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pucksandpower · 2 days

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La Regina

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you feel ill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Michael. Your one and only papa.

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

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

Let me have my papa back.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?” You prod gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just promise me one thing?” You ask.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To race.

To win.

To become a legend.

***

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

“Over here, Y/N!”

“Un selfie, per favore!”

“Can you sign this for my daughter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles hums in agreement around another forkful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mission accomplished.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“You!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But most of all, it’s home.

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

La principessa di Monza.

La principessa di Ferrari.

***

11 Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did it.

World Champion at last!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To our champion! The Queen!”

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

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

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

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

“La Re-gi-na! La Re-gi-na!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La Regina di Ferrari.

La Regina del Mondo.

***

Eight Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like movie stars?” His eyes go wide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me! Y/N! Can we get a photo?”

“Charles! Over here, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Charles both crack up at the adorable comparison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ewww, gross! Stop kissing!”

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

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

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

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

You and Charles share an amused look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god, it’s them!”

“They’re so cute together!!”

“Over here, please! This way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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gumified · 2 days

Text

FREAK IN THE SHEETS !

pairing: choso kamo x fem!reader

summary: who knew the younger quiet and shy colleague you had a crush on was such a freak in the sheets.

content: 7.8k, office au, fluff, smut, big dick!choso, degradation, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, breast play, creampie, dumbification, choking, dacryphilia, cunnilingus (fem. + male. receiving), fingering, squirting, reader does pass out in the end, choso likes to embarrass you

note: this, i fear, is absolute gold and i just absolutely ADORE this, please show this lots of love, i beg <333 this has not been proof read so very sorry if there's typos!

It’s the same onslaught of work every single day. Sorting papers, filing documents, arranging meetings. There’s nothing new in your normal 9 to 5 day. You never thought that all your years of education would lead you to a boring office job stuck slaving away but here you are. Despite all the tiring work you had to face paired with overnight stays at the office, you still made sure to put all your effort into it, after all that really was the only way to climb the corporate ladder.

So when Choso Kamo was newly employed you didn’t think the newly graduated university student would last more than two weeks. He was all cute and meek smiles, innocent eyes that watched everyone in the office as they worked. His voice had been quiet, barely above a whisper when he had introduced himself. You had seen the way he fiddled with his sleeve as if he was too nervous to look up at everyone in the room.

Yet as the weeks passed, Choso stayed. He wasn’t the best worker but he did enough to stop the nagging of the higher ups. He wasn’t hard working per se but he wasn’t lazy. He was just…mediocre.

“Y/n where do you want these documents again?” Choso’s soft voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you look up at the man. His hair fell into his eyes, a habit that you had noticed. “I’ve finished printing them out, do you want me to sort them for you?”

You offer him a smile. “That’d be great Choso, thank you so much.” You don’t fail to notice how his cheeks dust in a light pink and he hurriedly stutters out an okay before rushing away.

“The kid’s whipped for you.” Satoru scoffs from beside you and your head whips around to see his face looking over your cubicle wall. His fingers are splayed across the surface, eyeing Choso across the room. “He definitely wants to fuck you.”

“Fuck off ‘toru, not everyone’s like you.” You roll your eyes as you push him back to his desk. “And he definitely does not want to fuck me.”

Your friend snorts as he sits down, leaning back against his chair. “Tell that to those lovesick eyes he constantly gives you, not to mention how he’s only ever helping you out. It’s like he’s your personal assistant.”

Your face heats up. It was true that Choso liked to help you with your work, he would often offer to finish any paperwork you had left and he would always get you your morning coffee. He was helpful, yes of course, but it wasn’t like you didn’t help him back.

“I can see those gears turning in your head.” Satoru sits up, shoving his face close to yours and you jolt away. “Why? Thinking about a certain someone?” There’s a shit-eating grin on his face and you want nothing more than to slap it off of him.

“Choso’s a sweet kid, just leave him alone Satoru.” You glare at your friend. “Plus he’s younger than me-”

“Yeah by like 3 years Y/n.” Satoru laughs as he sweeps his hair out of his eyes. “And you’re both adults, there’s no shame in dating someone younger than you.”

Once again your body erupts into flames, caught off guard by his bluntness. “Yeah well I know that, it’s just, well I mean.” You pause thinking how you were going to say the next words. There were so many words you could’ve used to describe Choso Kamo, he was kind, caring, and intelligent. “Well ‘toru he just looks so innocent and, you know, pure. I don’t think he’s very experienced in…sexual encounters.”

Satoru guffaws very loudly and you’re immediately on edge, looking around to make sure no one heard the sound that just escaped his lips.

