#''flashy and gets the attention he wants''

[cherry-cough-syrup]

Take the Plunge Part 3

Recruiter/Gong Yoo x Reader

Part one - two

a/n: Omg, are you falling for him?? Why would you do that? I really like how this part went and it helped me figure out how I'm going to end the series. Might take a break and work on my Sang-woo fic idea?? If I made a mistake, no, I didn't.

Wc: 3.1 k

No TW's this time. You give him a blowjob. I'll have to ramp it up in the next chapter to make up for this. You are sassy as always in this chapter, never change <3

(I couldn't put the photo I wanted so you get this)

You woke up at noon, rubbing your eyes as you adjusted to the light pouring from your window. You winced when you sat up, remembering what happened last night. Your ass was incredibly sore on the side he hit and you weren't sure you'd be able to sit properly for the next few days. You lift your shirt, inspecting the bandages on your stomach. What a psychopath you muse. Breaking into your house, slicing you up, then patching it. Who does that?

You had mixed feelings about him. He was crazy, truly, but the attention he gave you, the obsession? It made you feel things you didn't want to confront. He's stalking you, putting your life in danger, hurting you. He makes you play these games because that's what he gets off on. Are you just a means to him getting satisfaction?

You stew in your unpleasant thoughts in your bed. The usual bedding of random blankets and pillowcases has been replaced by a red set. You laugh at the sight, of course, he replaced them with the same color that caused the need to do so. He could've chosen any other color, but he wanted you to remember what he did, what you let him do and liked.

After breakfast you make your way back to your room, wincing as you try to find the most comfortable way to sit at your desk before you start studying. You open up your left side drawer and find a brown card with a triangle, square, and circle printed on it. You flip it over, and a street name, date, and time are written. You know exactly who it's from, the thought of him going through your belongings makes your stomach curl. It's a few weeks from now, giving your cuts time to heal, but you're nervous to find out why he wants you healed.

_____________________________________________________________

You stand on the dimly lit street, the trees swaying, making shadows dance around you. The cold is almost suffocating as you wrap your jacket tighter around you, bouncing on your feet to try and produce some warmth. Right as the time hits 7:30 pm, a car rolls up, stopping with the back passenger door in front of you. It's nice and clean, but it isn't flashy. You've noticed that about him, he radiates expensive energy but never in a flashy sense. You can just tell by looking at him, no need to show off. The driver steps out, coming around to your side before opening the door. You peer inside, seeing your stalker relaxed against the seat, sipping a drink. Rolling your eyes, you thank the driver and slide in, keeping yourself pressed into the door and away from him. You're mad at him, the unsavory thoughts creeping back in as he looks at you. You're just a game to him.

He undoes his seatbelt, setting his drink down as he slides towards you. "I missed you, almost couldn't wait for those cuts to heal," he admits, wearing a smirk that almost resembles fondness? 'You're just seeing what you want to see' you scold yourself.

You laugh, unsure if he's even capable of feeling that emotion. "I don't know if I believe that. You seem to feel nothing unless you're causing someone fear and pain," you turn to look at him, a challenging smirk playing on his lips and you mimic it.

"Wrong, I feel a whole lot when you're coming for me," he mumbles as he invades your space, his voice low in your ear.

Your smirk falls, replaced by a blush all over your face as you drop your gaze, finding a new interest in the leather seats. He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. He's burning you alive with the way he studies your face. He's so hard to read. You can't tell if he likes you or just what you let him do. You try to act like you have no choice, but if that's true, why are you in his car right now? Letting him touch you and make the pit in your stomach flutter?

"Where are we going?" You ask, breaking from his grasp and settling your gaze on your fidgeting fingers. He smells incredible; expensive and clean with a hint of alcohol.

"I want to play another game," he says, a hand resting on your thigh as he picks his drink up.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, I figured that part out already. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I asked whe-"

He grabs your face, pinching your cheeks in his hand as he forces you to meet his eyes. There's anger in his eyes, challenging you once more. "You need to watch your mouth around me. I let it go for our first game, made you quiet for our second, and I'm running out of patience for it," he snaps, giving your face a rough squeeze before leaning against the seat and running a hand through his hair.

"Long day at work it seems," you mumble. He's in the same suit he wore when he played ddakji with the man on the bridge, so you assume he was doing the same today. It dawns on you that you have no idea what he does for work. Hell, you don't even know his name. You turn to him, debating.

"What's your name?"

He laughs, a full-on laugh right in your face. "If you win our game tonight, I'll tell you."

"What's the game?" You ask, a warmth spreading across your body from the sound. He hadn't laughed like that before, and it was the most genuine you'd ever seen him, even if it was at your expense.

"Hide and seek. I bought an abandoned building recently and haven't gotten the chance to check it out. We'll be on an even playing field so you'll have a chance, wouldn't be fun otherwise." He rubs circles over your thigh, which would be soothing if it was anyone else. His hold feels possessive, not comforting.

You spend the next 10 minutes in silence, not meeting his eyes that never leave you. They're burning you alive and you almost start ripping your fingernails off just to distract yourself. You let out a breath when the car rolls to a stop and you nearly barge out of the car before he grabs your wrist to stop you. "Ladies don't open their doors." You roll your eyes again, sure they'll get stuck if you do it anymore tonight. You've been together for 20 minutes and you're already annoyed.

You take in the building as he walks you to the front door. It's about 10 stories high but pretty narrow, which means you'll have to climb quite a few stairs to put some distance between the two of you. Maybe you could hide close to the stairs and make a run for it once he went past you? No, you hadn't paid attention on the drive here and had no idea where you were. Plus, he gets pretty upset when you don't play by the rules. He knows where you live, there's never any real hiding from him. The thought almost makes you laugh.

"I'll give you 5 minutes to hide. I get 10 minutes to find you. We play until I get bored," he says, pulling his phone out to set a timer.

"What's the punishment?" You can feel the nerves getting to you, but you push them down. You need to focus on winning.

"A surprise," he smirks, opening the door to the entrance. "Your time starts now."

You book it, damn near flying up the stairs, that same laugh from earlier haunting you as you sprint up. You make it to the fifth floor in 3 minutes, no time to be proud of your accomplishment with your lungs aching as you take in the area. It looks like it used to be an office of sorts, 10 cubicles are in the center, 3 doors on the opposite side of the stairs. You make your way over and the first one is jammed, the second leads to a disgusting single-person bathroom, and the 3rd is a storage room filled with boxes. You make your way inside, shuffling boxes around you as you hide in the corner.

It's dark, the box above your head looks like it could cave in at any moment. You've been in here for several minutes when footsteps grab your attention, causing you to hold your breath in case he can hear. He tries the first door, and the second, a sound of disgust coming from him almost makes you giggle before he swings open the door to the storage room.

Your heart is trying to beat out of your chest with such force you think you might faint. His footsteps grow closer, occasionally stopping as he checks for you. They go right past you, searching the other side of the room as your heart begins to calm down. You're gonna win this, you have to win this.

His footsteps go by you once more, and you hear him turn the knob and swing the door open, but just before he steps out the box above you collapses, a startled yelp escaping your throat as the pain begins to throb in your head. You hear a deep, unhinged laugh as you mentally curse at yourself. It's not the same amused laugh as earlier, it feels like a threat. The footsteps grow closer again, but just before they reach you, an alarm goes off. You feel like you could throw up from relief.

"I'm impressed," he says, shutting the alarm off. "You can come out now."

You shove the boxes away, crawling out of the mess. He really does look impressed with you and you have to fight the smile trying to surface. Your insides feel fuzzy. "Damn box nearly ruined my life," you say, pushing past him to leave the stuffy room.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you around to crash into his chest. Your uncaught hand reaches up, grabbing his arm to steady yourself. He leans into your ear, whispering, "My name is Gong Yoo, but I prefer you calling me sir." You want to smack the smirk right off of his face. Rip it off, really, but the knowledge of his name almost makes you blush.

"I think I prefer calling you my stalker, honestly," you say, and he tightens his grip on your wrist, using his other hand to cup your face. His eyes are narrow as he stares into you.

"I think you'll prefer it when you're coming around my cock," he says, pressing a firm kiss to your lips before walking out of the room. "You've got 5 minutes, your time begins now," he yells out.

You stand there for a moment, trying to get your brain to work so you can hide again. Shit, you didn't hear if he went up or down. You go to the third floor, it's a big meeting room, not useful. You get to the second floor, and it seems like some sort of locker room. You make your way towards the back of the room, barely squeezing yourself into locker 218. The locker is bigger than a school locker, but your shoulders are on fire from the tight fit. You pray it doesn't lock from the outside, he might not have the keys for them.

Your heart starts trying to escape again when you hear familiar footsteps walk into the room. You're hopeful he'll waste time checking the lockers or just assume you wouldn't be able to fit. Unfortunately, he makes his way straight to the last row before he starts checking. Of course he is, why wouldn't you go for a locker far away from the front?

You groan when he opens your locker. You struggle to get out, wincing when your shoulder harshly catches on the latch. He just stands there, an amused smile on his face as he watches you struggle.

"Not smart to pick the last row of lockers," he scolds and you advert your gaze on the floor, huffing.

"What's my punishment?" You ask, looking up at him.

"I'll tell you when we're done playing," he replies, turning around and walking towards the door. You want to walk over and push him down the stairs, but you doubt the driver will take you home without him. "I want to play one more round. This time, if I catch you, my cocks gonna be in your mouth," he says, closing the door and walking down toward the first floor.

"Like it wasn't going to already," you mutter, making your way out of the door. It was obvious by now that he got off on these games, and you wouldn't go separate ways until he got his fix. You manage to climb 4 flights in 4 minutes, but it doesn't give you much time to hide. It looks like an in-office daycare of sorts. There are two doors on the opposite side of you. One leads to a bathroom, the other is a small kitchen. You hide underneath the cabinets, the stench of old food making you fight not to gag. You hear a strange noise as you steady your breathing, it sounds like scratching. Trying to ignore it and muffle your gasps for air with your hand, it grows louder. You look down, eyes widening at the sigh of a rat scratching and chewing at an old box of crackers right next to your foot, and it takes every ounce of self-control in your body not to scream. Instead, you shift your foot, hoping to scare it away. The rat jolts, throwing itself against the cabinet door to open it, and scurrying away. The cabinet closes with a loud thud and you curse under your breath, burying your head in your hands. You hadn't noticed the footsteps approaching the kitchen door until they stopped and you could feel the smirk on his face as the door swung open. He calls out your name, taunting you, and something burns deep in your stomach from it. He hadn't used your name before, but you weren't surprised he knew it. You heard the cabinet's opening and didn't even try to remain quiet anymore, just sat and waited. He opened the one you were hiding in, smiling down at you before he straightened up, waiting. You just sat there, pretending like you couldn't see him.

"I found you," he states.

"Hadn't noticed," you scoff. He grabs your arm, your head knocking into the ceiling of the cabinet as he pulls you out and onto your knees. His mask slips, his face contorted in anger.

"I have just the thing for your smart mouth," he spits, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him as his other hand undoes his belt. You're faced with his hard cock in a matter of seconds, the tip leaking with pre-cum as you take in the sight. "I had a busy day and that mouth isn't making it any better. Let's change that."

You roll your eyes, taking his cock in your hand and giving it a few pumps before opening your mouth. You would've given him another snide remark, but you're exhausted from running around and just want to go home. You slowly lick his tip, pressing your tongue down as you collect the dripping pre cum. He groans as you close your mouth around him, slowly making your way down his length.

"Faster," he demands, his hand going for your hair. He doesn't pull, but his grip is firm. You pick up the pace, moving your hand away as you take more of him in. You moan when you feel him hit the back of your throat, forcing yourself to take the last inch of him and bury your face in his pelvis. He lets out a low hiss, his hips bucking into you and making you gag. He murmurs a light 'fuck' under his breath, repeating his actions.

"You sound so pretty when you gag around my cock," he says. You look up, his eyes are full of lust, his mouth in an 'o' shape as he watches you take him. His hair is falling in front of his eyes and he keeps pushing it back. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you continue.

You take him out of your mouth, giving your throat a break as you run your tongue on the underside of his shaft and swirl around the head of his cock. It sends a jolt of electricity through you as he tips his head back, a gasp escaping from his lips. You wrap your lips around him again, hallowing your cheeks and sucking as your nose meets his pelvis again, holding there for a few seconds while his hands grip your hair tightly, tugging on the strands. It hurts, but it feels so good. You moan and it causes him to shiver, animalistic groans and swears leaving him as you pull your head back so only the tip is in your mouth, then swirling your tongue around him before you take him all the way. Spit is dripping down the side of your chin as he starts fucking into your mouth. You're gagging and moaning around his cock, tears flowing down your face.

You feel him tense, his thrusts become sloppy as your name falls from his lips, filling your mouth with his seed as he rides out his high. You choke as he releases your hair and pulls out, but you manage to swallow everything. You're both panting and your head is pounding from all the hits it's taken today, so you keep your eyes on the ground as he tucks himself back into his pants.

You wipe the tears from your eyes before looking up at him. He leans down, wiping the drool and missed tears from your chin before holding a hand out. You ignore it, getting up on your own before pushing past him and making your way down the stairs. You're angry again, and you don't even know why. Because you liked it? Because you felt something in your chest when he called out your name like that?  

You make it back to the car, not waiting for the driver as you get in and slam the door shut. Gong Yoo slides in a moment later.

"Not nice to slam doors," he chastises, crowding your space. "You didn't even wait for me to tell you your punishment," he pouts, though his eyes have a certain glint to them that makes your stomach uneasy.

"I don't care. Do whatever you want," you groan, leaning your head against the seat and shutting your eyes.

He smiles, tapping the window that separates you from the driver. "Very well," he says, grabbing a briefcase you hadn't noticed lying on the floor. The last thing you remember is that familiar sharp pain in the side of your arm.

a/n: give me feedbackkkk

[ll7esxs]

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Relationship Alphabet series with Cod ghosts!

Keegan Russ

✧ Pairing: Romantic. ✧ Genre: Fluff.

✧ Warnings: Light NSFW, and mention of NSFW content MDNI.

A – Affection

Keegan isn’t one for public displays of affection, but in private, he’s a different man. His affection is quiet but meaningful, shown through small gestures like brushing his fingers against yours when no one’s looking or a firm hand on your lower back when walking together, Love it when you sit on his lap, doing nothing but resting his head on ur back after a long day.

He expresses love through acts of service—bringing you coffee/drink/tea just the way you like it, pulling you closer under the covers at night, or standing protectively between you and a potential threat.

Light NSFW: In intimacy, Keegan’s affection is intense but controlled. His kisses are slow and deep, his hands firm yet careful as they explore your body. He won’t say much, but the way he moves, the way he holds you, makes it undeniably clear how much he cares.

"You feel so good." His voice is husky, lips trailing over your Skin, taking his time with every touch.

B – Boundaries

Keegan is big on boundaries, both his own and yours. He values personal space and isn’t the type to be overly clingy. If you need time alone, he gets it. If he needs a moment to clear his head, he expects the same in return.

He’s also protective of you but never possessive. He trusts you completely and won’t ever try to control you. However, if he senses something or someone is dangerous, expect him to step in with a silent but deadly presence.

Light NSFW: In the bedroom, Keegan respects boundaries immensely. He’s a careful, attentive lover, always making sure you’re comfortable. He won’t push you into anything you’re unsure of and expects the same respect in return.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart and I’ll give it to you."

C – Communication

Keegan isn’t a man of many words, but when he does speak, he means every word. He’s a good listener and pays attention to the little details. He may not always say “I love you”, but he shows it in ways that speak louder than words.

If something’s bothering him, he won’t shut you out completely, but he’ll take time to process before opening up. He prefers to talk when things calm down, rather than in the heat of the moment.

