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sunflowerwinds · 2 days ago

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sugar, sugar | v.a

summary: on a slow day at your grandmother’s bakery, a customer captures your attention. as the weeks pass, you see her pop up more and more. a gentle friendship ignites between the two of you. the only issue was the undeniable attraction to her and it didn’t help now having to do her a kind favor. it would go away…. right?

pairing: fem!reader x vi arcane

contains: modern!au, kick-boxer!vi, reader is described to have long enough hair to tie up, reader has a sister named mila, we love gram, vander, isha and jinx mentions <3, nothing but fluff, strangers to friends to lovers:)

word count: 3.5K

a/n: i seriously had so much fun writing this and i am excited to dig into a mini-series with vi. i hope everyone enjoys this as much as i do </3

— ONE

Running your grandmother’s bakery wasn’t easy but it was a light in your life. She taught you tips and tricks of working the large industrial oven, every single one of her recipes, and wiping down the chalkboard to write the specials for the delicious treats.

She was charm personified; somehow able to convince pretty much every person that walked to the pastry shop to try at least one item. You were on the more quiet side, not insanely secluded but you weren’t extroverted. Nice people cracked you open and next thing you knew it, you were shoving a donut into their palms to take home.

It was a bad habit.

It was a slow Thursday in November. You were sweeping the small area of seating, softly asking one of the usual college students that came if they needed anything else. You were just a few streets down from the community college so many people your age would come in for coffee and furiously type on their laptops.

Once you were told they were good for now, you excuse yourself back to behind the counter to adjust the display desserts. You were bent over when you heard the bell over the door echo within the space, shouting ‘welcome in’.

“If you have any questions, just let me know. We have a daily special which is on the blackboard,” you stood back up with a slight grunt from the rush, brushing a few flyaways to kindly smile at the new customer. “Today we have buy one, get one donut free.”

Your eyes slightly widen at the… attractiveness of the customer. You adjust the neckline of your soft brown cable knit sweater to tug out your necklaces, plastering on a friendly smile.

“I actually came in because I was curious about the sign,” she trails off, tilting her head as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Do you actually just let people smell the food?”

You let out a soft chuckle as you nod. Your grandfather, one of the only men who had ever tolerated, made the sign for your grandmother the second she mentioned it to him. Now, in all its carved glory ‘Free Smells!’ is hanging underneath the shop's main sign: Sweet Tooth Bakery + Cafe.

“Yeah, my grandma thought it’d be a funny sign to draw people in. Obviously, we don’t let them shove their nose into it or anything,” you shake your head, holding your hand out to the stranger. “Because that’s… unsanitary.”

The pink haired stranger nods with a soft chuckle, stepping back to check out the arrangement of treats in the display case. In that moment of silence, you, as discreetly as possible, check her out. She had on a navy blue cut off sleeve zip-up, a soft white tank top underneath and a pair of grey sweatpants hugging her lower half. Very simplistic outfit but she made it look good.

You think she just naturally looked good. If you stared for long enough, which you embarrassingly did so, you could see markings of ink on the side of her neck and following down the backs of her arms and the smallest etching on her cheek.

“Any suggestions on what to smell first?” She questions, curious eyes bouncing back up to you.

You hum to yourself as you, too, stagger your eyes from pastry to pastry to carefully choose which one you could have her smell.

“Are you a fan of blueberries?” You question with a beaming grin.

“Uh, sure, yeah. Blueberries are good.”

“Then you have to take a whiff of the blueberry danish. It’s one of my favorites.” You offer, pointing to the sweet treat.

The pink haired stranger leans forward, folding her bare arms across her chest. You, again, can’t help your stares as you try to figure out what was exactly dotted into her pale skin. She nods with a shrug, looking at you with a kind smile.

“I’ll give it a whiff, yeah,” she stepped forward so that the glass of the display case was the only obstacle between the two of you.

You can feel your face getting hot as you mutter a bright ‘okay’ to yourself. You bend over once again grab the metal tongs to pick out the danish to place on a ceramic plate. You place it on top of the display case, motioning for the stranger to give it a smell.

Still seeming a bit hesitant that you were playing a joke on her, she leans her face forward so that she is mere centimeters away from the pastry. She inhales a bit, letting out a long sigh as she leans back to look at you.

“Shit, that smells amazing,” she praises the sweet aroma, nodding in satisfaction. “I’ll take it.”

You blink at her before chuckling awkwardly.

“You don’t have to buy the ones you smell. I promise.” You reassure her as you attempt to put the danish back so that you can shove the cranberry-orange muffin in her face.

She’s quick to hold a palm out to stop you, shaking her head. A beautiful smile spreads on her lips, temporarily forgetting how eager you were to show her every single pastry on display.

“I want that one. I swear. Plus, my sister’s going to rush me out of here if I take too long.”

A part of you was disappointed that she was so quick to purchase the first, yet incredibly delicious, treat. You selfishly wanted her to stay for as long as possible. Your grandmother would be on your ass for being so distracted by an attractive customer.

She would give you a clap on the back for making a sale, though.

“Oh, okay. Did your sister want anything?” You offer, itching to find any way possible for her to stay just a bit longer.

The stranger hums to herself for a moment as she examines the rest of the delicious treats. You tilt your head as you grab a small brown paper bag to place the danish into, waiting patiently to see if she was going to pick another item.

To your delighted surprise, she nods as she points to a more simplistic pastry.

“I think this pink donut should be good,” she nods to show certainty.

You grasp onto the sweet treat to slide it into the bag with her danish, trying not to spill a lot of the sprinkles. You seal it closed with a custom sticker with the logo of the shop, typing up her total into the register. The stranger reaches into her sweatpants pocket to pull out her wallet.

“Your total is gonna be $7.89. Cash or card?” You question.

“Card.”

You watch her hand you a simple light blue credit card, grinning as you not-so-discreetly check out her full name on it. Her first name caught your attention. Violet. As you swipe her card, you clear your throat to work up the courage to give her a compliment.

“I love your name. It’s pretty,” you say as you hand her back the card.

The stranger, now known as Violet, smiles small at your words. Her long fingers take the card from you as she slides it back into her wallet.

“Thank you. My, uh, dad named me,” she grins at you.

“Well, he made a very good choice,” you hand her the bag as well, nodding as you try not to appear awkward. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Were you being weird?

“No, no, I’m good,” she chuckles as she crinkles the bag in her palms. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nod as you hand her own copy of the receipt, holding onto the half second of the tip of her fingers brushing against yours. You watch her turn her back and leave the shop, eyes never leaving her sculpted back profile. You huff at your behavior once the bell from above the door snaps you out of your small trance, shoving your copy of the receipt into its designated spot.

“She’s cute,” you hear from behind you, causing you to jump and whip your head around.

You’re met with your grandma grinning evilly at you, a little bit of flour smudged on her cheek from her baking in the back.

“Gram,” you sigh as you shake your head, brushing away your loose hairs.

“I’m just saying, bug,” she walks up next to you to rub up and down your arm.

You blush at what she was insinuating. As much as you love your grandmother, she attempted to be your match maker like you were an introverted middle schooler. You were 22 for God's sake. You would make moves and flirt when you felt like it.

“Don’t you have something in the oven?” You raise your eyebrows at her, hoping she’d leave it alone.

“Hey. I could fire you, you know,” your grandma pointed a finger in your face accusingly but her tone was light and a cheeky grin was on her face.

You roll your eyes playfully as you softly bump your hip with hers.

Everyday since Violet came in, you perk at the sound of the bell hoping to see that head of pink hair waltzing in again. Two excruciatingly long weeks pass before you see Violet again.

What was disappointing about seeing her today of all days was that you were working this shift with your 17 year old sister who was… less than thrilled to be working now; especially with you being her superior in a workplace. She, like most teenagers, was yearning to be more independent which meant constantly disregarding your instructions on what to do at work.

You were irritated beyond belief with her constantly arguing with you. You couldn’t even really fully pay attention as Mila smacked your arm with the rag. When you saw her from outside the shop, this time around she came with company. You were in the midst of a bicker with her because she didn’t wipe down a table like you had told her to when you saw Violet coming in with a little girl walking beside her.

You gasp at her childish antics, pinching her arm but then shushing her as you tight-lipped smile at Violet as she approaches the familiar display case. You try not to frown at the sight of her bandaged nose and small bruise sitting right on the apple of her cheek. Her outfit is similar from the last time you saw her except a simple oil-black hoodie with those same joggers. You even saw a bit of wrapped bandages on her hands peeking out from the sleeves.

Was she jumped or something?

“There are only, like, two people here and they’re sitting outside,” your sister whisper-shouts at you, plastering on a fake smile at the new customers. “Hi! Welcome in.”

Violet glances at Mila when she straightens her back, placing a gentle hand on the back of the child’s back to guide her to the display of new and fresh treats for the day. She places her little hands on the glass as she very eagerly bounces on the soles of her worn in dark blue tennis shoes.

“Hi! Violet, you’re back.” You turn to your sister and sneer quietly. “Clean the tables. Now, please.”

Mila gives Violet a once-over and you a narrow glare as she grumbles a ‘fine’ as she rounds the corner to go and wipe down the crumb and dust filled tables.

“Hey. You can call me Vi, by the way. I, uh, was with my sister for the day and she wanted to try this place. I gave her some of my danish and she went crazy.” Violet motioned to the child just a few feet below her, chuckling at her gazing hungrily at the sweets.

“Well, Vi, I’m glad to hear,” you lean your head to the side to get a good look at her sister.

She had a wild head of short waves, a small gap in between her two front teeth. Her outfit made her ten times more adorable; a plain white Henley long sleeve with a pair of overalls. Her big hazel eyes stared at you patiently.

“Hi, cutie. Do you see one that you like?” You question her with a friendly smile.

Her adorable face scrunches up in thought, stepping back to look at her choices. She turns her head to her older sister before pointing at a strawberry muffin and raising her hands to sign what you believe is ASL. You curse yourself for not knowing what she was telling the pink haired stranger.

“She wants to smell the strawberry muffin,” Vi chuckles. “I told her about how you let me smell my danish first before buying it.”

“Okay, I can do that for you. What’s her name?” You question, hoping it didn’t come off as offensive.

“Isha. She doesn’t talk much,” Vi raised a bandaged hand to settle on her light brown waves on her head, ruffling the strands.

“Well, Miss Isha,” you focus your attention on her once again, watching her bounce on the balls on her feet with excitement. You grab your trusty metal tongs to grab the muffin and place it on a soft blue ceramic plate to set it down on the counter area of your register set-up for her to smell. “Here you go. Let me know if you want to smell anything else.”

Your heart grows tenfold as Vi quietly tells Isha to not shove her nose into the muffin, smiling at her sister as she hovers close to the pastry.

“Is she the one who ate the pink donut?” You turn your attention to Vi, raising your brows as you adjust your flyaways from your bubble braid.

Pretty blue eyes flickering to yours, her brows twitch as if she was shocked that you remembered such a minuscule detail.

“No, that was my other sister,” she shakes her head. “Isha was actually very angry with me when I came home with no cupcakes or muffins for her so I’m making it up to her.”

You watch her scrunch up her bruised bridge of her nose for a second as Isha signs something else to her. Vi playfully rolls her eyes with a sigh as she turns to you with another wince.

“Can she eat this now? She has an impatient appetite.”

You chuckle with a nod as you hand the plate to her, muttering a ‘careful, sweetie’ to Isha who beams up at you. She scurries over to a small round table to hop up on the seat to divulge. Now that it was just you and Vi standing in front of each other.

“Hey, are you okay?” You ask softly, eyes flicking to each injury on her gorgeous face.

Confused about your concern for her, her brows furrow for a moment. You watch her turn around to make sure Isha was all good, hounding down the muffin with crumbs falling from her mouth to the ground.

“Oh, yeah,” Vi shook her head, waving at you off as she grins sweetly. “I work at a kick-boxing studio and some of the kids can get aggressive. I’m okay, though, trust me. I’ve taken more than a few hits to the head.”

That explains the injuries and the bandaged hands. Of course, she was a kick-boxer. Her physique gave that away but what did you know? Isha was distracted with her muffin so you were able to converse with her, get to know her a little more so your gram would stop asking you if that cute pink haired girl came in again.

“Really? Where at?” You hum.

“It’s like fifteen minutes from here. Why? You want to come see kids beat me up?” She teases, folding her arms over her chest.

You hum with a nod, walking around the counter to place a napkin on the table so Isha could wipe her face to be rid of the sticky crumbs on her face. “Yeah, that’s exactly why. Because I’m a masochist.”

An actual laugh left her plush lips as she shook her head, eyes following you as you face her now. If Gram could see you now. Well, she was probably watching you from the security cameras in the back room with an evil smile.

“You know, I meant to ask. Do you make custom cakes?” Vi leans back to rest her lower back on the countertop where your register was, crossing her legs and shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie.

She really just looks like that, you thought to yourself.

“We do, yeah. Is your birthday coming up?” You look at her with raised brows.

Vi shakes her head, pointing to the little girl behind you. “No. Her birthday is next week and my family is throwing her a zoo themed birthday party.”

You awe out loud at the thought.

“That’s so cute. Yeah, I can— I mean, we can do that,” you shake your head as you correct yourself, hoping she didn’t catch your desperate slip-up.

Isha stands up from her table, dusting off the crumbs from her overalls. She walks over to you to hand you the plate, signing ‘thank you’ to you. You pause for a moment before hesitantly signing back ‘you’re welcome’ slowly, not sure if you were doing it right. You knew the basics but weren’t extremely educated on ASL. After today, though, you were determined to brush up on it.

Isha eyes brighten at you signing back to her. She turns to Vi with a smile so wide, you swore her cheeks would split open. She nods down at Isha, ruffling her hair once again as she reaches for her pocket to retrieve her wallet.

“Shit, sorry, how much do I owe you for the muffin?” Vi shuffles through the bills in her wallet.

“No, no. You’re… good. Don’t worry about it.” You wave her off, shaking your head.

Vi pauses before scoffing, attempting to shove the money into your palms. “I’m paying for the muffin.”

“Seriously. It’s one muffin, Vi. Plus, a little early birthday present for Isha.” You shove the bills into her hands once again, gripping onto her hands to make sure she doesn’t try to give them back.

Vi glances down at your gentle hands around hers. Reluctantly taking the money back, she takes the bills before shoving them back into the crease of her wallet. You try not to focus on how slightly bigger her hands were from yours; how surprisingly soft her knuckles were.

Isha seems to become impatient now with her elder sister, reaching up to tug on two of her fingers. Vi nods down to her, muttering a soft ‘okay, okay’.

“Thank you for that, by the way. And if it's not too much trouble for you, cupcake, can I get your number?” Vi questions as she takes Isha’s hand in hers. “You know, for any questions about what the cake should look like and what flavor it could be.”

Your brows furrow at her words before nodding, pursing your lips to repress the smile creeping onto your face. Cupcake. You like that nickname coming from her lips.

“Right! Yes, um,” you walk over to the counter to grab a sticky note and a pen to scribble down your personal number. “Here. Call or text me with all the information.”

You place the small yellow piece of paper into her palm that wasn’t holding Isha’s. She takes it in between her pointer and middle fingers, nodding with a confident smile.

“I will. See you, cupcake.”

“See you, Vi. Bye, sweetheart,” you bend down ever so slightly to wave at Isha.

The adorable girl waves her free hand at you with a just as cute toothy smile on her face. You excused it as a sugar rush as they walk away from you, hand in hand as they leave the store. Vi turns her head to give you one more glance before Isha is tugging her down the sidewalk.

Mila angrily stormed up to you the second they left and raised her hand with the rag to smack you on the forearm. You gasp and snatch the weapon away from her, pointing a finger in her face.

“What the hell? Stop hitting me with this,” you sneer.

“I’m wiping down tables and you’re flirting? How the hell is that fair?” Mila quips back as she folds her arms in front of her chest.

“I wasn’t flirting. I was taking a cake order, by the way, so you can stop whining.” You roll your eyes as you walk back around to the counter.

Mila sucks in a deep breath before shaking her head.

“Really? So what was that whole,” your sister cleared her throat, sucking in a deep breath. “Giving her your personal number when you could’ve just given her the store's number?”

You pause your movements of wiping down the counter from behind the register, thinking about it for a moment. You knew why. You just hated your sister being all in your business.

“Okay, what is it to you?” You get defensive. “I can’t… make new friends?”

Mila merely snorts before rolling her eyes.

“Sure. You definitely only want to be friends with her.”

TAGLIST: @strawberrykidneystone @lovinglynny @kylorey25

#wlw #sapphic #lesbian #vi x you #vi fluff #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #arcane vi #vi fanfic #arcane show #arcane league of legends #arcane league of lesbians

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ice-creamforbreakfast · 1 year ago

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::Download:: (Patreon - Free from 27th August 2023)

A 70s-inspired set that's perfect for late summer, going into autumn 🧡

Albatross Dress - Belted dress with bell sleeves and an asymmetric, ruffled skirt

Joan Jumpsuit - Button-down jumpsuit over a knitted roll-neck sweater

Anjelica Dress - Off-the-shoulder, lace-up maxi-dress with a flowing skirt and bell sleeves

Anjelica Top - Sister top to the Anjelica dress. An off-the-shoulder lace-up crop-top with bell sleeves

Sabine Hair - Messy updo with a fringe

Cherilyn Hair - Long, straight hair in a middle part

Dreams Hair - Messy, layered, mid-length hair

Kareena Jewellery Set - Metal disc jewellery with gemstone inlay and twisted fibre chains on the necklace and pendant

Rhiannon Hat - Casual felt hat that's perfect for autumn

#the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4cc #ts4mm #maxis match #ts4 maxis match #download: hair #download: clothing #download: accessories

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milunalupin · 6 months ago

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— all-american

james potter x reader ★ 869 words

"Can you two stop giggling? People are staring."

The boys followed the tallest Marauder through the streets of muggle London, on their way to some American diner Peter had told them about. The purebloods couldn't help but 'ooh' and 'ahh' at all the unusual things they didn't have back in their world. A large neon sign came into view, the 'C' in 'Nick's Diner' flickering on and off. The loud jingle of the bell as they opened the door announced their arrival, only a few other patrons scattered around the diner. A voice from somewhere back in the kitchen called out.

"Welcome in, take a seat anywhere you'd like!"

They decided on a red leather booth near the back corner, a 'Taxi Driver' poster plastered right above the table. The black and white checkerboard flooring and jukebox made it feel like they were in that film 'Grease' their friend Lily makes them watch every other week.

"Evening boys, how's everyone doin'? My name is Y/N, can I get anyone started with a drink?"

James thinks he must've gotten hit by a muggle car crossing the street to get here because he believes he's seeing an angel in person. You just look so pretty, in your little red dress and white apron, curly hair tied up in a ponytail. Your smile. Merlin, he was going to need to get his eyes checked again after dinner because your smile was truly blinding. Were those wedding bells he was hearing?

"I think James over here is good, all that drool should last him a good week or two."

A hard slap on the back took him out of his daze. His eyebrows pinched together and he was about to say something back to Sirius when he realized he was drooling, quickly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater before turning back to you with red cheeks and a sheepish smile.

"A Coca-Cola for me, please."

You think the blushing boy before you couldn't get any cuter. You grinned and nodded, telling them you'd be back with their drinks as you strolled back to the kitchen.

