#sorry I got your name wrong in the banner lol

[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info��) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader

[blackhairedjjun]

(love)sick

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: fluff, comfort, valentines themed! | word count: 1.2k | warnings: pet names (baby, love), profanity, mentions of food, getting sick

summary: yeonjun gets sick on valentine's day. you don't mind, as long as you get to spend the day with your beloved.

author's notes: happy valentines day!! i think - it's no longer valentines day in my timezone lol. anyway, i crammed this fic while i was sick myself and after watching yeonjun's make it happen documentary (which also features him getting sick) and somehow the brain cells crossed and produced... this? LOL yeah

(support by reblogging banner by @cafekitsune)

you know that something is wrong when yeonjun calls you and asks to meet up with him at his apartment instead of picking you up from work.

it isn’t the seeming lack of chivalry that bothers you — you like stopping by your boyfriend’s apartment anyway — but the way his voice sounds on the phone. it’s hoarse and thin, and it wasn’t just the patchy cell signal outside your office building making him sound that way. his words themselves were scratchy, as if it takes him some difficulty to get them out. “i’m so sorry, baby,” he says, the word sorry sounding like a groan. “i don’t feel well enough to drive…”

“jjunie, are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” he croaks. he does not sound fine. “just need… to rest a bit. we can move the reservation by… half an hour…”

moments later, you tap your foot now and then on the bus ride from your office to his apartment, the rumbling nowhere near loud enough to drown out the frenzy in your thoughts. yeonjun booked a reservation at a fancy restaurant for valentine’s day, which he apparently had been planning since the two of you got together. you barely managed to wrangle out any hints on what he had in store, but you could tell from the shine in his eyes and his mischievous little giggles that he had something grand and romantic in mind. with the way his voice sounded on the phone, though, he might not be feeling well enough to put any of those plans into motion.

the bus gets to your stop and you practically jump off. half-walking, half-running, you head towards the sleek new apartment building yeonjun calls home, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. it doesn’t stop once you get to the building, or on the elevator ride to his place, or even until you turn the knob on his door. please, please, your thoughts echo, please let my jjunie be okay.

as you enter, you spot on the little table by the hallway a giant box of assorted chocolates and a bouquet of roses and carnations, still in pristine condition. your face grows warm at the sight — you mentioned previously to yeonjun that you wanted some pink flowers along with the traditional red — but it also rattles your nerves. yeonjun wouldn’t just leave these by his apartment, he’d usually hide them from you and wait for the right time to present them...

you walk past the valentine’s gifts. when you reach yeonjun’s bedroom door, you give a quick knock. “jjunie, it’s me…”

there’s a low groan from inside. shit, he sounds worse than you thought. “baby, i… i’m not ready yet…”

“i’m coming in anyway, okay?”

you push the door open and your heart drops at the sight.

the room is balmy. yeonjun is sprawled on his bed, half-dressed, all energy seemingly drained from his form. you gasp and rush to his side; upon closer look, his face is pale and the skin under his eyes is dark. 

“hi, baby…” he rasps. “you look pretty.”

“oh, jjunie…” you reach for him and feel his forehead with your palm. “shit. you’re burning up.”

“i burn for you, baby,” he says with a cough. he tries to be smooth about it with a smirk but it just looks like a lopsided grin to you.

you let out a chuckle but it does little to hide your worries. your hand comes up to his forehead again and you brush aside a few strands of hair from there. his skin burns hot.

“you’re sick, jjunie. i can’t… we can’t go out like this. i’m sorry baby, you need to rest.”

yeonjun’s eyes widen at your words. he forces himself to sit up and lets out a low whine. “but it’s valentine’s day! i planned this for months and—”

“i know, but you’re not well enough to go out. i’m really sorry.”

“no baby, i can make it, i一” cough! cough!

he groans and his body tips toward you. you catch him, arms circling his waist, and he buries his face in your neck. even with the heat radiating from his skin, you can feel the tears pricking at his eyes.

“i’m so sorry, baby…” he chokes back a sob. “i wanted to treat you well today, and…”

you feel his tears flow as yeonjun holds on to you, and your hold on him tightens into a full hug. with him in your arms mourning the end of your valentine’s dinner, his love for you pours out of him completely; the disappointment of the canceled date weighs on him more heavily than his illness, and it sinks into him as he clings to you. you think of the flower bouquet and the chocolate box left in the hallway and imagine how eager he must have been to give them to you and see the look on your face. 

“i’m sorry,” yeonjun whispers again. the tone of his voice makes a dull ache shift in your chest.

“oh, my jjunie,” you coo, and he nuzzles into you at the sound of your voice. “don’t be sorry. we couldn’t have predicted this. and all i care about now is making sure you feel well.”

“but… the dinner…”

“we can always have it some other time, okay? like for our anniversary or for my birthday. or for an ordinary day. it doesn’t have to be on valentine’s as long as i’m with you.”

“i know, but…” 

even when he isn’t fully convinced, yeonjun allows you to set him down on his bed. he reaches out for you and you take his hand, kissing it and placing it on your cheek. the gesture causes him to finally smile, and his fingers trace your cheekbone.

“i love you,” he whispers.

“i love you too, my jjunie.” you lean into his touch. “and you take such good care of me every day. i mean, you planned a whole dinner just for me! that’s amazing.”

yeonjun coughs, but you can see him blushing despite his fever.

“and we’ll have that dinner someday, i promise, but not now.” you place your hand atop his on your cheek; it still burns, but you don’t care. “right now all i want to do is take care of you, like you always do for me. i want to see you get better, i want to stay with you here. and i wouldn’t want to spend my valentine’s day any other way.”

when you finish speaking you bend down to give him one more kiss on the forehead. yeonjun remains speechless for a few moments, simply gazing at you, but his eyes are filled with so much affection and tenderness that you can’t look away. even when he’s sick, he’s the most beautiful man in the world to you — how can he be otherwise when he looks at you like that?”

“you’re… amazing,” he says at last. “please stay…”

your heart swells and you smile at him.

“of course, love.”

you sit on the edge of his bed, reaching for his hand and intertwining your fingers together. yeonjun manages to shift his position to be closer to you, then his arms wrap around your side. he leans his head on you, feeling your warmth. 

“the reservation,” you murmur. “i should cancel...”

your words are interrupted by a groan from yeonjun as he snuggles further into you. you let out a giggle.

“okay, okay. i’ll stay.”

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #bhj: violet's works

[kwanisms]

Tales from Camp 12 - FINAL

«« previous || masterlist || end.

➮ dom!Wonwoo × sub!Reader wc: 13.9k summary: Wonwoo treats his campers to a night of ghost stories but after the kids go to sleep, he decides to visit Y/N’s tent to make sure the stories didn’t scare her. genres/themes/au: angst, fluff, smut; non idol au, camp counselor au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, sexual content (18+ mdni), smut warnings under the cut! join my taglist! join the holiday special taglist!

a/n: i have no excuses. And i am terribly sorry about this taking so long. It’s been so long since i started this series and i kept delaying this part because i lost inspiration for literally everything. And then, when i planned on finishing it, Wonwoo’s mother passed and i felt it would be wrong to post it so close to her passing. I didn’t want to leave this series unfinished in the end because i really enjoyed writing every piece and although I’ve given up on some other works, i didn’t want to give up on this so it’s finally here. I’m so sorry again it took me literally years to finish this series but hopefully this 14k worth of word vomit helps. As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

tagging: @yoonguurt and @babiesanshine ​ because they asked me to lol

smut warnings: sexting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cockwarming, fingering, marking (f receiving), pussy slapping, finger sucking, dirty talk, praise kink, dom!Wonwoo, sub!Reader, oral (f receiving, m receiving), face & throat fucking, use of pet names, multiple orgasms, creampie and I think that's everything lol

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When Seokmin finished his tale, the entire group was stunned. “Thigh riding? Really?” asked Joshua, laughing. “What kind of fanfiction bullshit is that?” The others burst into laughter, Seokmin along with them. “I promise you, it did happen. She was really into it,” he said. Mingyu let out an audible “wow.” 

“Makes sense,” Wonwoo said with a nod. All eyes fell on him. “What do you mean?” Seokmin asked the older male. Wonwoo glanced up from the fire and noticed everyone looking at him. “I just meant that you have the best thighs out of everyone. Any woman would go crazy over them,” he said with a shrug.

Seungcheol cleared his throat and everyone turned to him. “Last story before we turn in for the night,” he said and just as quick as they looked away, everyone’s focus was on Wonwoo once more. He glanced around at all the eyes on him, turning a slight shade of pink before muttering under his breath. “Fuck.”

He let out a long sigh, looking up at the starry sky before a smile took over his features. “Alright,” he said smiling. “I got one. This is really going to knock your socks off,” he said, nodding. “Remember that camping trip I organized? It was my nephew’s friends and parents? Well, one of his friends brought his sister, who happened to be my age,” Wonwoo said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“And boy was she something,” he added with a chuckle. “I get all hot just thinking about it,” he added. “Okay! Ew!” Chan said, covering his ears amidst laughter. Jihoon nudged Wonwoo with his foot. “Enough of that, just get on with the story!” he snapped. Wonwoo nodded. “Alright, alright,” he said.

“Here’s how it went.”

Wonwoo let out a heavy sigh, glancing up at the sky as the campers slowly showed up, one by one, outside the campgrounds office building. This location was the one always used by the scout troops and for summer camps but this time of the year it was practically abandoned. No one wanted to go camping during the fall for some odd reason. Wonwoo didn't mind it however. Maybe it was the cooler temperatures and near guarantee that the bugs were already hibernating that was reason enough for him. 

He glanced around, eyeing up the old office building. The old stained wood gave a rustic look and feel to the area. The trees rustled as the wind blew lightly. The skies a cool grey color as the clouds masked the usual pale blue.

Wonwoo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his nose catching the scent of rain in the air. That clean almost watery smell that his sister always said didn't exist. He exhaled slowly and softly as he wondered silently to himself when this nightmare would be over.

Maybe nightmare was too strong of a word. This camping trip was his idea after all but now that it was here, he regretted deeply offering to do it at all. His nephew had wanted to go camping but his parents were unable to take him due to their busy work schedules so Wonwoo, being the kind uncle he was, offered to chaperone the whole trip. It was to be his nephew and a handful of his school friends with their parents. Five children and six adults, himself included.

He was currently waiting for the last of the children and their guardians to arrive when he spotted you. His eyes were scanning over the children and guardians that were present when they landed on your figure, squatting down next to a small girl in a pink raincoat as you adjusted said raincoat, smiling up at her before you pulled her hood up and stood up. Wonwoo watched as the girl hugged your leg tightly.

His eyes trailed up from the child attached to your leg, up to your face where you were looking around nonchalantly until you turned your head, locking eyes with him. You gave him a warm smile, waving at him. Wonwoo returned the smile and waved back.

Wonwoo had met you before, in college. You had the same communications class and he was certain he had borrowed your notes a fair few times. You had changed tho. Your hair was different than before and your features had matured since freshman year.

He watched as you turned to look at one of the other parents, no doubt answering to your name. Wonwoo couldn't help but let his eyes wander, resting on your backside before he forced himself to look away and pay attention to his nephew who was now demanding his full attention.

"Is it gonna rain, Uncle Woo?" The little boy asked. Wonwoo knelt down in front of his nephew, Min-jun. "I think it might, but I don't think it's anything we have to worry about," he said, making sure the boy's jacket was zipped and his hat on properly. "We've got waterproof tents and there are wooden cabins if anything happens."

Min-jun smiled at Wonwoo and nodded as his uncle adjusted the straps of his backpack and stood straight again. Looking around once more, Wonwoo could see that most, if not everyone, was either standing around or pulling their equipment from their cars. He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder and glanced at the man responsible for helping coordinate this trip. They exchanged friendly smiles and Wonwoo let him take the lead.

Once everyone had gathered around him, outside the office building, the coordinator, Paul, calmly began to explain the rules of the trip and gave safety instructions while Wonwoo listened with the others. Paul spoke with a clear voice that commanded the attention of everyone in the group, including the children.

"Good morning!" he said cheerfully. "I'm not going to fill the air with a lot of unnecessary chatter so I'm going to just get straight to the point," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We got about a two and a half miles hike in this trail through the woods," he said, pointing at a break in the trees next to the office.

"It's a flat trail with hardly any change in elevation until you get close to the lake but we won't be taking that route. Instead of taking the left fork, we're going to go right and head towards the river. There's a nice set up for tents, but also several a-frame tents on raised platforms with cots. Those who don't have tents or couldn't get one in time will sleep in the a-frames."

"Now, the skies look like they're going to open up on us, but hopefully not until we get to the campsite. Radar shows a storm heading this way so if for any reason we need to seek shelter, there are two cabins near the campsite as well as a storm shelter. Now, onto the rules," Paul continued.

"Our number one priority is safety. This is the woods, there are all kinds of critters and wildlife out here. We may see some, we may not, but no matter what, we must make sure to clean up after ourselves. I don't want to see a single wrapper or piece of trash on the ground. We throw our trash away and leave the place the way we found it." No one said anything as he continued.

"If you see something strange or suspicious, tell an adult. Do not keep things to yourself. Do not wander off alone. That includes going to the bathroom," he added as he looked around. "If you hurt yourself, tell an adult, we have three first aid kits, someone will help you. That's another thing, if you need help, speak up. Someone will help you with whatever you need help with," he finished.

"Everyone understand the rules?" Paul asked. There were murmurs and nods from the group. "Good, and now I believe Wonwoo has something to add?" Paul turned to Wonwoo, his turn to speak now over. The raven-haired man nodded and cleared his throat.

"The main purpose of this trip is to have fun," he said clearly, looking around at the children's faces along with their chaperones. His eyes found your face and they lingered for a moment, taking in the sparkle in your eyes. He forced himself to continue. 

"So long as we follow all the rules set out before us," he added with a gesture of his hand to the other trip organizers. "We should have a great time and this will be a trip for all of us to remember," he ended, feeling a little lame but the excitement on the kids' faces, including his own nephew, made it worth it. 

The coordinators started ushering people to get all their belongings and started leading the way into the woods, following the trail. Wonwoo motioned for Min-jun to follow the line and he walked quietly behind. Paul led the way into the woods, following the trail that was lined with fallen branches and the occasional stone.

He was right, the trail seemed highly used and was a very flat and easy grade. It continued straight for a few meters before gradually curving to the right. Min-jun had caught up with a friend of his and was chattering away with him while Wonwoo hung back and kept his eye on his nephew and his own feet.

It wasn't long before the group came to the fork Paul had mentioned and took the trail to the right, following the curved and winding path.

About 20 minutes into the hike, the group paused to give the kids a little rest. They were about halfway through the hike. Wonwoo took a sip from his water jug when he felt a tug at the base of his jacket and looked down. The small girl he'd seen earlier, the one in the pink raincoat. He smiled awkwardly down at her.

"Uh, hey," he said. "Are you Wonwoo?" she asked, her big brown eyes full of wonder. Wonwoo felt his ears go red. He had no idea why this little girl was staring up at him in such amazement.

"Uh, yeah," he said as he twisted the lid back onto his water jug and slid it into the side pouch on his backpack. "My sister told me about you," the little girl said, a big smile on her face.

His awkward smile turned into a grin and you couldn't help but admire how much he had matured and how handsome he'd become. "How are you?" you asked, hoping to avoid some of the tension that had started to settle around you. "Good, I've just been finishing my degree," he answered. "Your masters, right?" you asked. Wonwoo nodded. "Yeah, you remembered?" he asked.

"Sophie!" Wonwoo heard a voice and turned to find the source.

You hurried up to grab the little girl's hood. "Sorry," you said, a breathy laugh escaping you. "My little sister has a habit of talking to strangers," she said as she pulled Sophie closer to her. "We aren't exactly strangers though," Wonwoo said, referring to you. "Y/N, right?" He asked. You smiled, your cheeks heating up.

"Yeah, and you're Wonwoo," you replied.

You nodded, your smile widening. "Yeah! We talked about it briefly but I do remember that day pretty well," you said. It was true, you did remember that day very well, but not because of your conversation with Wonwoo. That was the day your life had changed forever but you mentally shook those thoughts away.

"Your sister?" Wonwoo asked.

"And what about you?" Wonwoo asked as everyone around them started gathering their things. "Are you out saving the world one endangered species at a time?" he added with a playful smile. Your smile faltered. You had chosen to go into wildlife conservation but situations arose and you had no choice but to step up and put your plans on hold. "Uh oh," Wonwoo said as the pair of you followed the group deeper into the trees. "Did I say something wrong?"

You shook your head. "No," you said reassuringly. "It's just a lot has changed," you added. You were about to ask him to change the subject when Sophie began pulling at your sleeve. "Can I go walk with Chelsea?" she asked, pointing a few paces ahead where a little girl with brown hair and a purple raincoat was walking with her mom and waving at Sophie. Chelsea was her best friend. You nodded and Sophie ran excitedly to catch up with her.

"Yes," you answered. "I just didn't talk about her very much," you added. "She was just a baby." Wonwoo nodded, feeling very silly about himself and his questions. "But I'm her legal guardian," you continued. You saw Wonwoo's eyes flash to look up at you. "You don't have to talk about it if it's too painful," he said softly. 

Wonwoo glanced up where he saw Sophie and then back at you. "Did you have a sister when we were in school?" he asked, trying to wrack his brain for a conversation about a sister. You smiled knowingly.

You shook your head. "It's okay," you replied. "It happens," you added. "Our parents were in an accident a couple years ago," you explained. "Our uncle was supposed to get guardianship of Sophie while I finished school, that was my parents plan." The wind picked up slightly, blowing through the trees, the leaves rustling.

With Sophie out of earshot, you started to explain. "Circumstances forced me to put my career on hold," you said softly to Wonwoo as you walked through the trees, bringing up the rear of the party.

"But I felt guilty," you continued. "I felt like if I didn't take Sophie that I was a horrible sister, so I spoke to my uncle. I tried to explain it to him but he said he was more than happy to take Sophie in. He wanted me to continue school. Finish my education. It's what my parents wanted. So I did, I finished getting my degree and certification. I was set to go to Australia to start conservation in the outback when I got the call," your voice broke as you explained.

"I'd love to see a kangaroo up close," he added. You let out a laugh. "You should come to the park some time," you replied. He chuckled in response before a comfortable silence fell between you. It was a moment before he spoke. The trees around you were teeming with bird calls, no doubt calling out to signify the coming storm.

"So Australia had to wait. I got a job at the zoological park working with the marsupials. It's a pretty easy job all things considered. And Sophie loves seeing the kangaroos and wombats up close," you added. Wonwoo smiled. "I'm kind of jealous," he responded. You glanced up at him, finding warmth in his expression.

"I lost my mom," Wonwoo said so softly you almost didn't hear over the chatter and laughter of the kids a few paces ahead. You turned to look at him, eyes wide. "What?" you asked quietly.

You breathed in a deep breath before continuing. "My uncle was sick." You heard Wonwoo sigh next to you. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "We went through the courts to sign over guardianship of Sophie to me so he could focus on treatment," you spoke softly.

He nodded.

"She had been sick for a long time and her body finally just gave up," he added. "I'm so sorry, Wonwoo," you replied, reaching out and taking his hand gently in yours. "It's the worst kind of feeling," you added. "No one can tell you what it's like or how you feel," you continued. "At least she's at peace and no longer suffering."

Wonwoo returned your small smile and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as the trees thinned out into a small clearing of sorts. The leaves covered the clearing. Extending from the trees to meet in the middle and provide a canopy of sorts.

The parents and children got to work setting up their tents. You and Wonwoo parted ways as you moved to help Sophie set up her sleeping bag in one of the a-frame tents. You hadn't been camping much before and didn't have a chance to buy a tent before the trip.

"Y/N?" you heard Sophie's little voice and you turned to your sister. "Can I sleep in Chelsea's tent?" she asked quietly. You smiled and nodded. "Of course, but you have to do what Chelsea's mom says, okay?" you said grabbing her sleeping bag and stepping out of the a-frame tent.

You followed Sophie to where Chelsea was helping her mom set up their tent. "Did you want to join us?" she asked. You thanked her but declined the offer. "I'll be okay in the a-frame," you replied. You turned to Sophie. "I'll be just over there, okay? So if you need anything, I'm only a few paces away," you explained, kneeling down to her level. She nodded and gave you a tight hug.

You sighed and started setting up your sleeping bag. "Need any help?" you heard a voice and turned to find Wonwoo peering into your tent. You shook your head. "Luckily I just have to unroll my sleeping bag," you chuckled. Wonwoo laughed and stepped into the cramped room. He was clearly much too tall for this space. "I could set up the bug net if you'd like," he offered. You smiled. "That would actually be great," you replied. 

As soon as the light entered, you saw several spiders scurry away and out of the tent. "Shoo!" you whispered, grabbing a cot pillow and shaking it at the remaining bugs who scurried away and out of sight.

He moved quickly to the edge of the tent and started fiddling with some ties and before a thick black mesh material fell down, covering the opened end of the tent. "These come with these magnets built in," he explained. "They're weighted so they stay closed when not held open." He moved to the other end and did the same thing before letting the tent flaps drop. "And if you keep the back of the tent closed, you're less likely to have animals sneak in here."

She moved to help Chelsea with the tent poles, the two giggling as they worked. You looked around and headed for the closest a-frame. It was at the edge of the clearing, closest to the treeline. You ducked inside and opened the flaps to let the light in.

You gave him a peculiar look. "It was scouts," he answered your unasked question. "I was maybe like 13 and I was sleeping in one of these tents. It was the middle of summer and we had the tent flaps open. I heard a sound and woke up in the middle of the night to see a raccoon hurry out of my tent carrying my bag of chips," he admitted and you couldn't stifle the laughter that bubbled up inside you. "He stole your snacks?" you asked and he nodded, laughing himself. "Yeah, my chips. I fell asleep while eating them."

Your laughter subsided and you glanced up at him. "Well, don't leave your chips out this time," you warned playfully. "Nope, no chips this time " he said, holding his hands up. "I'm going to go see if anyone else needs help," he said, looking over the camp. You stepped outside of your tent, pushing the net aside and just as Wonwoo said, the weights allowed it to fall back into place.

"Where are you set up?" you asked. "Right here, neighbor," he said pointing to a green two man tent. You could hear his nephew and friend inside chattering excitedly. "I'll be sure to ask you if I need a cup of sugar, neighbor," you teased with a smirk. "Don't be a stranger," he joked before moving to help another parent with their tent.

It didn't take long until all the tents were set up and sleeping bags unrolled. Paul called for everyone to gather. "We have plenty of food but we did bring fishing poles and we have permission to fish the river if we want to," he explained. "Does anyone want to partake?" he asked. Several kids were excited to go see the river and the fish. 

Min-jun asked Wonwoo if he could go with his friend and Wonwoo said as long as he listened to the adults. Sophie and Chelsea wanted to go to the river and hunt for frogs and crayfish so you saw no harm in sending Sophie with Chelsea's mom, whose name you learned was Rachel. Deciding to hang back at the campsite, you moved over to sit around the newly built fire pit. 