"I’m not ignoring you. Just... give me a minute."

Light NSFW: Keegan is into talking dirty—he prefers low whispers against your ear, deep breaths, and the occasional groan that tells you everything you need to know. But if you push him, he’ll break, and when he does, his words come out rough and raw, he just has no idea what you are doing to him.

D – Devotion

If Keegan loves you, it’s for life. His devotion isn’t flashy—it’s steady, unwavering, and unshakable. He won’t fall in love easily, but once he does, he’s all in. No hesitation.

He’ll always have your back, no matter what. If you’re in trouble, he’ll drop everything to be there. And if someone hurts you? They’ll have to deal with Keegan Russ in full Ghost mode, and trust me—that’s not a good thing.

Light NSFW: In intimacy, his devotion translates into attention to detail. He’s focused on you—your sounds, your breathing, every movement. He takes his time, making sure every touch, every moment, is memorable.

E – Empathy

Keegan might seem cold and distant, but he’s surprisingly intuitive when it comes to your emotions. He notices the small things—the way your breathing changes, the tension in your shoulders, the subtle way your voice wavers.

He doesn’t push you to talk, but he lets you know he’s there. If you need comfort, he’ll silently pull you into a hug or sit beside you in quiet understanding.

"I don’t know what to say love... but I’m here. That’s not changing."

Light NSFW: Keegan’s empathy extends to intimacy as well. He’s a patient, observant lover, ensuring that he’s not just taking, but giving just as much. He’s aware of what you need and won’t stop until he knows you’re completely satisfied.

"Relax. Let me get it done."

F – Forgiveness

Keegan doesn’t hold grudges, he’s so quick to forgive either, It's like yall get into argument then him out of nowhere after hours come back and talk to you like nothing happened. he just doesn't care about these small issues, he lets them slide easily. But if you break his trust? That’s another story.

It takes time for him to fully forgive, but if he sees genuine effort, he will try. However, if someone betrays him beyond repair, they’re dead to him—simple as that.

"I won’t pretend it didn’t happen, kid."

Light NSFW: In intimacy, if there’s ever a misunderstanding or tension, Keegan prefers to work through it slowly he is a controlled man. He’s not one to jump right into bed after an argument—he needs to feel connected again before anything physical happens, but he couldn't help it with the way his body rise up with heated feelings.

G – Growth

Keegan doesn’t just stay the same—he evolves, and he expects the same from his partner. He’s not afraid of change, but he values stability.

At the beginning of the relationship, he’s reserved and keeps his emotions close to his chest, but over time, he starts letting you in, showing you parts of himself no one else gets to see.

If you're struggling with something, he won’t fix it for you, but he’ll push you to be stronger. He doesn’t coddle—he believes in you too much for that, he believes he should get a strong partner in his life.

Light NSFW: In intimacy, Keegan learns your body over time. Every experience with him is better than the last because he takes note of what makes you shiver, gasp, melt—and he uses it against you.

"You like that, don’t you? Thought so."

H – Honesty

Keegan is brutally honest— yeah with everyone around sometimes too much. but with his beloved partner, If you ask him for his opinion, be ready for the truth, because he won’t sugarcoat it.

He doesn’t believe in mind games or passive aggression. If something’s wrong, he’ll say it outright. If you mess up, he’ll call you out but teasing for to get a madness from you, and he expects you to do the same for him, and honestly he is all for someone honest with him.

Light NSFW: Keegan is into the-top dirty talk, and when he does speak, it’s low, direct, and intense—his honesty carries into the bedroom, and when if you ever do the same with him, He is all down bad for it, he already lost and forgot what he wanted to do with you.

"Damn love, who taught you how to talk like that?" Yes he needs to know the secret.

I – Intimacy

Keegan’s version of intimacy isn’t just physical—it’s trust, understanding, and the feeling of home.

Physical intimacy with him is slow and intense—he’s the type to take his time, memorize every part of you, and make sure you feel everything. But emotional intimacy? That’s something he guards fiercely.

"You’re the only one I let this close. Don’t think I don’t know how much that means."

He’ll let you in bit by bit, sharing the past he rarely speaks about, the fears he never voices. And when he finally does? That’s when you know he’s all in.

Light NSFW: Keegan is all about connection—he wants to feel you, not just physically, but emotionally. He’s focused, intense, and unrelenting when it comes to pleasure.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart."

J – Joy

Keegan’s sense of joy is subtle but real. He’s not loud or dramatic about it, but when he’s happy, you can see it in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth twitch when you tease him, the rare smirk he gives when he’s feeling particularly amused.

He enjoys simple things—a night drive with you [be safe✌🏻], the sound of rain on the roof, the peace that comes with just existing together.

He’s got a dry, deadpan sense of humor, so if you can match that? You’ll have him hooked.

"You really think that’s funny?" He says with a completely straight face... before finally breaking into a small chuckle.

Light NSFW: Keegan might not laugh during intimacy, but he loves seeing you flustered. If teasing you makes you squirm? He’ll absolutely do it.

"Look at you. So desperate already?"

K – Kindness

Keegan isn’t soft, but he’s good. His kindness is quiet, strong, and unwavering.

He won’t baby you, but he’ll always have your back. If you're having a bad day, he won’t say much—instead, he'll bring you coffee/tea/drink, sit next to you in silence, or press a warm, reassuring kiss to your temple.

He’s gentle in his own way—steady hands on your waist, the way he pulls you close in his sleep, the way he waits for you when you need time to process your emotions.

Light NSFW: Keegan is gentle yet firm in intimacy—his kindness shows in the way he takes his time, making sure you feel safe and wanted.

"I’ve got you. Just let go."

L – Love

Keegan doesn’t fall easily, but when he does, it’s permanent. His love is deep, unwavering, and incredibly strong—a pillar you can always lean on.

He won’t be overly romantic, but you’ll feel it in every touch, every glance, every quiet act of devotion. He’s the type to stay up watching you sleep after a nightmare, to hold your hand out of nowhere and give it a kiss, to kiss you slow and deep like it’s the last time, every time.

"Christ, got any idea how much you mean to me?"

And when he finally says “I love you”? You know it’s real, because he doesn’t throw those words around lightly.

Light NSFW: When Keegan loves, he makes sure you know it—with his hands, his lips, his body, his everything.

M – Memories

Keegan holds onto memories tightly, even if he doesn’t talk about them much. His mind is like a vault, storing every little moment with you—whether it’s the way you laugh, how you take yourself always, or the exact tone of your voice when you tease him.

He isn’t the type to take constant pictures, but he keeps small mementos—your handwriting on a sticky note, a pressed flower from a trip you took together, even a stupid inside joke scrawled on a bar napkin.

If you ever doubt if he cherishes your time together, just know: he does. He always does.

N – Nurturing

Keegan isn’t openly coddling, but his way of nurturing comes through in protective instincts and subtle care. If you’re sick, he won’t smother you, but you’ll suddenly find water, medicine, and a warm blanket within reach. If you’re exhausted, he’ll just tug you into his arms and let you rest against him without saying a word.

"Go to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up."

And if you ever break down, he won’t ask questions. He’ll just pull you close, hand steady on your back, heartbeat solid against your ear.

"I got you."

O – Openness

Keegan isn’t naturally open, and that’s the hardest part of being with him. At first, he bottles everything up—he thinks his burdens are his alone to carry.

But over time, he learns that being open with you doesn’t make him "weak". It’s not easy for him, but if you patiently wait, you’ll see him start to unravel in small ways—a hand gripping yours a little tighter, a quiet admission at 2 AM when the world is still.

When he finally trusts you enough to let you in, that’s when you know he’s truly yours.

P – Patience

Keegan is stoic, disciplined, and controlled, but when it comes to you? His patience is infinite.

Whether it’s helping you through something difficult, waiting for you to open up, or calming you down after a bad day, he never rushes you.

"Take your time. I’m not going anywhere."

And if you’re stubborn or having an off day, he doesn’t push. He just stays close, offering his silent presence until you’re ready.

Light NSFW: His patience extends to the bedroom, too. He’s the type to drag things out, savoring every reaction, making sure you feel everything.

"I can do this all night."

Q – Quality Time

Keegan doesn’t care for fancy dates or extravagant plans— Yeah he will go with you for whenever you want but his idea of quality time is just being with you.

He loves the quiet moments—long drives at night, sitting on the rooftop watching the city lights, lying in bed with you, tracing circles on your back just going deep in his thoughts breathing in and out.

"You don’t have to do anything special. Just be here."

His love language is undistracted presence—when he’s with you, he’s fully with you. No phone, no distractions, just you and him, existing in the same space.

R – Respect

Keegan doesn’t take respect lightly. He won’t tolerate being disrespected, and he sure as hell won’t do it to you.

He values your opinions, your choices, your independence. He’ll challenge you, push you to be better, but he’ll never undermine you.

"You’re strong. I knew that the first time I saw you."

If someone crosses the line with you? Keegan won’t lose his temper, but the danger in his eyes will say enough, He is already there throwing hands perhaps.

S – Support

Keegan isn’t the cheerleader type, but his support is unshakable.

If you have a goal? He’ll push you towards it. If you’re struggling? He’ll stand by your side. If you doubt yourself? He won’t even let you start to do it.

"Hey You’re more though than you think. I see it, even if you don’t."

His support isn’t loud—it’s steady. A reassuring touch on your back, a quiet “I believe in you,” a subtle nod when you need it most.

T – Trust

For Keegan, trust is earned, not given. It takes time, but once you have it, he’s all in.

He trusts you with his life, his emotions, his everything. But if you break that trust? It’s almost impossible to rebuild.

"If I trust you, it’s because you’ve won it. Don’t take that softly."

But when he loves you, he trusts you completely—his heart, his body, his soul. He lets himself be vulnerable in ways no one else sees.

Light NSFW: In intimacy, trust is everything to him. He wants to know that you trust him just as much as he trusts you, He trusts you enough that you saw beneath his clothes and the moments you share. together.

"Let go. I’ve got you."

U – Understanding

Keegan is a man of few words, but he understands you better than you might realize. He’s good at reading people, catching onto small details others overlook.

If you’re having a bad day, he won’t ask a million questions—he’ll just hand your favorite snacks, pull you into his arms, and let you breathe.

"You Gonna tell me what happened, love?."

He knows that sometimes, you need space. Other times, you need him to just be there. He never pressures you to talk but will always be ready to listen.

V – Vulnerability

This is the hardest thing for Keegan. He’s spent years keeping his emotions in check, believing that showing weakness could cost lives.

At first, he’s walled off, refusing to let you see the weight he carries. But as time goes on, you’ll see cracks in his armor—soft confessions at night, small glimpses of the man behind the soldier.

The first time he opens up to you, it’s raw and real—not dramatic, not forced, just genuine honesty. And after that? He’ll trust you with parts of himself he never shows anyone else.

W – Warmth

Keegan isn’t sunshine and rainbows, but his love is steady and strong. His warmth comes in silent gestures—a calloused hand brushing your cheek, an arm around your waist as you sleep, the way he always makes sure you’re safe.

"You cold? C’mere."

He isn’t cuddly in public, but behind closed doors, he’ll pull you into his lap, press a slow kiss to your temple, and let you melt into him.

Light NSFW:

He runs warm, and you’ll always notice it at night—his body heat wrapping around you, his breath against your ear as he holds you close.

"You feel good against me, sweetheart."

X – XO (Hugs & Kisses)

Keegan isn’t overly affectionate, but when he wants to touch you, he makes it count.

His hugs are rare but meaningful—a strong arm around your waist, a firm grip on your shoulder, a brief but lingering squeeze before he lets go.

"Goddamit, you mean everything to me."

His kisses are intense—slow, deep, and makeout sessions full of big passion. and for teasing? He’s the type to tilt your chin up, letting his lips brush over yours until you’re practically begging him to kiss you.

"You want more? Say it."'

Y – Yearning

Keegan isn’t the type to voice his longing outright, but you can see it in his eyes, in the way he watches you, in the tension in his shoulders when you’re apart.

If he is gone for a mission, he won’t spam your phone with messages—he’ll just send one text:

"Stay safe. will Come back to you."

When he misses you, you’ll feel it in the way he holds you after you return—his grip a little tighter, his voice softer, the way he just rests his forehead against yours in silence.

Light NSFW: When he’s been away too long? Expect his hands to be greedy, his lips demanding on yours, his voice low and rough in your ear.

"You have no idea how much I fucking missed you."

Z – Zeal

Keegan might seem quiet, but when he loves someone, he loves them with everything he has, And he is questioning himself how this happened or passed him.

He’s devoted, intense, and unwavering—his passion doesn’t burn bright and fleeting, it smolders like an ember, lasting forever.

"You were never a choice to me...I don't get on loveing that easy"

His zeal for you isn’t just in words, but in actions—how he watches your back, how he protects you, how he chooses you over and over again.

Light NSFW: When he’s focused on you, he’s all in. His passion isn’t rushed—it’s deliberate, consuming, leaving you breathless under his touch.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

[felidaefighter]

For the dreblr ask game, 14, 20, 24, 27?

Ahhh oh my gosh sorry for the late reply! I've been busy packing! Thank you so much for the ask though !!! :DD

14. What’s your favourite c!Dream line of dialogue?

"WHITE FLAGS, OUTSIDE your base, by TOMORROW, at DAWN." SUCH A CLASSIC! SUCH A BANGER! It never gets old! Then again I've been here for a very long time so I'm biased towards the oldies!

20. What are some of your favourite pieces of c!Dream analysis?

Aw man, I wish I had specific examples for you, but it's late and I have Too Many Reblogged Posts on it jfldsnvldsghlsgh... probably callmeapple, and simplepotatofarmer, and theminecraftbox's stuff tbh! If I have any specifics crop up in my brain later, I'll make another post for it!!! 👀

24. When/how did you become a c!Dream apologist?

Honestly I think I sort of fell into it. I was always into it for that aspect of "story from everyone's perspective", and tried to keep my mind focused on that aspect as well. Maybe it's my Homestuck fandom background, but I've never seen characters that fell into actions like those as villains. And I suppose I always think people deserve a second chance! Or to learn from their mistakes and get better! I was never able to pick who I wanted to "win" in a fight unless it was their POV. Whoops!

I guess realistically though, the more unhinged c!Dream appeared to be, the more I theorized and conspiracied etc. It's fun!

27. What do you think is c!Dream’s greatest strength?

His silver tongue!

Seriously though, think about it-- how often is he able to spin things exactly how he wants them to appear? His melodic voice and careful words kept his Plan(TM) going, and his threats were taken literally and to the letter.

Either that, or His Reputation! He relies on it often enough to carry him through. He's easily able to focus all attention on himself when he wants.

This is also, naturally, his greatest weakness. He was able to hide his true motives and feelings from even his closest friends, and attracted a little too much attention in regards to Things That Want To Hunt Him.

Thank you so so so much for giving me a chance to ramble about Dream!!! :DD

[kianamaiart]

"Pretty Pretty Please I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl" Bios!

NAME: Aika (she/her) AGE: 15 Main Protagonist CV: Anairis Quiñones

BIO:

Aika is an easily excitable and energetic girl. She's generally optimistic and very friendly. She's always eager to try new things as long as it's not her fulltime job of being a magical girl.

As soon as her magical girl duties are brought into the picture, her demeanor changes. She checks out, and often looks for the quickest solution to solve the issue. No flashy transformations and special moves here. She's good with a metal baseball bat or a rocket launcher.

All Aika wants is to live a normal life, make friends and go to school. Unfortunately, like every main protagonist, trouble manages to follow her wherever she goes.

___________________________________

NAME: Zira (she/they) AGE: 16 Love Interest Best Friend CV: Bennett Abara

BIO:

Zira is everything Aika wants to be. Painfully average, under the radar and a self proclaimed loser.