“You know you can just say you think he’s a virgin Y/n.”

“Well I don’t want to assume-”

“You just did.”

“Shut up Satoru.”

You groan at his teasing, burying your head in your hands. It’s true that Choso’s only three years younger than you and that definitely isn’t a problem just as Satoru had said. But he was also the same Choso who would stutter when giving you your coffee and would trip over his own feet. Sure, he was really really pretty and you can’t deny that he definitely was attractive.

There’s no problem with being a virgin and you’d never judge someone for being one. It’s just that, well, you were into some kinky shit, not that anyone needed to know. You often found that your previous partners couldn’t exactly satisfy you the way you wanted and it often left you faking orgasms just to get out of the situation. No one really fucked you like you wanted and Choso, who was just so gorgeous, didn’t exactly exude the dominant partner you were after that didn’t stop your heart from pounding whenever you saw him though.

“When you guys fuck you owe me a drink.” Satoru whispers in your ear and you lift your head, throwing him an annoyed glance.

“We aren’t going to fuck.”

“Sure Y/n sure.”

As the hours continue to drag on you find yourself growing more and more tired. The screen in front of you jumbles in a pixelated mess and you force yourself to redirect your focus to your work. It’s hard to do with Satoru’s constant distractions and your mind tumbling through your own thoughts. It’s not a particularly busy work day and you sort through the same paperwork and do the same jobs you’ve been taught to do for so many years.

Some reason your mind keeps drifting back to what Satoru had said and then it would drift to Choso. When you had first met him he had seemed nice enough. He would always smile shyly whenever the both of you locked eyes, offering you a small wave to say hello. You knew that Satoru was right, Choso did like you and you would never tell Satoru but you did like Choso back. It’s that thought that plagues your mind for the rest of the day.

Choso returns to your desk a little later with the documents neatly sorted and organised. He hesitates for a moment, and you notice how he glances around, probably ensuring no one else is watching.

"Um, Y/n." He begins softly. "I was wondering if you needed any help with the meeting preparations for tomorrow?"

You look up at him, surprised by his words. "Oh, thank you, Choso. That would be really helpful."

His eyes light up at your response, and he nods eagerly, moving to your side to assist. As you both work side by side, you can't help but notice the small, almost imperceptible ways he steals glances at you. It’s endearing and slightly amusing, but you brush it off, forcing yourself to focus on the tasks at hand. The meeting preparations take up most of the afternoon, and by the time you’re finished, the office is nearly empty and the sun’s already setting.

"Thanks again, Choso." You say, gathering your things. "You didn’t have to stay this late to help me."

He blushes slightly, looking down at his feet. "It’s no problem, really. I’m happy to help."

You lead the way to the elevator, Choso trailing along behind you. The ride down is silent but certainly not uncomfortable and the question that has been in your head for so long continues to repeat itself over and over again. You sneak a peek at the man beside you and you see the way he’s watching his phone, scrolling through what you assume are messages. Your eyes fixate on his hands. The long fingers that touch the screen, veins travelling up his arms. You find yourself imagining different scenarios that his hands could be in - intertwined with yours, tangled in your hair, stuffed in your-

You shake yourself free from the lewd thoughts, feeling your own cheeks burn at the mere implication. You gulp, feeling your heart racing. This is Choso Kamo, your junior, your colleague. This was the guy who probably has a massive crush on you and here you are, ogling at his hands.

There’s a soft ding as the elevator reaches the ground floor and you straighten yourself up, ready to leave and hop into a very cold shower. You watch as the doors slowly open and Choso lets you get out first, following closely behind you. He looks at you for a second and you wonder if he knows you’ve just been daydreaming about his hands in very inappropriate scenarios.

"Y/n, I…I wanted to ask you something." His voice is steady but tinged with nervousness. "Would you like to grab a coffee sometime? Outside of work, I mean."

Satoru’s smug grin flashes in your mind and you brush his words out of your head. Hanging out with Choso isn’t something bad or taboo. Plus it didn’t have to be a date, it’s simply two colleagues hanging out. You feel your own heart betray you when it flutters at the thought of being alone with Choso.

"Sure, Choso. I’d like that." You offer him a soft smile and you immediately notice the way his eyes light up. You can see the tension ease in his shoulders and the relief that washes over him. It’s cute.

"Great! I’ll, um, I’ll text you the details?" He hands you his phone to put your number in and you do. He grins when he gets it back, smiling at the screen adorably.

“Bye Choso, text me and I’ll let you know when I’m free.” You wave him goodbye before leaving to get back to your home.

