klara!🧸

[clara-a7]

──✧₊∘𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙮 𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙜

౨ৎ clara. twenty-one. she/her. french. infp.

navi - f1 masterlist. football masterlist. stranger things masterlist (soon)

most recent: champion, psg players

requests are open!

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

PSG BOYS || 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙤𝙣

彡CONTIENT ; désiré doué, joâo neves, vitinha, warren zaire-emery, khvicha kvaratskhelia

彡WARNINGS ; fluff

彡SUMMARY ; how they celebrate champions league title with you

彡WORDS ; 2,5k

彡DISCLAIMER ; !Everything written here is FICTITIOUS, english isn't my first language!

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; i enjoyed writing this and I hope you'll like it! let me know if you'd like to read more fics about PSG players!

⤷Désiré Doué

When you finally step onto the pitch, the first thing you do is look for Désiré. Among the crowd of players, photographers, journalists, and staff members, it seems almost impossible to find anyone, but it only takes you a few seconds to spot him.

He’s surrounded by cameras trying to capture every possible angle of him with the Champions League trophy, a huge smile spread across his face. He looks completely at ease, completely happy, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, enjoying every second of it because this is his moment.

You stay off to the side for a while, just watching him, even taking a few pictures yourself like the proud girlfriend you are, because it’s not every day that your boyfriend wins the Champions League.

At some point, he notices you. His eyes immediately find yours through the crowd and a smile appears on his lips as he shakes his head in amusement, realizing you’ve been secretly taking photos of him.

He stands up, carefully places the trophy back on the ground, and motions for you to come over.

“Bébé, come here!” he calls, and you don’t hesitate for even a second before joining him.

The moment you reach him, his hand settles naturally on your waist, pulling you against his side like it’s instinct.

For nearly fifteen minutes, the two of you do nothing but take pictures together. Désiré doesn’t even try to hide how much he enjoys it, especially with you there beside him.

You take dozens of photos, laughing the entire time, and in one of them you’re both holding the trophy together, except it’s much heavier than expected and you almost lose your grip.He immediately laughs, sliding his hands over yours and wrapping his fingers around them to steady it.

“Careful, baby,” he says softly, as the trophy ends up resting between both of your hands, his chest lightly pressed against your shoulder while photographers capture the moment.

In another photo, he places his sunglasses on your face before carefully taking off his winner’s medal and hanging it around your neck, his arm never once leaving your waist.

Sometimes his thumb absentmindedly rubs your hip while the cameras keep flashing around you, but he doesn’t care. His smile stays soft and victorious, his eyes filled with a thousand emotions at once, the pride of achieving his dream, of making his family proud, of making his fans proud but most of all, the happiness of sharing it all with you.

Later, once the celebrations have calmed down a bit, Désiré spends a long time scrolling through all the photos of the two of you in the dressing room. Eventually, he finds his favorite: a picture of you both smiling with the trophy between you.

Without overthinking it, he posts it on his Instagram story with the caption “mon cœur,” simple but enough to instantly melt your heart, because it perfectly captures a moment neither of you will ever forget.

⤷Joâo Neves

After the final whistle, while celebrating with his teammates, João has been looking for you the entire time. Even as the stadium shakes under the noise of it all, his eyes keep scanning the crowd, searching for you.

Then it happens when you’re finally allowed onto the pitch, the second you step into view, his gaze locks onto your silhouette and everything else disappears. His smile breaks wider instantly, softer in a way only you ever get to see.

“Princesa!” he calls, his voice cutting effortlessly through the chaos, and before you can even fully react, he’s already running straight toward you.

You barely have time to laugh before he reaches you and crashes into you with full force, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he pulls you against his chest like he never wants to let go. His chin rests on top of your head, and he kisses your hair once, then again, like he’s been waiting the entire match just for this moment. You whisper how proud you are of him, of everything he’s achieved at such a young age, and instead of answering, he simply pulls back just enough to press soft kisses to your cheeks, one after another, unable to hide how overwhelmed and happy he is.

For a moment, it’s just you in his arms while everything continues around you. Even then, he doesn’t let go properly. One arm stays around your shoulders as he keeps you tucked against his side, guiding you through the crowd toward the PSG supporters.

His teammates immediately start teasing him, calling him “loverboy,” which only makes him laugh while he still refuses to let go of you.

And as you walk beside him, you can’t help but look at him more than anything else the soft features that make him look even younger up close, the freckles catching the stadium lights, the tiredness behind his happiness and you feel an overwhelming sense of pride, not just for what he’s won, but for him.

⤷Warren Zaire-Emery

You’re in the stands, surrounded by fans screaming with pure joy as Arsenal miss the penalty that seals PSG’s victory.

The whole stadium erupts. You’re jumping with everyone around you, laughing, shouting, barely able to believe what you’re seeing. Across the pitch, players are running in every direction, some collapsing into teammates’ arms, others disappearing under celebrations, but Warren doesn’t move at first.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, chest rising and falling as he stares around the stadium, trying to process everything the noise, the lights, the supporters, the reality that PSG have actually done it.

Then suddenly he turns and starts running. Not toward the teammates, not toward the cameras, not even toward his fans, but straight toward you.

He sprints across the pitch like pure adrenaline is carrying him forward, weaving through staff, players, and security without slowing down. The moment you realize where he’s going, you push yourself against the barrier as far as you can, squeezed between celebrating supporters and overwhelmed security guards trying to hold everyone back.

“Warren!” you shout, your voice breaking between laughter and tears.

“You did it!”

He hears you instantly. Of course he does. His head snaps up the second your voice reaches him, and within seconds he’s there, reaching the barrier, crashing straight into your arms. His forehead presses against your chest, his arms locking tightly around your waist as he holds onto you like he needs it to understand what’s happening.

For a moment, he doesn’t move or speak, just breathes you in while trying to ground himself after everything. You can feel him shaking slightly, overwhelmed by joy and disbelief all at once.

Behind him, his teammates realize he has completely disappeared, shouting and laughing as they point toward the stands.

You gently brush the damp curls from his forehead, and he finally looks up at you, his expression soft and his eyes are bit red.

“Go celebrate,” you tell him gently, but he immediately shakes his head.

“No.” You laugh.

“Warren.”

