#i feel like a lunatic writing about summer

[ikemenomegas]

wishing on every one that you'll be mine

Haku x Reader || Dandelions

a/n: with the song anon told me their name was from, it felt pretty easy to stick with a sort of aesthetic sense for this one. I've had the bullet points in my notes since I first got the ask and I'm very excited to have the time and energy to finish it this week! Haku was very popular at the start haha and it was fun to expand upon a sort of OC idea for them cw: haku working through the "i was raised to be a weapon" mindset, imaginary sunburns, omegaverse setting, alpha!reader

You collapsed onto the warm grass with a delighted huff, rolling between patches of shade and sun.

Haku looked down at you with amusement, putting his own pack down next to yours but stretching out beside you with no less enthusiasm.

The summer afternoon was already pressing down heavy and languid, threatening another light rain. With nowhere in particular to go, you could bend to the movements of nature. As midday had become hotter and rain had become more frequent, you and Haku had taken to waking while the dew was still wet and the morning still dark, moving on in whichever direction he chose, and finding a place to camp when it grew too hot.

But finding a place is not the only step to setting up camp. You pull yourself upright with a groan and Haku waves from the ground as you wander into the woods surrounding the little clearing you've dropped into.

You've more or less entirely embraced Haku's habit of wandering. It's remarkable how much freedom there is in living as a civilian with all the safety of knowing that you are probably one of the more dangerous things on the road. Haku had wanted to see the world and you had wanted to go with him, to be with him while he discovered world without purpose but to live how he wanted.

Ahead, you could see the brightness that signaled another break in the trees. Your eyes widened in delight and you rushed back to where you had left your traveling companion.

He was already rummaging around in the bags for something and the tent had been released from its sealing scroll.

You sighed inaudibly. Haku preferred to keep his hands busy, but this had as much to do with his feelings of worth being tied to his level of productivity as anything else.

"Haku."

"Hm?" He looked up at you, his wide dark eyes alight.

You cleared your throat. "Come see what I've found."

Haku immediately stood up, brushing his hands off. "What is it?"

You beckoned him over and were pleasantly surprised when he grabbed onto your hand. You retraced your steps.

With a sudden burst of inspiration, you told him to close his eyes, which he did with an amused expression.

You moved carefully, but even with his eyes closed he never stumbled and moved with sureness. You were glad his eyes were closed so he couldn't see the way you shifted uncomfortably your neck in your suddenly over-warm collar.

"Okay."

You stopped on the edge of the meadow.

Haku gasped a little. The first thing he saw was a field of gold and white.

He stepped slowly from the treeline, graceful as a dear and practiced in crushing as few of the fluffy yellow flower heads as possible. He cupped a cluster in his hands, feeling the leaves.

"These are so healthy," he said. You could hear the quiet delight in his voice. "Dandelions make wonderful tea and they're good to eat, and there's a lot of uses for medicines-"

You bit back a growl, you weren't upset at him, but sometimes he really could have a one track mind. He was meant to relax! Not everything in the world had to be looked at for its utility!

You bit back a smirk and hummed as you half circled Haku with your hands behind your back, catching just enough of his attention before charging out into the field and spinning around, carving a path through grass and sending parasol-headed seedlings whirling into the air.

"They're also beautiful and smell nice and are soft enough to lay on," you said, darting away further into the wide stretching meadow. Come on, please come with me.

Haku's eyes darted to the yellow flowers and then to the incredible expanse of them. With a quirk of his lips he was almost invisible and then he was right behind you.

You laughed, elated as you raced him to the top of a little hill not far away.

Petals and drifting seeds had landed in Haku's hair. Heaven just might be Haku leaning against your legs while you combed through his long, silky hair with your fingers, brushing dandelion fluff away and twisting the dark strands into loose braids.

Even when you were done, he didn't move and you almost wanted to hold your breath, scared to frighten him away like some small wild thing.

He skimmed his hand through the grass, letting it tickle his palms. He held up a full headed flower, perfectly round and white like a cloud. You blew on it and watched the seeds float away. You brushed away a few that didn't make it far.

The air was heady with the scent of the field and Haku's hyacinth scent mixed with yours, thick in the air as you sweated lightly in the early summer heat, a welcome breeze wicking moisture from your neck. You drew it deep into your lungs to savor the clean, green taste, purring faintly on each exhale. All you wished for was more moments like these.

As the sun sank westward, it would tinge the whole meadow golden, gilding the dandelion covered field.

You too were learning to do things without a set purpose. You looked down at Haku. To let beauty rest without request.

Haku was drowsing in the sun, eyes half open, his cheeks and lips tinged pink and a flush just visible where his collar had slipped. You looked somewhere else, anywhere else.

His voice was low and languid and hypnotizing. He could name the birds that darted across the sky and the unseen insects by their sounds. His sharp nose could detect the presence of other plants in the forest. When he fell quiet and his breath momentarily deepened, you could hear the far off sound of running water.

You felt yourself growing briefly drowsy too and leaned back on your hands, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.

You came back to after Haku. The sun had not moved much but the embracing the brief lull in your energy had perked you up again.

"We could make dandelion wine," Haku said. Clearly he felt the same as you because his hands were trailing busily over the ground again. After a moment, he stood up and walked to a thicker clump of brush.

You watched as minutes passed and he worked his way along the outskirts of the meadow. Some seeds lazily drifted up after him, but before another quarter of an hour had gone, Haku had seated himself on the ground and started pawing about for flowers he deemed suitable.

He looked tranquil as always, but also vaguely like he was only doing this because he had to be doing something. The wind carried towards you a low, odd sound, almost between a whine and a growl, that stuck in you like a thorn. You weren't even sure he knew he was making it.

You shook away the last of the afternoon sleepiness and stood up, shaking dandelion seed from your clothing.

You were quick enough and Haku distracted enough for you to displace the pouch of plucked flowers from his lap and scoop him up into your arms before he could protest. You drew upon your alpha's strength and your training, pushing chakra through your limbs until Haku, tall though he was, felt as though he weight no more than a particularly oddly shaped sack of rice.

"What are you doing," Haku gasped, arms going around your neck.

You turned around. "You know what else you can do with dandelions?"

"What?!"

You picked up speed until you were running, clouds of fluff rising around the two of you as you discovered a part of the meadow where the stalks were higher and almost every single flower had gone to seed.

"Make a wish!" you shouted over the sounds of your own feet. Your heart was beating so very quickly.

"Why?"

"Make a wish!" You spun around, Haku was looking at you like you'd gone mad. "I wish to dance under a full moon. I wish to be light as air. I wish for a red cherry tree!"

Haku started laughing as you shouted into the sky.

"I wish to find sweetfish!" he joined in after a moment. "I wish to climb a tall mountain! I wish for you to carry me on your back!"

With another spin, you did just that, swinging Haku around so that his arms were draped over your shoulders and his knees settled on either side of your ribs. He reached up to drag his fingers through the rising cloud of floating seeds, laughing breathlessly as the wind stirred by his reaching sent them wobbling just beyond touch.

"I wish to see snow in July!"

"I wish I could whistle!"

"I wish my backpack was as light as Haku!"

"I wish my feet wouldn't hurt at the end of the day!"

All my wishes are that I could be with you. Maybe one day, I'll have the courage to ask you if I can stay.

#haku x reader #haku yuki #naruto x reader #alpha!reader #soldier anon #omegaverse #prompt fill #make a wish prompt fill #it snowed this morning #i feel like a lunatic writing about summer #literally gave myself whiplash walking back out into ice cold weather #io.omegas

[cupidjyu]

tropical romance flavor

juyeon x reader (request)

genre: summer date, fluff, flirting, shy juyeon but he also likes to kiss, inspired by scenes from the lip gloss mv notes: did i write this in class you tell me word count: 1.8k

It was fun to just live in the moment. Even when things were going horribly wrong, a person could always just enjoy.

But you weren’t the philosopher. You were the one who followed the philosophy. Or at least tried. It was hard to live in the moment when you were constantly bombarded by stress and demands that weighed down on you like a chunk of iron on your back. But hence, that didn’t mean you were completely alone.

“Whenever you’re ready,” A voice spoke, outside of the door.

You sighed, staring at yourself in the mirror. This was all Juyeon’s idea: a summer date where he would drive you to the beach because apparently, he had his driver's license now. He never told you until recently.

You had insisted there was no need–that the tension in your mind would eventually resolve itself. But he had urged you that he wanted to. Wanted to take you out and make you smile. And who were you to deny his sparkly eyes and cat-like grin?

With your beach attire on, as opposed to the work clothes you were constantly forced to wear early in the morning, you creaked the door open. Juyeon immediately looked up and you could feel your cheeks warm at his sheer expression. It was… so soft and loving as his gaze raked over you with kind eyes.

“What time will we get there?” You asked, your voice wobbling with embarrassment.

“Hm?” His eyes were completely elsewhere.

“Focus,” You grumbled, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Cannot,” He mumbled, stepping forward and hooking an arm around your waist. “Not when you look this beautiful.” If you peered any more closely, you could see that he was blushing. Simply at the sight of you.

“Don’t fawn over me like that,” You whined. “It’s embarrassing. You’ve seen me dress like this before.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love how you look every time.” He smiled cheekily. His grip on your waist tightened as he tried to press his lips against yours, but with a click of your tongue, you pulled away. He pouted at your action.

“What time will we get to the beach?” You enunciated every syllable and raised an eyebrow. “Answer my question first, mister.”

“Five,” He muttered and before you could protest, he was pulling you in and against his warm lips. Breaking apart, he smiled. “I can kiss you now right?”

Shoving him shyly, you stepped away. “You already did.”

“Again?”

“No, you lunatic.” Your cheeks flushed. “Let’s go already.”

“But you’re so–”

“Lead the way,” You laughed bashfully, twisting away and pushing him to the door. “No more kissing.”

“But I love y–”

“No more!”

He still snuck in one more kiss and also a whisper of the word “pretty” before he opened the car door for you.

–

“Will you always be my biggest fan?” Juyeon called out, dribbling the basketball under his large hand.

“You have to prove it,” You replied back, sticking your tongue out playfully and sitting on the curb. He laughed and turned around, away from you, allowing you to privately ogle at him playing. The way his hair ruffled against the wind and how his tan skin glistened with ocean mist… you wondered just how handsome a man could be.

After getting the ball in a few times, he turned to you, smiling that adorable bright smile, his deep voice resonating with an attractive laugh.

“What do you think?” He tilted his head jokingly.

“Amazing.” You rolled your eyes but still smiled, allowing your chest to relax just at the sight of him. Maybe you did need this beach date.

“Then what about you?” He spoke, walking over to you. He held his hand out, waiting for you to take it. And then he led you to the basketball hoop and placed the ball in your hands. “Shoot.”

You scowled. “You know I’m perfectly good at this.” With a determined look, you turned to the hoop and threw the ball with all of your strength. Though it went far enough, your aim seemed to be off that day because it completely missed the white square.

He laughed fondly before picking up the ball.

And then he turned to you, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“This one’s for the love of my life,” He said.

You stifled a chuckle watching as he adorably glared at the hoop. Except, when he shot, the ball ended up much, much farther away. Instead, it went over and around, landing in one of the bushes.

He stared at you with a grimace.

“Juyeon,” You laughed. “What was that?”

Then he started panicking. “That– that was a mistake. You know I love you right? Even if I…” He trailed off with a guilty look. “...missed horribly.”

At this point, you had tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. You leaned against him, throwing your arms around his neck and hiding your face in his shoulder. His hands snaked around you, pulling you close.

“Of course.” You grinned. “I love you too.”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Then he pulled away, gazing at you with so much affection.

“Thirsty?”

You smirked. “For you? Yes.”

He sputtered at that, his cheeks tinting pink. You loved to tease him.

–

Now at the drink stand set up by the shore, there was a girl working there with a bright and kind smile. You leaned over the counter and ordered two drinks while Juyeon was behind you and… still embarrassed over his failed dedicated basketball shot.

You handed him his drink as you took a sip of yours and led him off to sit on one of the beaches. It was refreshing and strawberry-flavored, bright red in your hand.

Turning to him, you grinned. “Can I try yours?”

“Go ahead, anything for you,” He whispered. But what he didn’t expect, was for you to lean in and press your lips to his, even swiping your tongue against his bottom lip. He stared down at you in utter shock, his eyes adorably wide.

Licking your lips, you smiled innocently. “Delicious.”

He only stuttered, his gaze averting from yours. “You can’t just– do that.”

“I can do whatever I want,” You smugly replied. “I can do this,” You whispered before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And this.” Another kiss on the other cheek.

He only stared at you in shock and mortification. “What are you doing?”

“Loving you.”

He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek as he held back a giddy smile. “I’ll make it up to you. Just you wait,” He grumbled. You only laughed fondly. His gaze traveled down to his straw which had somehow bent in an awkward way.

“I’ll get a new one,” He muttered, still avoiding your teasing gaze as he turned back to the drink stall.

It was silent after he had left. Well, up until you heard a laugh. Not from your boyfriend, but the girl working the stall.

When you turned around, you giggled at the sight. Juyeon was walking back from the stall, his cheeks flaming red and puffed from embarrassment.

“Why didn’t you tell me that I had—“ He winced. “Strawberry-flavored kiss marks on my cheeks? She laughed at me.”

You only laughed louder as you came to the realization that he hadn’t made a single effort to wipe the kiss marks off. Pulling him down to sit next to you, you rested your head on his shoulder with a fond smile.

“You’re so cute.”

—

“This is just great,” He grumbled. The car humorously sputtered in response, refusing to start. You were lucky that it was now evening since you both were now completely stranded in the middle of the street, only the beach and ocean accompanying you.

Your eyes softened at his frown.

“Let’s go,” You whispered.

“Where?” There was a crease in between his eyebrows now.

“The beach.” You smiled. “That was the main attraction after all.”

“But we could have driven to a better spot,” He said.

“I don’t mind.” You grinned, already stepping out of the broken car. “As long as I’m with you.”

He stared at you in slight shock before flushing prettily. “Then say less.” He was practically jumping out of the driver’s seat and rushing over to you, intertwining his fingers with yours.

Now walking along the shoreline, the ocean water occasionally splashing across your feet, the two of you couldn’t stop staring and smiling at each other.

Under the moonlight, Juyeon looked positively charming. His hair was slightly messy from the breeze and his eyes were twinkling with the sparkles of the stars and also… love.

“Thank you for this,” You whispered, looking up at him with a soft smile. “For helping me to just live in the moment.”

“Every moment with you is worth it,” He replied, smiling back down at you. “I would throw away everything for you.”

“My god,” You laughed, hiding your face in his shoulder briefly. “So charming.”

“And you’re beautiful,” He muttered as a gentle hand came up to the side of your face to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “So beautiful.”

Your heart was practically thumping out of your chest. Tilting your chin up, you were about to connect lips with his, but the tide almost swept you off your feet. With a yelp, you panicked, only to feel Juyeon’s hands around your waist, steadying you.

And again, your heart thumped and thumped. His gaze fell to your lips and easily and calmly, like the ocean waves, he leaned in for a soft kiss. You immediately melted under his arms, your lips pulling up into a shy smile as he tilted his head slightly.

When he broke apart, you were laughing shyly.

“What are you doing?” You smiled.

He shook his head with amusement.

“Loving you.”

“Wow, that’s—“ But he was interrupting you with another kiss, this time a bit deeper—more passionate. His hands tightened but his grasp was always gentle. Looping your arms around his neck, you kissed him with the rising tide now reaching up to your knees.

“I think we should go home,” He spoke hurriedly, gazing at you with a fond look.

“Why?” You teased.

“So I can kiss you more,” He whispered.

“Then let’s go home,” You giggled.

—

“How do we get home exactly?” You laughed, eyeing the car that still refused to start.

He looked at you sheepishly. “I forgot about that.”

Pulling out his phone, he dialed a car mechanic to come and help. Meanwhile, the two of you would have to wait, completely stranded under the dim street lights.

He hung up and turned to you. And with that signature, cat-like smile, he walked you backwards until you were pinned against the car.

“Then I guess I’ll kiss you right here.”

“Juyeon—“ You stuttered.

“And right now,” He whispered, tilting your chin up with his hand. Giving up, you let him kiss you softly and gently until there was a honk from another car who needed to drive by.

#drabbles 💞 #requests 💞 #juyeon x reader #juyeon fluff #the boyz imagines #the boyz reactions #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff #tbz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz scenarios

[george-weasleys-girl]

Hey bestie, can you write 30 with f reader x fred?

She's spending Christmas with the Wesley's as she doesn't have a family as they died in the first war and were in the OG Order of the Phoenix (which they don't realise maybe until Fred and George are discussing going home for Christmas, and reader mentions staying at Hogwarts), and Fred has fancied her since they were best friends.

https://www.tumblr.com/writerthreads/704592881806082048/30-festive-writing-prompts-for-your-wipone-shots?source=share

❄️Yuletide Celebration❄️

Under the Mistletoe

Fred Weasley x Fem!reader

~•~

"Stop trying to get me under the mistletoe!"

"Frederick Gideon Weasley!" Molly yelled from the kitchen. "Leave that poor girl alone! She's here to celebrate Christmas with us, not have you chase her through the house like a crazed lunatic."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Y/N said, then turned, laughing, and stuck her tongue out at Fred.

~•~

It wasn't that she didn't want to kiss Fred. She really, truly did. But he was one of her dearest friends and also Hogwart's most notorious playboy. She was certain he would never see her as anything other than a friend. And if she kissed him, even just the smallest peck, all those feelings she kept buried would force their way to the surface, and she wasn't sure she could shove them back down again.

Four days earlier

"Well, that settles it," Fred announced. "You're going home with us for Christmas."

"But - I... " Y/N stammered.

"Nope, no buts," George said. "You don't have a family to go home to for Christmas. So, you're coming to ours."

"Exactly," Fred nodded in agreement. After learning that not only had her parents been killed in the First Wizarding World, but her grandfather, her only family, had passed away over the summer, there was no way he was taking no for an answer.

"But what about your parents?" She argued. "How would they feel if you just brought a random stranger home for the holidays."

"First off," Fred held up a finger. "You're not random. And second," he held up another finger. "You're not a stranger. And third," he held up yet another finger. "While you were busy arguing with us, Ginny sent a note to mum telling her to expect an extra guest. So there." Fred folded his arms, looking quite pleased with himself. "Now, let's get you packed."

~•~

Nothing could be sweeter to Fred's ears than Y/N's laughter ringing through the Burrow. He'd fancied her for a long time, though he'd never worked up the guts to tell her.

Oh sure, he could woo girls left and right, but when it came down to actual feelings, he lost all ability to speak or breathe or function at all. That was why he kept trying to get Y/N under the mistletoe. He was good at kissing, and he thought that maybe if he could just give her a small kiss, he could somehow convey all those pent-up emotions.

Except things weren't working out as he'd expected. The only reason he was doing the whole mistletoe thing was that he thought she felt the same way. Occasionally, he caught her looking at him in a way that suggested more than just feelings of friendship.

"Maybe I'm wrong," he confided to George. "Maybe it's just wishful thinking."

"Or maybe you need to change tactics," his brother suggested.

"What do you mean?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this," George shook his head. "But I agree with mum. You are chasing her around like a crazed lunatic."

Fred sighed. "So what do you suggest?"

"Well, I know this is a pretty revolutionary idea, but stick with me," his twin began. "But you could just try talking to Y/N. Tell her how you feel."

"Tell me how you feel about what?" Y/N's voice startled both boys, who swerved around to see her standing in the doorway to their bedroom.

~•~

Y/N and Fred sat side by side on his bed. For a long while, neither spoke.

"Whatever this is, it must be serious," Y/N said, breaking the silence. "If you're at a loss for words."

Fred opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I, um... you know how I've been trying to get you under the mistletoe?" He asked.

"Yeah... "

"I'm not just trying to... you're not like all the other girls. Not to me anyway."

With every stumbling word, Y/N's heart beat a little faster. "W-what are you trying to say, Fred?"

"I'm saying that," he paused to clear his throat. "That I like you. Alot. Alot more than as a friend. But if you don't feel - "

"I do feel the same way," Y/N interjected.

Fred's eyes widened. "You do?"

Y/N nodded. "That's why I wouldn't kiss you. There'd be no going back for me if I did."

" Yeah. Me either."

"So would you like to - " She barely got the words out before his lips were on hers, tender yet all-encompassing.

Even after their lips parted, they remained with their foreheads together, eyes closed for a few lingering moments.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Fred mummered.

"Me too." Y/N felt more than saw his smile.

"Wanna do it again?" He asked.

"You don't even have to ask," she smiled, leaning forward.

"Oh wait! We need something!" Fred yelped, causing her to jump. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe, holding it over their heads.

"Have you been carrying that around all day?" She laughed.

"Yep!" He replied. "I didn't know when the opportunity might present itself and wanted to be ready."

Y/N giggled and shook her head. "It's a good thing you're so cute, you know."

"I know," he winked and leaned for the second round.

~•~

@milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley @nighttimemoonlover @jsjcue @wzrd-wheezes @fredweasleyyyyy @hufflepuffie @alexistonks @anvaaryn @samshifts @asuperconfusedgirl @superduckmilkshake @mysticsheepsoul @gemofthenight @1lellykins @junerprsh @sierraluvz @wolfkill16 @smallsweetvanillabean @costheticbabe @thatonepersonwhocantwrite @charmedfandomgal @loveosewood @hanne-montana @rhunew @greenapplegrass @lizzytrees @spididerman

#fred weasley #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fluff #hp universe #hp fandom

[longtallglasses]

writing patterns

thx for tagging me @loverslakes !!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 8 6 posted fics (and 3 wips) and see if there's a pattern!

sleepwalking cannibal wip! all of these lines are a wip

Go find your muse, they said. Go seek inspiration, they said. Go! Get out of your comfort zone, it’ll do you some good, they said.

And look where that’s landed him. Running through a dark forest, chasing after a lunatic with fresh blood on his hands.

How the hell did this happen?

undisclosed desires mid-00s wip

That same shrill tone every morning. If his life were a dramatic tragedy, it would be that tone that would follow all his entrances and exits.

Mike wakes up. He doesn’t want to get up.

He never wants to.

untitled grease au wip

The setting of the sun as it meets the sand, casts a warm glow over the two of them. It would grow colder soon. Their bodies would turn blue as they soon had to find a way to say goodbye. Summer’s closing in on itself and so they must as well.

heaven (let my love open the door)

Miss Nelson’s fourth grade classroom window glows bright amongst the dim early morning. It rained last night and there’s a dampness that hangs in the air and clings to the tires on the road. Will feels his skin warm up as he enters the classroom, his shoes squeaking across the tile.

“Good Morning Will!” Miss Nelson greets him as he sheds his coat. 

We’re So Lucky

That last shot might’ve been a mistake. 

Will shakes his head out, and his glazed eyes meet El’s, as they both giggle at nothing in particular. They both just feel really good.

but flurry you’re my best friend

It all began because Mike needed to finally get five stars on his animal crossing island.

The Blair Witch Project

In October of 1990, four student filmmakers got lost in the woods near Burkittsville- kiddinggggg

“It’s already recording dude, just point it at me.” Mike instructs.

“Like this?” Lucas asks, pointing the lens at Mike standing in the middle of the room.

“No. On the floor. Yes, like that idiot.” He deadpans.

one more… please? (tell it like it is)

Lots of things had taken Mike Wheeler by surprise in his life. 

It’s Cute

Will didn’t mean for it to happen. Honestly he had kind of forgotten. He didn’t even really think about it anymore.

But there they were in his bedroom, and Mike had plucked it out from under his comforter, “Is this my sweater?”

tagging nooo pressure :): realizing i don't follow many authors (or dk are writers) so sorry if you’ve already been tagged! @id-rather-be-home @total-serene560 @oldfashionedmorphine @souverian-are-we @kiirotoao and anyone else who writes that wants to do it!

#i think a mix?? #i def tend towards a short straight up one liner #would benefit from training myself away from that #and my wips have started differently so maybe i already am! #byler #byler fic #writing #longtallglasses

[despitethecold]

My contribution to the GTA summer fest!! Thank you @gtafest for the event (and for proofreading hehe) <33

Being the dumbass I am, I forgot we were supposed to be inspired by a song and I was inspired by a picture instead, but I think parts of Taylor Swift's august might be the song for this fic :D Especially when she says "Your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it"

Anyway, I hope you enjoy :3

. . .

It’s yet another typical Yankton summer for Michael. In his mid-twenties, the only real bond he has is his best friend and partner-in-more-things-than-crime, and that’s all he really needs. He can drink and be stupid and fuck off to wherever his heart desires with Trevor, do reckless shit without explaining himself to anyone. It’s freedom like he’s never experienced before; it’s like a dream come true, and even though it can feel a little aimless and gloomy sometimes, it never gets lonely. Not as long as he has Trevor by his side. He admits Trevor can be too much, especially when he gets high and acts like an absolute lunatic with zero boundaries and does the most deranged things Michael has ever witnessed. He’s a wild card, maybe even a liability at times.

But the Trevor before his eyes looks the opposite of that.  He’s calm in his state of unconsciousness, his face serene and free of all worries, body naked and cheap motel sheets twisted around it. Almost like he’s pure and harmless, and the thought makes Michael want to laugh until he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t because seeing Trevor like this has already taken his breath away.

He had complained about the blinds not working at night when the streetlights battled their way inside the room and chased away his sleep, but he couldn’t get upset at the early sunrise — not when it bestowed him the heavenly sight of Trevor sleeping soundly on his chest, snoring lightly, unfazed by his surroundings. His skin is deliciously tanned, alluring in the orange glow, and although the color reminds Michael of caramel, he knows perfectly well that it tastes much too salty to be that. The brightness accentuates the hairs on his uncovered legs and ass, but despite being a generally hairy guy, his back seems surprisingly smoother to Michael’s tired eyes — that is, if he ignores the scars. 

He absentmindedly reaches out a hand and touches the small of Trevor’s back. Warm. His touch slides down to his perfectly shaped ass, and he wants to bite into the flesh so badly, but manages to keep the urge under control. A thin sheen of sweat is visible on the back of his neck, and his long hair is spread messily on the pillow. It’s not soft and shiny like the girls Michael had slept with before, which isn’t a surprise considering Trevor probably doesn’t even use shampoo, but it’s still strangely attractive.

Shuffling closer, Michael presses a light kiss on his shoulder blade, checks to see if it woke Trevor up, and since he doesn’t detect any movement, he shifts to his neck. His lips stay there for a long minute, burning the texture and the taste of Trevor’s skin into his memory. It’s like he’s lost control of his body; all he wants to do is kiss Trevor all over, touch every inch of his skin. He’s usually very high or drunk or horny when he gets sentimental like this, and he’s none of those things at that moment, but for some unknown reason he’s so peaceful that the fondness he feels for Trevor that he normally keeps carefully under wraps doesn’t even bother him much.

After another set of kisses, Trevor eventually stirs and groans in protest, obviously wanting to be left alone and go back to sleep, but how can Michael let the moment pass like it’s nothing? At that second, he is convinced Trevor is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and some of him knows the feeling won’t last forever, so he intends to make it last. “You’re gorgeous, Trev,” he whispers in his ear, caressing his side, his palm flat against the sweat damp skin. 

Trevor lets out a drowsy scoff. “Very funny,” he murmurs against the pillow. “Now fuck off.” His voice cracks from sleep, and it’s low in a very masculine way. Michael has a tent in his boxers just from hearing it.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Michael can practically sense the way Trevor assesses his words, weighs them in his head, and makes a decision. With a beat of silence, Trevor rolls onto his back, kicking the covers off of himself. Michael’s mouth goes dry at the sight; Trevor’s cock and balls are also real pretty in that light, not that he’s ever thought about another guy’s junk like that before. His eyes meet Trevor’s devoted ones, the honey-colored flecks in his hazel eyes daring him to do something, anything, and so he does. He gets on top of Trevor, slotting between his legs, their awakening cocks in complete contact while he takes Trevor’s mouth and tastes him. It makes Trevor whimper quietly, and Michael deepens the kiss to draw more of those needy moans out. He succeeds, and he soaks up all the little sounds Trevor makes. Each and every one of them goes straight to his cock, raising the urge to own Trevor, make him his and his only. The feeling is so strong that he doesn’t even dare fight it.

There’s no draft in the room, and they sweat even more with the union of their bodies, but neither of them care. Trevor’s arms wind around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly close, and Michael feels feverish from the sun’s rays and Trevor’s innate fire. It takes over his entire being, igniting the kind of flame within that only Trevor manages to stoke, making him feel like this, whatever it is they have, would be his end, and he welcomes that with open arms in his hormone-driven state. Trevor’s cock and balls feel so fucking nice against his own, and Trevor’s precum lubricates them deliciously as they rut against each other like wild animals.

Michael always lasts longer than Trevor, but for the first time, he comes first, biting into Trevor’s shoulder and leaving yet another mark that will remind him in post nut clarity to stop doing this and also why he does it in the first place. 

It doesn’t take Trevor long to follow Michael and make the mess between them even stickier, the pleasure so prominent in his tightly shut eyes, flushed cheeks, and fisted hands that Michael can’t help being enchanted by it. He refuses rolling away yet, just kisses Trevor again and again until Trevor comes down from his high enough to properly kiss him back, and after a long moment of making out, he finally pulls back, admiring how satisfied Trevor looks.

The sun is fully up by then. Trevor throws him a small, tired grin, wipes his crotch and stomach with the sheets before snuggling against Michael’s arm, holding him tight. Soon, he’s snoring again. 

Michael closes his eyes and tries to convince himself he’ll be fine, that this is okay. He pretends they’re living in a world where loving another man is not wrong, where they can keep robbing and having fun for the rest of their lives. A world where it’s always sunny.

If only.

#gtavfest #gtafest #my writing #trikey #trevor philips #michael de santa #michael townley

[misskathcake]

Should Bunny Keep Driving?

Author's note 💌

There's just no way that my creative juices would flow if it didn't contain my newest (and concerning) Formula 1 obsession. Since I'm not blessed with Harry Styles F1 content, I decided to bring F1 to my Harry Styles universe because I'm quite delusional like that 😂

This surely won't be the last F1 AU I'd be composing, so I kindly suggest you also avail my F1 fangirl starter pack if you want to fully join me in this wild ride: read the entire Dirty Air Series by Lauren Asher, and binge seasons 1-4 of Drive To Survive. But unlike me, please don't do all that in a single month 🙈

Anyway, enough rambling on my end. I hope you lovelies enjoy this one because it certainly did wonders to my mental well-being. It reminded me why writing is a passion I could always find solace in, no matter the rough and dull moments life inevitably brings my way. I could only hope this brings some brightness to someone out there, happy reading! 🥰🧡🏎️

🐇🐇🐇

There’s a lot to be said about my profession as a Formula 1 driver. Many would say I’m living the bachelor dream: driving fast cars on most weekends of the year, with money and women free-flowing my way like every drop of champagne being popped on the podium. Some - like my sweet dear mother - would prefer to call me a ‘reckless adrenaline junkie’: being strapped on a death vehicle for a living is worth no benefit; surely an occupation only lunatics will take. All other versions of such claims I have heard, but one I haven’t is the assumption that Formula 1 drivers are inept in basic navigation.

Well thank fuck no tabloid or social media post has said anything about that, or there’s no denying I would be the laughing butt of the joke for the rest of this season. I could already picture it, in bold and underlined letters: ‘Harry Styles, McLaren F1 team’s Golden Boy is found lost in the streets of Italy. Can he make it back in time for the Imola Grand Prix?’

Well looking at the way the doors of my bright orange vehicle had remained stuck towards the roof, there’s no telling that I can actually make it to free practice tomorrow. All I had wanted was to have this day off from any racing obligation, to enjoy the brightness of Emilia Romania, Italy even for just this single day. 

What had I told my teammate Nick Grimshaw when I turned down his idea of golfing to make plans for my own today? Oh, that I ‘wanted to get lost in the beauty of an Italian summer.’ Now isn’t that bloody fucking ironic as I’m standing here under the heat of the blazing Italian summer sun, my too hightech for my own good sportscar failing me in God knows where, when all I wanted was to go to this specific beach where I can sit on the smooth sand and peacefully watch the sunset.

“So much for spending billions on car upgrades,” I walked my way back into the interior of the car, trying my best to figure out what was wrong with the technological system that had caused the engine to stop at the side of this random Italian street. 

I’m not one to feel regret on a daily basis, choosing to believe that everyone should be kinder to themselves, and that giving yourself a hard time for something that occurred in the past won’t help anything. Well in this scenario, I can’t help but feel even just a smidge of regret when James Corden, McLaren’s CEO, my friend and ultimately my boss, had first offered me to use a vintage McLaren on my solo Italian trip today. Knowing how much of a grandpa I can be with today’s rapid technological development, I feel like an absolute bloody idiot for not agreeing to that, and instead chose this green energy-powered vehicle that looks more like a worthless pile of steel and metal.

Realizing that my lack of knowledge with advanced cars had not been strengthened in the gap between this morning and right now, I sighed for the nth time this afternoon and stepped-out of the car once more. Standing at the side of the street, I tilted my head to look at the immaculate crimson and yellow Italian homes, noticing in dismay that it’s backdrop of the sun will start to set in about an hour from now.

With nothing left to do but actually call for help, I tried to reason with my stubborn and prideful self that calling for the towing company does not negatively affect my competency as a racing driver. Only that it does. I know deep inside that even just a tiny bit, it does say something about my lack of initiative in furthering my knowledge in my field. But I know that situation needs to be rectified after I get myself out of this current dilemma.

“Harry, you’re no good alone.” I found myself saying to no one in particular but myself, definitely learning a thing or two about accepting your own flaws as a good character development thanks to my older sister. Accompanied by those words of conviction physically ringing in my ears, I pulled out my phone, ready to make the dreaded call of defeat.

Except she arrived just in time to halt my actions.

She, being a blonde girl about my age, riding a bike while singing along to some pop song I heard my friend Niall singing in the shower, that particular time we flew over together for the Monaco Grand Prix. But it’s not that specific song that had ceased my movements. It’s her bright yellow bag slung to her shoulder, the color a perfect match to the colorful bikini top she was wearing under some denim dungarees. While being under the rays of the Italian sun, she just looked so golden.

I don’t know how long I had stood there like a fool just staring at her glowing presence, but I was brought back to my wits when the music stopped playing. In a blink, I noticed that the girl had halted her bike just in-front of my broken car, frowning in my direction.

“Hey, are you okay?” She called out, even her voice sounded so bright in my ears I’m starting to wonder if this woman is sunshine personified.

“I’m good.” was my reply like the aforementioned damn fool that I was that not only didn’t know how to operate the newest models of sports cars, but apparently, I also can’t find my words when talking to gorgeous and kind strangers.

She didn’t seem to believe my words, head tilted in curiosity. She side-stepped from the seat of her bike and walked to stand in front of me at the side of the street. With about two feet separating us, she placed both of her hands on her waist.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both British considering your accent,” she offered me a kind smile, “and back from where I’m from in England, people standing on the side of the barest of streets with an open car a few feet away from them, usually doesn’t mean the person is doing well. But that’s just me,” she shrugged, “I don’t know how things are from your part of England.”

Call me entitled or jaded, but it’s been a long time that someone aside from my close circle had been at ease or even just possessed the confidence to tease me. So long in fact that I let out a snort from her words, followed directly by a bubble of laughter that has got me bent in half, with my hands placed on my knees for support. All the while, this funny lady continued to stand just a few feet away from me like my absolute out-of-the-blue guffawing hadn’t alerted her that I was nuts.

“You’re definitely not okay then,” confirming my belief, she chuckled along in my sudden fit of insanity.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I straightened up, remembering my manners. “It’s just been a long time since I heard something that funny at my expense and said directly to my face. And, it’s just been a long day.” My eyes travel unwillingly to my hopeless vehicle, a sigh leaving my smiling lips upon remembering the task I was supposed to do.

I noticed her own eyes following the trail of my own, her whistle of appreciation to what she saw is not lost in my ears. “You’re definitely having a long day if you got this baby to cruise around Italy with.”

Sounds to me like she's a car enthusiast. And why that interests me, I don’t know. “Not long enough I believe, since the baby stopped here and barely even crawled.”

My humor somehow landed on her, the sides of her lips curving when she looked back at me. “You’re quite funny,” the sincerity in her tone made me return her smile. “And I’m not just saying that because you just laughed like you were losing it a few seconds back. But what I find way more hilarious is how a McLaren racing driver like yourself, gets stuck in the middle of nowhere-Imola like you don’t know how to operate the newest release of your company’s top of the line sportscar campaign.”

So, she knew who I was…of course she knew who I was if I decided to parade around Imola in the bright orange monstrosity of a car, while wearing my infamous bright colored outfits complete with glitter details of an embroidered strawberry on the breast of my Gucci tee. It’s not the first nor last time people recognized me randomly on international streets, but it surely is a novel occurrence for me to feel bashful under her knowing gaze.

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling my ears pinken at the realization she knew who I was under this current unfavorable circumstance. “I wish I could say my mechanical skills in fixing cars came as natural as my humor does. But I am afraid I’m just a useless F1 racer who only operates on adrenaline.”

The woman lifted a brow in amusement, “And you don’t have that right now because your car stopped working?”

“Exactly!” I pointed at her like I can’t believe she understood my words, “The car isn’t moving so I don’t have adrenaline to properly function like a human being. I’m basically a damsel in distress right now just waiting for my pit crew to come rescue me.”

And as if a shining personality isn’t enough to blind me, the girl surprises me when she suggests the unthinkable: “Then let’s fix it! What’s exactly broken so we know what to target?” Then she began to point-out different parts of the car that only true car enthusiasts take time to know about. I guess that answers my earlier question if she was into cars; but that doesn’t really help anything when she lost me at her first suggestion.

She probably noticed I remained standing there looking at her like she was speaking a different language, because she stopped in the middle of her sentence and gave me her own bashful look. “I’m sorry, I probably creeped you out just rambling like that without introducing myself. I’m Sophia, by the way.”

Mesmerized by her character, I met her outstretched palm and returned her fairly firm shake. “I’m Harry, nice to meet you, Sophia.” 

“You too,” she nodded, “it’s great to meet you too, I mean. I know we don’t really know each other, but I was serious about helping you fix your car.”

And I don’t know what it is in my gut that told me she really meant her word, but the women in my life had always told me to trust my intuition. And right now, my intuition is telling me to accept Sophia’s unbridled kindness. “And I was also being truthful that I don’t know my way around these high-tech cars unlike I do with vintage ones. So, I can’t really answer your list of questions earlier. But feel free to check the car out yourself.”

I watched as Sophia just stood there mimicking my static stance from earlier, my words seeming not to register in her mind like I thought it would. “Are you serious?” She asked, her blue orbs widening when I nodded my head with conviction.

“This baby is all yours.” I motioned with my hands for her to enter the car, my grin of fondness making its reappearance when Sophia let out a squeal of uncontained excitement as she entered the vehicle. I followed right after her when she called for my name. Based solely on my intuition and her earlier encyclopedia worthy car knowledge, I was fully content to give her full reins to analyze the problem. But when she turned to look at me from her position at the driver’s seat, still asking for my help, I nodded without a second thought.

In my defense, she said the word ‘please’, a pout I’ve come to alarmingly realize I couldn’t resist painted on her lips. Those two on Sophia are a lethal combo. I just knew straight ahead that if she used that more frequently around me, I was done for and she can basically get anything she wanted from me.

Though, something tells me Sophia isn’t that type of person to take advantage of others. Not in the way she patiently asked me questions about the car; questions that were genuinely similar to those my mechanics have asked me during race debriefs. And call me a narcissist all you want, but this occupation of mine with all its glitz and glamorous perks, also comes with undeniable faults that a regular person with a nine-to-five job won’t probably bear to understand.

Not once did Sophia deter our conversation with anything else than strictly being the possible ailments of my car. If it was anyone else in her position with less than good intentions that she clearly exhibits, I’d for sure be feeling extremely uncomfortable right now. It’s very rare for strangers to not have any ulterior motives when it comes to interacting with me, and my usually guarded heart feels a sense of relief that Sophia seems to be one of the very few that I can learn to trust. But hey, I am a Formula 1 driver who rides spaceship-like vehicles that operate on 300 kmph on the regular, who says I’m still right on the head with my perception of reality?