That night as you lie in your bed you force yourself to close your eyes to sleep but it proves to be impossible. You stay up thinking about him, Choso. He was everything you could ask for in a boyfriend and he definitely likes you. There was no harm in going on a date with him. You continue to toss and turn, groaning as you slam your face into your pillow. You know you have to get some sleep otherwise you’d be too tired to go to work the next day. So you will the thoughts to go away, focusing on your breathing until, slowly but surely, you drift off to sleep.

The week goes by quickly, passing in a blur of meetings, deadlines, and the usual office chaos. You notice that Choso’s more of a bumbling mess around you than usual and you can only think that it’s because of your upcoming date that he’s so nervous. At the coffee machine one morning, you catch him staring at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of admiration and anxiety. When you smile at him, he nearly drops his coffee cup, fumbling with it in a way that makes you chuckle softly.

Satoru notices too, not failing to constantly question you about it and you deny everything. There’s no need for him to know your personal business after all.

The weekend comes quicker than expected and now here you are, waiting patiently for Choso to turn up. He had asked you to meet him just outside the station, stating his apartment wasn’t far from it, and you guessed you were a little early considering how he hadn’t shown up yet. You check your phone, noting that you’re still a few minutes ahead of the agreed time.

You can’t seem to stop your pounding heart as it races uncontrollably and you force yourself to calm down. There’s millions of butterflies in your stomach, fluttering about and crashing into every single organ. It’s been a long time since you felt this nervous for a date.

Just as you’re about to check your phone again, you spot him. His hands in his pockets as he looks around like a lost puppy before breaking into a grin when he sees you. Your brain short circuits when you see what he’s wearing. You had gotten used to the smart clothes and suits he would wear in the office and seeing him in baggy jeans and a graphic tee has your mind spinning. You never thought you would find someone so attractive in casual clothes until now.

“Hi Y/n, sorry am I late? I hope you haven’t been waiting for long.” His voice is still the same soft shy tone and you realise it’s a stark contrast to the dark clothes he wears. “Did you get here okay?”

“Yeah I did.” You smile. “Don’t worry I haven’t been waiting for long, should we get going?”

He nods eagerly and your heart jumps at the gesture. You fall into step beside him as he leads the way, the conversation flowing surprisingly easily. It’s not hard to talk to Choso and you find yourself growing more and more comfortable around him. There are times you catch yourself staring at the way the corners of his lips turn up and how his eyes seem to twinkle. Whenever you talk his eyes are always trained on you, listening attentively to every word you say.

Eventually, you arrive at a charming little café that Choso had mentioned earlier. It’s cosy and inviting, with warm lighting and a comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries. You both find a table by the window, giving you a perfect view of the street outside.

As you settle into your seats, Choso looks at you with a smile. "I hope you like this place. I thought it had a nice atmosphere."

"I love it.” You reply genuinely touched at his thought in his choice of location.

You order your drinks and some pastries to share, and the conversation continues to flow effortlessly. He shares stories of his days in university and the both of you laugh at shared experiences at the office. You didn’t think you would have as much fun as you were having and you certainly didn’t expect to fall for him even harder. You catch yourself admiring the way he speaks, the way his hands move as he gestures, and the way his eyes light up when he talks about something he loves.

Choso has always been attractive but as the day progresses you see him in a new light, one that has your heart fluttering and your cheeks heating up whenever he looks at you with those dreamy eyes.

At one point, he leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. "Y/n, I really enjoy spending time with you. You’re so easy to talk to, and I feel like I can be myself around you."

Your heart swells at his words, and you smile warmly. "I feel the same way, Choso. I’m really glad we’re doing this."

The day carries on like normal and though it only consists of the two of you talking it still makes heat rush to your cheeks and your heart pound. The feelings inside of you aren’t deniable and you definitely know that after this you weren’t going to be able to resist going on another date with Choso.

A light drizzle starts to fall, quickly turning into a heavier rain and you kick yourself for not checking the weather earlier. The both of you look at each other for a second before laughing at the sudden change in weather.

"We should get out of this rain." He says, voice loud enough to be heard over the sound of the raindrops. "My apartment isn’t far from here. Would you like to come over until the rain stops?"

You hesitate for a moment, but the thought of spending more time with him is too tempting to resist. "I'd love to."

He leads the way, and the two of you hurry through the rain. He makes sure that you’re okay every few minutes and you reassure him every time with a smile. By the time you reach his apartment, you're both soaked. Choso fumbles with his keys for a moment before unlocking the door and ushering you inside. His apartment is warm, a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere outside.

Choso quickly grabs a couple of towels from a nearby closet. "Here, dry off."