“No,” his answer comes just as quickly the second time, earning another laugh from you while the poor security guard beside you looks increasingly stressed by the entire situation.

Reluctantly, he leans forward and presses a quick kiss against your forehead before finally letting go.

And throughout the entire ceremony, he keeps his eyes on you.

Later, once families are finally allowed onto the pitch, Warren finds you almost immediately. Before you can even congratulate him properly, he’s already taking his medal from around his neck and placing it around yours instead. When you try to protest, he simply shakes his head and leaves it there.

From that moment on, he barely leaves your side. One arm stays around your shoulders as he pulls you into photos, celebrations, and conversations with his teammates. Even with the trophy finally in his hands, he keeps looking over at you with the same disbelieving smile, as if he still can’t quite believe any of this is happening.

⤷Vitinha

He should be running around with the others, jumping, singing, celebrating with the fans.

Instead, when you finally step onto the pitch, you notice he’s moving a little slower than everyone else. The season has been long, and you can see it now. In the way he walks, in the tiredness on his face, in the way he pauses between celebrations just to catch his breath.

After everything he gave this season, his body is finally feeling it. But the smile never leaves his face. Every time a teammate hugs him or he looks at the trophy or hears the fans singing, it only gets bigger.

Then his eyes find yours, and his smile softens instantly. Not the one he’s been giving the cameras all night, but the one that’s only for you. Without thinking, you start running toward him.

You don’t care about anything around you, you just want to reach him. The second he sees you coming, his arms open right away.

You reach him and nearly crash into him, and he laughs softly while steadying you, one hand on your back and the other around your waist. “I’m proud of you,” you whisper against his shoulder, holding him tight.

“You were the best player on the pitch.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He just holds you closer, like he’s finally letting go of everything he’s been carrying all season.

When he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours and his eyes close for a second.

“I just needed you here, meu amor.” he admits quietly. Your heart melts instantly. One of your hands goes to his cheek, and he leans into it without thinking.

From that moment on, he stays close to you the entire night, never really leaving your side. Every now and then, when everything becomes a little too overwhelming or when the pain and exhaustion catch up with him, he leans into you slightly, using your presence to calm himself and take a moment to breathe, like you're the only stable thing in the chaos around him.

⤷ Khvicha Kvaratskhelia

During the celebrations on the pitch, most of your time is spent trying to find Khvicha, or at least trying to keep track of him.

Every time you spot him, a few seconds later he’s somewhere else; hugging teammates, running toward the fans, taking pictures with the trophy before disappearing again.

He’s everywhere at once, completely carried away by the excitement, and watching him makes you smile because he looks so happy, almost like a child living the best day of his life.

Eventually, you stop trying to follow him, knowing he’ll find you again anyway.

You spend time talking with other families, enjoying the chaos and laughter around you, until suddenly something is placed over your shoulders. You look down and immediately recognize it:

a Georgian flag.

You smile instantly because there is only one person who would do that. Before you can even turn around, two arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“You were looking for me?” Khvicha teases, his voice close to your ear.

You laugh. “You don’t stay still for one second.”

His arms tighten briefly before he finally lets you turn around, and when you do, you see him slightly out of breath, hair messy, medal hanging crookedly around his neck.

For the first time all evening, he actually looks still. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your temple, and you stay like that for a moment, just enjoying the calm in the middle of everything.

But it doesn’t last long, because this is Khvicha.

A few seconds later he’s already taking your hand and pulling you forward.

“Khvicha, what are you doing?” you laugh.

He grins. “The party just started.”

And before you can protest, he’s already dragging you back into the celebrations, completely full of energy again,

like the night is only getting started.

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

For upcoming fics, I need to know if you prefer barca boys, psg boys or madrid boys~?🦦

pick one ~~

barca boys

psg boys

madrid boys

Voting ended onMay 4

[clara-a7]

Mean it...

Part 2 | Part 1 say it!

彡PAIRING ; mike wheeler x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; angst, emotional tension, slow-burn romance

彡SUMMARY ; after the argument with you, Mike will do his best to earn your apologies.

彡WORDS ; 960

彡DISCLAIMER ; everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡A/N ; as promised, here’s Part 2 of Say It!! thanks for all your comments and support on my fanfics, anyway I hope you will enjoy ~!

Two weeks had passed since the argument with Mike.

Since the day you finally spoke the words that had been weighing on your chest for far too long. You told him the truth: his failure to say he loved you hurt more than his presence ever could, and you were exhausted from being the only one holding the relationship together. The words landed between you like shards, and since that day, nothing had been the same.

For fourteen days, Mike met nothing but silence. No calls. No interactions. No lingering glances in the hallway.

Three hundred thirty-six hours without you. Hours that stretched endlessly, hollow and quiet, filled with empty spaces where you used to be. Living without you wasn’t dramatic; it was quietly agonizing.

At first, he tried to fix things the way he always had small smiles, casual greetings, half-hearted conversations. But nothing reached you. You walked past him without slowing, without looking back. What had worked before was useless. You were done pretending that his effort was enough.

Desperation finally drove him somewhere he had never imagined: sitting in his sister Nancy’s bedroom, asking for advice he should have sought months ago. She didn’t soften her words. She called him an idiot. The word hit harder than he expected sharp, undeniable. He swallowed his pride and listened, for once not arguing.

Lucas tried to help too, giving examples from his own relationship with Max. Gestures, gifts, little attempts to fix things. Mike clung to the idea, hoping it would be enough. But he didn’t understand you weren’t Max. What you needed couldn’t be wrapped in paper or placed on a desk.

So, when you walked into class and saw the neatly wrapped gift waiting on your desk, you knew immediately where it came from. Lucas nudged Mike confidently, certain this would fix everything. You picked it up, looked at it briefly, and dropped it into the trash without a word. The thud echoed far too loudly in the silence. Mike froze. Lucas tried to cover it with a joke, but Mike’s expression shut him down instantly.

The rest of class passed in silence. Mike watched you, memorizing every movement. You refused to look at him. When the bell rang, you packed your things quickly and left. You used to wait for him that habit was gone. He ran outside first, hoping to intercept you, but you walked past him without hesitation. Your perfume lingered just long enough to make his chest tighten.