Once James finally took his eyes away from your swinging ponytail, he was met with three shit-eating grins. He glares back but their smiles do not falter, causing James to scoff with furrowed eyebrows. "What."

Dinner goes by in a flash with the friends enjoying their meals and sneakily changing the music from the jukebox, wands hidden under the table. The boys notice they just so happen to have a very attentive waitress, your lovely self coming around to their table often. It was interesting that even after they'd finished eating, you would appear to fill their almost overflowing cups with water or drop off extra napkins. James did nothing but send a dopey grin your way, and he does consider talking to you but freezes the second your big brown eyes stare back at him.

Remus groaned as he watched his friend be so pathetically consumed by you, setting down his now empty mug. "Prongs, tell me. Are you going to ask her out or just sit there with your tongue out like Padfoot begging for someone to throw him a bone?"

"I do not beg!" The dog animagi sputtered, hitting the dirty blonde beside him, "Tell 'em Pete!"

"Piss off Moony, it's not that easy. She's perfect."

Your shift was over, and truthfully it could've been worse. The table of four boys really made up for the more sour customers you had earlier in the day. The disappointment on your face was obvious when you had gone to clean their table and there was no number left behind on any of the napkins.

After finishing your closing duties you walked out the back door and turned the corner to find a large eagle owl perched upon the diner's bike rack. It wasn't too common to see owls in this area, but the shine of its feathers and well maintained claws tell you it's not from around here. Taking careful steps towards the bird, you offer your hand. It expanded its wings and flapped them twice at you before butting its head against the palm of you hand. You smiled and smoothed the beautiful creature's feathers back, now realizing there was an envelope sitting between the owl's talons. Taking the envelope and opening it up, you find a letter written to who you presumed to be yourself.

Dearest Y/N,

You have me infatuated with your beautiful smile and killer table waiting skills. I'm pretty funny and can show you a good time. Not like that though, unless you wanted t

What I mean to say is, I would throw all of England's tea in the ocean again if it meant I could win the honor of taking you out. On a date that is, not like killing you. I promise to make the night magical. I'll come by the diner next week with flowers and hopefully you don't punch me in the face for being a creep.

Yours,

James Potter

Smiling to yourself, you gave the owl one last pet and a thank you before pulling your wand out and disapparating home.

#marauders #marauders x reader #marauders era #james potter #james potter x reader #james fleamont potter #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew

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morningwitchy · 10 months ago

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well everyone - im going FULL TILT into designing knitwear this year

earlier this year i teased a sample of a fair isle style sweater, and i was like, why stop there?? so now im also working on samples for knit midi dresses with a removable waist tie, short bell-sleeved cardigans with a removable front tie, and flouncy longline cardigans!! all 100% cotton, varying weights, with the designs knit into the garment like the sweaters. (also the slit on the dress wont go so high up, this was an initial sketch)

these are still in the sampling phase but im hoping i can have them ready for the Ephemera release this year! which miiight be a presale situation, depending on what i want to include.

(also as a disclaimer certain core details wont be changing, ie the bell sleeves for the short cardis)

what other kinds of knitwear do you guys like? i wanna do something with a fun dramatic collar too >:3c

#botanical #artist brand #nature fashion #indie fashion #illustrator on tumblr #artists on tumblr

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jezebelblues · 3 months ago

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old records on the shelf | h.s

summary: y/n and harry are holed up in a record store due to inclement weather.

cw: unedited - none (?)

word count: approx 2.5k

super short blurb i wrote during lunch break

masterlist

The rain had been relentless all day. the kind of downpour that turns cities into rivers, umbrellas were useless and the sky never shifts from a slate grey gloom. the storm drains even started to clog ever so slightly, and the ground was just one big shallow puddle. Y/n ducked into the record store just in time as a roar of thunder boomed. Her clothes were damp despite her best efforts, drops of rain still clinging to her sweater and hair. The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside, the warm, dimly lit space a stark contrast to the growing chaos outside.

The store was almost vacant, almost. it was a lofted, building, which allowed her eyes to drift up to a man standing on the second floor with his hoodie pulled over his head, looking at different records front to back. There was also a shorter old man who sat at the front desk, flipping through a quaint book after greeting Y/n with a smile. She hadn’t planned on staying long, but the rain had other ideas. The droplets pelted the glass a bit harder, and if it wasn’t the end of summer she’d assume it was sleet. She maneuvered around the dusty aisles, floorboards creaking with each step as her fingertips feathered across the different records sleeves. She had just moved into a studio after years of saving up for a move to New York, and she desperately wanted all her favorite vinyl albums littered about.

Not finding the genre she wanted labeled on the wooden shelves, she ventured up the spiral stairwell to the second floor, hand barely grasping the handrail. Her sneakers squelched against the metal, a sound she’s grown to hate. Gazing around, her eyes met an oddly familiar seafoam green pair. Their glance was fleeting, but she would recognize this man anywhere. Was she a gigantic fan? No, but she enjoyed his music - and it’s hard to not know who Harry Styles was; given his decade long reign in the spotlight. A baggy grey hoodie hung from his frame, stained with raindrops. his hoodie was pulled up over his head, but he wore a baseball cap underneath - most likely an effort to hide his face, maybe? The tattoo on his knee was visible, and his once pristine white vans were speckled with mud.

She had made a sharp right to the shelves beside her, breaking eye contact first. They were both hiding from the downpour, and she didn’t want to make the atmosphere even more unsettling by gawking. After all, he’s just a human. A low rumble of thunder bellowed, the windows fogging up from the heat inside. Y/n strolled through the aisle, wanting to dry off a bit and make a beeline straight out of the shop. She tried her very best to keep her eyes only on the items around her, but she couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at the brunette. He looked as stranded as she felt, pausing now and then to look out the rain streaked-windows before turning back to the shelves. The soft hum of jazz flowing through the speakers buzzes between the walls, a coziness settling in the air.

Another crack of thunder rattled the windows, and the shopkeeper looked up from his book, frowning at the droplets that pelted down harder. After a beat, he bends the corner of a page and closes the book, clearing his throat. He stepped out from behind the counter, craning his neck upward at the two who stood on the second floor. “Sorry, folks.” He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Closin’ up early. Weathers gettin’ worse, radio said subways flooded - complete mess out there. You can wait he for a while if ya like. Ain’t nobody getting anywhere in that storm.” He informed, his accent thick. “Let me know ‘fore I lock the door.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly as his words sunk in, nodding at the old man below them. He shot a slow glance back toward the girl on the other side of the room, trying to decipher if it was a smart decision or not. He looked for any inkling of her being a jittery bundle of nerves, a fan that could make being trapped a bit more claustrophobic. He’d like to think he was good at reading people, and when he found a gaze that seemed as uncertain as he was, he felt his shoulders relax. The city was grinding to a halt outside, and there was no escaping the storm outside. Y/n hesitated before crossing the room, standing next to a window that was closer to Harry than she was. She sighed quietly, her breath fogging the glass.

“Well,” Harry broke the silence, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Seems like we’re stuck.”

She turned her head toward him, managing a small smile. “Guess so.”

He shifted on his feet, glancing back down at the pile of records he’d been browsing. A lopsided grin formed his lips. “Could be worse. Least we got good music to keep us company.”

The shop owner muttered something about going to the back and disappeared, leaving Y/n and Harry by themselves. The jazz played on, mingling with the constant drumming of the rain. The dim lights overhead flickered briefly as the wind stared to pick up. “So,” Y/n paused, hoping conversation could distract her from the mess outside. “Looking for anything specific?” She asked as she took a soft step to continue down the aisle, fingers absentmindedly finding their way back to the spine of the albums.

Harry shrugged, following behind her, mirroring her slow pace. “Jus’ browning, really.” He mumbled, watching her fingers. “Thought I could wait out the rain, suppose not.” He let out a breathy chuckle, which earned a small glance from Y/n. “Are you big on vinyl?”

“A little.” She admitted, sneaking a peek of him through the corner of her eye. “I like coming here to clear my head.”

“Yeah?” His grin widened slightly as he leaned against the shelf behind them. “Sorry for takin’ your spot then.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. They gazed over the rows of shelves together, occasionally pulling out an album and showing their favorite artist. Harry shared small anecdotes about certain records that held sentiment. She would do the same, and she felt surprisingly comfortable in his presence despite the strangeness of their situation.

Harry found himself wandering toward a record player on the first floor toward the back, eyeing the old turntable. “Y’mind?” He asked, nodding toward the table as he held up an album she didn’t immediately recognize. Y/n shook her head, curious to what it sounded like. She watched as he carefully pulled the record from its sleeve, placing it on the turntable, his fingers brushing the edge of it with ease. There was a low crackle as the needle hit the grooves, followed by the smooth voice of Otis Redding.

A familiar melody filled the room while Harry leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest as he listened, a smile spread across his lips. “Not bad for a stormy night, eh?”

She laughed, nodding. “Could be worse.” She echoed, repeating his earlier words. The record continued to spin as the mood shifted into something quieter, Harry humming a line here and there. His voice was honey. They stood side by side, an unspoken understanding settling between them as they soaked in the moment.

Their hips would occasionally bump into each other if a beat of the song was repetitive enough, and goofy smiled pasted itself on both their lips each time. It felt easy, like the sun shone in the record store alone. “S’like time slowed down.” Harry mumbles, his voice smooth and quiet - almost harmonizing with the music.

She turned to look at him, eyebrows raising slighting in agreement. She hummed, nodding her head before gently bumping her hip into his again - which earned a smile from Harry. “City won’t let you catch your breath unless it forces you to.”

He laughed under his breath, absentmindedly fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. “Y’right. S’like everything moves so fast, but when it stops…” He paused, gesturing around them. “It’s kind of nice.”

Y/n’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. There was something calming about his presence, an easy charm that floated around him like an aura. They were just two strangers, trapped by circumstance.

The shop owner shuffled back in, glancing at the two of them before nodding in approval to the music playing. He didn’t say much - just grunted and went back to his book, leaving them to stay in their bubble a bit longer.

The fourth song on the album stated to fade into its end, and the girl tilted her head toward the records they browsed earlier. “What else have you got?” She asked playfully, her gaze gentle.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “Plenty.” He paused, rummaging through the nearby stack, fingers moving swiftly as he flipped through the albums. He chuckled to himself as he pulled out a pink cover, Harry’s back front and center on it as he flipped it over to show her. His smile was contagious as he held up his first album next to his head, simple poking through. “Thoughts?”

She couldn’t help but mirror his smile, recognizing the cover as his own. She feigned a confused look, eyebrows furrowed as she sent him a shrug. “Heard of him.”

He laughed, shaking his head and putting the album back down with the rest. “Looks like a wanker.” He smiled, accent thicker than before. He finally settled on Stevie Knicks, letting the needle settle over it and crackle into a song. The notes were soft, her rasp entrancing. “Dance with me?” His voice resembled cotton candy, an edge of anxiety to it.

She raised her eyebrows, smiling at him. “Do you even know my name?”

His lips press into a flat line as he pulled his hood down, adjusting the ballcap that sat on his curls. His cheeks flushed a shade of pink as he smiled, “Tell me your name.”

“Y/n”

The brunette rolled his sleeves up ever so slightly, stepping aside and extending his hand out to her. “Dance with me, Y/n.” Her name rolled effortlessly off his tongue, and a part of him hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he could say it. Her face scrunches, a mix of confusion and amusement as she places her hand into his much larger one. His movements are slow and calculated, pulling her close but not too close, swaying with the melancholic rhythm. She exhaled, soft and gentle, the tips of her shoes touching Harry’s as she inched closer. He smelt of lavender, and the rain on his hoodie only made the scent of laundry detergent radiate from him. It was quiet, comfortable and Harry swore he hadn’t felt so transfixed on someone so quick before.

“You ever get tired of it?” She thought out loud, leaning her head back a bit to fall into his gaze. It was delicate, and his features fluttered into an expression to urge her to continue. A stubble peppered the top of his lip, a crease in his forehead and a lock of hair dangling from the corner of his cap. He could be cut and molded from marble. “Of the attention, I mean.”

Harry blinked, his movements stalling as he thought about her question. He lowered his hand to her waist - barely. His touch was a whisper, fingertips only grazing the fabric of her sweater, his palm hovering over the curve of her hip. “It can be overwhelming.” He whispered, his breath a cold peppermint. He bit the inside of his lip as his eyes narrowed, taking in every line and angle of her pretty face. “But it’s worth it. ‘specially in-between the spotlight where I can enjoy moments like these.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the measure of his words. She parted her lips to speak, but Harry let out a small giggle, “The calm between the storms.”

She laughed, and Harry could hear her sincerity even though it was a bad joke altogether, but maybe that was the humor she found in it. Her fingers wriggled in his light grasp, brushing her hands up his arms to lazily wrap behind his neck. Goosebumps appeared on his skin, and he internally cursed at whatever God there was for letting the rain ease up. It faded into a drizzle, and the darkened sky started to lighten into a grey. A pang of disappointment hit them both as they realized the storm couldn’t last forever, and their bubble was meant to burst eventually. She slowly pealed herself from him, a sheepish grin on her lips as she looked back outside. For a moment, they stood there, locked in the reality that this was a fleeting moment - an unexpected connection - was about to slip away as easily as the droplets did. “Don’t think we’re stuck anymore.”

Harry nodded, a sigh falling from his lips as he removed the record from the turntable and placed it back into its sleeve, organizing the pile to sit neatly. He could hear the floor creak as she began to move, and his words fell from his lips before he could stop himself. “Do this again with me?”

Her heart skipped a beat, surprised and hopeful. She smiled, turning around to face him. His expression reminded her that of a schoolboy, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?” Her voice held a lightness despite a familiar flutter in her belly.

He chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. “If you’ll let me.” A smile spread upon his lips. “Maybe next time we can plan for better weather - though I won’t complain if it rains again.”

She felt a warmth spread through her, pins and needles in the tips of her fingers. “I’d like that.” She nodded, smile matching his.

He nodded toward the shopkeeper as they ambled out the door, holding the door open for the pretty girl behind him. His lip tucked between his teeth, the breeze light and airy as he pulled the hood over his head. “Um-“ He mumbled nervously, reaching his hand into his pocket and unlocking his phone. But Y/n already took one of his hands into hers, palm upward as she delved into her tote with the other hand, pulling out a pen that’s been in there for god knows how long. She scribbles her number onto his palm, ending it with a smiley face.

His hand still tingled, and his eyes crinkled from the smile he couldn’t wipe off. “What if it smudges?” He calls out, Y/n already beginning to walk the direction back to her apartment.

She turns, her grin almost as wide as Harry’s as she continues her trek, but backwards and slower than before. “You’ll know where to find me!”

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles concept #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #harry styles fan

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thef1diary · 20 days ago

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Beneath The Wool | D. Ricciardo

Merry Smutmas - Day 2: Ugly Sweater

warnings: 18+ content, porn w plot, unprotected sex, riding, lowkey sub!danny for a quick min, very slight degrading, praise kink, penetrative sex.

— missed day 1? read it here by @emchante

The scent of rich cocoa filled the kitchen as you carefully stirred the mixture, its warmth spreading through the room. The night outside is quiet, perfectly still as the snow lazily drifts outside while every twinkling light and decoration you’ve hung creates a festive glow throughout the house. You can practically feel the warmth, the cozy anticipation building for a perfect winter night in with Daniel.

Just as you poured the hot cocoa into mugs, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned, grinning, ready to hand Daniel his mug—only to stop in your tracks, staring at the sight before you.

Daniel stands there, an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, wearing a sweater that’s…well, something else. To call it ugly—despite how handsome the man wearing it looked—would be an understatement. Bright red and green, with a massive reindeer face taking up the entire front, complete with a dangling, sparkly red nose and antlers decorated with tiny bells that jingled every time he moved. The sleeves, as if the reindeer wasn’t enough, are covered in glittery snowflakes, making him look like he was caught in a Christmas explosion.

You tried to hold it in, pressing your lips together as you reached for composure, but the sight of Daniel—this tall, confident man wrapped in an outrageous, holiday-coloured spectacle—is too much. A giggle escaped before you could stop it, and you quickly set the mugs on a countertop, just in time to save the kitchen from a cocoa catastrophe.

The grin on his face widened and that only made it harder to keep it together. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest, filling the room. “Danny… I—oh my god, I can’t,” you managed between fits of laughter, doubling over as he looked at you with mock indignation.

“What? You don’t like my holiday spirit?” he teased, feigning offense, though his smile gave him away. He spread his arms out proudly, and shimmied, causing the bells to jingle absurdly, letting the ridiculousness of the sweater fully sink in. “I found it in the back of the closet and had to bring it out for the season.”

You walked up to him, still laughing, and reached out to flick the reindeer’s shiny, oversized nose. It wobbles, then jingles lightly back into place, setting off another round of laughter from you.

“This thing is…well…ugly. Very, very ugly,” you murmured, trying to catch your breath as your laughter died down to a few chuckles. “Honestly, honey, you’ve been wearing ugly sweaters all week—everyday is a new nightmare, and no, just because you’re hot doesn’t mean you can pull it off.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? So now you have to tell me…which one was your favourite?”

You shook your head, giggling. “Between the one that said “jingle my bells,” the one that just said “horny,” and…whatever this absurdity is, none. Zero out of ten on all of them.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, holding his chest as if wounded. “Come on, not even a little appreciation for my dedication to the season?”

You stepped closer, smirking up at him as you rested your hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think “horny” counts as seasonal cheer.”

He grinned, finding your hand and entwining your fingers before pulling you closer. “Horny is seasonal cheer for all seasons—only around you.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, but you’re quick to mask it, giving him a playful shove, though your fingers remain entwined. “Is that so?”

Daniel brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss on the back as he hummed, “always.”

But just as he was about to pull you even closer, he dropped your hand, rubbing his arm with a slight frown. “Bloody hell, this sweater is starting to itch like crazy.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle as you watched him fidget, the bells on his sweater jingling with each movement. You ran your palm down the front of his sweater, wincing slightly at the scratchy material beneath your fingers.

“Yeah, this thing feels like it was made from…carpet?” you teased.

“Cheap carpet,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Never wearing this again.”

Your fingers trailed lower, teasing the hem of his sweater as you lifted your gaze to meet his. “You know,” you murmured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips, “this sweater is so ugly, I might just have to take it off you.”

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted, a mischievous spark in his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “Oh really?”

“Mhm.” You hooked your fingers around the hem, lifting it slightly to expose a sliver of warm, tanned skin, your fingertips brushing over his taut abdomen. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, and you couldn’t help but smile as you murmured, “besides, I know what’s underneath is much sexier.”

Slowly, you slid the sweater higher, revealing more of him inch by inch. Each part that emerged—the dip of his waist, the toned line of his torso—made your heart race a little faster. He held his arms up, chuckling softly as you ease the scratchy sweater over his shoulders and finally tug it free. The bells jingled one more time, clinking in protest before you tossed the fabric onto the floor, where it landed with a final satisfying jingle that faded into silence.

Now, with nothing between you, you took a moment to admire him. His skin is warm, golden under the soft glow of the kitchen lights, his chest bare and his gaze intent on you, a playful spark in his eyes. Daniel stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, and he drew you in until your bodies pressed together, his warmth spilling over to you as he leaned down.

“Better?” He asked, his lips lightly brushing against yours. You managed a small nod, feeling your pulse quicken, but before you could respond, he closed the remaining space between you.

