#( hint it was very tough )

[jils-things]

love of my life :]

[hiisheart]

( i think this says a lot about the kind of year i've had LMFAOOOO )

[highlifeboat]

Lmao, you really said, "I will have my canon transman! One way or another!"/lh

Nah, but really, you go off :p

Moira deserves more content 💜

I will, and if it can't be Jill (who I still wanna root for because she's still giving the vibe) it's gonna be the 20 year old afraid of fire arms who I've known for like... an hour.

Plus Moira would probably model himself after his dad, and I can actually tolerate Barry. Mostly because I don't remember him very well from the first game but I'm sure he was typical Macho Man Tough Shit.

Even though Moira is 100% giving Emo boy and not Macho Man.

(That said I promise nothing in terms of content)

It's not like I don't have transmen headcanons for characters that already looks like dudes, but I think a transman who hasn't actually started transitioning at all is... something. I dunno.

[rafecameronssl4t]

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

[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.

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Fem!Reader ☼ 946 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist

“He’s precious! He looks just like his daddy.” Miriam gushes, leaning in closer to Henry. James cringes as his baby boy flinches away, burying his head into his father’s chest and eyeing the woman with uncertainty. Henry’s tiny hands clutch James’s shirt, seeking comfort and protection from the unfamiliar face.

James knows Miriam from school, but they have never been close. She has always been the life of the party, a role he once embraced during their school days. Now, her enthusiasm feels overwhelming, especially to his shy and sensitive son. Perhaps he has mellowed more than he realizes since then—having a child at 20 would surely do that to you.

Miriam straightens up, placing a manicured hand on his bicep. With a slight pout to her lips, she says softly, “I heard about what happened to you and his mum. It must have been devastating.”

James tenses, his gaze shifting nervously to the store entrance, where he hopes Sirius, Remus, and you will hurry with their shopping and rescue him from this unwelcome conversation. The thought of discussing his ex, who left him and their son behind because she wasn’t ready for motherhood, fills him with a mix of frustration and anger. The memory of her sudden departure still stings, and he isn’t eager to relive those painful moments, especially with someone he barely knows.

“Yeah, it’s been tough, but we’re doing just fine without her,” James replies, his tone steady but strained. He takes a deep breath, summoning the courage to gently suggest that Miriam give them some space. “Anyway, Miriam—”

“That’s so unfortunate that he doesn’t have a mum in his life,” Miriam continues, her lashes fluttering flirtatiously at him. James immediately grasps where she is going with this. It’s not the first time his role as a father has attracted unwanted advances, but her bold approach leaves him momentarily stunned. If she had asked him out directly, it might have been different—though he doubts it would have made much of a difference.

“Miriam! Still hitting on unavailable men?” Sirius’s voice rings out with a teasing edge. James turns to see Sirius and Remus emerging from the store. Remus is scanning the receipt but looks up, startled at Sirius’s voice. You must still be browsing in the store.

“Unavailable?” Miriam repeats, her eyebrows raising in surprise. James can’t help but question the same thing, the word echoing in his mind.

“Very much so,” Sirius says with a firm nod as he and Remus come to stand beside James. Remus shoots Miriam a polite hello, but his expression reflects his lingering dislike for her from their school days.

“I didn’t know you were with someone,” Miriam mumbles, and James thinks about clarifying that he didn’t know it either.

The bell above the shop door chimes, announcing someone’s departure. James’s reaction to your voice is immediate and revealing; his eyes brighten, and his posture straightens as he turns to you. It’s clear from his response that he is deeply enamored with you.

And it isn’t just James. His son mirrors his father’s excitement. The little boy’s eyes light up with the same warmth, and he reaches out eagerly toward you. Henry babbles what sounds remarkably like “mama,” his tiny arms outstretched in an unmistakable plea for you to hold him. James hopes you don’t catch what his son is trying to say.

Your sweet voice rings out, “Jamie, I know you said not to spoil him, but they had the most adorable knit sweater—” You trail off, blinking in surprise as you notice Miriam’s disapproving gaze, her brow furrowed in irritation. You come to astop next to James, missing the way his son is staring you down.

“You bought him another sweater?” Remus asks, his tone a mix of surprise and amusement. You shoot him a halfhearted glare, silently reminding him that he shouldn’t be commenting on it.

“Hi, Miriam. How have you been?” You greet her with a warm smile, though a hint of unease tugs at you. Miriam’s gaze feels unusually intense, leaving you slightly unsettled. You recall that you both got on well in school, so you’re unsure what might have shifted between you.

“Good. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you all, Jamie and I were just talking about—” Miriam trails off, her gaze fixed on James as he smoothly takes the shopping bag from you, allowing you to take Henry. Had you been fully listening, you would’ve frowned at the use of your nickname for James.

The transition is so effortless that it’s clear it’s well-practiced. You settle Henry comfortably on your hip, deftly rummaging through your purse until you find a pacifier. You gently pop it into his mouth, and Henry’s head droops onto your shoulder as he begins to suck contentedly, letting out a sigh that suggests he’s found his perfect spot.

James’s gaze is lovesick as he watches you. His heart catches in his throat as he sees you effortlessly produce a pacifier for his son. He’s well aware that your purse likely holds other baby essentials, even if you’d deny it. As he observes you, his thoughts drift, overwhelmed by the profound realization that Henry has a mum in his life— you.

You’re so focused on settling Henry that you don’t even notice Miriam’s silence, and James, so absorbed in you, is barely aware of her presence. You smile up at him while gently rocking his son, and James thinks, This is it. I have everything I’ve ever wanted.

Miriam turns to Sirius with a lowered voice, “I thought they were just friends. They were in school.”

“They were never just friends. Y/n has always been James’s weakness. Now she’s his son’s too.”

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

[cowboybeepboop]

Lovesick

"You don't have to beg, princess," he mutters gruffly in your ear. "I'll touch you as much as you want."

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 8k

Summary: Storm chasing with Scott turns into a night of passion.

Warnings: P in V sex, no protection, soft Scott

a/n: Tbh this is really similar to the first Scott oneshot I posted 😭 I just really like the idea of Scott w/ a soft spot for reader. Also I’m currently working on a request but please feel free to message/send requests my way if you have any

Scott is your *most* annoying storm par colleague, you get along with the rest of the team just fine. In fact they all really enjoy your company, but Scott? He’s just such a dick.

Scott has never been one for social graces, his charm as rough as the storms he chases. Yet, every time he tries to get under your skin with a snide remark or a deliberate shove, you respond with a gentle touch or a soft laugh that seems to disarm him completely. You're the one person who can cut through his tough exterior with ease, and he hates it.

But as he takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving your frame, he knows he can't stay away. You're the puzzle he can't solve, the riddle wrapped in a mystery, and it's driving him mad. But he's also painfully aware that every time he pushes you away with his cruel words and harsh actions, he's losing a little more of you, a piece of the very thing he craves. And that, more than anything, is what keeps him coming back.

”Hey Scott,” you smile at him, setting your coffee on the table across from him. “Can I sit with you?” Scott looks at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on yours as if he’s studying you. He lets out a small sigh before responding.

”Yeah, sure.” He motions for you to sit, his tone a mixture of reluctant acceptance and a hint of irritation. The air between the two of you is tense, a mixture of lingering annoyance and the ever present spark of attraction.

”Thank you,” your smile widens as you sit down, taking a small drink of your latte as you look at his cold face. Scott watches you closely as you settle into the seat across from him, his expression remaining aloof and unreadable. The tension between you is palpable, but there's also a flicker of something else in his eyes that he's trying to hide.

As you sip your latte, he can't help but notice the way your lips wrap around the rim of the cup and the small noise of contentment you make. His fingers drum impatiently on the table, betraying his uneasy exterior.

”So, do you know where we’re gonna chase today?” You set the cup down, looking out the window admiring the morning sky. Scott leans back in his seat, his gaze following yours out the window. He takes a moment to reply, his tone slightly less gruff than usual.

”Probably the outskirts of Tornado Alley. The weather report is predicting a major storm system moving through the area by mid-afternoon. Might be a good one to chase.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but his eyes dart to you for a brief second before shifting back to the window. The storm is brewing inside him, just like the one outside.

“Sounds great!” You reply with a cheery tone, shifting your eyes back to Scott's face. Scott’s jaw clenches and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

Your cheerfulness is both intriguing and infuriating. He can’t stand how easily you can flip a switch from serious storm chaser to cheerful chatterbox. “Don’t get too excited,” he replies gruffly. “Storm chasing isn’t all fun and games.”

“Well I’m not too excited,” you reply with a laugh, “But it’s good we know where we’re headed for the day.” Your attention is drawn to Javi, who just walked into the cafe, you smile at him with a wave.

Scott’s eyes flick to Javi, and for a brief moment he frowns at the sight of the other man. He’s particularly annoyed by the way you greet him with such warmth and ease.

He takes a sip of his coffee, his tone betraying a hint of annoyance. ”Yeah, it’s good we know where we’re headed. Can focus on prepping the van instead of worrying about wasting our time.” Your eyes flick back to him.

“That’s true, we can get off track sometimes.” you stand up grabbing your cup, “I’m gonna go talk to Javi, I'll see you later Scott.” Your hair bounces with your step as you walk up to your friend. He grabs your coffee and takes a sip before cringing and handing it back to you, saying it's too sweet.

Scott watches you walk away, his eyes lingering on your every move. The sight of you and Javi talking and laughing together only serves to stoke the fire within him. He watches as Javi takes a sip of your coffee, wincing at the sweetness before handing the cup back to you. Scott can’t help but smirk to himself, thinking of how your taste in coffee is as sickly sweet as your personality.

You laugh at something Javi says, your hand falls to his arm squeezing it with your giggle. Scott's jaw clenches as he watches your hand on Javi's arm. The casual familiarity between the two of you ignites a spark of jealousy within him.

He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the pang of irritation in his chest as he watches the two of you banter and laugh. Javi smooths down the top of your hair earning a sweet grin from you, he pats your hip before he walks over to Scott.

Scott's eyes follow Javi as he walks over, his irritation still evident. He takes a nonchalant sip of his coffee as he awaits whatever is coming next.

"What’s up?" he mutters, his tone gruff and guarded.

Javi smiles, “Hey man we’re gonna head out in ten, so finish your coffee, or do whatever else you need.” He smiles at Scott, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Scott eyes Javi's hand on his shoulder with a mixture of annoyance and acceptance. He knows he can't argue with the order, even if the touch feels like a bit of a jab at his loner tendencies.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles, taking a final sip of his coffee. "I'll be ready." You bound over to them interrupting the awkward conversation.

”Hey boys, want any drinks for the road? My treat!” Scott's irritation is momentarily pushed aside by your sudden appearance. He is reminded of your presence when your hand brushes his arm, a brief but distinct touch that sends a small shiver through him.

He glances at you with surprise before responding gruffly. "Uh...sure. Just a black coffee."

Javi grins at you, always enjoying your friendly nature. "Actually, I’d appreciate a sweet tea if you’re getting drinks."

“Iced?” You question, Javi responds with a nod. “Okay, got it. I’ll meet you both outside.”

You hand them their drinks, “Hey, Y/N why don’t you ride with Scott today?” Javi flashes him a smirk.

“Yeah, of course.” You reply, Scott's eyes widen slightly at Javi's suggestion, his heart dropping into his stomach. He hadn't expected to be saddled with your presence for the entire ride, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

Scott lets out a low grumble of protest, but Javi's grin only widens, clearly enjoying the situation he's put Scott in.

“Great!” he says with a clap, “Have fun, you two.”

”Would you like to drive?” You turn your attention over to Scott. His grumble turns into a frown, his annoyance evident in his expression. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing as he processes your question.

"Why wouldn’t I want to drive?" he mutters, crossing his arms. "You probably drive like a grandma anyway." You laugh at his response, opening the truck door and sliding in.

Scott watches as you slide into the vehicle, amused by your cheerful nature in spite of his grumpy demeanor. He lets out a low sigh and walks around to the driver's side, getting in and starting up the truck.

He checks the rear view mirror, catching a glimpse of you in the passenger's seat. He can't help but notice how the sunlight hits your face, illuminating your features in a soft, flattering glow.

You notice Scott’s look and your hand subconsciously goes to your face, “What’s up? Do I have something on my face?”

Scott's eyes dart back to the road, silently cursing himself for being caught in the act. He clears his throat and mutters a quick "No, nothing's wrong."

He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but he tries to dismiss it as a reaction to the sun shining through the windshield.

"Just checking you weren’t falling asleep over there,” he adds gruffly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

”Well, you don’t have to worry about that, I’m 100% awake.” You face him with your lips curving up. Scott glances over at you as you speak, his own lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

He does his best to hide it, but the sight of your curved lips and the lilt in your voice only serves to soften his gruff exterior even further. "Yeah, I can see that," he murmurs, his voice gruff but less guarded than usual. "You're like a hyperactive Energizer bunny."

”You’re funny sometimes, I mean when you want to be.” you laugh softly before turning your attention to the road ahead of you. “But why are you so grumpy all the time?” You ask.