“Thanks.” You take the towel he gives you, wrapping yourself with it so you can feel some heat.

“You can sit down. I’ll go make us something to drink.” He smiles at you as he gestures to the couch.

You nod, taking a seat and watching as he moves around the small kitchen. There’s something incredibly endearing about seeing him in his own space, relaxed and at ease. When he returns with two steaming mugs, he sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. You take a sip of the drink, letting the warmth spread over your tongue. The two of you continue to talk and seconds turn into minutes turn into hours. When you finally look at the clock on the opposite wall it reads well into the evening.

Choso locks his eyes with yours and they flicker to your lips for a second before they’re on your eyes again. He leans in closer and you hold your breath, the tension tangible in the air. The room seems to hold its breath as he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "Can I kiss you?" He asks softly, his eyes searching yours for permission.

“Yes.” You whisper back as you try to steady your beating heart. “Please.”

He leans in slowly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is tender and sweet. You can feel the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips. It’s gentle and slow and you smile at the shyness of it all. The both of you eventually pull away and he watches as you try to catch your breath.

“Stay for longer?” Choso’s words are innocent to you but you miss the flicker of desire that passes quickly in his eyes. You nod, heart pounding in your ears.

His lips crash onto yours once more, this time much more powerful and dominant. His hands circle around your waist, pulling you close to his body and you feel your own body heat up at his touch. You let out a yelp when you feel his tongue enter your mouth, tangling with yours and there’s a mixture of salvia as he continues to kiss you vigorously. You’re confused where this is coming from and you force yourself to break away.

“What is going o-on...” You stutter out, mind reeling from the passionate kiss you just shared.

There’s a string of saliva at the corner of Choso’s mouth and he smirks, lifting his thumb as he wipes it away. His eyes darken as he pulls you closer, leaning down to whisper in your ear. You feel his hot breath against your neck and you try your best to stop your knees from buckling at the sensation.

“You’re so pretty you know that?” Choso’s voice is deep and it’s different to the shy tone he so normally speaks with. “You’re always so nice to me, always letting me help you, always such a good girl.”

His words aren’t anything too lewd but it has wetness pooling in between your legs. You look up, eyes locking with his and you see something you haven’t ever seen. The usually meek and timid Choso you’re so used to seeing wasn’t there anymore. Instead you see a man oozing with dominance, towering over you and you resist the whimper that begs to escape your lips.

“I want to fuck you so bad Y/n, been trying so hard not to bend you over your desk and fuck you silly in front of everyone.” He whines and for a moment you see the shy man you’re used to but the devilish grin returns on his face and you can’t deny that you love it. “Can I fuck you Y/n?”

The mere idea is so enticing. You know you shouldn’t but Choso’s so addicting. You can still feel the ghost of his lips moving frantically against yours. He leans closer to you, pressing his body to yours and you gasp when you feel the outline of his cock. It’s big, too big even. You look up at him, eyes glossy and hazy.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Yes please fuck me Choso-”

Your words are cut short when he kisses you again. His hands are everywhere and they find a place on your tits. He gropes your body, hands climbing under your shirt to fondle with your soft skin. He moans into your mouth, tongue invading your own mouth. You try your hardest to keep up but you easily fall behind. His movements are swift and powerful, mouth moving against yours feverishly.

Choso cups your face with his hand. He pulls away for a second and you pant, breathless. His thumb replaces where his tongue had just been and you see the silent command in his eyes and you suck. He groans at the sight and you feel your panties grow even wetter at the beautiful man. You let your tongue circle around his thumb, sucking harshly as you look up at him with lustful eyes.

“I heard you the other day.” Choso has a smirk on his face and you struggle to remember what he’s referencing. “Thought I was a virgin did you?”

Your eyes widen as you recall the conversation you had with Satoru. You swear no one was close enough to hear what the both of you were talking about but clearly you weren’t careful enough. Embarrassment fills your body and you immediately pull his hand out of your mouth, getting ready to apologise.

“Nu uh.” Choso pouts mockingly, shoving his fingers into your mouth. “No use apologising now Y/n, you already hurt my feelings.” You feel a bit of your soul die at his words and you can’t help but feel bad at what you were gossiping about. “Don’t worry though, lucky for you, I’m definitely not a virgin.”

His voice is a deep seductive drawl and you can’t say anything, not when his digits were in your mouth. Despite the situation you find your body heating up at what’s to come. This is a side you never thought you would see from your colleague but you aren’t complaining. Choso moans when he sees his saliva coated fingers when he removes them from your mouth. Your mind is already foggy with lust and you continue to pant.