It was a nice warm reprieve from the chilly winds that graced the campsite from time to time. Overhead you could hear the soft pitter patter of raindrops and you were glad you sent Sophie in her rain gear to the river. Most of the parents went to help wrangle the children at the river, leaving only a few adults at the camp.

You heard a twig snap and glanced up to see Wonwoo emerging from his tent. He stretched and glanced over to the fire, his eyes meeting yours. He smiled and walked over to take a seat beside you. "Didn't want to go fishing?" he asked, a playful smile on his face as he raised one eyebrow. You shook your head.

"I don't really like fishing," you admitted. Wonwoo shook his head. "I'm not crazy about it either. Whenever my friends want to go, I'll do it but if I have a choice not to, I'll just hang back." You nodded in response, staring into the fire as a comfortable silence fell over you again. No one said anything before you heard one of the other parents get up. You continued to stare into the fire before you heard a huff. "I thought Jerry got firewood." You tore your gaze from the fire to where the parent that had gotten up was looking around.

"What's up, Sara?" Wonwoo asked, sitting up straight. She turned to look over. "I thought Jerry had gone to get firewood before going fishing but I can't find any," she said, hands on her hips. Wonwoo smiled and got to his feet. "I'll go get some," he said, moving to his tent and reaching inside to grab his coat. 

You got to your feet and grabbed your jacket from the back of your chair. "I'll help," you said as you pulled on your jacket. You zipped up your jacket and moved to Wonwoo’s tent. He pulled out his hat and put it on and turned to you. "Here," he said, handing you another hat. "I noticed you didn't have one earlier," he added.

You put the hat on and followed him into the woods. "So what am I looking for?" you asked. "Wood," he said, laughing. "Sticks, small branches, bark, anything that burns," he added. "It has to be dry though, which can be a challenge when it's raining," he said, nodding up towards the sky. You followed behind him, keeping an eye out for wood. You grabbed a few sticks, making sure they were dry as Wonwoo started collecting some sticks as well.

The two of you worked quickly, gathering up an armload each before heading back to the campsite. You dropped off your loads before heading back to gather more. Your hands were full of sticks when you reached down to grab a piece of wood sticking out from under another, wetter one when a small sharp pain surged through your finger up into your wrist.

“Shit!” You yelped and drew back, dropping your pile of sticks. Wonwoo dropped his pile and hurried over to your side. "What happened?" he asked as he reached you. Glancing down at your finger, you saw a large splinter sticking out of your finger. "Oh shit," Wonwoo said, taking your hand gingerly and inspecting the splinter. "That's in there pretty deep," he added. "You head back to camp."

"It's just a splinter," you reassured her. "Did you find any frogs?" you asked, trying to distract her as Wonwoo started inspecting the splinter a bit closer. He opened the kit and took out an alcohol pad and the tweezers. You watched as he sterilized the tips of the tweezers and took your finger gently but firmly. 

You sat back down in your previous seat as Wonwoo returned to your side, a first aid kit in his hands. He knelt down between you and the fire as Sophie came running over. She saw the first aid kit and immediately started crying. "What happened, Y/N?" you heard her asked. You smiled.

You turned to Sophie quickly. "So did you catch any frogs?" you asked. Sophie shook her head but spoke up. "No, but we found a lot of crayfish," she answered. "Did you catch them?" you asked, wanting to keep her attention on the conversation and not the splinter sticking out of your skin. Sophie nodded. "How many did you catch?" you asked her. "I caught four and Chelsea caught three!" she said excitedly. "Wow! Four?" you asked, mirroring her excitement. "That's amazing, Soph!"

"I'll get the wood," he added as you turned to make your way back. You stepped out of the trees as the fishing group was returning to camp. Wonwoo followed behind you, moving quickly to drop off the wood before disappearing inside his tent.

Wonwoo smiled, knowing you were trying to distract Sophie but also yourself as he took his time to remove the splinter. He held your hand firmly, but gently in his own and carefully used the tweezers to grasp the tip of the splinter. Once he was sure he had a good grip on it, he pulled it out in the same direction it entered your skin.

The piece of wood came out cleanly and you either had a high pain tolerance or it wasn't even painful because Wonwoo didn't see you flinch at all. He wrapped the splinter in a tissue and threw it away before using another alcohol pad to clean your finger before wrapping a bandage around it. "You're done," he said, as he put away the supplies in the first aid kit. You smiled at Sophie. "See?" you said showing her your bandaged finger. "It didn't even hurt."

Excitement around the camp started buzzing as a few of the adults prepared the fish and crayfish for cooking. Wonwoo had taken his seat beside you once more while Sophie and Chelsea played with a folded piece of paper. Wonwoo hadn't seen one of those since he was a child. The girls used to play with them all the time.

"Y/N," Sophie said suddenly, drawing both yours and Wonwoo's attention. She hurried over, holding out the folded piece of paper. "Pick a color!" she said, beaming at you.

Smiling back, you glanced down at the options. "Hmmm… how about red?" you answered. Sophie opened and closed the paper in a pattern as she spelled out the color you chose. She then held out the paper for you to see. "Okay, now pick a number!" You glanced down to see four numbers exposed. "I'll pick eight," you replied.

"I told you to stop reading those teenage magazines!" you laughed half-heartedly and settled back into your seat. You glanced up at Wonwoo and smiled sheepishly. His expression was warm but other than that, he was completely unreadable. You turned your attention back to the fire, watching it dance as the flames licked the wood.

"You will meet a tall dark stranger who will bring excitement and mystery to your life," Sophie read aloud. Your eyes widened before you reached to grab at the fortune teller but Sophie pulled away and ran away giggling with Chelsea.

Soon, the fish and crayfish were prepared and the other adults started cooking dinner. You took another sip of your water before you felt a nudge. Wonwoo was standing behind you, holding out a cold can of beer. You smiled and took it, thanking him as he sat down beside you. You popped the top at the same time he did and tapped your cans together in silent cheers before taking a sip.

Sophie repeated the motions, this time counting to eight. She held out the fortune teller for you to pick another number. This time you chose four and watched as Sophie opened the paper and read out the fortune.

It had been a long time since you drank. Longer than you could remember. It was nice to let loose for once knowing that Sophie was surrounded by friends and much more alert adults. You watched as Sophie and Chelsea continued to play with their origami fortune teller and smiled when Sophie read out Chelsea's fortune.

"Something on your mind?" you heard Wonwoo ask and turned to look at him. His eyes were full of concern but the smile on his face was still warm and genuine. You shook your head. "Nothing bad. I'm just glad Sophie can play with her friends and I finally have a chance to relax," you said softly before taking another sip.

Wonwoo’s smile widened. "I can't imagine being responsible for a child full time," he answered quietly. "I'm only responsible for Min-jun when my sister and her husband are busy. So it's only sometimes. If I was his sole guardian, I don't know if I'd be up to the task," he added.

"It's not easy, that's for sure," you replied. "You have to make decisions based on them. Your life comes second to theirs," you added. Wonwoo's smile fell. "I don't think that's entirely true," he stated, taking another sip as you turned to look at him.

A smile spread across Wonwoo’s face and you couldn't help but return it. The setting sun behind the trees cast shadows upon the camp and on him but the light of the fire danced in his face and you were reminded of your time together in college and how handsome you thought he was back then. He was just as handsome now.

"Sure, you can't make any huge decisions for yourself without first thinking about how it could affect Sophie, but who knows, maybe when she's a little bit older, she might like the idea of moving to Australia."

Before you could say anything, dinner was announced and everyone settled down to eat. It was a nice home-cooked meal. Something you and Sophie hadn't had in a long time. You tried your best but you had not inherited your mother's cooking skills. After dinner, dessert was brought out. Cookies, brownies and a little ice cream as well. Once everyone's bellies were full of good food, the stories began.

"I know my sister and her husband have sacrificed a lot for Min-jun, but they would never say that their lives came second to his. You're allowed to do what you want, or have what you want. Within reason, of course," Wonwoo said, turning to look at you.

You'd never been camping before so you were unfamiliar with campfire stories. The adults took turns telling stories, some laced with the paranormal, and others just a case of mistaken identity. Some of the kids even attempted to tell their own hair raising stories but despite having the imagination, they lacked the story telling abilities so their stories fell a little flat. You noticed Min-jun tugging on Wonwoo’s arm and how the older male tried to shush him.

"Who's next?" Paul asked, taking a sip of his own beer. Min-jun tried to get Wonwoo to speak up but he refused until Paul called out. "Got a story to share, Wonwoo?" The raven haired male glanced over, eye wide. "Uh, it's just a story I used to tell my friends when we went camping," he said, shaking his head. Paul smiled and gestured around the circle. "Do share," he said.

You noticed how Min-jun immediately turned to watch his uncle, excited to hear the story and you'd be lying if you said you were a little bit intrigued by the child's response. You gave Wonwoo an encouraging smile and nodded, wanting to hear his story. He took a deep breath before beginning.

"This is the story of a boy. A boy named Sang-woo," he spoke in a clear and calm voice. "Sang-woo was the son of a very wealthy family and they lived in a large, historic, and very old manor. He was a peculiar child, keeping mostly to himself. He did, however, have one friend. A young girl that lived nearby in the same village. This young girl's name was Evelyn. Now, Evelyn was a couple years older than Sang-woo, but it didn't stop the two from playing together when she came over. Their favorite game to play was hide-and-seek," Wonwoo continued. You glanced around and saw that everyone was hanging onto his every word.

"Well, one day, on Sang-woo's eighth birthday, Evelyn was over playing, like she had in the past, but there were plenty of other people over to celebrate the birthday boy's special day. And so, while everyone else was outside, the children playing, the adults mingling, Sang-woo and Evelyn were inside, playing as they usually did. Suddenly, something happened, something no one expected."

Everyone was silent except for one child. "What happened?" asked one of the boys. Wonwoo smiled a knowing smile. "Evelyn vanished," he said quietly, ignoring the few gasps that sounded out around the fire. "Vanished? How does a girl just vanish?" Asked another boy before his mother shushed him. "Let Wonwoo finish the story," she said. Everyone fell silent again.

"The police were called to investigate but when they arrived at the manor, a fire had started. A fire that killed Sang-woo. His parents were devastated," Wonwoo continued. "What happened after his death?" Sophie asked quietly from her spot next to Chelsea. Wonwoo smiled again. "This story is far from over," he replied.

"We're just getting started."

You listened as he continued, telling a tale about a nanny, hired to take care of a child but instead finds a doll she is charged with. The couple then leaves and never returns. The nanny takes care of the doll and notices odd, even paranormal things happening around the house. You watched as Min-jun stared in awe as his uncle told the story. You were aware Min-jun had probably heard this story before but just to see how much he adored and looked up to Wonwoo was heartwarming. It made you appreciate the man even more.

The story reached its climax when Wonwoo told how the doll was never possessed and that it was actually the boy, Sang-woo, who had survived the fire but lived in the walls for 20 years. When the story was over, the children were visibly shaken up and the parents were glancing around nervously. "It's not a true story," one of the kids asked. A little girl with brown pigtails and glasses. "Right?"

Wonwoo gave her a kind smile. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "It's just a story," he said reassuringly. There were soft murmurs and sighs of relief. "Well, I think it's time for bed," Paul said as he got to his feet. "Come on, kiddos. Let's all get ready for bed." Wonwoo sat back as the kids got up and started to move to their tents to get changed. You however stayed in your seat.

"You know," you said softly, catching Wonwoo's attention. "I seem to recall that story you told," you continued. His smile widened. "Oh?" he asked. "But from what I recall," you said, making sure to keep your voice down. "The boy's name was Brahms. Not Sang-woo," you said, fighting the urge to smirk. Wonwoo’s smile broke into a chuckle. "You caught me," he replied.

"Sophie's never seen that movie, so I imagine she's probably freaked out," you said, a hint of amusement in your voice. "You have to admit, that was one hell of a twist," Wonwoo stated in a low tone. You nodded. "That's for damn sure."

Sophie and Chelsea came out of their tent and hurried over. "Mr. Wonwoo?" Sophie asked. You turned to see the pair standing near his chair. "That story you told. Are you sure it's just a story?" Sophie asked, eyes wide and clearly unnerved. "Yeah, cause Alphie said it's a true story," Chelsea added, looking just as freaked out. Wonwoo smiled and sat up. "Girls, I promise it's just a story. It's not even my story. I got it from a movie," he said reassuringly.

You smiled calmly. "Imagine the surprise when one year later, the world was terrified when they all returned pregnant," you ended your story. Wonwoo's eyes widened before he let out a laugh. "Oh that's unsettling," he said, still laughing. "Two sentence horror stories are my favorite," you replied, still smiling. "Tell me another," Wonwoo said, his eyes twinkling. You looked around, trying to think up another. "Okay, this one isn't mine, but my friend told me how her four-year-old said he wished that people didn't have to knock. She told him about doorbells, and he asked her to install one on his window." You saw Wonwoo visibly shiver. "That's freaky," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Got any more?" he asked.

"Tell me," Wonwoo said, leaning toward you in his chair. You smiled and looked down. "Did you know the world will be thrilled with the announcement that the first mission to Mars would be an all-female crew?" you asked. Wonwoo cocked his head, confusion on his face before he shook his head.

It went on like that for a while, the two of you swapping two sentence horror stories by the fire. After a while, it was soon only the two of you as well as Paul and another father sitting around the fire. You finished what was probably your third or fourth beer. "I think I'm going to go to bed," you murmured as you stood up. "I'll see you in the morning," you added to Wonwoo. "Goodnight."

Chelsea and Sophie turned away and ran towards their tent calling out and telling Alphie that he's a liar. Wonwoo chuckled and you couldn't help but join in. "Do you have any scary stories?" Wonwoo asked and you looked back at him. "I can think of a few," you answered, nodding your head.

Wonwoo watched as you stumbled off toward your a-frame tent. "Goodnight," he murmured. He turned toward the fire, watching the flames dance lightly. He took another sip of his beer and found it empty. "I think I'm going to go to sleep as well," he announced, getting to his feet. "Do you need any help cleaning up?" he asked. Paul shook his head. "Nah. Jerry and I will make sure this is fully out before we head off to sleep," Paul said, nodding towards the fire.

Wonwoo nodded his head and bid the men goodnight before moving to his tent.

Min-jun and his friend, Calvin, were already in their sleeping bags, chatting softly about the scary campfire stories as Wonwoo sat to remove his shoes. He’d already changed earlier into his pajama pants and simply pulled off his sweater, sporting a plain white tee underneath. He shuffled about, slipping into his sleeping bag before turning to the boys.

“Lights off in five minutes, okay?” He said to which both boys nodded and went back to chatting quietly. Wonwoo fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and unlocked the screen. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he was looking for, a small smile appearing on his face.

You had already untied the strings holding open the flaps of your tent and let them fall, throwing your tent into darkness before settling into your sleeping bag atop one of the cots which creaked slightly as you got comfortable. You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, listening to the sound of the rain pattering the trees outside.

[flashback within a flashback. Flashback-ception if you will]

You sat up with a start, looking around the dark room. Your friend, Celia, was fast asleep in her twin bed across the room from yours. Looking around for the source that disturbed your slumber, you paused, hearing a low rumble, accompanied with a flashing coming from the windows and you rolled your eyes, falling back onto the mattress. ‘A storm? Really?’ You groaned softly. 

Whereas most people found storms helped them sleep better, you were the opposite. The thunder was not your lullaby. You couldn’t sleep when it stormed and you hated that. You wished you were one of those people who passed out and slept through a storm like a baby but as long as you could remember, thunderstorms always prevented you from relaxing.

The sound brought back a distant memory from your time in college when you went “camping” with your friends. They called it camping but no tents were involved. They had rented a cabin in the woods and despite the cliché, no one died that night. There was a storm however and unfortunately for you, the loud claps of thunder woke you and you were unable to fall back asleep.

Seeing as you probably wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, you decided to grab the book you were currently engrossed in and head down into the den to read it and not risk disturbing your roommate. Grabbing your warm cardigan and slipping it on, you grabbed the book from your nightstand and carefully opened the door and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door as silently as you could. You heard the sound of the fire crackling downstairs and walked over to the railing that looked over the entire downstairs.

Someone was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, a book in their hands as well. It seems you would not be alone in your solitude tonight. You approached the stairs and carefully descended, hoping not to disturb the person on the sofa. Luck, however, was not on your side. Two steps from the bottom, the wooden stair creaked and you mentally cursed the craftsmanship of the cabin. The person turned to look in your direction and you were surprised to see it was Wonwoo.

Of course he was there. He’d been there the whole time. Spending this as a weekend getaway with his girlfriend, Lily. You smiled sheepishly and mumbled an apology. Wonwoo shook his head, a smile on his own face. “Don’t worry about it. This cabin is pretty old,” he said as you walked over to where he sat. “Can’t sleep?” He asked to which you shook your head. He nodded at the empty spot next to him and you took a seat, settling into the cushions.

“Storms always prevent me from sleeping,” you admitted. Wonwoo nodded, seemingly understanding what you meant. “It’s the same for me,” he answered. “Lily however,” he added, looking up in the general direction of the room he shared with his girlfriend. “As soon as the first raindrop hits the roof, she’s out,” he continued. You looked away from his face, trying not to think about how handsome he looked in the glow of the fire, or the way his thick round framed glasses sat on his perfect nose.

Instead you decided to open your book to the page you bookmark was currently residing and pick up where you left off. Wonwoo glanced at the book in your hands and smiled. “That’s a good one,” he said softly, causing you to look up at him. “I read it last year,” he said, answering your unasked question. “It was for a class but Ireally enjoyed it,” he continued, looking back down at his own book. You chose not to say anything because what could you say?

One of the few things you did know about Wonwoo was his love of books and reading. Which made it all the more confusing when Lily announced she and Wonwoo were dating. Lily was more of a party girl. She loved going out and attending concerts, parties, and the like. She preferred drinking over reading so it never made sense to you how she managed to land a guy like Wonwoo when you’d only ever seen him at a party once freshman year and it was only because his best friend, Joshua, made him go.

“What part are you at?” Wonwoo asked, drawing you from your thoughts. You glanced down at your book. What part were you on? Your brain had suddenly gone blank. ‘Uh,” you said, flipping back a couple pages, eyes scanning the paper quickly. “The part where the reporter shows up to ask Gatsby for a quote,” you answered. “Chapter six,” you added, looking up at Wonwoo. 

The smile on his face was unmistakable. “What do you think of it so far?” He asked, marking his place in his own book as to not lose it. “It’s pretty good,” you answered truthfully. “And I can kind of see the hype surrounding it,” you added. “But it’s not Cloud Atlas,” you continued, turning to look at him once again. The smile on his face spread even wider as he looked down at the book in his lap, the cover reading exactly that. Cloud Atlas.

“Have you read it before?” You asked, drawing his gaze again. He nodded. “Several times,” he admitted softly. “I keep coming back to it,” he continued. “Have you read it?” He asked suddenly and you shook your head. “Not yet,” you answered truthfully, again. “I want to, but this was on my list first,” you added, holding up the book in your hands. Wonwoo nodded wordlessly as you returned to your reading. 

“Well, here,” he said, taking the bookmark out of his book and closing it before holding it out. You looked from the book to his face. “Are you sure?” You asked quietly. He nodded, smiling still. “I have another book upstairs and I’ve read this more times than I can count. Just don’t fold my pages,” he added, giving you a playfully stern look. You took the book carefully from him. “Of course not,” you answered. “I only dog-ear my own books,” you continued. “I’m gonna try and get some sleep,” Wonwoo said as he stood up. “Don’t stay up too late,” he added, patting the top of your head before moving to the base of the stairs.

“Wonwoo,” you called out suddenly, leaning forward. He turned to look over his shoulder at you. “Thank you,” you said, giving him a kind smile which he returned. “You’re welcome, Y/N. I‘m serious though,” he replied. “Try to get some sleep.”

Wonwoo - Lily’s bf: hey. Sorry if this seems random but is this still Y/N’s number?

[end of flashback-ception]

You: no??? Who is this?

Biting your bottom lip as you fought the urge to smile, you quickly edited his contact name, leaving it simply as Wonwoo before shooting a text back.

Wonwoo: oh. Sorry. This number used to belong to a classmate of mine. So sorry to have bothered you

You: i’m just messing with you lol

The sudden vibrating of your phone caught you off guard and caused you to sit up quickly to grab your jacket, pulling the device out of your pocket and checking the notification. 

Wonwoo: that was mean )):

You: aww i’m sowwy ):

You: what’s up?

You held in a chuckle as you watched the typing indicator appear.

Wonwoo: -_- never mind i’m going to bed

You: awww no come back ):

Wonwoo: no

You: ahaha don’t go ur so sexci

You heard a very loud snort come from outside your tent, no doubt Wonwoo trying not to laugh.

Wonwoo: when did you go all fuckboy???

You: wouldn’t u like to know ;)

Wonwoo: now i’m sure this isn’t Y/N

You: would a picture prove it?

Wonwoo: mmmmaybe??

You pulled your phone back and snapped a quick selfie, glad you had a bright camping lantern set on the empty cot to light the space. You sent the picture and waited for a response.

Wonwoo: hmmm. I’m not sure if I believe you just yet. Send me another 👀 

You: so demanding 🙄 

Wonwoo: i wanna make sure I’m not getting catfished ):&lt;

You: hey we had that for dinner!

Wonwoo: …no we didn’t???

You: well, we had some kind of fish

Wonwoo: well catfish don’t live in rivers

You: okay I may not know anything about fishing but even i know that catfish live in rivers

Wonwoo: …wait, they do???

You: 😂 yes!!! They live in rivers AND lakes!!

Wonwoo: well i feel sheepish 🐑 

Wonwoo: baaaa

You let a small giggle slip out before typing a response.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating. ‘Oh fuck it,’ you thought to yourself as you readjusted your shirt, showing off the tiny shorts you were currently wearing and snapped another photo, angling the camera just enough to give a small peek at the black material and the exposed tops of your thighs.

You: do you believe me now???

Wonwoo: no. Not until you send me another picture ;)

You sent the photo and waited for his response. You could see he was typing but then it would stop and start again and then stop. Your heart beat erratically in your chest as you waited for his reply.

Finally it came.

Wonwoo: fuck. Did you do that on purpose??

Seeing the pet name on your screen and knowing he meant you made you clench your thighs. ‘Shit.’

You: do what? 😌

Wonwoo: oh no. We’re not playing this game.

Wonwoo: answer me carefully babygirl

Wonwoo: was that too forward??

Wonwoo: Did you send that picture on purpose??

You: no. Not at all. It just caught me off guard

Wonwoo: good, then i hope this isn’t too forward

Wonwoo: what’s the matter baby? Cat got your tongue?

You: no, but something else might if you keep calling me baby

Was it bold? Sure. Did you regret sending it? No.

Your brows furrowed as you read his text, confused as to what he meant until a picture came through and your cheeks burned. It was a picture he had to have just taken. It was from inside his tent where you could see the outline of his obvious erection through his pajama pants. “Oh shit,” you whispered to yourself.

