "you've got quite the ambition, my dear."

✧ his golden eyes would soften as he exchanged a warm glance with you, his wife. "i think mommy might like that idea," he’d tease, his deep voice carrying a note of affection.

✧ kneeling down to his child's height, jing yuan leans in closer, his smile widening. "but you know, love isn't just about weddings or promises. it’s about cherishing someone every day, even in the little things."

✧ he’d pull you both into a gentle embrace, his strong arms encircling his family. "besides, your mother already has my heart. but maybe… just maybe, you can help me take care of her, too."

✧ the child would beam, feeling proud and important, while jing yuan would place a soft kiss on your forehead, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "looks like i’ve got some competition," he'd say playfully, causing you both to laugh.

✧ later, as he tucks your little one into bed and he whispers, "you’ll find your own special someone one day, but for now, let’s make sure mommy knows how much we both love her."

imbibitor lunae —

✧ a soft, knowing smile would spread on his face, his ethereal gaze settling on his child with a tender warmth. "ah, to marry your mother… a noble thought indeed. the bond between two souls is sacred, built on trust and mutual respect," he’d say, his voice as serene as a breeze.

✧ he then turns his gaze to you, his eyes reflecting centuries of love. "your mother is a rare treasure indeed, and i’m glad to see you understand this at such a young age." His words are gentle yet profound.

✧ kneeling down gracefully, he’d gently lift his child’s hand, brushing a thumb across their tiny fingers. "but love is not something to be rushed. it’s like the moon in its cycle—waxing, waning, yet always returning to full."

✧ imbibitor lunae would most likely recite a beautiful verse from an ancient text, encapsulating the sacredness of love and family: “like the stars embracing the night sky, so too shall our hearts stay intertwined across the ages.”

✧ with a chuckle, he’d then stroke the child’s cheek softly. "but until you’re older, why not help me look after her? there’s much to learn in the way of love and care."

✧ he’d then pull both you and your child close, his comforting and grounding presence enveloping the moment in peace. "together, we are strong. perhaps one day, you’ll find your own soul to cherish as I do your mother."

argenti —

✧ argenti throws his head back with a booming laugh, his hand ruffling his child’s hair with infectious enthusiasm. "ah, such noble sentiments! you wish to marry your mother? how valiant!" his eyes would gleam with pride, and he’d turn to you with an exaggerated, theatrical gasp. "it seems i’ve been bested by our own child!"

✧ with a dramatic flourish, he’d lift you off your feet, spinning you in a playful circle before setting you down (with you playfully smacking his arm), his voice filled with lightheartedness.

✧ "but alas! your mother has already claimed my heart, dear one."

✧ to celebrate his child’s declaration (yes, have i ever mentioned that argenti is absolutely dramatic??), argenti would likely organize a spontaneous "family adventure." he’d gather some flowers from a nearby meadow or call forth a small spectacle of radiant lights from his sword, creating a miniature show. "we shall offer these as a tribute to the queen of our hearts—your mother!"

✧ he would encourage the child to present the gathered flowers or lights to you, his smile proud as his child participated in the grand romantic gesture. "together, we shall shower her with the love and admiration she so rightfully deserves!"

✧ later, as you all relaxed beneath the stars, argenti would point to the sky, his voice soft yet brimming with passion. "you see those stars, little one? each one shines with the love i have for your mother. and someday, you will understand how to shine just as brightly."

✧ argenti has never been prouder of his little one. "for now, my brave one, let’s continue showering her with love, for the greatest battles are not won with swords but with the heart."

the pragamtist (will break your child's heart)

welt —

✧ welt smiles slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in that thoughtful, knowing way of his. "that’s very sweet of you," he’d say, his voice calm and reassuring. "but your mother and i are already committed to each other."

✧ uh oh. he can his child's bottom lip quiver.. wait.. no.. he didn't mean it—wait—!!

✧ "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY DID YOU TAKE MOMMY AWAAAYY" ah.. there it is.. oh woe is welt. and so as your child wails and fat tears roll down his cheeks your ears perk up, obviously worried for your child who is quite literally screaming his lungs out.