His lips captured yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, just a gentle brush that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, his hands slide a little further up your sides, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth moving in sync with yours with a heat that feels both familiar and exhilarating.

Daniel’s hands slid lower, setting at the curve of your waist before he shifted, bending slightly and scooping you up in one smooth motion. You let out a soft laugh, surprised but delighted, as he lifted you effortlessly. His gaze remained locked on yours as he carried you from the kitchen, weaving through the glow of the holiday lights and into the cozy warmth of the living room.

He settled onto the couch, pulling you down with him until you’re straddling his lap, your legs wrapped around him. His hands settle on your hips, fingers grazing over your holiday-themed red and black plaid pants, adding a festive touch that he can’t help but grin at.

“Now that,” he started, his voice a low rumble, “is some proper holiday cheer.”

You smirked, leaning in close, your fingers slipping up to rest on his bare chest, tracing gentle circles over his warm skin. “Someone’s got to make up for your questionable sweater choices,” you murmured, letting your lips brush his with a playful hint.

He laughed softly against your mouth, but the sound faded as your lips captured his again, this time slower, deeper. His fingers tightened at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing but warmth between you, every inch of his bare skin pressed to yours. His mouth moves with a kind of quiet intensity, savoring the taste of you, and your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Daniel’s hands slip underneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, his fingers trailing a line of warmth as he peeled it away from your body. His gaze drifted over you, dark with appreciation, before his mouth returned to your skin, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck. Each kiss is unhurried, like he’s savouring the feeling of you, the way your breath hitches under his touch.

His hands slide down, brushing over your waist before settling just beneath the waistband of your pants. A teasing smirk lifts the corner of his mouth as he palms the curve of your ass, guiding you with gentle pressure to rock against him. The heat between you built with each movement, and a low sound escaped him as your hips rolled against his.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to the spot just behind his ear, lingering there as you sucked the taut skin gently before soothing it with a flick of your tongue. The low, guttural groan he let out spurred you on, your breath ghosting over your ear as you whispered, “I wanna ride you, Danny, so bad.”

The words hang between you, electrified and dripping with desire. His grip tightened on your hips as his head tilted back against the couch, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded when they met yours. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice rough, barely restrained. “Want my cock so bad, huh? Take it then. You know what to do.”

Your pulse raced as you slid off his lap, your hands trembling with urgency as you tug your pants down and toss them aside. Daniel mirrored your movements, yanking his pants off with the same haste, the tension still crackling like a live wire despite spending years together.

You slide back onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips as his hands immediately find your waist again, steadying you with a firm grip. He holds you steady as you position yourself above him. The head of his cock is hot and heavy against your cunt, the slickness of your arousal coating him as you shift slightly.

Daniel’s breath catches, a low groan slipping past his lips as he murmurs, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.”

A wicked smile curves your lips as you angle your hips just enough to part your folds using his cock, dragging him against your sensitive clit. The sensation made you shudder, your thighs tightening around him as you repeated the motion, letting your wetness drip down his length.

Each slow, deliberate glide of his cock sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, and the sounds escaping him only spur you on.

Daniel moaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to guide you down onto him, but you resisted, keeping him on edge. His teeth gritted as he stared up at you, his eyes dark, simmering with need. “You’re driving me insane, love.”

You tilted your head, letting your lips brush his ear as you whisper, “that’s the point, darling.”

The heat pooling in your belly intensified, and you could feel him twitch against you, his need as unbearable as your own.

“Enough,” Daniel rasped, his voice laced with desperation. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

The command in his tone sent a thrill through you, and finally, you positioned yourself at his tip, your eyes meeting his as you sank down slowly. The stretch is exquisite, the feeling of him filling you inch by inch, stealing a breath from your lungs.

“Fuck, Danny,” you groaned, your eyes fluttering shut. “You feel so good.”

As you finally take him fully, sinking down until there’s no space left between your bodies, Daniel’s head falls forward, resting against your chest. His breath is hot and ragged against your skin, the tension in his body radiating into yours. You clench around him instinctively, a reflex that draws a deep, guttural moan from his throat.

For a moment, he just breathes you in, his lips brushing lightly against your collarbone as he tries to regain control. Then, his eyes lift to meet yours, dark and glazed with need, the weight of his need pulling you under, and you’re acutely aware of every inch of him inside you. The corners of his lips tug upward into a smug, teasing smirk as your body clenches around him again, involuntarily reacting to his presence.

His lips trail over your chest, leaving a searing path of open-mouthed kisses as he moves lower. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he murmured against your skin, the words laced with playful cruelty. “You gonna ride me like you said you wanted? Or are you just gonna sit there looking all pretty and expect me to do all the work?”

Before you can form a retort, he takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before his teeth graze it just enough to send a shiver cascading down your spine. Your breath catches, and the words on the tip of your tongue dissolve into a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his hair to keep him where you need him most.

As he releases your nipple, a string of spit connects you even as he pulls back. His lips glisten with evidence of his devotion, his tongue flicking out to swipe across his bottom lip before it curled into that maddeningly smug smile.

“What was that?” he drawled, trailing his mouth back up, nipping lightly at your collarbone before pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck, right below your ear. “Had something to say, love? I didn’t quite catch it.” His voice is low and taunting, the vibration of his chuckle against your skin making your hips shift instinctively, drawing a hiss from him.

“You’re such an ass,” you managed to gasp, your nails raking lightly down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to lock eyes with you, his smirk deepening as he leaned in to brush his lips against the corner of your mouth. “Am I?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence, though the playful malice lingers in his eyes. “Funny, because from where I’m sitting, you forget everything else the second your pretty little cunt’s full of me.” His voice is low and sinful, every syllable pressing against your already-frazzled nerves.

Your body clenches around him involuntarily at his filthy admission, drawing a deep groan from him that vibrates against your skin. “See that?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw now as his hands guide your hips to roll just slightly. “Can’t even deny it, love. You’re soaking me. Guess I’ve got to do all the work after all, yeah?”

His words are a challenge, and you find yourself snapping back to attention, determination sparking in your gaze. With a deliberate roll of your hips, you make him groan again, his head tipping back slightly. “Not so far gone that I can’t shut you up,” you managed, your voice breathy but steady as you took control, setting a slow, teasing rhythm.

His laughter is low and rough, his head falling forward against your chest as you move, taking him deeper with each roll of your hips. His lips find your skin again, open-mouthed and hungry, sucking and biting just enough to leave faint marks behind. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped against you, his fingers gripping you so tightly you’re sure you’ll see the evidence tomorrow. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Every roll of your hips draws a low, guttural sound from him, the tension in his body unraveling under your control.“That’s it, love,” he groaned, his voice thick and strained. “Fuck, just like that—keep going.” His head falls back against the couch, exposing the curve of his throat, and you can’t resist leaning forward to press your lips there, tracing the salt of his skin with your tongue as you continue to ride him.

His cock stretched you with every movement, hitting that spot in your cunt that made your breath hitch and your thighs tremble. The pleasure was maddening, delicious, and each rise and fall of your hips only made the heat between you burn hotter. Daniel’s hand slipped beneath the curve of your ass to guide you, urging you to go faster, harder.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth dropping open. The sight of him—flushed, panting, and completely at your mercy—sent a thrill through you.

“Look at you, taking me so well. So perfect,” he mumbled as his gaze locked with yours. You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth, the praise igniting something reckless inside you.

You lifted yourself slowly, until the tip of his cock remained in your pussy before sinking back down with a sharp roll of your hips. Daniel swore under his breath, his hands flying back to your hips, desperate to keep you from leaving him again. The delicious stretch of him filling you completely again made you shudder, a broken moan escaping your lips.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You like that, Danny? Like watching me take every inch of you?”

His response is a strained groan, one of his hands sliding up to cup your boob as he thrusted upwards, meeting your movements. The sudden shift in pace made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders for balance. “Love watching you,” he murmured, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “Watching you fall apart on my cock. You can’t get enough, can you?”

You shake your head, your breath hitching as the pleasure builds to a fever pitch. “No… I can’t,” you admitted, your voice a trembling whisper. “You’re too good… too fucking good.”

His other hand slides in between your legs, his thumb finding your clit, pressing down just enough to send a jolt of pleasure racing through your body. You cry out, your movements faltering for a moment as the combined sensation becomes overwhelming.

“Come on sweetheart,” Daniel urged, “give it to me. I want to feel you cum around my cock.”

The desperation in his voice, the raw need, sends you spiraling closer to the edge. Your hips move frantically now, chasing the release that’s just out of reach. Daniel’s thumb circled your clit faster, tightening his grip on your waist as he thrust up into you, matching your rhythm with brutal precision.

“Daniel—‘m close,” you gasped, your body trembling as the tension coils tighter, ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his eyes locked on yours, his voice a rough plea. “Cum for me, love. Let go, I’ve got you.”

His words, his touch, the way he looks at you—it’s too much. The tension snapped, and pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling as you cried out his name. Daniel holds you close, his lips pressing soothing kisses to your neck as you ride out the waves of your orgasm.

The way you tightened around him pushes him over the edge. He thrusts up into you one last time, his body shuddering as he finds his release, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips. He clings to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he breathes through the aftershocks, his heart pounding in time with yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in each other’s arms, skin pressed against skin, hearts beating as one. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree filled the air, blending with the sweet, lingering scent of cinnamon from the candles still burning on the mantel, but the room that was once wrapped in the cozy, comforting embrace of the holiday season is now mixed with the unmistakable scent of sex.

Your fingers slid lazily through Daniel’s damp curls, the mess of them from earlier making you smile. He looks up at you with a lazy grin, his eyes still dark with the remnants of desire but softened with something tender. His thumb traced gentle circles against your hip, grounding you in the moment, and it’s perfect—just you, him, and the warmth of the season cocooning you both.

Your gaze wandered slowly around the room, landing on the kitchen, and then it hit you—

“The hot cocoa!” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as you remembered. “We were supposed to—”

Daniel’s hand grazed your cheek, pulling your focus back to him as his grin widened into something mischievous. His lips brushed against yours in a featherlight kiss. “Reheat it later,” he whispered, his fingers tightening slightly on your hip. “We’re not done yet.”

Your breath catches as his eyes lock with yours, a spark of renewed heat flickering between you. His hands are already slipping between your legs, teasing your clit as his lips find yours again, slow and deep, making you forget about everything else except him.

The cocoa can wait. Winter just got a whole lot warmer.

taglist: @lilorose25 @thenotoriouserg @a-distantdreamer @leclercsluvs @fat-meh @wintxr-widow @amirahart

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whorekneecentral · 1 year ago

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Ugliest Sweater Wins

Jude Bellingham x Fem!Reader

Warnings: jude is complaining, might have called him jube in here instead of jude - forgive me, luka and vanja cameo!, ugly sweaters, faking illness, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), breeding kink, creampie, jude still has to wear his ugly sweater.

Word Count: 1,589

Author's Note: surprise, surprise - this one is also for pooks. for all you jude fuckers, this one's for y'all :)

merry smutmas series

Jude is invited to Luka’s Christmas party, an ugly Christmas sweater party to be exact. It took a bit of convincing but you got him to go.

He had left it up to you.

The man was too busy with training and matches to pick out a sweater so you had the final decision. Knowing how picky your boyfriend was, you picked out a few of them; all of them equally as ugly as the other.

"Babe," he groans, sitting on the bed. "These are all so ugly."

You laughed, looking at him in the mirror as you fixed your hair. "It is an ugly Christmas sweater party, Jude."

"Yeah, but this ugly? This is a crime," he lifts a green sweater to show you. There's tinsel and bells on the sleeves, some cheesy Christmas caption in the ugliest font imaginable printed along the front.

You bite back a laugh, turning around to face your boyfriend. "You're the one that accepted the invite, Jude. If it were up to me, we'd be back home by now but we can't not go."

It was known amongst the Real Madrid players that Luka and his wife, Vanja, held a holiday party every year. Apparently there were a few themes in rotation, that way people didn't get bored and this year's theme was ugly Christmas sweaters.

Jude had graciously accepted the invite on behalf of both of you, having you rearrange your flights back to England just so you'd be in Madrid for the party and now he doesn't even want to go.

"Okay fine, but you couldn't have picked a less ugly sweater? This one makes noise," he makes a face of disgust when the sweater jingles as he picks it up, making you laugh. He groans again when he sees your sweater. "Yours isn't even that ugly!"

To be fair, you did pick out the ugliest sweater you could find in the store for him. Jude had pissed you off earlier in the week and you figured it was payback for what he had done. Your sweater was fairly okay, it's bright green with the grinch on it - a favourite of yours. Not so much ugly as it was funny.

"Can you not just tell Luka I'm sick?"

"After you made me change our flights? No, you're going."

"Ugh!" He pulls the pillow over his face. "Babe, come on. Do me this one solid."

"No!" You laughed, "I'm not gonna lie to Luka, he's too nice - I'd feel bad."

You joined him on the bed, sitting next to him as you pulled the pillow off of his face. Jude is all pouty, giving you his best attempt at puppy eyes, hoping you'd give in and let him stay home or at the very least, not wear such an ugly sweater.

"I'm gonna be bullied, is that what you want?" He pouts, trying to make you feel bad.

"A little friendly bullying never hurt anyone," you pat his cheek, pulling him to sit up. Jude rolls his eyes, leaning into you. You give the man a kiss, hoping it'll get him to change his mind.

"Do I really have to wear it?"

You nod, "you do."

Jude looks like you had kicked his puppy, the man pouting in hopes that you'd give in. "What can I do to get you to get dressed? Shall I remind you that you were the one that accepted the invite?" You look at the man hanging onto you and he shrugs.

It takes him a few moments but he perks up, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hmmm," his index finger taps his chin a few times. "I wonder what you can do to get me to go and wear this ugly thing without complaining?" Jude pulls you to him, his hand resting on your ass.

Your brows furrow, "did you just.. blackmail me into having sex with you?"

Jude shakes his head, "I'd never do such a thing but out of curiosity.. did it work?"

It's your turn to shake your head, laughing before leaning in to kiss him. Jude pulls you onto his lap, his hands resting on your ass as you kiss down his jaw to his neck.

"I thought you said it didn't work." He mumbles and you pull back a bit, looking at him. "Did you hear those words come out of my mouth, Jude?"

The man shakes his head, watching as you get off of his lap and shifting onto the floor, between his legs. He smiles as he looks at you, watching as you undo his pants. It takes him a second to register what was happening, grabbing your hands to stop you.

"What?" You looked up at him.

"Can you take off that sweater, please?" He makes a face and you laugh. "What ? The grinch ain't doing it for you?" You asked, making him snort with laughter.

"Shut up, please." He laughs and reaches down, pulling on it. You let him take it off of you, tossing it behind him somewhere. He’s a step ahead of you, tugging his pants down a bit before you even get there.

“Eager?” You glance up at him, biting back a smile.

“Always.” He winks, making you laugh.

No matter the situation or how serious, you two found a way to have a laugh and sex was no different.

Jude tosses a pillow on the floor for you and you move to kneel on it which gives you a little more height as you lean forward.

Your mouth open, tongue open and Jude bites back a groan; doesn’t matter how many times he sees you like that, you look perfect every time.

He lets you take him in your mouth, hand wrapping around what can’t fit. He watches as you bob up and down, he pulls your hair from your hair so he can see you and so it doesn’t get in the way.

You looked up at him through your lashes and that was enough to make him cum but he held off, he knew you’d tease him if he did even if you did tell him it was okay.

His hand rests on your head when you hollow your cheeks, he pushes you down a little more to take all of him.

You never disappoint him, especially not now.

“God,” he breathes, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail, “you’re perfect.”

The praise hits you straight in the core, only making you go faster. Jude’s hips buck, your nose brushing against him. "Fuck- okay," he breathes, pulling you off of him.

"Why'd you-"

"C'mere." He pulls you up, pushing you over the side of the bed.

"Someone's found their voice hm?" You teased and Jude rolled his eyes, pinching your hip which made you wiggle away from him.

You’re on your hands and knees, your boyfriend behind you. The rest of your clothes were tossed somewhere on the floor and the tip of his cock brushing over your clit before moving to push into you. You fall forward into the bed, your face buried in the mattress as he sets the pace.

Hard and rough, not enough to hurt you but enough to tell you that he didn’t like your attitude without actually saying it.

Jude wanted to hear you.

He pulls you up by your hair, your back arched and his hand now on your chin. “C’mon baby, let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.” He says, the angle you were at puts him deeper than before.

The slightest movements and you can feel it in your stomach. It’s like he can hear your thoughts because his hand moves from your chin to your stomach. An arm wrapped around your torso, his big hand spread over your stomach, “you’d look so pretty with a baby in you, hm?”

Jude lets you fall back onto the bed, both of his hands on your hips. “Maybe I should fuck one into you.”

Your moans are muffled by the fact that your face was buried in the sheets. His thrusts are rough, his hips digging into your ass with each one.

He knew you like the back of his hand, he knew you were about to cum and he already denied you once, he didn’t have the heart to do it again.

You were close enough that you could taste it, a few more thrusts and you’re over the edge, his name falling from your lips. The way you were clenching around him causes him to follow behind you, the man falling onto your back.

The two of you are laying there, Jude on top of you still and you let out a laugh.

"What?" He asks, rolling off of you. You shake your head, smiling at him. Your phone rang on the nightstand, which interrupted the two of you.

You reach over, answering it. "Hello? Yeah, of course we're coming! Yeah we can, just send me the address. No worries," you smiled, talking to whoever was on the phone. "Okay bye."

"Who was it ?" He asks, watching as you get redressed.

"Vanja," you tell him, checking your makeup in the mirror. "We have to pick up the cookies from the bakery on the way over.

"Sooo.. do I have to wear the-" "The sweater? Yes, you do."

"Oh, man. You don't love me," he says, making you laugh. You hold his jaw, kissing him. "I love you, even if you're wearing a hideous sweater."

"Fine, only if you do that thing with your tongue when we get home tonight."

"Keep it in your pants, Jude." You laughed, "but sure. Now c'mon, we're gonna be late."

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#jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #football #football x reader #football smut #merry smutmas xoxo

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coffeeshades · 2 months ago

Text

—true blue ⭑ part i

summary: two strangers meet in a city of millions, only to discover they've been searching for each other all along.

pairing: pedro pascal x f!reader.

word count: 7.3k

warnings: age gap, angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol, loneliness, nostalgia. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know! (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hello lovelies, i’m back with another story! hope you guys enjoy it and happy reading <3

London had a way of swallowing you whole, especially on days like this—when the sky was nothing but a massive stretch of gray, heavy and low, threatening rain but never delivering it. The city seemed to disappear into the clouds, a wash of neutral tones that made everything feel colder, quieter.

Six months in, and you still weren’t used to it. The grayness, the dampness that clung to your skin, or the way the city seemed to keep you at arm’s length, never quite welcoming you in.

You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck as you walked into the café, your breath fogging the glass for a moment before pushing the door open.

The warmth hit you immediately, the smell of roasted coffee beans filling your senses. The place was small, cozy, and comfortably worn—wooden floors scuffed by years of foot traffic, walls lined with photos of the city taken from angles only locals would recognize.

It was a great place, one you had found early on in your stay. Most of the baristas knew you by now, especially Tom, who greeted you with a nod as soon as you walked in.