Not when moments later, you heard the sound of a tent zipper opening and closing, followed by light footsteps over the fallen leaves and twigs until the steps stopped right outside your tent. You had half a mind to get up and meet him but the sound of a voice made you halt just as you sat up.

“Wonwoo?” It was Jerry. “Everything okay?”

You heard Wonwoo’s voice come out surprisingly calm.

“Yeah. Just doing some rounds. I know some of the kids were freaked out earlier after the stories so I just want to make sure everyone is okay,” he replied. You couldn’t see Jerry but judging by his tone, he seemed to believe Wonwoo’s lie. “You really got them good,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Have a good night,” he added and you could hear his footsteps fade away.

With Jerry no longer watching, you waited with baited breath until one of the flaps opened and Wonwoo peered in.

“Are you scared?” he asked quietly, keeping up the façade.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “No, but I might be if I stay in here alone,” you said teasingly. Wonwoo pushed aside the mesh blocking the way in and stepped inside the cramped space. “Maybe I had better stay here then,” he replied, moving your lantern to sit on the cot opposite you.

With the limited light in the space, you could still see his cheeks burn pink. “Ahh, I’ll just go find the bathhouse,” he admitted, bringing up at hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Why go to the bathroom to take care of it when I’m right here?” You asked, drawing his gaze back to yours. His eyes were wide behind those same thick round framed glasses that he wore the night you talked about books. Without a word, you slid off your cot to the wooden floor and crossed the short distance between the two of you.

“Are you sure you’re not scared?” Wonwoo asked, eyes meeting your gaze. “I don’t need to stay, do I?” he continued when you shook your head. You glanced from his face to his pants and back. “You sure you wanna go back to your tent with that?” You asked, nodding towards his very prominent erection. 

Wonwoo watched as you reached him, hands coming up to settle on his knees as you gently pushed his legs apart so you fit between them. His eyes never left your face as you looked up at him, lips parted slightly as your hands moved slowly over the flannel fabric of his pajama pants. 

‘No way this is happening,’ he told himself as he watched your hands move in his periphery. He had to bite his lip to keep from let out a hiss as you pressed your palm against him, feeling him through the thick material.

You shook your head and resumed messing with the ties of his pants before the knot came loose. Your hands moved, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his pants and underwear and tugging them down enough for his length to spring free and stand proudly.

“Holy fuck,” you cursed, eyeing him up. He was a lot bigger than you expected but that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Hopefully.

“Just two pictures and you’re already this hard?” You murmured, fingers fumbling with the ties of his pants. “Your flirting helped,” Wonwoo argued. You clicked your tongue. “We talked about fish,” you replied, looking up at him. “Well, yeah, but that’s not all,” he mumbled. 

Amused by your reaction, Wonwoo brought a hand up and gently petted your hair. “Something the matter, baby?” He asked, his deep voice laced with lust. “Just one unexpected thing after another with you, Jeon Wonwoo,” you replied before spitting in your hand and wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock.

“Jeez, someone’s —“ he began but before he could finish his sentence, you’d given the tip a slow, deliberate lick, glancing up through your lashes at him. Through half opened lids, he looked down at you with a darkened gaze. 

“Tease me again and I’ll fuck that pretty little mouth of yours,” he said, his voice much heavier than before. You smirked up at him. “At least let me get your dick wet first,” you replied. 

Whatever snide remark he was about to make fell short because when his lips parted, it was to let out the hottest moan you’d ever heard a guy make as you took him in your mouth, sinking as far as you dared to go. 

As you pulled back slowly, hollowing your cheeks, you pulled off him with a soft pop and he let out a growl. “Do it again,” he said breathlessly. You complied, repeating the same action again only instead of pulling him out of your mouth, you sank right back down, setting a slow but steady rhythm.

One of his hands laid on the cot, supporting his weight while the other was combing through your hair gently, brushing back any that got in his way of seeing your face. His eyes fluttered shut, a low moan sounding from the back of his throat as your head bobbed up and down, the head of his cock barely reaching the back of your throat each time you sank down on him. 

“Come on baby,” he moaned. “I know you can take more.”

As if to prove him right, you did just that, taking more of him in your mouth and trying, and failing, not to gag as the tip of his length brushed against the back of your throat. The lewd sound coming from your mouth as you gagged around his cock had his hips moving of their own accord and he thrust harshly into your mouth, making you gag again. 

The hand on your head didn’t let you move as he thrust again. “Just a bit more,” he whined, thrusting again, enjoying the way the back of your throat constricted when you gagged around the head of his dick.

“God, I just wanna fuck your throat,” he groaned, gently but firmly pushing your head down and forcing you to take even more of his cock in your mouth until he felt it slip into your throat. Letting out a deep moan as he threw his head back, Wonwoo held your head in place until you tapped his thigh urgently. 

Your lungs were practically screaming for air.

His fingers curled into your hair and pulled you off him quickly, watching as you coughed, chest heaving with labored breaths as air filled your lungs, burning. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked softly, fingers loosening in your locks. You shook your head as your coughing subsided.

Looking up at him, you could see the flush in his face and the excited look in his eyes. You nodded, parting your lips and allowing him back into your mouth. 

“Good,” Wonwoo said before guiding your mouth back to his cock. “Can I try again?” He asked, the tip of his dick pressing gently against your lips. 

“Tap out if you need me to stop,” he said before holding your head steady, thrusting carefully into your mouth again.

Each time the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, a lewd wet sound accompanied it. “Keep your mouth open,” Wonwoo said with a pant. 

“Just like that, good girl.” 

His thrusts grew in strength as he tested what you could handle. 

“Open wide, babygirl,” he instructed, forcing your head down again when you did so. His cock pushed back into your throat and you gagged not only once, but twice, each time the constricting squeezing him so deliciously that he could have cum right then but he didn’t want the show to end so soon.

Denying himself his orgasm, Wonwoo pulled you off him quickly with a hiss. He liked the way you looked. Eyes watering, tear stained cheeks flushed from the lack of air, lips red and slick with your spit and his precum, and the thin string of spit that connected your lips to his cock. Seeing you like this made him want to completely ruin you. And he was going. He was going to completely and utterly ruin you.

Without speaking, he slid off the cot and reached over to grab your sleeping bag. You watched as he pulled the fabric from the cot and to the wooden floor. Before you had time to ask what he was doing, he already had you pushed onto your back, hands sliding up your naked thighs until he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down quickly, leaving you in your light pink panties.

Using your mouth as his personal fleshlight definitely had a profound effect on you because he could see a small wet patch on your panties, a spot where the material was darker than the rest and it made him smirk as his eyes traveled up to meet your gaze. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already soaked, baby doll,” he practically moaned, fingers rubbing against your wet panties teasingly. “I bet I’d slip right in right now if I tried,” he said with a scoff. Your cheeks burned under his gaze.

“Wonwoo I—“ you started but let out a gasp when he slapped his hand against your wet core quickly. “I didn’t say you could speak, now did I?” He asked curtly. 

You shook your head, watching him. The tone and the way he gazed at you sent even more heat coursing through your body and between your thighs. You wanted him. His fingers, his tongue, his cock, anything to give you some sort of friction.

“Now, since you were so good to me,” he said softly, fingers rubbing torturously slowly against you through your panties. “I’ll be good to you,” he continued, pressing his fingers and the wet fabric of your panties past your folds and against your clit. 

You let out a sharp gasp, legs spreading involuntarily at his touch, making him chuckle.

“So eager,” he murmured, his free hand grabbing your calf and positioning one of your legs over his shoulder as he continued to touch you through your underwear. 

“God, I can’t wait to fuck you,” he groaned, pressing the fabric harder against your clit. “Then don’t,” you whispered. Wonwoo let out another chuckle. “I’m going to take my time with this,” he replied. 

“Take my time with you, princess,” he added.

Your lips parted, a soft moan slipping out as he moved his fingers in a slow circle, coating them in your arousal through your soaked underwear. “Should I take these off?” He wondered aloud. You nodded quickly. “Yes please,” you breathed. “Hmmm. Maybe I should make you beg,” he replied.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,” he mumbled as he kissed his way further down the inside of your thigh until you felt his lips and tongue against your pussy through your wet panties. 

“Wonwoo,” you whined as he tasted you through the fabric. “God you taste even better than I imagined,” you heard him groan. 

“Wonwoo, please,” you immediately pleaded, earning another low chuckle from him. “We’ll see,” you heard him mutter before you lost contact with his fingers. You lifted your head off the sleeping bag to protest but your voice faltered as Wonwoo lowered himself down, kissing down the inside of your legs, stopping to bite into the soft flesh of your thigh. You let out a whimper as he suckled on the skin. 

“Imagined?” You asked, lifting your head to look at him. “You’ve imagined this?” You asked softly, hand moving to card through his dark locks.

His gaze met yours as his tongue moved against you, giving you enough friction but still kept you wanting more. “I’m not ashamed to admit it,” he answered. “I’ve thought about this more than I should have in the past.” 

Your back arched off the cheap fabric of your sleeping bag as his tongue resumed its previous ministrations. “You’ve thought about me?” You asked again. Wonwoo nodded, pulling back and with it, pulling your panties down your thighs.

“Yes I’ve thought about you but we’ll talk about that later. Right now, I wanna taste you,” he said and without another word, he buried his face between your thighs, tongue ravishing your clit with quick flicks. 

Your hand in his hair tightened, pulling slightly on his tresses as he ate you out. You brought your free hand up to your mouth, biting down on your hand to keep from making too much noise.

“Don’t be shy,” he said in a low voice. “Let me hear you.” You let out a particularly loud moan when he sucked on your clit. “Fuck you sound so good,” he said, lips brushing against you as he spoke. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his fingers circling your entrance, teasing you slowly.

“Please don’t tease me anymore,” you whimpered. “I didn’t tease you.” Wonwoo chuckled lightly, removing his fingers from your heat, making you whine as he pulled back further. “What are you doing?” You hissed but your frustration was short lived as you felt his lips on your stomach, hand pushing your shirt up as he left a trail of wet kisses up your torso, stopping just below your chest.

He was now nearly lying on top of you, lips pressed against your neck as he kissed his way up to your cheek. “Wonwoo, please,” you whispered, hips moving to meet his. 

“You’re so impatient,” he murmured, lips ghosting over yours. “You said you’d be good to me,” you countered and were met with a short, chaste kiss.

“I did, didn’t I?” He mumbled, smiling against your lips. 

Your hands moved, reaching up to caress his cheek. “You did,” you replied. Wonwoo sat up, hands moving to grab ahold of the hem of your shirt and pull it up. You sat up, allowing him to pull it off you and toss it aside, leaving you completely bare before him.

His eyes swept over your body, taking in every detail. “Have I ever told you how stunning you are?” He asked softly, causing a flush to grace your cheeks. “Stop it,” you whispered, lowering your gaze as he pulled off his own shirt before quickly ridding himself of his pants and underwear.

He reached out to take your hand. “Come here,” he said quietly, gently tugging you towards him until you were straddling his lap, your wet core hovering over his crotch. Your eyes never left his face as you moved, his own eyes searching your gaze as you lowered yourself, the tip of his cock meeting your entrance but not going in as you paused.

“You do want this, right?” he asked softly, eyes still searching your face for any apprehension but found none. 

Wordlessly, you nodded, eyes still watching his face. “Say it,” Wonwoo said, his voice soft and low. He wasn’t going to proceed until you spoke. Until you told him, out loud, that you wanted this. That you wanted him. 

“I want it,” you whispered. A smile spread across Wonwoo’s face at your admission as his hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements. “I want to try something,” he said, holding your hips in place. You cocked your head in curiosity. ‘What could he possibly mean?’

He somehow must have known what you were thinking and he spoke before you could voice your thoughts. “Have you ever tried cockwarming?” He asked, earning a wide eye stare from you. Your cheeks burned again for what felt like the hundredth time since he entered your tent. 

“Uh… no. I know what it is but I’ve never been with someone who wanted to do it,” you admitted.

You weren’t wrong. You did know what it was and how it was done but none of the guys you’d been with wanted to try it. They were more concerned about the sex than the intimacy of it. To you, cockwarming was as inherently intimate as it was sexual.

“Well, do you want to try it?” Wonwoo’s deep voice brought you out of your thoughts and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth briefly as you contemplated it. When would you have another chance to try this? It seemed it was now or never and you decided that you’d already come this far. ‘Why not?’

“Okay,” you finally said with a nod. “But we will—?” You started to ask but Wonwoo cut you off with a kiss. “Yes,” he said, answering yet another unasked question. “We will have sex, I just really want to try this first,” he added.

You nodded, looking down briefly before your eyes met his gaze again. 

“Let’s try.”

You placed your hands on his shoulders and watched the way his eyes fluttered shut as you slowly sank down on his length, feeling him stretch you, filling your warm walls. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as you involuntarily clenched around him, earning a moan from him. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping his head and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Wonwoo,” you breathed his name, trying to move your hips as a force of habit but he dug his fingers into the skin of your hips, holding you in place. “No,” he groaned. “Stay still,” he said.

You let out a breathy whine, kissing him. “I can’t hold still,” you admitted. “Not when your cock feels so fucking good,” you added, moving to comb your fingers through his dark hair, fingertips brushing against the sweat that was starting to form along his hairline. 

Hearing you compliment his cock made his cheeks burn, not from embarrassment but from pride. He’d always been confident in his body and his abilities but for some reason, hearing you praise him just stroked his ego a little more.

“Just be patient, baby,” he chuckled, his words muffled as you kissed him again, hands cupping his face as you leaned in to deepen the kiss. You let out a moan as his lips parted yours, tongue wandering in to explore. He was a much better kisser than you remembered Lily saying. Hell, if you had been with him back in college, you’d never have let him go but he and Lily were just so different. 

But you and Wonwoo? You were so similar. Introverted, bookish, preferring the comforts of home rather than going out partying or clubbing. Though you weren’t boring by any means and neither was he. How could he be boring? He was the most interesting person you’d ever met.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a little bit of a crush on him back in college but of course you would have never dreamed of acting on it because he was already with Lily when you met him but you were much more shy back then. It wasn’t until your third year of college when you really blossomed and came out of your shell.

Something he’d noticed. Though by then he and Lily had broken up, you still shared a friend group. And though you only saw each other in passing or in group settings, he noticed how much more confident you’d become since he first met you. He realized that was when he had developed feelings for you but he was much too shy to make a move, especially when you were so far out of his league.

Or so he thought. 

The universe must be making up for lost time, allowing the two of you to meet like this years later and though he was sure he didn’t want to let you go, he knew that after tonight, he would probably never see you again, so he wanted to take advantage of every moment he got to spend with you. He took his time with you, trailing kisses down your neck to your shoulder.

You wanted desperately to move, to feel his cock thrusting into you, yet he made no attempt to move. It felt incredible, having him inside you but you wanted more. No, you needed more. Tilting your head back to allow him more access to your neck, you let out a moan as you arched your back. You felt his nails dig into your skin, leaving tiny crescents in their wake. Your walls clenched again, squeezing him tightly.

“Y/N,” you heard him gasp. “Please,” he begged. “Try to be still,” he added. You let out another impatient whimper. “Wonwoo, I need more,” you begged softly. “Please.” His resolve was weakening as you became more and more impatient and begged him to move. Begged him for something. Holding your hips tightly, he guided your hips over his. You let out a gasp at the feeling, arms tightening around his neck. “F-fuck,” you whimpered as you followed his movements, hips continuing at his pace.

Wonwoo groaned into your neck, enjoying the feeling of his member deep inside your walls. “God you feel so good,” he murmured, lips against your skin. You moaned in response, your voice raising a few octaves. Wonwoo looked up at you, admiring your flushed cheeks. Your eyes were closed, eyebrows knit together in concentration as you started to move, rolling your hips on his. “Ssshit,” Wonwoo cursed.

Your hands moved to his shoulders and you pushed him onto his back against the sleeping bag, continuing to roll your hips. Wonwoo let out a moan, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hands found his, lacing your fingers with his, you pinned his hands above his head, leaning over as you rode him harder.

“Y/N, don’t stop,” you heard him whisper, eyes still shut, bliss taking over his features. His words spurred you on, prompting you to move faster. Your thighs burned but you weren’t about to give up, not when you were so close to release. Your hands tightened, squeezing Wonwoo’s as you felt the coil in your lower abdomen start to wind up, tension building fast as pleasure took over your actions.

Wonwoo’s eyes fluttered open as he looked up at you. His stomach tightened as he took in your fucked out expression, eyes shut in concentration but he could tell your strength was beginning to give out. You were losing speed and his orgasm which had been rapidly approaching was slowly ebbing away.

That wouldn’t do.

Freeing one of his hands, he wrapped his arm around your waist and before you could say anything, he rolled you over onto your back without dislodging himself. Without missing a beat, he continued where you left off, thrusting into you. You let out a moan, louder than you meant to and quickly, Wonwoo covered your mouth with his hand. “Are you trying to get us caught?” he asked, a breathless chuckle escaping him as he continued to fuck you. You shook your head, moaning against his hand.

“You have to be quiet, babygirl,” he groaned. “Or else everyone will hear you,” he added. You nodded your head, back arching off the sleeping bag as the head of his cock hit your sweet spot. You nearly screamed his name as he aimed for the same spot repeatedly, a smirk forming on his face when he realized what he was doing. He was being smug about it now.

“Right there?” he asked. You nodded, still unable to speak. He continued thrusting into that spot. Your moans didn’t subside, muffled against his hand. You felt tears form, rolling down the sides of your cheeks as he pounded into, hitting deeper with each well aimed thrust. It was beginning to be too much. He was making you feel too good.

You tried to say his name, words muffled against his hand. “What was that?” Wonwoo asked before removing his hand to hear what you had said. “Please,” you begged. “I’m so close.” Wonwoo didn’t need telling twice. He picked up the pace, snaking his hand between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. 

It gave you the needed stimulation to throw you over the edge. Moving his hand back to cover your mouth as you came, he muffled your moans and continued to thrust into you, allowing you to ride out your high. Your thighs shook against his relentless onslaught.

It was mere seconds before you came a second time, core clenching around his cock. You wanted to scream his name, let everyone know how good he was fucking you and who was fucking you. Campers be damned, the only person who mattered right now was him.

Your third climax hit you unexpectedly and you whimpered under Wonwoo. He took your parted lips as a sign and slipped two fingers into your mouth. Instinctively, your lips wrapped around them, moaning as he pressed his fingers against your tongue. “God damn, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he hissed.

“I want those pretty lips around my--” Wonwoo was cut off by the rustling of leaves. He froze, eyes widening as he peered over his shoulder, both of you falling silent. He removed his fingers from your mouth, bringing one to his lips to shush you.  He stopped moving, his cock stilling deep inside you and your fourth orgasm slipping away.

“Who is it?” you whispered. Wonwoo shook his head, mouthing an ‘I don’t know’ at you silently as he continued listening. The rustling grew closer and closer to the tent and stopped just outside the entrance. Wonwoo sat up, eyes glued to the entrance of the tent. The rustling began to move away from the tent, disappearing entirely.

Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, turning to give you a sheepish smile. “Now,” he murmured, licking his lips and running his fingers through his hair. “Where were we?” he asked as he gave you a smirk. Your cheeks flushed and before you could answer, he was back to thrusting into you quickly to bring you both to the edge again. Your hands found his on your hips, resting on top of them as he held you tightly. “Please don’t stop,” you whimpered.

Wonwoo groaned in response, holding your hips in place, pounding into you. Your fourth climax was rapidly approaching and you were thrown over the edge by a particularly hard thrust from the man above you. You brought your hand up to your mouth, biting into your skin to muffle your moans and screams.

Wonwoo wasn’t done yet though. He fucked you through your fourth high, finally chasing his own. “Shit,” he groaned, looking down where he disappeared inside you. The sight sent his mind reeling and he let out a strangled moan, gasping he was about to come. You whimpered, grip tightening on his hands. “Do it,” you whined, looking up at him through half lidded eyes, your pupils blown and cheeks flushed a deep red. Wonwoo had never seen someone look as exquisite as you did now.

“Come inside me, Wonwoo,” you gasped out, back arching as you came for a fifth time.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back as he reached his climax and came, releasing inside you and painting your walls with his seed. Your lips parted, a high pitched moan escaping as you felt him fill you to the brim. Wonwoo’s hips slowed until he finally halted, his length still buried inside you. “Fuck!” he cursed looking down at the mess he’d made of your pussy. He let out a low chuckle.

“What?” you asked, looking up at him. He made eye contact and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “We’ve just made a huge mess,” he said. “That’s all.” You tried to sit up and get a look but Wonwoo pressed his palm flat against your shoulder, pushing you back down. “Don’t,” he said. “I’ll clean this up,” he said, slowly pulling out of you and moving to grab tissues from your bag.

He cleaned you up to the best of his ability before discarding the used tissues in a small trash can in your tent. He pulled your panties and shorts back on your, having pulled his own pants back on. You lay there for a moment, your breath slowly coming back as Wonwoo lay beside you, trying to regain his own composure. You turned your head to look at him. Wonwoo’s eyes met your gaze and for a moment, the two of you were completely silent before a smile spread across his face. “What?” you asked him.

Wonwoo just shook his head, his smile growing wider.

“Nothing,” he said. “You’re just so damn beautiful,” he admitted. You felt your cheeks burn at this. “You keep saying that when you look like that,” you replied, nodding at him. “Like what?” He asked.

You reached up, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his warm skin.

“You're quite beautiful too, you know,” you answered. 

It was his turn to blush. 

“Stop,” he whined, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his warm embrace. “Well, you are,” you replied, nuzzling his jaw before peppering his cheek with kisses. “Stop,” he said through soft laughter. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Who said you’re sleeping in here?” You asked, pulling back to look up at him. Wonwoo looked down, eyes wide. Wait... were you kicking him out? 

A mischievous grin spread across your lips. “I’m just teasing,” you said, pulling him closer and kissing him. “You’re so mean,” he mumbled against your lips, hugging you tightly.

“Shh,” you shushed him, tucking your head under his chin as you hugged him back. “I’m trying to sleep,” you teased, making him snort. “Okay,” he said sarcastically. “Goodnight, Wonwoo,” you said softly, kissing his neck sweetly.

A smile spread across his face as he hugged you even tighter against him.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Wonwoo looked up and noticed the looks on everyone’s faces. “What?” he asked, looking around at his friends. They exchanged looks before Soonyoung spoke up.

“Cockwarming, huh,” he said, nodding slowly. “Never knew you were into that,” he added with a smirk. Wonwoo let out a chuckle and nodded. “Yeah, it’s different for sure,” he said. “Yeah,” Chan piped up. “It’s fucking intense,” he added. The others groaned at his bad joke. Soonyoung threw a handful of grass at the younger male who just laughed at his joke.

The fire had started to die as Wonwoo finished his story, prompting Seungcheol to stand up, stretching before he addressed the others. “We should turn in for the night,” he said. The others murmured in agreement, standing up and slowly making their way to their tents for the night.

“Try to get as much sleep as you can,” Seungcheol said as Jeonghan and Joshua entered the three oldest friends’ shared tent. “We need to be up and packed by 7 am to move onto the next camping spot.” The others voiced their acknowledgement before zipping up their tents for the night.

