#we are not aerodynamic at all

[1spooky-dad]

Of the firm belief that of course there's no shame in having a phobia, but there is shame in those who do not find issue with not working away from said phobia.

If you're arachnophobic, i understand, i get it, but if you think you can go through life without experiencing A Spider you're sorely mistaken. So you should take measures to be sure that you can perform as well as possible when facing your phobia.

I have a phobia of adult praying mantises and have long since hated that i found them so disturbing for seemingly no reason, since i knew they're great for natural pest control. Due to the kind of person i am, i recently was given a hatching egg sack of... So. So many praying mantises. I had the chance to say no to it. I took the initiative to work on myself and raise them in hopes it would help my phobia.

I'm not saying everyone who has a snake phobia should go pick up a snake and befriend it, or those with phobias of heights need to go skydiving. But a phobia is a condition, and should be something you work on. It's an explanation of your behavior, but not an excuse. A phobia is a chance to learn how to better understand the world you live in, not shut it out.

[tangledinink]

Can we see what's at the bottom of the lake if there is anything?

swanatello

[ next ]

[669ratz]

do u get my vison (more talking in the tags)

[majimassqueaktoy]

the other rgg boys are hairless because rgg didnt bother to model them with body hair but spiritually we know they should be hairier- Majima however is hairless because he goes to a salon and gets a full body wax every friday afternoon at 3pm on the dot.

[jawbonejoe]

I know if I say ‘where my dumb vampires at’ everyone will say WWDITS and they’re right but fr fr we need to saturate the market with dumb vampires, I refuse to believe you would get that old only to be arch serious and boring

[mishkakagehishka]

At least i'm aerodynamic now

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Tiny Paws, Big Adventures

Word count: 773

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader, ft. Leo

Summary: you and Charles Leclerc enjoy a peaceful day in Monaco with your playful dachshund, Leo, as you talk about expanding your little family and cherish the quiet moments away from the racetrack

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You and Charles Leclerc had been dating for a few years now, and your life with him was often fast-paced, filled with race weekends, travel, and the occasional media frenzy. But the quieter moments, especially those spent at home, were your favorite. That’s where Leo, your longhaired dachshund, came in — the tiny, furry heart of your little family.

It was an off weekend, and Charles had promised to spend the day at home with you and Leo. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you heard the rapid sound of little paws tapping against the wooden floor. Leo darted into the living room, tail wagging furiously, his long, silky fur bouncing as he excitedly scurried around, while Charles followed behind, laughing as he tried to keep up with the energetic dog.

"How is he always faster than me?" Charles chuckled, flopping down on the couch next to you. He leaned over to give you a quick kiss before reaching down to rub Leo's fluffy head.

"Because he’s just as fast as his dad," you teased, smiling at Charles. "Or maybe faster, with those short little legs."

Charles grinned and put an arm around you. "I think he's more aerodynamic."

You laughed, watching as Leo spun around, clearly trying to convince one of you to play with him. "You should take him out for a run. He needs to burn off all this energy."

Charles leaned back, stretching out his arms. "Or maybe he can tire me out," he said, half-joking. "What do you think, Leo? Want to go out?"

At the sound of his name, Leo barked happily, his ears flopping as he danced around in excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh at how much joy a simple walk brought him.

"Alright, alright," you said, standing up to grab Leo’s leash. "Let’s go tire this little guy out."

The three of you headed out for a walk along the quiet streets of Monaco. Leo trotted ahead, his small legs moving quickly as his leash bobbed up and down with every eager step. Charles had one hand loosely holding the leash, while his other hand rested on your shoulder as you walked side by side.

Moments like these were your favorite. When it was just you, Charles, and Leo, away from the cameras and the intensity of race weekends. Charles was always more relaxed at home, and you could see the stress melt away with each step as he walked with you.

"You know," Charles said after a while, looking down at Leo, "I’ve been thinking… maybe we should get him a little friend."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. "Another dachshund?"

Charles grinned. "Why not? Leo could use some company. Maybe he wouldn’t miss us as much when we’re away."

You laughed softly. "You mean when you’re away. I’m pretty sure he’s happy to have me all to himself when you’re racing."

"Fair enough," Charles chuckled, pulling you a little closer. "But seriously, I think it’d be fun. What do you think?"

You looked at Leo, who was now happily sniffing a patch of grass, his little tail wagging in the breeze. The idea of another longhaired dachshund waddling around the apartment was sweet. "I think it could be nice. But two of them? You’d better be ready for double the trouble."

Charles gave you a cheeky smile. "I can handle it. Besides, you’re the one who always spoils Leo more than me."

"Well, maybe," you admitted with a laugh, playfully nudging him. "But don’t act like you don’t let him sleep on your side of the bed whenever I’m not looking."

Charles feigned innocence. "I would never."

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him as the two of you continued walking, brainstorming names and imagining the chaos of two dachshunds running around the apartment. By the time you made it back home, Leo had finally tired himself out, curling up on the couch the moment you stepped through the door.

Charles flopped down beside him, pulling you onto his lap. You rested your head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice soft and content.

You smiled, feeling the same sense of calm settle over you. "It is."

Leo snored softly at your feet, and Charles kissed the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "I love you, you know?"

"I love you too, Charles."

No matter how hectic life became, you knew that these quiet moments, just the three of you — you, Charles, and little Leo — were what made it all worth it.

[no-144444]

the grid: meet-cutes!

Day 2 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, Alex Albon, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Charles LeClerc

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Oscar Piastri: 

Oscar Piastri was an easy child to be around. He was sweet, polite, and didn’t kick up a fuss about anything. 

That was, until you sat beside him in Ms. Smith’s Grade 3 class. You were the quiet, shy, new girl who didn’t really want to make new friends. You were in Australia for one thing, your skating career. Even at age 8 you were incredible, there was even talk of you going all the way to Russia to train with the best of the best, but all that would come later. 

“Hi,” the boy beside you smiled. 

“Hi,” you mumbled back, not exactly looking at him. 

“I’m Oscar,” he held out his hand to be shook (much too formal for an 8 year old boy, but whatever) and you shook it. 

“Y/n,” you answered simply. 

“Where are you from?” he asked. 

You didn’t answer, uninterested in making friends. You had friends, even if you only spoke to them through a phone screen, you still had friends back home. 

“Where are you from?” He asked again. 

“Why do you care?” you asked. 

“I want to be your friend,” he answered simply. 

“Why?” 

He went quiet and a slight blush appeared on his cheek. “I think you’re pretty.”

“Well, that’s-”

“Oscar! Y/n! What are we talking about?” Ms. Smith scolded. 

“Nothing Miss,” you answered. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“Oscar just told Y/n he loves her!” Ryan, the boy sat to the left of Oscar, shouted. The classroom was soon full of ooo’s and aww’s, and you were left shaking your head while he hid his head in his hands. 

You two did become friends though, then best friends, then boyfriend and girlfriend. Then you two got married, and he spoke about that very moment in his vows.

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Lando Norris:

Clubs weren’t your thing but when it was the second last night of the family holiday, you somehow got away for long enough to find yourself in one. Your little brother was driving you insane, and you genuinely couldn’t keep up the fake smiles anymore with your parents constant bickering. This was supposed to be your holiday, where they celebrated your graduation. You’d just finished aerodynamics in Cambridge and you were sick of the numbers, and your family. You just wanted to get away. 

Suddenly, your dancing was cut short when a guy decided to spill his drink all over you and not notice. You huffed as you dragged yourself to the bathroom, only to find the longest line ever. Quickly, you looked around, then dipped into the empty men’s bathroom. 

You lined your top up with the hand dryer, and waited as it slowly dried. 

Empty men’s bathroom, or so you thought. Then, the door to one of the cubicles opened to reveal a very tanned, very pretty, and very confused man about your age. 

“Oh shit did I go into the women’s bathroom?! I-I’m so sorry-” he immediately began apologising but you cut him off with your own embarrassing truth.

“Nope,” you sighed, accepting your fate as the ‘strange girl who went into the men’s instead of the women’s to dry her stupid top after some stupid guy spilled his drink on her’ “This is the men’s, I just… needed to dry my top.” 

“Oh, alright, carry on,” he nodded, relief filling his voice. You chuckled at the absurdity of this moment. 

“You’re not going to ask me to leave?”

“Should I?” he asked. 

“Probably,” you informed him.

“I’d just be worried about you to be honest,” he finished washing his hands. “Guys are creepy. Just be careful.”

You nodded. “You’re an actual gentleman,” you laughed. 

He smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“Do you wanna dance?” You asked. 

He nodded, biting his lips to stop himself from grinning like a little boy. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Then let’s go,” you smiled, taking his hand and dragging him back out to the dance floor. Wet top long forgotten…

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Max Verstappen

You weren’t exactly supposed to have run out of your father’s office, nor were you supposed to have ended up at the media shoot for the new Toro Rosso drivers, but you did anyway. 

“Y/n!” Carlos smiled, wrapping a hand around your waist in a hug. “It is so good to see you!”

��Hey Carlos,” you smiled. You’d met Carlos already, at one of those boring galas your dad had sent you to. I mean, you were only 17, what was he expecting? You to enjoy spending time with rich old dudes who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves? I don’t think so. “How are you?”

Behind him stood Max Verstappen, no him, you’d heard about. Though, he didn’t seem as intimidating as you’d imagined him to be. He seemed kind of… normal. Just like any other random teenage boy your age. Kind of awkward, kind of annoying, and pretty good looking. 

“I’m good hermosa, you?” Carlos smiled. You caught Max staring at you, and offered him a soft smile. His eyes darted away from you both. 

“Good thanks.”

You took the initiative and went up to him, holding out your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/n Horner.”

“Max Verstappen,” he shook your hand, avoiding eye contact. 

“Max thinks you’re pretty,” Carlos smirked, drawing a laugh from you, and a harrowing look of betrayal from Max. 

“Carlos! Why don’t you even shut up?!” He whined, making you laugh harder. 

“What? It is the truth, no? You think she is-”

“Carlos!” Max scolded. 

When you’d finally stopped laughing, the pair of them had been called to go back in for photos. Before he walked away you slipped your number into Max’s hand with a smile. “I think you’re pretty too,” you whispered, leaving him flushed and flustered. 

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Alex Albon:

You weren’t exactly privy to all the goings on of an F1 garage, but you knew well enough to not touch the cars, or get in anyone’s way. 

Somehow, you failed both of those things within about 5 seconds, all because of one man. James Vowels, that stupid idiot bumped into you as he laughed and sent you flying into one of the engineer’s desks. 

“Sorry!” you immediately rushed out as someone helped you up, telling you that it was alright and there was no harm done. 

“To be fair, that was James’s fault,” Terry, one of the engineers, pointed out. 

“Excuse me?” James’s voice went up four octaves. 

“You knocked right into her mate!” he laughed. 

“It’s impressive that you missed someone that beautiful,” Alex chuckled at his boss, then stopped after he realised what he’d said. “Oh my god I’m so sorry-”

The garage was alive with laughter as Alex stuttered through an apology, and you chuckled along, desperately trying to end the whole ordeal. 

“It’s alright,” you cut him off. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, blushing madly. “And I’m sorry- again.”

“Ask her out!” One of the engineers shouted. 

“I’m so sorry, I absolutely won’t-”

“Yes,” you agreed in a split-second decision. 

“Yes?” He confirmed with you. “Alright then!”

“How did you manage to accidentally get a date?!” James laughed. 

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George Russell: 

“George, this is your new race engineer, Y/n Y/l/n,” Toto announced. George’s other race engineer had just taken maternity leave after his wife had given birth to a beautiful baby boy just days prior. 

“Hi,” you smiled, holding out your hand. He stood there, just staring. 

“George?” Toto nudged his arm. “George.”

“Yes? Oh-umm, sorry, very rude of me, I’m George,” he was flustered. Lando watched from the other side of the room with a smirk on his face. His friend was in love, how sweet?

“George?” Lando called over. “Did Toto matchmake you?” 

Your professionalism was already thinly wound because of the hoops you had to jump through to get the job in the first place, and now two men who were being fucking annoying and dickheads were testing you. “I’m his new race engineer,” you explained with a pleasant smile. 

“Really? You’re pretty enough to model,” Lando smirked, playing up the sleeze so that George could swing in and be your ‘knight in shining armour’. Well, knight in… black and turquoise armour. 

“Lan, what the hell are you saying?” George gawked. 

“I’d love to ask the same question,” you nodded. 

Lando broke character and laughed in your faces for a solid minute. At least he’d broken the ice. 

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Lewis Hamilton:

You walked into the room with your head held high. Your client was nowhere to be seen, probably busy doing cocaine in the bathroom, but you didn’t care. This was the afterparty. No cameras, no inhibitions, and no babysitting. 

You sat at the bar, ordered a martini, and fell back into one of your favourite past times, people watching. You watched as celebrities you used to idolise,  danced on each other the same way horny teenagers did. You watched as the time ticked by before you could leave. 

“Long night?” he asked, a kind smile on his face. 

“You have no idea,” you chuckled. “Celebrities aren’t easy to deal with- no offence,” you smiled. 

“None taken,” he chuckled. “I find them all pretty difficult to be around too.” 

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “I don’t know if you get to say that when you are a celebrity.” 

“Sure I do,” he shrugged. “At least I can keep my hands to myself, unlike Mr. Styles over there,” he chuckled, ponting out some of the most awkward pairs out on the dance floor. 

