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#a bit of fluff and crack to kick off the month
i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year
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A tiny gift...(and happy October everyone)
@melkors-big-tits....Thank you for being a friend and for having my back and holding my hand...
You are an exceptional artist who always inspires me greatly and I am honoured to have been granted the privilege of writing a terribly irreverent and VERY cracky ficlet about your adorable picture.
The art in question 🖼️ here 🖼️
Thank you
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Words: 2k
Warnings: irreverent towards the Valar, Manwë/Ulmo implied, sexual innuendo...this is complete and utter CRACK
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How trick-or-treating was invented
“You look just like your brother when you make that face,” Ulmo exclaimed, his voice crashing like tempestuous waves against the impassive form of Manwë, Lord of a lot of winged things.
“Uh-oh,” one of the tadchicks – neither entirely tadpole nor truly eaglet – whispered conspiratorially to the bobbing flock of their siblings, “they’ve invoked Melkor, The Great and Terrible.”
It was always a bad sign for the atmosphere in the Undisturbed Lands (which were shaken by the various disagreements of its inhabitants on the daily) when Manwë’s brother was mentioned. Melkor was a last-ditch insult betraying despair and lack of inspiration, akin to a series of phenomena ending in “-phobia” in another world they knew nothing of yet. 
“I’ll show you how alike my brother and I are,” Manwë howled after a moment of silence; just like the winds he controlled, he took a long time to take a deep breath before unleashing the violence of his anger. 
“Bring it!” Ulmo cackled derisively just as one particularly forward tadchick – small and a tad more rotund than was the norm – nudged their unofficial leader. 
“We should go and seek out this Melkor-creature,” the brazen youth piped up, “and see for ourselves if he is evil incarnate.” 
Acquiescent murmurs broke out among the unusual creatures (for there were neither accidents nor abominations here since the departure of the self-same Melkor who was kept alive and present by the incessant gossip of the Valar) who were as of yet unnamed due to their vast number and the lack of inspiration of their genitors. 
Clearly, their minders were otherwise occupied and hence, they theoretically could sneak out unseen to make their way to the legendary fortress of Utumno. As children of any kind and species were wont to do, they believed in the feasibility of their hare-brained plan and were blissfully ignorant of their glaring lapse in judgement: if Melkor was indeed the most terrible and cruel of all existing beings, it would undeniably have been a woefully injudicious decision to call upon him unchaperoned and unprotected by the might and power of their parents.
Invigorated by their own enterprising spirit, they were about to set out on their epic quest when a truly pathetically small tadchick suggested that they might want to disguise themselves for good measure. How they expected to fool the Lord of Utumno, brother and almost equal of their esteemed father, by such a subterfuge remains a mystery to this day, but – deciding that Varda’s white-faced anger was the most frightening sight they could think of – they attempted to recreate that horrifying sight by covering their heads with thin blankets, woven of tears and starlight and other immensely precious elements that should never be defiled in so callous a way.
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“There’s someone at the door,” Mairon declared, stretching out lazily on the chaise longue to make it very clear that it would fall to Melkor to check who dared disturb them in their bubble of carnal intimacy.
Watching the godly – in shape, in temperament, and in nature – creature get up wearily, Mairon chirped: “My dear Lord, would it not be judicious to clothe your magnificence?”
It was highly unlikely that their foes – lazy, self-indulgent, and highly superstitious idiots that they were – would present themselves in the middle of what he supposed had to be “night” to them, but it was still better to pre-emptively eschew a situation in which Melkor would have to wrestle a handful of suicidal Eldar while naked.  Not that Mairon would have minded the spectacle; the mere thought of that image made his body prickle with nascent arousal, and he decided that, once this loathsome interruption was dealt with conveniently, he would coax his master into another romp between the sheets.
Getting up reluctantly from his comfortable sprawl, he crept closer to the door in which Melkor – clad in an array of bright violet strands of fabric impersonating a dress and a pair of plush slippers Gothmog had gifted him – stood like the wrath of…like his ownall-consuming wrath, listening to whoever was outside. 
From time to time, he nodded very seriously which would have made Mairon curious if he allowed himself such feeble-minded weaknesses. 
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After braving darkness and an unexpectedly chilly climate – they turned out to be much more coddled than they had expected themselves to be – the tadchicks were rightfully appalled to discover that the great and powerful Melkor turned out to be much less a frightening monster worthy of fireside stories and much more a huge, fleshy, broadly grinning Vala in fluffy slippers.
Summoning all their courage, they had banged their tiny arm-like appendages against the solid door with as much authority as they had been able to muster, waiting with bated breath for it to swing open to reveal a fanged, clawed, fearsome monstrosity.
After all the mumbled and hissed references and insults haunting their home like vengeful phantoms, they had expected something truly awe-inspiring and were just the tiniest bit disappointed by the almost friendly smile adorning that angular but not unhandsome face.
Remembering their own inherent power and pointedly ignoring the undignified sign demanding they wipe off their feet (as if they would set a single foot into that unholy fortress), they started howling and screeching to – if that was somehow possible – scare the Evil Lord out of his loathsome ways.
Judging by the fond expression passing over his face, their success was middling at best; temerity overcame them and – to mitigate that partial failure – they redoubled their efforts at frightening Melkor into being a decent being once more.
“Adorable,” he commented in a raucous, gravelly voice and shouted for his lieutenant over his massive shoulder; a moment later, a lithe, fire-haired creature appeared.
If Melkor’s appearance made his proclivity for chaotic violence abundantly clear, this sly, feline predator, stalking towards the open door with the lethal grace and the flashing eyes of a big cat, was a different kind of evil altogether though. They didn’t like the look of that other one and – this came as a shock to everyone – they much preferred the half-naked apparition leaning casually against the doorframe.
In their expert opinion, the similarities between Melkor and their father lay mainly in size and girth, even though they could not deny that his generous mouth did remind them of the endless litanies and reprimands Manwë frequently spouted with so much gusto that one would have thought that harsh words tasted like candied apples to him.
The tadchicks shivered as the realisation of how much danger they really were in struck them for the very first time in all its amplitude.
“Mairon,” the not all that fearsome Vala of darkness and destruction purred, “go get some treats for the little ones!”
His words were honeyed but the commanding tone left no doubts as to his supreme power and position in the lumpy and oddly misshapen fortress he called his “home” (he did at that; there was a crooked, hand-painted sign swinging listlessly above the gaping abyss of the open door).
“Treats? Master, do you mean to insinuate that you’ll guerdon these miscreants with waffles and candy for their insolence?” Mairon made a face that might have looked cute on someone who was not eyeing the tadchicks as if theywere the midnight snack he craved.
“Don’t pout,” Melkor laughed and grabbed the narrow chin of his officer between his thumb and forefinger playfully, “and do as you are told.”
The assembly of terrified rather than terrifying youngsters took a deep, relieved breath unisono when the one named Mairon slunk back into the shadows. 
Not long afterwards though, he returned and handed his master a basket full of delicious, tasty delights that were promptly handed out to them patiently.
Unnamed and untamed as they yet were, the tadchicks started pushing and elbowing one another in their puerile eagerness to snatch up the most sought-after delicacies.
“You’re worse than the Balrogs,” Melkor chuckled, evidently taking great pleasure in discovering that his oh-so-high-and-mighty brother had not managed to bully or shame his own progeny into the level of perfection seemingly expected of every breathing thing around him either.
“And I am the Lord of Chaos,” he muttered under his breath mockingly when he saw one of the squirming creatures take a bite out of their sibling, painting the flimsy sheets they were wearing crimson.
“Tut tut,” he chided and handed the wailing victim an especially well-shaped waffle – Thuringwethil’s secret weapon – to comfort him; he knew only too well how it felt to be beaten into obedience by a slightly stronger sibling and he commiserated with the poor mite.
Reconciled, the brave little tadchick hugged their beautiful waffle to their strange chest - looking both shiny as if wet and finely feathered – and nodded their veiled little head in wordless gratitude.
"Who sired you?" Melkor then asked softly as he handed his empty basket back to the still menacing, fire-eyed naysayer who hovered at his elbow like a leashed jaguar.
Another round of shoving ensued before half of them called out the name of one of their fathers and the other half claimed the parentage of the other.
“Indeed,” Melkor hissed between clenched teeth; for a moment, the world seemed to stand still, and then he threw back his head – dark hair swirling madly around him – and laughed heartily.
“Let me give you something for them as well,” he smirked and, after disappearing very shortly (for which they were truly thankful for that Mairon-creature was eyeing them with a mix of hatred and hunger), he returned with a neatly packed bundle that was entrusted to the biggest and sturdiest of their party.
“Those are their favourites,” Melkor explained, “now run home before they get too worried about you.”
Another wave of murmuring stirred the tadchicks into a whirlpool of frantic motion as the offering was handed around, sniffed thoroughly, and approved as exceptional.  
They were truly agog to find Melkor to be not only shockingly comely instead of tear-inducingly repulsive, but also generous, humorous, and even kind. 
“Shoo now,” Melkor repeated cheerily, waving his massive hand enthusiastically at the group that was slowly making their way back home, bobbing up and down in their eagerness to analyse and discuss every hair on the dark Vala’s head.
“They’ll be livid,” Mairon chortled from behind Melkor’s broad back, raking his fingers down the ropes of tense muscle teasingly, “but I suspect that this was what you had in mind?”
“Nonsense,” his master contradicted, “cuties get treats! That’s a rule. And as I am the undisputed King of Cuties, I get the most!”
Turning around quickly, he grabbed Mairon’s chin once more and pressed a passionate kiss on those primly pursed lips about to open to let out a sharp riposte. 
“Who could truly blame me if my most selfless goodwill ends up corrupting their little creatures?” Melkor chirped innocently, underlining his words with a nonchalant shrug, and – hips swaying invitingly – returned to the chaise longue that had been deserted by Mairon. 
He threw a single melting, languorous look over his shoulder as he sank down on it with surprising grace. 
“You want waffles too, right?” Mairon cocked one eyebrow.
“Please?” 
Shaking his head, the dutiful, loyal lieutenant decided that he’d drown the baked goods in so much syrup that it would be positively impossible for Melkor not to drip all over his barely clothed chest.
It would fall to him to clean his master and get him into a proper state – worthy of his birth and station – before bedtime. What one didn’t do for duty! 
He bit back the chuckle and joined Melkor on the couch, sinking into his luminous, mesmerising eyes as much as into the soft cushions.
“Open up wide, King of Cuties,” he scoffed and tore off a tiny strip of waffle to taunt Melkor into that second round he had been aiming at this whole time.
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So, this kicks off October for me.
Have a nice month and - if you enjoy my rambling - I'll do an October ficlet run for the @fellowshipofthefics Fotfictober Challenge. You can already go look at the pairings.
And...I might just combine the one or the other with the corresponding kinktober prompt. Who knows? Stay tuned.
Lots of love from me <3
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hanjsquokka · 5 months
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Hoodie - [ Han Jisung ]
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🐿 SYNOPSIS : Jisung comes over to your apartment, but the hoodie he's wearing looks all too familiar
GENRE : established relationship, pure fluff
PAIRING : han jisung × fem!reader
CONTENT WARNING : none
WORD COUNT : 1K
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You were greeted with silence in your apartment as you entered after a long day at work. Your boss always managed to make things ten times more frustrating than they needed to be. You spotted a sleeping figure on your couch as you walked by. Your boyfriend, Han Jisung — was a frequent visitor to your home (at least, on his free days he was). He shifted in his slumber, the anime running on the TV long forgotten.
As you drifted closer to him, you could make out the angle of his jaw line more clearly and his adorable cheeks weren't quite visible anymore. That made your heart ache. Going on tour was no easy feat, but seeing the love of your life so drained felt like a kick in the gut. Your hand moves to his hair on instinct, combing through the soft hair. You always wondered how his hair was so soft, despite dyeing it every few months.
"Hmm?" He groaned, his eyes cracking open a little to see you. "Oh, hey baby, I didn't hear you —"
"You can nap for a little longer. I'm going to shower and make some food."
"Is that food instant ramen?" He asked with a sleepy laugh.
"Don't hate on my love for noodles." You laughed, ruffling his hair a little more.
He pulled the blanket that was on top of him closer to his face. "Well, if you're going to take a while, I'll take a quick power nap I guess."
"You do that, baby." You got up from the couch and headed to the bathroom to take a nice, warm shower.
The shower really did wonders for your pent up stress. It felt like all of it washed off of you and went down the drain. Feeling refreshed, you wrapped a towel around yourself and went to your room to put on some comfy clothes. But the particular hoodie you wanted to wear was no where to be found. After spending about ten minutes emptying out the contents of your closet, you gave up and put on a t-shirt and shorts before heading to the kitchen to heat some water for your ramen.
As you were watching the noodles cook in the pot, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you, sending a wave of butterflies throughout your body. Jisung rested his chin on your shoulder, his grip tightening around your waist.
"The wonderful smell of instant ramen mix." He mused, his voice sending fluttering vibrations throughout your skin.
"Yeah. I should probably go and buy real food tomorrow." You said, turning around to face him. "I haven't had time to grocery shop —" You paused, your gaze falling on the piece of clothing he was wearing. The oversized grey hoodie you were looking for earlier! But how did Jisung did get. Or rather, how long did he have it? "Ji baby..." You started with a small chuckle. "Is this mine?"
Jisung looked like a deer caught in headlights- his perfect crime was no longer perfect. "N-No...?" He looked away, no longer making eye contact with you. You gave him a look. He sighed. "Yeah." He admitted. "But I only took it because I was going to miss you! You know I haven't been feeling well lately and going on tour was just going to make it worse — not that I don't like performing, I love performing! But I really missed you." He added that last bit quietly, pouting — making his cheeks full.
"It's okay. I'm very honored to have had my hoodie stolen." You said, pulling him away from the stove (and switching it off, you couldn't have another chuseok disaster, now could you?) "It looks cute on you." You wrapped your arms around his waist.
"You think so? I think I was wearing a bit too often though. The boys thought I lost my luggage and this was the only thing I had left." he told you, laughing at his own words. "I didn't even wash it for a long while until someone — I swear Felix is just too kind for his own good sometimes — threw it in for laundry. Your beautiful scent was washed away." He said dramatically. "All I had left was the thought of you wearing this before, hugging me like I'd disappear if you'd let go as I tried to sleep."
You laughed. "You're more dramatic than Hyunjin sometimes, you know? How about... I give you my perfume?" You suggested. "That way even if Felix is just trying to be nice and wash your clothes because you're too lazy to do so (Jisung squeezed your sides at that) you can just spray some perfume and voila."
He thought on that for a moment. "That's a pretty good idea. Time to raid your perfume collection as well."
"As well? Just how many of my things did you steal Han Jisung?" You asked seriously, but a giddy smile was on your face.
"Not much. Your hoodie." He gestured to the one he was wearing. "Your sunflower necklace you broke? Your fluffy owl socks you thought the washing machine ate. And..." He paused for dramatic effect. "Your heart." He added with a smug smirk, making you blush.
"You're quite the thief." You said through your giggles. "I can't believe you took my socks though!"
"Hey, those socks are so cute and so comfy."
"I know! I liked them so much. You saw how upset I was when they didn't come out of the washing machine."
"Yeah. But I needed them more." He shrugged nonchalantly, hugging you tighter, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Also, I think we can't eat those noodles anymore." Turns out you didn't switch off the stove. There was now a boiling mass of something in the pot.
You let out a sheepish laugh. "Yeah."
"It's okay bubs, let's order some takeout. Can't have my baby slaving in the kitchen when she needs to be cuddling me." He picked you up, causing yet another fit of giggles to escape your lips as he carried you back into the living room.
AUTHOR'S NOTE : this was so fun to write T-T i desperately need a han jisung in my life >_< the only that gets stolen from me are my answers on my test 😔
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©hanjsquokka | copying, translating or republishing my work is strictly prohibited
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osachiyo · 7 months
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.* ࣪.⋆ ❐ OH, DARLING ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡
﹙ ✿ ﹚── includes : dazai, chuuya, kunikida, ranpo, fyodor & nikolai x fem!reader
﹙ ✿ ﹚── content warnings : sfw content (very rare from me ☠), fluff, nikolai being an amazing father, a bit of crack, a teeeny tiny suggestive bit but nothing too bad, and ummm children?
﹙ ✿ ﹚── synopsis : bsd men as daddies 😍
﹙ ✿ ﹚── author's note : lmk if y'all want the baby making part aswell 😼
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DAZAI ୭·࣭࣪̇˖  
Dazai as a dad in one word is definitely 'silly'. He always knew how to make his baby girl's frown into a smile in mere seconds. He knew her like the back of his hand, always knowing how to calm her down when she's crying or throwing a fit. During your pregnancy he'd try to sing his famous suicide song to his soon to be born baby, only to get smacked in the head by you. He'd always keep a hand on your swollen stomach, excited to feel her kick.
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You and Dazai were in your shared bedroom. His lips were on your own soft ones, plump and swollen from him softly nibbling on them. He gently laid you down on the mattress, kissing and nibbling on your ear as he whispered sweet nothings to you. He was about to lift your shirt when suddenly a cry came from the other room. You both jumped and sat up straight on the bed before you rushed out to comfort your crying baby. You picked her up from the crib and shushed her, bouncing your daughter in your arms in hopes for her to calm down. "Its okay, darling. Mommy's right here, see?" You smiled, wiping the tears and snot off her face with a towel. You sighed in relief when she stopped crying, only staring at you with a pout. "What's my princess crying about?" You turn around to see Dazai leaning against the door frame. You walk towards him and hand her over, pouting, "guess she missed her daddy?" He cooed at her, making her giggle and squeal. "Oh, is that right? Aren't you a naughty girl, interrupting mommy and daddy's spicy time like this?" He pinched her nose softly, his tone playful but holding so much love. He truly adored this baby. You huff playfully, crossing your arms. "I'm the one who carried her for nine months but you're her favourite?! This is so unfair." He chuckled, kissing your cheek. "Don't worry, love. You'll always be my favourite." You made a disgusted face, "I'd rather not." "Wha—Why?!"
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CHUUYA ୭·࣭࣪̇˖  
This man is the best dad any kid could ever ask for. He was genuinely so damn nervous when you first told him you were pregnant, almost thinking it was a prank until you told him no, you were actually having a baby. He was excited and scared at the same time, but you reassured him that he would make a wonderful father, and he did.
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Chuuya was taking care of the baby today since you had to go and run some errands. He silently stared at his son absolutely demolishing the Barbie doll Dazai had gifted him, foolishly assuming you guys had a girl. His son, who had just turned two, straight up decapitated the doll and is now trying to rip off it’s arm. Chuuya debated whether he would stop the child before he accidentally hurts himself. He finally decided to just take a video and send it to you with the caption, “this is what we raised.” He placed the phone aside and strode over to his son, gently trying to take the downright brutalized doll away from him but he wouldn’t budge, tightening his grip on the toy, “mine!” Chuuya sighed, wondering just where this kid got his stubbornness from.
You arrived back home just one hour later, "I'm home!" You first placing the groceries in their designated spots before heading to the livingroom to see your husband and son. The living room was...a complete mess. Barbie limbs were scattered on the tiled floor, some even had teeth marks on them, indicating that the little boy was chewing on them. You sighed and your eyes landed on the sofa, where the two most important people of your life were sleeping peacefully. Your eyes softened. You walked over to the couch and gently kissed your son's cheek before doing the same to Chuuya. You noticed there was a Barbie head somehow stuck to his ginger hair. You laughed quietly, he definitely took after him.
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KUNIKIDA ୭·࣭࣪̇˖  
When you told him you were pregnant, he was absolutely over the moon. He was very protective during your pregnancy, not letting you go to work or do any household chores. He wanted to be the ideal husband and father for you and the bundle of joy you were giving birth to. He was with you every step of the way, reassuring you that everything would be fine and you were both in this together. He knew you'd be an amazing mother.
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Kunikida woke up from the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. He squinted and reached for his phone, '2:16 am'. He sat up straight, blinking the sleep away as he got out of the comfort of the shared bed. He glanced at you, leaning in to kiss your forehead before walking out of the bedroom. He quietly headed towards the kitchen only to see his 3 year old daughter standing atop a chair infront of the fridge, tub of the cookie dough flavoured ice cream in her stubby hands. She tries to scoop it out with an ice cream scooper but alas, the ice cream is too hard. His heart clenched at the adorable sight of her pouting, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tries her best to scoop the cold treat out. He snaps out of it and clears his throat, hands on his hips while he interrogated her, "and what're you doing up so late?" She whipped her head towards her father's direction, startled by his stern voice. She quickly tries to hide the ice cream tub behind her, the scooper falling out of her grasp in the process. "n-nothing!" He sighed and picked the metal tool up from the floor, walking over to the sink to clean it before getting a bowl and returning back to his little girl. "Give that here," he takes the tub of ice cream, scooping a healthy amount in the bowl before giving it to her. "Don't tell mommy, okay?" She nodded, too busy savouring the sweet taste of the ice cream. He pinches her cheek playfully, "you're such a messy eater..and do not think you'll be getting away with this everytime, young lady." He scolds, flicking her forehead, making her whine. If only they both knew you've been watching the entire time, heart doing backflips at the cuteness of it.
