#senior programmer

[wild-saber1337]

TEAM KANOHI HELP WANTED???

I found out team kanohi is hiring sadly I don't qualify for the job but maybe one of you guys would like to apply so go check them out!!!!

[misogynist-lesbian]

The flipside is the chance of me (senior dev) building what it is you actually want depends ENTIRELY on how clearly you explained it to me in the first place.

I mostly keep junior devs around to do the work I don't want to do.

Project managers exist solely to provide job security for senior developers. They chase so many senior devs completely out of the industry and into startups that we're always in demand!

[frog707]

There's a reason he's called the Cookie Monster. You don't want to get in his way.

Fun facts: he was created in 1966, so he's about 59 years old now. Also, his real name is "Sid".

[fitnessmith]

Zone 2 : le cardio qui fait fondre la graisse après 50 ans

[hotzimbabwejobs]

Senior Programme Officer - Trade Opportunity at SADC - February 2025

The Southern African Development Community (SADC) is seeking a qualified and experienced individual for the position of Senior Programme Officer – Trade. This role offers an exciting opportunity to contribute to regional integration and development within Southern Africa. About SADC: SADC is a regional economic community committed to fostering socio-economic, political, and security cooperation…

[codesandprogramms]

5 Things Your NodeJS Developer Can Do That You Should Leverage

When you hire talent for your web app development projects you must invest in professionals who can bring a wealth of expertise. Node.js developers are highly regarded for delivering high-performance applications with scalable solutions and real-time data processing.

When you hire Node.js app developers you should be able to optimally leverage their skills and expertise. In this article, let’s understand the 5 essential things that a NodeJs developer can do to boost your business’s digital capabilities.

What Does a Node Js Developer Do

Node Js developers are specialists in building server-side applications using JavaScript. They build efficient and scalable applications that handle asynchronous programming, integrate APIs, and ensure robust backend services.

5 key things you must leverage when you hire Node js programmers are:

Implementing real-time features

Modern web apps must have real-time capabilities like chatbots, push notifications, and teamwork tools. Because Node.js supports WebSockets, which enable two-way communication between the client and server, it’s perfect for real-time applications. Invest in Node.js programmers to enhance user engagement and experience by adding real-time capabilities to your applications.

Developing high-performance applications

High-performance and fast applications are a specialty of Node.js developers. Because of its non-blocking, event-driven architecture, Node.js is ideal for applications that effectively manage a high number of simultaneous connections. By making use of this feature, you can make sure that even with high loads, your application stays quick and responsive.

Enhancing security

A primary concern for any application is security. Nodejs experts put security best practices into effect, to guard your application against malicious attacks like SQL injection, cross-site scripting (XSS), and cross-site request forgery (CSRF). You can guarantee the security and reliability of your application by utilizing their knowledge.

Ensuring scalability

Scalability is essential for every expanding company. Scalable apps that can manage a growing number of users and requests can be created by Node.js developers. They are able to put into practice the microservices architecture, which enables the independent scaling of various application components. This guarantees that your application will expand together with your company.

Optimizing performance and debugging

Application performance is monitored and optimized by Node.js developers using various tools and methodologies. When you hire Nodejs app developers for a web app project you are able to locate bottlenecks, address defects, and guarantee that the program functions properly. By continuing to operate at peak efficiency, they contribute to giving users a flawless experience.

Investing in Node JS developers can prove to be a strategic move for a business looking to build robust and high-performance applications. To ensure you can attract and retain top talent in the industry, use tools like the Uplers salary analysis tool. You can garner real-time insights for junior to senior node js developer salaries. This will help you align your compensation strategy with the existing salary trends to make an equitable and competitive job offer. 

Concluding Thoughts

Therefore, hiring Node.js app developers and leveraging their expertise can significantly enhance your application performance, security, and scalability. Their expertise can prove to be invaluable in unlocking the full potential of your digital projects for robust growth.

[jobsnotices]

WHO Nepal Vacancy 2024 for Senior Programme Coordinator

WHO Nepal Vacancy 2024 for Senior Programme Coordinator. World Health Organization (WHO) Nepal has published a vacancy on official site for the post of Senior Programme Coordinator. Interested and eligible candidates can apply within May 2, 2024. CAREER OPPORTUNITY WHO Nepal Vacancy 2024 for Senior Programme Coordinator in Kathmandu Senior Programme Coordinator  – (2403412)   Grade No…

[shaker917516]

Elevate your leadership in FinTech with the Senior Leadership Programme by ISB in collaboration with Imarticus Learning. Acquire strategic insights, innovation prowess, and industry-relevant skills. Harness the power of a transformative learning experience designed for senior professionals. Enroll now for a journey that redefines your leadership narrative in the dynamic world of Financial Technology."

[reasonsforhope]

"Evening is approaching at the confluence of two rivers in the Bay of Bengal — the Payra and Bishkhali. Still, the fishermen at the pier in Gazimahmud village are busy preparing for the next day’s work — every boat here is now illuminated by small solar-powered devices.

“Solar power is now not only in homes, it is also at our work. Now, there is no rush to return home when it is evening,” says fisherman Altaf Hossain, who is arranging fishing nets in his boat so that he’s ready for tomorrow.

Hossain is now able to work longer hours and boost his income, and he doesn’t have to worry about his wife and kids at home at night. The children sit under a solar-powered light to study, while Hossain’s wife, Roksana Begum, does various chores.

“The sun gives us light both during the day and at night,” Begum says. “It has made our lives much easier and has changed our livelihoods.”

Gazimahmud village is about 30 kilometres away from Barguna Sadar, the southernmost district of Bangladesh. A winding road leads to this village, where the sea and two rivers meet. The people of this remote community still remember the devastation caused by the powerful Cyclone Sidr in 2007, when 30 locals died. When the storm hit, it was difficult for many to reach safety as the entire area was dark. Now, thanks to most of the houses in the village having solar power, the community feels better prepared for future disasters.

“We have more faith in solar power, because, when a storm comes, the electricity connection may be disconnected or the power may be turned off, but solar power helps us to find a safe shelter by showing us the way,” says resident Monir Hossain.

Unprecedented success

Bangladesh has implemented the world’s largest off-grid solar power programme, with 20 million people across the country benefiting, according to the World Bank.

What began as a pilot project in 2003, involving 50,000 households, ultimately reached 14% of the population within 15 years, while some 200,000 rural businesses and religious facilities benefited from the Solar Home Systems (SHS) initiative as well.

The programme, which officially ran until 2018, was implemented in partnership with the private sector. Among other measures, the state provided generous incentives, such as tax breaks, for rooftop solar installers, and also focused on ensuring financing mechanisms were in place.

Together with 56 partner organisations, the government installed 4.1 million solar systems in remote areas by 2018.

According to the World Bank, the initiative has improved health and living conditions — including by reducing the use of kerosene lamps and thereby tackling indoor air pollution — and boosted school attendance. It also led to household solar becoming “a credible electricity source”.

“The Solar Home Systems programme has shown that millions of dollars raised internationally can be efficiently leveraged to provide loans of as little as $100 in remote corners of the country, enabling a rural household to purchase a solar home system,” according to Amit Jain, a senior energy specialist at the World Bank...

To clean up its power grid and contribute to the fight against climate change, Bangladesh plans to install 4.1GW of renewable energy capacity by 2030, up from around 1.2GW today."