You laughed, trying to hide it with a sip of your drink. “We probably shouldn’t say that,” you chuckled. “Even if it is true.”

“Why not?” he smirked. 

“Not all of us are celebrities Mr. Hamilton, some of us may lose our jobs,” you smiled. 

“Who’s your client?” he asked, catching onto the fact that you weren’t a glitz and glamour-y actor or singer. 

“You don’t even want to know,” you sighed, chuckling lightly. “He’s the actual worst.”

“Oh, so it’s one of the old ones?” he guessed. 

“I’m not answering that,” you shook your head. 

He smiled at you. “How about a bet? If I can guess who it is by the end of the night, I get your number.”

You smiled. “Deal.” 

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Charles LeClerc 

Charles may have been one of the most well-rated drivers in Formula 1, but his parallel parking was… abysmal. It was embarrassing, to be honest. 

You walked out to your car after another 12 hour day at your gruelling office job, already on the verge of crying thanks to your asshole boss screaming at you for getting her coffee order wrong, and apparently the dickhead who parked beside you, decided today would be the day to back up into your car. 

“Fuck!” you groaned as you watched him do it. “What the hell are you doing?” You asked, going over to the window. 

“I am so sorry!” he immediately apologised. 

“Holy shit, you’re that Formula 1 driver,” you stated, taken aback. 

“I am so sorry about your car, it was a complete accident,” he explained. “I’ll pay for the damages.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. Here’s my number, and my insurance’s number,” you started writing down the numbers on a piece of paper, then handed them to him. 

“I’m Charles, by the way,” he introduced himself, a soft smile on his face. 

“Cool,” you nodded. “Give me a call.”

You turned to go back to your car, it wasn’t bad enough to not be able to drive it home, just a few scratches. 

“W-wait!” he called after you. “I didn’t give you my number,” he stated. 

“I know,” you nodded. “I doubted that you gave out your number to random people.” 

“Well… for the insurance, right?” 

“I don’t care mate,” you sighed. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s been a very long day.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled. “Here’s my number, I’ll give you a call, yeah?”

“Yeah, thanks Charles,” you nodded, taking the piece of paper out of his hand. 

“Sorry again,” he smiled. 

“It’s seriously alright,” you nodded. "Just... one question?"

"Sure," he shrugged.

"Shouldn't you be a better driver? Like you're an F1 driver, right?"

He chuckled. "Parallel parking isn't exactly covered in the super liscense."

"It should be."

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Daniel Riccardo

You sighed as you walked through the paddock. Being Adrian Newey's protege was slowly sucking the soul from your body ever since he'd left. You were now the saving grace for everyone, and you had no idea what you were up against next season. Aston Martin would be throwing money at the wall, and you were unsure of whether you could build the fastest car.

"Y/n, for fuck's sake," he demanded. "I needed these numbers done yesterday and you didn't finish them! That's just plain disrespect!"

"Sir, I finished what I could with the data you gave me, I can't make equations with no universe to place them in, it doesn't work like that," you explained, done with this 2 hour long meeting.

There was a knock on the door and you internally blessed whoever it was to end this hellhole of a meeting.

Daniel's head popped through the door. "Christian, what did you want me for?"

"We're in a meeting right now," Christian growled.

"Not anymore," you deadpanned. "I have some maths to do, goodbye Christian."

"We need to talk about this!" he called after you.

"No, you want to complain to someone, and talking to a brick wall would be easier than trying to explain how fucking impossible your 'dream scenario' is. Goodbye Christian."

With that, you left the meeting room, making a reminder in your phone to send Daniel a bouquet as a thank you gift.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen

[fangswbenefits]

Appreciation

Summary: Miguel catches you staring at a very specific part of his body…

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

That 🎂 needs more appreciation! Mildly suggestive. Innuendo. Just having some fun. Inspired by this amazing fanart!

“You’re drooling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You gave Jessica Drew a side-glance. “Peter, tell her I’m not drooling.”

“You’re drooling.”

Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you heaved a sigh.

Miguel O’Hara had his back turned to you, and you just couldn’t tear your eyes from his glorious ass.

It should be illegal to wear something so tight around it, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Do you need some tissues just in case in?” Jess leaned in with a devious smile.

You growled in annoyance drumming your fingers on the table, which was enough to catch his attention. He turned around, facing away from the orange screens floating around his platform.

“Can you pay attention?” he asked, hands on his hips and crimson eyes narrowing.

The three of you nodded instantly and you straightened in your seat, inwardly mourning the loss of visual contact with his backside.

Peter was the next one to sigh, and Miguel scowled. “It’s important we go through these procedures. The fate—”

“—of the multiverse is important,” Peter then yawned from beside you. “Yeah. We know, we know.”

You giggled and saw Miguel scowling. “Leave. Go get ready for your reconnaissance mission, then.”

Jess and Peter didn’t need to be told twice and rose to their feet, heading towards the exit.

You were about to follow suit when Miguel’s voice was heard, “Not you.

Oh?

“You stay.”

Peter turned briefly and mouthed a ‘good luck’ before exiting, the door sliding shut behind them.

But what he didn’t know was that you had just struck gold.

You cheered inwardly, barely able to contain your excitement, as you sat on the table behind you, dangling your legs playfully.

Miguel paced slowly in your direction, face as serious as usual.

When he stopped right in front of you, you parted your legs, waiting for him to settle in between, which he promptly did.

“You are so frustrating.”

“Hmm?” you rose an eyebrow playfully.

To an outsider, it might seem like he was beyond annoyed.

He always strived to look serious and intimidating.

But you knew better.

“You you were supposed to be paying attention to what I was saying,” he whispered.

“In my defense, it was staring at me first,” you rose both hands in defense. “Not my fault.”

His eyes fell to your lips. “Ah. So you were staring.”

“Your ass is magnificent, Miguel,” you said with a click of your tongue. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Be more professional.”

You scoffed. “Says the man wearing a suit so tight we can see every single line of muscle.”

He chuckled and you did the same, enjoying the sound of his carefree voice.

“Can I touch it…” you asked with a devious smile.

He answered by grabbing both of your hands and setting them on his hips. “You don’t have to ask.”

You let your fingers trail down slowly behind him, grazing the material of his digital suit. Once you moved past the generous curve of his ass, you gave each cheek a gentle squeeze.

Everything was firm and in place, and you couldn’t stop yourself from massaging him with the palms of your hands.

“Does your suit need to be this tight?” you asked.

He slid the back of his index finger from your neck to rest under your chin, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “Aerodynamics.”

“You’re such a tease,” you mumbled.

He craned his neck to match your height. “Me?”

The pads of your fingers traced patterns along his taut muscles, and you were reminded of how lucky you were to have this all to yourself.

“I need your workout routine.”

He leaned in even closer. “I’ll show it to you, then.”

You hummed, his lips almost touching yours. “And is it hard?”

The pun didn’t go amiss and Miguel chuckled softly. “Depends on the position.”

“And then I get to have such an amazing ass?” you asked, squeezing him again with both hands.

His warm breath fanned your skin. “You do.”

You then narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re not scamming me, are you?”

Miguel’s lips grazed yours. “Scamming?”

Giving both his cheeks a few more squeezes, you straightened up.

“You sound like those shady fitness gurus from Earth-1610,” you feigned seriousness in your voice.

He surprised you by planting a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I would never scam you.”

Then another kiss.

“What you see is what you get.”

Your fingers curled harder this time into his hard muscle, drawing his lower half closer. “That sounded so shad-”

Miguel interrupted you with a kiss, bringing both hands to cup your face, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks.

You melted into his touch, smiling but not breaking the kiss.

He was so easy to love.

Eventually, he managed to tear himself away with a genuine teasing smile. “Was that shady?”

You patted both of his cheeks lightly, enjoying the slapping sound. “I may need more convincing.”

Masterlist

[plusthreerabbits]

I have the opposite with Shion: when he binkies, he LAUNCHES into the air for approximately 0.003 seconds and I am never fast enough to get it on camera. I'll just see a lil white floof at eye level and be like "man I keep forgetting he can fly"

Also Chewie is so chonky that he cannot control what happens to his body so sometimes....he just binkies right into the side of the house

The funniest thing about Nimas binkies is that she's got such a round little body with such stumpy lil legs that when she has zoomies and binkies she gets like zero air time so I don't even call them binkies I just say she's got the hops

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[pucksandpower]

Hi!! I always see fics of Charles being the one who isn’t believed he’s in a relationship (and i eat it all up cause it’s such a fun trope 😌) but what if it’s the reader’s turn. Like she’s a normal university student who always talks about her boyfriend but her friends and her fellow students just don’t believe her so Charles decides to surprise her and just be the proof. Thanks in advance!!

Daydream

Charles Leclerc x engineering student!Reader

Summary: You are living the dream … except no one actually believes that your boyfriend is really your boyfriend

You walk into class after the winter break with a sun-kissed glow and a new watch on your wrist.

Your friend Matteo notices it immediately and lets out a low whistle.

“Wow, that has to be the most realistic looking fake I’ve ever seen! Where did you get it?” He asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes but smile back. “It’s not a fake. Charles gave it to me for Christmas.”

Your friends barely give you a chance to get the last word out before they burst out laughing. You feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment and annoyance.

“Oh sure, I’m certain that your very real boyfriend, Charles Leclerc the Formula 1 driver, just happened to give you a €340,000 Richard Mille for Christmas,” your other friend Livia jokes.

“Come on guys, I’m serious! Charles and I have been dating for months now. We met when I was interning with Ferrari last year,” you insist.

But your friends just keep chuckling and shaking their heads in disbelief.

“If you were really dating an F1 driver, you would be posting cute couple-y pics all over Instagram. There’s no way anyone in that position could resist showing off a little,” Matteo argues.

You let out an exasperated sigh. You and Charles agreed to keep your relationship out of the public eye for now to avoid media scrutiny. But your friends just see this as further proof that you’re making it all up.

“Maybe he’s embarrassed to be seen with an engineering student,” Livia quips.

That stings a bit, even though you know she doesn’t mean for it to.

You slump down in your chair, absentmindedly fiddling with the exquisite watch on your wrist. You hadn’t realized it was worth so much when Charles gave it to you. The way his eyes lit up when you unwrapped it on Christmas morning was priceless. He was so excited to spoil you in any way he could. And now your friends think it’s just a cheap fake.

Charles is always doing ridiculously romantic things like flying you out on a private jet just so you can spend any free weekends together and sending you bouquets of roses bigger than you are. But no one believes that he’s really your boyfriend. To them, it’s all just part of an elaborate scheme you’ve concocted.

You met Charles when you were one of ten engineering graduate students selected for a prestigious internship with Scuderia Ferrari. You spent six months working in Maranello, learning from some of motorsport’s brightest minds.

Charles took an interest in you immediately. He would come by your workstation in the aerodynamics lab, peppering you with thoughtful questions about your projects. You would discuss aerodynamic principles and simulations for hours. Even ex-team principal Mattia Binotto said the two of you had a visible “synergy.”

Your internship had since ended but your relationship with Charles continued. You tried to play it cool at first, not wanting to seem overly eager. The day after you went back to study in Milan, he asked you out to dinner. Your first date lasted five hours as you talked endlessly about everything under the sun. You were amazed at how you never ran out of things to discuss.

Over the next few months, you grew closer and closer. Charles would take weekend trips to Milan just to see you, even if it was only for a few hours. He told you that you grounded him and reminded him that there was more to life than racing.

When he asked you to be his girlfriend after inviting you to the Monaco Grand Prix, you were shocked but ecstatic. You knew then that your hectic schedules won’t make it easy but Charles is unlike anyone you’ve ever known. He makes your heart race faster than a V12 engine.

You’re shaken from your reminiscing as Matteo waves a hand in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N! Come on, tell us where you got the watch. I want to get one too! It looks so identical to the real thing that we could probably sell it to some suckers on eBay.”

You shake your head with a huff. “Forget it, I’ll tell you all about my ‘fake’ boyfriend another time.”

For now, you’re just counting down the days until you can see Charles again.

No matter what anyone else may think, the two of you know that your love is real.

***

You’re humming along to your playlist as you drive Charles’ Purosangue on the winding roads leading to Milan. The SUV handles like a dream and you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of having 715 horsepower under your feet.

Your own trusty Fiat had broken down while visiting Charles in Monaco over the weekend. He insisted you take the Purosangue for the almost four hour drive back rather than waiting for a rental. You tried to decline at first, anxious about driving such an expensive vehicle. But Charles wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I don’t like the idea of you driving all that way alone in some random rental car,” he argued. “This will be much safer and more comfortable for you, mon amour.”

You finally relented, unable to resist when he turned on the charm. Charles gave you a lengthy tutorial of all the car’s features before sending you off with a lengthy kiss and plans for your next visit.

As you pull into the Politecnico di Milano parking lot, you realize just what a scene you’re about to cause. The other students are used to seeing you in your almost ten-year-old Fiat, not a glittering metallic Ferrari.

Sure enough, jaws drop and whispers follow you as you step out of the driver’s seat. Matteo quickly spots you from across the lot and comes jogging over eagerly.

“No way! Is that ... is that a Purosangue?” He gapes. “What are you doing with that?”

“Funny story actually. My car broke down when I was visiting Charles in Monaco last weekend. So he let me borrow this while mine is in the shop.”

Matteo stares at you blankly. “Visiting Charles ... in Monaco?” He throws his head back and laughs. “Your dedication to this bit is honestly impressive, Y/N. But there’s no way that the Charles Leclerc just gave you his Ferrari to drive back to Milan.”