Scott's eyebrows furrow at your question, his jaw clenching for a moment as if you've hit a sore spot. He lets out a low sigh, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel for a brief moment before loosening again.

"I'm not grumpy all the time," he mutters, the gruffness in his voice betraying the slight defensiveness in his tone. "I just don’t see the point in being all cheerful and upbeat like you all the time."

You look over at him with an awkward smile, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Scott lets out another sigh, his expression softening slightly as he senses your unease. He glances at you, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment before going back to the road.

"You didn’t offend me," he mutters, his tone a little less gruff than before. "It’s just... I don’t understand how you do it, that’s all. You’re always so cheerful and friendly, even when things get rough."

“It’s easy,” you turn to him with a shrug, “People tend to return the energy, anyway.” Scott listens to your explanation, his mind racing to process your words. He takes a moment before responding, his tone still gruff but less than before.

"I guess that makes sense," he mutters grudgingly. "I’m just not the type to put on a mask or fake being cheerful for the sake of others. I like to keep things straightforward and blunt."

”Are you saying I do?” You question, becoming slightly defensive. Scott senses the sudden change in your tone, surprised by the defensive edge in your voice. His eyebrows furrow again as he tries to backpedal.

"No, that's not what I meant," he hastens to clarify. "I didn’t say you were. I just...I don’t understand how you’re always so positive, that’s all." You burst into laughter.

”Lighten up, I’m just messing with you,” You shove his shoulder gently, “I know what you meant.” Scott’s eyes widen at your playful shove, surprised by the unexpected physical contact. He can feel his heart rate spike momentarily before he reigns it back in. He shoots you a quick glare, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“You little…” he mutters, shaking his head. “Don’t go shoving me while I’m driving.” You giggle, your hand sliding down his arm as you look ahead to the tornado you’re following.

Scott's heart skips a beat at the feeling of your hand sliding down his arm. It's a small but unexpectedly intimate gesture that sends a shiver through him. He stares out the windshield, trying to focus on the storm in front of them, but part of his mind is preoccupied with the warmth of your touch still lingering on his skin.

He swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady as he speaks. "So, uh...how does this one look to you?" You smile at him, your eyes twinkling a bit

”You usually don’t care what I think about the storms,” Scott's expression hardens as he glances at you, his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of your smile. He isn't sure what's come over him, but he finds himself strangely drawn to your bright attitude.

He lets out a soft huff, acknowledging your observation. "I guess I don’t usually ask," he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But I figure since we’re stuck together for this drive, I might as well take your opinion into account."

”Well, I think we’re gonna get some good data. The conditions are looking really great and it looks like the cap is about to break soon,” you say while peering out the window.

Scott nods, his eyes flickering from you to the storm ahead of the car. He can’t help but be impressed by your enthusiasm and knowledge, even though he’d never admit it out loud.

"Yeah, you’re probably right," he concedes, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Looks like things are falling into place for a good chase."

You grasp his thigh roughly, “Scott watch out for the truck!” you say urgency in your voice as another storm chaser cuts in front of you.

Scott's eyes widen at your sudden outburst, immediately snapping back to the road. He jerks the wheel as the other storm chaser cuts him off, swearing under his breath as he struggles to avoid a collision.

"What the hell is that idiot doing?" he growls, his heart racing from the near miss. "Do they not know how to drive?" Your hand relaxes, but stays on his leg.

”Here, speed up, you have room to pass them on the right.” You point toward the road in front of you.

Scott takes a couple calming breaths as his heart rate begins to slow, silently thanking you for your quick thinking. He glances over at you and notices your hand on his leg, the weight of it sending a slight shiver through him.

He does as you suggest, quickly accelerating and maneuvering his way around the truck. He lets out a sigh of relief as they pass it without any further issues. "Thanks," he mutters gruffly. "Good eye."

Your hand moves up his thigh as you relax into your seat, “That almost gave me a fucking heart attack.” Realizing your hand was still on him, you pull it away. “Oh uh sorry about that.” You smile.

Scott feels a pang of disappointment as your hand slides away from his thigh, leaving a trail of warmth in its path. He secretly wishes you had left it there, but doesn’t comment on it.

He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to hide the effect your touch has on him.

"Uh... it’s fine," he mutters, his voice a little huskier than usual. "Just glad we missed that idiot." Javi gives him instructions on where to go, Scott turns into the directed area.

You and Scott set up the panel according to Javi's instructions, his mind still lingering on the brief moment when you had your hand on his thigh. It's the most physical contact you've ever initiated with him, and he can't stop thinking about the sensation of your touch.

As the tornado appears in front of you both, your eyes light up with wonder, and Scott finds himself watching you more than the storm itself. He's never seen you so enchanted, and he can't help but be endeared by your passion.

Scott watches as the storm approaches, its ominous presence growing larger and darker. He suddenly feels the need to protect you, his instincts kicking into overdrive.

"Y/N, get back in the truck," he barks out, his voice urgent. "It's getting too close." You follow his instruction, quickly getting in and buckling.

Once you're safely inside, Scott rushes to the driver's door and jumps in. He shuts the door behind him and starts the engine back up, the sound of the storm battering the outside of the truck growing louder.

He glances over at you, making sure you're buckled in and safe. There's a hint of worry in his eyes, but he tries to play it off.

"You okay?" he grumbles, his voice betraying a hint of concern. He pulls off into the road, quickly driving toward safety.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me Scott,” you tease with a sweet grin. Scott scowls at your teasing comment, his grumpiness coming back in full force. He grumbles under his breath and focuses his attention back on the road.

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters gruffly, his voice trying to mask the slight tinge of defensiveness. "I just don't want you getting hurt, that's all."

”Aha! You totally are getting soft, when was the last time you worried about me getting hurt.” You exclaim with giggle, “but yes I’m fine.”

Scott's scowl deepens, his ego bruised by your teasing. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, partly from annoyance and partly from the truth behind your words.

"I... I was worried you'd get blown away," he tries to sound gruff, but the hint of admission in his tone gives him away. He can't deny his growing attachment to you, but he'll be damned if he ever admits it out loud.

”Oh, don’t act like you wouldn’t like to see me get blown away,” you smile at him.

Scott huffs, a mixture of annoyance and amusement flickering in his eyes. He can't deny that the thought of you being away from him is slightly appealing, but he also can't help the pang of protectiveness he feels towards you.

"It'd be quiet for a change, that's for sure," he mutters gruffly, his lips twitching into a reluctant half-smile. Your smile falters as you notice his small one, I mean does he really hate your company that much?

Scott notices the small flicker of hurt in your expression and immediately regrets his words. He didn’t mean for it to sound quite so callous, but his gruff demeanor often led him to say things without fully thinking them through.

He realizes the implication of his comment and quickly tries to salvage the situation. "I was just kidding, you know," he mutters gruffly. "I don’t actually want you blown away."

”Yeah of course, I know that,” you regain your usual composure. “Should we go back to the motel? To meet Javi there…” your voice trails off as you try to change the subject.

Scott nods, sensing your desire to change the subject. He knows he's said the wrong thing, but he's not quite sure how to fix it. Instead, he focuses on what he's good at: driving.

"Yeah, that’s a good idea," he mutters gruffly. "Javi’s probably waiting for us back at the motel. Let’s get going." You yawn, deciding to pretend to sleep in order to avoid the awkwardness.

Scott notices your yawn and your intentional attempt to avoid conversation. He realizes that you're trying to escape the uneasy atmosphere that he himself had created.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his gruff demeanor softening, “I… I didn’t actually mean what I said back there, you know. I was just messing around.”

”Yes, I know” you grumble, “I think I’m just tired..” Scott notices the way you wrap your arms around yourself, a clear sign that you're still bothered by his earlier comment, even if you won't admit it.

He pulls into the parking lot, turning to look at you. "Look at me and tell me what's really bothering you," he demands, his voice gruff but softened by a hint of concern. You close your eyes stubbornly to avoid looking at him.

“I don’t know, Scott. You really didn’t do anything,” you sigh, Scott huffs in frustration as you stubbornly keep your eyes closed, refusing to really talk to him.

He reaches out and gently pries your eyelids open, demanding that you look at him. "Bullshit," he growls. "You're not fooling anyone. You're pissed at me, even if you won't admit it. Just tell me what's going on in that big brain of yours, dammit."

Your hand reaches up to his wrist, holding on softly. “I’m not pissed at you Scott.” You open one eye peeking at him, “I guess it's just… I don’t mean to bother you with my talking. Even though you didn’t mean it, it just stung a little.”

Scott's expression softens as he looks at you, your hand lightly gripping his wrist. He can feel the hurt in your words, and it hits him harder than he'd like to admit.

"You don't bother me," he mutters, his voice losing some of its gruff edge. "I was just being a jackass, as usual. I didn't mean what I said. You know that, right?”

”I know you didn’t mean it,” you reluctantly open your eyes, “you’re a big sweetie at heart, but I won't share your little secret.” Your smile returns to your lips as your hand slides down his muscular forearm.

Scott's heart rate spikes at the feel of your hand tracing down his forearm. He tries to mask his reaction, but a small shiver betrays him.

He lets out a grumble, pretending to be annoyed by your comment, “I'm not a sweetie. I'm tough as nails.

”Scott?” You lean closer to him, his breath hitches as you lean closer to him. He can smell your scent, and he suddenly becomes very aware of the small distance between you.

He swallows hard, his gruff exterior faltering for a moment. "Yeah?" he mutters, his voice a little hoarser than usual. You move his hand from your chin to your shoulder.

”Do you have a soft spot for me?” Your voice is gentle, Scott's heart thuds in his chest as you guide his hand to your shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath as he feels the warmth of your skin under his palm.

He looks at you, his eyes flickering with a mixture of vulnerability and gruffness. He wants to deny your question, to maintain his tough exterior, but the truth is undeniable.

"Maybe," he mutters gruffly, his voice just above a whisper. "Maybe I do. So what?" Your smile turns into a small smirk as you guide his hand to your chest, over your heart.

”I have a soft spot for you too..” you murmur, Scott's breath catches in his throat as he can feel the rapid beat of your heart underneath his palm, a tangible sign of your own vulnerability.

His gruff demeanor falters for a moment as he looks at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

"You do?" he mutters, his voice a little hoarser than usual, your cheeks flush.

”Can’t you tell that I do?” You lean closer, Scott's gaze flickers down to your lips as you lean closer, his heart racing rapidly. The proximity between you is dangerous, and he feels a mixture of vulnerability and desire.

He swallows hard, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "I... I didn't think you felt that way about me," he mutters gruffly. "You could have anyone you wanted, why me?"

”I don’t know about that..” you say with surprise in your voice, Scott's brow furrows in confusion, his gruff exterior faltering again.

"What do you mean, you don't know about that?" he mutters, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of genuine surprise. "You could have any man you wanted. You're intelligent, charming, and..."

He trails off, swallowing hard as his gaze linger on your lips. “Any man that I wanted?” You hum, his heart rate spikes as you question his words. He can see the playful gleam in your eyes, and he can sense that you're testing him.

"Yeah," he mutters gruffly, his voice rougher than usual. "Any man at all. You could have your pick. So why would you..."

He lets the sentence hang in the air, the implication clear. “What can I say, I like the chase,” you tease, his gruff exterior faltering even more. The thought of you 'chasing' after him makes his stomach flip with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

He tries to maintain his composure, but he can't help the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. "The chase, huh?"

You lean in to give him a soft peck, he’s caught off guard by your move, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he lets out a soft, guttural sound as he feels the warmth of your lips against his.

"You've been driving me crazy for weeks." he mutters gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of desire.

”And yet I was the one who had to make the first move” you murmur against his lips, giving him another peck. Scott's fingers dig into your hips, his body instinctively pulling you closer, craving more of your touch.

Your words, whispered against his lips, send a wave of desire through him, erasing any pretense of indifference. "You... You are a goddamn tease," he growls, his voice thick with longing.

You pull away and slip out of the truck, Scott's eyes widen in surprise as you slip away from him, a pang of disappointment mixed with confusion. He follows you out of the truck, a mixture of desire and frustration etched on his face.

"Where are you going?" he demands gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of desperation.

”To your room, so don’t make me wait too long.” You turn to look back at him with a smirk.

Scott's eyes widen at your words, a mixture of surprise and excitement passing over his face. He stands there for a moment, processing what you've just said. Then, a sly, cocky smile spread across his lips. "You'd better not be screwing with me," he mutters gruffly, taking a step towards you.

”Well… maybe if you play your cards right we can do a little screwing..” you bite your lip as you turn to him, your back against his room door.

Scott's heart rate spikes at your suggestive words and the sight of you leaning against his door. He closes the distance between you, his body pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, trapping you against the door.

"You're damn right we will," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "But first, I need to know one thing."

”And what’s that?” You look up at him, your hand pressing to his chest. Scott leans in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his body pressed tightly against yours. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, and it's taking every ounce of his willpower not to lose control right then and there.