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RANPO ୭·࣭࣪̇˖  
Ranpo was...an interesting father to say the least. He wasn't terrible but he definitely wasn't the best. You didn't expect anything more, considering he's a full grown adult with a toddler's mentality. While your pregnancy, he helped you with most stuff but he would not tolerate your mood swings. He once called you bratty while you were in your trimester and you smacked the shit out of him, which was deserved according to Yosano while he whined about it to her. He bought you your flowers and chocolates as an apology later. This man almost cried when he held the baby in his arms for the first time but he'd rather die than admit that.
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Ranpo stared at you breastfeeding your baby boy in utter focus. His eyes were narrowed to slits as he observed his son stealing your tits from their rightful owner. You deadpanned at him, "honey, is something the matter?" He pouted, "I want milk too~" You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, mentally patting yourself on the back for dealing with his shenanigans every day. "You're not a baby, Ranpo.." "but you said I'm your baby! You call me baby every day, no?" Your son side eyed his dad for a second before going back to drinking peacefully. "Did you see that?! Did you see how he looked at me?!" Ranpo accusedly pointed a finger at the small child and you shook your head. "He's just a baby, darling. I don't think he can give you a nasty look at this age..." Your husband only crosses his arms angrily before crawling towards you on the bed, reaching for one of your boobs when his son side eyed him again, judging hard. Ranpo ignored the look and leaned in to take you in his mouth when your son started crying, waving his arms around in clear distress. You tried to calm him down, bouncing him in your lap and kissing his chubby face., "aww baby don't cry~ daddy is a weirdo? I know, baby, I know." Ranpo gasped, grumbling something about 'sharing is caring'. "so sharing is caring until it comes to you sharing your snacks?" You commented, giggling mischeviously with your son, who was now beaming as he watched his dad sulk away.
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FYODOR ୭·࣭࣪̇˖  
Fyodor was an amazing husband to you as long as you obeyed him like a good wife should that sounds borderline sexist but ok. He was also very caring and protective during your pregnancy, always looking out for you, making sure you're well fed, not letting you do chores by yourself, you get the idea. Fortunately, the whole process went very smoothly, he was there almost every step of the way. When he held the small child in his arms, he felt a joy he didn't know he could. The small bundle of sunshine got fyodor's raven hair, your eyes and his face structure. He just loved that kid so much and you could tell by the way he spoke to her so gently, cradling her in his arms as he promised her that would take good care of you both.
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Fyodor was currently busy with giving his precious daughter a bath, the three year old jumping in excitement as she loves her bathtime. Usually you'd be the one helping her bathe, but you couldn't do that today because of a fever. So your dear husband took over the household duties for today. You tried to reassure him that he didn't have to, but he wouldn't budge, forcing you to lay down and rest while he took care of everything.
Now here he was, trying to choose which bathbomb he should pick for his three year old daughter. He settles on a sparkly purple one with pink swirls, "How's this one, love?" The toddler's eyes widen, curiously gazing at it with her big, doe eyes. He smiled and plopped the bathbomb in the tub, watching his daughter squeal as it fizzes up. "Oh! 's pwetty, daddy!" She giggled, splashing some water at him. He chuckled, head resting on his palm, thinking about how adorable she was.
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NIKOLAI ୭·࣭࣪̇˖  
Bro went to get the milk faster than lighting itself.
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©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, likes and reblogs are very appreciated♡
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riizeandshine · 3 months
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The Cat Council
bf!LeeKnow x gn!Reader Genre — Fluff Word count — 1.2k Synopsis: On Lee Know’s day off, he wants to rest in the warmth of his room and the loves of his life. But when Y/N has different plans, they are met with a peculiar situation in the living room.
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ZZZZZZ…
ZZZZZZ…
The adrenaline rushes into your body as you reach for your phone to turn off your alarm. Once you turn it off frantically, you lay on your back to calm yourself down. Despite it being Lee Know’s holiday and your day off, you wanted to be up to take care of the exhausted Minho. You knew that the boy just wanted to stay inside and be with his family. And you were going to do just that.
You shifted your body to turn to Minho. He was sleeping on his back, lips slightly parted that were letting out soft snores. The cats who surrounded the two of you, were also sleeping in their own comfy ways. What a sight to see.
“GAHHHHHHHH!” Lee Know yelled out. You jumped at his sudden antics since he just woke up. 
“What?! I could feel your eyes piercing into my dreams. I thought for a second that maybe I was actually having a nightmare...” He shuttered as he stretched his limbs out. You blushed. I mean who could keep their eyes focused on the ceiling if your boyfriend is so handsome? The views are just too good...
“Cat got your tongue?” He flipped over and smirked at you. “NUH UH! I-I was just enjoying the view!” You stuttered out. 
“Of course you were… Now why is my love awake at this hour?” He mumbled into his pillow. His eyes clearly read that he was still tired.
“Well, I have some plans today” Lee Know shot up from the bed like Frankenstein. His head swiveled to face you, revealing his eyes squinting at you. Uh oh… You’ve only seen this look at least once. ONCE because you said that Jeongin had a pretty outfit on. The look alone is sure to put anyone in a state of intense nervousness. 
“You mean to stay in these four walls with me and the cats, right…?” He said rather calmly despite his eyes saying otherwise. 
“Heh.. and what if I said no…?” You nervously chuckled out while Lee Know continued his strong glare towards you. 
“UGH! But who’s gonna keep me warm!?” He suddenly flops back onto the bed and squirms around like a fish out of water. He kicks and waves his arms on the bed almost like a very messy snow angel.
“The cats…?” You said in yet another shaky tone. Lee Know groaned loudly into his pillow in response. He stayed so still that you thought he had fallen back asleep. Perhaps he was just a bit out of it from all the work he had done throughout the month and this morning. Or... he was getting ready to explode into another whining fit.
You took this silence as a chance to carefully slip out the bed. You briefly stood by the doorway to ensure he wasn’t gonna pounce on you once you turned your back. Once the coast was clear, you tiptoed out to the hallway to get inside the bathroom.
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It took you about an hour to finish your morning routine and get ready to head out of the house. Slowly cracking the door open, you scan the hallway. You saw something run across the floor and assumed one of the cats somehow followed you out of the bedroom. You opened the door all the way and made your way to the living room. But you stopped in your tracks once you saw Lee Know, Soonie, Doongie and Dori sitting in a half circle.
“Sit” Lee Know simply said. You obeyed and sat across the 4 cats in front of you. 
“Minho, what the hell is this?” 
“ORDER IN THE COURT! Y/n L/n, you are to appear in the cat council because you have committed a crime” Lee Know said leaning behind Soonie, giving him a voice. Your face reads total confusion as to why 1. Lee Know and the cats are sitting in row opposite of you and 2. You’re still here listening to all of this.
“Okay then, Soonie… What crime did I commit?” 
“Judge Soonie to you... But you have rejected your super duper handsome boyfriend’s plan to keep him warm on such a cold winter day” Minho continues to say leaning behind Soonie who was surprisingly still staring right at you.
“Oh really, Judge Soonie?” You fake smiled towards Lee Know, glaring through your eyes. 
“Bailiff Doongie, their eyes are scaring me!” Doongie continues to lick his little toe beans, paying no attention to his favorite owner's pleas.
“Can we be done here?” You say abruptly. You stood up to try and leave but Lee Know anchored your ankles by grabbing them.
“Nope! You still have to convince the cat council members why you’re going out on a day that we should all be relaxing together” Lee Know chimes. You sit back down but this time on your knees in case you have another chance to jump back up and run before any of them can catch you.
“No I won't” You argue.
“Hmmm… still gotta convince my cat colleagues~” Lee Know sang out as he swayed side to side, gently bumping the cats next to him.
“Seriously?”
“What do you mean ‘seriously’?! You’re the one who—”
“I plead the fifth!”
“There is no fifth in Korea!”
“YUH-HUH! It just might not be called the fifth though!”
“WE’RE GETTING OFF TOPIC! SOONIE, WE HAVE YET ANOTHER ORDER IN THE COURT!”
“NO, WE DO NOT! ALSO WHY IS DORI NOT MY LAWYER? I WANT A LAWYER!”
“NO, YOU DON’T GET ONE!”
“DUDE THAT’S LITERALLY ILLEGAL?! THAT’S AGAINST MY RIGHTS”
“YOU KNOW WHAT IS AGAINST MY RIGHTS? I AM BEING STRIPPED OF MY HEAT SOURCE AAAAAAAAND LOVE OF LIFE ON THE DAY I AM SUPPOSED TO BE AT HOME RESTINGGGGGGGG!!”
You both took a deep breath in the midst of your playful banter. You noticed Lee Know shiver as moves towards the cats to cuddle up with them.
“You seriously want to know?” You say softly and he nods. “I was gonna go to the store to get ingredients for your favorite meals. I was also going to get some other goodies for us to spend the rest of the weekend together like hot choco”. Lee Know sits up and lets out a mumbled 'oh'.
“I thought you didn’t want to spend the day with me” He pouts. Instead of responding you tackle him. You peppered his flushed face with kisses and soon heard giggles leaving his mouth.
“I always want to be with my Min” You say in between the gentle kisses. “I just wanted to be sure that we had everything”
“But we do have everything…” He whispers, eyes shifting around the room, to the cats and back to you.
“You’re right, huh?” You smile. You suddenly think back to how Lee Know doesn’t ask or even like to receive gifts. He was always out doing something on special days like these. To stay in would be no different. He just wants to be with the things he loves most.
“Can’t I just order a delivery and you can keep us all warm today?” He blurts. 
“I don’t know… ask your council” You joked. He pushed your arm a bit and you let out a laugh. He then leans his head towards Soonie, pretending that the cat was whispering into his ear. Lee Know hums a few times and nods his head. 
“Soonie says that the jury say you’re guilty of your crimes and you will be sentenced to community service which includes being with Lee Minho, Lee Soonie, Lee Doongie and Lee Dori for the rest of the day” 
“Wow, Judge Soonie... So I guess the cat council says I must keep my boyfriend warm and healthy?” 
“Yup” You look at Lee Know who was hiding a growing mischievous smile. 
The both of you proceeded to lay on the living room floor in silence. The cats dispersed from their council duties and went back to being regular cats. You reached out for Lee Know's hand and held it. Soft snores were now leaving his mouth once more. Even though you wanted to make Lee Know's day by making some of his favorite things, you somehow still won when you realized that this was his ideal day anyways. You close your eyes too and follow the snoring symphony.
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Special thank you to @benkeibear's small stars and @khaer's cat dividers!
768 notes · View notes
lilliumrorum · 2 months
Text
What does he have that I don't? (Part Two)
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<<Previous | Masterlist | Next>>
Synopsis: After getting comfortable in your captain's dwelling, you experience a dream involving him, intensifying your desire for the man.
WC: 3k
Content/Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Soft Price, fluff, Cheating, kind of pining?, Wet dreams, Masturbation.
Notes: Sorry this took so long to post, I've had lots of fucking issues with tumblr and I am proper pissed off. Exams have been kicking my ass too, but I'll make sure to write an extra long chapter next time!
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In this situation, unlike others, you wouldn't yearn for Simon's touch. The absence of affection from him for months has built a resistance to missing that once addictive sensation. Tears welled up once more as you reflected on the abuse endured just to cling to the shattered fragments of your 'relationship'. Desiring a different reality, you found yourself in a challenging situation, torn between lingering feelings for your lost love and developing admiration for your captain.
Concluding the scorching shower, the realization struck that a towel was forgotten. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you pondered how such a simple thing could be overlooked. An uneasy hope lingered that the captain remained undisturbed in his slumber, as a preemptive guilt surfaced. The idea of waking him up intensified that internal conflict, leaving you in a contemplative state after the steam had dissipated. Standing there, damp and hesitant, you grappled with the consequences of a neglected towel and the possibility of disrupting your captain's peace.
Your hand unlocked the door, cracking it open just a bit.
"John?"
"Mm?" His deep voice echoed from the couch.
You felt a sense of relief upon realizing he wasn't in bed yet.
"I… may have forgotten to grab a towel," you admitted with a nervous tone.
You heard his soft footsteps moving down the hall and passing by the bathroom. As soon they approached the room you made sure to narrow the crack of the open door, ensuring you wouldn't accidentally flash him. A sturdy silhouette stood behind it, holding a towel. Cautiously peeking around, you gently retrieve it from his grasp.
He stared at you for a moment, gazing at your damp hair and shoulders before seemingly snapping out of it.
"Don't make my floor too wet, Sergeant." He said with a breath before trekking back to the couch.
You slowly closed the door, releasing a heavy breath you didn't realize you were holding. It felt as if butterflies had been swirling around in your stomach, cheeks burning like fire as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The butterflies were nothing novel; in fact, they were a constant presence. Every time you worked near him your heart fluttered.
The salt-and-pepper mustache that quirked up when he smiled made your heart do flips. His hands, aged yet firm, with thick fingers calloused from years of service made you fantasize about what they would feel like inside you. The quick waves you received when he walked past you, his combat pants fitting him just right made for an easy distraction. Doing paperwork with him late at night presented itself a challenge. Your brain was constantly fuzzy whenever you looked at him.
At this point, you couldn't distinguish whether it was him making you shudder or your own nakedness. The stark contrast in temperature from your shower to the chilling air heightened your eagerness to get dressed. The towel rubbing against your skin brought a soothing sensation to your mind, interrupting your thoughts about him.
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"You did so good f'me, lovie. Such a good fucking girl." He praised, slowly pulling out of your fluttering cunt.
You whimpered at the feeling of being empty after being stuffed full for so long.
"I love you, Simon." you whispered breathlessly.
He gazed at you, searching your eyes for some sort of hidden plan, or trickery. He found nothing but adoration.
"I love you too." He whispered as he got up, searching for the towel he had placed somewhere, you reached out and gently wrapped your hand around as much of his toned arm as you could before he moved too far.
He glanced at you, his expression filled with curiosity.
"Si, can you promise me something?"
"What is it doll?"
"Don't leave me."
"What kinda promise is that? I'm never gonna leave you. Hell, I'm stuck on you."
You smiled at his words.
But he broke that promise. He left you, a ghost in his place.
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"Captain, is it alright if I get dressed in the bedroom?" You uttered your words with a delicate tone as you stepped out into the hall.
His head shifted in the direction of your voice, his attention lingering on your legs briefly before his gaze ascended to meet your face. He stared at you for what seemed like an eternity. Your posture started to shift as nervousness crept in, especially with his eyes on your barely covered body. He seemed to take notice, offering a smile before he spoke.
"Of course dove, that's where you're sleeping anyway." He spoke with a tone that held weariness.
"Oh no you don't ha-" as soon as you spoke you were interrupted.
"I said that's where you're sleepin' and that's that. Don't argue with me, sergeant." He commanded.
You raised your hands in the air, signaling surrender, before letting out a laugh and walking back to his bedroom.
The scent of everything was reminiscent of him, when you opened his closet, the aroma of cinnamon and pine struck you instantly. You breathed in his scent and felt a bit more at ease. Why did everything about him have to evoke such a strong sense of comfort and familiarity?
If you didn't move past this childlike crush soon, you'd end up with more issues than you're already grappling with. He could be your father for Christ's sake!
You shook your head, as if the thought would dissipate, while grabbing some pajama shorts and a tank top. The clothes were rather revealing, but John would surely understand if he saw them. Your intention was to return home to Simon, not to him. When you left, there was no time to retrieve your clothes, as you aimed to escape the situation as smoothly as possible.
Your body ached for sleep, going without it for what seemed like ages.
Turning the light off and slipping into bed, a subtle shift occurred in your thoughts, and the image of John began to weave its way into your consciousness like a gentle melody. In the calm moments preceding sleep, his laughter echoed, and the warmth of his gaze painted the canvas of your contemplations. The memory of John intertwined seamlessly with the comforting embrace of his sheets, creating a space where the lines between reality and the fanciful dance of imagination became hazy. With each closing of your eyes, dreams unfolded, casting John as the silent protagonist in the tales that quietly unfolded in the realm of your weary mind.
In the silent corners of your thoughts, dreams took shape, painting a picture where you were romantically involved with John. Scenes of stolen glances and hidden meetings unfolded, with the forbidden nature of it all adding an exhilarating edge to the fantasy. In these vivid dreams, shared moments created a connection that surpassed the ordinary reality surrounding you. However, these fantasies were kept as a personal refuge—a brief escape within the private chambers of your mind, where the blurred lines of possibility flirted with the edges of longing.
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"Tell me what you want, dove. What do you need from me?" he breathed in a solaced whisper.
His rugged hands worked at your body, roaming across your naked form as you tried your hardest to utter a word, mumbling nonsense. He hadn't taken your panties off yet, the cloth becoming more and more wet by the second.
"Words, sweetheart. I need to know what you want from me." His fingers teasing your clit in soft, circular motions.
"John- Oh shit! I need them inside! Please!" You practically sobbed.
Everything in this moment completed you. His waist was stationed between your legs as he continued his ministrations on your cunt. At this point you were a whining mess for him. You were too distracted with your pleasure to realize he had pulled your panties to the side, thick fingers lined up with your sopping hole.
"God, you're perfect."
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The captain's eyes snapped open upon hearing sounds emanating from the bedroom. Initially thinking it might be crying, he knocked on the door once.
With no response, he opened the door to investigate, finding you helplessly whimpering and pressing your thighs together in your sleep.
He was well Aware that intruding was not right, but he lingered a little longer, drawn by the sweet serenade of your voice. Going back to bed at this moment seemed impossible for him. His cock straining against his pants as discomfort grew, urging him to address it promptly.
He treaded back to the couch, every step carrying an enduring strain to his crotch. Fuck, those noises were driving him wild.
He knows it's not right, yet he pulled out his erection anyway. He needed relief, blood rushing to the tip as it sprung out of his pants. His arousal was yearning for a momentary reprieve.
He groaned as he started fisting his cock, guttural groans coming from his chest as he chased his release. His eyes fluttered closed, Imagining you spread out for him, begging for whatever he could give you. Your pretty body writhing underneath him while you worked in sync to reach that peak. Nails scratching at his back with each forceful thrust of his hips. He tried to stay as silent as he could, listening to the melody of your sounds. He tried to savor your sounds, prolonging his orgasm to the best of his ability. He couldn't hold it any longer, somewhat embarrassed at how fast he was going to finish.
The familiar feeling of his climax began to reach him, his lower abdomen flexing harshly with each stroke.
"Fuck"
His sticky cum flowed over him fingers as it spilled out from his twitching tip.
This was wrong, but god did it feel so fucking right.
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Throughout the night, Simon couldn't shake the image of your shocked and saddened expression from his thoughts. All he longed for was to have you back with him at home. Who the fuck were you with anyway?
As the minutes stretched into hours, Simon's chest tightened with an unsettling jealousy. The anticipation of your return became a weighty burden, and the quiet emptiness of the house echoed his longing. He had watched you leave, hope clinging to the belief that you would soon walk back through the door. However, as the night wore on and you failed to return, that hope transformed into a bitter ache. Each passing moment fueled the jealousy that churned within him, a mix of fear and insecurity. The empty house seemed to mock his unspoken yearning, amplifying the silence that enveloped him in a suffocating embrace.
The air hung heavy with tension when Johnny left the house, the weight of your discovery lingering in the strained atmosphere. The revelation of the affair had cast a pall over the once-shared space, leaving behind a palpable sense of betrayal. The door closed with a hollow finality, echoing the rupture in trust that now defined the relationship. He laid there in your empty bed, the aftermath of your revelation settling like dust in the room, and the emptiness of the departing footsteps mirrored the void that now consumed the once-shared moments with Johnny. The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying your absence.
When you left he was still pent up with arousal, so him and Johnny went a couple rounds, but he soon had to leave to get enough rest before the sun rose. With both of you no longer present, he truly began to realize he was alone.
Jealousy gnawed at Simon as he grappled with the unsettling uncertainty of your whereabouts. Each passing moment fueled his imagination, and he found himself consumed by thoughts of who you might be staying with. The unanswered questions echoed in his mind, creating a symphony of doubt and insecurity. The image of someone else occupying the space meant for him sparked a surge of possessiveness, leaving him yearning for the reassurance that you were still his. The silent house became a canvas for his anxious thoughts, and the suspense of not knowing intensified the monster within him, clouding his emotions with a turbulent mix of suspicion and anger.