I’m learning to trust humanity more though. My mum and Gem had made it pretty clear that my happiness on the outside and guarded on the inside persona, will just make me lonely in the long-run. I needed a companion in life like the both of them had found in their partners. And to be honest, I’m done feeling like a lone wolf too, that’s why at the start of this year’s season I had made a personal vow to actually commit in allowing myself to trust the dark and bleak society I have come to be wary of. It would allow me to find the genuine ones no matter how miniscule they may come nowadays.

I’m officially calling this interaction with Sophia as me trying; trying to connect with new people while using a pair of fresh eyes that hold no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with befriending beautiful strangers in a random street somewhere in Imola; especially if they’re here acting as my knight in shining yellow handbag. 

“I suggest we don’t touch anything.” Sophia let out after her whole list-down of questions she asked me about the possible problems of my car.

“What?” I was stunned at her change of perspective, my brows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean let’s not touch anything? It seems to me seconds ago that you know your way with cars much more than me, or any of the current drivers on the grid.”

My statement made her giggle, the crinkles of her eyes catching my gaze like the sound of her laugh isn’t adorable enough to attract all of my attention. “I’d take that as a compliment since you seem like an honest person. But regardless of how much of a car encyclopedia I am, that still doesn’t qualify me from actually breaking apart this bloody expensive car.”

“Then why’d you ask me all those things then?”

“Maybe because I wanted to see for myself if you’re really a racer who knows no shit about cars, or you were just waiting to impress me with all your overflowing knowledge about it like a stereotypical testosterone-ego filled motorsport driver.”

I snorted unattractively, enthralled by her honest words despite its teasing tone. “I hope I didn’t disappoint then, that I’m not your typical racing driver. That I’m really just a big fraud of my kind who’s basically a big disgrace in our industry since I know close to nothing about the thing that makes my job work in the first place.”

I don’t know what kind of reaction I was waiting for, but it certainly wasn’t her loud laughter echoing around the quiet Italian street, nor the way her hand had comfortably, almost mindlessly, pushed me lightly on my shoulders like it’s for her own good that I should stop making these jokes about myself. I liked it though, her reaction. Far too much.

“Well, I’m hoping this isn’t your attempt at running away from the Imola grand prix this weekend, considering I don’t think you’re that bad of a driver regardless if you don’t know how to properly fix one.” Sophia proceeded to give me a carefree smile, as if she hadn’t just complimented me for the first time.

And how I felt like preening at noting such a random thing, I have no idea. It seems to be the overall theme for my afternoon. “Sadly, no. My boss wouldn’t have lent me this car if he had heard any inklings that I was going rogue for an Italian holiday, no matter how lovely that sounds now.”

I saw the interest flash in her eyes after that, “So if you’re not on the run from your racing obligations, then what’s so pressing you had to drive a car you barely know anything about?”

I didn’t see any harm in sharing my plans, especially when my current situation makes it seem more like canceled plans now that I’ll only be able to accomplish the next time I visit Emilia Romania. I tried to keep my disappointment at the minimum when I told her.

“Nothing that special, actually. You see, today’s my only free day from any race or media stuff so I just wanted to head to this specific beach and watch the sunset. Just to have some time for me, to be one with the peace and quiet of the ocean.”

I am unsure what she sees in my expression after I had said that, but one look at Sophia made me believe I did a piss poor job at concealing displeasure. A frown is etched on her forehead, corners of her lips turned downwards, her eyes wide with sympathy dancing in her irises.

That look on her face stunned me on my seat once again. I decided that I wanted to remove that saddened look on her face, her face that should always be full of life and brightness like the sunshine that she is. But more importantly, what had gotten me dazed like an utter fool being hit unknowingly by cupid’s arrow, is this sudden realization that had completely turned my perspective of this entire situation in another fucking direction.

How do you tell I woman you met barely an hour ago, a woman as charming, kind, honest, and simply a compelling woman like Sophia, that I don’t give a single fuck about the sunset and the beach anymore when I’m content just staring at her pools of ocean blue? That her aura is enough and more to compete with a stunning Italian sunset?

But before I could even act more like a fool in front of her by trying to articulate those gobsmacking thoughts of pure sappiness and vulnerability all in one, Sophia beats me to it by asking me her own question.

“What’s your thoughts on just calling someone to fix your car? And while they’re doing that task, you and I head together to that beach you were keen to go to, watch the sunset, and even eat some gelato while doing all that. You game?”

🌻🌻🌻

What the actual bloody fuck was I doing?

Did I seriously just instruct a Formula 1 driver on what to do with his car while simultaneously making plans with him like we’re suddenly best friends who go on regular beach trips and watch sunsets together? More importantly, did I just unknowingly, idiotically, ask him to get some gelato with me? Because with my barely functioning social skills, that’s basically as tangible as a first date as I can get.

What the actual fuck. This is Harry Styles we’re talking about. Regardless if I’m a Red Bull girl at heart, this man I just talked my mouth off to is popularly called, McLaren's Golden Boy: the one who will win the historic team another Constructors Championship title and the World Driver’s Championship, after more than a decade of being stuck in the midfield. I appreciate talent when I see one, and Jesus did I ever see pure and raw talent in this man’s season last year. Seriously, if the new car regulations didn’t take place this year, I bet my entire handbag collection that he’ll already be competing for those titles alongside Red Bull and Ferrari like it’s as easy as breathing air.

Speaking of air, I think I just lost my own supply when my question was left unanswered, hanging in the air that I couldn’t seem to breathe, unwanted and so out of place. To top it all off, Harry graced me with his ‘thinking face’ that I’ve seen in various media, sporting a very appealing pout on his lips. Aside from my appreciation of racing abilities, I am also very grateful for the F1 driver’s physical assets. I have eyes, alright? There’s no denying that Harry’s curls, plump pink lips, doe-wide green orbs - and don’t even get me started on the dimples on his cheeks - more than just appeals to my ovaries.

In a nutshell: his fucking hot and adorable in one whole kind and crazy package.

But there’s no time to think of that. I shook my head mentally to get rid of those unhelpful thoughts and tried to find my words on how to salvage this situation and overall, my pride. I don’t want to be that pitiful girl who tells her nonna that time she was turned down by a famous racing driver because she accidentally made plans with him. She’s just not going to be that girl, and surprisingly, it seems like Harry also shares the same thoughts.

“If I agreed to this, would you allow me to choose your gelato flavor for you?” Harry’s reply was certainly not the kind of answer I thought I would receive. I was so intent that he would kindly reject me, that when his words were no way near that direction, I couldn’t contain the laughter of unadulterated glee and surprise to leave my lips.

“I’ve certainly never trusted anyone to choose my gelato flavor for me. But considering how you trusted me in fixing your car, I don’t see what’s wrong in reciprocating your confidence in my character.”

If I wasn’t already fazed by his presence alone, Harry continues to further astound me on my seat when the craters on his cheeks willingly presented themselves in my view. “Then let’s go get those gelatos!” he even clapped his hand like an excited, overgrown child. “Can you actually believe that I’ve been in Italy for more than 24 hours already and I still haven’t gotten a scoop of gelato?”

I gasped in faux bewilderment, “That is simply unfathomable, Harry! We should definitely take quick measures to fix that and put some gelato in you, like a proper Italian experience.”

And the next thing I knew we were both heading out of his car, walking side by side with my bike in our middle, heading to the gelato parlor I knew was somewhere near the beach he had planned to go to. Majority of the time we had walked, Harry was on the phone making a call to his team, following my request of allowing them to fix whatever the problem was instead of my inexperienced hands. By the time his call ended, we already reached our destination.

“After you.” The gentleman that Harry is notoriously known to be, had the door opened for me with his hand motioning that I enter first before him. I returned his dimpled smile while saying my thanks, allowing him to stand beside me afterwards as we viewed the different gelato flavors on the glass freezer in front of us.

I turned to him with an encouraging smile. “I think this is the time where you pick my ice cream flavor for me, which will once and for all tell me who you really are as a person.”

A glint of challenge began to flicker on his emerald gems. “Is that so? Are you suggesting that if I pick a certain flavor, it would dictate if you still want to be my friend or not?”

Harry’s question had almost gotten me to do a double-take, to ask him to repeat his words slower. Because surely, this charming, trusting and kind influential man didn’t just imply that he wanted to be my friend. But that lightness depicted on his grinning face didn’t scream deceit nor contained any ounce of joking. He looked sincere. I can go even farther and say there’s an air of hope laced underneath his infectious smile.

I found confidence in whatever it was I saw before me, so I returned his smile, allowing him to see that whatever gelato flavor he chose, I’d still want to see where this interaction goes. Because fuck what gelato flavor he choses when we all know I’d be more than pleased in just being in silence with this wonderfully odd man, than finding the time to fuss over what I’m eating. And that’s a first if you know anything about how I indulge with my food.

“As long as you don’t pick pistachio or any flavor with nuts in them, then we’re good. There’s no person who can be my friend if they let me eat nuts since I’m allergic to them.”

Something like wonder washed over his face, dimples disarming me completely out of the barely remaining remnants of my functioning bearings. “You’re in luck then. My older sister is also allergic to all kinds of nuts. That means you just befriended the best nut protector in all of Europe.”

Harry stood there inside the gelato shop with his hands on his hips, chin raised in full confidence like his words, all the while I just found him stinkin’ adorable at how he’s not afraid to be silly in front of me. Not most guys, especially racing drivers, would be confident in their own skin and personality like him.

If my awestruck smile can be any indication, I think I felt like the luckiest girl in the world for experiencing this Italian summer anomaly. And since he’s been nothing but honest and courteous around me, I decided to tell him just as much when we’ve got our gelato cones in our hands, walking quite quickly to catch the sunset at the beach.

The majority of our short walk consisted of Harry asking me why I was in Italy, considering we were both British sounding individuals in foreign soil. I told him I was currently in my summer break before entering my last year of university, that being half-Italian from my mum’s side I had always enjoyed staying in Imola every summer in my nonna’s residence. By the time we found the perfect spot at the beach where we have the best view in the house to see the sunset, Harry and I comfortably sat beside each other on the soft sand with our elbows nearly touching.

“Alright, I’m assuming it’s not an everyday occurrence for you to invite racers to have gelato and watch the sunset at the beach.” Harry’s pink tongue poked out to lick his gelato cone, eyes situated at my face while mine got stuck at his mouth, like it’s the first time I saw anyone eating gelato in Italy.

I snapped my gaze back to his awaiting ones, I shrugged my shoulders lightly. “It’s not really my thing to do every summer.” I confirmed, a mischievous smile formed right after. “Especially not towards McLaren drivers, by the way.”

My apparent dig at his racing team caused Harry to almost splutter-out on the sand the bite of gelato he was enjoying. His contagious laughter became the perfect background music to the orange hues of the setting sun.

“You’re not a McLaren fan, I got it. Message received well and bloody clear.” 

I returned to my own gelato cone, ate it away as I watched Harry tilt his head at me, a look of curiosity mirrored on his smiling face. “You’re a Tifosi then?” he asked, referring to what you call die-hard Italian Ferrari fans.

Now that was my turn to laugh, surprising the man beside me if his widened green eyes could be any indication. I shuddered at his words to display what it did to me. “God, if my family heard you say that, they’ll for sure have hurled you already at the ocean.”

I watched amusedly as Harry did a double-take at my response, he seemed to be growing intrigued at this specific topic. “You’re not a Tifosi fan, and your entire family isn’t. Please tell me how that is your answer when all of you have Italian blood.”

Harry has a very valid point considering how the entirety of Italy values and reverses their beloved Ferrari team. But I guess it’s not just our meeting that is an anomaly in Imola. “As much as I spent almost half my time every year here, on Italian soil, my entire family and I just never got the Ferrari appeal.”

“The color red not doing it for you?”

“More like their team orders and strategies.” I lifted my hand in peace for my next words, “I know you love Mitch with all your heart cause he was your first teammate ever in your rookie season and all that but, he’s bound to get all the bad luck any Ferrari driver gets once they’re signed to the historic team. He should go find a better team where he can really display his hard-earned skills and not get stuck in all their unhinged racing strategies.”

Judging Harry’s reaction, he was more charmed at my honest take then offended on the behalf of his best friend. “Your honesty amazes me, I like it very much.” If a blush coated my cheeks at his admission, then I hoped the orange rays of the sunset covered it even just a bit. He then nodded his head like he agreed with me. “And I also can’t say I don’t share a part, if not all, of your sentiments. I mean come on! They did steal Mitch away from me so Ferrari is definitely one of the last teams I’m taking offers with when my contract is up with McLaren.”

I giggled, dusting off my hands from the crumbs left by my now finished cone of gelato. I gave the ridiculous man beside me a look that silently asked if he was being serious. “Harry, I don’t know how to say this to you, that won’t come as a shock, but you’re McLaren’s Golden Boy. Meaning whether you win them a championship before or in 2025 when your contract ends, they’re not letting you go out of their sights. You’re this sport’s next generation of champions. And seeing that McLaren gave you a poor excuse for a car this year, they have to do better by you in the following years so you can actually showcase your natural flair for racing.”

I wasn’t prepared for the intense aura that Harry exuded towards me after my rant. I just complimented the man like any regular, sane human, and he gazed at me with his captivating green irises as if I was the golden girl of the historically successful, multi-billion, Formula 1 team. It’s unnerving yet empowering how much I realized my words affected him. Yet at the same time, how his silent reaction also affected mine.

Harry then smirked at me, arching a brow that spoke promises of chaos. “Careful. You keep painting me with bright words like that and I’d truly be convinced you’re a McLaren fan.”

A noise of disbelief emerged from me. Harry laughed at my scoffing reaction as I regaled him with my own version of a curved brow meant to threaten those who try to speak foully of me. “As if. I’d rather chug an entire barrel of Red Bull in a heartbeat than start wearing your team’s eye-burning orange outfits.”

If we were talking while standing up, I would bet all my university credentials that Harry would have stumbled on his feet and fell flat on the sand butt-first after he had heard my cleverly hidden admission. Kudos to him that we were comfortably sitting down when I broke to him the unfortunate news that I am in fact, a Red Bull fan as great as they may come.

With his jaw hanging open, Harry’s large open eyes almost look cartoonish at how they might pop-off his face from the clear shock he experienced. “You’re a Red Bull girl?! No fucking way!”

I don’t know if it’s because of the cheery and beaming colors of clothes that I wear, my Italian heritage, or the fact that I’m often described looking like that girl on the beach who always looks relaxed, calm, and positive. Because most people found it such a polarizing idea that I’m a Red Bull fan. It’s not the first time I had elicited a similar reaction like that of Harry’s, some have honestly even given me quite an interrogation as they tried to find out why someone like me, with this serene and smiling personality, would be so engrossed in a team where aggression, extreme competition, and favoring alarmingly dangerous tactics, are what they’re widely known for. They don’t understand why that became my jam.

I just beam at people brighter every time that happens, always believing that my opposite personality has nothing to do with what team I root for. I adore Formula 1 racing to begin with, for crying out loud! That doesn’t sound like a relax and chill support in any angle of that word you try to examine.

I offered the same carefree nonchalance towards my new friend, who would for sure understand more than a regular person what I mean, when he holds a big role in the sport as well. “Yes fucking way. I've been a Red Bull fan since the very beginning. For me, they’re the epitome of the high risk, high gain mentality that motorsport embodies. I even got my family to get on board with the same team, which is saying a lot since some of them are quite partial to your other good friend, Jeff, in Mercedes.”

Harry whistled, impressed at my apparent life goals that colored his tone. “You are talking about quite big matters, cause if you’re an F1 enthusiast, it’s either you love or hate Red Bull. I guess you just did the impossible by certifying your entire family for being gaga over the bull.”

His specific choice of words brought a laugh straight out of my lips. “I can’t really say we’re that crazy over F1 and Red Bull in general. But I guess we might have the tendency to act like absolute frantic fangirls whenever Niall gets on the podium which is pretty much every other weekend, considering Louis and him are killing it these past few seasons.”

If I thought Harry’s reaction couldn’t get any better, color me impressed myself when he abruptly turned to sit facing me, with his legs crossed touching the side of my foot. “This is turning to be a fucking crazy afternoon!” he placed a hand on his chest as if I had personally hurt him. “Not only did I learn that you betrayed our fellow English compatriots by declaring your allegiance to an Austrian team, but I also lost to a bloody Irish leprechaun? You wound me, Sunflower.”

I thought I just stopped breathing right after that single word left his now pouting lips. Sunflower. He called me by something that isn’t my name. He gave me an endearment. A very unique one that you just don’t call people you’ve met for only an hour. 

I didn’t know if he was conscious enough that he had called me such, but the way his faux pout transformed into a soft smile after witnessing the proper look of enchantment written all over my face, I would assume that he knew what he was doing.

Now that made me pout. “That’s unfair!” I whined like an embarrassed fool after her crush found out they had the hots for them since forever. Said crush only laughed at my misery, gentle hands reaching to remove my own palms that I have used to shield my face from his annoyingly charming mug. “You can’t say things like that and expect my ovaries would still be in-tact!”

Harry only howled louder at my dramatics, unfortunately remaining successful in unveiling my burning cheeks for all his glory to see. “I didn’t even say anything!” he countered, smiling so innocently that can probably fool anyone but me. “I just called you after a flower. I think that’s hardly enough evidence to hold me responsible for the apparent state of your ovaries…Sunflower.”

I simply just groaned at the absolute menace that he was, copying his seating position with our folded knees touching. Conceding to a meaningless battle that I knew I wouldn’t win with just a single glance at his impossibly precious grin. I allowed the pinkness of my face to shine on its own, feeding my curiosity like I had anything more to lose that can further embarrass me.

“Why Sunflower, then? If you’re trying to compare me with a flower, find something that resembles the color of my face because apparently, you of all people unleashed my hidden talent: blush as red as a tomato when near Harry Styles.”

“I’d still think you’d look stunning even as a tomato.” Like clockwork, my cheeks turned darker at his honesty laden words. “But I still prefer Sunflower because it’s got nothing to do with your looks. Spending time with you even for just a little while, I can’t deny that your aura reminded me of pure sunshine. You’re so bright in all regards of that word, and I don’t even think you know it yourself.”

Even if the tone of his voice is as light as the wind, I still felt the heavy weight of his contemplative stare, his expressive green irises mapped my face like he was simply confirming what he was describing. As if he was trying to make sure that all the words he used to describe me were able to exemplify how he really saw me, and I felt seen, in a good way.

“And I believe Sunflower fit you perfectly rather than simply calling you sunshine.” Harry reached over to curl a piece of stray blonde hair behind my ear. “If you’re called sunshine that means everyone gets to experience your brilliance. But if you’re Sunflower, only the few smart and lucky ones will be able to have you. And Sunflower, there’s no way in this world that I want to share this afternoon with you with anyone else. I get to keep it as mine, just our time together and no one else's.”

Was my heart even still in my body? Or did its rabid pumping propel it outside my chest and towards Harry’s calloused hands where they want to be right now?

“I think you just took my heart.” was my brilliant reply to all his mind-numbing words. Of course dummy old me would be stupefied when an F1 driver suddenly bares his deep thoughts about me to me when there’s already no denying I quite fancy the curly muppet. And I just confessed my thoughts in a complete 360 downturn from his own much creative one.

But because Harry Styles is apparently a rarity of his kind, he only laughed joyously at my appalling lackluster words. “I’d be happy to have that too, not just our time this afternoon, Sunflower. That is of course, if you still want to see little weird ‘ol me after today.”

Did he just ask me out? Like actually asked for my consent unlike how I dictated this afternoon for him earlier? I have to keep this man if he continues acting like that.

“Oh, fuck it.” I rolled my eyes for my own sake, my last words solidifying itself at the forefront of my mind. “I’ll just get it out of the way and say that of course, I’d still want to see your weird mug after this afternoon. There’s no bloody way your charming butt could get away that easily from me, considering it’s all your fault that you didn’t know how to fix your car and imprisoned my kind heart in your hands now.”

“Yeah, of course it’s all my fault.” Harry nodded with the widest smile I’ve ever seen on his face, nodding seriously at my accusations. “And I’d be willing to do anything for you just to make up for it.”

He shouldn’t be making promises he can’t keep is what I thought. But I’d keep that information with me when the time I need things to work in my favor comes. Just from this interaction alone, I can already tell this racer has got a thing for making me flush.

“Good thing you know all about your misdoings. But before you do whatever it is to make it up to me, can we just pretend I didn’t just say yes to you asking me out and let’s first have this very important conversation that my parents have always told me I should have with a boy that’s interested in me.”

Just mentioning my parents instantly caused a change in Harry’s demeanor. Smile gone, brows furrowed, lips pouting in concentration like I’ve noticed he loved to do. Harry looked like he wanted to take out some pen and paper to write down whatever it is my ‘parents’ had to say.

“Let’s have this conversation then.” He said with a tone of conviction, the slight tremble of warriness was something I detected with just his first word alone. “I’d rather not upset your family without even having the chance to taste your nonna’s cooking.”

“The good thing is it's not about being conceited then. Why would you think my nonna would invite you over to her place? Let alone cook for you? Just so you know, she doesn’t give a flying fuck about hot Formula 1 drivers like the entire female population.”

Harry smirked, probably because my cheeks turned as dark as the burning sunset in front of us after inadvertently calling him hot, with me being part of that demographic of females. “I don’t need to be successful, and as you said without my coercion, hot, racing driver to get your nonna to love me. I have dimples.”

He didn’t even have to explain the significance of that. This shithead literally knew what he was doing when he decided to just dimple at me to prove his point. My nonna might not be into watching Grand Prixs with me, but considering we share the same blood, chances are she’s also weak at the knees for charming boys that have dimples.

“Okay, I get it.” I huffed, failing to hide my flushed smile at Harry’s giggles. “Now stop distracting me with your magical dimples from the real agenda we have to have a serious conversation over.”

“Alright, I’ll keep my lady-magnet weapons back.” He fucking better or else I’ll not be able to be the only lady he attracts in this Italian beach, we can’t have that.

“Now prepare to listen because I won’t repeat this again: we better discuss, in full-length, your honest, non-scripted, thoughts on Formula 1 and its teams and drivers. I can’t be dating a McLaren driver who plans to convert me to their too bloody bright orange side. I’m a Red Bull girl whether I’m with McLaren’s Golden Boy or not.”

As I’ve come to expect, Harry just looked at me for a few moments like I’ve just grown two heads. But what makes him someone that might fit perfectly with my sometimes unhinged self, is that he bounces right back to banter with me;  like a perfect reflex to step on the pedal when all the lights are out at the beginning of every race.

His infectious smile graced my presence once more, Harry’s hands reaching for mine. I stared at the effortless way his large palms engulfed my much smaller ones, rough calloused hands finally meeting the delicate touch of my hands for the first time. With our hands locked together, Harry rested it comfortably on his lap, his eyes too captivating to veer my own stare from.

“I’ve got the whole afternoon and evening left to discuss this matter,” he told me, fingers squeezing my own. “And can I just say I really do appreciate your parents for instilling such appropriate measures to test possible suitors. God, imagine if you didn’t inform me about this and I would have already brainwashed you to join McLaren by gifting you that bloody, broken orange monstrosity of a car.”

I copied his faux horrified expression, “The horror of that thought.” We stared at each other, lips moving upwards at the same time, our shared laughter ringing the quiet of the beach. All the while the darkness of the fading sunset was not enough to conceal my view of Harry’s familiar bashful smile that he had given me at the gelato shop.

“I’m down for everything you’ve said, just not the last bit.” Slowly, I watched with bated breath as he lifted our interlocked hands near his lips. “It’s not a question of whether you are or aren’t, you’re going to be with the McLaren Golden Boy.” He kissed my knuckles so tenderly I almost thought I became part of some summer romance story.

I should have found that statement irritatingly conceited and a total red flag for egotistical jerks who would like to dictate who I am or not. But I didn’t. I found the statement irritatingly toe-tingling because I'd somehow lost the plot a long time ago when I first became immersed with the sport through finding the drivers on the grid to be smoking hot. Granted that I have reached greater lengths than that through finding absolute enjoyment in learning about everything concerning F1 that is deeper than the physicality of their drivers, there’s no fucking way the 12-year old in me isn’t living her dream of finding her own racing driver to call her own.

It’s not like the man who’s softly rubbing circles on the back of my hand is like mine mine, but he could be if his confident words and my dangerous attraction to attractive adrenaline junkies could perfectly meet in the middle. 

Afterall, we did have the remaining of the day to make that happen.

🌻🌻🌻

I was sitting on the colorful couch located in my nonna’s living room. Her rarely used flat screen television displayed the start of free practice when my phone chimed with a new text. I reached for it from my lap, a smile already threatening to break my face once I saw who it was from.

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Are you sure it’s totally okay for you to watch the free practice at your nonna’s? Don’t want the sweet poor thing to have sore eardrums from all the noises of the cars.”

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“I really appreciate your concern, but she’s currently in her afternoon nap as we speak and she’s a heavy sleeper so we’re all good. Now stop being a sweet little thing and get in your car! The race is about to start, stop being a muppet and focus!”

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“You’re one to talk! It’s kind of your fault that I’m still not yet in my car cause you’re not here with me in my garage where I want you to be. Now everyone should just settle for my MIA cause I’d fucking gladly just spend my entire day texting you.”

That should be concerning, no? Harry just basically admitted preferring to spend time with me than do what he does for a living that will earn him money so he can actually go live his life. But I guess what’s more worrying is that I actually didn’t give a damn either. 

I’m smiling here like a fool on this wide couch, phone in hand, body curled like a tight ball from the damn stampede of wild animals in my tummy because an F1 driver chose me over his beloved car. If that isn’t the making of a true love story, I don’t know what is.

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Well aren’t you a poor Bunny, huh? But as much as I’d like to keep texting you (like, honestly what’s wrong with me?), I realllly don’t want you to stall the free practice I’m about to devour. Better get your bum-bum on that car! And btw, even if I was free today to go to the paddock, who said I’d be at your MCLAREN garage? Bunny, I think you’ve just forgotten the golden rule of ours.”

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Not forgotten, Sunflower. No brainwashing of joining the orange side, as said perfectly by the best mama and papa Red Bull fans. And this time, I’d actually listen to you without complaints. My trainer’s looking at me like he’s planning to ban me from eating any more cheese this trip.”

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Oh. no. We simply cannot have that happening!”

From: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“Sunflower, you really get me. I seriously can’t have that cause you know, I have to be polite and finish all the food Nonna Red Bull fan will give me. But, I’m off to the car now, happy? I better hear you calling me Bunny after this session! Byyyeee hugsss!”

I didn’t bother replying after that. I locked my phone and dropped it back on my lap as I watched the man I was just texting on the screen. The camera followed him skip and hop on the pitlane, heading to his garage like a real-life adorable bunny. I giggled silently, the exact same image is what actually gave me the idea to call him that in the first place.

Despite the sun completely setting already yesterday, Harry and I spent the entire afternoon and early evening talking to each other as the sky turned from orange to inky black with stars blanketing our view of the Italian beach. We conversed about everything and nothing all at once; from personal life and our families, to racing and things we like and don’t. Having a genuine conversation with just about a full hour of being with him, I felt like I’ve known him for years.

We were on the topic of our thoughts on this current F1 season when the bunny hopping was brought-up. I can’t exactly remember the details because I was so immersed feeling Harry’s warmth around me, having found ourselves in a very cozy position: his knees bent with legs wide open, myself slotted perfectly in the open space, my back against his firm chest, his strong arms wrapped around me so tenderly. How that happened, I also don’t know. 

But what I still can recall is how I felt his button nose begin to nuzzle the side of my neck during a comfortable lull in our conversation. And for some reason, with my eyes closed basking in his simple affection, I got the image of a cute bunny with tiny whiskers nosing my skin the same way. That mental image then led to me visualizing all the times I have seen Harry on the screen of my television during races, hopping and skipping like a bunny all around the pitlane and paddock every time he was headed somewhere - might it be the media pen or towards his fans to spend some time with them.

So, I laughed, disrupting the concentration of the man who was trying to scent me in some way. He looked at me with a cute frown, asking what had made me laugh, I gladly told him my thoughts with giggles barely being concealed.

Harry fruitlessly began to deny it which made me only giggle harder. “You’re such a bunny!” I tapped his scrunched-up nose because he looked so sweet and I just couldn’t not touch him. “You don’t even have to feel embarrassed because I like it, it’s adorable, Bunny.”

To be honest, I was just teasing him by calling him bunny. But then I saw and felt Harry Styles actually preen like a pleased feline after I said it. And let’s just say after that, his shameless affection seeking self - a very big side of him that I got to get acquainted to really good and really swiftly - had been directly asking me to call him Bunny every chance he got. Lucky him I was a self-proclaimed weak woman around his presence.

So much so that right now, as I watched the Imola Grand Prix’s free practice session begin, I just betrayed my Red Bull family by being more attentive and demanding of a certain orange car with the number four on it, to drift by my screen more frequently. I was at the edge of the couch every time his helmet camera was the one being displayed. My arms flying out in glee every time he managed to overtake another car in front of him - thank fuck it wasn’t a Red Bull car though or else I would have felt even more guiltier - and my arms would instantly fold across my chest with a sad pout present on my lips every time his shitty shoe box of a car just couldn’t keep up with the insanely fast pace of his competitors.

I knew I had it bad when both free practice sessions ended with Harry’s positions going from P10 to P15, which if it was race day itself, he would have barely made the scoreboard and the latter won’t even allow him any points. It was bad because I wasn’t the one who had a pretty shitty race and yet it’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I wanted to take that look of utter dismay off his face and just put it all on me instead. I didn’t even feel this this type of way when Niall Horan had to DNF during the Austrian Grand Prix, which also happened to be Red Bull’s home race. That wasn’t a fun time for fangirl me.  But this, this isn’t a happy time for my entire being.

Coming to terms that my last straw of self-preservation is not seeing Harry hop to the post-race interview like he would normally be doing now, I retrieved my phone and made a hasty, yet wholehearted decision.

To: STYLES, McLaren enemy 🧡

“I don’t know about you, but that session made me really hungry. What do you say about dinner at my nonna’s place? Promise she isn’t mad and actually didn’t wake-up the entire time you were making a raucous on her TV screen. Text me your thoughts when you're finished with whatever post-practice stuff you have to do, Bunny. Hugggss!”

🐇🐇🐇

I thought my Italian luck had turned around for the better after I had met Sophia, like the damsel in distress I was when my McLaren broke down on some random road yesterday afternoon. I swear her presence alone in my mind was enough to put a spring to my steps that everyone in my garage has noticed after I arrived early in the paddock for our pre-practice meeting with all the race engineers.

Rob Sheffield, our Team Principal who basically runs the whole racing show in McLaren (don’t tell James I said that cause he thinks he’s still the main man behind everything), even had a go at my apparently ‘oddly more cheery attitude, that’s borderline disturbing’ when he announced at everyone present at our motorhome’s conference room about my downright embarrassing incident yesterday.

“Styles, if you just told me you couldn’t handle our newest release, I would have personally allowed you to bring your own pit crew around Italy if that meant I wouldn’t even have the chance of having a missing driver for this weekend.”

Everyone laughed at Rob’s clear teasing, myself included even if most of them probably thought I’d be more sheepish at my faults like every time I almost trip from plain air with how clumsy I am. But I wasn’t. I laughed along with my entire team while not saying anything, just like the moving image of Sophia branded on my mind where she cackled like no tomorrow around my arms at the beach. That was after I told her stories of the god-awful dancing-zumba-warm ups that occur inside the McLaren hospitality outside of the public’s view.

I may have laughed extra harder when Rob looked at my red cheeks from exerting too much pure joy with a weirded-out expression. All I could remember while looking at his face is when Sophia and I had proceeded to lose our breaths, hands grappling at each other on the sand to find support, when I shared to her the detail of Rob’s constipated looking face when one of our engineers tried teaching him how to twerk during the aforementioned dancing warm-ups. The man didn’t know any better of what he was eagerly subjecting himself into.

Though I wish I had the same bright disposition for the entirety of my work day. Too bad when you drive rockets for a living, everything is unpredictable. Speaking of, I can attest with statistical data from my team that this year’s MCL36 is a poorly executed car so at the start of my year and until today, I already expected to have a less than stellar few races unlike last year’s performance. 

But fucking come on! For the last race in Australia, the team really made enormous progress with Nick and I being in the top ten, scoring some much needed points. Without stroking my own ego too much, I was the best of the rest being the only car behind the top teams of Red Bull, Ferrari, and the similarly downright unfortunate team this year of Mercedes. 

And then I went to this practice session this morning with vivid happiness and determination beaming out of me, only to have DRS issues allowing everyone else to overtake me in the straights. Don’t even get me started on the random lock-ups my car went through in every chicane and hairpin I passed through. By the time I boxed after completing the session, all my optimism was lost and I was near to throwing a rage fit. Mind you, to my uncooperative orange monstrosity of a car and not my team, I’m not a massive prick, narcissistic racer or not.

I was about to do it, removing my helmet and balaclava ready to give a stern talking to my car, but I was intercepted by my trainer, Harry Lambert, smiling far too gaily for being around a seething F1 driver. Before I can snap at him like some daft asshole, Lambert swishes my phone from left to right in my line of vision.

“I know you always tell me to keep your phone for you every race session, so this isn’t a new thing in our routine.” He said, clearly stalling to whatever he really wanted to tell me. “But, I have noticed today that your screen-time conscious personality has been glued to your phone when you’re not doing anything. And I’m not here to reprimand you about it, the complete opposite actually.”

Lambert’s growing smirk made me speak-up in a dry tone. “I don’t really care if you snooped my phone, Lamby. No need for you to apologize.”

“I wasn’t going to, anyway.” He sassed at me, handing me both my water bottle and phone. “I think you’re the one who’s about to apologize to me after I tell you my amazing self, cleared all your scheduled meetings this afternoon after a little birdy left you a message.”

I’ve never opened my phone the same way I would press the throttle when the lights turn out every race weekend. I’ve also never replied with an affirmative ‘yes!’ to any text message before like I would exclaim every time my race engineer tells me on the comms after a smashing race that I’ve hit a podium win.

Too bad my Italian luck seemed to be growing until that point only. Now that I’m knocking on the sage green wooden door of Sophia’s nonna’s home, the door opens and I’m met with two beautiful women. One was smiling at me like I just bought her an entire gelato shop, while the other was scowling in my direction as if I'd devoured all the trays of her favorite gelato flavor. Looks like my luck wasn’t going up any higher than before.

“Bunny, you made it!” Sophia attached herself to my front like a magnet, arms curled around my neck as my own rested on her waist. I hugged her tight to me, her giggles ringing in my ear as her feet lifted just a few inches above the ground from how flushed her body is connected to mine.

“Does this mean you missed me, Sunflower?” I couldn't help but mutter in her ear, my own giggles escaped my lips when she shyly admitted to missing me with a simple nod as her nose found its way to gently nuzzle my earlobe.

And then we both hear a throat being cleared loudly, Sophia and I stiffening from our cuddle with eyes growing wide from the stern sound. She’s back on her feet in an instant, my body grew cold without her warm energy clinging to me as she returned beside her nonna, who, speaking of, apparently remained scowling at me. If it was even possible, I’m sure her face turned even sour after I hugged her granddaughter in front of her.

“Soph, bellissima,” Nonna Red Bull fan turned to her now blushing granddaughter, “I understand how affectionate you could be with people you trust, but per favore, introduce me to your friend first. I don’t just let strangers enter my home for dinner; let alone allow them to cuddle my granddaughter.”

“Nonna, fermati, por favore.” Sophia whined at her grandmother’s words to stop, eyes avoiding my amused irises that was quickly replaced by a tinge of fear when I instead caught that of her nonna’s threatening blue eyes.

Nonna Red Bull fan huffed, impatience wrapped around that simple noise. “If no one is going to speak, I’ll do it myself.” She extended her hand to me in greeting. “I’m Angie, welcome to my home here in Imola. And you are?”

I accepted her ringed hand, trying my best to ensure that my hand was not trembling. “I’m Harry Styles, nice to meet you, signorina Angie.” And because I was raised by my mother to greet everyone in full kindness and respect, my instinct was to place a kiss on the back of Angie’s hand like I would usually do when I meet my mate’s Italian nonnas.

I almost pulled back to apologize when I remembered her seconds-ago hostile aura aimed at me. But the fear in me from doing something I shouldn’t, quickly diffused when I heard the unmistakable breath hitching of both Angie and Sophia.

“Oh,” Angie slowly retrieved her hand back from my hold, the surprise in her eyes returning to hard edges like she couldn’t be fooled by any of my respectful actions. “Harry Styles. I’ve heard about you.”

I chuckled, right hand coming to scratch the back of my neck in a clear nervous tick. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Not really.” Was her quick and no-nonsense reply, features unimpressed at my surprised reaction.

“Nonna!” Sophia’s widened eyes looked at her grandmother like she was being impolite. “You can’t say that in front of our guest!”

Angie just huffed once more. “It’s partially your fault, mia bella, when all I know about your new friend is everything I see in social media. If you would have kept me in the light about all this, then maybe I’d have a different answer. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

I gulped, unsure of what to say without hurting the feelings of anyone. If I agreed to Angie, then Sophia would think I’m blaming her for not telling her nonna about me since our personal interaction yesterday. But if I side with Sophia, then there are high chances that Angie might put some food poisoning on my food later on if her ‘don’t mess with me, young man’ face she’s giving me right now could be any indication.

In the end, I settled for being truthful. “Honestly, I’m more impressed by your sincerity more than anything, Angie.” I couldn’t help but grin with the craters of my cheek denting. “I bet my own grandmother isn’t also impressed with how I come across in the media. But I can assure you that whatever it is you saw, it’s only half, if not a false, part of my entire story.”

I don’t know what it is with what I just said, but Angie had turned off her hostile energy like a snap of a finger. Nonna the Red Bull fan now looked at me like I just offered her to personally make another batch of her favorite gelato flavor after I had just devoured it earlier. Before my mind could refocus from this whiplash like reaction, Angie had an arm around my back as she ushered me to their outdoor balcony where my dinner was apparently waiting.

“I want to hear all about your entire story then, Harry.” Angie’s hand went up to tap my cheek in affection. “But I have to get all the food from the kitchen before you can have your dinner.”

“Oh, let me help you with th-”

"Nonsense, tu prezioso regazzo.” Angie shook her head adamantly. Did she just call me precious in Italian? “You are our guest and I don’t allow any of my guests to lift a single finger to help.” She then turned to Sophia, who I’ve realized remained very quiet this entire interaction. “But you, bellissima, are not a guest. I don’t trust you with my delicacies but I hope you can safely guide Harry to the dinner table outside without any mishaps. Now go ahead, bring him safely there.”

Just like with anyone who has the right mind in not wanting to face the lethal wrath of an Italian nonna, Sophia followed her grandmother’s request in a heartbeat. Curling her arm around my bicep, she slowly led my still-stunned body outside their patio doors and towards the immaculately early dinner set-up in the middle of Angie’s spacious back garden.

“Sunflower, I wasn’t imagining it, right?” I frowned as I pulled Sophia’s chair beside mine before I took my own seat. “One second your nonna wanted to give me bodily harm on her doorstep. Then the next, she tended to me like I was some prince of the entire F1 grid. Was I just imagining all that?”

I was quite sure I was turning crazy from all the ups and downs of my luck in this Imola race weekend. But I guess it wasn’t enough to compete with the absolute crazed way Sophia rolled her eyes when I looked at her from beside me.

“She’s crazy!” Sophia exclaimed with frenzied hand movements. “It’s all because of your damn dimples! Dio, lo sapevo! I already called it yesterday when we were talking, that my own nonna will be my competition once you showed her your secret weapons. Bunny, what have you done?”

If I thought I was already lost for words from Angie’s swift change of heart, I guess her little Italian descendant had her beat in that regard. I didn’t know which part of Sophia’s very informative statement I could tackle first, though one spoke directly to my narcissistic tendency, unfortunately for her.