“I’m gonna let you off this once okay Y/n? But you’re gonna have to make it up to me.” His eyes are fixed on yours and you melt under his touch. All you can do is nod, words failing you. He smirks, hands caressing your cheek gently and it’s a contrast to the dirty words that leave his mouth next. “Good, now get on your knees and suck slut.”

You don’t need to be told twice as you drop to the floor, legs sprawled out on the floor as you open your mouth. Choso laughs at your desperate figure, tangling his hands in your hair and he pulls your head back. You moan at the painful feeling as he pulls on your roots. His bottom lip is in between his teeth as he watches you submit so willingly. He pulls out his cock and you almost drool at the sight. It’s so pretty just like Choso. It’s got length as well as girth but your eyes are fixated on the fat mushroom head he has. You didn’t think you would ever be staring at Choso Kamo’s cock yet here you are.

Choso chuckles at your reaction and he brings his cock to your face and you feel its warmth and it shoots desire straight to your pussy. The tip is a flustered pink and you moan at the sight. You open your mouth, letting your tongue glide across his length. You savour the taste of his pre cum. He stares down at you and you see the way his own lust clouds his eyes.

“Fucking filthy aren’t you?” Choso grins and though it’s a smile you’re used to seeing now you know there’s an underlying meaning to it. He pulls your head back and he forces your jaw to open wider as he slams his cock into your mouth. You scream at the sudden action and your throat constricts around him, causing Choso to let out a low growl. “Go on. Show me how sorry you are.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you bob your head up and down. Choso watches as you stuff your face full with his cock. You look so pretty and he tilts your head up to look at him, watch as you suck him off. You’re a slobbering mess on his cock, eyes half-lidded as you continue to take him down your warm throat. Choso lets out a choked moan when he feels your tongue swipe over his tip, swirling around the sensitive area.

“F-Fuck Y/n.” He stutters out breathlessly and you feel your heart pound at the reaction you manage to elicit from him. You repeat the gesture that has him seeing stars and he grips your head. “Nasty fucking mouth you have there.”

His dirty talk fills your ears and all you can do is moan helplessly. Choso thrusts his cock and you gag as it hits the back of your throat. The delicious noises invade your senses and you drool over his cock like a bitch in heat. Your eyes are glossy as tears gather and you blink, letting them fall freely down your face. You mewl as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth. The sound has Choso moaning in approval.

He doesn’t let you rest and before you know it he’s abusing your tight little throat, fucking his cock in and out of you harshly. All you can do is kneel, mouth hanging open as you let him use you. You become a mess, saliva dripping from your lips as you look up with lustful eyes. There’s something so seductive about the man above you, the man who you thought was a shy timid virgin. How wrong you were.

“C-Chosoo!” You make a muffled noise around his cock, panties already soaking. You’re sopping wet and you want nothing more than to get fucked dumb by him. Your hands move down slowly, ghosting over your pussy. You know that you shouldn’t but you can’t help but press against your clit. You rub cricles as your throat gets fucked viciously.

But before you can continue your own pleasure Choso’s tugging your head back once more and you see the angry glare he sends you. “Touching yourself really? Guess you aren’t that sorry are you?” He snarls and you whimper. Above you he seems so scary and mean but it only turns you on even more.

He doesn’t warn you as he cums. His cock throbs in your mouth and your eyes can only widen as he spurts hot thick cum down your throat. It’s sticky and you feel it spread across your tongue and you savour the sweet taste. Choso groans at the sight as he dumps his load into your mouth. You look so perfect, saliva and cum trickling out of your mouth, eyes so drowsy and fucked out. You swallow every drop he gives you eagerly and when he pulls out your mouth is still hanging open as if you were asking for more.

“Good for nothing slut.” Choso grabs your body, forcing you to stand up as he kisses you. His tongue pushes against yours and he sucks, tasting himself. You collapse limply against his body, hands gripping his shoulders. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten, you’re gonna have to prove yourself even more now since you decided to touch yourself. Fucking whore, that’s what you are, a whore, say it.”

“I’m a-a whore, I’m a filthy whore.” You repeat back the words he throws at you and Choso smiles. His lips brush against yours and you stare into his pretty eyes. “Please.” You beg. “Please Choso wan’ you to fuck me, n-need you so baddd.”

You see the way a cocky smirk spreads across his face and you know he likes the words you say. He’s leaning in towards you, licking along your collarbone and up the vast expanse of your neck. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue and his lips as he nips at your skin. He sucks harshly, leaving red marks along your flesh. Choso’s arms grab your thighs and you squeal as he lifts you up. His muscles bulge and you watch as he picks you up with ease, lips still attached to your neck. You grip onto his shoulders as he carries you to the bed before throwing you down.