✧ you walk out of your room and into the living room where you see welt trying his best to calm down his son, majority of the time welt does an amazing job in soothing him to sleep and cease his yowling but today? right now? it seems like no matter what welt tried it was to no avail.

✧ "what's going on?" you asked, raising a brow at this odd scene before you. taking a seat beside your son he quickly wastes no time in latching onto you, his chubby arms barely wrapped around your waist, his head squished against your thigh.

✧ you give welt a look. he sighs, staring down at his son who has successfully calmed down. "you see, [c/n] wants to marry you when he's older..." he begins, watching your reaction. "mhm.." you hummed, signalling for him to continue. "and i told him that we were already married."

✧ "... is that so..?" you giggled, looking down at your son who's gripping onto the fabric of your pants. "is that right, [c/n]?" your son slowly lifts his head up, an adorable pout on his lips. he stares at you before pointing at your husband.

✧ "daddy took mommy away!" he yells angrily, if it was possible, there would be steam coming out of your baby's ear.

✧ welt winces at the voice his child uses before speaking up. "you see, love is about understanding and growing with another person. it’s not just about wanting to be with someone—it’s about supporting them, no matter what."

✧ ??? "???? welt you're speaking to him as if he can understand."

✧ "oh, right." welt clears his throat, holding his son's much smaller hands in his own. "son, i understand that you love your mommy very much but..." he glances over at you. "me and mommy are already.. together. and mommy can't marry you because—"

✧ "WHY CAN'T I MARRY MOMMY" yet another session of crying begins. welt is practically dumbfounded.

✧ you click your tongue, lifting your son up into your arms, cradling him and patting his back. "shh, it's okay. daddy knows nothing... you can marry mommy if you want!" you cooed.

✧ "what—"

dr. ratio —

✧ raising an eyebrow at his child’s declaration he closes his book, his attention now fully on his child. " so you want to marry your mother, huh? well, while your intention is admirable, there’s a lot more to it than just saying 'i do.' you see, relationships are like a complex equation—variables, constants, and sometimes, unknown factors."

✧ 😐 dr ratio your child can barely answer do division calm down

✧ 'this is a great opporunity!' he thinks as he starts pacing, hands waving in the air as he speaks. "now, love, that’s the x factor! you can’t quantify it, but it changes everything. you might think it’s simple, but oh no, it’s much like trying to balance a chemical formula—get one thing wrong, and, well, it could blow up in your face!" he’d smile, amused by his own analogy.

✧ turning to you with a smirk, he’d nod. "your mother here—she's like the most elegant solution to the most complicated equation in my life."

✧ he’d then sit down beside his child, crossing his legs and leaning forward as if revealing a secret. "one day, you’ll find your perfect match—your own variable to balance things out. it’s like an ongoing experiment in life. but don't rush it! you’ve got plenty of time to gather data, test hypotheses, and figure out what works best for you."

✧ "and if you ever need help, your dad's here for you." with a grin, he’d ruffle their hair in a show of affection. "for now, though, we’ve got a pretty solid family unit here. no need to add more variables just yet." he hums.

✧ as he continued to ramble, you entered the room, finding your husband somewhat lecturing your child. he turns to you with a softer gaze. "our little one will understand it all someday. love is just like… oh, I don’t know, maybe quantum entanglement. two particles, forever linked no matter the distance."

✧ "what wont they understand?" you asked, wiping your hands off of the towel. "also dinner's ready. eating butter chicken today!" you chirped, walking back out and beginning to set the plates down on the table.

✧ eventually, dr. ratio would lean back, satisfied with his explanation. "do you understand?"

✧ your child nods their head eagerly, a wide and happy smile plastered on their face. "mhm!" but dr. ratio knows better.

✧ even if your child doesn't understand their father, that's fine. dr ratio loves them much more than others... he wouldn't mind giving them extra lessons to fully wrap the logic around their little head.

gallagher —

✧ though slovenly but content, he smiled gently as he listened to his daughter’s declaration. he was dressed in his usual disheveled manner—shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, and an apron stained with coffee and whiskey splashes.

