#and because of THAT one i’m behind schedule for march

[livvyofthelake]

haven’t been doing my required reading…. don’t worry about it of course but i’m literally so bad at this… i also haven’t been doing my required movie watching but that was at least expected so who cares

[eoieopda]

whiskey neat | jwy

there’s no common ground between yours and wooyoung’s vastly different circles. that is, until tuesday nights at the black cat form the center of the venn diagram.

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader au: strangers to something type: one-shot | smut wc: 8.3k rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact. cw: inspired by hozier’s “too sweet”, primarily wooyoung’s pov with one switch at the end; bartender!wooyoung, musician!reader, alcohol use, setting is a bar, uhhh wooyoung is a (to the tune of that arctic monkeys song) cigarette smoker, oral sex (v), protected sex (p in v), corruption kink kind of?, use of “sweetheart” (fatal). reader notes: afab (gender identity not designated); kind of naive; into fitness/“wellness” (no body type/weight is described, except wooyoung thinking they’re “strong” + reader thinking that they are in the best shape of their life); wears a sundress at the beginning. the following terms are used in the scenes involving smut: pussy, cunt, clit, tits (no description given). a/n: i quite literally started this in march 2024 and then experienced the most severe hobby death of all time. this is coming after five (5) months of scooping it out of my brain with a melon-baller, so… not my best, but here she is! thanks @sailoryooons for beta-ing because i’m self-conscious lately 🍤

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat never used to be busy. 

For three years, Wooyoung spent the majority of his shifts behind the bar doing fuck all: Folding receipt paper into increasingly complicated and wasteful shapes; replacing citrus wedges that went unused and then brown; paying visits to the stray cat camping out in the alley near the dumpster. He’d go hours without talking to another human being, and he never took issue with it, even if his wallet did.

Two months ago, however, things changed. 

Two months ago, management started panicking about the lack of revenue. To keep the lights on and draw in a crowd of (hopefully) soon-to-be regulars, they implemented a schedule of recurring events — some monthly, others weekly, most stupid.

Wooyoung’s precious solitude disappeared, and in its place, he got trivia nights and turntable DJs, showing off their collections of vinyls. Games of bingo targeting hipsters, who show up en masse to fight it out for prizes — potted plants, of all things — they could easily buy on their own for far less than their tabs’ totals. Themed brunches. 

A million other events and just as many used glasses to wash.

Despite his ever-present scowl — his face just looks like that —  it hasn’t been all bad. Without the newly-added acoustic sessions, the bar wouldn’t need a local performer to both play and host on a biweekly basis. Management wouldn’t have reached out to you; and you’d have no fucking reason to come to a dive like this. Suffice it to say, your pilates-practicing, daylight-disciplined circle of doers would never otherwise overlap with Wooyoung’s, in all its nocturnal, nicotine-dependent grit.

Tuesday nights at the Black Cat now occupy the center of the Venn diagram.

As usual, you come traipsing in half an hour before your set starts with a gig bag slung over your shoulder and a megawatt smile on your face. This is your natural state, he’s come to learn. Solar-powered. It shouldn’t be possible, but you manage to brighten further when your searching eyes find him sitting on the counter behind the register.

Through no fault of his own, Wooyoung’s gaze trails down from your face to the little sundress you’re wearing. It’s new, he notes immediately. The skirt of it flutters with each step you take, showing off more and more of your thighs as you move.

You don’t react to the migrating fabric. Just the same, you don’t notice his appraisal or the way patrons’ heads turn as you cross the bar. 

No surprise there, he thinks. 

From the four (4) entire conversations the two of you have had so far, you’ve made one thing abundantly clear: You’re inclined to assume the best of people and their intentions. 

Nine times out of ten, Wooyoung dodges naivety like that the second it starts skipping his way, well-versed in the consequences of trusting so implicitly. You and your cotton-candy smile have proven to be the outlier, though. Working in tandem, you and that grin have him pinned where he sits with no urge to run.

You don’t notice that, either.

When you slide onto the stool across the bar from him, Wooyoung finally clocks what you’re holding. Your right hand grips some green concoction that he suspects was made with kale. Or moss? In your left hand, an iced Americano — beautifully black — weeps condensation onto manicured fingers, making hard-earned calluses glisten.

Wooyoung’s racing thoughts about those hands are still inflicting psychic damage when you lean further over the counter.

“Extra shot of espresso,” you hum as you hold the coffee out to him. You do your best to tease him, though you’re shy as hell about it, so the words still manage to come gently: “For those of us who were still awake when the sun came up.”

Wooyoung mentioned his coffee order several weeks ago in passing. It’s sweet in a way he’s not used to that you’ve not only remembered how he takes his coffee, but that you’ve brought it to him ever since, apropos of nothing, when all he’s ever done is his best to get a rise out of you. What he’s up to isn’t sweet — not by a long-shot — but it’s easily done and well worth the misplaced effort when he sees how flustered he can make you.

Wooyoung tilts his head, draws his lips in a straight line, and gestures to your cup with his. “Worry about those waking up shortly after sunrise, sweetheart. They’re drinking algae.”

As intended, you’re visibly affected by the pet name, so much so that you stumble over your defense. “It — it’s healthy!”

“It’s swampy.”

Your nose scrunches indignantly, prompting the edge of Wooyoung’s mouth to tick upwards. He doesn’t emote more than that. Five (5) conversations in now, and he’s already picked up on how much it gets to you when he only concedes a hint of a smirk.

As much as he’d relish the opportunity to sit here and keep toying with you, the crowd surrounding you has doubled in a matter of minutes. Just over your shoulder, Wooyoung sees a patron glance down at the screen of her phone to check the time; then, he hears the complaint she thinks is muttered quietly under her breath. It’s not. In fact, you hear it, too, and you divert your wide, heart-shaped eyes away from him. That smile of yours curves in the wrong direction once you do.

When you look back at him, you say, “I should go,” but he hears it for what it is: an apology. 

He’s never been good at ending conversations — especially in the rare case that he’d prefer to keep one going — so he nods, leaves it at that. You pause for a nanosecond, as if you’ve got something else to add, but you don’t. You smooth down the back of your dress once you’ve hopped from the stool to your feet. Then, you mimic his gesture. 

You make it two steps towards the stage before Wooyoung calls out to you, prompting you to spin back around and your dress to flutter:

“Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart.”

Your frown disappears instantly. The smile that replaces it is still there when you disappear into the crowd, only to resurface several seconds later on the tiny stage across the room.

Guitar now in hand, you duck your head through the woven strap, shuffling carefully closer to the microphone stand. You introduce yourself, strum a quiet, major chord, and chirp, “Welcome to both the Black Cat and my favorite day of the week.”

Normally, you leave shortly after your last set, as if you’ll turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes ten. With the schedule you keep, it’s no wonder. From what Wooyoung has gathered so far, you wake up before dawn most days to get a workout in before heading to the office. The very idea makes him nauseous whenever he thinks too long about it, so he does his best not to. 

Mornings are for sleeping, he told you once.

Life is for living, you’d replied.

Apparently, the two of you have drastically different ideas about what living looks like.

For Wooyoung, life on Tuesday nights looks like catering to a steadily dwindling crowd once you finish up and disappear with a friendly wave goodbye. It’s cleaning up sticky spills, resetting migrated stools, and doing a half-ass restock that will make the opener — him — complain about the closer — again, him — when his next shift starts at 5:00 PM on Wednesday. 

In the gap between his shifts, life looks like meeting up with his similarly shadow-dwelling friends on someone’s balcony to chain-smoke, sip whiskey, and watch the sunrise until he gets bored. From there, it’s either walking back to his apartment or kicking said friends out of his, so he can rot in front of his PC. Eventually, life looks like blackout shades and crashing into bed while the world around him heads out for brunch.

Tonight, however, life is starting to look a little different.

When you wander over, it’s not to say goodnight or close out the tab you think you’ve accrued, which Wooyoung never opened in the first place.

Maybe, he thinks, you’ve finally caught on that all these “technical issues with the point-of-sale system” — occurring for the last four (4) shows in relation to one (1) patron in particular — can’t possibly be a coincidence. That a free drink given will always beget a free drink received. That Wooyoung doesn’t deal in unpaid debts, even if he hasn’t and won’t own up to his petty workplace theft.

You sidle up to his bar and slip back into the stool you’d previously occupied, no more aware of the way your sundress shifts now than you were earlier. Likewise, he’s no less blatant with the way he looks you up and down, eyes lingering unabashedly and hungrily. The pair of you float in each other’s orbit for a few moments just like this: waiting for the other to speak first.

“Don’t you go to yoga class at ass o’clock on Wednesdays?” He eventually inquires, leaning back against the counter behind him with his arms crossed and head tilted.

Your eyes flick down to the screen of your phone, which rests face-up on the bar between your elbows. You clock the time but not the way your current posture causes the neckline of your mostly modest dress to plunge. Conflict creases between your eyebrows, then you tilt your chin to look at him.

Wooyoung knows that look, although he’s never seen it on you before. That look begs to be talked into something, rather than out of it. It’s a look he gets often. For better or for worse, it’s one he never turns down.

“I do,” you admit through a sigh. 

Offering nothing more than a hum to indicate his intrigue, Wooyoung watches you and waits patiently for you to elaborate. Another few seconds slip by without a word. His attention makes you shy, he notes; he loves it. 

But he loves the idea of toying with you even more, so when you don’t say anything else, he takes that attention and diverts it to the few remaining patrons, all of whom have vested interest in closing out and getting out.

Good riddance, he thinks as the last of them stumbles out and away, leaving the two of you in charged silence. 

Even more seconds pass. 

Still nothing.

Wooyoung glances around and finds a bottle of Jameson on its very last leg. It’s the perfect amount for a litmus test — two shots left, nothing more to give and everything to prove. Snatching two overturned shot glasses from where they dry on a holed rubber mat, he empties the whiskey evenly and turns back to you with an eyebrow raised.

Your eyes widen slightly when he sets the spare on the bar in front of you, more so with interest than surprise. For a moment, you stare at it with the same ambivalent expression, nibbling thoughtfully on your lower lip. 

Finally, you all but whisper, “I should’ve been in bed an hour ago.”

With his left palm flat against the bar, Wooyoung rests his weight and leans in, eyelids and voice dropping. “Why aren’t you?” He murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips then back up again — just long enough for you to notice that he was, in fact, looking. “Hmm?”

Your breath hitches — just loudly enough for him to notice that you are, in fact, finding it hard to function this closely to him.

“On a school night, no less.” His eyes narrow teasingly.

“I’m asking myself the same question,” you confess, though you’re the picture of innocence. Your fingertip traces idly down the side of your shot glass, then back up again. 

He’s as distracted by the mindless movement as you are, albeit for different reasons. Before he lets himself get carried away in wondering whether or not your touch is always that delicate, Wooyoung lifts his glass and gestures for you to do the same. “Sounds like you could use a bad influence.”

A soft clink permeates when your glasses touch, followed by a muted thump when the bottom of each one is tapped against the bar. Your heads are thrown back in unison, just like your drinks, and when your faces finally level out towards one another’s, you counter him breezily, “Maybe you could use a good one.”

Wooyoung thinks he could use more than that.

Breaking eye contact, you glance down at your phone again. It’s obvious that you’re second-guessing your decision to linger. He wants to chuck that brick in the bin with the other useless shit, to get rid of any excuse you might give for having to leave, but he doesn’t. 

And you don’t give him an excuse.

Your hand wraps around that fucking phone, then you stand up slowly. 

“Try not to stay up too late,” you advise with a smile that still manages to read like disappointment.

Don’t.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pull out the tips you made tonight and collect a few bills before dropping them on the counter to cover the shot you didn’t even order. Wooyoung wants to tell you not to — that your money isn’t good here, even if you are — but he knows it won’t make a difference. 

You sling your gig bag over your shoulder, thank him, and tell him that you’ll see him in two weeks.

He scrubs his hands over his face the second you walk out the door and mutters through gritted teeth, “Fuck.”

You don’t see Wooyoung in two weeks. 

As a matter of fact, you cancel your acoustic session for the first time ever. Management either doesn’t know why you bailed or doesn’t think it’s any of Wooyoung’s business, so no one bothers to tell him. If he’d ever thought to ask for your number, he could check in on you himself, but he didn’t and therefore can’t.

Ignorant and annoyed, he resigns himself to occupying an empty tavern on a goddamn Tuesday night, yet again. 

Nobody brings him coffee. 

Nobody worth talking to crosses the threshold. 

No one makes little comments — genuine concerns poorly disguised as digs — when he uses the paring knife to carve little stars into the lip of the bar top, instead of slicing limes. 

And when he gives up and closes down early, he’s so tired of his own shit that he simply goes home and goes to bed.

Bed being the operative word. 

He doesn’t go to sleep, even though he has nothing better to do. Alternatively, Wooyoung replays your last interaction on a loop in his head, daydreaming about what could’ve happened if you’d stayed. While his thoughts spiral, his hand drifts, finds the pulse beneath the zipper of his jeans, and feels the throbbing ache building through the denim.

It’s pathetic. 

He knows it. 

Too bad that doesn’t stop him from fucking his fist every night for the next several, imagining how much softer yours must feel.

The patron pulls a face the absolute second Wooyoung slides her glass across the bar. 

Wholly uninterested in the response one way or another, he slathers on his customer-service smile and asks her, “Alright?”, in a tone that doesn’t match his expression in the slightest.

“There’s no ice in it,” she mumbles, cringing in mild horror as she does. As if the liquor features his spit instead. “I wanted ice.”

There’s a split second where he almost lets his mask crack, says something shitty just because his mood was already sour before she walked over. Wooyoung doesn’t get the opportunity, however. Over the girl’s shoulder, someone gently intervenes: “Neat means no ice. You’d have needed to order it on the rocks.” 

A beat passes, then comes, “Or — you know, with ice, please.”

Wooyoung neither hears nor cares what the girl says in response. She shuffles off, and that’s all that matters. Without her body blocking the way, he sees you clearly. You’re more done-up than usual, like you’ve just come from somewhere far nicer than here.

“It’s Saturday.”

Probably should’ve started with hello.

After eyeing the glowing, neon clock on the wall, Wooyoung notices that both hands are pointed skyward. He corrects himself, “Nah, it’s Sunday.”

You slip into the now-unoccupied stool ahead of him and nod, chuckling like you can’t believe it, either. When you settle in, you prop your elbow on the bar top, then your chin upon the heel of your hand. Just above, your eyes twinkle with a kind of mischief he’s never seen you wear before.

That might be the thin veil of tipsiness, actually. 

Not that he’s complaining.

Wooyoung hides his amusement by bending over and rummaging through the under-counter refrigerator that hums beneath the register. The rush of cool air has nothing to do with how awake he suddenly feels. He wonders if you feel the same but can’t ask outright; eagerness isn’t his style.

“You’re here on purpose?” He asks instead, resurfacing with a bottle of soju — some new, fruity flavor he assumes you’ll like — and a raised eyebrow.

You hum appreciatively when you see what he’s holding. That soft sound that punches him right in the center of his chest with force. “I was out with friends, but…”

Your voice trails off, too distracted by his hand enveloping the seal-covered bottle cap. With a firm grip and quick twist, it’s gone. You’re still eyeing his hands, he notes, even though all they’re doing is holding the bottle. 

Normally, he’d love to give you the benefit of the doubt and attribute your sudden fixation on the rings he wears. It wouldn’t be the first time a man in jewelry snags attention, complimentary or otherwise. Unfortunately — or maybe fortunately? — for you, Wooyoung forgot to put his usual accessories back on after this afternoon’s shower.

Nope, he thinks, biting back a wolfish grin. He’s not alone. You daydream about his touch, too.

Catching yourself staring, you shift atop your stool with a quiet, self-conscious laugh that sounds more like a sigh. He opts to let it go without further teasing, but he doesn’t let it go entirely. That breathy little noise echoes in his ears, drowning out the faint slosh of liquor as he fills your glass. 

In a weak attempt to distract himself, he remembers your half-finished sentence and prompts with a low voice, “But?”

“They wanted to end the night.” You accept the glass into your hand from his and raise it slightly in thanks. “I didn’t,” you whisper, then bring the rim to your lips to cloak their upward curve.

Wooyoung would be lying if he said your tiny act of defiance didn’t send all the blood in his body rushing straight to his dick. Maybe it’s arrogant of him to assume that he’s the source of this newfound rebelliousness. The spark that lit the fuse, or whatever. Maybe that should bother him. Of course, it doesn’t.

In an effort to hide how strong of a chord your confession has struck, he gestures with one extended finger to the clock. Your eyes follow, and he leans in closer; the smirk you can’t see is still evident in his voice, he’s sure.  “How much of a coincidence is it that you showed up right before the trains stop running?”

When your gaze flicks momentarily back to him, he spots a hint of surprise. This impeccable timing wasn’t a scheme at all, he realizes. Not a plot. If he had to bet, Wooyoung would guess that you’re never out late enough to know that the train schedule ends at all.

God, you’re going to give him a cavity.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Coincidentally, I know someone who gets off just in time to walk you home.”

“This gonna bother you?”

Having stepped out of the bar before Wooyoung, his question prompts you to look back over your shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised slightly out of curiosity. He lifts his right hand from his jacket pocket to reveal the half-spent pack of cigarettes he’d been storing there.

He expects it to, and to his surprise, he cares enough about that possibility that he doesn’t light up without asking in the way he normally would.

“In theory, yes,” you laugh, “because I’d prefer your lungs to be tar-free.”

“And in practice?”

You must not have expected him to note the distinction; you fluster. Grinning slightly, Wooyoung answers his own question on your behalf, “In practice, you find it kind of hot.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he pulls a cigarette from the pack — slowly, to test his hypothesis that you’ve got a thing for his hands — and then, Wooyoung slides the cardboard back into his pocket. 

Your gaze follows while he gently places the filtered end between his lips. It stays put when he furnishes a lighter, holds the flame to the opposite side, and inhales. Turning his head to the side, Wooyoung exhales the smoke where it won’t reach you. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he assures you, eyes devilish. Deer in headlights that you are, you freeze but for the bob of your throat as you swallow. “I won’t make you admit it out loud.”

Yet.

Once he’s decided that he’s played with you enough for the time being, two of you head south, ambling under streetlights without any sense of urgency. Making up for lost time, maybe; picking up where the last Tuesday left off. 

He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol making you more talkative than usual, or if you’re feeling the rush of your off-brand decisions, but Wooyoung’s fine with it, either way. You tell him about your week — in full and without hesitation — like you’re chatting to a friend and not someone you’ve only just started to encounter on a brief, twice-monthly basis.

You had a date this Tuesday night, he learns. It didn’t go well. Too similar, you explain with a wave of your hand. According to you, it’s boring to sit with you at a dinner table. Wooyoung looks pointedly at you as soon as he hears it, noting his disagreement. For a second, you assume something he doesn’t mean: that he enjoys his own company more than you enjoy yours.

“No,” he corrects you. “I just can’t picture dinner with you as something boring.”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “Oh,” is all you manage in reply.

Wooyoung follows your lead across several more city blocks, hanging on every word you say in the meantime. When the pair of you reach the front of your apartment building, his cigarette is spent, but neither one of you is. He takes an extra step towards the garbage can near the door and drops the butt amidst the others in the lid, which doubles as an ashtray. A faint vein of smoke bleeds out until the dark sky laps it up entirely.

You look conflicted when he turns back in your direction. Clearly, you don’t want him to leave just yet, but asking him upstairs is likely way out of your pattern of behavior. Wooyoung sees two options: He could say goodnight and go; take a few steps towards his side of the city, and hope you to act even further out of character, or — 

“If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

— he could go off-script entirely.

Your apartment looks exactly the way Wooyoung expected it to. Everything is cozy; a far cry from the modern and monochrome edge of his place. It all makes sense, based on what he’s learned about you so far. Feels like you, although he’ll concede that you haven’t been felt by him just yet.

Each shelf features a tchotchke or framed photograph — or several — but not a single speck of dust. Likewise, the various potted plants you’ve displayed artfully around the space are well-kept. Flourishing, he assumes, despite the fact that he doesn’t know shit about fuck when it comes to plants.

His shoes, ratty in comparison to yours, are toed off at the door before he follows you further into the kitchen. You stop at the island, bottom lip between your teeth once again. Unsure, you nibble on it, like it’ll help you set your dizzy mind straight.

When Wooyoung inches closer to you, he does it slowly, even though every part of his body demands that he ramp up the pace. As badly as he wants his hands — and his teeth, and his tongue…— all over you now, he can’t be the jump scare that sets your little bunny heart to sprinting. The adrenaline is practically vibrating off your frame already with every step he takes in your direction.

Though you could, you don’t move further away, the nearer he gets. You stay put with the small of your back against the lip of the granite counter, hypnotized. Right where he wants you.

Once he’s close enough, Wooyoung tests the waters. You let him; your gaze clings to him so strongly that he feels the weight of it without reciprocating. With his thumb and forefinger, he traces the belt loop closest to your left hip, then tugs slightly, making your breath quicken for a moment. 

Eyes still focused on his own ministrations, he murmurs, “Am I the first stray you’ve ever brought home?”

You don’t answer with words. His gaze flicks upwards, and from under heavy-lidded eyes, he sees the tiny nod.

“Full of surprises.” He looks down again, purposely depriving you of eye contact, and moves his fingers from your belt loop so that the pad of his thumb brushes over the top of your jeans. There, the skin of your hip peeks out from under the denim, hot to the touch. “Not just sweet, are you?”

“Someone told me I needed a bad influence.”

The sudden re-introduction of your voice pulls his focus. You stare back at him boldly, and it feels like a dare. Both of his hands move to your hips now, simultaneously guiding you closer to his chest and keeping you pinned between his body and the island.

“You’ll miss your Sunday morning pilates, I fear,” he tuts with a slight shake of his head.

“You’ll make attending redundant, I hope.”

And then your mouth is on his, all tongue and teeth, while you card desperate fingers through his hair. It occurs to him, as he licks into your mouth, that the split-dyed strands you're clinging to are a microcosm. 

Black and white. 

Conflicting tastes, like sugar and salt, that only make sense together in certain contexts. Like this one — right here, right now — with the two of you tangled up in your half-lit kitchen, so caught up in exploration that inhibition takes the backseat. Steeping in the aftertaste of soju and cigarette smoke, scent heady like arousal.

You break the kiss to catch your breath but can’t make it very far. His teeth claim your bottom lip, pulling forth the softest little growl he’s ever heard.

“Fuck,” he echoes with a growl of his own. 

That’s it. Breathing is overrated. Wooyoung’s ready to suffocate, so long as you let him.

“Lay back on the counter.”

You’re stunned into silence for a second, and while you blink back at him, he wonders if you’ll actually let him eat you out where you eat. It’s objectively filthy, he knows, but he might drop dead where he stands if he has to wait another second — or take another step elsewhere — before he tastes you.

Your answer is a leap, figuratively and literally. The hands you’ve been using to cling to him each flatten palm-down on the island behind you. With his grip on your hips to boost you, you scramble to your new stage; and you shatter the conservative expectations he had for you in the process. 

A newfound confidence flashes in your eyes, making his stomach flip and his dick twitch. A patronizing frown graces your kiss-bitten lips. “You didn’t walk three kilometers here just to look at me, did you?”

He sure as shit didn’t. Still, he can’t help but bask in the odd sense of pride he feels in staring up at you on the pedestal he put you on. The more time you spend with him, the rougher you seem to get around the edges; and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t love the grit.

In lieu of a verbal response, Wooyoung locks eyes with you and gestures downward with the index finger of his right hand. You follow his silent command eagerly and without question; he keeps the praise you’ve earned on the tip of his tongue, saving it for later.

It takes less time than he expects to strip you of your jeans, most of which is attributed to slipping them off your ankles and dropping them blindly over his shoulder. They hit what he believes to be the range with a soft twack, then a barely audible crumple when they finally find the floor. 

Your lace underwear disappears in a similar fashion, albeit more eagerly. Couldn’t be helped, he thinks. That scrap of fabric was the last barrier between him and the thing he’s been craving most since he met you; and fuck, if you don’t exceed his expectations once again.

“Christ,” is all he can say.

It’s rare to find a pussy so perfect that it wipes out his vocabulary, let alone makes him want to weep. That’s exactly what’s waiting for him when you spread your thighs wide enough to accommodate his body between them. Really, the only thing driving him more insane than the sight of you is the thought of how many self-imposed rules you’ve broken to get to this point — the self-discipline you’ve thrown out the window on your way down to him.

He accepts the invitation, descends upon your wet heat like a man starved, and loops his arms underneath your thighs. Immediately, your thighs tighten around the sides of his head, muffling the groan that slips out of him the second your taste hits his tongue. Just the same, you’ve got him drunk in an instant while he laves his way through folds sweeter than cherry wine.

From under his own lashes, he looks up and sees yours flutter at the sensation of his lips encircling your clit and suckling slowly, deeply.

“Oh, my g-god,” you hiccup before your fingers are in his hair again, nails scratching perfectly along his scalp. “You’re so —” 

Wooyoung’s wickedly curved lips are slick in more ways than one, though he doubts you can see them through all those stars in your eyes. You don’t see the switch-up coming, either. Unwilling to let you race too far ahead of him, he scales it back, trading his deep pulls for targeted kitten licks.

“— evil.”

Your frustration rings out with a tortured whine. Wooyoung can’t blame you; he knows he’s cruel for guiding you so close to the edge, right out of the gate, then refusing to send you off of it. But he has to draw this out as long as he can, savor what he can for however long you give him.

And to your credit, you take it well. 

You give, too, offering up the moans, whimpers, and sighs he couldn’t have dreamed up correctly if he tried.

Well…

Wooyoung did try. Gave it his best shot, even, but his imagination fell short. He knows that now. The pitch was wrong, the timing was off, and he failed to anticipate just how badly it’d fuck him up to feel you grinding against his tongue. To have your fingers tied off in his hair, refusing to accept anything less than closeness.

That particular chorus swells for the first time when he unwinds his right arm from where it secures your left thigh; and his middle finger slides into your cunt, curls upwards to greet that spongy patch of nerves along your front wall. 

Eyes swimming with previously untapped desire, you look so pitifully perfect. Only breaking eye contact to throw your head back, you start to wail, “Wooyoung, I —” 

But the rest of that thought must turn to static before you can finish it. Charged silence settles in its place, save for your ragged breathing. All the while, his tongue never lets up on your poor, abused clit, though your arousal already has him coated, leaking down over the knuckle.

A particularly needy tug of his hair seeks what you can’t verbalize. 

More.

Closer.

When he adds his ring finger to fuck you further open for him, you can’t keep his name from spilling out of your mouth. Wooyoung starts to sound like a summoning spell; an invocation repeated so desperately that he just might give you what you want.

“W-Wooyoung, please,” you choke out, hips bucking up to chase his mouth. “I’m so close!”