I smirked at a clearly wired Sophia, “Did you just call my dimples my secret weapon?”

I saw the way Sophia stiffened slightly on her seat, as if getting caught, before she rolled her eyes in uncanny irritation. “Of course that’s what you would focus on, you egotistical racer.”

There was no real heat in her words. Both of us know each other pretty well at this point, that I’m mature and grounded enough to not be a stereotype, cocky, has-it-all driver. Besides, my cheeks were also dimpling from her joyous reactions yesterday when I told her stories of how my mum and Gemma kept me in-check. Let’s just say it involved a whole lot of toilet cleaning every time I was back home, and a lot less of cruising around the streets of England in my flashy, orange whip. If that doesn’t keep me humble and grounded, I don’t know what will.

Thus, despite her annoyed exterior, I’m still putting an extra effort in grinning at Sophia. “Jesus, if I knew all I had to do to get you to like me was to use my secret weapon - na-uh, don’t give me those eyes cause I’m just quoting you - then I would have just smiled at you the entire time without exerting any other effort.”

Sophia huffed when I made sure to prove my point by tilting my head to the side to give her the best seat in the house to view my dimples. “As if! That would have been absolutely creepy if all you did was smile at me yesterday. I wouldn’t have liked you very much if you did nothing but that.”

“Really? Are you sure about that, Sunflower?”

“Absolutely, you don’t have to ask twice. Any person with a right mind would have responded the same as me.”

I chuckled, inching my dimpled face towards her faux scowling one. “I don’t disagree about that. But you see, haven’t we established since yesterday that we’re kind of not like the normal people who have the right mind?” I wiggled my brows in suggestion, easily cataloging the radiant joy my silly face gave her beautiful one.

Sophia tilts her head to the side, the action being too adorable for my eyes than it should have been for such a simple gesture. “You do consent in getting yourself strapped-down to a death-vehicle most weekends for a living, and you don’t necessarily have adequate skills to fix cars even if your whole life mostly revolves around them.”

I adore the way her blue irises light up my green ones from just her words alone. “And it’s very unlikely for Italian women to stop by a random street and help useless, probably dubious, F1 drivers without asking or expecting anything in return.”

Our words lingered in the quiet of the warm afternoon, our smiles a mirror image, faces just about three inches apart. And then something clicked. Something akin to equal perception released in our energies.

“You’re right,” Sophia nodded, any sense of shyness stripping-off her entire being. “I would have still liked you just as much - if not more - if you just dimpled at me the entire day yesterday.” And then she shook her head, as if she couldn’t understand the gravity of her own admission, her crazed smile from earlier returning. “Oh my god, I’m crazy, aren’t I? Nobody should find the idea of your dimpling face, just that, unmoving, as something highly endearing and borderline heart-melting. What is wrong with me?”

I felt the deep chuckles vibrating from my chest before I felt Sophia’s equally robust giggles on my skin when I closed the gap between our faces. With my forehead touching hers, I diligently nosed down the bridge of her own, creating a path of unadulterated fondness for this glowing person in my orbit.

“It’s not just you, Sunflower.” I reminded her with full conviction, “We’re both not quite right in the head; we’re both kinda crazy, baby.”

“Well, I hope you two are not crazy enough to not appreciate the feast I’ve prepared.”

Unlike earlier, Angie’s presence wasn’t unwelcome and it didn’t make Sophia and I jump away from our close contact. Our eyes locked once more instead, elation pouring ten folds in just one look. We suddenly laughed because it felt like the only thing that made the most sense in all these rapidly growing emotions bubbling inside me. The same maddening sensations that’s also screaming at me in certainty that Sophia feels this sweet-havoc within her too.

Despite Angie’s urgent protests, I couldn’t stop myself from helping her with placing the deliciously smelling plates and bowls of food on the table. But best to my ardent efforts afterterwards, Angie had me sitting back on my seat as she began to pile food on my plate, her stern blue eyes now showing ‘even if I like you now, don’t mess with me, young man’ was enough to shut me up.

I didn’t complain though, especially when I watched in great amusement at how Sophia tried to intercept her nonna from serving me. I’m afraid to admit that her earlier remark of Angie being a competition to my heart, might be quite true to some extent. Sophia noticed just as much on my smirking face directed at her futile attempt to sprinkle some chili flakes on my fresh slice of pizza - right after Angie had just done it.

“La mia belleza,” Angie swatted Sophia’s hand holding the jar of chili flakes, “can you please sit back on your seat? And Harry doesn’t need any more of that, I already placed some on his food. You aren’t trying to burn the tongue of our guest, no?”

The laughter I tried my strongest to keep at bay almost spilled right out of me. I don’t know what it is, but watching a pissy Sophia, who followed her nonna’s orders like a child who was just scolded from stealing a treat in the cookie jar, did it for me.

It was the perfect moment to tease her. “Yeah, la mia belleza.” I looked at her narrowed gaze with a brow curved upward. “Angie has already got me covered, which by the way,” my focus shifted to her grandmother. “You picked the slice I wanted and gave me the perfect amount of chili flakes as well. I don’t know how you do it Angie. You seem to know me so well already.”

I made sure to wink at nonna Red Bull fan just like I would do every time the cameras zoom-in to my face before I close the visor of my helmet. The reaction is equally just the same, and I’m starting to truly believe that my dimples have something to do with the way her cheeks pinken. That shade of rose reminded me of the person sitting beside me. I returned my focus on Sophia who actually looked like I had betrayed her in some way.

I assured her smoothly with my next actions, instead of fruitless words she’ll just dispute. I stood up from my seat and reached for the tray of pizza and placed a slice on Sophia’s plate, before I proceeded to sprinkle a considerably more amount of chili flakes on her serving compared to mine with an added drizzle of hot sauce.

“There you go,” I finished by filling her glass with lemon juice. “Dinner just the way you like it, Sunflower.”

“You remembered,” Sophia’s whispered words of unmistakable awe made my eyes crinkle with a smile. “Bunny, you remembered.” she repeated with a tone of disbelief quoting her words.

“That you like really spicy food? I did.” I answered my own question when Sophia remained looking at me with a dumbfounded expression that I once again, found fucking adorable. “I remember every little thing you share with me, Sunflower. I don’t take your words for granted.” my hand gravitated to rest on the bare meat of her thigh giving it a gentle squeeze. “Now I don’t know if you forgot, but I remember telling you that if you’re not quick enough, I have no mercy in eating your food for you.”

That seemed to do the trick, Sophia sprang back to functionality with that bright grin stealing my wits away. “Not me, Bunny. You don’t wanna mess with me and my food.” She made a show of taking a big and messy bite from her pizza slice, my laughter shared with Angie as she shook her head amusedly at her crazy granddaughter.

Sophia’s fucking crazy all right, but she’s so bright like sunshine and so bloody unapologetic for who she is that it truly squeezes my soul that she doesn’t care how she looks in front of me unlike any other girls I come across. Sophia’s a rare one and my belief is only reinforced as the three of us conversed over an early dinner with Angie trading Sophia’s childhood stories for my own. 

The entire time of us chatting animatedly, Sophia’s hand somehow found its way to entwine with my own that’s resting securely on her thigh. She might be oblivious to it being in the middle of telling her nonna some tidbits of my life that I shared with her yesterday, but I certainly felt the heat of Angie’s knowing gaze that was directed at our determined singular hands feeding ourselves. I might have felt my cheeks burn just a bit, unsure if I was crossing some line while being in her home. But like earlier, Angie’s expressive eyes sent the message loud and clear to me. In her eyes I read, ‘keep holding my granddaughter’s hand, don’t mess with me, young man’ Like there’s anything else I’d gladly fucking do than just that.

So my hands were tightly confined in Sophia’s delicate hold when Angie brought-up the topic of my current race weekend in Imola. The conversation surfaced after I’ve cleared my name in her presence by sharing the simple realities of my life that the media doesn’t know about.

“I honestly was unsure on what to feel when mia bella here told me that we’re having a guest over this afternoon,” Angie admitted to me, frank as I’ve learned her to be. “It’s not even about that she’s basically inviting someone over to my home, because she knows that la mia casa è anche la sua casa. I was just worried because she said you were a Formula 1 driver, and I’m pretty sure, Harry, that you know how Soph gets with her racers.”

“My racers?!” Sophia gasped loudly, features appalled. “Nonna, I do not say that!”

Angie snorted before I could have the chance to do the same. “Oh, please! You know what I mean, tu pazza ragazza.” hearing Angie call her granddaughter crazy so plainly, is the undoing of my unattractive snort. I felt the hard squeeze on my hand, a clear warning separate from the daggers I feel being thrown on the side of my grinning face.

Angie noticed the exchange, amusement written all over her face. “Harry, don’t worry. Soph’s glares are the bare minimum of her crazy side; you’re safe right now.” I didn’t care that I full-on laughed after that poor attempt at reassurance, my hand separating from Sophia’s as I used it to cover my loud guffawing.

“Nonna, this isn’t funny!” Sophia whined at her cackling grandmother who ignored her to continue this topic with me.

“Harry, understand my concern here.” I nodded adamantly like I really was hell-bent in understanding her dilemma despite the giggles that continued to spew outwards from me. “Mia bella here is crazy about the sport itself; she knows her shit about cars to put it simply. That’s why I understand how passionate she gets whenever we have watch parties of the race weekend here, but Gesù Cristo onnipotente! When the drivers are the ones in question, my crazy girl is in a whole other dimension! Especially about this certain driver that I feared would be him that she was talking about that would come to dinner today.”

I already knew who Angie was referring to. One look at Sophia’s flushed cheeks told me that it’s not a surprise to anyone she’s close with, whether it's someone like Angie who doesn’t particularly enjoys watching Grand Prixs or those around her that do, they all know how much of a wild fangirl my Sunflower can get. Especially for a certain blonde-head that could be found in the Red Bull garage.

“What was his name again?” Angie asked me, faux confusion coating her features. “I can’t seem to remember it, Harry. Maybe you can help me here, darling.”

I sensed where this was heading, and I was all for it. I might be known to hop like a bunny around the paddock, but best believe I pull some of the best pranks in both the garages and pitlanes outside of the media’s eyes. Though I couldn’t say others shared that similar mischievous trait, especially for the lady beside me who let out a groan of dire agony. 

“It would be my pleasure, Angie. Does this man happen to have blonde hair that totally looks like he spends more than two hours getting it that way like a total vain lad?”

Angie clapped like I was on the right track, “Yes, I think that’s him! The one who’s also always laughing for no reason. I was honestly concerned why my Soph was laughing along with a crazy-looking man.”

“He’s not crazy, you two are the ones crazy!” Sophia’s indignant proclamation is carried away by the wind. Angie and I smiled deviously, still trying to act confused.

“I think we’re talking about the same person, Angie. Did his name start with the letter ‘N’, do you reckon?”

“Oh, yeah. Was it..Neil?” It was difficult to not blow our cover at this early in the game considering that I remembered Niall’s face every time someone misspells his name in a live broadcast. Sadly, it happens more often than not; it didn’t even spare his podium finishes.

“I don’t know anyone named Neil, though.” My thumb and index finger pinched my bottom lip in thought, like the immaculate actor I was born to be. “I do know someone that might be named Nail, though.”

It wasn’t lost on me that everyone dining on the table knew what I was referring to by saying that single word, not in the way we all shared vibrating laughter including the seething lady we were teasing to begin with. Everyone from their mother to their grandmothers remember the iconic moment: Niall Horan getting his maiden win in the historical track of Monaco, only to be called on the podium as ‘Nail Horan’ and the reckless little shit didn’t waste time popping the champagne directly on the announcer’s face and cursing him off like the person just killed his parents right in front of him. That was a fine moment immortalized forever in the internet, definitely causing my friend a hefty fine as well by the FIA stewards.

“Oh, that was brilliant, Harry!” Angie clapped. “That moment was a perfect depiction of how crazy Nail Horan is.”

“It’s Niall Horan, you freaking donuts!” 

We were quiet after Sophia’s outburst at the quiet of the Imola afternoon. All of us probably took a few seconds to register what she said, more specially, what she called Angie and I. When it clicked moments later, it was Angie’s wheezing laughter and Sophia’s burning face that accompanied the uncontrollable, gleeful shakes of my body. There was nothing in me to stop this alarming amount of fondness seeping into my bones that’s more thrilling than the adrenaline I feel every time I’m whisked away on the racetrack.

In their own unstoppable accord, my arms wrapped itself on Sophia’s hunched body, pulling her flush to my chest where she found the perfect hiding spot on the crook of my neck. “Of course you unleash your inner Gordon Ramsay at me the first time I insulted your Irish racer.” My lips succumbed to my indulgent thoughts as I pressed a kiss on her pink skin.

I feel her own warm lips on the skin of my neck, parting to reply without any sense of denial. “Be thankful I didn’t drop you any F-bombs like Chef Ramsay would have done if he was in my situation.”

I nodded my head vigorously, her hidden face not being able to see the smirk I gave a grinning Angie. “Oh, I’m so thankful, Sunflower. So much so that I’d gladly tell you about this totally inside scoop about Gordon Ramsay himself being a guest at the Red Bull garage in one of the races and he totally called your Irish racer a donut too after he crashed himself just exiting the pitlane. I guess we’re both donuts then.”

That little tidbit wasn’t as hilarious as Sophia huffing an extremely vexed, “Bunny!” her body disconnecting from mine as she shoved at my chest. I quickly reached for her palm again as I clasped it tightly in mine. “You’re talking rubbish just to spite me.”

I met her pierced gaze with my own fierce beam of utter thrill, “I guess we’ll never find out the truth then because you’re stuck with a McLaren, English racer who will be over for every Italian-nonna dinners from now on.” My shoulders shrug as if it didn’t take note of the absolute weight of my statement.

Because we’ve already established many times already that I’m a lunatic racer who faced no fear in the presence of high speed and high adrenaline, I met Sophia’s stunned eyes and parted berry lips of surprise headstrong. There was no questioning in her eyes who sought if I spoke of the truth, not when whatever worries may come to her, were swiftly hindered from growing when my thumb rubbed reassuring circles on the top of our entwined hands. That’s when I knew my Sunflower really did feel these electrifying feelings for me like I did her: when an effortless touch of my finger flooded her eyes with serene happiness at my bold stance.

“Well can I just say that I’m glad it’s you, Harry, who had dinner with us. It’s been such a lovely afternoon.” Both our attention returned at Angie’s words, her own smile brimming with elation at whatever she just witnessed between her granddaughter and I. 

It made me feel floored when her bright features alone spoke of the thundering truth: Angie, the nonna Red Bull fan, does not object that I spend many more dinners at her home. If she hadn’t spoken again, I genuinely think I would have shed a tear at feeling this elated. 

“If I would have just known that the racer with the kindest heart is the one that invited mia bella to the track, I would have personally dropped her off at the paddock and tell her that she’s going to have a much banging time being around you than fussing over her perfectly fine nonna.”

That’s true, I did invite Sophia to join me for the entire Imola race weekend. The scene went like this: the shining stars that blanketed the dark ocean sky were our only source of light, we stood on our feet, Sophia’s warm arms that were now clad by my jacket went around my shoulders, mine were secured across her lower back, eyes mapping each other’s faces like every contour of our skin must be examined in the radiant serenity of the Italian night breeze. It was the classic, ‘we’ve talked for hours and now the sun is down and we have to leave each other. But there’s this invisible string between us that’s pulling us closer together, making us want to stay for just a little bit longer. So, one of us better think on their fucking feet on what else we can talk about, instead of smiling like fools who just lost their minds believing they’ve found their soulmates who’s gloriously standing in front of them now.’

And I was the one who decided to be that person. But I guess grinning like a fool also led to me asking something quite foolish and frankly, highly egotistical for someone who’s already comfortable in my narcissistic skin. 

Where did I find the balls to ask the most rare sunshine of a person that I’ve barely known for 24 hours to join me on my Imola race weekend both in the paddock, pitlane, and in my garage? Who the fuck do I think I am? I swore I’ve never felt that nervous under her scrutinizing gaze after I’ve asked the question, not even when I was signing-away my life in James’ office when I reached an opening to the doors premiere league of motorsports.

“I’ll just tell myself I misheard you and you didn’t actually say the word ‘banging’,” Sophia shook her head, face twisted at her nonna’s previous words. “And nonna, we’ve gone through this already. It’s totally fine that I joined you today, Harry was absolutely sweet and understanding about it.”

How else was I supposed to react otherwise? Anyone who would decline a boy’s offer in favor of spending time and taking care of their grandmothers will always be on my book of people to trust and admire. I knew I liked her a lot more than little at that point; despite the saddened pout I gave her that was totally meant for her to embrace me tighter without asking for it and really having lost all my ego.

“Yeah,” I agreed in sincerity. “I would have totally felt gutted and absolutely guilty if I knew she ditched her nonna for a boring old racer like me.”

Sophia looked at Angie with a triumphant smile, like saying, ‘See? You have nothing to worry about.’ But Angie just shook her head at us in clear disagreement.

“I don’t understand you youngsters nowadays. Angie mused, “Back in my day, I’d ditched anyone and everyone just to spend time with my summer love.”

Her pure nonchalance had poor Sophia choking on the sip of her drink right beside me, my hand automatically coming around to soothe her. All the while, my face transformed into a smirk of interest at this new turn in our conversation.

“First you use the word ‘banging’ and now you want to talk about ‘summer love’? Nonna, I think you need more nap time.”

I chuckled at the dry look Angie directed to her granddaughter, “And I thought the young ones can’t get any more boring! Yet here you are, mia bella, concerned about my nap time. Haven’t you learnt enough from the countless times I’ve told you about mine and your nonno’s summer love?”

The way Sophia vehemently shook her head in dread at her nonna’s question got my interest piqued more than ever. Especially when she caught my gaze, her face filled with more horror when Angie called my name with apparent excitement underneath her tone.

“Why don’t I tell Harry about nonno and I’s story? Maybe he can actually learn something and be the one to teach every unromantic bone in your body.”

Sophia gasped, “Excuse me? I am a very romantic person! It’s not my fault your and nonno’s story have just lost the spark of love for me when I’ve heard from the ages of zero to today.”

My eyes sprang to the same sounding gasp coming from Angie this time. “Oh, stop with your foolish words, mia bella. It’s not doing any good for dear Harry here who’s absolutely at the edge of his seat waiting to hear my timeless love story.”

If the exchange wasn’t happening so quickly, I would probably have been concerned at Sophia who turned her neck towards me in record time, hands coming up to grip my bicep. “Harry, tell her no.” But then more words continued to flow.

“Earlier you wanted to burn his tongue with too many chili flakes, and now you want to put words in his mouth?”

“I did not do any of that! Nonna, this is you saying things like wanting to tell your love story because you just miss nonno; you’re projecting like a teenager missing her boyfriend.”

“I am not a silly teenager, too obsessed with her man! Besides, can you blame me if I was when all I’ve had for the past month is scheduled FaceTime calls with my husba-”

And then both heated Italian ladies stopped like they were just catapulted into the ocean, the mass of water silencing their frenzied words. Except I was left more confused on my seat when both ladies began to speak in rapid Italian that my rusty knowledge of the language did not allow me to understand a thing. What I did catch was their apologetic looks when they realized I was still at the dinner table.

“Gesù Cristo, how impolite of me.” Angie walked to the side of my seat, the feel of her gentle palm felt comfortable on my skin when she cupped my face to look at her. “Ragazzo prezioso, apologies for the way I disregarded you and that I have to cut this dinner short. You see, my aged brain has forgotten that my husband and I do have scheduled FaceTime calls every day at this time of the afternoon since he’s not here and is having a hiking trip with his mates all the way in Peru.”

I was sure my non-toxic masculinity heart actually melted in the pure saccharine that coated Angie’s admission, the hopeless romantic in me lighting up. “Now, don’t let me be a villain in your bewitching love story, Angie. That’s the last thing I would want to be as your guest.” Angie giggled, the youthful sound I knew only came from those who still feel like a teenager drunk in love.

“Besides, I think Sophia here wouldn’t mind that she be the one to tell me the beginning of your summer romance,” I chanced a glance at Sophia, amusement dancing in my eyes at the look of utter aversion my suggestion washed her in. I don’t let that deter me from smiling like an angel at her nonna. “Doesn't she look the most thrilled at having the honor to be your storyteller? Your real preziosa nipote.”

I expected the snort that Angie let out, one look at her precious granddaughter and you’d detect the sarcasm hidden in my flowery words. But whatever witty retort I thought Angie would mutter, I never thought for once that it would render me stupefied on my seat.

With another loving tap delivered on my cheek, Angie smiled at me with her soft eyes brimming with affirmation. “I’d rather spare mia bella with that hardship, I’m not that cruel. Anyway, you’d be here for all the other dinners I’d prepare next so I have plenty of time to teach you the ways of love, ragazzo prezioso. No need to hurry in that fast car of yours.” and then she winked at me, saying her last goodbyes for the day amidst my shell-shocked expression.

It was just about after Sophia’s return after following her nonna’s orders of fetching the freshly baked brownies in the kitchen that I had returned from my stupor, “Did your nonna just agreed for me to crash all her dinners without telling me directly that she did?”

At my clear astounded tone, I watched Sophia try to cover her laughter as she sat in front of me in Angie’s previous seat, delicately placing the tray of chocolate goodness between the two of us on the table. “Technically, she acknowledged your RSVP after you’ve somewhat invited yourself over in your earlier declaration.” I accepted the spoon Sophia handed me, my eyes not missing a beat at the undeniable flush that escaped her ‘traitorous cheeks’ as she liked to label them. I might actually say the same thing when my own cheeks dented in their own accord as I smiled at such a simple observation.

I couldn’t help it. I felt so light upon hearing that admission from Angie. “Your nonna likes me. Your nonna Red Bull fan actually fucking likes me.”

My dopey tone is what probably initiated the roll of eyes Sophia gave me, “She’s not the biggest F1 fan in general, so I can’t fault her for easily trusting the enemy in her home.” She shrugged like my triumphant energy was misplaced. “Besides, we’ve already established that you got her weak at the knees since you showed her your dimples at the entryway.”

That made me snort like a pig, her bitter tone only fueling my teasing antics. “She likes me more than my dimples. Sunflower, let’s not project your own flaws onto your lovely nonna. Not everyone would only like me just for my dashing dimples.”

Sophia’s jaw dropped, my taunt hitting right where I aimed it. “Did you honestly just imply that I only liked you for your looks?”

I shrugged, neither denying or confirming her question. “I mean, that’s all you’ve complimented about me tonight. how was I supposed to believe otherwise?”

“Please,” Sophia breathed out like her answer was rather obvious. “I’m not going to shower you with verbal compliments because I’m just not that type of girl, and come on! There’s no chance I’d help in further inflating a McLaren driver’s already narcissistic head.”

I whistled at her bold remark, eyes filled with mischief. “And that’s really not helping your case of only liking my physical attributes.”

I started this exchange knowing how it elicited a fire in Sophia’s demeanor; one that’s glimmering with fervor every time I bantered with her. But the other fact that I knew so wholeheartedly it still leaves me feeling speechless, is how one look from her soulful eyes alone, I knew my Sunflower appreciated me bounds away from what she can just see in my appearance, much more than just my alluring billionaire-bachelor-racer persona.

She’s a rare person who wouldn’t settle for that, wouldn’t settle to be known as something so minimum. I heard it in her next words. “I like you much more than just your physical and superficial attributes that I’d give you the revered position of being the first to have a slice of Angie’s scrumptious brownies.”

See? She’s a one-of-a kind human being who believes anything with chocolate holds a superior power that can answer anything. Unfortunately for me, I actually would think chocolate runs in my veins if I don’t just get regular health check-ups for my profession. ‘I love chocolate’ is a statement that cannot suffice to describe who I really am.

I lifted a brow of intrigue, “A revered position, huh? Sounds like something I’d be into.”

Sophia proceeded to nod her head, the single, confident action alone speaks volumes of the truth that she actually likes more parts of me because she knows me. “Yup. I can personally attest that this position I’m bestowing to you is much more coveted than a pole position in racing.”

“Oh really?” With my elbow resting on the table, I rested my cheek on my own palm as I watched Sophia begin to get some of the gooey brownie on her fork. “You’d know it’s much more coveted because you've experienced a pole position yourself? Bloody hell, Sunflower. Have you actually driven an F1 car before and chose not to tell me?”

A fork full of chocolate heaven made its way on my parted lips. Sophia feeding me herself is a brilliant surprise I truly did not expect, nor were her next words. “I haven’t had the chance to drive one, actually.” She then fed herself some brownies with the same fork, eyes locked on appraising ones. “But that might change if you let me drive yours tomorrow.”

The meaning of her statement came quick enough to be able to restrain me from actually ignoring her company in favor of having a single conversation with the pan of brownies staring at me. Because it was that fucking mouthwateringly good I was willing to ignore a glowing Sunflower. Hence, I was proud of myself for meeting Sophia’s nonchalant gaze while taking a decent forkful of our dessert.

In the most natural yet boldest move I’ve yet made to a girl I utterly fancy, I placed my free hand with my palm raised upwards on the table, a clear invitation for something. My grin is blinding when my Sunflower doesn’t even bat an eye and effortlessly enveloped her fingers with mine.

“So, you’re planning to join my crazy weekend after all?” Sophia shrugged a shoulder, pink lips closing on her fork to eat every crumb of her brownies. 

“You did hear how my nonna basically lectured me for being a boring lady,” She had a fond look in her eyes, as if she’s remembering her and Angie’s colorful exchange earlier when one would think she was truly annoyed about. “I kind of have to prove to her now that I have plenty of romantic bones inside me.”

“Personally, I don’t think you have to prove her, or anyone for that matter, anything.” I regarded her answer with a confident smile. “Remember, you did save me from my woes yesterday like my true, romantic, knight in shining bright handbag.”

Sophia’s giggles produced a sound that grips me just as much as her tangible hold on my hand. “That I did. But I never actually thought it was romantic, more like I tried to be the kind person who helps people in need.”

“Whatever way it was, it sounds romantic to me.” I scooped a forkful of chocolate goodness and fed an intrigued Sophia, probably surprised that I could talk to her and feed her simultaneously in such an easy fashion. “I don’t know about you, but I find kindness hot.”

There must be something in my statement that really got to Sophia, enough for her to smile with her pearly white smudged with chocolate all for my eyes to see. If her touch, smile, giggles, and blush had a grip on my heart, my Sunflower’s utter confidence about herself and lack of care for what she may look or seem in front of me because she’s simply living her truth - has a chokehold on my soul.

“In this way, are you saying the start of our summer romance already happened yesterday?”

I copied her pondering expression, as if we were discerning a very serious matter in our hands. “I think it was. I don’t think there’s any other way I’d be able to tell the truth of how I started to fall for you without mentioning my foolish moments from yesterday.”

I knew I said quite a hefty admission there, acknowledging the blush that crept Sophia’s cheek like clockwork. But I also knew she wouldn’t want to hear my admission any other way, that she’s also ready to acknowledge the depth of what we had found in each other. The way she squeezed our entwined hands to confirm my beliefs will be forever branded in my memory.

“I agree with you.” Sophia replied softly, her smile stretching her strawberry pink cheeks. “Falling for you wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”

A comfortable silence followed our simple yet heartfelt confessions. As someone who’s used to silence after all the fanfare of racing has concluded, I’m now able to fully comprehend that special kind of silence my mum has always urged me about. She told me that I should find the person who makes me feel alive in the loudest and especially the quietest moments of my life. I was doubting the existence of such a phenomena, not when my kind of silence always had loneliness creeping behind it.

But now I understand. Basking in the silence of Sophia’s bright-lit face with the orange and tangerine hues of the sunset behind her, I fully grasped it. I’ve experienced that special kind of silence, not just with any person, but with my Sunflower.

These sentiments are what braved me to speak my sappy mind, “Sunflower, you going to be my lucky charm this weekend?”

And because she’s the rarest person meant for me, she snorted like I was crazy. “Don’t be daft! I’m simply accompanying you to your race weekend because I have to see for myself if you really should keep driving, Bunny.”

“Heyyy!” that man-child whine I can’t seem to grow out of left my pouty lips, “I was just asking a question and you’re being all unreasonably mean to me.”

“Bunny,” Sophia gently pulled our clasped hands closer to her, her other hand leaving the fork she was using to also cover our laced palms. “You can’t blame me for wondering when the first time I saw you, your car was broken on the street. The next time I saw you on my television screen, you were locking up and spinning 180 degrees out of nowhere in every chicane and hairpin you passed.”

“I didn’t in Sector 1.”

My grumbled reply failed when she only laughed at my sour expression. “Well, I bloody hope you didn’t cause can you even call it premier league racing when you already mess up at the start of the race?  You see, not such stellar driving I’ve seen so far.”

My determined, curse-the-naysayer-cause-I’m-going-to-win racing persona stumbled into the surface. “I’ll be in the podium for tomorrow’s qualifying.” My brave promise is met with a mischievous smirk filled with bruning challenges.

“I have to see you in Q3 before I believe your words.”

Alright. Can this girl get any more perfect for me? A woman after my own heart: actions before words. But has anyone told her I heard what she meant loud and clear?

I bet no one did. That’s why I’d just show her instead.

🌻🌻🌻

“Do I have to also give you an orange leash so you don’t go running off to the Red Bull garage?”

“Funny.” If I didn’t find his humor attractive, I would have stopped placing the badges he gave me around my neck and flipped him off with both my hands. “I already have one orange lanyard, I think I’m all maxed out for that horrendous color.”

“Sassy. You think you’ll be able to keep those daggers for eyes much better if I just confiscate the McLaren hospitality badge from you and just leave you with the paddock badge and the one for pitlane?”

Harry’s tone was casual, both of us wearing a designer pair of shades that hides his mischievous gleaming eyes from my view. “As your guest, I’m seriously finding it appalling that you’d think of leaving me to fend for myself in this motorsport lion's den.”

The clear dramatics in my words earned me a blinding grin from Harry, the dents in his cheeks enough to trip me on my feet if we were walking. Thank fuck we weren’t. We were standing a few feet apart, freshly out from his McLaren vintage ride that I can confirm did not stop on any side street when he picked me up from my house this morning.

“Come here.”

Two simple words that only required two steps before I was right in front of him breaking any kind of personal space. This near to him, our height difference might be daunting for some, but not for me. Not in the way the gentle giant of a racer softly pulled my hands to his lips and left tender kisses on my knuckles.

“Hold my hand please.” He stated more than requested, “I don’t want my Sunflower, who belongs in a field of breathtaking flowers, to get lost in the barbarian streets of the paddock.”

His equally dramatic sentiments brought a content smile to my freshly-glossed lips. “If you must, my adorable yet lionhearted, Bunny.”

Whatever unspoken worries that surrounded Harry and I over our ride here, vanished with the fresh morning Italian wind right in that instant. How can I be worried about the countless whispers and flashes of cameras and phones as we walked inside the paddock, when Harry’s assured hold on my hand just made me shine like the sunshine he always tells me that I am?

Granted that I haven’t been in the paddock before and this close to the actual racing-media-drama action, I’ve been to a handful of Grand Prixs myself to see and observe from afar. I recognize how all this media frenzy is a vital part of Formula 1 to gain and give-back to all the supporters of this billion-dollar earning sport. I’ve watched all four seasons of Drive To Survive on Netflix, I’m not one to talk badly of something I’ve taken part in and enjoyed myself. But I also understand upon getting to know McLaren’s Golden Boy that most of the time, the media isn’t all rainbows and unicorn magic. Harry was very keen in informing me of what I was getting myself into being the first woman he’d ever brought with him on a race weekend.

Such knowledge would most probably render any person frightened with the repercussions, but for reasons unknown to me, I wasn’t. I gave him a bare minimum of a verbal reply and decided instead to show it in my actions that I was a brave Sunflower whether on the field or not. With our clasped hands comfortably swinging beside us, I paid no mind to the escalating amounts of cameras blocking our sides as we walked quietly to the McLaren hospitality, my frequent squeezes to his hand delivered the message that I was fine and dandy like the sunshine shining above our way.

“See? I’m still here in one piece.” I told Harry gleefully as he led me inside the dominantly orange motorhome. He stopped at the bottom of a staircase and pushed his sunglasses up on his adorably messy curls.

“My brave Sunflower,” He praised in a nod filled with approval, “You just survived the bare minimum of this race weekend chaos but I don’t think you need any warnings anymore as I lead you to the middle of the storm.”

His telling words left me confused more than anything he’s ever told me. Nonetheless I  trusted him blindly to drag me along with him up the stairs and straight to his driver’s room where I met the literal middle of the storm he was talking about.

“Harry Edward Styles, you fucking bitch, she’s gorgeous!”

I was thrusted in the expressive arms of Harry Lambert, his exuberant and utterly colorful trainer who upon being introduced, took it to be his responsibility to tour me around the motorhome and introduce me to Harry’s entire team. And despite Harry’s dejected pout for being ignored, I succumbed to Lambert’s plans with the biggest smile on my face and warmest hugs on my arms for every new face I met.

“You know, you’re the first girl he’d brought along with him aside from his sister and mum.” Lambert noted while we drank some orange juice on the upstairs eating lounge after we spent a lengthy time talking with a lot of McLaren employees that range from media, PR, strategists, data analysts, to wellness and medical staff.

“As I’ve been told.” My eyes wandered to the other end of the room where the man in question was filming a video for the McLaren Unboxed Imola episode for their YouTube channel. He must have felt my stare, he winked at me all exaggeratedly that made him look like a damn fool.

It made me giggle so he didn’t mind how he looked on camera and giggled along with me.

“And I think you’ll be the only one he’ll ever be bringing.”

My attention returned to Lambert. My brow curved at the gleam in his eyes as if he knew something vital that I have yet to realize. “What?” he laughed at my inquisitive expression. “I’m just speaking based on observations. I’ve never seen Styles this loco over a girl.”

“You haven’t even seen us interact together. I was with you this entire time.”

“Please!” Lambert dismissed my defense with a dramatic hand flip, “He doesn’t have to be physically near you for me to see he’s gaga over you. I can literally feel his eyes trained on you everywhere we go. Honestly, it’s nauseating.”

Before I can even dissect Lamber’s sentiments, I feel it too. Without looking at his direction, I feel the gaze of Harry’s green irises pointed in my direction, specifically, I know his presence is near mine without hearing any footsteps or a breath coming from him. This sudden strong awareness I have for his aura caused me to abruptly turn to face him, and saw that he wasn’t alone this time wearing their god awful black and orange team wear.

Beside Harry is his McLaren teammate, Nicholas Grimshaw, who looks very much the lively and mischievous individual that he is on most live streams of races I have watched. He doesn’t even mind that he’s blatantly smirking my way and Harry’s, like an obnoxious friend ready to unleash the teasing weapons.

Nick actually goes straight for the hit. “Alright, I’ve heard I have a new job today which is to prevent the lady of the McLaren’s Golden Boy from escaping to the Red Bull garage while said tosser is going to be stuck in a meeting.”

“Nick!” Harry looked at his friend with eyes about to fall off from his sockets, his tone of complete mortification enough to make me giggle behind my hand at this new dynamic I’m seeing in person.

“Harold, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Nick placed a consoling arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I was just trying to test if you picked a good person, and considering that she just laughed at you, I’m confirming that you did. So good job, bud!”

I’ve never witnessed Harry roll his eyes in the same fervent passion that I do to him when he annoys me in our regular banyer, but right now I’ve got a front row seat for it. “Honestly, man. You haven’t even introduced yourself.” Harry sighed in exasperation at his friend who just winked at me. “You’re the only person I know who’s been around me this long and not even just a smidge of my politeness and good character has rubbed-off on you. God, I look like such an angel beside you.”

On cue, Nick and I burst-out in doubling-over laughter. Both Harrys gazed at us like we’ve lost the plot somehow.

“You narcissistic pig!” Nick exclaimed, giving a confused Harry a high-five. “I’m proud of you for not sugarcoating your true self in the dating scene.”

“And I’m proud that you have such a creative imagination for liking yourself to an angel. But Bunny, I’m sorry to say that your angelic curls don't translate for you to be some spiritual entity. Your ego is quite large to fit in your helmet let alone the gates of heaven.”

Rambunctious laughter erupted between the ¾ of us, and it’s to no one’s surprise that the only one left in our conversation is Harry, who was now pouting with his arms folded across his chest. “You guys are ganging-up on me, it’s not funny.”

“I like this one, I like her a lot.” Nick pointed at me with a splitting grin, arms opening wide that welcomed me in a hug. “Nick Grimshaw, it’s nice to meet you.” I offered him the same sentiments by introducing my name just as we released from our friendly embrace. Without missing a beat, somehow I traded places with Nick and was now pulled to the side of some other McLaren driver.

“Cheeky.” I pinched Harry’s hand that wrapped itself around my waist. But the man had the audacity to ignore my comment by pulling me closer to his side and placing butterfly kisses on my temple.

“Can’t help it, Sunflower. I missed you.” I’m pretty sure Harry’s whispered words were only audible to my now pinking ears, though whatever it is his friends are seeing is probably not doing much better either as Lambert made sure to mouth the words ‘nauseating’ loud enough for me to hear with just his faux disgusted face.

“I would really love to see more of this play out,” Nick’s smirking face motioned animatedly at whatever he was seeing between Harry and I. “like it’s so rare to see young Harold here finally growing-up and finding a lady. But I believe it’s time for someone to go, and it’s the hour for me to get some tea from the lady while I show her the garage. Which by the way,” Nick regarded me with a puzzled expression, “Sophia, are you sure you want to spend time in the garage? Won’t it just bore you?”

Harry snorted loudly before I could answer the question. “Oh, Grimmy!” he guffawed like Nick was being ridiculous. “I told you to look after her in the garage because I know she would probably do something to my car like the absolute genius that she is with them that would make it faster. And I don’t want to get disqualified for not following the FIA rules by tampering with a car, as much as I would love to feel like we were driving cars rather than carrots.”

I tilted my head to the side to catch Harry’s eyes, “Please. I’d never do that. Who do you think you are to get free improvement services from me? There’s no way I’d be touching a McLaren car before I do a Red Bull.”

I felt myself grinning at Lambert’s shocked gasp about my admission, Harry’s amused face not doing much for me than causing my cheeks to turn brighter for just a tad bit more, nothing too serious. It’s Nick’s slow clap with a smirk of pure mischief that has me smiling more than anything.

“Marvelous.” Nick regarded me with a new light of intrigue. “A car genius and a Red Bull woman all in one package. I think I’d personally talk to James to get you a permanent spot at the mechanics and car development committee just so I’ll have my right hand in squandering Harold.”

Harry’s resulting signature man-child whine of a ‘Heeeyyyy!’ is overshadowed by Nick and I’s harmonious and synchronized evil laugh. I think it’s best to say that Harry was pouting at me the entire time Lambert kept pushing him to his meeting while I happily clung my arm to the one Nick offered to me. But as much as a pull his saddened puppy eyes and adorable pouting lips had in me, it does not compare to the number it did to me when I finally reached his McLaren garage and was introduced to all the mechanics and engineers present. 

Since everything about automobiles and F1 is as easy as breathing to me, I naturally engaged and adapted better than well at the garage. The team’s looks of surprise at my apparent fountain of knowledge was an extra boost to me and their enthusiasm in showing me all the big and grand and bits and bobs about Harry’s orange vehicle, including how each of them perform their individual tasks.

I guess I truly lost my sense of time while I was having the time of my life in a McLaren garage, no less, that I didn’t even notice Harry’s meeting had finished and Nick had left to take his turn until I felt the former’s now familiar arms wrap around me in a back hug. He pulled me to his torso while his head race engineer was telling me about the different strategies that he and Harry had done in previous races, explaining to me which one he liked and didn’t.

“Will, you’re boring my guest out, mate.” Harry complained faux annoyed at his race engineer who just looked at us and chuckled. “Nobody wants to hear your boring strategies. Strategies that don't change the fact that it looks like I’m driving a tractor on the race track.”