-via The Progress Playbook, March 10, 2025

[probablyasocialecologist]

A reporter from the right-wing Times newspaper said: “I literally cried in the bathroom so many times because of the uphill battle of trying to get things reported.” Disgruntled staff at the liberal Guardian have compiled an “exhaustive spreadsheet” with a “mountain of examples” of the paper “amplifying unchallenged Israeli propaganda…or treating clearly false statements by Israeli spokespeople as credible”. Journalists working in TV studios face a similar struggle, with swift repercussions if guests from the Israeli government are asked difficult questions on air. Declassified was told: “The Israeli narrative always reigned supreme and instructed the coverage at Sky News, no matter how inaccurate”.  At the BBC, when it comes to reporting accurately on the nature of Israeli conduct in Gaza, a journalist said “the use of the word genocide is effectively banned, and any contributor who uses this word is immediately shut down.” At ITN, which produces news programmes for three British TV channels, the focus is on “clicks not ethical clarity”, a member of staff lamented. “Tragic footage [from Gaza] is often met with…remarks about how much traffic it will generate, as if it’s not real lives being impacted.”

[...]

“Myself and other colleagues found ourselves frequently frustrated at how nothing could be reported unless there was a response or confirmation from the Israeli army,” the Sky journalist told Declassified. “We know who’s doing the killing, we know who’s responsible, so why must we wait for Israel to confirm or deny before we attribute? We never wait for the Russians; we take Ukrainian claims at face value as the victims. Why is this any different? “Nor was any version Israel provided ever challenged. It was taken as fact, always. I remember challenging senior members of staff, reminding them that Israel repeatedly lies and has a history of doing so. But it was pointless and fell on deaf ears. The Israeli narrative always reigned supreme and instructed the coverage at Sky News, no matter how inaccurate”. 

20 February 2025

[desigal-26]

My first F1 writing. Please be gentle in criticising. Requests are open if anyone wishes to request something.

The Enigma

Max Verstappen x Fem!Driver!Reader

She was different—an enigma. He was the moth drawn to her.

She took the world by storm when she came and he couldn’t stay away from her.

Warnings: Misogyny towards the reader, mention of hate comments and haters, it’s my first ever F1 related writing so please I am sorry for any mistake in advance, Max lowkey simping(?), Reader assumes the position of Yuki in this but I changed the results of the Chinese GP a bit…so don’t hate me (pretty please 🥹)

Word Count: 2.3k

Formula One—a sport rooted in unpredictably and high-stake risks that have ended in many accidents, fatal and otherwise, over the course of its seventy five years. Things changed. Cars changed. Rules and points system changed. Security measures changed to accommodate the safety of the driver above all perimeters. But what didn’t change was the lack of its reach to the marginalised sections of the population.

Women. Third world countries—or even the developing countries. People without much source or wealth but talent. People of colour.

It was disheartening, and while everyone might have given it a thought once or twice, no one did anything. And why would they? Because Formula One is a sport that might change on track but the core values of it ever really changed—and included the exclusion of certain sectors of life.

It was a news—a world shocking one—when Racing Bulls proudly announced that a female driver—a F2 prodigy and Red Bulls Junior Driver Programme member—will be joining the team in the second seat of the sister team, replacing Liam Lawson who was promoted to the main team to drive alongside Max Verstappen—the Four Times Winning Dutch Lion.

The media called it a PR stunt, a chance to make the headlines and divert attention from the deteriorating situation of the RB20, or perhaps a way of saying “we don’t know what we are doing anymore”. The fan reactions were mixed too. Some hailed the move and inclusion of a woman in motorsport after a long time—especially in Formula One—while others called it “uncalled for” and a “waste of time”.

When asked about the situation and how it would affect her race as a whole, the Racing Bulls’ newest driver had only given a diplomatic smile and a simple answer. “I suppose we will see the results on the track.”

The Australian GP wasn’t a good start for her, ending up in a bad position despite a solid qualifying and ultimately being left heartbroken and out of points because of a strategy that was never going to work out. But one thing was certain after the race—whosoever started and ended the race deserved their respective seats, and she was one of them—even if the haters and the misogynists hiding behind the curtains of ‘traditionalists’ mocked her for not having a decent finish.

But what Christian Horner and Helmut Marko and the whole world saw in the grid positions couldn’t be ignored. While Liam Lawson—the replacement of Sergio Perez—had failed to even bring the car to the checkered flag, their rookie—“replacement’s replacement” as the media likes to mock her—had done so in torrential rain in a car that was less competitive and feisty than the RB21, even if she was still out of the points at P12.

The media chalked it up as a fluke—a one time occurrence that would never happen again, until it did happen again in China. A good qualifying—as good as Racing Bulls can hope for—and a good start of the race had left her in a good position, until an ill-timed pit stop led to her being stuck in traffic, behind the very man whose car she was sitting in.

Liam was struggling, that much was clear to her, and with a radioed confirmation of her outpacing the Red Bull in front of her, she made her move, refusing to bow down to the driver in the senior team. Because why should she? Just because he had a better car and a senior team seat? That didn’t stop her before and it wouldn’t stop her then.

She had scored her first point in Formula One that day—making history in doing so. Becoming the first woman after Lella Lombardi in 1975 to score point, she had proven her worth for the seat she was given, and leading to the ultimate speculations of what if’s when her teammate had ended another race without points at P14 and Liam had followed suit at P16.

Everyone wondered if Christian and Team Red Bull is looking for a switch of drivers before the triple-header started. Speculations ran wild, fans remained restless and rooting for their own favourites while the haters continued to spread word of malice.

On the other hand, in Milton Keynes, the entire team of Red Bull was left in a deep dilemma of choosing between their second driver who refused to perform as well as they expected him to and a rookie that was outqualifying him in a car made to battle the mid-field cars, not a Red Bull.

“We should give her a try,” Hannah Schmitz, the Principal Strategy Engineer of the team, stated with a firm tone, sliding both Christian and Helmut a small bunch of stapled paper holding the raw data of pace on track and little things that make biggest of differences on track. A straightforward and brutal comparison between Liam Lawson and the newest star of the two teams.

The British Team Principal looked at Pierre Waché—their technical director and the man responsible to build the new car as per the new regulations of 2026 for the next year—asking for his take on the matter at hand.

The said man only shrugs, carefully reading through the data kept in the file in front of him. Everyone could see the gears of his mind shifting and churning, processing the data and making the calculations only he could understand.

After a while, Pierre looked up and nodded, quietly stating, “she might find trouble with the car for a lap or two, but she seems to be adaptable.”

Just to be sure, her past championships in F4, F3 and F2 were pulled up and carefully dissected through. Quick decision-making, precise timings, late breaking but at the right times, calm under pressurising conditions, quick adaptability to both the car and the weather and good instincts. Everything they want in their second driver—someone who could help in Red Bull’s campaign for reclaiming the Constructors after last year and help Max’s own campaign for Driver’s Championship.

Therefore, the decision was made.

The initial call had only informed Max about test driving the rookie driver in one of the old RB cars. Maybe RB19 or RB20—which in Max’s opinion, was hard to driver, especially for a rookie who was stepping into a top team car and expecting less…resistance. They had asked him to drop by the Red Bull Ring in Austria, give a lap or two for them to obtain whatever data they wanted to compare her with, and then leave if he wanted to.

Simple. Or so Max had thought.

He had seen her performance in the Racing Bull, had congratulated her when she scored her first point in the Chinese Grand Prix and had lingered around a bit to talk—to advice her for her future stints, he argued with himself. But he knew himself better.

She was friendly in a way that wasn’t common in the sport, easy to talk to and definitely didn’t hold any prejudices against him. He had expected her to be a bit shy, maybe naïve as well, but she wasn’t neither. Initially a bit quiet, probably intimidated by him, but that had soon away gave way for her true self to blossom out, which had, in turn lead to them speaking for a longer time than Max had intended it to be. But he enjoyed it—no, he craved it once she was whisked away by a media personnel and she had offered him a smile that he swore could melt the Himalayas.

It was stupid, he knew. She would most probably be his teammate soon enough. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her or the way she remained so calm under pressure or the way her hair looked in a certain light. But it is not meant to be.

They are not meant to be.

The parking lot of the Red Bull Ring was mostly empty except for the familiar cars of his team and a slightly worn out one parked in the farthest end of the lot. He didn’t give it much attention, not when GP was already making his way to him, already informing him about what was expected of Max to do for the day. A small help, his race engineer had phrased.