"Is this... Is this real? Or are you just playing some kind of game?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in his voice is undeniable, as if he's letting you see a side of him that he doesn't let just anyone see.

”Scott,” you say his name firmly, reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Why would I play with you?” Your thumb runs over his cheekbone. “This is real, all of it.”

Scott feels your touch on his cheek, and it sends a wave of emotion through him. The sight of your earnest expression, coupled with the soothing touch of your thumb, melts away any doubts he may have had.

Scott shakes himself out of his thoughts and fishes in his pocket for the key. He inserts the key into the lock and twists, opening the door and stepping aside to let you in.

He follows you inside, closing and locking the door behind him. The room is small and dimly lit, with a queen size bed taking up most of the space.

You reach out for his arm pulling him to you. He stumbles slightly, surprised by the strength in your pull. He stands before you, his body inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours. You capture his lips in a heated kiss.

Scott's thoughts are cut off as your lips crash against his in a hungry, heated kiss. His eyes widen in surprise, but it only takes a moment for his instincts to take over. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him as he returns the kiss with equal intensity.

He groans against your lips, his grip on you tight and possessive as he loses himself in the moment, you press your fingertips into his waist. Scott lets out a low growl, his body shuddering at the feeling of your fingertips on his skin. He looks at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and frustration.

You press a kiss to his jaw. Scott's eyes flutter closed momentarily at the feel of your lips on his jaw. The touch is gentle and yet it sends a wave of heat through him. He lets out a gruff huff, his grip on your waist tightening as he tries to hold onto his composure.

You kiss his Adam’s apple, your hand sliding up his abs through his shirt. Scott's breath hitches at the feel of your lips on his skin, his body reacting with a mix of pleasure and longing. Your hand on his abs makes his muscles tense, his body instinctively arching into your touch.

He groans deeply, his resistance weakening as you continue to press kisses to his sensitive skin. "Damn it," he mutters gruffly, his voice strained. "You really know how to drive a man wild, don't you?"

”Scott..” you murmur against his neck, Scott's body trembles at the sound of his name on your lips. The feeling of your warm breath on his neck sends a shiver down his spine, awakening every nerve ending.

He closes his eyes, his head tilting back slightly as he mutters your name in response, his voice thick with longing. "Yeah, princess?"

”Sit down,” you reply softly. Scott's eyes open, the command in your voice catching him off guard. He looks at you, a mixture of surprise and curiosity on his face.

"Sit down?" he echoes gruffly, his confusion evident.

”Mhmm” you draw out, despite his surprise, Scott finds himself obeying your command, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He looks up at you, his eyes never leaving yours as he waits to see what you'll do next.

"I'm sitting," he mutters gruffly, his voice betraying a hint of anticipation. "Now what?"

”You're like a puppy,” you tease with a giggle. Scott's jaw muscles clench at your comment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Did you just compare me to a puppy?" he grumbles gruffly. But despite his gruff exterior, there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He can't help but find your teasing endearing, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

You start slowly unbuttoning your shirt “You listen well, you have soft hair, and you’re cute. Just like a puppy.” you pull your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. Scott's eyes widen as you start unbuttoning your shirt, his gaze immediately fixated on the exposed skin beneath.

His breath catches in his throat, and his hands clench into fists at his sides, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "You think I'm cute?" he mutters gruffly, his voice gruff as he tries to maintain his composure.

”The cutest,” you smile sweetly, stepping between his legs and bringing his hands to your bra. Scott's hands twitch slightly at the sudden warmth under his palms. The feel of your skin and the soft lace of your bra against his calloused hands sends a jolt of electricity through his body.

He looks up at you, his expression a mix of desire and surprise. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his mouth watering at the sight of you. "Damn," he groans, his voice husky. "You're beautiful, princess."

You bite your lip “Scott..” you look down at him, eyes full of lust and desire.

Scott's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes dark with desire and longing. He swallows hard, his throat dry as he registers the look in your eyes.

He tugs you closer, bringing his hands up to the small of your back, his palms pressing into your skin. "Say my name again," he mutters gruffly, his voice rough with need.

”Scott, touch me please..” you practically whine out in desire, Scott's body shudders at the sound of your voice, desperate and needy. Your plea sparks something within him, igniting a fire of desire that he can't hold back anymore.

He swallows hard, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he looks up at you. "You want me to touch you, princess?" he mutters gruffly, his hands roaming across your back, caressing your skin.

”Please,” you groan, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull yourself closer to him.

Scott's breath hitches at the sound of your groaning plea, his heart racing in his chest. Your arms around his neck and your body pressed against him, pleading with him to touch you, it's driving him wild.

He leans his head forward, burying his face against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he responds. "You don't have to beg, princess," he mutters gruffly in your ear. "I'll touch you as much as you want."

You settle into his laps, grinding down against him. “I really need you, Scottie.” You whisper into his ear. Scott's body jerks involuntarily as you settle onto his lap and grind against him. A guttural moan escapes his lips at the sound of your whispered plea, his hands immediately grabbing onto your hips, holding you against him.

He buries his face against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You need me, huh?" he mutters gruffly, his voice strained as he struggles to maintain control.

”More than anything.” You’re desperate for him to take complete control.

Your words, full of need and desperation, ignite a primal fire within Scott. He can't deny you any longer, can't resist the need to claim you, to give you everything you want.

He growls deeply, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he lifts you up and moves you further onto the bed, laying you down with a thump. He prowls over you, his eyes dark with unconcealed desire.

"You're gonna get what you want, princess," he mutters gruffly. "I'll give you everything you need." You moan at his words, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Scott's hands start to explore your body, his fingertips tracing the lines of your waist, sliding up to the clasp of your bra. He fumbles with it for a moment, his urgency palpable, before finally releasing it.

The fabric falls away, revealing your bare breasts to his heated gaze. He groans into your mouth, his hands cupping you gently before his thumbs begin to tease your hardened nipples. The sensation sends a shock wave of pleasure through you, making your body arch off the bed.

His touch is rough but tender, each stroke setting your skin alight with a passion that's been smoldering between you for so long. You moan into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as your kiss deepens. The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and the rustle of clothes being removed, the air thick with anticipation.

Scott's eyes never leave yours as he moves to kiss down your neck, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting more of you. The intensity of your connection is undeniable, a powerful force that's been building for too long, finally ready to be unleashed.

Scott's desperation is undeniable as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you breathless. His hands roam over your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he peppers your skin with urgent kisses.

He moves down to your collarbone, sucking gently before moving to your breasts, taking one in his mouth and flicking the nipple with his tongue. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you gasp. His teeth graze your skin, leaving a series of love bites that feel like a brand, marking you as his.

Each suck and nip is accompanied by a soft groan of satisfaction from him, the sound vibrating against your chest and making your toes curl. His mouth moves further down, leaving a path of love marks across your stomach and hips, as if he's claiming every inch of you.

His teeth sink into your skin harder now, leaving dark hickeys that will be a delicious secret between the two of you. Each mark is a declaration of his desire, a physical testament to the passion that's been simmering just beneath the surface for so long. His hunger for you is insatiable, and you can feel it in every touch, every kiss, every possessive groan that rumbles through his chest.

Scott slides down the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, until his face is level with your hips. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your pants and pulls them down along with your underwear in one swift motion, exposing your wet and eager sex to his gaze.

He takes a moment to appreciate the sight, licking his lips in anticipation. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs gruffly, his voice thick with desire. He leans in, his breath hot against your skin, and you can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at you. His tongue darts out, teasing the outer folds of your pussy before delving deeper, tasting your sweetness.

You moan, arching your back, as he begins to eat you out with a passion that's both rough and tender. His tongue circles your clit, flicking and stroking, as his hands grip your thighs, holding you open for him. He's relentless, his mouth working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling.

Each stroke of his tongue sends a wave of pleasure through you, each suck making you moan louder. He's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. You want him to devour you, to claim you, and that's exactly what he does. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge with every pass of his tongue, your body tightening in anticipation of the orgasm that's building within you. "Don't stop," you whimper, your voice needy.

He doubles his efforts, his tongue delving into your wetness, his teeth grazing your sensitive clit. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, but you want more, need more of him.

His hands move to your hips, his grip tightening as he laps at you, his tongue moving in rhythm with the pulsing of your desire. You're so close, so very close, and he knows it.

He slows down, teasing you, making you beg for the release that's just out of reach. And when you're on the brink, when you think you can't take it anymore, he speeds up again, sending you hurtling over the edge with a scream of pleasure that fills the room.

As the last waves of your orgasm ripple through your body, you pull Scott up to you, desperate for more of his touch, more of him inside you. Your hands are everywhere, tangling in his hair, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer as you kiss him deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

The room spins with the intensity of your need, and you can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, a testament to his own desire. You rock your hips against him, seeking the friction that will bring you both to the brink again.

He groans into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you closer as he grinds against you. The raw need in your movements, the way your body responds to his, it's like nothing he's ever felt before. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily, his eyes locked on yours as he reaches for his own pants, fumbling with the zipper.

With a swift motion, he shoves his pants down, freeing his cock, which stands thick and hard, ready to claim you. He reaches for the nightstand, grabbing a condom and ripping it open with his teeth before rolling it on.

His gaze never leaves yours as he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your wetness. You bite your lip, your eyes wide with anticipation, your body aching for him to fill you. "Are you ready, princess?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

You nod eagerly, and with one swift thrust, he's inside you, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out, your nails digging into his back as he stretches and fills you completely. He stills for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size, before he starts to move, his hips pumping into yours with a rough, primal rhythm that matches the beat of your racing heart.

Each stroke is deep and demanding, claiming you over and over again, making you his in every way possible. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, your body moving in sync with his as the pleasure builds once more.

You're lost in the sensation, in the feeling of him inside you, the way he makes you feel so alive, so wanted. And as he continues to drive into you, you know that no matter what happens next, this moment will change everything.

Scott's groan deepens as he feels your body tighten around him, signaling your impending release. His thrusts become more urgent, his hips pistoning into yours with a force that shakes the bed. "Come for me, baby," he grunts, his voice a low, desperate growl that sends shivers down your spine.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you arch up to meet each powerful stroke. The pressure inside you builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps, sending a cascade of pleasure through your body. You scream out his name as you climax, your muscles spasming around his cock.

The sound of your pleasure is like music to his ears, pushing him over the edge as well. He drives into you one last time, burying himself deep as he releases, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm. For a moment, the only sounds in the room are the harsh gasps of your breathing and the wet slap of skin on skin.

Then, he collapses onto you, his weight a welcome warmth as your bodies come down from the high together. His forehead rests against yours, and you can feel his heart pounding in time with yours. "Fuck," he whispers gruffly, his voice filled with awe and wonder. "That was..." He trails off, unable to find the words to describe what just happened between you. You smile, feeling the same sense of amazement.

"Yeah," you murmur, your voice still shaky with aftershocks of pleasure. "It was." Scott's body trembles above you, his breathing heavy and ragged. He supports himself on his forearms, his weight pressing you into the bed. The heat radiating off of him, the feel of his skin against yours, is both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire, awe, and vulnerability. His rough exterior has cracked, revealing the man beneath - the one who desires you so fiercely.

"I don't think I've ever... felt anything like that before," he mutters gruffly, his voice raw with emotion. You smile, looking up at him lovingly.

”Yeah?” You hum sweetly, Scott nods, his eyes searching yours as he gazes down at you. He reaches out, his hand caressing your cheek, his touch gentle.

"Yeah," he mutters gruffly, his voice still hoarse. "I've never been as completely consumed by anyone the way I am with you. It's like..." He falters, struggling to find the right words to express what he's feeling.

You pull him down on the bed next to you, blushing at his words. “That’s a good thing, right?” Scott lets himself fall onto the bed next to you, his body molding against yours instinctively. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

He looks at you, his eyes soft and affectionate. "Of course it is, princess," he mutters gruffly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's the best damn thing I've ever felt."

”I’ll be right back,” you mumble against his ear, slowly pulling away from his warmth. You grab his shirt and bound off to the bathroom.

Scott lets out a low growl as you pull away from him, the sudden absence of your warmth against his body leaving him feeling cold and empty. He watches as you grab his shirt and head off to the bathroom.

He sits up in bed, his body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your intimate moment, his eyes following you until you disappear into the bathroom, he pulls his boxers back on.

You clean up your appearance, fixing your hair and smeared lipstick. You slip his shirt on, taking a deep breath of his musk.

He smooths his hair before he sits back against the headboard. His eyes focused on the door. You slip back out of the bathroom, smiling at him as you crawl into the bed with him.

Scott's heart rate increases as you slip out of the bathroom, his shirt covering your body. The thought of you wearing his clothes, surrounded by his scent, drives him wild.

He watches as you crawl into the bed with him, a small, appreciative smile forming on his lips. His arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you tight against him, his chest rumbling with a possessive growl.

"You look good in my shirt, princess," he mutters gruffly, his hands roaming across your body, exploring every inch of you.