Just who the fuck did you think you were, leaving like that?
He felt his jaw clench, thinking of you with someone other than him.
Every thought of someone else near you ignited a primal instinct to claim and protect what he considered his own. The mere idea of sharing your presence with another set off a storm of dominance, intensifying his need to assert his presence in your life. It was as if an invisible tether bound him to you, and the thought of anyone encroaching upon that connection stirred a fierce determination to safeguard what he considered rightfully his.
Sleep eluded him, elusive as his thoughts were ensnared in a web of restlessness. The weight of emotions, a mix of envy, dominance, and yearning, kept him tossing and turning in the dim silence of his bedroom. The shadows on the walls seemed to dance to the rhythm of his unsettled mind, casting a surreal atmosphere that mirrored the turmoil within. The bed, usually a sanctuary, became a battleground for his inner struggles. The clock's ticking echoed like a constant reminder of the sleep he desperately sought but remained just out of reach. The night stretched on, a canvas painted with the shades of his unquiet thoughts, as he wrestled with the myriad emotions that held him captive in the wake of the events that unfolded.
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Awakening to the robust aroma of tea wafting into your nose, you stretched out your well-rested limbs before swinging your legs over the side of the captain's bed. The lingering remnants of the dream from the night before clouded your thoughts, creating a palpable tension in the air. As you pondered how to navigate the interaction with him, uncertainty hung like a veil. The simple act of rising from the bed felt like stepping onto uncharted territory, and the fragrant tea served as a reminder of the shared space that had witnessed the intimate contours of your dreams. The challenge ahead lay in reconciling the vivid images of the night with the reality of the morning, as you grappled with the aftermath of the subconscious journey that now lingered between you and the captain.
You approached the bedroom door, turning the handle and stepping into the hallway that led to the kitchen. The journey down the corridor felt like a deliberate exploration, each step carrying a subtle anticipation. As you entered the kitchen, a captivating sight awaited you – the captain, turned away, engrossed in some task involving the kettle. The play of muscles beneath his skin was a spectacle, every inch defined and visible, yet soft. His silhouette painted a picture of strength and concentration, a moment frozen in time that captured the essence of his physicality. The air in the kitchen seemed charged with an energy that transcended the simple act of making tea, as you silently observed, feeling both a sense of intimacy and a respectful distance in the presence of this private moment.
"Good morning, Sergeant. thought I'd get some tea ready for ya."
You listened intently, and there was a warmth in the captain's voice as he completed the tea-making ritual. Even though you couldn't see his face, the audible smile in his words painted a vivid picture. The sound carried a gentle resonance, echoing the pleasure he took in the simple act of preparing tea. It was a melody of contentment, and the timbre of his voice conveyed a subtle joy that surpassed the mundane task. As you stood there, the audible smile became a shared moment in the quiet kitchen, a connection forged through the familiar sounds of morning rituals and the understanding that lingered between you and the captain.
"Thank you, Captain. For all of this. I owe you one."
The dual impact of your words and the vivid recollection combined to color his complexion with a subtle embarrassment. It was as if the mere mention of his title held a key to unlock a realm of thoughts he hadn't anticipated sharing. The involuntary flush revealed a vulnerability, a momentary glimpse into a private mental landscape stirred by arousal that lingered beyond the confines of last night. In that fleeting blush, a complex interplay of emotions unfolded, creating a connection between now and what he had done last night that had left its mark on the captain's waking thoughts.
"You owe me nothin', dove. Hush up and drink your tea." He uttered, handing you a partially hot cup of the chamomile beverage.
"Anything planned for today?" You asked while softly blowing on your tea.
"PT, but It's going to be different today, so don't you worry about lieutenant."
His words had the exact opposite effect on you. You were most definitely worrying about Simon.
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Taglist: @ttsbaby01 @waves-against-a-cliff @konigslittleliebling @imjustheretofightforlove @beebeechaos @mikimumiki @splaterparty0-0
448 notes · View notes
leclsrc · 1 year
Text
has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55
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centre image by tony belobrajdic
genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension
word count: 12.5k
Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.
notes... internet translated spanish lol
auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write
You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.
At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.
The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.
“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 
“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”
You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.
“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”
The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.
“Racing.” You repeat curtly.
“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”
“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”
“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”
“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”
“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”
“Rosberg retired in 2016.”
“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”
The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.
“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”
“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.
“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”
He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”
“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”
Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 
“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”
He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.
He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”
“They wh—”
“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”
Yeah. This is fucking rich. 
Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.
“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”
There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.
Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.
“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”
“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.
“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.
“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”
“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”
“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.
You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”
“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 
Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?
“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.
“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”
— 
Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR
“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.
This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.
He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.
“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”
“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”
You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”
You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.
Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.
“What?”
“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”
“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”
“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”
You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”
He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.
“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.
Yeah, you’re fucked.
Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.
Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.
Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—
“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.
“Yes?”
“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”
“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”
“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”
“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”
“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:
“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 
He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”
You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.
Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?
Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.
You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.
Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.
You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.
“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.
“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”
“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”
“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.
“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”
“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”
“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 
“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”
“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.
He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”
Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.
Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.
But now it’s just a song.
“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”
“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.
“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.
A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.
The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.
Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.
Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.
So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 
You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.
“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.
“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”
“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”
“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”
The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.
“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.
He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.
You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”
“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 
“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”
“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”
He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”
You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.
But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.
Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.
“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.
Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?
“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 
His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.
You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 
“Fine. Fifty euros.”
“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 
“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 
“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”
Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”
“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”
“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.
“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”
“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”
“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”
“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.
“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.
You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”
“The article?”
“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”
“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”
“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.
“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”
Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.
“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 
“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”
“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”
“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”
You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.
Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.
A double kill vibrates through Carlos.
It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.
Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.
No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.
“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”
“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”
“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”
“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”
“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  
The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.
You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.
In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.
It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.
It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.
“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”
“Carlos?” You blink. 
You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.
He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”
“S’okay.”
You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”
“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”
“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”
“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 
Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”
“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”
“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.
“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”
It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 
“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.
Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.
“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.
Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT
Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.
With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.
This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.
“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”
“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.
“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”
“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”
“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.
“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”
Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”
“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”
“Okay, slag.”
“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.
Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.
Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.
“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”
It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”
“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.
Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.
It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.
You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.
It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.
FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.
It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”
“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”
“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 
“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”
He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.
And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.
His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.
His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—
And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.
And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.
Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.
You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.
“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”
“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”
“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.
You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.
It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.
“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.
“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.
“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”
“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”
“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”
“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.
“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”
Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 
Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?
You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.
Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 
It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.
“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.
Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.
After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.
Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”
You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”
“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”
“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.
“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”
“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”
“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.
It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.
“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”
“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.
“We haven’t even, like, had se—”
“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”
“It’s one-thirty,” he says.
“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”
He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.
His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.
“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.
“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”
“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 
“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”
So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.
“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.
P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.
“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.
You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 
Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.
Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.
“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”
“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”
“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.
He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 
“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 
“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 
“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.
The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?
What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.
Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”
“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.
“Carlos. What is eight squared?”
“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.
16
“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”
“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”
Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.
Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”
“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”
“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”
 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”
“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.
“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.
You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.
You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.
“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.
“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”
“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 
Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”
“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.
Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.
Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”
 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.
You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”
Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.
A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 
You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.
The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.
Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.
Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”
“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”
“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”
“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”
“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.
The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.
LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J
“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.
“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”
“Like?” You ask weakly.
“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”
“And do you think you followed that advice?”
His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”
It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.
He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.
“…Estás bien?”
You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.
“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”
You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”
“Leave me alone, Carlos.”
“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”
“I know how much this mattered to you.”
“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 
“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.
“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”
“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.
“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”
“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.
“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”
“Cariño—”
“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”
So he does.
He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 
He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.
And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.
You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.
He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.
Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.
“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.
He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”
You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.
What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.
So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?
The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.
“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.
He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.
He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.
You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”
The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.
You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.
“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”
He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.
You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”
At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.
It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.
A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 
“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”
Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.
“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”
Only you. It’s only you.
“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”
“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”
“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”
“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”
“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.
A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.
You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.
I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.
“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”
“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.
The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.
Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.
Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”
“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”
“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”
Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”
“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 
“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”
“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”
“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.
Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.
2K notes · View notes
gyuuberryy · 3 months
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fight for my way!
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pairing: best friend’s brother!heeseung x martial artist!reader x bff!jungwon, ft lee chaeyeon as your best friend
summary: you’ve harboured a huge crush on your bff’s brother, heeseung for quite a bit. each encounter with him has you stuttering and blushing like a mess much to the dismay of your best friend, jungwon. it’s summer vacation, but unfortunately you won’t have the time to relax as you battle with your newfound feelings instead of kicking someone’s ass in training for taekwondo. you certainly did not sign up for this 
genre: f2l, best friend’s brother trope, crack??, coming of age, jungwon and mc practice taekwondo
warnings: making out, fighting, angst, fluff, swearing, mc beats up someone, mentions of blood, mc is super embarrassing and a major simp teehee, flirty heeseung(as always), i know nothing about taekwondo so please excuse me if i made any mistakes related to it
note: nothing based off the drama ahaha. this was originally a txt fic, now republished as an enha one(it's edited). i wrote this like a year ago and idk why but some parts of it give off disney movie vibes💀 enjoy!!!
word count: 8.1kish
If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3
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you knew it’s wrong to simp over your friends, but you couldn’t help it.
since when did yang jungwon get so hot?
you hadn’t even worn your dobok yet and you were already sweating just looking at him box with that punching bag. his arm muscles flexed and rippled deliciously, and his face which was contorted into a focused expression, glimmered under the studio lights due to the layer of sheen sweat that coated his body. a drop rolled down the bridge of his nose and was about to land on his lips when he stopped and wiped it off. the sudden change in movement brought you out of your daydream and you mentally punched yourself for drooling over one of your best friends. 
you need to stop simping over anyone who is even the slightest bit hot.
slinging your bag over your shoulder, you walked towards the locker room to get changed. shuffling through your belongings, you tried to find the plastic in which you had kept your dobok, when you were startled by the feeling of someone's hand on your back. you looked behind to see your best friend chaeyeon grinning at you. 
“you’re a bit early today.”, she stated. 
“yeah, my mom kicked me out of the house at six in the morning.” you sighed, “i was wandering around till class started.” 
chaeyeon patted your shoulder sympathetically. ever since the summer holidays for your senior year had started, your mom had been making sure you didn’t laze around the house and be productive everyday. this was the last year for your taekwondo training and then you would finally receive your black belt. so, your mom felt it was important for you to go for training. 
every. single. day.
honestly, you were a bit pissed in the beginning because you couldn’t join the rest of your school friends on their month long trip to kyoto. but, jungwon and chaeyeon were staying back as well for their training, so it wasn’t that bad. 
you wore the white jacket on top of your t-shirt and slipped your belt through the white loops. your pants were almost up your calves when chaeyeon spoke again. 
“do you wanna come over to my house in the evening? we should get started on our physics project.
you jumped in excitement at her offer, “is your brother gonna be there?” 
chaeyeon slapped your arm, “why does that matter? we have to do our work, i’m not going to sit there and watch you fangirl over him.” 
ah yes, chaeyeon's brother, lee heeseung. 
the man you were absolutely smitten with.
the perfect, handsome, smart and talented golden boy of the school.
your crush of three years.
and lately, it felt like he was reciprocating your feelings as well because he had started flirting with you back. you didn’t care if you were being delusional, you would take any chance to interact with him, which is why you were always ecstatic to visit chaeyeon’s house.
“just tell me please”, you dragged out your sentence in a whiny voice, making chaeyeon hiss at the annoying sound. 
“okay okay, he’s going to be there. he has nothing to do this week.” 
you squealed and pumped your fist in the air. chaeyeon just rolled her eyes at your actions and pulled you out of the locker room to join the training.
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you lay spread eagle on the blue foam mat. your arms felt like wet, heavy ham and the muscles in your thighs felt like they were stretched to the maximum. you really shouldn’t have skipped your warm up, but you had no idea how rigorous today’s training would be. your coach was hellbent on making sure you perfected your double roundhouse kick and only let you take a break when you got the hang of it. these were probably the most tiring four hours of your life. 
suddenly, a handsome face came into your view as the person loomed over your body and blocked the light, making you jolt up. after getting a closer look you realised it was just your best friend, jungwon. you stomped on his feet out of annoyance. 
“you startled me man.” 
“i thought you fell asleep”, he huffed at your actions “let’s go home now, my stomach is gonna digest itself if i don’t feed it anything soon.”
you rolled your eyes at his exaggeration and went towards the locker room to get your belongings.
chaeyeon had already left before you both, so you took the shorter route towards your house. usually, you both would drop her off along the way and then walk back together since you lived right next to each other. 
the walk back home was rather silent, filled with occasional slurps of the popsicles you both had bought. your walks home were usually always filled with a comfortable science accompanied by some type of snack. lately, you both had been trying to eat all the popsicle flavours of the new trending brand. so today, you both tried the cherry lime flavour and honestly, it was absolutely disgusting. you stared at the bright red and green ice on the stick and grimaced. 
“this tastes really bad”, you stuck out your tongue in disgust “especially the cherry side, it’s just frozen cough medicine.” 
jungwon shrugged his shoulders, “i kind of like it, the combination is nice.” 
you wrinkled your nose at his remark, “you have bad taste.” 
he turned to look at you with mock hurt on his face when you noticed a red stain from the popsicle on the corner of his lips. you walked up to him and  tried to rub off the insistent stain from the corner of his lips, making jungwon freeze in his spot. you looked at him to be met with his eyes already staring at your face. his face looked flushed and his eyes were wide open. his eyes.
they were so mesmerising, looking like pools of freshly brewed coffee that always held a sparkle in them. you quickly moved away when jungwon suddenly spoke up.
“w-what are you doing?”
you cleared your throat and looked away, “you had a red stain on your face.”
these types of awkward encounters had been frequenting a lot between you both lately and you felt slightly bothered by it.
he rolled his eyes and tried to play it off, “your lips are green, eat the cherry part also. you look like mike wazowski.”
“shut up.”, you muttered while wiping your lips.
you handed your half eaten popsicle to him and resumed walking. feeling disgusted by the sight of him gorging down both of the disgusting frozen treats you decided to change the topic. 
“i’m going to chaeyeon's house later to start our physics project.” 
jungwon nodded absentmindedly at that.
“hee is gonna be there too”, you sighed dreamily, making him glare at you.
“why are you still obsessed with that bastard?”
you gasped in offence, “how dare you call him that? he’s an amazing guy.”  
jungwon chucked the ice cream sticks in the nearby dustbin a bit too forcefully for your liking. every mention of heeseung’s name always riled him up. both of them were academic rivals, always competing for the top spot, which was why they were never nice to each other and always bickered. but you were not letting their issue meddle with your non-existent love life. 
“he’s annoying and not a nice guy”, jungwon walked faster making you break out into a slight jog.
“just last week i saw him walking around with a new chick.” he threw his hands in the air, “how could he do that when he just dumped his girlfriend!” 
yeah that was true. heeseung was a bit of a playboy. you weren’t surprised though, his good looks and personality had girls throwing themselves on him right and left and he just accepted it. you didn't mind, you were ready to forgive him for that.
“i don’t care, i know he would never hurt someone intentionally.” 
jungwon shook his head at your obvious lovesickness. you were too blinded by your crush to notice the possibility of getting hurt. you waved him off when you reached your driveway. 
“bye won, i have to pick an outfit for the evening.” 
jungwon didn’t bother looking at you and just simply reminded you that it wasn’t a date. but who cares? definitely not you.
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the shiny silver doorbell was waiting for you, inviting you to press it, but you just stood like a fool at chaeyeon’s doorstep. why were you getting nervous for absolutely no reason?(heeseung). it’s not like this was your first time visiting her house. 
you dismissed your worry with a nervous chuckle and smoothened your hair down one last time. the summer heat was making it frizzier by the second and you had to look your best for heeseung, which meant you had to enter the house soon. taking a deep breath, you finally pressed the doorbell. 
a few moments later, the door swung open, unveiling the most beautiful sight known to mankind—heeseung's beaming face. he gave your outfit a quick once-over, and his smile evolved into a teasing smirk. glancing down at your sage green tank top and acid-washed denim shorts, a hint of uncertainty crept in. were they not to his liking? despite your attempt at a casual look, a moment of self-doubt lingered in the air.
“what’s up?”
his voice broke you out of your dilemma. now you felt too scared to respond. taking another deep breath you tried to keep your voice steady. 
“i’m here to study with chaeyeon.” 
for some reason, his smirk grew even wider as he checked you out once again, casually leaning against the doorframe. wait, was he actually checking you out? you really sucked at this love stuff because you had absolutely no idea what was going on. were you reading into things too much?"
“studying during summer break?”
he raised his eyebrows as if reminding you to speak. you cleared your throat, “yeah we have to complete a physics project.” 
he nodded. “chaeyeon is out running errands though. she won’t be back for another hour.” 
you frowned at that information, “but she told me to come over.” heeseung shrugged his shoulders, motioning for you to come in. 
“you can wait in her room.” 
you had no choice but to agree because he had already started walking in. you sighed and mentally sent a prayer to all the gods to prevent you from embarrassing yourself further. 
suddenly, he stopped in his steps and spinned around to face you. you immediately forced your feet to stop walking to prevent crashing into him. “do you want to watch a movie with me instead?” 
your heart dropped to your toenails at his words. as much as you wanted to jump at the offer, there was no way you would survive an entire movie with him without embarrassing yourself. 
tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you tried to look as apologetic as possible, “actually i should get started on my work, maybe another time?” 
heeseung shrugged, “yeah sure.” 
you gave him a sheepish smile and started your ascent up the stairs to chaeyeon's room. the entire time, you could feel a pair of eyes burning into your back. the outfit was a good choice. smirking to yourself, you pushed the door to chaeyeon's room open. 
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it had been over an hour and so far you had listed out all the main points and subheadings to be included in your project. you had no idea when chaeyeon would come back; every time you called her she would say that she'll be home soon. there was a lot of rush at the supermarket she had forcibly gone to with her mom. you had thought about going back home but your mom wanted you to study as much as you could and it wasn’t evening yet, so here you are. 
your face was almost going into the laptop screen because of the amount of concentration you had on finding the perfect template for your ppt. the opening of the door shortly distracted you, but you deemed that it was chaeyeon. 
"bro, what took you so long?”, you spoke in a exasperated tone “was it actually that crowded? it's not even a weekend today." you didn't bother looking behind and continued doing your work. 
you immediately stopped what you were doing as the feeling of two arms wrapping loosely around your collarbone made you stiffen up. a warm breath fanned your neck sending chills down your spine. "it’s me."
heeseung.
how and why were his arms wrapped around you? you weren't complaining because this was your dream come true but at the same time this was not good for your heart, which at this point was about to beat its way out of your chest. 
you rolled your chair away from his hold and stood up, almost about to trip over nothing. you were sure you looked redder than a tomato right now, but you somehow managed the courage to look up at heeseung, who was already staring back at you. his head was tilted slightly and his pink lips were scrunched up in a pout. 
brushing a non existent stand of hair away from your face, you decided to question him about his previous actions. 
"why did you do that?"
he looked at you innocently in question, as if asking you what?
"the hug, why did you just hug me out of nowhere?"
a look of realisation crossed his face and he just chuckled softly at your question. "i was pretending to be chaeyeon." he smirked, "why? don't friends hug each other?"
if he was flirting with you or friend zoning you, you had absolutely no idea. you had to change the conversation quickly. 
"why did you come up, is chaeyeon back now?"
"she's on the way now," he pointed towards the door, "i just made some rose lemonade. let's go drink that while you wait." 
you nodded and followed him down to the kitchen. you leaned against the marble counter, trying to look as calm and collected as possible while heeseung fetched the pitcher full of the pink drink. suddenly, he turned around and started walking towards you, making you instantly freeze at your spot with an awkward smile etched onto your face. he got closer and stopped once his feet were almost touching yours. giving you a dashing smile he slowly leaned forward. was he going to kiss you? 
your dream is finally coming true! you closed your eyes and puckered your lips slightly in anticipation for his to land on them. but that never happened. you opened your eyes to see a wide eyed heeseung staring back at you with two glasses in his hand. oh, he was only reaching for the glasses behind you. 
embarrassment washed over you, making your cheeks flame up in shame as heeseung chuckled. you really wanted to melt away into a big puddle of nothing right now. clearing your throat you snatched a glass from his hand and poured yourself the lemonade. heeseung watched you with an amused smile as you chugged down the entire glass in one go to cool down your burning cheeks. 