You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater, slightly too big but soft and comforting, and ran a hand through your frazzled hair, still somewhat damp from the earlier drizzle. You hadn’t bothered with an umbrella; London rain was more a constant mist than a downpour, not enough to get soaked but just enough to make you feel cold in your bones. Your dark pants clung to your legs, and your worn black boots scuffed the floor as you made your way to the counter.

It was late afternoon, your favorite time to stop by. Usually, you had to battle before work-rush. But you were free today. Most people had already grabbed their coffee and gone back to their lives, leaving the café quieter, almost meditative. You liked that. It was one of the few moments in your day where you didn’t have to think about the silence that otherwise hung over life.

New York had been noisy, full of distractions, but here, the quiet was inescapable. It followed you home, lingered in the corners of your rented flat, and made you feel more alone than you ever had back in the States.

“Hey, Tom,” you said, offering him a small smile as you dropped your purse onto the counter.

He smiled back, his hands already reaching for a cup. “The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

You leaned against the counter, absently scrolling through the phone. Emails. Work messages. Nothing personal, nothing to distract you from the dull rhythm of solitude you’d grown so accustomed to. A novel you’d just finished reading peeked out of your bag.

As you waited for the order, the bell above the door chimed softly, and you felt someone step up beside you. You didn’t look up, not at first. The presence was warm, close enough to feel but not close enough to intrude. You were just another person standing in line, waiting for coffee.

Then you heard the voice.

“A large iced black coffee, please,” the man beside you said, his voice deep, casual, the kind of voice that made you listen even when you weren’t paying attention.

Another barista nodded, moving quickly to prepare the drink, and you tried not to feel the man’s presence. But it was hard not to. He wasn’t looking at you, but could sense him—the quiet weight of someone standing just close enough that it made you aware of yourself.

“Blue.”

The word pulled you out of your thoughts, and you glanced sideways, confused. “Sorry?”

He was smiling now, his expression easy, as if we were in on some joke. He nodded toward your bag, where the book was still partially visible.

“The cover of your book. It’s blue.”

You blinked, your brain trying to catch up with the conversation. “Oh…yeah, it is.” You managed a half-smile, still unsure of where this was going.

“You must think I’m weird now,” he added, his tone teasing, but there was something behind his eyes—something almost vulnerable, like he was testing the waters.

“No, not really,” I said, shrugging. “I just wasn’t expecting...that.”

“It’s just…uh, lately, I’ve been reading a lot of books with blue covers,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. It was slicked back, but not perfectly—there was a curl that had escaped, hanging slightly over his forehead, giving him a disheveled charm. His brown leather jacket looked well-worn, like something he’d had for years, and his white sneakers were clean but scuffed, like they’d seen their fair share of travel.

“When I saw yours, it made me think of that. Sorry to bother you.”

“No, you’re not bothering me,” you said quickly, feeling an odd need to put him at ease. “Not at all.”

You took him in more fully now, and something clicked. There was a familiarity about him, something that tugged at the edges of recognition, but it hadn’t fully registered yet. Dark jeans, black t-shirt, the jacket slung casually over his frame, and those clear glasses that made him look both intelligent and approachable. His smooth skin seemed ready to tip into weathered, his dark hair almost shot full of gray. Solidly middle aged.

There was something unguarded about him. Something real.

Before you could figure out where you knew him from, Tom interrupted, handing you the coffee with a nod. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” You reached for your card to pay, then paused, glancing back at the man beside you.

“Do you want it?”

He looked at you, clearly surprised. “Want what?”

“The book.”

You gestured toward the blue-covered novel still poking out of the bag. “I finished it earlier today. You can add it to your collection of blue books.”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, no, I can’t take that from you.”

“Of course you can.”

You pulled the book out fully, holding it out to him. “I’m done with it. And you seem interested.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, slowly, he reached out, his large hands brushing against yours as he took the book. His fingers lingered on the cover for a moment, running over the title as he read it out loud.

“It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over.”

You watched as he flipped the book over, his fingers tracing a small bullseye doodle inked on the back of his hand, just between his thumb and index finger. It was such a small detail, but it told you something about him. You suddenly wanted to know everything about him.

“It’s a good read,” you said, slipping the card into the reader. “It’s about mortality, grief, love… you know, the usual light fare.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Sounds like my kind of book. Gut-wrenching, then?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “I think I have a thing for devastating literature.”

“That makes two of us.”

Tom handed him his iced coffee, and he nodded gratefully, still holding the book like it was something fragile. “Thanks again,” he said, glancing at the title one last time. “I’ll make sure it’s in good company.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” you said, gathering your things. You had to go home before the rain started pouring.

As you stepped toward the door, you felt the chill from outside starting to creep back in, and just before the door closed behind you, you heard him call out, his voice soft but sure.

“I know I will.”

The cold wind hit you as you stepped out into the gray street, but this time, it felt different. Less like a wall, more like a breeze pushing you forward. Something had changed, though you weren’t sure what yet.

The rain had picked up again, tapping against the windows of your flat like impatient fingers. The days were growing shorter now, the afternoons fading into evenings before you even had time to notice. Autumn had a way of settling into your bones—the way the cold crept in through the cracks, the muted light casting long shadows across the room, the golden hues of fallen leaves scattered on the pavement outside.

You had made the flat your own in small, quiet ways. A few plants scattered along the window ledge, books stacked unevenly on shelves that were too small to hold them all, some even on the floor, and a woolen throw draped over the worn arm of the couch. The place wasn’t large, but it was enough—just one bedroom, a kitchen that overlooked the small living room, and large windows that framed the world outside in a way that almost felt intimate. It smelled like home now—a mix of coffee and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle burning on the table.

You were halfway through folding a pile of laundry when the phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. You wiped your hands on your pajama shorts before picking it up, smiling as Olivia’s name flashed across the screen. She called at least once a week, sometimes more if she had something “urgent” to discuss—which, in her world, could range from a new recipe she'd tried to the latest celebrity drama.

You answered on the second ring. "Hey, Liv."

“Finally!” Her voice came through the speaker, bright and full of life. “I’ve been texting you all day.”

You balanced the phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up a stray sock from the couch.

“Sorry, I was at work. Just got back a little while ago.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “You’re always at work. You know that’s not healthy, right?”

You could rattle off a hundred reasons why being a medical resident wasn’t healthy—none of it was. It had taken you months to find your footing at the hospital. You hadn’t really made any friends outside of work, just the occasional outing with Sabrina, a fourth-year who’d taken you under her wing like the hospital’s den mother.

You rolled your eyes, tossing the sock into the laundry basket. “I know, I know, but you know how it is.”

“Whatever,” she said, clearly moving on. “So, guess what?”

You smiled, already bracing myself for whatever tangent she was about to dive into. “What?”

“I found this article about why cats are secretly plotting against us, and I swear, it’s changed my whole perspective on Peanut.”

“Peanut? Your ten-year-old tabby who sleeps all day and barely looks at you?”

“Yes! That’s exactly why it makes sense. He’s too quiet. Too calm. He’s plotting, I know it.”

You laughed as you wandered into the kitchen to grab a Coke from the fridge. “Olivia, he’s a cat. I think you’re safe.”

“Don’t you dare dismiss me, okay? I have facts. I’ll send you the article.”

“Can’t wait,” you said dryly, leaning against the counter as you sipped your drink.

There was a brief pause on her end, and then her voice softened, shifting to something more serious. “But really, how have you been?”

You glanced out the window, watching the rain streak down the glass in slow, steady lines. “Same old. The hospital, laundry, eating dinner in front of the TV. You know the drill.”

“Nothing new?” she pressed.

“Not really.”

You hesitated, a brief smile tugging at your lips as you remembered the café. “Although… I think I met Pedro Pascal the other day.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by a shriek so loud you had to pull the phone away from your ear. “What?! Shut up, shut up! You what?”

“I mean…I wasn't sure it was him when it was happening, but now I'm kinda positive.”

“Girl, how positive?” Her voice was breathless, excited in the way only Olivia could manage.

You chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into the cushions, curling your legs under you.

“I don't know, pretty positive?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Did he give you his name?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then how do you know it was him?” She sounded like she was about to combust with impatience.

“Because I talked to the man, Liv. He looked like him; I don't know. Maybe…maybe it wasn't him."

“You talked?!” she nearly screamed. “Oh my God, what did you talk about?”

“Not much,” you said, shrugging even though she couldn’t see you. “It was about my book—the one I was reading.”

“What was he like? Was he charming? Did he look at you with those eyes?”

You could practically see her waggling her eyebrows, and you laughed, shaking your head.

“Calm down. He was just… normal. Kind of charming. We didn’t talk for long, though.”

“Normal? Pedro Pascal is not normal. People would die to have a conversation with him, and you’re over here like, ‘Oh, we just talked about a book."

You smiled, running a hand through your hair, which had dried into a messy wave. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not! This is huge!” she insisted. “Did he ask for your number?”

“No, are you crazy? ” You snorted. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You’re killing me here.” She groaned. “How do you not make the most of a moment like that? You had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to shoot your shot, and you’re telling me you just let it go?”

“It wasn’t like that, Liv,” you said, still laughing. “It was just a casual conversation.”

She let out another exasperated sigh. “You’re hopeless. Completely hopeless.”

“Okay, well, I have to go,” you said, picking up the empty laundry basket and setting it aside. “I still have to make dinner, and it’s getting late.”

“You’re brushing me off because you don’t want to admit you missed your chance with Pedro Pascal.”

“I’m brushing you off because I’m starving,” you corrected.

“Fine, fine. But promise me this isn’t the end of the story. If you run into him again, you have to—”

“Not gonna happen."

"Don't be so pessimistic. If you run into him again, you tell me."

"Not gonna happen, but fine."

“That’s all I ask,” she said, her tone suddenly cheerful again. “Okay, go make dinner. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Liv.”

“Bye!”

You hung up, dropping the phone onto the couch as you stared outside again. The rain had softened into a steady drizzle. The flat was quiet, the only sound being the occasional hiss of the radiator and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions. It was a small life you had built here, simple and quiet. But there was something comforting about it too. Even if you hadn’t figured everything out yet, there was a strange sense of peace in the routine of it all.

And yet, the thought of that brief encounter at the café lingered in the back of your mind, like a spark that hadn’t quite caught fire.

A week had passed since the encounter, but you couldn’t shake him from your mind. It was ridiculous, really. You hadn’t asked for his name, hadn’t lingered long enough to let the moment stretch into something more. But the man with the deep voice and warm laugh had somehow taken up residence in your thoughts.

It was as if the quiet, unremarkable routine you’d built for yourself here had been cracked open, just a little, by that brief, unexpected meeting.

Still, you tried not to think about it too much. But every time you walked past that café, your steps slowed, as if you expected to see him again, leaning against the counter with his easy smile.

By the time you actually went in again, a full week later, the cold October air was biting at your skin, and your mind was no more settled than it had been that day.

You ordered the usual—a flat white—and lingered by the counter as Tom prepared it, his familiar movements almost soothing in their predictability. You were lost in thought, half-aware of your surroundings, when Tom placed the cup on the counter.

But this time, there was something else.

A small package, wrapped in brown paper and tied neatly with a blue ribbon.

“What’s this?” you asked, staring at it like it was some kind of puzzle.

Tom smiled, his thick accent wrapping around his words. “Someone left it for you.”

You blinked, completely baffled. “What is this, a secret admirer thing? Because I gotta say, Tom, I wasn’t prepared for that kind of drama today.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not from me, love. But someone wanted you to have it.”

Intrigued, you grabbed the coffee and the package, thanking him before heading to your usual spot by the window. The window fogged slightly from the heat of the café, offering you a misty view of the street beyond.

You sat down and placed the package in front of you, staring at it for a few seconds as your mind raced. What the hell is this? Your fingers traced the edges of the paper, carefully undoing the small ribbon before pulling the wrapping away.

A book. Of course, it was a book.

You smiled faintly as you read the title aloud: Drive Your Plow over the Bones of the Dead.

The cover was blue—deep and rich, just like the one you’d given away the week before. The faintest blush crept up your cheeks as you realized who it must have been from.

Your heart did a weird little somersault in your chest as you ran your fingers along the cover. Before you even opened it, a folded piece of paper fell out and landed softly on the table. You unfolded it, smoothing the creases, and read the note inside:

Hi, stranger. I realized five minutes after you gave me your book that I didn’t ask for your name. How rude of me. I’m sorry. I walked out of there as soon as I realized and walked a few blocks, but you were gone.

I finished the book, by the way. It was beautiful. I loved how real and layered the main character was. I also laughed so much; I didn’t think a novel this heartbreaking would be such a joy.

Anyway, I feel like I’m rambling now. Since you gave me one, I thought I might return the favor. I think this is a long shot since I don't know if you are a regular, but I hope you are. I hope this finds you.

Enjoy.

Love, Pedro.

You stared at the note for what felt like a full minute, your mind slowly processing the words. Oh my god. Pedro. So you weren't delusional after all. It had been him. All this time, you’d been trying to convince yourself that it was some random guy with a coincidental likeness, but no—it was him.

The smile that spread across your face was involuntary, and you felt your cheeks flush with the sudden realization that you had somehow fallen into a casual book exchange with him. Your fingers traced the edge of the note, and you leaned back in the chair, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

For the next several days, the book accompanied you everywhere—on the train, to work, in bed at night. You found yourself highlighting passages and underlining sentences that spoke to something deep inside you. The book was dark and witty, a strange blend of humor and melancholy that left you thinking long after you’d closed it each night.

You hadn’t seen Pedro again, though you hoped—each time you entered the café—that maybe he’d be there. Maybe you’d exchange a few more words; maybe this strange little connection would become something more.

But days passed, and there was no sign of him.

A week later, you finished the book. As you placed it on the nightstand, you knew what you had to do.

It was only fair to continue the game, wasn’t it?

And there was one book that immediately came to mind—Alone With You in the Ether. The cover was, of course, blue.

You spent that morning getting ready, your usual routine of sluggishness replaced by something else—anticipation, maybe. You pulled on your blue navy scrubs and your running shoes, taking a little extra care with your hair, though you weren’t quite sure why.

At the café, you ordered the usual and approached the counter with the book neatly wrapped in brown paper. When Tom handed you the coffee, you slipped the book into his hands, along with a note:

Hi, Pedro.

That’s okay, no need to apologize. To be fair, I didn’t ask for your name either, so that makes the two of us very rude people. I’m so happy you liked the book. As for the one you gave me—wow. I think it’s going to stick with me for a while.

Now, this one is really special to me. I read it earlier this year, and even though it’s kind of a drag to get through in the first few chapters, once you get the hang of it, it’s totally worth it. And yeah, it made me cry a little because it explores what it means to be unwell and how to face the fractures in yourself and still love as if you’re not broken. Really happy stuff, I know.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Love,

You hesitated for a second before writing your name at the bottom of the note. You had to, right?

You couldn’t keep this up forever without knowing who the other person was.

As you handed the book to Tom, excitement bubbled inside you, and you felt a strange sense of giddiness that you hadn’t experienced in ages. You were exchanging books with this enigma of a man—this charismatic, famous man who somehow understood the same quiet parts of the world that you did.

As you left the café that day, the autumn air crisp and cool around you, you realized just how much had changed in these past few weeks. you’d been living in your head for so long, buried in stories and thoughts that weren’t your own, but now—now there was something tangible.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt alive.

It had been days since you’d left Pedro the book, and though a small part of you hoped to hear back, you hadn’t expected it. Surely he had better things to do than trade novels with a stranger. Yet, here you were again, standing at the counter of the café, that familiar flutter of anticipation creeping up on you.

“Just a matcha today,” you said to Tom, trying to rein in your caffeine habit. He raised an eyebrow, surprised at the switch, but didn’t say anything as he rang you up. “It’s surgery day,” you added, shrugging.

When he handed you the drink, there it was—a familiar brown-wrapped package slipped discreetly into your other hand. Your pulse quickened. You did your best to keep cool, to act as though this was just another day, but your fingers betrayed you, trembling slightly as they closed around the package.

“What now?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the excitement was barely concealed in your voice.

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. “Another one. Same guy.”

You didn’t even sit down. You stood right there at the counter, carefully peeling away the paper. Another blue book. The Book of All Loves. A smile tugged at your lips, warm and uncontainable.

Inside, a folded note fell out—this one thicker, the creases worn, the ink smudged in places. Your hands shook slightly as you unfolded it and began to read.

Hi again, stranger—

Well, I guess I can’t really call you that anymore, now that I know your name, huh?

He had written your name at the top—three times.

The letters were neat but hurried, repeated as though he were testing how it felt to write them. The ink stuttered in places, lingering on the curves of each letter, like he had taken his time. It is such a gorgeous sight. To see your name in his handwriting awakened something in you.

There. It’s stuck in my head now. What a great name, by the way. I could probably write it out a hundred more times and still not get tired of seeing it. Is that weird? That’s probably weird. I’m rambling again.

So, the book—wow. It hit me in ways I didn’t expect. You weren’t kidding when you said it was about being unwell, but it was more than that. The characters were dancing on this fragile edge between chaos and peace, and I felt that. And that church scene...

You paused, feeling the tenderness of his words wrapping around you, pulling you in closer.

The way they held hands—it was more than just a gesture. There’s something about it that felt so raw, so intimate. In a place where you’re not supposed to be that close, it made it all the more... heartbreaking. Have you ever felt like that? Like you’re carrying all this weight but still holding onto this tiny sliver of hope that someone will see you for who you are? Without needing you to explain every scar?

His words resonated deeply, tugging at something tender within you, as if he had unknowingly plucked a string that had long been silent.

Do you get what I mean? Or am I just talking in circles again?

The next part of the note was a jumble of thoughts, ideas pouring out in bursts. He wrote about the book's characters, how they reminded him of his own isolation, even when surrounded by people. He confessed that sometimes he felt as though he wore a mask—something to hide behind—but books like this allowed him to drop it, if only for a little while.

I think I’m really good at pretending sometimes, you know? We all are, right? But in books, I don’t have to pretend. It’s like I get to be myself for a little bit, without all the noise. Does that make sense? I’m probably being too heavy, sorry. The truth is, I feel comfortable writing to you. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the books, this exchange—like it’s okay to be vulnerable. Or maybe I’m just being dramatic.

There was a little smiley face drawn beside that sentence, and you found yourself laughing softly, the sound light in the quiet café.

Anyway, thanks again for sharing this with me. It’s a gem. I thought I’d give you something in return—something that fits. Have you read The Book of All Loves? It’s about love beyond romance. I think you’ll like it.

Until next time.

Love, Pedro.

You stood there for a long time after finishing the note, his words echoing in your mind, stirring feelings you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge. The way he wrote—so raw, so real—made it feel as though you weren’t just two strangers exchanging books. It felt deeper, like an unspoken understanding had passed between you, hidden in the lines of each letter, in the ink that had smudged under the weight of his thoughts.

Your heart swelled with a mixture of emotions. Just hearing from him has made you so driven, so romantic, so excited. The brief connection you had made through these letters felt real, almost tangible, as though roots had begun to take hold beneath the surface of your everyday life.

You read the note again, slower this time, savoring every word, every thought he had poured onto the page. His question lingered.

Have you ever felt like that?

Of course you had. You had spent most of your life searching for that connection, that elusive feeling of being truly seen without needing to explain every wound, every hidden corner of yourself. And now, through these letters, it felt as though Pedro saw something in you that others hadn’t.