You squirm under his gaze and you watch as his eyes trail carefully over every little detail of your body. His hands land on your stomach, warmth seeping through your skin and he drags it up further and further until he reaches your neck. You see something dark snap within him and Choso squeezes around your throat cooing as you let out a strangled moan.

“Remember when we were in that elevator together angel?” You faintly hear his voice as you succumb to the pleasure. “Thought you were being so careful but you were staring at my hands weren’t you, imagining dirty things.”

You whimper at his accusation, glossy eyes looking back at him. You mutter out a breathy apology but Choso smiles wickedly as he leans forward, whispering right by your ear. “No need to apologise baby, my hands are all yours.”

There’s a distinct sound of fabric ripping and you gasp when you feel the cold air hit your pussy. Choso’s hand is still around your throat and you feel the pleasure shooting up to your head. His fingers press against your sopping core, circling your puffy clit slowly. He slides through your wet folds and the feeling has you choking back a sob. You know he’s being a tease and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

“C-Choso, hnghh, please please. Stop t-teasing.” You beg, tears streaming down your face as he pinches your sensitive clit. You feel his fingers edge closer to your hole, narrowly missing the spot you know will have pleasure coursing through your veins. “Wan’ you so bad, need you please please please!”

“Fuck you’re so cute.” Choso’s grip on your throat tightens. He finally slips in two fingers and you throw your head back, letting out the moan you've been holding back. “You’re so so cute, wanna fuck you stupid.”

You writhe under his grip, body convulsing as he thrusts his digits in and out of you. You’re already embarrassingly close and you can’t hold back as you scream his name over and over again like a mind-numbing chant. Choso curls his fingers and he groans when he feels your velvety walls squeeze around him. You whine as he hits the spot you’ve been waiting for, your toes curling at the pleasure that wracks through your body.

“Found it.” Choso murmurs against your skin, hot breathing burning you. His cocky smirk never leaves his face as he continues to abuse your little cunt, hitting the same spot over and over again. “Cum f’me baby, show me how much of a desperate whore you are, c’mon.”

It’s completely humiliating how quickly you release all over his fingers just at his words. He releases his grip on your neck and you heave in a breath. Your pussy spasms around his fingers and Choso grins as he watches liquid squirt from your pussy. He never stops thrusting in and out of you, enjoying the wet noises that mingle with the onslaught of moans that fall from your lips.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Choso t-too much, ‘s too much nghh.”

“Baby fuckkk, you’re gorgeous.” Choso pulls his fingers out of your pussy, watching as you lie limply, sprawled out on the bed, trying your hardest to catch your breath. He cups your pussy with his hand feeling the way it throbs. “This cutie’s so loud f’me, who knew you had such a dirty side to you hm Y/n?”

You can’t respond, too fucked out from your orgasm to even formulate a sentence. The Choso Kamo in front of you wasn’t the one you had spent the last couple of months seeing in the office. The Choso Kamo in front of you was an insatiable beast. You blink wearily and you finally manage to focus your eyes. Choso drops a kiss on your nose, hands stroking your body gently.

“My Y/n’s so cute, so so cute.” He mumbles and you feel your heart race at his words. His body presses up against you and you freeze when you feel his hard cock graze your pussy. Choso notices immediately and he locks his eyes with yours and you see the mischief that lies there. “You didn’t think I was done with you did you? Oh you really are adorable.”

You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out as he shoves his fat cock into your pussy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel your gummy walls take him in. He’s not slow and he’s definitely not gentle. Each thrust is harsh and unforgiving. Choso fucks into you hard and you grip the sheets tightly, sobbing at the overstimulation.

“More, p-please more, need you s-so bad, please c-choso.”

“More?” He grunts at your pathetic pleas. “Such a greedy whore aren’t you? If you want it so bad, take it.”

Another scream is ripped from your throat as he increases his pace, rigorously pounding into your spent pussy. He moulds you to fit his cock, fucks you open as you cry and sob. Choso loves the sound of you begging, he loves the sound of your dripping cunt as he slams his hips against yours over and over again. He groans as he captures your lips in a kiss, sucking on your tongue as he swallows each and every one of your delicious moans.

Your hands reach above you, pulling Choso closer to your body and your sharp nails rake his back. You claw at him like some animal in heat and you dig your nails into his skin as he fucks you. Choso hisses at the pain but it only turns him on more. He smirks at your fucked-out state, loving the way your mouth is open, tongue lolling out. He loves the tears that fall from your eyes and he leans forward to kiss them from your face.