She's a smart girl but has a hard time applying herself. Instead of paying attention in school, and doing extracurriculars, Zira would much rather be reading her favorite magical girl manga "Moon Sailor".

After Aika forces her friendship upon them, Zira now has to tag along on all of Aika's escapades and experiences new things. Ew. However, they admire Aika deeply and admire her even more after Aika's magical secret comes to light.

___________________________________

NAME: Hoshi (any/they/them) AGE: unknown Magical Sidekick CV: Christine Marie Cabanos

BIO:

Hoshi is a magical star being sent to Earth to find the chosen one. They made a great choice with Aika, as she's amazing at her job. The only issue is she hates it and is often trying to dodge responsibilities (and Hoshi).

When Aika first started, and still had her heart in it, Hoshi was definitely more neurotic and acted as your typical mentor/magical sidekick. But over time, they gave up on trying to tell Aika what to do and also became a little more apathetic. Aika was getting the job done at least, so what's the problem?

Hoshi still has to make sure Aika doesn't completely give up on being the Star Guardian: Guardian of the Stars, which Aika finds annoying.

___________________________________

NAME: Eclipse (he/him) AGE: 15 Minor Antagonist CV: Aleks Le

BIO:Eclipse is a flamboyant and theatrical individual whose showmanship is out of this world. He refers to himself as

"Eclipse: Servant of Darkness".

He was a D-list antagonist that Aika and her team would fight on occasion. Mostly just saving citizens from him being a nuisance. Eclipse has deluded himself into thinking that he's Aika's rival, main antagonist and love interest. Their love is simply forbidden as he's chosen the path of darkness and her, the light.

After Aika ran away, he managed to find her again. However this time he actually has powers??? Where did those come from? It's as if he's made a deal with darkness itself.

___________________________________

NAME: Lady DeVoid (she/her) AGE: Old Main Antagonist/Big Bad CV: Shara Kirby

BIO: Lady DeVoid is darkness itself. She's a mysterious being with an incomprehensible amount of power. Power that is currently weakened and that she actually has no idea how to use. She can't seem to remember for some reason...

All she knows is that a long time ago she was defeated and banished by a Star Guardian and that she now wants revenge. The only power she has at her disposal is creating particles of darkness that she can use to possess animate or inanimate objects to create monsters. She prefers others do her dirty work.

She enlists the help of Eclipse to spread these particles with the hopes that it'll eventually destroy the Star Guardian.

___________________________________

NAME: Miss (she/her) AGE: 39 Side Character CV: Michele Knotz

BIO:

Miss is Aika and Zira's very tired teacher. Looking at her, you might assume she hates her job, but it's quite the opposite. She pours everything into her work and into her students, leaving very little time for her personal life.

She's recently started trying to get it together (after her ex-wife left her) but is still struggling to find that work-life balance.

Prior to Aika enrolling, Miss was Zira's only friend at school and, though she'd never admit it, Zira's probably the closest thing she has to a friend also (oof). She's subsequently become a secret Moon Sailor fan too.

[kashverse]

Can we get some lore on Toji and mamaguro?

megumi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilts his head and asks the question of the century.

“how did you and papa meet?”

you pause. toji’s eyes immediately gleam with something absolutely devious. and you know—before he even opens his mouth—that he’s about to ruin it. “ahhh, great question, kid,” toji sighs, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to tell the most important story of all time. “see, once upon a time, i was young. reckless. sexy. a lone wolf prowlin’ the streets—”

your head snaps toward him. “what.”

“—and then,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “i met this woman.” he jerks his chin toward you. “absolutely feral. scary as hell. deadly, too. had this whole mysterious cat burglar thing goin’ on.” megumi’s eyes widen. 

“like catwoman?”

“exactly!” toji claps his hands. “but hotter.”

you squint. “i took one look at her,” toji sighs dramatically, clutching his chest like a man struck by fate. “and bam!” he slaps the floor for emphasis, making megumi jump. “love at first sight.”

“…you were on the floor at first sight,” you correct. “because i threw you there.” toji grins. “same thing.”

megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “why’d you throw him?”

toji hums, tapping his chin like he’s recalling some grand tale. “well, kid, your mama wasn’t always the sweet, loving lady she is now. back in the day, she was a real menace. sharp, deadly, no-nonsense.” you roll your eyes. “and you were an idiot.”

“a charming idiot,” toji corrects, leaning back with a smirk. “but hey, you wanna hear the real story?” he gestures for megumi to sit closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “lemme tell you how it really happened…”

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

toji should’ve known better than to touch you. but in his defense, he had really just wanted your attention. it wasn’t every day you saw someone move like that—fast, sharp, deadly, with the kind of ease that made seasoned killers look sloppy. you had just wiped the floor with half a dozen guys and hadn’t even broken a sweat. so, naturally, toji thought it would be real cute to tap your shoulder. 

“yo, sweetheart, what’s your—”

before he could finish, his back slammed against the pavement, skull bouncing off the concrete. you stood over him, eyes sharp, unimpressed, like you were deciding whether or not to finish the job. “touch me again and i’ll break your arm,” you said. toji, lying there with a grin stretching across his face, thought, damn.

toji was relentless. “shiuuuu,” he whined, draping himself over the back of shiu’s chair like a dead weight. “c’mon, man, just once. put me on a job with her. please.” shiu didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “for the last time, no.”

“why not?” toji huffed. “we’d be great together.” shiu sighed. “no, you’d be a menace. i don’t have time to deal with you getting distracted and showing off for your crush mid-mission.” toji crossed his arms. “what? i would not.”

shiu finally glanced at him. toji looked away. shiu raised an eyebrow. toji grumbled, “okay, maybe a little.”

shiu shook his head. “go away.” but did that stop toji? absolutely not.

the man campaigned like his life depended on it. followed you around whenever he saw you, made a damn fool of himself trying to impress you—sparring without a shirt (useless, you didn’t even blink), dramatically taking down targets in the most unnecessarily flashy ways, dropping the occasional sweetheart or princess just to see if he could get a rise out of you. nothing. you remained cool, detached, frustratingly uninterested. 

until one day, when you finally looked at him and said, “if i agree to work with you, will you shut up?” toji lit up like a kid on christmas. “yes.”

“fine.”

“wait, really?”

you shrugged. “shiu thinks you’re useful enough to keep around, so i’ll give it a shot. but if you slow me down, i’m leaving you behind.” toji grinned. “babe, you’re gonna love working with me.”

(you did not love working with him. at first.)

the first mission together was a disaster. not because it went wrong—oh no, everything was executed perfectly. but because toji spent the entire time trying to get you to laugh. he was muttering jokes over the comms, making faces when no one was looking, even tossing out ridiculous one-liners mid-fight just to see if he could crack your composure. nothing. you were focused, professional, as if you didn’t even register his antics. 

until the job was done, and he caught you, just for a split second, hiding the smallest smirk. toji nearly died on the spot. "i knew you had a sense of humor," he said, triumphant. you rolled your eyes. “if you mess around too much, you'll get yourself killed.” toji grinned. "nah. gotta stick around. haven’t won you over yet.”

(he did. eventually.)

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

megumi listened like it’s a live-action soap opera. “and guess what?” toji smirks, elbowing your side. “it worked.”

“against my better judgment,” you mutter, crossing your arms. megumi tilts his head. “but you like him now.”

toji grins, looking smug. “yeah, mama. you like me.”

you stare at him. then, with a perfectly measured swing, you whack the back of his head so fast that he blinks in shock. then, suddenly, something in his face changes. the slow grin. the slight daze in his eyes. “damn,” he breathes. “that’s exactly why i fell for you in the first place.”

megumi makes a disgusted face. but toji, still caught in whatever lovestruck spiral he’s in, just stretches and leans back against the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “it’s true, y’know,” he hums, reminiscing. “with other people, i was a cold bastard. with your mama? blubbering puppy.”

megumi looks at you for confirmation. you sigh. “unfortunately, yes.”

megumi squints. “prove it.”

toji’s grin widens.

somewhere, in an alternate flashback—

“alright, asshole, you got three seconds to start beggin’ before i blow your damn face off,” toji growls, pointing his gun at some poor soul tied to a chair. the guy trembles. “p-please, i—”

“not you, dumbass, him,” toji grunts, jerking his thumb toward his colleague—shiu, who is standing off to the side, looking like he has an unfortunate headache. “toji,” shiu sighs. “just finish the job.”

“nah, nah, lemme enjoy this.” toji cracks his neck. “c’mon, big guy, scream f'me.”

footsteps. and before the victim can even register what’s happening, toji suddenly changes. in half a second, he goes from “demonic assassin ready to pull the trigger” to—

“BABE!!”

his voice shoots up an octave. the victim stares. and then he watches—in real time—as the fearsome assassin fushiguro toji throws his loaded gun on the table and immediately goes soft. “babe,” toji beams, turning toward the door. “didja eat yet? you sleep okay? what’s up? what’s goin’ on?”

the victim blinks. you walk into the room like nothing is out of the ordinary, sipping a bottle of water, giving the scene a quick glance before meeting toji’s gaze.

“you forgot your lunch.”

you hold up a neatly wrapped bento box. toji gasps. "awww, babe, you love me.”

the victim gapes as toji practically skips over to you, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a goddamn interrogation. the target, still bound to his chair, is on the verge of tears. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—”

back to the present—

megumi, jaw slightly dropped, slowly turns to his father.

“…you are pathetic.”

toji grins. “nah. i’m in love.” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “you were in love. now you’re just embarrassing.”

megumi nods in agreement. toji scoffs. “y’know, if this is the kinda disrespect i get in my own house—”

“—you can leave,” you and megumi say in unison. toji groans, flopping dramatically onto the floor. but secretly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 9:33

Bakugou never believed he had room for love in his life. His world was defined by ambitions and goals he set upon himself—becoming Number One, proving what he can or cannot do, and making every moment count in the endless pursuit of the things that he thought would satisfy him for as long as he lived.

He knows what love is. He’d seen it in glimpses—his parents everlasting love, his friends falling over themselves for their crushes at UA back in high school—he knows.

But love wasn’t a luxury he thought he could afford, and even if it was, it wasn’t something he thought about often. Too caught up in the relentless wave of life.

At least, not until you.

He first met you on the job.

At that time, you were nothing more than his partner for this particular high-stakes mission. He initially rolled his eyes at the thought of working with someone new, but you managed to worm your way into catching his attention (and soon into his heart).

You weren’t too loud, flashy, or all bark and no bite like some of the heroes he worked with. You were sharp and methodical, always thinking two steps ahead, and your patience in the face of chaos was something he both admired and envied.

But admiration wasn’t love, not yet.

You were supposed to be just another hero to him—a capable one, sure, but nothing more than a colleague. Bakugou would never admit it aloud, but the way you carried yourself earned his respect quickly.

You weren’t one to back down, even when he demanded easy-fix solutions from you when it was nearly impossible given the situation. You’d meet his intensity halfway, standing your ground when you knew he was wrong—Bakugou thinks that the moment he met you, he’s never once been right.

It annoyed the hell out of him, of course, but it also earned his begrudging approval. It’s like meeting someone that could keep up with him.

He’s still getting used to that.

Still, it wasn’t love. Or maybe he was just in denial.

It started subtly, sneaking up on him like an enemy he couldn’t see coming—which is almost never because Bakugou’s been preparing for his whole life for as long as he could remember. So you were like a force that swept him off his feet, quite literally, when he remembers your first meeting, how you casually tripped him over all because he didn’t acknowledge your presence in the room.

Yeah, that one’s on him.

He began noticing things about you—little things he’d never paid attention to in anyone else. Like the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you were passionate about—like those little figurines you said were Hironos, or the way your voice softened when she comforted a frightened child.

He noticed how you always managed to keep your composure, even when the odds were stacked against you. You had this way of making everything seem manageable... no matter how dire the situation.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like the time you made coffee for the whole team during an overnight stakeout, remembering exactly how he liked his: strong, no sugar, just a splash of cream. You handed it to him with a knowing look, and for some reason, that simple act stuck with him longer than he expected.

“Coffee?” you offered.

Bakugou looked at you as if he were like a deer in headlights. “Yeah, thanks.”

He’s not a complete asshole, so he says thank you.

Or the time you were patrolling together, and he caught you humming under your breath. That pop song that’s trendier to the younger generation these days. It was such a soft, absent-minded thing, but it pulled at something in his chest. He didn’t even recognize the tune, but he found himself wanting to hear more.

It starts small. Then it comes all at once.

“You good?” he asks after finishing the given task.

You blinked up at him, nodding with a tired yet triumphant smile. “Peachy.”

That was when it hit him. The relief that washed over him wasn’t just because the mission was a success. It was because you were okay. And the thought of a world without you, even for a second, was unbearable.

Bakugou was screwed.

He started looking for excuses to spend more time with you. Walking you home after shifts, claiming he was “going the same route” even when his neighborhood was in the complete opposite way. Bringing you snacks during long patrols, muttering something about how he happened to have an extra. Offering to spar with you during training sessions, even though he hated sparring with people who weren’t on his level.

He hated how transparent he was being, how obvious his feelings were becoming. But for once in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The night Bakugou confessed, it wasn’t some big, dramatic moment. They were sitting on a rooftop after a long day, the city sprawled out below them, its lights twinkling like stars.

“You free tomorrow?” he asks abruptly, the words gruff and unpolished, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

You turned to him, your brows furrowed slightly. “Depends.”

“I— you...” he muttered, staring straight ahead. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know what it is about you, but… you’re different. You don’t take my shit, but you don’t try to change me, either. You’re just… you.” He finally looked at you, his crimson eyes filled with a rare vulnerability.

“And I don’t wanna imagine this—any of this—without you in it.”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression softening as the weight of his words sank in. Then you smiled, your hand resting on your cheek fondly.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Katsuki?”

If he weren’t uncharacteristically nervous right now, he would have made a wittier comeback. Bakugou’s chest felt impossibly tight, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something warm and steady, something he never knew he needed until now.

“Yeah, so? Whaddya say?”

“I’d absolutely love to go on a date with you.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[theonottsbxtch]

EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

happy birthday, baby (part one: birthday girl)

(boyfriend!rafe x girlfriend!reader two-shot)

summary it's your first birthday as rafe's girlfriend, and he's desperate to show you just how special you are to him...

content fluff! smut! 18+ minors do not interact!

(part two)

-----------------ꪆৎ‎---------------------

“It’s too much, Rafe!”

The pile of presents in front of you is outrageous. Bows and bags and big, meticulously wrapped packages.

“Never too much for my girl,” he stands back, beaming as he watches you take in the display with your mouth agape.

“I don’t even know which one to open first,” you muse.

“Any of ‘em. Just not,” he steps forward and plucks one bag from the pile, “this one. This one’s for last.”

You eye him suspiciously as he sets the bag on the kitchen counter, out of reach. 

“What surprises do you have planned, Cameron?”

“If I told you,” he smiles, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your torso, “then they wouldn’t be surprises. Now pick a present or we’re gonna be here all day.”

“Excuse me, I will not be rushed on my birthday,” you say defiantly.

“Not rushing you,” he drops a kiss on your shoulder, “just got a lot of shit planned for ya, I don’t want to waste any time,” he clarifies.

“There’s more?” You turn in his grasp, eyes wide.

He’d already woken you up with breakfast in bed, and an adorably off-key, groggy voiced rendition of ‘Happy Birthday.’ His bedroom was full of flowers and balloons, including two big pink ones displaying your new age. After you ate the fluffiest pancakes you’d ever had in your life, he slipped a heavy diamond necklace around your neck, kissing your shoulders as he clasped it. Giving him a million thank you kisses, you told him you loved your present, and he chuckled, leading you to the kitchen to the mountain of additional presents you’re now ogling.