“Is she here?” The Dutch driver didn’t even realise the words had slipped out until he saw GP shrug and nod. “Arrived before I did.” That caught the World Champion’s attention. No one in the senior team arrived earlier than his race engineer, not Hannah, not even Christian who was the team principal and usually earlier than a lot of people.

The inside of the garage was bustling as usual and Max immediately caught sight of Christian talking to her in a corner with an encouraging smile. His steps slowed down and his eyes studied her like she was the one race he hadn’t conquered yet.

Her gaze was sharp, sliding over and studying each curve and ridge of the RB19 that was being polished for Max to drive. One of the most dominant cars to have ever been made in the history of Formula One—awaiting for its rider to drive it again to a speed that had all the other teams trembling in its prime. Her hair was neatly tied, the casual clothes traded for the navy blue fireproof overalls of Red Bull. The race suit was undone on top, hanging off her waist while the fire resistant white undershirt stretched over the entirety of her upper body, accentuating her curves in a way that had many engineers and mechanics double taking—not to forget Max himself. Her helmet, balaclava and gloves were perched upon the counter beside her, waiting to be worn and be used by the rookie that had set the world on fire with her performance.

“Max! We were just talking about you!” The driver smiled as Christian hugged him, gesturing for him to join the conversation that seemingly had consisted of the team principal trying to soothe the Racing Bull driver’s nerves while all she had done was give back hums and small replies while studying the car like an expert.

But now, her attention was on the Four Times World Champion, and did Max almost preen at the thought of capturing her interest when all she had done before was provide non-committal replies because she was pre-occupied with an innate thing.

He flashed her a smile, offering his hand while he greeted her, “it’s good to have you here.” She smiled in response, and the Dutch Lion felt himself being pulled into her gravity, her small but no less callous hand slipping into his considerably larger ones with ease. “It’s good to be in the big leagues garage for once,” her smooth voice held its own unique authority that had the air around them stilling.

The hands were retracted and Max mourned the loss of the touch quietly before he began to ask her about random things. Whether she was feeling nervous or had she had her breakfast, before the conversation turned to their respective seasons so far before ending at the small tips for her for handling the RB19 efficiently.

He was called away to get dressed and slip into the car and do his job, and the thought of her and the outer world just disappeared until all that remained for Max was himself, the humming of the car beneath him and the track in front of him.

It was a quick in and out. Two laps of speed before he was called in and the car was parked in the garage, the Dutch driver emerging out of his chariot with ease of a king stepping into his kingdom—knowing full well that no one can challenge him here, much less beat him.

His blue eyes fell on the woman that stood in the corner, gloves slipping on while her own gaze was on him. He could see the spark of appreciation in them, a good impression—not that he needed one to prove his worth to her. The whole world knew what he could do—what he can do.

“Thanks, Max. You can stay if you want to see her test drive.” Christian patted his shoulder like a proud father, gesturing to the rookie whose balaclava was in place and helmet was going on, concealing her features but not her sharp eyes that seek only one thing: to prove that she was here because of her talent and not her face or sympathy.

Usually, he never stays. He doesn’t need to. Because for Max, these test drives and comparing contrasting is a waste of time. Because no test drive or practice can prepare someone for the real race—when nineteen cars fight against you in unpredictable situations with the weight of expectation weighing your shoulders down and insecurity clawing at your mind.

But something in him relented against the idea of leaving.

Perhaps, he only wanted to see the potential of the enigma that had walked into the garage with a quiet strength only a few possessed, or perhaps, he knew that while he might give himself several dozen excuses for every word he had spoken to her—she was different, and he wanted to know her. Solve the puzzle that she was.

“I will stay.”

If Christian was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, the team principal only handed him a headphone and the duo waited in silence as the RB19 made its way to the track again—this time with a driver that might become their next big hope for competing against the McLaren and their killer driver line up.

“Starting Lap One.”

And so, the Red Bull garage held breath.

[misogynist-lesbian]

Every dev I've ever met just want to code. We want to code. Just let us code. Let us code and we'll make cool shit for you. Instead I'm spending all my time:

-in pointless company training

-in forced "learn at lunch" seminars

-in pointless meetings

-playing test engineer

-fighting to keep my environment of 6 different products working

-checking to see if the pipeline is broken

-waiting for the other team to fix the pipeline

-asking why I don't have permission to fix the pipeline

-retro

[allthegeopolitics]

The Trump administration's plan to use artificial intelligence to deport international students that are deemed "pro-Hamas" has received a wide range of reactions this week from across the political spectrum, stirring fears of what this could mean for free speech in the US.  The US State Department reportedly plans to use AI to revoke the visas of foreign students who are deemed "pro-Hamas", Axios reported on Thursday, citing senior State Department officials. The “Catch and Revoke” project, launched by Secretary of State Marco Rubio according to Axios, will see "AI-assisted reviews of tens of thousands of student visa holders' social media accounts [and] marks a dramatic escalation in the US government's policing of foreign nationals' conduct and speech”. 

Continue Reading

[gguk-n]

Chapter 2- First Encounters

Arranged For Love (Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Maybe grandma knows best. Maybe Y/N and Carlos should start listening to Y/N's grandma.

You could only imagine what had gone down in the Kastner household. You could hear Y/N screaming. She wasn't happy and she was about to make it known. "Mum, this is crazy. I'm not marrying some crusty old dude" she shouted. "Sweetheart, he isn't some crusty old dude." her mother emphasised. "A little older than you sure but he is a handsome man" her mother reasoned. "No." she retorted, "Dad, I get why you can't say no to your mother but this is just atrocious. You are forcing your daughter like in the 1500s to marry a random man grandma chose" she whined looking at her father on the verge of tears. "Angel, it's nothing like that. Carlos is a nice man, he comes from a nice family. I literally grew up with his father. I'm sure if you met him you'll like him" her father reasoned. "Yeah, sure" she replied sarcastically running a hand through her hair. "I-You-ugh-" she sighed, "You guys met each other during your masters programme and then fell in love naturally, got married and had children. Why do I not get the chance to find some one? Go out on dates, have my heartbroken a few times before I find the one but you guys won't even let me be a stupid young adult in peace" she sighed, angry tears falling from her eyes. "Oh, no sweetheart, please don't cry." her mother tried to console her. "Please, leave. I don't want to talk to you guys right now" she stated pushing them out and closing the door. Her parents sighed, "She'll come around" her father cajoled her mother.

Carlos senior wasn't having very much luck with Carlos junior either. "Dad, I don't get it. I met this lady, who apparently left a lasting impact on you, good for you" junior emphasised, "like once. I'm not marrying her grand daughter." junior tried to reason. "Son, she is a good woman. I'm sure the grand daughter must be just as good and fun to be around as well." senior said. "I have a felling you two will get along well" senior spoke. "You don't know that. I don't want to marry someone just because" junior stated. "I think you should meet her. After that, we'll think about it" senior tried to coerce his son to join them for dinner. Junior was so annoyed with his parents and some how both his sisters for on their side. Carlos couldn't believe he was being forced into meeting a girl they wanted to marry him off to.

Carlos knew that there was no way to avoid the dinner since his father would personally drag him there if he didn't comply and he had no plans of finding his father's brute strength out. So, reluctantly Carlos got dressed and went with his family.

Y/N, on the other hand, hadn't left her room since the outburst she had a few hours ago. Her mother her tried to reason with her to get her to come out to no avail. It was only after her grandmother came to talk to her, "Sweetheart, it's me" her grandma knocked her door. "I know you're angry at me. Stay angry but do meet him once" she said. "I don't want to" Y/N shouted. "Give it a try. This old woman has seen a few things in her time" she chided. "I'll embarrass you if you force me" Y/N retorted. "Go ahead. I don't mind" her grandma spoke. "Just remember, I'll be gone in sometime and you'll remember what I said" her grandma sighed. The door clicked open, "Why would you say that?" Y/N asked in tears. "Honey, because it is true and I just want what's best for you" she explained. "I want you around forever, that's best for me" Y/N spoke barely above a whisper. "I'll try to fight off the grim reaper" Anika laughed. "Now, will you get dressed, they'll be here soon" her grandma asked. And that's how Y/N got dressed and joined them for dinner.