The fact that you’re downright begging — on the brink of tears, no less — goes straight to his head. He lets up for a moment to purr, “Since you asked so nicely…”

The hand he doesn’t have half-buried in your heat grips your right hip, hard, securing you against the granite. It’s for the best, really. You jolt so much when he finally lets you cum that you could’ve knocked him out otherwise.

Not that he’d complain.

When the aftershocks peter out, and you gain back some control of your trembling limbs, you collapse back onto the countertop, chest heaving as your breath struggles to even out. One leg stays put, hinged over his shoulder, the best kind of dead weight; the other pools off the edge of the island, hanging limply.

Before pulling away entirely, Wooyoung presses an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh, suckling slightly — just enough to leave a calling card, though he doesn’t want anyone but you to know it’s there.

“You fucking menace.”

Your eyes flutter open and catch the way he’s grinning, the lower half of his face otherwise shining with a mix of spit and slick. With you watching intently, he licks his lips, simpering, “Think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

“Deserved.” You sigh contentedly and close your eyes again for a second, but the blissed-out look on your face doesn’t dissipate. 

Wooyoung wonders if you’re holding onto the image of him between your thighs, replaying it behind your lids. The sight of you is going to haunt him — then and now, before and after. Even if your stamina is depleted now, his appetite’s been sated. He can survive off of this moment alone for weeks if necessary.

But you summon the strength to stretch your arms over your head, to moan breathily while you arch your back off the counter and ease the tension in your muscles. Then, in a burst of vitality, you sit upright. Eyes alight, you give him a smile to match.

“Help me down?”

As if he’d say no to a question asked that sweetly.

You wobble when your feet touch the ground again and thank him when he snakes an arm around your waist to steady you. With a nod in the direction of what Wooyoung assumes is your bedroom, you beckon him, “Come with me.”

“That’s been the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at him — another first — and take his hand in yours. Fingers intertwined, you lead and he follows through the adjoining living room towards a door on the far side of the apartment. The pair of you barely cross the threshold into your bedroom before you turn and tug his hand, pulling him into a kiss.

“Do me a favor,” you murmur against his lips.

Wooyoung has no questions about that — the answer is yes, no matter what the favor is — but there is something he’s wondering about: when you open your mouth against his, can you taste yourself on his tongue?

Distracted by that thought, and the way your free hand makes its way to the button of his jeans, he nods. It gives him the opportunity to swallow down the groan that builds in his chest when you squeeze his still-clothed cock.

Your mouth leaves his then, drops to the side of his neck. Something about the light nip of your teeth below his ear makes his resolve start to crumble. It only gets harder when the warmth of your tongue flicks over his skin to soothe the sting. He sounds fucked out already when he sighs, “Anything.”

“Let me repay you for all those drinks you never charged me for.” Between kisses down the length of his neck, you purr, “Not exactly subtle, you know.”

He clenches his jaw to keep it from dropping. “Have I been hustled?” 

“Is it hustling if I offer to reimburse you?” 

Knowing damn well what it’ll do to him, you flutter your lashes against his skin, forcing him to fight off a shiver. There’s no hiding the rush of heat that follows; he doesn’t need to ask to know that you feel it creeping up his neck. “I’ll make up for it,” you promise. “Atone, and all that.”

Wooyoung reaches up and cups your jaw with his hand; you follow his direction and look up at him with excitement twinkling in your eyes, juxtaposing the deep black in his. “I’m charging interest,” he bites back. “The rates are astronomical.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, indeed. Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

With a light smack on your ass, he sends you on your way. In the few seconds it takes you to skip over to your mattress and jump onto it, he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then tosses it aside. Before unbuckling his jeans and tearing those off, too, he snatches his wallet from the back pocket. More specifically, the condom he’s been keeping within just in case you ever decided to stoop to his level.

You’re a second away from drooling when he makes his way over and stops at the edge of the bed. That kind of hunger is yet another thing he failed to see coming. There’s something insatiable in your eyes now, darkening by the second. 

You reach out for the condom, but he pulls his hand back, holds it up where you can’t reach. Frustration makes your eyebrows pinch together. Out of context — if you weren’t naked, wet, and wanting him — he’d likely go out of his way to tell you how fucking cute you look when you’re annoyed. 

“Don’t pout at me, sweetheart.” Wooyoung’s warning tone is gravel-lined, sharp to the touch when it hits you. Whether you intend it or not, your breath hitches in tandem with your pupils dilating.  “I’ll let you do it, but I have one condition. Consider it a repayment term.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “And what’s that?”

“No hands.”

The surprised look he was counting on never comes. He gets sheer determination instead. You pull the packet from between his fingers, rip the foil open with your teeth, and flick the empty wrapper onto your nightstand. Not a second is wasted in you tugging his black briefs down his thighs.

You don’t deal in unpaid debts, either, it seems.

What happens next nearly puts him in an early grave. Wooyoung fucking wishes for a fly on the wall to witness you — someone else to memorialize the finesse you exhibit in working that latex down his length with your mouth alone — because he can’t believe his own eyes. In fact, he has to screw them shut to keep from cumming at the sight of you with his dick down your throat, lips flush to his pelvis.

“My god,” he groans, head dipping backwards. “If that’s how good your fucking mouth feels…”

You give him a second to pull himself together. Then, you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him. He drops into the space you were occupying just a second ago, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, you steady yourself with your palms on his chest and position yourself over him.

Now, he can’t keep his hands to himself. His fingertips scratch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps along the fastidiously trained muscles underneath his touch. Palms gliding up the curve of your ass, then your waist, then those fucking tits.

“Shit,” you mewl. He lightly pinches your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, spurring you on to rake your nails over the flesh of his chest. The way he tenses under your touch must embolden you. “Play with me all you want, but I need you inside of me now.”

Wooyoung has no idea where this assertiveness came from, but he’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t give you everything you want and then some. To prove that you’ve earned the lot, you line yourself up and take everything he has. 

Somehow, you manage to take his vision, too. The world gets blurry as your heat envelopes him; everything in the periphery blackens until all that’s left is you throwing your head back in pleasure. No other light, no noise beyond the obscene sound of your pussy soaking his length and the collision of your perfect ass against the tops of his thighs.

As strong as you are, Wooyoung knows your orgasm will wipe you out long before your body tires. He sees your eyes start to roll back in your head, even when you put your palms down behind you and lean away from him to perfect the angle. 

Not good enough, he decides. He wants to watch your pupils blow when you fall apart.

“C’mere,” he rasps. 

Fuck, he’s about to break, too. 

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

You push off your hands and move to lean in, but you wind up crumpling against his chest, immediately overwhelmed by the depths of his strokes when you re-enter his gravity. With the proximity perfected, every movement that follows is desperate — animalistic, even. Clinging fingers, sweat slicked bodies swapping searing heat. He lifts his hips to drive himself further into you with every downbeat, sets a pace so punishing that he has you speaking in tongues.

When you cum the second time, the moan that rips through you almost sounds like a sob. It really might be. The droplets on your cheeks are either tears or sweat; one or both would be justified, considering the show you just put on for him.

Shit, how you managed to blow his world to pieces just by walking into his bar, he’ll never understand. All he knows is that when he cums — not long after you — and his entire fucking body goes numb, you’re there on the other side of the cataclysm to kiss him back to life.

Sweet.

When you wake up, you don’t even have a guess as to what time it is. That’s your fault, you know. You didn’t think to connect your phone to its charger prior to falling asleep in a mess of sheets. The numerous alarms you always keep set didn’t go off, obviously, but right now, that’s the least of your worries. 

Until your phone has enough juice to power back on, you won’t know if Wooyoung texted you before sneaking out of your apartment.

You’d taken it as a good sign when he asked for your number in a fucked-out haze. Now, you realize, that naivety of yours was operating in full swing, even when the rest of you was down for the count. That’s what one-night-stands are for, you tell yourself. That’s the decision you made.

Uncharacteristically, you’re tempted to spend the rest of your day — however much of it is left — rotting in bed. It’s an urge you’ll give in to, you can already tell; just like the one that got you here in the first place. The only thing stronger than the call of your bed is the grumbling of your stomach, begging for sustenance.

Sighing loudly, you throw your comforter off your lower half and wiggle towards the edge of your bed. Bare feet meet the braided rug below, then unsteady legs do their best to get their bearings. As you ache, you realize that you need to give credit where it’s due:

You’re currently in the best shape of your life, and Wooyoung still managed to fuck the constitution out of you.

You bend slowly to scoop a shirt from your untouched laundry basket, groaning all the while. On its own, it’s long enough to cover your ass, so you don’t bother to dress yourself further — except for the fuzzy slippers waiting next to your bedroom door.

It’s closed, you note when you finally bother to look at it. It wasn’t when you fell into bed with Wooyoung. He probably didn’t want to disturb you on the way out, you figure. This would strike you as thoughtful if it didn’t feel like a chapter ending too soon. Reaching out to reopen it, you tell yourself to be less sentimental.

In the living room, laying eyes on an empty kitchen, you also tell yourself, I told you so. This isn’t a drama, after all. There’s no love interest in your kitchen to cook you an unexpected breakfast. 

Pre-made frozen breakfast sandwich it is, then.

You tear open the package with more effort than you should’ve needed to expend, then dump the single-serving lump onto a paper plate. As if on autopilot, you shove the plate into the microwave and smash a few buttons without registering much of it. The quiet hum of the machine nearly lulls you straight back to sleep.

Well, it likely could have.

The metallic rattling up the hall catches your attention, prompting you to step backwards so you can peer over at your front door and confirm that it’s locked. It is. You turn back to your breakfast in progress, and it takes five (5) entire seconds before you realize the issue here.

Keys jingle with more determination, right on cue. You spin around fully this time, eyes wide, to find Wooyoung in your doorway. He holds the door open with his elbow because both his hands are full; and as if that all wasn’t enough, he tries to toe off his shoes without being able to see them over the cardboard to-go tray in his hands.

“Fucking —” he grunts, wobbling. 

It must’ve been louder than he intended because he winces immediately. In his moment of panic, his eyes flick over to your bedroom door. Then, when he realizes it’s open, they search for you, blinking in surprise when they find you. He peeps, “Oh.”

As it turns out, his ability to make you lose your words isn’t limited to late hours. The sun is beating through the sliding glass door to your balcony, and you confirm that you’re just as dumbstruck by him in daylight. So, you simply point to the drinks and paper bag he’s holding with your eyebrows pinched in confusion.

“Found that café you go to on Tuesdays,” Wooyoung explains gruffly. His morning voice is every bit as ruinous as you imagined it would be. “The logo on their cups is just a cloud, so it took a lot of wandering to solve that fucking mystery.”

This time, it’s you who peeps. “Oh?”

It’s then that he finally succeeds in getting his shoes off. With his hip, he nudges the door shut; your key ring chimes in the process, having been attached to his belt loop. In a few steps, he sets his burdens down on the kitchen island and looks up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. Apparently, his immediate thought is the same as yours. Simpering, he picks everything back up and makes for your living room’s coffee table instead.

“I’m glad to report that the green shit you drink doesn’t include algae or moss.” He lifts a smoothie from the carrier and holds it out to you, flashing you a smile that makes your knees wobble. “However, I regret to inform you that it does contain vegetables.”

If you try any harder to bite back your idiotic grin, you might lose your lips. “Did you — did you really think there was moss in it?”

He waves his hand dismissively. Notably, he doesn’t say no. That hand then lowers, finger crooked to beckon you closer. You move in, and you try to focus on the moment in front of you, rather than the obscene flashbacks the gesture gives you. The knowing look you expect doesn’t follow, though. Wooyoung simply places your drink in your left hand and your keys in your right.

“Sorry for borrowing those without asking or — well, notifying you in any way, whatsoever.” He grimaces. “I figured I’d be gone for a minute, and I didn’t want someone to waltz through your unlocked door and wake you up.”

“Was burglary on that list of concerns, or is sleep truly your main priority?”

At this, he grins like an idiot. “You’re getting better at that, you know.”

The look on your face must convey your confusion. 

“I like the version of you that doesn’t pull punches,” he continues, sounding almost embarrassed to admit something about himself.

You take a move from his playbook and slide your finger through his belt loop, tugging him forward until he’s squarely within kissing distance. “This Wooyoung?” You murmur, “The one who got up early to hunt down a smoothie he’s disgusted by? Objectively likable.”

He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t distract from the pink tint overtaking his cheeks. “I don’t know about that.”

You kiss him before he can offer to agree to disagree. And when you finally pull back, you nod firmly. “He might be sweet enough for me.”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

ateez masterlist. multi masterlist. navigation.

tagging: @jihopesjoint @bahng-chrizz @sourkimchi @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon (also paging @moni-logues because i feel like woo is our sister wife, lmfao.)

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

────────────────────

────────────────────

“Just a Trim” (Black Noir x Gn!Reader)

| In a spur of the moment move you offer to do Earving’s hair in order to spend more time with him. To your shock, he takes you up on the offer.

| SFW, Noir being briefly insecure about his disfigurement, hair care, good vibes.

| 1k+ words

Tomorrow was going to be a marked day. One of those dates that you held close to your heart and pulled out anytime you were even peripherally pressed about the event.

In passing Black Noir had mentioned his regularly scheduled grooming appointment. The hair that did still grow on his head would need a trim so he’d be offsite at a smaller Vought facility for a few hours.

You’d taken in his words, a mix between excitement that he felt it necessary to share his whereabouts at all warring with upset at how long he’d be gone (basically your whole workday) on the final day of the week you’d be able to see him until you were allowed back onto the upper floors in another four days.

It’s that heavy swirl of emotions that spurred your mouth into action and had, “I could trim it if you want,” falling past your lips unbidden.

He’d turned on deft feet at your words to stare you down from behind the mask, back ramrod straight and body still.

Finally, after maybe a minute of you waiting him out (the type of contemplative minute between you two that you cherished), Noir gave a slow nod of his head and pointed to two numbers on one of the recruitment posters on the wall next to you before marching off.

He’d indicated the numbers ‘two’ and ‘thirty’, and you’d never admit to anyone but him that you’d had a little bit of a bounce to your step after you’d registered what that meant.

So what if the thought of him allowing you into his hair had sent butterflies dashing through your bloodstream? It didn’t matter that he’d typically had what were no doubt unfeeling trims from Vought hired barbers either, because he had to know that you weren’t going to treat his hair with such clinical detachment.

You were going to be sharing some level of intimacy - he was going to let you be that intimate with him, period! - and you planned on treating this undoubtedly maskless milestone in your relationship with the appropriate amount of significance.

This was huge!

Holy hell you needed to gather your supplies.

The top of his head is not devoid of similar scars as the ones that mar his face. A patch of gnarled scar tissue takes up a third of his scalp, scars running in their steep wiggling pattern and stopping any hair from growing.

The marks from the explosion still being so prominent even after all these years makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

His interesting hair growth pattern is the first thing that drew you gaze when you’d entered. After your greeting he’d stared at you for a while, the note paper in his hand boldly proclaiming: ‘tell me if you want me to put it back on’, before he tossed the paper aside and ripped off his mask. For a moment all you’d been able to do was blink uncomprehendingly before realization dawned and you threw him a smile, or tried to since he’d kind of stopped looking at you entirely and has just been deathly still for the last minute or so.

After that you’ve forgotten yourself too much to not let your eyes wander, the white of his blind eye snagging your attention next and then the scars that crawled up the entirety of one side of his face and sprawled into his hair stole all of your remaining attention once more.

The scars are steep and plentiful and even the reports on his injury from back when he was originally caught by the explosive didn’t do even the sight of the scars left behind justice.

Finally, his expression registers and you cringe back and tear your gaze away from him entirely at the edges of the grimace you can see on his downturned face.

Way to go, you’ve gone and made the man uncomfortable.

“I’m ready when you are,” you say quickly, voice soft as you move further into his sparse personal space in the tower.

With a tentative two person shift and shuffle routine eventually you both end up settling down, you sitting towards the edge of the only lounge chair in his sitting room - bare feet planted flat on the unbelievably soft carpet - and Earving on the ground between your spread legs.

You don’t really talk much after that, preoccupied with getting his hair saturated with water so that it’s ready for you to detangle and stretch. The last thing you want to do is take length off of Earving’s hair that he didn’t want and skew his trust like that.

Up close his scarring is easier for you to map out as you brush your fingers over his wet curls with the finger of one hand, nothing but the edge of your pinkie on your other hand daring to press into his hairline in order to brace his head and keep it still.

Unthinkingly you stray from running over his curls to trace the border of the patch of skin between the scars on his head and the growth of his hair with your nail. The blunt point shifts fine hairs and barely applies any pressure as it goes but Earving shivers anyway.

The speed you snatch your hand back with jostles the both of you.

“Sorry!” Your voice comes out mostly squeak as you pull away even more, doing everything but straight up sailing across the room as your face heats up something fierce - though your cheeks show nothing for it - and your hands raise placatingly. “I’m so sorry. That’s on me. I wasn’t thinking—”

Your word vomit stops dead when Earving begins shaking his head and fully pivots his head up to look at you. From between your legs where he’s sitting down, stretched out legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and face on full display for you, he looks so damn unreal your words peter off like a dying engine.

Christ almighty if Earving didn’t look painful, but he was perfect all the same.

Watching the way he so readily faces you now with both his good and bad eye without obstruction and the tentative quirk of his lips, you shiver. So fucking perfect.

He shakes his head again, his functioning eye still meeting one of your similarly brown ones, and then leans forward to press a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee.

At no point does he stop holding your gaze.

A tiny noise falls from your lips and you watch, entranced, as a full lopsided smile takes over the bottom half of his face before he nuzzles into the brown skin on the inside of your thigh with another branding press of his lips.

“Earving,” you breathe, too close to choked up to regulate your voice anymore than that.

Your tone is incredibly transparent, but you can’t even be mad about it when he’s gazing up at you with such a sharp glimmer in his eye.

In response he wraps a tender hand around your ankle and taps lightly at your skin for you to continue before stretching his neck back until his damp hair is pressed to your stomach again.

Painfully aware of your closeness - and where his head is, good lord - you heed his request with far steadier fingers than before.

Y’all were good. He’s pretty clearly just shown you that, now you just had to let yourself believe it.

This time when you press against his head to shift him around as you work you’re not so tentative.

When you brush your free hand down his face to ease him into a better angle for you to pick out his hair he leans into your hold and strengthens it, his breath rushing over your fingers like a proclamation as you run the pad of your middle finger over the bow of his lip and the raised lines of his scars brand a claim into your palm.

When the teeth of the pick snag on a tight congregation of coils and you murmur a soft apology his thumb rubs circles into the ball of your foot and sends shivers up your dark skin.

When you’ve finally combed out his shrinkage and pulled out the well loved hair grade shears he responds to the shaky breath you take while lifting the blades to his head with a firm grip on your ankle and a strong squeeze to ground you.

The both of you move like this for the rest of the hour and by the end you’re trimming with steady hands and intermittently tipping Earving’s head up to blow away stray hair trimmings and press little kisses along his hairline just to draw out his telltale huff of laughter.

Sure, after this you’ll both go back to just being two people working in the same unfeeling company and Earving will go back to being Black Noir, one of the ever merciless gods that you were all little more than ants in the eyes of, but for now he pulls you up and you tug him down and y’all are able to come together like wayward nephilim to experience the finer things in life somewhere in the middle of all that hierarchical bullshit.

Just for an hour or two; trapped in your own little pocket of the world.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Please mind any typos, I am but one lowly creature and my eyes can only catch so much.

I don’t know why this character is so amazing at being my impromptu spur of the moment muse, but he really is so good for it.

Also, lowkey I kind of feel like Noir would wear his mask all the time even if he’s wearing civilian clothes like Wade/Deadpool tends to do (and there might’ve been a Vought commercial of him wearing civilian clothing over his suit once so there’s also that option). I don’t know, the image just came to me.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[lvnleah]

011. | Beach days

word count: 1.6k

find the masterlist here!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 9th 2024 | 36 + 2 days pregnant.

“Jesus Christ, how much stuff did you pack!” Leah playfully groaned as she rolled your suitcase in, Keira following closely behind her.

You shrugged and laughed as you poured yourself a glass of water, “Just enough to last me while we’re here!”

Leah shook her head, Keira laughing behind her, “Babe, we’re here two days, not two weeks!”

“Oh c’mon, Le!” Keira said to her best friend, “Y/N’s never been a light packer and now she’s pregnant she’s obviously going to need more stuff!”

“Keira‘s right, babe.” You smiled, “I do need more stuff now I’m pregnant because you know I can’t decide anything!”

“These are going to be two days of hell with you two ganging up on me,” Leah muttered under her breath.

Leah had the rare weekend off as she didn’t have a game so you and her decided to fly out to Spain to watch Keira play. She was playing away against Sociedad and you’d booked a little beach house for a few days so you could all spend time together.

Leah rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. Despite her complaints, you knew she was happy to be here as it would probably be the last time in a while you’d get to go away together before your baby boy arrived.

The beach house was perfect, nestled just a stone’s throw away from the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore could be heard from the kitchen.

“Alright, let's get settled in before we head out to explore,” Leah suggested, eyeing the towering stack of luggage. “I’ll take the big one to the bedroom.”

“I’ll help!” Keira chirped, grabbing a smaller bag and following Leah down the narrow hallway.

It wasn’t often you all got to be together like this, with Leah and Keira’s demanding schedule it was hard to arrange trips together like you used to. This trip was a rare gem, and you were determined to make the most of it.

A few minutes later, Leah and Keira returned, slightly flushed from the exertion. “Okay, rooms are sorted. Who’s up for a walk on the beach?” Leah asked, already slipping off her shoes.

You grinned, “I’m in! Let me just grab my things and we can go.”

Suddenly, a sharp tightening sensation gripped your abdomen. You winced, placing a hand on your belly as your other one gripped the counter.

"Y/N, you okay?" Leah asked, noticing the change in your expression.

You took a deep breath, trying to relax. "I think it's just Braxton Hicks," you said, trying to sound reassuring but feeling the discomfort all the same.

It soon passed and you were able to carry on. You’d been having practice contractions for the past couple of weeks, they felt like mild period cramps but your midwife reassured you it was normal.

As the three of you strolled down to the beach, the sand warmed beneath your feet. Leah and Keira were chatting about their upcoming matches. You knew these two days would pass in a blink, but for now, you were perfectly happy right where you were.

The beach was almost deserted, with a few scattered tourists soaking up the late afternoon sun. You found three spare sun beds and laid out a blanket, sitting down with a sigh of relief.

“Would you be alright if I went in the sea with Kei?” Leah asked, her voice soft.

You nodded. “I’m good, Le. I'm a little tired, so I’ll just read my book.”

She kissed the top of your head. “Sounds good, shout for me if you need me okay?”

“I will,” you agreed, watching Keira as she waved for Leah to join her. “Go be big kids like you both are!”

Not even thirty minutes later, you find yourself being smothered by a dripping wet Leah. “Leah!” You screeched, “Jesus Christ!”

Leah laughed, her wet hair clinging to her face. “Just wanted to cool you off a bit,” she teased, giving you a cheeky grin.

You playfully swatted at her, trying to shield yourself from the cold droplets. “Well, mission accomplished! Now get off me before you soak everything!”

Keira joined in the laughter, drenching water from her hair as she approached. “You know she won’t stop until you’re completely drenched, right?”

“I’m starting to realise that,” you said, struggling to keep a straight face as Leah continued to hover over you.

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” Leah conceded, stepping back but not before planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “But only because I love you.”

“You better!” you replied, still grinning. “Now, go dry off and let me enjoy my book in peace.”

“Sure you don’t want to come in?” Leah asked you.

You shook your head, patting your belly. "I'm good here, thanks. I'll stick to the sand for now."

Leah kissed your forehead and smiled, running back to the water as she raced Keira. You settled back into your sunbed, opening your book and trying to distract yourself in the story. However, the discomfort in your lower back kept pulling you out of it. Shifting positions didn't seem to help, and after a while, you gave up on reading.

You watched Leah and Keira splashing around in the water, their laughter carrying over the waves. It was heartwarming to see them so carefree, but you couldn't ignore the growing ache in your body. Being this far along in your pregnancy, every little thing seemed to take more effort and cause more discomfort.

Finally, you let out a frustrated sigh and sat up, rubbing your belly. The thought of another few weeks feeling like this was almost unbearable. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to ruin the moment for Leah and Keira.

But Leah had already noticed. She jogged out of the water, concern etched on her face. "Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, kneeling beside you.

"I'm just... I'm so tired of being pregnant, Leah," you admitted, your voice cracking. "I feel huge, uncomfortable, and everything hurts. I just want our baby to be here already."

Leah pulled you into a gentle hug. "I know, babe," she whispered. "It's almost over. You've been so strong, and you're doing an amazing job."

Keira, sensing the shift in mood, joined you both. "Hey, it's okay," she said softly. "It's hard, but you're almost there. And you're going to be an incredible mum."

You sniffled, leaning into Leah's embrace. "I just feel so... helpless sometimes. Like I can't do anything without getting exhausted."

Leah kissed your temple. "You're not helpless. You're growing a whole new life inside you.”

“How about we head back to the house and make some dinner?” Keira suggested, “A good meal and some rest might help."

You nodded and Leah helped you to your feet, and the three of you made your way back up the beach. As you walked, Leah kept an arm around you, steadying you with every step. Once back at the house, Leah ordered a pizza whilst you settled on the sofa and Keira cut you some fruit up.

“Here,” Keira said, handing you a plate of fruit, “Le’s just ordering a pizza.”

You accepted the plate with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Kei. This looks great."

Leah came back into the room, holding her phone. "Pizza's on its way. Should be here in about twenty minutes."

You nodded and leaned back into the cushions, trying to make yourself comfortable. "Perfect.”

Leah sat down beside you and Keira laid down on the long bit of the l-shaped sofa. The pair bickered over choosing which movie to watch before finally settling on Notting Hill.

When the doorbell rang, Leah jumped up to answer it. The smell of pizza filled the house as she returned with a couple of boxes. She set them down on the coffee table and began to dish out slices for everyone.

As you took a bite, the comfort of the warm pizza was a distraction from your earlier discomfort. The three of you chatted and laughed, enjoying each other’s company. Leah and Keira’s laughter made you forget about the aches for a while.

After dinner, you all settled in for another movie, with Leah curling up beside you and Keira picking out pitch perfect this time. You felt a bit better just being with the people you loved, sharing a quiet evening.

Leah noticed you yawning, “Want to head to bed soon, babe?”

You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed about how exhausted you were. “Yeah, I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

As the movie came to an end, Leah helped you up from the couch and guided you to the bedroom. She made sure you were comfortable before heading to have a shower.

When Leah came out of the shower, her hair damp and her face freshly washed, she found you struggling to pull your hair up into a ponytail. Your movements were slow and your face reflected the frustration of the day's discomforts.

"Hey, let me help," Leah offered, moving behind you and taking the hair tie from your fingers. Her touch was gentle as she gathered your hair, smoothing it back with ease. "There we go, all set."

You sighed in relief, "Thanks, Le. My arms are just aching so much! I don’t know what I’d do with you.”

She kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering for a moment. "You'd do just fine.”