You sigh but you’re determined not to let Matteo get under your skin this time. “Believe what you want. But I had an amazing weekend with my boyfriend before heading back to reality today.”

You head into class, Matteo trailing behind you, still shaking his head in disbelief. Livia immediately jumps up when she sees you.

“Shut up, is that really a Ferrari outside?” She gasps. You nod nonchalantly and take your seat.

“Y/N here is trying to convince us that her boyfriend let her borrow it over the weekend,” Matteo says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“You do realize those start at ���390,000 right?” Livia says. “Why on earth would Charles Leclerc of all people let you drive his brand new ultra luxury SUV around?”

You throw your up hands in indignation. “Maybe because he’s my boyfriend and he wanted to help me out! Why is that so hard for you guys to believe?”

But instead of listening to you, other classmates join the conversation and chime in with their own theories about why you suddenly have a Ferrari.

“Maybe she rented it to play a prank on everyone,” suggests Liam.

“No way,” Eva argues. “Maybe she got a big inheritance? Some distant rich relative died and left their fortune to Y/N?”

You groan internally. But before you can respond, your professor walks in and instructs everyone to take their seats.

Through the lecture, you catch people whispering and pointing discreetly at you. By the time class ends, you just want to go home and video chat with Charles about your frustrating day.

As you pack up your things, Livia comes over. “So have you thought about what you’ll tell people when they see you getting out of that Ferrari for the foreseeable future?” She asks.

You blink at her. “The truth? That Charles loaned it to me while my car is in the shop,” you say slowly.

She pats your shoulder. “Come on Y/N, the joke was funny at first but now it’s just getting sad. No one actually believes that you’re dating Charles Leclerc and driving his cars around. Just tell us where you really got it so we can all move on from this weird fantasy life you’ve constructed.”

You stand up abruptly, shoving your notebook in your bag. “It’s not a fantasy,” you spit sharply. “It’s my real life and I’m sorry you can’t accept that. But I don’t need to convince you or anyone else.”

You storm out of the classroom, blinking back frustrated tears.

Pulling out your phone, you text Charles.

I miss you. My friends still think I’m making this all up. I can’t wait to see you in Spain next race.

Charles texts back immediately.

Not as much as I miss you. Don’t worry about what other people think, we know our love is real.

And you looked so hot driving my car 😉

You smile down at your phone, comforted by his words. You may never get your friends and classmates to believe your relationship, but as long as you and Charles know the truth, that’s all that truly matters.

Sliding back behind the wheel of the shiny Ferrari, you feel your stress melt away. Who cares what anyone thinks? You have an amazing boyfriend who trusts you with his most prized possessions. And someday when you and Charles are ready to share your love with the world, everyone’s jaws will drop in disbelief.

For now, you’ll just enjoy the ride.

***

It’s nearly time for summer break and you’re sitting outside with Matteo, Livia, and some other friends, soaking up the sunshine.

“We should all go backpacking around the Greek islands in August!” Suggests Livia. “We could start in Athens, then ferry to Mykonos, Santorini, and end in Crete. Who’s in?”

Everyone voices their enthusiasm for the idea. Then Matteo turns to you. “How about it, Y/N? Take a break from your ‘boyfriend’ and come adventuring with us common folk.”

You take a deep breath and stir your coffee, debating on how to break the news. “That sounds amazing but I already have plans for the summer.”

“Oh yeah? Going home to see your family?” Matteo asks.

You take a deep breath. “Actually, Charles and I are going on a vacation for a few weeks.”

Your friends erupt into laughter.

“A holiday? With Charles Leclerc?” Livia giggles. “Girl, your fantasies are really taking off lately!”

You frown in annoyance. “I’m serious. Charles chartered a yacht and everything. I wish you could see how excited he is for our first big trip together. He’s been planning it for months.”

Livia pats your hand gently. “Sweetie, we know you’re probably feeling financial pressure with school and all. You don’t have to lie about going off on some glamorous vacation. If you can’t afford to join us in Greece, just say so.”

You stare at her in disbelief. “This isn’t about money. Charles and I have been looking forward to this since the start of the season! I’m sorry that our relationship is still so unbelievable to you.”

Your aggravation must show on your face because Matteo holds up his hands appeasingly. “Look, I’m sure whatever you end up doing this summer will be great. But clearly this whole Charles charade has gone too far. It’s time to come clean.”

You stand up abruptly, grabbing your things. “I don’t need to come clean about anything. My relationship with Charles is real, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

You storm off fuming. Your friends’ outright refusal to even entertain the notion that you could be dating Charles is so patronizing and demeaning. Do they really think so little of you?

That night, you vent to Charles over FaceTime about the conversation.

“I just don’t get why it’s so hard for them to believe me! I know we’re not exactly a super conventional couple but it’s like they think I’m delusional,” you sigh.

Charles gives you a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry they’re being like this, mon cœur. But try not to let it upset you too much. We know the truth about our love. That’s what matters.”

You nod, cheered as always by his encouragement. “You’re right. I’m just so excited for our trip! Sailing around the Mediterranean with you all to myself? It’s going to be a dream.”

Charles grins. “Oh I can’t wait either. The yacht has a hot tub on deck under the stars. I want to make sure it’s just as magical as you deserve.”

You spend the rest of the call discussing your vacation itinerary and plans for when your families will join you in Sardinia.

Charles reassures you again not to worry about what others think.

“Soon we’ll share our love with the world. But for now, let’s just focus on us,” he says softly.

By the time you hang up, your frustration has faded. Matteo and Livia may not believe you but in a few short weeks you’ll be cruising the bright blue Mediterranean with the man of your dreams.

The day finally comes for your trip to begin. As Charles helps you aboard the sleek yacht, you forget all about your friends. They don’t know him like you do. And they definitely don’t know how he kisses you goodbye at the airport or the special way his eyes light up when he says “I love you.”

This vacation will be everything you’ve been dreaming of. And you know Charles will do whatever it takes to make it unforgettable.

As the yacht pulls away from the marina, the only thing on your mind is the blissful weeks ahead with your love. Everything else fades blissfully into the background.

***

You walk with the group of engineering students through the halls of Maranello, thrilled to be back at the Ferrari factory. You did your internship here last year but walking around still feels surreal.

As you pass the simulator room, you hear someone call your name.

“Y/N! Hold on a second!”

You turn and see Gianni, one of the simulator engineers you befriended during your internship. He jogs over holding a sleek black ring.

“Charles left this after his session the other day,” he presses the familiar band into your palm. “Can you get it back to him?” Gianni asks.

You grin, turning the ring over in your hands. Charles hates taking off his Oura fitness tracker but has to for simulator runs.

“Of course, I’ll give it back to him when I’m in Monaco.”

You turn back to your friends, expecting this to be the final push they need to believe you.

But Livia just rolls her eyes. “Come on Y/N, he is obviously in on this whole charade. I bet you convinced him to play along!”

The other students nod, chuckling. Your smile disappears.

“What? No, Gianni and I really worked together when I interned here! This isn’t some weird prank,” you insist.

Matteo pats your shoulder condescendingly. “It’s alright, you don’t have to keep pretending with us. We get it, you want people to think you’re dating Charles Leclerc. But it’s getting kind of sad now.”

You clench your fists in frustration as the group moves on. Why are they being so stubborn? You clearly know people here and have a real connection to Charles.

When you pass the aerodynamics lab, your mood lifts a bit. Your favorite team leader, Fabio, is there working on computational fluid dynamics simulations.

“Y/N! So great to see you back here!” He greets you warmly and pulls you into a friendly hug.

You chat with him for a few minutes, explaining about the visit. As you say goodbye, he adds, “Tell Charles I said hi when you see him this weekend!”

But Matteo just scoffs as you walk away. “Let me guess — he’s in on it too?”

You don’t even bother responding this time, too irritated. Why should you have to convince your so-called friends of anything? You don’t owe them proof when they’re clearly set on ignoring it.

As the tour concludes, Livia pulls you aside, her expression serious.

“Look Y/N, we’re a bit worried about you. All these stories ... it just seems unhealthy. We think you should talk to someone,” she says gently.

You gape at her. “Unhealthy? Because I mentioned my boyfriend a few times on a trip to his workplace? You guys are unbelievable.”

Livia frowns. “Come on, it’s more than that and you know it. The jewelry, the car, the traveling ... it’s all an elaborate fantasy life. We just want what’s best for you.”

You feel anger bubbling up inside you. Livia reaches for your arm but you jerk away.

“You want what’s best for me? Then start believing me! I love Charles and he loves me. I don’t need therapy just because you refuse to accept the facts,” you snap.

Livia looks taken aback. You don’t wait for her response, just turn on your heel and stalk away fuming.

You pull out your phone and call Charles, needing to vent. When he picks up, the sound of his voice instantly calms you.

Charles listens patiently as you recount the horrible field trip. “I’m so sorry they’re being like this, ma belle,” he soothes. “But you handled it well. Don’t let them make you question yourself.”

You sigh. “I just wish they could see how happy you make me. I hate that our love seems so unbelievable.”

“It’s their loss for not seeing what we have,” Charles replies. “Soon everyone will realize that I only have eyes for you.”

You chat for a while longer, feeling reassured. Your friends’ doubt used to make you sad but now it mostly just angers you.

You know the truth. This weekend when you fly to Monaco and fall asleep in Charles’ arms, what Matteo and Livia think won’t matter one bit.

The only thing that matters is the love between you and Charles.

And one day, both of you will make sure the whole world knows that it’s as real as it gets.

***

It’s Friday morning and you’re stuck in your Principles of Advanced Aerodynamics lecture, anxiously watching the clock.

The Italian Grand Prix weekend starts today but your professor refused to excuse you from class early. Which means you’re missing out on precious hours with Charles before free practice later today.

You resigned yourself to not seeing him until tonight when the classroom door bursts open.

And there stands Charles, looking unfairly handsome in a Ferrari branded polo and jeans.

“Sorry to interrupt professor,” Charles flashes a charming grin. “But I’m going to need to steal Y/N away for the weekend.”

He shoots you a playful wink and your heart melts.

Your classmates erupt in excited whispers as they realize that the Charles Leclerc is standing in front of them. Your professor’s lips are moving but no discernible sound comes out.

The professor struggles to find words for a moment. “You’re ... you’re Charles Leclerc!” He stammers.

Charles smiles humbly. “Yes sir. And as I’m sure you know, the free practice for the Italian Grand Prix starts today. I’ll need to have my good luck charm there with from the very start.”

He extends his hand to you.

You grab your bag, legs wobbling as you make your way to the front. Charles wraps a supportive arm around your waist.

“You see professor, Y/N is my biggest supporter. My results improve dramatically when she’s present. So surely any Ferrari fan would agree that she must be trackside all weekend?” Charles urges charmingly.

The professor nods mutely before seeming to find his voice again. “Yes, of course! We certainly want the best results for Ferrari here at home. Y/N, you’re excused for the day. If you give me just a moment ...” He rummages through his bag with shaking hands and pulls out a Ferrari phone case.

“Would you mind?” He asks sheepishly.

“Not at all,” Charles smiles, taking the case and scrawling his signature across it with a provided permanent marker.

Your professor looks ready to faint. “Thank you so much. Enjoy the race weekend. Forza Ferrari, sempre!���

Trying not to laugh, you quickly gather up the rest of your things. Your friends watch wide-eyed as Charles takes your hand.

“Ready, mon amour?” He asks.

When you nod, he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you passionately in front of the entire class.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your lips.

You cling to him, dizzy from the kiss. “Not as much as I missed you. I can’t believe you came here just to pick me up.”

Charles caresses your cheek. “I’ll always come for you. Now let’s get going to Monza. I want to show you how much I appreciated your good luck texts before practice.”

He keeps your hand clasped firmly in his as you make your way outside. When you glance back through the windows, your classmates are still staring after you in stunned disbelief.

Once you’re in the familiar 488 Pista, you finally let out the laugh you’ve been suppressing. “Did you see the looks on everyone’s faces? I thought Professor Mancini was actually going to faint.”

Charles grins. “I know dramatic gestures aren’t usually my style but I wanted them to see once and for all that you’re mine.”

He lifts your intertwined hands to his lips. “No more doubting our love after today. And I meant what I said — you’re my good luck charm, Y/N. Having you here this weekend means everything.”

You smile up at him softly. “I’m just happy I can be here to support you.”

He kisses you deeply, still parked outside of the Politecnico, not caring who sees. And you know without a doubt that this amazing man and your once-in-a-lifetime romance are completely real.

The rest of the day flies by in a blur of excitement. In between practice sessions, Charles takes any chance he can to steal moments alone with you in his driver’s room.

His tender kisses and whispered reminders of his love send your heart racing faster than an F1 car.

***

It’s race day in Monza and you’re walking through the paddock hand-in-hand with Charles. His physio and press officer trail behind you both as Charles waves to the cheering Tifosi in the stands.

Suddenly, you hear voices calling your name.

You look over to see Matteo and Livia leaning over the fence, trying to get your attention.

“Y/N! We’re so sorry we didn’t believe you!” Livia shouts.

“Please come talk to us!” Yells Matteo. “We feel awful about everything!”

You stop short, conflicting emotions swirling through you. Charles senses your hesitation and squeezes your hand supportively.

“What do you want to do, mon cœur?” He asks. “I can try to get them paddock passes last minute if you want to talk.”