“You feel so, hah, feel so good.” Choso pants, cock ploughing into you feverishly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you for? Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to split you open on my, hnghh, cock - fuckk!”

You whimper at his words, your own unable to leave your lips as you continue to moan. Choso lifts your leg, placing it above his shoulder as he snaps his hips to yours. You try to find anything to hold onto as you feel your pussy constrict tightly around his throbbing cock.

“Ch-Chosooo!” You whine as he stretches you open. Every single slight movement is keening with pleasure and you feel your toes curl as you pant for air. “I-I…Choso ‘m gonna cum!”

The words leave your mouth for a second and everything comes tumbling down as the knot in your stomach explodes and you convulse around his cock. Choso chants your name, urging you to release all over him, to make a mess around his cock as he fucks you. You sob pathetically, pussy gushing as you feel the sheet beneath you grow even wetter.

Choso doesn’t stop his harsh movements and not even a second after you cum you feel another orgasm build up within you and you squeal as it comes crashing down again. You’re a babbling mess at this point, crying desperately for him to slow down as you’re fucked absolutely stupid on his cock. He flips you around so that you’re on top and you nearly collapse if it isn’t for the tight grip he has on your hips.

Choso’s smirking at you, eyes dazed as he watches you squeeze around him. “You’ve been dying for my cock haven’t you? Look at how pretty we look together?” He gestures to your pussy and you feel your cheeks flare with heat at the erotic sight. “C’mon angel, fuck yourself on my cock f’me.”

You’re taken aback by his words and you feel the heat crawling through your cheeks once more. It’s humiliating the way he makes you bounce on his cock as he watches. His eyes are trained to your pussy as it takes his length, inch by inch. You’re embarrassed beyond belief as you press your hands against his hard muscle, pushing yourself up and down him. Choso only eyes you cockily, loving the way you’ve suddenly turned shy.

“Nghh, h-hah hah, ah!” You squeal as you feel his hands cup the back of your thigh right below your ass. He reaches his other hand to grope your tits, playing with the nipple in between his fingers, pinching and twirling the sensitive bud with practised ease.

“Woah angel, you’re clinging onto me so tightly.” His words are laced with smugness and you lift your head to see his heart-shaped pupils watching you. He’s admiring every inch of your skin as you fuck yourself on him desperately. “You can do s’much better than this Y/n, c’mon baby, work that ass for me, hm?”

You try your best to bounce on him but your legs are so tired and you’re running out of breath quicker than ever. Your pussy is beyond aching and yet you still feel the desire to be fucked stupid in your body. “C-Can’t- Choso, hnngh, can’t really can’t!”

“Hmm, you get tired too easily Y/n.” Choso sighs as he settles both his hands on your hips.

You gasp when he sinks you down onto him. “You’re s-so…so mean-”

“What’s mean is you being so fucking cute and not letting me fuck you in the office.”

He slams you back down again and this time you throw your head back, screaming with pleasure. His grip is tight and hard and he splits you open perfectly on his cock over and over again until you’re moaning like it’s the only thing you can do. You sob for him to slow down and both of you know that’s truly the last thing you want.

“Slow down?” Choso sits up and you feel him reach deeper inside of you. His fingers play with your clit and you mewl. “Nahhh ‘m not gonna do that baby.”

It’s too quick to process and he’s already got you pressed down into the mattress, ass in the air. His touch is sure to leave bruises as he squeezes your soft skin, loving the way it ripples as he plunges in and out of you. You’re sobbing into the sheets now, pussy sucking him in deeper and deeper. All you can do is let out strangled moans and hiccups as you find every rational thought leaving your head.

“I love you so much Y/n.” Choso moans as he fucks your harder, his chest pressed agasint your back. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It’s addicting. The words that leave his mouth are like poison, tainting you and you only accept them gratefully. You feel your heart flutter at his confession despite his unrelenting fucking. You attempt to turn around and Choso grabs your face to face him, kissing you passionately.

“I love you so much Y/n, you’re mine, understand?”

You look at him with foggy eyes, saliva dripping from your chin. “Mhmm! I love you so much t-too Choso, so much hnggh!”

Your words only make him pound into you faster. He’s a feral beast and it’s almost like his cock grows bigger inside you and you feel him throb painfully. He’s so so big and you scream into the mattress unable to do anything else. Your body’s so tired yet Choso picks you up as he grabs your throat, hips slapping against your ass repeatedly.

“Gonna cum into this slutty pussy yeah? You’re gonna be my nasty cumslut, all mine to use.” You sob out in agreement, pussy convulsing around his cock as you cum again. Choso moans in your ear as you squeeze around him. Thick gooey ropes of cum shoot into your cunt and you feel yourself get filled right to the brim. “G-God Y/n, you’re mine, mine mine mine!”