Outside, you reached your bike and let out a quiet breath. Mike stopped a few steps away, watching, chest tight, thoughts spiraling. This was the end. He had ruined everything. He wasn’t the person you deserved. He thought about how easily he’d taken you for granted as a girlfriend, as a best friend.

Nancy’s voice echoed in his mind: If you really love her, you’ll do anything to have her back.

He clenched his fists. He couldn’t let it end like this.

“Wait,” he called, voice breaking just enough to reach you. You didn’t turn, but your step faltered. That was all he needed. He ran, grabbed your wrist before you could get on your bike, and spun you to face him.

He stood too close, breathing uneven, eyes searching your face as if afraid of what he might find. There was no plan now. No advice left to follow. He pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was clumsy, rushed, desperate noses bumping, words unspoken. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, and it was rude. You didn’t push him away; you met his embrace with the same sharp, clashing energy. Your lips collided like a duel, not the shy, soft kisses you had shared before.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered between your lips. “I was an idiot.”

You nodded slowly. “You were.”

His hands trembled on your shoulders, as if loosening them would mean losing you again.

“I know a kiss doesn’t fix this,” he murmured. “I… I didn’t know what else to do.”

You studied him. His eyes weren’t confident. They were tired. Lost.

“Shit… please forgive me,” he whispered, eyes wide, vulnerable. “I love you. Spending a week without you… it was the worst days of my life.” He cupped your face between his hands. “Even worse than the day Holly destroyed my favorite comic book.”

You noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked broken in a way you’d never seen before.

“I want to believe you, Mike,” you said quietly, voice cracking. “But… do you really mean it, or is this just a missing routine?”

“No! Of course not!” His frown was desperate. “I- I love you. Shit. Like a fool.”

You saw it then the sincerity, and the fear. He was afraid of losing you, just as you were afraid of being hurt again.

“I… I need time,” you whispered.

Mike nodded, small, resigned. “I understand… take all the time you need. I’ll wait as long as you want.” He let his hands drop, giving you space.

It wasn’t the “yes” he wanted. But it wasn’t a rejection either. You were giving him a chance the last chance.

You got on your bike. This time, he didn’t stop you. He watched as you rode away, the distance between you growing slowly instead of vanishing all at once.

He ran his hands through his hair, exhaling shakily, hoping that somehow, eventually, the pieces of your relationship could be put back together.

Even though the pieces were broken, even though putting them back together felt almost impossible, there was something fragile, delicate, and hopeful in the way you hadn’t ignored him completely.

That small crack in your hesitation was a chance a final chance.

And Mike knew he wouldn’t waste it.

彡TAGLIST ; @purplexprincess16 @laneys-library @cherrii-11 @aureliacalista @lunaryoongie @vis-shimmer @midnightlamb @meadow-williams443

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

steve harrington as 80's boyfriend...

彡DISCLAIMER ; everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡WORDS ; 700

彡A/N ; i had so much fun writing this,i hope you enjoy it too!

boyfriend!steve who.. always tries to impress you, whether it’s taking you to the fancy restaurants, rolling up his sleeves just enough to show off his biceps, or driving with one hand because he thinks it makes him look effortlessly cool, he smirks at you, hoping you’re enjoying it, and you secretly think it’s adorable.

boyfriend!steve who.. takes extra time to take care of himself to please you; fixing his hair with more spray hair, checking himself in the mirror more than usual, or putting on extra cologne.

boyfriend!steve who.. stares at your lips the entire time you talk, and even if he has no idea what you’re saying, he nods and smiles like he totally gets it, completely lost in your charm.

boyfriend!steve who.. keeps a Polaroid of the two of you from prom in his wallet: his hand around your waist, your smile glowing at the camera, while he’s just staring at you like you’re the most important thing in his world.

boyfriend!steve who.. gave you a teddy bear for your birthday, with a heart embroidered with both your initials, and sprayed it with his cologne so it always smells like him, you can’t help but hug it whenever you miss him.

boyfriend!steve who.. teases you constantly, stealing long kisses to make you late, or holding you by the waist to keep you close.

boyfriend!steve who.. loves kissing you everywhere; forehead, cheek, neck, shoulder, fingers nothing is off-limits.

boyfriend!steve who.. might not be a master of words, but he shows love in gestures: brushing your hair from your face, holding your hand without asking or pulling you close in a crowd.

boyfriend!steve who.. drives you everywhere; to school, to work, wherever no matter if it means taking a detour.

boyfriend!steve who.. sometimes takes a “wrong turn” on purpose just to have more time with you, his hand brushing your thigh as he drives.

boyfriend!steve who.. sometimes hums your favorite songs under his breath or plays them on his Walkman.

boyfriend!steve who.. never stops talking about you, at work, he’ll annoy Robin by bringing you up constantly: “She’d totally love this movie,” or “God… she was so fine yesterday.” and in the car with Dustin, if a song comes on, he grins like an idiot and says, “Her favorite song!” even if no one else cares.

boyfriend!steve who.. gets jealous sometimes, but never in a controlling way, just a little possessive, putting his hand on your neck and kissing you in front of the guy who tries to flirt with you.

boyfriend!steve who.. after arguments, comes back with flowers from the corner shop, apologizing with those puppy eyes and that spark of charm that makes it impossible to stay mad at him.

boyfriend!steve who.. sometimes gets a little insecure and quietly asks, “Do you love me, right?” even though he knows the answer.

boyfriend!steve who.. has a “secret box” hidden under his bed, filled with small things of you; photos, a scrunchie you left behind, little notes, cassettes of your favorite artist, anything that reminds him of you. He’ll never admit that it’s his little obsession.

boyfriend!steve who.. loves putting his jean jacket on your shoulders, letting you smell his cologne and faint hints of cigarettes, secretly thrilled when you wear his clothes.

boyfriend!steve who.. loves holding you close while you sleep, your head on his chest, falling asleep tracing little patterns on your back, staring at you for a moment with a soft smile, just thankful to have you.

boyfriend!steve who.. when he’s had a few drinks, rambles endlessly about his plans for your future together; how he wants to marry you, have kids, and more…. then the next morning blushes like crazy, pretending he doesn’t remember a word.