“was it that good?”
you nodded enthusiatically, “you have to send me the recipe!” 
heeseung laughed at your reaction and poured you another glass. he probably had the most beautiful laugh and you could hear it on replay for hours. you smiled dreamily at him. by now, literally everyone knew about your humongous crush on him. 
the thing was, you had horrible flirting skills and were always oblivious if someone showed interest in you. your exemplary skills in taekwondo and bubbly personality had attracted many but you ended up friendzoning them unintentionally. you only had eyes for heeseung, who was currently washing the dishes you both had drunk from. he was such boyfriend material. you stood up straight once he spoke up.
“my friend is hosting a party this friday.” he turned off the tap and wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. “i’m sure you know who jake is.” you hummed in reply. 
“you should come, it’ll be fun.” 
you were usually never interested in parties, in fact you never had the time to even think about it while juggling school and taekwondo together. but, you had a bit of free time now since school was off. and heeseung’s offer kind of seemed like he was asking you on a date? you can’t just straight up ask him that so maybe you should just go and find out. this could finally be your moment to directly confess your feelings. you were getting tired of holding them back.
“okay,” you smiled, “i’ll be there.”
heeseung’s face brightened up at your words. “that's great-”
“can i bring jungwon as well?” 
his smile dropped, but he nodded somewhat enthusiastically, which didn’t really show on his face. oh right, they hate each other. the air turned awkward at the mention of his name and you were brainstorming things to change the subject when you were saved by the doorbell. 
you immediately perked up the sound, “ah, i think chaeyeon is home.” 
heeseung gave a forced smile back, “yeah, have fun with your project. i have some work to do. i’ll see you on friday.” with that, he walked back to his room.
your face fell at his sudden change of behaviour. you knew he had no work to do this week because chaeyeon had told you so. it was kind of weird but you assumed it was probably because you mentioned jungwon. he shouldn’t dislike him so much though, afterall he was one of his sister’s closest friends. shrugging it off you walked to the door to let chaeyeon and her mom in.
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it was the day of the party and jungwon(who had agreed to attend after much of your insistence) and you stood right outside the door, waiting for someone to open it. chaeyeon had decided not to attend the party and had gone out with her other friends to the amusement park instead. you would have joined her as well because parties were not your thing and you’d rather spend your time riding roller coasters, but this was a matter of love. you had to make sacrifices for your dear heeseung .
the door opened to reveal a beaming jake, “oh hi guys!” he motioned for you both to come inside, “the drinks and snacks are over there and we’re playing games in the living room.” he patted you both on your backs. “have fun!” both of you smiled back at his warm welcome and walked inside the huge bungalow. 
the kitchen counter was lined up with all sorts of colourful sodas and delicacies. the living room stretched far and wide, making you gaze at it in awe. colourful fairy lights were strung across the ceiling, setting the people’s face aglow with multiple colours. trending pop songs blared through the speakers and you could feel the bass thump to the beat of your heart. people were spread across the entire house and some of them were gathered outside in the lawn. 
jungwon pointed at the people playing games, breaking you out of your trance.“i think they’re setting up a game of twister, let’s go join them!” 
you shook your head, “i should go find heeseung first.” 
jungwon’s jaw ticked at your words. he rolled his eyes as he spoke, “i don’t think you should do this, he’s not a good guy.” 
you frowned at his words, “how do you know? you just hate him because he is better than you in academics.” 
he grasped your shoulders and his eyes turned serious. “that’s not the problem. i’ve seen how he treats people. he may act all nice and sweet in front of you, but he’s actually really shallow.” 
he sighed at the perplexed look on your face. “he’s a walking red flag and i’ve been trying to get you to understand that for a long time.”
you remained unfazed at his words because just like he had mentioned, he always said the same thing. no matter what happened you were going to try to shoot your shot. 
flashing him a sympathetic smile, you patted his shoulder. “sorry buddy, nothing is going to stop me. unless you have feelings for me or something.” 
you snickered at your ridiculous thoughts, missing the blush that overtook jungwon’s face. he looked away at your words and shrugged his shoulders. 
“okay then, i gave you enough warnings.” rolling your eyes at this dismissive behaviour you grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the group of people setting up the game of twister. 
“calm down drama queen, let’s play this first then i can go accomplish my mission.” he sighed and accompanied you as you said.
the game was going pretty well and you were confident in your chances of winning. you were in a fairly easy position compared to others, who had their limbs twisted in all sorts of hilarious ways. especially jungwon, who was basically in an upside down table pose. you tried not to notice the way his biceps were bulging out from under his black turtleneck, but it was hard to do so. 
looking away from him, you accidentally made eye contact with heeseung who seemed to have just arrived at the party. you waved at him and motioned that you will talk to him later. he gave a bright smile and flashed a thumbs up at your actions. soon after he looked away, a girl with bright red hair walked up to him and kissed his cheek. your heart shattered at her actions. does he have a girlfriend?
he proved your assumptions incorrect when he pushed her off of him. getting a closer look, you realised it was his ex-girlfriend. she was probably just a psycho. you were planning to spy on them more, but annoyed shouts of your name brought you back to reality. 
“what are you doing? you’re the only one left to finish your move, everyone is already done.” 
apologising, you looked at the wheel that had decided your next move. looking back at the twister mat, you realised that all the good required spots were taken. the spots that were left for you were only reachable if you bent over jungwon, which meant you would be leaning over him until the next move. you had no idea why you were feeling so nervous about it though. he was your best friend after all, you were the closest to him. you’ve been together since childhood. it was stupid to feel nervous over something so trivial.
putting on a cool exterior, you leaned over him to take your position. both of your arms were placed next to his torso and your face was directly hovering over his. you were shocked to see his cheeks turn red because of the close proximity of you both. he was avoiding eye contact with you and you frowned. one nudge of your elbow brought his eyes back to yours.
deja vu hit you as you couldn’t help but get lost in his mesmerising eyes once again. that one twinkle that was always present in them no matter what, the colour of his orbs and the warmth they held every time they looked at you made you lean in closer. you were so close to each other that you could see your own reflection in his eyes. butterflies filled your stomach and you felt warm and fuzzy all over at the realisation of your close proximity with him. jungwon could now feel your warm breath on his lips, making him close his eyes in anticipation of his next move.
but instead of that, your face crashed onto the expanse of his neck with an embarrassingly loud smooch. some idiot had kicked your leg by accident, which made you lose your balance and bring down jungwon with you. you don’t know what demon possessed you to do this, but you took a big sniff and the smell of vanilla and cologne invaded your senses, making you sigh out in content. the feeling of jungwon’s body stiffening under you brought you out of your stupor and you immediately scrambled to get up. why did you act like a creep, you want to cry now.
you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck when everyone started clearing away. the game had ended because the idiot who had tripped you had also ended up rolling down the entire mat merrily like a bowling bowl, knocking everyone down. 
that wasn't the issue right now though. were you just going to kiss your best friend? there was no way you had any sort of feelings for him. just a month ago you had given him a friendship day bracelet and told him how your friendship had to last forever or you would bite his nose off. so now why were you so curious to know what his lips felt like? you spinned around to see jungwon clutching his chest like he was a heart patient. 
trying to push away the recent embarrassing encounter into the deep, dark pits of your brain, you walked up to him and stood silently, gazing at his lips. they were a light rosy shade of pink and looked glossy due to the coat of transparent lip gloss you had applied on them before coming to the party. they looked so soft.
you were shaken out of your thoughts when jungwon flicked your forehead. you gasped and clutched your forehead in pain, “ow, what was that for?” 
jungwon smirked as he pulled you closer by your shoulders. “you seem kind of obsessed with me lately. those looks haven’t gone unnoticed by me you know.”
he raised an eyebrow cockily, “are you sure it’s not me you have a crush on?” 
you sputtered and coughed like a broken car engine at his words. how did he already guess what was going on in your mind?
shrugging his hands off of you, you gave a firm whack to his chest. “h-how can you even say that! i only have eyes for heeseung, you’re nothing compared to him.” 
jungwon snickered and just pulled you into his side, guiding you towards the table full of food you both had been eyeing. he leaned towards your ear and whispered in a low voice.
“i’m pretty sure we were about to do something else back in the game though.” 
your face burned with embarrassment. nothing can save you now, jungwon was in his cheeky mode. he was oozing with confidence and you were blushing as bright as a beet.  
you huffed in annoyance and pushed him away to speed walk towards the table. not bothering to wait for him to catch up, you picked up two humongous cupcakes, ready to stuff your mouth. suddenly, a hand came up to your shoulder making, you almost drop your food in surprise. thinking it was jungwon, you put the ugliest scowl on your face and turned around to face him. 
“what do you-” 
you paused midway through your sentence when you realised who was in front of you. it was a smiling heeseung, who looked smoking hot today. he had adorned a tight fitted black shirt with a grey patterned jacket and his hair was styled to show off his gorgeous forehead. you immediately dropped your scowl and put on your most charming smile. 
“oh hey heeseung !” 
his smile widened at your greeting but all of a sudden, his eyes turned dark when he looked at something behind you. you looked over to see jungwon standing there with two cups in his hand, his expression as cold as ice. they both were practically shooting lasers from their eyes and you could almost feel the heat from it. gulping, you looked away and tried to think of what to say.  
“i have to tell you something important.” you blurted out. heeseung  finally broke his staring contest with jungwon and smiled at you.
“sure, go ahead.” 
okay, this was the perfect time to confess your feelings.
although, for some reason you hesitated before speaking. you could not stop thinking about what happened between you and your best friend today. were you doing the right thing or should you ponder on it more? unfortunately, one raise of heeseung’s eyebrow had you spilling everything out. 
“i have a crush on you.”
is this how it feels like to have a heart attack? because suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore and your heart was pounding erratically. maybe it wasn’t a good idea to confess if you felt this scared after it. 
before you could comprehend heeseung’s reaction to your confession, the feeling of something cold and sticky being poured over you made you scream in shock.
your mouth was hung open in shock as you turned around to see who the culprit was. it was the same girl with cherry red hair who had kissed heeseung  on the cheek before. 
“what the fuck was that for?”, you spat in anger. 
she crossed her arms with a stupid smirk painted onto her face. “you were shamelessly flirting with my boyfriend, i obviously had to do something.” you were about to retort but heeseung beat you to it.
“lena we broke up a week ago, can you stop doing things like this! i’m so sick of you.” 
lena just chuckled and shook her head frantically. pushing you out of the way, she walked up to heeseung and cupped his cheeks with her manicured hands.
“no baby, we’re just going through a bad time. we’re still very much in love with each other.” 
letting out a tired sigh, he pushed her hands away from his face. “stop being so delusional,” he looked towards you with an apologetic gaze, “why would you pour your drink over her? she’s like a sister to me. that’s not acceptable..”
ouch.
this was worse than getting friendzoned, he sister zoned you. 
that too right in front of his ex. 
after you confessed your feelings for him.
you tuned out the rest of his words as anger bubbled up inside you. you knew you were not as delusional as the mosquito of a girl in front of you. heeseung had reciprocated your advances sometimes and had even initiated flirting with you. then why would he say all that?
a warm hand clasped around your forearm that was now sticky from the soda that was poured over you. jungwon pulled you towards him gently with a concerned look on his face. 
“are you okay? do you want to leave?”, your face softened at his genuine concern. 
a mischievous glint appeared in your eyes as you decided on what you were going to do. “give me five minutes jungwon, i'm going to make sure someone pays for ruining my dress.”
jungwon’s eyebrows raised as he understood what you were about to do. 
you moved towards lena who was still yapping about how much she loved heeseung, and tapped her shoulder. she pushed her tongue against her cheek when she realised it was you.
“what?”
giving her a condescending smile you motioned towards your outfit that was drenched in the sticky soda. “you’re going to have to pay for the damage you did.” 
lena scoffed in disbelief, “and what makes you think i’ll do that? get lost, don’t waste my time.” 
she waved you off and turned back to heeseung . even though it was against your morals to fight with someone weaker than you, you were not going to be civil with her anymore.
grabbing a fistful of her obnoxious bright red hair, you yanked her towards you making her yelp in pain. turning her around, you repeated yourself.
“are you going to pay or not?” 
she looked at you with a crazed look in her eyes. “of course not you psycho.” she punched you weakly on the jaw making everyone around you gasp in shock. 
“you started this”, shrugging you let go of her hair and punched her smack on the nose, making her stumble backwards. a loud crack resonated throughout the room. lena shrieked in pain as her hands became red from trying to stop her nose from bleeding. one of her fake eyelashes(which was about half the length of your fingers) had fallen onto the floor due to the impact of your punch. 
you pouted mockingly, “i guess you’ll have to get a nose job again.”
wiping away the blood from her face she charged at you with her fist ready to strike, but you easily grabbed her arm making her stagger to stop. you twisted her arm around till it was painfully bent behind her back. she whimpered in pain and tapped on your arm.
“ow please, that hurts.” 
you scoffed, “this is nothing, i can do much worse if i want.” 
she looked up at heeseung  with pleading eyes, “h-heeseung please stop this psychotic bi-” 
you tightened your grip on her arm making her groan out in pain. heeseung paid no heed to her words, in fact he was watching the entire scene play out with an amused look on his face. 
you looked to your left and tilted your head at jungwon, silently asking him what to do next. he was watching you with a proud smile and nodded his head signalling you to do what you wanted. you gave him a thumbs up and returned back to your situation.
you gave her a firm kick to her shin, making her fall on her knees. she raised her free hand in defeat.
“alright i’ll pay you for the drycleaning i promise!” 
you huffed loudly and left her arm causing her to completely collapse on the floor. you nodded towards heeseung with a blank face. “you’re going to leave him alone as well.” 
she squeaked out a yes, handed you a fifty dollar bill and scurried away, probably leaving the party.
everyone else cheered loudly for you for standing up to her. you grinned and jogged over to jungwon and grabbed his hand, “how did i do?” 
his eyes held affection as he looked you over, “awesome.”
that one word of praise cheered you up instantly, much better than any amount of ice cream would have.
you both were just about to leave the driveway of jake’s house when the shout of your name made you both halt. you turned to see none other than heeseung jog towards you with a set of keys in his hands. he held them out to you and looked at you with an unreadable expression.
“i think you dropped your keys behind.” your eyes widened and you grabbed them from him, thanking him in a small voice. 
he stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked you up and down, the action making jungwon’s grip on your hand tighten. “you were really cool back there. i’m glad i got to see you in action.” 
you hummed, not knowing what to say. can he not read the room? it felt so awkward to even look at him anymore. 
he cleared his throat and his confident persona dropped for a minute as he scratched the back of his neck nervously. 
“actually, what i said back there about you being like my sister.” your head shot up at his words. “i didn’t mean any of that.” 
he looked at his feet. “i only said that to get lena off your back, but if i knew you would’ve taken care of it yourself, i never would have done that”, he trailed off in his sentence.
jungwon’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere, making you feel relieved as he questioned what you weren’t able to, “cut to the chase.”
heeseung ignored him and looked directly into your eyes. “well i don’t exactly have feelings for you right now, but i really want to make it up to you. you’re a really cool person,” he stepped closer towards you, “i want to take you out for dinner this sunday.”
you could almost feel the anger radiate off jungwon as he spat out his next words, “did you start finding her cool only because she beat your psycho ex-girlfriend up.” he scoffed, “you don’t owe her a favour, she did what was right.” your shoulders slumped at his words. is that how he actually felt?
heeseung rolled his eyes, “please don’t bring your jealousy into the middle of all this. she can make her own decisions.”
both the boys looked at you intently, waiting for you to make your decision. the urge to crawl in a hole and live there forever was extremely strong right now. you really couldn’t handle the pressure. wanting the best of both worlds, you said the first thing that came up to you.
“i’m okay with the dinner.” 
heeseung ’s face brightened up in victory whilst jungwon dropped his hand from yours in defeat. 
why was he so upset about it now? it’s not like you were going on a date with heeseung, he made it very clear he doesn’t like you. and why were you so adamant on making sure jungwon understood that?
being born as a dolphin would’ve been so much better at this point. at least you wouldn't have to deal with physics and this romance shit.
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it was the day of the dinner and you were currently lacing up your doc martens on your front porch. you had decided to wear a black skirt with a white top and a dark brown coat since it was raining today so it was a bit chilly outside, even though it was the middle of summer. you had only just finished wearing your shoes when your phone started ringing, indicating a video call from chaeyeon. 
you furrowed your brows and picked it up, “hello-”
“you absolute moron!” she screamed from the other side making you flinch. 
“what happened? since when did you start insulting me, jungwon was enough-”
“this is about him! how could you be so heartless?”, she cut you off once again. you frowned, what did you do to him? 
“stop making that face, you look like a pug,” she rolled her eyes, “why are you going out with heeseung today?”
oh so that’s what this is about.
you shook your head, “it’s not really a date, he just wanted to take me out to dinner.” 
chaeyeon's lips formed into a thin line at that. “you mean my brother, who’s basically a casanova, is taking you out to a casual dinner?” she shook her head disapprovingly, “i didn’t think you could be so clueless."
you squinted at her in confusion, “just tell me what you want to. don’t beat around the bush. there’s no time for that, he’ll be here any moment.”
pinching her nose in frustration, she let out a deep breath. “jungwon told me the full story of what happened at the party since someone else forgot to.” you gave her a guilty smile at that. chaeyeon caught a horrible flu a few days ago, so you didn’t really get the time to update her on all this.
“he likes you a lot. he’s been hopelessly in love with you since the past five years.” 
your jaw hung open at that. there’s no way your suspicions were right. jungwon actually liked you? you felt gooey and warm like a freshly baked brownie right now. you could feel the heat spread through your entire body at the idea of jungwon liking you, something which you noticed was opposite of what you felt when you were around heeseung.
“close your mouth, i can see your internal organs.” you really wanted to slap her right now because her sarcastic commentary really wasn't helping you with the whirlwind of emotions you were going through. 
you let out a deep sigh, “i really don’t know chaeyeon. i feel so happy and excited at the thought of that? but also kind of scared. he’s my best friend, you know, i don’t want to mess things up.” 
she shook her head at you with pity, “it’s too late for that, you already did.”
“what do you mean?”
“are you kidding me?”, she scoffed. “jungwon is competing in the interstate taekwondo championship today!” 
you stood up from your seat in horror, “what! why didn’t you tell me before?” 
she wiped her runny nose into her tissue and glared at you, “you’re his closest friend, i didn’t think you would forget something so important.” she sighed, “i can’t attend the fight because of my cold, but you should.” 
the honk of a car horn made you look in front to see heeseung waving at you. you mirrored his actions and looked back into your phone. “there’s still time till the fight right?”
she nodded, “kinda, it starts in thirty minutes.” 
muttering a ‘shit’, you thanked her for giving you a reality check. she only nodded and coughed into her tissue once again, “it’s up to you to pick between your amazing and sincere best friend or my brother who’s probably only interested in you for your fighting skills.”
nodding solemnly, you cut the call and stuffed your phone into your side bag. by then, heeseung had walked up to your doorstep with an umbrella in his hand. 
“are you ready to go?”
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your hands were sat on your lap as you watched the rain fall outside of the car window. you were sitting in a rather rigid manner on your seat as you listened to heeseung blabber about some olympiads he had won medals for. you felt bad because you weren’t paying any attention to what he was saying. you couldn't get jungwon off of your mind. 
the warmth he made you feel everytime he smiled and when the dimples on his cheeks showed. the way your heart fluttered when you watched him execute taekwondo moves with perfection and the way his face lit up with joy each time he was successful. the butterflies that swarmed your stomach every time you hugged him or held his hand. all of this, you had been brushing them away for so long thinking that this was a normal thing for friends. there was no way you could be more than that. but now realisation seemed to dawn upon you; you had been in love with him all along, perhaps even longer than he has been. 
looking next to you, you observed heeseung. he still made you feel nervous and excited, but you realised that this was a different kind of feeling. the kind you feel when you receive updates from your favourite celebrity. it was nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, the one where he was just good eye candy to admire. he didn’t make you feel the comfort and love you felt with jungwon. and you didn’t feel the same way about him either.
you have to see jungwon, right now.
shuffling through your bag for your phone, you frantically checked the time. you still had fifteen more minutes to go before his match started.
“heeseung can you please take me to x stadium instead? i’m so sorry, but i can’t have dinner with you today, i have to go.”
heeseung frowned, “what happened all of a sudden? is it that urgent?”