You slipped into bed, pulling the covers up and settling into the soft pillows. Leah joined you a moment later, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

"You okay?" Leah asked softly, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

"Yeah," you murmured, closing your eyes. "Just tired and ready for Finley to be here."

Leah rubbed soft circles on your hips. "Soon, babe. Really soon.”

[l0velysmut]

Can you please write Neteyam with readers as Enemies to Lovers? with smut and he says he's loved readers for a long time.Please I really love your writing.

neteyam x fem!omaticaya!reader

contains: enemies to lovers (but ur not really enemies), stalker neteyam, kinda manipulative neteyam if u squint???, love confession, virginity loss, tsaheylu, p in v, creampie, poorly written !!!

wc: 2.8k unedited

na’vi words: skxawng = moron/idiot.

a/n: sorry if this isn’t what you expected!

Ever since the first time Neteyam laid eyes on you, he had been head over heels in love with you. But he didn’t like that he felt that way about you, so what better way to cover it up then by hating you more than anyone else in the clan?

You were so confused when you were the only person he would target and make fun of. To the public eye, he was nice, athletic, a charmer, and overall the golden boy of the clan. And not only was he the future Olo’eyktan, but he was also the son of Toruk Makto, which in your opinion, made it even worse and even more embarrassing whenever he would bully you. So, you’ve stood up for yourself the best you could.

But the truth was, he never enjoyed bullying you. He never enjoyed calling you degrading names like stupid or meaningless. In fact, he called himself stupid on the regular for starting a hateful pattern towards you and having no choice but to stick with it.

Every day he saw you, he wanted nothing more then to tell you how he truly felt, but he couldn’t just stop being mean to you out of the blue. You’d think something was up and that he was pranking you, so he just kept doing what he’d been doing since you were children.

He watched you from afar, doing your daily chores and sticking to the routine you had forged to keep yourself busy. Neteyam kept note and even followed you from a distance just to see where you were going, and he even kept track of who you talked to.

He had memorized your schedule, so if anyone just so happened to ask him where you were, all he had to do was figure out the time and then he’d know.

But today, you were doing something different. You were going somewhere he was unfamiliar of.

So, with a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. He discarded what he was doing, and followed you discreetly, being far away enough for you to not realize he was there. He ran up a tree and jumped from vine to vine and tree to tree, following you from above and watching like an ikran hunting its meal.

And soon enough, you came to a stop, but Neteyam’s brows furrowed when he saw the stature of another man. He hears you laugh, and you take hold of another man’s hands. He watched through the green vines, glaring at the man he knew very well from training.

His name was Eaopu, and from what Neteyam could see from training, he had nothing to offer you. He was lazy, and couldn’t tell his left from right. Neteyam was in disbelief that you went out of your way to see this man, deep in the middle of the forest. Neteyam could feel his chest tighten as his mind raced with numerous thoughts of just marching over there and bashing Eaopu’s head in then making you his, but obviously he couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him because, afterall, you two were enemies and he couldn’t let you find out that he was basically stalking you and had been for years.

Neteyam watched as Eaopu pushed your dark, unbraided hair behind your ear, leaning in to whisper what he could only imagine was something dirty by the lustful look on his disgusting face.

“Eaopu,” Neteyam hears you say in an almost angry tone. “You know I don’t do that stuff. I’m waiting until marriage.”

“Oh, c’mon. We both know you won’t be mated any time soon,” Eaopu replied, grasping your forearm. “Why not just get it out of the way?”

Neteyams nostrils flare and his eyes darken as he listens to the conversation.

“Because! I want it to be special.” You tell him, pushing his chest to back him away from you, but he doesn’t budge. And Neteyam then knows what Eaopu’s intentions were with you. Leading you out into the deep forest to try to convince you to have sex with him, knowing how adamant you were on not having sex until marriage. Neteyam knew Eaopu was strong, so there’d be no way for you to get away if Eaopu tried what Neteyam feared.

“So then why’d you even meet me here? Huh?! Was this your plan this whole time? Get me all excited and leave me with blue balls?” Eaopu yelled, his voice echoing throughout the empty part of the forest you two were in.

You stare at Eaopu in disbelief as he backs you up against a tree. Neteyam then knew he had to step in.

The future Olo’eyktan jumped down from the tree and marched over to the scene, pushing back Eaopu’s shoulder, causing him to flinch.

“N-Neteyam!” Eaopu’s eyes widened, and he was taken aback by Neteyam’s sudden appearance. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, really?” Neteyam knew he didn’t have to say much in order for Eaopu to surrender in fear and walk away. When he had done so, Neteyam turned to you, back against the rough bark of a tree.

“You okay?” He asked you, observing your body language.

“I don’t need your protection.” You say, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes. You were grateful, but you still quote on quote “hated” him so you had to keep that going.

“Hey, I just saved your ass from whatever he was about to do to you!” Neteyam shouted, arm pointed to where Eaopu had left.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t need you to save me! I can save myself.” You argue, and he chuckles.

“This is unbelievable.” He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips. “I follow you out here, and save you from him, and you start-“

“You followed me out here?!” You cut him off and he freezes, lips parted. He tried to think of things he could say to get out of this.

“N-No, no. I didn’t follow you out here. Please.” He scoffed. “Why would I want to follow you, of all people? That’s ridiculous.” He defended himself, and you raised your hairless brows.

“Oh, yeah? So then how’d you get to save me just in time?” You ask, arms still crossed as you take a step towards him.

“I was hunting!” He defended once again, arms outstretched for a moment before falling to his side.

“Really? Where’s your bow and arrow?” You question.

He knew you had him, and he sighed in defeat, ears folded against his braids. “Okay, okay, fine. Yes, I followed you. But don’t let it get to your head, you skxawng. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He admitted, his eyes not missing the way your lips quirked up slightly.

You stay silent, feeling your cheeks burn up. Your heart thumped against your chest like a rock being tossed against your skin from the inside, and you looked away.

“Thanks. I guess.” You say in a soft tone, glancing at him when he steps forward.

“You're welcome.” He replies, and both of you are silent for a few moments before he breaks it.

“Listen, I…” He starts, but doesn’t know how. “I don’t want to hate each other anymore.”

His words make you stare at him, brows furrowed. “Hey, you’re the one that started it. What did I ever do to you, anyway? Y’know, since we’re here all alone, you might as well tell me. None of your friends are around to influence you, so please. Enlighten me.”

He opens his mouth then closes it, and he sighs again. “You never did anything to me, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“You never did anything to me. I suppose I started picking on you because..” He breathes in deeply before admitting his feelings to you. “I really liked you, and I didn’t know how to go about it because I was young, and dumb. But over the years, I just started liking you more and now I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do because I was a bully and I made you hate me and I don’t think we could be anything more the enemies and it hurts my soul every time we go at each others necks because it’s not what I want! I just want…” He runs his fingers around his mouth. “I just want you.”

Your eyes are wide as you listen to his rambling, and you swallow to relieve your dry throat. He just opened his heart to you, revealing that all this time when he made fun of you and humiliated you, he actually was just in love with you.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I dropped this on you. I should go.” He says when you just stand there and stare at him, but as he’s about to walk away, you grab his wrist and smash your mouth against his.

He melts into the kiss, his heart melting along with it. He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and his other hand to hold your waist. This is what he’s wanted for years. He’s wanted so badly to feel your lips against his; he’s spent years just imagining it.

When you pull away, your faces stay close and you can feel his warm panting against your lips. He pressed his forehead to yours and you whispered, “I want you, too.”

His eyes close briefly with a smile stretching across his lips, and he kisses you again.

“Then be mine. Forever.” He whispers against your plump lips, and you pull away slightly. When he sees your reaction, he’s quick to drop to his knees and lean his forehead on your lower stomach, hugging your thighs. “Please, Y/N. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this; how long I’ve wanted you. Do you know how many women I’ve turned down all because I was stuck on you?” He looks up at you, amber eyes filled with an emotion you’ve never seen on Neteyam.

His eyes were glossy and he looked up at you with pure desperation. He would never force you to do something you didn’t want to, but if you truly wanted him, then you two would come to an agreement.

“Neteyam, this is so sudden… and besides, you’ve said it yourself, no one would ever want to mate with me-“ He cuts you off and stands up, cupping your cheeks.

“No, no, no, no, I was lying, I was just saying that, I’m sorry.. I never meant anything I’ve ever said about you.” He tried to reassure you, and you stared at him, not quite knowing what to do.

“You want me, too, right?” He asked, and you nodded, putting your hands on his shoulders.

He takes your hands in his and gently brings you both to the ground on your knees in front of each other. He decided to sit and have a long talk with you about everything, and you both opened your hearts to each other. Tears spilled, and laughter filled the part of the forest you two were in, but eventually you came to an agreement.

That’s how you ended up underneath him, his bare body grinding against yours. You two had finally connected after years of covered up desire, and now you were one for all of eternity.

Neteyam couldn’t describe the feeling of being mated with you in words, he could only feel how amazing and euphoric it felt for your souls to be intertwined.

You two breathed heavily, gasping and panting between kisses as Neteyam pushed into you, his cock pulsing in his hand as he breached you for the first time. You hissed at the pain of being stretched out this much for the first time, and he could feel it through the bond. He could feel your pain, but also your burning desire to get past it the best you could.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a voice you’d never thought you’d hear him talk in. He has bottomed out inside of you, and remained very still while hovering over you, his arms holding himself up at either side of your head, caging you.

He tried so hard to not pull back and pound into you like his gut was telling him to, but he wanted to listen to his heart and his mind, and he wanted to wait until you were ready.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Ju-Just go slow.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled out about an inch and then pushed in. This feeling was so new for the both of you. The way your pussy enveloped around his cock tightly made his head dizzy, and the way his cock penetrated you and hit spots inside of you that you didn’t think could be reached made your brain feel all gooey.

He kissed your jaw, and pulled out more, then back in, searching for any sign of discomfort through the bond. He fortunately found nothing within the shared connection, and slid in and out of you faster.

You place a hand down at his abs, trying to tell him to go slower because you weren’t quite ready, and he groaned before slowing down. He wanted to pound you like an animal, but he wanted you to feel good, too. He didn’t want to hurt you, not anymore. He wanted to protect you forever, and he didn’t want anyone to walk all over you anymore. Now, he would protect you like a mate should.

“Oh, great mother.” You whine, throwing your head back and clenching around him even tighter then before. He didn’t even know it was possible for him to be inside something so wet and tight.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Can’t believe I’ve been missing out on you for so long, I should’ve told you I loved you a long time ago.” He said softly in your ear and his hips rocked back and forth. “I regret everything from before- fuck… I regret not taking you as mine since the moment I realized I was in love with you.”

You couldn’t speak, you felt like everytime his bulbous tip hit that spongy part inside of you that felt particularly good, the air left your lungs. You struggled to form a coherent thought as his cock fucked you dumb. You never knew your enemy's cock could feel this good; though, you’re not enemies anymore.

Neteyam supported his weight on one arm while the other reached down to play with the small nub he's thought so many times about sucking and rubbing. He rubbed tight circles on your clit, making your back arch into him, your chest pressing against his.

“You’re so pretty,” He whispered, kissing your cheek and then pecking your lips. “So beautiful.”

You wanted to thank him, but you knew he could hear it in his mind.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum already.” He murmured, whining loudly when his cock twitched. He felt a burning sensation throughout him, and you grind your hips back against his, helping him reach his orgasm as well as reaching your own high.

“M-Me, too, I think.” You say, panting and moaning. He rubbed your clit faster, and you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling his cock further inside of you.

You both cum at the same time, your orgasms sending tingles throughout both of your bodies that twitched and spasmed against each other. Neteyam’s hips continued to grind as he spilled inside of you, and you could feel his cum sloshing around inside of you. You closed your eyes at the feeling, and your hips jerked at the stimulation.

“That was…” Neteyam started talking to praise you, but he couldn’t wrap his head around how good it felt. He never thought he would actually be able to get you to be his, he always just thought he fucked up his oppurtunity to be with you, but now that he had you, he was never going to let you go for as long as you two lived.

He was going to worship you and never say anything mean to you ever again until his dying days.

He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and remained inside of you. You hug him tightly, inhaling his scent. Then, he rolled over to lay next to you, pulling out of you slowly with a pop! sound.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you close, your nude bodies pressed against each other as your limbs tangled before finally sleeping. He knew his father would be looking for him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything else or any other responsibilities. He only cared about you now.

[filmbyjy]

TWITTER SUCKS!

PAIRING > lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis > who knew you could become famous overnight for paying $8 for a single blue checkmark? however, it does come with consequences…what happens when the actual BELIFT Lab comes knocking at your door. all because you simply impersonated your bias.

GENRE > twitter update au? idol! heeseung & enhypen. engene!reader

FEATURING > mae & subin (ocs) and of course the rest of enhypen :) more idols will be added if chapter requires!

SCHEDULE > inconsistent schedules bc I just post whenever I want to🙃

TAGLIST > just drop an ask or fill out this form to be added!

START: 20 March 2023 | END: 18th June 2023

profiles: ENBEANs | EN-KINDERGARTEN ❌❌

prologue: tf elon musk

one: gen old people

two: out of besth

three: HE LIKES YOU

four: please don’t embarrass yourself

five: he anti-romantic

— idk why the read more disappeared on me😒 —

six: she’s gonna fly

seven: BL MOMENT??

eight: take you out to a nice place

nine: your fruitiness is showing

↳ special: enhypen disbands

ten: well I be damned

eleven: father to future kids added

twelve: what is air?

↳ special: private rants thread 📌

thirteen: mhm, he’s broken

fourteen: fvck you 🫶🏻

fifteen: the punishment

sixteen: let me sniff [written]

seventeen: us when-

eighteen: smelled it and her eyes rolled back

nineteen: can YOU guess?

twenty: i THINK I like her

twenty-one: heerizz (very effective)

twenty-two: thanks 👍🏻

twenty-three: I hate feelings

twenty-four: is that ENHYPEN? [written]

twenty-five: y/n had a boyfriend

twenty-six: clean the dishes, you furry ass

twenty-seven: unforgiven, she’s a villain

twenty-eight: kiss the girl [written]

↳ special: enhypen behind the scenes

twenty-nine: i’m gonna resign

thirty: now the squad has boyfriends~

thirty-one: breaking my silence

↳ special: is the duck drunk?

thirty-two: ENGENEs flame her!!!

thirty-three: jieun’s downfall

thirty-four: mamma mia pisa is back

thirty-five: my other half [written]

end

got a question for our cast?

TWITTER SUCKS! : ask

[itstheghostofmypast]

Thanatophobia

Idol Choi Jongho x (F)Reader

Summary: How long does it take one to actually give up on you? How long does it take the other to realise that love is more than just an act of receiving, where bottled-up fears and insecurities may be enough to pull someone away from you, especially the someone Jongho had begun to take for granted.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2.4k

Est. Read Time: 20 min

Warnings: Strong language, thanatophobia (fear of losing someone you love)

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

Choi Jongho was anything but heartless, he was arrogant at times, he was stubborn most of the time, he was emotionally clueless sometimes, he was sarcastic most of the time, he was petty at times and he was straightforward most of the time, but what he was not, and he quotes, was a ‘heartless moron’. Now, he wasn’t one to fight, in fact, they’d barely ever get into a fight, usually because she would be compromising or choosing to accept defeat, but tonight was not one of those nights where he was given this privilege, where she would easily accept defeat and brush off his sarcasm, no, it just escalated into something ugly and gruesome.

It all started when he came home early for once, the dorm was empty too, or so he thought, for the moment he had flopped down on his bed, face forward, someone had jumped on him, scaring the daylights out of him.

“Boo!” “HOLY SHHHH- what are you doing here?” he whined, rolling over when she rolled off him, both of them lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling, well, he had his eyes closed, she turned her head to look at him with a pout, scooting closer, wrapping her arms around his arm as she pressed her cheek smush against his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of her baby bear, “I had the spare key, Wooyoung gave it to me last time I came over but you were out, so he was like I should have it, gave me his saying he’d get another one and-” Cracking open an eye he scoffed, “You sure talk a lot to Wooyoung huh?” turning his head to meet her gaze, she had stopped her monologue, to stare at him in utter shock, “What? I’m not wrong, I didn’t even know about the key thing- Sitting up she glared at him, “That’s because you weren’t home, Jong.” The tension between them was getting thicker, he was tired physically, but she was tired mentally, “You haven’t been responding to my texts or answering my calls, so I doubt you’d know- “I have a job, you know?” he scoffed, following suit, as she sat on his bed on her knees, frowning at him, and he sat at the edge of the bed, both in a heated stare off, he was actually waiting for her to avert her gaze, or mumble an apology or whine cutely to end the fight, so he’d feel like he’d won like he had control, some form of dominance, “I can’t just respond to your every whim.” That was probably what set it off, because the next thing he knew she got off the bed and snatched her phone off the side table, slamming the bedroom door shut when she marched out of the room, her tantrum just set the whole forest on fire as he marched behind her, slamming the closed door open and calling out, “Yah? Are you in your senses? Why are you being like this!?” reaching out to grip her wrist he turned her around, ignoring how she was trying to pull away, “What is your problem? Are you mad about the Wooyoung thing? Cause I’m right about that! You’re my girlfriend, not his!” by now he was yelling, furious, frustrated, fed up, but at what? At his hectic schedule or her? Or perhaps he was upset over how he was unable to spend time with her and the time he had been given was ruined by his own pride. “Y-You think I don’t know that?” she yelled back, snatching her wrist out of his grip, “I know you’re busy too, but the least you can do is leave me on read, can’t you? You don’t even open my texts! I can’t magically guess your schedule!” He should have stopped there, he should have, he had realised that he was in the wrong, but was he willing to accept it so easily? No. Why? Because he was jealous, he was upset and more importantly this was the first time she had ever ignored him, ever chosen to show how his nonchalant attitude had upset her, this was not what he expected, he just thought they’d go on for ten minutes and she’d probably change the topic, not list down why he’s a bad boyfriend. “Doesn’t mean you get all cosy with Wooyoung.” “I-” she stared at him standing in the hallway for a good minute before taking off her ring and throwing it at him, the clink of the gold ring hitting the ground resonated within the silence, before her words cut through it, “You’re a heartless moron.”

That was three hours ago, three hours ago when he had let her walk away like she didn’t even matter to him, instead, he stood there watching the ring on the tiles, the ring she had gotten for them on their first anniversary, it wasn’t a promise ring, but more of a ‘just know when we’re far apart across the world, you’ll always have a piece of me and I’ll have a piece of you’ kind of ring- why’d she throw it at him, shouldn’t she have taken it with her and asked him to give the one he was wearing back to her?

“I love how that’s the only thing you’re worried about.” Wooyoung sighed, climbing up the stairs, his phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he carried two bags full of groceries up the quiet staircase, “You’re a real idiot you know, she did come over three times last week, the poor thing sat outside the apartment for an hour the third time and that’s when I gave her my key…Hongjoong told me that was the right thing to do too.”

“I- I was busy.” The youngest huffed, staring at the gold band, twirling it around in his fingers, “It’s not like she told me, I was too busy to read her texts, so she should’ve understood-”

“Understood what? That you’re a shitty boyfriend?” Wooyoung stopped at a step, the step that led to their floor, someone was sitting on the floor next to the door to the hallway (Yes Woooyoung had used the fire exit to come upstairs, San had told him this was a great way to work out- he’d kill the bastard for that tomorrow), hugging their knees, head resting against the wall, puffy eyes closed- was she asleep?

“What? Why!?”

“Jongho, did you even call to make sure she reached home safe?”

“Well… I…no.”

“I’m amazed you found someone who loves your useless a**.” With that Wooyoung hung up, sighing as he walked over to her, placing the grocery bags on the floor to crouch down and gently shake her shoulder, “Excuse me miss, but are you in your senses- how are both of you this dumb?”

.

Jongho slammed the front door open, not even bothering to put on his mask as he hastily made his way out of the apartment, only to bump into a smaller form, hearing a familiar yelp he instinctively reached for her, wrapped his arms around her to pull her closer, pressing her against him. He let out a breath of relief, at the realisation that it was in fact her, she was too tired to pull away or even push him away, and that was why she just stood there, letting him wrap his arms around her, resting her forehead against his chest, too drained even to protest. He looked behind her to spot Wooyoung standing there, grocery bags in hand with the most disapproving look he could muster, “Found her on the staircase, poor thing cried herself to sleep there- then there’s you, a bastard with an ego as big as the sun-”

“H-her phone was powered off.” He quickly defended himself, pulling her even closer as he tightened his arms around her, not wanting her to escape. The moment Wooyoung hung up on him, he realised how bad he had f*cked up, Wooyoung was never one to leave a conversation hanging, that is until he completely gave up on the person, and if Wooyoung had given up on him, did this mean his patient, compassionate, honeybee had done the same? Though his question was answered with a loud sniff, causing him to look away from Wooyoung and look down at her, only to meet her teary gaze, his gut twisted at the way she asked the dreaded question with her voice trembling, as if it was being thrown around by her pestering insecurities, insecurities that he had brought to life, that he had helped manifest within her, by constantly pushing her to the sidelines, by ignoring her beckoning calls, by looking right through her even though she stood right in front of him, with a warm smile and a heart of gold- one he was not worthy to call his own; “D-do you not love me, anymore?”

It was this very question that had him look up at Wooyoung in panic, a cry for help, though the fox-like man shrugged and walked past them, mumbling, loud enough for him to hear, because he knew the girl crying in the younger man’s arms was sobbing so loud, the floodgates of all that pain and anxiety that was slowly drowning her had now enveloped her completely, leaving her a mess, a mess he was supposed to fix, so she couldn’t hear him, she didn’t hear him, when he side-eyed the youngest, and walked past them, “You f*cked up, fix it yourself,” slamming the main door shut behind him, finally leaving the two alone in the corridor.

An eternity later the two were sitting on the same staircase where Wooyoung had found her, the two were staring at the window ahead, she thought she was tired before, but all that crying just amazed her, at this point, she felt like she’d faint if he pushed any wrong buttons. Though they had been sitting quietly for the past hour, he had not uttered a word, which meant he wasn’t going to be the first to break the tormenting silence, as usual, it would be her, to kneel and-

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widened at the foreign choice of words, slowly turned her head to stare at him with shock through her puffy, swollen, eyes, licking her dry lips before speaking. Still, he cut her off again, this time turning to face her, the determination in his eyes somewhat scaring her, she’d only ever seen that look when he was going to sing a song that wasn’t the easiest when it came to the number of high notes, perhaps he was going to sing a perfect melody that was just for them, in tune with their pent up love for each other- for his locked up love for her, a symphony she wouldn’t mind hearing over and over again.

“I- I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but you need to understand I did not doubt your loyalties or misjudge your character, I was only self-projecting my insecurities, I know you’d never do such a thing, I know you love me and I- I” he paused, watching how her breath hitched, eyes widening in expectation, biting her lower lip unsure of how he felt about her, “I love you so much it turns me stupid- it scares me how much I want to be around you, I- I want to be vulnerable around you and…what if you don’t like it? You don’t like me when I’m not my at my strongest or my best…and I- I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he reached in his pocket to pluck out the ring, showing it to her, “Could you please find it in you…to give me another chance- you don’t have to say yes right away, I won’t force you, I could never…just…let me drop you home this time…yeah?”

She stared at him quietly, blinking slowly as his words processed before letting out a sigh, scooting closer as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck as she placed a soft kiss against his warm skin, sighing when she felt him pull her closer, gripping him tighter when she heard him sniff, feel his body trembling against hers, letting him finally let it all out against her, but never looking up, her face buried in the crook of his neck, mumbling sweet positive affirmations or kissing the skin as she let him have his moment, only to feel him slowly push her away, looking down at her with puffy eyes that matched hers, and a nose pinker than hers, “Please…stay.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere, you dummy.” Sighing she pulled off him, taking the ring from him but he didn’t let her, instead, he slipped it back on her finger, “I was waiting for you to come and give this to me…if I wanted to leave you for good, I would’ve told you to give me the ring you’re wearing back.”

Letting out a dry chuckle he shook his head, he was an idiot, one who couldn’t read situations as well as he boasted that he could- he guessed he was clueless when it came to love, at least he had someone as patient as her to help him pull through his minefield, frolicking through it like it was a field of daisies.

“Thank you…” he sighed and pressed his forehead against hers, before leaning closer to capture her lips in a kiss, only to realise how long it had been since he had kissed her, making him pull her closer, cupping her face as he tried to make up for lost time.

Finally pulling back she smiled at him out of breath, watching how he took in equally deep breaths, his cheeks all puffed out and pink, “I’m out of practice.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got all night.” She smiled.

“I prefer taking things to the bedroom, not a voyeurism guy.”

“Choi Jongho.”

“I love you” he chuckled, watching her shake her head in defeat as he pulled her up to her feet, laughing when she whined at how he was speed walking to the apartment, mumbling, “Do you want me to carry you? Because I will, for as long as you want, honeybee.” And that’s what Wooyoung saw before Jongho closed his bedroom door, carrying her half-asleep form in his arms, bridal style as he mouthed a thank you to Wooyoung before going to finally cuddle up next to her like she had originally planned for the night.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky

[hamiltonaf]

Hi! I’m so excited you’ve open your requests, can I ask one with Lewis where you work with Toto and are like his little girl, so you get along and are close.

You’ve been secretly in love with him for a while so you try to help and been there for him now that Merc is struggling with the car, so after one race weekend like this one (😪) you try to confort him but he takes his anger on you.

The following week at the factory you’re distant and he starts to miss you…

The end is on you.

Thanks 🙌🏾❤️

Confession | Lewis Hamilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Slight angst but fluff

A/N: Hi loves ! Slowly recovering from being ill for over a week so bare with me. Thanks anon for requesting. Hope you babes enjoy. Requests are still open .xx

The Monza race weekend was here… is it hypocritical of me to say it’s one of my favourites if I’m working for Mercedes ? You can’t deny that the vibe and energy of tifosi doesn’t hype you up even if you’re not a fan of Ferrari.

I couldn’t wait to start posting content for the weekend, I mean it is my job anyway - social media admin. It’s a fun job, not gonna lie. I think it’s quite evident that I spend most of my time posting about Lewis’s paddock outfits than anything Mercedes related. For starters, it’s valid to post Lewis because he’s obviously part of the team and secondly, who isn’t waiting to see the Sir Lewis Hamilton fashion week every race weekend ? Am I right..

I think trying to hide my crush or love should I say for Lewis isn’t working considering that some fans have even commented that it’s ‘quite obvious that admin has a soft spot for Lew’. I’m really exposing myself on main. As extroverted as I am, I can’t help but get shy and quite around Lewis, still bold enough to compliment his outfits everyday on race weekends - if I don’t comment, it’s obvious that something is wrong.