You bite your lip. Part of you wants them to witness first-hand the depth of your relationship with Charles. To show them just how wrong they were to mock and belittle your love.

But another part of you is still hurt by their stubborn refusal to believe you all this time. Do they really deserve VIP paddock access after the way they treated you?

“I don’t know, Charles ... they were so patronizing about our relationship for so long. I’m not sure they deserve the reward of paddock access after demeaning my feelings,” you reply.

Charles nods thoughtfully. “I understand. It’s completely up to you, of course. But it could be nice for them to see up close just how real our love is. Watching us together will help it finally sink in.”

You feel a smile tugging at your lips. Charles does make an appealing case ...

“Alright, I can’t say no to that adorable face,” you laugh and kiss his cheek. “But maybe keep them waiting a bit first as payback!”

Charles grins mischievously. “I think that can be arranged.” He pulls you in for a passionate kiss, dipping you backwards dramatically.

The crowd erupts in cheers and whistles, a wild and beautiful sea of Rosso Corsa.

When you come up for air, you see your friends watching open-mouthed from the stands. Charles winks at them over your shoulder before leading you away, his arm curled firmly around your waist.

Several hours later, Matteo and Livia finally receive their paddock passes. They rush over to you right away, profusely apologizing again.

“Seeing you and Charles together in class was unbelievable, but this ...” Matteo trails off, darting around at the bustling paddock with wide eyes. “You really are dating an F1 driver!”

You exchange an amused look with Charles. “Yes, that is what I’ve been trying to tell you for many months now,” you laugh.

Livia hugs you tightly. “I’m so sorry for ever doubting you. But after today, we’ll never question your relationship again.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I hope after witnessing our love up close, you will see there is nothing Y/N wouldn’t do for me, just as I would do the same for her.” He gazes down at you tenderly and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You and Charles both laugh as your friends turn red. “We’re really happy for you two,” mumbles Matteo. “Hopefully we can all start over now.”

Charles smiles kindly. “Of course! Y/N’s happiness is what matters most to me and I know how important her friends are to her.”

You feel yourself falling even more in love with this man and his endless patience and compassion.

The race keeps you on the edge of your seat from start to finish. When Charles takes the top step on the podium, you and your friends scream loudly enough to be heard in Milan.

That night at the celebration, Charles gives a sweet toast about how your love inspires him.

Matteo and Livia watch with tears in their eyes.

“Wow, when you said your boyfriend was romantic, you really meant it,” Livia whispers.

“I told you, Charles is one-of-a-kind. I’m so lucky to be his and to be loved by him.”

Charles comes over and pulls you into his arms, nuzzling your hair. “I’m the lucky one, mon ange.”

He stops and takes both of your hands, gazing into your eyes intently. “I never want you to doubt what we have, Y/N. You are everything to me. My whole world.”

Matteo shakes his head in wonder as he takes in the pure love clearly shining in both of your eyes. “We’re so sorry we ever doubted that what you have is real. Seeing you together, it’s obvious your love is straight out of a fairytale.”

You grin up at Charles, your heart overflowing. With his kisses still lingering on your lips and surrounded by friends who finally believe, you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Now everyone can see your love just as clearly as the two of you always have.

***

Today is the day you’ve been working towards for years — your graduation from the Politecnico di Milano with your Laurea Magistrale in Aeronautical Engineering.

The auditorium is packed with proud families as you line up with your classmates, dressed in formal robes and caps. Charles insisted on coming, despite it being right before the start of a triple header. And having him here means the world to you.

When your name is called, you grin widely as Charles’ cheers rise above the polite applause of the audience. He gives you a standing ovation, not caring that he is blocking everyone’s view.

His pride and support brings happy tears to your eyes. You blow him a discreet kiss and see him pretend to catch it, pressing his hand to his heart.

After the ceremony ends, you rush straight into Charles’ arms. He swings you around then kisses you deeply. “I’m so proud of you, mon amour! All of your hard work has paid off.”

You hug him tight, overwhelmed with emotions. “Having you here today, supporting me every step ... it’s the best gift I could ask for.”

Charles strokes your hair tenderly. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. But I do have one more surprise ...”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope with the unmistakable Ferrari seal.

Handing it to you, Charles bounces excitedly on his toes. “Go on, open it!”

With shaking hands, you open the letter and read the words offering you a position as a Junior Aerodynamics Engineer with Scuderia Ferrari.

“Charles, what ... how ...” you stammer in shock.

He smiles widely. “Enrico Cardile was very impressed with the work you did during your internship as well as your thesis.”

You continue staring at the letter. “But I don’t want special treatment just because I’m your girlfriend. I want to earn a position at Ferrari on my own merits,” you say uncertainly.

Charles grasps your hands. “Mon ange, you know I would never influence the team’s decisions. They want you because of your skills, not our relationship. I only asked if I could deliver the news as a graduation gift when I found out.”

You bite your lip. “It’s just ... I don’t want anyone thinking that I didn’t earn this.”

“Listen to me,” Charles quickly gets serious. “You are the most talented, driven, and intelligent person I know. You’ve worked relentlessly for this and Ferrari recognizes that. Please don’t doubt for one second that you deserve this.”

His sincere words dissolve your concerns. He’s right — you interned successfully with the team already. You can do this.

You throw your arms around him again. “Then I accept the offer! I’m going to be a Formula 1 aerodynamicist!”

“You will be incredible, Y/N. I can’t wait to see you thriving there. You’re going to change the world with that beautiful mind of yours.”

You cling to him, overwhelmed with emotions. “I couldn’t have done any of this without your love and support. You gave me the strength to keep pursuing my dreams.”

Charles tips your forehead to his, eyes shining. “And you gave me the gift of true love. My life is so much richer with you in it.”

He kisses you until you’re both smiling too widely to continue. Taking his hand, you turn to look out at the gathered families, classmates, and professors mingling around.

Just months ago, no one believed your relationship with Charles was real. But here you stand, ready to take on the world together.

Your storybook romance has grown into an unshakable partnership.

As Charles squeezes your hand, you know that the next chapter of your lives will be even better. You can’t wait to build your future with this amazing man — both on and off the track.

***

10 years later

You take a deep breath as you walk into the familiar lecture hall at the Politecnico di Milano. Looking out at the eager young students, you remember sitting in their place not so long ago. Back when you were just starting your engineering studies, never dreaming you would one day return as a guest lecturer.

Charles insisted on coming with you today and you scan the room until you spot him sitting inconspicuously in the back row, trying his hardest not to draw attention to himself. He gives you an encouraging thumbs up.

“Good morning, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I am Y/N Leclerc — Head of Aero Development at Scuderia Ferrari and former student right here at Polimi.”

As you start your lecture on the aerodynamic theory behind Ferrari’s latest championship-winning car, you easily slip back into the familiar rhythms of university life.

Discussing complex simulations and wind tunnel testing with these eager minds reminds you of the days you were in their shoes.

You can hardly believe it’s been 10 years since you sat in this very room, never imagining the incredible journey ahead.

After joining Ferrari, you and Charles found ways to balance your personal and professional lives through compassion and communication.

Winning your first World Championship together was a euphoric blur of champagne and ecstatic team celebrations. Being the first female Director of Aerodynamics in Formula 1 was daunting but Charles never stopped believing in you.

When he got down on one knee after winning in Monza and asked you to be his wife, it was one of the happiest moments of your life. Planning a wedding while chasing championships was no easy feat but your passion for racing and each other kept you going.

Now, five championships later, you’ve settled into a blissful rhythm as partners both on and off the track. There were tough times and painful losses but coming home to each other’s arms helped erase the remnants of any bad day.

As you wrap up the lecture and open the floor to questions, a female student raises her hand. “As a woman working in F1, what’s the best advice you can give aspiring engineers like me?”

You smile, thinking back on your own self-doubts starting out. “Don’t be afraid to take up space and make your voice heard,” you tell her. “Formula 1 needs more brilliant women like you. If you love the science and the cars, pursue this career fiercely no matter what anyone says.”

The student thanks you excitedly and you make a mental note to talk to Charles about establishing an engineering scholarship for female students.

After the lecture finishes, Charles comes up to greet you with a tender kiss. “You were incredible up there. I’m so proud to call you my wife.”

You kiss him back, still just as dizzyingly in love as that first date all those years ago. “I couldn’t have done it without my biggest cheerleader here supporting me.”

As you walk hand-in-hand back to the car, you think about how far you’ve come together.

A storybook romance, successful careers, and most importantly, an unbreakable partnership built on love and trust.

When Charles said your love would overcome any doubt, you never imagined how right he would be.

But now, as the Italian sunlight glints off your matching wedding bands, you know the best is still yet to come.

[hardlyinteresting]

Lemon drops

Jake Seresin x reader

Nights at The Hard Deck just got a lot more interesting.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please), I grew up in an Army household so some of my Navy knowledge may be slightly off base (no pun intended)

This one-shot will exist in the same universe as other one-shots I have planned. But, they can all be read entirely independently.

Word count: 1.3K

Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

Friday nights at The Hard Deck are always busy. Sailors and pilots all stopping by on their way home from base eager to let loose, that's to be expected. What he's not expecting is to walk in on a bachelorette party in full swing. 

In a Navy town, it's not completely unheard of for last-minute bachelor and bachelorette parties to fill the local dives, but the larger-than-normal crowd and the young woman dancing on one of the tables has Jake rolling his shoulders back before he settles into the night. He'd been looking for a chill vibe, a cold beer and a few rounds at the pool table. But, he won't complain about a night of flirting, he fancies his odds in a room full of jealous bridesmaids and tag chasers.

Rooster and Coyote seem to have gotten a head start if the empty glasses, or the girls they're helping line up shots at the pool table are any indicator. 

Leaning against the bar Jake waits patiently for Penny to finish making a tray of shots. Lemon-coloured liquid poured from the silver shaker he's so rarely seen used at The Hard Deck, into sugar-rimmed 1 oz glasses. His eyes follow the tray over to the crowd of already tipsy ladies all dressed up to celebrate the blonde in her “bride” sash and tiara. But his attention lingers on the woman who laughs brightly as she raises the tiny glass for a toast. 

“To the bride! I think I speak for everyone when I say that we love you so much, and we're all so excited for this next chapter of your life!” The rest of the party cheers in response, “Now, let's get drunk and start drinking something that's not just sugar”

She's quick to down the lemon drop shot, quickly licking the drip that rolls down the back of her hand. She's sun-kissed and glowing even under the dim overhead lights. She must be from the area, not just passing through. The music is loud and the bar chatter is louder, and she's stunning as she moves her hips to the sound stepping down from the table. She's licked away the sugar rim on the glass by the time she makes it through the crowd to lean at the bar next to him. It's only when Penny sets a beer in front of him that he realizes he's been staring at the mystery girl. 

She's even cuter up close. And for the first time in a long time, he's speechless. Several recycled one-liners rattle around inside his head, but not a single one feels like it's worth the breath. Something about the way she moves through the room, either unaware or intentionally disinterested as several other patrons turn their heads to look her way, tells him she'll have no trouble shooting him down. Regretfully, it only makes him more intrigued. 

And as if she couldn't get sweeter, the scent of her perfume or her shampoo, or the hell if he knows knocks him back. Brown sugar and vanilla. Of course, she smells like sugar. He scolds himself as he replays the image of her pink-tongued and unctuous in her attempt to clean the syrupy glaze dripping across the back of her hand. He may be a self-proclaimed flirt and widely identified playboy but he does do his best to be a gentleman. Despite his attempts to think of church surgeons, or his mother's lectures, geography lessons, or complex aerodynamics, he knows it will be ages before he's able to completely erase the surprising saccharine bar room sight from his mind. 

“Whiskey, please,” she asks Penny, “and thank you for making those shots”.

“For you girls it's no problem,” Penny insists, sliding the glass of whisky across the bar. 

If he bothered to look up he'd catch her raking her own eyes across his form, paying attention to read his name badge, and trace his pins in an attempt to keep herself from ogling his broad shoulders, and strong arms. The khaki uniform does him all sorts of favours. Penny gives her a knowing smirk as she slides the whiskey across the bar.

Unashamed, his eyes follow the intriguing girl back across the room lingering too long on the back pockets of her little denim shorts. 

He's no stranger to wooing pretty girls in bars. He won't brag, but he's got an admirable success rate when it comes to finding a partner for the evening (and he's never heard any complaints). But, something about this girl is different. She's not just pretty, but she's stunning in a girl-next-door kind of way that damn near knocks him off his feet. The way she talks with her friends, and laughs without hesitation has a smile forming on his own face and he feels like a damn idiot for watching her from across the room. She pays no mind to any of the pilots or other patrons who mosey over to shoot their shot with her and the rest of her party, but she accepts every challenge that comes her way at the dartboard and the pool table. 

“What's wrong hangman? Cat got your tongue?” Penny laughs, “I was sure you were going to try to chat her up”. 

The truth is for the first time in a long time he feels like he might be out of his depth. Like a schoolboy with a crush on the new girl in class. 

“The night is still young,” he shrugs. 

But the night flies by, he drinks his beers, and laughs with his own friends, makes his own bets, but never crosses the room. 

She buys her own drinks, and corrals her drunk friends safely into the backs of taxi cabs, calling out for them to text her when they get home. And when closing time rolls around she settles her tab and says goodbye to Penny with a hug, and a reminder that she'll see her later. 

Jake goes home alone, the thought of the sugar sweet girl on his mind. 