“Hey,” I reached behind me to cup his jaw and squeezed his cheeks together. “Don’t be mean, Bunny.” he tried to speak in denial but it resulted in a grumble-mumble that made no sense than making him look like an idiot that got me and Will chuckling.

“You should listen to your girl, Harry. Don’t be mean.” Will offered me a fist bump which I accepted, a gasp of betrayal falling from Harry’s lips when I let his cheeks be.

“Why does everyone in my team seem to side with you now?” Harry maneuvered me around his arms so that we were now facing each other. “Don’t tell me you’re also done hexing my mechanics while I was gone?” 

I didn’t need to verbally reply because it seemed like all pairs of eyes and ears present in the garage were currently pinned our way in utmost interest. 

“Harry, we don’t need hexing from Sophia when clearly you’re the one who hexed her in joining your daft ass here.” one mechanic said, the majority of them nodded along in agreement.

“She’s a car genius, man.” Another noted, “I had to take a double-look if she was wearing our team gear cause I thought she was going to replace my job.” Now that got me laughing amongst the others.

“Me too!” another (or three?) mechanic shared. “I didn’t even know she’s your girl, Styles. Because I could have sworn you’re a bit of an idiot when it comes to cars so it really didn’t add up to me how’d you get the attention of someone amazing like her.”

“That’s your answer.” I turned to Harry with the brightest gleam in my eyes at all of his team’s - in my opinion - glowing remarks. “Who knew that McLaren's Golden Boy is a manipulator?” I raised a finger on his lips that I knew were about to combat my words. “First, he apparently fooled me to join his daft ass on this race weekend.” I pressed another finger on his lips to continue my point. “And second, he fooled his mechanics that he’s just a bit of an idiot when it comes to cars. The audacity.”

I don’t remember the exact moment I learned to look into his eyes and be able to tell what he’s about to do. That’s why I have no idea how I perfectly escaped his big paws holding my hips that were about to attack me with tickles. I was screaming in laughter as I ran out of the garage with Harry. The absolute idiot began to chase after me whilst all of the McLaren staff laughed and recorded the entire thing.

“I swear to God, Bunny!” I screeched at his running figure while I found a second of reprieve behind a stack of wheels. “If you come near me with your nasty paws, I will seriously cut them off your arms and you won’t get to operate another steering wheel in your life!”

His melodious laughter is not the reply I was looking for. “And what are you going to do with them? Feed them to literal red bulls?”

Now he’s just coming for my home team. I would have loved to continue this banter he loves to arise in me but the only thing I could do was to flip him the bird using both my hands like I’ve wanted to do earlier as he began to chase me around the pitlane again. I was honestly losing my breath and was about to concede defeat when the next second I looked back to see how far Harry was from reaching me, it was in perfect time to watch the most monumental scene unfold before me.

A running mad racer named Harry Styles, just successfully ran over my ultimate F1 idol who was on his way out of his own Red Bull garage. Niall Horan, with his pristinely coiffed blonde hair, didn’t even bat an eye when Harry pretty much tackled him on the ground in the hopes of stopping himself from actually running over and injuring his Irish friend.

It must be some normal occurrence in the pitlanes because no one even offered them a hand. And as I approached them, the two didn’t even mind hugging and scuffling each other on the dirty floors like that. I couldn’t help but giggle at their adorable flushed and laughing faces which shifted their attention towards my standing figure before them.

“Bunny, if I knew the real reason why you don’t want me to meet the only driver I’ve ever devoted my life supporting is because you’ve already called dibs on him, you could have just told me and I wouldn’t have taken offense.”

My joke must have caught them off-guard for a second. But Harry’s loud and pained groan that developed into uncontrollable laughter coupled with Niall’s hysterical cackles, made me preen like it was the greatest kind of compliment. As much as I’ve fully converted to a full Harry girly outside (and inside, but don’t tell the narcissistic twat) of racing, my Niall Horan girlie side will never be forgotten.

With laughter still vibrating from their fireproofs-clad chests, I watched in total high spirits as the two idiots helped each other from the floor. It took them a grand amount of five tries before their infectious laughter had stopped dragging them down the floor. My own giggles however, did not seem to want to be contained as I looked at Harry standing in front of me with Niall hiding behind his much taller frame, with the Irish’s arms wrapped around his middle. If they weren’t wearing their fireproofs with the arms of their race suits dangling by their legs, I would honestly coo at the classic prom-like pose they showed me.

“I knew it was about time someone would catch our relationship,” Niall told Harry but his mirthful gaze was trained at me. “I knew the love in our eyes was simply irresistible to miss, my English Tea.”

“Hush now, my Irish Beer.” I watched as Harry’s arms tightened around Niall’s hold on his middle, the two of them staring at my reaction. “I wouldn’t want Mitch to hear about our burning love for each other. You know how that Caffè Americano can be.”

“Don’t you worry about that Caffè Americano,” there was nothing soothing at Niall’s tone that was filled instead with playful deceit. “He won’t hear a single thing about our sizzling, passionate love affair.” The Irish took it up a notch and nuzzled Harry’s earlobe, the latter’s resulting adorable tickled giggles brought flashbacks of last night when I did the same at Harry’s small ears when we shared a tight embrace under the tangerine sunset of my nonna’s backyard.

But unlike me - who nuzzled Harry’s ear a couple more times just to hear his absolutely precious little happy noises like my true Bunny that he is - Niall didn’t see the same appeal. “I’ll get my Yorkshire Tea teammate to distract Caffè Americano so I’ll have you all to myself, my steaming cup of yummy goodness English Tea!”

If he was anyone other than Niall Horan, I would have been long gone in this apparent conversation exclusive only for rich dolts. Unfortunately, the blonde one had me hooked ever since I first saw him perform the Irish Jig on his maiden win in Monza.

“Should I be concerned that Formula 1 drivers apparently use beverages as endearments?” I leveled Niall’s curved brow of intrigue. “Though I do commend you for choosing English Tea for him. I do suppose it sounds ways lovelier than the measly ‘Bunny’ that I call him.”

It honestly surprised me when Niall’s jaw dropped in equal amounts of shock and began jumping up and down while shaking the hell out of a disturbed McLaren driver. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Niall screamed in delight. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought Styles is a bunny personified! Jesus fucking Christ, I’m not the insane one, you shitheads!”

And then Niall proceeds to counter his statements by insanely bunny hopping all exaggeratedly towards my direction. “I’m Niall Horan, by the way.” He introduced himself as if I didn’t have the best seat in the house watching Harry and him interact earlier with their stares situated at me the entire time. “I want to know the name of the magnificent woman who had proven to everyone here in the pitlane that I’m not some loco who thought my English Tea looked like a bunny.” And then he winked at me.

Niall Horan in all his Irish glory just winked at me…I think I short circuited cause the next second I regained consciousness, Harry joined the conversation. I’m not sure what I missed but Harry’s broody expression pointed at his friend and the way he made a show of curving his firm arm around my waist, must indicate something pretty unpleasant. His tone didn’t help either in dispelling my theory, “Her name is Sophia, and you’ve just used your one and only compliment penny for her.”

Despite being the one introduced, none of the two racers’ attention were directed at me. I’m literally in the middle of a stand-off that I don’t understand the beginnings of. Honestly, F1 drivers are bloody weird. One minute they were laughing together acting as lovers with me as the third wheel, and now I’m the spread to a testosterone filled sandwich.

“Who would have thought,” Niall displayed the mightiest smirk at Harry, “that the first and only time I see my young boy Styles find a person, she would be a Red Bull girl.”

Why wasn’t I surprised that the news about me being a Red Bull apologist had flown so quickly around the paddock? What’s more amusing is that the man curled beside me seemed to continue to act on my behalf as he genuinely looked shocked at Niall’s words. “How in the bloody world did you know about that? Who’s the traitor I have to give a very stern telling to?”

I couldn’t help but snort unattractively at Harry’s serious expression, especially when Niall only rolled his eyes at Harry’s obliviousness. “You really should learn to use the group chat, gramps.” If I failed to cover my mouth when another snort came out, only Harry’s narrowed eyes and Niall’s own snort would bear witness to it.

“It was Grimmy, wasn’t it?” I could even answer that question for Harry using bold and capital letters spelling Y-E-S. But before I could enlighten my confused Bunny, Niall’s loud tone made it absolutely impossible to utter anything before him.

“Styles, we have all the time in the world to talk about your teammate and the efficiency of all the old-man dance grooves you taught him, because clearly,” Niall whistled, blatantly checking me out in my white sundress, “your gramps pulling moves are fucking working well! Look at the beauty you’ve hooked.”

Niall’s kind smile towards me showcased that he was doing everything good naturedly and wasn’t being a nasty creep. But Harry, bless him, only tightened his hold around me like a protective alpha male. “Hey! Eyes on me, Horan.” He barked with no real bite because he’s a true bunny like Niall and I proved. “And I already told you, you’re out of compliment pennies for Soph.”

“How can I not compliment Sophia when you literally picked the best girl in all of Italy, and not just because of her looks,” His exaggerated wink towards my direction and Harry’s resulting groan made me giggle without abandon. “But also, and mainly fucking cause, you chose to date a Niall Horan girlie.” He smiles proudly at the two of us. “I don’t think anything tops that for me, mate. Fuck! It feels like I’ve won my iconic Monaco Grand Prix all over again!”

And because he’s apparently bursting at the seams, gleeful for Harry and I’s meeting, Niall wordlessly pulled all three of us in a hug while slobbering our cheeks with affectionate kisses. If I thought Niall Horan was chaotic on my television screen, then certainly nothing prepared me for the real deal in person. 

I didn’t even short circuit this time because I’ve officially confirmed that the man is too crazy for me, like we can’t work as lovers because there’s no way I can keep up with his lively energy. I’m sorry my teenage self, but it looks like we’re sticking to the dimpled, angel curls, adorable bunny hopping Golden Boy driver, and let’s just look past the eye-burning orange team gear.

“Okay, okay, Ni, stop!” I felt for Harry’s pleas that were drowned by all our laughter and Niall’s persistent golden retriever slobbers. “Stop putting your saliva on me and my girl, man. This isn’t cool for my image that I let you shower me with this much affection!”

Harry’s words lacked the threat he was trying to imply, but it somehow made Niall’s movements stop like the unpredictable man that he was. With one last deep kiss on our cheeks and a hearty squeeze of our shoulders, Niall finally left us to have some personal space to breathe in.

“He’s a needy one.” Niall cocked a brow at me in warning, “Don’t know if you’re ready to have a bunny running after you everywhere you go for 24/7, Soph.”

Since when did Niall Horan care for my well-being? And since when did I find myself having the natural ease to fuel his teasing towards Harry? What is my life?

“Thanks for the warning,” I nodded at Niall’s cheeky smile, looking all coy and nonchalant. “But I think I have a bigger problem than just a bunny following me around all day long. Did you know that your friend here is more like a wolf when needing attention? I swear his humongous size and meaty paws almost smothered me with too much affection when he hauled me for a cuddle. I thought he was beyond needy, to be honest with you.”

Right there in that moment, I could actually bet my entire yellow handbag collection that Harry Styles’ fellow driver friends absolutely adore to tease every little bit about him. When Niall all but catapulted his springy self towards my direction once more, pulling my arms to jump up and down with him like two teenage-girls squealing about their crushes, I completely become at peace in my new found reality that Niall Horan is meant to fill that best friend role in my life.

“Oh my god yes!” Niall punched the air as he finally put a halt to our jump, heavy arm sliding its way on my shoulders in a friendly embrace. “Grimmy wasn’t fucking around. You are the shit for our boy Styles here.” He was definitely complimenting me in some way, but I couldn’t exactly register anything too coherent when I’m trying to catch my breath from all that activity. Jesus, how could anyone keep up with this guy?

“I know she’s the shit for me,” That’s the only time my attention shifted back to Harry who I thought would be pouting at our antics. But instead, he was regarding Niall and I with a fond expression, like he was really fascinated with what he was seeing. Or maybe he was just able to read my eyes that I’ve officially crossed-off any chances of being Mrs. Horan and he’s just trying not to gloat at that new truth. I won’t put that theory past him, since the amount of times we’re able to understand each other with just one look is honestly getting a little concerning.

“Don’t ruin my parade, Styles.” Niall brushed-off, patting my shoulder. “Just be happy that I found a new friend and a new member to the grid’s Harry Styles Fan Club.”

“Naturally I’m very happy for you,” Harry’s tone was coated with thick sarcasm; it was impossible not to smile at it. “I wouldn’t dare doubt the evil things you and Nick are able to plot in that specific fan club, and I’m seriously going to be concerned for my remaining bits of dignity now that you have my Sunflower to join the mix. Now can you please return her to me?”

“Nope.” Niall shook his head casually, “She’s coming with me to the fan event. I like her far too much to let you monopolize all her time.”

“Of course you have to fucking like her too much!” Harry raised his hands in deafening exclamation, nothing in his tone nor beaming face displayed any ounce of exasperation as his words would suggest. He looks pretty damn happy to be honest, and I can’t help to start feeling the same when his green gems turned softer.

“Because of course the one and only time I find the person I was meant for, everyone steals her from me because they bloody like her too. It’s so easy.” He laughed like he couldn’t believe how lucky he is for having that. “Everything about this is so effortless because she’s really my person.”

I didn’t even care about anything after that. His admission made me outwardly swoon like an absolute lovestruck heroine in a heart-palpitating romance read. I’m pink like a fluff of cotton candy all over my white sundress. Though nothing beats the fair Irish beside me, whose hands are gripped on my arm for life support. Niall’s red as a tomato, moony eyes sparkled in mine in pure awe.

“I think my boy just got hit by an F1 car and all the g-forces propelled him to fall straight and hard for you.”

I don’t even have to verbally agree with Niall's perfect explanation. With eyes peering beneath my heavy lashes, my cobalt blue meets Golden Boy’s emerald gems. Just that one look, Harry knows. He can see it in my actions, gathered directly at the center of my irises.

I also got hit by an F1 car, all g-forces hurled me straight right to him pretty fucking hard. And you know what’s the best part of all this crashing tragedy? 

We both did it with open arms.

🐇🐇🐇

In all honesty, I knew since the very start when I invited Sophia for the Imola race weekend that she wouldn’t abandon me regardless if she’s a Red Bull fan or that she can’t stand the color of my team. She’s just a truly kind and faithful sweet girl, all wrapped in a stunning little white sundress.

I also knew that every single one of my team and friends would absolutely adore her, especially when they got hit by the blaring fact that she doesn’t care about my career status and all the fame and here-say social etiquette that should follow that. Sophia acts around me without any pretenses or favoritism, just the way I’d accept it.

I guess the only thing I didn’t expect is the degree of liking my friends would garner towards her. I wasn’t sure if they’d interact with her with a little more caution and intrigue because she’s the first ever girl I’ve brought to the paddock aside from my family members. But looking back at the exchanges in my motorhome with Grimmy and Lambert, at my garage with all my engineers and mechanics, the whole bizarre interaction with Niall, and don’t even get me started on the fan event.

The fan event outside the paddock is apparently where Niall was heading to before my clumsy ass tumbled to him. And since I’d already taken his time and I just couldn’t begin to imagine not seeing anymore the spring in Sophia’s steps while talking to Niall, I let the two of them get to know each other as we all walked to the fan event where I was to join with all the drivers as well. Now I don’t know how it exactly began, but while waiting for the actual fan event to start, the backstage waiting room had turned to my Sunflower’s fan event.

Every single one of my peers at the current grid was flocked around the couch where we were sitting. The entire time that I secured her hand on my lap, Niall was sitting on her other side asking her about the different types of tea he should drink because somewhere along the thirty minutes they knew each other, Sophia has somehow convinced Niall to start drinking tea that can cool down his rabid personality. And then because we're talking about his favorite drink on the planet, Louis Tomlinson, the other Red Bull driver, materializes in front of Sophia. They hit it straight-off like I could even be surprised anymore. They started conversing about local Italian boutiques because he plans to shop for his plethora of little sisters. 

Speaking of sisters, my other close Mercedes driver friend, Jeff Azoff, joins in the exchange together with Liam Payne, my other friend from the same team because they happen to have sisters of their own. Again, I don’t know what took place, but from talking about Italian boutiques, it led to her opinions on the dating scene in Italy which brought the attention of Grimmy on the circle with us because he’s a self-proclaimed serial dater. 

In a blink of an eye, everyone was caught in the brightly burning orbit that my Sunflower possessed. It didn’t help that her automobiles and anything related to F1 knowledge was better than superb, because it finally pulled the attention of the reserved and observant, Mitch Rowland. Right when that finally happened, I knew I was completely obliterated.

All my closest friends in the world revere my soulmate. I think my mum and sister would 140% kill me for not introducing my person to them first. I’m not worried about their take on Sophia because I know they’d love her just as much as my friends. I’m more worried about being ignored by the ladies of my life when the inevitable time of the three of them to meet takes place. And with the combined mouths of Nick and Niall that never shut up, I won’t be surprised if I get a call tonight from Gem and Mum demanding me to fly Sophia to London straightaway for dinner.

“I can’t believe you’ve got Mitch’s approval in the first interaction you shared with him.” I shook my head in unmoving disbelief at Sophia who’s watching me do my last-minute prep in the garage before I step into the car for Qualifying.

“What can I say?” she shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal. “My charm does attract the mysterious ones.”

She deserved the snort I let out. “Don’t let that quiet man fool you. He’s not mysterious, Sunflower. Mitch is just very protective of me because he was my first teammate ever in Formula 1. Which is pretty much the foundation of our unbreakable friendship.”

“And what about that then? Did he think I’d try to be the one to break that strong friendship because you’re suddenly enamored by me?”

I don’t comment on her last statement because I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I did regard her with a contemplative expression. “Actually, you happen to be the first person I’d brought with me on any of my races aside from my family. So, who’s to say what he thought? Let's test your theory when I bring another person to the next race.”

I got the reaction I wanted. Sophia’s body straightened, hands closing into tight fists as it rested on her sides, chin held high ready for battle, and the pièce de résistance: her cool sapphire pools turned ablaze like the blue sky being completely washed by our favorite burning sunset.

“Oh? There are plans to bring another person next week?”

It should be quite concerning how I started to feel the beginnings of the adrenaline high that I crave every time I start to rile her up. “It isn't particularly set in stone yet. Like, I think it depends if you also happen to charm me with some luck this weekend if I invite another person or not.”

Sophia scoffed, hands coming to her hips as I casually began to put my gloves on. “I already told you I will not be your lucky charm.”

“And why is that again?”

To emphasize her incoming point, she moved directly to stand before me with her head raised as if I didn't find our height difference extremely adorable and not intimidating. “Because you’re the enemy, Bunny.”

I smirked at Sophia’s tenacity to maintain this act when I wordlessly know that she’s a full Harry Styles girlie inside and out now. I propelled myself to sit on the side counters of my garage, arms collecting Sophia to stand between my parted legs where I caged her presence in.

“I’m no longer the enemy, Sunflower.” I traced a confident circle at the bottom part of her thumb as Sophia continued to sneer at me.

“Your name on my phone is literally Styles, McLaren enemy and that hasn’t changed since the last time I checked.”

Alright, I didn’t expect that. I’m actually amusedly impressed at her creativity. “Are you for real?”

Instead of replying an affirmative yes or no, Sophia just hummed a soft noise that sounded like an affirmative one to my question, with her attention now drifting to my race gear. The way her dainty hands mindlessly began fixing the zip and collar strap of my race suit, made sure my gloves were fitted well, and even fetched my balaclava mask for me, it all points in the other direction. No person caringly and attentively dotes on their enemy the same way that she did.

“What do I have to do to get that unlawful title changed then?” I allowed her to help me put my balaclava mask on because I don’t have the heart to break her cute, mother hen-like concentrated face.

“For someone who I’m not even sure should keep driving, you’re taking a lot of risks promising me a Q3 and now the eagerness to change your very much lawful title on my phone.”

I stopped her methodological hands from reaching for my signature neon green helmet, intercepting both her hands to rest on my calmly beating chest. “I’m a ‘high risks, high rewards’ type of man, if you already couldn’t tell by my profession. Name the price, Sunflower, and I’d try my hardest to accomplish it. I’ll give it my full throttle effort.”

Since it was only my eyes she could perfectly see, there was no other way she could have looked at any other part of my face and spared me with that electrifying look. “Win me a race tomorrow. P1 on the podium and nothing less.”

Sophia’s request wasn’t a surprise in any means. Any guy would want to win the girl they fancy - and I more than fancy this woman if you can’t tell already - a Formula 1 race. But I guess I just found it funny because we’ve already talked extensively about my current shitty carrot car, and how I was certain I already made peace of not being in any podium this season as long as we score points for the Constructions. P3 already seems such a stretch from where I’m currently standing, getting her a P1 is like asking my sister to go on a date with Niall, which is so impossible because I don’t trust my sister with any of the twats here.

And that’s still the way I feel as I rolled my eyes with a silly laugh, allowing Sophia to lead me by the hand towards my car when we both heard the signal for me to head inside it. “I know I said I’d try full-throttle, but we both know my current car doesn’t even seem to have a throttle to begin with. I think I really need some lucky charm to not be your enemy anymore.”

I squeezed our clasped hands tightly before I was ushered to enter the car. Without the halo being attached to the vehicle yet, Sophia was able to help me put on my helmet that I didn’t even notice I still lacked. 

“Bunny, you don’t need a lucky charm.” Sophia expertly began strapping me in my seat like she does this every weekend.

“Why’s that?” I ask beneath my helmet just for her to hear, absolutely mesmerized by her precise and keen attention towards my safety.

“Because you also have a bright orange heart on your name in my phone. No one else is lucky enough to get that. I don’t think you need to look for any more luck than what you naturally already have.”

And then her face closed towards the top of my helmet where I felt her kiss the H.S imprinted on the protective gear. My eyes even closed shut like I really felt the softness of her lips on my own warm skin. The last thing I clearly saw was the wonder dancing all around my Sunflower’s big ocean blues.

“Keep driving, Golden Boy.” and she shut my visor for me, her words the only true thing penetrating my being as I took the signal from my team and drove to the starting grid.

Obviously, it was impossible that Sophia’s words were the only ones I kept on me because I did still have a Q3 to give her. A tough endeavor that requires a lot of serious attention to my driving skills, communication skills with my engineer, and channeling my focus into tapping my natural talent into maneuvering my orange vehicle. Nonetheless, her words are what I repeated mentally as a mantra every time I saw the opportunity to overtake the other much faster cars around me. I used Sophia’s words as a confidence boost when I got the chance to overtake Jeff at the DRS zone in turn nine, and I did the same when I blocked the overtake Grimmy tried to pull on me in the straights. 

There might have been a point near the few remaining laps where I screeched out loud Sophia’s words in absolute shock at Louis’ car suddenly spinning an alarming 360 degrees before hitting the gravel and sliding past the track limits in less than three seconds right in front of me. I’m pretty red at the face just thinking about Sophia hearing my outburst at the comms, not giving a damn what my engineer, team principal, and everyone else watching around the world thought. I was just stuck at the fact that my Sunflower probably now knows how I’m not just a goner for her confident actions, but her words had also absorbed inside me and took great hold of my being.

I was pretty much working on autopilot after that. Passing each curve, straight, hairpin and chicane with all my energy geared towards fulfilling my promise of a Q3 to the person who has embedded a part of herself within me in this drive. That’s all I truly thought about, so much so that I didn’t even realize I already crossed the finish line for my last lap. I wasn’t even coherent enough to count all the times I’ve gone back to the garage for my pit stops and to wait on the gap between Q1 to Q3.

“I believe that’s the end of Q3 for you, mate.” Will’s no-nonsense voice coming from my comms broke my concentrated haze. “And I can confirm that you’re starting at P3 for tomorrow’s race.”

If you didn’t hear my ecstatic scream all the way from where you’re reading this, then you’d also probably missed the way I acted like I won pole position when I parked my car at the P3 stand where the teams and media waited for the top three qualifying drivers. 

Niall took pole position as a surprise to no one, but I wholeheartedly embraced the shit out of him when he did tackle me to the floor to show his happiness for my best qualifying result for this season so far. Mitch, who scored the second position, only settled for giving me a tight normal hug without all the eager puppy energy our Irish friend exuded.

Though maybe sometimes I might have given Mitch less credit than what he really deserved, not when the words he whispered at me kept ringing in my ear the entire time we were interviewed and instructed to pose for the cameras.

“Maybe you should only keep driving when your girl is also coming right along with you for the ride.”

Mitch’s words and his casual tone took the forefront of my mind the entire time I got weighed by the FIA officials, and even as I reached the post-quali interview in the media pen. It still remained that way when I did media bits for the McLaren social media accounts to react to today's amazing session. It even followed me all the way to my walk to the garage, as it still held center stage of my attention as all my bosses and team staff embraced me and exclaimed their glee for today’s stellar performance for the entire McLaren team.

So maybe my preoccupied mind could be a justifiable reason why I almost dropped to my knees when I entered my driver’s room, completely forgetting about the fact I instructed Sophia right before qualifying prep began that she should wait for me in my room after the race. I had to physically catch my bearings as I held on to the sides of the door while I looked at a glowing Sophia sitting on my little massage table.

“Sunflower, you’re here.” It’s probably not the best thing to say, especially if you also count my lack of breath and the dazed manner I said it. But considering it’s the first few words I've uttered under full consciousness of my full thoughts, I give myself a pat on the back for A+ effort.

“I’m here, yeah.” Sophia’s face was etched with confusion, head tilting at my still out of breath form. “Bunny, where else would I be?”

And wasn’t just that the most fitting words she could have said in that exact, precise moment where it all came hitting me full force in all directions like a total stunner of a strike in a round of bowling. I must have also looked like I'd been hit by lightning outwardly because the way Sophia sprang from her seat when I began approaching her at the speed of light, showed every bit of concern her eyes couldn't contain on their own.

“Are you okay, Bunny? Is something the matter?” I wanted to instantly erase the apprehension in her voice, not when I felt like I was seconds away from bursting at the seams at how alive she made me feel being here with me. It’s not fair I can’t give her the same thrill like she did when she came along on the ride with me like Mitch had pointed out so offhandedly.

“I’m okay, Sunflower. Nothing to worry about, baby.” I cradled both her full cheeks on my palms, the skin-to-skin contact sent direct trembles from my fingertips all the way down to my tippy toes.

“Are you really?” The furrow on Sophia’s forehead didn’t soothe one bit, “then why are your hands shaking then?” I didn’t even notice that they were, not until she pointed it out and steadied them with a grounding hold on both my wrists.

To be honest, there’s no going around the truth that my hands were simply vibrating to life because I feel fueled-up, like I’m ready to go for another lap on the track just having my Sunflower’s delicate face on my hands. It’s quite terrifying how much I feel right now.

“I’m just so happy that you’re here, Sunflower.” I didn’t know if I was sounding repetitive but it’s what rolled off my tongue so effortlessly. “That you’re here with me in this ride, you were there with me in that ride for quali earlier.”

“Okay, I’m really lost right now.” Sophia confessed, “You seem fine to me so I’m not worried about you being dehydrated or anything like that. But I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Bunny.”

Her confusion doesn’t deter me from rubbing soft circles on the apples of her cheeks, “I’m just trying to say, albeit quite poorly because of all the avalanche of emotions you somehow release from me, that you’re right.”

“I’m usually right about 99.9% of the time,” give it to this girl to make me laugh unattractively when I’m trying to be vulnerable and bear my feelings to her. “You have to be more specific than that.”

“It’s about me not needing you as my lucky charm, just like you’ve said before I headed for the track. I’ve realized why you’re correct.”

From where I was looking down at her with my head slightly bent so she didn’t have to strain her neck to see my face head-on, I could see the path of her gorgeous ocean blues that observed every move of my face just like I did hers unabashedly. 

“So why was I correct?” She whispered, my forehead dropping to hers while I felt the room begin to blur. My eyes only retain focus on the enigma that is my Sunflower before me.

With both our eyes closing at the exact moment, noses touching in a gentle Eskimo kiss, it was the first time I ever felt alive in the silence of the room. “Because all you had to do was use your genuine words with me and I felt your presence the entire time I was in my car, living and breathing my passion in that race track.”

I hear and feel the way Sophia’s breath hitched at my words, a catalyst for finding the adequate words to say. “I didn’t need to keep you in my pocket like some tangible lucky charm, because what you say impacts me just as much as what you do for me. And you do a lot for me, my Sunflower. You don’t even know the extent of how everything about you has a chokehold on my soul right now.”

“I was thinking about you, you know?” I felt the ghost of her admission near my smiling lips. “The entire time you were out there. I couldn’t think of anything else other than wanting you to prove me wrong.”

“I bet that would have been a really tough pill to swallow because you’re 99.9% right most of the time, naturally.”

Sophia giggled because I’m a fool who’s not brave enough like her in accepting the weighted words that I just know are coming. My Sunflower matches my confidence level just as much as the strength of my solidarity. If I pour my heart out, she’ll follow directly after my footsteps because she wants to be there with me on the same page, on the exact story, at all times.

“Naturally, I knew deep down there was no way I could keep you out of my mind, no less my entire bloody system. Not when I began rooting for another team because of you, and not when I challenged you yet wanted to be proven wrong. Because out of every single person present here and not, I don’t think anyone wanted to see you this fucking badly in Q3 than me.”

As if our minds collided to share the same thought, our eyes opened at the exact same second. What’s worse? The corner of my lips rose just as much as Sophia’s did like utter telepathy shit. “I felt you with me, Sunflower. I really did. That entire race all I could concentrate on was your words engraved on my soul.”

“That’s why you said it in the comms.” Sophia’s gems are not gleaming in smugness at the realization, it’s shining more content than anything.

“I wish I could play it all suave that it’s just the natural talent in me talking when I drive, but I’m not that much of an idiot who’d disregard something that held this much gravity on my racecraft and overall sanity.”

Sophia bopped her nose with mine in a giggle, “You’re just an idiot for falling on my pointless challenges when we all know dimple-weakness syndrome runs in my family.”

My mum never told me that accompanying the person who makes you feel alive in the silent of times, is the magical ability for them to turn the solitude moments of vigor into something serenely calm. Because as Sophia and I exchanged a laugh, our heads thrown back and arms wrapped contently around each other, I felt absolutely tranquil and still; like I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else other than the beam of her glowing sun rays.

But as much as the idea of a Q3 celebration is thrown at the window in favor of spending all my time with this girl, I had to catch a post-quali debriefing with the team like my career requires. It didn’t take long for Lambert to be the sacrificial lamb - he said it himself in faux nausea - to be the one to break our connection. Meaning, he literally had to peel me off Sophia's body because I couldn’t possibly care about my bloody racing career when I had every single thing I wanted collected in my arms already. 

Then of course, my Sunflower had to be the perfect sunshine that she is, one who actually gave a damn about my source of income, and promised a surprise treat for me after I went to my meeting. And like a lovesick man hooked on being the source of the sparkle in her energy, I succumbed to Lambert’s intervention after I made sure to leave a lasting kiss on Sophia’s forehead.

I’m unsure if she felt that lasting effects as much as I did the imprint of her soft skin on my lips, which was at the periphery of my mind the entire quali debriefing. Thankfully I was spurred on by Sophia’s mysterious treat for me, that I used it as an incentive to actually pay attention to the important words and information coming from my team. 

It must really say something about my love for my craft despite this season’s unlikely vehicle because soon enough, I lost track of time talking with the engineers and race data analysts about what could be further improved on the car’s pace, speed, traction, and grip for tomorrow’s main event. I do the same majority of the weekends every year, and yet it still surprises me the same amount when I emerge from that meeting knowing deep in my gut, I’d love to converse about that carrot of car all over again.

But that can wait for tomorrow’s meeting as I still had a surprise treat waiting for me. Sophia never really informed me of her plans before we parted ways, though one look at the railings that separated the pitlane from the track, I could perfectly see her yellow handbag sitting on one of the chairs in the grandstand. It’s the same bright one from the day we first met, and honestly, the audacity of Sophia to complain about McLaren’s signature bright orange aesthetic when she’s there sitting all pretty in the grandstand waving her equally eye-sore of a bag to catch my attention - as if she didn’t have that already since the morning when we walked inside the paddock.

I made quick work of jogging to reach the other side of the track, channeling my inner bunny energy as I hopped the stairs of the grandstand two at a time. “Sunflower, what are you doing here? You’re bloody late for the race if you were planning to catch my orange carrot to zoom past in front of you.”

Sophia just shook her head at my words, standing up from her seat to grab my arms and lead me to the chair she was previously waiting on. Without saying anything, she gently pushed my chest to sit on the chair, “Stop being a twat. I’m here bearing treats as promised.”

She then shoved a packet of something towards my face before taking the seat right beside mine. Thank fuck I have the reaction time of an F1 driver or else journalists would most definitely question me tomorrow on who caused the black eye I would have been sporting. 

“Are you sure you’re also not a fan of baseball? Because that throw was almost MLB worthy.”

By that point, the roll of Sophia’s eyes didn’t do harm as much as it did something pleasant to my nerve endings. “If I were a fan of baseball, I’d have thrown something less appetizing on your annoying mug.”

“Harsh.” I pointed out with a hand on my chest for my flair of dramatics. “But I’d let this threat of body harm pass, Sunflower, because you bought me some,” I looked at the cold package that she threw at me. “Some delicious Magnum ice cream. Thank you, baby.”

Naturally, I had to show my utmost gratitude at her thoughtfulness through closing the gap between our seats and kissing both her blushing cheeks. “You’re welcome, Bunny. Now start munching before I bite and take that away from you.”

I didn’t disagree with her words as we both opened our own packets to start munching. Sophia might have given me the highest honors of taking the first bite of the heavenly brownies from last night’s dinner at Angie’s, however she did not refrain from actually nipping my finger when I tried taking the last bite as well. My Sunflower is apparently quite notorious when it comes to dessert eating proceedings: I can’t take the last bite if I already did the first or else, I’ll go on dessert exile the next time I join them for dinner.

“So, what’s the plan?” I turned to Sophia while eating my ice cream after a good amount of comfortable silence surrounded us. She shrugged, sitting more comfortably on her chair.

“I didn’t really have a definite plan aside from getting you a sweet treat. I was actually supposed to get you some ice lollies cause you were looking for some during your post-race interview. But sadly, it looks like the entire population of Imola also had the same thought and all ice lollies were out. I had to settle with some trusty Magnum.”

“I was looking for ice lollies during my post-race interview?”

Sophia met my confused stare with her amused one. “Yeah. Your curls were all sweaty yet adorably messy, and your flushed face was blabbering about the scorching heat and how you can’t believe the FIA has budget for hosting galas and yet not even a penny was spent on providing ice lollies as refreshment for their drivers.”

That did sound like my carefree (and little diva, but no one’s really asking) self so I giggled along with Sophia, “I honestly don’t remember saying that, but good for my subconscious self who stood-up for my fellow drivers and I’s rights on proper post-race amenities.”

“Which are of course ice lollies - and you specifically emphasized that it only had to be strawberry, kiwi, and watermelon flavored.”

“Well of course!” I clapped at my genius subconscious self for being quite alert. “Only the best flavors for the best 20 drivers in the world.”

I smirked at Sophia’s heavy snicker. “For someone who’s so sure of his driving abilities right now, it doesn’t shadow the fact you’re as forgetful as my nonno.”

“I’d take that as a compliment if the reason your nonno is being forgetful is also because of the magnetism of Angie.”

‘What’s my nonna have to do with this?” She raised a brow in question, “and I suggest you don’t call Angie that in person or else I’d surely have to exert all my efforts in retracting her from you.”

If she only knew how I was absolutely threatened by her nonna’s deathly stares with just my thought of letting go of Sophia’s hand. “All I’m saying is you’ve had me preoccupied the entire time I was doing every post-race activity earlier. When I said that you came along for the ride with me, you really did some serious damage to my heart, mind, my entire bloody being, Sunflower. You’ve got me all dropping to my knees just thinking about you.”

I guess I should have known that Sophia’s faux wrenching at my admission meant she also has a daily limit to her sappy in-take. “Bunny, stop being sappy, per I’amor di dio. I’ve already reached my daily dosage of your kind words.”

I would have probably taken offense and proven to her that she deserved more than what I could physically give and tell her. Yet Sophia’s honestly seized my breath away. There’s no denying that the serene smile of utter contentment she directed towards my way, had left me no choice but to shut my noisy mouth and just bask in her glimmering happiness.

I might have continued to stare at her infectious energy for more than a second straight, because I don’t blame the way she flushed all the way to her ears as she cupped my jaw to turn it to the side herself. “Bunny, stop looking at me.” Sophia giggled, “Oh look! Let’s just watch the sunset like the first time at the beach.”

Any mention of that fateful day will always get my attention on the highest degree it can possibly reach. Who wouldn’t want to experience again the first time they felt the axis of their world shift upon realizing they’re one of the lucky ones who gets to meet and experience life with their soulmate?

I’m a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic who sneaks off to binge-watch Gossip Girl just to catch all the Blair and Chuck scenes instead of doing my homework, like that of watching all the official clips of previous races James personally compiled to review for me. So it fits my character mold when I tapped my lap to really recreate that afternoon’s premiere sunset.

“What? Why are you doing that?” Sophia motioned for my continuously tapping palms on my lap. Instead of verbally replying, I put my entire trust on our unbending telepathy. It clicked for her the exact moment I finished my serving of Magnum.

“Oh, sorry. But I’m not doing that.” Sophia glanced at my lap in disgust, like she didn’t name it her rightful throne already. I did not have a problem pouting at her.

“Why not?” I tried my hardest not to fall for the crinkles on the side of her eyes in full playfulness at my needy attitude.

“I’m not sitting on your lap, Bunny!”

“Well why not, Sunflower?”

“Because I spent the entire time finding the best seat in the grandstand that has the prime view of the sunset! I literally tried every seat just to make that possible, and now you want me to sit on your lap and throw away all my hard work?”

Just the image of Sophia sitting her cute little bum on every seat here because she’s an actual adorable tiny flower who gives a care for the best seat to watch the sunset, had me cheesing a disgusting amount. However, there was one single fact that shone brighter than others. “I thought you said you didn’t have any set plans.”

There’s no mistaken that I had caught her red-handed. “Huh? I don’t have any set plans, that’s correct.” Actually, what isn’t correct was the look of innocence she tried to pair with her guilty eyes.

“Are you sure?” I pressed further, the pads of my finger pinched my bottom lip in a contemplative expression. “Because I swear you just implied that the entire time I was in my meeting, you spent yours trying every seat here to find us the perfect one to undergo your splendid plan of watching the Italian sunset with me.”

The way Sophia’s shoulders sagged at my bullseye words, does nothing but to boost my smirk to cover my entire face. Not even when she threw me her infamous glare could have stopped it. “If you think saying that could get me to sit on your lap, then you’re seriously a tosser who knows no better.”

“I didn’t say anything mean, though!” I defended with my arms raised in surrender. “I used the word ‘splendid’ to showcase how I thought about your plans. And who doesn’t love a sunset? Jeez, well I sure am not a tosser for not liking an Italian sunset.”

Sophia decided to ignore my beaming face in favor of facing the sunset with her arms crossing below her chest. “Well, have a splendid time watching the Italian sunset on your own, without me on your lap then.”

Naturally, I couldn’t settle for that. Not when my needy ass is itching on the edge of my seat to get my Sunflower on the place where she truly belongs. And if you haven’t caught the memo yet, I was talking about my lap.

Because I was quite the type of person who found displeasure in a worried Sophia and knew that the telling worked both ways, I decided to prove Niall’s statement correct that I am a needy little bunny who needed more than just attention from the people I adore.

“I couldn’t get you a P1 for quali, so I guess I do deserve this punishment.” I sighed, laying the self-deprecation really thick to start with. I copied her position of facing my front towards the sunset. “I mean, I know I already have a shitty car this season, so I don’t understand why I didn’t push myself harder when I already got the chance of the lifetime to enter Q3. Seriously, am I this awful at racing already? I can't even capitalize on the best quali chance I can get for this entire year. I really should consider the new Formula E team they were telling me about, maybe there I won’t be such a shitty driver and I could possibly get you a pole position like you deser-”

“Shut up.” I was not expecting Sophia to cut my rambling by climbing me like a tree to straddle my lap. It was instinctual to steady her on the hips, but what wasn’t is how she crashed her full lips on mine without a second thought for my crumbling sanity concerning her.