Wonwoo zipped up the side of his sleeping bag and rolled onto his side, facing away from Mingyu as he attempted to go to sleep. Mingyu, however, was wide awake. 

“Hey,” he whispered. Wonwoo didn’t open his eyes but he hummed in response. “The girl in your story,” he continued. “What happened after the trip?” he asked. Wonwoo rolled onto his back and peeked over at his friend who was looking at him over his own sleeping bag. “Why?” he asked. Mingyu sat up and stared at Wonwoo. 

“Did you see her again?” he asked. His question left a bad taste in Wonwoo’s mouth but he wasn’t mad at his friend for asking. Wonwoo rolled back over, facing away. “Why does it matter?” he asked. “It was years ago,” he added.

“I just—” Mingyu started but he was cut off.

“I saw her once more,” he answered, not turning to look at Mingyu. “Just to see her. It was a couple months later,” he added. “At the zoological park she works at.” Silence filled the tent. “And you haven’t seen her since?” Mingyu finally asked. “No,” Wonwoo snapped. He didn’t understand why Mingyu was pushing this so much. Talking about you hurt him.

“No. I didn’t see her again after that. As far as I know, she moved to Australia with her sister and never came back,” Wonwoo added.

Mingyu nodded, chewing on his bottom lip, debating on whether or not he should tell Wonwoo what he saw. Sensing something was still off, Wonwoo rolled back to look up at his friend who was sitting up at that point. “What is it?” Wonwoo whispered. Mingyu shook his head but Wonwoo wasn’t having it.

“What?” he hissed. Mingyu cleared his throat. “It’s just,” Mingyu started. “I went to this cafe the other day and saw a woman there. I thought she was alone until this kid came out of the bathroom,” he said, glancing at Wonwoo whose expression was unreadable. The older male shrugged. “Okay. And?” he asked.

Mingyu took a deep breath before he spoke again. When he heard what came out of Mingyu's mouth next, Wonwoo wished his friend hadn’t spoken at all.

“Well, the kid looked exactly like you.”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen fanfic #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo angst #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fanfiction #wonwoo fanfic #series: tales from camp #kwanisms

[darkroomkisses]

https://www.tumblr.com/darkroomkisses/718148765586980864/pairings-rafe-cameron-x-topper-thornton-x

okay, hear me out.. a blurb about reader actually remembering what happened and getting into it with rafe the next day 🤔 would love to see what rafe would say/do

What You shouldn't Do (Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader)

A/N: OMG Thank you SO MUCH @proactivetypaperson and Anon!! Sorry for the delay (mental block sucks) but I love and appreciate the comments! So here is a blurb/part two of her confronting Rafe. (spoiler: not a happy ending lol) 🥀 !READ TAGS!

Pairings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron, NON-CON, Degradation, Slut-shaming, Fighting, Toxic relationship, Gaslighting, Possessiveness.

Summary: You wake up the next morning and remember what Topper and Rafe did to you. You avoid Rafe for days and he comes looking for answers. When you try to leave him he doesn't take it well and shows you that you can't leave him without consequences.

Banner by @straywords 🥀

Bang bang bang! The noise rattled through your home. A shiver ran down your spine. You covered your face with your covers, taking a deep breath.

"Open the door, babe!" Rafe yelled from the other side of the door. Even lying in your bedroom, you could hear the pain in his voice. You have been avoiding Rafe since the night of that party. You remembered what Rafe and Topper did to you. You could still feel Topper's fire-hot hands on your body; they felt like they had burned into your skin. The soreness between your legs took too long to fade. You threw the covers off and looked at your hips, bruised from the way Rafe held you so tightly when he fucked you.

Rafe rattled the door; he was pleading for you to open up and calling your name over and over. "Just open the door. Talk to me." Rafe's voice was heavy with anguish. You'd had enough of his pestering. Letting out a shaky sigh, you got out of bed on unsteady legs and went to open the door. You stopped in front of the door; the handle felt heavy in your hands, and you almost couldn’t open it.

One more loud bang rings through your ears. You flinched and slowly opened the door. Rafe stood tall, looking down at you. A little relief washed over his features when he saw you. Your heart felt heavy, and bile rose in your throat. You pushed it back down and just stared at the floor. You didn’t want to make eye contact with him. A heavy sigh pushed past his lips.

"Look at me," he said as he walked closer toward you. Your heart skipped a beat as you did, as you were told. "What?" You mutter, unable to say anything else. "What?" Rafe repeats and walks closer to you. "That’s all you want to say?" Rafe questions. "You've been avoiding me for days," Rafe's pleading eyes bare into yours.

"I think you know why, Rafe." You spit. You can feel your anger boiling under your skin. "Babe, what are you talking about?" Rafe's eyes don’t leave yours, and he raises his eyebrow in confusion. Your body shakes; you can’t believe Rafe is playing dumb right now. "You know what..." you pause. "You and Topper-" Rafe cuts you off quickly. "Me and Topper did what?" You start to see a crack in Rafe’s demeanor for a split second.

He closes the little space between you. You feel small because of Rafe’s looming height and intimidating stare. But you don’t back down and manage to get the words out. "You two raped me." You yell, not hiding the anger in your voice. Your heart is beating wildly in your chest. Something shifts in his eyes, and his eyebrows tick upward. Is he genuinely surprised? You can’t really tell. Rafe lets out a humorless chuckle.

"Rape? Nah, you got it all wrong." Rafe deflects. "No, don’t tell me I'm wrong. I know I was drunk and high, but it happened." Your shaky voice doesn’t hide the pain in your words. "Yeah, you were stupid drunk. I had to take care of you. You were all over me and Topper, like a real slut." Rafe points at his chest and pokes you in the dead center of your chest, making his words clear to you. "You wanted it, babe, and you loved it. Do you know how much I did that night to take care of you?" Rafe puts his hand on your face, stroking your cheek softly.

"That’s not true; I don’t remember wanting that, Rafe. I have bruises on my body and-." You're a little distracted by Rafe's overbearingness invading your space. "You couldn’t wait to feel my dick deep inside you; you wanted it rough. It was hot the way you were begging for it." A corner of Rafe’s lips lifts, forming a little smirk.

"Fuck you both, it's a crime; I should call the cops." Your words die in your throat as Rafe’s hand clings to your neck. "Cops? You really think they will do anything about a Pogue slut crying rape?" Rafe spits his words in your face. Your confidence starts to drain from your body, and you know Rafe is right. The murky details, the drinking, the coke? They wouldn’t do a damn thing. And going up against Kook royalty? Might be a death sentence.

"You really think my dad would let you accuse me of rape? Hell, Topper's Grandfather is a judge. Think again, sweetheart, it wouldn’t be a smart move." Rafe lets out a sinister chuckle that sends a chill down your spine. His grip becomes tighter around your neck.

"It would matter to me." you choke out, still trying to get a foot in this argument. Rafe almost lets out a belly laugh at your pitiful confession. "I’m what matters to you. You’re my girlfriend; I'm not going to let you spin a night of fun into something else just because you regret it now." You’re almost too stunned to speak. Rafe's innocent act is making you feel ill. You struggle out of his hold and push him backwards.

"Girlfriend? It’s safe to say that we are OVER Rafe, you're sick, and I want you out of my house now!" Your voice is sharp, and frustration drips from your words. You turn around, ready to get to your room and curl up in bed. You feel like you must burst into tears at any moment.

The wood floor creaks under heavy steps, and a steel arm wraps around your core, trapping you against a thick chest. Your feet are lifted off the ground, and you kick wildly, trying to escape Rafe’s iron grasp. You scream and kick, demanding that Rafe let you go. His free hand quickly wraps around your mouth, shutting you up.

Your terrified screams go unheard by Rafe as he drags you into your bedroom and kicks the door shut. "Stop fucking moving, damn!" Rafe cusses as he tosses you on the bed like you weigh nothing. Rafe quickly pins you to your bed. Your wrists are easily pinned above your head with one hand. At one point, you loved the way Rafe could easily overpower you; his strength was a strong point of attraction for you. But right now, it's making fear bubble deep in your lower stomach. Rafe is breathing heavily; your chest raises and falls, and you arch in his hold, desperate to break free.

Rafe runs his eyes over your body slowly, and you feel that fear burn your stomach again. "You don’t get to decide when this ends; don’t you fucking get it yet? You don’t make the decisions here." Rafe roars in your ear. "I know what you really need" Rafe rips your shorts and underwear down your shaky legs.

"You’re mine. You can’t leave me that easily, and you're threatening to call those pigs? Tsk, tsk, that's dumb even for you." Rafe runs his hand down your body stopping at the bruises he left. You flinch when his hand brushes over your clit. “Rafe, let me go; please, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean it". You lie. The tears spill from the corners of your eyes.

"You don’t get to say shit like that without facing consequences, love." You whine in his ear, and your head pushes harder into the bed. You sqeeze your eyes shut. You feel like screaming, but who would come to your rescue? Rafe gets to take what he wants from you again, and once again you feel paralyzed under Rafe’s dominant hold. Rafe settles between your legs, pulling his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

"I was scared and mad; that’s why I said it. Let’s just talk." You try to reason with Rafe, but he ignores you. Rafe picks up your panties, and gives them a light inhale before stuffing them in your mouth. You can’t speak; you make helpless gargle noises. "You should have used your pretty little mouth to do what you are really good at, but you couldn’t shut the fuck up." You whine louder.

"Now I need to make you make sorry" Rafe rams into you without warning. You cry out, feeling Rafe stretch you wide. Rafe perks up at the sounds of your cries; it makes him want to fuck you harder. Rafe moans loudly, loving the feel of you wrapped around him.

"I love your tight pussy squeezing me; fuck, you feel so damn good." Rafe fucks into you roughly as he lets go of your wrists and brings his hands to your neck, which he squeezes tightly.

"You’re my fucking girl; I can’t live without this pussy; it’s mine forever." Rafe bucks against you; your slick coats his dick as he smoothly slides in and out of you. "You love your punishment, don’t you, Babygirl?" Rafe taunts you as he moves a hand to stoke your clit.

You try to shake your head; your cheeks burn with shame, while the rest of your body burns with arousal. "Like hell, you don’t? Your pussy is fucking soaked and begging for me to keep fucking your slutty little hole." Your body tightens as Rafe's breathing picks up, sending shivers down your spine.

You try to hide the way your body reacts to Rafe’s touch. Your mind feels muddled from the pleasure that's building. Your heart speed up and sounds like drums banging in your ears. Your body lets go without your permission. Rafe is all too satisfied to see you come apart on his cock. "I’m going to make you cum again and again till you fucking remember you belong to me." 

#tw noncon #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark fic #obx fic #smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #non con #anon request #tw r4p3 #18+

[muzzleroars]

Well shit your Fallen Angel Gabe art has me Intrigued. Damn. Also what's up with the golden cracks on his chest? Is that where the light was ripped from him, or something more ominous? :O

FALLEN GABRIEL MY BELOVED....here's some definitive thoughts on him that i largely came up with while designing him (it's long it's long im,,,,so sorry)!!

originally with that last piece, i just wanted to design a winter-themed take on gabriel's outfit but it quickly turned into developing on his new life as a fallen angel and how he might appear. gabriel's major sin, as it might be conceptualized in dante's divine comedy, would be treachery itself - the lowest layer of hell is judecca, representative of those who betray their lords and benefactors. however, i view him as a fallen angel rather than a complete demon, and so he is still granted a small amount of grace even after his sin. this is shown in the warmth his new clothing provides, insulating him from the dire freeze of treachery where he would be condemned and where he may wander the wastes freely unlike the sinners trapped there in ice. like i mentioned in a previous ask, gabriel sees the additions as a mockery of his old form however, the fur-lined armor and cape normally evoking images of the noble, but here they are entirely functional, animal-like and stripped of their more elegant connotations. his clothes also continue to be adorned with crosses, likely as a symbol of attempted forced repentance and what he has lost rather than a banner he carries.

physically, he has changed as well - the massive scarring on his chest is representative of his secondary sin, lust. again in the divine comedy, lust is viewed as wrongful love, love that is somehow detrimental but is consensual (if i recall correctly,,,,it's been a couple years since i read the comedy lol). gabriel's motivations and his actions are reduced here, his epiphany and his reasons for carrying out his treachery are complex, but he is struck in the chest and partially shattered with his betrayal blamed solely on his lust for v1. i kind of thought about it in terms of a REAL early gabe piece i did, that he had nails driven into his heart, but also with the idea of his body sort of "burning out" to resemble the embers of consumed wood. ALL this to say that his skin is brittle here, broken apart and easily damaged, so that he may feel sharp, nail-like pain in his heart whenever he's struck in the chest (the irony of his crimes against the people of lust and this punishment are not lost on him either).

i've talked about his wings a couple times too, BUT i've got a few more points on them - to reiterate what i said in the tags, his wings and halo are now a stark white that reflects no emotion (although....if i can be sappy for a sec...i think very pale flickers of his ecstasy colors can eventually light through them....OK!!!) while the verses that once lined them have turned to a blank black. i thought a lot about the colors tbh, but landed on black and white for both how sterile they feel and how pure white reflects the landscape of treachery while black represents the total absence of god's light in that circle (appropriate for literally blacking out gabriel's old verses). the crown of his halo is now heavy on his head and his wings are unbearable, so he often puts both of them away as it dulls the pain they cause. he can't indefinitely keep them in, so he allows them out when he can rest and where they might not be disturbed. he hates to feel them though, hates to see them for some time, how soulless they both are and, in the case of wings, how quickly they grow tattered when they're uncared for.

finally, he has lost his name - "gabriel" can no longer exist, not being a separate entity from god. however, he is not a demon either and so has no infernal name, instead left without his identity. it reflects the void now in himself, the hollow body as an abyss emptied of what has sustained him his entire existence. in so many ways, he feels now much more like the husks of hell, reborn into a body to reflect his sin. IF i can go on a bit of a tangent, i really like the idea of his resurrection taking place in the tomb of saint gabriel, where v1 has to fight him one last time...he can no longer fly or teleport, instead just incredibly brutal and absolutely not letting v1 get any air time bc it pisses him off lol the fight is largely to calm him down and he leaves with v1 after recollecting himself, but he very pointedly refuses to discuss anything about the tomb itself. he does tell v1 quite quickly that he's no longer gabriel, that he can have no ties to that identity, but it's hardly fazed by the news - from the beginning v1's thought that name messed a lot with his head and so has been calling him "gabe" or "gabi" basically since the moment they stopped being strictly enemies. like. it could recognize how important it was to him to be gabriel, but it wanted him to be himself too, so this was its compromise. gabriel was never super keen on it, but after his fall he's extraordinarily grateful he wasn't simply "gabriel" until the bitter end. it sort gives him an anchor identity while he figures out the rest...and begins to sort through the millennia of his previous existence

#i said i was gonna make a post but. i just dumped it all here instead!!! #i've been vaguely thinking about him for awhile now..... #but starting to draw ideas for treachery made me lose it!! #OH AND...his palette was heavily inspired by one of the concept arts ofc!! #specifically 13 on the sheet bc i knew i wanted white involved #OK i think that's all for now ty for listening to all this aaaa #cake answers #gabriel #rise and fall au

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Sending this again b/c my computer is being weird and idk if the first went through 😅And these are fun asks!! so sorry if ya got it twice lol F, H—and B (if your comfortable answering—if not how about C)

It did get through first time! THank you <3

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

oh. let me go through my docs ashfdklsda HAHAH this is for our Haikyuu au, Sayuri watching a televised game of @qettleqorn's Kin

“Nationals?” he asked, looking at the banners around the stadium. Then he frowned. “Oh, Shitorizawa.” Sayuri didn’t move at all, her dark eyes completely focused on what was going on in front of her. “Hello,” Tooru tried again. “I’m also here.” He waved his hand in front of her face and earned himself an angry glare for what felt like 0.1 seconds before she looked away to the screen again. A while passed in which neither said absolutely anything, but then suddenly she pushed a finger into the screen and hissed: “Kin.” “Ki-n?” Tooru repeated and looked at the name of the jersey in front of him. “Ki -m?” He fell over the word with the unfamiliar syllable amount a little. “A korean?” Sayuri turned to him, her finger still on the screen that had since moved on from what she had shown: “Ki-n!” He was pretty sure that was the wrong name, but he didn’t want to argue about it: “Who is that?” Her face soured: “Giant, bitch ass of a woman.” “That’s a pretty rude assessment…”

I just think its very funny. Plus we quote it all the time asdhkfalsdf

H: How would you describe your style?

Long paragraphs with way too much setup that nobody cares for and that half could probably be cut out. Plus i like to repeat sentences for dramatic effect. I put a lot of focus on how the characters move and whta their eyes are doing, even if its too much sometimes.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

oh so many! Kakashi's feelings for his father in Hymn for the missing are mostly mine, most of the experiences INo talks about in "Walking in the wind" are things that I experienced, Sakumos struggle with self hate in "decay" is mostly from my own feelings. I'm writing on a Juvia story in which I imprint my insecurities on her too, but its not out yet.

#ask things #friends and pals

[padfootastic]

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the fight between Remus and Harry in DH. Because throughout the series we see Remus manipulating Harry by bringing up James, but for the first time, Harry brings up James in a situation that is the most relevant, and Remus goes BERSERK.

hello 💜💜 i’m so sorry for how long this has been lying in my inbox but i’ve got so much to say and not enough time for it 💀

i don’t think anything i say re this will come as a surprise to anyone who knows me lol i feel like that fight was such a good opportunity to show, in narrative, remus at fault without excusing his actions and the text still missed the mark. i’ve talked before about this, but remus always gets off scot free with no consequences or even reproach for any of his shitty actions and i think this comes under the same banner. iirc even hermione’s like ‘wtf harry’ because of his response, right?

but here, we see him acting shitty in a manner u absolutely cannot ignore. i mean, there’s a point to which ur willing to ignore a grown man’s agency and actions, right? and i feel like ‘abandoning ur wife and unborn kid in the middle of a whole war’ is waaaaaay past that point. we can talk all day about how he thought he was in the right, how he might’ve actually brought misfortune to them by virtue of who he was, but that still doesn’t excuse what tonks would’ve been going through, esp considering her own dad pulled a similar stunt.

you bring up such a great point re james. remus had absolutely no problems invoking his name when he wanted to guilt trip harry (i keep saying this but their conversation in poa horrifies me every time i think about it) but the moment he gets it back? it’s all ‘oh woe is me how dare u’. kinda makes me think remus never had to deal w the consequences of his actions (which like,,,am i wrong tho) bc all the misfortune he has, he attributes to his condition and never his own actions. he basically operates on an external locus of control and the people around him keep enabling it. (ofc a lot of this is conjecture + influenced by what i’ve seen in fandom bc we (i?) don’t actually know that much about him & his motivations from the text) and i think when he actually is held accountable, he’ll go straight on the defensive bc he doesn’t know how to handle it.

imo remus is super, super self destructive and not that capable at maintaining healthy relationships. for all that people go on and on about james and sirius being assholes and bullies, remus is actually so much more insidious in terms of being ‘toxic’. i really think harry was so right for doing what he did, not matter how much shit he gets for it, because someone has to. his friends won’t, people in authority aren’t, and he gets to go through life blaming everything except himself.

i feel like this is super unsympathetic to him lol but that scene in dh is actually one of my favs just because someone is finally saying something to Saint Remus and the fact that it’s harry, of all people? u go bby!!! it was also such a thoughtless action on remus’ part bc he’s telling this to a literal orphan who grew up abused and neglected. also!! the way it portrays him on the complete end of the spectrum as james (who we know is the ‘embodiment of bravery’ in the text bc of his actions therefore, remus is an absolute coward which, self professed but now proved further) which really makes u understand harry’s pov too, i think. because he idolised his dad, ykno? and he’s heard remus talk about their bond before, and we know harry’s judged people by comparing (and associating) them to his parents right? so it just makes remus come off even worse.

ultimately, i think it was just another selfish + narrow minded action in a long list that we can attribute to remus. can we explain them? sure. but does that justify it? i personally don’t think so, but others can obv disagree. remus wasn’t thinking of tonks or baby teddy or harry when he offered to accompany them, no matter how much he tried to spin it that way and i think that lying (to both others & himself) is v characteristic of his personality throughout the whole series. he’s a serial manipulator and no one’s safe from it, not even him.

(i’m reading this and it’s so rambly gosh. i hope some of it made sense?)

#remus lupin critical #re ted doing something similar #i read a fic where that was explored #and andromeda was so angry and so hurt that ted left them #and it really changed my whole opinion on such a minisucle plot point lol #and then got me thinking about the parallels between his actions and remus’ #something about people claiming to be selfless while actually being v v selfish #bc ultimately their actions didn’t (wouldn’t have?) help(ed) #but they would have eased their conscious #but fuck what the people who were left behind thought right? #and remus making harry godfather is another can of worms i haven’t even touched here lmao #that one bothers me ngl #only my love for teddy keeps it at bay lol #this one’s a bit…unfiltered bc i just wrote what came to mind #but yeah #differing opinions r always welcome ofc #we love discussions on here #pen’s asks

[mavspeed]

Hi Su! I sent you an ask about cloaked a little while ago and I realized I called you by the wrong name! Did it in my tags too! I'm so sorry! I read your banner and thought your name was Desi bc I am illiterate apparently. Just wanted to apologize. I hope you're having a lovely day! The latest chapter was amazing!