“And you look good with a smile,” you kiss his cheek. Scott's cheeks flush slightly at your words, his gruff exterior momentarily slipping as he absorbs your praise.

He looks at you, his eyes warm and affectionate as he mutters gruffly, "You know how to melt a man's heart, huh?" He reaches out, his hand grabbing your chin, turning your head to look at him. "And you look even better in my bed," he adds, a sly smirk forming on his lips.

”Then I should stay in it more often.” You lean in kissing his soft lips. Scott's body hums with desire as you lean in and kiss him. His lips press against yours hungrily, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. His hands roam across your body, pulling you even closer against him.

He mutters gruffly against your lips, "You should. And you should definitely wear my shirt more often."

”I’d be happy to, it smells just like you..” you cuddle into his chest, “It's like heaven.”

Scott's heart swells at your words, his chest puffing out with pride. He wraps his arms around you, holding you against him, his hands roaming across your back in slow, soothing circles.

"Heaven, huh?" he mutters gruffly, a hint of a smile in his voice you close your eyes with a content sigh.

”Can I sleep in your arms tonight?” You murmur against his chest.

Scott's heart skips a beat at your request, his arms instinctively tightening around you. The thought of holding you in his arms all night, keeping you safe and warm, is both overwhelming and soothing.

He nuzzles his face into your hair, inhaling your scent, before muttering gruffly, "Of course, princess. I'd be a fool to deny you anything you want."

[slapintoaslimjim]

requited love

how the mha characters would react to finding out you also have feelings for them

includes: i.midoryia, k.bakugou, s.todoroki

a/n: this is part one, i'll be making part two with Kiri, kami, and sero soon :3

----------------------

izuku midoryia

-found out by uraraka just randomly dropping in her sentences about how you always talk about him

-"yeah y/n mentions about you two hanging out to me a lot, she also called you cute!" "wait whAT?!"

-but, he doesn't want to jump to conclusions and make a fool out of himself in case if he's just reading into it too much

-cue him stressing himself out over it to the max

-because what do you mean the person he's crushed on since his first year at UA likes him back?! no she might not.. okay but she does because she talks to uraraka about their hang outs all time and called him cute!

-yeah, its an internal battle for a while

-i've mentioned in a previous drabble that he is the type to write a love letter. so yep! you guessed it!

-he's writing that letter for you

-BUT! before he gives it to you, he manages to get a somewhat concrete answer if you actually like him from uraraka

Katsuki Bakugou

-he already knew lol

-he's a highly observant person, and as your friendship grew he watched as the way you act with him is so different (to him) versus with your other friends

-its the way when he talks your full undivided attention is always on him, a soft smile on your face, too

-or when events happen around campus, your first instinct is to invite him with you

-or how you're constantly checking up on him and making sure he doesn't over do himself when training

-you didn't do this the first few months of the friendship, and it can be very easily overlooked by the others and it is but he notices these subtle things

-and when you two are hanging out alone, that tough, hard exterior that he had, crumbles

-you become his kryptonite, and he has a hard time for a while accepting the fact that he has feelings for you too, beyond platonic

-because why did that hug you gave him make his heart palpate? Mina is constantly hugging everyone, including him, and that never happens with her

-because yes, katsuki may struggle with his feelings. but he's not an idiot. he knows the difference between romantic and platonic

-and what he feels, he knows it's not platonic anymore

shoto todoroki

-he suspects it, but doesn't think too much of it at first

-he's dense, yeah. maybe bad with knowing and spotting romantic feelings. but, he does realize how you act with him

-because you're a bit more forward with your actions and words to him (because lets be honest, if you're not, he's not going to get the slightest hint)

-''awe the suit looks so good on you, sho! you look so cute!" "..huh..?"

-or your excuse to constantly be around be at some extent, always hugging him or wanting some sort of skinship with him

-which he slowly but surely opens up to the idea with you

-and izuku is the wingman for both of you; hearing both of your stories about each other and offering advice the best he can

-eventually izuku just blatantly tells him that you like the boy while he's talking to izuku since shoto is obviously conflicted

-"todoroki.. y/n does like you. you're not looking too deep into it" "........"

-time for him to steal his daddy's card and take you on that date he's been mentally planning

[charmedimsure]

could you do a jun ho fic where the f!reader is a new officer and he's training her. she is fully convinced that he hates her (maybe she isn't the best at her job) but at the end of the week he asks her out and she's so shocked. turns out he was dropping hints the whole time and she's an idiot

A TOUGH CASE TO CRACK || hwang jun-ho

pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x f!reader

summary: No matter what you do, you just cannot get on Jun-ho's good side. Normally you'd brush it off, if he wasn't the man who decides whether you get promoted to detective or not.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: police work, murder case, guns

A/N: i love this request sm omg. everything i know about detective work is from brooklyn 99 so i doubt it's very accurate. if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

When you found out that the detective training you was none other than Hwang Jun-ho, you were ecstatic. You've worked with him a few times before, doing general beat cop tasks for his cases and seeing him around the precinct.

Not only is he an extremely respected detective, he's also really cute. You hate to be the girl at work who's fawning over one of the boys, but come on. You have eyes.

Now though, as you're sitting in the squad car together staking out a suspect for one of his cases, you're starting to wish you had gotten assigned to anyone else.

You've spent nearly two hours together and you can count the number of words he's said to you on one hand. He's barely even looked at you. It's not like you were friends before, but you've worked together since you got transferred to the precinct a few months ago. And now this man will be the deciding factor in whether you get the detective promotion or go back to being a beat cop.

About a week later, Jun-ho approaches you. "We've been assigned a case. Small, straightforward, perfect for training. Get ready, we're gonna head over to the scene. I'll give you a run down on the way over."

You nod, a smile on your face. It may be small, but it's your first case as a detective and you're excited to prove yourself. This may be your first case, but it will not be your last.

"Cool. Let me grab my stuff, I'll meet you at the car in a few minutes."

Jun-ho gives you a curt nod and turns, walking back to his desk to get his things.

You let out a sigh. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to describe a case as 'cool'.

<>

You grimace at the gruesome sight in front of you. A man's body lays on the ground, blood splattered all around the room. A gun lies in his hand.

"First impression," Jun-ho says, taking out his notepad, "suicide."

You take a step closer, wanting to get a better look at the scene. As you try to take another step, a hand grabs your arm, yanking you back.

"Watch where you're stepping!" Jun-ho's voice booms at you. You look down to notice that you had, in fact, been very close to stepping directly in the victim's blood, which would have messed up the evidence badly.

You look down at your boots, embarrassed that you almost made such a rookie mistake. "Sorry, I'll be more careful." You step closer to the body, but his hand is still keeping you in your place. You huff. "I'm not going to step in the blood, you can let go."

He looks down at his hand and quickly releases your arm, allowing you to approach the scene, this time being extra cautious to make sure you don't disturb anything. You crouch down by the man's head, examining the wound.

Jun-ho gives you a questioning look. "What's wrong?"

You shake your head. "Something just feels off to me."

He continues jotting down notes. "Take a look around the place. I'm gonna talk to the wife. Please be careful not to touch anything. Wear gloves if you have to."

You sigh as he walks away. You had wanted to do this together, to learn how an investigation is done as a detective. He probably thinks you're incompetent now. Looks like you're gonna be working separately.

You take a quick scan over the interior of the room, trying to find little clues that may give you a hint as to what happened here. The house looks normal enough (save for the dead man on the floor, of course). Looking towards the windows, you notice that they are all locked, except for one. It could be nothing, but you write it down in your own notebook anyway, not wanting to overlook anything. You'll be damned if you make another mistake.

Jun-ho walks away from the victim's wife, who is crying outside the home.

"Hey, I might have found something," you jog up to him. "All of the windows are locked except one. Seems a little off to me."

Jun-ho sighs. "I don't think that's something to focus on until we get more evidence." He puts his notepad back in his pocket. "Come on, we gotta go back to the precinct."

You feel yourself deflate at his comment, slowly following him to the car.

<>

You march into your chief's office, hands on your hips. "Chief, I'd like to put in a request for a different trainer."

The man looks up at you from the plate of food on his desk. "Why?"

"Because I know that Detective Hwang is going to give me a bad review," you huff. "If I had done badly, I'd accept it, but I can't help it that he doesn't like me."

He gives you a questioning look. "Why do you say that?"

"I don't think he's said one nice thing to me," you rant. "He doesn't talk to me unless he absolutely has to, he barely even acknowledges that I'm there! The only time he talks to me is to criticize me. He doesn't even work with me on our case!" You stop, catching your breath from you long tirade. "You could have assigned anyone to train me, why did you have to choose him?"

The chief cocks an eyebrow at you. "When he found out you were applying to become a detective, Detective Hwang personally requested to train you."

You look at your chief as if he has three heads. "What?"

He picks up a piece of chicken from his plate, bringing it to his mouth. "He said he saw potential in you, wanted to work with you." He looks up at you again. "He hasn't said anything bad about you or your performance. He's actually said you're doing very well."

Your head feels crazy as you try to process this information. The detective training you, the one that hates you, doesn't actually hate you. He asked to train you and praises you to the chief.

"But why would he do that? He acts like he can't stand me."

The chief shrugs. "You're training to be a detective. Solve the case."

You deadpan at him as a smirk grows on his face. "You're so proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?"

"Absolutely I am. Now, get back to your case." He points at the door with his chopsticks. You can't help but let out a small laugh as you walk back to the bullpen.

<>

The next day, you're sitting at Jun-ho's desk, looking through the files on your victim. A crumb from the sandwich you're eating falls onto one of the photos of the crime scene and you quickly flick it away.

"What are you looking at?"

You jump a bit in your seat. Jun-ho is standing over you, looking at the files in your hands. You put your hand on your chest, steadying your breath.

"Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me."

He gives you a barely there smile. "Sorry." You watch his eyes move to the sandwich in your hand and any trace of the smile he once worse disappears.

You sigh. "I know I'm not supposed to be eating on the job, but I was so hungry that I couldn't focus." You put the remainder of the sandwich on the napkin. "And in my defense, it worked. I think I found something," you say, moving over so he can get a better look. You look up at him. "Do you want your chair?"

"No, it's fine," he says, leaning over you to inspect the files. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, making you stiffen.

"Take a look at this," you point to a description of the victim to Jun-ho. "He was left-handed." You then pick up a picture of the body, handing it to him. "Look where the gun is."

He takes the picture, his eyes widening when he realizes it. "It's in his right hand." He puts the photo down, looking down at you. "You said one of the windows was unlocked, right?"

You nod.

Jun-ho grabs his jacket off the back of the chair you're sitting in. "Go get your jacket. We gotta go back to the house."

<>

You slam the door to the squad car, rushing behind Jun-ho as he moves toward the house. "Which window was unlocked?"

"The middle one on the side."

You run to the side of the house, stopping a few feet away from the window. "This one here."

Jun-ho crouches down. The window is over a small flowerbed, the area covered in mulch that couldn't have been laid down more than a week ago.

You hear Jun-ho gasp. "Here! A footprint!"

You come closer, crouching near him. Sure enough, the print of a large shoe is visible in the mulch, leading away from the window.

"You were right," the man next to you says. "This is a murder."

<>

You stand by the coffee machine, brewing a cup for the woman waiting by Jun-ho's desk. He had reached out to the victim's widow, hoping to get some information that could lead to her husband's killer.

You see Jun-ho leaving the Chief's office and call him over. "Do you want to handle the questions?"

"No, I think we should do it together," he says. "I want your opinion, too."

You try to fight the smile growing on your face, nodding. Jun-ho leads you to his desk, pulling up a chair for you to sit in. You place the cup in front of the woman, as well as a tiny bowl with creamers and sugar.

"Thank you for coming in, ma'am," Jun-ho says.

"Is everything alright?" she asks.

"We just want to ask you a few questions," he says. "We've been going over your husband's case and we have reason to believe that this was a murder staged to look like a suicide."

The woman gasps, bringing a hand up to her mouth as her eyes water. "I knew it," he softly cries, "I knew my Jin-young wouldn't have killed himself. We don't even own a gun, and he was such a happy man."

You shift forward in your seat, grabbing the box of tissues from beside Jun-ho's computer and placing them in front of her. She nods a thank you as she takes one. "Ma'am, is there anyone who you think could have done this? Had anything happened recently?"

She takes a moment to think. "I know he was having arguments with a man he worked with, I don't know his name though."

"Do you know what they argued about?"

"One of them was going to be promoted," she explains. "The promotion would give a significant pay raise. The other man had been there for longer, but Jin-young was likely to get it. He was a very likable man, a very good worker, so nice to everyone. The other man though that he deserved it more."

You write down the details in your notebook. Jun-ho leans forward. "Thank you, ma'am. We'll be in contact."

<>

You walk into the building, looking for the suspect. You had done some research and found that the man you're looking for is Kun Yong-ja, a man with a history of assault.

"Ready?" Jun-ho asks you. You nod, and he knocks on the door of the apartment.

The door opens, revealing your suspect. "Can I help you?"

"Hello, sir. We're with the police. We were hoping we could ask you a few questions," Jun-ho says.