The Sainz had already arrived and were talking to the Kastner's when Y/N entered the living room. The place felt slightly cramped with the number of guests who were sat in that room but extremely homely. Y/N scanned the room, her eyes darting from one face to another until they rested on a dashing young man. He looked like a model, it couldn't be the guy her family was trying to set her up with, could it? she thought. Her grandmother beckoned Y/N towards her and introduced everyone to Y/N. "It's nice to meet you" she said with a tight lipped smile. Yes that man was handsome but she wasn't giving them the satisfaction by caving in within seconds of seeing him.

As she moved down the line, greeting everyone, she couldn't wait to be introduced to Carlos. "That's Carlos junior, he's a Formula One driver" her grandmother mentioned as Y/N shook his hand. "It's so nice to meet you too" Carlos said, his accent thick. Y/N felt a shudder run down her spine as Carlos spoke. "That's my lovely grand daughter, Y/N, I've told you so much about" her grandmother said. Y/N turned to see her grandma gleaming with joy. Oh, she was a sucker for Spaniards, this wasn't good; she couldn't let them have their way, she thought. When she had returned to her grandmother's side, "He's the guy I'm hoping you'll marry" she whispered in Y/N's ear.

Carlos wasn't sure what he was expecting but he was not expecting to have his breath be taken away. When Y/N entered the room, visible annoyance on her face, Carlos found his lips twitching. He didn't believe in love at first site but he might've just experienced it. Her hands were soft and warm, he felt a spark as they met to greet each other, he only hoped she felt the same. Carlos was a goner and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to his dad or this Y/N girl.

After a little while of chatting and stolen glances on both Y/N and Carlos's part; they couldn't let the other know they were interested, it would be a told you so moment for their parents and they had no interest in inflating their ego. The families moved outside which had been turned into a makeshift dining room to accommodate everyone. Y/N and Carlos were pushed together to be sat next to each other in hopes that they would start making small talk.

Y/N was slightly intimidated by him if she was being honest, the more she looked at him, the more heart beat faster. He looked like he was carved by God, he was pretty and handsome to look at. His hair was tousled so perfectly, and his eye lashes brushed his cheeks as he blinked, his lips were so soft and plump, she wondered what they felt like.

Carlos wasn't any better. His eyes scanned her face, the way her nose scrunched when her family said something or the way her hair flowed as she tried to tie it back or the way her jewellery reflected against the soft light of the candles. He was mesmerised, her laugh was so full of life, it made him smile. She was so full of life, always keeping the conversation going with everyone but him. He thought, did she dislike the idea that much that she had barely spoken to him the whole night, choosing to address anyone but him as everyone had dinner. Maybe he was hurt, a little, he wouldn't lie.

After dinner, Anika noticed how the two of them had barely interacted or spoken to each other, much to her dismay. So, she took matters into her own hands; "Why don't the two of you walk around for a bit? Maybe Y/N can show you the house. You both will get bored with all the adult talk" she tried to shush them away. "But our siblings are still here" Y/N tried to reason. "They are going to watch a movie or something. You should show Carlos around" her grandmother insisted and pushed the pair away.

Y/N and Carlos walked away, "Hi" she said meekly. "Hi" Carlos replied. The backyard was darker now, only lit by the moon light. "So, you race" Y/N trailed off. "Yeah, Formula One. Do you watch?" he asked. "Honestly, no. Heard about it today" she replied sheepishly. "Never been a huge sports girl" she tried to ease the situation. "My siblings watch I guess" she tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, they told me. They're big fans it seems." Carlos spoke. "Maybe you guys could come to a race, when it's possible" Carlos suggested. "I'm sure they'll love that" she smiled. Carlos felt his heart beat faster. "Won't you be joining them?" Carlos asked hopefull. "I don't get the sport" she stopped when Carlos's mood seem to dampen, "but if you'll explain it to me, maybe I'll enjoy it" she chuckled nervously. God, this habit of nervous laughter was gonna end her, she thought. Carlos seemed to cheer up after that. They walked around for a bit. Y/N even showed him the house.

"Have you ever visited Madrid?" Carlos asked towards the end of their tour. "No, always wanted to though" she replied. "Then you should, you have a tour guide ready" he said pointing at himself. "I don't want to bother you" she smiled. "I don't think it would be much of a bother really." Carlos smiled back. "Maybe we could exchange number, incase I come to Madrid" she said shyly. "Sure" Carlos said quickly exchanging their phones.

"When should we plan the wedding?" Anika asked the two couples. "Let the kids decide" Ivan spoke. "I would but I think Y/N won't marry him out of spite" Anika laughed. "Would she?" Rose thought out. "I think a winter or spring wedding would be wonderful, nothing fancy." Anika stated. "I'll have to discuss that with Carlos" Carlos senior said. "Sure sure, take your time" Anika said.

In Anika's eyes the dinner felt like a success. The two of them were talking cordially. "I think this was a success" she told Ivan and Carlos senior. The two men looked at each other than Anika, "We agree" they said looking at Carlos and Y/N talking as they returned back to the living room. "How did you find the place Carlos?" Anika asked. "It's nice" Carlos replied. "I'm happy you had fun" Anika said patting his back. "Come back whenever you want. You're always welcome" she insisted.

Everyone hugged each other good bye. Anika had gotten teary eyes as she bid everyone good bye. "I don't know when I'll ever get to you all again" she spoke slowly. "Don't say that. You'll live long" Carlos senior spoke hugging her. "It was nice meeting you" Carlos whispered in Y/N's ear. "yeah. come back sometime" Y/N said. "Do keep in touch" Carlos said. "I will." Y/N spoke.

Y/N felt giddy as she got changed. She hadn't felt this way, whenever she hung out with any guy. He had a great personality with his breath-taking looks. She found herself hovering over his number a few time over the next couple days.

While back at his races, Carlos found himself thinking about Y/N. It was weird for him to be this preoccupied with anything like this other than racing. He hoped she would text him some time since he was too scared to do it himself.

Taglist- @herexpertcollector @redrevvedup @chaostudee @larastark3107 @jovialpainterunknown @vip-access @sugarvibez @champomiel @inarabee @virazeeee @seonghwaexile @champ15ns @ajthefujoshi @musicheaux @npcmia @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @mochipatch @gleeblegnarp @formula1-motogpfan @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs @dying-inside-but-its-classy

[fourmoony]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐓: Chapter Three.

After breaking your ankle in the wake of a break up, you're determined to get through your senior year without any interference from James Potter. That is, until his loyalty to loose cannon Sirius Black lands him straight in your lap. Or, rather, your kiddie-skate group.

CW: language, abandonment, falling, mentions of broken bone and reconstructive metal work, cheating.

ITN Masterlist

You –

The ice is smooth, freshly pressed by the Zamboni. You should be nervous. Usually, you’d be nervous. But you’re tired. Exhausted, actually. If Pince knew how much you want to turn boot and skate off the other side of the ice, she’d probably have an aneurism. This is it: your chance to become a National Champion. The gateway to worlds, to the Olympics. And all you can think about is the gaping hole in your chest, the knot your stomach has wound its way into. The sound of James’ truck door slamming an echo in the back of your head.

The crowd is silent, and your programme music starts. Four minutes. You only need to make it four minutes. Four minutes until you can walk away and spend the summer wallowing. Four minutes that hang over you like a heavy weight.