The thought was ridiculous, you knew that. But still, there was comfort in it, in the way he opened up to you with such ease. There was something undeniably romantic about it—this quiet exchange of words and books, of thoughts and feelings that had probably never been shared aloud.

You carefully folded the note, tucking it back into the book, and cradled your matcha in your hands. A small smile played at the corners of your lips, warmth blossoming in your chest. You weren’t sure what this was—this strange, beautiful exchange—but whatever it was, it made you feel seen. It made you feel connected.

You didn’t mind being lost in the unknown.

Weeks passed, and your days fell into an easy rhythm—a rhythm that beat around the exchange of books and letters with Pedro. Each novel was chosen with care, both of you quietly mindful of keeping them short, under 300 pages, so they could be devoured quickly.

But the real reason wasn’t the books themselves now—it was what came with them.

The letters.

They weren’t just pages full of thoughts about the stories. They were windows. Each one revealed more of who he was, and in return, you found yourself offering up pieces of yourself. You couldn’t help it—the way he wrote, the way he asked questions that no one else dared to, as if he genuinely wanted to know you. And so, you let him in.

After finishing The Book of All Loves, your response was a little more vulnerable than you’d expected. You’d thanked him for the recommendation, told him it had cracked something open inside of you. “It’s strange,” you’d written, “how a book about love that exists in such quiet, unassuming forms can make you feel like you’ve been missing it your whole life. I’ve never thought much about love outside of romance—what it means to love a moment, a gesture, the way the wind feels when it hits your skin in the early morning. All I've ever known of love is how to live without it. I just can’t seem to find it. This book made me think about all the things I’ve taken for granted. The small loves. The unnoticed ones.”

Pedro’s letter back had been equally intimate. “It feels good to read this from you,” he wrote. "To know that maybe we’ve both been looking for something neither of us can really name. I guess there are certain things we stumble upon that make us feel less alone in our strangeness.

When I read your letter, I thought about a lot of things I haven’t said out loud. I thought about how it’s always felt easier to live without love, or at least to live like I didn’t need it, as if needing it would somehow make me weaker. I think of all the times I’ve skimmed over beauty just because I didn’t want to stop and notice what was missing. Reading your words made me realize that maybe I’ve always been chasing something, too, not realizing that these quiet, unassuming moments—like the way the rain sounds against the window at night or the exact shade of blue that the sky becomes before sunrise—maybe they’re as close as I’ve been to something real.

The words spilled out slowly, and you read them twice, tracing each line with your fingertip, as if trying to hold onto every word for a little longer.

When you said the book cracked something open in you, I understood. We don’t let ourselves soften often, but it sounds like, maybe, there’s been a little space for that now. Like maybe you’ve felt things so quietly, you didn’t even know they were there. You’re right, though; love is everywhere. It’s the way a good song can feel like home. It’s knowing how you take your coffee. And it’s weird to realize how much of it we let slip by, out of fear or habit or because we think love should look a certain way.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I guess I want you to know that you’re not alone in this. You’ve got someone here who gets it, at least a little bit. Someone who, honestly, feels like he’s been missing something without ever quite knowing what that something was. Maybe it’s just easier to say things like this when it’s written down. Maybe it’s easier to feel a little more when there’s distance.

But then I think of you, and I don’t want to feel that distance anymore.

Take care, alright? I’ll be here, waiting for whatever thought strikes you next. And thank you, for opening up like that. For letting me know I’m not the only one.

All the best,

Pedro

These letters had become your heartbeat, something that brought life back into you. At work, during breaks, you’d find yourself pulling out the latest book, fingers brushing the edges of the envelope tucked inside, knowing his notes and highlights were waiting for you.

Your rounds at the hospital became lighter, as if you carried a secret with you—one small, fragile thing that had started in the most unexpected of ways. How could you focus on anything when he writes you letters like this? When he spills his heart for you, a stranger?

Six days after his last letter, you sat at your kitchen counter one quiet evening, surrounded by the soft glow of a single warm light above. Outside, the evening had taken on that deep, inky blue you could get lost in, a shade that felt like a private world of its own. In front of you, a cinnamon roll sat on a small porcelain plate—the sort of indulgence you love to treat yourself to every now and then. The glaze stuck to your fingers as you leaned over a blank page, pen poised, waiting to shape your thoughts for Pedro.

Taking a deep breath, you began:

Pedro,

I’m sending you Never Let Me Go—a book that, in all its stillness and grace, moved me to tears. It’s a familiar feeling; there are so many things that make me cry. It’s not always the big, cinematic moments either, but the quiet, fleeting ones, the kind that Jane Austen might say ‘touch upon the tenderness of our sensibilities.’ Like when the last pages of a book make everything about the world seem profound, or when I see the first bloom of spring among the winter trees. I saw the movie years ago and cried so hard I could barely speak afterward. And, perhaps, I think there’s something remarkably necessary about being moved to tears—it’s like life’s way of keeping our hearts soft, open to the little aches and wonders.

So I’m sharing it with you, hoping it’ll do the same.

You paused, smiling to yourself, imagining him finding that description and wondering if he’d tease you for it. As the words settled onto the page, you felt a kind of sweet comfort, and maybe even a thrill, in knowing this note would soon be in his hands, bridging your two worlds once again.

It was four days later when Pedro's response finally arrived, tucked inside a copy of Night Sky with Exit Wounds. The book’s deep, stormy cover filled your eyes. But your day had already been a whirlwind. You’d spent the night studying for a complex surgery, barely catching three hours of sleep before sunrise. By morning, you were dashing through your routine, gulping down a few rushed sips of coffee, grabbing your coat, and flying out the door.

When you stopped by the café to find Pedro’s book and letter, your heart skipped at the sight of it waiting for you. But with your schedule pulling you in ten different directions, you could only clutch the book close, flash a half-awake smile at the barista, and promise yourself that you’d savor it later, once the day slowed.

Finally, around eight that evening, you arrived home, exhausted yet satisfied—the surgery had been a success, and you’d somehow managed to juggle the day’s relentless demands. Dropping your bag, you kicked off your shoes and sank onto the couch, barely making it past the door before you reached for the book.

His letter was tucked between the pages, Pedro’s handwriting skimming the edge of each line as though his words had been poured onto the page in a hurry, with just enough restraint to make each word count. The sight of it made you pause, drawing a deep, steadying breath as you began to read, his voice almost palpable in the air:

I know this one comes faster than you've probably expected, but the desire to write to you is all-consuming. It takes up space in every corner of my mind, like someone has rearranged the furniture in my head, and I keep bumping into things I didn’t realize were there. You should know it’s not normal for me. I’m usually good at keeping things compartmentalized, managing my thoughts, especially when I know I shouldn’t be entertaining them at all. But here I am, practically pathetic, writing you like some infatuated idiot who can’t keep his head on straight. I suppose that’s what I am.

There’s so much I want to ask you, even if it seems silly. It’s weird, I know, but I want to know everything: your favorite color, the exact shade of it, and why it sticks with you. I want to know how you take your coffee, if you’d let me make it for you, and if you’d like it bitter or sweet. Do you sleep on the right or left side of the bed? I’m trying to imagine you in those small, quiet moments—those times that people rarely share with others, the ones that make you feel like you’re finally seeing someone’s real life. Perhaps I want that with you. Hell, I’d probably just take watching you stir sugar into your coffee and feel like it’s some grand revelation.

I know I’m rambling. Some poet's probably rolling in their grave at this poor excuse of an epistolary attempt. But I feel like I could say anything to you here, let it all pour out, and you wouldn’t turn away. I guess I’m testing that, aren’t I?

This book I'm giving you is sharp but soft. It’s like Vuong’s words walk this fine line between resilience and surrender, which maybe is why they get to me. There's a line I love: “In the body, where everything has a price, I was a beggar”—I keep coming back to it. It gets under my skin, thinking of how much of my life I’ve spent doing just that: begging for something that felt like love but never fully was.

I guess that’s what makes me wonder. Is that what love is? Some beautiful, endless begging, hoping to be seen fully and held even with all the mess? I think about my past relationships, all the ways I tried to be someone I thought they’d love or, at least, understand. I don’t know if you can relate, but I always ended up feeling like I was only showing the parts I thought they’d like, and I could never quite manage to bring myself whole into it. Not that they were all bad, but…they left me feeling a bit like I was holding my breath, waiting for something I didn’t even have a name for.

I don’t feel that way with you. And it scares the hell out of me.

Have you ever loved like that? Loved in a way that left you feeling half-complete but more alone than ever? Do you think we can really know each other, or is it all just pieces we collect and hope fit together someday? Sorry, that’s bleak—I told you, I’m pathetic.

Still, writing this, I feel more real than I’ve felt in years. You’re already changing something in me, and maybe I’m a fool, but I think that’s worth every messy, flawed attempt I make to get closer to you.

Love,

Pedro

The last lines hung in the air, sinking deep like an echo through a still room.

Holy shit.

His admission felt like the thrill of stepping onto the edge of something limitless, knowing that he, too, was caught in the same current, swept into this quiet, growing bond that defied every attempt to be named. There was nowhere else you wanted to be.

For years now, you've saved all of your romanticism for your inner life, but now it seems to spill over into reality, coloring the world around you with a new intensity. It seems to spill over into your response to him.

Pedro,

I’m sitting here, pen in hand, trying to put to words what has only lived in my thoughts and quiet places inside me. It feels strange, like I’m peeling something hidden, revealing not just what I am but what I’ve long been afraid to be. But I think you’ve sensed that, haven’t you? Somehow, in these letters, it feels possible. You’ve done this to me, you know. And if you’re pathetic, then, God help me, so am I.

When I read your letter, I felt this pulse of recognition—your words so familiar, as though I’d known them before they were written. That line from Vuong—I lingered over it, too, so many times, until it felt like my own skin.

Isn’t it strange, the things that stay with us, hidden until someone else touches them? I’ve always had this…this longing to be seen in the fullness of myself, even the parts that feel a little too much or not quite enough. And yet, I’ve been equally terrified of it, of offering myself in a way that leaves me standing, raw, in front of someone who might not want what they see.

But with you, the idea doesn’t scare me as much. Even saying that feels like a confession.

You asked if I’d ever loved like that—loved in a way that left me both half-alive and lonelier than ever. I have. Not often, but enough to know the ache of it, that hollow feeling of wanting so badly to be known, only to realize I’d kept parts of myself hidden, guarded, fearing they wouldn’t understand or that I’d be asked to change. I’ve spent so many years rationing my softness, saving my sentimentalism for my own private thoughts, as though loving deeply was something to be ashamed of. But here I am, writing to you, letting it spill.

What about love, then? What do I think of it? I think of love as a kind of surrender, a rare, strange act of bravery and recklessness all at once. I think it’s choosing to step closer to someone when you know you might break your heart in the process. And maybe, sometimes, it’s a little like begging—but only if the person you’re begging to see you is also showing you something of themselves, a part they’re just as afraid to share.

Which is to say: you make me want to be that reckless. You make me want to know things I would have otherwise only dreamed of. I want to know your favorite hour of the day, the one that makes you feel alive even when you’re alone. I want to know what you’ve never dared to say aloud. If I could watch you, just once, as you sit in the quiet of the morning.

Maybe that’s the kind of love I want—one where the questions never end, where the silence says as much as the words, and where I don’t have to hide anything away.

Love,

a/n: alright! so what do you guys think about this one? i wanna know your thoughts!!! like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed it, i will gladly appreciate it <3

a second part will be posted soon!

#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal rpf #my writing

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just-aake · 1 year ago

Text

Holiday Teasings

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: A festive new addition to Natasha’s usual outfit surprises all of those around her.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 1446

It was the holiday season, but that doesn’t mean work stops at the SHIELD headquarters. Even now, agents continue to tirelessly carry out their tasks and missions, the hallways bustling with conversation and hurried steps.

All of them trained to be efficient and timely with their duties. However, even the most experienced agents find themselves falling silent and stopping in shock at the sight that passes by them.

Normally, the presence of Black Widow would cause anyone to stare in awe, but today, the reason for such a pause is different.

Only those close to her or brave enough would ever dare to ask or comment about it though, as proven by Agent Hill when Natasha arrives at the door of today’s meeting room.

“Wow,” Maria exclaims, blinking in surprise as she examines the widow’s outfit. “What in the world are you wearing?”

“It’s just a sweater, Hill. Let’s not make a big deal about it,” Natasha says pointedly, crossing her arms, which only causes the bells at the cuffs of the sleeve to jingle in response.

Maria quickly raises her clipboard to cover her mouth, hiding her smile as she hums and nods in acknowledgment.

Natasha’s bright red sweater stands out amidst the typical dark SHIELD uniforms, easily capturing the curiosity of onlookers around her.

Had it been just a plain-colored sweater, maybe she wouldn’t attract as much attention.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

The design on the front depicts the classic suit of this holiday, complete with cotton fluff, a belt buckle, and jingling bells.

The two enter the meeting room together, and Maria continues her questioning.

“How long do you have to wear that?”

“Midnight,” Natasha responds as she takes her usual seat at the large conference table.

Steve comes in the door soon after, and after a brief pause of surprise, he gives his usual nod in greeting to the two and takes his seat beside her.

Natasha raises an amused brow at him.

“No comments?”

He shakes his head firmly.

“Nope, I know better.”

Immediately after his words, a figure comes rushing through the door.

“Oh my god, it’s true!” Tony exclaims gleefully. He shakes Bruce’s shoulders excitedly when the scientist enters the room.

“Quick, where is a matching hat to complete the outfit?”

Bruce brushes off his hand and distances himself from Tony when he sees the warning glare the Widow sends their way.

“Must have left it back at the lab,” Bruce responds nervously with a shrug before going to his seat.

Like Steve, besides a brief pause and a curious tilt of her head, Wanda does not comment on her attire when she enters.

After a moment, Sam strolls into the room, giving Natasha a grave look.

“You may need to check on your ride, Nat.”

Natasha straightens in her chair at his words, her brows pinching in confusion about who would ever mess with her motorcycle.

“What do you mean?”

Sam gestures over his shoulders, nodding seriously.

“Yeah, I just flew in from the roof, and I didn’t see your reindeers or sleigh anywhere.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and slumps back in her chair as Sam laughs at her reaction, patting her shoulder in jest before taking his seat.

Tony leans forward across the table excitedly.

“Oh, I have a question, and be honest with me here, Romanoff.” He pauses for a dramatic effect before saying teasingly.

“Am I on the naughty list?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and sighs in disgust, shooting him a deadpan glare.

Before she can respond, Natasha catches something at the corner of her eyes, and her glare swiftly turns to the Sokovian Avenger across the table, who fumbles with her phone in hand at the sudden attention.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Wanda gives her a sheepish smile, waving her phone lightly.

“I told Clint, and he asked if I could send a picture of you since he can't be here to see it.”

At her apologetic expression, Natasha sighs and waves her hand in resignation, giving Wanda permission.

Tony laughs and claps his hand in excitement at the sound her action makes, remarking, “Hey, can you shake your hands again? The bells really bring out the holiday spirit in here.”

Natasha is about to tell Tony where he can shove his holiday spirit when a stack of folders thrown against the table interrupts her, catching everyone’s attention.

Fury stands at the end of the table with a reprimanding expression.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s get this meeting started. No more jokes about Romanoff’s outfit.”

“Thanks, Fury,” Natasha says.

Without a beat of hesitation, he replies in his serious tone.

“Anytime, Santa.”

The whole room erupts into laughter, and the meeting ends up having to start much later after that comment.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Your phone chimes, signaling the end of your timer, and you go to the oven to check on your cookies.

Removing the tray of freshly baked cookies from the oven, you place it carefully on the table to cool off. Taking the baking gloves off your hand, you bend slightly to examine the baked treats to make sure that they are perfect.

As you straighten up, your back bumps into another body as familiar hands wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer.

“Mmm…those smell lovely,” Natasha compliments next to your ear.

You smile and lean into Natasha’s embrace, turning your head to greet her with a soft kiss on her cheek.

Natasha returns your affection, pressing a gentle kiss against your shoulder, before mumbling.

“It’s not even midnight, yet you’re already making my prize, makes me think you didn’t even plan on winning.”

You laugh lightly at her words before admitting.

“A deal’s a deal. Besides, I wanted to make some extra ones for you to bring in tomorrow too.”

Your hands fall atop hers, clasped around your front, as you play with the bells at the cuffs. The sound rings joyfully in your shared space.

“The others didn’t tease you too badly, did they?”

Natasha shrugs nonchalantly before responding.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“That’s good,” you reply, nodding your head.

As you get lost in her warmth, Natasha moves to take a cookie from the tray, but you notice and quickly slap her hand away lightly in a warning.

“No, they’re still hot,” you chastise her.

Natasha chuckles at you before turning you around in her arms and leaning in closer, her voice lowering to a tempting tone.

“Can I get my other prize while I wait then?”

With an amused smile, you cup her face and pull her in for a kiss.

Natasha’s arm tightens around you, pulling you closer in response and deepening the kiss.

After a moment, you pull back, your smile widening when Natasha tries to follow before stopping with a pout when you hold her face firmly in place to look into her eyes.

“By the way, Clint showed Laura and the kids a picture of you in the sweater, and they want you to wear it at their Christmas party this weekend,” you tell her.

“Will I get another reward if I wear this again?” Natasha says jokingly. She doesn’t need any more persuasion to wear the sweater again if it’s for the kids.

You tap your lips as if in fake contemplation before giving her a teasing smirk.

“Well, I did get you something that I think you will enjoy seeing me wear,” you say, leaning in close to her.

Natasha’s eyes glint in excitement before whispering against your lips.

“Yeah?”

Before she can bring you into another kiss, you pull away swiftly, turning around to check on the cookies.

“Guess we have to wait until after the party to see if you will get your prize,” you tease over your shoulder.

Natasha lets out an amused huff, shaking her head fondly at you, before sneaking a cookie from one of the piles that you’re making.

“Natasha!” You chastise with a small laugh.

She takes a purposeful bite of the cookie, wearing a victorious grin.

You roll your eyes fondly at her, then turn your attention to the piles of cookies in front of you.

Retrieving your already prepared festive goodie bags, each labeled with the names of your Avenger friends, you begin to separate and place them alongside the corresponding piles you’ve created.

When you finish, you clap your hands determinedly before declaring, “Alright, for each teasing comment they made to you today, they lose a cookie.”

Natasha’s grin widens in realization, and she gives you a quick kiss on your cheek, returning to her previous position of hugging you from behind before listing out the guilty parties.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading, hope you all have Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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sukunas-wife · 10 months ago

Text

Valentines Special

A little something for the masses 🤍💌 Happy Valentines Day everyone 🤍🤍🤍

“Two of whatever just came out.” Sukuna knew what came out, it was Friday on Friday they made snickerdoodles fresh. The smell always filled the school entrance and shoe locker room pulling students in to buy. He was always there just in time for the old to sell out and the fresh to come out. The same amount every day 143 yen, he kept the exact change daily in the stupid little coin pocket of his wallet. The jingle of his wallet while he took out the coins was always accompanied by the whispers and giggles of girls when Gojo Satoru would make his daily appearance gracing everyone with his cheeky smile, hands stuffed into his pockets, crude remarks being passed off as flirting.