“yes it is, please turn the car around.”
he nodded, still confused. he was about to question you but stopped when he saw you hold up your phone to your ear, trying to call jungwon so you could tell him you were coming to his match. he received missed calls after missed calls from you, but he didn’t pick up any. his phone was probably with the coach.
soon, heeseung stopped the car at a red light right across the stadium. you asked him to unlock the car door and thanked him for the ride. 
his eyes widened, “are you going to walk in the rain? it’ll just take me five more minutes to make a u-turn.” 
you shook your head, “there’s no time for that, i’ll miss jungwon-”
“you’re going to see jungwon?”
“yes, i’m sorry for leaving you like this but i can’t miss out on his match. i forgot about it till today,” you sighed, “i also need to tell him something.” 
you breathed out in frustration when heeseung just stared at you blankly, not complying to your request. reaching over him you turned off the door locks. you had just stepped one leg out when he stopped you by grabbing your wrist. 
“i thought you liked me.”
you looked at him with surprise. what is he playing at? judging by the pissed off expression on his face you could conclude that he was jealous because you were ditching him for his rival. 
you gave him a small smile, “i was wrong.” 
slamming the car door shut, you dashed off into the rain and crossed the road towards the stadium entrance. you always found the main leads in movies crazy to be running in the heavy rain towards their lover, but you finally understood their situation today. a stupid smile was graced upon your features and you couldn’t wait to tell jungwon everything you felt about him.
upon entering the stadium, you immediately ran towards the direction of the changing rooms and were met with your coach standing in front of it. his eyes widened momentarily upon seeing you all soaked.
“y/n you’re here? what hap-”
“is jungwon inside?”, desperation laced your voice as you questioned him. he nodded, “yes, but he has to be out soon-”
you cut him off once again by thanking him and entered the room behind him. the slam of a door being shut, startled the man standing in front of you, making him drop the water bottle he was holding. he faced you with eyes as wide as saucers, clearly not expecting to see you here.
“you came? but what about your dinner?” 
you paced towards him and smacked his shoulder, “screw that, why didn’t you remind me of your match even if i forgot?” 
he winced as you whacked him once again, “you know this is equally important to me as much as it is to you!”
he caught your hand when you were going to hit him again. “i didn’t want to disturb your date, i know how badly you want to be with him.” 
he tried to mask the hurt on his face by putting on a small smile, but you could see it in his eyes. “this is just one match, i would have told you the results anyways, you didn’t have to-”
you cut him off by grabbing the collar of his white uniform and smashing your lips onto his. jungwon froze for a few seconds but then slowly closed his eyes and cupped your face as he kissed you back. he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and moved his lips with more fervour. the kiss soon turned messy and heated as you both let out your years of pent up feeling you couldn’t say. his lips were cushiony soft and tasted like vanilla and peppermint. your brain felt like it turned to mush as you moved your lips against his addictive ones. damn, if you knew he was such a good kisser, you would’ve asked him out yourself long ago.
your knees were about to give out from the intensity of the kiss, so he wrapped one of his hands around your waist and pulled you flush against him. when you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore you pushed him by his chest away slightly, but he only chased your lips for more, muffling the squeal that came out from you with his lips. he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your nose, your cheeks and continued to pepper kisses all over your face, making you giggle in glee. he pulled away and held your face as if you were the most precious gem in the world. you felt your cheeks heat up as you looked at his lips which were swollen and glossy from kissing. 
“i like you so so much y/n”, his cheeks bunched up and his eyes crinkle at the corners from smiling so happily. 
you kissed the dimple that appeared on his cheek and grinned at him.
“i like you a lot, too pretty boy.”
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455 notes · View notes
marleyybluu · 10 months
Text
Another Man's Treasure
Oscar Diaz x f!reader
Word count: 6.8k (I am so sorry lmao)
Warnings: 18+, shitty husband, smut, p in v, unprotected (but pls don't be this stupid), creampie, dirty talk, cheating (but is it really if your husband is an ass), flirting, fluff, love at first sight type shit, Spanish/English pet names (pretty lady, hermosa, cariño), limited use of y/n(I literally used it once) idk lmk if I missed any.
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(I only mention the first song but the other two are more for the… spicy scene😏)
——
The only escape from reality you had was the small moments of disassociation you had between the screaming of your children and the-
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
The shouting of your overgrown child of a husband playing his stupid games on his stupid PS5 that you wanted to set on fucking fire. This is not the life you pictured as a stay-at-home mom, yes the piles of dirty laundry were expected, and the mountainous dishes in the sink but you never predicted you'd be doing this alone. Your own mother stayed at home with you and your two brothers but your dad would still help her around the house so that she got the time to kick her feet up and relax.
You never got that.
You were living with this dark cloud over your head and deep regrets in your mind, why did you marry this man? You did think he was the love of your life, three years together before you got married proved your theory but never did you think it was going to end up like this. The amount of work you did was overwhelming, just one look at the number of toys on the floor made tears sting your eyes. You were tired, exhausted, drained and absolutely depleted.
If this was a job, you'd quit, you would take your children and quit. You wanted to so badly but the small hope of him changing clung to you like a piece of lint. You sighed holding your eleven-month-old on your hip while you made him a bottle, anything to keep him from wailing in your ears-- Jesus, half the time you couldn't hear.
"Babe!"
Your eyes rolled, you loathed his voice at this point. "What?"
"Can you pass me a water bottle?"
"Get up and get it, I'm making Malakai a bottle."
He groaned. "For fuck sake, you're in the kitchen already."
Your nostrils flared, and your eye twitched. You wanted to cuss at him, shout at him until your voice box shattered but you kept whatever calm you had left and ignored him. A small hand landed on your nose and you smiled kissing the tiny palm. "I love you too bubba."
He flashed a little smile and your heart sobbed at the fact that your last baby was growing so fast, teeth already emerging from his gums when just months ago he didn't have any. You could never regret your three little creatures, you loved them dearly, so much so you were willing to put up with the man that helped you create them just so they could have a two-parent household but you didn't know how much longer you could take this.
Heavy footsteps trailed inside the kitchen, you could tell he was angry at the fact that he had to pause his little game just to grab some water. He looked over the sink, utterly disgusted by the site in front of him and instead of just keeping his mouth shut or for once volunteering to do them he decided to spit out a sentence that made you want to knock his head off with the glass bottle you were holding; "You need to wash the dishes."
Your blood was boiling, if life was a cartoon you'd have steam coming out of your ears. "Why don't you get off of the game and do them?" You bit.
He cracked open the bottle cap. "Hey, I'm the one that works all week, you just stay home and do nothing."
Nothing? NOTHING!?
That was it.
That was the tip of the iceberg.
Your shoulders dropped and he left the kitchen, there was that ringing in your ears again that came and went every time you zoned out. Ever since you got married you'd felt nothing but unappreciated by him, you quit your job to stay home with your children and not even a thank you, you made sure he had a good meal when he went to work and all you got in return was an "it was okay." And the disgustingly dirty dish tossed right in the sink you'd just emptied. You were at the end of your rope.
You held back your tears and lightly kissed your son on his head handing him his bottle and putting him on a beam bag so he could lay down and drink. You trotted upstairs to check in on your oldest twins who were in their room colouring and getting along for once. Then you headed to the bathroom locking the door behind you, your body sliding down to the floor, you curled up in a ball burying your head between your knees you let out a long and heavy sigh before your river of tears took over.
A cry session your body and mind were so used to. You wailed into the void, muffling your weeps so that your children wouldn't hear you and come asking what was wrong, a question you couldn't answer without them turning on their father and you didn't want to ruin that relationship they had with him.
You were just so tired.
--
As night fell you remained mute when it came to your husband, whatever he had to say you didn't respond to, you were just happy that it was Sunday and soon he'd be out of your face for a few hours.
With the kids all asleep you were in the kitchen on FaceTime with your older brother. "The kids are great, they're sleeping." You conversed.
"And how have you been?"
There was no hiding how you felt when it came to your siblings, you were the baby and the only girl so when you were hurt they knew and they'd do whatever they could to fix it. "I'm okay... I'll be okay." You reassured. He was the only one who knew some small details about what you were going through and you begged him not to say anything not even to your mother until you figured out how to deal with everything yourself.
"Hey, listen, Jordyn is going on vacation next week, she's hitting Fiji, and I think you should go with her."
You squinched up your face, you didn't have a problem with your brother's wife, always so thankful for the sister you never got but what about your kids? Could you even trust that man to take over your duties even for a day?
As if he read your mind he continued. "I mean it'll be summer break next week, and they can stay by me if you want. I just, I really think you need time away from life. I want to see my little sister happy."
You pouted, it really touched your heart how concerned he was. A vacation would be wonderful, it was all you could dream of after the kids were born, you loved them but you just wanted to be by yourself.
"I'll think about it."
"Well, don't think too hard." He joked. "Whatever. I gotta get their lunches together, I'll call you when I make my decision."
"Sounds good, night."
"Night."
The call ended and you finished packing the twins' lunch placing the bags on the only empty spot on the counter. You huffed at the dishes and your husband's words replayed in your head. Nothing. You do absolutely nothing.
The longer you stared a vengeful plan began to brew. You were about to show him what doing nothing meant.
--
You decided you were going on that trip, Jordyn was excited and your brother was happy with your choice. The week flew by quickly, you kept up your normal appearance of keeping the house clean and to your husband's liking and by each day you grew more distant from him not like he cared in the first place.
On the last day of school you explained to the twins that you were taking a trip with Aunty Jordyn and they, unfortunately, couldn't come but they'd be staying with their uncle and they'd loved that man to death so they were excited either way. Your house was a mess and for once you smiled at it, you'd been letting everything pile up for the last two days, packing the clean clothes they did have in advance. The only explanation you gave your husband was that they were all staying by your brother for the week but you didn't mention that you weren't coming back.
You were leaving tonight and there would be no stopping you. You loaded the van with their stuff and yours and hollered for them to get their little butts in the car. "Last one in the car has stinky feet!" You laughed at the building volume of stomping feet coming across the hall and down the stairs, your twins were out and your youngest sat on your hip giggling at their antics. You happily wrote a short note.
Bye.
That's it.
You showered your baby in kisses and grabbed your keys before heading out the door, you locked it and made your way to the car, buckling in your baby and making sure the other two were in securely. You closed the door and first time in a long time you felt a weight off your shoulders, you smiled in satisfaction at how you left the house knowing you were not going to answer a single phone call from that man.
--
Jordyn squealed. "Ugh! I am so excited I don't even know what to do with myself!" You laughed at her enthusiasm as you put your hair up in a ponytail. It was day 2 of your trip and you were living life, you couldn't remember the last time you felt this relaxed. Now, of course, you missed your children it'd been the longest you'd ever been apart from them so you were a bit clingy with the calls but it was all understandable.
You two were hitting the beach today and you were a bit nervous, nobody had seen your body in almost a year not even your husband but Jordyn had persuaded you to find your behind in a two-piece bikini and you argued that you'd wear it as long as you could wear a cover-up so it was a deal. You looked yourself over in the mirror, you felt oddly confident. You looked fucking good. Three kids did your body right.
"You sure you want that cover-up?" She teased watching you admire yourself. "Hmm," You angled your lower half so you could check out your bum, how plump it had become over the years. "Maybe not."
She winked. "That's my girl."
You two grabbed what you needed and headed down to the beach which was right in front of the hotel you were staying at. The slight wind brushed against the water sending a cool and comforting breeze your way, your ears wiggled at the sound of the waves, and the giggles of other vacationers enjoying their time like you were.
The cushiony sand had greeted your toes after overflowing onto your sandals. You two travelled until you found a decent spot, it was close to the bar and the body of water. You set up your area as best as you could but you were in a battle with the beach umbrella Jordyn insisted on bringing. She watched with her hand covering her mouth to camouflage her laughter. "Okay, you know what, I'll handle this and you go handle us some drinks."
You childishly stuck out your tongue and strutted your way over to the bar, you hopped on an available stool. The bartender noticed you asking for you to just give him a minute. "No worries." You responded. You went on your phone and checked the many pictures your brother sent of your children, you smiled and a bit of sadness tugged at your heart. You missed your babies dearly.
The number of messages went up and it could only be one person. You promised you wouldn't look but you just had to, you swiped and tapped on your husband's name.
Where the fuck are you!?
The house is a fucking mess!
I'm not cleaning up, I hope you know that.
Baby, come on, we can work this out. Please.
You scoffed at the last message and put your phone down casually being greeted by the bartender who watched your various emotions while you went through your phone. "Everything's okay?"
Oh. Wow.
He presented a sweet smile, your eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of you. He was handsome, scratch that, he was fine as fuck. The shaved head didn't usually work on a lot of men but it did him justice, the scattered tattoos on his pretty and tanned skin, his broad shoulders that looked like they were made for legs to be hooked on and not to mention his big arms that looked like they could hold you snug and tight all through the night.
"Uh, yeah, everything's... everything is good." You stammered, a queasy feeling crept through you as it settled in your lower stomach. Butterflies? But you couldn't even remember what that felt like in order to come to that conclusion.
"Good to know. What can I get you, ma?"
You shuddered at his voice. He could talk to you all day.
"One Long Island, and one Piña Colada please."
He nodded. "Starting off slow I see." He chuckled. "Eh, we're on vacation, gotta soak it all up before we go back."
"I see," He multitasked making your drinks and conversing. "And when does the pretty lady go back?"
You blushed, should you even tell this literal stranger when you're actually leaving? But he felt... comfortable, easy to talk to and it's not like you'd ever see him again. "End of the week."
"Oh, you have plenty of time to get shit-faced." He encouraged. He'd finished your order and placed the liquored-down drinks in front of you. "Don't worry about paying yeah? It's on the house. Enjoy your vacation pretty lady."
"Y/n... you could just call me Y/n."
Not like you wanted him to, pretty lady was working just fine
"Nice to meet you. Oscar... Diaz." He winked. "Thanks, for the drinks."
"Anytime, pretty lady."
Your legs felt wonky as you walked away, and your breathing quickened. You did your best to walk back to Jordyn without looking back, if you did you were pretty sure you'd fall, just clumsy as fuck. "Girl, that man was watching you walk away." She whispered. "Stop." You poked, shoving her drink toward her. "Oh please, his eyes were on you." Jordyn gazed over to the bar, "He's still staring."
You casually whipped your head around and sucked your teeth when you noticed he wasn't. You glared at her. She snickered taking a sip from her Long Island. "Makes good drinks too."
You sighed, "Shut up."
The topic was silenced, you downed a few more drinks but sent Jordyn to get them instead while you swam around in the cooling water, floating around enjoying the peace the water brought you. But you couldn't help but occasionally look over to the bar. Oscar Diaz... nice name. Nice face. Cute little moustache that sat above his lips and a goatee that sat below. Pretty rosy pink lips...
Your eyes darted away. You're married.
Are you though?
You swam back up to the beach, it was beginning to get dark and the patrons on the beach became scarce. You wrapped yourself in a towel and collected anything Jordyn hadn't packed up yet. "You want one more drink before they close up? Maybe your new friend will allow it." She teased. You took off your flip-flop and threw it at her but your reaction only made her laugh.
A familiar voice was heard behind you. "So she's beautiful and she's got good aim, better watch out." 
You quietly gasped. "Hi... Oscar."
"Hey, uhm, listen I own a club not too far from here and you know it's a decent hangout for the locals... and the visitors." He winked. "Wanted to know if you two would like to come check it out?"
You fought back a smile. "We could try." You answer without even thinking. "I'll take that," He reached into his pocket handing you a folded piece of paper, you assumed had the address of the place he owned. Your fingers brushed against his, prickles felt like they were forming on your skin and those weird feelings returned in your lower stomach.
He sent you another wink and headed back off to the bar to close up.
--
Of course, Jordyn was down to go. You groaned internally as you two pulled up to a crowded place, looking up at the illuminated sign reading Cloud 9. Hmm, cute. You pulled down your dress as it rose up with each step, your heels clicking against the cold ground, the music booming so loud you could feel your body vibrating the closer you got to the entrance, flashing lights of different colours beamed through the door every time it opened blinding whoever entered. "Where's your friend?" Jordyn asked. "Have patience, I just told him we got here."
"Mhm." She sassed. Your heart thumped in your ears, it pounded against your chest. What were you doing? It was a question you asked yourself from the moment you got back to your room and began to get ready for tonight. You shook off your thoughts and shifted your eyes over to a black door that slowly began to open. "Hey, over here." Oscar waved you two over and you followed. "What's going on, pretty lady?... And pretty lady's friend."
Jordyn nodded at him as a silent greeting, she was just here to observe your anxious behaviour for her entertainment. "Come on," You followed him through a dimly lit hallway and up a flight of stairs, your nerves building and sudden regret forming in your bones until you entered a brighter atmosphere, the loud music returning to your eardrums. He had led you two to a section that only had a few people, you could assume it was the VIP section.
"Anything you two want to drink just let me know and I got you."
Jordyn raised her eyebrows at the tempting bottle of unopened champagne sitting in a bucket of ice. Oscar chuckled granting her permission to open it, she shimmied her shoulders in excitement and got to work. You shook your head at her, you travelled over to the balcony and looks down at all the patrons having the time of their lives, a few familiar faces from the resort and others that weren't recognizable which you could only assume were locals.
Oscar found his place beside you and nudged your shoulder with his. "You want anything to drink?"
"No, not yet, I'm good."
He slowly nodded. "So, what are you doing in Fiji? Besides vacationing."
You huffed, "I just needed time to myself... to get away from shit."
"I hear that." You could just feel those sweet and curious brown eyes boring into the side of your head, you poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue and looked down at your shoes, just anything to not make eye contact with him. You were shy, you were never shy not even with your husband when you first met him. It's like this was a new feeling, you were queasy and nervous and it honestly felt good in a weird way-- it felt good to not be comfortable, to get all flustered over someone like a schoolgirl crush.
"You really own this place?"
He scrunched up his face. "Half own, I guess. My brother and I came here for an escape just like you and we ended up staying. Now, we own Cloud Nine and I work down at the resort once in a while."
"Oh, you're a busy man."
"I try to be." Oscar chuckled. He was so easy to talk to, why was he so easy to talk to?
You found yourself moving a bit closer. "What were you trying to escape from?"
"Life. I wasn't happy where I was living and I wanted better but... given the circumstances, we just couldn't get it. So I threw a dart on a map, so to speak, it landed on Fiji and we've been here ever since."
"Where are you from then?"
"Originally born in Mexico, we moved to LA, and then out here."
"Would you ever go back to the States?" You asked finally looking up at him knowing he hadn't taken his eyes off you all night. He leaned forward, officially entering your bubble. "If I had a good enough reason... yeah."
You looked up at him through your lashes and softly smiled, meanwhile, Jordyn sat on the couch sipping and shaking her head at the sight in front of her. She would playfully scold you in the morning but tonight she'd let you have your harmless fun.
As the party went on you were getting a bit bored being upstairs so you grabbed your girl and headed downstairs to where the crowd was and of course Oscar was right behind you, he felt a sense of protection over you two tonight given this was your first time out here and inside his establishment. You had found enough confidence to start dancing around, a little two-step from left to right to get you going, but soon the constant flow of drinks Jordyn handed you helped you loosen out of that as well.
The DJ was beginning to play all the oldies, and that was your specialty. Oscar watched in adornment as you killed every lyric, every adlib and every beat to whichever song came on. It had transitioned from a bit of Hip-hop to something a lot slower.
  "Right now, we're gonna slow it down a bit, so grab your lovers and take your time."
The lights changed to blue and a recognizable first note had you close your eyes.
Mmm ooooh, my my my my my my my babyyy ouuuuuu
Jordyn had already found herself dancing with a random woman. She looked widened her eyes at you and quickly flicked them over to Oscar, trying her best to encourage you to make your move. But he was faster. You felt yourself being pulled into his warm embrace, his strong chest against your exposed back, his hands carefully snaking around your waist as if he was worried about you rejecting his touch but you gladly welcomed it.
Melting into his hold you two swayed side to side, he leaned down comfortably nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. You were lost in the vibes of Keith Sweat's Right and a Wrong Way. You reached back hooking your arm around his neck lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. "You smell so good, mamita." He whispered, it was a miracle that you heard him. Your lips parted slightly as you felt his warm breath tickle your skin. His swift hands ran up your sides resting right under your breasts and gliding back down to your hips.
A thumping began between your thighs, now that was something you hadn't felt in a long time. You put that feeling to the side no matter how hard it was to do so. The rest of the night it felt like all the songs were targeted for just you two, you hadn't eased up on him once-- always in close proximity to him. He touched you in simple ways, ways you hadn't been touched in almost a year.
It was getting super late, almost three in the morning and you couldn't recall the last time you were out like this, it'd give you hell when you woke up but it was worth it. You and Jordyn rode back to the resort with Oscar, she exited the car first thanking him for the night out and wobbling her way inside. You giggled watching her walk away, "I should get in there before she tries the key on the wrong room."