You know this routine like the back of your hand. You’ve practiced it so much you could do it in your sleep. Spins, jumps, twists. Every one of them brings a different memory. James picking you up off of your ass, frustrated and angry, sending you back to try again with encouraging words and an even more encouraging kiss. He’d cheer when you landed and buy you chocolate cake on the way home.

The music is loud and overwhelming. It grates on your skin. Images of James, of your happiest moments, of everything you lost – they spin and jump along with you. Heavy as the rain that soaked you on the twenty-minute walk back to your apartment that night. It hurts too much, burns too hot.

Pince likes to say that careers can end in a split second. You know well that they can. All it takes is a bad jump, a distraction. You’ve seen it happen. Countless young athletes losing their careers over one bad move. One fracture, one broken bone, one chip on the ice. One second and it’s all gone.

One second and you’re on the ice.

One second and the resounding crack of bone slices through the crowd.

One second and the lights have gone up.

One second and your entire life leading up to this moment flashes before your eyes.

One second and the world stops.

One second before the shattered sob leaves your throat and it all goes black.

Your ankle clicks and crunches when you roll it. It’s uncomfortable, but not sore – and as much as you hate to admit it, Pomfrey is right; that’s progress. Your toe touches the ground, your calf burns, your ankle hits a breaking point. With a wince, you straighten it, repeat the motion. The stretch room off the back of the rink is empty this early in the morning. The hockey team doesn’t come in for practice for another two hours, the ice is fresh, and as soon as the feeling comes back to the ball of your ankle, you’re going to make use of the free time.

With a breath, you pull your leg up, run the edge of your nail along the skin of your scar. There’s no feeling against the skin, there. It comes and goes, the numbness. Your doctor’s say it’s a side effect of the surgery, the damage to the nerve endings, the pins, the screws. Your finger trails a pattern up your leg, back down, over the ragged ridges of the marred skin. It’s starting to feel normal, the ways you need to live your life. Stretches every day, physical rehabilitation, being barely able to wear heels, mobility, and flexibility issues. Lily likes to joke that you’re a walking-talking-live version of the Met Office. The change in weather is, admittedly, easier to assume with the metal work in your ankle.

It’s been hard – rehabilitating. It’s been sore and scary, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. Remus talks, often, about the limitations that his condition puts on his career. It’s nice, in a twisted sort of way, to have someone who knows your pain. In comparison, your pain is a nick on Remus’ radar. His pain is chronic, his bones brittle and damaged. His career will be short lived – but, you know without a doubt that his time in the NHL will be legendary, regardless.

The feeling comes back slowly, to the slow rhythm of your finger tracing up and down. You stand, after a while, and reach for your skate bag. You don’t bother with shoes, socked feet padding against the rubber flooring all the way down to the team box. To your surprise, the ice is populated when you get to the plastic door into the benched area. Sirius and Remus are skating laps around the ice, passing a puck back and forth. They don’t have their kit on, just joggers and their team sweatshirts. James is in the same attire, socked feet kicked up on the bottle shelf beneath the boards. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, hood over his hair. Stray, dark strands of chocolate brown curling out the sides. He looks tired. Exhausted, even.

His eyes follow Remus and Sirius around the rink, ever the dutiful, attentive captain. You know there’s millions of play ideas running through his head, critiques on players that aren’t even in James’ eyesight. It’s astounding, though you hate to admit it, how good of a leader James is.

“You’re all here early.” You say, setting your skate bag beside James on the metal bench.

Your ex startles, eyes wide behind his glasses when he looks over. It’s odd, to think over the Summer he’s somehow forgotten to remember your schedule. He used to know it off by heart. You skate every Saturday morning before the hockey team starts their practice. Realisation crosses his features, like the ghost of a past life passing through his eyes. “Shit, I’ll pull them off. Sorry.” James apologises, pulling his feet from the shelf and sitting forward like he’s getting ready to call Sirius and Remus in.

“No, it’s fine. I’m cool as long as they are.” You take a seat, unzipping your skate bag.

James nods, swallows. The silence is thick, almost suffocating. There’s no flirty conversation, no teasing, no kind words of encouragement. Things have changed. As much as James promised they wouldn’t – they have. It has a lot to do with how things ended, you suppose. As long as you were together, you’d always thought it’d be your careers, the distance, that split you up. Your ex-boyfriend places his feet on the rubber mats below the bench, bounces his legs. “They’ll stay out of your way, just watch out for stray pucks.”

“Got it. You okay?” You ask as you sit down to tie your skates. “You look exhausted.”

James’ hazel eyes follow Sirius and Remus around the rink. You don’t think they’ve noticed your presence, yet. Content in their own world. “Yeah. All good.”

It’s a lie. You both know it. But you’re not the person James is going to talk to about that, anymore. You don’t have a response for him, so you take your skate guards off and leave him to stew in the box. The air is cold against your face, a pleasant feeling. Sirius and Remus have scratched the ice a little with their skates and sticks, but it’ll be fine. They hear your blades scratching the closer you get, turn to you as you approach.

“Hey, I just want to run my routine a couple times before tomorrow. I’ll try stay out of your way.” You tell them.

Sirius’ eyes flick to James almost protectively, like he’s checking his captain, his best friend, is aware of your presence. Since you and James broke up, you haven’t heard much from Sirius. It’s not that he’s picking sides – though, you wouldn’t blame him for picking James. What they have is unique. They’re bonded. But it hurts a little. Stings, because there was a time where Sirius was one of your best friends. You’d all been close. It feels now, like Lily and Remus are the only ones who make an effort.

“You have practice tonight, your ankle going to be okay?” Remus asks, pushing the puck back and forth absentmindedly.

“How’s your knee?” You deflect.

Remus bites back a grin and scoffs good naturedly, but Sirius’ eyes fly down to Remus’ knee as though he’ll be able to see through layers of clothes and skin, right down to the muscle. He looks almost panicked. Then, he looks back up, icy blues lit with a fire you’ve never been on the receiving end of. “He’s fine.”

“Relax, Sirius. I know he is.” Your eyes burn, a little, “I’ll try stay out of your way.”

Remus mutters something to Sirius – likely chastising him. You’re on the other side of the rink, pretending not to care, so you don’t hear it.

They stay out of your way for the majority of your ice time. Only one stray puck gets in your way, and James calls out in a panic when you almost land on it. Instead, you miss a jump and shout a shaky thanks as you clamber back to your feet on the ice. He stays firmly in the box – making you wonder why he even bothered to come to the ice this morning, at all. Not that it’s any of your business. Remus and Sirius run drills on one half of the ice whilst you weave in and around them. It’s not until you’re on your last run through that your foot goes numb. It’s quick, instant. You land on your ankle, there’s no feeling there, your leg buckles.

You hit the ice with a nasty amount of noise. Skates scraping and clashing, a whoosh of pained air. Your hip hurts, a searing pain that you already know will need to be iced. It takes a minute to gather your surroundings, turning until you’re sitting up. “Jesus,” You mutter, angry. It feels like this will never end – the numbness, the frustration, falling. It’s been months of your ankle going numb mid practice. Months of falling on your ass. “Fuck!”

Remus is at your side in an instant, Sirius close behind him. “Okay, up. Up, C’mon.”

You know you can’t get up, but you refuse to admit why. No one knows. Not even Pomfrey, not even Pince. You can’t run the risk of needing a surgery to fix the nerve endings. Can’t risk having to sit this season out. “Remus, give me a minute.”

“No, the longer you sit there, the less likely you’re going to go again. Up. Now.” Your best friend holds his hand out.

He’s just trying to help. But there’s anger simmering in your chest. Hot and raw and you want to lash out. For the first time, you think you understand why Remus is the way he is. So, you look at him, really, truly look at him and you think he understands. James crouches in front of you, eyes brimming with concern. You hate how much relief the sight of him brings you. Remus turns and drags Sirius off. They go back to their own corner of the ice. Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s goin’ on?” James asks.