OMG IM SO SORRY i straight up did not realise you sent me any asks until i checked on tumblr web, apparently mobile just... swallowed up the asks??? LMFJGJKFJKG RIP SORRY

and no worries the fact that u thought my name was desi is hilarious LMAO i should prob remove it... i just did not want ppl to think i was yt LOL. ur not the first person to think my name was desi so dw lmfjjfg and ill get to ur ask in a bit!! currently at work rn but i wanted to do a quick check on my asks and then got the shock of my life rip

#ask #SORRY tumblr mobile is HELL

[seelestia]

hmm yk that might work, i'll prep for that and some comfy pillows + naps lol lia??????? i think the simp gods has descended upon you JUST ACCEPT AND EMBRACE IT /j

i’ll be waiting <3 <3 hhhhh pls i’m so soft for him too i’d give everything to this man jsldsljdlsjdls hehehehe it’s ok sis we can simp together shamelessly there will be no judgemental looks under the roof of our house - we simp and we’re proud of it <3

i think you’d usually call big sisters jiejie??? probably?? at least i call my biological big sister with that (well, a variation of that) hskdjskd i’ve never been called big sister before pls that’s adorable aaaa ///

yes!!! exactly!!!! manifesting ayato for you whenever his next banner comes out 🤞🏻🪷🧋💧

LOL actually never thought of doing that, might try it out once i got hubby on the team 👀

hmmmm i suppose he is quite prince-like. the way he moves in the trailer and throughout the story just looks… elegant. with the arm on the back while he attacks with his sword and all…. lmao i see there are still some traces of simping going on here hehehe /lh

i emailed the support email but they just replied back with ‘sorry we don't accept inbound emails from here pls create support ticket instead thx’. and today they triggered an auto reply on one of the open ticket (which i had from a previous enquiry, not the shadowban issue) saying that they’re swamped with tickets so it will take them a while to get to it…. sigh.

also the name caelin sounds adorable and i wanna squish his cheeks!!! i can’t read his backstory for now cause i haven’t finished enkanomiya lore but he looks adorable and sad(?) and i would pat his head <3

my sincerest apologies, i tend to channel 110% of my simp side when it comes to sir kamisato ayato *cough* (/lh) we have come so far, rin jie... remember when you used to be in denial when it comes to a man with pretty amber eyes and a velvety voice jfjwkdkka

ACTUALLY, I MIGHT AS WELL GIVE YOU ONE RN. >:) so, let us think about... zhongli who notices the way the corners of your eyes droop, as if trying to catch for the slightest wink of sleep — and who is he if not a gentleman? he offers you his shoulder to rest on. his voice tickles your ears and you can almost feel the rumbles of his chest as he talks. at this point, you aren't sure if you're even sleepier or just purely distracted but either way, you're not here to deny his act of thoughtfulness. oh, to lean on zhongli's shoulder sob sob <3

yes, may ayato come home !! <3 speaking of pulls, how did your pulls go??? is your hubby finally home??? 👀 i'm at 40+ pity rn but if zhongli doesn't come home, then alhaitham will <3 i also feel a temptation to pull for tighnari because he's so sassy fkwkkskd (but i won't since he'll be a standard five-star in 3.1) !! if hubby is home, send me an in-game selfie of him, i wanna see 👀

albedo set the path to my heart so ayato and heizou could strut in (/j) he's definitely one of the most complex characters! his design is vv breathtaking but when i write about him sometimes, i have to put in a bit more effort than usual but i like that challenge >:) all of a sudden, i really want to make a tier list for us genshin writers to sort characters into 'hardest to easiest to write' sections fjekfkkseksk

NOOOOO, not the traffic :( it seems we have to resort to another new blog, rin jie <//3 but i'll still be there to support you 🫂 go achieve your well-deserved writing space !! AND I JUST SAW YOUR NEW BLOG AND THE URL IS SO YOU??? (/pos) zhongrin for life <3

aww, ty! the meaning behind his name is actually 'warrior, protector' in irish and you're not wrong !! he just has that sleepy and rueful smile fjejkdksek and dw, take your time to catch up on the lore~ it lowkey took me a while to explore enkanomiya too HELFPPSKD but one fact unrelated to enkanomiya's lore about him is that he was makoto's (the original electro archon / ei's twin) lover. they came to know each other through diplomatic means but legends in inazuma noted how the two grew closer afterwards — her death in the cataclysm is partially the reason why he left for fontaine and grew hateful towards celestia. the former goddess of thunder and her loyal water nymph, but only one of them is left <//3

indeed, we normalize giving headpats to thousands-year-old men (looking at xiao and zhongli). how tall are you, rin jie??? 😭 lin is 165 cm btw !! i would absolutely cackle if he's shorter than you fjwkfkwlkf as eloquent and rich he might be, caelin gets super bashful when people call him handsome or just give him praises, he's vv pat-able <//3

p/s: ALSO !! i saw this tiktok and it reminded of you sm i started laughing HELDPWKKDKS

#also how are you enjoying sumeru so far??? 👀 #i still haven't unlocked all the teleport waypoints yet fjkekdks but the lands are super vast with the mountains and all !! #ask box! 📬 #visitor: dearest rin! 💠 #amicus maris ; caelin! 🌊

[theworstsimblr]

CafeSimming’s Clayification of LeahLillith’s Alessia Re-Recolored in Noodles’ Sorbet Remix

1 hair recoloured in all 76 of Noodles Sorbets palette

You need all 3 files in your mods folder for the recolor to work!

Swatches add on to the clayified file!

Meshes NOT Included!

Credits to @tainoodles / @noodlescc for the palette/actions, @leahlillith for the meshes, and @cafeheart for the clayification!!

Download + Mesh Links Below The Cut (SFS)

Alessia // Mesh (WARNING: TSR)  // Clayification

#cafesimming #leahlillith #sorry I got your name wrong in the banner lol #noodlescc #berry recolor #berry sim cc #sims 4 cc #sims 4 recolor #sims 4 #ts4 #ts4cc #download

[justwonder113]

Hey hey hey, its me. So I can't stop thinking about your triplets scenario, then suddenly had the urge to request one more time 😂 If that's okay. Since I can't get rid of this baby fever, I wish to see some adorable scenarios with 3 mini toddlers with their parents. Like them, barging into their father’s workplace or just being adorable yet troublesome at the same time XD

The way i adore your asks already, I feel you and I are going to have a good partnership lol. I'm terribly sorry I haven't written anything yet, I have been too caught up with work and stuff, I really hope you'll enjoy it tho. I really wanted to write it since it's father's day and all.

part one of the boys finding out you're gonna have triplets

Bokuto Koutaro

No one can convince me this man isn't absolutely best dad, pleasee I love him so much!!!

If I said that he was a really supportive husband and stood next to you and supported you however he could all pregnancy, he's even more supportive and hyper as a dad.

DEFINITELY CRIED WHEN HE SAW THE TRIPLETS!!!

As I said, he's literally the best dad any kid can ask for. He's so energetic and caring, and would definitely do anything for his kiddos, he spoils them a bit more than needed but how can he say no to those puppy eyes? He's literally weak against them.

Also no matter how tired he is he always has time for is babies, if he came home with his hands almost falling off from harsh and tiring training he will still pick them up and play with them even more, how can he say no to them, he missed them so much too.

When he first had to leave for away game you couldn't tell who cried more him or the kids.

Let's make one thing straight, kids love him more, you can't even argue with that fact, he's basically their enabler, always the one with the snacks and toys and let's be real you have to play the role of a bad cop.

But he never crosses the line, he always supports you and if your kids are being stubborn, he always tells them that you only want the best for them and in the end kids always come apologizing to you, telling you how much they love you.

You always have this adventures too, he loves nothing more to show you off and spoil you as much as he can, he always takes you four wherever he can, and makes these trips as memorable as he can. Like there's nothing he won't do for you.

So naturally you wanted to return the favor to him.

Unfortunately for him he had to be away for a game on the father's day and it was evident how much it broke his heart. So you and kids came up with the plan to surprise him. Bby worked so hard he really deserved it and you really missed each other too.

You have been planning this for a while and you couldn't wait to see his reaction. You even helped kids with the banner and everything.

The game was about to start now, the players including your husband were getting ready. You snickered and led the kids through the crowd. His team helped you a lot when you told them your plan and got you one of the best seats in the front.

You took out the banner and helped kids to stand on the seats so that they could hold it higher. You couldn't be more proud, the kids really worked hard for their father and wanted to make him happy. You held up the sign what said with brightest colors "Happy father's day daddy!!"

Thankfully Atsumu noticed you quite quickly and nudged your husband, who looked almost like a sad puppy and in a second your eyes met.

Bokuto literally froze on the place and rubbed his eyes to see if you were really there, which made you giggle. Kids started cheering for him and in the millisecond the biggest grin was adoring his face and he ran towards you. Kids also ran leaving banner to you and jumped on their dad making everyone coo at the sight.

You smiled at the sight, Bokuto looked like a whole different person than he was seconds ago, he kept chatting with kids and smooching their cheeks from time to time, he then ran to you and gave you one of the most passionate kisses ever, thanking you for everything, while kids made barfing sounds. Yup you wouldn't change it for anything.

Atsumu Miya

Another one who I think would be a best dad but would spoil their kids, espesially your daughter, he had a really soft spot for her.

you had two boys and the youngest was a girl, thing is she was really frail at first and almost didn't survive but she was a fighter and even thought she pulled through and was healthy as ever you and Atsumu still had a soft spot for her,but not only you, boys were actually really protective of her and would always try to cheer her up however you could. But in the end she was daddy's girl.

In fact Atsumu and Osamu really liked to mess with kids, and make them guess who was who, it really confused boys and made you all laugh but you couldn't fool her that easy, she always knew when she was in the wrong hands and cried for daddy. (Cue to Atsumu calling his sons traitors and the daughter his sweet little princess.) (Gosh I have to keep my babyfever at bay)

You gently shushed the kids as they struggled to keep their excitement at bay, they came to you with the idea that they wanted to surprise their dad on the father's day and how could you say no to that?

You tried to help them but they wanted to do everything on their own, you were basically just for the mental support and for snacks for the little hardworkers. They looked so cute and proud too for their work. Boys worked with the decorations and cards and your daughter asked you to bring her to Osamu so that she could make an onigiri with his help.

You were beyond proud that they wanted to please their dad so much! Atsumu would really appreciate it, he was working so hard too these days, he would be beyond thrilled.

You smiled at the thought and opened the door, the kids walked in on their tippy toes, eventually giggling to themselves, thankfully Atsumu was still out cold. You readied the camera and sat it on the bedside table so you could record the precious memory. You carefully helped the kids get on both his sides as they readied their presents.

you gave them a thumbs up as you got slightly closer to Atsumu and started humming his name, making him stir a little. When you noticed that you were getting nowhere you asked the kids to help, and they started to nudge him with their tiny hands while you presed kisses on his cheek.

In the end Atsumu opened his eyes. "If I died and this is heaven then I don't want to return to life." He mummbled half dazed but still stood up.

"Happy father's day!" The kids cheered making a huge grin appear on his face. He stretched his hands and brought all three of them in a bone crushing hug, kissing their heads affectionately. The kids giggled and tried to escape as you awed at the sight.

They showed him everything they worked hard for, and Atsumu even got to taste the onigiri his daughter made for him, which made him tear up from happiness as you expected. He looked so giddy and happy it was really adorable.

Kids soon left the room to call their uncle and tell him how everything worked out, Your daughter was especially hyped cuz he liked the onigiris, she really looked up to Osamu too and said that she wanted to be a chef like him. You couldn't be more proud of her.

You were about to head downstairs too to make sure those rasckled didn't mess up everything, but Atsumu's hand stopped you. He bought you in closer and gave you a really passionate kiss, you hummed as you pressed couple of more on his cheeks.

"What was that for love?" You hummed against his lips, a bit dazed.

"For making me the happiest men ever and giving me a perfect family, I love you so much!" He mused as he snuggled against you.

He was right tho, everything was just perfect.

Sorry love it's only two characters, I will try to update about Ushijima and Osamu too. Hope you like it^^

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #bokuto koutaro #haikyuu headcannons #hq headcanons #hq imagines #Bokuto x reader scenario #atsumu x reader scenario #requests #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #bokuto x reader #bokuto x reader fluff #atsumu x reader fluff #fluff #bokuto headcanons #bokuto koutarou x reader #atsumu headcanons #atsumu fluff

[laurie-stark]

Unwanted-Peter Parker

Summary: Y/n Stark gets more than she bargains for when she joins her Pops, Captian America, for the civil war of the century.

Pairings: Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader, Steve Rogers x Daughter!Reader, Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting

A/N: Just so you don't get too confused, Y/n is Tony Stark's biological child, however, she was raised by the Avengers and refers to Natasha and Steve as Mama and Pops. Also I wrote this a year ago LOL. Enjoy x

Part Two

New York, 2016

This was bad. Very, very bad. I had seen the secretary come in the compound over the screen of the security monitors. He marched into my home, unannounced and unwelcome, holding himself with purpose. I followed him over the screens, tracking his movements. I watched as he was led through the building, up the elevator and into...the conference room? Oh this was bad. Very, very bad.

I raced as fast as I could. By the time I got the to conference room, the whole group was already sitting in front of the secretary. I saw Wanda first. Her back was to me, but I could see her rigid frame and I knew something was happening. My  father saw me approaching through the glass walls. He shot me a look that said "Don't do it. Don't come in here." I didn't obey.

The secretary stopped speaking abruptly when I walked through the doors. He gave me a quizzical look, did a once over and immediately looked at my father. Surely I don't look that much like Tony.

"Sorry I'm late, no one informed me about this team meeting," I gasped, short of breath from all the running. Of course, this was pushing it. As much as I wanted to be a part of the group, fighting was not my style, so I often got left out of important Avengers activities. I got to live with them, but that was it. Tony rose from his seat. He mumbled an apology to the secretary and gently ushered I out of the room. I would have fought back, but seeing the look on my father's face was enough to shut me up. And I never shut up. The secretary resumed his story. Something about golf and a heart attack.

My dad turned to face me. "Look kid, I get that you want to know what's going on, and you will, but today isn't the day."

"Okay," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's okay to be curious," he replied, walking back into the meeting. "Stay upstairs, okay hun?" I nodded and started the trek back up to my room. I shut the door and flopped onto my bed. Out of my long list of pet peeves, this was number one. Sure, I didn't want to fight, but come on family, I should at least get to be in on what's going on! Maybe I could help. I have powers for God sake. I am more than capable of helping the Avengers. But they always saw me as the little girl who needs protection.

"April, pull up security footage of the conference room please," I asked. April, the AI I built, that was modeled after Friday, projected the video surveillance from the ceiling. "Volume up." The group was in the same position as from when I left. The secretary was passing around the room. There was a thick white book being passed around the table.

"The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place," Steve said quietly. "I feel we've done that."

The secretary looked down at him. "Tell me Cap, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?" What? You were so confused. Why did the secretary care where my uncles were? No one answered the secretary's question, so he kept talking. I racked your brain to find the answers on my own. "...this is the middle ground." The secretary pointed at the book, now lying untouched on the table.

"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Natasha asked.

"The you retire," the secretary responded. With that, he left the room and I scurried back downstairs.

Everyone was in the living room. I sat in the stairwell, again being uninvited to this group discussion. I listened to them fight. I figured out what was going on. The United Nations were being ungrateful little bitches and hated that they didn't have control over my family. So they gave an ultimatum: give in or give up. From the sounds of it, Uncle Rhodes, Vision and two of my four parents were in agreement with the accords. Steve and Sam were against it. Wanda hadn't said a word. Tension was growing high, I could feel it. I heard my father conclude that he won and a thud of the accords being tossed on the coffee table. Someone got up and left. Before I had the chance to act, the door to the stairwell was torn open. Steve pushed through and nearly stepped on me.

"Eavesdropping?" He smiled.

"You kicked me out, what else am I supposed to do?" I retorted. I noticed the tears welling in Steve's eyes. "Pops, what's wrong?"

Steve's glance fluttered to the ground. "Peggy. She, um..." was all he said. All he had to say. I  was smart enough to read between the lines. I stepped forward and hugged Steve. He smiled, grateful that he had me. I knew how much Peggy meant to him. When I was little, he'd always tell me the story about how they met, how they never got that dance. And every time I would make him dance with me. He even took me to visit her once. I was ten and it was Christmas time. Steve told me that he wanted his favorite girl to meet his favorite niece. Now that was all but a memory. I held him tight before telling him to go. It was okay, I could handle the others. He left without a second glance.

Within days the team was scattered. Steve and Sam had gone to Peggy's funeral. Natasha was off to the signing of the Accords in Vienna. And then all hell broke loose when the bombs went off at the signing ceremony. As always, I  were left home. I had no idea what was going on. At first this break in the team was about the Accords, but somehow Steve's old pal Bucky got involved. I didn't know what to think. The next thing I knew, everyone left for Berlin to rescue Steve and Sam from jail, leaving myself, Wanda and Vision at home.

When night fell, I was in my room, sulking as one would say. I was spending my evening flipping through Tumblr. There was a new superhero everyone was talking about. He called himself Spider-Man. New York based, focused on small neighborhood crimes. By YouTube footage alone, it was obvious he was a rookie. Soon enough, though, I accidentally conducted a full fledged search on this guy. He seemed shady. Sure, he's helping old ladies cross the street and all, but he just has a vibe. I couldn't put my finger on it. April broke me out of my research when she told me that there was a security breach in the compound. I pulled up the security camera footage and saw Clint Barton in my living room with Wanda levitating a knife at his nose.

I rushed downstairs. When I got to the living room Vision was holding Clint by the neck. I watched in silence as Wanda used her powers on Vision. She made it look easy. Slowly, Vision sunk to his knees. Wanda pushed further and the floor gave way. Vision was pushed through all seventy-four thousand levels of the compound. Wanda and Clint were about to turn to run out when you revealed yourself.

"Now was that really necessary?" I smirked. "We just had the floors waxed."

"Y/n," Clint warned.

"I'm not sitting on my ass," I said. Clint smirked and nodded. He knew he couldn't stop me anyways.

One car ride, plane flight and van trip later, I was in Germany. As it turns out, Steve wanted Clint and Wanda on his side, along with some ant dude named Scott. Scott was cool. Him and I sat together on the plane ride and watched Die Hard. He was asleep in the van when we pulled over in the airport parking lot. Clint told me to stay in the van. For once, I listened. I heard voices belonging to Steve and Sam. Clint slid open the van doors abruptly, shaking Scott awake. I chuckled to myself as he fangirled over my Pops. A voice over the intercom said something in a language I didn't know. A voice I didn't recognize said that the airport was being evacuated.

"Stark." Sam muttered.

Scott looked puzzled. Clearly he hadn't been filled in either. "Stark?" he asked.

I step out of the van. "Yes?" Steve and Sam look at me with wide eyes. Clint gave Steve a sheepish shrug. Behind their little blue car stood Bucky Barnes. I knew who he was. I learned about him in school. I knew he was some evil super soldier that attacked Natasha and Steve. He looked scary. He looked exactly like the type of guy to hurt my Mama and Pops. I held his glance until Steve spoke up.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" Steve whisper-shouted. His voice always got quiet when he 'yelled' at me.

"I hitchhiked." I replied, knowing that at this point Steve didn't have the time to argue with me. He shook his head in defeat and took a deep breath.

"Suit up."

The airport was huge. Our group got suited up and started for the runway. I didn't know how Steve knew where to find my dad, but I followed him anyways. Before I could get any closer, Bucky held me back.

"It's, uh, not gonna be safe. You should stay here and keep low," he said. I frowned. I did not come all this way to not fight. But even still, I nodded. Bucky scared me. He and Sam took off in another direction to find the getaway jet. I laughed. This whole thing was ridiculous. My attention turned to the sound of my father and Rhodey flying down from the sky.

"Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in," Tony started. "That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy," Steve replied nonchalantly.

"Your judgement is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday-"

"And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find 'em first Tony. I can't."

"Steve," Natasha approached him slowly. "You know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?"

I took this as my cue. "No, but I will," I said, emerging from my hiding spot. I looked at the faces of your family. My gaze fell on Tony and my smile dropped. He looked angry.

"You brought my daughter into this?" Tony yelled, turning to Steve.

"Technically, I brought myself," I said. "You really think you were gonna leave me out of all the fun?"

Tony pinched his brow. "Y/n, this is serious."

"No it's not," I objected. "No, this got personal the second you thought you were gonna loose Pops to Bucky." No one moved after I said that.

"Alright, I've run out of patience," my father finally spoke. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Underoos!"

Before I had a chance to process, a red and black blur whipped past my head. It landed on top of a nearby van. It was Spider-Man. As in the Spider-Man. He had taken Cap's shield from him. I said nothing. My father could have recruited me, but instead he chose this little neighborhood nobody. That hurt a little. The Spider-thing and my father bantered for a minute. So he's never even been in a real fight before, I thought.

"You've been busy," Steve smirked.

Tony turned back to Steve. "And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint and Y/n, rescuing Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep-" he paused, sighing. "I'm trying to keep to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."

"You did that when you signed." Steve kept his cool. My father did not.

"Alright, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us, now, because it's us! Or squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction of being polite. Come on."

Everyone stood still, waiting. Steve put his web-cuffed hands in the air. Clint shot them free from a mile away. I saw Scott -or a tiny version of him. Spider-Man noticed too, right before Scott grew and kicked him in the face. My dad flew off to retrieve Wanda and Rhodey was ready to take on Cap.

"Hey Mr. Stark, what should I do?" Spider-Man asked. He sounded young.

"What we discussed, keep your distance, web 'em up!" My father barked, as he flew towards Clint and Wanda.

"Okay, copy that," Spider-Man replied. He shot a web at me first. It caught my arm and I got whipped to the ground. I glared at him.

"Really?" I hissed.

"Just following Mr. Stark's orders," He said before swinging off after Bucky. I was left on the ground once everyone dispersed. I tried pulling my hand out of the sticky material that was shot at me, but it was stronger than glue. I was forced to watch the action unfold and wait until Natasha ran past me.

"Mama, a little help here?" I called out to her.

She stopped for a second. "Sorry honey, I really don't want you getting hurt." She ran off and I groaned. No one ever wants me to get hurt. I suppose I should be grateful, but in a moment like this, gratitude is hard to find. I started toying with the web. I wondered if I could break down the molecules. Surely there had to be some sort of H2O compound in it somewhere.

My power surged through me, the current flowing to the hand webbed to the ground. I managed to manipulate the water out, just as I predicted I would. The substance melted off my hands. Gross, I thought. I wiped the remaining web on my pants and got up. The water from the webbing fell to the ground with a splash.

I stood up and examined my surroundings. Natasha was on the ground fighting Scott, who shrunk down and flipped her over her own head. The Black Panther was on the other side of the roof, battling Steve. I didn't move. As much as I wanted to be included, I couldn't bring myself to fight. Not now at least.

The two teams assembled, divided by a line on the pavement. How cinematic. I was on Cap's side. I never meant to fight against my father. If anything, I thought it was funny. I looked out at the team in front of me. They were all lined up, Rhodey, the cat, Tony, Nat, the Spider-brat. Vision hovered above them. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I were scared. I wasn't made to fight.

"What do we do Cap?" Sam asked.

"We fight." Steve moved first. We followed in suit. My dad's team mimicked my team's actions and walked closer. We  broke into a jog and then a full out run. This was really about to happen. I hoped that my family would go easy on me. I knew what I was doing. I reassured myself of that. I have done a bunch of training, especially with Wanda. I could move the freaking elements with my mind and manipulate gravity! As if the Spider-Man could beat that. I am Y/n fricking Stark. I can do this.

I put a smile on your face, contrasting everyone else's bitter looks. "I call the spider!" I yelled, just as everyone began the battle. Spider-Man heard me and slowed down just a bit. I cocked an eyebrow. He resumed his pace and ran straight for me. I ran headfirst towards him. He threw out his arm to web me, but I was faster. With a swish of my hands, I changed his gravitational pull and made his feet flip out from under him. He landed on his back with a hard thud. As gently as I could, I morphed the pavement under him to trap his hands. "Careful there, Spider-boy. Don't wanna get stepped on." I walked away. I made it about ten steps before I heard the sound of concrete cracking. I turned around and saw that Spider-Man was breaking free of his restraints. I was shocked. He has super strength. Great. I should have moved out of his way because the second he got one hand free, I was webbed against a truck.

"For the record," he said, getting up in my face. "It's Spider-Man." He swung off into the airport through a glass window. I watched the glass rained onto the ground. Taking a deep breath, I quickly removed myself from the webs. I needed a plan. A strategy. I thought about at the opposing team. Everyone was scattered around the airport. I thought about who would be easiest to fight. But then I realized, the strategy wasn't about how they'd fight, but who. There was no way in hell that my parents or Uncle Rhodey would even think about fighting me. The Black Panther didn't know me, so he was a threat. The worst Vision could do was pick me up and fly away, so he was in thr safe zone. That left the spider. I smiled to myself. Rematch time.