I’d like to think that Lewis and I are somewhat best friends considering we spend more time off-track than on-track. However, I’m starting to re-think that seeing how he’s keeping his distance from me. I eventually just had to work up a nerve to just march over to him and ask him what’s wrong. He finished his interviews and he came back into the hospitality. I approached him with a soft smile, “Hey, are you okay ?” I asked softly. “I’m fine” he abruptly said and brushed my shoulder with his as he walked past. I followed behind him and waited till we were in the hallway to speak up again. “I know something is on your mind. You know you can talk to me Lew, I’m always here for you” I said softly.

“(Y/N) I really couldn’t care to talk to you right now ! Can you just leave me alone ?” He said harshly. Thank god no one was around because I probably would’ve died of embarrassment. My smile fell and I felt a pain in my chest. “Sorry” I said lowly and walked away in the opposite direction.

I avoided him for the rest of the day as he asked. This was the first time he ever raised his voice at me and I was quite hurt to say the least. Usually post-race we’d meet up and go out for dinner or just spend the evening talking in either one of our rooms. I didn’t bother waiting for him after I stuck around for the team briefing, I went straight to the hotel and I was ready to go back to England. So much for thinking we could celebrate him racing for 2 more years.

Luckily I didn’t have to change my flight since I was already scheduled to leave for my flight back home at 8PM. Once I was back home and to myself, I noticed Lewis had posted on his Instagram. Low-key saddened to not receive a message from him yet. I guess it’s a sign I need to get out of my deluded space and get over him.

At a time like this not gonna lie that I hated my job because so much for trying to get over Lewis, posting about him on the teams social media is part of the job.

It’s Wednesday and we have a team meeting at the factory. I really wish I could sit this one out but unfortunately I can’t. I smiled at all the familiar faces as I clocked in and was so relieved to see Toto. “Ahh (Y/N) ! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, you’ve been distant lately” he said as he pulled me in for a hug. “Toto, it’s only been 3 days since the race” I reminded him. “I know, but usually you’re always around after the team briefing on Sundays and even on off days, I hear from you. Everything okay ?” He asked concerned as he had an arm around my shoulder and lead the way.

“Oh yeah everything’s fine, the travelling and the energy from Monza just drained me this weekend. I just needed to de-stress these past few days” I sighed. “Of course, I suggest maybe taking an early holiday to Singapore” he suggested. “Sounds good to me, why don’t you and Susie join me ?” “I’ll let her know and get back to you on that” he smiled as he pats my back. Almost as if on cue, Lewis approached us. “You finally made it” Toto joked. “Sorry I’m late, uncle duties” he shrugged.

I felt so uncomfortable, I wish I could’ve been swallowed up into a hole. “No worries, (Y/N) kept me company” he smiled at me. I glanced up at Toto before stealing a glance at Lewis who was already looking at me with a soft smile.

“Oh, would you look at that, George is here ! Let me just go greet him” I excused myself and walked over to George. “Hey you !” I cheerfully said. “(Y/N/N) ! So good to see you. Carmen and I missed you on Sunday” he said as he then pulled me in for a hug. “Aww sorry I had to take off suddenly, had some things to sort at home” I sighed. “Ahh well we always have the next race weekend” he suggested. “Yeah of course. How’s my bestie doing..where is she ?” I asked. I could literally feel a pair of eyes burning at the back of my head. “She’s at home. You should stop by later if you have time” he smiled. “Aww that’s sweet. Thanks for the offer, I’ll try” I smiled back and just then we were disrupted to gather everyone for the factory meeting.

I don’t know why my brain told me to look back…and I actually did. Of course, it’s Lewis looking right at me. I ignored him and walked past him with George by my side.

After the factory meeting, both George and Lewis practiced ahead of Singapore on the simulator. Our team photographer, Steve, had then sent me the pictures he took for today for me to post onto the team socials. I was in my own cubicle, organising posts and captions until I heard a “hey !” from behind me. “Heyy !” I enthusiastically replied. I turned around on my chair to be faced with Lewis.

“Oh. It’s you” I said as my smile dropped. “Ahh you’re never this disappointed to see me and you’re so distant lately” he said causally. “Are you forgetting what you told me on Sunday ? You said and I quote I couldn’t care to talk to you right now, leave me alone !” I whisper yelled. “Can we talk somewhere more private ?” He motioned to the room a few metres away. I rolled my eyes and followed behind him. “Look (Y/N/N)..I’m really sorry for the way I acted. It was immature and uncalled for. I should’ve never taken my anger out on you... It’s unfortunate that I hurt those that I love and care for, you deserve better” he said as he took a step closer and held my hands in his.

I sighed, “Lew, it’s okay.. I get it. It’s normal to get upset, no one is expected to be happy all the time. You had a bad race, and it is what it is…you’re forgiven” “Those words just made my day. I didn’t know how to message you because I felt bad, and I needed to see you in person to get everything off my chest” he cleared his throat and had a more serious expression. “You made me realise a lot in these few days we were apart… I’m in denial about my feelings” he huffed. “Okay ? Lew I’m not getting you” I raised a brow in confusion. “Life isn’t complete without you in it. Not hearing your laugh or seeing you and that beautiful smile that lights up the room made me realise what I’m missing… I’m falling in love with you (Y/N)” he softly said with a smile.

My heart was racing. I could feel my hands getting clammy. I was at a loss for words. “Please say something” he softly said. “I’m sorry I’m just speechless. This is so surreal. I’ll be honest with you, I’ve been in denial about my feelings for a while, I tried to convince myself that the less I see you then the better… but I couldn’t. You made it so hard for me when you look so fine, and I have to post pictures of you -“ I rambled. “Did you just call me fine ?” He smirked and raised a brow. “Did I ? Oh my god. I- ugh you’re making this hard” I pouted as I noticed his eyes went from making eye contact to subtly switching to my lips.

I didn’t even have time to realise what was going on until I felt the butterflies. He cupped my cheek and placed his lips on mine. I kissed back and placed a hand around his neck to pull closer. “Lewis, have you seen-“ the door burst opened by George. I broke away and felt embarrassed by getting caught in the act. “Found her. Uhm sorry to interrupt, was going to ask if you’re coming over (Y/N/N) but seems like you already have plans” George winked. “Righttt see yourself out mate” Lewis motioned to the door. “Lew !” I playfully hit his chest. “See you love birds around” George said lastly before leaving. Momentarily, Lewis and I turned to look at each other. “So, your place or mine ?” He smirked

[haikyu-mp4]

Little big dreams

word count; 1645 – f!reader

You’re not sure when you started noticing Tenma Udai, but you made it his problem from then on. It wasn’t because of volleyball, you barely went to any of those games.

To the volleyball team, he was the little giant, their reliable ace. To you, he was just Tenma – a good-looking kid who rewatched his games in class and tried to hide it from the teacher.

The teacher had no idea what trouble she was causing when she paired you with Tenma for classroom duty. It introduced you to his prickly nature, which you learned you enjoyed challenging.

“Hey, Lil Biggie!” you greeted him every morning, making him lift the broom as if to hit you while you laughed loudly and ran away.

“It’s Little Giant!”

After that week had passed, your head kept turning his way, and you asked some friends if the volleyball team had anything particularly draining on their schedule lately. The reason? Tenma looked like he had been through hell and back, the bags under his eyes growing darker each day.

And it concerned you. Annoyingly enough.

One evening, your club ended early and you made your way to the gym, sneaking around the corner to catch a glimpse of their practice game. To your surprise, Tenma walked out before you even got to the door, angrily marching over to the lockers and smacking his forehead against them. It made you freeze, stuck watching him as he breathed heavily and the sweat ran down his neck.

“Tenma,” you called, walking over slowly and resting a hand softly on his shoulder. It was one of the few times you said his name without any funny addition to make it a nickname, and it was just enough to make him tilt his head to where his gaze met yours.

Your lips formed a line as you eyed him, not sure what to say. You had no idea what could have made him so stressed, unaware of the pressure of being an ace.

He regained his calm and nodded as if you had a silent conversation by just staring at each other. Grabbing your hand, he pulled it off his shoulder and squeezed it gratefully before returning to practice.

You didn’t see much of him outside the classroom anymore, and your friends started teasing you for seeming to have a soft spot. A crush? Pfft, stupid.

Then one morning, a piece of paper was folded up on your desk and you frowned, looking around before picking it up. Everyone else was already rushing to their seats as the teacher walked inside, and you had to hide it behind your notebook to open in secret.

It was a drawing of you, within a square resembling a manga panel, and you tilted your head in curiosity. You had to admit it was a pretty drawing, and the two little hearts drawn over your head made your ears feel warm.

Who was it from?

You looked at Tenma wide-eyed as his eyes were locked on his shoes with a frown. “You want me to tutor you?”

“What great hearing you have,” he mumbled.

“Oy, don’t get an attitude with me now. You haven’t talked to me in a while, I’m surprised.”

“I can’t go to training camp if I don’t pass the next exams.” You hummed in understanding.

“Putting too much time into the club, are we Lil’ Big?”

“Teacher said you’re the only one with an open spot so late in the year, idiot.”

“She’s right.” You got up and hiked your bag up on your shoulder. “Got time now?”

“An hour until practice.” He followed you as you exited the classroom, intending to find a spot by the library.

“Excellent.”

Tenma was by no means a difficult student. You sat down with him and looked at some previous exams to see which topics he struggled with the most, and it seemed like he might have been too tired or distracted for a couple of lessons, probably also forgoing homework some days.

So you set a plan to do a quick version of each lesson he had slept through, and then have him do the tasks for that topic with your guidance until he could do them on his own. You two would sit together pretty much every day until his practice started. Some days he would even bring you a drink from the vending machine, and you were reminded why you liked being around him.

You stretched your arms upwards, glancing over at his paper to see his pencil had moved from the question to some blank space in the corner. Silently, you leaned closer, looking over his shoulder as he drew what looked like zombies on a volleyball court. “I didn’t know you were so good at drawing.”

He jumped, elbow accidentally bumping into your rib, making him abruptly scoot away while you clutched the impact point. “Shit, why would you scare me like that?”

“You muppet, I gave you a compliment,” you groaned, pulling the paper towards you and flipping to the previous page, where he had also fit in a couple of drawings. “Are the topics getting easier for you?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You’re a good teacher or whatever.”

You held up a finger heart that made him cringe. “You’re such a sweetheart.” And the blush on his cheeks was visible from a mile away.

You kept spending those same hours together, but instead of studying, you started spending more time just hanging out. A fun game of him drawing whatever crazy prompts you came up with started, and it made you laugh every time.

As he walked to the bathroom one time, you pursed your lips and picked up his book, flipping to the back pages where you had noticed he drew while you were in class sometimes. Not that you stare at him in class or anything.

You found the hidden drawings, only to realise you were staring at yourself. He had drawn you repeatedly on these pages, from reading with your friends to laughing at his drawings. Your cheeks felt especially warm as you noticed the doodle of you in a jersey with his number on it, holding two thumbs up in encouragement.

Does Tenma… like you?

A door opened in the distance and you smacked the book closed, only to realise it was someone else. Phew, need some time to cool down.

You ran over to Tenma after the game, the rush of the moment making you pull him into a tight hug as you cheered. “I have no idea how this game works but I think you did so well!”

His arms held around you too, swaying you a bit as you didn’t let go right away. “I got blocked a lot, but the team pulled through in the end.” Some guys from the team watched the interaction, which he noticed over your shoulder. Tenma hesitated before kissing your temple and pulling away from the hug.

You looked at each other, smiling and somehow having another one of those silent conversations before the other players pulled him along to celebrate.

“I don’t want to play volleyball professionally.”

“Thought you loved volleyball,” you answered, but you weren’t surprised by his resolution at all.

“It’s fun. It’s fine…”

“What would you like to do instead?” Tenma hummed under his breath in thought.

“I like drawing. Writing stories. Making people feel something. Making you laugh.”

“Ever considered writing a manga?” you asked, looking over to where he was looking at internships related to drawing.

“That’s a distant dream, probably. Would you read it?” he asked back, turning to you.

“Only if you make the women super cool.”

You sighed dramatically as you walked into your apartment, hoping Tenma could hear it from wherever he was. What a hard day at work it had been, but you knew you couldn’t rest yet. “Udai?”

“In here!” he called, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot and smiling at you. “Can you do my hair?”

You shrugged your blazer off and threw it over a chair in the living room before walking over to him and taking the brush. Running it through his long hair, you noticed how high his shoulders were. “Nervous?”

“Not at all.” You laughed, picking up a hair tie and looking in the mirror to adjust the front of his hair before tying it up.

His eyes met yours with a soft look and lips pressed together in a line. “Akaashi will be there too,” you noted, moving your hands from his hair to his shoulders to massage them.

“Right, and he brought Bokuto as his plus one.” He suddenly went wide-eyed and turned around to you. “Speaking of plus ones, why haven’t you started getting ready?” he practically squealed, carefully pushing you towards the door and the rest of the way to the bedroom, while you laughed your lungs out at his antics.

“It’ll be fine! I just need to freshen up and change. All your new nerd fans will only be watching you anyways,” you said, pecking his lips before you walked to the closet to change.

You proudly held his arm at the event, helping him relax and connect with the readers as he introduced the world to his first manga.

Halfway through the event, he walked up on stage, holding a copy of the book in one hand as he adjusted a strand of hair from his face to behind his ear with the other. “First of all, I want to thank the woman who stuck with me through my high school emo phase, my busy intern phase and my troubled writer phase. To my gorgeous wife, y/n, who never for a second let me down and always makes me feel like I can breathe, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

masterlist

[disaster-writer]

Poison (Part 3/4)

Pairing: Alpha!Bokuto Koutarou x Beta!Reader

Summary: You loved love, but it wasn’t made for you… but maybe a certain Alpha could change your mind

Word Count: 6.4k

AU: Omegaverse

Part 1 Part 2

7am

”Take me to work with you again!” Ami pounced on you as soon as your alarm went off.

For the second day in a row.

”Amiiii,” you groaned, face down into your pillow, “Get off!” You threw an arm behind you to try and push her off but she easily caught it. “Why do you want to go again anyway,” you grumbled into your pillow.

”Because I want to watch all the hot alphas practice again!” She chirped. “It’s not fair you get to hog them to yourself!”

”I’m not hogging anyone! They’re my coworkers!” You yelled into the pillow, “Now will you get off!”

”Only if I can come!”

You sighed, blinking the sleepy blurriness from your eyes. “They’re doing weight training in the weight room today. I’m gonna be in my office organizing schedules and in meetings all day. You’re gonna be bored.”

”I won’t be bored!”

* * * *

“Im boreeeeed,” Ami whined, sinking into the chair she was in, almost falling off of it.

”That’s what I tried to tell you,” you all but growled while typing up a list of repairs that need to take place in the gym into a spreadsheet.

”I thought I’d be able to hang out with the Alphas.”

You rolled your eyes, stopping your typing momentarily, “Yeah cause that makes sense. The manager is gonna be hiding away in her office all day while her sister is ogling the Alphas while they’re supposed to be working. Makes perfect sense!” You scoffed.

She only grumbled something under her breath before climbing to her feet and dragging them over to your bookshelf.

Your office was so boring, she had thought.

At home your house was so colorful and loud in a way that was so aesthetically pleasing and thought out but here you had boring plain walls, with a boring plain desk, and boring plain chairs.

Honestly how Bokuto found any interest in you at all when this was how you presented yourself to the world was beyond her.

She pouted staring at the book case, “Even your books are boring— where’s the manga?”

”At home. Where you should’ve stayed.”

”What do you want to do after work today? What’s cool to do around here?”

”I’m five seconds away from kicking you out.”

”Alright fine, I’ll look for a fun place we can go eat at after— maybe we can catch a movie too!”

You exhaled a sharp breath through your nose and stood up, your seat sliding out from under you. 

You marched your way towards your sister and grabbed her upper arm, “I know this is a little vacation for you,” you dragged her to the door of your office, “But I have work to do.”

You swung the door open, about to toss her out when you came face to chest with Bokuto.

You looked up at your co-worker who had a fist poised that was ready to knock on your door.

”Bokuto-san?” You furrowed your brow, “We don’t have any scheduled meetings right now, shouldn’t you be in the weight room?” You asked, grip slackening on your sisters arm.

He grinned widely as usual, “Coach called lunch!”

”Right, so,” Ami started, pulling her arm from your grasp, “I need to use the restroom! Bye!” She chirped, scampering down the hallway.

You rolled your eyes at your sister— you were sure she thought she was being little miss matchmaker again like she was back in high school.

Well that wouldn’t work this time— you were determined it wouldn’t. In high school she knew all the Alphas and had each one of them wrapped around her finger but here you were the one in charge. If she thought leaving you alone with a coworker that you saw almost every day and have spent the last two years learning everything about was going to force you two to date, then she had another thing coming.

Besides… it simply wouldn’t be professional.

You shook your head slightly, shaking the thought of murdering your sister from your mind, “Anyway— what can I help you with Bokuto-san?”

”I brought something for you!” He exclaimed, holding a bag up.

Right.

This again.

”Bokuto-san I don’t know how else to explain it to you— is that mille fueille?” 

Your eyes nearly widened to the size of dinner plates at the sight of the cake Bokuto pulled out of the bag in a clear cake container.

Bokuto grinned at the sound of your sudden excitement. 

“It is! I made it for you!”

In reality Bokuto’s sisters had mostly made the cake while Bokuto ranted about everything Ami had told him about you to them. A similar routine as they had made every bento that Bokuto had given you to help their poor dense brother out while convincing him that he was truly the chef… or baker in this case.

You continued to stare at the cake, mouth already starting to water as you partially registered Bokuto’s words, “But uh— how— how’d you know this is my favorite?” You asked, still distracted by the cake. You reached out to grab the container. 

“Intuition!” He declared proudly.

It was the first dessert on the list Ami gave him. 

“I can have the whole thing?” You asked in wonder.

”Of course! It’s for you! I also got you something else.”

You looked up as Bokuto rifled through the bag and pulled something out for you, presenting them to you as he had with the cake.

”What are these?” You asked, picking up the fabric in his hands. You unfolded it, “Kneepads?”

”I got you a matching pair to mine! They’re extra long just like my kneepads!”

And suddenly multiple things hit you at once like a bag of bricks over the head.

You took in a shaky breath as an intense heat filled up your face and you just knew every drop of blood in your body decided to travel to your head.

You nervously cleared your throat, no longer able to look Bokuto in the eye, “And— and what exactly would I need kneepads for?”

“For your volleyball games!”

”…Right.”

You were going to wring Ami’s fucking neck.

But another thought overshadowed your desire to kill your sister in that moment.

Bokuto Kotarou was courting you.

You stared at the items that you held.

Your favorite cake that he made for you. A pair of matching kneepads for your volleyball games.

Bokuto gave you these.

An Alpha gave you these because he was interested in a relationship with you, a Beta.

And if that wasn’t enough, “I was told that I should finally come out and say it,” he sucked in a large breath of air, “I have been courting you for nine months now Miss Manager, I would like to take you out on a date.”

Your knees felt weak.

”Beta-chan?” Bokuto asked you curiously as you had suddenly gone so quiet, suddenly a little nervous now for your rejection even though Ami said there was no way you’d turn him down.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you slowly looked up from the gifts and at Bokuto.

It was like you were seeing him for the first time.

And you could practically see animated hearts floating around his head as an overwhelming anxiety came over you that you had never experienced in his presence before.

‘No, no, no, no, this is so fucking bad. I can’t pursue a relationship with him— he’s my coworker. And he’s an Alpha, we’re both simply incompatible. It would never work— I’m gonna fucking kill Ami when I see her- okay well maybe one date wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, Bokuto’s always been so sweet—‘

”Thank you for the gifts!” You suddenly shouted before slamming the door in his face.

Your back hit the door and you slowly slid down it in despair. 

“You’re welcome Miss Manager!” You heard him cheer from the other side, clearly not hurt in the slightest at having the door slammed in his face. “I’ll ask you out again tomorrow!” He added, clearly not dissuaded as you technically didn’t reject him and you did accept his gifts.

‘Why do I feel like I’m back in high school all of a sudden!?’ You cried in your head.

But this was the reality of the situation.

Bokuto was courting you.

And you suddenly had a crush.

You were pushed forward as Ami opened the door on you.

”What are you doing down there?” She asked, peering down at you from around the door, “Where’d Bokuto go—ah!”

”You bitch!” You shrieked, yanking on her leg and knocking her out from under herself before pinning her to the ground, “You’re playing matchmaker again! I told you to stop interfering with my love life!”

Ami managed to get you off balance, rolling you over and pinning you instead, “You needed the interference!” She yelled, “And I told you he was courting you! He just needed a push in the right direction!”

”And what am I supposed to do now!? It’s not like I can actually go out with him!”

”What? Why not?” She whined. 

“I work with him, that’s why!”

”Yeah, I looked into that and there isn’t a rule saying you two can’t date.”

”Wha— Yeah, well—“ you spluttered, “Just— stay out of my love life!— ah!” You yelped as your Apple Watch buzzed. Your eyes widened, “Get off! I have a meeting starting!” You managed to shove her off and scramble back into your office.

* * * *

Ami knew you were pissed when you refused to talk to her for the rest of the day— even when she was purposefully being annoying.

Hours upon hours of meetings had passed, hours of scheduling, hours of calling repair men and whoever the fuck else you needed to call… Ami lost track after falling asleep on your office floor.

And then Ami knew you were really pissed when you still didn’t talk on the way home.

In fact, you didn’t address her properly until you reached your house.

”Alright,” you scoffed the second the front door slammed closed. You turned to look at her, throwing your briefcase to the ground, “What did you tell him?”

She only grinned, her little canines poking out, “Mille fuille is your favorite isn’t it~” she lilted.

”Okay so you told him my favorite dessert and that I play volleyball. What else?” You crossed your arms.

She tilted her head as if to ponder what it was, before she snapped her fingers, “I told him you have a stripper  pole.”

”HAH!?” you shrieked, “You really told him that!?

”I did!” She chirped, “Along with a buncha other shit about you. I made sure that he got a full comprehensive view of you and I gave him pointers on how to court a Beta. And see how much better he did with my meddling!” She cheered.

You shook your head in exasperation, “Oh this can’t be happening.”

”But it is!” She exclaimed, jumping onto your back. “Isn’t that exciting! True love!”

You pushed her off, quickly spinning around and grasping her shoulders, “Okay, um,” you stammered, trying to organize the tornado of thoughts violently flying around your head, “Bokuto like— he actually likes me?”

”Duh.”

”No but like— he like likes me? Bokuto, an Alpha, not just any kind of Alpha but like top tier Alpha wants to date me? A Beta.”

Ami shrugged, “I’m just as shocked as you are.”

”Okay but why?”

”Oh right!” She suddenly slapped you.

You held your cheek, “What was that for!?”

”For not telling me a fucking Alpha scented you.”

”Huh?” You stared at her in utter confusion until it dawned on you. Last seasons final game. “Oh that? That was nothing.”

”Clearly not because the guys had an emotional hard on for you for nearly a year— and probably a physical one to if you think about it.”

”Shut up,” you shrieked, your face flushing, “Stop talking about Bokuto having a hard on!”

”Ohohoh,” Ami wiggled her eyebrows at you, “Does that make you embarrassed~” she teased, “You know both his stamina and power is at a 5?”

”Of course I know that, why do you know that?”

”I looked him up of course! Had to see what my baby sister was getting into! Or I guess who would be getting into her~” she wiggled her eyebrows again.

”Okay, stop it! That’s not funny!” You held your face which was now burning to the touch with your furious blush. “He’s really liked me since then?”

”Yup!”

”Oh God,” you started pacing back and forth again, “He probably thinks I’m an idiot!”

”Actually out of the two of you, he’s remarkably the idiot.”

”What do you mean?” You stopped your pacing to look at her, “I know he’s not exactly the brightest but I feel like with something like this—“

”No, he’s an idiot, trust me,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever met an Alpha so blindly loyal to someone without being in a relationship first. I gotta say, I’m a little jealous sis. That man is in deep.”

”You’re lying— I would have noticed—“

”Hellooo, anyone home?” She knocked on your head, “Of course you haven’t— he’s been courting you like you were an Omega. See, he’s sweet, but that man is stupid. But don’t worry about that, the dumb one’s are usually the best in bed.”

”No. This is ridiculous,” you shook your head, “I can’t possibly go out with Bokuto Koutarou— it’s Bokuto— professional athlete Bokuto— 6 foot 2 Bokuto… Alpha Bokuto…” you trailed off in a daze before rapidly shaking your head from that train of thought, “No it’s not happening.”

”Why nottttt,” she whined.

”Because it just can’t.” You said, “Now, I’m gonna take a long hot bath and when I come out we are putting all of that to rest and never speaking about Bokuto again, okay?”

Ami lifted a brow, staring at you unconvincingly. She knew her sister and she knew this subject would be beating a dead horse by the end of the night.

”Sure. Whatever you say~”

* * * *

You did well. You were proud of yourself.

You had managed to go the entire night without talking about the man that hadn’t left your mind.

But God, was that difficult.

You liked Bokuto. He was good energy to have around at work and he was always so sweet and friendly with everyone. The fans loved him for more than just his skills just because his personality was larger than life.

The man was truly a star.

But holy shit… he was a star that just so happened to want to take you out on a date.

You tossed and turned in bed that night. You stayed up for a while watching your favorite romance movies with Ami all the while refusing to engage with her and her teasing.

But now you couldn’t sleep.

Not when you pictured yourself in the lead role from your favorite movie and Bokuto as the love interest, determinedly pursuing her because he was so in love.

You sat up in bed. Your hair was a mess from all the tossing and turning and Mochi had abandoned you for the floor a while ago.

You quickly found yourself scrambling out of bed, grabbing your cat, and stumbling down the stairs to the guest room.

Quietly sneaking in and avoiding anything you could make out in the night, you found yourself in front of Ami’s sleeping form.

”Ami.” You whispered, “Ami— Ami— Hey!”

Ami shot up in a fright, spooking Mochi in your arms who clawed her way out of your hold, forcing you to drop her.

You frowned, staring at the thin, red scratches on your hand, “Ow…”

”What are you doing!” Ami panted, turning the night table lamp on. “You look crazy.” She said breathlessly, eyeing your wild hair and frantic look in your eyes.

”So uh—“ you started twiddling your fingers, hunched over your sister, “What has Bokuto said about me…?” You asked awkwardly, cursing yourself for sounding so high school.

A devious little grin grew on Ami’s face and she tugged you onto the bed.

”So you do want to date him!”

”I’m not saying that!” You yelped, “I just— I wanna know what he’s been saying.” You blushed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but guys don’t typically get crushes on me.”

Ami giggled such a girlish and excited laugh, you really did think for a minute that you’d been transported back to high school. “Well he seems to think you smell really good,” she giggled again as you blushed.

”If I knew he was scenting my shit I would’ve made sure to do laundry more often,” you groaned, “Or at least worn more perfume.”

”Oh don’t be silly, Alphas are more interested in natural scents anyway. Besides he’s been trying to decode yours for like ever it sounds like.”

”Decode?”

”Yeah dummy. He thinks there’s more to you that he doesn’t know about. Whyever he would think that is beyond me,” she remarked sarcastically, “You’re just oh so transparent with your coworkers.” She glared.