But you didn't want to leave him.
And he didn't want to leave you.
"Thanks for tonight, I had a lot of fun."
"No problem, anything to help a pretty lady escape." He bit his lip. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"
"Recovering," You laughed, "But other than that nothing."
"Can I see you again?"
You gulped and nodded. "Mhm."
He laid out his palm your eyebrows furrowed as you rested yours on top of his, he brought the back of your hand to his lips and placed such a gentle kiss on your skin. "Goodnight, mamita."
You wanted to scream. You left the car putting a little swing in your hips as you walked away, you looked over your shoulder and sent him a cute little wave before disappearing behind the doors.
— —
And that's how you spent the rest of your trip, shamelessly flirting with Oscar. You got to know each other a lot more, when you weren't spending time with Jordyn you were with him. Giggling like an airhead and blushing red like Rudolph's nose.
Jordyn constantly teases you about the crush you'd seem to quickly develop.
"Is this stupid?" You ask shoving your face in the pillow. This all felt too good to be fucking true, a guy that you met only four days ago was treating you so much better than the man you married four years ago. Oscar had flowers for you at the front desk of the resort every morning and sent you the sweetest messages throughout the day about how he was thinking of you, how he caught a glimpse of you today and you looked stunning, calling you the prettiest woman he'd ever seen step on this island.
You convinced yourself they were all lies, sugarcoating you like he probably did every woman but who were you fooling? Certainly not yourself and certainly not Jordyn.
"It's not."
"I'm married." You argued tiredly to which she fake yawned. "I don't see a ring on that finger and I don't see that man treating you any better than Oscar has. Just saying."
The fingers on your right hand brushed your vacant ring finger, you'd taken it off the minute you got on the plane, you didn't want to be reminded of him on this trip at all and yet there was that piece in the back of your mind that reached out to him. Checking his messages once in a while but never responding, he was giving you the attention you wanted but it didn't feel right.
The fact that you had to spontaneously leave to get even a fraction of what you were asking for was bullshit. Downright bullshit.
You groaned sitting up the pads of your fingers now rubbing your temples, tired and stressed. The trip was almost over and you dreaded going back to that house that was no longer a home. He'd sent you pictures that he'd finally cleaned up but you had a feeling once you returned home things would go back to the way they were and you did not want that.
"I think your brother would agree with me, you've smiled more in these past few days than I've seen back home, I mean you two are always so distant when you come over. And don't think I don't hear your rants when you and your brother are on the phone. Now I don't condone cheating but, hey, I didn't see shit."
You sighed checking your phone for any recent texts from your husband but Jordyn caught wind of what you were doing and snatched your device. "Enough with him. Flirt and have fun before you have to go back to normalcy."
You heard your phone buzz in her hand, she looked at the message for you. "Speaking of, someone is downstairs."
You felt nauseous. "Where are you two going anyway?"
"Down to the beach, said he has to restock the bar... and I wanted to spend time with him so I offered to help."
"Mhm." She winked. You grabbed your phone back from her grasp and told her you'd be back soon. You left your room, entered the elevator and headed downstairs where Oscar was happily waiting for you. "Hola querida." He become more comfortable speaking Spanish around you, especially when he noticed how the little nicknames got a reaction out of you.
"Hi," Oscar noticed the shaky tone in your response and made note of it You had comfortably slipped your hand inside his, he immediately hooked his fingers in the spaces of yours. Like he was your puzzle piece.
You two headed down to the decent-sized Hut, your eyes widened at the number of boxes sitting on the sand. "Don't worry, I got the heavy bottles, you just get the small ones." He reassured pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You loved those, so innocent and sweet, although you wish sometimes he'd kiss you on your lips or you had to courage to kiss his. "Think I can't handle the big boxes?" You scoffed walking inside after him.
"I think you can, I just don't think my pretty lady needs to."
My pretty lady.
ugh!
With music playing in the background you two got to work, "Do you still think about running your own restaurant?" You asked sparking a conversation, you squatted down to the lower shelves and propped the glass bottles in an organized fashion, eyes tearing through the material of your sundress and you could feel them. "I do, yeah. Why?"
You bit your lip. "Would it still be down here?"
There was a beat of silence. "Most likely."
Another pause in the moment aside from your soft humming to the music. "You excited to see your kids?" He asked. You smiled at the mere thought of them. "I am. My three little headaches." Oscar found himself next to you, leaning against the counter, you stopped your movements and looked up-- he had one arm folded over the other and a bit of a scowl on his face.
"What?" You innocently question standing up to match his eye line, well more-like chest line. "Nothing, just trying to take my time to remember this face." He reached for your cheek, his fingers ghosting your flesh. "You flirt like this with all the girls here?"
A question that was supposed to come out jokingly but you were a bit serious. "Nah," You squinted at him watching his lips press together, his chest stuttering as he held back a laugh. "You asshole, I knew it." A dramatic hand to your heart as you playfully pouted at him and fake cried. Oscar's arms enveloped you in their warmth, you attempted to push him off but it was no use, your feet suddenly off the ground, you squealed and giggled as he switched positions with you plopping you on top of the counter.
He placed his palms flat on the side of your thighs while he was positioned comfortably between them. "To be fair, hermosa, it is kind of my job. But believe me when I say I've never spent any time with them. And I've definitely never brought them back here after hours." His thumb and pointer finger pinching your chin. "Just you, princesa."
You melted, your whole body could be seen physically slumping in his hold. His eyes sparkled while he looked at you, the crinkles in his eyes appearing as he smirked. Before you could comprehend anything his lips brushed yours, your head suddenly becoming foggy with the inappropriate images of him that you'd conjured up these past few days.
His nimble fingers danced along the hem of your dress, a rush of heat passing over you as he hiked it up further exposing more of your flesh.
This was no longer a want... it was a need.
Your hands landed right under his jaw as you pulled him in crashing your lips onto his and he happily reciprocated your energy, his hands wandered up to your hips tugging you closer to him as if it were possible. Your lips moved as one, tongues passing by in the heat of the moment, the only thing on your mind was him and you wanted it to remain so for as long as possible.
Tingles scattered around your body, both of you flushed with lust and arousal. Your hands travelled to the bottom of his shirt quietly begging for him to take it off, you needed to feel his skin, thankfully he got the message-- pulling away for a brief moment to remove his top. Your eyes glazed over his lightly tanned skin, little scars here and there you can only presume he earned before he got here.
You smiled at the strewed ink on his torso, chest and ribs. "What are you thinking about?" He inquired. You looked back up into his brown iris'. "I wish I had met you first." You mumbled drawing him back down, this kiss was a lot more passionate and slow unlike the first.
Oscar's hands gently tugged at the neckline of your dress, your breasts spilling over and his calloused hands finding them. You softly moaned against his lips, your nipples hardening from the cool breeze and his fondling. He pinched and rolled them between his fingers, your head tipped back and his teeth nipped at the column of your neck.
You were forming a small pool in your panties at his teasing. His tongue grazed your neck continuously licking and sucking a specific spot that was getting a squirming reaction out of you. You felt his devilish smile, he knew what he was doing to you and he liked it.
His hands moved from torturing your swollen breasts back down to your thighs shoving your dress up until your little black panties were on display. You sat on the edge of the counter making it a bit easier for him to remove them, the cool air hitting your soaking slit.
"Touch me, please, touch me." You whined not caring about how desperate and needy you sounded. Oscar listened to your pleas and dipped one hand between your legs, his fingers quickly finding your slick folds. You shuddered as he glided two fingers up and down, dipping them inside you once in a while.
You were soaking, you were throbbing, and you just wanted him inside you where he fucking belonged. He slowly plunged his fingers inside, you clench around them happy to have something pleasuring you. Your eyes are closed and your legs spread further for him, nails digging into his shoulder blade hopefully leaving little indents.
He pumped them in and out of you with the squidgy noise of your wetness to follow. "Yes... oh yes, like that."
Oscar felt himself twitch under his boxers using his other hand to undo his belt and pulled down his materials. His dick is hard and his tip a rosy pink turning cherry red oozing with a bit of cream, his hips buckled once his hand brushed over it-- equally as desperate as you were. Your erotic moans were like music to his ears, so much sexier than he could've pictured. You whined once he removed them your hole flexing around nothing as you caught your breath.
Oscar hooked your legs over his arms spreading you to his desire, you reached between your bodies firmly (but not too tight) grasping his length and guiding it to your entrance, his swollen head prodding inside you as the rest of him followed.
Your jaw slacked at the feeling of him deliciously stretching you out, he was so thick and it felt so nice. Oscar croaked out a moan while burying himself deep inside your warmth-- coating his dick with your sticky walls, so slick and welcoming that he didn't want to move.
You caressed the back of his neck as he pressed another kiss on yours, trailing it up the side and finally landing on your mouth. You giggled into the kiss, Oscar pulled back with a questioning look. "I can't tell the last time I felt like this." You mumbled under your breath but he heard you. He didn't want you to leave, hell if you didn't have kids he'd probably try to convince you to move out here with him.
He didn't say anything in response just pulled out and pushed back in. "Fuck." You both moaned.
His head dipped back down, nibbling on your sweet skin.
You whimpered through every tantalizing stroke he gave you, his tip poking right at your hot spot and you knew you wouldn't last. "You feel so good!" A sentence broken by little gasps. Oscar grunted, violently gripping your thighs as he pounded you, pulling the filthiest sounds from your pretty little throat. So loud and erotic he was sure they could hear you back at the resort.
Your eyes squeeze in absolute bliss, your head hazy from the constant pleasure you received, quickly feeling a sensation in your lower belly a wave of heat threatening to take over. Your palm lay flat on his back while the other gripped the edge of the counter.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oscar!"
He lifted you off the counter a bit, relentlessly slamming into you now. Your high getting closer and closer. "I can, shit, I can feel you mamita. So fucking tight."
Your toes curled and your eyes rolled. "Baby, ohhh, I need to..."
Oscar smiled. "You wanna cum for me, baby? Come, mi amor, all of it."
His words tipped you off the edge, your back arched and your body trembled from the shockwaves of your orgasm, he held you closely revelling in your pulsating pussy dripping down his shaft.
He quickly brought you off the countertop, your wobbly legs barely holding your support. He turned you around, you barely recovered from the first position.
You were sensitive and extra wet just how he wanted you. You flinched when he pressed himself against your entrance once again, pushing in ever so carefully. "Fuck... you."
He laughed menacingly, his hands squeezing your hips. "That's what I'm doin' pretty lady."
You wanted to give him a smart-ass answer but it was cut short when he began to move. Your nipples were hard against the surface, you rested your head down and whined. "So fucking good."
"Yeah?" He chuckled spanking you. He was enjoying the pornographic sounds that you provided, all going straight to his dick.
He wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you up against him, back pressed on his chest, his warm breath in your ear. "Can't get enough of you I swear." He admitted.
He poked and prodded against that familiar spot, tears of overwhelming pleasure threatening to spill when he pinched your nipple. "Fuck! I'm gonna miss you, so fucking much."
"You gonna think about me?"
"Yes! Oh!"
You felt him twitch inside you, you smiled egging him on. "I won't stop thinking about you, when I touch myself I'll picture it's you-"
"Fuck, cariño,"
"Ou, you're the only one I want inside me."
You convulsed around him feeling another orgasm quickly building and getting ready to fall apart. A few more thrusts and Oscar held himself still inside you, your body shivering at the warm cream he just spilled inside you. His high triggering yours. You reached behind hooking your arm around his now sweaty neck.
The sound of the wind against the water and the waves crashing describe exactly how you felt right now.
"Oh... my god." You said breathlessly.
"You're okay?" He asked with a laugh. You giggled tipping your head back on to his shoulder. "Better than okay."
He sighed kissing your back. "I meant it..." You said.
"What?"
"I'm gonna miss you."
He smiled sheepishly. "I'll miss you too."
--
Those moments replayed in your head constantly, it was the only thing getting you by once you came back home. You two still talked every day, called and FaceTimed but it wasn't enough. You would stare at the prices of tickets and sigh, you couldn't afford to go back right now.
Your life was the same, unloved and unappreciated, despite the embarrassingly desperate messages your husband had sent when you were on your trip. You stared at another pile of dishes, your shoulder sinking with exhaustion. With your two older ones at school and your son almost an hour into his nap you decided to just relax. You clicked on Netflix and attempted to finish Bridgerton's, Queen Charlotte.
Your eyelids felt heavy, sleep threatened to take over but the doorbell had them shoot open. It wasn't just one ring it was multiple and it was annoying so you assumed it was your brother. You groaned trudging to the door. You swung it open aggressively, ready to give him a piece of your mind. "You're going to wake-"
There he was. Standing in front of you, on your doorstep... at your house. "O-Oscar..." You poked his chest to see if he was really there. "Said I'd come back when I have a good reason." Your eyes softened, your arms reaching for him. His lips immediately find yours. "I," kiss, "fucking," kiss "missed you."
Your legs wrapped around his waist as he stepped inside closing the door. He carried you over to the couch and plopped you on the cushions. You laughed, your mood immediately changing with him around. "Jordyn told you where I lived didn't she?"
He nodded. You rolled your eyes. "Of course."
"Not happy to see me?"
You pulled him down for another kiss.
"Beyond happy."
I was going to wait until the weekend to post this but I am a little too excited to get this out.
Shoutout to my girl @darqchilddaydreamz for her input on a few things and her encouragement. Holdin it down ✊🏾
if you liked this fic feel free to like this fic, comments and reblogs are appreciated.
Alsooooo thank you for 800 followers, yall cool as fuck thanks for fucking with me and my antics.
Peace and love see you in the next one✌🏾
🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @skyesthebomb @realhotgurlshit
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Hi Kat! Congratulations on your 2k followers!
I'd like to request a post-war drabble taking place on their shared home in Marley. Just after when Levi and reader got home after giving birth to their baby, Levi decides to take care of the baby because of his insomia. All while reader was peacefully resting.
*kicks down door* I NEED LEVI WITH BABY NOW kdjfksdjf
A New Dad | 2K Follower Event | Post-War Dadvi Drabble
✧ word count ➼ < 700 ✧ notes ➼ post-war, fluff, i suck at titles don't judge me >:(
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It was late into the night.
The war was over. There were no more Titans to fight, no more lives to be lost to an enemy that seemed impossible to defeat.
Unfortunately, that didn't mean anything to Levi's insomnia. He still couldn't sleep.
That, plus the fact that you had just given birth to his child just a few hours ago, meant that tonight was one of the many nights in which he knew he wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon.
He looked over at you and was relieved to see that you were fast asleep. Even with how noisy the streets of this Marleyan neighborhood could get, you were completely knocked out. It wasn't too surprising. You did just push a baby out, after all.
It wasn't the same case for your child. His eyes immediately snapped over towards the wall at the front of the bedroom that had your child's nursery on the other side.
Not wanting to wake you, Levi gently pushed himself off the bed, hoping that he would be able to get to your crying baby before you woke up from it. You needed the rest.
His gaze softened as he walked into the nursery, your baby coming into view. As he approached, his mind was reeling, with him still being in shock that she existed and that he was now a dad.
He reached down and picked her up, still surprised at how light she was.
"Can't sleep?" he murmured. "Neither can I."
He knew it was much too early to know if she'd share the same sleeping patterns as he did, but he certainly hoped not.
Levi rested her on his shoulder, patting her back to soothe her as he paced from the nursery to the living room, silently grateful that his knee wasn't bugging him too much at the moment.
It did hurt after a while though, so he circled the living room a few times before making his way back to the nursery.
He glanced over at your child with his good eye, noticing that she had fallen back asleep as he was walking around. He patted her back for a few more minutes before he gently placed her back down in the crib.
It was surreal how small she was. He had spent all nine months preparing to be a dad, but he still found himself in shock now that she was in front of his eyes.
Once he was able to see that she was sound asleep, he quietly left the nursery, leaving the door cracked in case she woke up again.
You were still passed out, having turned onto your other side with your arm reaching for Levi's side of the bed, likely searching for him in your sleep after he had gotten up.
He lifted your arm as he crawled back under the blankets. You seemed to notice that he was back in bed, immediately squeezing yourself between his arms and resting your head against his chest. By your breathing pattern, he could tell that you were still mostly asleep—as you should be after spending nearly the first half of the day trying to squeeze a human out of you.
Levi pulled you in, planting a kiss at the top of your head. He felt you take a deep breath, burying your face further into his chest as you tightened your squeeze on him.
His good eye flashed down towards you as he heard you mumbling something underneath your breath.
"Hmm?" he gently shifted as you looked up at him.
Being still half-asleep, you didn't respond, only shifting up a bit to gently plant your lips against his, grateful that he was there after the exhausting events of the past day.
The last thing you were able to process was the soft feeling of his lips on yours, with his hand squeezing at your waist as he pulled you in closer, before dozing off to sleep within the warmth and safety of his arms.
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jaeyunverse · 8 months
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the roommate conflict (teaser)
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pairing: na jaemin x fem!reader
genres: fluff, crack, angst, found family, strangers to lovers, roommate au, college au
est. wc: 20k
warnings: profanity, chaos, lots of idol features + all warnings to be added in the full fic!
summary: your roommate is the devil incarnate, you can’t afford your own place, chaewon won’t move out of the apartment you’re supposed to move in till the next semester and you’re positive you will kill yourself the next time someone pisses you off. cue na jaemin, the cute boy from next door, who swoops in and saves the day by offering you a place in his home.
taglist: @s00buwu @justalildumpling @imhuh @lovesuhng @loveforred @hibernatinghamster @jamaisunoo @carelessshootanonymous @tangerinelovelees @babyjenono @urfavtallgirl @luvenshiti @tika-writes-lol @jaemsushi @sseramine send an ask / comment to be added!
note: i am in love w roommate aus!!!!!! and i’m really excited for this one hehe <3
masterlist
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“So you’re going to keep living with Eunsook for the next few months?”
You shrugged and looked out the window, noticing that you were only a few minutes away from your destination. “I don’t have much of a choice. The dorms are at full capacity and I can’t afford to live alone.”
Jaemin bit his lip in contemplation. Technically, he could offer to let you live with him and his housemates. Chenle had already gone back to China to complete the rest of his education, meaning Jaemin didn’t have a roommate anymore.
Besides, with you chipping in on the rent, his own financial problems would be solved.
To Jaemin, the idea seemed to be a win-win. He enjoyed your company thoroughly and doubted the boys would be opposed to you moving in.
Nonetheless, outright suggesting it to you felt weird. This was only your second encounter, and though your best friends were some of his close friends, he couldn’t just drop the question out of nowhere.
You probably weren’t even comfortable living in a house filled with people of the opposite gender, and the last thing Jaemin wanted to do was make things awkward by putting you in a difficult position.
So, he decided to take the safer route and casually mentioned, “Tell me about it. My roommate returned to his home a month ago and now the rent’s being split three ways instead of four. The economy has been kicking our asses. Finding a good housemate is proving to be tougher than we thought too.”
You averted your gaze from the window to meet his. With no small amount of satisfaction, Jaemin noted that your eyebrows were raised.
You were interested.
The only thing left for you to do was ask.
Come on, he urged you mentally. Do it. Ask me if it’s possible for you to move in.
You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could do so, the car behind you honked multiple times.
Jaemin cringed and stepped on the accelerator, not having realised that the traffic light had turned green.
He glimpsed the shake of your head out of the corner of his eye and knew you’d decided against whatever you were going to say before.
“Yeah. Fuck inflation.”
No matter how hard he tried, Jaemin couldn’t stop his heart from sinking.
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literaila · 10 months
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untrustworthy 
tasm!peter x reader 
summary: 
"are you mad at me?"
"did you get me bologna sandwiches?"
warnings: angst, alludes to depression, lost of interest, pushing people away, this is a pining fic because they’re not actually together, angst, fluff at the end, peter sucks but he’s also great? 
a/n: i haven’t written anything in weeks and this is so terrible but take it or leave it. i am. 