The man's face falters for a moment. "About what?"

You pick up a photo of the victim, turning it to show him. "We're aware that you worked with Mun Jin-young. He was found dead in his home a few days ago."

Yong-ja looks between the two of you before slamming the door shut.

"Shit," you say, taking your gun out of its holster.

Jun-ho kicks in the door, taking his gun out as well. You follow him into the apartment. You run to the back, finding a window open by the fire escape.

"I'll follow him down this way, you go around, try to cut him off," Jun-ho tells you.

You nod, rushing out the door and down the stairs. Leaving the building and turning into the alley beside it, you see the back of Yong-ja, who is currently pointing a gun at your partner. As Jun-ho tries to talk him down, you sneak up behind him. With all your strength, you hit his head with the butt of your gun, knocking him unconscious.

"Thank you," Jun-ho says. He takes the handcuffs off his belt, securing them around Yong-ja's wrists.

As the beat cops bring him to the station, you and Jun-ho check his apartment. Sure enough, you find mulch-covered boots that perfectly fit the prints left in the victim's yard, as well as a small book with information on the victim, including his home address.

<>

"Hey."

You turn, seeing Jun-ho walking up to you. You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Hi."

"The chief asked me to give this to you," he smiles as he hands you a small leather booklet.

You take it and open it, gasping when you see what's inside. The right side is blank, but the left holds a badge, the words "National Police Agency" engraved on it.

"Holy shit," you say, a big smile on your face. "I got it! I'm a detective!" You're so happy that you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him in an unexpected hug. You feel him tense and pull back. "Sorry, I'm just really happy."

"It's fine," he chuckles. "Actually, this is something that I wanted to talk to you about."

Great, here we go. He's going to tell you how you need to be more professional, that you can't make mistakes while in the field.

"Now that I'm not your superior anymore," he smiles, leaning closer to you, "I was wondering if you want to get dinner with me this weekend?"

Wait, what?

You stare at him for a good ten seconds, mind processing the words that just came out of his mouth. You open your mouth and close it a few times before you're finally able to come up with some words. "Like, as in a date?"

"Yeah, a date. If that's alright."

You continue to stare at him, absolutely baffled.

He starts to shrink, his face dropping. "Please don't feel like you have to. It's okay if you don't want to, I won't hold it against you."

"No!" you blurt out. "I mean, yes, I would love to get dinner with you." You smile at him. "Sorry, I just honestly was not expecting that at all."

"Really?" he asks, brows furrowed. "I feel like I've been kind of obvious about it. I mean, I could barely look at you at first because you made me so nervous. One day I finally got the courage to ask you to lunch, but you were already eating and that plan went out the window."

It finally clicks in your brain. Everything you had assumed he'd done because he hated you, not talking to you and giving you looks when you ate at his desk, it was because he liked you.

"But I made mistakes," you say. "I almost stepped in the victim's blood."

Jun-ho chuckles. "My first case, I put filed a knife under the wrong case, would've blown the entire thing if someone hadn't noticed. I got a good yelling at, and now I always make sure I file evidence correctly. I can guarantee you will always be careful around crime scenes, now."

He's right. After that, you had been much more careful. "Damn," you say, "I really got this wrong."

"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have recommended you for detective," he teases.

You lightly slap his arm. "No take backs!" You gasp. "Wait, is that why you requested to train me?"

Jun-ho blushes, looking to the floor and kicking his shoes. "The Chief told you about that, did he?" He looks up. "And I'm guessing that you asked for a different trainer because you thought I didn't like you?"

"Man, the Chief really can't keep his mouth shut, huh?" you chuckle.

"Not at all," Jun-ho says. "So, I'll pick you up Saturday night?"

You nod, smiling. "It's a date."

Squid Game Tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy @l5byrinth @come-as-you-are-111 @starkeyszn @learninglinesintherainn @galactict3a

Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

That’s Not What Friends Do (part 2)

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none, this is so short I’m so sorry I just don’t have the motivation to finish this ugh..

part 1

As soon as the Brazilian GP was over, you were overcome with guilt for not being there for Lando. You already knew how it would look like after an unsuccessful race, he would shift all the blame to himself and that failure would eat him up for days.

You couldn't help but wonder if anything would have been different if you had gone to Brazil with him. Probably not, but at least you could have given him the comfort he so desperately needed right then and there. And that's why as soon as he returned home, you immediately found yourself knocking on the door of his apartment in Monaco.

"Hey, Lan" You gave him a soft smile looking straight into his eyes when he opened the door.

He smiled weakly back at you, saying nothing. He didn't even need to say anything because you could see the sadness in his sleepless eyes, so you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight and comforting hug.

"What took you so long?" He whispered as he buried his head in your neck, holding his arms tightly around your waist.

"I'm sorry, I came as soon as I could" You said gently caressing the back of his head.

The evening went by with you trying to talk to him about it, but he wasn't in the mood for it. He just wanted to take his mind off what was, for him, a tough defeat and enjoy your company, so you didn't push it.

You ordered food, had dinner, and then turned on a movie. Everyone was on their own end of the couch, Lando was lying on the elongated part, and you were sitting a little further away from him.

As the movie went on, you kept adjusting your position because it became uncomfortable for you to keep sitting.

"What's wrong?" Lando asked when you let out a deep sigh. "Are you getting bored with the movie?"

"No, but my back is starting to hurt." You stretch as you say.

"Come here" He extends his arm, signaling you to come lie down next to him.

"It's okay, don't worry" You want to. So much. But you know you shouldn't.

"Come" He insists.

You sigh, but move over to him anyway, resting your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you. The movie continues, but Lando completely shifts his focus from the movie to you. Lucky for him, you don't see his gaze drop down to you as you lie curled up next to him, but you definitely feel his fingers gently playing with your hair. You just hope that the butterflies you feel in your stomach don't jump out and give you away.

"Are you okay, Lan?" You ask looking up at him.

He smiles at you and places his hand on your cheek. "I'm better now"

You blush at his gesture, thinking to yourself this is not what friends do. Lando was almost certain he was going to kiss you tonight. This was the perfect opportunity with you on him like this, with you pressed tightly against him and in his arms. Everything was leading to that.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be with you for the weekend. I was really busy finishing up the project I'd been working on."

"Were you really?" He asked with a hint of suspicion.

"Of course I was. I don't understand why do you think I would lie to you?”

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Maybe you wanted to be with your date that you still haven't told me about." The butterflies in your stomach fly away as soon as he mentions the date.

At that very moment, so late at night, your phone, which was next to you on the couch, rang and the screen displayed Charles' name and surname and seeing that, Lando's heart dropped.

"Charles Leclerc? You're fucking Charles Leclerc?"

part 3

@tvdtw4ever @gulphulp @harrysdimple05 @444-leqz @htpssgavi @honethatty12 @l-vroom4 @enjoythebutterflies3 @charlesgirl16 @scopeiguess @dontsupressthejess

[shoukokus]

How would the door leaders (Housewardens) react to an extremely flirty reader (if the housewardens flirts back the reader would double down with even more flirt)?

I love this. Where my fellow don't know when they're flirting people at?

Riddle Rosehearts

You'll have to give him the most obvious flirtatious comment for him to realize that's what you're doing. But once he gets it, oh boy.

Turns ridiculously red, whether you're together or not

If you aren't, he says with a huge stutter that you need to watch what you say

If you are, he tries to be smoother with it

"Ah, yes, thank you..." He clears his throat. "You look lovely as well."

Please just don't do it in front of people, he'll clam up and be very uncomfortable

Leona Kingscholar

Bold little thing aren't you?

Don't you know what flirting with a prince means? Are you prepared to spend life by his side, saying things like that in public to him...

He'll flirt back whether you're together or not

It kind of becomes a competition of who can fluster the other one more, but I warn you he's a tough rival, he's got plenty to say about you

I'll give you a little hint though, get really genuine with it. Say how intelligent he is, how his country is lucky to have him, give him all the praise!

The two of you can go back and forth for hours, while everyone around you has died of embarrassment awhile ago

Azul Ashengrotto

Are you trying to kill him?

You know that cliche anime glasses crack? That's him the first time you flirt with him

He doesn't even know how to be suave in response (especially if he really likes you) he's just too flustered

Flirting with him is fun and all, but the thing that's really gonna make him melt is genuine praise. His intelligence, his business sense, his dedication.

I mean you can turn that into flirts.... just saying..

Won't flirt back unless you're in a relationship, and even then it's very awkward. He doesn't know how to do it, but an experienced flirt like yourself can teach him

Kalim Al-Asim

He honestly just thinks you're being friendly

You could straight up say the most romantic pick up line on the planet, and he'd just smile and say it back. Then walk along like nothing happened

If you're serious about him, you'll have to grab him by the shoulders and say that you've been flirting because you're romantically interested

If not, then yall will just have fun!

He can effortlessly make your heart pitter patter, you know he means everything he says

In a relationship or not, you can have a really fun back and forth with him

Vil Schoenheit

He hears basic flirting all the time, you're going to have to get creative

Perhaps compliment his skill, get personal with it! Say that no one else could play the roles he's getting

Once you get there, that's when he starts responding and genuinely enjoying the flirting you do

It's nice to be appreciated in such a genuine manner, and not just someone after his fame or looks.

Occasionally flirts back, but frankly he's not the best at it! You may think he's smooth and a natural flirt, but honestly he's never felt the need to respond back before. He likes learning what makes you blush though <3

Just make sure he's the only one you're flirting with now, okay?

Idia Shroud

Spontaneously combusts. Good job, you killed him

He's fun to tease, he has the best reactions to even the simplest of compliments

However he's not going to do anything in response until you get real with him. So unless you're in an established relationship, don't expect much back

MIGHT tell you not to do it in public, that stuff is too cringe to say out loud!!

But he also gets a sense of pride from it

Can't flirt back to save his life. Tried once, hated it, never did it again. He's fine with you being the flirty one

Malleus Draconia

Is so old school about it, to him flirting means courting

The second you flirt with him, he's giving you hand written notes about how lovely you are.

Honestly? He's better at this than you are and he doesn't even know it

That probably makes you want to up your game though, right? He just likes having all your attention and praise, it makes him a very happy dragon

You'd need to actually explain flirting/pick up lines to him. That you do it when you're interested in the person for a variety of reasons (romantic or otherwise), and want to see what it takes to fluster them.

Maybe gets a little down after that, thinking it was just for fun and not serious. Please tell him it was serious and then swear he's the only one you're interested in <3

Requests are open!

[cookiescribble]

Extracurricular

(gif source)

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts fully written for like a month, i’m so sorry 😅 but i know we all love the professor episode, so I had to write a little something about it 🫶🏻 - mod angel