“So much more. I’ve got a whole day planned for you, so let’s get to it,” he said with a quick tap on your ass, making you giggle.

“Okay, okay! I want…that one,” you point to the largest package in the back of the pile, “‘cause it’s big.”

“Huh, where have I heard that before?” He pretends to think, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

You roll your eyes, shoving him back by his shoulder and scoffing, “you’re on another one today, I swear.”

“Just excited to celebrate you,” he grins, placing a quick kiss on your cheek before pulling the biggest present out of the pile.

You sit in one of his dining chairs, opening present after present, each one delighting you more than the last. Flashy and expensive; a new bag, two pairs of shoes that have been on your wishlist forever, jewelry until you’re dripping in diamonds and precious gems. Sweet and sentimental; a printed album of all your instagram posts since the two of you got together almost a year ago, a gold ring engraved with a handwritten message, a crystal picture frame with a shot of the two of you on his boat at sunset. 

You wonder if it’s possible for your heart to actually burst from affection.

When only one present remains, you eye the counter quizzically, waiting for him to bring you the little bag he had set aside. Rafe just makes himself busy picking up the discarded ribbons and wrapping paper, a little blush on his face as he focuses on the chore.

“Rafe…” you try to get his attention.

“Yeah?” He leans down to pick up a bow that had fallen under the table, when he stands, you step in front of him, grabbing the trash from his hands and setting it to the side. 

“I want my last present please,” you smile, hands cupped in front of you expectantly.

He scratches the top of his buzzed head, taking a deep breath, “why don’t we wait? I booked you a spa appointment so you should probably get ready…”

“Rafe,” you cross your arms over your chest, “why are you being all squirmy?”

“I don’t know, I just don’t know if you’ll like it, I don’t want you to think…anything.”

You had no idea what he meant by ‘think anything,’ but this whole you not liking something he took the time to pick out for you business was just nonsense. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you stood up on your tiptoes to place a soft, steady kiss on his lips. 

“Well I do know. I’m gonna love it, because you got it for me, and I love you,” you ease his worry.

You had told each other you loved each other for the first time a little over a month ago, but it still feels like fireworks everytime one of you says it. Nothing in life is sweeter than the sound of his quick, reassuring “love ya” before hanging up the phone, or his whispered, emotional “I love you so much,” when he’s buried inside you late at night.

“I love you too,” he grins.

“Good,” you place one more kiss on his lips, “then I would like my last present now, please.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smirks, walking you toward the kitchen, kissing you all the way as he backs you up step by step.

By the time you reach the kitchen island, you’ve almost forgotten about the striped gift bag waiting for you there, distracted by his lips and the cute little smooches they’re making against your mouth with each step.

He reaches back for the bag without pulling away, holding it behind his back as he ducks down for one last peck before swinging it forward and presenting it to you.

“We can take it back if you don’t li-” you silence him with a finger to his lips.

“Shhh, it’s my last present of the day, let me enjoy this,” you request.

He nods solemnly, waiting until you were looking away, too distracted by the tissue paper in the bag to see the smirk growing on his lips as he thought about his actual last present for you. A rush of nerves shoot through him as he pictures the little black velvet pouch sitting in his nightstand drawer. 

Obeying your request, he bites his tongue as you pull out the rest of the tissue paper. When you finally see what’s sitting in the bag, a slow, delighted smile spreads across your face. You don’t pull the gift out, just bite your lip as you blink up at him through your lashes. His cheeks are adorably pink. 

He’s never bought you lingerie before. He’s seen you in plenty of it, though. Hell, he cleared a whole drawer for you like a month after you started dating, telling you to take as much space as you needed as long as he was the only one who got to see you in it. But the thought of him actually going into the store and asking the sales lady for exactly what he wanted to see you in, surely pulling out his black card and telling her the price tag was not an issue, made your belly tighten with lust.

“Ah I see,” you smirk, “it’s a present for me and for you.”

He nods with a lick of his lips, “you gonna try it on for me?”

You lead him to the chair you were sitting in to open presents, guiding him to sit and placing one more kiss on his cheek before excitedly padding to the bedroom to get changed. He watches you go with his tongue pressed into his cheek, readying himself, wondering how the fuck someone like him got lucky enough to be with someone like you.

Rafe had picked out the cutest little set for you. Matching floral bra and panties, sheer and constructed with hardly any fabric at all, a matching garter belt and thigh high sheer stockings. You gasp when you see the price tag, understanding now why the fabric feels so nice and the stitching is so intricate. 

You take your time pulling it on, both to be gentle with the expensive pieces and to tease the man waiting for you in the other room. The thought of him squirming in that chair wondering what the hell was taking so long makes you giggle.

“The fuck are you laughing about in there?” He calls out impatiently from the other room. “You’re killin’ me!” 

You laugh hard at that, head falling back in delight as you clip the last strap of the garter into place. You add a pair of kitten heels to tie it all together and run your fingers through your hair, one quick look in the mirror to appreciate yourself before stepping slowly from the room.

“Sorry to make you wait, baby,” you tilt your head apologetically and step towards him tauntingly. 

Rafe just smiles and looks to the ceiling, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

“What?” You ask as you approach, hands finding his and bringing them to rest on either side of your waist.

His thumbs trace circles into your skin, “just don’t know how I got so fuckin’ lucky. Must’ve done something right in a past life.”

Your skin goes hot at his words, and the way his eyes are skimming over your body like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

“Nah, I think you just did a lot of things right in this life,” you pull his arms so he’ll rise to his feet.

Rafe lifts his arm with his hand still holding yours, spinning you with his pointer finger like a ballerina, memorizing every inch of you as you twirl for him.

“No man could possibly be good enough to deserve you, baby,” he responds, his large, rough hands running over your bare hips, guiding you to hop up and wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m just the luckiest guy in the world.”

You kiss him, too overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you and holding you up to say anything in response. No one has ever made you feel so special, so wanted. He’d kneel down and kiss your feet if you asked him to. But that’s not what you want right now.

“Need you, Rafe,” you mumble against his lips, legs squeezing him tighter, hands splayed on the back of his head like you’re trying to permanently seal his mouth to yours, “please.”

“You don’t gotta beg, angel,” he coos, “I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Cause it’s my birthday?” You tease.

“No. I’ll give you anything you want every day of your fucking life,” he swears, “you deserve the world.”

But you don’t want the world, you just want him.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you sigh, lowering your core over his growing hardness, playfulness gone and replaced by frenzied need.

In response, he shifts to hold you up with one arm, using the other to sweep aggressively at the counter and knock all its contents to the floor chaotically. You love him wild like this, complete disregard for the dishes and various items he’s just sent flying across the kitchen, too drunk on you to even attempt making it to the bedroom. 

He drops you onto the counter, not too hard to hurt, but just hard enough to make your tits bounce and a little “hmph!” to rise from your chest. You’re pulling him to you in seconds, nails clawing at his shoulders and the back of his head as his lips devour yours. He slots his hips between your knees, forcing your legs to fall open for him.

“Gonna make you feel so good, birthday girl,” he promises, chest hovering over you powerfully, lowering you slowly until you’re laying down on the counter, your legs dangling off the edge. 

He kisses down the column of your throat, nipping and nibbling all the way as he hooks his fingers to slip under the straps of the garter belt, pulling until the clasps break away from the top of your stockings with a snap!

You gasp, “you’re gonna break my present!”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he shakes his head, bent in half to lower his mouth down your body, sucking purple splotches into the sensitive skin of your stomach, claiming you with every mark.

When he’s satisfied with his artwork, he lifts himself up, piercing blue eyes consuming you with an adoration you’ve never experienced before. You writhe a little under his hungry gaze, and his eyes wander to the panties he gifted you, corners of his mouth perking in a grin. His hand snakes up your thigh and he sweeps his thumb over your covered slit without warning, making you gasp and arch off the cold counter.

“Looks like you already made a mess of your present anyway,” his eyes twinkle with mischief as he spreads your wetness through the fabric.

“Can’t help it,” you whine under the pressure, “you always make me so fucking wet.”

He’s desperate to taste you, lowering to his knees and dragging your panties down with him. Gripping your hips, he pulls you to the edge of the counter, closer to his mouth. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, the sting outweighed by the pleasure. 

You arch toward him, desperate to feel his mouth on you, but his fingers find you first. He spreads you, groaning a strained ‘fuckkkk’ at the sight. He gathers your slick onto his fingers so slowly, so deliberately, it’s driving you insane. 

Finally, finally, he lowers his mouth and licks, ever so gently, up your center. You’re on fire, the cold marble counter below you doing little to cool your spiked body temperature. 

Between deliberate licks he whispers praises, his tongue and voice taking turns worshiping you.

“Do you know I belong to you?” He confesses, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter so hard it almost cracks. “Do you understand that you fucking own me?”

“You talk so pretty, baby,” you moan, losing your grasp on language as he sends lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through your body, “love that mouth.”

“It’s yours,” he promises, finally lapping at your clit with a pointed tongue, “it’s all yours, everything I’ve got.”

“Just want you!” you cry out when he pulls the sensitive bud into his mouth and sucks hard.

“You have me, ‘m not going anywhere,” he says after releasing your clit with a pop. His middle finger, already soaked from you, dips into your entrance slowly. “You’re my everything, forever.”

Rafe continues to wrap you in soliloquies of praise as his other hand kneads the skin of your stomach reverently, like a potter molding his clay.

It’s these promises that make your head spin, drowning in the tapestry he weaves with his words until all you can think, all you know, is that you love him. When a second finger enters you and his mouth finds the spot he knows so well, everything in the world fades. The only thing that means anything is this man and the way he makes you feel.

His fingers twist and twirl inside you while his mouth works your clit. You’re beside yourself, feeling your release creep closer and closer with each flick of his tongue. You grab the edge of the counter top for purchase, but it’s not enough. Your hands paw at his head, wishing there was something more to ground you. 

You love his buzzcut, you had an appointment in your shared calendar each month for him to dutifully sit on a stool in the bathroom while you redid it with the electric clippers, but in this moment you wish for the first time that he’d grow it out. You tuck the thought away for later.

He loves the way you’re clawing at his scalp, and clenching around his fingers, knowing you’re close like he knows everything about you. He grabs one of your hands, offering his to you so you can squeeze as hard as you need to, loving the pain as he pushes you to the edge.

You cry out his name when you come, nearly breaking the bones in his fingers. He doesn’t stop until the very last wave of ecstasy rolls through you, his body hovering over yours as he soothes you through the cool down.

“You have no idea what you mean to me,” he whispers into your collarbone, following the vulnerable words with a shaky kiss.

“I think I have some idea,” your palm glides over his scalp, where you were just leaving scratches, inspecting to make sure you hadn’t done too much damage. “Because of how much you mean to me.”

He just shakes his head, his buzzed hair tickling your chin.

You both rise from the counter, Rafe straightening your lingerie set and taking in his gift to you one more time. He stands between your legs, fists on the counter as he leans forward on flexed arms.

“How am I supposed to top this?” You wonder aloud, hands smoothing over his shoulders and your head tilting in that adorable way he’s obsessed with.

“What do you mean?” He puzzles.

“When your birthday comes around,” you explain, “you’ve set the bar so high.”

Rafe smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. His gaze wanders from you as he pulls back slightly.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he shakes his head.

“Are you joking? And miss the chance to celebrate you?” 

“We- I don’t really do birthdays,” he says, and before you can pry any further he adds, “plus yours isn’t even close to over yet.”

Rafe lifts you effortlessly from the counter, making you yelp in surprise. You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you to the bedroom, thinking obsessively about the way he accidentally said ‘we.’

Your heart breaks picturing younger Rafe, no birthday candles to blow out on his big day, no crowd of friends and family singing to him, no one to make him understand how special and worth celebrating he is. 

No, that just wouldn’t do. You start planning the second he falls asleep that night, determined to make his next birthday the best he’s ever had.

-----------------ꪆৎ‎---------------------

for more boyfriend!rafe see my masterlist ♡

remember! writers live off replies and reblogs, don’t forget to feed your faves 😘

[drluvsick]

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐬

you hand make them a replica of themselves in the form of a plushie! 📝 gn! reader. btw relationship is mutual pining. would’ve made the headers as the hashira’s plushies but… coloring would’ve been ughhh. maybe i'll post it separately!

word count : 1.6k+

𝐆𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐀

“for me?” he’s surprised before it melts into a smile. with the plushie in hand, he rolls it around feeling the details from his hair to outfit, getting a general view of what it could look like.

“this is very kind of you. i will cherish this for the rest of my life.” he puts a hand on your head, gently petting you as you hug him in return. he’s happy at the action, his large body engulfing yours as he hugs you back. you’re relieved that he’s blind so that he’s not able to see your blush, but with your heart beating unusually fast and loud, you’re sure he can hear it and deduct it himself.

gyomei thinks that perhaps you may hear his heart beating abnormally as well in the moment.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈

he thinks it’s perfect. would’ve added more glitter, but then he thinks that maybe it’s better off that the entire plush isn’t covered in the tiny monsters. (he held the gift for a few seconds and then BAM, glitter EVERYWHERE on his hand)

he loves how flashy the doll is. it seems to shine and sparkle even in the dark of night.

he obviously treats you to a shopping spree or restaurant “date” with him after (after both of you furiously wash your hands from all that glitter).

absolutely takes mini tengen with him when he’s with you. you both brainstorm ideas for him and his little comrade to match outfits (off to the fabric store!).

this small gift secretly makes him scream inside. when he gets home from the interaction, you BET he’s going to be humming the entire rest of the day, unable to sleep because his thoughts are all filled of you.

𝐆𝐈𝐘𝐔 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐎𝐊𝐀

so surprised that you would give him a gift. why would you want to waste so much time in giving him something? something you handmade, to be precise? he asks this, and when you reply saying that you just wanted to, he swears he fell harder than before.

he’s beyond happy, though. you get the grace of seeing him unconsciously smile at the present as he notices the attention to details. how much time did you spend looking at him to remember all these features? the thought makes him a little lightheaded.

you’re too sweet to him, he thinks. now whenever he’s feeling down and you’re gone, he holds the little plush to his heart for a small sense of comfort that helps him to live another day. and he doesn’t dare take it on missions or anywhere, really. he’s too afraid to lose or destroy something you worked so hard on to make for him.

god forbid you tell shinobu one day that you made a plushie for giyuu. she’d never let him get away without teasing him for actually getting someone to like him well enough to make something for him.

will subconsciously hide behind you when she does start with the teasing as you softly grasp his haori sleeve, making his heart flutter tenfold at the small action.

𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

(you’ve seen his face without the bandages)

when you hand it to him, he’s on cloud nine. you even made kaburamaru! the snake seems to appreciate it, happily leaving obanai’s shoulders to rest on yours instead.

he practically begs to take you somewhere as thanks and to spoil you, because this gift from you has his face heating up and he wants to draw your attention away from it. and when you do agree (albeit reluctantly), his snake looks at him with a “lmao dude you’re freakin’ whipped”.

while walking, he notices that the bandages on the plushie are removable, asking you if it’s intentional.

“see for yourself,” were your words as he reluctantly removed them. he saw the bottom of the face littered in scars almost identical to the ones underneath his own bandages, with the words on the side of the bandages covering the doll’s face reading: “you’re beautiful, scars or no scars. and from what you’ve shown me, it’s the same on the inside.”

he swears that he could just faint right there and then.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀

“tsk, what is this?”

you smile as he inspects it; watching his lips twitch, fighting the urge to curve upwards. “it’s a plushie of yourself.”

“you made this? for me?”

“yep!”

he looks anywhere but at you, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand as warmth bristles through; his ears turning red as he says, “it’s nice, i guess.”