彡TAGLIST ; open 💌

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

Baby Fever

彡PAIRING ; coach!steve harrington x wife!reader

彡WARNINGS ; post s5, pure fluff, baby fever

彡SUMMARY ; you come to see your beloved husband at one of his baseball practices, but watching him with the kids awakens a sudden irresistible baby fever.

彡WORDS ; 800

彡DISCLAIMER ; everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

Today was one of those simple, sunlit days. The kind that made you smile for no reason at all, like happiness had slipped quietly into your chest and decided to stay.

You’d spent the morning barefoot in the kitchen, baking cupcakes for your husband and his little baseball team. You frosted them carefully, swirling pink icing and topping each one with sprinkles and tiny sugar stars. Nothing fancy just made with love. You always brought treats. You liked spoiling Steve’s kids almost as much as he did.

The moment you arrived at the field, chaos greeted you. Kids ran everywhere, laughter echoing, bats clanging against balls.

“Mrs. Harrington!”

A small voice rang out, and suddenly you were surrounded. A swarm of eager faces stared up at you, eyes locked on the pink box in your hands, decorated with little hearts. They knew that box. They knew exactly what it meant.

“Boys!”

Steve’s voice carried across the field firm and deep. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, jacket sleeves rolled up, sunbeams embracing on his exposed forearms. A cap was pulled low over his hair, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Even dressed in his baseball coach's uniform, he still looks attractive.

“Back to your positions. Practice isn’t over yet.” He pulled off his sunglasses as he spoke.

A collective groan followed. Derek dragged his feet, casting one last hopeful glance at the cupcakes, clearly praying the coach would change his mind.

He didn’t.

Steve might be the cool coach, but he believed in order. Years of being the full-time babysitter through his teens had taught him a thing or two maybe made him a little stricter.

Then his arms wrapped around your waist.

His hand rested over your stomach, his ring cool against your skin, sending a small shiver through you.

“You’re too nice, babe,” he murmured near your ear. “You really know how to charm these kids.”

You smiled, placing your hand over his.

Steve reached into the box and stole a cupcake, feigning innocence.

“And me too,” he added with a grin.

“Hey!” you laughed. “You said after practice.”

He shrugged, already biting into it, chocolate crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth.

“I know… but how am I supposed to resist my wife’s baking?”

You leaned in to wipe the crumbs away, and he immediately pulled you closer, smiling with pure love.

A kid called his name. He didn’t respond too busy looking at you.

“You should go,” you whispered. “Before one of the kids gets hurt.”

He sighed, hands sliding to your sides, thumbs tracing slow, absent circles. Completely forgetting his role as coach.

“Just a minute,” he murmured, leaning closer. “They’re old enough.”

Before his lips could meet yours, a child shouted again.

“Alright! I’m coming!” he called back.

He pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “See you later, babe. Duty calls.”

“I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise,” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips, letting you know the night would be far from short.

It was the last thing he said before he jogged back onto the field towards the kids waiting him.

You settled onto the bleachers, watching him move easily among them adjusting grips, fixing helmets, brushing dirt from scraped knees, clapping loudly when someone finally hit the ball right. Every small gesture made your chest ache in the best way.

Steve had always been like this. Patient. Kind. Funny. So gentle with kids.

You remembered when Robin had introduced him to you as “the best babysitter in Hawkins.” You’d laughed, thinking it was an exaggeration.

It wasn’t.

Steve was a man made of quiet generosity and endless love. The kind of man every parent would trust with their children. And no doubt, he would be the most incredible father.

A part of you deep down imagined of him holding a baby with love and pride, sent a sudden warmth through your stomach.

Steve glanced up and caught you watching him, smiling like an idiot. He’d been stealing looks at you since you arrived. Hands on his hips, he gave you that same smile the one that had claimed your heart from the very beginning. His lips silently shaped I love you before he turned just in time to see a baseball fly wildly across the field and hit another kid square in the head.

“Jesus Christ!” Steve exclaimed, rushing over, gently brushing the child’s hair back, murmuring reassurances in that soft voice meant only for comfort.

You laughed quietly, leaning back against the bleachers.

And in that moment, watching him laugh, help, care give his whole heart so effortlessly, you realized something with perfect clarity.

You wanted a family with him.

Maybe not six little nuggets like he loved to joke about...

He wasn’t joking.

God… this man would be your end.

彡TAGLIST ; open 💌

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

PLEASE EPLEASE PLEASE CAN I HAVE A PART 2 OF SAY IT I NEED IT INJECTED INTO MY BLOOD STREAM

❀・゜The fic wasnt supposed to have a part 2, but you guys sent me so many requests for it that I can’t ignore. I promise I’ll publish the next part before the end of the month.

Thank you for your support, love yall~!❀・゜

[clara-a7]

❀・゜𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘳, 𝘬𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦, 𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵-𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴, 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨

𝘪’𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘯....❀・゜

[mxrespectors]

my lazy ass after writing one sentence while writing a fic:

[clara-a7]

𝘽𝙞𝙜 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢

彡PAIRING ; steve harrington x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; s5,nsfw 18+, smut, oral (m receiving), hair pulling

彡SUMMARY ; being in a confined space with Steve should be fine, but Robin’s words echo in your head, twisting your thoughts into something far from innocent…

彡WORDS ; 1,300

彡DISCLAIMER ; everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; not good at writing NSFW scenes, so sorry if it’s clumsy, anyway enjoyed it!

Being in a confined space with Steve should have been fine.

It was supposed to be a simple trip to the WSQK radio station to join the others. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But Robin’s words echoed in your head, refusing to let you relax, twisting your thoughts into something distracting and inconvenient. During a casual conversation, she’d let slip an inappropriate joke about him about how big Steve was and it affected you far more than you wanted to admit.

You tried to forget it. You really did.

But it followed you everywhere. In the morning while eating your cereal. On the way to work. Even before falling asleep. The image of Steve naked, crafted entirely by your imagination, lingered far too vividly, haunting your thoughts when they should have been quiet.

And now, being stuck alone with him in his van while waiting for Dustin did nothing to help. The engine idled softly, the van parked just off the road, silence stretching between you. The air felt thick, almost unbreathable.