Pairing: Professor!Reid x Wife!Reader

Summary: Spencer is confused about why so many students are auditing his class. As his wife, you decide to come and investigate.

~~~

You heard the apartment door open, glancing up to see Spencer drop his keys on the table by the door. 

You were reading on the couch, laying down and killing time before it was time for him to come home. You sat up, placing your bookmark on the page you last read before dropping your book on the coffee table. “Welcome home,” you smiled up at him. 

He flashed a little smile, but you could tell something was up. You moved to sit cross-legged, making room for him on the couch. “What’s wrong?” You asked, patting the spot next to you so he could sit. 

He plopped down on the couch, sighing, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into you. 

“You looked so excited this morning,” you ran your fingers through his hair, something that had become routine when he came back from a tough case, or just needed some extra affection for any reason. “What happened?”

He sighed again, turning to look at you, resting his head back on the couch. “I don’t know, I was really excited to teach. I love sharing what I know with people.”

You nodded, fully aware of this. It was something you loved about him, always eager to teach you something new. It was annoying when other people did it, but not when Spencer did it. “Uh-huh. So what’s the problem?”

“I… I was eager to be an actual professor, hoping I could help people with their studies and their grades.” He looked a little frustrated. “But most people are only auditing the class. Only a handful aren’t.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not what you were expecting, huh?”

He shook his head. “I mean, I guess it’s good that people want to learn about this stuff? It’s just not how I pictured it.” He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “At least they’re listening to me. And some of them are pretty enthusiastic about participating. There were a few girls who seemed really excited about this stuff.”

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes a bit, a little smile on your face. “Wait, so… these people are auditing your class. And girls are participating… you said they listen to you… do you think they’re paying a little too much attention to you?” You inquired, slightly amused.

He gave you a confused look. “What do you mean? I think it’s a normal amount of attention to pay to a class.” He shrugged. “I mean, I always felt like no one was paying enough attention when I was in college, so I was pleasantly surprised that people were actually participating, asking questions, some of them even stayed for a bit after the class let out because they wanted to know more.”

You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “Uh-huh… so, you got college students to not only stay awake, but alert and attentive… and they wanted to stay after class,” you spoke slowly, wondering if he would get the hint.

He nodded. “Yeah? Why?”

You gave him a pat on the shoulder, smiling and shaking your head. “Yeah, I know exactly why so many people are auditing your class.”

He still looked confused. Very oblivious. It was kind of adorable. “I don’t understand,” he replied, his brows furrowed.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, twirling a finger in his hair. “They must’ve heard that this class has a sexy professor.” You laugh softly, watching the cogs turn in his brain as he processed this.

He scrunched his nose a bit, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think that…” He stopped, his eyes darting around as he became deep in thought. Probably perfectly recalling everything from his class that day. “… You really think that’s it?”

You nodded, kissing his cheek. “It’s adorable you wouldn’t have even considered that if I didn’t say anything.” He was absentmindedly running his thumb over your hand that rested on his shoulder. “I mean, I don’t blame them. I’d definitely audit your class.” You took his hand and started twirling his wedding band around his ring finger. “Did you tell them you’re married?”

He started to blush a little at the attention you were giving him, and at the thought of other people wanting to give him attention. “I’m pretty sure I mentioned it at some point… I think someone asked about it-“ He cut himself off, looking at you again. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”

You laughed, draping your legs over his as you gave him a quick kiss on the lips, which he returned. “Maybe I should visit your class, see what all the fuss is about,” you winked at him.

He smiled, running his fingers through your hair. “I don’t know if I’d be able to concentrate with you there.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead. “But, I admit, it would be nice.”

The conversation eventually fizzled out, as you and Spencer naturally fell into your usual evening routine; mostly just sitting on the couch in each other’s arms, talking, watching TV, and eating dinner. 

You had an idea in your head the whole time, keeping it to yourself. You had a surprise planned out now. 

…

The next day, after Spencer left for his class, you quickly got dressed to head out, throwing on a sweater and modest skirt with some flats. Nothing too fancy, you wanted to fit in with the other students. 

You remembered him telling you the building his class was in, and you were able to slip in like you were supposed to be there. You found the classroom after wandering for a while, quite a few students already sat in the class. Of course; very eager, you thought

You thought about just sitting in the back to blend in with the background, but something possessed you to sit in the middle near the other girls in the class. Not really jealousy; you knew Spencer has never even given anyone else a second glance since you started dating. It was more like… pride. Perhaps a smug feeling. You may be infatuated, but that’s my husband.

You sat down near a group of girls, and they eyed you for a moment. You fidgeted, thinking they were going to start whispering bad things about you. Habit from when you were in school. 

Instead, one of the girls leaned over, speaking to you in a friendly tone. “Hey, are you new to this class?”

You probably should have just admitted that you weren’t actually a student, but part of you just wanted to see what would happen. “Yeah, this is my first time here.”

She leaned in to whisper, “Did you hear about the professor? Is that why you’re here?” She was giving you a genuine look, seemingly just curious. Or maybe happy to talk to someone about this. 

You feigned innocence. “No, I was just interested in the subject. Is there something special about him?” You reply in the same hushed tone as her.

She looked at the other girls around her, and they all giggled. One of the other girls responded. “He’s super hot. Didn’t you hear the rumors?”

You bit back a smile. It felt strange, having people talk about him like this. “No, I didn’t hear anything. Is that really true?” You tried to seem interested, without being conspicuous. 

All the girls nodded. You leaned in a bit to match their enthusiasm. 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” one of the girls whispered. “He said he’s very happily married.” She all but rolled her eyes at that. 

A little smile appeared on your face, a warm feeling rushing over you. You put your hand under the table, hiding your wedding ring. “Really? Well… maybe I can have better luck with him.” You rested your chin in your other hand, smiling smugly. 

She scoffed, obviously not believing you. “Yeah, sure. He wouldn’t even look at any of us.” She shook her head. “If you want to believe it, go ahead. I’ll be waiting to say I told you so.”

You were cut off by the sound of a door opening and closing. Spencer stepped out in front of everyone, putting some papers down on his desk. The girls immediately stopped their conversation, sitting up straighter in their chairs and facing forwards. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from snickering. 

Spencer greeted the class, who echoed back his greeting. He started to introduce the material he was going to be talking about today, when his eyes settled on you. His expression softened. 

You gave him a little wink and a subtle wave. He looked like he was holding back a smile, looking away from you to concentrate on teaching. 

It was really a sight to behold, he had most of the class twirling their hair, wrapped around his finger without him even realizing. Not like you could blame the students; he was always able to make everything seem fun and exciting. It was something you loved about him. 

The class seemed to fly by. You were honestly glad you came; you could watch him talk for hours. You’re sure he would if you asked, and you were considering it after seeing this. 

When he dismissed the class, the girls started swarming him at his desk. You laughed and rolled your eyes, standing up slowly and hanging back a bit. 

You could see him politely answering questions, ignoring the girls sitting on his desk and quickly packing up his things. 

You walked closer to his desk, and he looked up and smiled. “Hey!” He called out to you, rushing over to wrap you up in a hug. You could feel the stares on you as you settled into his arms, and he kissed your forehead. “I didn’t know you were coming today!”

You smiled up at him. “I thought I’d surprise you.” You reached up to give him a quick peck on the lips, solidifying the jealous eyes that were glaring daggers at you. You couldn’t help it; you felt a pride building up inside you that you were the one he sought out while he was being crowded like this. “Surprise?”

He laughed, tucking you into his side, his arm around your waist. “Yeah, surprise.” He turned to everyone who was still lingering around you, their faces a mix of confusion and jealousy. “Everyone, this is my wife.”

You gave a small wave, everyone greeting you halfheartedly. You locked eyes with the girl who initially approached you earlier. She seemed more embarrassed than angry. 

Spencer gave you one last little hug. “I have a few things to finish up, I’ll meet you home later, okay?”

You nodded, giving him one last little parting kiss before he slung his bag over his shoulder and started to walk out of the classroom door. 

Everyone was looking at you again, and you felt a little embarrassed now that Spencer wasn’t there with you. You started to excuse yourself quietly, trying to get out the door quickly without bringing more attention to yourself. 

You heard someone catch the door after it almost closed behind you. “Hey,” they called out as they caught up to you. 

You turned to see the same girl again, and you had to suppress your instinct to run away. Instead, you just nodded at her, giving her your attention since that was obviously what she was asking for. 

“I, uh…” she started, her tone nervous. “What I said earlier, I wasn’t trying to say anything bad about you, I was just…” 

You gave a soft chuckle in response, shaking your head. “It’s alright. I get it.” You gave a little wave of dismissal. “I might’ve done the same if I was in your position.”

That seemed to ease her worries a bit. “Thanks for being cool about this.” She hugged the books she was carrying closer to her chest. She spoke a little softer. “Dr. Reid spoke very highly of you, you know. When we asked about his wedding ring.” She flinched a bit. “Which I guess was kind of a weird thing to ask…”

You smiled, shaking your head a bit. He had people asking about his wedding ring, and he didn’t even have a second thought about it. “It’s alright. He didn’t even think anything of it. He thought you were just really interested in the course material.”

She furrowed her brows. “Really?” She still looked confused when you nodded. “Huh. Well, I guess he really loves you if he doesn’t even notice people flirting with him.”

You shrugged. “No, he’s just a little clueless when it comes to this kind of thing. I had to really spell it out for him that I was interested in him when I asked him out on our first date.” You smiled warmly at the memory, reliving those early days of your relationship, so long ago now.

She let out a soft laugh. “That’s kinda funny, actually.” She stopped walking, looking like she had to start walking a different way. “So… no hard feelings?”

You turned towards her and shook your head. “No, not at all. Maybe try not to come onto him in the future, though.” You smiled slightly, your tone light and casual.

“Of course,” she laughed awkwardly. “Um. I have to go to class now, so…”

You nodded at her. “Go ahead. Hope you have a good day.”

She smiled. “You’re really cool. I see why he likes you. Most people would’ve been really angry if they were in this situation.”

“Well, I’m not insecure about our relationship.” You felt your phone buzz, and you took it out of your pocket to see a text from Spencer, making you smile. “And I don’t fault anyone for being attracted to him.”

“Cool,” she said, starting to step back a little more. “Um. It was nice meeting you.”

You gave her a little wave. “You too. Hope you enjoy the class; Spencer is really happy to be able to teach people, so I hope everyone is actually listening to him and not just staring at him.” 

She laughed lightly, her demeanor a little warmer now. “I’ll try to get the message out.” She waved and said goodbye before turning around and walking away. 

You finally looked at the text Spencer sent you: 

Hey, do you think you could pick up some dessert on your way home? I’m really craving something sweet. Maybe we could make brownies?

You smiled to yourself. Seeing all those people throwing themselves at Spencer really made you appreciate what you had with him. He had people gawking over him, but you were the one who got to go home with him and make dessert, and have all these sweet moments with him. You’d never get over just how lucky you were to be the one he chose to spend his life with. 

[dixonsfawn]

── .✦ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐏 ┆ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ; your relationship with daryl only deepens when he reaches an all new level of vulnerability with you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; daryl dixon x girlfriend!reader, established relationship, fluff + angst, mentions of scars.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1.3k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; i’m obsessed with daryl and his scars and the idea of him opening up about them <3

daryl’s eyes stay locked on you as he slowly shrugged off his shirt, the scars and markings on his olive-toned skin now fully visible in the dimly lit room. large jagged lines of damaged tissue stretched along his back, some old and overlapping, while others were newer and more defined. each one told a story of the battles he had survived. the pain he had endured. every one of them making him the man you had grown to love.

you knew daryl had scars, just as you all did, but you had only ever glimpsed his before in passing - an accidental run-in while he was changing - but this was different. this was deliberate, a conscious choice he was making to bare not just his skin, but a part of himself that he typically kept hidden. the act alone spoke volumes about the growing trust he had implemented in you. no matter how hard he tried to remain his usual stoicism and keep you at arms length, you had weaselled your way into his heart, and there was no turning back now. 

“i told ya, they ain’t pretty,” his voice is low and rough as he spoke, a hint of insecurity in his guarded gaze.

“no, they aren’t,” you say softly, agreeing with his comment as you slowly and cautiously step towards him. “but they’re a part of you, of who you are, and i think you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever met.”

daryl’s body tensed slightly as your fingers gingerly touch one of his larger scars, the rough callused skin shifting beneath your light touch. his breath hitched for a moment, his gaze locked on you through the mirror before him, watching every movement closely. 

no one had ever touched his scars before, not like this, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he stayed still, letting you explore the map of his history etched deep into his flesh. it was like electric jolts through his system, the way your soft touch sent a shiver across his skin under your fingertips. no one had ever touched him with such tenderness, especially not his scars. the air around them seemed to crackle with tension as he gazed down at you, the weight of your words and touch hitting him deep in his heart. 

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper, “ain’t nobody ever called me ‘beautiful’ before.”

“... you are.” 

a soft whale escapes his lips as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him back into the comfort of your soft embrace. the feel of your body against his back shoots sparks through his core, and he subconsciously leans into your touch, craving more of the soothing warmth. 

he feels your lips graze his shoulder blade, the tenderness of a kiss sending a shiver down his spine. the gesture almost undoes him as you nuzzle into him and he lets out a low, shaky breath.

“do you not think you are?” you ask. 

he hesitates for a moment, his rugged features etched with a mix of vulnerability and self-doubt as he struggles with the unfamiliar praise. 