When he returns to The Hard Deck next it's a week later. He saunters in with a grin. a bet with Rooster and Phoenix waiting to be won at the pool table, and an ice cold beer with his name on it calling for him. 

He heads to the bar first, leaning waiting to be served when he smells the hauntingly familiar smell of vanilla sugar. He's damn near certain his heart stops when she turns around behind the counter, a megawatt smile on her when she says, “hey, what can I get you?” 

“Whiskey. Neat. Thanks Sugar,” the name rips off his tongue before he can stop it. 

“Coming right up hot shot,” she laughs. 

“It's ‘Hangman’, actually. But you can call me Jake”.

She hums, setting his glass in front of him, “you were in here last week, weren't you”?”

“Sure was,” he confirms, allowing himself to memorize the way she leans back against the middle counter, her arms crossed; so calm and so cool. He suddenly feels the need to swallow hard, his cheeks warming under her directed gaze. 

“You won a lot of money off of my friends,” he offers when she says nothing else. 

She shrugs, “it's a habit I can't seem to break”.

He hopes she never does. Watching Payback and Coyote empty their wallets had been the highlight of his week. 

“Well, maybe when your shifts over,  you can come and try your luck with tonight's crowd, Sugar,” Jake offers. It's a feeble attempt at flirtation compared to his usual routine, but none of his words seem to be coming out right, his mind going blank each time he looks at her in her jeans and white tank top. Thoughts of lemon drop shots, short shorts, and table dancing fill his mind. Suddenly he's 13 again, asking a girl to the school dance with a racing heart. 

“I'm here ‘til closing,” she tells him, saving him from his spiral. She sorts her station and wipe down the bar top, “but don't worry, I'll be able to watch you show off from over here”. 

And with that she gone again, moving down the bar to help another customer. 

Nights at The Hard Deck sure just got a lot more interesting. 

[asteroshearts]

My Type

Oh no! Nanami's wife is just Itadori's type!

Or the story of how, upon meeting Nanami's wife, Itadori just can't take his eyes off her.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: this story was referenced here, but can be read completely alone, she/her pronouns, discussions of body types, Itadori's a bit of a pervert here (but he doesn't actually see anything!! Nanami, however, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)), typical anime flashing

Hey Ken: How are you feeling?

You: Like shit My fever got worse after you left

Hey Ken: I'll be home soon. Please take ibuprofen, drink lots of water, and rest as much as you can. I'm finishing up now.

You: I just checked our cabinet We ran out of Bufferin UGHHHH I feel terrible I fucking told Daiki from accounting that he should go home if he was coughing but he said it was fine AND COUGHED IN MY FACE And now look at me

Hey Ken: We're out? I'll pick some up on my way home while I grab our other groceries. Please wait for me until then. Take a nap if you can. You're just going to get more exhausted thinking of the idiots in your office.

You: I looked online, delivery is going to take over an hour I'm getting dizzier I don't want to wait I'm going to go to the Matsukiyo near us to get it myself

Hey Ken: What?

Hey Ken: Don't go. I'll pick it up.

Hey Ken: Darling. Read my messages.

Hey Ken: Pick up the phone.

(10) Missed Calls

Several moments ago…

Itadori already thought that today got off to a weird start.

To begin with, it wasn't Ijichi in the driver's seat to pick him up today, but Nanamin. It also wasn't the Jujutsu Tech standard vehicle, but a nice, sleek, and expensive Porsche.

"W-Woah! Nanamin!" Itadori called then. Eyes wide and bright at the polished paint that glistened in the heavy sunlight. "Nice ride!" he said giddily, running his fingers across the aerodynamic doors. Popping his head up toward Nanami's window, he said, "This must've cost you a fortune!" And he thought that Gojo-sensei spent crazily.

"It was a gift," Nanami flatly said. The boy gaped at him like a fish. But who would just give away a car like this? They had to be really close — or maybe he had saved some rich guy and he thanked Nanamin by giving him a brand new car! The boy's eyes shone. Maybe one day he could get a nice gift like — "Get in." The doors unlocked.

"Hiya, Ijichi-san! Must be nice not driving for once, huh?" While marveling at the car's clean interior, he hopped into the back seat, feeling the leather under his hands and the cool blast of the AC hit his sweaty hair after being in the summer sun.

"Good morning, Itadori-kun," the dark-haired man said with a nervous smile. The car rumbled beneath them as Nanami turned the engine back on. "Nanami-san is surely giving me a nice change of pace — "

"Our duties will not change," Nanami stated, turning the wheel. "Ijichi-san is still required to do his job, as well as you, Itadori-kun. Don't get distracted." The pink-haired boy pouted in the backseat. "It just so happens that I have urgent errands to run after this, so time is of the essence."

Turning into an alleyway, Nanami smoothly hit the brakes and put the car into park. "Let's go."

Luckily for him, the curse was a low-level one mostly used for teaching Itadori the ropes, and the two of them managed to exorcise it in record time. For someone who was just thrust into the world of curses several weeks ago, he was doing well. As well as anyone could in his situation.

The boy was still a bumbling newbie, but he had a good head on his shoulders and was a strong opponent for most curses that they dealt with on a daily basis. Lips twitching into a frown, the blond thought that if Gojo didn't poison the youth's mind, surely Yuji would continue having a nice and mature head on his shoulders.

Nanami had to drop Ijichi off at his next assignment, but other than that, all he needed was to drop Itadori off at the college and then he could return to his sick wife. Paperwork still needed to be done, but luckily he could finish that at a later time. Unfortunately, last night you had a major headache and showed signs of an upcoming sickness this morning.

He had just barely convinced you to not do remote work and just take the day off to rest instead. However, as he checked on his messages with you, he found out that you were insisting on double — no, triple mask to go to the pharmacy yourself. All while you had a 37.5-degree fever.

He tried to call you once, thrice, and all of them were left for voicemail.

Cursing inwardly, Nanami leaned his head back on the headrest. Normally, the blond man was the arbiter of restraint and level-headed thinking, but all of that went out the door at the mere thought of his sickly wife dragging herself out in the street to get some medication. Why did you have to be so stubborn?

"My apologies, Itadori-kun." Nanami pushed up his glasses. "I need to take a detour before I drop you off at your dorm. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The boy blinked owlishly. "Oh that's alri — GH!"

Without another word, Nanami quickly turned left, jolting the teen to the side from the momentum, increasing the speed of his vehicle, and raced down the streets.

Within five minutes, Itadori felt like a dog left in the car as his "owner" raced into the nearest grocery store to grab medication, vegetables, and grains for the upcoming, proverbial storm. Even as the cashier tried their hardest to ignore the intense stare of the tall blond man before them, every second that ticked by as they scanned his purchase felt like hours.

As soon as he nearly threw his money on the tray and took all of the grocery bags under his toned arms, Nanami was off again, shifting into drive and ignoring the speed limit all the way back home.

Nanami could've nearly run into his apartment's chain-link garage doors if it had lifted any slower, allowing him access to his own underground parking before he landed in his designated parking spot within three seconds.

Racing out the car, he took all of the grocery bags over one muscular arm and was prepared to run off until he remembered he had a teen in the backseat.

"Itadori-kun," he said hurriedly. "Can you — " The man stopped himself short.

He originally planned to tell the boy to wait for him in the car, but caught sight of the boy's skin gleaming with sweat, reflecting one of the garage's low lights. Summer was brutal right now, with insane humidity that made Itadori's hair damp as if he had just taken a dunk in water. Even though the parking garage was cooler than it was outside, it was still unbearably hot, not to mention cruel, if he had forced the teen to just sit here and deal with it. Itadori had already waited in the hot car when he went out to grab groceries, and although he rolled the windows down, suddenly Nanami remembered all of the articles of puppies and toddlers dying in the back of cars during the summer.

Sighing, the man pushed his glasses up. "Behave yourself. Come with me."

"Ken?" Eyes wide, you held the door open. Keys were lifted up in the air in the man's hands, but you had beat him to the chase and opened the door before he managed to get the key in the keyhole. "Oh! I didn't know that you were bringing a guest." Stepping back quickly, you realized another person was standing behind your husband. "If I had known, I would've worn a surgeon mask!" Alert, you said. "Hold on, I'll go grab one right now — !"

"No need. We'll make this fast." He was about to take a step forward, but then realized that the student hadn't moved an inch ever since you opened the door. "Itadori-kun?"

As still as a statue, pink slowly rose from the boy's neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. He couldn't rip his gaze from you for even a second. Although your hair wasn't done and your face was covered, he could tell just how beautiful you were.

Furthermore, you looked just like the pin-up models he had in his room — you were just his type! Your little chemise barely ended at the middle of your thigh, and although everything important was covered up, it left little to the imagination with how the fabric hugged your waist and hips. As you held the door open for them and leaned forward, the loose triangle top of your nightgown was teasing him with the exposed curves and valleys of your chest.

You were too hot!

"Itadori-kun," Nanami repeated, irritated.

Way too hot for Nanamin!

"Nanamin! You didn't tell me that you were married!" Eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets, Itadori almost thought they had gotten the wrong apartment when you had just opened the door. While his mentor was an attractive man, it was like a mountain and a molehill to the teenager. Not to mention that this strict and serious ex-salaryman was hitched! To a babe no less!

Certainly, you didn't marry for personality!

He couldn't imagine what your daily life was like while Nanamin talked about doing the bare minimum and never smiled.

Raising an eyebrow, Nanami followed Itadori's stare to your state of dress. You weren't even wearing your indoor slippers, and you were absolutely breathtaking even if you had a dark clay mask over your face. He wasn't an idiot, and he could feel his blood vessels pumping harshly. Trying to remind himself with mantras of how Itadori was just a stupid, hormonal teenager, and you could dress how you wanted, and that he especially couldn't beat up Itadori. Pinching his nose bridge, the man couldn't even look at the boy. "My personal life and my work life are completely separate. I wouldn't anno — !"

"But you don't even wear a wedding ring!" Itadori insisted.

"Why would I wear my rings when my daily job involves fighting and getting messy?" Nanami rhetorically asked, stepping through your door with all the groceries in one go. "Wedding and engagement rings are investments, and I'd be damned if I lose my rings and be forced to inflate the wedding ring industry any more than I already have."

Grinning, you beamed at Itadori. Only you really know how seriously Nanami took the "three month's salary on rings" tradition, especially on his sorcerer's salary. "Now you know, Itadori-kun! If you catch him committing adultery while he's out without his ring, you'll shank him for me, right?" Placing both of your hands on your husband's waist, you laughed when you playfully tried to shake him. Of course, that didn't do much. Your man continued to stand there like a stone statue, as if you tried to rock a brick wall while he remained wholly unamused.

From your weak roughhousing, all that managed to do was drop your spaghetti strap from your shoulder. With your dress threatening to slip, Nanami sighed and quickly stood in front of you, blocking your body from Itadori's gaze. He carefully and slowly pulled your shoulder strap back up your body before you managed to flash the poor teen. When you looked up, his brown eyes met with yours.

Gently rubbing your bare shoulder with his large hand, he asked, "I thought you said you were going to Matsukiyo?"

"I was," you rasped out, voice raw from all the coughing you did. "But then I took one step outside and it was too damn hot." Laughing weakly, you said, "I slunk back like a vampire the second the humidity hit me."

The man sighed deeply, and his shoulders dropped in relief and exhaustion. While he ran around like a chicken with its head cut off from worry, he was glad that you ended up not going out after all.

"Why didn't you pick up my calls?" he said deeply, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.

"I was making okayu with kombu," you explained. "Sorry," you said genuinely, "that's all I managed to make for our dinner today."

"I'm upset that you cooked in the first place," Nanami scolded. "You should be resting. I said I'd take care of it. Why were you in the kitchen when the hot fumes could make your fever even worse?" Turning away from his nagging, you pouted.

"I'm hungry though…" you mumbled, far too much like a spoiled child, and Nanami was sure, in some way, that you were spoiled, of his making too. He always prioritized you and let you have your way. "And I already ate the miyeok guk you made."

"You could've ordered delivery," the man countered.

"Nothing interested me there."

Inhaling deeply once more, Nanami tried to calm the upcoming headache he felt. There was no point in arguing with you, not when you were coughing and sick like this. "Stay here. I'm going to whip up a bowl of okayu to have with your medicine," the man ordered before he picked up a blanket you had draped over one of your couches and wrapped you in it like a burrito. When you opened your mouth, your husband only sternly repeated, "Stay."

Playfully rolling your eyes when he left to go to the kitchen, you puffed out your cheeks in mock irritation. Closing the door to your apartment so the AC couldn't escape anymore, you turned to the teen who was standing awkwardly in your home.

"Aw I'm sorry," you said, voice sounding like sandpaper again. "You know, Kento's kinda strict, but I assure you he's a good man," you said gently. "Thank you so much for taking care of him."

"M-Me?" Itadori sputtered. "I'm not the one taking care of him! He takes care of me! Um…" The boy grew demure when he realized he had no way to address you.

"Oh," you realized you didn't introduce yourself. "I apologize! I totally forgot! I know you since Ken talks about you and Ino all the time, but I didn't realize you didn't know me!"

Itadori gasped. "He talks about me?!"

"Of course! All good things!" you assured. "Even though Kento seems like a meanie, he's a genuine person and wouldn't exaggerate, so he wouldn't praise you unless he absolutely meant it." You knew that this was the teen that hosted Sukuna, the King of Curses. It was a heavy burden for someone who wasn't even an adult yet, and your heart grew heavy at the thought of this boy's fate.