You shifted slightly in the passenger seat, trying to calm your urges, your hormones, the restless heat pooling low in your stomach. Your gaze betrayed you again and again, drifting to Steve’s hands on the steering wheel strong, relaxed, veins faintly visible beneath his skin. The ring on his right index finger caught your eye, and you swallowed.

Get it out of your mind.

Steve glanced over, catching your stare, his lips pulling into that signature smile easy, knowing, dangerous. You quickly turned your head toward the window, heat rushing to your cheeks, pretending to focus on the darkness outside.

But it wasn’t enough.

Only seconds later, the low hum of the engine filled the silence again, and your eyes wandered back, traitorously slow, toward his crotch. The dim light of night made it difficult to see clearly, but his tight jeans left little to the imagination. The way the fabric hugged him was impossible to ignore.

You shifted again, breath shallow now, painfully aware of how close he was and how little control you seemed to have left.

“Is there something on my face?” Steve finally broke the silence, ending your trance.

You blinked, startled, heat flooding your face. “What? No! I was just…” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as if that might clear it. “Yeah, I was just zoning out.”

He hummed, unconvinced, turning his body slightly toward you in the seat. The movement brought him closer without actually closing the distance, his knee almost brushing yours. Almost. “Zoning out,” he repeated, slow and amused. “You sure about that?”

You swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Why do you ask that?”

Steve let out a low, warm laugh, the sound vibrating through the van. “I don’t know… your gaze was pretty much fixed on my…” His eyes dropped, teasing, and you followed them, breath catching. “…my crotch.”

Your heart skipped. “I- I didn’t!”

Steve laughed again, chest vibrating, voice low and amused. “You’re really bad at lying, princess.”

Your cheeks flamed, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus again on the darkness outside. “I-what? No, I’m not…”

Steve leaned a little closer, that signature, dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “Mm-hmm,” he said, low and teasing. “Sure you’re not. But I can read it in your little face… all those thoughts you’re trying to hide. Come on, tell me.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, and your pulse spiked. “You’re not going to make fun of me, right?” you whispered.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I’m all ears, princess.”

"It's been on my mind for a few days now," you stuttered before blurting out, "and then- fuck it!- your big dick!"

“Oh, I was right,” he said, smiling and sliding his fingers toward his crotch. “Princess, you're invited if you really want to see him.”

A little hesitant, you grabbed his pants, and he helped you undo them. A slight bulge was already visible. It seemed that he was just as eager as you were. You finally slid his underwear down, freeing him completely.

You hesitated, and he noticed immediately. “You can stop if you're not ready.”

"I'm not hesitating, you’re just so big…" His relieved smile told you he understood; your hesitation was caused by the size. “Take your time,” he said softly.

You nodded and finally took the step, leaning toward him. One hand rested on his thigh for support, the other on his penis. A shiver ran through him as your fingers brushed lightly over his erect length.

Steve groaned as you grasped him firmly, your thumb brushing the sensitive tip. You leaned closer, letting your tongue graze him lightly, leaving a thin trail of drool.

“Fucking good,” he groaned again, pursing his lips.

You couldn’t hold back any longer, taking him deeper, matching the rhythm of his movements with your own. His eyes were full of desire.

"Oh shit… more," he groaned, his hand tangling in your hair, holding you firmly in place.

You picked up the rhythm, letting a moan escape you as you felt him grow hotter and harder in your mouth, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to take him deeper.

Until, with a loud, raucous groan, Steve erupted, filling your mouth. You swallowed desperately, your tongue moving instinctively to catch every drop. When he finally withdrew, panting and dazed, he looked down at you wide-eyed.

“Fuck…” he whispered, wiping some from your cheek with his thumb and pressing it against your lips. “Was that good, princess?”

“So good,” you murmured back.

He laughed softly at your flushed cheeks as he pulled his pants back on. You watched him, chest still racing, as he adjusted himself and zipped up, the tension slowly settling into a warm, satisfied haze.

Just as you were about to catch your breath, a sharp knock at the window made both of you jump.

“Dustin,” Steve muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Dude… you arrive at the perfect moment!” His tone was falsely cheerful, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, heart still pounding, knowing that the private moment was over but also certain that it wouldn’t be the last, and next time, it would be even more… spicy.

And happy new year ~!😉

彡TAGLIST ; open 💌

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

ex!steve x henderson!fem!reader (s5)

fratboy!steve x nerd!fem!reader (fluff - s1)

bigdīck!steve x fem!reader (smut - s5)

bestfriend!steve x jealousy!fem!reader (angst)

Voting ended onDec 29, 2025

[clara-a7]

Say It! || Mike Wheeler

彡PAIRING ; mike wheeler x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; s4, angst, heartbreak, mild language, romantic conflict. established relationship

彡SUMMARY ; you decide to stop saying certain words to mike, hoping he will notice, but when he finally does, his reaction is nothing like what you expected.

彡WORDS ; 1,300

彡DISCLAIMER ; everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; I'm quickly writing this before volume two come out, at 2.am for me.... ah and merry christmas~!

Mike notices the change before you ever confront him.

He’d sensed it days ago, subtle at first, almost easy to dismiss. At first, he told himself he was imagining it; you still texted him “good morning.” You still sat next to him during class, your shoulder brushing his like it always did. You still kissed him goodbye at the end of the day.

But the words… the words had stopped.

“I love you.”

Nothing alarming in itself. On the surface, things seemed fine. But for Mike, it was enough to set off a quiet panic in his chest. He tried to push it aside at first, convincing himself it was nothing. But when the worry wouldn’t leave him, he ended up talking to Dustin and Lucas.

“They’re just your imagination,” Dustin said, casually shrugging. “Yes, no need to worry.,” Lucas added. Mike didn’t want to believe them, but the doubt lingered. And still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

Now, standing at your bedroom door, he hesitated. He knocked as usual. “Come in,” your voice said softly.

Mike’s hand lingered on the doorknob a second longer, silently hoping he was imagining it. Maybe this time, you’d greet him as usual, warm and familiar. Maybe it was all in his head.

The door opened.

“Hi, Mike,” you said, sitting at your desk with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. Only one corner of your mouth lifted, the gesture small and uneven.

Hi, Mike? That was it? No nickname, no warmth. Just a greeting that sounded… distant.