✧ “marry your mother, huh?” he’d say with a soft chuckle, glancing over at you with warmth. "that’s quite the bold statement, kiddo." his daughter does nothing but gaze up lovingly at her dad, awaiting his advice.

✧ the three of you were seated in his usual haunt, a cozy corner of his bar where he’d brought you along for some family time—though even now, he remained courteous, casually nodding at a few patrons who passed by.

✧ wiping down a glass, gallagher would take a moment to think, his vigilance never fully dropping even in such a relaxed setting. "marriage," he’d begin, wiping his hands on his apron, "it’s not something you just do because it sounds nice."

✧ he’d glance at you with a half-smirk, then return his gaze to his daughter. "you see, love—it’s like making the perfect cocktail. you’ve got to find just the right ingredients, mix ’em carefully, and sometimes let it sit before you know it’s ready. rushing it? well, that’s how you end up with a bitter drink."

✧ there goes gallagher and his cocktail analogy.

✧ he tosses a rag over his shoulder, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. "someone who fits with you like how your mother and i fit together. but don’t go ordering the drink before you’re ready for it, you know?"

✧ you smiled at your daughter, ruffling her hair. "why do you want to marry me, [c/n]?" your daughter turns to you, eyes sparkling with admiration. "because mama is pretty!"

✧ "🥺🥺 oh baby..." brb you're gonna go bawl your eyes out now.

✧ as you hoist your daughter into your arms and hug her tightly, gushing about how adorable she is and that you're the luckiest mother alive, gallagher finishes drying the glasses and watches the both of you with such a soft gaze that siobhan isn't sure if this is the gallagher that she knows, but everyone has their secrets.

✧ "for now," he says—interrupting your little moment— before sliding another glass your way, "we’ve got each other, and that’s more than enough. we’re a solid team. although I'm not sure if i appreciate you trying to steal my wife from me..."

"what did you just say"

jiaoqiu —

✧ jiaoqiu’s ears twitch the moment he heard his daughter’s innocent declaration, his sharp hearing picking up every word. "what did you just say?" his tone shows a hint of jealousy, his eyes narrowing slightly before he caught himself, realizing who had spoken.

✧ this was his daughter, after all—still innocent, still sweet, and still adorable as ever.

✧ clearing his throat and quickly composing himself, jiaoqiu smiled ever so softly, despite not being able to see, he had become accustomed to pinpointing where exactly a person was.

✧ "that is so sweet of you," he say, his voice now softening with affection. his tail flicks in amusement, but there would be no mistaking the tenderness in his tone. "your mother is truly special, isn’t she?"

✧ he pats his daughter's head, his expression full of warmth as he hears her giggle. "you’ve got good taste, of course. but let me tell you, your mom’s already been swept off her feet by someone else—yours truly."

✧ he pulls his daughter close, jiaoqiu ruffles her hair, his grin never fading. "keep that loving heart of yours, and i promise, one day you’ll find someone just as perfect for you. Someone who may or may not outweigh me in terms of cooking.."

✧ jiaoqiu lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he hears his daughter giggle, shaking her head. "just make sure you bring them to me first. i’ll need to give them the old ‘jiaoqiu test,’ alright?"

✧ "oh and make sure they have good taste in food, otherwise they aren't worth it. haha, just kidding.."

luocha —

✧ his green eyes widened slightly at the innocent declaration, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he processed what his daughter had said. luocha gracefully bent down, just enough to meet his daughter's gaze, his golden hair cascading over his shoulders like threads of light.

✧ the tender amusement in his expression didn’t hide the warmth in his eyes as he replied, “you want to marry your mother?”

✧ he paused for a moment as if savouring the sweetness of the moment, before gently pinching her cheeks. “that’s incredibly sweet of you, and it makes me happy to know how much love you have in your heart.” his voice was soft, as though he were speaking a secret known only to them.