“just ‘nice’?” you reply back, teasing his quick response. “maybe i should’ve just made a plushie for someone else, liiike… giyuu.” you grin, aware of the facade he’s pulling.

“don’t you dare. it’s amazing, i love it.” he spits out gruffly, but wholly truthful. “…thank you.” he thinly smiles, if not for you observing him you wouldn’t have noticed it.

“aww, you’re welcome!” you snicker.

he turns his head the other way, his face beginning to feel uncomfortably hot.

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔 𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎

his plushie literally radiates sunshine, just like the original himself. when he receives it, he shouts the loudest thank you you’re ever going to hear.

talks about all the details and how much it embodies him. he adores it. then he asks if you could make one of you, so that they could be a pair together (AHHHH).

hugs you so tightly that you start to sweat from his body heat. but he means well!

eats with the plushie when you’re not with him. it reminds him of who made it and it just makes his food taste 100x better.

probably keeps it in his pocket and shows it to people like, “look what (y/n) made for me! :D” so that now so many people know who you are.

and when you make that replica of yourself for him? he just can’t get enough of how adorable it is. keeps it with him in his pocket too, it makes his day so much better whenever he sees it because it just radiates you.

𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

squeals, she’s just so so so happy. her face turns this cute red and all she can do is just smother you with a hug because of her overwhelming excitement.

she dances around with it at first, screaming about how cute you made it and absolutely loving how you designed the doll to be just like her. you got her into the whole craft business, her new determination to make a doll of you to present to you! she hugs you one last time before rushing off with her new plan.

she quickly realizes that if she gives… whatever she made in her first attempt to you, it’d come across as an insult. so she spends countless days and nights (in between missions, of course) to perfect her gift to her beloved. and when she finally does…

…she gives it to you like a child showing their parent their artwork, except mitsuri’s present was better than just any children’s project.

she’s so giddy when you praise her for it, finally able to collapse from exhaustion when she gets home. but when you kiss her on the forehead, she knows that there’s no way she’s going to get a blink of sleep, especially not when that moment keeps replaying in her head throughout the rest of the day.

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐔 𝐊𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐎

she’s calm and collected on the outside, having an emotional breakdown and desperately trying not to just tackle you and hug and kill you with kisses on the inside. her logical mind prevails unfortunately.

she dearly thanks you for the gift with the sweetest soft tint of pink on her face.

she takes it for walks around her estate, visiting patients, and when she needs to calm down. it just takes a few minutes with the plushie in her hands for her to think of you to become more relaxed.

she doesn’t take it in her lab, though— worried that something might happen to it. so instead, during those periods, she keeps it in her room in a secret place that only she knows about, because she’s a little paranoid that something may end up destroying it with all the people in the estate and all.

the next time you’re out on a mission? expect a parcel from her delivered by crow with your favorite (non-perishable) food, some trinkets and items you might enjoy, and a note that vaguely suggests her true feelings towards you.

she secretly prays that you’ll take the hint and ask her out.

𝐌𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐎

(reader is either same age or muichiro is aged up)

despite his flawed memory/memorizing issues, muichiro does a huge effort to not forget the plushie you gave him.

he’ll write himself notes, bring it with him everywhere, and he finds himself replaying moments with you and daydreaming in his mind more often about you with the doll around.

definitely falls asleep with it gently in his arms, held close to his chest. it helps him fall asleep faster and more comfortably knowing that something resembling your presence was so nearby.

his crow’s definitely jealous by this btw. but she respects you both so she doesn’t lay a claw on the plushie.

one day when you find him hugging the plushie close to him as he was walking around his estate, you decide to go up to him and hug him from behind. let’s just say, he got a lot more clingy after that, hugging the gift at night tighter to try to replicate that warm feeling your hugs always gave him.

overluvsick | please do not repost, translate, and/or claim my works as yours !!

[quartztwst]

MagiKey (TWST AU)

Summary of AU:

Twisted Wonderland is being overrun by VILLAINS! OMG!! Anyways, the NRC boys are villains and your OCs are magical girls/boys/people assigned to defeat them!

Quartz "Qix Trix" and Yuu "Fragaria" Information

More indepth information (MagiKey/Enemies/Corrupted Magical Users)

Q&A for MagiKey Users! (+ Qix Trix and Fragaria lore)

(More Info Under the Cut)

After being gifted with a key with power by the oh-so generous Dire Crowley (who sucks at his job), you’ve been assigned a magical job where you have to defeat villains and keep the world safe!

These keys have the ability to make you transform into a different, more flashy form! You even have cool powers YAYYY!!

Although, these keys have a cost. Use too much power PLUS negative feelings can make you turn into something ugly. That’s how some of Crowley’s… key users… became “villains.”

Extra Information:

There is NO NRC school. Crowley owns a… Magical People Agency. RSA has one too! But it is not an industry. These agencies are kept secret. RSA’s magical charms ARE NOT keys but are sword charms…

Yes, your OCs have like.. a normal life but there is beastmen and mermaids and stuff

Magic does exist but the magic that the MagiKeys have are powerful than that lol

Octavinelle are daily dumb villains. Azul has not had his key turn dark but he will eventually. Crowley doesn’t really pay attention to his users so you can also do horrible stuff with this power (but you will get your ass beat by other magical ppl)

The Overblot Crew used to be heroes and turned villains heh yeah

magica madoka

Being a magical person is a secret identity so you cannot be seen it’s one of the agency’s rules (unless you want to rebel lol)

Crowley usually picks his users when he believes you have potential so you will see a key appear out of nowhere. and then there’s crowley in his stupid form ready to explain the whole thing to you:

(yeah he has a human looking fae form yeah HELP)

Rules/How to Join:

Just draw ur OC as a magical girl/boy/person

You can also add other info like status, occupation, their life, how they became an magical person, age, etc if you want!!

You can talk about their fighting abilities and how strong they are

Everyone is the same age as they are in OG twst

you dont have to be as extra as me and add those illustrations for the abilities but here’s the base of you want:

You can have a title for your OC lol

Please tag me or use the tag #magikey or #magikey au!!!

MagiKey Users:

Quartz

Prefect/Yuu (My Yuu)

Layla by @laylakongg

AJ by @karamatsuboy-aj

Shuu by @oya-oya-okay

Yuu Ni by @thatsadguymochi

Hittako by @hittisbuzzing

Tsukiko by @yumaandyukitaka

Luna by @waitlexist

Undine by @juchioris

Kogane by @kogane-twst

Yuubeni by @bunniehunn

Yuka by @chaotic-snow

Yuu Fontaine by @allykakamatsu

Yuya by @cheerleaderman

Liánhuā by @lafashionlsta

Alistair "Ali" by @sunnysidesevenup

Yuuel "El" by @stxrgazingattheclouds

Elay by @dgiterart

Shin by @liyuviq

Rika by @rinxleona

Yuue by @blueberriesblueberrie

Yurena by @ranas-twisted-wonderland

Evelyn by @h0neybane

Airinniz by @hanizmiyu

Akshara by @twistedtalestory

Yae by @fi1nn

Yuina by @doe5dollars

Vinny by @cephalotyrant

Iris by @lficanthaveloveiwantpower

Yumi by @marinahavik

Kirara by @shinysparklesapphires

Satori by @soupidee-doo

Belladonna and Schneider by @ieatfriedeggs

Yuurei by @universaln0b0dy

Nova by @nivvetsworld

Chiz by @chizramue

Bya-Chan by @starlee246

Mia by @happilybeingthenerd

Alenna by @the-dumber-scaramouche

Hisui by @ghostiidasponk

Kimiko by @slumberingrose-fandom

Yuki by @galacticstationsblog

Euphelia by @artarmy24

Vee by @heyhellohihowareyou

Misaki by @nagisas1simp

Nepeta by @nepeta-and-co

Vizzie by @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

Ko Mallory by @croshelee

Lamiyre by @schweindivine

Lillian by @iluvmusicxoxo

"Messenger" by @dollie-ballerina

Villains (designs coming soon):

Riddle Rosehearts

Leona Kingscholar

Azul Ashengrotto

Jamil Viper

Vil Schoenheit

Idia Shroud

Malleus Draconia

???

[wooshofficial]

Just a reminder for everyone in a few months who are going to thank Trump for doing “random acts of kindness” or whatever the fuck:

Donald Trump started this nonsense.

He was the one who initially wanted TikTok to be banned. He’s the one who said that it was spyware from a foreign adversary. He wanted it gone first. This is not a new argument, this is from 2020. It has been in his plans for the entire Biden administration.

Because what Trump wants is to set up a situation where he looks like the hero. Where he swoops in and solves a problem that looks sudden and garners some good favor, despite him causing the problem in the first place years ago. He knows that the modern attention span is practically zero, focused on the shiny object, so he will do something flashy to distract everyone from the massive overhauls to basic human rights he’s doing in the background. He wants to kill us while we’re not looking, so he has set up a little magic trick to keep our eyes off the real world.

Take your eyes off TikTok. If or when it comes back, do not thank Trump. Do not get so lost in scrolling that you forget the world around you, and how it is about to go belly up. Do not forget about Project 2025, or his plans to raid schools with border control agents, or his planned cabinet. Do not let one pre-planned “good” deed distract you from the fact that this administration is about to do real harm to and outright kill a lot of people. Keep your eyes on him and his administration with extreme scrutiny, because he wants you to look away.

The scariest part about Trump is that he’s smart. We call him stupid, but he’s not. He is incredibly clever when it comes to entertainment, and will play any role if it gets him where he wants to be, and he plays them incredibly well. If we do not scrutinize his every move as some sort of act, we give him more space to do things than he ever deserves to have, and that space will be used to do incredibly cruel things, and the blame will not only be on him, but us for giving him the opportunity.

So yeah. Don’t go thanking Trump for any of this shit. He’s playing a long game and he’s playing a role that he knows you will like. Do not forget.

[ferrarifever]

hawaiian heat | c. leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: you and charles go out clubbing while on vacation in hawaii, but he isn’t a fan of the attention his girl is getting

warnings: jealous! & possessive!charles, extremely light choking, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected p in v

wc: 2.7k

masterlist🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪

author’s note: hi! this is my first fic so i'd really appreciate feedback! (also i'm scared this will flop lol). also requests are open or if anyone has prompt/headcanon ideas hmu because i’m always looking for (and need) inspo (and also mutuals because i’m new around here!) - stella♡

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

leading up to takeoff, you spent weeks making sure everything was perfectly prepared. you made sure to pack all your best swimsuits, your nicest outfits, and your finest jewelry. the opportunity to spend this much uninterrupted time with charles was rare, so you were determined to make the most of it.

filled with anticipation, the flight from monaco to maui felt like an eternity. you tried to downplay your excitement, but your plan completely failed once you arrived at the most picturesque villa you’ve seen in your life. it was the type you’d only seen online, and the reality you were staying there with the love of your life felt like a dream come true.

stepping out on the balcony of your room, you couldn’t believe this wasn’t a dream. so entranced by the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore, you failed to hear charles joining you. you felt his arms, already warm from the maui sun wrap around your waist. he began pressing feather-light kisses into your neck,

“i can’t believe we’re finally here. i can’t wait to spend the week with you chéri” he whispered in between kisses

you momentarily turned your back to the water to face charles. resting a hand on his chest, you whispered back “i can already tell i’m not going to want to leave”

you lightly press against his chest, leading both of you back in your shared room. placing his hand over yours, charles fell back gently on the bed, pulling you on top of him. you align yourself with the monegasque, feeling him begin to press his hips into yours. you felt his hand grip your cheek, pulling your lips to his. feeling charles hands migrate to the bottom of your shirt, you knew the rush of heat that flooded your body could not be attributed to the hawaiian climate. fighting your desire, you attempt to pull away

“baby–” you mumble against his lips, trying to pull him out of his trance of desire.

“charles– c’mon baby i have to start getting ready” running your hands up his body, you push your hands against his shoulders to force yourself off of the driver. he did not hold back his displeasure, groaning and falling back into the mattress.

“the sooner we leave the quicker we can come back, love!” you yell back towards charles, while making your way toward the bathroom to get ready. dedicated to your goal of making the most of the trip, you picked your favorite dress out of your suitcase. might as well kick the trip off with a bang, right?

you pulled every trick in the book. you did your makeup to make your eyes pop. you styled your hair in the way you knew charles loved. the jewelry you put on was flashy, but not tacky. before slipping on your favorite dress, you put on charles’ favorite ferrari red lingerie set. the lace hugged your curves perfectly, giving you a perfect boost of confidence before going out. you slipped on a maroon satin mini dress, leaving little for the imagination. you knew you looked good, and anyone else you come across will know too.

after giving yourself a onceover, you stepped into your favorite pair of louboutins. you walked out of the bathroom, the clicking of your heels drawing charles attention away from his phone and up to you. he gasped quietly, sucking in air while biting his bottom lip.

“holy shit y/n– there’s no way we’re leaving this room” he choked out.

you giggled at your boyfriends awe before replying; “as amazing as that sounds, you know we would never hear the end of it if we’re late”

charles pulls himself off the bed, meeting you halfway. he gently pushes you up against the doorframe of the bathroom

“let them talk baby–they’ll get it once they see this dress” he says quickly before kissing you passionately

cutting him off before things get too heated, you push him away; “charles, seriously, lets not give them a reason to make fun of us on day one. we’ll regret it i promise”

charles groans dramatically, knowing you’re right but not wanting to admit to it. you grab your purse off your nightstand and give yourself one last look in the mirror before turning back to charles to ask; “ready?”

charles pauses for a moment, deciding whether or not to put up one last fight. he ultimately replies “ready,” before holding out his hand for you to grab.

you make it to the club with perfect timing, meeting up with the other drivers and their partners. charles politely greets the other drivers and with just a single glance at your outfit the other girls give you a knowing look.

as the drinks started flowing, you knew this was going to be a memorable night (if you can remember it in the morning). with enough liquor in your system, you joined the dancefloor with the other wives and girlfriends, while charles hung back in a booth.

you knew that when you learned over the bar to get another drink you were giving everyone a peak at the lacy set under your dress. with every sway of your hips, the skit of your dress rose higher and higher up your hips. you were having the time of your life, failing to realize that you were driving charles insane. you momentarily locked eyes across the room, and while you flashed a smile, charles lowered his eyebrows in dismay. as you turned back towards the dancefloor you felt charles’ arms wrap tightly around your waist

“i think you have had enough dancing for the night, hmm?” charles whispered into your eye

“baby c’mon…the night is just beginning!” you giggle back

“the fun will begin once we get out of here…it’s time to go” charles growls into your ear. your desire to fight back died as soon as you saw the passion in his eyes. a wave of heat flushed through your body, and you allowed the driver to grab your wrist and pull you out of the darkly lit club.

the uber ride back to the hotel was tense. as charles hand slipped higher and higher up your thigh, you had to use all of your will to not climb onto him in the backseat. as soon as the car shifted into park, charles was pulling you out of the seat and up to your room.

as soon as you heard the door shut behind you, charles pushed you back against it. alternating running his hand along the bottom of your dress and pinch the fabric, charles growled out

“you happy now? finally getting the attention you clearly desperately wanted in this dress?” his words sparked heat in your core and you failed to muster any reply, simply whimpering in response.

“mmhm? now that it’s just us, my bébé is shy?” he questioned. his hand finally migrated up your thigh to where you really needed him. he snapped the elastic of your thong against your core, continuing his teasing.

“charles…please…” you continued to whine. you knew you sounded pathetic, but your need continued to build in a way that led you to not think clearly.

as soon as the ‘please’ left your mouth, you felt charles remove his hand from up your dress and placed it carefully around your neck. he bent his knee between your thighs, holding you up against the door.