”I’m the perfect amount of transparent, thank you very much,” you crossed your arms.

”You don’t even go to team parties,” she deadpanned, “Have they even seen you outside of your pantsuits and tracksuits?”

”No, and they don’t need to. I have an entire team of Alphas that respect me.”

”Oh give me a break,” she rolled her eyes, “They’re not gonna lose respect for you by seeing you in a nice dress at a work party and letting your hair down a bit— and I mean that literally and figuratively— they haven’t even seen you with your hair down for goodness sakes.”

”I know that,” you huffed.

”Then what are you so afraid of!” She exclaimed in exasperation. 

You pouted, beginning to pick at your nail, murmuring something under your breath.

”What?” She asked with a confused expression, straining to hear you.

”It’s just—“ you stopped yourself, rubbing your suddenly clammy hands on your pajama pants, “Every time I try to be myself around Alphas or Omegas, I’m always let down… people don’t exactly like me, y’know.”

”That’s not true—“

”You don’t count,” you snapped, “It’s like there’s always been this divide between me and everyone else. I can’t relate to them and they can’t relate to me— it’s like we’re on completely different wave lengths. Why do you think my siblings are my best friends?”

”Well I thought it was because you liked us.”

”Tch.” You tsked, “I do… I guess I’m just tired and afraid of being rejected.”

“Then date Bokuto,” she said, clasping your hands now, a shine in her eyes as she leaned in, “I’m telling you, you guys are perfect for each other. You’re both so delightfully weird and fun to be around, and he genuinely likes you. He told me he thinks you’re really pretty and I can’t even begin to explain how excited he was to finally learn more about you. And he’s so nice—“

”You just met him,” you scoffed.

”Yeah and unlike you he actually is transparent. But it would be good for you! You deserve to be happy!”

You sighed, pulling your hands from hers to rake them through your hair, “I’ll— well I guess I already have been thinking about it. But this month is so fucking crazy already— we have a game against the Adlers this week and a huge press conference and those are always a nightmare to manage, not to mention all the sponsors that have been breathing down my neck—“

”I get it, you’re busy” she cut you off, “But you’re always gonna have something to blame putting your love life on hold, so will you actually think about it.”

”Yeah— Yeah I will,” you said, looking at her with determination now. 

“Good. Now go to bed, you have work in the morning.”

”Yeah. By the way, you’re banned from coming back,” you said, standing up.

”What? Why?”

”Two days babysitting you was enough. You don’t have to stay here but you can’t come with me to work, and I promise we’ll do something fun when I come back.”

Ami pouted, grumbling under her breath as you left the room.

* * * *

The following morning you had woken up to your alarm and just your alarm today. 

Fumbling for your phone in your bedsheets you quickly turned off the alarm, before laying back with a sigh.

That had to have been one of the most unproductive nights of “sleeping” you’ve had in a while.

You just couldn’t stop thinking about Bokuto and all his gifts and everything he told you yesterday— you were losing your mind.

It was funny too, back when you were a teenager you would’ve jumped head first into a relationship with an Alpha that so proudly declared his feelings for you. You wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But you weren’t that young Beta anymore.

You’ve chosen to put your career before a relationship, so mixing the two was always out of the question.

On top of that, and more glaringly… you were a Beta. 

You two weren’t and would never be compatible biologically, hell, you hadn’t even noticed he was courting you for nine months.

But at the same time Bokuto was so sickeningly sweet and kind. Anybody would be lucky to have him as a mate.

You grabbed the pillow next to you, placed it over your head and screamed, spooking Mochi in the process.

You then pulled yourself out of your bed to start your day.

Standing in front of your closet, you had a conundrum. You had a few phone calls to make today but for the most part your plan was to watch practice.

On the one hand you could wear your tracksuit and spend the majority of your day in the gym like you planned or, you could wear a pantsuit and hide all day in your office like a little bitch just so you didn’t have to embarrass yourself in front of the team and Bokuto.

You knew yourself too well. Any professional facade you were able to maintain will be immediately crumbling upon talking or even seeing Bokuto for the forseeable future.

You grabbed your pantsuit.

It’s official, today would be the first you were shirking out on responsibility.

When you had opened your door after changing, you were immediately tackled to the ground.

”Amiiii,” you whined, “You’re gonna give me a concussion one day,” you glared at her grinning face above you.

”Soooo,” she dragged out.

”Whaaat?” You asked, mimicking her tone uneasily.

”Are you gonna go out with Bokuto!? Duh!?”

”I don’t know,” you huffed, “It’s all very confusing and we have a game tomorrow, I can’t get distracted right now!”

”I thought we talked about this last night!? Excuses!”

”Yeah, well, when the excuse is literally not even a day away then I’ll take that advice. Now off,” you wriggled beneath her.

”Booo,” she whined, rolling off, “Why do you make things so difficult.”

”I’ll stop making things difficult when life’s not difficult,” you stood up. “Now let me finish getting ready.”

You moved about your apartment as you readied yourself for the day, following your routine as always until you eventually found yourself at the doors to the gym.

Fuck— you don’t remember ever being this nervous going to work… not even on your first day.

You peaked through the windows of the doors. Some of the players were out stretching already but no sign of Bokuto.

Perfect.

You’d be in and out. You’d wave to the players, say good morning to coach and tell him you’ll be in your office all day, and you’ll be out.

A lump formed in your throat knowing you were about to lie to him.

But it was time to quit stalling, waiting any longer out here meant giving more time for Bokuto to finish getting ready in the locker room and coming out.

You braced yourself, walking into the gym. You waved to the players like you did every morning and walked straight to Samson.

”Morning coach.”

”Good morning Miss Manager,” he greeted, “Another day in the office huh?”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “Yeah, I’ll try to stop by and watch practice later but I’m swamped today.”

He nodded in understanding, “No worries if you can’t though. It seems everyone’s busy with tomorrow’s match.”

”Right, well I’ll let you get to it, call me if you need anything.”

”Same goes for you.” 

You nodded, turning to walk away.

Alright. Okay. Everything was fine. 

You managed to lie straight through your teeth without any suspicion. And still no sign of Bokuto.

A sigh of relief escaped your parted lips as your hands came into contact with the cool metal of the door handle.

”BETA-CHANNN!!!”

Your heart plummeted.

As expected, a second later you were being swept off your feet and cradled in two very large arms.

And shit— it actually felt nice this time.

Your brain felt like mush all of a sudden.

”Did you like the mille fuille?” He asked excitedly.

“I-I did,” you stammered— was it always hot in here? Did you need to find a repair man for the a/c too? “It was very yummy.”

Yummy? What the fuck were you saying?

Bokuto cheered excitedly, “I made you something else today too, but I’ll give it to you later. Ami told me you don’t like public attention,” he ‘whispered’.

Speaking of which… your eyes glided over the gym full of Alphas all staring at you both.

”The knee pads fit nicely too,” you murmured shyly.

Why the fuck did you say that?

You literally opened your mouth to tell him to let go of you but instead that fucking word vomit came out.

”Bokuto-san, put her down and start stretching,” Samson suddenly shouted.

Oh God.

”Okay!” He answered before placing you down gently to your feet. “I’ll see you later Beta-Chan.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and nearly stumbled out of the gym. 

Bokuto ran into the gym giddily, joining Atsumu, Hinata, and Sakusa in their stretches.

Bokuto grinned, humming to himself as all three men stared at him in shock.

”Ami really is Kamisama,” Atsumu said in complete shock.

”What the fuck just happened?” Sakusa deadpanned, complete and utter disbelief dripping from every word.

”That was the first time she didn’t tell you to put her down!” Hinata added, clapping Bokuto on the back.

”Ya know I’ve been tellin’ ya from the start to just fuckin’ ask her out, but nooo. A little Omega comes along and tells ya to do it once and he does it. That’s ’Mega privilege right there.”

”Oh let’s not get started on Omega privilege,” Inunaki groaned, tired of Atsumu’s rants on said topic.

“He’s not even listening,” Sakusa said, watching as Bokuto continued to hum in his own little world.

* * * *

You were sitting underneath your desk.

Why?

You had no fucking clue as to why, all you knew was that you needed to be in a small space or the world was going to end.

Well perhaps that was a tad too dramatic but sitting under here did make you feel a little more sane even if the optics showed otherwise.

You just couldn’t stop thinking about the coach having to tell Bokuto to put you down.

You had been held in his arms long enough for the coach to see you weren’t doing anything about it and having to tell him to put you down himself.

You were going to get fired at this rate.

You haven’t even agreed to anything yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

You wish you had work. You wish you had anything else to do in your office other than sitting underneath your desk.

He was going to come by here and give you more presents today. 

He said he was going to ask you out again.

What were you going to say.

If you’re already acting like a lovesick idiot how the fuck are you going to continue to be professional in the workplace.

There was that and then there was also… Ushiwaka.

You cursed.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so freaked out about dating Bokuto if he hadn’t gotten in your head all those years ago. 

Alphas and Betas are not compatible.

That’s what he had told you after you asked him out.

And yeah, of course you knew that. You were pretty sure the percent of Alpha/Beta relationships being successful was only like 1.2%. Even then those alphas in those successful relationship had higher omega hormone levels than an Alpha such as Bokuto would have.

Which was why it was even a miracle in and of itself that Bokuto was even interested in you at all.

But that fact wasn’t what deterred you from pursuing Alphas, it never was. 

What did deter you was the rest of what he had said.

You sighed sadly.

You weren’t cut out for this. Of course you wouldn’t be able to give Bokuto what he needs, which is a perfect little omega that he can dote on and take care of. Someone that needed that protection only a strong Alpha such as him could provide.

You couldn’t scent him. You knew he could scent you but that was always an intensely intimate act between two mates and… you can’t do your part. He’d be missing out on a bonding ritual that you knew strong Alphas like him, especially ones who ran purely on instinct, needed.

And as embarrassing as it was, it was also an undeniable reality. What the fuck could you do to help him when he starts to rut.

You already knew the conditions these Alphas worked under. Their off season was hellish.

Taking them off their rut suppressants made for violent and dangerous ruts that even some of their own Omegas told you that they couldn’t help them through it to the end.

You heard Atsumu had to replace every piece of furniture in his bedroom.

You heard Hinata broke down his door when he could smell his Omega neighbor go into heat due to his own rut.

You really weren’t cut out for this.

Maybe if he wasn’t as strong as he was, maybe if he was a lesser Alpha, it’d be different.

But he wasn’t. He, along with the rest of the players, were the top of the pecking order. He went anywhere and other Alphas were submitting to him, recognizing him as the Alpha.

That’s just the way it fucking was.

You didn’t wait for him to come during lunch break. 

You needed more time, this invisible pressure weighed on you like a ton of bricks. You thrived off of having deadlines and schedules, and the fact that you didn’t have a deadline when it came to giving Bokuto your answer was deeply fucking with you.

He’d probably ask you out until he got a straight answer from you for another nine months and that just felt so evil to do— to make such a pure hearted Alpha wait like that all because of this fucking inferiority complex you had. 

You decided to eat out instead when you knew coach would be calling a lunch break. Just a few more hours to think and you’d give him an answer, a real answer so he wouldn’t be wasting his time courting you anymore.

But you already had a feeling you knew what you were going to tell him.

There was a cute little café you went to on occasion. It reminded you of a café back home you used to go to after being rejected and wanting to be alone to wallow in your own self pity.

You just never thought you’d ever go there before contemplating whether or not you’d reject a perfectly suitable and sweet Alpha.

You were grateful for the familiarity of solitude as you sat inside, staring out the window and watching all the passerby’s on the sidewalks… most of which being happy couples, you noted bitterly. 

You had been by yourself like this for so long. You don’t even know what kind of person you’d be in a relationship. 

You couldn’t do it.

Bokuto deserved better.

By the time you finished lunch and made it back to the gym the boys were already hard at work again.

And speaking of work, you had some of your own to actually get to now.

You made the few phone calls you had penned down in your ‘To Do’, gathering details for tomorrow’s match and finalizing the plans.

By the time you were finished it was time to go home.

Packing your bags, there was an eager knock at your door.

You knew who it was.

You sighed, “Come in!”

”Beta-chan!” Bokuto exclaimed, throwing your door open.

He was in such a good mood you finally noticed how dramatically your own mood changed from the flustered, bashful Beta you were this morning.

”Hi Bokuto-san,” you gave him an uneasy smile, trying not to give away how unstable you had felt all day.

”You weren’t in your office for lunch.” He said, coming up to your desk as you packed up your bag.

”Yeah, I… kinda forgot to pack one today,” you lied, your bento was still full, “So I went out for lunch.”

”Oh,” he frowned, “I would have given you mine— I can go back to making bentos for you everyday!” He lit up suddenly at the prospect of caring for you in a way Alphas typically cared for their Omegas.

“No, no, that’s alright,” your voice sounded strained. “Thank you though.”

”I brought the gifts,” Bokuto then said, rifling through his duffle bag. “Here!” He found what he was looking for and gave it to you.

”Dangos?” You bit back a smile, heart fluttering.

”Yeah! And this!” He handed you a box.

Your jaw fell to the floor. It was a rare figure from one of your favorite anime, you looked up to him and stammered, “H-How—“ your stomach dropped.

”Kenma helped me!”

You looked back down to the box and then to the dangos.

”I,” God your heart was fucking pounding, “I can’t accept these,” you murmured, “I’m sorry.”

”But I brought those for you,” he suddenly seemed to deflate, “I want you to have them and I want to ask you out on a date again.”

”But that’s,” you groaned, slumping in your seat, “I can’t date you Bokuto-san.” You stared hard into the floor— you felt like such a fucking bitch, you couldn’t even look at the man that had been pursuing you for nine months while you rejected him.

”Wait— but why,” he pressed both hands against the top of your desk, leaning over it, “You don’t like the gifts?” He asked sadly. “I can get better one’s— I can make you something else—“

“Oh Koutarou,” you murmured sadly.

Bokuto became stiff, all too aware that that was the first time you had ever called him by his first name, without an honorific no less.

“You’re so sweet. You’ve always been so sweet and kind towards me and I want to say yes to you— I want to say yes so bad—“

”Then say yes!” He insisted, lighting up again, “I already have it planned out. There’s that new rom-com coming out on Valentine’s Day that we can go see. Then I’ll take you to a bakery— we can have cake for dinner! Then I’d walk you back home and kiss you at the doorstep just like in the movies— hey, why are you crying?” He lost the boyish excitement in his voice.

He ran around your desk and kneeled in front of you, grabbing both armrests on either side of you. You wiped at your tears furiously, “I’m sorry,” you tried to laugh through the tears, “‘m just emotional I guess.”

It was kind of silly. A few days ago you never even considered that dating Bokuto Koutarou was a possibility, and now here you were, crying over him.

“You’re such a sweetheart Koutarou and I am so sorry for not realizing you liked me sooner. I would have never let it drag on for that long if I had known.”

God, he was just staring at you with these big puppy eyes that just stabbed your heart. 

“Because-Because you like me back?” He sounded so hopeful.

”Because I think this part would have hurt less. I’m not—We’re not compatible,” you said, staring into those puppy eyes, “I can’t give you what you need. You’re such a strong Alpha Koutarou, you need an Omega that’ll know how to take care of you the only way an Omega knows how to. I can’t do that as a Beta.”

”But… I don’t care about things like that. It’s never bothered me that you’re a Beta, I can still be a good Alpha to you— we can figure out how to make it work,” he replied sadly, hand inching towards your own on the armrest. “Does this have to do with Ushiwaka. Ami told us he said something to you back then. She said you stopped pursuing a relationship after his rejection.”

You sighed, of course she told him.

”Yes,” you admitted, “He said some things that at the time really hurt but I think… he was right.”

”How can he be right when what he said is making you so sad.”

You sniffled again, wrapping your arms around Bokuto in a hug, to which he followed suit. You figured professionalism was out the door the moment he asked you out yesterday. “Thank you Koutarou. If… If I was an Omega or even if we met a few years earlier I wouldn’t have even hesitated going out with you. But I just can’t.” 

It hurt knowing that the first man that was offering something you’ve wanted for so long was someone you’d also have to turn down.

”Then I’ll wait until you can.”

“I’m begging you Koutarou, for both our sakes…” you murmured into his shoulder, ”Please don’t.”

You loved love.

”I…” His arms tightened around you, voice dripping in a sadness you hadn’t thought he was even capable of, “Okay, if that’s what you really want then… I’ll stop.”

But it wasn’t meant for you.

————————————————————————

Part 4

Taglist: @staygoldsquatchling02 @tillyt04 @/niiiya @/silverhairsimp

[gyuvision]

goodnight ricky

wc ; 1k - pairing ; ricky shen x fem reader

summary ; before your roommate left she promised she’d find you a replacement. 3 years later she never did, until now, leaving you as confused as ever while you looked at the 6ft male sitting in your room.

contains -> fluff/slight angst

you came back late, having class at a top (and painfully competitive) med school plus the late shift at the local coffee shop. you were tired especially during exams. all you wanted was to stay in your bed and read a book, or sleep for the rest of the night. however you pleased.

so naturally being that exhausted you were absolutely not expecting the man sitting in your desk, drawing towards the conclusion that you were hallucinating and that maybe sleep sounded like a better idea than a book.

“someone told me to wait for you here”

“what?”

“you know, your roommate?”

oh. right.

your roommate was your best friend. you were inseparable, shared the same dreams, got into the same college together.

but everything changed. she got a boyfriend, and suddenly your future wasn’t as intertwined as you originally planned it to be.

they broke up and she realized she wasn’t sure what she wanted. everything about her had changed and your schedule almost never lined up because of how many times she changed it for her ex.

so, she cut ties, peacefully. she explained she no longer wanted the same thing as you and left but promised to visit soon and that she’d find someone to take her place because she knew how much you hated being on your own.

guess that explained why the man (who you later knew as shen quanrui) was waiting for you, in the same spot she always waited for you to come home.

“its been.. 2 years since she left. how could you have found me when she couldn’t even shoot a text?”

“unbeknownst you, you mean a great deal to her more than you seem to think you do. i was her partner in art school before we had graduated, and she sent me here. she knows how you are, with your life plan laid out in front of you, for you. she knows you’d still live here even after almost 3 years. she knows you’d end up getting into med school after college. you’re not that unpredictable jung y/n.”

“so i’ve been prepared all my life, and what about it? i don’t march towards things without a plan. and how could you address me by my full name when i don’t even know yours?”

“shen quanrui.”

“shim what?” “shen. quan. rui. shen quanrui. its not that hard.”

“so you’re not korean?” “obviously not. i’m chinese.”

“can you say your name one more time?”

“my god. you can just call me ricky.”

“lovelicky.” “what?” “nothing.”

“i brought back food. it was supposed to be a snack for me but i guess you can have it now that i know i’ll be accommodating for two from this point on.”

“thanks. but uh- can we just go to sleep?” ricky asked, moving from your desk to sit on your twin bed.

“what? this is a two person flat. go sleep in her old room.”

“uh- i would, assuming she left behind her bed. but you kind of boarded up her room and i’m not looking to take it down at midnight on a thursday.”

“oh. i guess you’re right. i forgot about that. i just never assumed she’d actually send someone to me so i didn’t want to look at everything she left behind.”

ricky shrugged and laid down on one side of your bed, while he let you climb into the side touching the wall. since when was he wearing pajamas?..

“isnt this weird?” you muttered.

“not really.”

“i just met you.”

“your couch looks stiff as fuck and i’m not sleeping on the floor.”

right. you had a couch.. maybe med school is taking a toll on your memory. you feel like your frontal lobe is deteriorating.

ricky watched as you reached for a book, before he quickly grabbed your hand and set it back down on the shelf above the bed.

“no. sleep. you have school then the night shift at the cafe.”

“how did you-” “you leave your schedule framed on your fridge.” “right..”

“goodnight y/n.”

“okay. goodnight ricky.”

[nctsplug02]

Husband mark fucking his pregnant wife plss

[11:31PM]

GENRE: father mark, fluff and smut!

WARNINGS: dilf!mark, pregnant milf!reader, kissing, breast play, breeding, praising, dirty talking, spanking, shower sex, and just pure fluff!

AN| happy (late) father’s day! i know, i know. i’m late to this post BUT, you know me, im late to/with everything! anywho, i want to say thank both my daddies. my dad dad and my bf daddy. ANYWHO! happy father’s day to my dad who lives miles and miles away from me, i love you dearly and wish you the best without having the best daughter in the world next to you. and to my daddy who’s next to me in bed (resting after having good pussy), i love you too.

the door unlocks and you try your best to quickly scramble up from the couch with your pint of ice cream in one hand and a fork in the other.

you hear a deep sigh and a bag being dropped on the ground.

at last, you’re able to lift yourself off the couch and onto your feet.

being seven months pregnant with a big belly was a struggle.

“mark, hunnie?” you call out and walk over to the front door space. “mark— oh, jesus christ!” you jump when mark jumpscares you.

“shit— baby, you scared me— oh, my god. i’m so sorry, baby.” marks hands land on your lower back and the side of your belly.

you sigh and attempt to wrap your arms around mark but your belly keeps you two at a distance. mark giggles at your cuteness and pulls you in front of him, putting his arms above your belly and dipping his chin on your shoulder.

“i’m sorry, hunnie.” you rub his arms and rock side to side. “no, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to scare my pregnant wife— just didn’t expect us to go separate paths.” he laughs.

“it’s alright— anyways, how was work?” mark groans and drops his head back before dropping his forehead on the back of your head.

mark sighs, “i’m so pissed. it’s father’s day and they wouldn’t allow me to go home early so i could spend time with you and jae-mi. they said they’d let us leave early because they knew we had plans for father’s day but still were planning to keep us until midnight until taeyong spoke up and they finally just let us leave.”

you frown, “aw, i’m sorry, baby. i’m sorry you are under such a shitty company who doesn’t care about you. and, i’m glad taeyong spoke up. i genuinely was gonna be a karen tonight and march on over to your practice room and complain about you not being home and missing out father’s day— jae-mi was really upset that you weren’t coming home. every hour that went by, she asked and asked if you were coming home yet. it was so disappointing to tell her that you weren’t just yet.”

“not a karen,” mark laughs. “just a loving, worried, moody wife who cares about her husbands well being under my shitty company who doesn’t care about me at all.”

“but, what did you and jae-mi do for father’s day while i was out on schedules?” you smile and bite on his hand crossed in front of you. “we just baked a bit for you, y’know— made some strawberry shortcake cupcakes and brownies.”

“uhhh,” you jump and mark pauses. “let’s go to the kitchen and i’ll let you know else we did.”

you continue to tell mark about what you and your five year old did without mark while walking over to the kitchen.

“woah— woah! what the— woah!” mark gasps and lets go of you. “dude— what! yo, this is sick!” mark jumps excitedly as he sees the frosted (and topped off with cut up strawberries) cupcakes and powered brownies.

you laugh at how mark went from being pissed to being so hyper from seeing sweets.

“wait, that isn’t even the best part. look,” you go around the island and grab the drying white paper from the fridge. “look, look!” you hold up the paper and mark squeals.

“who made this?” mark says, grabbing the paper from you. “this is an absolute masterpiece, what the!” mark says, admiring the art piece.

you tuck your hands behind your back and tilt your head. “jae-mi made it for you. she said she wanted to make something for you that you’d like and.. she made.. a heart with the letter ‘M’ in it.”

“oh, right! she made more for you, look.” you grab the other pieces of paper from the dining table and you pass them to mark.

“aww, this is sick. where’s my little girl?” mark says looking through the art works.

one was a glitter-glued-on-written sign that said, happy father’s day to the best daddy, in blue glitter.

another said, #1 daddy, in pink glitter.

“your little girl is sound asleep in her bed.” mark evens the papers and sets them on the island. “well, i’ll tell her tomorrow morning that her art pieces for me were beautiful.”

“wow, those are really messy.” mark says looking down at his now glitter covered hands.

you giggle and nod. “you should’ve seen mine earlier— jae-mi and i had to take two showers.”

mark grabs you by the shoulder and slams your back onto his chest, wrapping his heavy arms around your shoulder. “now, what did mommy make for me?”

you laugh and shake your head. “mommy helped your little girl make you these nummy desserts.” you push out of his hold and you grab a cupcake from the tray, peeling away the cupcake liner and taking a big bite into the cupcake.

“mmm,” you moan, chewing and then licking your top lip to get the extra whipped cream. “hm, try it.” you hold the cupcake in front of marks mouth and mark licks his lips, leaning forward and then taking a bigger bite.

“holy shit— mm, that’s so good. oh my god.” mark moans and nods, jumping around while holding his crotch and shaking his head.

you laugh and continue to eat the cupcake until all that’s left is the liner.

“alright, baby. let’s go take a shower, yeah?” you whine and shake your head. “this’ll be my third shower of the day— i’m so tired of taking showers.”

you lean your chin on marks chest and you shut your eyes. mark mocks your whine and places his chin on your head.

“but, i’m stinky, baby. i’m all sticky and sweaty.” you push off mark and he interlaces hands with you. “then shower by yourself.” you say with sass and mark laughs. “but, i wanna shower with you.”

you tsk, “fine. but, you have to carry me to the bathroom. now, hurry, let’s go before i change my mind.”

mark quickly yanks his hands from yours and lifts you off your feet by carrying you bridal style. “mark!” you laugh unstably as mark bounces while running up to the bathroom.

“are you crazy?!” you laugh as mark kicks the bathroom door open and sits you on the counter. “what, you said to hurry up before you changed your mind, no?”

he was right, so you couldn’t be mad.

“just, tsk— start the shower will’ya!” you make an angry face and mark laughs.

mark walks over to the shower and turns on the shower, in an instant, hot water squirts out the shower head.

“get undressed, baby.” mark says, walking over to the closet next to the shower and pulling out clean towels.

“mm, why don’t you undress me yourself?” mark stops in his tracks and looks up at you, trying his best to hide the shy smirk.

you place both hands on either sides of your legs and you smirk. “i said why don’t you undress me yourse—?” you gasp as mark drops the neatly folded towels and jogs over to you, quickly grabbing at your oversized shirt that was honestly his from his side of the closet.

mark tosses the shirt behind him and goes for your loose jamies. he undoes the knot and tugs them off with needy grunts.

“mark,” you giggle while being tossed around on your ass. “don’t forget about yourself, you dummy.” mark nods.

marks pupils grow when seeing your huge breasts— thanks for your pregnancy that bumped you from a C cup to a double D cup.

his hands shake as they go to undo your bra. “geez, when did they get this big.” mark says as the push-up bra releases your mochi like breasts.

“they’ve been growing ever since my third month.” you say with creased eyes and an innocent grin as mark massages them in his hands.

“mark, stop,” you giggle as he tweaks your nipples. “you can do that in the shower but i’m getting cold and i can just feel the hot steam from the shower.”

“alright, alright.” mark frowns as he forces himself to pull away from your breasts and helps you down from the counter.

mark walks with you to the running shower after pulling off your panties and you turn around and you stop him.

“what?” he looks down at you.