“Thanks for that.” Gojo slid the pack of cookies Sukuna was about to pay for toward himself, “Fuck of Satoru don’t touch my shit unless your looking to lose the hand you jack off with.” Sukuna slammed the coins on the counter, snatching the pack away from him before walking away. He didn’t care to listen to whatever Gojo was screaming back at him, he had his own stuff to worry about, that stuff being finding you before you started running late to your class. Sure he was late to his classes but a teacher wouldn’t say a damn thing once they saw his face. But you, you were a mess. He didn’t understand what you saw in being Student Body President. You show up early to school, skip breakfast because your sense of time is shitty, stay late after school and always look so tired after dealing with incompetent fools. At lunch it’d be a miracle for you to eat on your own, more often than not he’s dragging you to the school's garden and feeding you whatever you packed him for lunch. And when it’s the right season, whatever fruit he can steal from the garden.

Perfect timing as always, he caught you running up the stairs. You stopped smiling up at him, he was at the top staring down at you, eyebrow raised at why you were holding your skirt down like you could flash anyone. Why were you wearing one of those slutty mini skirts anyways, usually only Gojo’s fan girl wore those to catch his eye. He usually saw you in those skirts that were knee length, sometimes ankle length. He liked it like that, you looked different from everyone else, it amused him when you’d grab the front of your skirt hitching it up to run up the stairs, his eyes would always long in your stocking covered squished thighs when you’d raise your skirt too high in a hurry. But this mini skirt, you didn’t miss the change in his face, and you looked down, “My skirt got torn by my desk and this is all the nurse had in the and found.. i don’t know how you lose a skirt really but…”

He sighed, “damnit Y/n you really are a mess ya know.” You watched as he untied the black sweater from his waist. He moved to stand behind you, one step down, “Ya know how many fucking perverts are in this damn school just waiting to get an up shot of some girls underwear.” You felt his arms come around your waist and you moved your hands away watching as he tied a knot with the sleeves, “It’s disgusting.” He didn’t move away, your hands rested on his around your waist, you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder, “What happens if one day I’m not here to take care of you huh?” You turned your face to look at him, his red eyes were staring down at you. You did your best to kiss his cheek, “I’ll just have to suffer alone Kuna.” He scoffed at you, “whatever.”

You couldn’t help the smile when you pressed your lips to his cheek again, your lips lingering and he hummed before moving to face you, catching your lips. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, smiling up at him, his eyes were lidded with a lazy smile. The warning bell pulled you out of your little lovey staring contest, “Change that skirt when you get the chance or I’m killing the first pervert to look up your skirt.” You rushed up the stairs and he leisurely followed behind til you made it to your class. He never failed to eye your class out of judgement, more specifically looking for that dumbass Gojo that was in your class. He was always ready to get into a fight with that prissy twink. You watched him make a face and looked into your class, there was Gojo Satoru, staring right at your boyfriend with a frown of his own. Between the two it was like watching an adolescent Snow Leopard and Tiger getting ready to fight for a fresh meal. What would you expect from two of the most well known families in your city? Satoru’s family was well into being wealthy, their lineage producing world class Models and successful doctors, it was no surprise when on show and tell in elementary school Satoru brought in magazine’s of a white haired blue eyed child saying he was a baby/toddler model. As for Sukuna’s family, they have a much longer history in this city then Satoru’s. Trumping Satoru’s family in wealth, but what would you expect from a family who had long been dedicated to beating the head of a successful and thriving branch of the Yakuza.

You remember the first time you met Sukuna’s father. Sukuna had taken you out to buy a traditional kimono, get your hair done with jade combs and pins. Telling you about how his father was a very traditional man with values such as, respect your elders and those above you, never steal or wrong the everyday man or woman, never disrupt the harmony of your family or those around you, never become involved with drugs and always act chivalrously. You admired the way he talked about his dad, he looked up to him with respect, admiration so you agreed to do the best you could.

His house was not just a house, it was a Shinden Zukuri, it was massive, and glorious. It was exactly what you would have expected from his father from just hearing of him. “It’s…amazing Sukuna.” You turned to look at him and he was smirking down at you, “I know it is.” He led you along the path to one of the entrances and to the Genkan, you slid your shoes off and held onto your bag. Following sukuna further into the house, and out onto the engawa of the home until he stops at another room, he slid the shoji door open telling you to enter. He took your bag, placing it on a shelf against the wall, and you looked around the room. It was almost empty except for the white men's kimono on the kimono rack. You looked at Sukuna. His school shirt was open and he pulled it off, throwing it over your head, “Leave that on.”

you heard the rustle of fabric, all you could see was the white fabric in front of you until we pulled it off of you and you looked up at him, his brow was furrowed as he tried to fix a hair comb that came loose. You could see a part of his chest showing through his Kimono, he leaned closer mumbling something about the comb being difficult. He smelt good, it was masculine but clean, he smelt like a candle he once bought you, Bergamot, Lavender and Cedar. You couldn’t help the little sniff you took and he let out a single laugh pulling away from you, “weirdo.”

You just smiled up at him and he led you further into the “home.” Stopping right outside double sliding doors, “alright, if you’re not ready by now, you’ll never be. So if you're not ready and you fail, sorry to break it to you now you’ll probably never see me again.” He gave you a cheeky smile when he saw your scared and worried expression, “Su-alright no backing out now.” He slid the doors open bowing and greeting his father, and there he was, frozen for a second the man was massive in size and he was only sitting. He was shirtless and covered in tattoos, you swallowed before dropping into a deep bow greeting him and introducing yourself in a calm but confident way. You didn’t look back up until you heard him let out a low chuckle and tell you to stand at ease. Your face was still looking down, if that’s what Sukuna was going to look like when he was older, there was already no doubt in your mind you wanted to marry him but if there was even a smidge or shadow it was gone. Sukuna’s father cleared his throat, “Sit, I want to learn more about the little lady who managed to leash my boy.” Sukuna groaned as he put a hand on your lower back, ushering you forward to sit with him across from his dad…. The rest was history.

The Late bell pulled you from your memory, “I’ll see you-at Lunch yeah yeah go before that teacher Yaga comes in and marks you absent.” He nodded with his head finally looking at you, you smiled. You saw the small twitch in the corner of his lips before he stepped back and started walking to his own class with no haste.

——————

It had been a week since that day but more importantly it was the weekend before valentines. Here you were in your kitchen doing everything to make the perfect gift. You’d gone to the store that morning spending a decent amount of your savings on things to make sweets and bake little things for him. There was no doubt in your mind that just like last year, your boyfriend's locker would be filled with love notes and chocolates that he’d either let you have your choice of or throw away. The love letters, you’d read and go though all the candy bullying him about his little secret admirers before he’d crumple them up throwing them into the trash.

But right now! You were focused on making homemade chocolate filled with red velvet cream, smooth white chocolate, or almonds. You had taste tested so many you finally got the right flavour. They weren’t bitter, but not overly sweet like the store chocolate you watched him make a face at, one time. On the other hand, you had little chocolate heart shaped cookies you’d decorated with royal icing trying to make cute valentines designs. The lines weren’t the cleanest or fanciest but you liked them enough to pack them into a little treat bag with a red bow and a name tag. The Chocolate you packed into a gold box with a bright red satin ribbon. And the little cake tin you chose was a gold tin with a clear top. You wanted to make a milky cake with whipped cream and strawberries. You even bought a bigger bento box to make a special lunch for him, you had it all planned out. It was a three layer bento. Your plan was to stuff him and push him into a food coma for his final class. The first was beef and vegetables with white rice with pickled plum and pickled ginger he always ate like it was nothing. The second layer was tempura shrimp, a pickled cucumber salad and fried rice. The final layer was two egg salad onigiri with sesame snap pea salad. On the side was going to be your cake and a little egg pudding. There was no way he’d be cranky in his last class if he was stuffed to the brim.

——————

“no more…” You watched Sukuna as he dramatically fell over into your lap breathing heavily as he huffed. One arm thrown over his eyes, the other hanging down still holding the onigiri he had yet to bite into. Your hand scratching his head gently, “Happy Valentine's Kuna.” You did your best to angle yourself and lean over to kiss his forehead. You didn't miss the smile on his lips when you pulled away, he held the onigiri up blocking the sun when he uncovered his eyes, the little face you worked so diligently on for him. “Maybe one more.” You watched wide eyes when he stuffed half of it in his mouth before holding it up to your lips, his cheeks puffed out while chewing, it was cute for someone who without a doubt could snap your neck or make anyone cry and want to die with just words without having to raise his voice. He hummed offering to feed you some of the onigiri again and you took a small bite. Before your finger came to pick a grain of rice off his cheek, it was cliche and even worse when he eyed your finger and pulled it to his lips licking the grain off. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.” His cheeky smile made you break out into a smile when he shoved the last of his rice ball into his mouth struggling to sit up, “damnit, I can’t.” He gave up and laid back in your lap, “I live here now.”

“Wait there’s one mo-no I can't I’m full, look at me.” He patted his stomach with his hands, you didn't see a difference in his fit form, that was until he saw the reflective gold and his eyes widened, “wait!” You watched him wiggling and struggling to sit up, putting a hand on his back to push him up, he made grabby hands at the tin when you pulled it away, “I thought you couldn’t- I can! I lied, I do that sometimes.” He tried to lean over you to grab it but you leaned further, so he did what he would never do publicly. He grabbed you and hauled you over into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist holding you there, “Now feed me y/n.” He rested his chin on your shoulder looking at the cake. Whipped cream and a heart made of strawberry purée and strawberries, “heh, you do all this for me, pretty girl?” Your smile was big and ungraceful when you laughed at his nose grazing your jaw and neck. “Yes, it’s all for you Sukuna, I wouldn’t do this much for anyone else.” You turned and kissed the side of his temple and he smiled, “cmon open it.” You fed him and he hummed, his chin resting on your shoulder tilting it so it rested against yours.

You sat like this for while feeding him and yourself until the bell rang, he squeezed you holding you against him, “C‘mom even little miss perfect can take a break, let’s stay out here a little longer.” You reluctantly agreed and kept feeding him what was left of the box cake. Eventually he just held you there, smiling and laughing at how you told him your story of how you messed up and your poor parents who had to be taste testers.

Soon the last school bell rang, he opened his eyes just barely glaring at the intercom that played the obnoxious chime. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other around your shoulders holding you against him. He was sitting back leaning against the plum tree the school planted. Your head on his chest, eyes closed with soft breaths, arm draped over his chest. His school coat was over you, he almost didn’t want to wake you, but his back and butt were aching from being in this slouched angle for so long. So slowly he started to sit up, trying to gently wake you, your eyes opening to look up at him. He was so beautiful in the setting sun in your eyes, “What time is it?” Your question went almost unanswered until he pulled out his phone, “it’s time to go home is all that matters.” You didn’t look away from his face and he looked back at you, holding eye contact. “Happy Valentine’s Day Kuna.” Your small tires smile and sleepy eyes squeezed his heart. He leaned in nuzzling his head to yours, “it’s not your day yet but Happy Valentine’s Day Brat.” You closed your eyes smiling until you felt his lips, you were delighted to kiss him back before he sat up pulling away, “we gotta get up my ass is starting to hurt.” You laughed getting up with the help of his outstretched hand, “I guess you’ll just have to take these home with you.” You didn’t miss the flash of excitement in his eyes when you pulled out the gold box of Chocolates and red ribbon tied cookies. You smiled and he grinned like a mad man carefully stuffing them into his bag.

“Ya know brat, I never celebrated Valentines before…” he trailed off and you didn’t miss the hint of pink on his cheeks, it made you smile and take his hand. “Guess I’ll just have to spoil you next year too.” He scoffed looking away but you didn’t miss the way he held on tighter to your hand, “Good because if you think you can just leave your dead wrong.”

It was the full bloom of red on his shocked face when you kissed his cheek so innocently and said “If I leave anything it’ll be my last name,” that assured you in a way he wouldn’t fight you on that subject.

Tag: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@cyder-puff @bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

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sparklingblu · 3 months ago

Text

Pulse

Sohyun X Xinyu

P.S: I'm trying a new style of writing here.

- x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x - x -

There's something calm and comforting about the crowded coffeeshop. The hissing of the espresso machine, the bustle of human conversation, the clinking of ceramic cups - they all seem to blend together to create a new yet totally familiar world. That's the reason I've come here. To be swallowed by this background noise and extract myself from reality if just for a moment.

I sit in my usual corner, my elbow against a cup of cappucino which has long since gone cold and a textbook opened but largely ignored. I have read the same line for the last thirty minutes but none of it seems to stick. I'm too distracted by the noise and my own thoughts, adrift in this place.

University is supposed to be a place where you "find yourself" but I seem to have lost my sense of direction as soon as I step my foot here. Everyone around me seems so sure of what they are doing, raised chests and energetic steps. Meanwhile, I'm just trying to keep my head down, pretending like I belong while I don't even know who I am yet.

Outside, the leaves are just starting to turn yellow - the afternoon light casting a lazy red glow on them. It's the start of a new season though I barely feel like anything have changed in this new life I'm settling into. It's just a struggle to fit in from day to day.

I bring my lips to the rim of my cofee cup, grmiacing as the bitter taste washes over me. It doesn't come as a surprise. The only reason people come here is for the atmosphere - to mingle and jingle . The cofee is just a necessity to stay.

I glance at the moving world from my seat near the window. A steady flow of students rush past the platfrom on the otherside, their laughter echoing through the glass. It's as if they know a secret I have yet to understand.

I pull the sleeve of my sweater over my knuckles, retreating into the soft fabric. Nearby, my phone buzzes with a notification from a group chat that I never have been a part of. I don't bother to check and it becomes one of the many sounds that fills the place.

I used to think university would be different - a total contrast to my mundane high school life. That I'd step into the place and everything will click into place. Like the rest of my life have been a prelude to this. But here I am. Already chickening out in the first week.

I chug down the remainder of my cold coffee, shove my books into the bag and was about to leave when a burst of cool air sweeps through the place, followed by the jingle of the bell above the door. And I happen to be one of those people who instictively gawk at the newcomer.

There she is, waltzing into the room like she owns it. The energy of the outside world seems to radiate from her body. There's nothing loud or brash about her but she draws attention anyway - an easy confidence that ripples through the place. She brushes a stray strand of hair our of her face, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

She stands out naturally,moving as if she's utterly home in her skin, in this place. It's the kind of self-insurance that seems totally foregin to me. I can't even imagine what it's like to be in her shoes. Not like I will have a chance. She's everything I'm not.

Her hair is slightly tousel, falling in loose waves that looks almost intentional. She's wearing a plain white shirt, its crispiness a total contrast to her slouch jeans.

She orders a cofee - espresso, no sugar- and while she waits, she cracks a joke at the waiteress, painting her cheeks red. All this time, my eyes linger on her with a strange sort of fascination, watching like she's the only form of enteratinment I have had in a long time. And it's true in a way.

She takes the plastic cup and the change from the waiteress with a smile. She turns and that's when the trouble starts. I have expected her to leave as swiftly as she has come. Someone like her probably have more important businesses than slothing around.

Her eyes dart around the café and it takes me a moment to realize she's looking for a seat. So she's staying. But luck doesn't seem to be on her side today beacaue every single seat has been occupied. Well, except..

"Hey" she says, and it's casual, like we have been friends forever. "Mind if I sit there?"

She's gesturing at the seat across from mine, which I have strategically left empty to create a distance between me and everything else. I hesistate a tad bit too long before I response.

"Sure" I mumble, nodding towards the chair.

She sits, sliding the cup of coffee on the table with a soft thud. I have expected her to pull out a phone or do anything a stranger sharing a table with another stranger would do. But instead, she leans back and scans the room before her eyes come to rest on me.

"I have seen you before" she speaks, offering a slight smile as if she can read my thoughts.

I blink, caught off-guard. No 'hello' s. No 'hi' s. Straight to the point.

"Have you?" I say, sounding awfully stiff.

"Yeah. You have been in the same corner for the last week. You come here a lot?" She sips her coffee, eyes still on me.

I shrug. "Not always. But yeah. It's quiet"

She raised an eyebrow, glancing around the packed café. "Quiet?" she repeats, half laughing. "Compared to the dining hall, perhaps"

Just then, I realize how rudiculous I must sound. "Well, not today" I admit, lowering my gaze back to the books. "But usually"

She laughs again, but not mockingly so. "I get where you are coming from. Sometimes, it's good to be alone even though you are not truly alone" She couldn't have worded it better.

"Exactly" I say, nodding slowly.

A brief silent passes between us. She sips from her cup again. If the cappucino here is strong, I can't imagine what espresso would taste like. But she shows no sign of distaste.

"So, what do you study?" she asks, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

"Literature" I answer, shifting in my seat. For some reason, talking about my major always make me feel like I'm giving something away. Like I'm exposing myself.

"Ahhh Literature" She repeats the word, as if she's trying to decipher its meaning. "That must be....intense. Lots of complicated story about lots of different stuffs"

I nod, still unsure where she's headed. "I guess so. It's more about trying to understand them through their words. Deep fry your brain sometimes"

She huffs. "I can imagine. That's why I try to understand them through their heads, it's less exhausting that way. I'm in psych"

That makes sense. She has this way of speaking, as if she knows what the other party will say before they even open their mouths. But at the same time, respecting their boundaries.

I'm still trying to think of a valid response when she lifts her cup and stare at the remaining coffee like she's studying it. Then her gaze lifts back to me, eyes bright.

"You know, espresso reminds me of people"

I blink, surprised at the strange comparison. "Espresso? Why?"

She beams, leaning in. "Espresso's small right? Concentrated. If you take a sip, there's this rush - sharp and intense. It hits you so intensely that if you are not prepared, it can be overwhelming"

She takes a sip, as if giving me time to register her words. "But if you take it in bit by bit, the taste changes. The bitterness mellows out and you can feel each layer of richness underneath"

I stare at her, my tired brain struggling to understand what she's implying. Why espresso, out of all things?

She leans back and continues. "People are like that. Emotions, life, they come at you in the most unexpected times - swift, chaotic. Sometimes it can be too much to handle. But if you give it some times, let it breathe, you start to see the little parts that makes it up. That's when you start to discover yourself"

I can't help but smile. "You have thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just obsessed with espresso"

"Not the one here, I hope"

She smiles, instantly getting what I'm implying. It seems she's a regular customer too. "You gotta work with what you have. But you get the point"

"So....people are like espresso? Is that why you study them?" I question as she finishes up the last few drops of her coffee. This girl really likes espresso.

"Exactly" she snaps. I'm not sure if she's joking here. "It has always been my dream to do a thesis on espresso and emotions"

"Are you....?" I drift off and she bursts into laughter.

I feel the slightest hint of joy, like by asking that stupid question, I have contributed to her amusement in some way.

"Serious? No way. I'm not risking my degree for my unhealthy addiction. The last person I explained this to leave the table as soon as I'm done"

"Well, I'm still here"

Does it sound too cheesy?

"I can see that" She glances at the clock on the wall, frowning slightly. "I should get going. I have a class to prepared for"

I nod, feeling that familiar twist that comes with endings. "Right. Of course"

She stands, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. "It was nice talking to you" she says, her voice warm. "You can call me Sohyun"

"Xinyu" I reply. It sounds so much easier to say my name now.

"Xinyu" She lets the word roll off her tongue. "I like it"

"Thanks" She's already walking to the door when I response.

With one last glance, she re-enters the reality outside of this comforting bubble. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, like the conversation I just had have dropped some hint to solve this puzzle called life.

Sohyun and Espresso and People.