It’s an overwhelming chant as he keeps his cock inside you, spurting hot cum. You gasp at the warm feeling as you feel him cum inside you. It’s sticky and a mess when he pulls out and you’re left lying on the bed, slumped and exhausted, pussy clenching around nothing. Choso bends down to attach his mouth onto your cunt and you squirm, hands gripping his black locks as you try to push him away as he overstimulates your clit.

“W-Wait n-no hnghh!”

Choso only coos at your cuteness, as he flattens his tongue on your folds before licking you clean. “Don’t worry angel, just making sure everything’s inside you.” It’s dirty and downright embarrassing but you whimper at the lewd sight.

You find yourself panting for more air and your lungs feel as though they’re burning. Your vision starts to blur and Choso’s calls for your name seem more and more distant as inky black dots come into your sight. Before you know it you’re out like a light.

Choso panics when he sees your unconscious body, fearing that he’s taking it too far but he sees the way you’re comfortable breathing and he makes a mental note to apologise to you in the morning. He picks your body up with ease, guiding the both of you to the bathroom as he turns on the water, making sure you’re all clean before drying you off and tucking you into bed. After a few minutes he joins you, cuddling your body close to his, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

The faint rays of sunshine is what wakes you up in the morning and you blink, trying to adjust to the light shining into the room. You feel arms around your waist and you look to see Choso holding onto you tightly. He’s still asleep but you can’t help but admire his features. His hair is tousled, falling softly over his forehead, giving him an endearing, boyish charm. His long lashes rest gently against his cheeks and you’re jealous of the beauty he holds.

You notice the small smile at his lips and it only makes you smile wider. His breathing is slow and steady, each rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm against your side. You can't help but reach out and gently brush a strand of hair away from his face. The touch is light enough not to wake him, but it allows you to see more of his peaceful expression. Your heart flutters in your chest.

Your body still feels sore but you notice you’re in a simple t-shirt that you assume is Choso’s. It warms your heart to know he looked after you after you passed out on him. Choso nuzzles closer towards you and you feel your heart swell at the sight and you find yourself liking him even more than you already did.

“You’re awake.” He mumbles and his voice is groggy. He blinks for a second and you smile at how he looks so cute, bed head and all. His eyes lock with yours and a second goes by before his whole face erupts into heat and he’s blushing, holding the duvet up to cover his face. “I-I’m so sorry Y/n, I took it too far last night and you passed out, I’m so so sorry.”

There’s silence for a minute and Choso definitely thinks you're mad at him, that is before you burst into giggles. He thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“It’s okay Choso, I really enjoyed it.” You say between giggles, raising your hand to brush through his hair and Choso leans into your touch, happy you weren’t angry with him. “But you really have two sides don’t you? What happened to the guy who fucked me dumb last night huh?”

Choso once again turns bright red and he pulls your body close to his, burying his face into your neck. “It’s all your fault, I get really nervous around you.”

His statement only makes you giggle even louder and when you lift his face you see a pout on his lips and you can’t help but think he’s so cute. You give him a small kiss watching as he melts in your grasp. The both of you cuddle for what seems like hours.

“I really do mean it Y/n, you know, that I love you.” The words catch you off guard and Choso notices your surprised expression and he tugs you closer to him. “It’s okay you don’t have to say it back so soon, I’m happy as long as you like me.”

You hear his rapid heartbeat and you smile to yourself. “In that case, I really really like you Choso Kamo.”

Choso grins, face tinted with a blush as he buries his face into your hair as he hugs you tighter. “I really really like you too Y/n L/n.”

The next day when you go in for work everything’s normal but every once in a while both you and your new boyfriend would steal subtle glances at each other before looking away, cheeks flared with heat. You had both agreed not to mention it to anyone for the time being and you assumed that your colleagues wouldn’t have noticed the change in relationship you had with Choso.

"I'll have a triple-shot caramel macchiato with extra foam, a dash of cinnamon, two pumps of vanilla, and a drizzle of honey." Satoru’s grin is mocking and you want to punch him more than usual. "Oh, and make sure it’s stirred counterclockwise."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to brush off the topic but you know your friend is way too observant for his own good. “Just get back to work Satoru.”

“Whatever you say boss.” He winks at you before sauntering off.

You glance over at Choso, who looks up just in time to catch your eye. He smiles softly, and you return the gesture, feeling your heart flutter. Forget stupid Satoru Gojo, all you needed was your adorable boyfriend to brighten your day and everything seemed ten times better.

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