"Before I forget…" Quickly, you ran to your bathroom and cleaned off your clay face mask before you returned with your bare face wet and a cloth Pompompurin headband keeping your hair out of the way. "I need to introduce myself."

Now Itadori was sure that you two were married with the way you introduced yourself nearly identically to your husband. With your back straight and shoulders squared, hands flat, and arms straight at your side, you closed your eyes and bowed.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Itadori-kun." You acquired your business card out of thin air and held it out for the boy. "My name is Nanami [Name], and I'm a senior project manager at Yurukawa Corp. If you or your friends ever get tired of exorcising curses and want to look into engineering, you can ask me!"

Huh?

It was too silent.

When you rose and looked up, you realized that your husband had suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Standing in between you and Itadori, your husband's stern expression could freeze hell over as he stared down at Itadori with a frown, arm outstretched and his hand held up — right where Itadori's eyes would've seen your cleavage when you bent over to bow.

"Itadori-kun."

"Y-Yes!"

"We are going. Now."

The car was completely silent the entire way to the dorm rooms. Quickly shifting the car into park, Itadori jumped at the sudden stop.

No one said a word. The entire ride felt like the air was heavy enough to drown in.

"Itadori-kun." Nanami's eyes were hidden by the reflection in his glasses.

"…Yes?" the boy squeaked out, pressing his index fingers together.

"Never ogle my wife again."

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 1/2

masterlist.

PART 1/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. handcuffs. cat-and-mouse. eventual smut will be kinky dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. (chapter word count: 7400 words.)

-

Seungmin is one of your best friends and also a conniving master of manipulation.  Being a malevolent source of wicked verbal wizardry, he convinced you and Minho that it would be totally super easy to sneak into the Hwang Hyunjin concert.  It’s only the final night of the pop-star’s sold-out world tour and the most anticipated concert of the year.  What could go wrong?  

It sounded like a good idea when Seungmin said it.  Now the three of you are standing in a pushy crowd of overeager fans with some very intimidating looking security guards at the end of the queue. 

“Reconvene,” you say.  You grab the boys by their scruff and drag them out of the line. 

“Ah, hey!” Minho snaps at you like piranha.

You release him to grab Seungmin by his collar.  “You better have an idea for getting us past security,” you say, “because I do not like the look of the Incredible Hulk up there.”

The three of you look at the shortstack beefcake who looks like he could bench all three of you at the same time. 

“Yeaaaah,” Seungmin says.  He flashes you a not-so-innocent smile as his strawberry-pink bangs flop into his eyes.  “I didn’t really think this far ahead.  I thought you’d have a plan.”

“Why would I have a plan?” you ask.  “This whole thing was your idea.  Seungmin.”  You drag him close so your noses touch, going cross-eyed at the proximity.  It does not lessen the severity of your frustration when you state, “I waxed for this.  And you know how I feel about waxing.” 

“You waxed?” Minho asks loudly.  It draws a few glances your way which might be because Minho is so loud, or might be because he’s so good looking, or a combination of the two.  His dark eyes narrow at you like you’re a completely alien creature.   “Why would you wax for a concert?” he asks. 

“Wax,” Seungmin parrots.  Your hands are on his collar like you intend to shake him up but it doesn’t deter him asking, “Like… like wax-wax?  Like your human body waxed?”

“Like your human pussy?” Minho asks.  “For a concert?  What did you think was gonna happen?”  He is on the very visible verge of hysterical laughter when a thought lights his eyes.  “Wait,” he says.  “I know how we can get in—”

“Oh my god,” you say.  You shove Seungmin and grab Minho by the collar instead.  “I’m not fucking our way in.  And I waxed,” you drop your voice, “just in case.”

“Just in case…?” Minho tips his head.  “Just in case you had to fuck your way in…?”

“Oh my god,” you say.  You push him away too.  “Never mind.”

“Did you think Hyunjin was going to summon you out of the crowd for a green room quickie?”  Seungmin asks with a shit-eating grin. 

Minho cackles.  “No way she’d even go,” he says.  “She doesn’t get summoned.  She likes to be chased.” 

“She is walking away now,” you say.    

“Bet she’ll walk away quickly,” Seungmin says.  “She waxed so she’ll be aerodynamic.”

You stomp away from the stadium but only make it a few steps before Seungmin runs in front of you. 

“We can’t just give up here,” Seungmin says.  “We made it this far already.”

“One bus stop?” you ask dryly.  “We literally live like five minutes away—”

“Exactly!” Seungmin says.  “That’s called destiny.”

“We might as well try,” Minho says.  He cups a hand over his eyes to look at the stadium in the fading light of the sun.  “We all got dressed up.  Seungmin skipped a class.  You waxed.” 

“There’s no way we’re getting through those doors,” you say. 

“We’ve done it before,” Seungmin says.  He turns you to face the stadium and massages your shoulders like a boxing coach, all the while regaling you with tales of your past victories.  “Remember all the other concerts we snuck into?  The sports games?  That celebrity wedding—”   

“Well,” Minho interrupts, “we did get arrested at that one.” 

“Yeah and we got arrested together,” Seungmin says, “because that’s what friends do.” 

“I don’t know why,” you say, “but for some reason this is working.”  Maybe it’s Seungmin’s words, or Minho’s cologne, or maybe it’s the soft glow of a perfect summer sunset as it pours over the stadium like a pink-orange waterfall.  Or maybe it’s because this really is the concert of the year, and you love a challenge, and you fucking waxed. 

You throw your head back and sigh, soulfully resigning yourself to your imminent fate.

“Fine,” you say.  “So how are we doing this?”   

“Don’t worry,” Seungmin says thoughtfully.  “I think I have a plan.”

Seungmin proceeds to explain the plan.  It is hardly the pinnacle of heist endeavours but is more feasible than rappelling down the stadium walls into the concert arena.

Basically, the plan is to find a group of people with a solitary ticket holder and leech onto their tail with the hopes security will miscount the party and let you sneak past.  It means you will have to split up because security will definitely notice three extra people.  You will then hopefully reunite inside the arena.

You scamper around the periphery of the stadium, perusing lines for oblivious groups of excited fans with an e-ticket-wielding ringleader.  You also double-check which security guards seem the most lax or checked out. 

“I get that one,” Minho says. 

He points to a trim, athletic guard with floppy brown hair and a giggly smile.  You and Seungmin protest because that guard is an easy mark so you all want him, but Minho takes off running for the queue. 

The thing about Lee Minho is that he never hauls ass.  He coasts through life with a casual slouch, but he is completely capable of annihilating everyone if he deigns to do so. 

He does.  So he did.

You and Seungmin look around.  Your grin widens when you spy the next easiest target.

“Aha!” you say.  “I call dibs on that one!  Good luck, Seungmin!”

“Hey!” Seungmin bellows.

He is far too late.  You are already booking it towards the line with a pretty, chipper, skinny security guard.  He is in jeans and a loose windbreaker that says SECURITY across the back, about the only indication he is a man of any authority.  His hair is a vibrant, neon blue and is delicately styled, long enough to pull back in a pretty half-ponytail.  His features are sharp, cheekbones sloping, but there is a natural tenderness to his whole countenance.  He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. 

Also, he really is lean.  Worst case scenario, you can probably push your way past him and disappear into the crowd before he can do anything about it.  

You find a group of girls to sidle alongside anyway.  You are satisfied you will easily slip into the stadium. 

The group reaches the front of the line, a couple of them giggling at the security guard’s friendly attention.  His name tag reads Felix, a cute name for a cute guy.  Up close, you can see a smattering of dark freckles across his face, as well as a few playful glitter stars for the concert.  He is admittedly pretty but as a professional gate crasher, you refrain from distraction.  You successfully avoid his gaze and stick close to the girl in front of you. 

Felix gives them each a friendly nod, smiling brightly.  He laughs at one of their comments and it’s a charming, low sound. 

“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he says, his voice about a hundred decibels deeper than you expected.  

Maybe that’s what trips you up.  It has to be something, because you were doing everything right.  But just as you go to follow the girls into the arena, a skinny arm shoots out and you smack right into it.   

“Sorry,” Felix says.  He drops his arm and smiles.  “I just need to see your ticket.” 

“My…?”  You look ahead at the group of girls, but they are already gone.  Oops.  “Ha, ha,” you say, looking at Felix. 

He is staring back at you, still smiling a close-lipped smile.  He blinks a couple times then lifts an eyebrow.

“Uh, ticket?” he says.  He holds out his hand.  

“Right,” you say.  You smile at him with all the saccharine sweetness you can.  “I have funny story about that, Felix,” you say. 

“Hm.”  His smile turns into a line, eyes narrowing as he looks at you.  “And what’s that?” 

“Well, you see…”

It’s all you say before you bolt, fast on your feet.  You sprint for the entryway behind the guarded queue.  There’s a crowd inside and you’re an expert at disappearing into a crowd.  You just need to get in there and find your boys then you are home free.  Hwang Hyunjin, here you come. 

There’s just one problem.  

Felix is fast.  

Like, track star fast.  Like, road runner fast.  Like, you’re that dumb coyote getting an anvil dropped on your head, except this anvil is a skinny blue-haired Australian with a voice like a god and the apparent hidden strength of one too. 

You make it a few desperate steps before Felix literally sweeps you off your feet.  You shriek when he hauls you under his arm, dragging you away from the stadium door.  He deposits you a few feet from the queue then swiftly resumes his position. 

“Hello,” he says to the next person in line.  “Sorry about that.  Ticket?”   

Your mouth is agape.  

No one has ever got the jump on you like that.

“Hey!” you say, but Felix has moved on.  He is smiling at the next guest as he checks their ticket, not paying you any mind.  “Excuse me,” you say, despite the people between you and him.  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.  I do have a ticket.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix says.  He doesn’t look at you, scanning someone’s e-ticket with a little device.  It lights up green and he smiles at them.  “Enjoy the show,” he says. 

You jump into the queue, cutting off the next person.  Felix’s smile vanishes and is replaced with an astoundingly sassy expression.

“Uh, this line is for ticket-holders,” he says. 

“I have a ticket,” you say.  You unzip your purse and spend a minute rifling around, ignoring him when he sighs.  He apologizes to the people behind you.  You turn and offer a tight-lipped apology of your own.  “I was in line,” you say, as if they didn’t just witness this ten-pound bully haul you around like a sack of potatoes.  “There was just a misunderstanding.”

Felix rolls his eyes. 

You pull out your cell phone and flip through a folder of fake screenshotted tickets, hoping at least one of them marginally resembles the tickets for tonight.  You pick one and flash it at Felix. 

“Happy?” you say with a lot of false indignation.  You turn off the screen when Felix goes to grab your phone.  You give him a snooty, squinty-eyed look, then saunter right past him. 

This time when he comes after you, you are better prepared for his speed.   You zig-zag and he stumbles, cussing very unprofessionally.  You make it all the way to the door before he grabs you.  You have no idea where he is getting all that muscle because he feels like a sturdy stick when you grab at him, but he puts you over his shoulder like it’s easy. 

“Um, excuse me!” you shout.  “Hello!  Someone film this!  I’m being assailed!”

Felix intentionally jostles you on his shoulder.  He is even less gentle when he drops you this time, though you do manage to keep your footing. 

“Try that again,” Felix says, “and it will be trouble.  Got it?” 

Felix is very good looking.  He’s an incredible combination of pretty and handsome, not to mention that voice, guh.  But what gets you going is how much you are clearly pissing him off.  It’s hot.  Out of nowhere, the freckled sunshine sweetheart is just oozing confidence, standing square and pointing at you with a very stern expression.  And if you get a little hiccup in your blood, a little skip in your heartbeat, a little stampede southward that makes your pussy hum like the interested kitten it is, well.  That’s not your fault.  It’s his.  Asshole.

You flip him off.  He ignores you, shaking his head as he returns to his position.

“Sorry,” he says to the queue.  “Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?”

Ugh. What a sexy bitch. 

You text to check in with the boys.  Minho made it inside, no surprise, but apparently Seungmin is also struggling for an in. 

what is with these security guards, Seungmin writes, are they military trained? fuck 

maybe you’re both just losing your touch, Minho replies.

never, you say.  we still have lots of time.  we'll get in there.  seungmin, meet me by the benches.  we need another plan.  

Usually, the best way to crash an event is with minimal attention and no theatrics.  It’s all about pretending you are exactly where you are supposed to be.  If you act like you belong, then you will.  

A spectacle is a desperate measure, but you are desperate people.  After a few hushed whispers on a bench, you and Seungmin spring into action. 

“Help!”  Seungmin shouts.  “My wife needs help!  Please!” 

“Your wife?” you whisper through gritted teeth, opening one eye to look at him.  You are currently laying on the pavement in a dramatic swoon, Seungmin hunched over you. 

“My companion of ambiguous relationship is hurt!” he says.  “Ouch,” he adds, because you swat his arm.

Fortunately, he does draw attention.  A few people run over, the beefy security guard one of them.  His nametag reads Changbin and he is in a black t-shirt at least two sizes too small.  You do not begrudge him this, as you would do the same if you had biceps like that.  

“What happened?” he asks, crouching down beside Seungmin. 

“My friend just passed out,” Seungmin says.  He hoists you into his arms as your tongue lolls out of your mouth.  “Is there somewhere inside I can take her to sit down?  I think all the chaos out here overstimulated her.” 