My dainty and bright Sunflower kissed me for the first time. It did not take a dig at my non-toxic masculinity ego compared to the way it did steal my literal breath away. If Sophia thought our first kiss would contain just a hard press of her sweet lips on mine, then she’ll learn pretty quickly I don’t operate like that. 

I tugged her closer to my body, one hand coming to rest on the middle of her backside to make sure her short sundress wouldn't flow upwards, while my other hand cupped her chin so her sweet lips wouldn’t leave mine as I kissed her the way I felt natural. Passionate. Wet. Deep. Soul-binding.

Too bad oxygen is still an actual thing in the world you need for survival. Moving a few inches away from her parted lips to let her breathe for a minute, was probably one of the hardest things I had to endure in my entire existence. It was so difficult I couldn’t stop the way my lips gravitated towards her jawline and peppered my kisses there.

“First you tell me you didn’t plan a sunset date with me, and then you decline to sit on my lap. Now that you’re on your throne, you decide you have the power to claim our first kiss from me.” 

I captured her tempting lips on my own once more, suckling lightly at her tender bottom lip when the tip of her clever tongue tried to outsmart me. I might have allowed her to take the reins on our first kiss, but I’m not one to get Frenched in an Imola grandstand so easily. Sophia definitely took note of the way I gate-kept her tongue from tangling with mine as she pulled her lips away from me, accompanied by an undeniable groan of annoyance.

“I should have known someone so narcissistic like you won’t ever talk so lowly of yourself,” Sophia muttered those words directly on the moist skin of my lips, every single syllable I breathed like an intoxicated man. “It was all a ploy to get me on your lap. And now you’re being a downright twat not allowing me to get my way with your mouth. With that being said, I think you should just shut up unless you’ve got anything better to do than be annoying.”

She can’t say things like that and not expect to get a reaction from me. And reaction meant succumbing to my inner alpha male who cannot stand being a source of carnal displeasure of his lady. If it meant I grasped her jaw securely and rolled my tongue directly inside her sinful mouth, then I’m officially a goner for this woman’s demands. I’d pretty much allow her to French me in this Imola grandstand or in any other grandstands in all the countries in the race calendar if she wants this to become a new tradition of ours.

With one last deep draw with Sophia’s apparently very cunning tongue, I parted for air. “Who’s not bloody talking now?”

My smug aura did not bode well with the wanton hues burning in Sophia’s ocean blues. Not when she bit her now cherry red, swollen bottom lip from kissing. Especially not when she roughly closed her soft hands on the base of my neck to close the miniscule gap between our charged bodies.

“Bunny, just shut up, will you?”

If shutting up included her full lips encasing my waiting ones, and her nimble tongue pushing and tangling with mine, driving me outside the tracks of my depths for any coherent logic? My Sunflower doesn’t even have to ask twice.

From now on, I will always allow her to get her way with my mouth.

🌻🌻🌻

If someone would have told me about a week ago that I’d be attending the Imola Grand Prix as a VIP guest of one of the current drivers in the grid, I would have told them to scurry away cause their delusional thoughts need some serious help. But since that actually somehow occurred and said driver had actually just finished eating breakfast with my nonna and I before driving me to the paddock with him, I’d guess there are much crazier things that can happen in my lifetime.

I’m just not sure if walking inside the paddock, hand-in-hand with a chirpy McLaren Golden Boy, while wearing an off the shoulder top in their signature orange color, could already be considered as one of the demented ideas I had in my twenty-something years of existence. I’m seriously questioning my life choices when I heard numerous whistles in the paddock with  everyone taking notice and adamantly documenting my conversion to the bloody eye-sore orange side.

I tugged at our clasped hands to stop Harry from his leisure walk, he smirked down at my furrowed brows when I rested my chin on his toned biceps to be able to look at his tall frame properly. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Bunny, please bring me back to your car so I can change my outfit.”

My jutted bottom lip didn't do the trick, well at least not the kind of trick I was expecting. But the way he easily bridged the gap between our faces, and captured my lips on his smirking ones for a quick tender peck, is something I’m quickly being absolutely dandy to receive in any circumstance. I don’t even mind the audible jaw dropped expressions of everyone witnessing our intimate exchange. PDA doesn’t faze me, but wearing the team colors of a non-Red Bull team? That actually feels like an ‘open the ground and eat me alive’ type of embarrassment that should not be circulating social media in any way.

“No need for your adorable pout, it’s very tempting, Sunflower.” Harry proved his point through seizing my bottom lip for another soft suckle, “Besides, you look extra adorable in your orange fit. I didn’t even know you could look even more irresistible than before.” He squeezed both my cheeks together like he just couldn’t contain all his feelings for me.

“You have to say that because my nonna’s got you wrapped around her witch-like finger. That traitor.” I shook my head in disgust just thinking back to our breakfast date earlier.

“Oh yeah, Angie was the one to buy you this lovely top,” Harry twirled the ends of the bow that tied the bust of my top. “I loved the fresh orange juice she made earlier, by the way. But I must say, the minute she brought this top for you to wear today, I swear you’re even more delectable in this orange top than any fresh produce.”

I, on the other hand, swear that Harry just gets the time of his life making me blush, “I can’t believe you just compared me to a fruit.”

He bopped his nose with mine in amusement, “And I can’t believe I easily converted nonna Red Bull fan to the positive, and orangey-bright side whi-”

“More like doubtful, and orangey-yuck side.”

“- while you’re here interrupting me instead of being the brave girl you proclaimed to be. Baby,” Harry pinched my chin to angle towards his smiling face. “You know I won’t force you to wear my team colors, but you’re the one who told me you needed this as a slow yet tangible commitment in transitioning to be with McLaren’s Golden Boy.”

What was I even thinking of making such a life-altering commitment like that? I solely blame it on being drunk on my Bunny’s intoxicating kisses, mixed with the high of a breathtaking Imola sunset. Who would have thought the two mixed together would be such a lethal concoction for my faint heart? Just remembering the pride surging through my veins when I watched Harry reach Q3, I knew then that I was at the right garage celebrating with the most hardworking team that I’ve ever been fortunate to meet. 

When we resumed our walk to the paddocks heading to the McLaren hospitality, I slowly made peace with my reality that wearing this orange color is the least I could do to support this lovely bunch. And can we really just be honest for a second here? The way Harry looked at me with so much wonder and appreciation as his team cheered at the new colors I was adorned in, is always going to be enough for me to continue doing it again and again in every damn race weekend I’d have the pleasure of joining next.

You guys already know that I have felt right at home in Harry’s garage ever since my first visit from yesterday. That’s why when he was whisked to do all his pre-race duties, I gave no qualms in being left behind in the comfort of his garage. Besides, time moves fast when I’m having fun and being right at my element with vehicles. Conversing and learning from his mechanics and engineers didn’t seem like a task that took hours.

But apparently it did. I was honestly shocked how time got away from me once more as an out of breath Harry physically dragged me away from my conversation with Lambert and Will. Thankfully they didn’t take offense at the racer’s rudeness, shouting ‘good luck’ my way instead, as Harry continued to pull me towards the direction of his driver’s room in the motorhome.

“Just finished the driver’s parade,” Harry quickly pushed the door open to his room, ushering me inside with a hand on the small of my back. “Now I need cuddles before they whisk me away from you.”

After revealing his demands just like that, Harry doesn’t even bother waiting for my response as he flops himself back-first on this bean bag looking couch that wasn’t in his room yesterday. I would know because I stayed in the room after his qualifying, trying to cool down from the burning and tingling sensations I got all over my body after watching Harry Styles drive his car while wearing that form-fitting delectable racesuit of his. But obviously he doesn’t need to know that he affects me in that way too or he might get other ideas instead of cuddling.

I arched a brow at his unbothered manspreading on the bean bag, arms folded behind his head in a lazy fashion. “What’s this about? I believe this piece of furniture wasn’t here yesterday.”

Harry doesn’t even bother on producing an alibi and gets straight to the point. “I asked the team to order one yesterday afternoon before we left, and I personally paid for same day delivery so that we can use it right now.”

I appraised him with a nod of approval, “I appreciate the bluntness and honesty. But I must say, it’s very bold of you to assume that a lady like myself would just accept that answer and follow your demands as if you know what I do and don’t.”

He must have known I wasn’t just easily going to agree with his needy ways. The way he stood up effortlessly from his comfortable sprawled position and stood before me with his head bending downwards to meet my ablaze eyes, tells a lot about his competitive nature in winning me over.

“Sunflower, I’m quite hurt you’d think so little of me after all the time I trusted you to spend in my garage,” He tucks a strand of wayward curls behind my ear because it’s been established that the McLaren driver has a thing for making my cheeks flame. “Only the special ones get to hang out there, and only the most special ones, like you,” he booped my nose with the pad of his index finger, “get to sit inside my precious car.”

“You calling me the most special doesn’t explain the things I’d personally follow along to or not.”

“Actually, my explanation to that is in what you just said,” If he thought I was going to be intimated at the way he stood back from my personal space to be able to stand tall and proud while completely overlooking my smaller form, then he better be ready by the dagger eyes I’d be sending his way.

“You gladly took my hand to help you inside my car because I was the one who initiated it, and you wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t the one who gave you the permission. Similarly, you’d cuddle with me on that bean bag I just bought for you because I asked like a gentleman. You only wouldn’t follow if I didn’t demand otherwise. Now tell me, Sunflower, since when did you start thinking I didn’t know you adore it when I initiate things first and make demands from you?”

Isn’t that always our downfall, fellow women out there? It’s always the confident, demanding, alpha male who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to ask for, that we try to attract and then resist and then ultimately fall head over heels in love with. There’s no denying it’s the exact same Achilles heel I experienced with this needy and smirking man in front of me. And I’m not even confident to say that I despise this downfall because can it really be called that when I feel my panties dampening at his assertive aura alone?

But you know what differentiates me from the others? I don’t view this part of me as a weakness. I perceive it as a source of power that I’m not afraid to admit and welcome the kind of possessive and self-assured man that can consume every part of my being.

I had no problem in my confident facade crumbling before Harry. My shoulders dropped down in surrender as I embraced his innate calming energy. His own expression softened too, bridging the gap between us. Harry seemed to have no qualms of his own as he cradled my full cheeks; another one of his affectionate actions I’m quickly being very familiar with.

“Since you know me so well,” I sighed in complete honesty, “you could have just repeated your demands and I would have cracked the second time around.”

Because I also seemed to fall for the little shits, Harry pinched my smiling cheeks like I’m some adorable kid. “Now where’s the fun in that?” I laughed as he gently pushed my forehead away, tapping my bum when I turned around towards the bean bag. “Now get your little bum there and get comfortable cause I won’t let go of you until I’ve taken all my rightful fills of cuddles for today.”

I situated my yellow handbag at the side of the couch before gracefully sitting myself in the middle of the softest piece of furniture I have ever laid on. Jesus, I almost moaned in bliss feeling like I was resting on a fluffy cloud. The only thing that stopped me from doing so is the sudden appearance of a gloomy cloud that began to shadow Harry’s serene face.

I didn’t like that look one bit. Not when he looked so bubbly and poised just seconds ago. Hence, I tried to make light of the situation. “Even if I’m the McLaren Golden Boy’s girl now, wearing orange with me would only allow you cuddling privileges, and no bum touching, mister.” I solidified my point by moving my index finger from side to side directed at his face.

But it didn’t make Harry explode in that guffawing laughter that has become my favorite sound in the last two days. Instead, he settled with a closed lip smile - without dimples! “I promise to keep my hands to myself then.”

I wanted to shake my head at his wrong response; I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself! I slowly started to be seriously concerned by his sudden change of mood, when my Bunny didn’t eagerly banter back with my clear teasing words.

The furrow in my brows can speak for themselves, and it was easy to spot that Harry recognized my concern too. The way he tried to conceal his murky thoughts did not work in hiding the glint of guilt peeking from his evergreens.

Now I don’t want him to feel guilty about being gloomy around me because whatever emotions he may have will always be valid. I just want to make him feel better and soothe whatever these worries that suddenly came into him. With my arms wide open, I called for my wounded Bunny. “Hey, come here, baby.”

Harry didn’t hesitate in following. He carefully crouched down on the bean bag, slotting himself against my pliable body, long limbs tangling with my shorter ones as he rested the side of his head on the top of my chest. His strong arms took hold around my middle, my own coming up near his head to play with his cherubic curls, while my other hand Harry clutched in his own.

I couldn’t help but coo at the sigh of contentment Harry let out when I began dropping soft kisses on his forehead to soothe the frowns that were forming. “Bunny, I don’t want to force you if you just want to cuddle here silently, but I can tell something’s wrong and I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry nuzzled his nose in the middle of my torso, like he wanted to hide his face from me. I couldn’t let that happen so I freed my hand from his hold to angle his chin to look at me. He let out a whine when I did. “Heyy, give me back your hand, Sunflower. I was holding it to find comfort.”

How could I not feel absolutely enamored by his reasoning? It doesn’t take a genius to know that I allowed him to hold my hand tightly again, and that the growing soft spot in my heart that’s in the shape of him, began filling my eyes with unshed tears.

“Are you hurt, Bunny?” Just asking that felt like needles poking my insides. “Did anyone do something wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” My escalating frazzled tone caused Harry to stiffen in my hold, his eyes locking in mine with a shade of determinedness I’ve never seen directed at me before.

“Whatever’s going on with me, has nothing to do with you, my sweet girl.” He squeezed our clasped hands tightly, bringing it near his lips to litter the back of my hand with light kisses all the way from the tips of my finger. “You don’t need to worry about anything, I’m alright.”

“Then why are you finding comfort in holding my hand?”

The whiny accusation is poorly hidden in my question, though it produced some spark of light in Harry’s gloomy irises. “Why do I like them persistent?” He seemed to ask himself more than me, but I answered anyway.

“Because you’re a stubborn idiot who needs a person that can prove to you that you don’t have to shoulder every worry you have on your own.” I stared at his eyes with the utmost persistence that I can show. “You’re not a lone wolf anymore, Harry.” I moved our entwined hands to tenderly caress his cheek, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re my Bunny now, love. I’m here for you when you’re shining the brightest. But I’m especially always here for you when your troubled thoughts dim your glow. I’m here, Bunny.”

I only hoped my words came across the way I wanted it to, because Harry just closed his eyes, still holding my hand on his cheek without saying anything. Until he did.

“I just remembered I’m starting very near the front row in the grid today,” His eyes remained closed, gorgeous long lashes resting comfortably on the top of his cheekbones. “It’s the best start the entire team has had this season, and it feels like a one in a million chance to achieve again. So that made me start thinking, and then the worries began to pour in all at once making me overthink. If we don’t have a reliable car, then that means all the pressure to drive well will all go down to how I drive later. Which I’m not mad about because I love racing, this is what I was born to do. But, I’m no perfect human. I’m bound to make mistakes every day. I just don’t want those to be in a few minutes from now. I can’t disappoint the entire team because they’ve been working so hard and they more than deserve this win. I can’t fuck this up for them, Sunflower.”

The moment Harry opened his eyes, the depths of his brewing troubled thoughts all surfaced, meeting my intent gaze all at once. If earlier I felt like needles were poking my insides, right now I feel like I’ve fallen down on my knees after my heart had burst at the seams from the overflowing admiration I have for this man’s kind soul. 

Because of course he isn’t an encompassing cocky racer who believes they never do wrong to lose. Because surely someone as revered as the McLaren Golden Boy would only care about winning for himself. But no. My Bunny is not that.

My Bunny is the type of man who would snuggle deeper into me, embracing his vulnerable side after being brave enough to realize that he isn’t alone in his own insecurities and anxieties. He's the kind of man who wouldn’t take all the credit for winning; would rather not be called the Golden Boy just to make the people most important to him feel like the golden ones.

I might have let some of those unshed tears run after all. “Harry Styles, you truly are one of the rare ones.”

I’m sure it wasn’t what he was expecting to hear from me, not when it caught him off-guard with a snort. “You can’t use that to describe me. I already refer to you as the rare one in this relationship.”

“But you’re such a darling boy, though.” I let him thumb away my tears because I see the beginnings of my favorite dents on his smiling face. “Can we compromise in agreeing to call each other as rare?”

I knew I sounded ridiculous but it did get me the laugh I wanted from Harry, even if he proceeded to roll his eyes at me. “No can do, Sunflower. Besides, how am I part of the rare league when I’m just like every single regular lad out there who’s insecure of failing people? There’s nothing rare about that.”

There was no way I would allow him to talk badly about himself, not when I’ve already gotten a great progress in returning him to his usual smiley person. I squeezed his cheeks together to look at me directly when Harry tried to hide his face on the side of my neck.

“That still sounds very rare to me, Bunny.” I told him earnestly without a shadow of a doubt. “None of the guys I’ve ever been with have ever confided in me on what made them hurt and worried. You’re a rare darling boy because you found the tenacity to open up to me. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a pretty damn rare thing to do.”

He’s not wrong about calling me persistent earlier, and I recognized the way his eyes mapped my features for him to see that my intentions came from a good place. “Some shitty guys you’ve been with then, huh.”

He phrased it as a statement rather than a question which made me bite my lip because Harry’s smug self - my favorite character of his, but don’t tell! - was slowly coming back to life before my eyes. “Yeah, they were. Clearly unlike you who worries unnecessarily about their team’s reaction when you inevitably make a mistake later on the track.”

Harry’s jaw dropped open, “Wow. I can’t believe you just brought it out to the universe that I’ll make a mistake later. Jesus, I’m really fucked then.” That earned him a tough tug on one of his curls because the drama queen side of his is not really my vibe.

“Bunny, you making a mistake doesn’t equate to you losing in the race.” I clarified, the sincerity in my tone stopped him from trying to make light of the situation. “I’m not here to devalue your worries and fears, okay? Your emotions will always have value to me. I’m here to help you in making sense of them. Because let me tell you, Bunny, every single individual in your team, whether they’re in the garage, in the hospitality, or even those in the factory, will vouch for what I’m about to say.”

I pressed my forehead on Harry’s, wanting him to hear my next words without a single space of misinterpretation. “The last thing anyone in your team wants is to get in the way of your winning performance later because you’re worried about their reactions if things don’t go smoothly. That all you should think about is the present moments and not the ones for later afternoon. It’s pointless to stress about what hasn’t happened yet.” I pecked both his closed lids when I felt his arms around my cuddled body tighten.

“Bunny, my darling boy,” I whispered directly on the soft skin of his temple, sprinkling butterfly kisses on his supple skin. “You only need to believe that you’re going to win. Despite the inevitable hurdles that may happen, and despite your negative thoughts swimming in your head, That’s all you have to do. That’s just what we - your team - is asking from you.”

I thought it was the perfect time to actually verbally announce my new allegiance. And I believe Harry thought so too. The way his pretty eyes opened and peered at me from beneath his wispy lashes spoke of that truth.

“You really believe that?” His tone was soft, mixed with a touch of disbelief and a sprinkle of astoundment.

“Yup.” I nodded my head in full conviction, right hand returning to play with his curls. “I stand true to my words. And quite frankly, everyone else can fuck off if they’d think otherwise.”

Maybe all this time Harry was just waiting for me to cuss out everyone else that didn’t matter. Because the little shit erupted in rambunctious laughter like he wasn’t my wounded Bunny from earlier who came to me to lick and soothe his scrapes. He further proved the positive switch on his demeanor when Harry proceeded to swiftly maneuver our cuddled bodies to switch positions. I yelped as he easily took my place on the bean bag while he carried me, sprawled across his broad chest like I weighed as much as a feather. 

“Warn a lady when you manhandle her, please.” I cozied myself on top of him, my face finding solace on the crook of his neck where I decided to nip as punishment for his actions.

It was Harry’s turn to yelp, but the sting couldn’t be so bad when I went ahead to lick his reddened skin afterwards. But obviously, that doesn’t stop the menace from landing a blow on my bum cheek, making me hiss and glare up at him.

“I’m not going to warn you when I manhandle your body to my liking, Sunflower.” Harry’s smirking face is something I shouldn’t find as attractive as I actively do. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I didn’t have it in me to think of a witty retort to counter his; not when I feel relief wash all over my senses at being face to face with my fully confident and smiley darling Bunny. I was scared there for a moment that I wouldn’t be able to see him again in his usual glory that I fell for to begin with.

Without a mirror present in the room, I still knew that my face probably expressed all the overwhelming emotions I felt. Because Harry’s cocky grin that I adore transformed to that of his softer one, like the exact same one he gave my nonna earlier over breakfast when she told him to continue what the hell he was doing because she hadn’t seen me this full of vibrating energy for a while now.

Harry cupped my cheek and slowly led our lips to meet in the middle for a syrupy sweet kiss. “Thank you, Sunflower.” His words imprinted itself all over my tingling lips as he kept giving me tender kisses. “I really needed to hear that. I just didn’t know that I needed to hear it specifically from your angelic mouth.”

I let out a giggle in the middle of our lips meeting, “I just flipped off all the nasty people who don't believe in you. I don’t think that’s pretty angelic.”

“You’re my personal ray of sunshine I never knew I needed. That makes you angelic to me in all regards.” There’s no part of Harry’s tone that could suggest he was only jesting. And there’s no way I could hide from his soulful evergreens that are swimming with potent veracity. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who believed in me so candidly; who can surpass my own confidence in believing that I can have a winning performance.”

“It’s not a ‘can’, Bunny. You will.” 

My interruption made the galaxies in his eyes explode in an utter disarray of perfectly imperfect fallen stars. Every single piece of them descending down straight to my beguiled pools as I looked at Harry in a fresher set of eyes.

How was I not able to notice the enigma that this man is before? Why am I only discovering this precious human now?

I don’t have any answers to that. But what I do hold is the one-off chance to make him believe and see the invaluable soul that he has inside of him. One that he only needs to utilize to be able to hinder all the anxieties to cloud his vision. And if that means I have to use both my words and actions, so be it.

I surged forward and kissed Harry with all the force I could give. “Styles, winning performance.”

He looked at me with a dazed expression when we parted from that fervent kiss. But it didn’t take him long to knock his forehead on mine with a manic grin. “Say that again.”

He doesn’t have to ask me at all. “Styles, winning performance.”

“Winning performance.” He repeated my words like he was testing if he liked how it rolled off on his own tongue. I guess he got his verdict when he repeated the same two words with more conviction than our last minutes together, crashing his lips on mine once more like he could actually tangibly take the words straight out of my own tongue.

Too bad that things don’t actually work that way as I made it known quite quickly to Harry.

When he was called to get ready for the race, I pulled at our clasped hands to stop him from walking. I raised his large and capable hand to my lips and drew soft kisses on the tattooed skin. “Winning performance.”

When we reached his garage and he proceeded to put his gloves and balaclava mask on, I intercepted his helmet from his hold to grasp him at the back of the neck so he could bend down and meet my waiting lips. “Winning performance.”

When he was doing last minute conversations about strategies with his race engineer, I tapped the arm that was curved around my waist so I could stand on my tiptoes and whisper directly in his ear, “Winning performance.”

And when he got the clear that I could be the one to strap him in his car just like yesterday, I uttered the same two words with just the same, if not more, amount of confidence I could muster. “Winning performance.”

“Sunflower, winning performance.”

That was Harry’s last parting words to me before I closed his visor for him, not long before he zoomed out from his garage and all of us took our headsets to hear the McLaren boys’ race live. 

As the three red lights turned to four and then all out in a second, I felt completely calm watching every single one of those rocket-like vehicles zoom past the tricky turn 1. I felt the stillness radiate in me because I know that my Bunny and I are in that race car together, repeating the same two words in the same assured breath.

That’s honestly the only thing that kept me level-headed the entire duration of the race. Nobody actually tells you that watching a Grand Prix straight from a team garage is 101% more intense and hyperactive than watching it with your mates at home over brunch and free-flowing mimosas. I couldn’t even count the amount of people who have shaken my shoulders in feverish glee when Harry was able to overtake some drivers in several DRS zones. Similarly, I couldn’t tell you how many people I’ve dragged to jump up and down with me in utter heated excitement when Harry set the fastest lap record in the middle of the race.

I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. Not even when the inevitable mistakes came, in the form of going too wide in the chicane, and that random lock-up in two hairpins. I especially appreciated the high-spirited company during those moments. It made my heart warm being a first-hand witness on the positive, encouraging, and ardent emotions Harry’s team has for him, despite what his negative thoughts might have said. 

I only hope his worries have subsided while driving, and I think I might be quite right in that regard. Because when Harry came in for his first pit stop, the barely two seconds of changing tires allotted him some time to actually wave at me since I was near the entrance of his garage. I thought he was a crazy little shit for having time for that, and everyone else agreed with me in chaotic laughter. The only thing that didn’t make me worried that he might have lost focus, is the fact that my Bunny must be back in his vibrant self if he was able to easily switch to his usual idiotic character.

I just kept repeating our two words when there were only a few more laps left from the total of 63. How those lads are able to go round and round for 63 times without losing their minds is beyond me. I’ve been at the cusp of blowing up in adrenaline just watching them since the first five laps! Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait that long anymore.

In bated breath, I clutched Lambert’s hand for dear life when the 63rd lap finally commenced. Everyone in the garage is eerily quiet, all eyes focused on the screen which currently has Harry on P3 in the leaderboard. I couldn’t really focus on whatever the hell Will was specifying to Harry on the comms about the last part of their strategy, all I could focus on is the determination that coated his voice on every ‘confirm’ ‘confirm’ that Harry answered with.

I don’t even know how it exactly happened, but one minute all of us in the garage were holding hands waiting for drivers to pass the finish line, and the next second everyone was jumping out of their seats and screaming at the top of their lungs in complete jubilation. 

Harry Styles just crossed the checkered flag in P3. He reached the finish line in third.

“P3, mate! That’s your first podium this season!” 

Will’s announcement was the home run hit that I needed to fully comprehend what just occurred. And when I did, I joined Harry’s scream of unadulterated euphoria mixed with mine. “Winning performance!” He shouted for everyone watching to hear, “Winning fucking performance!”

“Ditto, ditto!” I screamed back like a lunatic, as if Harry could actually hear me. I had no time to feel embarrassed though, since I was blissfully pulled to the jubilant arms of one team member to the other. So many loving words were exchanged for our driver’s achievement that I didn’t even notice most of them started to make their way to watch the podium celebration.

Knowing how this win meant a lot for Harry as a driver, and how he was especially driving there for his entire team, I knew I couldn’t miss witnessing the grand celebration. So without care of still having my McLaren headset around my neck, I followed the flocks of people coming from different teams towards the podium viewing section. I knew it would already be packed by the time I arrived, having both the Red Bull of Niall and Louis as P1 and P2. But I genuinely didn’t care about the success of my previous die-hard allegiance. I just zeroed my attention in watching all the orange happy crowd from afar, waiting for their Golden Boy to stand on the podium.

I was honestly content at my position in the sidelines of the main crowd, because I knew Harry would rather share this grand victory with his team first and I’ll just congratulate him later in our own alone time. If he actually had his way, I’m pretty sure Harry would have preferred to have his entire team stand in the podium and he’ll be the one watching them celebrate from below the stands.

But I guess I could be proven wrong about all that because suddenly, I hear the distinct voice of Harry’s big boss amongst the chaotic crowd of other teams celebrating. “Move away, move away! Jesus Christ, I said move the fuck away!”

I watched in amusement as James Corden physically used his arms and legs to push people out of his way. “I swear to God I pay all of you to listen to me! Why can’t all of you move the fuck away?! I have a person to find! Where is she?! Why did you guys leave her, you absolute morons?! No one’s getting gelato from me after this!”

James’ heated words and animated display of comedic irritation, definitely captured everyone’s attention. The other team’s heads turned with their bodies clearing a path for him to pass, much to his favor. “Thank you, thank you! Looks like the Red Bull staff will be the ones receiving some gelato from me because they actually listened to my pleas.” He turned his head sidewards to his snorting McLaren team. “You bunch are about to get drowned in champagne once Harry finds out you left his girl alone in the garage. Enjoy all that while I actually be the kind and responsible man that I am - unlike you lot! - and I will look for Sophia. I hope Harry throws the entire glass bottle your way, fuckers!”

To say that I was shocked, was a complete understatement of what I genuinely felt. That entire rambunctious ruckus was all because Harry’s seemingly insane boss thought I was missing the podium celebration. And that it was going to be a total violation of some-sort, that warrants Harry to commit a crime of drowning his team in champagne. I honestly did not know how to react.

I guess that’s how James found me in the sidelines: eyes wide, mouth agape, body unmoving. “Oh, you poor sweet girl.” I heard him say as softly as his naturally loud voice could go. “You must be scared out of your life being left to your own devices at the garage by those brute men of mine.”

I couldn’t really utter a rebuttal to his very wrong claim as James quickly placed his arm around my shoulder and walked the two of us in the middle of the crowd towards the huddle of the McLaren team. “Don’t you worry about a single thing, Soph.” James assured me with an innocent smile I didn’t know if I trusted. “I’ll make sure you’d be at the front of the barriers to watch Harry descend the podium. Just keep calm here beside me for a moment.” And then he proceeds to do something that made me want to be the one to tell him that he should be the one to keep his calm. 

James cleared his throat loudly, hands coming around the circumference of his mouth for his voice to echo. “Yo dipshits! Move your idiot bums to the side and let Sophia pass!” I felt heat crawl up my cheek, and not in the fluttery way that my Bunny’s words do to me. “Oh, don’t give me those confused looks! You guys don’t know who I’m talking about? Well no shit because all you foolish lot left the most important person in the garage!”

And because my sudden embarrassment couldn’t get any worse, James placed me in front of him so everyone had a prime view on who he was screaming about. “So let me get this straight, you daft twats! The lovely woman here in front of me is Sophia. She’s the sole reason why our boy Styles got a podium today! I don’t know what the fuck she did to accomplish that - because our car is still performing like a bloody orange tractor in the grid - but she did it! And since I want her to keep fucking doing what she’s doing because my team is going to annihilate every single other team here in the grid, the least we can do is give her the front view of the champagne celebration. Was everything about that clear?!”

How can anyone in the entire pitlane - better yet the entire parts of the world currently watching this live telecast -  not get that clear? I assumed James also had the same answer since his proud smile of being more than heard, is the last thing I saw before he carefully pushed me to the front of the orange pack.

That led me to directly rest my front on the barriers, with my head raised above to watch the podium celebration take place. At that point, I was honestly too winded to care about the scene that James had caused. His actions were coming from a good heart, and that’s all that mattered to me in the end. Besides, I am now blessed with the best seat in the house, having the perfect view of Harry’s glorious entrance - jumping up and down pointing at his cheering team - when he proceeded to stand on the podium after his name was announced.

There wasn’t anything else to do than to cheer my little heart out when Harry raised his third-place trophy above his head, his blinding smile matching everyone’s in our orange team. I didn’t even care when my face was flashed on the big screen for everyone to watch, with my face-splitting grin and starry eyes pointed at a single individual standing so tall and carefree on that podium.

All I gave a damn about is the moment I felt the earth tremble beneath my feet. When all the triumphant cheers and exclamations around me seemed to disappear into the wind. All my being was centered on the emerald gems staring back at me for the first time since this race concluded. 

I’m wholly enthralled at the way his powerful stare remained on mine the entire time he jumped three feet of the platform to pop his bottle of champagne. The finesse he displayed on expertly spraying every celebratory grin with those drops of hard-earned champagne, made me see the true World Champion he’s nurturing inside him.

My baby was born to be on that podium. What I don’t understand is how in that same truth, Harry Styles peered down at me like he wanted no one beside him and his trophy and champagne celebrating that win, other than me. Seeing that kind of truth illuminated in his eyes, for only me to see, is world tilting, earth shattering.

“Come here.” Harry mouthed down at me; his high-on-a-win smirking face is a novel danger I’m quickly recognizing I have no power to avoid. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to be on that podium while the celebration was very much still on-going. But I still ran towards the stairs leading up to him, like an idiot who took the antidote to giving any single fucks.

When I reached the top, my head was thrown back in laughter when both Niall and Louis looked at me approvingly while they joyously clapped their hands at my violation of FIA Regulations. Like the total lovable idiots that they are, both Red Bull drivers made a clear show of moving to the sides, with their hands motioning for a pathway towards my destination.

“After you, my old number one fan.” Niall winked at me as I flipped him the finger for being a cheeky shit. I don’t understand how I was able to muster the audacity to do that to my old Irish idol now turned great friend, let alone in front of national television who is still streaming this entire interaction live.

But when I heard the voice of my favorite person in the world, calling me the name that has slowly yet surely became my favorite word in the entire English vocabulary, I knew it didn’t matter if I found the answers to those questions or not. 

What mattered is how we met in the middle, closing the offending distance that separated the two of us from being flushed-closed together. My arms curved their way behind his neck, just in time as he held me tight on my waist before dipping me down a few inches above the raised platform like we were at the end of a dramatic dance sequence. Clearly, we weren’t. But he still captured my lips in a dreamy kiss as if we were. 

Everything made me feel like I was suspended in time, stuck in a magical moment straight out of one of my dreams. From the way Harry’s ardent lips held mine in a spellbinding hold, to the cool stream of champagne our friends showered us in. If it weren’t for the contagious laugh Harry let out as he moved my body in a standing position, I would have really thought I was only hugging him this tight in my dreams.

“Congratulations, Golden Boy.” I reached on my tippy toes and kissed his impressive jawline, the taste of sparkling champagne coated my tongue. “I knew you had it in you.”

He bent a bit so he could meet my height in the middle perfectly, my favorite hands coming up to cradle my never-getting-tired-from-smiling-around-this-man face. “Winning performance.”

“Winning fucking performance.” I repeated his own rendition at the comms from earlier. He lovingly crushed my face on his champagne-soaked race suit, the vibration coming from his laughter was a calming feeling I felt against my position on his chest.

I let him leave as many kisses as he wanted on my temples, grinning up at him when I felt all of it electrify me. “So, why did you call me up here? Did you want to hang out or something?”

Harry’s giggles followed the sweet path the tip of his nose traveled, all the way from my nose and down to my chin, “Yeah, kind of. Something like that.” His adorable giggles easily blocked away all the noise from around us.

“What? You have to be more specific than that,” I moved my head away from his chest so I could look at him perfectly. My right hand naturally came up to brush away his sweat and champagne-soaked curls away from his pretty eyes. “You know how I feel about being ordered around.”

Harry rewarded me with a dimpled smile, “You love them.” He knows I do, and he also knows he’s got more to tell me than just that. I let him close his eyes, forehead dropping to rest on mine, and I kissed his tantalizing long lashes as I waited for his genuine words to flow.

“I knew I just won today, and I’m happy for my drive and that the team’s efforts are finally being acknowledged the way it’s supposed to be. It’s more than great to celebrate this win with them, for them, but I’d honestly rather do something else.”

I nuzzled my nose at his cute one, “Like what, Bunny?” And just like that moment in his driver’s room from earlier, Harry and I opened our eyes at the exact same time without prompt.

“I think I'd love to spend the rest of my sunsets with you.”

Somehow his response doesn’t surprise me, not when his angelic face is being framed by the beginnings of a majestic Imola sunset. I couldn’t possibly look away at how breathtaking he is being surrounded by so much orange warmth. “Sunset, huh? Seems to be our thing.”

Harry blessed me with his giggles once more, bending down to pepper my neck with small kisses that had my toes curling. “Yup. That’s why it’s my second favorite thing in the world right after you.”

“Really?” I asked incredulously even if I shared the same reality. Harry nodded his head, nose content in inhaling my scent and nuzzling the wet skin of my neck. His curls tickled a response right out of my lips. “You know I’d let you, yeah?”

That made Harry depart from his hiding spot, head tilting as he regarded me with a look that spoke words of fascination. “Every single one of your sunsets you’d spend with me?”

I found it absolutely adorable how he wanted to make sure of the fact so fiercely. “Yeah.” I nodded, fearlessly. “From now on, I’d love to share my sunsets with you. Including this one right behind you.”

And because I’m starting to believe that a post-win Harry is a person that is set on the highest degree to make me feel like I’m the only person who matters, I only have the ability to squawk in surprise as he disregards the gawking stares and regaled laughter of our audience, easily picking me up behind my thighs to wrap my legs around him. He began spinning us around like an F1 car doing donuts on the track; it’s dizzying as much as it fuels me with so much happiness that I could only hope to experience.

I’m so out of breath for feeling so alive that I didn’t even register that Harry began carrying me down the stairs in the same front piggy-back ride. “Hey! Bunny, where are you taking me?”

He didn't decrease the speed of his walk as he replied. “I’m chasing the sunset with you. Where else am I going to take you with me?” It almost looked like he took an actual offense to my question, which made me have actual tears of absolute glee stream down my face as my body shook with laughter in his hold. All these bubbling emotions have clearly overwhelmed me enough.

“This is not funny.” He whined which only increased my amusement.

“Is too! Bunny, the sunset isn’t going to disappear. Can you please put me down so we can walk together, comfortably, to wherever you want to watch the sunset?”

“No. I want you like this in my arms.” That made me snicker.

“I do too. But you seriously need to put me down cause I need to go somewhere first.”

That actually made him slow down. “What? Where do you need to go?” I only need to hear the whine in his tone to visualize the matching pout and frown he was certainly sporting.

“I need to get my purse. I left it in your driver’s room. You know, the yellow one?”

To my surprise, Harry Styles actually groaned for everyone in the pitlane to hear as he stopped from walking any further. He made a real show of looking absolutely pained when he gently dropped me down on my feet. “Why do you look like you need to shit?”

My teasing words only made him look even more adorable to my eyes like a grumpy cat. “I don’t need to shit. I’m just really annoyed that your bloody handbag is ruining the perfect sequence of our summer love story.”

“Excuse me?” I don’t know if I should laugh or be concerned because my Bunny looked quite disappointed, like he didn’t just come from the glory of a P3 win.

“Sunflower, our summer love story? The one we’ll be telling Angie and your family over dinner sometime?” 

“Okay. What about it?” Harry gave me a look as if asking if I was being serious. But before I could offer a rebuttal, he’s off rambling like the annoyed cutey little Bunny that he is.

“I don’t know!” He threw his hands up in the air like the exasperated drama queen that’s always hiding inside him, “The fact that I have this sheer romantic vision of the continuity of our love story, where you were the reason why I won my first podium this season, and then we became all bad ass and broke the FIA rules together like total partners in crime as I kissed you on top of the podium where everyone was watching and spraying champagne at us. And can I just say that the kiss from earlier was absolutely a rom-com movie spot-on? I didn’t even have to think about it! It just came to me naturally just like how my innate romantic soul is telling me to carry you away in my arms towards the sunset after such a cathartic race weekend. But no! Your yellow handbag - no matter how much it’s my favorite on you - is ruining the sequence of our summer love story! How can we now beat your nonna and nonno’s epic Italian romance back in ‘66?! He gave her his gelato! I can’t do that because I’m a caveman with my desserts! The least I can do is buy you two gelatos when we watch the sunset, but of course that I can’t even do becau-”

I jumped into his arms like a koala climbing up a tree, his strong arms easily bracketing my legs that wrapped around his waist. All the while, I made myself busy by crashing my lips into his as I felt the most potent kind of certainty flow into my veins.

Somewhere in the start or middle or end of Harry’s rambling, I found myself being hit by a force of a rocket ship that rocked my entire core, screaming: this is it. This is the one for you. Go ahead and say the words to get your adorable man-child under lock and key.

So that’s what I did, I imprinted the words straight to his lips. “I love you.” Our eyes locked without a tinge of shock, it’s only filled with that kind of serenity and contentment that’s special to our bond. “How’s that for an epic sequence to our summer love story?”

His vibrant kiss could tell me just as much, “I love you too.” But hearing him say it back still made me smile like a mad fool in love - which I am!

And you know what, the way my Bunny began screaming his love for me for the entire world to hear right after he whispered it again and again in my ear, I know I’m not alone in being so in love one began acting insane.