“you’re still fully clothed, hunnie.” you point out while softly laughing.

mark looks down and laughs along with you. “i forgot,” he rubs his nape and sighs. “wanna undress me?” you tilt your head and sigh. “you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” you see the disappointment in marks eyes and you laugh even more.

“kidding, i’d love to, markie.” you pat his head when seeing him melt.

you pull up his shirt and you purposely run your hand down his toned abs just to make him flex for you. “you’re a cutie, markie.” you tap the tip of his nose and in a reflex for that, he scrunches his nose up.

you finish off by going on your knees and pulling down his sweats and his boxers all together.

“oh,” your eyes slightly cross when marks semi-hard cock bobs in your face. “markie,” you say in a teasing tone. “is this for me?” mark sticks the tip of his tongue out and scrunches up his face in embarrassment.

“let’s continue in the shower?” you ask and mark quickly nods.

mark helps you up off your knees and follows you into the shower like a lost pup.

you turn and give mark a kiss under the pouring showering which quickly leads to a hot and heated makeout sesh. “m—mark,” you attempt to call for him in the middle of the kiss but mark doesn’t stop, he’s addicted.

you somehow manage to pull away from marks needy kisses and you burst into a fit of laughter when seeing how swollen and red his lips are.

“geez, you needy needy man!” mark touches his lips and suddenly turns all red when feeling the swollen-ness.

“i just— it feels like i haven’t kissed you for so long, y/n.” you laugh, holding his forearms. “we kissed this morning before you went off to schedules.”

“not like that, we didn’t.”

“uh, yes we did. don’t tell me you don’t remember our quickie this morning.” mark takes a moment and then finally it clicks. “oooohhhh, right. dude, i totally forgot, i’m sorry.”

you shake your head while rolling your eyes. “whatever, just hurry up and fuck me.”

mark turns you and bends you perfectly so your hands can grasp the tiled walls. “don’t tell me what to do.” mark spanks you and you cry out.

“don’t be so harsh—!” mark spanks you once more. “i said don’t tell me what to do.” you look back when feeling his tip poke at your entrance.

“then don’t be so harsh— and stop teasing me, will’ya— nghh!” you moan when feeling mark ease into you.

“oh, fuck.” mark says, pinching your hip with one hand and using the other hand to hold himself up from leaning all his weight on you.

“baby,” mark groans. “you feel so good, baby. oh, my god.”

his pulsing cock pushes past your gummy walls and continues that many times. “mark,” your cheek pressed against the tiles and your hands laid flat against the tiles.

“harder, markie.” you grunt, grabbing his wrists from behind and crying out when mark starts ramming into your cunt.

“oh, mark!” you wail, moving yourself up onto your tip-toes.

marks face scrunches in pleasure as he feels you clench around him.

your hand reaches down and you begin to rub your nub that’d cried for attention. “f—fuck, i’m gonna cum soon. i’m s—so close.” you pant, rubbing quick circles on your clit and moaning like a wild animal.

you and mark both let out groans when feeling you squirt, the liquid runs down your hand and down marks cock.

“god— mark, i’m cumming.” you cry out to mark who continues to plow into you. “god, i’m cumming.” you whisper.

your knees wobble and buckle as your orgasm hits you. mark quickly holds under your belly and catches you, making sure he gives nice and slow thrusts while holding you up.

“cum, mark. i wanna feel your cum dripping out of my pussy.” you whisper to mark, slowly recovering from your orgasm.

“you want me to cum in your pussy? your pregnant pussy?” you nod, whining at how much more turned on you got just from hearing mark dirty talk to you.

mark does as you pleaded for and cums into your cunt.

his sloppy thrusts come to a halt and he stays balls deep in your cunt. marks cum dripping past his dick and falling straight on the tiled ground, it washes away from the powerful impact of the hot water being sprayed out the shower head.

“geez— i need to sit down.” you pant when mark pulls out of you— slowly.

mark lowers himself to the floor and sits you on his lap. “i love you, you know that, right?” mark chuckles. “of course i do. y’know that i love you too, right?” you nod tiredly. “to the moon and back?” you nod, again.

silence fills up the bathroom.

“so,” you start. “round two?”

“i’ll meet you in the bedroom in ten.” mark says, pushing you back onto your feet.

you leave the bathroom with a purple towel around you and you wait for mark.

ten minutes was too long and by the time mark was finished with his shower, you were sound asleep on his side of the bed with the towel still wrapped around your body.

[callmewrinkles3]

All Too Well - DR3 x Fem!OC

Summary: Saying goodbye is hard. Saying goodbye to your family without telling them it’s a final goodbye is even harder. But Em has come to terms that Dan doesn’t love her the same way she loves him, and leaving on her own terms will hurt less than being told he’s ending things. March 2022.

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: fighting, all the angst this bad boy can carry, lil bit of a dickhead!Dan, running away from your friends, mentions of death, mentions of motorsport crashes and deaths, moving without telling anyone, lying to family, talk of medical procedures, frank talks about what people want to happen if they can’t decide.

A/N: We’ve kept you waiting, but we hope this was worth the wait! This part of our story is what started us on this madcap adventure together, and it’s a lot of what makes our beloved Em Em. Thank you in advance!

Em stared at the two boarding passes in front of her as she sat in the fancy Heathrow lounge, a caramel latte beside them. Heathrow to Dubai, Dubai to Melbourne. More than twenty hours spent on planes to get to Melbourne, to jump into work and get stuck in at the Australian Grand Prix. And it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She should be excited. She should be so happy because she was about to see the boys after over a week apart, she was about to see Dan. She was finally going to get to see the Ricciardos after almost two years apart. But she was dreading it, the memories from Saudi filling her head as she thought. Em forced her attention to the laptop sitting on her knees, emails up and the one she never thought she’d write sitting in the middle of the screen.

SUB: Resignation Letter

From: emmy@.ric3.com

To: blake@.ric3.com

Dear Blake,

Please use this email as my official resignation, effective immediately. I’m sorry that I can’t offer any more notice.

Working with you has been fantastic, and I appreciate everything we’ve gotten to do over the past three years.

Kind regards,

Emma.

Signing it Emma felt wrong. Emma was for Zak Brown and Andreas Sidle. Christian Horner had used it the one time she was introduced to him at Red Bull. She was always Em or Ems now. Except for Dan, she was his Emmy. But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Or ever again. If he called her that she thought she might lose the last grip she had on her composure and break.

The email was scheduled and sitting in her outbox to send after the race, and the last thing she did before boarding was reschedule her flight home. Instead of leaving Monday morning with the boys, she was going on Sunday evening. She’d be somewhere over Queensland by the time Blake received the email and the boys would be at least twelve hours behind her. It was enough time to make sure she could be well ahead of them and get away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be smiling and laughing, and she was supposed to be in Perth right now cuddling her niblings and laughing with Grace and Joe. Learning to cook yet another family recipe and insisting that she and Dan were just friends. She couldn’t even answer the question honestly if they were friends now.

He’d sent her away. The one thing she begged him not to do, the pinkie promise she’d made him give. The only promise she had ever asked him to keep. Not to stay safe while driving, not to do anything else. Not to leave her alone. The near screaming match they’d had in his drivers room that Blake and Michael had to break up. The way he didn’t even look at her but told Blake to “take Ems to the hotel”. How she had tears streaming down her face as she was escorted through the paddock like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

She still didn’t fully believe that she’d dropped her phone in the car. Em shouldn’t even have been in the car alone with Blake, but Dan insisted she went to the hotel room so she went. She was left there alone in Saudi Arabia, where Dan knew she couldn’t leave the hotel. She stared out the window at the smoke from the rockets, completely alone all night until Michael knocked on her door the following morning and she had to pretend everything was fine.

She’d worked from hospitality and as soon as the race finished she changed her flights to go back to London instead of Perth, making up an excuse. And Dan bought that she was going back for her parents.

“Family stuff.” She’d said when he asked.

“Em, you don’t talk to your family much.” She was folding clothes into her case, the one she’d brought that had her Australia clothes already standing fully packed.

“Yeah, but it’s family. My parents have their thirty fifth wedding anniversary in a few weeks, I’m helping plan it.” Only the last part of her words were a lie and she bit her tongue.

“Everyone wants to see you, they all miss you and they keep asking when you’ll be over. The kids miss you.”

“I’ll see them in Melbourne, Dan. You go, enjoy your time at home with them.”

She’d gotten a car to bring her to the airport and Dan hadn’t even asked a question, just a “text me when you land”. There was no hug, no even quick hand squeeze like they usually did in the Middle East. That’s when she knew whatever they were doing. The nearly four years of sleeping together and pretending they weren’t, of the media wondering who she was and why she was always there, was over.

She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to catch feelings, that it was just sex. That she could do it. That every time she told Dan “y’know, right?” it was purely platonic. That the slow sex was just them wanting to take their time, nothing else. That she hadn’t murmured to Dan to make love to her in Bahrain when they shouldn’t have even been sharing a room after Grosjean’s crash, when he kissed her and held onto her and whispered that he loved her as he entered her.

Because that was sixteen months ago and nothing had changed. It was never going to change between them. Their fight in Saudi had proven it, and now she had to pretend that everything was fine before she said goodbye to the people she loved for the last time.

She couldn’t keep working with Dan when not sleeping with him. She couldn’t watch him fall for another woman, couldn’t get introduced to more people as “Em, my best friend” anymore. She was his Emmy. He was her Danny. And not getting to love him and be loved by him how she wanted to was going to kill her.

The flights were what she expected, Dan had upgraded her tickets to first class like he always did and she wanted to kill him like she always did. She spent the flights and the layovers organising his calendar for the next three months, tracking his flights and cross checking the sponsor events that had been filled in. Everything up to Hungary was booked and ready to go. She checked her watch when she was halfway to Melbourne, realising that he’d be at the Optus event she was usually on his arm for. She was supposed to be there this year, but she told him to take Michelle instead. All the events around the Australian GP that she always went as his plus one, wearing the star necklace he’d gotten her for her birthday, and the matching earrings that were her Christmas present the same year. Her outfit was usually one he’d bought for her against her protests because “let me spoil you” was how he showed that he cared, and she always wore the gold moon ring on her thumb that matched the sun one she’d bought him for his little finger. Most of her wardrobe and all of her everyday jewellery were presents from Dan. Her life was completely entwined with his, and untangling it all was going to hurt.

Her flight got in at god-awful o’clock that Wednesday morning, she’d lost a full day having left London on the Monday evening, but she walked through Melbourne customs with her suitcase glad to just be through. She’d told everyone she’d get an Uber to the hotel and meet them for breakfast, but instead as soon as she appeared in front of the glowing Melbourne sign two small figures ran to her yelling.

“AUNTIE EMMY YOU’RE HERE YOU’RE HERE!” Em dropped her bags and fell to her knees, arms wide open to pull Isaac and Isabella into her and pressing so many kisses to their curly heads.

“I’m here, I’m here. I missed you both so much. So, so much. I’m so sorry I couldn’t see you, I wanted to see you sooner.” Stupid Western Australia and closed borders and not letting people through. Her eyes began shining as she took in the difference in the two kids, Isaac at least a foot taller and losing the childlike way he’d spoken. Isabella had doubled in size, long hair and a child instead of a toddler the last time she’d seen her in person.

“It’s ok, you’re here now! Nana said you’ll sit with us for ev’rything ‘cept the race? Cause we’ve got two years of birthday and Christmas pressies for you!” Isaac looked so proud, grinning as he took her wheeled carry on and pulled it.

“I can’t wait. Who’re you here with?”

“Grandad Joe! He has our sign, Uncle Mike and Uncle Blake told us we had to use all the glitter. We were gonna wait, but I saw you and I wanted a hug. Is that ok?” He looked almost worried of her response, but she ruffled his hair.

“It’s more than ok. All I wanted was hugs from the two of you.”

Isabella clung to her waist, Em lifting her up with one arm and mentally thanking Michael for the strength training that let her carry the girl and pull her suitcase with her. She looked around to see Joe holding a giant piece of bright orange card, Auntie Emmy written on it in blue and silver glitter. It was the shiniest thing she’d ever seen in her life, and it was coming home with her even with the craft herpes that would infest her suitcase. Joe pulled her into a one armed hug on the side his granddaughter wasn’t monopolising, pushing a kiss to the side of her forehead that made her want to cry.

“We missed you, kiddo. Grace wanted to be here but we couldn’t fit her in the car too, and Dan’s doing media today. You cut it tight to get in.”

“It’s my parents wedding anniversary next week, I’ve been helping. I have to fly out after the race on Sunday.” It was Wednesday, and she could see his face fall as he realised how little time they’d have together.

“We’re spending as much time with you as we can until you go. Those boys get you all year round, we get you for this weekend.”

“That sounds perfect.”

When they made it to the hotel Em was greeted with yet more hugs from Grace, Michelle, and Michelle’s husband Adam. There were tears in everyone’s eyes at the reunion, and the long hug from Grace was the best thing ever and broke her heart at the same time. It was so restorative, so good, but she wasn’t going to get many more of them.

“Dan checked you in, here’s your key. He’s got the room on the other side of you, Blake’s on the other wall, we’re most of our corridor. Do you want to get some sleep and we’ll call you at noon?”

The first thing Em noticed about her room was the adjoining door between her room and Dan’s. She closed the lock gently to make sure she was completely alone. After that she napped fitfully, waking up to knocks on the door and yet more hugs. The day was spent going to the zoo, kids hanging out of her as she swung them around and gave piggybacks, feeling exactly like part of the family. Blake told her to take the day off for jet lag, and she wasn’t complaining.

That evening was filled with fun as the kids clung to her while she pulled out the first of so many presents. Chocolate first so she could see their faces eating proper chocolate rather than the Australian stuff that didn’t melt in the heat. The bag of duty free was quickly eaten between everyone, a movie on tv as she filled everyone in on what she had been doing. It wasn’t until after eight that Dan appeared wearing a suit.

“Ems! I thought you were coming with me tonight?” She looked up from where she’d been half dozing with Isabella curled up against her, taking in her best friend wearing a navy blue suit and white shirt.

“Coming to what? I’m taking today for jet lag. What’s tonight?”

“The AusGP reception. You always come!” Confusion was written all over his face and Em swallowed once, looking at him carefully.

“I said I wasn’t doing anything this year. I have to leave pretty much straight after the race, I don’t have time.”

“Emmy, please.” She hated that she couldn’t resist him when he did that, when her name curled around his accent like that.

“I don’t have anything to wear.” This was the closest they’d ever come to an argument in front of his family. Their eyes were going between them as if watching a tennis match.

“I got you something.”

“Dan, you can’t do that.” It was pointless to argue but she had to try make her point. She couldn’t just do everything because he wanted her to.

“I did. C’mon, it’s three hours and some schmoozing and we can come back so you can go to bed. He did his best impression of puppy dog eyes, lifting Isabella from her. “You want to see Auntie Emmy all glam and pretty, right Is?”

“Yeah! She’s always pretty.”

“You’re very right. I left the dress in your room, Ems. Please?”

“Fine.”

She said her goodbyes and went into her room, making sure the adjoining door was locked before going into shower and change. As she walked into the bathroom she thought she heard the door rattle but ignored it, forcing herself to take time to put herself together.

Years travelling around the world had taught her how to make herself look presentable in very little time, forcing her to learn how to do a blow dry with a hotel hairdryer. It took less than an hour to have hair and makeup perfectly done, a wrap around her shoulders and a pair of heels on her feet. The dress Dan had picked was perfect for her. It was lavender, knee length with a corset top, and her jewellery worked perfectly with it. He had taste when it wasn’t about party shirts. Once she was ready she picked up a clutch and knocked on Dan’s door. He opened the door confused, but ready to go.

“I thought you’d use the adjoining door? It’s why I got us these rooms.”

“I’m tired, Dan. Can we just get this over with?”

The launch was like anything else, an event to deal with. There were speeches and then wandering around the room, Dan’s hand hovering at her lower back but not quite touching her. She smiled as she was introduced as “meet Ems, she’s my best friend and my manager’s assistant who keeps my life on track”, even while her heart was breaking. But she kept her cool, finally managing to break away from Dan for a few minutes to chat to Ted and Natalie from Sky while Dan did the rounds.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here. I was talking to Michael yesterday, he said you weren’t in Perth with them,” Ted remarked as Em looked at the almost empty glass of champagne in his hand.

“Is this going to end up as gossip on the notebook if we talk?” Nat nearly snorted with laughter, Ted shaking his head with a chuckle.

“Nope. I’m drinking so I’m officially off work duties. Unless you have any gossip about things? Anything that I can attribute to an unnamed McLaren source?”

“I don’t work for McLaren, thankfully Zak doesn’t sign my paycheque. But no, I’ve got no gossip. There’s some family stuff happening so I have to head home pretty much as soon as the race is over. But I needed to see everyone, it’s been almost two years and I missed them.”

“Fair.” They chatted about the season so far, studiously ignoring the controversy around the last race, until Dan arrived back to make excuses and get them to leave the party.

“Back to the hotel?”

“You read my mind.”

The car ride back was the most awkward one the two of them had ever done and Em didn’t know what to do. Usually if they were in a car alone together they’d be curled into each other or at least holding hands. But she was on her side of the SUV, Dan was on his, and the hand she’d stretched into the middle as a peace offering was ignored. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with that. Didn’t want to know, really. All his actions did was solidify that the painful decision she’d reached was the right one. Just because things could be easy didn’t mean they were right.

When they reached their floor in the hotel Dan stopped outside her hotel room as Em waved the keycard at the lock.

“Night, Dan.”

“But I thought…”

“What?” She was sharper than she should have been, but she was jet lagged and tired and heart sore.

“I thought we’d be sharing a room.”

“Your family are two doors down and the kids are here. The chances of at least one of them knocking on my door before I want to get up in the morning are high, and I don’t want to have to explain why we share a bed when we’re not married. Do you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Exactly. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As soon as the hallway door closed behind her she double checked the lock on the adjoining door before flipping over the door lock. If she’d looked out the peephole she would have seen a confused and disappointed Dan standing in the hallway.

The next few days passed in a haze of having the kids around, working, and ignoring Zak. She knew he was the original source of the rumours the year before, he was the one who got Mazepin to start spreading that she was sleeping with all three of her boys. It was her greatest pleasure to get to tell him no, and she did it with joy.

But in between finalising as much as she could before her resignation was sent she had time to wander Melbourne alone. She loved the city. It had always welcomed her in, it was Dan’s home race and the place where she knew everyone adored him. Em wandered around a craft market, finding a jewellery maker who made gold charms and engraved them on the spot. It took her all of ten seconds to buy two and get them put on different coloured leather cords, one each for Isaac and Isabella. The front had a pair of angel wings for each of her angel kids, and the engraving on the back read love you forever, Auntie Emmy. 

Leaving her family behind was going to be the hardest part of this, and she needed to make sure that they knew just how much she loved them. Em was so aware that she was about to be the first adult to choose to walk out of their lives, and she didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to break their hearts the way hers would break too. She just hoped that when they realised she wasn’t coming back they’d know she wanted to tell them how much she loved them.

Practice and qualifying were shit and she felt her dislike of the team growing even stronger. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to deal with the stupid orange team and the way that they were favouring Lando already. Dan was the one who won a race last year, not Lando. He was the one who had proven himself with podiums galore. But they didn’t care.

That night she left the door between their rooms unlocked. Her bags were half packed, her resignation email was scheduled to send and she’d triple checked the timezone on it. Em had spent the last two days hugging everyone as much as she could, surprising Chloe by popping into the Aston garage before a practice and waving to Lance and Seb as she pulled Chloe into a giant hug. Scotty got one too, trying to put the love and care she had for her best friends outside her boys into a hug. There were waves to the people she couldn’t hug because rumours would start, giving Susie a recommendation for the restaurant they all ate at the night before so she and Toto could have a family meal with Jack in privacy. The small things to make sure everyone knew she thought about them and loved them.

Em couldn’t sleep straight away. Nights before races were hard, the crashes she’d watched with her own two eyes usually playing in her head. Dan in Anthoine’s car, Dan in Grosjean’s. Dan in Lewis’s place the year before with no halo. Dan in the rain and a tractor on track. All the ways she knew people had died racing she thought about and she couldn’t deal. Her fear every time Dan slid into his seat in the car was all encompassing but racing was his first love and she could never ask him to stop.

She was about to get up and go down to Michael’s room to ask for some melatonin, but the doorknob between the two rooms rattled and clicked open quietly. Em stayed still as she was, breathing in and out steadily.

Dan slipped into the other side of the bed. If she just opened her eyes she’d be able to see him. If she reached her fingers out slightly she could touch him. It was the first time they’d shared a bed since Bahrain and being just over covid and she wanted him to hold her. Her body was screaming to curl into him and tell him she loves him and she’s his and she doesn’t want him to fall in love with anyone else because she wants him to love her. To choose her over all the models in the world he could have.

She didn’t sleep that night, too aware of his presence in the bed. She could hear his snores but she didn’t dare look up at him, didn’t dare move in case she disturbed him. He needed his sleep the night before a race.

As the morning dawned through crappy hotel curtains she could feel the vibrations from the alarm on his watch, the one he always used to try let her get some extra sleep when he needed to be up early.

Please kiss my forehead. Please, Dan. Please just give me any sign you want me to stay. Don’t leave me again.

Every morning was the same when they shared a bed. He’d delay until the very last minute to stay in the warmth and then kiss her forehead in goodbye. And then he’d leave, not content to get out from there until he made sure she knew he said goodbye.

This time he slid out of the bed without touching her, padding across the still room and going back into his. Em heard the lock slide shut on his side and rolled over, tears filling her eyes.

It hurt so much already, how was she supposed to pretend that everything was fine? How was she supposed to act normal around everyone when she wanted to scream that they were over and nothing would ever be the same again? How could she be okay when she felt like this? 

He’d left her alone. Again. He hadn’t even touched her but he’d slept in her bed and she never thought Dan could be so cruel. She never thought he’d leave her with the barest hint of his scent, that if she hadn’t been awake she wouldn’t have known he was there. The ache spread through her chest and she tried to quiet her sobs but it hurt. It hurt so, so badly.

A cold shower soothed her puffy face, getting rid of some of the usual redness while makeup did the rest. She was dressed in her usual race day gear of shorts, vans, a McLaren polo, and a Dan hat on her head by the time there was a knock on her door, Michael standing there.

“Hey, I’m heading in with Dan and Blake now. He said you’re going in with his family in an hour?” Another cut in her heart. More space between them. But she schooled her face into a smile, hoping Michael would believe everything was fine.

“Yeah. I said I wanted as much time with the kids as possible, it’s fine.  See you there?”

“See you there.”

Michael was a couple of metres away from her when she stepped into the hall, grabbing her room key from the slot just inside the door.

“Michael?” He turned and she half jogged, pulling him into a tight hug.

“What’s this for?”

“Haven’t seen you as much. You know you’re my brother, right? How lucky I am to have you as my family?”

“You’re the most annoying little sister Ems, but you’re my little sister. I’ve missed having you around.”

“Miss you too.”

She watched him walk away as step one of her goodbyes was done. The next was to go to breakfast with everyone and pretend that things were normal for the next few hours until the race was over. She could do it. She had to.

Breakfast with the extended Ricciardo clan was fun, Isabella still clinging to her and Isaac insisting on sitting beside her. She soaked up every moment she got with them, walking out to the car Dan had arranged holding Isabella on her hip.

“That’ll be you in a few years,” Michelle commented as Em struggled with the car seat buckle before getting it right. “The mother, not the cool aunt. We can swap places.”

Another stab to her already mangled heart. “I dunno. Wait and see, but I’m not sure that’s on the cards any time soon.” Considering the only man she wanted to have a child with didn’t want to be with her, it was a no.

You’ll be a good mother, Em. Plus you’ll have loads of family around.” She wanted to scream that she was leaving her family behind for good this afternoon but instead she just smiled tightly. It was too close to home. She couldn’t keep this conversation going. It hurt.

The race matched her mood. The strategy wasn’t good, the car was a tractor, and the oblique team orders to not let Dan try overtake Lando made her want to scream. The team points would be the same, but no. Not for his home race even. The crowd were amazing and let out loud cheers every time the orange car made its way around the circuit, but it wasn’t enough and Em knew it. It hurt. Her last time at a Grand Prix, her last time cheering for the man she was so deeply in love with, and the team and car had let him down again.

The plan was already to delay debrief till Monday so Dan got to spend time with his family, and Em decided to head to the airport nearly immediately. She couldn’t stay any longer. She couldn’t deal with any more hints from Michelle about a niece or nephew in the future, couldn’t listen to Grace or Joe talking about how much they’d missed her. She couldn’t spend more time with Blake and Michael without wanting to break down and tell them that they had changed her life and she wouldn’t make them choose between her and Dan.

Because that was what it came down to. She was the last one in this group that was all united by their love of Daniel Ricciardo. She was the one who loved him so deeply it hurt, the one who loved every single member of the group to the moon and to Saturn. And she loved them so much she couldn’t bear to have them walk away from her. Because that was what would happen.

Her own blood family didn’t choose her. They saw her as a disgrace, as a failure because she was thirty one years old, unmarried and without kids. They didn’t realise that she was the one who kept Dan on schedule, who organised sponsor events and filtered out the crap he and Blake didn’t need to know about. She stopped the balls from falling out of the sky. Because she was just an assistant.

And if the people who gave birth to her wouldn’t choose her, she knew the family she’d built wouldn’t either. She was never the one who was chosen, and she didn’t blame them. She was just Emma. Danny was Dan. She knew who she’d pick if given a quarter of a chance.

She’d just finished packing when the adjoining door opened, Dan walking in already speaking but stopping when he saw the case by the door, her carry on full with the edge of the orange poster getting folded in.

“Where are you going?” His tone was accusatory and she steeled herself for the argument.

“Home.”

“Emmy…”

“Don’t Emmy me, Daniel! You know I have to go back for the anniversary.” She turned to look at him, watching as confusion turned to anger.

“And I also know that’s bullshit. I’ve known you for how many years, Em? You’ve visited your parents twice. Michael was with you one of those times, the visit lasted twenty minutes and even he didn’t have anything nice to say about it. Michael. Who has a good thing to say about almost everyone. So tell me the truth, why are you leaving now? Why not get on the flight with us tomorrow?”

“Because I have to go back.”

“Don’t lie to me Em!” He raised his voice and Em gave as good as she got, staring back at him.

“You want the truth, Dan? All of it?”

“Yes! That’s all I want, it’s all I’ve ever wanted with you.”

She took a deep breath, staring into his brown eyes for the last time, soaking in that even so angry he was so beautiful. She’d had the privilege of sleeping with him for nearly four years, of loving him for three. Whoever got to do that next would be so incredibly lucky.

“You left me alone. The one thing I ever asked of you, the only thing I ever asked you to promise me was to never leave me alone. I begged you. Whatever was going on, whatever was happening with us, please don’t leave me alone. And then there were bombs flying and I watched one explode and you made me get into a car and leave. You made me stay alone, and you didn’t come back to me that night. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if you were even alive because I didn’t have my fucking phone until the next morning and all the news was in Arabic. You were gone to the track before I knew what had happened. You left. You broke your promise, Daniel.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” It was the worst thing he could have said.