His hands rest on the skate covering your bad ankle. You can’t feel them. The thought panics you because what if? What if one day, the feeling never comes back and it’s too late? James notices the fear in your eyes, his finger reaches up to press into your calf and you flinch. A look of understanding passes across his features, brows scrunching and dipping in the middle. “No one knows?”

“No one can know.”

James looks like he disagrees, but he nods. “I’ll bare your weight to get you up. Feet flat or Remus will notice, but weight bare on your good ankle.”

He doesn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t care. It’s not his role, anymore. But you nod, regardless. Even if the idea of him helping you lights a furious rage inside of you because how dare he act like he gives a shit now? You need to get off the ice, though. So you give him both of your hands, left blade flat on the ice as he pulls you up. Your hip screams at you, but you ignore it in favour of James’ socked feet. He’s run out onto the ice without shoes on.

“You’re going to get frost-bite.” You murmur, eyes flicking up to find his already on you.

He looks sad. Nostalgic, maybe. “Worth it.”

Your heart cracks open in your chest as you let James lead you off of the ice, all the while praying he doesn’t go full James and snitch on you to Pince, thinking he’s doing you some sort of favour. You have it under control. You’re dealing with it.

Maybe just not as well as you’d originally thought.

Regulus –

Barty is lying, rather annoyingly, half on Regulus’ legs and half on the bed. But he won’t ask Barty to move. As much as a distraction he’s made himself, Regulus finds he quite enjoys the idea that Barty wants to be this close to him. The sketch book on his lap stares up at him tauntingly. There’s half-finished scribbles of planets and stars; none of which Regulus has the energy to perfect. He does, however, have a strong notion to draw the way Barty’s body is curling around his legs. Regulus isn’t sure how to feel about that, so he ignores it; because if he thinks too much about it, he’ll start to push Barty away.

He’s aware that this isn’t going to last. Just like he’s aware that after his thesis paper is published, he’ll be returning to Grimmauld Place. Taking over Black Industries is probably at the bottom of the list of things Regulus wants to do with his life. But the thing about Barty Crouch is that he’s persuasive. He’s irresistible, as Regulus has come to realise. It’s more than just his regal looking cheek bones and sinful smile, his toned body, and tattoos that make Regulus more inspired to draw than he ever has; if only to one day see one of his drawings on Barty’s pale skin – it’s also his carefree attitude, his rebellious nature, and the big, bold, ‘fuck you’ middle finger he holds up to the world that makes Regulus want to get wrapped up in him and never get free.

He wishes he could keep Barty, but he can’t. So, he won’t draw him. For now, he’ll enjoy his rebellious streak brought about by the sarcastic, smart mouth, piece of shit guy he met in the art supply store in the spring and worry about the calendar counting down his return to Grimmauld place later.

Admitting defeat, Regulus places his sketchbook and pencil on his bedside table. Barty stirs at the movement, head straining to look at Regulus with a devious grin. He threads his fingers through the soft strands of Barty’s inky black hair and smiles softly. It’s obvious his smile isn’t believable, because Barty huffs, pushes himself up until he’s straddling Regulus’ hips. He’s not in the mood for whatever Barty is about to initiate, but Barty seems to notice that because his eyes soften. “What’s on your mind?”

Regulus studies Barty. He really is very beautiful. He’d be easy to draw. The itch is there. But he can’t. So, he won’t. “I was thinking that I can’t focus when you’re lounging over me like a stray cat.” It’s obvious in his voice that it’s a lie. But the good thing about Barty is that he doesn’t push Regulus to talk when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“We both know that you’re the cat, in this relationship, Regulus. You’re all claws and uptight attitude.” The boy on top of Regulus quips, a smile that tells Regulus he’s rather pleased with himself.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not all claws.” Because Regulus knows he’s uptight.

Barty grins. It’s charming and knowing, practically dripping with sin. He reaches for the neckline of his t-shirt; acts like he’s going to pull it upward. “Should we look at my back?”

Regulus holds the hem around Barty’s waist and tugs, scowling. “No, let’s not.”

Barty laughs, collapsing on top of Regulus. He enjoys the weight, presses his fingers into his shoulder blades because he knows he likes rough touches. Gentle touches make him jumpy. He listens to Barty laugh for a while, enjoys the sound of it vibrating against the skin of his neck. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if he should tell Barty that one of the reasons he’s struggling to draw is probably because his estranged brother has cropped his ugly head up.

Barty is good with advice. Mainly because the majority of his advice is to get high and ignore all of your problems. His mother would pitch a fit if she knew all the shit Regulus was getting up to, these days. She calls once a week, always short and curt. It’s more of a call to make sure Regulus is behaving, than to check in on how he’s actually doing. He’s not sure what he’s going to tell her when she asks who his student assistant ended up being. If she knew, she’d likely pull him out of university all together and ban him from leaving the house ever again. Not that he had any choice in who it was.

“Sirius is my student assistant.” He breathes out, the admittance bringing a hollow ache to his chest.

He doesn’t talk much about Sirius. Mainly because it hurts, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that as much as he tried, nothing was ever good enough for his older brother. Not enough to make him stay. And Regulus knows that expecting Sirius to stay was unfair – maybe it’s more to do with the idea that he left him there. Scared, alone. Baring the crown that Sirius found too heavy. Barty lifts his head until his eyes meet Regulus’. Reading, trying to gage how he should treat this. He’s not sure if he wants Barty to get him high and help him say fuck you to his problems, or if he wants him to offer to kick the shit out of Sirius.

“Okay. Go on.” Barty urges, fingers tracing Regulus’ collar bones.

The feeling grounds him as he huffs and closes his eyes. Thinking. Trying to sort through his emotions because, really, he’s not sure how he feels about it.

“He said I’m just like our father. I was a dick to him.”

Barty smiles sadly. “You were surprised to see him.”

“I knew I’d see him, eventually. I mean, I’ve done a good job of avoiding him. But I thought, maybe naively, when I came to Hogwarts that maybe there’d be a chance he’d want to explain. But he didn’t. He just looked at me with pure hatred and stormed off into the stacks.” It sounds childish, the way Regulus’ voice takes on a petulant whine.

But Barty nods, like he understands. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have siblings, but he does have an uncomfortable family situation. So, he’s sympathetic, at least. “Maybe he’s scared to apologise because he thinks you won’t hear him.” Barty offers.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just an asshole.”

The other boy scoffs amusedly, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You think he’d want me to be a part of his life? If I could forgive him.” Regulus asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

Barty presses his lips to Regulus’. It’s soft, caring. Rare, for them. “I dunno Sirius. I’ve never met him. But I do know that anyone who doesn’t want a part of you in their life is a fucking idiot. And you don’t need another idiot in your life. You already have me.”

He likes that answer, so he kisses Barty until they’re both a mess of tangled limbs and swollen lips. Until it turns out that there’s other ways to forget his problems. And all of them suddenly have a lot to do with Barty Crouch.

James –

He’s pacing. He knows he’s pacing, and he knows that his footsteps are clunking against the wooden floorboards, and that Remus will likely lose his mind if he continues. But James can’t stop. It’s how he thinks, how he processes. Years of thinking on his feet, of having to have a mind as sharp as a tack, having to move whilst processing a hundred different outcomes. The only outcome he can think of right now is you hating him even more than you already do when he inevitably goes to Pince and tells her that your ankle isn’t properly healed.

He did the necessary reading to conclude that prolonged numbness is definitely not a normal side effect of having a reconstructive surgery. A temporary side effect, yes. But it’s been months since your surgery. That’s not a good sign, according to a very reliable source (if you count Reddit as a reliable source; James isn’t sure if he does). And he knows he’s catastrophising. He’s prone to it. But he’s worried. And wouldn’t he rather you hate him that little bit more and eventually be able to get back on the ice next year (after another surgery, Reddit had confirmed) than risk it all now and never skate again? James doesn’t feel qualified to make that decision. He hasn’t been a captain long, and even then, it’s not like he’s in charge of people’s livelihoods. He wouldn’t have taken the job if that was the case.