How peculiar.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The walk back across the campus was pleasant. The scene that welcomes me when I enter my room is not.

As I enter, I'm greeted by the familiar chaos of Yooyeon's world - clothes draped over the chair, a half eaten bag of snacks spilling out on the desk and music playing softly in the background. The mess have become such an essential part of the space that without it, you doubt you will recognize the room.

Yooyeon looks up from her bed, where she's lounging with her phone. She's dressed causual with a twist as usual - an oversized grey t-shrit with the words "You Shall Not Pass" emblazoned across the front and swetpants of the same color. As soon as she notices me, an infectious grin spreads across her face

"Xinyu! You are back!" She exclaims, eyes bright. "Did you finally make a friend or are you still on a first name basis with the library?"

"Ha ha. Very funny" I retort sarcastically as I shove my bag on the bed. "But yeah. I guess so"

She immediately sits up, her attention solely on me. "Wait, what? For real?"

I can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. That's the thing about Yooyeon. It's like she has her own respirator of dopamine. Always on her feet. Not a hint of worry in those blue eyes.

"Her name's Sohyun. We met at the café" I answer, keeping my tone casual. One wrong octave and Yooyeon would immediately detect it.

"Ooooh, a café conversation, huh? Sounds like the opening to a great novel" She laughs, flopping back down to her bed. "What did you two talk about?"

I shrug, though I have anticipated the question. "Just espresso and....people"

Yooyeon grins even wider. "Don't tell me you spill your heart out. Cuz that would be really really-"

"It's nothing like that" I quickly interrupt. "It was just small talk. She's really easy to talk to"

"Easy is good. You need easy" Yooyeon bounces off her bed and start rummaging through her cupboard box of numerous books and posters. It has been a week and she still hasn't bothered to arrange her stuffs.

Not a moment sooner, she pulls out two bright blue mugs. "We should celebrate your burgeoning social life. I have got hot chocolate mix somewhere"

I roll my eyes. "You are impossible"

"Impossibly fun" Yooyeon winks as she pours the hot chocolate mix into the mugs and adds some hot water, the steam curling up. "You are on your way to becoming a social butterfly. Next thing you know, you will be hosting literary salons"

"Sure. After I finish this semester's readings" I reply lightly though the idea terrifies me.

Yooyeon hands me the steaming mug with a triumphant grin. "Here's to new friends and the magic of coffee! If you ever need a social coach to take you on this emotional espresso journey, I'm always available"

I take the mug from her, the warmth of it seeping into my palms. "No thanks"

"Aww come on. I can be the Ron to your Harry. Or the Peeta to your Katniss. Wait, nevermind. That's not a good idea" Yooyeon says, never failing to showcase her obsession with fiction. If Sohyun wants to do a thesis on espresso, Yooyeon would probably make one on Hunger Games. But her dream is closer to being a reality, given how she's in media studies.

"Isn't that the guy....who got like brainwashed or something?" I try to recall the memoies of the movie from time immemorial.

"Yeah. Poor Peeta..." Yooyeon says with a dreamy tone before she brings the mug to her lips.

"Fuck! It's hot" She yelps, immediately recoiling and almost spilling the hot drink.

"Who? Peeta?" I ask.

"No. The hot chocolate. Wait, no. I mean yes. Peeta, not this god awful drink" Yooyeon says while she furiously fans her mouth.

I can't help the chuckle that escape my lips. "I have always liked that Gale guy better"

Yooyeon's eyesbrow knit at my remark. And I already know a debate is headed my way.

"For starters,..."

And so it begins. I participate anyway although I know Yooyeon would win in the end as she always does. I'm not geeky enough for this.

But it doesn't matter. Because she's the only friend I have for now. Debating on fictional man not to be the odd one out doesn't seem so bad of a trade.

Would Sohyun like Gale better than Peeta?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

I'm up early the next morning. The kind of early that makes the world feels like it's still deciding whether or not it should go back to sleep. I look at the bedside clock - 5:55 am. Ha. I beat the alarm today.

Soft gray light shines through a hatch between the curtains, the world outside still enshrouded in the morning mist. All is quiet except for the occasional footsteps and soft snores of Yooyeon , whose face is half buried in the pillow. I smile, knowing she won't be up for at least an hour. The girl's have been up all night finishing an assignment.

I shiver slightly as the cool air grazes my skin when I pull the covers off. The mornings are getting colder, the first hints of autumn sneaking in. And it means I will have a harder time exiting the warm embrace of my sheets.

The chill in the air clings to me as I head towards the common bathroom. The hallways are empty at this time of the day. Not much early risers here. This building, Bradford Hall, is one of the older dorms on the campus. The floors creak with each step I take and the white paint on the wall have faded with age. For no reason, the place indulges a sense of legacy in me. Like I'm a part of something greater. Maybe it's the smell of chamomile that always hangs in the air.

The walk to the bathroom doesn't take long since my room's on the first floor. There's no burden of stairways. It takes five minutes tops for me to clean up - brush my teeth, wash my face and a couple arrangement of my messy hair that will stay the same way after. I still don't understand how some people manage to spend hours in the bathroom. Making yourself presentable shouldn't be that hard.

When I come back to the room, Yooyeon has tossed over, almost draping off the bed and murmuring something that sounds like a spell. She might be visiting middle-earth, Hogwarts and god knows where.

I cross over to my side of the room, the territory determined by an imaginary line Yooyeon have drawn on the first day. The room is barely big enough for two twin beds, a couple desks and a shared closet. My space is plain, simple. Almost empty except for the small lamp and the stack of books. It works fine by me.

Yooyeon's, however, is a total contrast. Her walls are covered with posters of whatever fictional book or movie you cam name. Not to mention the figurines that line her desk. "They give me motivation" Yooyeon has said. In my opinion, I wouldn't want an inch tall Darth Vader monitoring me all night. I bet Yooyeon would consider that 'hot' too.

I rummage through my closet without any initial dress code in mind. There isn't a need to worry. People wouldn't be up yet. There's no one to impress. I decide to go simple pulling on a bright blue sweater over my shirt and pulling on a pair of jeans. I slip on my worn-out sneakers, their familiar creaks greeting me. After a glance in the mirror, I decide to let my loose locks fall freely. I grab my bag and leave, careful not to wake Yooyeon, who's on the brink of falling off the bed.

The campus seems almost unrecognizable at this time of the day - the morning light bathing it in a warm glow that makes everything looks like it belongs to a painting. The air is still, undisturbed by the usual hustle of students. I take a deep breath as I make my way down the brick path.

The clues of autumn are scattered here and there - the air crisp and the leaves tinged with green and yellow like they haven't decided their favorite color yet. To my left, the towering main library roses like a cathedral, fog clinging to its ebony walls. The arched windows reflecting the sun rays.

Further down, the old lecture halls rise up on either sides of the path. They look like relics from the ancient past, a time unbeknownst. The ivy covered walls adding into its timelessness.

They weren't joking about this place being 'old'.

Ahead, the dining hall comes into view, no less younger than its confidants. With the dark wood beams and the high ceiling, it looks almost like a castle. The stone steps leading to the entrance are worn smooth by countless steps and the wooden doors, though thoroughly polished, creaks slightly as I push them open.

Inside, the place is most empty, save for a couple students scattered around. The smell of coffee and pastries fill the air, comforting in a way that makes me want to stay for hours. I grab a tray, throws on a couple of sandwiches and a glass of juice. My morning appetite have never been impressive.

I takes my usual place near one of the stained glass windows, spots of light showering on the table. I love this place. It's quiet and peaceful. Maybe except when Yooyeon's accompanying me.

I'm haflway through a cheese sandwich when the door swing opens.

Sohyun.

She walks in with a group of friends, at least five of them, talking and laughing. Their energy seemingly announcing they belong here.

Sohyun's dressed in almost the same way at our first meeting - a loose white shirt and cargos. And she strides across the hall with the same confidence from that day.

I didn't mean to stare but my eyes follow her, weaving through tables with her friends trailed behind. Like maybe our encounter was an interlude to something more.

I know I should go back to my sandwhich but when the soul craves, the body has to suffice. She turns my way just for a split second and without thinking, I give her a small smile. It's nothing special, really - just a 'Hey. I remember you from yesterday' kind of smile.

But Sohyun's eyes sweep over me as if I'm not even there and soon, she's swept up with her friends again, laughing at something they said.

It stings. Though it has no reason to. It's like a tiny blow that leaves you off-balance but not strong enough to knock you off your feet. Before I even realize it, my lips have pursed into a tight line and I'm already staring down at the unfinished plate of sandwiches. Maybe, yesterday was just a fever dream.

I didn't expect much, really. A nod, a wave, a smile - a sign of acknowledgement. Anything. I tell myself not to care. It's rudiculous to yearn for approval from someone you shared a coffee table with. But I can't help the cold weight settling in my chest.

I glance up at her again. She's still at the counter, taking her sweet time choosing her breakfast. The way she holds herself is so natural, like she belongs anywhere she goes. I envy that about her. I have always been needed to prove to earn a place in society while she just waltz through everything without a care.

Why is it bothering me so much?

Maybe I should be grateful for her brief cameo in my life. Or maybe it would have been better if we never met. Then she will just be another student who comes to eat breakfast. Not Sohyun.

But now, it's infecting me.

I take a sip of my orange juice, focusing on the cold liquid that wash down my throat. It's nothing, I tell myself. It's jst a stupid plea for attention. It doesn't matter. I have always been good at finding meanings in small thing but sometimes, small things are just......small. There's no more meaning to them than what they are.

Maybe that's all this is.

I watch her from the corner of my eyes as she settles down at a table with her friends, her laughter ringing out across the hall again. And for a momet, I almost want to laugh. Not because anything is funny but beacause how easily she moves through the world, through life.

And how easily she has forgotten me.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Over the next week, autumn have crept in like a quiet exhale. The trees have turned amber and yellow, their leaves falling in slow spiral onto tbe brick paths. The air has become sharp enough to sting my skin when I go out. It's the season of change, like people say. But this year, there's something unsettling about the sudden shift. Like I'm not ready for new beginnings.

Most of my time is spent surrounded by books and notes. Despite the constant pressure, it's nice to finally have a rhythm to life again. The rhythm that my fear of rejection have indulged. I have recovered quick and Sohyun has faded into nothing but another human whose life happen to cross ways with mine.

It's nothing to dwell on.

I sit at my desk, my table lamp casting a faint glow on the pages of 'Jane Eyre'. The word file opened on my laptop is still in the same state as it has been in the last hour - celan and empty. The syllables for the essay due tonight doesn't seem to be manifesting anytime soon.

I tap my fingers idly on the edge of the desk, glancing at the clock. It's nearly midnight now. The campus has gone still save for the ocassional laughter and footsteps of latecomers from the corridor. Peaceful. Quiet. But still not helping me collect my scattered thoughts.

I'm about to give up for the night and go to bed when the door suddenly flies open with a buest of energy and Yooyeon, in all her chaotic glory, stumbles into the room. She's panting, yet she has this wide grin plastered on her face.

I look up from my desk, startled by the sudden enteance. "Hey"

"Hey" she says, plopping down on the bed. "Guess what?"

I raise an eyebrow, bracing myself for whatever dramatic new she has to deliver. "What?"

"Yeonjun wants me to meet him at one of those fancy clubs. And he asked me to bring a friend" She grins even wider. "Guess who that friend's gonna be"

I blink. "Not me"

Yooyeons gives me a look, the kind that says she's not giving up until I give in. "Yes, you. Come on, Xinyu. You have been locked up here for so long. You need to get out"

"I've been studying" It's not enitirely a lie but it's not the truth either.

But Yooyeon's having none of it. "Studying, hiding, same difference. You are coming with me. Plus, it will be fun. Who know? Maybe you will even find a cute boy" She winks, then whispers. "Or a girl"

I'm not quick enough to surpress the blush that creeps up my cheek. "Yooyeon!"

"What? Don't tell me you still can't forget Ms. Espresso"

"This has nothing to do with her" To my surprise, my voice comes out shrill. "I'm just-"

"Blah blah blah. More excuses" Yooyeon cuts me off. "Come on, Xinyu. You will be doing me a huge favour. Yeonjun thinks I have no friends"

"You do have friends"

"Yeah. But no one would be available this late. And I'd rather go with you. You are....less dramatic"

Despite myself, I can't help but chuckle. "You mean 'naive' "

She shrugs, throwing a pillow at me. "You know what I mean. I don't need to worry about you throwing up or passing out or sleeping with the wrong guy"

"You just wants a wingwoman who will behave"

"Exactly" Yooyeon snaps. "So, what do you say? We'll go meet Yeonjun, hangs out for a bit. Then, we can come back to your books if you want"

I glance at my laptop, ths text cursor blinking in and out of existence as if reminding me of the marks soon to be lost. It's tempting to stay here but Yooyeon's right. Perhaps, I can take a breather just this once.

I sigh, pushing my chair back. "Fine. But don't expect me to drag your drunk ass back here"

Yooyeon lets out a triumphant squeal, practically bouncing off the bed. "Yes! You won't regret it"

She's already heading to the door when I throw a sweater over my shoulder. Yooyeon's dressed in her usual fit - jeans and a Lord of the Rings shirt, the one that says "You shalll not pass".

"Seriously? You are wearing that shirt again?" I ask, eyeing her.

Yooyeon shrinks away in mock offense. "Excuse me? Have some respect for the classics. Everybody loves Gandalf"

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Let's go"

As soon as we step out of the building, we are hit by the cool night air. The campus is fast asleep, the street lamps casting long shadows across the brick paths. It feels peaceful, almost serene.

Yooyeon immediately starts chattering about this new Draco-Harry fiction, her hands waving animatedly as she speaks. I listen, half-distracted, my thoughts finding their way back to a topic unexplored for some times - Sohyun.

Maybe that morning in the dinining hall doesn't mean anything. It's jut a moment, and moments pass.

Despite the countless convincements, a part of me still wonders. What if she had smiled back? What if things have happened differently?

"Earth to Xinyu. Helloooooo" Yooyeon's voice break through my thoughts and I realize she has been talking to me this whole time.

"Sorry" I mumble, recomposing myself. "What were you saying?"

"I said, what do you think of Yeonjun?"

"He seems...nice" I answer, though I barely remember the guy.

Yooyeon grins, clearly pleased. "I know, right? He's the sweetest. And he's really into Harry Potter too, so that's a bonus"

I hum in agreement. Yooyeon's world seems so simple - vibrant, full of energy. Meanwhile, mine feels like the polar opposite. I'm always overthinking, second-guessing.

"Hey" Yooyeon nudges me with her elbow. "You are being all broody again. Stop it. We are going to have fun"

"Yeah, okay" I say, offering her a small smile.

I breath in the autumn air, hoping that mayb, I can stop cllinging onto a loose thread.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The club is a short walk off campus, tucked into a narrow street line with food trucks and cafés that come alive at night. As me and Yooyeon approach, the distant music grows louder, the rhythmic bass reverberating beneath our feet.

A small line of people snaked out of the entrance, marked by a neon sign displaying its name "The Tavern". The building itself is unassuming, with dark brick walls and small windows dimly lit from the inside.

When we step in, the place opens into a large space with low lighting. The bar run along one side while the rest of the room is a dance floor, dotted with tables around the edge. The air is buzzing with music and energy - people pressed close together, shouting whatever on their mind over the DJ's beat. It's an enitrely different world from the quiet, orderly campus.

"There he is!" Yooyeon yells over the music, wavibg wildly at someone near the bar. I follow her gaze and find a guy leaning against the counter, already grinning like a madman. Yeonjun. I recognize him from the first (and the only) time Yooyeon introduced me. He seems to reflect Yooyeon's restless vigour - a match made in heaven (or Hogwarts, whatever).

"Yeonjun. You remember Xinyu, right?" she says, taking her place next to him. He offers me a smile, not too over the top, but friendly enough. "The one who's always drowning in books?"

I give him an awkward wave. "Hey"

"Nice to meet you again" He says, his voice smooth. "Yooyeon's always talking about you"

"Only good things, I hope"

He laughs. "All good. Don't worry"

Yooyeon reaches for Yeonjun's half-finished shot of whiskey on the counter but get stopped by a firm grip on her wrist.

"Eh eh eh. You are ordering your own drink, miss"

Yooyeon pouts at Yeonjun's remark. "You don't even want to share a drink with your girlfriend?"

"You see. The reason it's called a 'shot' is that it's meant to be savoured by a single individual" Yeonjun's voice has gone unsettlingly serious.

"And they say Xinyu's the smart one" Yooyeon says, punching his arm.

"And they say men are the agressors" Yeonjun retorts. "How do you even deal with this witch, Xinyu?"

Before I can think of anything to say, Yooyeon grabs his arm. "Before I cast a casual Crucio on your sorry ass, we should get to the dance floor"

Yeonjun didn't argue with that. The banter is just their way of communicating. "Xinyu, you should come too" he invites.

"Uh.....no. I'm good. You two go ahead"

"Are you sure?" Yooyeon asks, despite knowing nothing can budge me. "It wil be fun, I promise"

I shake my head, smiling. "I will pass. I think I will just....get a drink"

Yooyeon is silent for a moment, then she's off, dragging Yeonjun into the sea of bodies. I watch them disappear, Yooyeon's laughter echoing back, carefree and loud, like she's exactly where she belongs.

Me, though? Not so much. So, I head to the bar,sliding onto one of the stools and order a Coke. There's no need for anything stronger. I can barely tolerate anything that have the slightest bit of alcohol and that's speaking from experience. The bartender barely looks at me as he hands it over, already moving on to his next order.

I take a sip and glance around. The place is packed, bodies moving in rhythm, couples tangled up in each other and some loners who are just swaying, lost in the music. It's loud, chaotic and I feel totally out of place. It's not that I don't want to have fun - I just don't know how to in place like this. Maybe my definition of 'fun' is different from everyone here.

I lean back against the bar and take another sip. The girls here are all glitter and glamour - tight dresses, high heels and bold colors, shimmering under the disco light. Like the night is made for them.

And then there's me in my oversized sweater and faded jeans. My white sneakers seems an imposter to their sleek heels. I have been so eager to get out of my comfort zone for once that I forget to do the necessary preparations.

I search for Yooyeon's familiar face in the crowd, but she's lost in the restless horde, probably twirling around with Yeonjun. I'm happy for her but all I feel is...detached. It's pathetic. I know. I'm too old not to know my constant fear of being the outsider, of being denied.

I'm halfway through my coke when I feel someone slide into the seat next to me, the barstool creaking under the weight. I didn't look up, hoping that it's just another stranger who comes to mind their own business. But then, he clears his throat, loud enugh for me not to ignore.

"Hey" a voice rings out, smooth but with a cocky edge.

I glanced over and there he is - perfect hair, gleaming jacket and a gold chain around hid neck. I might not be the best at socializing but I recognize the type immediately - the kind that's used to getting everything he wants. I can see it from his look, like he spends too much time in front of the mirror. He gives me a lazy smile, the one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Come here often?" He ask, leaning a bit too close. His cologne is strong and mixed with the sour stench of his breath, it's impossible not to flinch

"No" I say flatly, taking a sip of my coke.

"That's a shame. You should. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be sitting alone"

I bristle at that, the compliment feeling more like an insult. "I'm not really into clubs" I reply, my lazy tone desperately showing my lack of interest.