“But Blake and Michael got to stay. Angela stayed with Lewis, don’t try to lie to me and tell me she didn’t. Britta stayed with Seb. You sent me away, Dan. I was sobbing and begging you to stay and you made Blake drive me away. You made me leave when I was scared.” She let her words sink into him fully. “Just leave. Get out of this room and leave.”

“Emmy…” His voice was soft and she blinked back the tears she knew she wanted to cry. Not until the airport. Not until then.

“GET OUT DAN!” She yelled at him for the first time, shock on his face. “JUST LEAVE! It’s what you’ve been doing this whole weekend, just leave.”

“Fine. Fine. If that’s what you want, I’m fucking gone. I’m done here, I’m gone. I’ll be downstairs in five for you to say goodbye to everyone.” She watched him walk through the adjoining door and lock it as Em’s heart completely broke in two. She’d ruined it. He was done. He was gone. He was leaving and she was going and she would never speak to him again because her Daniel wasn’t hers anymore. One person down, eight to go.

She brought her bags down to the lobby alone, everyone standing there waiting to say goodbye. Michael got a hug, she’d said everything she needed to earlier that day. Blake was beside him, wrapping her in a full body giant one and holding her tight.

“You know I love you, don’t you? I really love you.” Blake grinned and pulled her close again.

“Love you too, Ems. Moving beside you was the best decision I ever made.”

Saying goodbye to Michelle and Adam was hugs and whispers of seeing them for Christmas when she knew it was a lie. Grace pulled her into a hug that only a mother figure could, whispering in her ear.

“We’re coming over for Silverstone and yours and Dan’s birthdays, so we’ll see you then. We love you Em. If you need anything I’m only a FaceTime away. Don’t let them get you down when you’re with your family.”

“I love you too, Grace.”

Joe got a hug and a murmured love you, his hand patting her back soothingly. The kids were last, sulking as Em squatted down in front of them.

“So I got my angels a present to say goodbye, cause I know I didn’t get to see you lots. Want to see them?” There were identical nods and Em strapped the bracelets on, Isaac’s on a black cord and Isabella’s on a purple one.

“It matches the one I made you and Uncle Dan,” Isabella murmured as Em pulled her into a tight hug.

“It does. It’s a reminder that I love you both so very, very much. No matter how far away we are, I’m always going to love you, okay? Don’t ever, ever forget that. Pinkie promise me?” She held out her little fingers, laughing as they both enthusiastically took part in the ritual. She pulled them in for a final hug, pressing kisses to both of their heads.

“See you on winter break!” Isaac grinned as he spoke, Em putting a tight smile on her face. 

“We call it summer break, but I’ll see what we have to do then buddy.”

“Do you want a lift to the airport? I’ve got the rental?” Joe asked but Em shook her head.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got an Uber coming, I just want to get on the road. It’s hard enough to say goodbye to everyone I can’t drag it out much longer.”

“Fair. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Joe.” Her phone buzzed with the notification that her driver was there and she started towards the door. Dan still hadn’t come down and that was it. He didn’t love her. He didn’t feel anything like how she did because no matter what he’d said, he’d never make her leave. But she made him leave. He was gone.

She was almost at the door when an oh too familiar voice called across the lobby, running up to them. 

“I didn’t think you’d be leaving already.”

“My Uber’s outside, I need to leave.”

“Oh.” There was none of their usual hugs, none of the subtle kisses he pushed to the top of her head when they were separated. He didn’t even squeeze her fingers. It was like they were strangers. “Send a text when you get to London?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She turned to get her luggage into the car, shielding her face from everyone with her hair. The driver lifted it in and she was soon safely ensconced in the back seat, tears falling down her cheeks as she waved goodbye behind partially tinted glass.

“Was that Daniel Ricciardo?” The driver asked, Em forcing a smile.

“Yeah, I work with him.” It was true for another five hours at least.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“He’s one of the best.”

Tears streamed down Em’s cheeks the entire way to the airport, through the fancy check in area and security, and following her into her first class pod. She mostly ignored the staff apart from nodding at them, continuing to cry and wipe her eyes on tissues. The tears barely stopped until Dubai, only aided by Blake’s near constant texts as soon as her email sent.

She knew when she arrived in London that she had about twelve hours before the boys landed, Blake texting even while he was on his flights. She sent a I got back safely, receiving another flurry of responses.

Em, what’s this email about?

What’s going on?

Tell me you didn’t mean to send this

Is it the travel? Do you want to slow down? Why?

Ems we need you. How am I supposed to tell everyone you’re not coming with us anymore? Did you meet someone? Did something happen?

We’re about to land in Heathrow. Dan’s going to his place and looks miserable. I’ll be at your door in less than two hours.

When she got the final text Em grabbed the bags she’d hastily packed with clothes and the things she needed for the next eight days until the boys had left London for Imola. The address of the last minute airbnb was in her email, getting an Uber to it handy. She was long gone by the time Blake arrived, sitting in her temporary home for the next while and planning what she had to do. They’d leave England on the Wednesday, she had five days to empty her flat.

It started with an email to her landlord to give up the lease. Her family reasons excuse was accepted quickly, the landlord told she had to leave London and the apartment would be vacant from the end of the month. After that she had to start planning on where to go to.

There were too many memories in London. Nearly every street reminded her of Dan, of days walking around hand in hand to show him her London, not the tourist one he knew. The city she’d moved to at eighteen with a dream and a student loan and where she’d discovered who she was. Dan was everywhere in the city for her - memories of their first kiss in the pub she’d spent too many hours in, museums she’d dragged him to, streets he’d stolen a kiss from her at with a grin and a chuckle when they were waiting to cross the road. The cafes and greasy spoons she’d brought him to with the promise of not telling Michael. She couldn’t stay there, it was too much.

But everywhere she thought of had memories of him. Filthy weekends away when they were at home because of covid, eating out to help out and driving to Manchester or Glasgow to spend time together and have hotel sex. The midlands were completely out because of Silverstone, of memories of Enstone and the Renault factory, of Milton Keynes and his goodbye from Red Bull.

The only big city she could think of without a memory of Dan - with only one memory of her boys - was Liverpool. Which meant her parents. Which meant a conversation she never wanted to have. Calling her mother wasn’t like calling Grace. But she didn’t have Grace in her life anymore, so she had to do it.

“Emma, what country do you deign to call us from today?” Her mother answered the phone, disdain dripping from every word.

“Good morning, Mother. I’m in England. I was calling because I need to ask for a favour from you.”

“Yes?”

Em swallowed, teeing up words on her too thick tongue. “I had to leave my job, they didn’t have the funding to keep me on. I was wondering if I could move home for a few weeks while I’m applying for new jobs. I want to leave motorsports, there’s too much travelling and I want to settle down.” She hit every keyword that her mother had as she checked her bank account balance, spotting her final pay deposited in the account. It was more than healthy thanks to travelling so much for work and Dan covering that under work expenses. But she needed to be sensible, and renting somewhere without a job would be a mistake.

“You can. You will need to pay rent while you’re here.”

“Of course. Just let me know how much. It wont be for long, it’s just a few weeks. It’ll be like I won’t even be there, if I’m not interviewing I’ll be in my bedroom.”

“Fine. Let me know when you plan to arrive.” She sounded bored of the conversation already.

“I’ll be back April twenty fourth. I can send you the train details then.

“See you then.”

The difference between the call with her mother and a call with Grace just cut the wound in her chest even harder. Grace never let a call end without a million “I love you”s between them. She made sure that Em spoke to everyone in the family, and if Joe was out at the garage she took a message and told Em that he loved her. Instead her mother hadn’t even asked if Em wanted to leave a message for her father.

It felt so, so wrong.

The list of things she had to do before the boys left for Italy was beginning to shrink, but there was still so much to do. She ignored Blake and Michael’s texts, refusing to even open them. The chats were archived so the red dots didn’t irritate her. Dan didn’t send her anything at all, yet more proof that he meant everything he said in Melbourne. He was done with her. She didn’t realise that emotional pain could hurt this much. She’d never believed in soulmates, never believed in fate. She always thought that if a relationship ended she’d get through it. But now? This not quite a relationship over? It ached to her core.

Friday morning she had an appointment with a solicitor, walking in with a tear stained sheet of what she wanted to leave to different people. She’d always fought with Dan about being prepared if something happened to him, not wanting to know what he left her. She was one of the two people who could decide what medical treatment he got if he couldn’t consent. She’d cried when he told her that day in Spa when they got that tragic news what he wanted if he was in a crash like that. That he trusted her to not let him stay on machines. Some of her nightmares included his plaintive “I don’t want false hope” that made her ache.

She didn’t trust her parents to not do the same for her. They’d keep her hooked up to machines for as long as possible, they’d insist it was for “hope”. Em didn’t know what hope, but she knew them. They’d barely spoken for five years apart from occasional texts and birthday cards, they didn’t have the right to decide what happened to her.

It was a blustery Friday morning when she walked into that office and signed the papers to say Daniel Ricciardo, Blake Friend, and Michael Italiano were the people who decided what would happen if she couldn’t make her own medical decisions. She gave the lawyer the makeshift will that was handwritten and tearstained. It was simple - her cookbooks and exercise equipment to Michael because he was always trying to adapt her recipes. All but one piece of her furniture to Blake. Her CDs and DVDs to Dan, along with the coffee table he kept falling over. Her collection of Dan’s raceworn helmets to Isaac and Isabella. Dan, Grace, and Michelle were to divide her jewellery between them based on who wanted what. The rest of her belongings were to be sold and the money put in Isaac and Isabella’s college funds. It was too easy.

Even after everything that had happened, even after walking away, she trusted her boys more than she trusted anyone else in the world.

After all of that her final task was to organise her storage unit and movers. That was easiest of all if Em was honest. A call to a moving company who agreed to put everything in the unit without her there, and walking into a storage company. She signed a two year contract and paid the full rent then and there, surprising the man at the counter. Now she was able to disappear.

The texts kept coming from Blake and Michael. WhatsApp and iMessage, even a signal account she’d forgotten she had on her phone. Michael sent her instagram DMs so she deleted the app instead of trying to avoid reading them and appearing online. But finally it was Wednesday and she knew exactly when the boys were flying out of London City Airport. She’d organised the private flight for them, booked the plane and made sure the flight was as clean as possible. As soon as they’d take off her plan could start.

Walking back into her apartment felt too normal, just checking her post and finding it mostly full of letters from Blake. Get in touch, we’re worried, we miss you. Sentiments she knew he’d share but it would be easy for him to forget about her. The letters went out in recycling and she began to pack up her life.

The boxes were settled easily. Storage, donating, and Dan’s stuff. The ones for him filled quickly, clothes and accessories and things he’d left lying around the apartment that had become theirs instead of just hers. It took three boxes to get rid of the sense of him.

The storage boxes were easier, but the final thing she had to do at four that Sunday morning was decide what to do with her helmet wall. Ever since Monaco and his win, Dan had given her his race worn helmet for any new race design. She could name which race each of them was from, and in the middle was her Monza win one. McLaren had wanted it for the MTC but Dan refused to give it over, insisting it was his and he was keeping it. They got the trophy so he got the helmet. And then he put it in the middle of the IKEA shelves that they’d spent a weekend putting together and laughing.

Part of her - a large part if she was truly honest - wanted to donate them. Get rid of them for the clean break she insisted she needed. But she couldn’t. They were the good parts of the last four years, the best part of her life and the reminder that for years she got to love Daniel Ricciardo and travel the world with her best friends. Once she was settled somewhere she’d put them all back up to get her and explain to whoever asked that she was a part of Formula One for a short while, and it meant so much to her.

It took longer than she expected to get them wrapped carefully and boxed away. Two just about fit in one box, but they were light at least. When they were carefully labelled with the races, a tear falling from her eye when she wrote Monaco 2018 on a box in looping letters, she sat down to write notes to her boys. They deserved more than a resignation email and leaving without saying goodbye but if she saw them in person she wouldn’t walk away. She was barely strong enough to do that the first time. Em couldn’t do it again.

Dan’s took the longest. It started with anger. How could you make me love you when you didn’t love me back scrawled angrily, tears staining the lined pages as she wrote everything. But she couldn’t give it to him how she’d written it. She couldn’t deliberately hurt him. It wasn’t Dan’s fault that she’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t love her back the way she wanted him to love her. It was her fifth draft, still tear stained, that was the one she was giving him.

Danny,

I’m sorry I didn’t say this in person but I couldn’t do it. We both know that things between us haven’t been working for a while. It’s nobody’s fault. I guess we just wanted different things. It happens to us all. But we’re both done and writing this is easier than another long conversation and another fight.

Go be happy. I’ll cheer you on from wherever I end up, no matter what. You’ve changed so many lives, mine included. Thank you for the amazing years and experiences. You let me do things that so few people ever get to do and I can’t thank you enough for that.

Emma

Michael and Blake’s were harder and easier. She only needed one attempt at them, trying to wipe the tears before they fell.

Blakey,

I’m sorry for leaving like this. I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch, but I made sure that everything logistically is booked until the summer break. Just get him where he needs to be on time, you were always better at that than me.

I love you. You’re my big brother and i wasn’t going to make you choose between me and Dan, that was never going to be fair. I’ll be happy and I want you to be happy too. Find a girl and settle down or bring her around the world. I’m rooting for you the entire time.

Will you make sure everyone in the paddock knows I love them? Tell Chloe and Scotty to get their wedding planned. Chloe will be the most beautiful bride and I’m so sorry I won’t get to see her in person. Scotty will look ok, I guess.

Thank you for everything.

Love,

Ems

PS - the extra key is for my storage unit. A1 Storage in Wimbledon. Figured you’d be a good person to have it.

She folded Blake’s letter into an envelope and labelled it before writing the last one. Somehow this was the hardest, having to ask Michael to do what she couldn’t.

Mike,

I’m sorry for leaving and I’m sorry for asking you to pass a message on but I know you will. I love you so much. You made lockdown bearable even when I was being a bitch, and you made me actually enjoy exercising you cruel man.

Tell everyone that I love them and I’m sorry? You let me know exactly what a family is and how I deserve to be loved and that’s something I can never thank you enough for. Ever. I can’t make people decide between me and Dan. He wins every time and that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s easier if I just leave.

Tell Grace and Joe I love them and I will forever be grateful for their love and support. Let Michelle know that she’s the best big sister ever. Please make sure that Isaac and Isabella know that I love them no matter what. It’s not their fault I left and I will always love them. Whoever gets to be their auntie is the luckiest person in the world and I wish it got to be me.

Tell all your family I love them, and ti voglio bene to Nadia and your Nana. I love you all so much, and I’m cheering you all on from wherever I end up.

Love,

Em

When the movers came she handed them the key to the storage unit, letting them know what to do. Everything was out of the apartment in a few moments and Em took a last look around her almost empty apartment. The memories were suffocating. Dan tripping over the coffee table, the London lockdown when they got back from Australia and they lied to Michael about what the yoga mat’s primary purpose was. The way Dan danced with her in the dark kitchen, distracting her from finding food for them in the fridge and getting them to sway in the silence. The kisses and living together like he loved her the same way she loved him.

He’d been blowing up her voicemail since Wednesday and she deleted them I listened to. The first “Emmy” hurt her too much, so she decided to practice self preservation for once. As soon as her voicemail said “you have an unlistened to voicemail from Dan” it was deleted. The same with Blake and Michael. She couldn’t do it.

Finally it was time to leave, and she carried Dan’s boxes one at a time into Blake’s apartment. The three were stacked one atop the other, the letters on top of them. Em stared at her thumb, at the moon ring that had been there since Dan bought it for her calling her his moon on dark nights. She couldn’t bear to take off the three necklace hanging on her chest, but this she had to leave behind. She wasn’t his moon, and he was too bright to be her sun.

She slipped it off and rubbed her finger against the warm gold, pushing a kiss to it before stepping back. The final thing she needed to do was leave the envelope with her medical power papers and will on Blake’s coffee table before she locked the front door and slipped his keys in his post box. It was done. She was gone.

The tube to Euston was quicker than expected and she joined the trek to the Liverpool train, settling into her seat a few minutes before they were due to pull out. Her phone lit up with a notification that the race was about to start, illuminating the photo from lockdown of her and Dan holding Isaac and Isabella. They looked like a family. Em unlocked her phone and pushed her thumb firmly down on the F1 app to delete it. A clean break.

The train pulled off exactly at two, her mind echoing Crofty’s “lights out and away we go”. Dan was in the car and racing and all she wanted was a good points finish for him. But she couldn’t check. She couldn’t let herself find out what he was doing.

Her tears fell harder as the train pulled into Milton Keynes, the memories of the last time she’d done this train journey as Dan’s plus one. His leaving Red Bull party, staying in a hotel with him the week before they flew to Perth for Christmas. It was the only time she’d gotten to visit the impressive Red Bull factory. Meeting Max properly, Christian cornering her with his wife - and keeping her cool around Geri fucking Halliwell - to ask if she could convince Dan to come back. Getting whisked away from Helmut quickly when he tried to speak to her, meeting the mechanics and team that she’d seen at several races properly for once. Yet another place she could never visit again because all she’d think about was Dan.

Em made herself stop crying shortly after, pushing a cold bottle of water to her eyes. She couldn’t be red eyed or puffy seeing her parents. It was bad enough returning with her tail between her legs. She didn’t know if she’d survive the I told you so.

*

When Dan got out of the car in Imola he knew what he had to do. His first stop was being weighed and getting his slip, Mike pushing one of those AG1 drinks into his hand to down to get electrolytes and water back into him. After that it was media rounds, apologising to Carlos, and doing media. Once the debrief was finished it was London. He needed to get to Emmy. For the second time he’d gotten on a plane when he should have been with her and he needed to apologise. Needed to make things right.

“The jet will be ready when we finish? I need to get back to London tonight.” Michael handed him a McLaren branded shirt and pair of skinny jeans to put on once he was out of the shower.

“It’ll be ready. Mate, you need to know that she might not want—“

“She’ll see me. It’s Em. She’s my Emmy. She’s going to see me and I’m going to tell her everything. I can’t do this without her. I can’t. I dunno how I did it before.”

“Ok. Go shower and head out.”

The debrief was painful. Lando on the fucking podium, Dan last. They wrote off his technical debrief after the collision. It was clear Dan couldn’t have done anything, and the rest of his race was nothing to write home about. He should have just retired. It was shit and he just had to listen to how Lando had a flawless race and was extracting the most out of the tractor McLaren had built. He had to wait until it was over, half listening and taking notes while stewing.

All he could think about was Emmy. He hadn’t reached out because he thought she needed space, wanted time. He’d had the fucking ring in his pocket in the hotel room and then they’d fought and he couldn’t exactly get on one knee and ask her to marry him after that. But now she was gone and she’d been gone for weeks and he didn’t know. He needed her to be ok. He needed to go home and see her on the couch and beg for her forgiveness because he was hers. His apartment was so fucking lonely, driving in and out of the factory without seeing her. Without going to sleep curled up beside her and waking up with the fairy lights glowing as she read whatever dog eared book she was rereading that month.

The voicemails were being listened to. Her inbox went from full to empty and he kept texting, determined to get through to her. Needing her to talk to him. To say anything at all. People kept asking where she was, he laughed it off and gave the excuse of family stuff. Natalie had nodded and said she hoped Em would be back soon. Chloe had looked at him oddly when she heard the excuse but he shrugged and moved on. The elder Stroll could be terrifying and he didn’t want to get on her bad side. Not even Scotty could save him from that.

There was nothing he could do but wait to be freed. The moment they were able to break - after Dan apologised to the mechanics for the job they’d have to do on the car - he was on his way to the driver room. Blake and Michael were already there with bags packed and ready to go.

It was a two hour flight to London and they landed at nine. After forcing their way through traffic in a black cab it was after nine thirty by the time they arrived at Blake and Em’s building. Dan stepped out of the car and grabbed his bags, heading straight upstairs to the two identical doors. He didn’t realise when it became more normal to stand in front of Em’s door than Blakes, but it had years before. He knocked twice to no response.

“Em? I’ve got my key, I’m coming in.”

The lock turned easily with the familiar key and Dan set his bags down to flick the light switch. What he saw terrified him.

The room was empty. The couch that killed his back, the coffee table his shins hated, gone. The bookshelves and the kitchen table they’d spent a lockdown day building, gone. Her helmet collection was missing. Em had once told him that if the building went on fire she would save whichever helmets she could. If they were gone, she was gone.

He ran to her bedroom but everything was missing. The fairy lights they’d taped up with double sided tape. Her bed. The throw cushions he laughed about. Even the case at the bottom of her wardrobe with the lingerie he’d bought her was gone. Her pink boots weren't there. It was like nobody had lived there for years. He couldn’t even smell her perfume in the air.

“Dan?” He hadn’t realised tears were streaming down his face when he turned to see his best mates standing in the doorway. “Mate, you need to see this.”

He followed them back to Blakes, pausing to lock Emmy’s front door. She had to come back. The idea that she wouldn’t come back was impossible.

Until he saw the boxes.

Three of them, neatly stacked almost up to Blake’s chest. There were three envelopes on them, and a glint of gold on top of one. He nearly ran to it, ignoring the post race soreness going through his body to see the ring he’d given her sitting on top of the one neatly labelled Daniel.

She’d used his first name. Emmy never used his first name unless something was wrong. He’d fucked up so badly that he didn’t want to open it.

Instead he held the ring firmly in his palm, the metal cold against his hand. She was there. She had been there and now she was gone and he didn’t know what to do. But instead he followed what Blake and Michael had done and opened his letter.

It was how impersonal it was that killed him. Em was done. She’d be fine. Thanking him for bringing her around the world and letting her work with him. She didn’t want another fight and she thought he was done with her.

She didn’t love him like he loved her and for a brief moment that made him want to die. The moments they’d shared, the times they’d said they loved each other. The times he’d held her and traced I love you down her back or against her clit when he was eating her out, desperate for her to know but too afraid to say it. The 'y’know, right?'. Everything from the last nearly four years. None of it had ever mattered because she wouldn’t have married him. He had her ring in his fucking ever present backpack and thank God he hadn’t tried to propose because she’d have said no and he’d have been humiliated.

“I guess you were right. Buying the ring was a mistake.”

His choked voice broke the silence, but it was Michael who got the next sentence in, cutting off Blake’s question about the ring.

“Mate, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“She doesn’t love me like I love her. I was wrong. I just got my heart broken so please, don’t rub it in right now?”

“Did you read any of what she wrote?”

“Yeah. She’s done. She thanked me for letting her travel with us. Like she didn’t earn her place. She signed it Emma. I was wrong, ok? I was wrong and I can’t take you rubbing it the fuck in when I think Im gonna break.”

“What happened? Because the two of you were fine in Bahrain, and then after Saudi she disappeared and skipped Perth, and she was barely in Melbourne. What happened with you?” Blake was the one who asked, Dan flopping on the couch beside him. He held out his much shorter letter for them to read.

“Things were weird when we got back after Christmas. Then we had covid and got through it. And Saudi fucking happened. With everything going on and keeping her safe I didn’t see her till after the race and she was already leaving. And in Melbourne we… We had a fight.” The memories of what he’d said were circling again, the anger between them, Em telling him to leave again. Him walking away.

“We thought that much. You didn’t even hug her goodbye.”

“She told me to leave!”

“In self preservation.” Michael’s voice was low and Dan was almost afraid of his best friend. “She said she didn’t want to make us choose between you and her, that she knew we’d pick you. So she left. I have to tell your fucking family she’s gone, by the way. She asked me to. So you’re going to tell me everything that’s happened between the two of you and we’re going to fix this. What the fuck did you do?”

He wanted to be annoyed that he was being blamed but he couldn’t blame the boys. So he let everything out.

He told them about wanting to kiss her in Blake’s that first night, of Monaco and their agreement that it was over once she left Monaco. Coffee and Silverstone and her birthday drinks. Spa and I love you when they were faced with the reality of what could happen with his job again. Em begging him to never leave her behind, that no matter what he wouldn’t leave her alone. Her dick of an ex who’d destroyed her self-esteem and meant she lost her friends. The meaning of 'Y’know, right?', the phrase that had been their mantra since 2019. That he hadn’t slept with anyone else since he’d met her because he just knew she was supposed to be his. That he’d bought the ring when they spent Christmas 2020 together but was just waiting for the right moment. And then in Saudi she’d been sobbing and he sent her away. He made Blake take her away from him. From them. He’d broken his fucking promise and again in Australia he walked away when he should have stayed in that room.

She’d picked the fight. She’d picked it so she’d be left alone and leave and the realisation of how well she fucking knew him hurt so much. She knew him like the palm of her hand and for a minute he forgot about it.

“Let me get this straight. You’ve known just how shit her family is for longer than any of us, and I’m the only one who’s actually met them. She asked for exactly one thing from you which was don’t leave her alone. And in Saudi, one of the countries she’s most scared of being away from us for any length of time, you made her go back to the hotel and stay there on her own. She begged you to stay and was sobbing and you left her to cry when she asked you to stay? I could fucking punch you right now.” He nodded at Michael’s words, shame filling every cell in his body.

“You made us leave her alone.” Blake spoke and Dan thought he was going to be sick. “In Melbourne. The morning of the race. 'Em’s going with my parents. She wants family time.' She didn’t know she was going with them, did she? Why?”

“She… I… No. We weren’t ok. I didn’t know if I could be in the car with her. Not after that night.”

“What happened?”

“I… Fuck. She kept the door between our rooms locked that whole week. But Saturday night it wasn’t locked. I had a habit of just trying it, just in case. It was open and I went in. I just lay down on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep for a while before falling asleep. I left before she woke up. She didn’t know, she was asleep the whole time.”

“You think our Ems was asleep for a full night before a fucking race? Are you an idiot? Did you get brain damage in that crash today? She doesn’t fucking sleep! You slept in the same bed as her for four fucking years and you don't know that? She’s into me for melatonin every damn night because she can’t sleep worrying about you. She was awake that entire night and you left her without saying a goddamn word and then you abandoned her again. Again, Dan. Don’t tell me you did something stupid and cheated on her like her fucking ex.”

“I never cheated. I haven’t touched another woman.” The thought made him sick. “I’m not that asshole. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t mean to be funny Dan. She lived beside me for nearly five years. She’s my friend. And now her apartment is for rent, your shit is here, and she’s told us all goodbye and to give messages to the people she loves. So you might not have cheated on her, but you broke her. It took us four years to help Em feel like herself again and put her pieces back together and you broke her.” Blake was opening another envelope mixed in with the post on his coffee table that Em had left in as he spoke, eyes widening slightly. Before he could get the words out Michael had to.