Harry and I are together on this ride towards our countless sunsets. We’ll keep driving just as insanely as we love.

🧡🏎️🧡

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harries #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles au #harry styles oneshot #formual 1 #formula 1 au #mclaren #redbull racing #harry styles imagines #harry styles tpwk #niall horan #keep driving #f1 fanfic #f1 au #harry styles f1 au #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #harry styles writing

[thecrusadercomrade]

No writing tonight, ended up baking cookies instead since it’s been a while since I’ve done that.

I had quite a day today. It started off normal enough, where I took my lunch break from work and walked up to the local department store that has a food stand inside. When I got there, a bus full of tourists had already arrived, and the line stretched down the entire length of the store and then around a corner. And also the card machines were broken. Luckily there were a few people who were willing to show mercy to a guy just wanting to buy lunch who let me go ahead of them, and I had cash on hand, so that wasn’t so bad.

What WAS bad was what happened on the way back.

On my way back, first I stopped to eat my lunch at a small park along the main road, since I didn’t want to take my break in my workspace where I could be interrupted. I ate, then kept moving. I came to a road I had to cross RIGHT as the ferry had pulled into harbor.

Dozens upon dozens of cars full of tourists, all pouring out of the side road onto main street. And of course, not a single one was willing to let me cross. I was stuck there for half an hour in the hot sun, long past when my break was meant to have ended. I was absolutely steaming, and not just from the heat.

Luckily, the crossing was right by my Godmother’s house, and when she saw how long I’d been stuck there, she offered to drive me back to my workplace, which was very lucky. Also lucky is that I’m pretty much on my own in the museum I work in, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone getting on my case when I got back. It was just a fun story to share with the people working at the Tourist Information Center directly attached to the museum, and later with my family when I got home. And now you guys.

Tourists, man. My least favorite thing about the summer time. Been a few times where me and a family member almost got into a car accident because of tourists driving like lunatics, as if being on vacation made them forget they’re just as mortal as anyone else. Like the time one tried to pull a u-turn IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BUSY MAIN ROAD. So frustrating.

I’ll be glad when tourist season is over, even if it means my job ends as well. I’ll just find something else, and be happy not having to feel like I’m at risk of getting run over in our usually quiet small town.

#CrusaderLife #if you ever go on vacation #please be considerate of the locals #or at least remember to pack your brain along with everything else

[notquitecharlie]

7/22/23

Dear Friend, 

I know that I’ve written a few times and I feel like every time I write it’s like an introduction explaining these letters and how I’m going to write them and who I am. So if you actually read these, I’m sorry. This is probably gonna be close to another one. 

I feel like I write too sad. If that makes sense. If we met and talked this is not how I am. I could tell you everything about myself and I think if we met in person you would never connect me and this blog. That’s why I write this I guess, it’s to be the other side of me. But it’s not even really another side it’s like… I was thinking about this last night…it’s like every person is an ocean. A really nice one for most people. From a distance you see the joy and beauty of being an ocean. Even if you dip your feet in you still feel like you know this place, this person it’s happy. But the ocean knows otherwise, it knows of the waves and the sharks and it tries to hide them to keep everyone around them happy and safe. It doesn’t mean the oceans a bad place or crazy or anything, I think it just means that there’s more to it than it shares all the time. Mostly to protect people and themselves, whether the other people deserve it or not. Does that make any sense? I hope it does friend. I honestly think I’m happy pretty often, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my dark moments here and there when it feels like the world is going to crash and it’s all my fault and everything every person has ever said to me is stabbing my brain with its words pointy edges, but the storms pass, telling you about them just helps. So, thank you.

This week has been a pretty good week. I did a magic show for a playgroup on Thursday which was fun. I went to the library to take my college ASL summer final and did good enough to pass the class with a A. I’ve been driving more and doing pretty good, I have a pair of Crowley style sunglasses I wear when I drive and funny enough that helps. This week I read “Graveyard of Lunatics” by Ray Bradbury (I think that’s the title), “The man who was Thursday” by G.K. Chesterson, am almost done with “Once upon a tome” by Oliver Darkshire am rereading Good Omens and reread most of Trigger Warning by Neil Gaiman. I’ve also been listening to the Coraline audiobook (I got it on cd for my 16th birthday because I adore it and love cds) for the millionth time while I rearrange all the bookshelves in the house. I’m also set to start at a “real” high school this upcoming year but can’t think about that without spiraling so I won’t talk about that right now. This week I also had a volunteering event, I volunteer with this group that plans events for kids and teens (especially those highly impacted) with special needs and pairs them up with a friend (while there are some exceptions the “friends” aren’t neurodivergerent for the most part) and this week was my favorite events, the public pool one and it was a lot of fun, I’d never met either of the people I got paired up with and they were just really fun to be around. I normally just call the volunteer group buddies, I’ve been doing it for a few years and it’s probably my favorite thing I do. I’m sorry this ended up being so all over the place (I went through and cut out about 4 paragraphs explaining why the books I’ve read/am reading are wonderful because I talk about books too much). I started this at 11:45 on July 21 now it’s a half hour into July 22nd so I’m gonna read for an hour or so and go to bed, unless the book gets ridiculously good then I’ll just finish it first. Sorry I brought up books again, that might be the biggest difference between melancholy posts and more happy ones, I talk about books 😂

Sweet dreams,

Love always,

Athena

#diary #perks of being a wallflower #letters

[whileiamdying]

The Defiance of Salman Rushdie

After a near-fatal stabbing—and decades of threats—the novelist speaks about writing as a death-defying act.

By David Remnick February 6, 2023

When Salman Rushdie turned seventy-five, last summer, he had every reason to believe that he had outlasted the threat of assassination. A long time ago, on Valentine’s Day, 1989, Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, declared Rushdie’s novel “The Satanic Verses” blasphemous and issued a fatwa ordering the execution of its author and “all those involved in its publication.” Rushdie, a resident of London, spent the next decade in a fugitive existence, under constant police protection. But after settling in New York, in 2000, he lived freely, insistently unguarded. He refused to be terrorized.

There were times, though, when the lingering threat made itself apparent, and not merely on the lunatic reaches of the Internet. In 2012, during the annual autumn gathering of world leaders at the United Nations, I joined a small meeting of reporters with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the President of Iran, and I asked him if the multimillion-dollar bounty that an Iranian foundation had placed on Rushdie’s head had been rescinded. Ahmadinejad smiled with a glint of malice. “Salman Rushdie, where is he now?” he said. “There is no news of him. Is he in the United States? If he is in the U.S., you shouldn’t broadcast that, for his own safety.”

Within a year, Ahmadinejad was out of office and out of favor with the mullahs. Rushdie went on living as a free man. The years passed. He wrote book after book, taught, lectured, travelled, met with readers, married, divorced, and became a fixture in the city that was his adopted home. If he ever felt the need for some vestige of anonymity, he wore a baseball cap.

Recalling his first few months in New York, Rushdie told me, “People were scared to be around me. I thought, The only way I can stop that is to behave as if I’m not scared. I have to show them there’s nothing to be scared about.” One night, he went out to dinner with Andrew Wylie, his agent and friend, at Nick & Toni’s, an extravagantly conspicuous restaurant in East Hampton. The painter Eric Fischl stopped by their table and said, “Shouldn’t we all be afraid and leave the restaurant?”

“Well, I’m having dinner,” Rushdie replied. “You can do what you like.”

Fischl hadn’t meant to offend, but sometimes there was a tone of derision in press accounts of Rushdie’s “indefatigable presence on the New York night-life scene,” as Laura M. Holson put it in the Times. Some people thought he should have adopted a more austere posture toward his predicament. Would Solzhenitsyn have gone onstage with Bono or danced the night away at Moomba?

For Rushdie, keeping a low profile would be capitulation. He was a social being and would live as he pleased. He even tried to render the fatwa ridiculous. Six years ago, he played himself in an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” in which Larry David provokes threats from Iran for mocking the Ayatollah while promoting his upcoming production “Fatwa! The Musical.” David is terrified, but Rushdie’s character assures him that life under an edict of execution, though it can be “scary,” also makes a man alluring to women. “It’s not exactly you, it’s the fatwa wrapped around you, like sexy pixie dust!” he says.

With every public gesture, it appeared, Rushdie was determined to show that he would not merely survive but flourish, at his desk and on the town. “There was no such thing as absolute security,” he wrote in his third-person memoir, “Joseph Anton,” published in 2012. “There were only varying degrees of insecurity. He would have to learn to live with that.” He well understood that his demise would not require the coördinated efforts of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps or Hezbollah; a cracked loner could easily do the job. “But I had come to feel that it was a very long time ago, and that the world moves on,” he told me.

In September, 2021, Rushdie married the poet and novelist Rachel Eliza Griffiths, whom he’d met six years earlier, at a pen event. It was his fifth marriage, and a happy one. They spent the pandemic together productively. By last July, Rushdie had made his final corrections on a new novel, titled “Victory City.”

One of the sparks for the novel was a trip decades ago to the town of Hampi, in South India, the site of the ruins of the medieval Vijayanagara empire. “Victory City,” which is presented as a recovered medieval Sanskrit epic, is the story of a young girl named Pampa Kampana, who, after witnessing the death of her mother, acquires divine powers and conjures into existence a glorious metropolis called Bisnaga, in which women resist patriarchal rule and religious tolerance prevails, at least for a while. The novel, firmly in the tradition of the wonder tale, draws on Rushdie’s readings in Hindu mythology and in the history of South Asia.

“The first kings of Vijayanagara announced, quite seriously, that they were descended from the moon,” Rushdie said. “So when these kings, Harihara and Bukka, announce that they’re members of the lunar dynasty, they’re basically associating themselves with those great heroes. It’s like saying, ‘I’ve descended from the same family as Achilles.’ Or Agamemnon. And so I thought, Well, if you could say that, I can say anything.”

Above all, the book is buoyed by the character of Pampa Kampana, who, Rushdie says, “just showed up in my head” and gave him his story, his sense of direction. The pleasure for Rushdie in writing the novel was in “world building” and, at the same time, writing about a character building that world: “It’s me doing it, but it’s also her doing it.” The pleasure is infectious. “Victory City” is an immensely enjoyable novel. It is also an affirmation. At the end, with the great city in ruins, what is left is not the storyteller but her words:

I, Pampa Kampana, am the author of this book. I have lived to see an empire rise and fall. How are they remembered now, these kings, these queens? They exist now only in words . . . I myself am nothing now. All that remains is this city of words. Words are the only victors.

It is hard not to read this as a credo of sorts. Over the years, Rushdie’s friends have marvelled at his ability to write amid the fury unleashed on him. Martin Amis has said that, if he were in his shoes, “I would, by now, be a tearful and tranquilized three-hundred-pounder, with no eyelashes or nostril hairs.” And yet “Victory City” is Rushdie’s sixteenth book since the fatwa.

He was pleased with the finished manuscript and was getting encouragement from friends who had read it. (“I think ‘Victory City’ will be one of his books that will last,” the novelist Hari Kunzru told me.) During the pandemic, Rushdie had also completed a play about Helen of Troy, and he was already toying with an idea for another novel. He’d reread Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain” and Franz Kafka’s “The Castle,” novels that deploy a naturalistic language to evoke strange, hermetic worlds—an alpine sanatorium, a remote provincial bureaucracy. Rushdie thought about using a similar approach to create a peculiar imaginary college as his setting. He started keeping notes. In the meantime, he looked forward to a peaceful summer and, come winter, a publicity tour to promote “Victory City.”

On August 11th, Rushdie arrived for a speaking engagement at the Chautauqua Institution, situated on an idyllic property bordering a lake in southwestern New York State. There, for nine weeks every summer, a prosperous crowd intent on self-improvement and fresh air comes to attend lectures, courses, screenings, performances, and readings. Chautauqua has been a going concern since 1874. Franklin Roosevelt delivered his “I hate war” speech there, in 1936. Over the years, Rushdie has occasionally suffered from nightmares, and a couple of nights before the trip he dreamed of someone, “like a gladiator,” attacking him with “a sharp object.” But no midnight portent was going to keep him home. Chautauqua was a wholesome venue, with cookouts, magic shows, and Sunday school. One donor described it to me as “the safest place on earth.”

Rushdie had agreed to appear onstage with his friend Henry Reese. Eighteen years ago, Rushdie helped Reese raise funds to create City of Asylum, a program in Pittsburgh that supports authors who have been driven into exile. On the morning of August 12th, Rushdie had breakfast with Reese and some donors on the porch of the Athenaeum Hotel, a Victorian pile near the lake. At the table, he told jokes and stories, admitting that he sometimes ordered books from Amazon even if he felt a little guilty about it. With mock pride, he bragged about his speed as a signer of books, though he had to concede that Amy Tan was quicker: “But she has an advantage, because her name is so short.”

A crowd of more than a thousand was gathering at the amphitheatre. It was shorts-and-polo-shirt weather, sunny and clear. On the way into the venue, Reese introduced Rushdie to his ninety-three-year-old mother, and then they headed for the greenroom to spend time organizing their talk. The plan was to discuss the cultural hybridity of the imagination in contemporary literature, show some slides and describe City of Asylum, and, finally, open things up for questions.

#Salman Rushdie #The New Yorker Magazine #Amy Tan #David Remnick

[astralkoo]

The Snack Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Genre: neighbors au, smut

Rating: 18+

Words: 6.4k

Summary: in which your annoying, younger neighbor has a nasty habit of breaking into your apartment late at night and stealing your food.

Warnings: strong language, technically breaking & entering, broke college student struggles, older!reader, Jungkook saying noona, explicit sexual content; sub!jungkook, dom!reader, blowjob, kitty gets ate, sixty-nine, very mild degrading (jk gets called a slut like once), needy jk, fingering (m. receiving)

— author’s note; it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? i’ve been trying to get back into my groove so hopefully this is the start of a very active and productive summer for my writing. also! this is cross posted on my new wattpad account bckupbabies so if you see it on there, that’s me don’t worry!

You woke with a start, heart pounding, skin drenched in cold sweat, fear gripping at your chest.

There's someone in your apartment.

It was a split second realization, one that ripped you violently from the gentle thralls of sleep and had thick, stifling terror settling like heavy stones in your gut. Sucking your lips into your mouth to prevent your breath from coming out too audibly, you strained your ears, listening carefully. At first, all you could make out was the soft whirring of the fan above your head. But then—

Thud.

In an instant, you were out from beneath the covers, a shiver rushing down your spine as the cold night air nipped at the exposed skin of your arms and legs. Instinctively, your hand shot to the nightstand, rushing over the smooth wood surface, seeking out your phone. Only— it wasn't there. Shit. You must've accidentally left it on the counter last night. Shit.

Gritting your teeth, you stumbled through the darkness, bracing a steadying palm against the wall to guide yourself across the bedroom.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" You hissed, searching blindly for the item you're always sure to keep near your bedside in case of a situation just like this. It didn't take long before your fingers grazed the smooth rubber grip of your old-reliable baseball bat. You let out a cautious exhale and moved silently towards the door, careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak.

Keeping your back against the wall, you stepped into the short hall. You could hear more clearly without the separation of your bedroom door; the heavy footsteps and low grumbling voice. It wasn't just your sleep hazed mind playing a nasty trick; there was someone in your goddamn apartment. A combination of fear and rage heated the blood currently rushing through your veins, the thundering of your pulse almost deafening in your ears.

Another loud bang sounded through your apartment and your shoulders tensed.

Were they even trying to be quiet? What a shitty burglar. They should've done their research before busting in. You were a broke college student working at a freaking campus cafe just barely able to afford paying your rent every month. The most valuable thing in your apartment was probably the ultra soft two ply toilet paper you'd splurged on last time you went shopping for basic necessities.

And you'd be sure to bash the bastard's head in before he could lay his greedy fingers on your precious two ply.

Letting out your fiercest battle cry, you swung your bat over your head and launched yourself out from behind the wall, poised for the attack. The man in your kitchen, who was elbow deep in your snack cabinet, shrieked (incredibly un-burglar-like, you might add). The sound was so high pitched and sharp that you flinched, startled as he whirled around clumsily, not only banging his elbows but tripping over his own feet in the process. You were barely able to catch a glimpse of his face before he fell, disappearing behind the counter.

But something about that scream was vaguely... familiar?

"Jungkook?"

The top of his head peeked out from behind the countertop, familiar doe eyes blinking back at you sheepishly. "Hi, noona."

The tension in your shoulders immediately melted upon realizing that you in fact not being robbed by an armed lunatic— rather, you were being robbed by your annoying next door neighbor. Again.

"Are you out of your mind?!" You hissed sharply, frustration flaring, "it's fucking three in the morning! Why the hell are you in my apartment?"

"I was hungry!"

"That doesn't explain why you're here!"

"I was craving ramyeon but I ran out! And– and you always have extra anyway so I thought you wouldn't mind!"

"Ha! You thought I wouldn't mind—" You gritted your teeth, on the verge of seething when you noticed he was still ducked behind the counter. "Why are you still hiding? Get over here." So I can beat your ramyeon stealing ass, you added in your head.

"Drop the bat— then we can talk." He bargained, nodding pointedly towards your weapon, still poised for attack.

Grunting, you reluctantly released the handle, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clang.

Jungkook let out a low breath of relief, before meekly stepping out from his position behind the counter. Your eyes immediately dropped to his hands, still desperately clutching onto two packets of ramyeon.

Pinning him with a glare meant to reprimand, you crossed your arms firmly over your chest. "Jungkook, you can not keep—" your scolding was abruptly interrupted by a low, thunderous rumbling, your gaze jumping in surprise to the younger boy's face, which was now donning an embarrassed blush. "W– was that your stomach?"

Sucking his lips into his mouth, he nodded, head dropping in shame.

A wave of sympathy washed over you upon realizing just how hungry he must be. Any anger at having your sleep ever so rudely disrupted quickly fizzled out, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as he shuffled his feet shyly.

"Geez, this brat." You muttered under your breath, trudging over to where he stood and snatching the ramyeon packets from his grasp. He looked up at you with wide, pitiful eyes, and you could tell he thought that you were going to kick him to the curb. Instead, you jerked your chin into the direction of the couch and said, "go sit down while I make these. Don't need you hovering over my damn shoulder."

It would be a lie to say your heart didn't flutter a little at the sheer amount of excitement that lit up his face, pink lips breaking into a wide, uncontainable grin. Deciding not to push his luck, he quickly bobbed his head and scampered over to the couch, tossing a bubbly, "thank you, noona!" over his shoulder as he went.

You scoffed, though the corners of your mouth tipped upwards in spite of yourself.

The kid was cute. You'd give him that much. With those big shiny eyes and that stupid bucktoothed grin. Even if he was a perpetual trespasser and a food thief to boot, you'd let his little indiscretions slide... for now.

The ramyeon didn't take long to make, but, even all the way across the room, you could practically hear Jungkook's stomach growling up a storm by the time you were pouring it into two separate bowls. He was squirming on the couch, peaking over the back of it with wide, wanting eyes, damn near drooling at the mere smell of the sodium soaked noodles.

"Don't spill," you warned with a click of your tongue as made your way to the couch, handing him one of the bowls, "eat this, then go home, alright?"

Jungkook was already stuffing his cheeks before you'd even finished speaking, but he paused to pout over at you upon processing your words. "Noona..." he gurgled in soft whine around his mouth full of noodles, making sure to swallow before he finished, "why do you want me to leave so badly? You're hurting my feelings."

You scoffed as he pressed a large hand to his chest, wincing dramatically as if your words had somehow truly wounded him. "Do I have to remind you that it's 3am? I was sleeping. I would like to go back to sleep. I was having a very good dream before you fucking broke in to my apartment and tried to rob me." You hissed, plopping down on the couch beside him and shoveling your ramyeon into your own mouth.

Damn. That shit was good.

"I wasn't robbing you." He protested weakly. You raised an unconvinced brow.  "Just... borrowing."

You barked out a laugh. "Oh? So you were planning to return all the snacks you were about to steal?" His eyes lowered, a guilty pout turning the corners of his mouth downwards. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"Still..." he grumbled bitterly, looking up at you through his thick lashes. "I'm much more fun than sleep."

You snorted. "I beg to differ."

There was an uncharacteristic lull of silence, and you spared a questioning glance in Jungkook's direction, not expected to be greeted by the astonished expression painted across his face.

He looked... genuinely offended.

"Noona," he sounded rather distraught as he set his half eaten bowl down on the coffee table before turning his body fully towards you, "how could you say that?"

Your brows lifted expectantly, confusion swimming in your gaze. "What?" You laughed lightly, not understanding why he suddenly seemed upset. You were just joking around... had you accidentally hit a nerve?

"You have fun with me." He insisted once more, a certain desperation to his words.

"Yeah... when it's not 3am."

"Liar." He scowled, gaze dropping to where his fingers were tracing miscellaneous shapes on the fabric of your couch. "That's when you have the most fun with me."

His voice had dropped into a low whisper at that last part, so you had to strain your ears a bit to make out exactly what it was he was saying. At first, you were confused. The most fun...? But then you saw the faint blush coating his cheeks, the shy fluttering of his lashes, the nervous fidgeting of his fingers...

And it clicked.

A few weeks ago, you did something stupid. Something you shouldn't have done. You'd given into urges that should have remained buried deep, deep inside of you.

"Jungkook." Your voice held a warning pitch as you growled his name. He shuddered ever so faintly at the shift in your tone and quickly turned away from you, snagging his lower lip tightly between his teeth.

"It's true..." he grumbled petulantly, kicking his foot lightly against the leg of your coffee table.

You stared at his profile through furrowed brows, gaze hard and unwavering as you set your own bowl onto the table. "We talked about this, Jungkook. We agreed not to bring it up again!"

"No, you— you made that decision all on your own." He protested quickly, thrusting an accusing finger in your direction. "I made no such promise."

"Jungkook," you sighed heavily, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your fingers into your temples as they throbbed, "what I did—"

"We," he corrected, leveling you with a stubborn glare, "what we did. Stop acting like I wasn't a willing participant."

"You're a kid—"

"I'm nineteen! I can make my own decisions!"

"No. You can't."

At that, his expression hardened, lips pursing, fingers curling into tight fists, eyes flaring with determination.

"Watch me."

In the next second he was on top of you, straddling your lap, large hands cradling your jaw as he pressed his warm lips purposefully to yours.

Startled, your hands leapt to hold his waist, instinctively steadying him. The rest of your body remained stiff and unresponsive, frozen in shock from the sheer unexpectedness of the kiss. It wasn't until Jungkook let out a soft, pleading whine against your unmoving mouth that you were kickstarted back into motion.

"Jungkook," you gasped out his name, somewhat more breathlessly than you intended, hands rushing between your bodies to push him away by the swells of his firm chest, "w–what are you—"

"You want me." The younger boy swiftly interrupted, his warm breath caressing your lips as his fingers gripped gently at the back of your neck. "You want me. You can't deny it. You said so."

You were goddamn dizzy. "When did I—"

"Fuck, Jungkook. You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How long I've wanted you." It took you an extra second to realize that he was quoting back your words from that night. Word for fucking word. Heat rushed to your face, your hand gripping harder at the thin fabric of his top.

"How do you even remember that." You grumbled bitterly, embarrassed at having been called out.

The corner of his mouth curled into a small, teasing smile. "I have a pretty good memory."

"Bullshit," you scoffed, "I can't count the number of times you've forgotten to bring back the shit that you 'borrowed' from me. I bet you have a fucking closet full of my sweatshirts."

"I didn't forget... I just didn't want to give them back." He informed you in a soft, lilting hum, running his thumb over the smooth cut of your jaw.

"Thief." You spat, but the word lacked any real fire. It sounded weak on your tongue, a soft fluttering of breath that easily could have been mistaken for a moan. You saw his eyes drop to your mouth, desire pooling within them, so thick and dark that you felt it polluting the air around you, polluting your lungs with every jagged inhale.

He shifted on top of you, strong thighs squeezing around your hips. You tried to pretend that you didn't feel the press of something hot and hard against the top of your leg, but the tremble of your eyes and the clench of your fingers were not easily mistaken.

Jungkook sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of his lower lip, and your gaze followed the motion unconsciously. You didn't even realize you were staring at his mouth until he spoke in that low, hoarse whisper, ripping you violently from your trance.

"Can I take a little more?"

Your brain was screaming at you to say no, screaming at you to not be selfish, to not be greedy. To not want something so terribly that you felt it trembling through your very bones. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He was too young, too naive, too sensitive. You'd break the poor boy before he even realized what happened.

You should say no.

Mind made up, you opened your mouth, fully prepared to reject the boy and put a stop to whatever the hell this had become, right then and there. You were prepared to be the responsible senior that you needed to be, for both his sake and yours.

But what actually came out was something entirely different.

"Yes."

Jungkook barely had time to let out a happy whimper before his mouth was back on yours. A soft groan rumbled in your chest as your arms curled around his slim waist, tugging him ever closer. Long fingers tangled in your hair, he gently tugged your head back, leaning himself over you in order to deepen the kiss. You permitted him to do so without resistance, lips parting to allow his eager tongue to invade your mouth.

His body was hot and heavy above yours, but you didn't mind the added weight, the pressure on your thigh probably the only thing keeping you grounded. Because the heat between your legs was a anything but grounding. Sticky and wet, an accumulation of unspoken need and neglected lust that refused to be ignored for even a moment longer. A bleary haze fell over your mind, all the blood in your head suddenly rushing downwards to feed the growing flames in your groin.

The first roll of his hips was so minute, so slight that you would have missed it completely had it not been for the soft, airy moan that escaped his throat. The second was less than subtle, a hard, deliberate grind that rocked his already half-hard erection against your stomach. You felt it there, where your shirt had ridden up to expose a thin strip of skin, the front of his sweatpants growing thick and damp with his steadily increasing arousal. Your grip around him tightened, nails biting into his clothed hips hard enough to have crimson flowers blossoming across his golden flesh.

The sting coaxed a strained moan from Jungkook's inflamed lips, the rolling of his hips growing more frantic. You were quick to steady them, not wanting him to overexcite himself too soon.

"Calm down." Even in your own ears, you voice sounded thick and unstable, and you silently cursed yourself for having gotten so worked up by a mere kiss. But, in your defense, it was one hell of a kiss.

"I'm calm." He insisted unconvincingly through harsh pants, fighting for oxygen but not willing to pull away from you lips long enough to actually breathe. Quite the dilemma.

You chuckled softly, sliding a hand up to grip his jaw, preventing his mouth from finding yours for just long enough to soothe the fierce burn in your lungs. He took that opportunity to strip himself of his top, tossing it haphazardly to the floor.

You felt your stomach tighten, taken off guard by the unexpectedly display of glowing, sun-kissed skin you found before you, stretched across thick, toned muscle that flexed and tightened with even the most minuscule of movements. Subconsciously, your tongue slipped out of your suddenly dry mouth, dragging over your swollen lips.

Jungkook mimicked the motion, reaching down with ink embroidered hands to grip your wrists, gently guiding them up the length of his fit torso. "Touch me." It was a plea, the low whimper lacing the words a dead giveaway of his unyielding desperation.

You didn't hesitate to comply.

Pushing forward, you set vengeful teeth upon his prominent collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave your mark. He moaned loudly, head falling back as your nails raked over his sensitive nipples. A violent shiver transversed his body, goosebumps rippling across his exposed skin that was set on fire by your greedy touch. He found the back of your head and neck with trembling hands, urging you closer without use of words. You kissed up the length of his taut throat, sucking and licking until you were content with the colorful array of bruises you'd left in your wake.

"Kiss me." You whispered against the defined curve of his jaw, wanting another taste of those pretty little lips. His head dropped forward obediently, mouth open and ready to be received by you. Fuck, he looked so hot from that angle; dark, hooded eyes pooling with lust so deep you could drown it it, kissable, rose petal lips glistening and swollen and just begging for attention, full cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of red that only enticed you further.

How could he look so ruined? You hadn't even touched his dick yet.

The thought roused a scoff in the back of your throat, and Jungkook pulled back slightly at the sound. "What?" He asked, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Nothing..." you grinned lazily, before kissing him slowly, deeply, lustfully; kissing him in such a way that the poor boy was trembling in your lap, gasping and whining by the time you pulled away with a lewd smack, lips wet and stained an erotic crimson. You chuckled as he swallowed, pupils blow and unfocused. Reaching up, you cupped his chin, rolling your thumb over his lower lip. He sighed, eyes fluttering as he teased the tip of the digit with his tongue.

"... just wanna put your dick in my mouth."

At that, his shimmering doe eyes popped open wide, shocked— then excited.

"Don't tease me." He pleaded weakly, hips stuttering over your thighs.

You reach between your bodies, taking the time to revere the fine-tuned slopes and edges of his ridged abdomen, before finally finding the hard outline of his flushed, angry cock straining against the thick fabric of his sweats. He gasped brokenly at the contact, forehead falling against your shoulder as he gripped desperately onto your arms, dull nails digging into your biceps. You turned, smirking lips feathering over the shell of his pink tinted ear.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And then, he was on his back.

Jungkook let out a squeak of surprise, chest heaving as he attempted to process the sudden change in position. But you didn't give him the chance, slotting yourself between his spread thighs

"W– we didn't do this last time." He stuttered clumsily, staring up at you with those wide, dangerously innocent eyes that made you want to absolutely wreck him.

"No, we didn't." You confirmed, nipping lightly at one of his pert brown nipples. He jolted, letting out a low, unsteady moan of your name, a cry for your attention.

"S– sensitive, noona."

God, he is so fucking cute.

"I'll be gentle." The reassurance did little to soothe the violent thundering of his heart, the heavy thrum of it setting his every limb to shaking.

He was nervous. You could tell. Understandably.

Truth is— Jungkook was a virgin.

Key word: was.

As in, before he broke into your apartment at 3am on that fateful morning where you lost your cool because damn did you he look good in that skin tight black t-shirt that showed off those sexy tattoos and those thigh hugging black skinny jeans that squeezed his cute butt in all the right places. Of course, you didn't discover that until after the deed was done (seeing as he hadn't had the mind to tell you while your tongue was shoved halfway down his throat).

But god, you felt so guilty. You'd never taken anyone's virginity before. And you weren't so sure fucking on a kitchen counter was the most... romantic way of losing it. It had been quick, messy, all sweat and teeth and nails, the blunt edge of the cold counter digging into your ass.

Sure, it felt fucking amazing, and you'd received no complaints from Jungkook's end. But still. Had you known, you would've been... gentler. Or, at the very least, you would have had the tact to take him to bed.

You hadn't even blown him for fucks sake.

So, if you were doing this —and, as it appeared, you were most definitely doing this— then goddamnit, you were going to do it right and make up for all the things you hadn't done his first time.

You descended his body slowly, taking your sweet time licking and nibbling over all his lovely curves and sharp edges, marking the places you'd been with pink, flowering bruises. His head kicked back, mouth falling open around an onslaught of heady moans as he reveled in your unrelenting affections. Distracted, he didn't even notice you slipping his pants down his legs until the cool air hit the sensitive tip of his weeping cock.

"N– noona!" He propped himself up on his elbows, desperate to see you, to find your eyes through the disorienting cloud of lust he found himself engulfed in. Arousal spun his brain into useless mush inside of his skull at the sight of you between his legs, looking right back up at him, pretty mouth hovering just above his hard need, soft breath caressing the feverish skin.

"Relax, Jungkook. It'll feel good." You chuckled, pressing a soothing kiss to his hip.

"I– I know," he swallowed, and you didn't miss the dark blush creeping into his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shyly, "I just— I want to make you feel good... too... b- because last time you didn't..."

Last time you didn't...?

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay," you hummed simply, pushing yourself up with an easy smile, "I can think of a solution."

Jungkook watched with bated breath as you stood, damn near choking on his own spit when you abruptly shoved your pajama shorts down your legs. "N- no underwear?" He whispered, voice hoarse and strained as he stared unabashedly at the bare expanse of smooth skin between your thighs, glistening with sticky wetness.

You smirked faintly, appreciating the reverence glistening in his melting brown eyes. "For convenience sake," you teased.

He flopped down on the couch with a dramatic groan. "Fuck, you're killing me."

Leaning over the younger boy, you pressed a deep, purposeful kiss to his delicate, lovely lips, eliciting an appreciative moan from his burning chest.

"Don't worry..." you pulled back, breathing the words into his open mouth, "I'll do it slow."

"Fuck..." he squeaked.

Laughing softly, you dropped your knees to the edge of the sofa and splayed a hand over his toned stomach. He was hard and warm to the touch, and you liked the way his muscles flinched and fluttered beneath your palm.

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," you pressed your lips to his throat, feeling the way it bobbed as he swallowed, "I'm gonna get on top of you..." you walked your fingers down towards where his dick lay, red and leaking across his belly, "and you're going to eat me out," he moaned shakily against your cheek, hands lifting to grip your arms, "while I suck your pretty little cock. How's that sound?"

"S– so good. Fuck, that sounds so fucking good." He pulled at you greedily, begging you with wide, wanting eyes.

You caved to him all too easily, carefully maneuvering your body until you were situated above him, knees planted on the cushion on either side of his head. Hot breath rushed over your exposed core, sending shivers ricocheting down your spine. Hands gripped at your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. He was pulling again, whining out soft, shuddering "please, please, please" as he tugged at your hips, trying to get you closer. Closer.

Teasingly, you kept your hips raised, just out of reach of his ravenous mouth, so eager to steal a taste. "Noona," he whined petulantly, "don't be cruel."

Cruel? You nearly scoffed. You haven't even begun.

Regardless, you decided to end the torture there, lowering your hips until you were within his reach. He didn't let a moment pass before his tongue was on you, lapping eagerly at your wet slit. You gasped, clutching tightly onto the thick muscles of his thighs, your own legs growing weak under his relentless ministrations.

Holy shit. You didn't expect it to feel that good.

It was only when Jungkook's hips bucked beneath you, a pleading whimper vibrating through your center, that you realized you weren't fulfilling your end of the deal. Stuttering back into motion, you encircled his hard length in an unsteady hand, feeling the raw heat of it throbbing angrily within your grasp.

"You're good with your tongue, baby." You chuckled breathlessly, pumping him slowly with the help of his spilling precum. He moaned in response to the praise, long fingers digging in hard to the flesh of your ass. Another, more violent tremble wracked your body as his tongue dragged over your sensitive clit, the responding rush of pleasure pulling a low groan from your chest.

Shit, if he kept that up—

Feeling that you'd given him enough of a head start, you dipped down, swiftly engulfing his glistening tip in your lips. Jungkook gasped against you, and you could almost picture his eyes snapping wide open, jaw going slack. The blissful pressure of his tongue gave way to cold air as he tensed and shuddered beneath you, all those hard, rigid muscles turning to jelly as he processed the mind numbing sensation of your mouth around his cock. It was an unwelcome absence, and you quickly found yourself growing impatient and —shamefully enough— needy, your aching core craving attention.

But Jungkook was a mess beneath you, moaning and whining pathetically as his hips bucked and spasmed, entirely overwhelmed. His arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly you were certain you'd be feeling it tomorrow. You felt his tongue, sloppy and uncoordinated lapping at your folds with a desperation that set your blood to flames. The vibrations of his sounds resonated through your clit, and you hastened your own movement, feeling yourself clench and throb with your impending release.

You pulled off of him with a lewd pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his swollen tip to your lower lip, before sliding your hands beneath his ample thighs and tugging.

"Lift your legs for me, baby."

He obeyed immediately, feet rising from the cushion, too lost in your intoxicating taste to second guess what you were planning. At least, not until he felt your touch shifting from his thighs to his ass, and a warm, wet dribble of saliva sliding over his hole. He flinched violently, a gasp shooting from his lips at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Ah–! N- Noona, where are you touching—" he yelped, trying to sit up and catch a glimpse around the shape of your body. Swinging your ankles up to rest against his shoulders, you forced him back down, looking back at him from over your shoulder with a cocked brow and a seductive grin.

"Where do you think?" You chuckling teasingly. "Are you clean?"

"Yeah..." he whispered shyly, and you could practically feel the heat of his blush radiating against your skin as he confessed, "I– I showered before coming over..."

"Good." You slid a single finger over the ring of muscle, watching in amusement as it fluttered and clenched in response to the unsubstantial caress. "Tell me if you need me to stop, alright?"

At first he only nodded, but choked out a soft "okay" when you pinched his thigh, urging him to use his words.

Purring out a low praise, you returned to his cock, licking a thick strip from base to tip as your index slowly circled his entrance. Jungkook whined and squirmed, still trying his best to keep up with pleasuring you. It was cute, feeling and hearing him struggle.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered what kind of face he was making beneath your dripping cunt. Were his eyes rolling to the back of his head? Was his tongue hanging out of his mouth? Was his feverish skin glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your arousal? Fuck, you were so curious.

In an attempt to stifle your frustration over not getting to see what kind of fucked out expression he wore, you sunk the tip of your digit into his hole, down to the first knuckle. Jungkook gasped at the unexpected intrusion, his already hard grip on your thighs tightening further. Even with just the tip in, he was clenching hard, and you allowed him a handful of moments to adjust to the sensation. You hummed around his length, swirling your tongue expertly over his sensitive tip to distract from any momentary discomfort he might've been feeling.

It seemed to work well enough, his body gradually relaxing around you as he let out soft, airy moans, delicate whispers of your name fluttering from his lips. "You can—" he whimpered as you licked his slit, "you can put it in deeper."

Heat coiled in your gut, a wicked smirk spreading across your face. "You want it deeper, kookie?" There was a taunting pitch to your words that had the boy curling in on himself, skin hot with embarrassment. When he made no effort to respond, you squeezed your free hand around the thick base of his dick, wrenching a cry from his throat. "If you want it deeper, you have to ask nicely."

"You're so mean, Noona." He whined hoarsely, the muscles in his legs tensing sporadically from the effort it was taking to not fuck himself into your closed fist.

"That didn't sound like a question..."

Jungkook groaned weakly, head tossed back in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. There was a beat, and then you felt the shy press of his lips against your clit accompanied by a light flick of his tongue.

"P– please put it in deeper, Noona..."

"Mmm, good boy," you emphasized the praise by slipping the rest of your finger into his tight heat, spitting once more to ensure substantial lubrications.

"Ngh— oh f– fuck—"

"Does it hurt?"

"No it just..." he swallowed thickly, "feels a little weird."

"This should help with that," you murmured, more so to yourself than him, curling your finger in search of that small bundle of nerves that would make him—

"Ah! Oh fuck!"

A smug grin settled across your lips. Found it.

Jungkook moaned loudly, tossing his head back, hips bucking violently as you rolled your finger against his prostate, sending tendrils of white hot pleasure bursting through his body. That's more like it.

"Feel good?"

"Yes! Yes! Feels– ah! Feels so good, noona," he sobbed brokenly, clutching onto your legs. You thrust your finger into him slowly, making sure to ease him into the feeling of having something inside of him. If you played this right, perhaps he'd let you do more than just finger him. You had toys sitting in your closet that you were just dying to use. Who better on than the cute snack thief next door?

"Think you can take another?" You asked, a bit eager to stretch him out, to see how much he could handle.

He nodded quickly, grinding his hips greedily down onto your finger, wanting it deeper, harder, faster. "Please. Please. I want more."

"Needy little slut." You laughed dryly, nudging your middle finger against the rim of his wet hole. You sure as hell didn't miss the way his pretty cock twitched in response to the degrading words, and a whole new round of excitement festered inside of you.

You were going to have so much fun with him.

It took a bit of careful prodding before you managed to press the length of your second digit inside of him, his tight walls clamping down around the invading appendages.

"Please move." He begged pathetically.

You planted a steadying palm to his hips as they began to buck, holding them down against the cushion. "You're too tight, sweetheart."

"I– I can't help it." He whined, a distressed cry breaking from his heaving chest.

Sympathy swirled in your belly. You could damn near feel the desperation radiating from his body in thick, hot waves. Dipping your head, you pressed a light kiss to the swollen, red head of his shuddering cock.

"Then let me help you relax."

Jungkook sobbed as you took him into your mouth, the warmth of your skilled tongue tracing a slow ring around the underside of his tip sending his head into a tailspin. It wasn't long before you felt the tension in his muscles melting away, quickly snatching the opportunity to start fucking your fingers into him. The pace you set was slow and steady, but you made sure that with every thrust you were brushing against his prostate.