Mike froze. His stomach twisted. His mind immediately told him he hadn’t imagined it. There was a subtle coldness now, just beneath your usual calm.

He cleared his throat, unsure where to start. He usually knew what to say; how to tease you, make you laugh, start the day but now, nothing came.

“Hey… uh… everything okay?” His voice came out softer than he intended, careful, but even through the words, a tremor of unease slipped through.

He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him.

You didn’t look up immediately. Fingers tapping on the desk, eyes fixed on the papers in front of you. “Yeah… I’m fine,” you said too quickly. Too clipped. Too rehearsed.

Mike’s chest tightened. That tone it was the one he knew all too well. Something was wrong.

He sat on your bed. The mattress creaked beneath him, echoing his tension. “Did something happen at school?” he asked, searching for an explanation that didn’t involve him. “Is it Troy again? I—”

“No,” you interrupted, finally looking at him. “It’s not about Troy. Or school, Mike.”

He waved a hand, frustrated and confused. “Then what is it? You’re acting weird.”

“If you paid more attention,” you said flatly, voice low and sharp, “you wouldn’t have to ask.”

Mike wrinkled his nose. “I—what’s your problem? You’re being… kinda weird…”

You turned your chair fully to face him, arms crossed, jaw set. “My problem? I don’t have one, Mike. I’m clearly fine.”

His frustration etched deep into his face. “Of course you do! You’re acting weird with me. Something’s wrong,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “It’s me, isn’t it? Did I do something?”

You let out a bitter, short laugh. “Finally.”

“What did I do?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, your voice tight. “You didn’t do anything. You never say anything.”

“Say what—?”

You looked down at your hands for a long moment before meeting his eyes again. “Mike… you never say you love me. It’s just… three words.”

Mike swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “I thought you knew. I show it, don’t I?”

You shook your head slowly, a tear threatening to escape. “Showing isn’t enough. I needed to hear it. I needed to know. I’ve been waiting, hoping… and I got tired of being the only one saying it.”

His voice cracked, panic breaking through. “I already told you!”

“Oh yeah?” you snapped. “When, Mike? When did you tell me?”

He froze, the silence stretching, the weight of it settling in. He couldn’t answer.

“You never did,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Not when we kissed for the first time. Not at prom!”

"You never even wrote it!" You opened your desk drawer and pulled out the letters. Without hesitation, you threw them at him, one falling to his feet. His eyes followed it, lingering on the simple signature at the bottom.

From Mike.

“I don’t get it,” he said, panic rising. “The necklace, the teddy bear…” He gestured toward the stuffed animal carefully placed on your bed. “The letters. I did all that for you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I loved them. But objects… objects can’t say ‘I love you’ for you.”

“They mean something,” he insisted, stepping closer, voice desperate. “I wouldn’t do any of that if I didn’t—”

“If you didn’t what?” you cut in sharply. “That really reassures me,” you added bitterly.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe I’m not perfect. Maybe I don’t always know the right thing to say… but you can’t doubt my feelings for you.”

You met his gaze, unwavering now. “Then be honest. Answer me. Do you love me, Mike?”

He hesitated.

Not long. Not intentionally.

But long enough.

Your chest ached. Your heart fractured into a thousand tiny pieces.

You let out a hollow laugh, blinking back tears. “See? That pause… that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I do,” he said, voice breaking under the weight of panic. “I swear I do. I just—I don’t know how to say it the way you want me to. I didn’t want it to sound fake.”

You bit your lip, the ache in your chest growing unbearable. “If I have to force you to say it every single time… is it really sincere?”

Silence fell heavy between you.

Mike’s eyes widened with panic. He hadn’t realized he was hurting you. He’d thought the relationship was fine at least on his side.

“I’m alone in this relationship,” you whispered.

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded. “I can fix it. I’ll learn. I’ll—”

You shook your head, tears now freely threatening. “I don’t want you to learn how to love me after I’ve almost begged you.”

The words hit him harder than any scream ever could.

“So… what are you saying?” he whispered, voice breaking.

You stare the boy you loved. The one you’d give everything for without hesitation.

“I’m tired, Mike,” you said softly, your voice cracking now. “I don’t want to beg anymore.”

You walked to the door and opened it, stepping aside, inviting him out without saying a word.

He froze, panic written across his face. “You can’t just say that and hope I leave,” he said, voice trembling. “You can’t do this.”

You didn’t raise your voice. The calm in your tone hurt more than anything he could have imagined.

“Don’t complicate things, Mike,” you whispered.

He stood, taller than you now, searching your face as if your answer could somehow change. “So… you want to break up with me?”

“Take it as you want,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to hold back the tears.

He took that as his cue to leave.

And once again, he couldn’t say it.

He lingered, words trapped somewhere in his throat. Not now. Not after everything.

Even now, after all this, he still couldn’t say I love you.

The door closed quietly behind him.

Mike always runs when things get too real when feelings demand more than silence. And once again, he proves he’s not capable of giving you what you need.

Leaving you alone in your room, heart heavy

And a crack forming in this relationship.

彡TAGLIST ; open 💌

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[write-on-world]

[clara-a7]

Vote for which one you would most like to read~?🦦

Steve Harrington

Lucas Sinclair

Mike Wheeler

Voting ended onDec 22, 2025

(taking requests too~)

[clara-a7]

𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙕𝙤𝙣𝙚 || Mike Wheeler

彡PAIRING ; mike wheeler x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; s5, angst, yelling, swearing, hurt feelings, a bit fluff, established relationship, use of y/n

彡SUMMARY ; you argue with Mike when he refuses to let you come with them into the military base

彡WORDS ; 1,130

彡DISCLAIMER ; everything written here is FICTITIOUS.

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; this was originally just a draft, but I decided to post it anyway, hope you enjoy!

!sorry if there are any mistakes, english isn't my first language!

The basement air is too hot, too dry, too electric to actually breathe. Dust hangs thick in the light of the slide projector, each floating speck buzzing with the same static everyone is pretending not to feel.

You, Mike, Lucas, Will, and Joyce hover around the old projector while Robin circles the same patch of the map like she’s trying to wear a hole straight through the paper.

Tap. Tap.