“dunno,” he mutters, voice gruff. “never thought of myself as beautiful, just a tough old redneck who’s been in a few fights.” 

he glances over his shoulder at you, dark eyes assessing, waiting for your reaction. the walls he had built up over years of pain and rejection are starting to show cracks, revealing the deeply insecure man underneath. the man that very few people got to see.

“that may be who you think you are, but that doesn’t mean it’s all that you are.”

his gaze locks onto yours, raw and exposed. he’s not used to having someone see him, not just the scars on his body, but the scars of his soul. his throat feels tight, but he manages a raspy reply.

“yeah?” he cocks his head slightly, his usual gruffness undercut with a hint of vulnerability he can’t quite hide. not with you. “what else am i then?”

with each word you speak, you press a kiss to his back, “you’re a strong… courageous… loyal… caring… stubborn…misguided…gentle…man, who deserves far more than this world can offer him.” 

with each word and each kiss, daryl feels a wave of emotion well up within him, his defences slowly crumbling. the way you speak about him, your words dripping with genuine sincerity, stirs something deep inside of him. it’s almost too much, and he has to resist the urge to pull you into his arms. 

he huffs out a wry, amused laugh when you call him stubborn, “and i’m just supposed to believe all that?”

“like i said… stubborn.” you press one more kiss to his back, smiling into it. 

daryl can’t help but let out a husky chuckle as your lips press into his back once more. his head dips down, trying to hide the slight blush that creeps across his cheeks at your teasing. 

“yeah, guess you’re right on that one,” he mutters, grudgingly admitting defeat. he then glances over his shoulder, his gruff exterior crumbling a little more. “you forgot somethin’ though.”

your eyes narrow playfully as he now turns to face you. his arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you against his muscular frame in a gesture that’s both tender and possessive at the same time. his dark eyes are intense as they look down at you, searching yours for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. 

when he speaks, his voice is softer than usual, and there’s a slight nervous twinge to his tone, “you forgot to say i’m yours.”

you smile, leaning up to kiss him but stop just before you do, your lips barely brushing against his, “that’s just a known fact, sweetheart.”

the closeness of your lips against his was enough to make sparks dance under his skin. but your coy response, that hint of a tease in your voice, does him in, and he’s powerless against the magnetic pull between you both. when you finally close the distance and kiss him, he responds almost immediately, the kiss deep and intense right from the start. 

his arms tighten around your waist, his hands splaying across your lower back to pull you even closer, eliminating any space between you. his lips move against yours in a desperate dance, a silent affirmation of what you both already knew. 

when you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged and his heart pounding as if it wants to leap out of his chest. he gazes down at you, a mix of awe and wonder in his eyes as he takes in the vision of you, your swollen lips and flushed cheeks. he looks almost dazed, as if he’s trying to process the fact that you, a creature of such beauty and kindness, exists in his crazy, unnatural life.

a small, disbelieving chuckle escapes him as he speaks, “the hell’d i do to deserve you?”

“everything. you did everything to deserve me.” you reassure him, his heart swelling in his chest as you do. 

he lets out a shaky exhale as you kiss him again, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go for even a second. 

when he speaks again, his voice is low, rough around the edges with unguarded emotion, “don’t you ever leave me.”

“even if i did, i know you’d find me,” you run a hand through his hair, an adoring smile on your face as his eyes flutter shut at the touch. he lets out a low hum, the corners of his mouth curving up into a rare smile. 

he opens his eyes to look at you again, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and determination, “i’d tear this whole world apart to find ya if i had to.”

“and i’d be waiting for you.”

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[lovesickhughes]

locker room | quinn hughes

a/n: hahah okay wow. this one definitely is a different type of fic from my usuals. that being said, please attend to the warnings listed below, and if any of the listed warnings make you uncomfortable in any way, please do not interact. i'm quite shocked at myself with this one. i wrote it all in one sitting, and idk what came over me, BUT i was determined with this one! that being said, i hope you enjoy a little slutty piece of our beloved quinn 🙂‍↕️❤️‍🔥😜

warnings: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT– mdni [18+]. some angst, a glimpse of sad!quinn :( ROUGH SEX, dom!quinn, oral (m!receiving), p in v, choking, exhibitionism and hints of coercion (but very light), praise kink, unprotected sex (please remember to always practice safe sex!). if i missed anything, please let me know!

tags: quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 3.8k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Although you weren’t ever directly involved in Quinn’s games, it pained you to watch the effort he puts into each and every period he plays, injuries upon injuries stacking up, and the weight of a team trying to navigate a win increasing. The observations leaving you wanting nothing more than to take away his pain and suffering. 

His tired eyes would meet yours when he would drag himself into your shared apartment, the glow of downtown Vancouver casting shadows in the living room. You would have the replays of the game playing quietly in the background as you averted your gaze to the brunette whose shoulders would slump over his frame. It had become a routine; he would enter your apartment, fall into your arms as you came to his aid, attempting to distract him from the fact he was on the verge of his breaking point. 

“Quinn, we’ve talked about this– you can’t keep expecting good things to happen if you’re not taking care of yourself. I mean, look at you–” You would argue, a sorrowful gaze meeting his tired, dark eyes that would quickly dart to focus on something else when you brought up a conversation that was known all too well. 

“Y/n, I can handle it. It’s all a part of the game and being captain.” He would push back, growing cold and tight-lipped. You desperately tried to avoid evoking Quinn further in distress, your main effort being to support him when he needed, but considering it was a sensitive topic, you felt as though you were walking on thin, cracking ice, not knowing when Quinn would reach his limits and have the pressure all come crumbling back down upon him. 

It was another night, another tough loss, that you unfortunately witnessed in person, and the atmosphere of the arena carried a mournful feeling as fans exited their seats. You were in a suite among a few other wives and girlfriends, consoling one another after the rough game, before walking across the concourse and down to the floor that held the quiet, tension-filled locker room. 

You waited along the wall with a few other family members of the players, quietly conversing with one another, but the unspoken weight of the loss hung over everyone’s heads. As if you were all avoiding the real topic at hand– how difficult it was to see the players lose.

The coaching staff walked quickly out of the locker room and down the hall to their offices with determination and disappointment coursing through their steps, and as time slowly passed by, the sorrow-looking hockey players eventually made their way out of the locker room to reconnect with their family members. 

You watched as slowly, one by one, as the waiting area got smaller and more quiet as the night continued on. By the time you had started growing concerned that Quinn had not made it out, you had checked your phone to see the time read 11:36PM, an unusual time to still be lingering around the arena. 

You were conflicted with what to do– you knew Quinn was still in the locker room, but the silence was deafening and caused you to grow uneasy, standing all by yourself in a dimly lit part of the arena. 

You knew it would be frowned upon, but considering you were not alone and Quinn was still getting ready to depart, you felt your feet drag you closer to the doors that would lead you through to the room you had only ever heard stories about, and pictures and videos of.

You peered around the corner of the arch, dividing the hallway to the locker room, seeing each empty cubby with each player's name written across the boarder with their hockey equipment neatly hung.

Slowly, you walked further, more of the room becoming exposed before you were welcomed with the sight of your boyfriend, Quinn, sitting in his designated spot, his lower half of hockey gear still tightly hugging his body, but nothing else– exposing his torso and more. 

You couldn’t help but swallow thickly at the sight, his head hung low, wet curls falling forward, a few sticking to his head as his shoulders raised up and down in a slow manner. The sound of your quiet steps must have been enough to catch his attention from his focused gaze below him. 

Quinn did a double take, seeing you standing opposite from him, in a room you would never be allowed in, in any other circumstance, which caused his brows to furrow in confusion. 

“What are you doing here? Y/n– you shouldn’t be in here.” He said through a low grumble, a rush of urgency washing over his face and standing up immediately to walk over to you. His body was mere inches away from yours, his eyes searching your own as you were left speechless, because for a matter of fact, you had no idea what you were doing in the locker room. 

But being left waiting for almost two hours past the end of a game, and growing worried, you felt like there was no other option, other than to take a different approach to console your boyfriend. 

You inhaled sharply at the close proximity, feeling Quinn’s breath on your face, watching his muscles contort in ways that you scolded yourself for finding attractive and causing an ache to pulse through your core. The tension that filled the space between you two, as you both looked into each other’s eyes, made it almost suffocating, your breathing growing irregular.

You blink harshly to refocus yourself, reaching your arm to place delicately against Quinn’s exposed bicep. 

“I know, I shouldn’t be here– I know,” You started, looking at Quinn with a more serious demeanour, “but I was getting worried, and you know I hate seeing you like this.” You coo, running your hand up and down the warm skin of his arm. 

“Y/n, you don’t need to worry, we’ve been over this how many times– I can handle it.” He said through a groan, tilting his head back. And you couldn’t help but watch his features as he leaned his head back, his defined collarbone and shoulder muscles, bulging from their recent overexertion from the game.

You scolded yourself again at the fact the only thought that filled your mind was how attractive Quinn looked, the way he was only covered by his lower half of hockey gear, his muscles shifting as he breathed and stood before you. You knew it was wrong, but the only thought that consumed you, was that you wanted nothing more than to please him, and show him other ways you were there for him. 

That was when it felt like a lightbulb lit up in your mind. You knew it wasn’t right, but just that made you crave more. 

“What are the odds other people are still here?” You questioned, glancing your eyes to the side and out the archway to the hallway. Quinn’s expression grew only more confused. 

“Uh, I mean it’s getting pretty late, so probably not a lot.” He said slowly, squinting his eyes at you for the odd question. “Why, Y/n.” 

You shrugged in a nonchalant manner, “oh, no reason– just wondering.”

“Y/n, what are you trying to get at?” Quinn pressed further, reaching a hand to your jaw to pull your focus back on him.

“Well, y’know– I just had a thought.” You said, failing to hold Quinn’s piercing eye contact, but when you do briefly, his gaze lingered more lustfully. 

He stepped closer, if it was even possible, causing you to sharply inhale. “Y/n, tell me why you think it’s okay for you to waltz your way into my locker room, when you know it’s probably prohibited.” 

“Because!” You exasperated, “Because, Quinn. I hate seeing you like this, and I want nothing more than to stop you from feeling like this. Clearly my previous antics haven't worked.” You scoffed quietly. You watched for Quinn’s response intricately, watching his face contort as he processed your confession. 

His tongue toyed this inside of his cheek, a grin peaking out, “is that so?” 

You nodded your head, holding his gaze with your own, looking at him with doe eyes, which caused a soft groan to fall from his lips. 

“I have another idea to make you feel better though.” You continued, Quinn’s head perking in interest. “Come, sit.” You ushered him to sit back in his designated spot in the locker room. You sat close to him, feeling the heat of his body emit onto you. You reached for his hand with one of your own, your other finding his bicep and softly gripping the flesh. 

The two of you hold an intense gaze, anticipating each one of you to make a move first, the tension between you both turning from angstful to more sensual. Without a second doubt, Quinn reached his hand to your jaw, pulling your face to his and connecting your lips. You both inhale at the contact, before melting into the feeling and release of pressure. 

You bring your own hand to his face, feeling the scruff of his facial hair, roughly brushing against your skin. You moan softly against his lips, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth, enveloping you into a feeling of pure bliss as your mouths molded together. 

You then pull away, breathless and inspect his face, searching his features and seeing his lips a darker shade, swollen and wet. 

“Is there somewhere more private in here?” You asked softly, quickly pressing another slow, wet kiss to his lips. 

Quinn looked around the room, searching for an answer, before his gaze stopped on the door that held a bathroom behind the frame. 

“The bathroom will probably be our best bet, if we really do this.” He said, turning back to you. 

Your tongue wet your own lips in anticipation, an excitement rushing through your body. 

“Then let’s be quick.” You smirked, standing up before Quinn, walking towards the closed door of the bathroom, hearing Quinn quickly shed his bulky hockey gear, leaving him in his compression pants and nothing more.

As you stepped into the tiled room, you shrugged off your jacket, hung it up and searched the room for any area that could make your plan easier. The door quietly clicked shut, bringing your attention to Quinn, who quickly approached you, softly pushing you against the wall, placing an arm near your head and the other gripping your waist as he held you in his embrace. 

His lips found yours again, eager and determined to create more desperation between you both. His lips left yours, trailing down your jawline to your ear, and then down your neck, his breaths causing electricity to pulse through your veins, and your back to arch and a moan to fall from your lips when he sucked softly on your sweet spot. 

Your arms found his shoulders, stopping his advances and he looked up to meet your eyes, searching yours for answers. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this, I want to make this about you, baby.” You said softly, bringing your hand to the nape of his neck and delicately tugging on his curls, causing his eyes to shut softly. 

“Wanna show me then, hm?” He asked, his eyelids hung low. You bit your lower lip in excitement, holding his gaze as you swapped places with him, before falling to your knees below him, never losing his sight. Your hands steady yourself against his strong thighs, sliding up to caress his exposed torso, feeling the muscles respond to your touch as you reached around to explore. 

Your fingers then hooked under the hem of his compression pants, tugging the fabric down to his knees, enough to expose his throbbing cock, the tip swollen and pink, desperately waiting to feel some sort of release.

You gripped the base of his cock with your hand, carefully, as your mouth practically salivated at the sight of Quinn watching your every move, never breaking eye contact. And when you reach your mouth to place a kiss to the side of his aching member, the sight of Quinn’s eyes fluttering shut, creates a warmth between your own legs. Your mouth began to go to work, placing kisses along his shaft and pumping his cock once before delving into your masterwork, as Quinn would define it. 

You kitten lick his tip before sliding his cock between your lips, his thick member filling your mouth, even just the feeling causing you to moan. Quinn’s hands instinctively find the wall and the side of your head to balance himself. You begin to go to work, bobbing your head along his shaft, pumping and massaging whatever couldn’t fit in your mouth, and the sounds of your saliva mixed with his excretions, tied in with his whines in response, caused you to grind in your own spot, feeling warmth spreading through your own body. 