“One second,” Changbin says.  He pulls a walkie-talkie out of a holster.  It buzzes with static as he turns it on.  “Hey, we have a collapsed woman in front of Entry Door B.  Can I have back-up clear a path, and someone with First Aid training?”  The walkie-talkie buzzes again and Changbin puts it away.  He stands up, waving away the small crowd that has gathered.   “Yah, everyone back up!  This is an emergency!” 

“It’s really not,” Seungmin says.  He scoops you into a bridal hold then struggles to lift you off the ground. “I just need – whew – somewhere I can – agh – put her down.  I can just – AH! – carry her myself.”

Naturally, it is at that moment a familiar voice descends from above. 

A familiar, deep, Australian-accented voice.

“Move aside, please.”  

“Oh no,” you say, eyes closed.   You open them just in time for a glitter-faced, freckled, blue-haired pretty boy in a SECURITY windbreaker to cut through the crowd.   

Unfortunately, Felix is just as good looking at this angle.  He waves away the gathered onlookers as he approaches, but looks at Changbin first. 

“I have First Aid,” he says.  “What happened?”

“I just found her collapsed,” Changbin says.  “Her friend thinks it’s the crowd.  Should we bring her inside?” 

Felix looks at you.  The concerned furrow in his brow immediately gives way. 

You smile innocently. 

“No,” Felix says, frowning.  “We shouldn’t.” 

“Oh come on,” you say.  You smack the ground.  “I collapsed!  I need help!”

“No, you need a ticket,” Felix says.  He crosses his arms and stomps a foot.  “Seriously, what is wrong with you?  Some of us have a job to do, you know?”

“Naaaur ya need a ticket, mate,” you say in a mockingly deep chest voice. “Some of us have jobs ya knaaaaur!”

“Do you guys know each other?” Changbin asks, looking between you and Felix – who is growing increasingly red in the face and breathing much harder. 

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Seungmin says. 

“Ah!”  Felix yells, spinning to Changbin.  “She doesn’t have a ticket!  She’s just trying to sneak in!”

“She doesn’t have a ticket?”  Seungmin asks, gasping.  He drops you onto the concrete, ignoring your yelp of pain.   “But I thought she – she told me we – I – I –“

You watch in betrayed horror as Seungmin pretends to faint, flopping down beside you on the concrete.  You sit up, very tempted to slap him across the face but not wanting to give Felix more reasons to accost you. 

“Seungmin,” you say.  You grab him by the shirt and rattle him around like a ragdoll.  “Seungmin, you bastard, don’t even think about it!”

“You.”  Felix stomps up behind you.  “Get off the ground and come with me.” 

“No,” you say.  “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.” 

You shriek – again – when Felix grabs you under the arms and hoists you to your feet.  He manhandles you with only a modicum of effort, dragging you away from your stupid traitorous best friend. 

You step on Felix’s foot deliberately and he swears.  For such a pretty thing, he sure has a filthy mouth.  You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, to which he cusses up a storm and pries your hand off his head.   

You hear the distinct buzz of Changbin’s walkie-talkie.    

“We have a collapsed man in front of Entry Door B.  Can someone who isn’t going to start fighting the patrons come help me move him?”

“He’s faking it!” you cry in protest, watching Changbin scoop Seungmin off the ground. 

Changbin disregards your outburst.  Seungmin gives you a thumbs up behind his back.  Felix, of course, doesn’t see it because he’s too busy dragging you away.  You are left to sputter in bewildered protest at the injustice of it all. 

Felix marches you to the sidewalk, far away from the stadium queues.  You are both out of breath by the time you get there.  Even so, you attempt to manoeuvre under his arm to run away.   In a few quick moves, he knocks you onto your ass. 

 “Holy fuck!”  You are panting now.  A line of sweat dots your hairline.  You wipe at it and stare morosely at this stupidly competent minimum wage security guard.  “What are you, like some kind of karate master or something?”

“Taekwondo, actually,” he says, brushing off his jacket.  Then he tips his head and stares down at you.

You would be lying if you said the intensity of his stare didn’t have your heart racing for an entirely new reason.  Danger and desire have always danced a close dance for your tastes.  Felix is not helping matters, tucking back loose strands of vibrant hair as he looms over you, wetting his bottom lip and staring. 

You cross your arms and feign nonchalance, but you can’t look away from him.  When he crouches down slowly to meet you at eye level, everything below the belt goes pitter-patter. 

“No ticket,” Felix says slowly.  “No concert.  Do you understand me?” 

You stick out your tongue.

“Wow, mature,” he says.  His departing farewell is another snarky eyeroll.  He shakes his head as he stands, muttering to himself in obvious frustration. 

So much for not a mean bone in his body.  That bully is all business.   

So hot. 

You huff and puff for a bit.  Your phone is going berserk in your purse, probably the boys trying to reach you.  Eventually you succumb to the necessary confession of your twice thwarted efforts.  Minho teases that you are losing your touch for real.  It makes angry little fireworks pop out of your ears.  

Plenty of occasions you have assessed a situation and deemed it unreasonably complicated, but quitting while you’re ahead is not the same thing as admitting defeat.  You do not lose.  This isn’t even about the concert anymore.  Fuck Hwang Hyunjin, he was never worth the pain of a wax in the first place.  No.  This is about your pride.   This is about your dignity.  This is about your honour. 

You are getting into that concert, one way or another.   

First, you gather intel.  This comes in the form of snooping, running between queues to figure out the easiest mark.  You don’t judge the guards by their appearances this time, because apparently this security team has secret taekwondo masters hidden in their midst. 

You watch their every move, calculating and determining your odds therein.  Based on visual research and Minho’s confirmation, it seems your best bet is the smiling guard who let Minho through.  His nametag reads Jisung and he is a veritable flirt. 

Flash him your tits, Minho texts.

Uh, no, I’m not that desperate yet.       

Second, with your intel now acquired, you get into the dwindling line.  The sun is almost set and a breezy summer chill dances across your cheeks.  The concert will be starting soon.  You shuffle behind the other stragglers, adjusting your outfit.  The jean shorts hug your hips and flash a nice chunk of thigh, and your shirt is already low cut but you figure another tug won’t hurt.  You also pull your flannel down your arms to look as flirtatious as possible. 

Jisung is barely looking at the tickets as he scans them, chatting merrily to the guests as he lets them through.  You pull up a random ticket on your phone, something to hold out while you distract him. 

“Hi,” you say. 

His eyes flick down to your chest, then back up.  He smiles brightly.

“Hi!” he says.  “You look nice.  Excited for the concert?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say.  “You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for this.  It wasn’t easy to get in.”

“I know what you mean,” he says.  “Tickets are hard to come by, and so expensive!”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” you say, leaning in while he scans your phone.   This was a bad idea because he looks down at your chest again, just in time for his little device to flash red.

“Oh, oops!” he says.  He smiles at you as he shakes his device.  “Sorry!” he says.  “I think you showed me the wrong ticket.  Could you pull up the right one?”

“Ohhh!” you say, looking down at your phone with fake surprise.  Life is so unfair.  “I’m so sorry… Jisung.  Hehe, that’s such a nice name.”

“Haha, thanks,” Jisung says.  “My parents picked it, but, yeah, it’s cool.  Anyway.”  He wiggles his device.  “Ticket please!” 

You keep smiling and giggling, even as you turn around under the guise of searching through your phone.  You glare down at the stupid device, keeping your back to Jisung while you do so.  How the fuck are you getting out of this?  You flip through screenshots then open your text messenger.  Minho’s last words of wisdom blink up at you. 

Apparently, you are that desperate. 

With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and zip it shut.  You shrug your shoulders and plaster that fake smile on your face again.  With a swift of flick of your thumbs, you lift your shirt and bra up over your tits and spin around to look at Jisung. 

“How’s this for a ticket—”

Jisung looks surprised and delighted.  Jisung, however, is standing a few feet back.  Probably because he was told to step back.  Probably by Felix who is standing in front of you with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.  

“Wow,” Felix says.  “Just committing crimes now, are we?”  

You shove your tits back into your bra indignity, not even embarrassed, just annoyed. 

“Tits aren’t a crime,” you say. 

“Public indecency is,” he replies.  

“You’re… publicly indecent…”  Not your best comeback.  You glare at him while fixing your shirt.  “There’s no way they pay you enough to be riding my ass this hard.” 

“They don’t,” Felix says, grabbing your arm.  “Believe me when I say riding your ass has been my pleasure.”

“Twisted fuck,” you reply. 

You wave at Jisung as Felix tugs you away.  He waves back but does nothing to rescue you, because all men are traitors. 

You groan loudly as Felix leads you away from the stadium yet again.  “Just let me innnnn,” you whine.  “Why do you hate meee.”

“I don’t even know you!” Felix says.  He deposits you on a bench and takes out his phone.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eying the device.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks.  “You tried to break into a ticketed event three times.  You faked an injury.  You flashed yourself in a public place—”

“I wouldn’t have done any of that if you just let me through in the first place!”

“You cannot be serious.”  Felix looks ready to rip his hair out.  “You don’t have a ticket!  Why would I let you in, why would I – AH!  Why am I arguing with you!  Be quiet, I’m phoning the police.”

“The po— the police?!  How dare you!” You try to stand but he pushes you onto the bench one-handed.  He holds you there, palm on your shoulder, still way stronger than someone this scrawny should be. 

“Fine!” you exclaim.  “Fine!  You win!  I’m sorry, Felix, I was wrong.  I was wrong and you were right.”

Felix pauses.  “Really,” he says, sounding unconvinced. 

“Yes!”  You look up at him with the saddest, most watery eyes you can muster.  “I just wanted to see the concert but it was stupid to think I could break in.” 

He turns off his screen.  Success.   You watch him slip his phone in his pocket. 

“It’s not about being smart or stupid,” he says, the ire gone from his voice.  It takes a lot of willpower not to bite his fingers when he pats your shoulder.  “It’s about the fact we can’t always get what we want,” he says kindly as he crouches in front of you.  His hand goes from your shoulder to your knee, still patting it in a friendly manner. 

You bite your tongue because you want to tell him you liked him better when he was being a mean bitch, but that would be counterproductive to your escape attempt. 

It turns out, you don’t need to say anything, because he decides to be a bitch again anyway.  Felix looks at you with a too-sweet smile and says, “It’s about time someone taught you that lesson.”

“Um, excuse me?” you say, aghast.  You clasp your hand over your heart.  “Just who do you think you are?  First of all, you taught me nothing, I’m still a horrible bitch and I lied when I said you were right.  Second, you absolutely can get everything you want, you just have to want it enough to get it.  But you wouldn’t know anything about that.  You know why, Felix?” 

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head like he expected this, which he probably did, but you’re too far gone to retreat. 

You reach out and cup his face in both hands, turning it to you.  Those sharp eyes are unflinching, even with your fingers on his face.  You try really hard not to gulp. 

“It’s because you are a good boy,” you say.  “You always do what you’re told.  You always follow the rules.  I bet everyone thinks you’re the nicest guy on the team, don’t they?  I bet they call you cute little nicknames and all the nice little girls think you’re a sweet, innocent baby.  And you are, aren’t you, Felix?  You’re just such a good, good boy.  But me?  I’m not good.  I’m not bad.  I just like to win.  When I want something, I get it, because I chase it, and I don’t stop until I get it.  Until it’s all mine.”  You lean in close.  “Get it?” 

His gaze darkens, brows pinching.  You take his fleeting moment of vulnerability to shove him onto his back.  He sprawls on the ground with a surprised yelp.  You sprint away at top speed and flip him off over your shoulder. 

It’s a haphazard ploy at best but you are fresh out of plans.  What you need is distance between you and Security Guard of the Year, a breather long enough to come up with a final plan.  Maybe you can physically break in somewhere: an office window, a janitorial stairwell, something.  

You keep an eye out for potential openings as you run. 

And run.

And run. 

Hmm.  You’ve been running a long time.   Even with the head-start, Felix should have caught you by now.  You doubt he would have truly given up.  Felix had a deranged look in his eye, similar to the one you get when someone is trying to beat you at your own game.  He doesn’t want you to win anymore than you want to lose.  You suspect it isn’t about the concert for him either; this is a personal battle. 

You come to a gradual stop, hands on your hips as you catch your breath.  It’s quiet on this side of the stadium as the queues were on the opposite end. 

Quiet, yes.  Too quiet.   

There’s a stairwell that leads to second level just above your head.  Felix is good.  You have to give credit where credit is due.  If you weren’t a scheming nightmare with a penchant for con-artistry, he probably would have caught you.  But without turning around, you know he booked it up the stairs and is two seconds from springing an attack. 

You take off running, just in time for him to thump into the grass beside you.  You laugh at his strangled cry of frustration as he scrambles to his feet. 

Around the next corner is the parking lot.  You stop a split second to look over your shoulder and see him hot on your heels.   He discarded his jacket and is in a loose sleeveless shirt, revealing he does have some light toning to his lean body.  But you don’t stop to measure how proportionate it is to his strength, because he is focussed on you like a laser. 

Then he smiles.  A slow, slinky smile like a cocky predator about to swipe at its prey.  That cat has claws, nasty ones, and you almost want to get tangled in them.  Almost.  You want to win even more.   

And he just set you up for success.  There’s a SECURITY jacket on the ground somewhere nearby.  That’s your ticket in.  You just have to lose Felix in the parking lot and loop back around to find where he tossed it. 