✧ with a slow, deliberate motion, luocha brushed a strand of his daughter's hair back, tucking it neatly behind their ear. “but marriage,” he continued, his tone calm, “is a commitment, a bond built on trust and mutual care.”

✧ he glanced over at you (who is smiling like an absolutely mad woman), his smile deepening. “your mother is someone truly remarkable, isn’t she?” he let the words linger each one carrying its own weight. "i’m glad you see how special she is, just as i do.”

✧ luocha took his child’s small hand in his own, his long fingers curling gently around theirs. "you’ve got so much love to give, and that’s something to cherish. always hold onto that kindness, that love."

✧ standing tall again, his coat swaying behind him like a quiet whisper, luocha’s eyes softened even more as he gently lifted his child into his arms, holding them close. “for now,” he said, his voice tender but filled with certainty, “you’re already surrounded by love. our family is your home."

✧ he turns toward you, carrying your child effortlessly in one arm, his other hand reaching out to you. you gladly take it, the familiar warmth blossoming in your body as you feel his sweet gesture.

✧ luocha clears his throat. "that doesn't mean you can marry a boy, okay? boys are good for nothing.." "luocha!!" you frown, slapping his arm. your husband looks down at you, a sweet and innocent smile on his lips. "hm..? i didn't say anything," he hums before planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

ote: if you would like to be added to the honkai star rail taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

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another note: sorry for the delay guys..

[captainsaveawoah]

Idk. Something, something secret baby/double life except Johnny and you are together and you’re kept a secret (surprise the man is secretive about his life) from the team.

Bit of a timeline au, You date a few years, you two get married, but it’s still all a secret. Price has an idea, his will has changed, signed off on it himself but doesn’t dig too deep, knows his boys will come to him.

Gaz is the first to comment, Johnny never taking anyone home. Can hear the man most nights finishing into his hands with a groan that sounds something like a name. Johnny just laughs and tips his beer, steering the conversation away.

Ghost though. Can see it. The way Johnny, despite wanting to charge in, gun ‘em down, will take caution, the worry in his words when he’s hurt or downed, not for himself but for someone at home.

Yet, Johnny stays quiet. Doesn’t say a word, rushes back to a “cold, empty apartment” Simon can tell when he and his bird are having a rough patch (little bit of a ghoap thing because they are as gay as they come idk) can tell when Johnny and his bird are in a good place. But the man doesn’t say a damned thing.

You and Johnny have sex… a lot of sex, when he’s home of course. A young couple, so in love, so happy, so wrapped in each other it’s like you made for one another.

You get married, he builds you a house, moves you to Scotland of course. “Need our weens to speak like their papa, yeah?” Knocks you up. Gives you THE CHUBBIEST little boy with his daddies eyes. You know about the task force, know they don’t know about you. You wish they did, wish you knew them personally, they’re the only family Johnny has, but you know Johnny keeps you away for your safety.

He’s about 3 when Simon is at your door. Your eyes widen, like you think you’re dreaming before your on the ground screaming and BEGGING Simon to say it’s not true.

The big guy sticks around, Johnny had felt he wouldn’t come home on this one, told Simon about you before the mission. Asked him to look after you and his son if he doesn’t make it home for supper. Ghost shrugs him off, makes some stupid joke but watches Johnny’s body crumple to the ground as he gets shot in the head.

Johnny told him it had to be him, “Kyle’s got a bird. Captain’s got too much on his plate. Plus you seem to escape death at every turn. Need you to take care of my heart.”

Your son is quick to take to Simon. You not so much, he hangs around, eats all your food, changes his clothes all the time, crowds your space while you grieve the man who became your whole.

But there are days, when you hear Simon and think it’s Johnny. There are days when Simon holds your son and you see Johnny. There are days when Simon’s head is between your thighs you feel like it’s Johnny. You feel bad, he tells you it’s okay. And you believe him, you feel it, mourn it with each passing day, knowing that one day you’ll look up and see only Simon, Johnny will always be there, but one day it’ll just be Simon.

Idk tho.