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*
if you've learned anything in the past year, it's that you couldn't trust peter parker. 
you couldn't trust him to finish his portion of your shared slideshow for your physics class. and you shouldn't have trusted him to tell you if he couldn't get it done before the due date--sparing you both from the wide-eyed, slightly over-amused gazes of classmates who thought peter's "the end" slide was purely a comedic stroke, and not just laziness, or a miserable attempt to pretend he hadn't cost you thirty percent of your grade. 
and even after, you couldn't trust him not to give you a look--his signature look--sending you plummeting towards forgiveness before he'd even gotten the chance to apologize. 
you couldn't trust peter parker to pick up a mutual friend's birthday cake or get himself home safely without cracking his glasses, or not to eat all of the cookies that may made for you on his way to your apartment. you wouldn't trust him to wash your dishes or sleep on your couch without burning the entire building down. 
it was a dangerous thing, you'd realized, about three months after you'd met him, to try and count on him. 
peter parker would borrow a pen from you, flicking his hair your way and smiling that charming smile, and then proceed to give it back to you at your thirty-year reunion. or never. 
you'd learned not to expect him to show up for anything on time, ask him to pick anything up for you, or let him do laundry in your apartment. 
peter parker was anything but dependable. and if you could give the past version of yourself any advice, it would be not to trust him. 
not to let that foolish hope exist before it was crumbled between strong hands like a grocery receipt, never to be seen again. 
you wouldn't let that faded, reliable version of peter exist. 
you couldn't trust peter parker to do anything or make any promise he would actually keep. 
you couldn't even trust him to stay away from you when you wanted space the most; like now. 
because as soon as you heard that knock on your door, a bitter part of you was scowling at the intrusion, cursing your friend for bothering to exist or always showing up when you didn't want him to. 
and you knew that just like every other thing peter did, he wouldn't take no for an answer. even if you didn't answer the door. even if you threw your phone down into the garbage disposal. 
you were pretty sure peter could pick a lock. and also slightly suspicious that he'd had a copy of your key made behind your back. 
so when peter walks into your living room, hair dripping from the rain, arms full of grocery bags, you aren't surprised. 
you barely even blink at him before returning your attention to your tv, where a couple was viciously debating the cost of crown molding. 
his presence is its own curse because you can feel every movement he makes, just like always. 
"hey," peter says, smiling evilly. he ignores your ignoring. doesn't even mind the fact that you haven't looked at him. "i brought you some stuff." 
he kicks his shoes off--into your living room, of course, mud sticking to your carpet--and heads to the kitchen. 
"just some basics," he continues, not bothering to listen to any reply, verbal or not. "bread, eggs, milk. i got you some disgusting orange jello and a couple of those pre-made sandwiches they make at the deli. they're a bit... flat, but they should be okay still." 
you turn the volume up. 
peter doesn't mind. "there's also some protein bars in there--chocolate--just in case you want something quick," he walks back into the room, holding a glass bottle. "and i saw this banana-flavored soda when i was walking out, for us to try and throw up together." 
he shakes the bottle around, smile on his idiotic face, not even bothering to think about the harsh reality of carbonation. 
"open that over the sink," you mumble to him, still not meeting his eyes. 
you curse your weak willpower for ruining your silent game. and peter, for knowing that he would win eventually. 
peter tilts his head, tsking at you. "not even a thank you for your very thoughtful, handsome--" he plops down next to you, moving your legs so that he can tickle your feet. "and genius best friend?" 
"thanks, peter." 
instead of looking over at the man who was definitely trying to get you to yell at him, you choose to watch the ceiling on the tv crumble over brand-new hardwood. 
you frown. 
peter runs his hand up your calf, goosebumps riding his wake. "are you mad at me?" 
"did you get me bologna sandwiches?" 
"no, turkey." 
"then no." 
peter removes his hand. "what's wrong with the bologna?" 
"they put rat poison in it." 
peter pokes your thigh. "and you've been letting me eat it? you know i love those sandwiches."
you turn even further on your side, wall going up between the two of you, forcing his hand off, mumbling, "wanted to test a theory." 
"what theory?" 
finally, your eyes meet his--stupid brown, caring, auburn, and hateful eyes. "if rat poison would kill you or not." 
peter scoffs.  
you let your lip quirk up, irritated at his perfect mouth and thoughtful grocery list, and warm hands climbing up your stomach, and then look away. back to the house infested with termites. if there's anything to hate, it's adoration. the ridiculous attachment you have to him, even now.
"are you calling me a vermin?" 
you roll your eyes. "well, you're not dead so..." 
and it was all normal. peter sitting this close and trying to mold himself into your skin, the puppy eyes he was trying to give you, and his devious smirk. his teasing and lack of common sense, his stupid jokes, and stupid thoughtfulness, ruining the silent treatment you'd meant to give him. the space you'd been forcing between the two of you.
it was all normal, but you can feel him lurking, waiting for a moment to say something. you can feel him staring at you. 
"what?" you say, sharp and rough, after thirty seconds of it being too much. of peter being too close and too quiet.
his presence is a burden on your heart. 
peter's hands began to massage your legs, forcing you to let him in closer than you want him to be. "what, what?" he repeats. 
your eyes meet his with defenses already prepared. "what are you doing here, peter?"
the words are weapons. one punch to the jaw and a knife shoved into his back. 
you're trying to get him off of you, get him out that door and back into the world where he belongs so that you could stay here and rot, just like you want to.
but peter's eyes stay soft, his hands are kind and his intent is obvious. he isn't trying to fight with you.
he blows out a breath. "what're you doing here?"
you both stare at each other for a moment and then you look away, shaking your head. "i live here." 
"you know that's not what i mean." 
"do i?" you ask, voice sarcastic and mean. and it would be fine--usually. you and peter are mean to each other for sport. 
but he wasn't being anything but easy. careful as he stretched your muscles out like he could tell that you hadn't used them in days. 
trust peter to break your only rule. 
it was silent again; only the sounds of commercials in the background, a woman swearing that aleve changed her life. 
peter clears his throat. "why haven't you been answering my calls?" 
"lost my phone." 
"and class?" 
"i've been sick." 
"you missed an exam," he pushes. "you're gonna have to make it up." 
"already emailed connaly." 
"good." peter swallows, and you can feel his pounding, his questions even when he's not asking them. 
you want to push him off of the couch. you want to push him off of you, leave bruises from the fall, and tell him to find someone who can be his friend. who can do this. 
you want to be understanding, and as careful as he is. you love him enough to not scream, even if you want to.
"peter, i really just want to be alone, so--" 
"when's the last time you ate?" 
you sigh, pulling away from him. 
but peter has a firm hold on your legs, and even if you tried, you couldn't kick him away. 
"when was the last time you showered?" 
"i've been sick, peter, it doesn't--" 
"left the house?" he prods. "or moved from the couch? when was the last time you looked in the mirror?" 
you sit up, looking at him without meeting his eyes. "you should go. i could still be contagious." the words are tense, your face is stone, unmoving, and unwilling to do any of this with him. 
peter moves closer to you, his hands lingering just inches away from your marble face. "what's going on?" he asks, so softly that you can barely feel it on your plastered skin.
his concern and care, his stupid face and stupid eyes and-- 
"i can't do this, peter." 
"you need to talk to me," he says, without even processing what you've said. "you need to tell me what's happening because it's been almost two weeks since i've seen you, and this..." he gestures around the room. 
a place that used to be your home. 
"what happened?" 
and if anyone could get it out of you--pull the secrets you have hidden in your chest, ignoring your screams of pain--it would be peter. he would be the person that you talked to. 
that is if you wanted to talk at all. 
if you wanted to move from his couch and look into his eyes like you had been for months before this. like he was more than a classmate, or friend who had stuck to you. like he was someone who you wanted to care about. 
someone with perfect lips and wonderful eyes and an addicting laugh. 
someone who you might want to tell more, share more. 
the person that you'd been a month ago would've told peter. even unsure if he could keep that secret or stay with you, you would've told him. trusted him that much. more than he deserved. 
but the person sitting on your couch staring into those same eyes doesn't want anything. 
to move or breathe or have to tell peter that you just don't care anymore. 
that whatever you have to tell him is gone, that your words and voice have been ripped from your chest, that this couch, this distance you've been trying to build is the only remedy to fix the hole that remains. 
but you don't want to see him. you don't want to tell him anything. you don't want to breathe his air and risk infecting him. 
"nothing, peter. i'm fine." 
"you look like you've spent the last month in the hospital." 
"well, you look like a goddamn swimsuit model, so i guess we're even." 
you're watching as his serious face shifts, and you can see it as he fights back a laugh, his eyes just barely flickering. 
and you wish that you didn't care. you wish so badly that it didn't matter. you look away, thinking to pretend that none of this exists. 
you've had enough nightmares like this lately. 
"hey," peter says, one fingertip turning your eyes back to his. and you know it's not a dream, because your imagination can never get those eyes just right. "i'm here to listen. whatever it is. we'll work it out. i just need you to talk to me."
"i told you, there's nothing--" 
"and you've got to stop lying to me like i can't tell." 
you scowl. 
peter's eyebrows lift, a fraction of affection appearing on his face. "c'mon, just tell me. i won't laugh." 
you look down, at his hand resting on your thigh, and the hole you've burned into the couch. 
you don't want to look at his eyes anymore. you're tired of trying to look away. and not talking to him. 
you sigh. "nothing, peter. just..." you blink, but it's not enough to push his regard off of you. to rid yourself of the toxins he's breathed into you. 
you were almost immune to them, just a few weeks ago. mithridatism only works if it's consistent. 
and his eyes are more dangerous when you haven't seen them. 
you freeze. "there's nothing," you repeat, defenses falling, hands going to push him away from your face. 
and peter knows what's going to happen before you do. "hey," he says, already soothing. "whatever it is..." 
and peter grabs you before you fall. he catches that first tear, and it's his forever. his arms fold around your shoulder, his strong hands keeping your head up. 
"there's nothing. it's all gone. everything i want, everything i--" 
his hands are tilting your face up to his but you can't look at him. you can't look into his perfect eyes and feel ashamed of yourself anymore. 
you're sick and tired of feeling sorry for yourself. 
"i can't feel anything, peter. i don't want to do anything but sit here and hope that eventually, this feeling goes away. that it all just..." you shake your head, feeling him invade you. 
and then you lean in and let peter hold you up. 
you hadn't even realized that you were crying. hadn't realized how far down you'd pushed the words until they were bubbling up. 
bile crawling up your throat. 
"i'm sorry," you whisper to him, just before he crushes you into a hug, your head buried into his neck. your tears staining his perfect skin. "i'm so sorry." 
peter shakes his head against you, holding you even closer. 
and you can't breathe with how tight he's holding you, but this sort of breathlessness is welcome. much better than the other kind. 
you laugh against him, feeling how sore your body is. how angry you are with yourself. 
"i've got you," peter whispers, into your hair, kissing your forehead. "we'll figure it out." 
you shake your head but say nothing. 
you finally breathe him in, desperate after denying yourself for so long. you don't have to worry about anything as long as peter is right there. 
"god," he says, after a few minutes pass. "i'm sorry i didn't come sooner. i thought..." 
thought you were okay, you can hear. thought that you needed space, that time was a perfect solution. 
"not your fault," you mumble into him. 
peter leans back, just so that you'll look up at him. "why didn't you tell me? you know i would've come," he says, "if you'd just called." 
"i didn't want--" you swallow, looking away. "i didn't want you to know. or see." 
peter scowls. "what did you think would happen? i would leave? or tell you to get over yourself?" 
"maybe."
"are you insane?" 
"maybe." 
peter doesn't even laugh. he makes you look at him again, not knowing how cruel those eyes of his are. "i would've stayed," he tells you, "no matter what. even if you told me that you murdered someone. or run over a squirrel with your bike. i would've been there. i'm going to be there." 
his jaw is tense and his eyes are so serious, but you sniffle, shaking your head. "even if i murdered a squirrel?" 
"i mean... it would be hard. but i'd do it." 
you laugh. 
he swallows, shaking his head. "you need to tell me what's going on, okay? instead of ghosting me for two weeks, acting like you died or something." 
"i answered a couple of your texts." 
peter glares at you. 
"okay. i'm sorry." 
he shakes his head again, almost smiling, if a little bit sad. "are you okay?" 
you fall back into him, suffocating yourself into his shoulder. you don't want to answer that, and hope that peter doesn't push. 
for once, he does what you want, wrapping his arm back around you, pulling you in closer. 
"okay," he says, and breathes with you. 
you sit with him for a few seconds, glad that he's there, and then you ask, "how'd you get in?" voice muffled by his shirt. 
"it was unlocked, you idiot." 
you frown, looking up at him. 
peter laughs. 
"no, it wasn't." 
his eyes return to normal, deviance stuck in his expression. "i used my key," he answers, innocently. 
trust peter to ruin the moment.
*
my masterlist here.
tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys
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cavillscurls · 8 months
Note
Hi! I am craving some soft and fluffy Joel content so may I suggest
Reader playing with grumpy Joel’s hair until to calms him down then maybe he falls asleep? (He will never admit it because THE Joel Miller having a weak spot? Scary and always scolding Joel loves head scratches? Like some puppies? NO NEVER) (But seriously he loves it)
oh nonnie, how did you know i was on a fluffy kick? this is perfection and absolutely canon.
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Lover Man
Joel Miller x f!reader
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Warnings/tags: Established relationship. Jackson era. Sexual references. Brief mentioning of trauma. Brain rotting fluff. Soft Joel. Grumpy Joel.
Word Count: 600
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Joel Miller was a giver by nature, especially when it came to your moments of intimacy.
He gave you pleasure. He gave you security. He gave you love. What he often could not convey through words, he showed with actions. It took a bit of getting use to, but once you realized it was the way he showed his affection, you were overjoyed at just how much attentiveness he provided you.
Joel Miller was also incredibly stubborn.
God forbid you wanted to give him a taste of getting taken care of. Joel may have sported a tough, sullen exterior, but the truth was, he was tender at the core. It just took a little coaxing for you to see it.
Like now, while you basked in the heat and comfort of one another, the Sunday afternoon sun sprinkling through the half cracked blinds. You laid on your back, splayed back against your shared mattress in the quaint Jackson home. Joel’s torso was wedged between your legs, his burly arms encased around your waist, and his head rested between your breasts, naked skin on skin.
It had been a good ten minutes since you both shared in the bliss of each others highs, but you didn’t have the energy to move. Indulging in one another in the comfortable silence, finding your breath again. The weight of him was soothing and all encompassing, which made it impossible for you to not wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, one hand mindlessly tracing the space between his shoulder blades while the other gradually weaved up into his tousled curls.
You toyed gently with the strands of hair, grazing your nails against his scalp. You sighed contentedly, letting your eyes flutter shut until you felt a slight resistance between your fingers, squinting your eyes open to see him trying to pull himself away from your chest.
You didn’t oblige, tightening your hold on his hair and gingerly pushing him back against your breasts. You heard him grunt.
“What?” you pressed softly.
“You ain’t gotta do all that,” he mumbled, damp lips tickling your skin.
Your eyes popped open then, tilting your chin down to observe him with crinkled brows. His eyes were wide open, staring off into the room with a tense countenance. His shoulders stiffened under your touch.
“Do what?” you inquired, deepening the pressure of your fingers in hopes of loosening the perpetually tight muscles. “I love touching you like this. You just never let me.” Usually because he was too busy pampering you, so when he laid down on you ten minutes ago, you wasted no time jumping on the opportunity to return the favor.
He muttered something incoherent then, likely a complaint, but you weren’t having any of it.
“Would you just relax?” you urged, keeping a soft and inviting tone. “Please? Just let me love on ya.”
Joel sighed deeply then, and after a moment, you felt him return the entirety of his weight onto you, forcing his eyes shut and a smile onto your face. He grunted a fine, and you returned your fingers back to work, combing them through his soft locks, caressing over his temples and forehead.
It took all of five minutes before he was humming a low strum, once erratic breaths becoming deep, steady exhales. Dreams were not always a safe place for Joel, but in the recent months together, you noticed a decrease in the nightmarish behavior. And that night, with your delicate hands painting soft pictures on his skin and through his hair, he slept. Quiet, still, and blissfully in love.
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tag list: @casa-boiardi @dinsdjrn @scarletsloveletter @subconsciouscollapse @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @whichwitchwanda @prettyangelsthings @nostalxgic @aphterthoughtt @drewharrisonwriter @scroogles @ilovepedro @rosaliedepp @gintheginger @escapingjunex @lizlil @sanscas @fifia-writes @evylzzz @koshkaj-blog @mxtokko @pedrosaidsheispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @sakuralikestars @spookyprofessorknightflap @therealmrspascal @princessloveweird @pedritosdarling @suzmagine @rainbowcosmicchaos @aliengirl99
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munsonthings86 · 14 days
Note
hello, can I request a Steve Harrington fic where r working too hard for school and has been pulling all nighters frequently to keep track. R ends up being too tired and falling a little sick and not leaving the house except for when she has to go to school and her friends notice, Steve notices. Steve comes over, tries to help her and something along those lines. You can write it however you want, you can change it up if you want. Thank you :)
thank you for the request! tweaked it just a tiny bit, hope you enjoy :)
contains: cursing, fluff, overworked reader, soft!steve harrington, forgotten date, 1.0k words
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School. Study. "Sleep". It was an endless, mind-numbing cycle that you were convinced was spiraling you into borderline madness. The condition of your bedroom was identical to how your brain had been feeling for the past week: cluttered and chaotic. With empty coffee cups littering your small floral desk, and your blush duvet covering more of the carpeted floor than your actual bed, you could hardly even recognize the room anymore.
The dirty laundry strewn across your floor would often trip you when you walked, but the assignments that you were practically drowning in made it impossible to shift your focus onto tidying the place.
You'd become a hermit; only leaving the comfort of your home to go to school and occasionally, the library, on the days that your room felt like more of a prison than a place of rest. Robin and Nancy, along with your boyfriend Steve, were certain you were avoiding them like the plague. They'd beg you to hangout with them, even bribing you by offering to treat you to lunch at the local diner, but the only thing you could say in return was a dry, "maybe later".
You didn't mean to be cold to them, but you were laser-focused on your agenda, determined to work first and play later. It's what led you to where you were now: head buried in your third textbook of the night, butt aching from being sat on your wooden chair for far too long.
On a Friday night of all.
From your window, you heard people, around your age you assumed, parading the streets and laughing loudly– enjoying their simple, young lives. Something you wished you could be doing too. But your work wasn't going to do itself.
You were color-coding the notes on your flashcard when three knocks sounded at your door, to which you mumbled a soft, "Come in," that even you barely heard. Your mother walked in, a mess of flour and an assortment of seasonings splotched on her apron from cooking dinner. "Honey, Steve's here," she smiled softly, though it was evident on her face that she was biting back the urge to tell you to clean your room, bless her.
The yellow highlighter you had was soon forgotten as your eyebrows furrowed, wondering what Steve was doing here. He usually called first.
Steve gave her a sweet grin when he passed her, leaving the door slightly cracked open, per your mothers request. In his hands he held a large box of pizza and a bouquet of pink roses; looking as dashing as ever with a crewneck and blue jeans adorning your body, with his hair being the perfect kind of messy.
You can't help but smile when you see him.
"Well, this is a rare sighting," he laughed, referring to you, "Should probably get this on camera." He kicked his white sneakers off where your own shoes were piled at, setting the pizza box down on your dresser.
"Very funny," you deadpanned, arms crossed on top of your chest. "What're you doing here?"
Steve approached you, something like a frown weighing on his lips. He taps the bouquet against his chest a couple times when he gently reminds you, "It's Friday."
You almost want to reach into your own body to catch your heart when you feel it completely sink. Friday's were you and Steve's designated date nights, never missing one since the two of you began dating a couple months ago. With the way you'd been so stressed and busy lately, it had completely slipped your mind. Suddenly, you felt incredibly guilty.
"Fuck," your head fell into your hands as you rubbed at your tired eyes, harshly. Your words were muffled when you continued, "I'm sorry, I'm the worst."
Steve shook his head almost instantly, gently resting the flowers down on the desk next to you. "Hey, c'mon," he started, moving your hands from your face, standing you up in front of him. "It's okay, I know you've been busy lately."
He rubbed at your shoulders tenderly and the warm touch melted you. It was the first time you truly relaxed that whole week. "You're not mad?" You asked the question in a hushed tone, looking up at him with glittering eyes that were a bit red, your nose a similar hue. You must've been getting sick. His poor baby.
"Not even a little," he gazed at you with heated, sincere brown eyes and you couldn't will yourself to look at anything else. He kissed your forehead, and it's a bit salty with sweat, but he doesn't mind. "Just worried, is all," he murmured, adjusting the pendant on your necklace that had somehow found its way onto your back.
"Can I help at all?" He nodded at the books on your table.
"Steve, no offense but it's AP Calc," you smiled, lightly scratching at his scalp when your arms found their way around his neck. You laughed when his eyebrows raised as if he was startled, slightly shaking his head. "Christ," he says through clenched teeth, though he doubles down on his offer, "well, then I guess I'm learning AP Calc today. No biggie," he shrugs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
"You don't have to do that, Stevie," you spoke against his lips, admiring how unbelievably sweet your boyfriend was. You knew how much he hated school, especially math, so you were more than grateful that he was willing to put himself through quite literal torture, just to make your night a bit easier. "But I want to," he kissed your nose. "Dinner first though, 'cause I know you skipped out on lunch."