James knows how much Nationals means for you – it’s the gateway to the World Championships, to the Olympics. He cost you that last year, and he hates himself for it. Is he really willing to do that to you again? He’s not sure. So, he paces. He loses count of how many times he picks up his phone and almost hits the green call button next to your name. He’s not even sure you’d answer, even less sure of what he’d say to you if, by some miracle, you answered. ‘I think you should miss out on Nationals again, this year, have another risky surgery and hope for the best. Okay, bye!’ doesn’t exactly seem like a good plan to him.

Remus is the embodiment of exhaustion when he pushes James’ bedroom door open and leans against the frame like a parent ready to chastise their hyper-active child. James cringes. Remus needs all the rest he can get. Between hospital appointments, hockey, and his classes, he never stops. “Sorry. I’ll try be quieter.” His voice comes out rushed and anxious, an alarm bell sounding off to alert Remus of his worry.

The taller boy tilts his head and studies James. Sometimes, he loves how perceptive Remus can be. It helps offence, and it generally means that he’s a better friend. But now, he shifts awkwardly because for the second time in the space of a year, he’s keeping a secret from his best friend. He hates lying to Remus. But your words play on a loop in his head. No one can know. You’d been so scared. Terrified, even, at the idea of everything you’ve worked for over the summer being ripped away from you. Call James selfish, but he doesn’t particularly want to be the one to do it. Even though he knows he should because it will be better in the long run.

“Or” Remus suggests, “You could stop pacing and tell me what’s going on with Y/N.”

James opens his mouth. Subsequently closes it because he doesn’t know what to say. He won’t betray your trust. He hates lying to Remus. But he knows, ultimately, if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, his best friend won’t push him.

He feels himself shrug, his best attempt at feigning nonchalance. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Remus’ honey eyes read like a book. He knows James is lying, scrutinising him whilst simultaneously trying to figure out why he’s lying for you. As far as Remus knows he’s on bad terms with you. And technically, that’s true. But James would give anything to fix that. He just hasn’t figured out how, yet.

“You know,” Remus pushes off the door frame, ever the one for imparting wisdom in the most dramatic of ways and pushes his hands into his pockets. “If I didn’t know well enough, I’d say you’re trying to decide her future for her. I can tell you right now, that won’t end well. Whatever it is she’s hiding, I’ve been there. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but one she has to do on her own.

“Don’t make her hate you any more than she does now, James. I’m still rooting for you.”

“You know?” James asks, throat dry.

“About the numbness or you cheating on her?” Remus asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he leaves James standing, alone, in the middle of his room with a sinking feeling that he’s let everyone down.

He’s not sure how Remus knows. Maybe you told him even though you’d told James you weren’t going to tell anyone.

An amicable breakup, you’d suggested. It’ll save us both the embarrassment.

He hates himself. Hates himself for all of the things he wishes he’d sat you down and forced you to listen to over the summer. Hates that he didn’t fight for you more. There’s so much you don’t know. So much you don’t want to hear. So much James wishes he’d done differently. Starting with how he wishes he’d run out onto the ice, consequences be damned, the minute he saw you land on your ankle, the minute he heard you sobbing in pain. He wishes he hadn’t walked away, feeling sorry for himself that he’d ripped Nationals from you. That, despite how hard he’d tried, he’d still failed you.

And he hates even more that he even considered doing it for a second time.

James sits on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, and he decides there and then that he’s not going to tell Pince. But he is, even if you fight him every step of the way, going to find a way to fix this for you. You’ll have a chance at Nationals if it’s the last thing James does.

And it starts with a call to Euphemia Potter.

[bgomtori]

☆ boyfriend - cyj

synopsis - he remembers it too well, he doesn't know how to act properly around you, even after being friends, he keeps thinking about it.

-> yeonjun x reader

-> songfic, strangers to friends to lovers, kissing, slow burn, college au, drunken confessions.

-> warnings! alcohol is involved, you and yeonjun just started college, i don't know much about college but.. please bare with me.. written in yeonjun's perspective!

-> notes! ahhh yeonjun's new ost had me giggling and kicking my feet 😭😭 his vocal range is so fascinating + some parts are inspired by seasons of lovesome!

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ call me back when you're sober

this was stupid, he regretted coming to this orientation programme made for the freshmen students. yeonjun stared into blank space, laughing at some joke one of the seniors cracked.

"aww come on! yeonjun, you barely had any of this soju. it's real good" one of the seniors slurred, grabbing onto the neck of the soju bottle, ready to tip some into the solo cup yeonjun was holding.

"haha, it's fine, i'm not that much of a drinker.." he chuckled nervously, shaking his head. his senior looked at him with a frown before singing happily to a song that was blasting in the speakers. yeonjun sighed, wanting to get out of the cramped k-bbq store and get some fresh air.

his phone suddenly started buzzing, causing him to take it out of his pocket, staring at the string of messages yeji sent.

yeji : come out of the store, i need help.

yeonjun : are you kidnapping me? freak..

yeji : shut the fuck up and come out.

yeonjun turned off his phone, slipping it into his picket before heading out of the store, running his hand through his hair.

"psst, here" at the sound of that, yeonjun almost shrieked.

"what the fuck?? why are you hiding in the alley—" his words were cut short when he noticed someone slouched beside yeji, completely drunk.

"this is yn, from the fine arts course, she was drinking a lot, so i decided to pull her here to prevent something worse from happening." yeji explained.

"then why am i here..?" yeonjun quirked an eyebrow, staring down at the two.

"so like, i gotta head out of here. my partner texted me, telling that we should leave together." she pointed to her phone, showing yeonjun her messages she had with her partner.

"alright. but you owe me one" yeonjun sighed, watching yeji jump up, giving him a thumbs up before leaving the alley. he turned down, looking at you stumble when yeji left, your only pillar of support had left. you turned up, staring at yeonjun through hazy eyes. you got up slowly with the aid of the wall. yeonjun was quick to grab your arm, helping you regain your balance.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ i'm afraid i might've never loved ya

maybe it was the alcohol in your system, maybe it was because there was an extremely attractive male standing infront of you, but your felt more bold, you didn't even know the guy. without a single thought, your arms were wrapped around yeonjun's neck, pulling him down to your level. his eyes widened, shocked and flustered, his heart racing. your messy hair and disshelved clothing made you more.. attractive in his eyes.

he was then met with a sudden kiss on his lips. usually he would push the person off, but it was weird, there was something about you that he was interested in. he pulled away quickly, holding onto your waist as he forced your arm over his shoulders, allowing you to put your entire body weight on him. this was stupid.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ when you fill my head full of a thousand thoughts

he didn't expect it. you were coincidentally in the same art history elective as him. since when was there a common class between the dance majors and the fine art majors? he looks around the lecture theatre, the only seat available was the one beside you. he quietly slide into the seat, nodding at you as a greeting. you copied the action.

it seemed like you couldn't recall the events that happened last night, but yeonjun clearly did. while you were focused on scribbling the notes down into your notebook, yeonjun was copying down the notes, with his head empty, only filled with thoughts from the night before.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ so why you looking at me like i'm your boyfriend, boyfriend

the class ended, yeonjun doesn't even know what the teacher talked about during the entire lecture. he glanced at you packing up your study materials. he mentally groaned at the fact that you can't seem to remember anything. he wants to know if you actually didn't know or if you are an expert at hiding your feelings. yeonjun carried his bag over his shoulder.

"yeonjun! can you teach me that one move you did in class?" a guy walked up to yeonjun, practically begging.

"yeah, sure." yeonjun nodded his head, about to head out of the lecture theatre until he came to a halt, "ah, hold on."

he noticed that you were still packing up your bags, shoving a notebook down into your bag. he knocked against the table, making you look up at him, startled.