“you know bébé–if you asked that sweetly before we left i may be nicer right now. instead, you thought teasing me in front of the boys would end better for you. so right now i’m going to remind you that you’re mine and only mine.” he growled into your ear before migrating lower and lightly biting at your neck.

“i’m sorry” you apologized with a light smirk. making charles jealous was never your priority, but if it happened along the way you were going to enjoy the ride.

“prove it then” he snapped back. he increased pressure on your neck, slowly pushing you down until you dropped to your knees. you looked up at him, giving him the most seductive eyes you could muster. he bit down on his lip in return, not wanting to praise you just yet. he nodded down at you, giving you silent permission to continue. you slowly unbutton his jeans. you know continuing to tease him is a dangerous game, but you know secretly charles likes it when you take your time with him.

you tug at his jeans, pulling his boxers down with them. his hard length bounces, hitting his abs. you take the opportunity to lick a long lick from the base to head of his length before taking his sensitive tip in your mouth. charles groans, throwing his head back as you take him deeper and deeper down your throat.

as your eyes begin to water, charles stretches out his arms before pressing his palm against the door to balance himself. the warmth of your mouth felt like heaven and he was doing everything in his power to ground himself.

your hands migrate to the back of his thighs, pulling him into you to take him even deeper into your mouth. you continue flicking your tongue below his tip, drawing obscene noises out of the driver.

he is able to center himself enough to look down and make eye contact with you. he quickly realizes he made a mistake, using your hair to divide the two of you.

“i’m not finishing down your pretty mouth tonight, cherí,” charles groans. just as you start processing his words, charles is pulling you off the floor and towards the bed. before either of you hit the mattress, charles is unzipping your dress. as the satin dress falls to the floor, your lace-clad body is presented to the monegasque. after taking in the sight before him, charles lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding

“mon ange” he says, gasping for breath. once you’re face-to-face you give him a quick peck on the lips before whispering in his ear “use me baby, i’m yours.”

charles pushes you back first onto the bed. he pauses for a moment to take in the view in front of him. still clad in lace with your heels, lips swollen, eyeliner running, hair tousled…you were a dream come true. he can’t hold back for long before collapsing on top of you. you pick yourself lightly off the mattress, leaving just enough space for you to unclasp your bra. as soon as you pull the red lace off your body, charles is attacking your skin with his lips.

he runs his hands down your torso before looping his fingers into the waistband of your panties. he finally pulls them off after what felt like an eternity. his hands graze your thighs before making their way back to your core. he slowly runs a single finger where you needed him most.

“you're already so wet for me, bébé. no need to even prepare you, huh?” he says with a dry laugh. you didn't find it as funny, whining in return

“charles– please i need you so bad” you plead. he takes pity on you, sinking his middle finger into you. you moan slightly, you need for his touch your body had been begging for began to subside.

he continues pushing his middle finger in and out of you at what can only be considered a painstakingly slow pace. you continue your whining and muffled pleads, knowing it won’t do much at the moment

“who does this pussy belong to? hmm?” the speed of his words is a complete juxtaposition of his pace inside you.

“yours charles, yours!” you exclaim, “please do anything baby” you whine out. he was clearly not completely satisfied, but he took enough pity on you to move his thumb up towards your throbbing clit. the minute his thumb made contact with your throbbing bundle of nerves, you arched your back off the mattress. you attempted to moan out charles name, and although his title may not have been clear, your pleasure was.

as he began slowly rubbing circles on your clit, he added another finger inside you. you did not realize how deep the need inside of you was until this moment. you had no clue what to do with your body, alternating between gripping the sheets and running your hands through charles hair.

“now cherí, i’m going to be good to you today and let you get off on my fingers, you know why?” he questioned you, while quickening his trusting pace inside you.

you attempted an answer, but the fear of giving the wrong response and overwhelming pleasure led it to be incomprehensible. charles laughed slightly before filling you in,

“because i’m the only one who can make you feel this way bébé. none of the boys at that club would be able to make you feel this good with just his fingers” he announced. you nodded your head rapidly,

“only you baby–” you repeated like a mantra as you fell over the edge. your body spasmed and your stomach clenched and you screamed out. charles continued working you through your orgasm, slowing down his pace as you caught your breath. he slowly removed his fingers from where they were curled inside of you. he licked his middle finger quickly before holding them to your mouth. you began sucking on his fingers,

“now you can feel and taste how good i make you feel bébé” he says with confidence, knowing the power he holds over you.

he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a pop. his wet hand moves down between your thighs, pushes them open just enough to make room for him. he continues leaning in closer to you before he whispers

“ready?” he asks carefully. you nod, using all your strength to mutter out a quick “yes.”

you feel his length slowly penetrate you, every inch pulling another gasp out of your lungs. he hands grip your waist as he immediately begins rocking in and out of you, filling you up with every rock of his hips. every thrust brought you closer and closer to your edge, and charles knew. he moves his hand from your waist back to your sensitive clit, causing you to let out a high-pitched moan at the additional stimulation. before you can process the added pleasure, you hear charles begin to speak,

“could any of the other guys in the club make you feel like this baby? hmm?” charles growls into you ear, frustration from earlier simmering back up

“only you charles! no one else, baby” you squeal out quickly. charles’ pressure on your clit gets faster as his thrusts get harder, pulling you closer and closer to your edge

“who’s are you bébé?” he growls out, keeping his explosive pace

“i’m yours baby! only yours! please” you scream out, gripping the bedsheets in an attempt to ground yourself

“go ahead cherí, cum for me” charles says in the calmest tone of the night. with a scream of his name, your walls flutter around him as you cum on his cock. so wrapped up in your own pleasure, it wasn’t until charles grabbed your hips tightly and slowed his pace you felt him filling you with his cum.

he stills over you, both of you panting and fighting to catch your breath. charles leans to kiss you quickly before slowly pulling out of you. he rolls next to you on the bed, both of you still fighting your air. charles makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel to clean you off. as you feel the cloth running up the thigh, you remind charles

“you know it’s always been you, right? and always will be?” you remind charles

“mmhm i know cherí,” he replies calmly.

he leans over to press light kisses on your neck before continuing, “...but i never mind a reminder” ;)

[kathaelipwse]

Offline, It’s You - C.Seungcheol

Requested: Yes Trope: Online Friends to Lovers, Hidden Identity, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Social Media Hate, Brief Mention of Anxiety, Mild Swearing, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE. Genre: Romance, Angst, Fluff Word Count: 2910 words {10-ish mins} Synopsis: A late-night interaction between Seungcheol and a small fan account leads to an unexpected connection. But when the truth comes out, and the world finds out about you, will he fight to keep you by his side? Author’s Note: I wanted to explore the idea of Seungcheol craving something real beyond the idol life—someone who sees him, not just his stage persona. This is a story of comfort, connection, and the kind of love that feels like home. Hope you enjoy it! It's a rushed one shot *sighs

Seungcheol had long since lost count of the days. They blurred into a relentless cycle of pre-dawn wake-ups, grueling rehearsals, high-pressure meetings with producers, and the dazzling, yet draining, energy of live performances. He was SEVENTEEN's leader, the anchor, the rock. He had to be strong, always. But the weight of expectations was crushing him.

Tonight, the silence of the sterile hotel room was a stark contrast to the roaring cheers of the crowd from just hours before. He lay in bed, the cool sheets a small comfort against his burning exhaustion. His phone was a lifeline and a distraction, the blue light harsh against his tired eyes. He scrolled through the endless stream of social media, a sea of fancams, stage edits, and fan art. He appreciated the love, but tonight, it felt like another reminder of the persona he had to maintain.

Then, he saw it. A small fan account, tucked away in the algorithm. It wasn't flashy or attention-grabbing. It was quiet, thoughtful, and… different.

Instead of focusing on the surface—the charts, the visuals, the perfect choreography—this account wrote about him. Not S.Coups, the leader. Not Seungcheol, the performer. Just Seungcheol, the person.

One post caught his eye: "Sometimes, I wonder if he ever gets tired of holding everything together. He always looks so strong, but even the strongest walls can crack."

His breath hitched. It was like the words had reached into his chest and squeezed. He felt a lump form in his throat. He scrolled further.

"No one asks if the strongest one needs a place to fall. Everyone expects him to be the support, but who supports him?"

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. He quickly blinked them back. He wasn't supposed to be emotional. He was the leader. But these words… they resonated with a depth that surprised him. This fan saw him, truly saw him, beyond the stage persona.

His thumb hovered over the "like" button on an older post. He hesitated, then pressed it. A wave of panic washed over him. He shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake. He should just scroll away, forget he ever saw it.

But his curiosity was piqued. He couldn't resist. He clicked on the account's profile and sent a direct message.

@ scoups17: "Your posts really hit different. How do you see things this way?"

His heart pounded in his chest. He felt a mix of excitement and dread. What if they ignored him? What if they recognized him immediately? What would he even say?

He waited, his anxiety growing with each passing second. Then, a notification popped up.

@ yourusername: "Hello! I am sorry, who are you??"

And just like that, his world tilted on its axis.

That simple question opened a door to a world Seungcheol hadn't known existed. He hesitated before replying, unsure of how much to reveal. He decided on a cautious approach.

@ scoups17: "Just someone who appreciates your perspective. I'm curious about how you see the world."

The response was immediate.

@ yourusername: "The world? It's a mess, but there's beauty in the chaos if you look hard enough."

Their conversations flowed effortlessly. They talked about everything and nothing—music, books, dreams, fears. You shared your thoughts on life, your observations of the world, your quiet hopes for the future. Seungcheol found himself drawn to your insightful perspective, your genuine kindness, and your disarming honesty.

He learned that your name was (Y/N). You were studying art, passionate about capturing the fleeting beauty of everyday moments. You had a quiet strength, a resilience that he admired. You weren't blinded by the glitz and glamour of his world. You saw the person behind the idol.

He found himself opening up to you in ways he hadn't with anyone else. He shared his anxieties about the pressures of leadership, the fear of disappointing his members, the loneliness that sometimes crept in despite the constant attention. You listened without judgment, offering words of encouragement and understanding.

Their late-night exchanges became a lifeline for Seungcheol. He looked forward to them with an eagerness that surprised him. He felt a connection with you that transcended the digital divide.

One night, he was working on a new song, struggling with the lyrics. He shared a snippet with you, a verse that felt particularly raw and vulnerable.

@ scoups17: "And in the silence, I hear the echoes of my doubt, a constant whisper that I'm not enough."

You responded with a simple, yet powerful message:

@ yourusername: "Doubt is a liar. You are enough. You are more than enough."

His heart swelled with gratitude. Your words gave him the strength to push through, to finish the song. He felt a sense of peace and validation he hadn't experienced in a long time.

As the weeks turned into months, their bond deepened. They exchanged playlists, discovering new music and sharing old favorites. They developed inside jokes, phrases that only they understood. They sent each other blurry, candid pictures at midnight, glimpses into their separate worlds.

Seungcheol found himself falling for you. He knew it was dangerous, that it was complicated, but he couldn't help it. You were a source of light in his often-dark world.

He hadn't planned on telling you the truth. He cherished the anonymity, the freedom to be himself without the weight of his identity. But one night, he slipped up.

He was talking about an upcoming concert, his excitement bubbling over. He mentioned a detail about the setlist, an unreleased song, a story behind a particular performance—something only someone on the inside would know.

He realized his mistake the moment the words left his digital mouth. A heavy silence fell between them. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, anticipating your reaction.

@ yourusername: "Wait… how do you know that?"

His fingers trembled as he typed a response. He knew there was no way to avoid the truth now.

@ scoups17: "I… I'm Seungcheol."

The silence that followed was deafening. He could almost feel the tension radiating through the screen. He waited, his stomach churning with anxiety.

Finally, your response came.

@ yourusername: "You lied to me."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He felt his heart sink.

@ yourusername: "I trusted you, and you— You were SEVENTEEN's Seungcheol this whole time, and you never told me?"

He had no defense. He had betrayed your trust. He had prioritized his own comfort over your feelings.

@ scoups17: "(Y/N), I—"

But before he could finish his apology, your account was gone. Vanished into the digital ether.

He stared at the blank screen, his heart aching with a pain he hadn't anticipated. He had lost you. He had lost the one person who made him feel like just… Seungcheol.

The loss of your presence in his life left a gaping hole. He felt adrift, lost in the sea of his responsibilities. He tried to focus on his work, but your absence was a constant ache in his chest.

He poured his emotions into his music, the one place where he could truly express himself. He wrote about the loneliness, the regret, the longing for connection. He wrote about you.

When SEVENTEEN's new album dropped, it was a massive success. Fans celebrated the catchy tunes, the intricate choreography, the group's undeniable charisma. But there was one song that stood out, a ballad tucked away as Track 11.

It was titled "Offline."

The song was a raw, vulnerable confession. It spoke of meeting someone who felt like home, someone who saw him for who he truly was, but losing them because of his own insecurities. The lyrics were filled with longing and regret, a desperate plea for forgiveness.

The final lines, whispered like a secret, were the most heart-wrenching:

"I never meant to deceive you. You were the only person who made me feel like just… me. And now, I'm lost without you."

The song resonated with fans on a deep level. They praised its honesty, its vulnerability, its raw emotion. Little did they know the true story behind it.

And somehow, you heard it.

A week after the album's release, he received a notification. Your account had reappeared. He hesitated, his heart pounding, before clicking on it.

@ yourusername: "That song… 'Offline'… was that for me?"

His fingers flew across the keyboard.

@ scoups17: "Yes. Every word."

And just like that, the door was open again.

Two years of texting, voice calls, blurry pictures exchanged at midnight—but you had never met in person. The digital world had been their sanctuary, a safe space where they could connect without the pressures of the outside world.

But now, the time had come to bridge the gap.

Seungcheol was a bundle of nerves. He had chosen a quiet café, tucked away from the bustling city center. He wore a simple hoodie, trying to blend in, but his heart was racing. He felt like he was about to go on his first date.

He arrived early, choosing a table in a secluded corner. He scanned the room anxiously, his eyes searching for you.

Then, you walked in.

You paused at the entrance, your eyes scanning the room. They landed on him, and for a moment, neither of you moved. It was like time stood still.

He felt his breath catch in his throat. You were even more beautiful than he had imagined. Your eyes held a spark of mischief, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Then, you smiled—small, teasing, exactly like he had pictured in his mind.

"You're even moodier in real life, huh?"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but the warmth in his chest betrayed him.

"Shut up."

The tension broke, and a wave of relief washed over him. It was you. It was really you.

You walked towards him, your steps confident and graceful. He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest.

"It's… it's really you," he said, his voice a little shaky.

You laughed, a light, melodic sound. "Of course it's me. Who else would it be?"

He reached out and took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. Your touch was warm and real, a tangible connection that grounded him.

"It's just… it's surreal," he said, his eyes searching yours.

"I know," you said, squeezing his hand. "It's surreal for me too."

They sat down, the initial awkwardness quickly melting away. They talked for hours, catching up on everything and nothing, bridging the gap between their digital and physical worlds.

He learned more about your art, your dreams, your fears. You learned more about his struggles, his hopes, his unwavering passion for music.

The hours flew by, and soon, the café was closing. They walked out together, hand in hand, the city lights reflecting in their eyes.

"It was… perfect," he said, his voice soft.

"It was," you agreed, smiling up at him.

He leaned down and kissed you, a gentle, tentative kiss that spoke volumes. It was a kiss of relief, of longing, of hope.

And just like that, everything fell into place.

Their newfound happiness was short-lived. The world of fame and scrutiny was always lurking in the shadows.

A single paparazzi photo, taken discreetly through the window of the café, leaked online. It was a simple picture—you and Seungcheol sitting together, laughing, holding hands. But the internet exploded.