You then look up to Quinn through your eyelashes, watching his face contort with your pleasuring, and his chest rising and falling shakily. You held eye contact with Quinn as you slid his member farther into your mouth, until it couldn’t possibly move any farther, and you ran your nails against the skin of his thighs simultaneously, Quinn erupting in a series of groans and profanities at the feeling.

“Fuck, baby, look at you. So fuckin’ pretty taking my cock so well.” He groaned his head tilting back against the wall as his hand gripped the back of your head and pushed lightly to stretch your mouth wider. You almost gag on the pressure, eyes watering, saliva dripping from your chin– making you a complete mess. You then slowly release him from your mouth, a trail of spit hanging between you and his solid cock, and you place a messy kiss on his tip, causing it to twitch in response to the contact. 

“Want me to keep going?” You asked eagerly, hands still placed on his thighs, waiting for him to direct you in the situation. 

Quinn bit his lip, contemplating how he wanted you, before he grabbed your hands and brought you to your own feet. 

“Pants off, now.” He said sternly, his lips attaching to your neck and hands finding either side of your waist. You nodded in compliance, even though you knew he couldn’t see you, and you shimmy out of your tight pants, letting the fabric fall to the floor and leaving you in nothing other than your top and lace panties. 

Quinn’s hands roamed your body as his mouth continued to do work against your skin, your own hands finding their place on his shoulders, gripping tightly. And you almost bite down on his broad shoulder to contain the high-pitched squeal you feel erupting through your throat at the feeling of his hand slipping between the fabric of your panties and dipping into your core. 

Quinn groans in pleasure at the feeling, “fuck, baby, sucking my cock really got you this wet?” He murmured against your collarbone, still decorating your skin with his kisses. 

You hummed in agreement, tugging at the curls by his neck as a way to let him know you needed him instantly. He pulled away from attacking your skin with love bites, meeting your gaze with hungry eyes, and turning you around so your back was flush against his chest. His hands roamed your body, groping the curves and all his favourite parts of you. 

“Panties off, now. I want you bent over that counter.” Was all Quinn said before he guided you urgently towards the sink’s countertop, a mirror hung on the wall, exposing the sex-filled sight of the two of you. 

You complied to his demands, scurrying to fold your hips against the cold countertop, each of your hands pressed against the surface to steady yourself. It wasn’t long before Quinn was positioned behind you, but before he continued, his fingers hooked under your own shirt, and swiftly discarded it, leaving you bare and the cool air and feeling of the counter touching your exposed skin. 

Quinn stroked his own cock a few times, collecting a wad of spit from his mouth to wet his hard member, and you watched intently at his every moves, and as he stepped closer to your frame, you anticipated the feeling of the tip of his cock coming into contact with your throbbing core. 

His one hand was held firmly at the base of his cock, while the other tightly gripped your hip, aligning himself with your entrance before he slowly pushed forward, bottoming you out completely, the stretch and rush of pleasure leaving your mouth hung open. Quinn’s bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he let the feeling of your core envelope him, clenching against his cock, and his hands roamed your body while you adjusted. 

He reached down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much, ‘kay?” He asked softly, barely audible into your ear. 

You only nodded, unable to form words as Quinn stretched you out in all the right ways. He then slowly began to thrust in and out of your dripping pussy. The anticipation of the way he was going to fuck you, leaving you in a puddle of your own arousal. His hands balanced himself on your hips as his thrusts slowly progressed in speed, his cock sliding along the walls of your core, the contact eliciting a rush of euphoria through your body. 

It was as if a switch had been turned on in Quinn, because his slowly increasing thrusts turned into rough poundings as a shock of pleasure was sent to your clit at the contact of his hips against yours. 

Your mouth continued to hang open in pleasure, watching Quinn determinedly fuck you. Whatever pent up stress, anger, or frustration he had, you knew you had to let him get out, even if that meant it was through destroying you. 

The sounds of your wet pussy slapping against his skin echoed through the bathroom, and Quinn’s grunts that left his mouth followed after each thrust. 

His eyes then shifted from watching his cock slide in and out of you, to meet your eyes through the mirror. He grinned slyly at the sight of your flushed face, his hands roaming your body and coming up to plant themself just tightly enough on the back of your neck while maintaining his speed of thrusts. Your head leaned back into the feeling of his hand on the nape of your neck, holding you tightly in place, the pleasure that erupted through your body feeling so blissful, you weren’t able to formulate words– only small noises of pleasure with each thrust. 

“Look at you baby, so fucking cock drunk– you love when I fuck you like this, huh?” Quinn said through gritted teeth, his own pleasure rushing through his veins. ‘Fuck, Y/n. You feel so fucking good around my cock– so fucking good. Taking me so well.” He praised as he watched intently as you responded with moans to the feeling of his cock bottoming you out with each strong thrust. 

Your eyes shut as you focus on the feeling of Quinn thrusting into you from behind, so harshly, and the shock of pleasure that follows each thrust. And you feel his hand release from the back of your neck, grazing along the side of your face until you feel his two fingers find your open mouth, stuffing his digits into your mouth. As if it were second nature, you began to suck on his fingers, a loud moan falling from your throat at the feeling that now tied in with each thrust, and you started to feel the familiar warmth begin to spread through your body as the knot began to loosen in your core. 

“Just like that, baby. Look at you. Sucking on me so well, your pussy and mouth were fuckin’ made for me.” He groaned, his thrusts increasing to a speed you didn’t even know was possible. You shifted in your position, letting Quinn know through your body language that you were close, and he took that as an invite to hoist your one leg up to rest on the countertop, allowing for Quinn to hit even deeper into your core, a loud moan coming crying out of your throat, being muffled by his fingers. 

Quinn’s hand left your mouth, a string of spit following as you reopened your eyes, seeing your flushed face, smudged mascara and tears welling in your eyes from the pleasure. 

“Fuck, Quinn, I’m so close.” You whined, tucking your head into your chest before looking back up to watch Quinn move from behind you. A moan left your lips in synchrony with each thrust Quinn sent through your body, and you could tell he was approaching his own climax as his thrusts faltered, and began to fall more inconsistent.

“Come for me, baby. Such a fucking good girl– taking me so well. This pussy was fuckin’ made for me” He encouraged again, his one hand slipping between your core and the countertop, his fingers finding your sensitive clit, and sending shocks of pleasure through the bundle of nerves, ultimately leading to your release around his cock. You whine loudly as the rush of euphoria takes over your body, flooding your veins with pleasure and a tingling sensation as you ride your high. Quinn continues to thrust into you, slowing his movements as he approaches his own release. Not long after, he releases into you, his warm, thick excretion filling you to the brim as he stays inside you for a mere minute, before pulling out, leaving your core to ache at the loss. 

He pulls you up from your position over the counter, hugging you against his chest and placing a soft kiss on your temple. “You okay? I wasn’t too rough?” He mumbled against your head, and you turned in his embrace, looking up at him with a loving gaze and planting a quick kiss to his lips. 

“No, that was so good.” You smiled sheepishly, your chest heaving up and down as you came down from your orgasm; the high causing you to feel an immense amount of bliss. “But that wasn’t what I planned, it was supposed to be all about you and making you feel better.” You playfully pout, sticking out your bottom lip and batting your lashes at Quinn. 

He only laughs, pulling you into a tighter hug, “hey, making you sound like that, and just having you like that, already makes me feel ten times better.” 

You dramatically roll your eyes, “fine, so it’s a win-win.” 

“Oh, it’s definitely a win-win.” 

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: congratulations it's triplets

Jason avoids his kids for a while.

He didn't mean to, but it was hard to face them after realizing he passed along his burden. The triplets didn't seem to mind his absence, running amok through the Annex without a care in the world.

Word of Jazz got around quickly despite Bruce and Tim working overtime to manage the rumors. Jason was worried about how she reacted to the articles circulating terrible stories about her.

He had been so worried he had given his family permission to watch them closer. It was an invasion of privacy, and it drove him up a wall to stoop to Bruce's level, but Jason had to know.

He had already left her to raise three kids on her own. The thought of leaving her to deal with the media storm he caused was unthinkable. Steph had been the one to volunteer for the reconnaissance mission, stating that her absence wouldn't be as noticeable as someone who was not living in the manor.

Jason let her loose into the Annex and buried himself in Red Hood missions, trying not to let his stomach turn whenever he thought of those small faces lit up in green. Every once in a while, he would click open the daily reports Steph uploaded into their shared drive, smiling at his children's antics.

Out of the three, Danny was the voice of reason. Dan was always down to brawl, and Danielle had wanderlust. Steph made multiple notes that his children were intelligent beyond their years- he knew that already- but to see examples of how their intelligence showed had Jason puffing out his chest.

He was about to brag about his kids to some of his men in a fit of madness when one report showed the three re-wiring a toaster to shoot out blades for self-defense. Jasmine had to confiscate it.

Thankfully he had snapped his mouth shut before even a hint of his kids left his mouth- he already exposed them as Jason Todd, he couldn't image the danger they would be in as Red Hood's children. It didn't stop him from listening in whenever his men gathered around and chatted about their kids.

He made a note to pay for Amber's kid to go on that field trip he was so excited about. The less he could do for having his mom in Red Hood's gang.

Jason found himself very intrigued with Jasmine as well. He was worried she was struggling with the news. Her reaction to the paparazzi at the zoo had been to burst into tears.

Now, it was to snort and roll her eyes. She even joked with the kids, letting them read what was said about her and mocking the gossip rags.

Jason couldn't figure her out.

She was tough as nails and gentle as cotton. Jasmine's communication with her friends and co-workers was distant. She kept them at arm's length like she wasn't expecting to make deep bonds.

That could be that she had no time as a single mother to three, but even now, while living at the Wayne Manor, she seemed in no real hurry to lay down the foundations for a permanent life. It worried him greatly because the last person he saw acted like that, lost herself to drugs, and Jason ended up on the streets.

There were also no other signs of the triplets having Pit Madness after the zoo incident. Steph, not so studly, highlighted this in her reports, telling him without telling him to come home, but Jason just couldn't bear it.

Before he realized it, a month went by, and his kids grew without him again. Jason attempted to find a reason to reappear in their lives, psyching himself out at the last second.

A burst of reality came in the shape of a tiny voice of reason.

"What are you doing here?" Danny snapped at him, disregarding all the guns being aimed at him. The boy had burst into a Red Hood meeting, somehow getting past his outdoor guards, up to the second floor where the meeting was being held, and kicking open the door before anyone had even known he was there.

His glowing green eyes had frozen Jason in his seat until he realized it was the lens of the mask He was grateful that Danny had considered keeping his identity hidden by wearing the red half-mask Jason used to sport during his Prince of Gotham days.

He was even wearing a little suit, a blatant attempt to replicate the same outfit of Jason's club running days. It would have been adorable if it hadn't been so heart-stopping to think his boy would ever get mixed up in this life.

He quickly raised a hand, slowly closing it as a single to make everyone stand down. Everyone seemed to be relieved when he did, as none of his men liked harming children.

It's why they were in Jason's inner circle. He didn't hire assholes who thought it was okay to mess up a child.

Danny marched up to the conference table, his little head not reaching the tabletop because Jason was dramatic enough to ask for a raised table and force all his people into stole-like chairs. It didn't deter Danny since his son quickly waved Harry over to him.

His treasurer and bookkeeper shoot Jason a look of panic but move towards the boy once he gets a nod from the Red Hood. Harry crouched down to Danny's level, lending his ear to the small boy.

Jason couldn't see what they were doing until Danny used Harry's linked hands as a stepping stool to scramble onto the table. Harry, for his part, looked to be fighting a smile when Danny grabbed his shoulder to steady himself.

Once the small boy's feet were on the table, he straightened his vest and marched up to Jason. He stopped with a snap of his legs together and demanded while crossing his tiny arms. "Why haven't you been home? Mom misses you."

Jason's mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no one could see that with his helmet. Danny's green eyes narrowed. "No words to defend yourself, Dad?"

The people in the room gasped. Jason felt himself cower in front of the small child, who clicked his tongue and tapped his foot in the way he had seen Jasmine do when upset with the children. "I don't know why she likes you so much, but she does. You have one hour to finish up your meeting, and then we'll go home for dinner. Mom made lasagna."

Jason couldn't believe what he was hearing. Words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think it through. "Who's going to make me?"

Danny snapped his fingers, and the doors were thrown up a second time by Dan and Dani, wearing the same outfits but in green and blue, respectively. The green lens remains a constant with them, too, and really, it's not good for his health. "We will drag you there. If we figure out the family's secret, we can force you to go."

"We aren't afraid of biting," Dan threatens, clicking his teeth together hard enough. His voice modifier picks it up into a deeper chomp than it was.

Dani throws her ponytail over her shoulder in one smooth motion, nodding her head. The adults are all attempting to smother their laughter when she aims a plastic sword at Jason as if she were making a dangerous treat.

"I''llCutYou" She says in a fast little growl and honestly. It's the least threatening thing he's ever been told.

"Do you yield to our demands?" Danny demands, sounding smug somehow, and suddenly, Jason finds he doesn't want to be anywhere else than at the Wayne Annex having dinner with these little monsters.

He laughs, throwing his head back, ignoring how Danny's tiny fists landed on his chest in punches that fell like air. He reaches out, dragging his son into a hug, and breathes him in as his other children round the table to land harmless punches of their own. He grabs them all, crushing them against him and feeling their heartbeats against him.

His children are alive and come to drag him from the darkness. How could he ignore their call?

"Meeting adjourned." He says, standing with the three hanging off him. "I have dinner plans."

His men smile back, eyes soft as Jason marches out. Dan climbs to sit on his shoulders, releasing a battle cry when he manages to reach his goal while Danny sits in one of his arms, content with being carried. Dani sits in the other but moves about, patting her sword against Jason's biceps in a random rhythm.

He feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the heavens. He has them at this very moment.

Jason is going to be there for his children. No more running. No more hiding.

Pit Maddnes be damned.