"choi yeonjun, from the dance course. try to remember next time alright?" yeonjun smiled at you.

"oh, yn ln from fine arts.." you looked up at him, still confused at the current situation. yeonjun gave you a quick nod before walking away with his friends who were staring with shocked eyes. whispers immediately became more evident.

"i've never seen choi yeonjun flirt with anyone before."

"so he does have an interest in girls.."

"this guy has been hiding his power all along."

yeonjun scoffed at the murmuring, walking out of the lecture theatre. no one knew, not even you, only him.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ why you lookin' at me like i'm–

days slowly turned into weeks, you became friends with yeji, something you have been hoping for ever since she chugged your drink down at the freshman orientation party. yet the most unexpected thing happened, choi yeonjun.

ever since he introduced himself to you, you've been seeing him almost everywhere, in the hallways, in the secluded cafe at the college that barely anyone goes to, and even the library. of course he noticed this, he has been purposely sitting beside you, striking a conversation with you every now and then when you're studying.

"yn! you really like this cafe huh?" yeonjun laughed, sliding in the seat beside you.

"yea, no one really comes here so it gives me a better environment to study in." i nod my head, removing a side of my airpods from my ear. he hummed, taking out his own study materials too. the both of you studied in silence, whether it was comfortable or awkward, it was quiet. it was killing yeonjun, the way his heart raced, how he can smell the perfume you were wearing. he is in too deep.

"are you studying art history?" you suddenly asked, disrupting yeonjun's train of thought.

"huh? oh! yes i am. why?" he made himself look like a fool infront of you.

"can you.. help me, i didn't understand the last lecture." you requested sheepishly, shifting closer to him as you pointed to the slides on your laptop.

"oh yeah sure. do you need everything or just a certain section of the lecture?" he asked, scrolling through the slides.

"everything, i'm so sorry." you apologised, feeling embarrassed for requesting something so big.

"don't apologise, that's what friends are for right?" yeonjun smiled, flipping over his notebook to the notes he took down during that lecture.

"friends..? yea, friends." you nod your head, clicking your pen. your heart raced, the same fluttery feeling you felt when he first introduced himself to you.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ why you lookin' at me like i'm boyfriend, boyfriend.

it has been a regular occurrence now, visiting the cafe together to study together despite your different courses. yeonjun feels as if he has gotten closer to you, he feels like he understands you better now. he knows your favourite colour, your favourite type of flowers and your favourite food. such basic things to know about another person, yet it meant so much to him.

yeonjun doesn't know if he's delusional, or reading too much into things. the way you looked at him, the way your fingers accidentally brush against his while you're studying, or the way you talk to him. he doesn't know what to feel.

some people (yeji) told him that you're interested in him, absolutely smitten. he doesn't believe it. no way you'd like him, right? that drunken kiss you gave him the first time you saw him, was just on accident.. right? drunk words or actions mean sober thoughts.. right? he's confused.

do you feel the same unusual feelings?? do you feel the way just like he does? or are you just friendly? then why are you looking at him like he's your boyfriend. it's infuriating. everytime you talk to him, it goes in and out of his head instantly, he's not listening to you. your words turn into sweet melodies for him to listen to. he wants you so fucking bad.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ we would be something more than just friends i'll be honest

yeonjun's phone started ringing, he was in the midst of wrapping up with his dance practice. he grabbed his phone looking at the caller id, it was you. in an instant he picked up.

"yn..?" he mumbled, not wanting to distract the rest who were in the same practice room as him. he slowly packed up his stuff, waiting for you to answer.

"can you come?" your words were slurred, you're drinking again.

"where? the bar or your apartment?" yeonjun sighed, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he made his way out of the practice room after waving goodbye to his friends.

"apartment.." you replied, feeling slightly dizzy.

yeonjun sighed, murmuring a quick, 'see you' before ending the call. he practically teleported to your apartment, knocking on the door, waiting for you to answer.

"yn, open up. i bought some food for you." yeonjun knocked again, trying to make his presence known. soon enough, you opened the door. you looked sluggish and reeked of alcohol.

"how much did you drink..? why did you even drink?" yeonjun looked at you, slightly concerned as he walked into your apartment, locking the front door behind him.

"my grades came out.. real bad.. got a B." you explained. yeonjun frowned, knowing that you were an overachiever and you wouldn't settle for anything lesser than an A.

"it's fine, this isn't your final grade, there's always room for improvement." yeonjun comforted, rubbing your back as he guided you back into your room, placing the food in the kitchen on the way. you sat on the edge of your bed, looking at yeonjun placing his stuff down on the ground. he made eye contact with you.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ i can't make a life without you

"i remember." you mumbled.

"what?" yeonjun's heart started racing.

"the first time i met you, i kissed you.. i remember it." you paused for a while, before continuing. " 'm sorry for suddenly doing that to you. if you feel uncomfortable, we can stop being friends."

yeonjun's eyes widened as he heard your words, he walked towards you, his hand placed on your head.

"what nonsense are you saying, if i was uncomfortable i wouldn't have introduced myself to you in the first place." yeonjun reassured, looking into your glistening eyes. you kept quiet, still feeling guilty for coming onto him that night.

"stop feeling guilty about yourself yn." yeonjun rubbed your hands.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ be there for you, treat you right.

"i like you"

"huh?"

"i like you yeonjun, i didn't know i liked you until you introduced yourself to me. i've always remembered that night, i just didn't want to tell you.. scared that you'd hate me." you stated, rubbing your teary eyes. yeonjun couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"you're drunk yn, are you sure you like me?" yeonjun blatantly asked, it was the first thought in his mind.

"i am! i'm drunk but i know how i feel for you. i've always felt like this but i'm scared of rejection. that's another reason why i drank and called you, i felt more bold. if not, we would always be dancing around the more than friends less than lovers. i hated that! i was so confused–" you rambled, your tears flowing out of your eyes, your heart was hammering against your chest. you were so scared of rejection. yet, why was he suddenly pulling you close? his lips met yours, his hands placed on the small of your back.

you melted into the kiss, kissing him back. it was so electrifying, yeonjun's ears were red as he pulled away, looking straight into your eyes.

"does.. does that answer your question?" yeonjun mumbled, staring at your face, his eyes darting back to your swollen lips.

"mhm.." you hiccuped, wiping away your tears.

"i've always thought that you actually forgot about that incident, i just decided to play it cool, maybe figure out a way for you to like me back. that's why i found out the cafe you always went to from yeji, purposely going there to bump into you." yeonjun explained, using his thumb to wipe your tears before he continued,

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ i ain't like the other guys

"can i be your boyfriend? i'll treat you right, better than any of your past relationships. i'll always be there for you, i won't make you feel confused anymore, my heart beats only for you yn." yeonjun smiled, his words were genuine and sincere. you nod your head, feeling completely estatic.

"good, now let's get you sobered up, i don't want you to have a headache in the morning." yeonjun chuckled, holding onto your hands as he dragged you into the kitchen to eat the food he left on the counter that was now cold.

"you want me to heat it up for you?" he asked. you shook your head, sitting on the chair, struggling to unwrap the bag. yeonjun immediately noticed and placed the cup of water beside you, he grabbed a chair and unwrapped the plastic bag and removed the lid of the food container.

"thank you.." you mumbled, shoving food into your mouth. yeonjun hummed, watching you slowly eat your food in contentment.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ what you like, know it like i know you.

it has been months since you confessed to yeonjun, he has been treating you as if you're glass, always afraid to hurt you, always there to tend to your needs. god you loved him so much just as much as he loved you. finally you could stare at him ramble about anything without him getting suspicious on whether you liked him or not.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ why you looking at me like i'm your boyfriend, boyfriend.

perm taglist! (send an ask to be added :D) @mrsyawnzzn @tinyelfperson @woncheecks @boba-beom @naveries @be-argyu @defnotleee @babymochibeargyu