The narrative twisted instantly. The comments were vicious, the accusations unfounded.

“She’s a sasaeng.”

“She manipulated him.”

“She was never a real fan, just a clout chaser.”

Your face was plastered across social media, your identity exposed to the world. Your inbox was flooded with hate, threats, and lies. People dug up old posts, misinterpreted your words, and painted you as a villain.

Seungcheol watched in horror as your life was torn apart. He felt a burning rage, a fierce desire to protect you. He knew he had to do something.

He stormed into the company’s office, his voice low but sharp.

"Fix this, or I walk away from everything."

He demanded they release a statement, denounce the lies, and protect you from the onslaught of hate. The company tried damage control, issuing a generic statement that did little to quell the storm.

It wasn't enough. The hate continued to pour in, relentless and unforgiving.

So Seungcheol did something no one expected. He went live on Instagram.

He sat in front of the camera, his face serious, his voice calm but firm. He addressed the rumors directly, his words measured and deliberate.

"I approached her first."

He told the truth, the whole truth. He explained how he had reached out to you, how you had become a source of comfort and support, how you had never sought fame or attention.

"She’s not a sasaeng. She was there for me when no one else was."

He spoke about your kindness, your intelligence, your genuine heart. He defended you with every fiber of his being.

"If you truly support me, stop the hate. Stop the lies. Let her live her life in peace."

The fandom shattered. Some apologized, recognizing their mistake. Some refused to believe him, clinging to their preconceived notions. The damage was done.

And you? You couldn't bear the pressure. You deleted everything—your social media accounts, your online presence. You disappeared from the digital world, leaving Seungcheol heartbroken and filled with guilt.

Seungcheol didn’t care about the consequences. He didn’t care about the cameras flashing, the reporters clamoring for a statement. He had to find you.

He knew where you lived. He had memorized your address, a detail he had tucked away in his mind, hoping he would never need it.

He drove through the city, his heart pounding with anxiety. He pulled up to your apartment building, his hands shaking as he turned off the engine.

He ran to your door, his knuckles rapping against the wood with urgency. He waited, his breath held captive in his chest.

The door opened, and there you stood.

You looked tired, your eyes shadowed with pain. But you were there.

The second you opened it, he exhaled sharply, taking in your fragile expression, your tired eyes.

"I’m so sorry for everything." His voice shook. "I should’ve protected you better."

He reached out to touch you, but hesitated, unsure if you would allow it.

You stared at him, searching his face, looking for any sign of deceit.

And then—before he could say another word—

You grabbed his collar and kissed him.

It was a passionate, desperate kiss, a release of pent-up emotions, a confirmation that you were still there, that you were still connected.

He froze for a moment, surprised by the suddenness of your action. Then, he melted into it, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly close. He poured all his love, his regret, his longing into the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, you smirked, a hint of your old teasing self returning. "So… two years, huh? Took you long enough."

Seungcheol groaned, pressing his forehead against yours. "Shut up."

You laughed, the sound music to his ears. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt a sense of peace, a sense of belonging. He was home.

"I missed you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I missed you too," you replied, your voice soft.

He kissed you again, a gentle, loving kiss that promised a future together.

The road to recovery was long and arduous. The scars of the scandal ran deep, both for you and for Seungcheol.

You took time to heal, to rebuild your life away from the glare of the spotlight. You focused on your art, finding solace in the creative process. You surrounded yourself with supportive friends and family, people who loved you for who you were, not for your connection to a celebrity.

Seungcheol, too, had to navigate the fallout from his actions. He faced criticism from some fans, disapproval from the company, and the constant pressure to maintain his image. But he remained steadfast in his commitment to you. He knew he had done the right thing, even if it came at a cost.

Slowly, things began to improve. The hate subsided, replaced by a growing acceptance and understanding. Fans started to see you for who you truly were—a kind, intelligent, and compassionate person who had brought joy and happiness into Seungcheol's life.

Seungcheol continued to support you, both publicly and privately. He never wavered in his love and devotion. He understood the importance of protecting your privacy, of allowing you to live your life on your own terms.

He also used his platform to speak out against online hate and cyberbullying. He became an advocate for mental health and the importance of kindness and empathy. He wanted to use his influence to make a positive difference in the world.

Months later, everything was calmer. The storm had passed, leaving behind a sense of peace and tranquility.

One night, you were curled up on the couch, wrapped in Seungcheol’s oversized hoodie, scrolling through your phone. He watched you, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

He snapped a picture and whispered 'I love you, sunshine' to which you blew a kiss to him and said 'I love you more cheolie'. He knew he couldn't win an argument against you. More likely you would give him that adorable pout and dude's heart will completely be melted within a matter of seconds, just like how ice-cream melts in Miami's heat during the summers.

The picture he clicked. It was a candid shot, blurry and imperfect, but it captured the essence of your relationship—the comfort, the intimacy, the genuine connection.

Without thinking, he posted it on his private Instagram account, a platform where he shared glimpses of his life with his closest friends and family. The caption was simple, yet profound:

"Offline"

[bunni-v1]

please I beg you,, some burning spice cookie x reader headcanons... 🥺💖

i love thinking about how the first time they met, burning spice tells reader that if they choose to follow him, they shouldn't expect him to save them if something bad happens.

but oh boy, what do you know! reader is caught in a bad situation and all they can think about is burning spice's words and they just... accept their fate.

... except... nothing bad happens to them. burning spice managed to block the danger with his axe and his arm protectively wrapped around reader 🤧💖✨️💕💕

🍓Hello Mutual. Ahodhwhdo, sorry that was so creepy, but I see you in my notes all the time and I've never actually interacted with you so lmaoooo. You're so right, btw, this is an exact situation that 100% happens. You can trust me, I was his left eyebrow. Only issue with this is we have like zero content to work off for him and Mystic Flower, like... devsis we can see who the favorite child is. Only sfw, because you didn't ask for nsfw and I don't wanna make anyone uncomfy <3

Tw: Aggressive affection; "Neglectful" behaviors; He's kinda toxic but it's hot (don't romanticize abuse irl please); a little suggestive like once or twice lol; grammar errors

Info: Buring Spice x Reader; Fluff & Angst; Sfw

-Burning Spice might be one of the most difficult cookies to be with, and this is coming from a Shadow Milk fan. He's just so impatient and so insatiable, it's not something a regular cookie could deal with easily.

-Before his corruption he was worshipped like a god, and he most certainly commanded respect from his followers. He likely didn't see any cookie worthy of his time, at least not romantically. Not to say he hasn't had flings or anything, cause I'm a firm believer that he did, but they weren't serious. If anything, they were all physical and for fun rather than anything serious.

-This attitude only gets worse post-corruption. Nothing is worth his attention, nothing is interesting enough, and he doesn't even try to engage anyone anymore they just won't do anything for him. All he wants is his souljam, and in the meantime, he'll destroy and crush whatever gets in his way.

-You are a member of the Wild Spices, a weak one at that. There was no reason for you to catch his eye, especially with how lackluster you were. No flashy moves, no impressive strength, actually you were bullied and picked on quite a bit by the others. No, there was nothing skin-deep special about you.

-What seemed to pique his interest was your spunk. No matter how many times you got knocked on your ass, you popped back up ready to go again. Not to mention that fiery determination and the mouth you had. In a sea of boring soldiers who worshiped the very ground he walked on, you were something special.

-Who else but you would mouth off to him, hm? You know better than anyone it's not a fight worth picking, but you still do. And in terms of wit and wordplay, you wipe the floor with his ass. He doesn't usually lose, but he did this time, because he can't keep up with that quick tongue of yours.

-What's really shocking to everyone is that he allows you to talk to him like that. He doesn't punish you for your disrespect, he just... allows you to do what you want. It would be so funny to see such a big guy be poked at if it weren't him.

-Your friends are worried for you because while they pick on you, they're not destruction incarnate. They can't crush you in one blow if they like, you can at least put up a fight with them. They advise you to stop while you're ahead, but you don't.

-You keep going, and Burning Spice just allows you to do whatever you like. It's increasingly obvious that he's got a soft spot for you, and it only makes your friends worry more. You don't want his attention on you, because once he grows bored, you're done for.

-It's likely that you're not even aware of what's going on. You probably find him mildly annoying because he's usually the one provoking reactions out of you. You do notice that you've been lifted in the ranks a lot since he started though. To the point that you went from never seeing him, to seeing him for hours at a time every day.

-He likes that sort of innocent naivety about you. You're funny, you're cute, you're his. Poor you, you have no idea the scariest guy alive has long since staked his claim on you.

-The other Wild Spices stop picking on you, any fights you might have to get significantly easier for you, and cookies seem to look at you with fear and respect. It's weird, and even you're aware that it's not earned at all.

-You're really oblivious as to why this is happening, but eventually, Burning Spice summons you to his presence. Alone. Really, you think he's going to finally crumble you for your mouth like your friends say... but he doesn't.

-"Shall we stop playing these games, they bore me."

"Games...? I wouldn't play games with a cookie like you."

"Just admit your feelings for me, I won't deny you."

"...what..."

-You kind of stand there like an idiot for a long while, just staring at him. You're going through the past few weeks, and suddenly it all makes sense. And like an idiot, you shout, "You like me?"

-Yes, he does, and he's not shy about that fact. Why are you so shy about it. However, he does like the way your dough heats at the realization.

-Things escalate rather quickly from that point on. You go from "higher rank" to practically glued to his side. He likes having you nearby, to make sure he can keep an eye on you. You are now a weakness of his, and he's not going to allow you to be used against him.

-He does give you personal training -- well... Nutmeg Tiger Cookie gives you personal training. Burning Spice may be a brute, but he's not stupid enough to pit you up against himself. He likes you believe it or not.

-Nutmeg Tiger Cookie also knows better than to go too hard on you. If you come back with a grievous injury, it's her head.

-She respects you, if only because Burning Spice commands it. Regardless, she listens to you, and she's a surprisingly good personal trainer. You can actually hold your own in a fight thanks to her.

-Burning Spice claims that you are on your own on the battlefield and that if something happens to you it's up to you to save yourself. He doesn't have the time to waste on rescuing you like a damsel in distress. That's why he makes you go through the training and the work.

-...Only to make Shadow Milk Cookie look like the holiest truth-teller to have ever been.

-The second you're in any real danger Burning Spice is there. The sheer heat from his anger is enough to singe the edges of your clothes. He cannot believe the audacity of this cookie, to even think of trying to destroy what's his? It's a death sentence.

-He's protective of you, it just manifests differently from other cookies. It's not an overbearing or obvious kind of protection, but it's there when it needs to be. When you need him, he'll be there, and that's all that matters in the end.

-While he isn't exactly a romantic, he finds the expression of love in the traditional sense to be boring, he is sweet in his own way. The protection is just one aspect of that.

-Another way he shows how much he cares about you is his tendency to listen. He is not a patient cookie, it's almost impossible to get him to sit still for longer than a few minutes. But if you're talking, he can sit and listen for as long as you like.

-He will complain that he's bored, but he listens and he stays put. I would not recommend making direct eye contact while he listens, it becomes increasingly obvious that he doesn't blink the longer you stare, and it's kind of terrifying.

-He's not faking listening either, he remembers whatever you say. Months later he'll bring it up, or he'll answer questions about it without thought. He takes the time to know you, even if it seems like he wouldn't.

-If anyone questions his devotion to you or your devotion to him, they will suffer serious consequences. Burning Spice Cookie does not enjoy his intentions being questioned, he's very straightforward, and he makes no move to hide his affection for you. If someone is questioning that, they can only have poor intentions. He will not have you torn away from him because of some spineless cookie.

-He carries you around a lot. Like most of the time, you're being carried around by him. He likes to have you in his arms, it's reassuring in a way, that nothing can happen to you if he literally has you on his person most times.

-It's a frequent sight for the Wild Spices to see him walking around with you on his shoulders, slung over his back, or being carried around under one arm.

-If he is sitting, you are on his lap. No arguments about it, he wants you on his lap and that's where you'll be.

-He just likes to hold you. You're much smaller than him, even if you're a larger cookie, so he enjoys holding you nice and close. Fuels his ego a bit.

-Sometimes he'll just gaze at you, and you have no idea what's going on in his head. He'll twirl your hair around his fingers, sometimes even pressing a kiss to its tip. He just thinks you're so stunning, the perfect cookie to keep at his side for eternity. His right hand, his whole world, right there in front of him. Call him sappy, but he can't control how his dough aches for you.

-After watching you for so long, he'll kiss you and then move on to whatever he needs to do next. It leaves you reeling and overwhelmed each time. He's just so intense and so impossible to read, but at least you can't doubt his devotion to you.

-Speaking of kisses, his are overwhelming much like everything else about him. He doesn't accept half-assed work, so no light or fleeting kisses. They're all deep and full of emotion, full of passion for you.

-It feels as though he's trying to swallow you whole. He pulls you close so there's no room between you. He smells warm, like spice, but it's not as overwhelming as you might think. What is overwhelming is how he pushes his tongue past your lips and feels around your own.

-His tongue is forked like a snake, and it always takes its sweet time tasting you like that. It's like he's trying to commit to memory what you feel like, obsessively swallowing up whatever you'll give him. It leaves you breathless and lightheaded when he pulls away, but he'll only give you a smirk while he lets you stumble around.

-Now, Burning Spice is not a jealous cookie, not remotely. he has no worries of losing you to any other cookie because there is no one else who would be worthy of your time. Not even the other beasts, though he will get angry if they try to take up your time.

-He is, instead, very possessive of your time. If he keeps you by his side, no one can really make him jealous. If someone does take up your time, he gets annoyed and antsy. It takes a while for him to cool down after the fact, so you'll have to smother him in affection to make him feel better.

-Speaking of, he loves to be worshipped by you. Not in the get on your knees and pray way, but literally worshiping him. Praise him for his strength, his looks, and how wonderful he makes you feel. How much you love him. It makes him purr like an oversized cat.

-Oh, and he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, or if you play with it a little. You can put whatever style on him you like, and he'll wear it around with pride. He doesn't care about the looks he gets, you did it so it's something he's proud of.

-That's a good way to categorize your relationship, and pride in each other. He wants you to brag about being with him, you should be proud to be with him. You are worth his time, everyone should know that. If anyone questions that, he'll correct them, don't worry.

-He equally finds pride in being your partner. He chose you for a reason, there are many traits of yours that he finds admirable. He wants everyone to know what is so special about you, he wants everyone to know that he loves you. He's proud of loving you and being yours as much as you are his.

-So, yes, he'll wear his hair in silly styles. He'll carry you around and be affectionate to you around other cookies. He'll wear matching jewelry for you. He would happily do anything to show you off, and he loves to show you off.

[lqveharrington]

Valentine’s Day | D.M.

summary: you and draco got a little too carried away before valentine’s day dinner.

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

includes: fluff, kissing, cursing, all the good valentine’s day things, mentions of pregnancy

a/n: sorry this came out two days late! i got really busy! happy v-day!

There were multiple things Draco Malfoy detested in life. One thing he hated the most was Valentine’s Day. The entire holiday was far too pink for his liking and baby cupid freaked him out. In his opinion, if one needed a holiday created to simply show love to their partner, they were doing something wrong in the relationship.

Of course, Draco knew to love and cherish you—but he didn't need a stupid holiday to tell him that. He would love you everyday. Fortunately, he lucked out when he found out you weren't one to want flashy declarations of love and decorations of the stupid holiday.

The only thing you did want was his everlasting love.

“What’re you staring at, Dray?” You ask when you catch him staring through the bathroom mirror, his body leaning against the door frame.

You narrowed your eyes when he approached you—his warm hands snaked around your midsection and pulled you flush against him, his lips coming down to kiss the back of your neck. You hummed at the feeling and finish applying your red lipstick, touching up the edges.