“Alright,” she says, stabbing her pen at the spot again. “Plan B. You dig here. It drops into an abandoned maintenance tunnel. Straight ten kilometers until...” she jabs a little square, “we pop up under a very glamorous government toilet. Perfect for covert operations and bad plumbing.”

Joyce leans in squinting. “Okay. That’s the safest route we’ve got. We take it.”

From the couch, Derek perks up. “I can be your spy,” he says. “But I want something in return.”

Everyone stares at him.

Lucas groans. “Dude, what? You think now is the time? We’re planning a rescue mission, not making trades at recess.”

The kid shakes his head stubbornly, unimpressed.

You sigh, unzip your backpack, and pull out one chocolate bar. Then another. And another. “Daylight robbery,” you mutter, dropping all three in his hand.

Will blinks. “Why do you even have that many?”

You shrug. “Emergency rations”

He nods. Fair.

Joyce claps her hands. “Good. Then we prep.”

Everyone nods, except Mike.

Joyce notices. “Mike? Any objections?”

He snaps out of it slightly as the whole group looks at him. Everyone except you, you already know exactly what’s coming out of that boy’s mouth. You take the shovel leaning against the wall.

Mike turns toward you way too slowly, like he’s bracing for a fight.

Robin squints. “Uh-oh. Incoming.”

He clears his throat. “Plan’s fine. Great job, Robin. Love the toilet entrance.” Then, sharper “But Y/N not coming with us.”

“What?!” you and Lucas snap together.

Mike folds his arms like he’s grounding you.

“Yeah you clearly heard you stays there”

You yank the shovel to your chest. “Oh Fuck you, Mike. I’m going.”

“Of course you’re not,” he fires back. “You’re staying here.”

Robin smirks. “Amazing. Couple conflict. That’s the spark we needed.”

Will retreats into the shadows, choosing to be far from this couple's conflict.

Joyce steps in. “Kids, no yelling. We can figure something out-”

Mike cuts her off. “No, Mrs. Byers. We stick to the plan. But she stays here. Safe..”

Lucas’ eyes widen. “Mike-”

“No!” Mike explodes. “Look at Max! Look at everything that’s happened! There have been enough injuries!”

Lucas goes still, jaw tight.

You inhale through your teeth. “Great job, Mike.”

He fires back instantly. “It’s true! We don’t know what’s waiting in that base.”

“So your plan is what?” you snap. “I sit here alone like an obedient puppy?”

Mike smirks humorlessly. “Bingo.” He snatches the shovel out of your hands.

Your chest burns anger, fear, the familiar hurt of Mike Wheeler being stubborn because he thinks he’s right.

“Mike,” you say, voice trembling despite your attempt to sound hard, “I’m more in danger here. One demogorgon popping out of the fucking wall and I’m dead before I can scream.”

Robin lifts her pen. “Score: Y/N, one. Mike, zero.”

Mike frowns at her. “What?!”

Joyce steps between you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Mike, She need come with us,” she says. “When we reach the tunnel, shes stay in the back with Will. right not completely safe but! not alone.”

Will nods.

Mike opens his mouth -of course he does- but before he can unleash another stubborn monologue, Robin slaps the map flat like a judge declaring court adjourned.

“Fantastic. If the star-crossed lovers are done yelling, can we start digging toward hell now?”

Robin is clearly praying for the couple's argument to end. Mike isn’t.

Mike’s voice crackles. “Can you all stop interrupting our conversation?!”

Robin collapses onto the couch beside Derek and mutters, “Whatever-”

You laugh, cold and sharp. “Don’t call this a conversation when you’re not listening to me and deciding for me.”

His face twists. “No- I am listening,” he insists, then falters. “I’m not-deciding…”

His voice drops, cracks. “I’m trying to keep you alive. Even if you hate me for it.”

“You always say that,” you whisper. “But sometimes you hurt me more than you protect me.”

He glances at you, lips parting like he wants to say something anything. Then he hesitates. After a long moment, he exhales and finally lets his ego fall away.

Fear, love, conflict all written plainly across his face.

Will finally speaks. “Guys… we have to move now, Vecna won’t wait for us.”

“Fine,” Mike mutters, looking away.

Lucas snorts. “Finally.”

Robin sighs dramatically. “Shame. My favorite part was about to start.”

You and Mike, in perfect miserable unison: “Shut up!”

“Perfect…” Joyce massages her temples. “We have to move now, let’s go!”

Everyone sigh finally happy to move one, start climbing the stairs. You sling your backpack on. But you can feel Mike’s eyes on you heavy, conflicted, terrified in that Wheeler ego way he refuses to admit.

You move to follow the others, not looking back, until he catches your sleeve fingers careful, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he holds on too tight.

“Y/N…” His voice cracks. “wait....”

You turn back slowly.

He swallows hard. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “I’ve already lost enough.”

Your breath stutters. Despite everything, despite the yelling and the fear he’s still Mike. The boy you love. The boy who loves too fiercely and badly expresses every bit of it.

"Lsten. I hate when we fight. I hate it.”

“Mike…” you sigh, stepping closer. “I didn’t want to get angry at you. But sometimes you should give me more confidence.”

His head snaps up like you just accused him of murder.

“No- I-!” he blurts, too loud, too raw. “I trust you with my eyes closed. Okay? Completely.”

His hand rises to your head tentative at first, then steady. His fingers brush through your hair in that way he only does when he’s scared you’re slipping out of reach.

He swallows, voice lowering to something almost fragile.

“I just…” His breath stutters. “I don’t trust myself to protect you if something happens.”

You rest your forehead against his chest, his arms wrapping around you instantly, big hands trembling so hard you can feel it through his shirt.

“You shouldn’t worry about it,” you whisper, your breath warm against him. “I know you’ll be there. We’ve always been a duo. We’ve overcome a lot together.”

Mike inhales like the words physically hit him sharp, shaky, almost painful.

“Yeah… I know.” His voice cracks on the last word. “But it doesn’t stop me from being scared. I just… I can’t handle losing you.”

Then he lifts your face with both hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones in slow, trembling strokes. His eyes search yours for something permission, forgiveness, comfort before he leans in and presses a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

It’s messy. Desperate. Soft in that unsteady Mike Wheeler way that says he’d tear the world open if it meant keeping you alive.

Footsteps thunder back down the stairs.

“Seriously?” Lucas yells. “We’re waiting!”