You spare no time setting that plan into action, giving Felix a smile of your own before you run.  He thunders after you.

The pair of you weave in and out of parked cars.  He disappears for a second behind a row of trucks.  You whip your head around to figure out where he went, only for him to summersault around the corner and cut you off.  You yell instinctively but narrowly dodge his reaching hand.   He curses, running after you with his arm outstretched.   You duck behind a trailer and lose him, scurrying between some SUVs.  You peek at him through the windows, watching him turn in a circle to find where you went.  Smiling to yourself, you quietly but quickly back away.  

You leave the lot and run back the way you first came.  You find Felix’s jacket draped on a random bush. 

Your heart is practically singing with adrenaline.  Victory is in sight.  You push yourself to run faster and reach out with both hands –

— only to find yourself rolling in the grass, Felix’s arms tight around your middle as he tackles you to the ground. 

You push and pull at each other, cursing and scrambling very ungracefully.  You get out of his arms but he climbs on top of you, then you knee him in the gut so he rolls over, but when you start crawling he grabs your ankles and drags you back. 

Ultimately, he Taekwondo Masters you onto your front, hands clasped behind your back.  You kick your feet and wail despondently into the grass as he kneels over you, breathing raggedly and swearing again. 

“You’re a monster!” you shout.  “You’re a tyrant and a bully and you have no right to – HEY!”

He handcuffs you.

“Ha.”  He leans in close, speaking right into your ear.  “I win.” 

“That’s not fair,” you say.  “You can’t just—ahh!”  You wail in petulance as he lifts you onto your feet.  His grip on your bicep is unyielding so you are forced to stomp alongside him as he escorts you…

…back to the sidewalk.

“You’re not busting me?” you ask in confusion.  You thought for sure he was going to drag you into some shady office and plop you in a chair until the police arrived.   He would probably be super boring and professional about it, staring at you with his dumb horny eyes but not doing anything about it.  Nothing sucks more than being all trussed up by a pretty boy with manners. 

“I just want you to go and never come back,” Felix says. 

“Fine.”  You turn around and hold your arms straight behind you.  “But I’m like a wolf, Felix.  I have your scent for life.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says.  “Not how wolves work by the way.  But fine.”

“Oh wow, sorry.  Didn’t realize you majored in Wolfology.  You got any other fun facts?”  

“You are so—”

You smirk at his grumbling.  You are just biding your time until he uncuffs one wrist, then you whip around faster than he can compute the action.  With one cuff still attached, you grab the second and clamp it down on his wrist.  He sputters in bewilderment, at which point you snatch the keys.

“What are you doing—”  He tries to grab them but your joined hands make the angle too awkward.  You spin around together in a few circles, bonk heads twice, until finally you reel back and chuck the keys as far into the distance as possible. 

He stands there, mouth agape.  You tap your foot impatiently. 

When he realizes what has happened – that you have handcuffed yourself to him and thrown away the keys – he looks at you with fiery eyes, fierce enough you stumble.  He yanks your joined hands, the chain ungiving.  You watch as he goes through several stages of grief in a matter of moments.  Then he closes his eyes and breathes in and out.    

“Why,” he says slowly, “did you just do that?” 

“I dunno, Felix,” you say.  You plop down on the ground and sit cross-legged.  It forces him to bend over, your cuffed wrist dragging him down.  “Guess we’ll have to go inside and get some back-up keys.  And when I’m in the stadium and you uncuff yourself from me, I promise not to run away.”   

“That’s your plan?” he snaps.  “That’s your plan?” 

“What, is there an echo out here?”

“That’s your plan?” he asks again, his deep voice pitching up an octave.  He crouches down and shoves his free hand into his hair, shaking his head.  “This can’t be happening,” Felix says, more out loud to himself than you.  “Why is this happening.  Oh my god.” 

You squeak when he tugs on the chain, yanking you close, nose to nose.

“What if I just called for back-up?” he asks. “Or skipped that and went right to the police?  How would you get out of that?”

“Wait,” you say.  “Why aren’t you doing that?” 

“Because.”

He leans back as far as he can, sitting on his heels.  You duck your head, trying to meet his eye to no avail.  He clenches his jaw.

“Felix,” you say.  “Why aren’t you just calling for back-up?”

“Because,” he says through gritted teeth.  “The handcuffs.  Are.  Not.  Regulation.” 

You look at each other.  There is a long moment of silence. 

Then, “What!”  You cackle with complete and utter abandon. 

A very unamused Felix glares at you while you throw your head back and laugh. 

“You?” you cry, poking your finger against his chest.  “You?  You?  You are just walking around with a pair of handcuffs that you aren’t supposed to have?  What the fuuuuuck—”  You think you might die laughing. 

“Jisung gave them to me before our shift!” he exclaims.  “It was a joke because— Never mind! I don’t have to explain myself to you!  Hello.  Hello.”  He grabs your chin with his free hand and turns your face roughly to his.   He jingles your joined hands.  “Not regulation,” he says.  “There are no other keys in this building.” 

Silence falls again. 

Then, “Oh.”  You stare at him.  “Shit.” 

A minute later, you and Felix are scuttling around trying to find the key.  You must have a very good arm because it landed near the stadium and disappeared in some bushes.   

You and Felix keep forgetting your wrists are connected, reaching in opposite directions only to snap back together.  You are certain you are going to end the night with a few bumps and bruises. 

The entire time you are searching for the key, Felix is grumbling irritably.  He tears his way through a bush, his deep voice pitching up with a miserable whine when he can’t find it. 

“This is so stupid,” he says.  He throws a stick at the wall.  “I am a good worker.  I never break the rules.  I am not getting in trouble for this. You did this.  You did this to me.” 

On he goes, grumble, grumble, grumble, bitch, bitch, bitch. 

“It’s not like the key disappeared,” you say, pushing some pebbles around.  “It has to be here somewhere.” 

It is starting to get dark, the sky a deep purple.  The stadium lights blare down on you.  Felix uses his phone flashlight to beam extra light at the ground.  The only time he stops grumbling is when the noise in the stadium changes, the concert clearly beginning.  He takes time out of his busy searching schedule to give you a mean smile. 

“When we find those keys,” you say, “I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and leaving you to freeze to death in your stupid tank top.”

“It’s not a tank top,” he says.  “It’s a t-shirt.  I cut the sleeves off.  And when we find those keys, I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and phoning the police.”

“Well then,” you say, “may the best key finder in a slutty tank top win.” 

“It’s not a tank top.”   

You continue to search.  It is utterly illogical that the keys would just vanish but the longer it takes, the more concerned you get.   It just doesn’t make sense!  Things don’t just disappear!  The keys landed somewhere over here, so they have to be…

You see it first.  You sit there in a stunned stupor.  You swat at Felix with your cuffed hand.

“What?” he says without looking at you.  You continue to slap him until he forces your hand down, tangling your fingers with his.  “What!” 

You point.  He crowds in behind you to look over your shoulder.  You feel him exhale. 

“Please don’t tell me…”   

You both lean to look down the sewer drain.  He flashes his phone light over it.  Something silver glints back in the darkness. 

“Fuck!” Felix says.  He doesn’t stop there.  What follows is a string of cusses so unbelievably foul and complex that you honestly believe it should quality him for Pulitzer in poetry.  When he has exhausted every expletive in several different languages, he plops down on his ass and stares up at the sky with mute despondency.   

“So what happens now?” you ask.  “Do we fuck?”

“What?”  He looks at you with utter bewilderment.  “What the fuck?  Why would you suggest that?  What would that solve?”

“Nothing,” you say.  “But it would kill the time and couldn’t make things worse.” 

“You are insane,” he says.  “I am handcuffed to an insane person.” 

“Hey, ‘mate’, you were the one with the non-regulation handcuffs in the first place.  I could solve this problem real quick by phoning the authorities myself and saying some crazy guy put me in cuffs.” 

“I dare you,” he says.  “Try.”

“No,” you say.  And not just because you have a record with the police and they would never take your side.  But Felix doesn’t need to know that.  Well, you suspect Felix is smart enough to guess it, but he doesn’t need the confirmation.  “I’d rather make you suffer,” you say instead.  You sit back in an insouciant slouch like the whole circumstance is beneath your attention.  “Figure it out, pretty boy.” 

“Well,” he says, “apparently if you break your wrists then you can force them through the cuffs.”

“Ew!” You push him in the middle of his chest.  He doesn’t fall, but he does glare at you.  “We’re not doing that!  What a stupid plan!  You’ve been guzzling the hair dye fumes, buddy.  Think of a plan that doesn’t involve injury, thank you.” 

“I didn’t want to do this,” Felix says with another put-upon sigh, “but fine.  I have another pair at home so the keys—”

“Wait,” you interrupt.  “I thought someone gave you the cuffs today?  Why do you have another key at home?”

“I have another pair,” he repeats, “of the same handcuffs.”

“You—”

“Already own a pair, yes, move on.”  He aggressively pushes hair out of his eyes.  “He clearly bought it from the same place so my key should work for this one too.”

“So despite your uppity school boy routine, you do own non-regulation handcuffs and not just as a joke.  Wow, Felix.”  You giggle helplessly.  “Be careful or I might start to like you.” 

He is glaring at you, no surprise, but the tips of his ears blush pink. 

“Let’s just go,” Felix says.  “The sooner I get you off, the sooner I can forget about your existence.”

“You can get me off as fast or slow as you like—ahh!” 

Once more, the secret superman is manhandling you onto your feet.  Without pausing for breath, he turns and marches away.  You are forced to stumble behind his swift strides, your hands swinging close enough that your fingertips brush every so often.   

“How do I know you’re not gonna murder me?” you ask.

“You don’t,” he replies.

“How do you know I’m not gonna murder you?” 

“I don’t.”  He sounds more annoyed than afraid.  “But it sounds better than being cuffed to you forever.  I’ll take my chances.  Come on.” 

“Not like I have a choice,” you grumble. 

He comes to an abrupt halt and you crash into him with a sharp exhale.  He grabs your hand and tugs you close. You blink at him with surprise while he tips his head in that studious way.

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t.  In fact, it’s almost nice, you forced to finally do what I’m asking.  If you’re not careful, it might even make me like you.” 

It is so cold and sarcastic. 

It gets you so hot. 

Seriously, what is with your stupid brain?  How does it cross the wires of fear and desire like that?  Felix is speaking at you with that deep, dark, nasty voice of his and your heart should be skipping beats in concern, not because you think he’s sexy when he’s being a bitch.  

You hide it from him well enough, glaring at him like he glared at you.  He just snorts and shakes his head. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Interesting,” he replies.  “Very interesting.”   

“What?”

“Nothing.”  He smiles politely, for a moment looking like the unassuming pretty boy you thought he was.  He bats his long eyelashes at you, smiles a coy smile, and squeezes your hand.   “Come on,” he says.  “We tried this your way and it got us in trouble.  Time to be a good girl and do it my way.  No, stop, don’t say anything.  Be quiet.  Just walk.  Let’s go.” 

You stumble when he tugs you after him.  Your mouth is hanging open yet again.   

You are proud to say that in your many years of bad girl shenanigans, you have never truly met your match.  You’ve played pretend a few times, let a couple losers think they won, if only because you liked the game of it.  But no one has ever really taken control.  No one has ever really beat you.  No one has ever come close. 

No one.  Until today. 

You glare at the back of Felix’s head, brain stampeding as fast as your heart.   Because finally, you’ve found him, your perfect match.  Lashed to you through the metal manifestation of fate’s red string. 

You didn’t know what game you were playing before, but now you do.

And you’re going to win.  

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Ren: Oh, this is cooked. There we go, the furnace is on everybody, begin sweatification. Martyn and Sausage: Ohhh. Martyn: Time to sweat it out. Sausage: Let's get a little closer so we can really sweat. Ren: Let's get a bit closer. Martyn: Well, you don't need to get that clo--(at the same time as Ren) it's a huge, human sized sauna! Ren: (at the same time as Martyn) Not too close though--! Martyn: Why are we getting close?! Sausage: To get even more sweaty! Ren: Ratman, I thought tails were not supposed to sweat. But yours is sweating quite profusely, sir. Martyn: W-we're not freezing, we're not huddling for warmth, get away from me. Sausage: (completely ignoring Martyn) The thing is, my-my tail sweats really easily, okay, cause I shave it, y'know, I trim. Ren: You shave your tail? Sausage: Yeah! Martyn: Ughhhh, bald tail, what's that about? Ren: Well, that's. Sausage: It's good for the aerodynamics, it's also good for when I strangle people with it. Ren: That's very curious indeed, Ratman. I've never met a rat who shaves his tail before. Sausage: Yeah, I trim it, every Wednesday. Ren: Very strange. Martyn: (thoughtfully) I mean my tail's not like hairy hairy, but like. I don't think I'd ever shave it. Sausage: Listen, you have no idea how it feels when it's all smooth like that. (Ren laughs) Martyn: I mean, I guess can't knock it until I try it. (at the same time as Sausage) What if I'm-- Sausage: (at the same time as Martyn) Yeah you want me to shave your tail this afternoon? Martyn: Yeah, lets find some shears upstairs, I'm sure we can do that. Sausage: No, I can use my teeth, you don't need it. Martyn: (with a sense of urgency) Nope! Nah, I'm good. Shears will be fine. Sausage: I've got the sharpest teeth in Paris! You don't know, I can, I can num-num-num--(sounds like an engine starting up) I'll nibble it all off! Martyn: (like he's full of fear) God.