“You.” He murmured and thumbed circles through the fabric of your dress, repeatedly kissing different areas of your neck until you squeezed his hand to stop. “You look delicious, darling.”

You grin brightly at the compliment, snapping your lipstick shut and meeting his eyes through the mirror once more. His grey eyes reflected nothing but pure love and devotion—your heart beating faster with each second he spent merely watching you.

“Thank you.” You finally say after clearing your throat and spun around the space to face him properly. Dusting off invisible specks of dirt from Draco’s suit, you tilt your head up and gently pull him down by his tie. “You look quite handsome yourself, my love.”

Draco’s lips curved into his signature smirk when his hand resting on the curve of your hip pulled you flush against his chest. “Only the best for you.”

“Flattery will get you no where, Malfoy.” You whisper and press a soft kiss to his lips before whisking yourself away toward the bedroom—Draco following suit with a dazed expression.

He had made a reservation to one of the most prestigious restaurants known to both the wizarding world and the muggle world many months ago—for this exact date—hoping to surprise you with the opportunity. You were indeed surprised, but you were more shocked by the fact that he would rather drive to the restaurant than simply apparate at a nearby safety spot.

“Are we ready to go?” You ask as Nova slips underneath your outstretched hand, purring when you scratch the top of her head.

Draco adjusted his collar and glanced down at his watch. As usual, you both ran earlier than expected. He nodded and moved to your side, allowing Nova to slip under his hand as well. Her black fur matched Draco’s suit and your dress—which felt odd to wear on Valentine’s day, but neither you nor Draco cared for the stupid holiday theme.

You smile when Nova went to curl around Draco’s arm, her purrs becoming softer with all the attention he was giving her. Changing your attention toward the bedroom, you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear and looked at the top of the dresser.

“Have you seen my clutch?” You peel open one of the closet doors, the rows of clutches and purses lined up with all their elegance but none of them fitting.

Draco stuck his hand out, the chain of your clutch resting on his two fingers. “Right here.”

You let out a breath of relief and took the leather from him, kissing his check. He always knew what was going through your mind and you were more than welcome to let him take care of you sometimes.

“Thank you.” You lace a hand with his and move to leave, only to be stopped by him the second your hand found the silver handle of the door. “What?”

You watched as he brought a finger to his lips, tapping them as if they were begging for something.

Draco’s free hand snuck across to your waist, “One more for the road?”

You squinted at him before putting your index finger up—indicating the number one. “Fine, but only one.”

Pansy checked the clock hanging on the wall before stomping up the stairs of Malfoy Manor—Talos, the black newfoundland dog you and Draco adopted, following closely behind. She knew what time your reservation was at, and if you drove now, you would be cutting it close to being late.

Blaise followed Pansy and Talos up the stairs, rolling his eyes at his girlfriend’s peeved expression. No matter what occasion or event, she would always be the same punctual person she was back at Hogwarts. Everything had to be absolutely perfect—even if she had nothing to do with it.

“Hey! You guys are gonna be late!” She knocked on the master bedroom door, Talos joining in and pawing at the door. Pansy grinned at the dog before repeating the action, voice becoming louder and louder until Blaise covered her mouth. “Hey—!”

“Don’t be vexatious, Pans.”

“Don’t call me annoying!” She pulled away from Blaise and glared at the wooden door—almost taunting her as the time ticked by. Pansy banged on the door with more aggression, “Hello—!”

Before she could even knock for the hundredth time, you yanked the door open and stumbled back at the sudden sight of her fist. You blinked before stepping around her, Talos jumping up at the sight of his parents. Draco caught the dog’s paws and narrowed his eyes at the suddenly amused duo, unaware of how stupid he looked.

You gave them a weak grin, smoothing your hand over your dress and running your fingers through your hair. You did everything you can to avoid eye contact with them as you tried making it down the manor’s stairs.

You forgot that Blaise and Pansy were even over. They offered to watch Talos and Nova while you and Draco were out to dinner, but you didn’t know that Pansy was going to practically knock your door down after you both strayed from the meticulous schedule she had conjured up in her mind.

It wasn’t your fault you were going to be late to the reservation—no—it was Draco’s fault.

Obviously.

Pansy caught your shoulder and handed you a makeup wipe, pursing her lips to prevent her from laughing at your reddened face.

It was clear to the other couple what you were up to before exiting the bedroom. Your lipstick stained Draco's lips and jaw—honestly, they were more surprised that the two of you had it in you still. It had been years—two years to be exact—since they had caught the two of you doing something as scandalous as this.

Blaise clapped Draco on the back while snorting at the sight, earning a glare from the blonde himself. It looked like Draco was a child learning about his mother’s makeup for the first time.

“I take it you enjoyed snogging the wife, yeah?”

Draco wrinkled his nose at Blaise’s terrible idea of a joke, taking the wipe from you to free himself from your stained kisses—unfortunately. “You won’t miss your prick of a boyfriend, will you Parkinson?”

“By all means, take him away.” She waved a dismissive hand toward the two men before holding a mirror out and helping you reapply a fresh coat of lipstick.

Unfazed by the threat, Blaise still grinned like an idiot. If being friends with Draco taught him anything, the only real threats to worry about were the ones that involved the use of Draco’s wand.

By the time you finished reapplying your makeup, your face was still burning hot with embarrassment and Blaise wasn’t helping with his stupid face. Seeing your discomfort, Pansy dragged Blaise back downstairs and scolded him like a mother would to her son.

Draco continued to glare at the other man as he descended the stairs, his head leaning close to yours that his lips brushed against your ear. “Is it too late for me to unfriend him?”

You tilt your head up and shoot him a small smile, nodding when he kissed the side of your head. “I think so.”

He huffed but hid a smile that wanted to present its way onto his face. There was no way for the both of you to get rid of Pansy or Blaise—they were so crucial to your life. Removing one of them would be like destroying the structure of perfectly beautiful building.

Besides, who else would babysit for free?

As you and Draco made the trek down the stairs—his hand warm against your back—Talos and Nova weaved around the both of you, knowing that you were both to leave them alone with their aunt and uncle for a while. You scratched Talos’ ears when you made it to the landing, kissing him on the head and promising to be back as soon as possible.

Both animals pawed at you and Draco before rushing off to god knows where. You shook your head at them before lacing a hand with Draco’s, smiling softly at the two of them. Little did Talos and Nova know that there would soon be another Malfoy running around with them.

You sighed softly and looked over at Pansy—who now looked ticked at her boyfriend for acting childish at the age of twenty-two. “We’re leaving you two in charge. No funny business in our home.”

“Me? Never.” Blaise says with faux-delight, once again earning a smack to the chest by his beloved. “Bye, you two! Have fun!”

Ignoring him, Draco nodded toward Pansy before grabbing the car keys and letting you say your own goodbyes toward the duo. Well—just Pansy.

“Call the restaurant if something happens, we’ve yet to figure out our own cellphones.” You clarify and glance at Draco who merely shrugged. You two were so behind the times, you weren’t sure how to even work a muggle cellphone. “Either way, just call. I’ll see you later, Pansy. Love you!”

She nodded and watched you leave the manor before she yanked the door open and called out to you, “Don’t have too much red wine! You’ll flush your cheeks out! Bye!”

Your eyes widened and embarrassment flooded your cheeks again, your hand subconsciously slipping over your lower stomach. Her intention was pure but without context, your mind automatically went to the tiny tiny baby growing in you.

“Maybe we’ve been friends with them for too long.” You mumble and enter the passenger side as Draco moved to the right hand side, the engine humming as he started the car.

He grinned at your comment, left hand coming down to rest on your leg. “I told you.”

You tilt your head toward him, catching his grey eyes before he could start driving. You had to admit, seeing Draco do something as mundane as driving made your heart race a little more.

“Without them, we would’ve never met, my love.” You smile lovingly toward him.

“Best thing that’s ever come out of being friends with them.” Draco whispered before leaning over the console to give your a quick kiss to the lips. “I love you.”

Your smile brightens as you separate from him, taking the time to wipe the lipstick off his lips. “I love you too, Dray.”

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

[lexirosewrites]

Day 16: Pack Isolation Sickness

for @stmarchmm

Steve has never felt more at home than at a concert.

Ever since he was old enough to hitch a ride to Indy and sneak into places with a passable fake ID, he’s been drawn to live music however he can find it.

He’s not even very picky about the genre.

Of course, he has his favorite bands and singers, as most people do. A small collection of songs and artists who make him feel a little less alone in the world.

As a male omega (something that’s drawn mostly negative attention since he was old enough to present), Steve’s alone a lot.

His parents weren’t around much prior to his “unfortunate presentation,” but now they only pop in to take holiday family photos and pretend they’re good parents.

Then it’s back to some tropical island or big city where they can live the life they actually want.

Without a disappointing son.

So yeah, it’s been rough the last few years for Steve.

No real family or pack. Most of his friends stopped answering his calls when he lost his popularity or refused to sleep with them.

He’s a loner, but not by choice.

This is how he finally discovers the wonders of metal music.

Steve had overheard some geeky freshmen discussing a metal concert happening at the shitty bar in town that night.

The Hideout is notorious for not carding very well. His fake will be fine, even if half the town knows the Harrington’s omega son is only eighteen.

His interest is piqued.

A band called ‘Corroded Coffin’ is supposed to be playing. A group of local musicians who have the regular Tuesday night spot.

Steve’s there an hour early, charming his way past the scrutinizing gaze of the bouncer with a sweet smile and batted eyelashes. It usually works for him.

He then finds a barstool to wait on.

It’s a little warm in the bar, so much so that even the dim lights start feeling too bright.

Steve has felt on the edge of a cold for a while now. Never quite sick enough to call himself truly ill, but never quite feeling like himself either.

An occasional cough or runny nose. Minor things. Tolerable.

None of that is enough to keep him from the music. If he’s ill, then music is the cure to all his ailments.

There’s nothing in the world that can’t be remedied with a good rhythm and a catchy melody.

By the time Corroded Coffin is ready to start playing, Steve’s grown slightly impatient.

He’s almost bouncing in his shoes, antsy to move and dance and enjoy the music that’s beginning to come from the band on the tiny stage.

Steve notices right away that the members aren’t old enough to be here at The Hideout either. Primarily because they’re also students at Hawkins High.

Gareth, Jeff, Doug, and Eddie Munson.

He’s not had much interaction with any of them beyond watching Tommy pick on them, back when they used to be friends.

But he knows Eddie is the leader of his little group of freaks.

Steve’s fairly sure they all play some demon game too.

He may not be a part of any social groups any more, but Steve still hears gossip from others.

There’s also the matter of Eddie getting up on lunch tables and giving long, flashy, noisy speeches to the whole school about forced conformity and the repression of omegas in society.

For a while, he’s fairly sure everyone believed Eddie himself to be an omega (albeit, a nontraditional one) because of how he openly opposes strict secondary gender roles.

But that rumor was quickly cleared up by a fight between Jason and Eddie wherein alpha fangs came out.

He seems like an okay guy, if a bit strange.

Still, Steve knows enough about his own prior reputation to know he probably shouldn’t stick around for the show.

And yet.

The music keeps his feet planted firmly towards the front edge of the stage, filling his ears with booming riffs and drums.

It’s an addiction, the music.

Something powerful he takes many hits of, but it never seems to fully take the edge off, no matter how much he gets.

Steve stays for the whole set, eyes closed and head banging along with the drunks who’ve stumbled in off the street for liquor and a show.

When it finally stops, it’s hard to believe he’s been listening for almost an hour straight.

‘Getting lost in the music’ is an understatement for the way he feels.

As soon as the show is done, Steve’s energy is zapped. His legs feel suddenly weak and his heart is pounding away too fast.

The cold is catching up to him, leaving him with profound exhaustion and emptiness in its place.

Like maybe he’ll never feel normal or happy again.

A feeling of doom and despair washes over Steve. It’s not new, but it is miserable.

“Harrington?”

He blinks open his eyes.

When had he even closed them?

Steve attempts to straighten up and stop leaning against the nearest brick wall for support.

Eddie Munson is staring him down with a look of open confusion and hidden skepticism, as if maybe he’s mistaken about Steve’s identity in the dark bar.

“Munson,” he states with a shaky nod.

“Why are you here?” Eddie asks plainly.

It’s not a surprising question. This isn’t one of Steve’s usual joints, but apparently it is Eddie and his alpha friends’.

“I came for the music,” Steve answers truthfully.

“Our music?” Gareth joins in.

He nods, turning his body in the direction of the exit. ‘King Steve’ is long gone, but not everybody has allowed his past to stay there.

A group of four potentially hostile alphas staring Steve down isn’t the best idea, even if they haven’t given him a reason to bolt out of the place yet.

“Yeah, I heard you guys were good.”

He isn’t sure what else to reveal, but he still doesn’t feel well and this conversation is weird.

“We are,” Doug states, squinted gaze locked onto Steve like he’s the one who could be a threat.

As if he isn’t an omega facing four alphas.

“Right. I’ll— uh, just be going now,” Steve explains, trying to push by Eddie with no luck.

As soon as the older alpha puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him, Steve’s legs give out and he’s on the dirty bar floor.

“Whoa, what the hell? Are you okay?” Eddie asks, bending down to help him.

If only he could melt into the floor now. But Eddie’s arms are so nice wrapped around his waist and assisting him to stand. The alpha then leads him backstage, to what appears to be a green room of sorts.

It’s filled with musical equipment, but at least there’s a couch where he can sit.

Eddie sits right next to him, tucking Steve under his arm and holding him close.

“It appears the rumors are true then. King Steve really has no pack.”

The words aren’t said in a cruel manner, but it still breaks his heart a little to be reminded.

“What do you know about it?”

Eddie hums thoughtfully.

“Enough to realize you’re having a wicked case of isolation sickness and you’re gonna drop any minute now if we don’t take care of you properly,” Eddie replies, gesturing towards the rest of his band of friends until they’re all surrounding Steve.

“Why are you doing this?”

He’s openly crying now.

Jeff gives him a sad smile, rubbing his wrist against Steve’s neck gently.

“Because we know what it’s like to have our own pack look out for us. Whatever the hell happened with your old friends, we can’t leave an omega vulnerable like this. We’ll take care of you, Steve.”

Gareth takes hold of his hand.

Doug ruffles his hair, leaving a scent on the top of his head.

All of the Corroded Coffin boys are making sure Steve has physical contact and plenty of scents on him, assuring that his inner omega knows he has a pack around him.

It works fast, the combination of touches and instincts.

He hardly notices Eddie kissing his temple and murmuring sweet words to him about what a good omega he is until his body starts to feel like his own again.

"You're alright, Steve. Your alphas are gonna protect you, sweetheart."

"I really did like your music," he admits quietly.

The boys all chuckle at him, but not in an unkind way.

"Well, you're welcome to tag along to our shows anytime. You can be our first real groupie," Doug jokes.

Steve smiles at that.

It would be nice to have friends again. And it's not like he's got other places to be anyway.

"I'd like that."

Eddie gives his shoulder a squeeze and Steve leans right into the touch, laying his head on the alpha's shoulder in return.

All of the Corroded Coffin members are being so nice to him, even though he doesn't deserve it.

But the pull to be near Eddie is even stronger.

"What do you think about coming back to my place tonight, Stevie? The boys and I were planning on knocking back a few of my Uncle Wayne's beers and watching a sci-fi movie."

He nuzzles his face closer into Eddie's neck, using the action to nod his agreement to the proposed idea.

It takes a combination of efforts to get Steve safely onto Eddie's back so he can carry him out to his van (they also have to reassure the bartender that he's not being kidnapped).

But by the time they make it to Eddie's trailer, the alpha has mentally readied a ten step courting plan to implement on Steve.