The amount of pleasure rushing through his body at that point was overwhelming, and he'd been reduced to a moaning, crying mess beneath you. Any words he managed to choke out between his sounds of bliss was broken and unintelligible on swollen lips. A small corner of your mind was concerned about your neighbors, wondering if they could hear his wailing through the dangerously thin walls.

"N– Noona— it's so good, oh my god feels so fucking good—"

Fuck. To hell with the neighbors. They should be goddamn grateful.

You sped up the pace of your fingers, burying them down to the knuckle with each thrust. He was writhing now, unable to control his body let alone keep still as he was engulfed in a mind numbing heat. It wrapped itself around his every limb, his every sense overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his impending release.

"I– I think I'm gonna—" he couldn't even make it through his warning before he was cut off by his own whimpers. Luckily, you didn't need him to finish his sentence to know what he was trying to say. The signs were obvious enough, especially with the way his wall were throbbing around your fingers, the way he was pulsing between your lips, lathering the back of your tongue with an onslaught his salty pre-cum.

You hastened your ministrations, taking him off guard as your plunged down on his cock, stopping only when your lips met the sweat-slick skin of his pelvis. Jungkook cried out a shattered version of your name, unable to stop his hips from jerking up violently at the feeling of your throat constricting around him as you swallowed.

That seemed to be the last push he needed, because within the next second he was writhing and spilling hot cum down your throat, walls clamping down so hard around your fingers you worried they might break.

It was like nothing he'd every experienced before, he could feel it in every single part of his body. From his curled toes to his trembling finger tips, every last inch of him was devastated by the hurricane of erotic bliss. And unlike every other orgasms he'd experienced in the past, the high of it last way longer than just a few seconds. By the time it finally began to fade, he was still shaking.

You pulled your fingers out of him as gently as you could, but he still whimpered at the sensitivity, quivering legs squeezing shut. Maneuvering around so that you were draped over his chest, you whispered soft apologies against his throat and jaw, spilling soothing kisses across the flushed, perspiring skin. Jungkook curled into you, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

For a while you stayed like that, letting him bask in the post-orgasmic bliss as you bathed him in the kind of tender affection that he wasn't used to receiving from you. But, you'd always considered aftercare a vital part of a good sexual experience so, even if it was a bit out of character, you were more than happy to tell him just how good he'd been for you. And he was more than happy to relish in your praise.

"Noona?" He called for your attention suddenly, after his breathing had finally evened out and the deep crimson coating his cheeks had faded into an endearing pink.

"Yes?"

Against your lips, you felt him swallow.

"You didn't cum, did you?"

"I didn't." You admitted after a beat, suddenly reminded of the ache between your legs. You'd managed to be distracted from it, entirely too focused on breaking Jungkook in all the best ways to be concerned with receiving any pleasure. But now, you found yourself very much aware of just how badly you were craving your own release. Subconsciously, you squeezed your legs together.

There was a pause.

"Noona."

"Hm?"

"Sit on my face."

The demand had your hooded eyes flying wide open, mouth freezing mid-kiss.

"... please." He remedied in a bashful whisper.

For a moment, your brain went blank, not fully processing the request. But when it finally did, there were only two words that flooded into your mind and rushed from your lips in a breathless, excited murmur.

Fuck yes.

#bts #jungkook #bts smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts x reader #sub jungkook #sub!jungkook #sub!bts #jungkook oneshot #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook

[sometimesbeforeitgetsbetter]

Off the Record | Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Summary: High school in Beacon Hills, as told through the eyes of one inquisitive journalist who has a knack at getting on Stiles Stilinski's nerves.

Warnings: idk there's like a couple curse words lmao. also, spoilers? if you haven't finished teen wolf I guess??

Word count: 8,227

A/N: hi hi this is my first fic I'm posting on Tumblr (not to say that this is my first fic ever...anyway)! before you start, I just wanna say that there's a couple things that might be off from the show but please just ignore them. like I think it's bs Lydia brings Stiles back and not Scott in 6b so I righted that wrong. but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think of it! thanks for reading!!

--

All my life I’ve wondered why people didn’t question what happens in Beacon Hills.

It’s no secret that our town is unusual, but when odd things seemed to happen, people would just turn a blind eye and go about their business.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. I was inquisitive by nature, and my mom never knew how to answer my questions.

Why do we have so many animal attacks?

What happened to the people that disappeared in the Preserve?

Why did his eyes glow like that?

That last question almost caused my mom to get me a therapist – which probably would’ve helped me regardless – but she just continued to answer with her usual responses.

They just feel threatened by us, dear.

They’re in a better place now.

I’m sure it was nothing – you probably just saw some reflection in his eyes.

But no matter what she told me, I wasn’t satisfied. I knew there was something bigger going on, something my mom couldn’t explain, but I wasn’t sure what. As I got older, however, I realized that if I kept voicing my concerns, I’d be seen as the local crazy person – which, at the time, was the title reserved for my neighbor, Donna Romano, who always went to Town Hall meetings to complain about how some supernatural creatures were traumatizing her dogs every time she took them out at night to urinate.

Out of fear of sounding like Donna, I kept my suspicions to myself. I observed the strange actions of those around me and kept note of the bizarre events that happened in town. I found that it was something I was good at – observing. Always watching, but never voicing my opinions. Eventually, it got the best of me because I grew really quiet at school. But I didn’t mind. I liked being a wallflower.

One day in the fifth grade I saw my mom reading the Beacon Chronicle and I had an epiphany – journalists investigate weird, inexplicable events, so I should be a journalist. Reading the news became my favorite pastime, and by sixth grade I decided I would join the high school newspaper, The Daily Beacon, when I became a freshman. I figured maybe it would give me an outlet to investigate the odd occurrences in the town without looking like a lunatic.

But in sixth grade, I noticed that some of the odd things had stopped happening. There were less animal attacks and disappearances from the Preserve. Some people had even left town, including the last of the Hales, whose house had burned down that same year.

I didn’t give up hope though. I kept my head down and waited for things to get weird again. In the meantime, I wrote for enjoyment. In eighth grade I started shadowing a girl named Anna that was a part of the Daily Beacon, and I started writing articles – album reviews, movie reviews, school news.

Everything was going smoothly until my sophomore year of high school. Suddenly the weird things were happening, and I was sure that there was one person that was at the epicenter of it all – Scott McCall.

--

“...Angela, you’re covering the new faculty; Thomas, you’ve got the new Vegan Support Group club some juniors just created; and y/n, you’re covering lacrosse try-outs,” said Andrew, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Beacon.

I groaned slightly. “Andrew, couldn’t I write something a little bit more...my style? Like what about the one freshman class that boycotted their summer reading and is facing suspension?”

He gave me a slight look. “y/n, you know how important this lacrosse piece is. You know what that sport means to the school. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity,” he scolded. “Besides, Marlene is covering that class and is already interviewing their teacher.”

I nodded slowly and tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I knew that Andrew meant well – he had been like an older brother to me ever since my freshman year – and he was right about the importance of lacrosse. I stayed quiet until he dismissed us, then mentally prepared myself to spend my afternoon watching some jocks exude machismo on a field.

When my last class was over, I walked over to the lacrosse field and found myself a spot on the top of the bleachers. It gave me an excellent vantage point – until a couple girls sat down right in front of me. The redhead I recognized to be Lydia Martin, the school’s resident popular girl. We’d been in class together all our lives, but I couldn’t remember a time she ever talked to me. I’m sure she didn’t even know I existed, just like the majority of the other people in our grade. The other girl, however, I didn’t recognize. I found out her name was Allison by overhearing their conversation. She was new and must have just moved to Beacon Hills.

The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle knocked me out of my thoughts. Tryouts started, and I watched as Scott McCall, a boy from my grade, was nearly knocked out by a lacrosse ball to the face. I winced but wrote down the event in the notebook I had out for documentation.

The next ball that went Scott’s way didn’t hit his face though. He managed to catch it in his goalie net. I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised – like Lydia, I’d known of Scott my whole life though he probably didn’t know me at all. But that meant I knew he was an asthmatic that wasn’t particularly skilled at sports.

“He’s actually pretty good,” I mumbled to myself as Scott continued to catch every ball that came his way.

I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve said it though because at my remark Allison turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to my notebook to write down the surprising turn of events. “Are you writing about this for the school newspaper?” I looked back up at Allison’s question. She was paying attention to me?

“Um, yeah, I am. I’d rather not write about sports, but here I am,” I joked lightly.

She let out a beautiful laugh at my statement. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Allison, and you are…?”

“y/n,” I answered. “Nice to meet you, Allison.” Suddenly the crowd roared, and I remembered why I was there. Allison, too, smiled and turned her attention back to the game. Lydia hadn’t said a word, but she was focused on watching Scott absolutely demolish Jackson Highmore, who, in my opinion, needed to be knocked down a few pegs anyway.

The more I watched Scott though, I got this weird feeling. He was good – too good. I tried to ignore my feelings and just focus on writing notes for the ridiculous lacrosse piece, which would include the headline: “Sophomore Scott McCall shines at lacrosse tryouts and becomes team co-captain.” But deep down I knew there was something up with him.

A few days later, I was sitting behind Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, in English class. Even though I’d had nearly all of my classes with him, we never talked. It originally was because I had a minor crush on him and was afraid I’d pass out if I spoke to him, but eventually it just morphed into me not speaking to many people and being convinced he didn’t know of my existence anyway.

But this one day, I was committed to speaking with him. I had to know what was going on, and if there was one person that knew anything about Scott’s new-found lacrosse talent, it was Stiles.

“Hey, Stiles,” I spoke up from behind him.

The brunette turned around, slightly confused but with that soft smile on his face. “Oh, hey, y/n. What’s up?”

I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. He knew my name? He knew who I was? I shook myself out of my thoughts before I went down the rabbit hole of the implications of him knowing me.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just writing a piece about lacrosse tryouts for the school newspaper and I was just wondering if you had anything to say about it,” I explained.

He tilted his head slightly and shifted in his seat to more fully face me. “Um, yeah sure. I think it’s going to be a great season, especially since we’ve gotten some new leadership. My boy Scott’s co-captain now, so those Devenford Prep guys won’t know what hit them!”

“Speaking of Scott, when did he get so good at lacrosse? Would you say it’s natural talent?” I pressed a bit, hoping he’d say something that would give me a hint as to what was going on.

Stiles’ eyes squinted a little, and his head tilted slightly again. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was unusual for the fast-talking, sarcastic boy, but he quickly recovered. “It’s definitely...natural...talent. He’s been working extra hard recently to hone his talent and skills so he could bring his A-game to this year’s tryouts.” When he finished speaking, he looked pleased with himself, and I could tell he had let out a small sigh of relief.

What are you hiding?

Though I didn’t know it yet, at that moment my rivalry with Stiles Stilinski began. He and Scott were hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.

--

“You’re telling me that a girl is in a coma after the school winter formal and you don’t want me to write a story about it?”

Andrew leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to write it. I just think it’s a tense time right now. The administration is receiving a lot of flack right now because of the winter formal fiasco, and Ms. Blanchard told me that we may want to avoid stirring the pot right now,” he explained. “That is not to say that we abandon our journalistic integrity and commitment to informing the student body, but we just may want to be sensitive to our environment right now.”

I trusted Ms. Blanchard, the faculty sponsor of the Daily Beacon, but not reporting on Lydia’s comatose state felt wrong. She was well-known at school, and students deserved to know the facts of her situation and how it had happened.Well, maybe I was lying to myself by saying that the real reason I wanted to pursue the story wasn’t the fact that something inexplicable had happened at the dance and I had to figure out what it was.

Andrew could sense my disappointment. “Look, maybe for now you can start collecting information and sources, and I’ll talk to Ms. Blanchard. Maybe she can advise us on how best to proceed.”

I threw my arms around Andrew in a quick hug. “Yes, thank you! I promise I’ll be sensitive when asking sources. I know how difficult this must be for the people close to her.”

“I know you will,” he said, chuckling lightly.

With a smile plastered on my face – perhaps a little inappropriately considering the topic I was excited to cover – I left the small newspaper office in search of my first source: Stiles Stilinski. He had been Lydia’s date to the dance, so surely he must know what happened to her, right? “No, I don’t know what happened,” Stiles angrily responded when I cornered him at his locker. “We were separated for a bit because she went looking for someone. When I went looking for her I–” he stopped suddenly, as if choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The next thing I know, she was at the hospital in a coma. They told me Jackson had found her out on the field when I went to check on her at the hospital,” he explained.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Ok, but where were you the rest of that time? You didn’t go looking for her when you didn’t see her for a while? What about when she had already been checked into the hospital?”

“What is this – an investigation?” Stiles shouted as he slammed his locker shut. I took a step back, eyes wide at the sudden display of aggression. Maybe I pushed too hard, I thought. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just a lot going on, and my dad has been up my ass about those details too. To be honest, I can’t tell you where I was. The time just flew by and all of a sudden I’d realized I hadn’t seen Lydia for a couple hours. I wish I had been there for her, but there’s nothing I can do for her now other than check up on her.”

Running a hand over his buzzed head, he shot me a forced smile and said “good luck with your article” before walking away.

I was at a loss for words, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Surely he couldn’t have had a part in Lydia’s injury? There’s no way. But his defensiveness was off-putting–

“Hey, y/n!” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Allison approaching me from behind. “What were you talking to Stiles about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just asking him about…” I remembered that the funeral for Allison’s aunt was happening and didn’t want to mention the additional stress of her best friend being comatose, so I opted for a white lie. “Biology homework. I wasn’t really paying attention in class today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” she said as she leant against the lockers.

I shook my head violently. “We’re not.” I’d grown too close to Allison for her to not pick up on my feelings though.

“You say that now, but–”

“I have to get to class. See you at lunch, Ally!”

--

Other things that year were weird, but none warranted any further investigation via newspaper article. Sure, I was wondering about Erica Reyes’ sudden transformation into the ultimate baddie, the mysterious deaths of a mechanic and Isaac Lahey’s dad, numerous paralyzations at the Jungle, and a death of someone at a secret rave, but Andrew thought it would be best for the Chronicle and Ledger to cover those bigger events. In fact, the only other unnatural event that happened that I had to cover for the newspaper was Stiles’ unbelievable winning streak at the lacrosse championship. I would have quoted him after the game, but I really didn’t want to speak to him and anyway, he had disappeared for a bit right after the team won.

I could tell that things were happening, but it was all hidden from public view. I even noticed Allison’s behavior fluctuating. The arrival of her grandfather shook things up, and while he gave me a bad feeling, I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Lydia was more troubled than usual after coming back from the hospital even though she tried to act normally. Jackson was going through something and was more angry and aggressive than usual, but I wasn’t close enough to him to ask him if he was okay.

Over the summer, I spent a surprising amount of time with Lydia. Allison spent her summer in France, but she asked me to keep an eye on Lydia to make sure she was okay, especially since Jackson had moved to London during the summer break. I was surprised how much I enjoyed spending time with the redhead, and we hung out when I wasn’t working at my internship at The Beacon Chronicle, which my mom had convinced me to apply for after she noticed how irritated I was that I couldn’t pursue some of the stories I wanted.

By the time Allison came back before the start of school, it felt like Lydia and I had been best friends for the longest time.

“So, Allison, have you talked to Scott at all this summer?” I asked when I was sitting in the backseat of Lydia’s car, Allison in the passenger seat.

She shook her head. “No, I think I still need some time. He...hides things from me and I don’t know if I can trust him.”

I nodded my head, understanding the feeling. I still couldn’t place my finger on what had happened between them or what Scott was involved in. Though I comforted her when I found out they broke up, I didn’t really know why they’d done it.

“What about you, y/n? Have you talked to Stiles at all?” Allison asked, looking back at me in the backseat.

“Why the hell would I talk to Stiles?” I questioned, confused.

She and Lydia shared a small look that I couldn’t decipher before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you guys are more similar than you may think. I don’t know why you guys act like you don’t like each other though.”

The car rolled to a stop at the stop light, and all of a sudden I noticed a familiar baby blue jeep approach next to us. “Speak of the devil,” I mumbled. Lydia and Allison didn’t notice Stiles staring and waving at first, but when they did the car was filled with awkward tension.

The next events were a blur: Lydia running the red light, both cars stopping in the middle of the road, and a deer running straight towards us, nearing killing me in the gap between the front seats. We were shaken, and the boys ran towards us when they saw what happened.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, but he kept looking at me. I nodded slightly and he turned his full attention back to Lydia.

“What was wrong with it?” Allison asked as Scott got closer to the deer.

“It was scared,” he explained. “No, terrified.”

Things got progressively weirder after that. On the first day of school, I interviewed our new English teacher, Ms. Blake. She was nice enough, but it was unfortunate that her class was the one that a whole flock of birds decided to burst through the classroom windows. By the time the police arrived, I was already drafting up a story in my brain: Why are the animals acting weird in Beacon Hills?

I had overheard Stiles talking to Scott about the deer’s weird behavior and the number of deer-related incidents in California, so I swallowed my pride so that I could talk to him and maybe get some stats and information on the whole situation.

I walked up to him when he was sitting alone, texting on his phone. “Hey, Stiles.” “y/n? What’s wrong?” He had genuine concern written on his face.

“I overheard you and Scott talking about deer-related incidents earlier,” I noticed how he tensed up at my statement, “and I was wondering if you could help me with a piece I’m writing? It seems like you know all the stats, so maybe...you could write it with me?” It pained me to finish that sentence, but I figured it might be easier to figure out what was going on if he was helping – especially if he already had inside information.

I think for the first time in his life, the talkative boy was speechless. “I understand if you don’t want to or you’re busy–” I said quickly, trying to give him a way out.

“Yeah, sure.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off guard by his response. “W-what?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out with your article, y/n. Collaborate with you, if you will. We can work on it at my house tomorrow afternoon if you want.”

Nodding and agreeing with the plan, I left the chaotic English classroom.

The next afternoon, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Going to Stiles’ house felt foreign, but what was even stranger was seeing him in casual clothes in a comfortable environment.

He answered the door wearing some sweats and a t-shirt, looking more comfortable and confident than I’d ever seen him. “Hey, y/n. Come on in,” he greeted.

I thanked him awkwardly, and we walked to his dining room table to get set up. “Sorry, I need to go grab my notes from my room. Be back in a sec,” Stiles said before leaving me alone in his dining room.

After a moment of silence, Sheriff Stilinski walked in wearing his uniform. “Oh, y/n! What are you doing here?” He had seen me a couple weeks ago in the police station when I was requesting documents for a story for the Chronicle. Though journalists and cops don’t often have a jovial relationship, he said that he liked me because of my commitment to the truth and respectful nature.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m writing a piece about the animals acting weird, you know, with the deer accident and bird incident, and Stiles said he’d help me since he has a bunch of statistics on deer related car accidents.”

“Stiles is helping you? Well, I’ll be damned.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that. It’s just, you’re all organized and focused, and Stiles is….Stiles.”

I was laughing heartily when the boy himself walked back into the room. “What’s going on, Daddy-o?”

“Nothing, son. Just catching up with y/n here. I’ve got to get to work, but you’re welcome anytime, y/n.” He said before patting Stiles on the shoulder and heading off to work.

Stiles looked over at me oddly when he placed his notes on the table and sat next to me. “Since when are you all buddy-buddy with my dad?”

Shrugging, I said, “Ever since we started grabbing beer every Thursday night while you’re at lacrosse practice.” His jaw dropped slightly, and I laughed again. “No, idiot. We’ve just interacted a lot because of my internship. Now, can we get started on the article?”

--

After the article was published, my next assignment was writing about the track meet a couple weeks later. I found out Allison and Lydia were riding together to the meet, so I tagged along.

Both girls were extremely tense the whole ride, seemingly concerned about something going on in the bus. We were only a few cars behind the bus full of track runners (and lacrosse players who were forced to attend the meet), but the stand-still traffic was a force to be reckoned with.

“Do you think we’re too close?” Allison asked.

“Honey, if you were any closer I think you’d mount the bus,” Lydia said sarcastically. She got a call from Stiles and looked over at Allison. “Hey, Stiles,” she dragged out the ‘hey,’ tension obvious in her voice.

She listened to what he was saying, something clearly wrong. “What do you mean he’s not–” she stopped when she remembered I was in the car, “healing?” She finished the question quietly, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear.

Healing? Is he injured?

“Yeah, ok, just find a way to get Coach to stop. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and told Allison to pull off at the next stop.

When we got to the rest stop, I could see everyone hurrying to get off the bus. Allison parked the car, and we quickly went to the bathroom where I saw Scott nearly passed out on the floor. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, y/n. He’s fine. At least, he will be,” Stiles responded. He positioned his body in front of me a little bit as if he was trying to block my view of Scott.

I gently pushed him aside so I could see and was shocked to see black blood coming from the injured boy. “What the hell is going on? Why is his blood black?” I ran forward to get closer, kneeling next to Allison.

“It’s nothing. We just need to stitch him up and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles, don’t fucking lie to me. I can see that he’s obviously not fine.”

“He’s right,” Allison said quietly. “We need to stitch him up. I need something to stitch him together with.” She looked around before remembering something in her bag.

I shook my head. “We need to tell Coach. Take him to a hospital or something.”

“No!” All three of them yelled at me.

It was quiet for a moment, all of us deciding where to go from here. “Just…” Stiles started, “please go and make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us. We’ll handle this.” I got up and slowly made my way to the door.

As I reached for the door, a hand grabbed my wrist. “y/n,” Stiles said, “it’ll make sense someday. Just trust us for now. Trust me,” he pleaded quietly out of earshot of the girls and Scott.

“I do,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes, before pulling my hand from his grasp and leaving the bathroom.

That night, we all had to stay at the Motel Glen Capri because of the postponed meet. I didn’t like its energy, and neither did Lydia. “A lot can happen in one night,” she said.

Though it was supposed to be two to a room, I convinced Coach to let me room with Allison and Lydia. Admittedly, Coach didn’t need much convincing because I was saving the school money by doing so. Once we got our room key, we went up to our room on the second floor.

“I’m going to go get a snack from the machine,” I told Lydia once Allison was in the shower.

She nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to the lobby. There must be something we can do about these towels that reek of nicotine.”

Grabbing a couple one’s from my wallet, I made my way down the hall to the vending machine where I ran into Boyd and Stiles. As I approached, I could hear Stiles trying to talk to an unresponsive Boyd, who subsequently punched a hole through the glass of the machine, grab his snack that the machine refused to give him, and walk away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Stiles as I walked up next to him.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” He reached into the machine to grab his snack and tossed one to me as well.

When I got back to my room, a shaken Allison and Lydia were hurriedly talking about something. “Oh, y/n! You’re back. You won’t believe what just happened…” Allison started

She recounted the story of Scott’s bizarre behavior in the bathroom, and Lydia filled me in on the counter that they have at the front desk. “Can you imagine having a counter for the number of suicides that take place in your hotel? Crazy,” Lydia said. Taking her phone out, she sent a quick text to Stiles telling him that we all needed to talk.

We met him in the hallway a couple minutes later. “What was the text for?” Stiles asked when he saw our little gathering.

“There’s something going on with all the…” she looked over at me before continuing, “guys. You know, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, probably Ethan too.” I tried to connect the dots between all of them, but I didn’t really know what they all had in common. Scott and Isaac were both on the lacrosse team, but from what I could tell they didn’t have a particular fondness for each other or Ethan.

“I think someone’s going to die tonight,” Lydia said decisively.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, but it seemed like I was the only one questioning her line of reason.

She shook her head slowly. “I just...have a feeling.” After a moment of silence, she told us about hearing something from the room next to ours through the vent, so we decided to investigate it. Room 217 seemed empty and locked, but all of a sudden we heard the sound of a saw from behind the door.

Stiles busted the door open, and we opened it to find Ethan turning the saw on himself. “Ethan, stop!” I yelled as we ran into the room. Stiles started wrestling him for the saw, but luckily Lydia saw where it was plugged into the wall and unplugged it.

The next thing that happened was completely unexpected to me. Ethan grew fangs and claws, his eyes blazing red. What the fu–

Allison and Lydia rushed forward, wrestling his claws away from his torso where he had been planning on slashing himself. In the struggle he fell on the space heater, which apparently brought him out of whatever state he was in. He ran out of the room soon after. When we tried to question him about what he was doing, he couldn’t answer us. He had been out of control, and it made Allison realize we were forgetting someone.

“Where’s Scott?” She asked suddenly. When no one could answer, we all decided to split up – I’d go with Allison to look for Scott while Stiles and Lydia went to find Boyd and Isaac.

Scott wasn’t in his room. Allison and I ran all over the motel, looking in every crevice. At last, we decided to check the school bus, and that’s where we saw him. Standing drenched in gasoline, a flare lit up in his hand.

“Scott…” I approached quietly, careful to not make any sudden movements.

It was then that Stiles and Lydia joined us. I watched as Stiles walked into the gasoline, my breath catching in my throat as he nearly sacrificed himself. Scott was talking, but I didn’t really understand what it meant. He said that his life was better before the bite.

Stiles eventually talked Scott down, but the flare rolled into the gasoline. Luckily, Lydia was able to make sure we had all gotten out of the way. I’d ended up next to Stiles on the ground, and though we made eye contact, no words were spoken.

We spent the night in the bus because none of us could bear the thought of spending another second in that cursed place. Coach woke us up in the morning, definitely thinking the worst about what we may have gotten ourselves into, but whatever he was thinking wouldn’t possibly compare to reality. What was reality? I couldn’t have really told you at that point. I didn’t understand what we’d just lived through.

Before the other students started loading onto the bus, Stiles slid into the empty space next to me. “y/n, you know that all of this,” he made a grand gesture to Scott and the others as well as the motel, “is off the record. You can’t tell anyone about this. About what happened.” I held eye contact with him for a moment before nodding. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. To be honest, I don’t even really know what I would tell people, but I wouldn’t.” He nodded, a sad smile on his face as he looked down and fidgeted with his hands. “But Stiles,” I said as he looked back up at me. “Please help me understand it all. You can trust me, I promise, I just want to understand. I want to help.”

With a deep sigh, Stiles nodded once more. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

--

When Stiles said he’d fill me in on everything, I didn’t realize he meant everything. I couldn’t believe how oblivious I had been to everything that had happened in the past year. Sure, I knew something weird was going on, but how was I supposed to know it was supernatural?

Finding out that my little corner of the world, little old Beacon Hills, California, had werewolves (and a kanima, pack of alphas, and whatever the hell a Darach was) was a lot to process. It was unbelievable, but Stiles helped me believe it.

I could tell that he didn’t fully trust me though. There was something in the way he looked at me that told me he was wondering when I would be done with my source acquisition and I’d write the next big exposé: Supernatural Beacon Hills: How Werewolves Have Been Hiding In Plain Sight. I didn’t know how to assure him that I was on their side and wouldn’t expose their secrets.

As the year progressed, things simultaneously made more sense and less sense. To defeat the Darach, we had to perform a sacrifice for the parents that had abducted, and Deaton – the veterinarian that had taken care of every family pet we’d ever had – told me I had to hold Stiles down during it. He said we had some sort of connection, but I guess that’s what mutual loathing does to people.

In the end, we won. We beat the Darach, the alpha of the alphas Deucalion left, and Scott became an alpha himself. But it was still just the beginning.

--

The sacrifice did something to Scott, Stiles, and Allison that we didn’t fully understand. Deaton said they left a door open, which only made it harder for Stiles to trust me because he could barely trust himself.

Knowing about the supernatural didn’t preclude my other responsibilities though. I still wrote for the Daily Beacon, much to Stiles’ displeasure, but I enjoyed it. So, on the first day of school I interviewed our newest faculty member – Mr. Yukimura. He and his family had just moved from New York, and his daughter Kira was in our grade. She was nice, but shy, so I invited her to have lunch with us.

Surprisingly, Kira jumped right into the conversation at lunch by mentioning bardo, the Buddhist concept of being in an in-between state.

After lunch, I caught up with Allison to walk to our next class. “Hey, Allison, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to ask this but...I need help learning to defend myself, I guess? It’s just that I’m going to be helping you guys now, and I actually want to be helpful, so I want to protect myself so you guys don’t have to worry about me,” I admitted.

Allison smiled softly. “I’d love to help.” I returned her smile, suddenly giddy, yet nervous. “But, I think you should know that my...aim...has been off since the sacrifice.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Nonsense, I’m sure that you’re still the best shot in this school.” She shook her head. “It’s never been this bad.”

Touching her arm lightly, I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A few days later, I was surprised when I was paid a visit by both Scott and Stiles while I was sitting in the library. “To what do I owe this pleasure, boys?”

“We need your help.” I perked up at Scott’s statement. “We’re trying to solve the Tate case, you know, the one where Malia Tate disappeared all those years ago after that car accident, and we could use your help tracking her down.” He looked over at Stiles and nudged him with his elbow.

“And, you can write a piece about it. Not including all the details, if what we think happened is true, but you can still write something factual,” Stiles said, still displeased that I was writing for the newspaper.

To annoy Stiles, I acted like I was really thinking about it for a minute, but then laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll help you guys. Where do we start?”

--

Pull yourself together, y/n. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to report on tragedy all the time. Be objective.

I took a deep breath and wrote the first line for what would be the cover story of the next Daily Beacon issue.

Junior Allison Argent, 17, died in an unfortunate carjacking incident last fall.

Before I could write any more, I got a phone call from Stiles.

Oh, thank god. “Stiles?”

“Do you want to come with us to Mexico?” He blurted out.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest. “What? Mexico? Why? When–”

“Tomorrow.”

“Stiles, are you insane? Even if I wanted to, there’s no way my parents would ever let me go.”

“We’re all telling our parents we’re going camping, if that helps at all,” he said with what seemed like a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I was quiet for a minute, but my mind was already made up. “Why? And who exactly is going?”

“Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, and I have to visit some hunters and see what they know about Derek being missing.”

As soon as he mentioned Malia, my mouth started curling into a frown. It’s not that I disliked the werecoyote, it’s just that she and Stiles had been pretty full on since they hooked up at Eichen and started dating. I wasn’t jealous – though I’m sure Lydia would argue otherwise since she’s convinced I like him or something – just...weirded out by their relationship.

I sighed. “I want to help, but I really can’t tomorrow. School starts back up in a couple days, and I need to finish this elegy for Allison and come up with a bunch of assignments for the staff writers…” I trailed off, thinking about all that I had to do before the coming week.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Ms. Editor-in-chief over here has a life outside of us,” Stiles joked.

Andrew graduated at the end of last year and left his glittering empire to me, though suddenly I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of running a newspaper while being way too involved in the town’s supernatural endeavors. It didn’t bother me last semester, but after Allison…

“I’ll just see you guys when you get back, okay?” I told Stiles. He made an unintelligible noise of agreement. “And try not to let anyone get killed.” “Yes, mom,” Stiles said sarcastically. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

When the pack got back, I was surprised by the events that had taken place. “What do you mean it’s a young version of Derek?”

A few days later, I had to cover the spring lacrosse tryouts. Though I wanted to assign it to someone else, I had to do it myself because everyone was busy with the assignments I had given them.

To my surprise, a new freshman, Liam Dunbar, showed everyone up at tryouts – even Scott. I took note of how he seemed almost athletically superior to everyone, and I wondered if he was supernatural.

“He’s human, I’m sure of it,” Scott said as he came up next to where I was sitting on the bleachers, scaring me out of my mind in the process.

“Jeez, Scott. A little warning next time would be nice. But how do you know?”

He shrugged. “I can just tell. He’s just a really great athlete.”

“He’s going to be a great pain in my ass, I can tell,” Stiles said, sidling up next to Scott.

I took note of their reactions, writing down Scott’s comment – about being a great athlete, not human – to consider while writing my piece.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re writing a story about him,” Stiles groaned.

“You know I have to write one about the tryouts, and he just happens to be the star player of today,” I told him. “Sorry, Scott.”

Scott waved me off, but Stiles was still upset about the situation. “No, don’t give him the ego boost! He’s already a little shit, and an article about him would make it worse.”

Taking a break from my note-taking, I looked over at the brown-haired boy. “Stiles, have you even talked to him?”

He looked at a loss for words. “N-not really...but I can see his arrogance from a mile away!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well then, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to write up a fantastic story about a talented up-and-coming lacrosse player.”

The article became the next issue’s front page, but I almost wished I hadn’t given him as much attention when Scott turned him into his beta.

The rest of the year didn’t go as planned either, but isn’t junior year supposed to be everyone’s worst year?

As much as I liked helping out with the supernatural problems Scott and the rest of the pack were having, it was hard knowing about what was going on and not being able to write about it, especially when all of the mysterious killings started up. We eventually found out about the deadpool, but I could write about a kill list of Beacon Hills’ resident supernaturals, could I?

At the end of the year, I finally had to make the trip to Mexico with the rest of the pack. “Stiles, I’m going. You can’t stop me!” I attempted to open the passenger door of the jeep when he reached out and shut it from behind me.

“No, it’s going to be dangerous. We don’t even really know what we’re facing,” he tried reasoning with me. “I can protect myself,” I said, thinking of the training that Allison had given me. “Besides, I can’t just sit by and wait for you guys to come back. I need to try helping Scott.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to back down, Stiles removed his hand from the side of the door and opened it for me. I nodded a quick thanks as I hopped into the vehicle.

I wasn’t expecting to fight Scott that day, but we all did in order to return him from his Berserker form. At the end of the fight, I had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

As Derek drove away with Braedan, I could feel that things were changing. “I can’t write about any of this, can I?” I asked somewhat jokingly.

“Off the record,” Stiles replied from where he stood next to me.

--

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god, you remember me!” He said as he grabbed my hands. He’d been running down the hall frantically when I saw him.

I looked at him with concern on my face. “Yeah, of course I remember you? Why wouldn’t I–”

“y/n, it’s the Hunt. The Ghost Riders. I saw them, and now they’re coming for me.” He was breathing heavily, eyes sweeping the surroundings for signs of the Ghost Riders. His eyes locked on something to his left, but when I looked, I couldn’t see anything. “They’re here. We have to go,” he said, pulling me towards the parking lot. We got into his jeep, but he didn’t start the car. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“It’s too late.” I could see the look of grief on his face. “No, don’t say that. It’s not–”

“It’s the truth,” he cut me off, turning to look at me. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. But Stiles, I can’t do this without you,” I could feel a tear escaping my eye and slipping down my cheek, my emotions getting the better of me.

Stiles reached forward and wiped the tear away before placing his hand on my cheek. “What do you mean? You’re one of the smartest, most inquisitive people I know. If I had to trust anyone to find a way to stop the Ghost Riders, it would be you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “Yeah right. Lydia will probably figure it out before me.”

He shook his head. “You can do it. I trust you.” I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he turned to look at something through the window over his shoulder. “Can I tell you something? Off the record.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t hate you. I know it may seem like I’ve never trusted you or that I don’t care about you, but it’s actually the opposite. I...really really like you,” he admitted.

I was stunned. Stiles likes me? He was searching my face for any indication of feelings as I sat there silently.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mumbled. “Ok, forget I said that. Well, you won’t need to forget when you forget me in a minute–”

I cut off his rambling by placing my lips on his. They were warm and familiar, as if they were made for mine. “I like you too,” I mumbled when I disconnected, my eyes still closed from the interaction.

But when I opened them, I was alone in the baby blue jeep.

--

All semester, I’d felt that something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Or who it was.

But after months of searching for it, we finally figured it out. Lydia had gone into a banshee trance to discover the word “Stiles,” and it brought back vague memories for me when I heard it. The feeling of soft flannel. A sarcastic laugh. Red string around my finger. A hefty wooden baseball bat.

The collection of memories made sense when we all finally got our memories back and remembered the person we were missing from our lives.

We traced the trail of clues to the sewers, where Scott tried to bring back Stiles because of their brotherly love for one another. I thought it would work, but the portal closed and Stiles hadn’t appeared. Come on, Stiles. Where are you?

We had to fight the Ghost Riders off, making sure they didn’t turn our beloved Beacon Hills into another ghost town. I’d run into the high school, looking for something to use as a weapon when I ran into someone in the hall. A tall, brown-haired figure wearing a flannel shirt. “Stiles?”

He turned, and smiles emerged on both of our faces. I broke into a run again, right into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.” I mumbled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

“I knew you could do it,” he said.

I pulled back slightly and looked up at his face, suddenly nervous. “That night in the jeep...did you hear what I told you before you disappeared?”

A soft smile rested on his face. “Of course I did. It was the one thing that kept me going, especially when I was stuck with Peter.”

“Peter Hale? Why the hell were you with Peter Hale?”

Stiles shook his head. “We can go over that later. For now, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to do.” I was a little confused, but I understood once he leaned in and connected our lips.

This is what I’d been missing, and I was never going to let it go again.

--

I watched from afar as Stiles gave his trusty baseball bat to Mason, who didn’t seem to appreciate the hunk of wood.

“Have you told him yet?” Lydia asked as she appeared next to me.

I shook my head. “We haven’t really had time to talk about that stuff. I think he doesn’t really want to think about it just yet and what that might mean for us.”

She nudged me with her elbow, silently telling me to go over there and talk to him. Rolling my eyes, I walked towards the familiar blue jeep and familiar mess of brown hair.

Liam and Mason had already walked away, and Scott and Stiles were standing and talking at the jeep’s trunk. “Hey, y/n. I’m just heading out, but I’ll see you guys later,” Scott said as I came up and Stiles threw his arm around me.

We waved as Scott left, and Stiles pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, looking down at me with an affectionate expression.

I pulled him over so we could sit in the open trunk. “We need to talk.” I could see the panic flare up in his eyes.

“Oh, um, okay? Is everything okay?”

Chuckling lightly, I nodded. “Yeah, we just haven’t talked about college at all,” I explained.

His head dropped. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want it to ruin what we have here, and I don’t even know what life will be like outside of Beacon Hills, and I feel like we just got together and now–”

“Stiles,” I cut him off. “I’m going to GW too.”

His eyes widened at my confession. “You...you’re going to GW?”

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. “I committed a while ago. I’m going to study journalism there.”

I watched as a smile spread across his face. Then, it was replaced by a quick smirk. “Oh great, you’re following me there, huh? I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m going to need someone to give me the inside scoop on the FBI’s antics.”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I think what you’re describing is illegal.”

“Not if it’s in the public’s interest. But maybe it just needs to be off the record,” I admitted. Stiles laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely going to be off the record.”

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski x reader #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #hot take: scott should have brought back stiles in 6b not lydia #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski one shot #dylan obrien #isaac lahey #dylan o'brien

[folkloreguk]

🍒Cherry Ice Cream🍒

A/N: Happy July! I planned this almost a year ago and finally got around to writing it...I hope you like it! As always, I appreaciate feedback a lot! Hope everyone has a lovely day <3

pairing: optional bias (male) x reader (gn)

words: ~ 3.7 k

genre: fluff, comedy, lifeguard!bias, reader is the most awkward and chaotic person ever (are we at the public pool or the circus?? seriously I’m so second hand embarrassed for her lmao), bias is the hottest man in existence, the universe has something against the reader apparently (rip)

PART 2 (nsfw, both parts can be read independently)

You approached the front entrance of the public swimming pool. Everything was still going by plan. Ever since the weather had gotten warmer, you’d had swimming on your mind. And every single person in your life had been made aware of it. Despite the friendly asking and the occasional begging, you still hadn’t found anyone to accompany you to the public swimming pool. You had heard all the reasons: Work, already planned vacations, a sick pet, a hatred of water, a hatred of people, you name it. After all the searching you had come to the conclusion that you were tired of waiting. Nothing could possibly rob you of your excitement about swimming pools. You’d go alone and have a wonderful time. It would be a relaxing day with loads of time just for you. So you had told yourself. But let’s face it, nothing could have prepared you for the utter chaos you were about to walk into.