He either doesn't know or care. Instead, he leans closer, his elbow casually resting on the bar next to me. "You just haven't found the right sort of people. I could show you a good time, you know"

I swallow a sigh, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm fine, thanks"

But he only smiles wider, as if my rejection is part of a game he's used to playing. "You sure? Cuz I don't see anyone with you here. How about I buy you another drink? Something better than coke"

"No, really. I'm good" I say, more firmly this time, hoping he will get the message. But the bastard won't take his eyes off me.

"You are playing hard to get, huh?" He tilts his head. "You wouldn't believe how many girls like you I have seen. Acting all tough, only to end up in my bed at the end"

That did the job for me. I straighten up in my seat. "Can you just leave me alone?"

"Oh, come one. I'm just-"

"Fuck off, Taeil"

A voice cuts through the tension and I instinctively turn my head toward the source. Sohyun stands a few feet away, arms folded. Her shirt has been tucked into her dark jeans, casual but sharp. Her eyes narrow onto the guy who is now known as Taeil, as if she's used to seeing the scene plays out.

Taeil straighten up, his smile wavering. "Relax. We are just talking"

"No, you are not" Sohyun steps closer, gaze hard and unblinking. "Here's what's gonna happen. You are going to walk away and leave her alone.

Taeil's smirk returns but it's not so sure as before. "And what exactly are you going to do if I don't?"

Sohyun's lips curve into a smile, one colder than any I have seen from her. She pulls out her phone, holding it up for him to see. "Let's see. I don't think your parents will be so happy to see their son acting like a druggie. Plus, it wouldn't be good for either you or your parents if the video end up in the wrong hands"

All the color drain out if Taeil's face, leaving him gaping. "You are blaffing" He protests, though the panic is clear as day in his voice.

"You know I'm not" Sohyun smiles like a predator who has cornered its prey. "So, fuck off"

For a moment, there's silence, the music filling in the temporary gap. Taeil shifts on his feet, his confidence all gone and finally, he lets out a sharp breath. "Fine. Whatever" His eyes flash with fury. "But this isn't over yet"

Sohyun gives him a mock wave, wriggling her fingers as he strides out of the club.

I exhale, realizing I have been holding my breath. I look over at Sohyun, who's still standing there with her phne. A neutral look has returned to her face. Like the Sohyun just a moment ago was a totally different person.

"You ok?" She asks, sliding her phone back into her pocket.

"I - yeah. Thanks" I reply, still a little stunned.

She shrugs, giving me a small smile, genuine this time. "That guy's a creep"

I nod, processing everything that has happend in the last few minutes. Sohyun, the psychologist. Sohyun, the saviour. What isn't she?

She pulls up the stool next to mine, the one Taeil has occupied just a moment ago and settles in. I shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of her presence, of how close she is. The bar light cast little shadows on her face, illluminating the little details on her face I haven't noticed before. The tiny mole on her nose catches the light first, then the one under her left eye. They are so small, barely there but they stand out now that I'm seeing her up close.

"First time here?" She asks. How she knows, I have no idea. Maybe it's my my clothes that give it away.

"Yeah" I admits, a little sheepishly. "It's not really my kind of place"

Sohyun raises an eyebrow, amused but not surprised. "Yeah, I figured. You don't exactly look like you are having the time of your life"

I let out a small laugh. "Is it that obvious?"

She smirks, her eyes flickering over to my outfit. "Just a little"

I glance down, fidgeting with the edge of my sweater, suddenly even more aware of my appearance. "It's not really.....I don't usually go to places like this"

"So, not a party person?" Sohyun's voice is more curious than judegemental.

"Not really" I admit. "I'm more of a...stay-in and read type"

Her smile grows and for a moment, the chaotic sounds of the club faded as if we are alone. "Well, you are here now. So might as well try to enjoy it"

She's so easygoing, so at ease with herself it makes me want to throw caution to the wind too. But then, I remembered that morning in the dining hall and my stomach twists. The memory is still nagging at the back of my mind. I bite my lower lip, debating whether or not I should bring up the subject.

Sohyun takes a sip from my nearly empty can of coke and before I can stop myself, the words spill out. "I saw you the other morning. At the dining hall"

Her eyebrows knit together in curiousity. "Oh?"

"I smiled at you" I say. "But you didn't see me"

Or act like you don't, I thought.

Her eyes widen for a moment before she speaks."Wait, really? Xinyu, I'm sorry. I didn't see you"

I blink. "You didn't?"

She shakes her head. "I swear. If I'd seen you, I would have smiled back. I promise. I guess I was just in my own head then. I'm sorry"

Her words are soft, delicate and sincere. It unravels the knot in my stomach I have pretended to be non-existent. Still, she could be lying but I decide to trust her,realizing how much I care about what she thinks of me.

I galnce away, feeling my cheeks heat up slightly. "It's okay" I mumble, sipping from the empty can of coke. "I just thought....maybe I'd misread things"

Sohyun gives me a small, warm smile. "You didn't misread anything. I'm sorry if you feel like that"

She's apologizing too much now it's starting to get uncomfortable. So I dismiss it with a nod.

Sohyun shifts in her seat, her eyes flickering down to my sweater, which have bunched up awkwardly from the way I have been sitting. Before I can fix it myself, she reaches over. Her finges gently tug at the hem of my sweater, smoothing it down without a second thought.

"There" she says, her hand lingering a moment longer more before she pulls it back.

I'm still processing the gesture when almost absentmindedly, she reaches out and brush a stray strand of my hair out of my eyes. Her fingertips skim the side of my face and for a moment, time slows down - just enough for me to notice the way her eyes soften.

"There you go" she says, leaning back. "Now you are perfectly suited for the night life"

We both smile at that and for a heartbeat, I swear I can feel something shift between us. Something I can't quite name. Something that might as well be a misinterpreted signal.

The air settles into a quiet lull, the ghost of her fingers still tingling on my skin. The warmth of the moment hangs awkwardly between us and for a moment, all I can do is sit there, actuely aware of the silent between us.

"So..." I clear my throat. "Do you come here alone too?"

The corner of her mouth quriks up like she finds my question amusing. "Alone?" she repeats. "No. Not really. I'm here with my friends most of the time"

I nod. "So, are they here tonight?"

She glances towards the dance floor. "Yeah. They are somewhere out there" she says with a small laugh. "I kinda slipped away for a bit. Needed a break"

A break. From what, though? The noise? The people? The club?

I hesistate for a second. "Not really your scene either?"

She gives me a sideway glance. "It's fun but...sometimes, I don't know. It can geta little old. Same people, same music"

"Yeah" I agree. "I get that"

She taps her fingers against the bar, thoughtful for a moment. "What about you? Do you come here yourself or did Yooyeon drag you here?"

My eyes widen. "You know Yooyeon?"

Sohyun chuckles softly. "We are friends on instagram. She followed me first, I think? She seems fun"

I can't help but laugh at that. "Yeah. She's definitely fun"

Sohyun tilts her head, as if searching for Yooyeon in the crowd. "She told me she's your roommate when I mentioned I see you in one of her stories. She's been hyping you up"

"She -what?" I stare at her, feeling the panic rising in my chest. "Hyping me up?"

Sohyun greans, leaning in just close enough for me to catch a faint scent of her perfume. "Yeah. She says you are a lot cooler than you let on"

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. "That's Yooyeon....being Yooyeon"

"Well, she's not wrong" Sohyun adds, her eyes catching mine for a split second before she goes back to staring at the dance floor.

The silence settles in again, like an early intermission. Sohyun's eyes flicker back to me and I try to ignore the way she's watching me like she's considering something. I sip at the can of Coke that has been emptied long since.

"Do you wanna get out of here?" She asks so casually, like it's something she asks anyone alone in a night like this.

"What?" I ask, unsure if I've heard it right over the loud music.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. "It's too loud. And hot. Let's do something fun"

I hesistate, unknowingly squeezing the coke can flat. "Like what?"

Sohyun gives me a small smile, laced with certainity and mischeif. "Trust me. You will like it"

There's something in her voice that disarms me. Perhaps it's because this night has already been so surreal, with Yooyeon dragging me here, the drinks, the noise and then Taeil's annoying persistence. And now, Sohyun, who had seemingly ignored me is suddenly offering to whisk me away. It feels like too much, and yet, somehow, not enough.

I find myself nodding faster than my brain can catch up. "Okay"

Sohyun stands, sliding a couple bills on the counter before I can protest. She doesn't say anything, just gestures towards the door, and I follow her out of the club.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The air outside is sharp and cold and for once I'm grateful for my out of place sweater. Sohyun, however, doesn't seem to be fazed. If not, she seems to be enjoying it.

The music fades into the distant as we walk in silence, winding through the quieter streets near the campus. I don't ask where we are going and she doesn't offer an explanation. Instead, we fall into step beside each other, our shoulders brushing ocassionally. My pulse is still racing, though I don't know if it's from the club or from the cold.

Sohyun's pace is unhurried, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans and I keep my arms wrapped around myself, pulling my sweater tight. After a while, we reach one of the taller campus buildings, its ivy covered walls bathed in the moonlight. During the day, these buildings always looks heavy, weighted down by unknown legacies. But under the silvery gloom of night, it has all been replaced by a strange sort of calm.

"Come" Sohyun gestures towards the side door as she leads me in. The hallway is dim, lit only by the low, humming lights overhead. She doesn't say a word as she climbs up the stairs, up and up until we reach the top floor. I'm breathless by the time we come to a stop in front of an old, rusted door, with a faded sign that reads Roof Access: Authorized Personnel Only.

Sohyun gives me a quick wink as she pushed open the door with a soft creak. "Not like anyone ever come here" She mutters to herself as she steps out into the night.

I follow her onto the roof, and for a moment, I'm stunned. The sky stretches out above us, a blanket of stars scattered across the black canvas of night. The city lights flicker below and I can still hear the distant sound of traffic but for the most part, it's quiet. Like the rooftop itself is another world within this world. The wind tugs at my sweater and I pull it even tighter around me, bracing against the sudden rush of cold.

Sohyun is already sitting at the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the side, her gaze fixed on the stars. She pats the spot next to her and I sit, careful to keep a distance between us.

I tilt my head up, admiring the stars, feeling the enormity of the night settling down on me. "You come here often?"

"Yeah" Sohyun says, her voice soft. "Whenever I need to think. Or when I just need a breather"

I nod, unsure what to say. This isn't what I expected when she said something fun. But in a way, it's better.

We sit in silent for a moment, the only sounds the wind and the distant hum of the city below. This calm, it's peaceful and stirring at the same time. As if there's a deeper meaning to it that I can't quite grasp.

"It's funny" she says. "Back in the country, I used to lie out in the fields and just....watch the stars. Sometimes, I would stare at them for hours. It never fails to soothe me"

I watch the way her eyes trace the sky as if she's searching for something. To be honest, I have expected someone like her to be from a big city. An image of her anywhere else is unimaginable.

"Must've been nice" I murmur. "Being able to see them so clearly"

She nods. "Yeah. It's not the same here. The city kinda takes over. Light pollution and all"

I can hear the nostalgia in her voice and for a moment, I imagine her as a little girl lying under that wide country sky, her face lit by starlight. There's something tender about it, something that makes me want to reach for a fragment of her from a different time.

After a pause, I point up at the sky. "Well, we've got stars here too. Not as bright, but they are still there"

Sohyun tilts her head, following where I'm pointing and I can't help but smile a little. "Okay, bear with my nerdiness for a second"

She chuckles. "Go for it"

I lift my hand, tracing an invisible line through the air. "That's Orion. See the three stars right there, in a row? That's his belt"

Sohyun squints, trying to follow. "Oh, I think I see it"

"Orion was a hunter" my voice dropping slightly as I tell the story. "A really good one too. Some says he fell in love with the goddess Artemis but her brother, Apollo, wasn't too happy about it so he tricked Artemis into killing Orion" I pause. "She realized her mistake too late and heartbroken, she placed him among the stars so she can always see him"

The story hangs in the air when I finish. I glance at Sohyun, her face bathed in a soft glow. She's quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

"That's kind of sad" she says quietly.

"Yeah" I whisper. "It is"

I shift slightly, turning to face her and she does the same. Our eyes meet and for a moment, the world stills. I notice the way her hair flatters with the breeze, the city lights reflected in her eyes and the faint smile tug at her lips.

"You are really something, you know that?" she says, her voice low. "Is this your revenge for my espresso lecture?"

I blink, then smiles, feeling the tension melt away. "Maybe" I say, my voice almost teasing. "But instead of coffee, I use tragic mythological hunters"

Sohyun tilts her head, her smile widening. "Touché. You really know how to open-up someone"

"It's a natural talent" I shrug, although my sarcastic tone gives away the bluff.

"So, this is how you get back at people?" She continues, her voice still teasing. "By making them feel guilty for their ignorance about constellations"

I laugh, rolling my eyes. "Please, you are not the first person to endure my mythology rants. Consider yourself lucky it wasn't longer"

"And I thought my espresso thesis was bad enough"

It's like we are back in the café except that now, I'm the one doing most of the talking. But we are still the same two people with their own crazy obsessions.

Then in the lightest of gestures, Sohyun reaches out. Her fingers find the sleeve of my sweater, gently tugging at the cuff, as though fixing it, like she did earlier. She looks at me, eyes warm and amused.

"Revenge or not" she says, letting her hand fall back to her side. "I think I like your stories"

I swallow, trying not to lose my footing in the closeness of the moment. "Well" I managed to say, my voice uneven. "Next time, I will make sure to pick a happier story"

Sohyun chuckles, leaning back, although her eyes never leave me. "I will hold you to that"

The air around us suddenly become charged with something unspoken. There's a quiet, almost reverent pause in the conversation as if neither of us wants to break whatever delicate thread is holding this moment together.

Sohyun shifts slightly, inching just the slightest to my side. The stars seem to burn brighter, and I find myself leaning into the silence, into the space between us that feels both heavy and light at the same time.

"Do you ever feel like....." Sohyun starts, her voice quiet, like she's speaking into the night as much as to me. "Like everything around you is waiting for something to happen?"

I blink, her words sinking into the stillness. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze flickers back to the stars. "Like....right now, for instance" Her eyes meet mine again, and there's something in her expression, like she's trying to find the right words. "It's like we are on the edge of something"

Her words send a shiver through me, not from the cold but the hidden meaning underneath. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but it's one I've been pushing aside ever since we met. The strange pull towards her, a quiet fascination that has grown into something else entirely, something that's so wrong and so right at once.

I glance at her and find myself staring at the mole under her left eye, like I'm seeing her for the first time.

"I know what you mean" I finally say, my voice almost too quiet like I'm afraid to break this fragile peace between us. My hands tighten around the railing and I glance down for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "It's like.....something have changed"

She moves an inch more closer, the space between us nearly non-existent now. I wonder if she can hear my heartbeat now. My breath catch in my throat as she leans in, enough to cover the remaining space distancing us.

"You are right" she says softly. "Something has changed"

It's so quiet, her voice almost swallowed by the night. MY gaze flickers to her lips for a second - a brief unintentional moment that I quickly pull back from. But I wasn't quick enough.

Sohyun notices. I can see it in her way her expression shifts. And she knows that I know that she knows. Her hand, resting casually on the railing, moves slightly, her fingers brushing against mine in the lightest of touches. It's barely a graze but it's enough to send electricity tingling through my nerves.

The moment stretches, suspended between us, as if we're waiting for something to happen or maybe just waiting for one of us to make a move. The tension is palpable now, not uncomfortable, but thick, charged with possibility.

I can't tell who moves first, or if we even move at all. It's like an invisible force has suddenly drawn us together. Her face is so close now, I can see the way my breath mingles with hers in the cool night air.

Then slowly - so slowly it feels like the world is holding its breath - Sohyun lifts her hand. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my sweater, smoothing a wrinkle near my shoulder like she did the last two times. But this time, it's different. There's an unspoken intentionality to it that makes my breath quickens.

Her hand lingers, tracing the fabric for a moment longer than necessary. And then, without breaking eye contact, she lifts her other hand, gently tucking a strand of stray hair way from my face and tucking it behind my ear. The tender touch send a warmth through me.

Suddenly, everything feels sharper, more vivid - the sound of the wind, the soft glow of the city lights, the way her fingers linger near my cheek, as if she's waiting for my permission to go further.

"Sohyun..." I whisper, not even sure what I'm trying to say, but needing to say something, anything, to break the tension between us.

But she doesn't move. She just watches me, her eyes searching mine, her hand still resting gently on my cheek. "Is this okay?" she asks as if it's a secret we only know.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak without stuttering, unable to think of anything but the way her breath feels against my skin.

And then so so slowly, it feels like time has stopped, she leans in.

Her lips brush against mine in the lightest of touches, barely a kiss at all, more like a promise, like she's testing the waters, waiting for me to pull away, to tell her to stop.

But I don't. I won't.

Because in that moment, everything have ceased to exist - the city, the stars, the quiet night around us. All that's left is the warmth of her lips, the way they press against mine, gentle but certain.

I kiss her back, just as softly, just as tentatively. And for a moment, it feels like my life has reached its epitome.

Sohyun's hand, resting near my cheek, slides down to cup my jaw, her fingers warm against my skin. She tilts her head slightly, pressing her lips more firmly against mine, and I feel a soft sigh escape me before I could stop it.

My hands, awkward at first, find their way to her waist. I hold her there, not too tight, but enough to feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric. She responds by pulling me closer, her fingers slipping into my hair, tugging me gently, deepening the kiss.

Her hands move from my jaw, sliding down my neck, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin there. My heart is pounding louder than the wind around us, around the city below. The kiss becomes more insistent, more desperate, as if we are trying to say something through it, something words can't describe.

Sohyun's lips parts with mine and for a moment, I think she's finally pulling away. But instead, she moves closer, her breath ghosting against my jawline. A soft shiver runs through me when I feel the first press of her lips against my neck, light and teasing.

Her mouth moves slowly, gently exploring, like she's savoring the taste of my skin. Her lips trail down the side of my neck, and when she presses a firmer kiss jut below my ear, I can't stop the quiet gasp that betrays my lips.

Sohyun hears it. Of course, she does. And I feel her smile against my skin.

"You are so sensitive here, Xinyu" she whipsers before her lips continue their path lower, her hands finding the back of my neck.

When she presses an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of my neck, her tongue barley flicking against my skin, I feel my whole body tense with the intensity of it. My hands tighten around her waist, pulling her even closer, yearning for more.

"Sohyun..." I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice and her response is to kiss me harder, her lips hot against the sensitive skin of my neck.

The world won't stop spinning, I reduced to nothing but the sensation of her mouth, the warmth of her body against mine and the quiet, breathless sounds that fill the space between us. It's overwhelming and yet, I can't imagine it stopping anytime soon.

When it finally does, I can still feel the ghost of her lips lingering on my skin. I feel her breath, close to my neck for a second longer before she pulls back. The cool night air rushes in where her lips had been, but the heat she left behind stays, radiating beneath my skin.

I open my eyes, barely realizing I have closed them and glance at her. Sohyun doesn't say a word. She just leans in, her dark locks scattering as she rests her head on my shoulder. Her gaze is fixed on the stars, unblinking as if she's trying to imprint them to memory.

But then, without looking away, she lets out a quiet breath and says, so softly I almost miss it.

"Fucking Apollo"

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

#triples #park sohyun #zhou xinyu #kpop fluff #girl group fluff #kpop fanfic

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