“COMING!” Mike yells back but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even drop his hands from your face.

Instead, he strokes your cheeks, gentler than ever.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe,” he murmurs, voice barely holding together.

You nod, uncertain but honest.

His shoulders finally ease just a little.

Together, you climb the stairs side by side, terrified and brave in the same breath heading straight toward the darkness, toward whatever hell waits below.

彡TAGLIST ; open 💌

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

𝘾𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘿𝙤𝙜 || Oscar Piastri⁸¹

✧f1 masterlist

彡PAIRING ; oscar piastri x fem!reader

彡WARNINGS ; none, just fluff & halloween vibes 🎃

彡SUMMARY ; matching couple costumes with your boyfriend

彡REQUESTED? ; yes! (requests are open!)

彡WORDS ; 1k

彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; im back with a lil fluff for halloween, it was supposed to be just a headcanon, but i decided to turn it into a one shot instead!

You’re standing in front of the mirror, the soft glow of your bedroom light reflecting off the tiny silver studs in your ears as you adjust the cat ear headband carefully into place. The plastic slides smoothly against your hair, and you tilt your head from side to side until the ears sit just right, slightly forward, as if your reflection is winking playfully back at you.

Behind you, Oscar is sprawled on your couch like he owns the place, long legs stretched out and one arm draped lazily over the backrest. The TV flickers faintly in the background, painting his face in soft blues and oranges. He looks perfectly content doing absolutely nothing, still dressed in the same gray hoodie and jeans he arrived in.

You glance at him through the mirror and smile. “Didn’t you bring a costume?” you ask, your tone teasing but gentle.

He doesn’t even look away from the screen at first, just lets out a quiet hum and shakes his head. “Nope.”

You narrow your eyes in mock disappointment, spinning around to face him fully. “Oscar Piastri. It’s Halloween.”

“I’m aware,” he says calmly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

You cross your arms. “And yet… no costume?”

He finally meets your gaze, a quiet, amused look in his eyes, the kind that says he’s been expecting this conversation from the moment he showed up. “I don’t really do costumes,” he replies simply, voice low and even.

You roll your eyes dramatically but can’t help the fondness that creeps into your chest. Of course he didn’t. You’d seen it coming days ago, so much that you’d already prepared for it.

“Well,” you say, moving toward the small bag by your vanity, “luckily, I came prepared.”

He straightens up slightly, curiosity flickering across his face as you rummage through the bag and pull out a soft, fuzzy headband. You hold it up triumphantly. Two floppy brown ears. Unmistakably puppy ears.

“Babe,” you announce with exaggerated pride, “meet your costume.”

His brow arches as he takes in the sight of it. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re actually serious.”

“Completely.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, as if hoping you’ll laugh and say it’s all a prank. But you don’t. You just grin at him, full of mischief and affection. “Please,” you say, clutching the headband to your chest dramatically. “Just this once. Plus, that way our costumes match!”

He groans softly, leaning his head back against the couch cushion like he’s surrendering to fate. “You’re not going to let me off easy, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

A small laugh escapes him, quiet, resigned, but warm. “Okay. You win.”

You beam, stepping closer. “I usually do.”

He watches you as you stand before him, your fingers brushing his hair back gently. He leans away for half a second, pretending to protest, but he doesn’t actually move. He just looks up at you with that soft, unreadable expression that always makes your heart skip.

“Hold still,” you murmur, sliding the headband into place. The dog ears sit just slightly crooked, which somehow makes it even better. You adjust them carefully, brushing a bit of his fringe away from his forehead. “There,” you whisper, satisfied. “Perfect.”

“Perfectly ridiculous,” he mutters, though there’s amusement in his tone now.

You ignore him, tugging lightly on his hand. “Come on.”

He lets you pull him up, his fingers curling instinctively around yours as he rises from the couch. He’s taller up close like this, close enough that you have to tilt your chin a little to look him in the eyes. The air between you hums softly with the faint tension that always seems to linger when you’re near him.

You guide him toward the mirror, still holding his hand loosely. “You have to see how good you look.”

He sighs, but lets you position him beside you. The two of you stand there, side by side. You in your black cat ears and cute black dress, him with his hoodie and those slightly askew dog ears. The contrast makes you laugh.

Oscar glances at your reflection, then his, then yours again. His lips twitch. “This is ridiculous.”

You tilt your head, pretending to examine him critically. “Hmm. I disagree.”

“You disagree?”

“Yeah,” you say with a grin. “You look like a sad puppy.”

He gives you a mock glare. “That’s not helping your case.”

You reach up, fixing one of the ears again, then lower your voice to a soft tease. “A cute sad puppy.”

His breath catches for a moment, so brief you almost miss it, before he chuckles under his breath. “That’s debatable.”

“Not really,” you say, and before he can answer, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

The gesture is light, easy, but it still makes him freeze for just a second. When you pull back, his eyes meet yours in the mirror. There’s something there, a flicker of surprise, warmth, and something deeper he’s too shy to name.

“See?” you whisper. “Now it’s perfect.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression softening. Then, slowly, he reaches out and hooks one finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you just a little closer until your knees bump. “Fine,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “It’s only because it’s you.”

You smile, feeling your heart skip again. “I know,” you say softly.

You both end up laughing quietly, the sound soft and content, the kind of laughter that stays between two people who don’t need anything more than this.

When you finally grab your coat and head for the door, Oscar catches your wrist lightly. “You know,” he says, voice half amused, half fond, “if anyone asks, this was your idea.”

You grin up at him. “Obviously. You think anyone would believe you came up with something this cute?”

He smirks, tugging the dog ears playfully down over his forehead before reaching for the doorknob. “Fair point.”

And as you step out together, you in your cat ears, him in his reluctantly adorable puppy ones, you can’t help but think that somehow, you wouldn’t have wanted to match with anyone else.

彡TAGLIST ; open 💌

✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿

© clara-a7 - all rights reserved.

[clara-a7]

──✧₊∘Football Masterlist

fluff ♡ | angst ☁︎ | 18+ ☾ |

requests are open!

barça

kiss prank ♡

comfort them ☁︎ ♡

pedri

favorite hoodie ♡

pau cubarsi

hiking ♡

more coming soon…