By the time I found Spider-Man, he had already webbed Sam and Bucky to the floor. He was perched on top of a light post, saying something about impressing my father. Sam's mini falcon whizzed past me and grabbed Spider-Man by the web. He got pulled out a window, banging his side into the pane on the way out. I ran over to Sam and Bucky. Quickly, I destroyed the webbing and helped them up. They both gave me a quick "Thanks kid," before running back out. I followed them, staying loose on their trail.

Once I got outside my eyes scanned the area for the Spider. I saw Wanda piling cars on my father and Natasha fighting Clint. Then I spotted him, fighting Cap. He was underneath a jet bridge . Cap threw his shield at the support beams and the whole thing fell on top of Spider-Man. He caught it of course, but Cap ran away. I formed my plan.

"Hey!" I called out. I walked around the collapsing jet bridge. I stood in front of the struggling boy. Or man, I didn't know. "Remember me?"

"Heh, how could I forget such a pretty face," he grunted, starting to fold under the weight of the jet bridge. "You wanna give me a hand?" I glared at his face comment, but lifted the jet bridge anyway. He ran out and I let it fall. Both of us stopped for a minute, gasping for breath beside the rubble. He was close enough to hit. So I did. Without warning I threw a punch of air at him. It hit him right in the chest and he got blown back into the side of a van. "What the hell man?" He got up and shot a web at me. I dodged and threw another gust of wind. It shot him out of the air. He webbed at a pole and swung past my face. I redirected his gravitational pull, but not before he got a kick to my face. We both got thrown in different directions. I landed hard on the ground, pain shooting up my spine. I got up first, now angry. Forgetting about my powers, I lunged at him and threw a punch. I missed and he shot webs at my feet, holding me down. Immediately, I dissolved them and Spider-Man's eyes widened. Well, his mask's eye holes did anyway.

"How did you do that?" He yelled. "What kind of witchcraft-"

"Its not witchcraft," I spat. "It's called manipulation of the elements, look it up. I figured there had to be some water compound in this and I was right. All I had to do was remove it."

"That's so cool! And how did you do the foot thing earlier? Was that just the wind you do or do you have telekinesis too? Are you like the Scarlet Witch?" He rambled on. I took this to my advantage and caught him off guard. I used the van he'd hit earlier to become his gravitational pull and yanked. He went slamming into it and groaned. When he tried to get back up, I was already five steps ahead of him. Morphing the earth metals in the van, I contorted it into a shell that crushed Spider-Man until he was covered and stuck.

I heard Scott say that he was gonna tear himself in half over the earpiece. I got distracted from holding Spider-Man down and turned to see a giant Scott. Spider-Man broke free. He tore the shell off himself and threw it at me. I was wacked across the side and fell the the ground again.

"Holy shit!" he says, looking at Scott. His back was to me and I gave him one last wind push. He fell on his face and I laughed. "Oh come on, don't you have some dolls to play with or something?" I just scoffed and walked past him, stepping past his hand that was on the ground. He let out a yelp and you kept walking. Dolls, I thought. I'm thirteen I don't play with dolls. I watched as the rest of the battle went down. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Natasha was standing just behind me. "Come with me." We started jogging off. It was natural for me to listen to her. I realized about five seconds in that technically she was my enemy right about now, but I shrugged it off. I ran through the fight, past the big Scott and towards a warehouse. I could see the outline of a jet get bigger as I approached it. Natasha stopped behind the entrance. She was waiting.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"We wait to fight," She replied, not taking her eyes off the horizon. I came to realize this probably means I would be fighting her. Maybe she wanted to use me as a hostage or something. No, that's silly. Right?

Steve and Bucky got closer to the building I was in. They nearly made it until Vision laser beamed the shit out of a nearby communications tower. Wanda caught it before it fell, giving the two men time to race towards the jet. I stepped out to help Wanda. The both of us were able to hold the rubble long enough for Steve and Bucky to get through. I panted, proud of myself for getting this far.

A searing pain sliced through my brain. Both myself and Wanda fell to the ground, screaming. I could barely look up to see that Rhodey was sending some sort of wave through the air. The tower fell and Natasha was quick to haul me out of the way before I got crushed. I might be better than Spider-Man, but I definitely don't have his super strength.

Steve and Bucky still managed to get through the falling paces of metal and concrete. Natasha left my side and marched swiftly towards the two men. I couldn't hear them, but I could sense the tension from a mile away. Natasha lifted her arm, taser aimed and ready. Steve held his shield up in defense as Natasha shoots....the Black Panther? I guess she's on our side now? The jet started to take off and you watch an Natasha continues to battle the Panther. I fell to my side, wiped out.

My father flew into the warehouse just as the jet leaves. You thought maybe he was going to fight Natasha for betraying him. I was wrong. He was coming for me. He landed beside me and dropped to his knees. His helmet closed and I could see the worry plastered on his cut up face. He knelt beside me and gently held me up.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I nodded, not really able to make words. He looked over at Natasha, who was looking at us. She had an apologetic look, but I know she doesn't regret letting Cap go. My father let me go and charged off after the jet plane. I lied down, enjoying the feeling of cold concrete against your skin. I closed my eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I paced around the living room, driving Nat crazy. I knew that the second my father got home I would be in deep shit. So when Friday alerted me that Tony was home my heart rate went up 29373%. The battle, this fight, it ended worse then I could have imagined. Natasha told me that my father could have died. Rhodey was paralyzed from the waist down. I had no idea if I'd ever see my Pops again. This was bad. Very, very bad.

I slowly walked down the main hall towards the front doors. I was scared. My hands and the back of my neck were sweating. I knew exactly what was coming. Every time I had asked my dad if I could be an honorary Avenger, I got the same lecture. That it was too dangerous, I didn't have the proper training and it's too much for his little girl to handle. Even when I asked to just be a part of the business side of the team, Tony laughed and said no. I've broken a lot of my father's rules, but this was the line. And I had gone so far over.

As I approached the front door, I could hear my father speaking. I heard another voice too. My heart dropped. It was Spider-Man. Why was Spider-Man here? I ducked behind a wall and listened in to the conversation.

"...outstanding job kid. Your fighting technique was on par. And, listen, I know we're not allowed to have kids on this team, but if we need you again, we'll call." I heard my father say.

"Thanks Mr. Stark. This was so cool," Spider-Man replied. I wondered if he had his suit on or not. I wanted to know who this guy was. I revealed myself from behind the wall. The two looked at me. I looked at my father first and fought the urge to burst into tears. He looked awful. His face was all cut up and the black eye he got was still a little swollen. I glanced at the figure beside him and frowned. Spider-Man was a kid. He looked like he was my age. He had a mop of curly brown hair and doe eyes. He was almost equally as beat up as my dad and I gracefully took credit for that.

"Y/n, this is Peter. He's, uh, one of my interns. Kid, this is Y/n," Tony said. My annoyance turned to anger. Now my father was lying to me?

"How old are you?" I asked, eyes narrowing. I knew that I sounded rude, but this kid had kicked me in the face twice. I didn't think he deserved my manners.

"I'm fourteen," Peter gulped. A year older than me. And I kicked his ass, I thought. "You gave me quite a fight back in Berlin."

"Yeah and I beat your ass doing it."

"Speaking of which," Tony spoke up, "I have to talk to Y/n about that. Happy will take you home Peter." Peter nodded and said goodbye to my father. He said goodbye to me, to which I didn't reply. Peter frowned at that as he walked out the door.

My dad turned to me when the door shut. "What," he began, "were you thinking?"

"Well I-"

"No. This is where you listen. Do you know how dangerous that mission was. Do you know how many people got hurt? You saw what happened to Rhodey, that could have been you!"

"But it wasn't" I retorted.

Tony's frown deepened. "That is not the point. You put yourself in serious danger, and for what? So you could feel a little more included? You could have died. This was my one rule, my one ask of you, and your broke it."

"Oh, come on now, I'm a Stark, it's in our blood to not listen to our fathers." My father gave me the coldest look and I shut down. I took a deep breath. "Look, I didn't know that it was gonna be this bad. You know me, daddy, I'm not a fighter, I'm not some hero. You think I would have gone if I knew it would turn out like this? I thought this was just gonna be another one your you and Pops' stupid fights. And yes, I could have gotten hurt, but I think I handled myself pretty well. You saw what I did you that little protege of yours. I beat him to the curb."

"Y/n you were reckless. Peter was prepared for this, he was ready."

"And I still beat him."

"Y/n you're not listening to me. This is why I chose Peter over you. I would have taken you if I knew you wouldn't do something stupid. But you did anyway." And with that he walked away, leaving me, teary-eyed in the front hall.

Tony came by my room later that night to apologize. He said that he was sorry for being harsh, that he just cared about me and I scared him. I knew he meant it and I forgave him, because that's what we do. Besides, it wasn't Tony I was angry with. This is why I chose Peter over you. Tony's words echoed through my head. I knew that he loved me more, I'm his daughter, he had to. But I were jealous. Jealous that stupid Peter Parker got the praise for the work I've wanted to hear for ages. And mad at that stupid spider for being stupid.

This is when I decided that I hate Peter Parker.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #marvel fanfic #spiderman fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #enemies to lovers #one shot #spiderman homecoming #captain america civil war #spiderman far from home #stark!daughter #tony stark #tony stark's daughter #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #clint barton #wanda maximoff #black widow #captian america #hawkeye #scarlet witch

[burberryharold]

hey, lovies! i’ve been so excited to post this fic because i am in love with Harry and Jules and i hope you will be too (and excuse the lousy banner i just wanted to have something lol)! this is a part of @1dffchallenges’s valentine’s day challenge, so i hope you enjoy reading it and happy valentine’s day, it’s all about spreading love around so here is some love from me to all of you ❤️

a special thank you to @fireproofrry @bodejacketharry @strawberryystyles​ for beta reading and giving feedback, you are absolute angels <3

word count: 7.7k

warnings: none!

challenge prompt and dialogue: strangers alone on valentine’s day + “I’m allergic to chocolate. And roses.”

It’s official, valentine’s day is the worst.

At least that’s what Jules thought as she adjusted herself on the bar stool, trying to get into a comfortable position while she waited for her drink to be served.

It wasn’t in Jules’ agenda to spend what was supposed to be the most romantic day of the year alone at a bar ten minutes away from her apartment. If she was still with Leon, they would have been having a nice dinner somewhere, laughing over whatever funny story one of them had to share about their day at the company.

But alas, Leon was someone else’s now and Jules was only left with her own company.

Truth be told, though, Jules never minded being alone, in fact, she enjoyed being by herself because people were simply exhausting.

But being alone and being lonely were too completely different things, and Jules hated feeling lonely.

And valentine’s day only made that worse. Seeing loved up couples around her, flashes of red and pink everywhere she glanced, hearing cheesy love songs blasting through the speakers of the shops she passed by. Everything about valentine’s day just seemed to remind her of her lonely status.

Instead of staying at her apartment all night long doing nothing but watching rom coms and feeling sorry for herself, Jules thought of a better alternative, which was to get pissed drunk. So when she got up in the morning to go to work (because even on valentine’s day duty calls), she put on her favourite black dress, one that was sleeveless and had a deep v-neckline, and put on enough makeup to feel confident in the way she looked before pulling on her coat and venturing into the cold streets of London.

If she was going to get pathetically drunk by herself at a bar after work whilst everyone else was being all lovey dovey, then she would look hot doing it.

The sound of a glass coming in contact with the wooden surface broke her out of her reverie and she glanced up, finding that the bartender had placed her drink in front of her and he was beaming at her. “There you go, love, happy valentine’s day.”

After squinting at the name tag (she’s never seen him here before, he must be new), Jules forced herself to return his smile and lifted her glass. “Cheers, Jonah.”

Poor guy must have thought she was waiting for a date or something. Too bad, no one was going to be joining Jules on this fine evening. Just me, myself, and I.

Setting her glass back on the counter after taking a big gulp, Jules scowled as she was reminded of the items she had received earlier in the day. For some reason, Leon thought it was a good idea to give her a box of chocolates and a rose, even though they were no longer together and he had another woman by his side.

She appreciated the thought behind it, he probably just wanted to be nice or maybe he felt guilty, but his gift was staring at her, almost laughing at her misery and she wasn’t having it.

That is why she instantly asked Jonah for a fork, which caused him to send her a confused look but he complied nonetheless, and she proceeded to stab the pieces of chocolate placed perfectly in the box, taking out her frustration on the sweets.

Once satisfied, she dropped the fork with a clunk and heaved out a sigh, lazily resting her chin in her right hand before looking back at Jonah. He was staring at her with wide eyes as he dried off some shot glasses, surely thinking that she was a lunatic, but Jules just flashed him a sweet smile and shifted her eyes back to the chocolates she had just assaulted.

Poor chocolate, but oh well.

“Are you alright there?”

“What the fuc-“ The sudden voice caused her to jump in her seat and she almost fell off the bar stool if it weren’t for the hand that magically materialised behind her, holding her steady.

Before she had a chance to slap the hand off her back, the stranger retracted it and returned to his seat and she had the chance to take a proper look at him.

The man stared back at her with concerned eyes, a stool separating the two of them, but he was still not that far away from her. Jules wondered when he had gotten there because she certainly didn’t feel him arrive. Perhaps it was during her chocolate rampage.

What really surprised her though, more than his sudden appearance, was the fact that she knew who he was. In fact, she believed everyone knew the man sitting beside her because it was none other than Harry Styles.

Many questions ran through Jules’ head, the most important being what on earth was a guy like him doing at this bar on valentine’s day? Jules never believed in the image the media painted of him, but surely he has something better to do than be here, all by himself it seems?

As big of a fan as she was, the fact that he was right before her didn’t faze Jules all that much, her mind was more preoccupied by other matters. So, she ended up doing what she would’ve done if it was any other person: she glared at him and wordlessly turned back in her seat, pretending as if he wasn’t there.

He didn’t seem to take the hint.

“You were quite aggressive with the chocolate there.” His deep voice floated in the empty bar as he pointed at the box in front of her.

Jules inhaled deeply before responding in a flat tone. “I’m allergic to chocolate.” Glaring at the single rose lying beside the box, she grabbed it and tossed it on the floor beneath her, silently cursing Leon once more. “And roses.”

She felt guilty for littering, but she’d pick it up when she leaves. Eventually.

“Are you really?” The man beside her questioned, leaning forward in his seat, his body completely turned towards her at this point. She could tell from her tone that he was skeptical of her supposed allergies and she honestly couldn’t blame him.

“No,” she found herself shaking her head, signalling for Jonah to get her another drink, still keeping her body facing forward and only glancing at him from her peripheral vision, “I’m just fucking with you.”

To her surprise, he let out a small laugh, not seeming to be upset. Jules couldn’t help but turn her head a bit to look at him, finding a dimpled smile on his and she wondered what was wrong with this guy.

“May I ask why you were stabbing the poor sweets then?”

Figuring she should just put him out of his misery and answer his question, Jules huffed and crossed her legs, not missing the way his gaze flickered down for a split second before returning to her face. She ignored it and sighed, “Well if you must know, my ex gave them to me this morning.”

“Trying to get you to take him back?”

“Oh god no,” Jules laughed at the notion, her hand waving off his wrong assumption, “he’s as happy as can be with his new girlfriend.”

The blatant confusion on his face prompted her to provide more explanation.

“We broke up a couple of months ago, he left me for someone else. So he probably just felt guilty.”

“He left you for someone else? And before the holidays?” When she nodded in confirmation, he shook his head with a frown. “Bastard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Valentine’s day just sucks, it’s just a reminder of how lonely you are,” she muttered with bitterness, “Of how lonely I am.”

“Well if it’s any consolation,” Harry said, pausing to ask the bartender for another drink, “I’m lonely tonight too.”

“Well, obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t be here getting drunk on your own.” With a few drinks already in her system, Jules practically had no filter whatsoever (not that she really had one in the first place).

“Touché,” he clicked his tongue, then leaned back to chug down the rest of his glass. Jules was almost concerned by how quickly he downed his drink, but she’s not in a position to talk, after all, she’d been doing the same. “But I’m not getting drunk on my own now, am I? You’re right here.”

She scoffed, eyebrows raising at his words. “Who said I’m keeping you company? Or that I’m not leaving any second now?”

“I don’t think you are.” He responded with much conviction that it almost threw Jules off.

“You think too confidently about a stranger you just met.”

“Let’s fix the strangers part then, shall we? I’m Harry.” He extended his ring-clad hand and Jules noticed a coat of red nail polish on his fingers. How ironic.

She sighed before deciding to entertain him, grabbing a firm hold of his surprisingly warm hand. Maybe she’ll allow him to keep her company tonight. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave her alone anyway.

“Jules.” She simply responded before turning back to her drink, swirling the pink straw around. She made a mental note to thank Jonah later for the cute straw.

“Jules” Harry repeated, as if testing the name on his lips and Jules would be lying if she said that she didn’t like the way it rolled off his tongue. “Is that a nickname for Julie? Julia? Short for Juliann-“

“Juliet. It’s Juliet.” She interrupted his ridiculous ramble. He surely was inquisitive. And did she really look like a Julianne?

“Huh,” he hummed, gliding a finger over the rim of his glass, staying silent for a few seconds and Jules thought he was maybe done for the night.

She thought wrong, it seems.

“Oh, Juliet, oh, Juliet, where art thou, Juliet?” He dramatically recited, voice going deeper as he stared upwards at a spot over the bar. Simply put, Jules thought he looked ridiculous.

She could hear Jonah snickering in the background.

“It’s where art thou, Romeo, but nice try.” She rolled her eyes in response to his theatrics. Almost everyone she’s ever encountered has commented on her name and made a reference to the infamous Shakespearean tragedy that she’s never been too fond of. It’s why she mostly went by Jules.

No one’s ever recited that line though, however wrong it was. That was a first.

“I knew that,” the curly-haired man mumbled beside her, swirling his glass and watching the ice cubes swim around, “was just joking, geez, tough crowd.”

Jules couldn’t help but roll her eyes again in response. That joke got old a long time ago.

She’s beginning to regret coming to this bar tonight. Maybe she should’ve just headed straight home and cuddled into her blankets.

“It’s pretty, though,” he added a few moments later, “beautiful name for a beautiful woman”

No way. She huffed, spinning in her seat to face him once again. “That’s your line? Tell me, Mr. Rockstar, has that really worked on anyone before?”

She could tell he was a bit surprised but tried to hide it; unluckily for him, Jules was a very observant person, hardly anything passed her.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that-“

She interrupted him again and leaned in closer, resting her elbow on the countertop and raised an eyebrow. His eyes flickered for a fleeting second to the charm bracelet adorning her wrist. “So you don’t think my name’s beautiful? Or that I’m beautiful? Sheesh, Harry, you’re not looking good here.”

Harry spluttered, staring at her with eyes blown wide in panic and Jules almost felt bad for messing with him; it was just hard not to, she was lonely and he was right there annoying her with his lousy jokes, so he has the unfortunate fate of being her victim tonight (and truthfully, he brought it on himself). And if she was being honest, messing with Harry Styles was just too entertaining of an opportunity for her to pass on.

To be fair, she was a little annoyed by his presence in the beginning, having originally planned to wallow in her misery all by herself, but now she’s having fun. She might just enjoy her time with him.

“No- no of course I think you’re beautiful, y-your name too,” he responded in clear panic, seemingly trying to figure out how he can redeem himself. Jules’ attention was momentarily caught by the way his rings glimmered under the light as he flexed his fingers, still fumbling for a response. “I was just-“

“Styles,” she interrupted him, yet again, with a light-hearted laugh and shook her head, hair falling forward on her shoulders, “Relax, was just messing with you.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he heaved out a sigh of relief; his eyes then narrowed and he lifted his hand, pointer finger wagging in her direction. “You really like messing with people, huh? Not very nice of you.”

“Made you sweat, no? Was just having fun. I can now say that I’ve made the infamous Harry Styles stumble over his words. How much do you think they’ll pay me for that hot gossip? Reckon it would be a lot.” She said as she turned back in her seat, now facing the bar once again, but she knew he caught the smirk on her face and the teasing lilt in her tone.

Coming to the bar was definitely a good decision.

Harry felt like a proper idiot.

Here he was, sitting at a pub with a lovely woman that clearly didn’t want to be bothered, yet he had to fuck things up and be a git.

And the Juliet bit? Harry had never been more embarrassed, he didn’t know what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. He made sure to remind himself that he wasn’t that funny and should just stop trying to be. You’re making a fucking fool of yourself.

In spite of his rather embarrassing advances, Harry found himself enjoying Jules’ company immensely, even if she had barely looked his way when he had arrived at his spot.

She might’ve looked irritated by his insistent attempts to start a conversation with her in the beginning, but from the way her body has been facing him for the past half an hour and the smile or two she’d thrown his way, Harry had a feeling she was warming up to him.

He discovered that she was an accountant, which thoroughly surprised him because she didn’t seem like one. Harry doesn’t like to judge a book by its cover, but Jules definitely didn’t scream accountant, more like a Greek goddess or something. Her black dress hugged her body in a way that almost made Harry dizzy; he had noticed her the second he walked into the nearly empty pub – and before he could even think about it, he found his legs carrying him in her direction (he was already headed to the bar anyway, or so he told himself).

Admittedly, the way she was stabbing the chocolates had him fearing for his life for a split second, but Harry brushed it off and figured she just wasn’t a fan of valentine’s day, if her apparent disdain for the sweets and the rose before her was any indication.

He was also surprised to learn that she’d moved here from America about five years ago and this pub was one she often frequented, yet Harry had never run into her somehow despite coming here a lot and living not too far himself.

He’s glad their paths have finally crossed tonight, though.

That being said, Jules was definitely keeping him on his toes. He never knew what she was going to say next, and she certainly did not hold back from saying exactly what was on her mind.

Harry found himself liking that about her, even if her forwardness came at his expense sometimes (he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it). Oftentimes, people acted cautious around him and treated him differently just because of his status. Not Jules, though.

But now he could tell that she had something on her mind, from the way she looked at him then shifted her eyes elsewhere a second later.

“What is it?” He questioned, deciding to put her out of her fidgety state. He wasn’t sure what was holding her back, she certainly had no problem handing his ass to him earlier.

“It’s just,” she started, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, the movement catching Harry attention for a second before he reminded himself to be respectful, “what are you doing here by yourself tonight? I find it hard to believe that someone like you doesn’t have anyone to hang around on a day like this.”

Someone like him? Harry furrowed his eyebrows, not sure what she was implying with her words but he didn’t believe she meant it in a negative manner necessarily.

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean anything like that,” she quickly defended, face becoming redder by the second and Harry was a little endeared by the sight. The woman before him was confident all throughout their conversation, having no fear in expressing her thoughts, yet now she was the flustered one. And Harry couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Time to give her a taste of her own medicine.

“What, thought someone like me had a flock of women at their beck and call and that I’d be off with one or some of them tonight?”