It began before you had even set both feet into the facility. Your steps were light, and you beamed, ready to enter after you had paid. The strap of your sports bag had caught in the turnstile in the entrance area. Stubborn as you were, you yanked on it, instead of turning around and manually freeing the fabric from the steel contraption. You had put your entire weight on the line, tugging and pulling, when the strap finally came loose from the turnstile. As expected from such antics, you tripped and struggled in your flip-flops, blundering into the compound like a baby giraffe walking for the first time. By the time you tried to compose yourself to look cool and relaxed after such a mistake, you noticed him.

He, who looked like a Greek god blessing you with a visit on earth. He was all tan skin, red life-guard swim trunks, perfectly sculped shoulders, pushed back hair, a smile that put the sun to shame and sunglasses sitting on top of his head. Instantly you thanked yourself for not seriously injuring yourself. The young godman crossed the lawn, presumably to take his seat by the pool, watching out for the visitors. Only he made it look like he was strutting on a runway at Paris fashion week. All you could do was pray that he hadn’t seen you entering his workplace headfirst like some impatient six-year-old.

As people passed you, you realized you were standing in the same spot where you had almost fallen a minute ago. Manifesting that this was just the silly beginning to a perfect day, you paraded into the shaded grassy area to find a spot to set up your things. Countless groups of friends, families, and lone visitors like yourself had already settled down, but you managed to find a fine spot. It was the superb balance between sunny and shady and not too far from the swimming pools and water slides. In seconds you had shed off your clothes to reveal your swimsuit underneath. Although you could barely keep yourself waiting, you decided it was best to stay there a short while before you threw yourself into the waves. Just until the sunscreen had absorbed into your skin. Meanwhile, you would unpack the catchy book you had recently begun to read.

Now and then you raised your head and peeked at the cute lifeguard. You seriously had no intentions of coming across like a creep, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The way he patrolled the side of the large pool had more coolness than the prettiest shot of a hot movie star in a film. You allowed yourself a few seconds, then you’d go back to your novel. The sounds of summer floated through the air – children laughing, water splashing, birds chirping above you – and the scent of the sunscreen catapulted you straight on cloud 9. It felt like your own small piece of paradise. Little did you know, the universe had so much more in store for you.

You hadn’t been buried in your book for even 10 minutes when a group of kids ran by. They were passing a water ball from one to the other and giggling uncontrollably. You saw it coming in your peripheral vision but had no time to react. As they had reached your level, one of them punched the ball especially hard. And instead of catching it, the dark blue ball bounced off one child’s hands and straight into the side of your face. It knocked your sunglasses off the bridge of your nose, but more importantly gave you the fright of your life. You dropped your book while the children’s mother scolded them from the side. After the initial surprise you couldn’t accept their apologies quickly enough. Anything if it could spare you from even more attention from random guests around you. Impulsively, your eyes searched for the cute lifeguard. But he was looking into the opposite direction. At least fate had saved you from embarrassing you in front of him. The last thing you wanted was to look like more of a clown than you had when entering the facility earlier. But against your expectations, the train of unfortunate events was only beginning.

Surely things would be more peaceful in the water, you had thought. When you finally entered the cool pool, it felt like heaven on earth. Fearing a case of recurrence, you avoided the shallower areas, where the children crowded and went straight for the deeper waters. Finally experiencing some form of relaxation, you swam and dived a few laps around the pool. Now and then you caught a glimpse of the lifeguard on the far end of the pool. Just to make sure he was still there. Just to make sure he’s still as handsome as when you first spotted him. And you weren’t disappointed. Gesturing kindly, he helped an elderly woman find directions to the restaurant on the far end of the site. From up closer, his smile and his jaw were even prettier – even though it had seemed impossible for him to become even more perfect.

After a while, your limbs became tired and you retracted into less busy waters, close to the exit and entrance area of the swimming pool. As you paddled your way through bodies, a bug startled you. It had by all appearances chosen you as its victim, as it took direct flight into your face. Even when you swat it away and turned around to change directions, it kept chasing you and only you. Like some crazy, obsessed stalker, it followed you to the edge of the pool. Eventually, you became tired of running and turned to it. If some random flying beetle wanted to fight you, so be it. To the untrained eye, you might have appeared like a lunatic, fanning the air, and squinting against the bright sunlight. But it was war, and you would square up against the most annoying of bugs. After a while, you realized that you were waving off the air – no more bug in sight. Only then you noted the little girl laughing in your direction from the poolside. You were way too mortified to turn into his direction at first, but when you found the lifeguard, he was conversing with one of his co-workers. Once again, you were safe.

Your next approach at a good time was the colorful waterslide close by. Certainly, these heights would not include micro-aggressive bugs. Instead, they included something far more unsettling. Considering there were toddlers going down the waterslide, you deemed it safe and fun. Your mind changed in the first sharp turn, when you tumbled over and hit your elbow from the sudden change of direction. Maybe you should have just stayed in the ring with the bug instead of choosing this more than violent escape. But it was too late. Once on the slide, you had to make it through to the finish line – more or less in one piece. Your grand finale composed of a semi-somersault off the edge of the waterslide into the pool. Although it wasn’t intentional, you still hoped it looked somewhat graceful to the audience at the bottom. Hint: No, it didn’t. You looked like a baby monkey that had been sent down a self-constructed-waterslide in someone’s backyard. It was a disaster.

Feeling over-heated and exhausted from the sun and your embarrassing antics, you found a drinking fountain by the showers to refresh yourself. Patiently, you waited in the short line until it was your turn. As fate wanted it, the next messy incident wasn’t long in the coming. In fact, it only took four sips of water before you accidentally inhaled some of it. You stepped back, choking, coughing, and gasping for air all at once. A helpful woman showed mercy with you and your awkward behavior and softly pat your back. “Are you okay, dear?” she asked. Unable to speak just yet, you smiled and nodded gratefully. Great. Maybe you should add “clown” onto your previous professions in your CT. By now, half the visitors probably knew who you were – a walking safety hazard to yourself.

After retreating to your bath towel set-up in the shade for a while, you had almost found new hope that the universe wasn’t against you that day. You managed to lie there, for a whole hour, without any issues. But then, slowly, another idea crept up on you. After all, what was summer without ice cream? By chance, you happened to know the little ice cream truck next to the yellow waterslide sold your favorite brand of ice lolly. So off you went, money in hands and wild determination in your head. The visual of the handsome lifeguard lingered in your mind even after you had passed the chair he was sitting on by the poolside. You acquired your ice lolly successfully and ripped the wrapper right away. It tasted like summer in food format, and you reveled in the cold treat for a while, as you strolled back in the direction of your bath towel.

Fully aware that you would have to walk by the insanely cute lifeguard again, you tried your best to look cool, next to the large pool. In your imagination, you were glowing in the sun, hair slightly flowing in the warm breeze and steps bouncing happily. You were the personification of summer bloom and radiating everything good about the season. For a moment, you closed your eyes and actually indulged in the warmth on your face. That was when the next mishap struck.

You didn’t even understand what was happening at first. Someone accidentally bumped into you – or did you bump into them? Upon the impact, you opened your eyes. Your ice-cream had vanished from your hands. Turns out, you had dropped it and it had landed only two feet from you. Out of balance, you stumbled ahead even after the impact. And of course, only a second later your foot stepped directly onto the ice lolly. Inevitably, you skidded and struggled to stay on your feet by means of flinging and waving your arms in the air. As if you were some stranger, trying to attract the attention of an aircraft whilst stranded on a desert island. One thing was for sure, you had everyone’s observance tied to you. With an involuntary but comedic performance of theatrical extent, you fell and hit the water surface.

The cool hit you so suddenly, you had swallowed a gulp of water before your instincts had time to set in. Quickly, your limbs began paddling to get you back to the surface. At that instant, a pair of arms suddenly linked under your armpits and swooped you up from underwater. Your brain processed what was going on. Without a doubt, someone had jumped after you and was pulling you out of the water. Stubbornly, you tried to avoid the idea of the cute lifeguard helping you out. Christ, that would really be the peak of all your embarrassing moments. No, it was probably the person you had run into, or someone who had already been in the water.

When you were placed by the poolside and blinked against the blending sun, your worst concerns came to pass. There he was, so close you could have touched his face. His worried expression changed when you opened your eyes, and he smiled, relieved. “Is everything alright?” he asked. You’d think this would make you into the most shamefaced person on the planet. And yet, all you could wonder was how two people’s genes could combine so flawlessly, so beautifully, to create such a man. When he got no answer from your moonstruck figure, he furrowed his eyebrows in alarm.

“Oh my- my god,” you stammered. “Yes! I’m fine, I’m sorry!”

You weren’t sure why you were apologizing. For worrying him? For inconveniencing him? For causing another scene? Either way, he grinned, and you felt your cheeks heat up terribly. You had to get away from there before something cringy came out of your mouth. Although you weren’t sure there was any way you could have made this more awkward than it already was.

“Make sure you have no injuries, okay?” he asked, helping you up. “If you need any medical assistance, just let me or one of the other lifeguards know.”

“Um…okay,” you said. Wow. That was no way to flirt with the most attractive person you had ever met. With all this drama you had gone through on that day, the universe could have at least blessed you with a romantic, your-life-savior-realizes-he-just-met-the-love-of-his-life moment. But no. The movies really were one massive hoax.

“It’s probably best you take a little break from the surprise, before you go back into the water,” he advised you. “And don’t hesitate to ask, if you need any more help.”

If only he knew how many times you had already tried to take a break from the surprise after everything on that day. You stood on your feet safely but felt like a cat that had fallen into the bathtub. At last, you managed a smile in the lifeguard’s direction. “Thank you.”

Funny enough, the stares people gave you bothered you only slightly as you walked back to your spot under the trees. Maybe you had used up all your embarrassment for the day. Nothing could intimidate you anymore. That meant, whatever happened from now on, it couldn’t get worse. Somehow after the pinnacle of chaos, you finally felt some inner tranquility. You went back to your novel, now and then keeping an eye out for potential water balls coming your way. But everything was calm. As time went on, you lost yourself completely in the story line and forgot about everything around you. Maybe this was all meant to happen. Perhaps it was a message, that you should have waited for your family to have a free day, or for your friend to come back from vacation. Would the same things have happened? There was no way to tell. Just as you reached a specifically exciting scene in the novel, a figure suddenly appeared in front of you. You couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Hey,” the handsome lifeguard stood there, smiling kindly. Wide-eyed, you straightened up and greeted him shyly.

“I couldn’t help but notice how happy you were about that ice cream earlier,” he said. “But then you…lost your ice cream.”

“What an interesting way of saying I stomped on it and made an absolute fool of myself,” you smirked. He chuckled.

“However you want to put it, I thought maybe you could use some cheering up,” he went on. “So I got you a new one.”

He pulled two ice-lollies from behind his back. “One for you, one for me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “You bought me this? I don’t want to sound rude… but aren’t you supposed to be looking out for the next victim to repeat my foolery?”

“I’m on my break,” he laughed. His eyes crinkled up cutely when he smiled, and it only made your stomach flutter more. “If you want me to leave, I will. I’m not trying to be weird or obtruding. Just making sure you’re okay, because I noticed you’re here alone.”

“Oh. No! Feel free to stay here for as long as you want!” you said, and now maybe you were the one sounding obtrusive. You scooted over and let him take a spot on your bathmat. You thanked him for the ice cream and gleefully unwrapped it. “My friends and family weren’t available today. But I really, really wanted to come here today. Maybe not my brightest idea.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen way worse plunges than yours. You were lucky, really. You got away with a small shock and nothing more. It was pretty impressive, actually.”

“I’m glad I have entertaining qualities, at least.”

“I’m just messing with you,” he laughed. “I’m glad you’re fine. This place gets a little wild during the afternoon, especially on weekends.”

“You don’t say,” you chuckled.

“I recommend coming here in the mornings or late evenings, if you want a little more peace and quiet.”

“Thanks, I’ll probably consider it. Do you work here full time?” you asked.

“No, this is just a summer job,” he said. “It’s great. I get to swim for free and be outside a lot. Not to mention this is one of my favorite places in town.”

“You love swimming too?” you asked and regretted it right away. A lifeguard who hated swimming made no sense, after all. But he didn’t seem to think your words were silly.

“I do! I come here a lot to swim, when it’s not as busy and I don’t have to work,” he said. The thought of seeing him again when you came back in a few days – which you already knew you would – made you feel some sort of way. You had been embarrassed, but his sweet words had appeased you. You could definitely get used to seeing his face all summer long. The two of you talked for some time, while you both finished your ice cream. You learned his name, which was just as beautiful as its owner, and that he thought you had actually looked pretty cute (!) when you fell into the pool. You swore he wasn’t even real. Perhaps he was merely a hallucination, a product of your imagination, to cheer yourself up after your messy day. Either way, your head was up in the clouds as long as he was sitting there, next to you, with his perfect shoulders and charming voice. Soon, he had to excuse himself, though. His break was over and as he had put it, he needed to prevent any more ice cream-murders from happening.

After your conversation, the universe had apparently shifted in your favor. You spent the entire rest of your day without any more misfortunes. Like you had talked to a lucky charm who had done miracles for you, you had a fantastic time. You were even brave enough to face a few more go’s down the ever-so-threatening waterslide. As it got later, more people went home, and just as he had predicted, things calmed down. And you were convinced you would stay until the bitter end. Only when a female voice announced over the speakers that the swimming pool would close in 30 minutes, you slowly started to pack up your things.

As you approached the exit, you scanned the area for your favorite lifeguard. But he was nowhere to be found. You assumed he had already finished his shift and gone home. But as luck would have it, as you neared the bicycle stands to retrieve your bike, you saw him already there. His eyes beamed when he noticed you.

“Wow, you held out a long time,” he said. “Had fun?”

“I did,” you said. You could only be grateful your ice-cream massacre was the sole of your antics he had witnessed that afternoon. Who knew how he would look at you if he had experienced your full chaotic capacity? “Thank you again, for making sure I was fine. And for the ice cream.”

“It was no big deal,” he said. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“To buy random girls ice cream?” you teased.

“No, only the special ones get the ice cream.”

“Define special.”

“To be honest? I was genuinely concerned you would feel down. I’ve seen you almost trip over when you first came in, you got hit in the face by a ball, I’ve witnessed your little quarrel with that bug and your somersault from the waterslide looked pretty rough. After all that you choked on water and then ended up falling into the pool and losing your ice cream. I supposed you could need some serious cheering up.”

Oh my god. If only you could have opened a portal straight to hell, you would have taken the chance on the spot. All this time he had been watching you? It couldn’t get more mortifying than this.

“Sorry, I sound like some creepy stalker,” he said. “I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just you-“

“I looked like a clown in a neon suit?”

“You’re really pretty,” he said. Your cheeks warmed up and you could have yelled out loud.

“But you have to admit, at least the clown part is true.”

“Maybe,” he joked. “Don’t be embarrassed. I thought you were – are – adorable.”

“Thank you,” you managed to say. What the hell were you doing? The most handsome guy was complimenting you. You had to take your chance. “Maybe sometime I could buy you some ice cream too? If you feel like it-“

“I’d love that,” he smiled. It was only the beginning of summer, but it was a glorious one. You already knew it could only get better. Instead of cursing the universe, you had to say your thank you’s now. Without your string of bad luck, things would have never led this way. Perhaps fortune was on your side, after all.

#optional bias #optional bias scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #bts scenarios #bts imagines #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #monsta x fluff #enhyphen scenarios #enhyphen fluff #lifeguard au #txt imagines #txt fluff #txt scenarios #pentagon scenarios #btob scenarios #ikon scenarios #ikon imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #day6 scenarios #nct scenarios

[12timetraveler]

Suddenly I'm Holding the World in My Arms

Summary:

Hosea and reader have been together for years. Neither ever expected children, but then again, life doesn't care what we expect.

Notes:

I have been thinking about this fic for a couple months now. In December I had dreams about it at least once a week. Finally I've been able to sit down and write. it. It turned into quite a beast, but I'm absolutely in love.

I tried to stay mostly within canon, placing this before the events of rdr2, but I did add Charles to the gang earlier than he actually joined. No Micah though which is kind of nice, seeing as there are enough lunatics in the gang between Sean, Bill and the Callander brothers. Nice to have one less crazy to write, as fun as he can be.

Chapter 1: Summer 1897

As always below is just a little snip. Read the full thing on AO3

~~~~~~

“Damn. Shit. Hosea,” you panted, arching your back against the soft grass beneath you. Your fingers were tangled in your lover’s silver hair, probably tugging too tightly as he expertly worked your clit, though he didn’t seem to mind. If anything it only spurred him on, alternating between licking and sucking, all while two long, deft fingers stroked your insides, with a third occasionally teasing at your entrance, just enough to make you whimper and wail. “God yes. Just like that. Please don’t stop. <em>Please</em>,” you tugged on his hair a little harder for emphasis, knowing your lover enjoyed teasing you relentlessly. You were already approaching your sixth orgasm for the evening - a feat you’d never accomplished before falling into bed with Hosea but that he loved doing to you time and time again as your relationship had grown - and he hadn’t even unbuttoned his trousers yet. Not a single one of those orgasms had come easily to you, Hosea teasing you right up to the edge before pulling away.

A deep chuckle vibrated against your folds, and you moaned in both pleasure and fear, certain he was going to pull back and drag this out even longer. To your pleasant surprise, he grabbed your thighs tighter, squeezing the ample flesh there, and began working with even more fervor, pushing you closer and closer to number six.

“Yes. Yes. Please. Yes. Hosea. So good. Yes,” You babbled, clutching at the grass beneath you as you felt that coil in your center winding up, ready to snap. You bit your lip, trying to suppress your moans and wails, knowing that even in the middle of this meadow away from any roads, you were still at risk of someone stumbling upon the two of you.

Hosea hummed, letting the vibration tickle your clit, and you were practically sobbing in pleasure. Your hips ground up against his face, urging his fingers deeper into you. He circled his lips around your clit and rubbed his fingers against your g-spot at the same moment, and that was all it took for your orgasm to have you floating amongst the stars with a soundless cry. Your body twitched and jerked against Hosea's grip, but he held on tightly, lapping at your core, gently egging your orgasm on without causing too much pain from overstimulation.

You mewled as you came back to earth. The cool grass beneath you felt incredible against your burning skin. Hosea's careful lapping at your core sent shivers up your body, just enough to light your nerves without causing pain.

"Hosea," you whispered, untangling your fingers from his hair and pressing your hand to the side of his head, trying to guide him up to you.

Hosea lifted his head, pressing sloppy kisses across your abdomen before he obeyed, moving up to hover over you. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open and nearly tugged out from his trousers, though you’d been stopped from your earlier attempts at undressing him when he decided he needed to taste you. Again and again and again and–

“Lookit you,” He chuckled fondly as he took in your disheveled state. You could feel how your hair was ruffled and tangled from you squirming against the grass. Your lips were parted as you panted for air. You must look absolutely wonton laying in the grass, dress bunched around your waist.

You whined and grabbed his shoulders, guiding him to lay on top of you, needing that grounding weight of him for a moment as you regained your surroundings. Hosea obliged, gently lowering himself down onto his elbows so more of his weight rested across your body. You wrapped your arms around his neck and snuggled close to him while he kissed along the side of your head and face.

"My God," you sighed against his neck. "Hosea the things you do to me,"

"I could say the same about you," he teased, rolling his hips down against you so you could feel the hot, hard line in his trousers and the small damp spot on the fabric, wet with precum. You groaned as he rutted down against you roughly, unable to stop himself.

"Damn," you whined, fingers quickly tugging his shirt out of his trousers and pushing it off his shoulders. "Hosea, I need you in me. I need you in me <em>now</em>."

Hosea sat back on his heels and you chased him up, attacking his gun belt and setting it aside before frantically undoing the buttons on his trousers. You pushed them and his drawers down his thighs until his bent knees stopped you. Hosea quickly shifted his legs out in front of him, kicking off his boots so you could yank his trousers off the rest of the way.

You easily pulled yourself onto Hosea's lap, grinding down on his hot member. He groaned and pulled you flush against his body, nipping at your neck as your hips ground against each other.

Hosea pulled your dress up over your head and tossed it aside. His large hands came up under your breasts, cupping the heavy weight, the hard peaks of your nipples brushing against his palms as he kneaded the soft flesh. Your lips found his jawline and you nipped and sucked along the skin there, making sure he'd have at least one mark to match the necklace of love bites he'd already given you.

Hosea reached out and grabbed a blanket, which he'd brought for you to lay on and had been promptly forgotten as the two of you ravished each other. Carefully he wrapped the blanket around the two of you, holding it in his hands behind your back. The two of you were curtained, shielded from the world, but fully visible to each other.

You released his neck to capture his lips in a desperate kiss. You gently chewed his lip, making him gasp.

"Come on, sweet thing," he cooed breathlessly. "Ride me,"

#hosea/reader #hosea/f!reader #hosea matthews #f!reader #pregnancy #papa Hosea #dad hosea

[spiltscribbles]

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.” 

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #siriusxremus #wolfstar fluff #remusxsirius #wolfstar smut #SPILT INK #You are such a sweetheart Nonny #ILU #!!!

[cizzisblog]

things that piss me off about dabi and fans’ reactions to this arc:

-Dabi is definitely, absolutely not justified in going after Shouto (who deserves none of this!! this boy deserves only love and support and some gotdamned therapy) ima just say that now.

-It’s also shitty of Dabi to say he didn’t care if Natsuo was hurt/killed.

-The canon characterization may very well be Dabi is so far down the path of revenge and has spent so long suffering alone away from his family members that he no longer cares for them/feels anything and is willing to proceed with plans to hurt Endeavor even if they are caught in the crossfire. However, I also feel it’s worth mentioning that right now, he very much seems to be caught up in a manic episode/meltdown/basically losing his shit. Think about it- he’s spent however many years plotting this moment and his chance to get revenge on his father and expose him to the world is finally here, and I think the likelihood that he’s saying whatever shit he thinks will hurt everyone the most is likely. That, or he’s so caught up in the mania he’s just lashing out at fucking everything. I think to some extent he means it, because he’s shown signs of being severely depressed and there’s a numbness that comes with that, but I also think deep down there is still some care there, even if small, or at least some acknowledgment that the other members of his family aren’t the main target and source of his suffering. He literally hasn’t seen them in years and it’s easy to say ‘I don’t care’ when it’s not to their faces. (Why send a tape specifically to Rei and keep track of her? Why not hurt Shouto at the summer camp when he so easily could have?) I think it’s also clear he didn’t mean to kill Endeavor with the previous Nomu attacks, but wanted him to succeed (in a ‘Build him up bigger so when I bring him down he falls even harder’ type of way. After all, Dabi obviously wanted to be the one to take down Endeavor, not a random Nomu.) Again, shitty he didn’t care that Natsuo/Shouto got caught up in it, but I think he didn’t think Natsuo would die due to Endeavor saving him. (Again, that doesn’t justify it, and is some twisted logic, but this is complicated.)

-I want to make very clear I’m not absolving Dabi of his actions, but as an abuse victim and someone who’s intimately familiar with familial abuse, his actual feelings do not make him a bad person and are actually more common than you’d think if you’ve never experienced abuse. When you’re suffering that kind of trauma for so long, you lash out at and feel angry at other people in the household, even other targets of abuse, because your abuser fucks you all up so bad and turns you against each other (even if not intentionally). It becomes a sick competition for attention even from a person who’s horrible and terrible. Dabi undoubtedly felt like he’d been thrown away and jealous of Shouto, the ‘perfect child’ Endeavor finally succeeded in getting (again, this doesn’t excuse him actually hating Shouto, but I can see why he might feel bitter). In a perfect world he would’ve dealt with those feelings with therapy and realized Shouto was just as much a victim and not murder attempts, but this is bnha lmao. Him wanting to hurt Shouto- a fucked up urge, but in a trauma-inducing environment as a mentally ill teenager, you can understand why he felt it. Acting on it is what’s truly fucked up. I also find it unlikely he doesn’t care for Natsuo at all. Natsuo, who he went to specifically for comfort for his whole childhood, not even his mother but his brother?

-At first glance, it may seem many “fanon” interpretations of Dabi are now ‘invalid’ or whatever but I disagree. Sure, we do know that he wasn’t secretly skulking about watching out for his siblings from the shadows- clearly. But narratives that involve him reconnecting with his siblings, remembering or learning to care for them again, realizing he’s hurting them and he isn’t the only one with trauma, reconnecting with his want to protect them as his family, etc. still make sense. People are not static. They still hold the capacity for change and healing given the proper circumstances. Most fanfic are AUs, given they don’t follow canon exactly and word for word, and characters can make different decisions and feel differently if different events happen. Even if you do want to write a very different characterization for Dabi, that’s fine, especially if bnha ultimately ends up doing the whole Todoroki narrative dirty.

-In conclusion: yes, currently Dabi is acting a madman and doing some very reprehensible things. He is a severely traumatized individual who grew up in a home involving copious amounts of violence. However, I do not think the point of all this family drama is just to say “fuck it, Touya’s dead now he was too far gone whoops! But heroes are good anyway!” I think it’s likely we’ll get some scene with him arrested and being confronted by Rei or Natsuo or something along those lines and see some regret. (Why spend so much time on this arc and show their reactions if they aren’t going to be involved at all?) Simultaneously, it’s also possible the story will go the “he’s too far gone” route and basically have him end up as a mirror of Endeavor: so obsessed with his own trauma he threw his own family under the bus for his own revenge plan. While possible, I think that’s a shitty and lazy way to go and disrespectful to Touya himself as an abuse survivor. He is definitely extremely deep in his revenge right now, but I do not want that to be the end of his character.

-I want Dabi to have to face up to his own actions. I want him to realize he fucked up and hurt people he shouldn’t have. I don’t think we’ll get some mushy apology montage, but we have not once seen all the Todoroki siblings together at one time, and I want Dabi to have to deal with the repercussions of seeing his family again and realizing oh, they were never the ones I should have hurt, and I don’t think he’s too far gone to do that.

-I think it’ll be really shitty if Dabi, an abuse survivor, is ultimately depicted as the insane lunatic that needs to be put down and has no chance for any kind of redemption while his abuser who bought his wife for eugenics and neglected/abused his entire family gets to walk free with a shitty redemption arc. Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware Dabi is a villain and as such is going to be on the losing side in a story where heroes win (I mean, it’s technically all a flashback from number one hero Deku) but he still has very valid points about hero society and how fucked up Endeavor truly was, and throwing it all away would be such a cop out. If bnha does truly go with the most insulting route for Dabi I feel it shows a lack of understanding for abuse and abuse survivors and fanfic authors are justified in ignoring and changing that for fics, especially if they’re abuse survivors themselves. I guarantee they’ll write better narratives about abuse lmao.

-Lastly: Dabi is a morally grey character. He’s a villain. But people who like his character or want to look at the why and how of his actions in a nuanced way are not just ‘dumb villain stans’ or whatever weird shit the bnha fandom has come up with. We just want this narrative to actually make some goddamned sense. Dabi’s actions are not all justified but do make sense in the context of his backstory and motivations and current mental state, I just hope to god hori doesn’t ruin it completely from here.

Edit: this post is also highly likely imo and also explains Dabi’s behavior (but as a reminder for those who don’t read closely, explaining something is not the same thing as justifying it.) “I can’t feel anything anymore” is a hallmark of being depressed/suicidal and his supposedly not caring for his siblings anymore most likely has to do more with his own suicidal state than aggression towards them. Dabi acting as manic as he has these last few chapters makes sense if he isn’t planning on living.

#dabi #Todoroki Touya #bnha #Touya #bnha 292 #Todoroki #touya todoroki #bnha spoilers #character meta

[startanewdream]

*Harry looked at his mother."Stay close to me," he said quietly.* Could you write something about Harry having this moment with Lily, but in your world where Jily lives? Perhaps after Dumbledore's death, or at the end of the War, after Voldemort died. I don't know, I feel that Harry would be very attached to his mother in these important moments, and maybe if you want, your world where Jily lives is just perfect <3

Hey! Thank you so much for this prompt @sweeethinny! I love writing Lily and Harry’s moments together and this one is so special in the books!

Now, in the world I imagine, there are actually few moments that Harry needs his mother and she isn’t there. Then I thought about Voldemort’s ressurrection and the duel after, because this version of Priori Incantatem would have no James or Lily appearing. So Harry is alone... and he really needs his mother afterwards.

And then I finally wrote a version of the Third Task through Lily’s eyes, which is pure angst, really, but full of Lily’s mother love.

It’s on AO3 or below:

Their hug is so fleeting that Lily wonders if that moment will haunt her later.

She admonishes herself for ever thinking about that. Nothing will happen; it’s the Third Task and soon, whether Harry wins or not, this damn tournament will be over.

So for now, she hugs Harry but lets him go quickly, knowing he feels embarrassed of being hugged in public, and watches as James slids his hand fondly through Harry’s hair to mess it as much as he can. Harry smiles at them, nervous and a little excited too, and then he leaves them with the other champions.

James squeezes her hand as they sit again at the table, though neither is hungry anymore. In front of them, Hermione gives her a comforting smile, while Ron shakes his head.

‘Wanna bet he will end up winning this thing after all?’, he asks, turning to his brothers. Lily watches as they start betting on how long it will take for Harry to get out of the maze with the Cup in his hand, coins passing through their hands.

Her heart fills with a warm glee. They are betting on Harry. Never against him. 

They walk to the Quidditch Field, James and Ron complaining about the mess they’ve made in the field and discussing how it will be the next season, how much Harry will need to train in the Summer for making up for the year he lost without any match.

‘He caught an egg dragon’, Ginny notes brightly, right next to Hermione. ‘What is a Golden Snitch after that?’

They laugh and Lily lets that sound warm her too; she has been shivering ever since they left the castle, though the summer night is warm. There is just something in the air tonight that makes her feel ill. A calm before the storm, with just the wind announcing the change that will come.

It’s probably just the nervousness. She couldn’t show to Harry, during their free day at Hogwarts, how apprehensive she was, but now her nerves are probably catching on with her. These tasks seemed so dangerous after all, and Harry is still so young…

The air around her is calmer than in the other tasks, however. People are talking excitedly, everyone wondering who will be the champion; now and then, even amongst students of other schools, she hears Harry’s name. He was the underdog, but now he is a favourite - not because of being the Boy-Who-Lived, but because of his achievements so far. First with that dragon, with the way Harry had flown nearly perfect, acting smart and dancing around it, much better than his parents’ original suggestion of attacking it in the eye; and then, during that boring Second Task, when it was announced that Harry had taken longer only because he was worried about all other hostages, not just his.

Lily had been worried with his delay, but she had no heart to chide him later. He was never in danger after all, and Harry was just being his usual selfless; he always had a tendency to defend others. Lily could not complain about her son being a fair player.

‘He will be okay’, James whispers to her as they take their places at the stands, and Lily forces herself to smile. 

The sound of the whistle, marking the beginning of the Third Task, makes her jump, but with all the noise and confusion around her, no one seems to notice it. That’s better. She doesn’t need to infect her worries with others.

There doesn’t seem to be anything for her to worry, though. The first hour passes quickly. They can’t see anything inside the maze, but Bagman provides a few commentaries about what the champions have just faced - a boggart, an acromantula, a hole in the ground, blast-ended skrewts (though Lily is not sure she knows that), a disorientation fog, riddles, giant snakes.

And then it’s announced that the Beauxbatons champion is out. Lily remembers seeing that beautiful girl and wonders what happened to her, feels sorry she had to leave.

Ten minutes later, when Bagman announces the Durmstrang champion has left too, the crowd explodes in glee and noises around her. Now it’s only Harry and the Diggory boy on the run, which means a Hogwarts’ win in any case.

And now, for the first time, so close to the end, Lily really wonders how it would be if Harry really wins the tournament, instead of just surviving it. She can see the way he would beam, surprised and proud, how he would raise the cup and people would cheer around him; how Harry would be really happy because he won on his merits, and not because of something he did when he was one-year-old. That would be Harry’s victory, only his.

James will make sure to keep the cup in the middle of their living room; he will tell everyone how his son just won the Triwizard Tournament (‘and all the other champions were already of age, but Harry did not let that scare him, he fought bravely and won all the tasks! My son! Triwizard Champion!’).

And Lily can’t help but think that it’s her son, the son of a muggleborn witch, who will win the most traditional tournament, and what this means to her and other people like her. Oh, she will not mind gloating about this for once.

But the minutes go on, and there are no more announcements, Bagman’s voice silent and the excitement from the crowd is turning into whispers, questions, worries.

There is something wrong, Lily thinks, and she doesn’t need to say out loud because now not even James is frowning, quiet.

There is a commotion in the field, a bright colourful light that lasts for a second (‘Was that a portkey?’, James asks, confused), then she watches Dumbledore and the Minister rushing forward, but she can’t really see anything else. Then the whispers begin, those same words repeated in a crescendo as more people know about it and pass it on, a deadly song.

‘He is dead. Dead!’

She holds James’ hand as not to fall now. Everything is dark around her, and Lily is in a nightmare she can’t wake up, thinking of that last fleeting hug she gave on Harry; she should have hugged him more, refusing to let him leave the safety of her arms for the unknown. Why did she let him go? She feels the fire of the dragon burning her skin alive, the coldness of the deep of the lake and the still air of the maze that Harry entered to never come out -

‘Cedric Diggory! Dead!’

And it’s the first breath of air as she leaves that horrible nightmare, a relief beyond words, a lightness that comes to her as Lily understands it is not Harry that died…

Then it is guilt, a horrible feeling of being the worst person on the planet, because how can she be happy that someone else is dead? How can she actually smile when another parent will mourn their child today?

But there is no easy answer, no trying to understand what happened, just a primal urge to get to Harry and to make sure her son is safe.

She will worry about everything else later.

________________

‘Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything’. Dumbledore is saying, looking at them all, and Lily knows what he will ask even before he says it.

She glances at Harry instead.

His face is pale, his eyes more troubled than a fourteen-year-old should have the right to be, and yet she can see he is watching everything with attention. He is trying to understand what is happening right now, as if witnessing Voldemort’s return and the crazy lunatics of that fake Mad-Eye Moody was not enough.

He needs to sleep - a dreamless sleep so he can begin to recover, as hard as that it will be.

Dumbledore turns first to Snape, asking him to do something if he is ready, and from the corner of her eyes Lily sees Snape’s eyes flickering briefly in her direction. She pretends not to have noticed it, as she has done every time they happened to meet before - it is easy because most of the time Snape doesn’t even seem to be able to look at her. And tonight she has more pressing things in her mind than an old friendship.

She knows Dumbledore will turn to her and James as soon as Snape leaves the room.

And he does, asking for their help to gather the old gang. The Order of the Phoenix.

Lily thinks of everyone that won’t be there for this second time and tries not to let this crush her heart. She doesn’t have time for old grieves today either. Harry needs her.

And, by God, how he needs. She sees the bandages in his arm, in his head; there are dark spots under his eyes, giving him a spooky look - he slept so little before he was awakened with the cries in the hall. And now the world he knows is falling around him, even if he doesn’t understand the full extension yet…

Everything will change now.

‘I will go’, James says softly, and Lily sees him watching her and Harry. James looks somber, much more than she has seen him in the last thirteen years, with that expression she didn’t really miss: the face of a soldier that was getting in a war he didn’t want to, but he would because he believed in everything he was fighting for.

She doesn’t want him to go, but someone has to, Lily knows. It is very important that people know the truth before it can be muffled, and they need to be ready. They need as much advantage as they can get.

Still, the idea of being away from James right now hurts her almost physically, an old familiar feeling of the unknowns that a war brings.

‘But… Dad…’, Harry’s voice is weak, but it is his tone that scares Lily. Harry sounds afraid for the first time that night - as if he too understands the possibility that James will walk off the door and not return.

She thinks of Cedric Diggory. His parents watched him enter a maze and he never returned. She can’t promise safety for Harry, not anymore; his trust in it has been broken forever.

He has faced death now.

‘I will be back before you awake, Harry’, James says soothingly, patting Harry’s feet over the blanket. ‘Right now I must do what I can, okay?’

Harry doesn’t look like he agrees, but he whispers: ‘Okay’.

James glances back at Lily. In those few seconds, she can read the fear in his eyes, not for himself, but for them; being away from his family at this moment doesn’t feel right for him either. But there is a fierce resolution in his eyes too, a notion of duty that James Potter will do everything he can for them, and Lily answers with a soft kiss on his lips.

Come back for us, is what she says in that kiss. If you want to do something for us, then come back.

‘I love you’, James whispers quietly, only for her, and she hears his promise of return in his voice.

And then he is gone.

She turns to Harry, sitting at the edge of his bed. Dumbledore tells him he will talk to the Diggorys and Lily closes her eyes as he leaves, fighting back a will to cry. It is the easiest thing to imagine what the Diggorys are going through and that scares her a lot.

Oh, God, Lily thinks to herself. Voldemort has returned only for a couple of hours now, the war has not even really begun, and she is fearful of everything already.

But she puts on her brave face. Later, when she is alone (or rather with James, his arms around her, preferably in the bedroom of the house they built together), she will let her feelings flow. Now, she needs to be there for Harry.

Lily opens her eyes, looking around. Ron and Hermione are staring at Harry, biting their lips as if they are on the edge of speech, but Harry’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling and nobody talks for a while.

She grabs the bottle of potion in the bedside cabinet, brushing the sack of gold as she does it. The sack falls in the ground, the sounds of metal coins echoing in the room. Harry winces as if that pains him.

‘You need to take your potion, Harry’, Lily tells him kindly, picking up the sack on the floor.

‘I don’t want it’, Harry murmurs. ‘The gold, I mean, I shouldn’t have won it. Ced… Cedric should have it’.

Lily tries to stop her hand from shaking as she uncorks the bottle of potion. It doesn’t work, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice as he holds the potion she gives him.

His brows are furrowed as if he is trying very hard to control himself. 

‘It wasn’t your fault, Harry’, she tells him, knowing she will have to repeat it a thousand times until he believes it.

‘It is’, he argues emotionless. ‘I told him to come with me. He was… the spare’.

Lily doesn’t know what he means by that, but she can’t ask right now. Harry is breathing through his mouth now, his lips trembling and he absolutely refuses to look at anyone. She knows his expression.

It’s the same on her face when she can’t cry at the moment.

Harry doesn’t want an audience. He was never one to feel comfortable with his emotions in public.

‘Drink your potion’, she orders gently, trying to force him to lie down, though he remains sitted. ‘We will let you rest -’

‘No’, he cuts her off, taking her hand in his. Harry looks around briefly, his head down as if he doesn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes, and then he whispers: ‘Stay... stay close to me’.

It’s the way Harry says it that breaks her. His voice is guilty as if he doesn’t want to be this weak, this dependant, the words seemingly escaping his mouth against his will. He is pleading to her, asking for comfort as he did when he was three-year-old and the thunder scared him and he was ashamed of it; Lily remembers him refusing James’ company, asking specifically for hers instead.

It is a son’s plea for his mother.

‘I’m always with you, Harry’, she promises him, bending down and placing her arms around her. She thinks Harry should hate her, because she feels a liar - she wasn’t there for her son tonight. Harry faced everything alone, as brave as he could, but all by himself, him against Voldemort, no lingering ghost of his parents to support him.

And yet Harry doesn’t yell, doesn’t accuse her of anything. He accepts her, raising his arms to hug her too almost desperately, and Lily hears him sobbing. It is a cry of misery, a cry that speaks how tired her teenage son is and how sorrowful he is for everything that happened, even when it is not his fault.

‘I’m here’, she tells him softly, caressing his hair, urging him to feel he is loved and protected by his mother.

There is a loud noise and they break apart. Harry’s face is drenched with tears and, as Lily blinks hers away, she realizes she was crying too. She dries them away quickly, before quietly wiping Harry’s face too. He is refusing to meet her eyes now, looking embarrassed and so young.

She kisses his forehead tenderly.

'Sleep, Harry', she whispers.

Harry takes the potion, drinking it in one gulp, and then his head is falling heavily on the pillow. Lily arranges his hair, then smoothes his blanket. Now, at least, in a dreamless sleep, Harry looks calmer, more like the fourteen-year-old boy he should be and yet never will.

She sits back on the chair, in a quiet vigil, waiting for James to return so they can be there, together, for when Harry wakes up.