Squinting your eyes, you released your hold on him. Sometimes it scared you how well he knew you. "How-?"
"I have eyes everywhere, love," he answered your question before you could even get it out. You rolled your eyes, a smile playing at your lips, already knowing that his "eyes" in question were just Robin and Nancy looking out for you.
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💌 1 new message from jojo: writing this while procrastinating on like ten assignments was so funny lol. comments and reblogs are always appreciated! inbox is open!
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oddshroom · 9 months
Text
𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝙻𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙰𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍
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Notes: Gojo Satoru truly is a menace not just to you but to Shoko and Geto, infinity is really a curse for others but a blessing for him.
A/N: Reader hates Gojo’s guts
Themes: Fluff, Crack, Love/Hate friendship dynamic, little to no angst, frenemies to lovers
Word(s): 2,037
Character(s): 11,267
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By far Gojo Satoru had been the most insufferable person you had ever met in your entire life – and that wasn't even a stretch considering his personality as well.
It only been a few months since you were introduced to the second year students of Tokyo Jujutsu High, Shoko Ieiri had helped a lot when it came to settling in the girl’s dorms. She came off as a casual and nonchalant person, much different from the two idiots where one was more sufferable then the other. The sufferable one Geto Suguru had been more respectable however the down-side had been that he would go along with Gojo’s idea and even add his own mix into it. Lastly Gojo Satoru, the most intolerable person you’ve ever met. He either was always over your shoulder or doing whatever he wanted. His abilities really did make him the most egotistical person to exist.
You never knew what he might do next – but somehow something always happened whenever he was near you. You weren’t sure whether to thank him for it, curse him out, or try and punch the shit out of him.
Currently you had been walking on the sidewalk side by side with Shoko discussing the next mission as well as the possibility of how Gojo could manage to screw you all over. “What if he tries to eat the curse”, Shoko said trying to be shocked while rubbing her chin, staring off into space as if she really was thinking about him eating a curse of all things.
You let out a soft laugh, “I doubt he’d actually try to eat the curse, if anything he might take it on a walk” You paused and put on a serious face, “hm, although I do consider these option something he might do”.
Shoko giggled a bit and patted your arm in comfort, “That’s true, there are many ways a person might do something like that though”. She gave a thoughtful look before turning towards you again. “Yeah, that person most definitely being him”, You added playfully.
Shoko rolled her eyes with a fond smile at you, “Geto might even encourage it”. “No doubt”, responding back before catching a glimpse of both Geto and Gojo kicking a vending machine.
“Oh god” you said under your breath. Both of them were too engrossed in their fight with a vending to notice you and Shoko. “Someday Yaga Sensei might put them on house arrest”, Shoko said amusingly at the scene in front of her. It was quite an odd sight – Geto had just lost his money to a vending machine and Gojo was just laughing at him, making fun of him as he tried to catch his breath while holding his head in pain. ‘That guy is really something else’, you thought, shaking your head slightly before turning back to Shoko.
You opened up your mouth to continue your conversation with Shoko but the moment you opened your mouth you heard an explosion sound. Your jaw dropped, you looked ahead and saw Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru standing a good distance away. Their faces were completely red in embarrassment, they couldn’t help but stare back at the two of you who had just watched the whole event. “What the hell”, you whispered under your breath. “They just blew up the vending machine that had the good snacks”, Shoko watched in disbelief. Her mouth was agape. “Why didn’t they just leave the stupid machine alone”, she asked herself. “I mean, I know that those idiots don’t care that much about money but…” She trailed off.
You shrugged slightly, not knowing why they blew up the vending machine.
“N/n~”, a high pitch voice sang out. “Look what I found~”, watching as the white haired walked closer to you until his face was right beside yours and you could smell his cologne.
“Ow”, you exclaimed as you jerked away. You rubbed your nose and looked up to see Shoko still staring dumbfounded. “What?”, you asked, giving her a confused look.
She blinked a couple times then looked away, “Sorry, I was just surprised”. “That vending machine took my money”, Geto said as he sulked his way over. Shoko chuckled slightly. “Then maybe you should have thought twice about blowing up a vending machine”. You shook your head slowly in disbelief, “you two are seriously unbelievable”, you commented. “But N/n Shoko don’t be mad at us”, whined Gojo while poking you. “Firstly, quit calling me N/n and two quit poking me”, you said annoyed at his antics.
“Ah come on N/n~”, Gojo pouted. “Let’s not fight. Please~”, he begged. He turned towards Shoko who seemed almost amused at this situation. “Please Shoko, please”, he repeated, putting a hand over his heart. “Tell N/n to not be mad”, he continued.
Shoko smiled, “Poke his eyes out” you conceded looking back at her. You just stared back at her blankly. “You guys are so childish”, she stated plainly. You started walking forwards when someone tapped you on your shoulder. Turning to see, all three of you looked at Geto who’s clothes were burned as he ate the snack that he wanted. “You couldn’t get me one”, Gojo said looking at his best friend exasperated. “You laughed at me”, Geto responded quickly. You watch how Gojo’s figure deflates. “And now look”, he said as he pointed at himself. “See”, he added pointing at his stomach which growled. “Now you owe me”, he finished looking directly at you.
He stuck out his tongue as if to say you were the one who owed him one. You narrowed your eyes, “Why do I owe you?!”, you yelled as you punched his shoulder, well tried since his infinity prevented you from even getting close to him. “Put that barrier of yours down”, you irked . “If you keep that up, I will kick you when you put it down you ass”. “Not funny, you jerk!”, he snapped back, glaring back at you with is cerulean blue eyes with a frown. “I am hungry!” He pointed to his belly.
“Cry about it”, you scoffed
Geto and Shoko could only find the situation hilarious in front of them, both laughing softly at the exchange. This wasn’t the first time they had seen both you and Gojo arguing and bickering in such situations. They had done it since the day they met.
As they continued to watch the pair bicker, Geto heard a notification from his phone. Shoko watched over his shoulder to see the notification. It was a message from their teacher, “No class tomorrow. There was a slight mishap during the last mission that I have to take care of”. Shoko read it aloud. “A small mishap, huh…”, she smirked. “That means we can all hangout in one dorm”. Shoko looked up noticing that you heard the entire thing as a prominent bump was formed on the top of Gojo’s snow colored hair.
“So that means...”, he trailed off, a smirk forming on his face after realising what she meant. “Yes, we can spend the night together at one dorm room”. “Sounds like a plan”, You replied back confidently. “Great! Let’s go then”, Geto said enthusiastically grinning.
The four of you started heading home once more. The sky gradually darkened as the sun began to set behind the horizon. The atmosphere around you became colder. It was starting to get chilly and the temperature had dropped considerably. After all the events of today, most of you were pretty tired out.
Yet that didn’t stop any of the four from setting up the room, preparing the snacks and setting up blankets for sleeping. Once everything was done the group decided to settle in for the evening. Shoko sat to the left you as Gojo sat to the right of you, Geto had been on Gojo’s right in terms of placement. You all look at the TV screen with anticipation of every single movie you had watched.
You yawned, “We’ve watched all the movies today”, you stated quietly.
“Oh really? How many did we watch?”, Shoko asked curiously.
You shrugged your shoulders, “Not that many, just three movies”.
“Three movies”, she repeated. “You sure?”, she asked. You nodded your head in confirmation. She glanced at the clock. “It’s 1:56 am already?”, she asked. “Is it that late”, You wondered.
She grinned, “Yeah, the sun went down a long time ago”. You sighed, glancing at the two to your right you realize they probably knocked out a while ago. Geto had been turned away from Gojo snoring away, his hair had come undone and was all over his face. Gojo had been sleeping on his back with his right leg over Geto, his hair was a disheveled mess. His round sunglasses discarded, feeling shift you notice Shoko laying down to sleep. Following her actions you also layer down, you peaked towards your right. Gojo is really nice to admire when he’s asleep and not talking.
When you first met him, he reminded you of Jack Frost how could you not. Of course that made him offended but you couldn’t have been bothered back then. He was an annoying little asshole who bothered you to no end. Except your own thought made you think otherwise, thinking he was cute- pretty even. A lot of girls your age would fawn over him on the streets, how could they not?
A smile suddenly formed on your lips as you realized just how silly you must sound. But it was true, he is kind of cute. Now that you think about it though, it doesn’t make any sense why he bothers you so much. He annoys you more than he annoys anyone else. Teases you, always wanting to get a reaction out of you. You enjoy messing with him but you actually feel quite happy when you see him or when you finally catch him red handed. Why?
He was right next to you, inches away.
Your breath hitched and you felt your cheeks warm, realizing you had been staring at him. “N/n..?”, a voice mumbled sleepily. You looked up to meet hazy blue eyes, his hair had been covering parts of his face. You gulped, “Gojo, go back to sleep”, you answered hastily as you averted your gaze.
“Eh?”, You heard him whine. Before you knew it you heard him moving beside you. You looked over hesitantly, his expression was completely blank. “Don’t move”, he said blankly before his arm came wrapping around your waist pulling you closer to him. The heat radiating from his body seeped into your cold skin. Your face felt hotter by the minute, not daring to look back at him again. Both bodies had been faced towards each other, his head in the crevice of your neck. He pulled you completely against him and wrapped you in his arms. You felt the warmth from his body radiating into your chest, sending chills through your body. You could feel the tip of his nose brushing against your neck making you shiver slightly. He nuzzled you further. Slowly, you wrapped your arm around him. As your faces brushed each other you couldn’t help but lean into him, the material of his shirt pressing against your hand . Feeling yourself getting lost in his soft, deep voice whispering in your ear; “Good night”.
The two of you slept peacefully in each other’s arms.
You woke up slowly, feeling a pair of arms encircle your torso. You opened your eyes to discover that you were still lying in Gojo’s arms, you were curled up facing him with your head resting on his chest. A shadow glanced over the both of you, looking at the ceiling which was replaced by two figures towering over you. “He’s so annoying”, Geto mimicked smugly. Shoko giving you an eye, indicating you need to talk about where you stand with Gojo.
“We’re just la-“, Suddenly they both tumbled onto the ground, looking slightly shocked before snickering at the fact Gojo had turned on his infinity with only you touching him and no one else. The other two decided to leave not before mentioning to take you out on a date later.
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kazumist · 11 months
Text
HAVING THEM AS YOUR CLASSMATE .ᐟ
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✩ — includes: various x gn!reader. fluff with a hint of crack. no cws. wc: 1040. please do reblog !! it helps me a lot :DD
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xiao — !
the one who would stay in his seat if you fell asleep in class. he doesn’t know why he’s staying—it’s already lunch break and he should be eating, not staying with you doing nothing but just looking at your sleeping face. with venti going up to him and wondering why he’s still in his seat, xiao just told him to eat lunch without him for now. 
he thought of waking you up; however, who knows what your reaction would be? would you be mad at him for disturbing your rest? or would you ignore him and continue dozing off? xiao didn’t get a chance to do anything because, as he was wondering, you had woken up. yawning, you look around and see the classroom empty except for the two of you still being there. but xiao soon left you alone after he pointed out that you had a bit of drool on the side of your lips. he left almost immediately, embarrassed, before you could even ask why he was still there with you.
childe — !
he’d simultaneously annoy the living hell out of you. poking your cheek, stealing your stuff, or even locking the classroom door on you if you’re about to walk in. anything that’ll piss you off, he’ll do it just to see your reaction. one time, he kept poking your cheek during class, and you accidentally yelled at him while the teacher was discussing. the ending was bad, but gladly, the teacher heard you out, and the two of you got kicked out of the class until the period was over. during the whole time you glared at childe, while he just cheekily smiled at you as if what he did was just something small and it wouldn’t be that bad at all. 
but you were mad at him—it’s been going on for what? weeks? months even? you were getting enough of it already. you had no idea why childe had been doing this but it pissed you off, really. (it’s his way of getting your attention because he can’t bring himself to actually hold a proper conversation with you.)
kaeya — !
he’s a bit similar to childe. but instead of annoying you, he flirts. he never shuts up, either. at every single conversation you have with him will always have a stupid pick up line from him, and you’ll just smile at him with an imaginary irk already forming on your forehead. he’s lucky that he’s pretty—but it’d be better if kaeya were to never speak a word in general. 
to those small walks together in the hallways, or to those small notes he silently passes onto you during class, his flirting gets worse and it eventually turns into a never-ending cycle of him just asking you out and you denying him every time. it tires you to decline him, thinking about why he doesn’t even bother to give up. but maybe it isn’t bad to accept his invitation to a cafe date once, right?
albedo — !
albedo is the one who’s really good at art. you always find albedo’s art to be beautiful. i mean, who wouldn’t? he really has a talent when it comes to art, especially when it’s sketching and painting. there was one time where you noticed that albedo’s sketchpad was in kaeya’s hands and he was skimming through it (with albedo’s permission, of course). 
you never know what that sketchpad contains. it’s not like albedo prevents you from touching it; you just never really asked if you could view the content of it. he called you to show some of albedo’s sketches, and you really thought you were going to see drawings of landscapes and such. you didn’t expect to see yourself in his sketchbook. you felt your mind go blank for a moment—albedo has been sketching you? it’s not even one sketch, there’s a few of them, actually. when albedo realized that kaeya was showing you his sketchpad, he never grabbed it out of his friend’s hands so fast. he also took a hold of your wrist and dragged you to somewhere more private to talk.
cyno — !
the famous class president. he’s got everything, really. the looks, the smarts, you name it. but one thing you didn’t expect from cyno is that he tells jokes. corny jokes, to be exact. after being assigned to be seatmates with him for one quarter of the school year, you honestly felt nervous about it. you haven’t properly talked to cyno unless it’s about school related things and all. so you didn’t really know how to act around him in general. 
but surprisingly, you just randomly heard a joke come out of his mouth once when you two decided to stay at school a bit longer to study. although the joke was, well, corny. what you didn’t expect, though, was for cyno to explain the joke in full detail as to why it was hilarious for him. who knew that the president of your class had such a side to him? even if you don’t find his jokes funny, you still find him cute when he tries to explain and reason out why they're funny to him.
tighnari — !
tighnari would notice your struggles when it comes to academics. it’s kind of weird for you, though, since you never really made it obvious. he doesn’t make fun of you, though. of course, he decided to help you with it. you two would meet up at the library, and he would do some small tutorials for you just in case you had difficulties with the lesson and all that. if the library seems packed (this usually happens during exam season), you two would either stay at each other’s residence or go to a cafe for a peaceful ambience.
you are honestly grateful for his help, but you can’t help but think, is he doing this for pity? but if it were to be caused by his pity for you, what’s the reason behind those cliché moments of you accidentally brushing your hands on the same book? or those times when he lets you stay at his place if you accidentally end up studying so late? there has to be another reason for it except for pity, right?
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chronical-ly · 4 months
Text
Days We Had
Mark Grayson x super powered!reader
TW: drug use/weed, poc friendly, bit of angst, drama, pining on both sides, short story, fluff towards the end, no use of (y,n), Drifter is your hero name. Season 2 spoilers.
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Mark landed his final punch, blasting another hole through the other concrete wall. He's been smashing up the old warehouse for a good twenty minutes, letting out all the frustration from the battle earlier on inanimate objects.
The villain teased him, mocked him, compared Mark to his father, they knew exactly how to make him snap and Mark gladly let them. By the time he realized his mistake the villain was already black and blue and Cecil had already planned his week off.
"‘You don’t get many more chances after this.' Shut up." Mark repeated the man's words, kicking a steel beam to the side before taking a seat on the rubble, he was back on the sidelines whether he liked it or not.
He snapped his head towards a sharp sound of an impressed whistle. "Woww, I love what've done with place, hun. Although, I thought we agreed that we'd decorate together." Drifter, a superhero from another well known hero group phased into the warehouse, a playful smirk on her face.
Mark sighed her real name in annoyance, "Wha you want? I'm not really in the mood right now.”
She raised her hands in defense but still continued her walk towards him. "Jeez, can't visit a friend anymore?" He gave her a pointed look, making the young hero pit her hands down. "I heard about what happened.." Mark let out groan, resting his arms on his legs and slouching forward.
"Let me guess what everyone's saying... I'm dangerous, a loose cannon, just like my dad?" That seemed to be all anyone was saying these days, all eyes are on him and it felt more than suffocating. How was he supposed to succeed when everywhere he went people are waiting to watch him fail.
"Something like that." She opted to sit on the ground next to him, kicking a few pebbles to the side before doing so. "Ahhh don't worry about them, Gray. You're not the only person they're scared of."
Mark look down at her, watching as she pulled out her wallet and emptying the contents. These past few months he's been so caught up in his own shit he forgot about how the people around him are going things as well. Drifter's powers were... Unstable' as Cecil would call it, she was now to control the atoms and molecules in herself and everything around her, break things apart and put them back together as something else if she wanted.
Cecil has been watching her like a hawk the second she revealed her abilities, he was sure Drifter was going to betray them one day. He was wrong about Nolan so he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.
She finished rolling a nice sized blunt, putting it to her lips and cupping her hand around the match fire.
Flicking the stick to the side, she inhaled deeply before holding it out for Mark to take.
'Fuck it.’ He thought, quickly grabbing it and taking a drag. Cecil wanted him to relax that's what he was going to. Mark tried to ignore the way she smiled up at him as he took a hit, her lips stretching wider as he stifled a cough. It was like she was proud of him for some reason and he didn’t know why that his heart skipped a beat.
They continued to pass the blunt back and forth in silence, allowing Mark for the first time today to finally… Relax. He felt his tension in his shoulders loosen causing him to lean back and stare at the crumbling ceiling in a daze.
Drifter snickered once she turned her attention back on him. “Are you high yet?” She asked before blowing a ring of smoke towards his face.
Marks held flopped the side making her burst out laughing at the dopey grin he had. “What’s so funny?” He asked, chuckling a bit himself. It made him happy to see her like this, smiling, cracking jokes, just being herself instead the person everyone wants her to be. Wants them to be. They understood each other more than anyone else.
“This is nice, right? Just the two of us?”
She looked him in the eyes, a shimmer of something that could only be described as hope glinting in the sunlight. “Yeah, it is.” Mark answered honestly, he didn’t the know the outcome of what telling the truth might do but he was willing to risk it.
“Yeah? You really think so?” She scooted closer, propping her elbows up on the boulder while holding up the roach in between a clip out to him.
He leaned his weight on one arm and shifted to his side, basically hovering over her as he accepted the blunt. He continued their deep eye contact while taking a drag, inhaling as much as his lungs would let him before setting it down and gently tipping her chin up. Mark used his thumb to part her lips as he moved closer, just being inches away from actually kissing, her warm breath fanning his face, it was almost enough to break him out of this sudden boost of confidence. Almost.
Mark exhaled, slowly blowing the smoke into her mouth as the sides of his lips itched to smirk when he noticed her sucking in, accepting the second hand smoke. It was insanely sensual, Mark knew his face beat red, he wouldn’t be surprised if Drifter told him that she could hear his heart going buck wild.
But from her slightly closed eyes and content hum she wasn’t paying much attention to it. “Is that a yes?” He snorted before running a hand down his face trying to calm down. “Yes… It’s a yes. I like spending time with you.” Mark mumbled the last part but he was sure she heard him from the look on her face.
“Who taught you how-”
Once she started talking Mark’s phone started to ring, he quickly apologized while pulling out his phone. “It’s William… I forgot we made plans to hang out later.” He noticed her back away and begin to stand up causing him to panic a little,
“If you need to go you can.”
“No!” She paused, going to slowly sit back down. “I-I mean, I don’t have to leave right now. We were just gonna watch some movies so it’s fine.” Mark quickly shot William a text.
“So you’d rather stay here? In this fucked building with me?” Drifter watched as he pocketed his phone before taking a look at their surroundings, he really did make a mess of the place but if he was being honest, this was better than rewatching Godzilla for the umpteenth time.
“Why not?”
She smiled, “yeah, why not? But if we’re gonna stay here I’m not sitting on the ground the whole time, my ass is starting to hurt.” Drifter placed her hand on the boulder causing it to shift underneath Mark, within seconds it turned from concrete to a soft cushioned loveseat, she stood and plopped down beside him wasting no time to pull out her wallet again.
“Have I ever told you how cool you and Eve are?” He swung his arm around the back and got comfortable, finding her process of rolling interesting.
“Ahh, Eve’s cooler. I can’t make force fields and shit like she can but it’s whatever.” Mark made a pfft noise, crossing his right leg over his left,
“Yeah, whatever. You’re cool too.” She gave his slackened posture a once over before nudging him with her elbow with a small thanks.
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HAPPY THANKSGIVING 🤎🍁🍽 🦃
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