He gave her a blank look afterwards, pretending that he found offence in her words and he almost blew his cover at the way her face visibly fell.

“N-no!” she exclaimed, voice rising a few octaves and Harry could see the bartender, Jonah, suddenly flinch behind her from the sound. He pressed his lips together to silence the chuckle that threatened to escape and continued to stare Jules down.

“Of course I didn’t mean it like that,” she added in a much calmer tone, though Harry could detect that panic lacing her voice and he was starting to feel guilty. “I never believed that you were like that, I just,” she paused, averting her gaze away and staring at the lights above them instead, “never mind, just ignore me.”

Harry figured that she already knew of who he was and his status, and despite having just met her, the fact that she just said she doesn’t believe the rumours about him filled him with inexplicable warmth and he had to remind himself again that he’d only just met this woman. He shouldn’t feel anything of the sort towards her.

He could tell by the way her eyebrows were furrowed that she felt bad about what she’d said, so Harry called out her name and waited for her to look at him again.

When she did, her face holding an apprehensive look, he smiled at her and leaned a bit closer, which made little difference because there was still some space separating them.

“I was just messing with you, Jules,” he reached forward and flicked her nose, causing her to instinctively scrunch her face in a cute manner that had Harry’s stomach fluttering. “Doesn’t feel that nice now, does it?”

Jules chuckled in disbelief, wide eyes staring back at him and a smile was slowly stretching on her lips. “Touché. I see how it is then.”

Harry just shrugged, his own lips twitching as another smile threatened to appear. “Just having some fun, eh?”

Jules was now beaming at him and if Harry was standing, he was certain that his knees would’ve buckled at the sight. He already knew that Jules was gorgeous, and he was sure anyone would agree with him, but when as she smiled at him like that, eyes shining bright under the warm orange lights, brown hair cascading loosely yet somehow perfectly on her shoulders, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that there was an angel sitting before him.

“Truce then?”

Her voice brought him back to earth and Harry chuckled before he shook her outstretched hand, marvelling for a moment at the way it felt enveloped in his. “Truce.”

“But to answer your question,” Harry said after a few beats of silence, glancing at her to find her eyes already set on him. “I didn’t have anything planned, haven’t been on many dates recently to be honest, so I just figured I’d come here and spend time with my good friend,” he lifted his drink with a wide grin on his face, “alcohol, the one thing that never let me down.”

Jules threw her head back in a laugh, the sound being music to Harry’s ears and he wished he could record it just to hear it again and again. “Amen to that.”

The two clinked their glasses together, laughing stupidly for no reason, before they threw their heads back to drink.

“Another round, then?”

Jonah suddenly appeared in front of them, startling Harry a bit. Sometimes he forgot that the man was lingering around behind the bar.

Jules took the liberty to respond for the both of them, exclaiming a “hell yeah, buddy!” that had the two men laughing, and soon enough their glasses were refilled.

After taking a sip, Harry leaned his head on the palm of his hand and set his eyes on Jules again, “So, are you a fan? Of me or of the band?”

He had to ask, he couldn’t help but wonder. If she was indeed a fan, she certainly didn’t show it.

Jules shrugged, playing nonchalant it seemed, but it didn’t escape him the way her cheeks seemed to redden. “Eh, I dabble. You’re alright.”

Her response made him chuckle. “Good to know.” Call him a narcissist, but he really wanted to know whether or not she liked his music. Perhaps he’ll inquire further later.

Because Harry knows that there’s no way he’s letting Jules go anytime soon.

Getting to know Harry was fun.

Sometime during the night, Harry had migrated from his seat onto the bar stool beside her, their thighs brushing against each other every now and then.

Tapping his fingers around his glass, Harry’s rings clinked against it and Jules couldn’t help but be slightly captivated by the action. She wasn’t one to stare at anyone’s hands, but she had to admit that Harry’s were fascinating to look at; his long and slender fingers, adorned by a number of his infamous rings, were truly a sight to see.

She took the chance to also admire his outfit, something she was too busy to do earlier on. His coat was long discarded on the stool beside him, which allowed her eyes to run over his figure. His upper body was covered by a plain white t-shirt with the word “Sex” displayed on his chest, a pair of pair of wide-legged black pants covering his long limbs; it was a simple fit yet it made it difficult for Jules to take her eyes off him. And his hair just looked so soft that her fingers were begging her to touch the fallen strands on his forehead.

Hearing Harry clear his throat broke her out of her trance and Jules realised from the smirk that stretched on his lips that she’d been caught in the act.

She tried playing it off, as if she hadn’t been shamelessly checking him out for the last couple of minutes and smoothed her hands down her dress, adjusting in her seat because honestly, her butt was starting to ache.

But she didn’t want to leave just yet.

Seeming to notice her discomfort, however, Harry downed the last bit of his drink before setting his glass down with a smack, causing Jonah, who was still lingering around them, to shoot Harry a warning glance and a low “careful!”, to which Harry smiled sheepishly before turning to face her again.

“Want to get out of here?”

Jules’ eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, having not expected him to want to continue spending the night with her.

“Sure there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?” She couldn’t help but question, still struggling to grasp the fact that he still wanted to be around her. Her hands were fidgeting with the hem of her dress, eyes staring into his emerald ones as she waited to hear his response.

Truth be told, she was enjoying his company far much more than she had anticipated and she didn’t want to part from him just yet.

To her relief, a dimpled smile adorned Harry’s face as he took in her words before he shook his head, “Trust me, Jules, there’s no one else I’d rather be with tonight.”

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t skip a beat at that.

The two got up from their seats after thanking Jonah and fighting over who’s paying because Harry insisted on paying for her drinks. As she was gathering her things, she felt Harry’s presence behind her and she realised, after looking at him over her shoulders, that he was holding her coat up for her.

Heat rushed into her cheeks at the gesture, finding it sweet that he was helping her when he didn’t really have to. “Thank you,” she whispered, turning to him with a smile after feeling him adjust her hair.

His only response was a faint “No need” and he quickly turned to shrug on his own coat, the bashful smile on his lips not going unnoticed by her.

Flashing Jonah another smile, Harry extended his arm towards her and nodded his head towards the exit. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The two stepped into the night, the biting London air hitting Jules’ cheeks immediately and she was positive her nose was already red from the cold.

Jules reached into her pocket to grab her phone, realising that she hasn’t checked the device since she walked into the bar. There weren’t any notifications that she missed, which wasn’t surprising since her friends (all four of them) were out on dates or staying at home with their partners, so she was sure no one was thinking of her at the moment.

Noticing that it was already 8 in the evening and they were aimlessly walking down the street, Jules turned to Harry with a questioning gaze. “Where are we going?”

Leaning his head down to look at her (or perhaps to be closer, Jules wasn’t sure), he paused, seeming to think, before shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno if I’m quite honest.”

Jules found herself chuckling at him. How did her day end with her walking around with no purpose with a man she’d just met?

She looked at the sign closest to them before she turned to him and did something she rarely ever did. She found herself inviting him to her apartment because they were quite close.

A smirk found its way onto Harry’s lips and she started to regret her decision. “Already trying to get me into your bed, Juliet?”

She mentally cursed at the way her heart leaped upon hearing her name roll off his tongue. Almost no one called her Juliet anymore, except for her parents when they were being serious, but she found herself wanting to hear him say her name over and over again.  

Shaking her head at the thought, Jules reached her arm out and lightly slapped his shoulder. “Oh come off it, you idiot. You can just go ahead and cry alone in your mansion if you want.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender and muttered an apology, although the smile lingered on his lips and Jules tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in her chest.

“Lead the way, then.”

“Make yourself at home, I’ll get us something to drink.”

The walk to her apartment was full of smiles and laughter. She’s come to the conclusion that Harry loves making people laugh, even if his jokes were actually awful, but she found it endearing; he was like a ray of sunshine bringing joy to those around him.

She was glad that she had cleaned up the place a couple of days ago, it would’ve been embarrassing to have someone over to see pyjamas and junk strewn over her furniture. Suffice to say, Jules was a bit of a mess around the house.

After hanging up her coat and Harry’s, she made her way into her kitchen and looked for the good wine she reserved for special occasions. She easily grabbed it, along with two glasses, but then Jules found herself lingering by the kitchen island.

It dawned on her that there was a man in her living room, and he wasn’t just anyone. This was Harry Styles, someone she’d long admired and holy shit was this really happening?

And as sad as it may sound, she’s never felt this connection with anyone before, never felt like the person before her got her and could keep up with her. Yet with Harry, it felt different, and that scared her because she’d only just met him a couple of hours ago.

And he was bound to forget all about her after tonight. He’s just looking for some company, and Jules didn’t think she was that special. Eventually, he’s going to leave. Just like everyone else.

Feeling like the black marble of the island was starting to swirl in her vision, Jules snapped out of her thoughts and sucked in a deep breath before moving back towards the living room.

Harry had his hands interlocked behind his back, perusing through her record collection and it made her inadvertently smile. She was proud of her vast collection of vinyl records, a good portion of them handed down to her by her father; they both had a deep appreciation for records that her mum often made fun of them for.

“Found anything you like?” He jolted at her voice, not having noticed her presence behind him, but then his shoulders immediately relaxed.

Turning towards her with a wide grin, Harry gestured to the shelf behind him. Jules liked the way he seemed to glow underneath the dim lights and she wished she could take a picture of this moment as a keepsake. “This is amazing, there are records here that I couldn’t even find.”

“You can thank my dad for that,” she told him, making herself comfortable on the couch but not breaking eye contact once, “he’s been collecting them for decades and I’m so glad he let me have some, like you should see his collection back home, it’s even more impressive.”

“Hope I’ll get to someday.”

His response caught her off-guard. Before Jules could react, Harry’s teasing voice carried through the room.

“You dabble, you said?” He smirked, turning the Fine Line record in hand to show her and also nodding to the space that held One Direction records. Jules groaned out loud and flopped against the back of the couch.

“A little yeah. Sue me.”

She blushed under his amused gaze, a little embarrassed that he’d found her collection of the band’s records and his own solo music.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, dimples adorning his cheeks, “think it’s cute that you’re a big fan.”

“Don’t know why that makes me cute but okay if you say so.” She mumbled under her breath, realising that he heard her when he chuckled.

“Mind if I put on something then?”

Jules shook her head, signalling for him to go ahead while she poured their drinks. Soon afterwards Stevie Nicks’ voice filled the silence and her lips tugged up at the choice.

The couch dipped beside her when Harry sat down, the scent of his cologne invading her senses. Jules doesn’t think anyone has ever smelled as good as him, but she chose to keep that thought to herself and instead handed him his drink.

A few moments of silence passed after he quietly thanked her, Stevie’s voice the only thing that can be heard.

“So,” he started, throwing an arm on the back of the couch, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, “would I find any 1D posters if I went into your room?”

“Oh fuck you.” She threw one of the cushions at him, smiling at the way he threw his head back in laughter.

Jules did not mind his company at all.

“Hold on a minute,” Harry straightened up from his previously relaxed position on the couch, “you all work together and you see him and his new girlfriend every day?”

“Yup, you can imagine how fun that is.” She loved her job as an accountant, having always been fascinated with numbers, but she hated having to see him every day in the office across from hers.

It’s not like she hated him, they actually ended on good terms, all things considered. Leon wasn’t bad, he never cheated on her, but the feelings between them just died out, a flicker of something that dwindled into nothing. So, they were friendly with each other and that’s probably the reason why he brought her a box of chocolate and a rose.

But Juliet just didn’t like the daily reminder that she was in fact much lonelier than he was; it’s like rubbing salt in the wound.

“Shit, Jules, that must be hard,” he frowns, leaning forward to pat her hand, “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

“It’s not that serious,” she mumbles, feeling heat rushing to her cheeks at the simple touch and she mentally cursed herself. She had sworn off men for the unforeseeable future. “I’m over him. You know, I actually think I was never really in love with him to begin with.”

“Why’d you think that?” He questions, his thumb still softly caressing her hand; Jules wasn’t sure if he was aware of that or was absentmindedly doing it. Either way, the touch warmed her.

“I think,” she started, setting her glass of wine on the coffee table so she could sink in further into the couch, the move unintentionally bringing her body closer to Harry’s. “I think I was just happy to have someone around, someone to spend time with. I’ve spent a lot of my life alone and I think I just clung onto him because he kept me company.”

A few beats of silence passed before she continued. “That makes me sound horrible, no, it’s not like I used him, I did enjoy his company and we had a lot of fun together, but I think I was just in love with the idea of him, not him.”

Harry nodded his head, leaning back and mirroring her position, “I understand. That’s how I felt in most of my relationships actually. I longed to have someone around so I wouldn’t be lonely, but I’ve learned over the years that having company doesn’t mean that you won’t feel lonely.”

“You sounded pretty heartbroken on your last record though.” If she wasn’t as inebriated as she was, Jules would have probably had some filter and wouldn’t have said that.

Luckily, Harry chuckled in response and relaxed further into the couch, retracting his hand from hers (she instantly missed the warmth), but he didn’t seem upset. “I was. I would say that I was actually falling in love with her, so I was a bit of a mess when she left me.”

His words made her frown. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t know how anyone could leave you.” She muttered under her breath, forgetting that she was usually louder than normal after she’s had a few drinks.

“Could say the same thing about you.”

With her cheeks flushed, Jules forced herself to look him in the eye again. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I’d like to get to know you.” He almost instantly shot back, resting his chin on his hand and his dimples made an appearance, “I think you’re very interesting.”

“Pfft, me? Interesting?” She laughed, waving him off with her hand. “I am anything but.”

“That’s not true!” Harry vehemently denied, sounding almost offended at the thought, which admittedly made Jules’ heart skip a beat. Just a little.

“I’ve spent a few hours with you now and I can already confidently say that you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,” his eyes shone bright as she stared into them and she could somehow tell he was being sincere, “and trust me, I’ve met a lot of people.”

Dramatically placing a hand over her heart, Jules flashed him her biggest smile. “Oh how special that makes me feel, I can just die happily now.”

Even though she was being melodramatic, his words did cause Jules’ heart to flutter. In the past, some people told her she was annoying, or brash, and some others would make her feel invisible and undeserving of attention.

Harry, though, was unlike anyone she had ever known. From the moment they met, Harry made her feel like the centre of his attention, never once ignored her or brushed her off, even when she was taking the piss; his emerald eyes were always set on her, giving her his undivided attention as he listened to every word that came out of her mouth.

Jules was definitely not used to that.

Harry threw his head back in laughter, a sound that Jules found to be a beautiful melody, and gazed at her with those bright eyes. “Oh you’re insufferable, I take it back.”

She gasped in feigned shock, crossing her arms with force. “No backsies.”

Another melodic laugh left Harry’s mouth and she couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips; right then and there, Jules decided that his laugh was one of her favourite sounds.

“Backsies?” He echoed, his tone still laced with laughter, “what are you, five?”

“Shut your pretty mouth.”

“Oh so you think I have a pretty mouth?” His smirk caused his skin to flush and she cursed herself for saying those words. She really needed to think before she spoke, something her parents always reminded her of.

She recovered quickly, bringing her glass closer to her mouth. “I mean, it’s fine, your lips are a little on the thin side but-“

“Heyyy now,” he protested, pink lips forming a pout and Jules definitely thought about kissing them at that moment. “That’s not nice.”

“Never claimed I was nice now, did I?” Jules smirked, feeling a sudden surge of confidence as she took another sip from her drink.

Jules did not miss the way Harry’s eyes seemed to darken just a little, his jaw tensing as she continued to stare him down. Harry leaned forward, mouth opening to respond when suddenly a shrill tone burst their bubble.

Patting the couch cushions, Jules was trying her hardest to forget the look on Harry’s face as she searched for her phone. Stop it, Jules, he’s an international rockstar and he won’t even remember you after tonight.

She sighed in relief when her hand made contact with the device, but that quickly turned into a groan upon seeing who the caller was. Looking back at Harry, who was leaning against the armrest simply staring at her, she shot him an apologetic look before she answered the call.

“Hey, mama” she closed her eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Not that she was expecting anything to happen between her and Harry, but the mood was definitely ruined now.

“Hello, honey, how are you? Are you home yet?” Her mother’s calming voice sounded from the other side of the line, making her smile a bit despite the interruption. Ever since the breakup, her mom made sure to call her frequently to check up on her, even though Jules insisted that she didn’t have to.

“I am home, mom, yes,” she responded, shifting her gaze back to Harry who was now leaning his head against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed.

“Good, good. Just checking on you, cariña, how was your night then?”

“It was fine,” she paused for a second, not sure if she should mention meeting Harry now, but she decided it was best not to, “had a few drinks then went straight home. Think I’m gonna go to bed in a few actually.”

She could tell by the way Harry’s lips twitched that he was awake and listening.

“I won’t keep you up then,” some noise was in the background and she heard her mother whisper to someone, “okay, honey, good night! And your dad says good night too.”

“Good night, mama,” Jules smiled, finding herself suddenly missing her family that she hasn’t seen since the holiday season. “Tell dad I said good night too, and that he better spoil you today.”

Her mother’s laugh ringed loud on the other side, “We’re going to dinner tonight, cariña, and he even got me a large bouquet of my favourite roses! Joseph shh- Alright then, bye bye, sweets, love you!”

“Bye, mama, love you too.”

A few seconds passed after she ended the call before Harry spoke up, head tilted to the side. “That sounded sweet. Does she check up on you often?”

Jules hummed in response, resting her head sideways on the sofa so was mirroring his position. “Especially after the breakup. She just worries too much about me.”

“I don’t think she needs to,” he shot her a gentle smile, one that made her want to wrap her arms around him and bask in his warmth, “her daughter’s a very strong woman.”

Not finding any words to say in response, Jules continued tracing Harry’s features, lazily admiring the slope of his nose, the curve of his brows, the sharpness of his jawline; everything about the man before her was mesmerising.

Turning her gaze back to his eyes, Harry flashed her another smile before sitting up straight, the smile slowly dropping. “I should probably go now, it’s getting late.”

Jules immediately wanted to shout “no!” and ask him to stay, but the rational part of her mind told her that she shouldn’t, that she would only set herself up for heartbreak when he finally leaves her.

So the only thing she could say was a faint “Okay.”

As they stood up, it seemed like Harry was holding back from saying something, but she didn’t know if she was just reading too much into things. It was probably just her hazy mind (though she’d argue her head has never been clearer)

They silently made their way to her door, Jules feeling deflated at the prospect of his departure. Would they keep in touch? Would she just become a distant memory, a miserable woman he spent a lonely valentine’s day with?

“Can I-“ Harry abruptly stopped in his tracks, causing Jules to almost run into his back because she was trailing behind him. His demeanour was suddenly all shy when he turned to face her, cheeks flushed crimson.

Jules waited with bated breath and wide eyes for him to continue, heart beating loudly in her chest.

“Can I have your number?”

Relief washed over Jules and Harry visibly relaxed at the bashful smile on her lips. Jules didn’t know why he was so nervous, but the sight was so endearing to her.

She added her number after he handed her the device, secretly smiling at her contact name Juliet x. She already earned herself an x after her name after a few hours? Jules’ heart was beating so loudly she feared Harry would hear its calls for him.

Jules watched him put his shoes on, wishing the night wouldn’t end so soon and wondering if it would be too forward to ask him to stay longer.

Deep in her thoughts, Jules didn’t register that Harry was standing in front of her, bodies close enough that the scent of his cologne engulfed her senses once more.

“I should go now.” Harry whispered, leaning down and wrapping his arms around her and Jules had never felt so whole. She’s heard about Harry’s incredible hugs and now that she’s experiencing it, she never wanted to let go of his warmth.

Harry broke their embrace much too soon for her liking, but not before peppering a gentle kiss on the side of her head. “Good night, Juliet.”

Say something. Don’t let him leave. “Good night, H.”

And then he was gone and Jules was left on her own once more.

After staring longingly at the closed door, as if he would suddenly appear behind it, Jules sighed and made her way back to the living room, slumping against the couch cushions and wishing Harry’s arms were around her again.

Her phone dinged on the coffee table, signalling the arrival of a text. A simple “Hey. I really enjoyed tonight. H” was staring back at her.

Jules contemplated for a few seconds, heartbeats picking up their speed again, before she whispered “fuck it” and clicked on his number.

“Juliet?”

Deciding to go after what her heart wants for once, Jules didn’t hesitate to respond, “Do you want to-“

But an insistent knock interrupted her and Jules wanted to scream at the intrusion. Who on earth would be knocking at her door at this hour?

“Harry, hold on just-“

She takes frustrated strides to the door, ready to yell, but the sight behind it made her anger immediately evaporate.

“H-Harry? What are you doin-“

“What were you going to ask me?” He interrupted, sounding a little out of breath and she wondered if he ran all the way back to her apartment.

Feeling emboldened by his return, Jules took a few steps towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands immediately grabbing her face and pulling her closer, their lips joining together in a gentle yet eager kiss. 

Jules felt her body melt in his hold. Their kiss only lasted for a few seconds before they pulled apart, still lingering so close that she could taste his wine-stained lips. 

“Stay?” Jules asked, rubbing her nose against his, her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for his answer. Her words carried more weight than she had intended them to and she hoped they wouldn’t scare him off. But her worries vanished when she felt him smile widely against her lips. 

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Maybe valentine’s day isn’t so bad after all.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and please come talk to me about Harry and Jules and tell me your thoughts!

#1dffvalentine #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x ofc #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror Finale P.2

masterlist  request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw reader

request: yes very highly requested lol

summary: despite never speaking before, y/n has a big crush on draco malfoy, a particularly broody and obnoxious slytherin. what will happen when they finally have to start associating? and what if they run into a certain mirror that shows you what you truly desire?

warnings: cursing!

a/n: so ik i said this was gonna be out later this week but i love you guys too much! here it is...the final part of mirror, mirror! it’s weird to finally finish a series like this but ohhhh boy here we are

taglist: @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99 @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 2.1k

“About time you got off your arse.”

“Hello to you too, Rena,” Y/N sighed as she dropped her satchel on her bed. Her roommate watched, bemused, as she began to unpack her things. 

“How are you?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer. “I really missed you. We were all worried sick, you know.”

Y/N snorted, tossing her wrinkled robes on the bed and making a mental note to spell them neat later. “I do know. Madame Pomfrey was going to kill me for how many times she had to tell you to leave me and let me rest.” 

Rena’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Y/N. “I missed you too.”

The two sat in silence for a bit as the cold afternoon breeze wafted into their room, carrying the smell of fresh snow in. 

“So, anything exciting happen? Did anyone tell you anything….interesting?”

“No.” Y/N was about to turn back to her work before she caught the mischievous expression on Rena’s face. “What? Why?”

“Nothing,” she sang. “I’m just wondering. I have to catch up with my best friend, you know. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been the whole of four days.”

“It’s been forever,” she restated, jumping up and spinning Y/N around (who couldn’t help but allow a slow grin to spread across her face). 

“I was going crazy in there.” Y/N’s voice was considerably more serious. “I never told you, but--” she chose to ignore the look of anticipation written all over Rena’s face, “--Malfoy talked to me. And he was so nice to me, it was we--”

“That COWARD!” 

The outburst started Y/N, who dropped her things on the floor in shock. “I’m sorry? Rena, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Rena, her tone dutiful and mournful. “It’s not my place. Anyways, what did that loser do?”

“Er,” began Y/N, “I don’t know how much of it was real or if it was because I was on pain potion, but he and I--I don’t know, flirted? There was a lot of banter, and before he knew it he pulled me off the ground--”

“You were on the ground?”

“--he pulled me off the ground and picked the gravel out of my palms.” Y/N swallowed as she recounted the instance. She’d never seen him look so soft before. “He said he had something he wanted to tell me, and his voice got all strange.”

“And then?” 

“And then Madame Pomfrey came to yell at me and basically--oh god, Rena, she basically told him that I dreamt of him!”

Rena snorted with laughter. “Shit, dude. I don’t think you should worry, though. You’d think any bloke with half a brain would’ve figured out that you were obsessed with him by now.”

“Shut up.” Y/N’s face was hot. “Anyways, I haven’t seen him since. I’d prefer if we could stop talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She took in a breath. “Wait, what about rounds? Don’t you still have to see him?”

“No. Flitwick told me I’m off. At least until next month.” If she sped through the thought, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ending of a chapter, huh? How are you feeling about that?”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, Rena, I love you, you know I do, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay? It’s over.”

If her words carried any deeper meaning to Rena, she didn’t show it. “Lighten up, girly. Maybe it’s not.”

“All I’ve done is make a fool of myself,” lamented Y/N, throwing her empty satchel in the closet and collapsing onto her bed. “I’m just going to go back to what everything was before. This hasn’t changed anything. Now, Rena, I have a Potions exam to study for.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

~

Her interactions with Draco were few and far between in the following weeks. Sometimes she caught a few glimpses of a pale blonde head of hair as she walked down the halls to her classes, but nothing concrete, nothing even close to the amount of interaction they had while she was still bound to her rounds. 

It was certainly a punch in the gut--after all, she did spend a good portion of her academic career thirsting over him--but the sensible part of her knew that this was for the better. Her schoolwork became her top priority again, just like it had been the years before she was assigned to be his partner.

So, given this pattern of communication, it was fair to say that Y/N was completely and utterly flabbergasted when she saw Draco waiting by the entry of her common room at 11pm one night.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she shifted the books in her satchel to be secured over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly, not tripping over his words in the slightest. “I have rounds tonight.”

“I’m aware.” She hoped that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding the way that it was.

“And I’m out of Wide-eye potion.” 

“That really sucks,” Y/N said as she held up her hand on the door of the common room, uttering the riddle’s answer under her breath before she stepped in. 

“Wait!” His voice turned her around--it was pleading, almost desperate. “I have an exam tomorrow. No one in Slytherin has any. Snape would kick my arse for waking him up now. I know you have some left over since you never finished the rounds, and I--I understand if you don’t want to but it doesn’t have a very good shelf life anyways and I was hoping you’d...that you’d be alright with giving it to me.”

She paused, completely stunned. The most hopeful part of her wondered if he had made this up, but she squelched this with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Fine. Come with me, you must be freezing outside.” 

Y/N wasn’t wrong--the weather had taken a turn in the past few days to be bitterly cold--but it wasn’t like she’d object seeing him for any longer. She mentally cursed herself for being so weak-willed.

Draco looked pleasantly surprised at the suggestion and stepped into the common room with her, following her up until she reached the base of the stairs. “I’ll wait here.”

“If you’re comfortable,” she began, “I’d honestly prefer if you came with me. I don’t want to explain to anyone why I let you into our common room unsupervised.”

He looked like his mind was buffering the information for a second, standing with a glazed look in his eyes before he sucked in a breath and became the picture of confidence once again. “Want me in your room that bad?”

Yes.

“You wish.”

He scoffed as they climbed the stairs, Y/N a few steps above him. She thought that if she maintained the space he wouldn’t see how hard she was shaking and wondered where Rena was. Studying with Hermione like she told her she was? She hoped.

Y/N stopped in front of her door at the very end of the hall, decorated with a banner that had their names displayed in glittering bronze letters that moved in the light. “Ok. You can come in with me if you want--it might be a couple minutes since I don’t quite remember where it is.”

He looked amused with himself as she got out her wand and attempted to unlock her door with the specialized charm she and Rena had decided upon. Mortifyingly enough, her hand was too shaky to execute it.

“Hey, hey,” Draco tutted, holding his hand out. It enveloped hers and held her wand still as she muttered the incantation, unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

“Er...thanks,” she said. His hand was still over hers. 

Y/N broke the eye contact to dart through the door to a thankfully dark and empty room--if Rena had seen that, she never would’ve let her hear the end of that--and began rifling through her drawers as Draco shut the door and examined her room.

“You’re flustered,” he noted as she tipped over one of her candlesticks and just barely managed to catch it. “Is everything okay? Trouble in paradise, little Ravenclaw?”

“Like you care.” Y/N shut the desk drawer with an audible BANG. “And don’t call me that. Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave hearing you infantilize her good name like that.”

Draco laughed from his stance by her door--a sound that she hated to admit that she really missed. “I take back what I said. You certainly sound like yourself.”

Y/N’s fingers finally closed around the last bottle of Wide-Eye, which was quickly tossed to Draco. “Happy now?”

He sent her a strangely weak smile as he slipped the vial into his pocket, no doubt silk lined and expensive. “Sure. So this is goodbye? Actually?”

“I think...I think so.” 

Y/N had moved closer to him so only about a foot stood between them, a distance that felt like a mile from where she stood. 

This is goodbye.

Draco was making a motion to turn around and open the door when Y/N experienced the most severe lapse of judgement in the entirety of her 17 years.

She sprung forward, her fingers curling around the satiny soft fabric of his tie and pulling. Her motion was rough enough that he jolted forward, his eyes wide with surprise as Y/N closed in and pressed her lips to his in a very chaste and ungraceful movement. 

The split second that it took for her to realize the consequences of her actions was enough for her to let go completely and jump away, apologies readily falling out of her mouth in disjointed and clumsy collections. 

“I’m so sorry...Oh my god...I have no idea what got into me...Draco, I--”

Before she could finish, his hands were already cupping her face, his frame bent down the slightest so he could be more level with her. And he was--oh--he was kissing her, actually properly this time, without the tense closed-offness of her first attempt.

When Y/N imagined what it was like to kiss Draco Malfoy, she didn’t imagine him to be so soft. Or warm. Or gentle, or pliant, or whatever other good things he was to her as he snaked her arms around her and held her tight to him.

His kisses turned feverish, almost desperate as he turned her so she was pressed up between him and the wall. Everywhere his hands touched felt charged with electricity and energy, and as his hands traveled up and down her spine she decided that this must be what it’s like to die of happiness. 

“Draco,” she managed in between kisses, pulling away for air for just a moment and sliding back down so her feet touched the floor again. “Can we talk? About this?”

“Thanks,” he responded, his eyes glittering with endearment. “I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up.” 

He grinned but made no effort to step away from her, instead choosing to drag his fingers up and down the side of her exposed neck. “What’s there to talk about? I like you, you like me, there’s nothing we need to do to complicate this further.”

“You...you what?”

“Yes, genius, what else did you think I was planning on telling you that day in the courtyard,” Draco said. “I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were over me. That was horribly embarrassing, you know. Had to nurse my ego for weeks before I could garner up the courage to speak to you again.” He stopped to gently press the pad of his thumb into the little dimple she had in her left cheek, smiling uncontrollably as he moved his hand back to cup her face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” argued Y/N. 

“Isn’t this supposed to be the smart house?” he teased. 

She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t make me decide I don’t like you anymore.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like me?”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Just from kissing me? Wow, I must be good.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I!”

Y/N gazed up at the boy in front of her for a few beats, admiring how the moonlight bounced off the silvery strands of his hair and how his smile reached every corner of his face. 

“I take back what I said,” she told him.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

He smiled again, leaning in close so his lips barely brushed her ear. “No. No, it isn’t.”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #dracotok #draco #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x you

[dollfaceeeeee]

How the Avengers would react if you flinched when they tried to touch you..😭

I have been dealing with the aftermath of domestic violence for a couple years now, and with intense PTSD and panic disorder, this was so calming to think about tbh.

Tony Stark: Oh gods, he would notice, with immense distaste. He would probably hesitate to touch you afterward, but he would be gentle about talking to you about it, and would reassure you over and over that you’re safe, and that nobody will ever hurt you again. He may also ask for addresses and names, just because he’s..well, he’s Tony. He’s got the power to do crazy shit. And if he cares about you, can you imagine what he would do to someone that hurt you? My sweet man.

Steve Rogers: He would be horrified that you would ever think he would hurt you. He would probably tell anyone else in the room to get lost and sit you down and just hold you, telling you that you’re safe with him always, that nobody will ever hurt you again. He wouldn’t push you to talk about it, but if you wanted to, he would listen. He’s not one to reveal his anger as easily as Tony or Buck, but it would break his heart to hear about it, that’s for sure. He would leave the killing to Bucky and Loki tbh, but he might join in too. Maybe.

Bucky Barnes: He might be hurt, physically, that you would think he would hurt you, but he wouldn’t be surprised at the action. He was a scary guy, at one point or another, but he would gently pull you in against him and squeeze you so tight you couldn’t breathe, maybe even sway with you for a while until you felt better. And then, he’d blow up, ask who the fucker is, where they are, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would be on a death mission with only one thing in mind, and that’s keeping you safe. That’s all he cares about.

Thor: Honestly, he might not catch on at first, because he probably doesn’t see domestic violence as much at home, but after you explain it to him or get emotional, he would want to understand what he did wrong. He doesn’t seem like the type to push you, but he does seem like the type to go in to hold you, maybe run his fingers down your back, and just kinda curl himself around you protectively. He would probably bring you to get food too, and maybe ice cream to cheer you up.

Loki: OKAY so the tough one. On one hand, he may understand why you might flinch around him, but boy would he explode once you told him it wasn’t from him, but from..someone else. Holy shit he would be a time bomb. Who is it? Where are they? Do they have a DEATH WISH? He would slide those daggers out like nothing and call Bucky to assist him. He’s out for fucking blood. He would probably leave Thor to babysit you in the meantime lol.

Bruce Banner: Soft boy would be HORRIFIED. He would get it because the green guy can scare people sometimes, but of him? Oh no. He would bring you somewhere quiet and make you a cup of tea and just kinda talk to you gently about it, rubbing your shoulder when it gets tough. He’d probably also put a movie on afterward and just hold you, just to remind you that you’re safe with him. He’s definitely a snuggler.

Natasha Romanoff: She would be joining Bucky and Loki. Someone HURT YOU? Death, on the spot. Of course she would want to understand what happened and if you’re alright, and she would probably just talk to you one on one if you needed it, but she would give you her full attention. And then afterward, she would be joining those boys on a death mission. Those three, as a group, with Wanda too? And CAROL? I mean, RIP whoever decided to lay a hand on you.

Clint Barton: Oh he would be HARDCORE concerned. What do you mean you’re gonna flinch when he raises his arm? Why? He would bring you in the kitchen and force you to talk to him about whatever the hell that was while he makes you a grilled cheese. I mean, what kinda sick fuck hurts someone like that for no singular reason? He’s such a dad, but he’s got your back, always.

Wanda Maximoff: I’d tell her literally all my deepest secrets. She would never take anything personally, but she would be upset that someone blatantly hurt you. Why would they hurt this small, ordinary human? Absolutely not alright. She would hold you for however long you wanted and then make you some good food for dinner while she made you laugh. When you went to bed, though..like I said, she would be joining the death party. Sorry.

Pietro Maximoff: PIEEEEEETRO. He would be so confused, and unsure of what to do, but he would probably blatantly ask you if you wanted the person to die like it’s a normal question, like “hey what’s for dinner?” Yeah, like that. He would make a big blanket fort with snacks and soft blankets and hold you until you fell asleep, and wouldn’t sleep a wink, keeping watch over you the entire night. He’s ✨soft✨.

Vision: He would try so hard to understand what the fuck is going on, but his mind would have a hard time processing why the fuck some idiot would ever hurt you. Why? For what purpose? Even after explaining it, he would probably just be infuriated, no matter what you say. How could they do this to you? Those assholes. He would probably offer a hug, or something to eat to make you feel better, but he would be plotting their demise. Guaranteed.

Carol Danvers: She would start a full out war, given the circumstances. How dare some scummy human being hurt you? She would show them, and make it the worst day of their lives. No matter how much you tried to calm her down, she would be out for blood. No way this woman would NOT be are you KIDDING? She’s too spicy for that.

Sam Wilson: He would also be another one I would tell literally anything to. He would be incredulous that you would ever think he would hurt you, but man would he pay attention when you told him. All that man would do is pull you into his arms, hug you as tightly as he can, and tell you everything is alright now, he would never let them hurt you again, and that he loves you. Sammy just seems like a guy that would tell you he loves you during something traumatic like that.

Doctor Stephen Strange: Another one that wouldn’t quite know how to react. He would probably be confused, at first, and then deeply concerned for you once he caught on, and would probably ask to speak to you about it whenever you were ready. He would probably mention that you can come by later to his room to talk about it when everyone else is asleep so it’s a calmer atmosphere, and would probably rub your shoulder as he passes you, but that’s it. And that’s enough.

Peter Parker: My devastated little bean. He would be WILDLY apologetic, thinking he did something wrong, and just saying he’s sorry over and over and wondering what he did wrong and how to fix it, but then when you explain, he wouldn’t be so..apologetic. Peter would probably order a pizza and pull you onto the couch with him and let you choose a movie, and just let you curl in against him. He would probably fall asleep with you, too, while Tony has to pay for the damn pizza.

T’Challa: Um..tbh I feel like he would be furious, in a plainly way to put it. That guy has venom in his eyes every time he’s on screen, and this wouldn’t make him feel any better. Of course he would move to comfort you first, but that man is a whole king. You think he wouldn’t do something about it? Say goodbye to whoever hurt you. He would take them off the map.

Scott Lang: He would probably joke about it at first and think you’re just messing around, but he would be absolutely devastated when you get upset over it. He would be HORRIFIED that he upset you, and would probably try desperately to talk to you about it, or try to make you feel better. He would probably end up getting knocked out by Sam or Bucky, but he would welcome it after that lol.

Valkyrie: She would not probably comment on it until you guys were alone, because she might think it’s a private matter for you and she would respect your boundaries, but if you got seriously upset on the spot she would probably pull you into a hug and yell for everyone to get the fuck out. She wouldn’t make you talk about it, but she would know when you needed to be alone, so she would make sure you got the time you needed. If you needed her afterward, she would be there.

Groot: I AM GROOT. That is all.

Rocket: A lot like Antman and Thor, he would probably joke about it or think you weren’t being serious at first, but after you were, man he would be upset for you. He would probably comfort you by telling you jokes to get you to laugh, or something, but in his mind he would probably be plotting the end of a pitiful human being far away.

Gamora: She wouldn’t let that shit go, no sir. She wouldn’t pester you, but man she would want to know what the hell that was about, and what stupid, God forsaken bastard decided that you were a punching bag. Not on her watch. Be prepared to tell her, because she won’t let anything like that go. I don’t make the rules.

Peter Quill: Idk if he really knows how to be serious at..serious times..maybe? Anyway, he would make sure to never move that sharply around you again, and wouldn’t say anything about it unless you wanted to talk to him about it. He might ask the others what was going on with you, but he’s not the type to show that he cares about a lot of shit. Sorry, Quill.

James Rhodes: He is such a dad lol. He would be taken back by the action, don’t get me wrong, but he also wouldn’t be one to let it go. Who is it? What happened? He might not be aggressive about it like the others, but he would want to know that they are long gone now, and he would remind you that you’re safe.

Nebula: Ah shit, what did she do wrong now? That’s it. Haha.

Baron Zemo: Who the fuck was it? Who the FUCK hurt you? Oh no, Zemo would be out for blood. He wouldn’t need a team, or partners in the quest, nah, he would be going alone and would scare that bastard in their beds in the night. DING DONG, it’s the boogeyman, I’m here to end you for your bullshit choices.

Hope van Dyne: This badass Queen would not back down from asking you about what was wrong. Did someone in the compound hurt you? Did she have to kill them? But when you tell her, she would be horrified for you, and offer to hurt the person that hurt you. An eye for an eye, right? Up to you.

Drax: Do they need to die? He would do it for you. No charge.

Mantis: She would read you like an open book the second you flinched, so don’t try to deny it, or say that it was just a reflex. She would probably have a detox night and make nachos with you and throw on some comedy movie she heard about from Rocket. She wouldn’t let you hurt on your own. She would be there.

Wong: UGH what a GUY. He would probably make you some soup because it’s the ultimate comfort food and talk about it together. He wouldn’t get agitated, or force you to open up too much, but he would offer his company and his attention as long as you wanted it.

Okoye: She would probably be with T’Challa tbh. Sorry. She would be out for some tucking vengeance.

Shuri: She would be the one to bring you along with her somewhere private, wrap you in a blanket, and hold your hand as she urged you to tell her what the hell that was. She would be one of the best at comforting, and afterward she would show you around her collection of inventions to make you forget about that stupid, repulsive human being.

Pepper Potts: Someone..HURT YOU? Oh no. She would go right to Tony with it and demand that the two of them do something to avenge you. There is absolutely no way that she would let that slide. She would also make you your favorite food, some warm cookies, and get a bath going for you to help soothe you.

Korg: Dude is made of rocks. ROCKS. You expect him to understand what the fuck is going on? He would probably get a video game going to let you release some anger and ask Thor for help in the meantime.

#avengers #avengers endgame #the avengers #marvel #marvel studios #avengers cast

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

Hi a 🍰 pls?

Appearance: over 18, she/her, 5’3 115lbs hourglass figure, long wavy dark hair and hazel/green eyes. I like to wear makeup and experiment with colorful makeup and I have a edgy, sexy, chic style 🥀

Personality: ISTJ, Capricorn ☀️&🌙 Ravenclaw, Introvert, I am generally a very chill person, I do tease and am sarcastic but I try not to take it too far. Not necessarily the mom friend more like the annoyed aunt lol I tend to show affection like a cat kinda hot and cold but my love language is touch and action. Dry send of humor! I would say my worst traits are that I seclude myself when I’m upset and can be selfish/self centered, am a pro procrastinator and low-key like to complain/rant about things that aren’t a big deal 👀 THRIVE in quiet cozy place🍄

Other Facts: I rlly enjoy animals, (I adore my cat and aquariums, everyone should own fish they are the best🐠) gardening, baking, my eyeshadow is my creative outlet and I am almost always listening to music and will spend hours making playlists I like all genres with the exception of hardcore screamo, any country that came out after 2010 🎵 I work as a barista and in a greenhouse and don’t like driving, also like sweets, candles and perfume and I LIVE for cozy rainy days🌸

Relationship stuff: I would say I’m generally low maintenance in a relationship, we don’t have to spend every moment together but spending quality time is important. I can’t handle it when people get super emotional (like lose their temper or frustrated easily) I love cuddling and taking care of them,💙

Your blog is one of my favorites to follow, writing is top notch;)

@sarcasticjellyfish

Romantic Matchup

Iwaizumi Hajime

How Y’all Met

AHHHHGGGGGG

YALL HAD THAT CLASSIC BARISTA CUSTOMER LOVE TROUPE!!!!!

Ok...I’m calm now

So he would always came to the coffee shop where you worked

But he always came at the Exact. Same. Time.

E v e r y S i n g l e D a y

For one reason only...

You

He thought you were so beautiful!

And you always made an effort to talk to him

And even better

YOU MADE THE BEST COFFEE EVER

He swears you make it better than everyone else

But damn he could never find the balls to ask you out

Eventually word of Iwas little crush made it to Oikawa 👀

So what did he do?

Stalked you two of course 🙄

He put on his best disguise

Went to the coffee shop

And waited

Jesus he swears this was the SADDEST thing he’s ever saw

Why tf was iwa being so soft

And AWKWARD

After iwa left Oikawa went up to you

He basically told you that iwa had a crush on you but would never grow the balls to tell you

You liked iwa too so you concocted a plan...

The next day when iwa walked in he ordered his usual

You made it for him but instead of putting his name on the cup...

You put your number 🤭

Omg iwa turned RED

He stuttered out a thank you

Then left

Let’s just say you got a little date invite that night ;)

What They Love About You

He loves that you don’t need CONSTANT attention

Don’t get him wrong he loves you and would drop everything for you

But the fact that you guys can go a day or two without being with each other and it not affecting your relationship is comforting to him

He loves that you like to bake 👀

Now he himself isn’t that into baking

But he still likes the treats 😋

Bake the man some cookies 🍪

He’ll fall even more in love with you

He loves that you take care of him

Now iwa is very in tuned to his body

What it needs

It’s limits

All that jazz

But he can get carried away sometimes

And it’s those moments where you care for his overworked body and reprimand him for overworking himself

We all need that person to keep us grounded yk

UGH

I’m sorry but iwa tells dad jokes

So he loves that your humor is a little on the dryer side 😅

Favorite Things To Do Together

Honestly He LOVES when it’s pouring rain outside and he just gets to cuddle with you all day

It’s just so cozy and warm and quiet and ieufhfjrdj

He loves it

But besides from that he likes going on late night drives with you

Because every time you go for one you play one of the new playlists you made

And y’all just vibe all night

And finally

He loves to garden with you

He’s not the best gardener but he’s not half bad either!

He has a little cactus plant that’s his pride and joy 🌵

Random Hc

He’s your Uber

Ever since you two became a official couple...

He’s driven you EVERYWHERE

he also does that this where he turns the wheel with one hand

Pretty hot ngl

Iwa actually loves fishies!

So aquarium dates are a must

Iwa has a bit of a sweet tooth

So be careful with how many sweets you give him 👀

Every song iwa said he likes you’ve put on a playlist called “iwas Jams”

Astrology

If they’re operating from a base of love and mutual respect, they’ll be able to overcome most obstacles, but they must work hard.

Gemini must have freedom to think outside the bounds; they rely on their quick wits, humor and intellectual prowess to move through life at a fast pace.

Capricorn is concerned with advancement and status; they rely on following the rules and finding set, tried-and-true paths to follow toward success, no matter how long it takes.

Gemini likes to cut corners; Capricorn likes to be thorough.

These two Signs’ challenge as a couple is to learn to maintain a similar pace so they can arrive at the same place at the same time.

Capricorn is very unassuming and quiet, which stands out even more against Gemini’s outgoing, boisterous nature.

Capricorn tends to be slow, steady and stubborn while Gemini is flexible and tends to change their mind a lot.

Gemini has a quick brain that sees loopholes in an instant, while Capricorn is tough to convince that taking advantage of a shortcut is a better idea than following the well-mapped course that they know will ensure their success.

However, if these two can learn to understand and then implement one another’s approaches, they can achieve far more than they could alone.

Overall Aesthetic

Rainy Days 🌧

Someone to you - BANNERS

If the world was ending - JP Saxe

Happiest year - Jaymes Young

All of me - John Legend

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu matchups #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x reader