“You’re telling your family, by the way.” His voice was solid, a way Dan had never heard before. “She asked me to tell them but I can’t. I can’t break those kids hearts and tell them their auntie Emmy loves them forever but she can’t see them again. I can’t tell your sister that she’s lost a sister, and I can’t tell your parents that you ran off the woman they want you to marry. That the woman your mum teaches family recipes to had to leave, because you fucked up that much. You know she’s their second daughter, right? Even before whatever the fuck you’ve been doing started they adored her. From Monaco. Em’s lost the only decent mother she’s ever had because of you. She didn’t want to make us choose but if she was here right now I’d choose her over you any day.”

“If you think she doesn’t love you, read this.” Blake held out a package of papers, Dan skimming them.

Everyone in his line of work was familiar with leaving a will behind. The fucking academies basically demanded it at this point. He’d put Emmy on his own medical power of attorney form after Spa, told her what he was leaving her when she was ready for that conversation after Roman nearly died in Bahrain. 

But Emma wasn't racing cars every weekend, so she didn't need the papers she signed. She didn't need to leave a will behind, but his name was there to make decisions for Em. She’d left him specific things. The cold fear snaked up his spine, tightening around his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

“She wouldn’t. She won’t do anything stupid. It’s Em, she wouldn’t.” The words came out as a rush but certain. She wouldn’t hurt herself. God, he couldn’t live with himself if she did.

“It’s probably just a precaution. But Jesus Christ, Dan. She’s gone. We have no idea where she is, we don’t even know what country she’s in. We don’t know what kind of head start she has and with the amount of frequent flier miles she has she could be anywhere. We can probably cross off here and Australia, but that doesn’t take away much.” 

“I need to leave.” Dan turned to see Michael pick up his bag. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk. I’ll email you workout plans. She’s my fucking sister, Dan. She’s my little sister and I trusted you knew what you were doing with her. She said goodbye to me and I didn’t even know. You… I can’t look at you right now. I’m this close to quitting too because I don’t know you anymore. The Dan I grew up with? He would have said something. He wouldn’t make the woman he kept saying he was going to make his wife run away. He wouldn’t make her feel unloved. Just work out what you’re going to do. I’ll be on the plane to Miami but I don’t know if I’ll see you before then.” Dan watched as his oldest friend, the man he’d known since primary school, who’d supported him through thick and thin, walked out of the apartment into the London night.

“She’s gone. She’s really gone and she’s not coming back. I… I have to find her, Blake. I can’t do this without her.”

“You need to work out what you’re doing. You need to tell your family she’s gone. You need to do your job. We’re all hurting right now and yeah your heart is breaking. But its my job to do tough love and tell you that you need to work first and then think about her.” He stared at Blake in shock. “I’m pissed. But work first. Em somehow managed to take everything off my plate when she was leaving, because she didn’t want to make things hard on me. Go home, Dan. I have to call Chloe Stroll and tell her Em’s not coming back.”

“Not yet. Please. Let me f—“

“I’m telling her. You can hide it from the media, from your family, whatever. Chloe is Em’s best friend outside us. Do you really think she hasn’t tried calling Em already? Really?” Dan nodded once. “Go home. Your place, not the empty apartment next door you called home. Go home and get your shit together. Em would kill you if you fucked up a race over her.”

Dan got an Uber on his phone, taking his bags downstairs along with his letter from Em. He slipped the moon ring onto his little finger, settling it just above the sun. He needed her back. He just didn’t know how to find her.

[yeonboy]

𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 ♡ choi soobin.

If it was up to you, you would worship the very ground Choi Soobin walks. No, you’re not a simp, he’s just that amazing – the star of your college’s broadcasting club, your role model, the reason why you even have a dream career, and…someone you’d really like to make out with if he’d allow it. But the first ever conversation you have with him has your rose-tinted, star-studded glasses shattering to pieces when he turns out to be a huge jerk. Is this just a misunderstanding or is it the end?

❧ choi soobin x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ strangers to lovers!au ♡ angst ♡ fluff

❧ 10 k words

❧ warnings! inaccuracies wrt broadcasting journalism majors & college broadcasting clubs, profanity, some suggestive language, misunderstandings, allusions to slut-shaming, soobin being an accidental (?) asshole, some heartbreak, some conflict, some yelling, insecurities wrt social standing in college, yn is a certified soob simp™ but goes thru a hater era for half a day </3, stinky cute fluff later on, some cringe, so much blushinG it’ll make u sick, a make out sesh, cameo by yj & his girl from fic 1 bec i love them sm :(

❧ note! set in the same universe as no one but you. i’ve been working on this since marCh, idk why it took me so long to finish? the wc def ran away from me a little whoops! anyways, this gets rough in the middle – soobin might shock u with his behavior but it will all get resolved, i promise!

leave me feedback if you like this! follow for more! (:

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

“I’m sorry, the tryouts are closed!”

You blink. Take a step away. Peek at the huge poster stuck on the huger double doors to the auditorium. The notice says the tryouts would run from four to six in the evening – it’s presently five minutes past five. What the heck?

Around you, you notice a number of girls looking as disgruntled as you feel. You approach one. “Uh, hey…did you already do your piece?”

The girl twirls a vibrant purple strand of hair around her finger and rolls her eyes. “Nope. Choi’s bitch ass shut the doors unannounced ’cause he’s pissed off for some reason.”

Choi? Bitch ass? This girl can’t possibly be talking about the Choi Soobin, right? The prince of the university’s broadcasting club who always emcees every single stage performance the university hosts?

No, she can’t be. No one would refer to the Choi Soobin’s glorious behind as ‘bitch ass.’ Besides, you really don’t think he’d sit around judging freshmen entrants to the club when he’s got so many better, so much cooler things on his schedule.

Choi Soobin the Great has been in this club for three years, two of which he has spent as its president. That, in itself, should be pretty explanatory with regards to how skilled he is at the whole announcer, emcee, broadcast business. 

His extraordinary talent with the mic is what inspired you to pick broadcast journalism as your major, in fact. You'd entered the university on jittery, scared steps because you didn't believe you would actually find something that interested you enough to make a career out of. You spent a whole academic year fluttering between psych and communication, aimless and despaired.

But then came sophomore year where you volunteered to set things up for the new freshman batch's orientation week – and that is when you saw Choi Soobin, a fellow sophomore, take the stage and blow everyone away. He was so good with his audience of the new admittees, providing them with all the important information without making them feel nervous because he used the perfect amount of jokes as a buffer.

It was love at first sight for you.

Okay, like, not like that. You did end up making an altar for Choi Soobin the Great where you continue to worship on the daily because he's a god on stage, but what you actually fell in love with was the art of emceeing.

So you registered your major in your third semester and began to work on polishing your skills. Now, two semesters later and midway through the junior year, you finally feel confident and prepared enough to enter your God's actual, holy shrine and join his praying circle.

…maybe you should stop with these metaphors before it gets weird.

Anyways.

Case in point – unlike this uninformed rodent of a girl who found it fit to disrespect your role model and gave up on these tryouts in favor of rolling her eyes and complaining in the hallway, you are nothing if not strong-willed. 

You are finally ready to do something about your one true passion that you can actually see yourself pursuing professionally after college. Being part of the university's broadcasting club means guaranteed dream job; you've seen it happen with your eyes for two consecutive years. You're finally ready to follow suit; finally ready to join the ranks of the elite and learn from Choi Soobin the Great himself – and you are not about to let a gruff call of  "tryouts are closed" from an overworked janitor deter you.

Checking this way and that for any onlookers, you sneak off to the narrow passage to the side that you know connects to this auditorium's back door, and in turn, the cafeteria. You're just gonna casually stroll through it, maybe loiter a bit around the doors until someone from the judges panel steps out so that you can beg them to give you a chance. And if someone catches you? You were just looking for the cafe!

It's the perfect plan.

Until, that is, your loitering ends with the legend himself, Choi Soobin the Great stepping out of the backdoor and freezing you to a statue.

You've seen the man from afar more times than you can count on both hands. You're a true fan, a great admirer, a semi-obsessed devotee (?) of his. But never once have you seen the guy from this up close. Needless to say, your brain's short circuiting a little.

Three things strike you all at one – that the university's emcee prince did, in fact, sit in to judge freshman entrants to the broadcasting club despite his various busy schedules; that the purple haired female auditionee actually did call this great man's glorious behind 'bitch ass' like an uncultured heathen; and finally, that Choi Soobin sporting a combination of dark black hair, bright red lips and stark white t-shirt should be banned because it can cause brain malfunctions in people.

Because while the guy's eyes widen and then squint as he looks at you, and mouth opens as if to say something to you – you stay absolutely frozen, literally turned to stone without a single muscle moving in your body. Including your lungs that are jammed because you're pretty sure you aren't breathing.

"Um… can I help you?"

Oh shit, his dimples…

His dimples!

You realise this is entering borderline creepy territory but you can't help staring at him. He's just so pretty. Though your brain functions are still experiencing a slight lag, you're starting to realize that your crush on the guy is winning over the admiration and respect you have for his talents, at the moment.

He's ethereal. He's unearthly. He's the most beautiful guy you've ever met. You're a simp.

"Excuse me?" Soobin's head tilts to the side in confusion. "Can I help you?"

He definitely can, in more ways than one, but that conversation is for another time.

His impatiently raised eyebrows suddenly push you back into motion, breaking your frozen state, but now you're on an overdrive, very close to hyperventilating in front of him.

"H–hey! I mean, h–hi. I mean, fancy bumping into you here! N–not that we bumped, just, uh—haha, you know? Fancy – fancy seeing you here, how have you been?"

Oh

God.

Did all of that just exit your mouth?

You need a shovel because this calls for digging up a hole and burying yourself alive. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Your entire face feels like it's caught on fire, and all the nerve endings in your body are tingling from embarrassment. You feel like you're vibrating. Wait, if you vibrate at a frequency that's outside of the visible range, can you voluntarily make yourself disappear?

The only thing holding you back from combusting into flames is the amused smile that replaces the previously formal tilt on Soobin's lips. "Hi. I'm sorry, where do I know you from? You look very familiar, but I'm just missing it…"

You look familiar? So he does notice you in class! Maybe getting that hair spa last month has worked in your favor, after all. You're getting a little googly eyed, but you do your best to control your reactions as you gauge his.

He looks so darn cute with his dimpled smile that makes his eyes squint, that you're left gaping for a couple of seconds before you're able to notice the hand he is forwarding you. Nodding haphazardly, you forward yours and let him wrap his huge palm around your significantly smaller one. Even though you try to repress it, the warmth his skin emanates sends a shiver running through you.

If Soobin notices the subtle shake your body gives, he doesn't comment on it.

He's being so angelically patient and kind, you need to get it together! 

So you clap your hands in front of your face and pull your lips up in a smile, preparing yourself to say your thing without any unnecessary words this time. 

"Uh, I'm – I'm in your class? I don't know if you know me, but I know you! I'm, um, I'm here for the broadcasting club. And – and I noticed that the banner said that the tryouts would run from four to six, but I've been told that the gates have been closed when it is barely past five, so I was… w–wondering…" You slowly trail off, stuttering a little when Soobin's facial expressions do a sudden one-eighty.

Gone is the sweet, dimpled, kind guy who was smiling at you with his eyes. Now his lips are pursed and eyebrows furrowed, a clear look of irritation on his face. Well, he's still got a dimple showing, but this one's part of his frowny face so you're not sure if you should be admiring it anymore.

"Wow. You're gutsy." His tone has changed now, too, really stiff with an underlying scoff in words. "Did you follow me here?"

You blink in surprise. "What? Of course not! The – the main doors were closed, so I was looking for another way in and—"

"Good God, please stop talking," he interrupts you with a groan, rolling his eyes as he tilts his head to look skywards – and you're fully paralyzed now, clueless and a little scared because Soobin looks so mean and intimidating with his eyebrows scrunched up like that. "I don't get what you guys' problem is. I'm – I'm trying to do something serious here. Why the hell do you not get it?"

Blinking slowly, you gape at your idol, your icon, the deity of all things broadcasting as he yells at you about something you can make neither head nor tail of. 

'You guys'? Who? 

You know that you of all people definitely get that he's doing something serious. You're as much, if not more, serious about the club yourself; the reason why you've taken so long to decide to audition for it. Besides, how's he judging you when you've never met before?

Willing your frozen lips to move, you attempt to clear the air. "We've – we've never met before. You don't know me. I'm—"

"Oh, I know you enough." This time there is vitriol in his eyes as he spits the words, and you take an actual, vary step away from Soobin. "I've been through twenty auditions and seen fifty applications in the past hour and every single one of the girls like you is dying to get to interview the hockey team and talk to Yeonjun about his strategy for his final season in college. So I know exactly who you are and exactly what you're after."

He is rolling his eyes again, this time with both his hands braced on his waist.

But his words are very confusing and a little hurtful. Why is he grouping you with whatever 'girls like you' he's seen so far? You've been a fan of Soobin for a while now, but you've never encountered any instance of even a mention of him being anything less than courteous and big hearted.

This attitude from him feels like living a fever dream – and not of the good kind.

"So for the last time – I'm not taking any of you groupies into this club because it is not a means to get into the hockey captain's pants! I need serious people who look at announcing and broadcasting with respect and not as something they can use as cover for their ulterior motives. Oh, and if it means anything to you at all, Yeonjun hyung has a girlfriend now. We probably won't even be covering him at all because his fangirls are always a bit too much."

Your head is spinning a little now. 

Did he call you a groupie? Yeonjun's groupie? He thinks you're doing this to get into Yeonjun's… what the hell?

While you're still processing his previous words, Soobin gives a wince. "Look, I'm sorry if all this sounds harsh, but you've left me no choice. Trying to corner me was a really low blow, okay? There's a limit to acting desperate and you're clearly crossing the line, here. If you can't respect me or the club, at least respect yourself."

The pieces have finally fallen in place in your head. You couldn't make sense of it earlier because you didn't really allow yourself to think Soobin would go there. But given his last statement, now you have no doubts.

You don't live under a rock – you really can't afford to when you dream of joining the broadcasting club, of all things – so you obviously know hockey captain Choi Yeonjun and the hype surrounding him. And because you always do your homework well, you also know that he used to be somewhat of a serial dater before he got into a serious relationship with his long time best friend, just last month. All of Yeonjun's fangirls across campus have been disheartened by this development and have been acting desperate ever since.

But why on earth has Soobin pegged you as one of them escapes you. You did not say a word about the hockey team. You didn't get to tell him what your goals actually are. Hell, you didn't even get to tell him your name before he shut you down.

This is a very overwhelming generalization, and you really wanna give Soobin the benefit of the doubt here because going through fifty bullshit applications can be a lot – but he needs to hear you out for you to do that.

"Soobin," you try again, raising both your palms up in an attempt to placate him, "I don't know how you're getting this idea, but I'm not one of – one of Yeonjun's groupies, or whatever, okay? I literally told you I'm in your class."

“Look, I really don’t have time for all these tales,” Soobin interrupts you with a sigh, a huge hand raised up to shut you up – so you do. “You’re dressed… too prettily to be trying out for the broadcasting club, anyways. Is that a cheerleading skirt?”

He's looking down his nose at your miniskirt that you felt very pretty in, annoyance on his face, and now –

Now you're hurt. Now you're hurt beyond giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now you're hurt enough for your eyes to sting with offense.

“Are you trying to pass a judgment on my…clothes?” you ask him in shock, your voice low and a frown creasing your forehead. 

He looks a little uncomfortable as he clears his throat. “I’ve seen the way Yeonjun’s fangirls dress, and you kinda… fit the description.”

He really isn’t giving up on the groupie allegations…

In any other scenario, you would honestly take that as a compliment. Because you have seen these girls as well and their appearance is honestly on another level. But this guy in front of you definitely means it as an insult. And he is still scowling, as if you have dressed up to personally offend him.

You’re at a complete loss now. He hasn’t let you talk, you haven’t even told him your name, and he is acting like knows everything about you. His mind seems fully made up too. 

What are you supposed to do?

"You know what? Maybe I… I should leave through the front door,” he murmurs in your general direction and then moves to step back through the gates he’d emerged from.

You just stay rooted to your place, offended at his dismissal and still in partial disbelief. 

Choi Soobin is nothing like anything you thought he was. 

The smiling, giggling, squinty-eyed guy that you always heard being called kind-hearted, warm, understanding and sweet? Cannot be the same guy you just met. Part of the reason why you like him so much has been the overwhelming amount of praises you have heard about him. 

At times, you found yourself wondering how such an important and busy guy could muster enough patience to be a sweetheart to everyone. Now you know that it’s all a sham – a character he has created to showcase. It’s all pretend. 

This, the version of him you just met, is what the real Choi Soobin is like when no one’s looking. 

Not just your crush, but your idol has broken your heart. 

How are you gonna move on from this?

"Y/N!"

The sudden shout of your name makes you jump in surprise, wide, watery eyes turning to the end of the hallway. Soobin has stopped in his place as well, a frown on his forehead as he attempts to follow your gaze – but he's a little off center from the curved hallway to be able to locate a bubbly looking Yeji excitedly waving at you. 

Oh fuck. Not right now. You don't need your best friend to witness you experiencing the worst moment of your entire life.

But Yeji being the loudass clown she is, doesn't stop speaking at the top of her voice as she marches down the hallway to you. "Where have you been? The janitor says they closed the tryouts? Did you pass? Oh, and a girl told me Choi Soobin was in the judging panel! Did you get to see him?"

Your eyes jump wide, traveling to the said guy involuntarily to witness the way confusion overtakes his face. He isn't moving, though, probably out of intrigue now that he has heard his name, and you're halfway scared to death that Yeji is about to reveal your secret and bathe you in the kind of embarrassment that you will never be able to live down.

"Yeji, I'm just—"

"Babe, why do you look so pale?" she cuts you off, squinting as she nears you, and before you can get another word out, her lips are tilting mischievously and eyebrows are wiggling. "Did Choi find out about your obsessive crush on him? Did he kick you out? Are you hiding from him?"

Yeji is done walking up to you and is now standing with her back to the still open door to the auditorium to look at you with her head tilted and hands braced on her waist. But your gaze is stuck to the person whose face you can easily see over her shoulder.

Soobin's eyes are impossibly wide and mouth is parted to allow his bunny-like front teeth to peek out. There's a subtle flush covering the top of his cheekbones, ears and the bridge of his nose – a sight that would've had you cooing in adoration if you weren’t so distraught, right now.

And then his lips move to form a broken sentence that makes you want to stab Yeji and then yourself: "You… obsessive crush… me?"

To her credit, Yeji seems to recognise the guy's voice and also the context of this ridiculous situation pretty quickly. Her eyes grow wide immediately before a wince overtakes her face as she mouths the word 'sorry' to you, probably mistaking your fallen expressions to be a reaction to the chaos she has caused. Little does she know.

Just as she has stepped aside, Soobin takes a step closer to you, heavy guilt and bewilderment sewn into the lines of his forehead and the twist of his lips. It's so weird that your heart is still skipping a beat when his gaze searches yours. 

It's so unfair. 

You inhale deeply and shake your head, though, steeling yourself against his deceitful innocent eyes. His dimples are just a facade to hide his arrogance. You know better now.

"Not anymore, don't you worry," you tell him with your chin lifted and eyes narrowed.

And damn, you feel so brave for that one. Especially because the words aren't even true. Getting over him will be a hefty task and you have no idea where to even begin, because your life has pretty much revolved around the guy for over a year.

Soobin frowns at that, looking almost hurt, and you want to laugh in his face at the hypocrisy. But you've had enough of him judging you and you're also ninety-eight percent sure you will end up crying if you tried to laugh, so you choose to just grab onto an embarrassed and confused looking Yeji's wrist and tug her with you to the other end of the hallway, exiting into the college's cafeteria.

"Babe, that was—ow!"

Yeji is cut off by you smacking her upside the head. "You're so fucking stupid, Hwang."

"I know… I'm sorry?" 

"Shut up, you’re buying me lunch."

The next day, while you’re supposed to be attending your Media Law class, a mandatory course in your major, you find yourself sitting (read: sulking) in a corner of the library by yourself, staring at the laptop in front of you unseeingly. Your attendance is good enough to save your grades and you can beg Chaewon for notes later in the week. 

But you truly don’t have enough mental strength to face the class’ star student after the shitshow that went down, yesterday.

While Yeji bought you lunch yesterday, you filled her in on everything that happened. Your best friend provided you with a shoulder for your tears, some tissues for your snot and four golden words of advice: never meet your heroes. Because now everything is ruined, and you’re beginning to wonder if picking this major was even worth it when the reason why you did has turned out to be a sham himself.

Your phone suddenly pings with a message, breaking your chain of spiraling thoughts.

11:03 | yeji 💘 dood. guess who i bumped into omw to the chem lab and guess what he asked me for

You blink and then squint at your phone. Why is your best friend trying to be so mysterious? 

↪ wtf ji…? ↪ who asked u for what? ↪ are u okay?

11:05 | yeji 💘 what? yeah i’m okay choi soobin asked for your number

What? 

↪ yeji… ↪ tell me u didn’t give it to him

11:06 | yeji 💘 of course not bestie <3 i told him to talk to you in person he’ll be there in a min good luck! 💋💋💋

You hadn’t even fully inhaled your breath of relief at Yeji’s first text when she cut it short with the next one. In person? In a minute? 

Did Yeji tell him where you are?

“Uh, hey… Can we talk?”

She did. Shit.

Even if you don’t lift your gaze from your phone, Soobin’s tall form blocks the incoming light from the window you were seated next to and casts such an obvious shadow on your form that you cannot ignore him without making it weird. So you lick your lips and collect your nerves, preparing yourself to face the guy who single-handedly inspired and then shattered your future plans.

Soobin looks as devastatingly handsome as ever, dressed in a white, collared shirt. His hair is just as black, lips just as red, but there’s an additional pair of thick, black, round-framed glasses sitting on his eyes this time that make your heart beat faster. He just had to look like a runway model in glasses. The universe hates you. Figures.

The expressions on his face scream clear distress and the guilt you saw yesterday. He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, which is a great sign because his bitch ass should be antsy about his audacity of talking to you now when he didn’t wanna listen to you yesterday.

Wow. Maybe that purple haired girl really was onto something, yesterday. Choi Soobin’s derriere is most definitely a rude and a bitch ass.

Looking down at your laptop, you clear your throat and ask him, “What do you wanna talk about?”

You don’t ask him to sit, you do not smile, don’t even wave back in response to his lame ass ‘hey’ – just cut straight to business. You’re proud of the way your voice sounds the right amount of impatient and careless.

“I… I owe you an apology.”

That has you looking at him again. He’s frowning now, looking so conflicted, you almost soften. But then you stop yourself. This is probably not even that heartfelt. He heard about your crush on him and now he pities you. You won’t be a vessel for him to pretend to clear his conscience when he wasn’t even willing to get off his judgemental high horse for you.

“Soobin… don’t.”

He takes the seat opposite yours, ignoring your eyebrows that rise up in shocked outrage. "I have to. Please."

"You really don't—"

"I was horribly out of line, ridiculously ignorant, unprofessional and – and an asshole."

You blink at him in mild surprise. At least he knows; that’s an oddly good start. "You can say that again."

He removes his glasses and rests his elbows on the table, leaning towards you with wide, desperate eyes. "I do not expect you to forgive me, I just need you to – to know that I'm not… I'm not who I was yesterday. That's not – I was under pressure and I felt irritated, insecure and a little jealous? And I said everything I didn't mean. Especially that comment about your dress up! I didn't mean it, I swear! You looked pretty, your skirt was really cute, okay? I – I didn't mean to insult you, I would never stoop to that level."

Your cheeks involuntarily heat up at the compliment he tosses at you so casually. "Why say it when you didn't mean it?" you mumble, attempting to hold your ground and stay mad because he's saying all the right things to weaken your resolve and give him an ear.

He hangs his head as if in shame. "Because I'm a moron. None of the stuff I said was aimed at you. As you said, we hadn't even met before, and… I was frustrated and tired and just drew all these wrong conclusions about you and went off like an idiot. I feel so horrible. I'm so fucking sorry..."

Very slowly, you lean back in your chair and shut your laptop. He really knows how to apologize, damn. 

You were preparing to knock Choi Soobin off the throne you had him sitting on, mentally, and then crush that very throne to pieces because if he could disappoint you like this, you were determined to never look for another role model. You were preparing yourself to leave Choi Soobin and his arrogance in dust and move on with your life.

But now here he is – apologizing like the decent human being you always thought him to be, saying everything you’d never admit you needed to hear.

He’s climbing back upon the throne that took you a whole day to make up your mind to remove him from. 

You’re kinda pathetic, to be honest…

In an attempt to regain some of the dignity your inner monologue has stripped you of, you frown at him. But you are definitely intrigued now because if the kindness and sweetness he shows everyone is a facade, why is he being kind and sweet to you in private?

Could there possibly be… an explanation for his behavior yesterday? He said he was under pressure and frustrated. Although you understand the former, given his position and the auditions yesterday, you don’t really get why he would be frustrated.

When you meet his gaze again, you find Soobin looking at you with those wide eyes of his spilling desperate hope. So you decide to bite.

 "You – you keep saying you were frustrated… Why was that? "

He thumps his head against the table with a groan, making you jump a little in surprise, and then looks up with a determined expression on his face. "I'll begin from the beginning. I owe you that much."

"You really don't owe me any—"

"Please, Y/N."

Oh. Did he say your name? Oh.

Wow, this is why crushes are horrible. Now your heart is thumping wildly and your face feels really hot. Honestly, there should be a system where one can run a background check on an individual before they can be deemed safe enough to be crushed on so that one doesn’t end up embarrassing oneself.

You can only hope your face hasn’t heated up to a noticeable degree.

"I… Since the day I was made President of the Broadcasting Club and was given the duty to conduct interviews for the different sports teams our college has, there’s been this – this recurring pattern. Huge throngs of girls that want to join the club for a chance to interview the hockey team and get close to Captain Choi.” He gives a tired exhale and runs a hand down his face. “I’ve seen it repeat every semester. And this time it got really out of hand because I actually decided to sit in for the tryouts…”

You didn’t even notice when you leaned on your elbows to mirror Soobin’s seating position and focused your eyes on his face, so when he looks up to meet your gaze, your breath catches for a moment. And then you see absolute, sheer tiredness reflected by his brown orbs.

He cannot be this good of an actor, can he be? That would mean that he's really been going through something with this whole insincere signing up for the club thing.

"It was really wrong of me to explode on you the way I did," he continues in a softer voice, looking down at the table next to his palms. "I assumed you were one of the girls that had been giving me a hard time and… didn't even let you say your thing. I'm really, terribly sorry for being a jerk to you."

Your jaw drops a little at the sincerity that spills from his apology. He doesn't sound like he's doing this to clear his conscience or out of pity – he sounds really regretful. He almost sounds like he's in pain, in fact. 

Does he really feel that guilty?

He would only be feeling so bad about this if… everything he has said so far is the truth and he’s actually not the kind of person he painted himself as, yesterday. You can sense the way your previously drawn conclusions begin to dissipate little by little.

"After you left," Soobin begins again, this time with a slight twinkle in his eyes and a tilt to his lips that makes his dimples pop, "I went looking for your application form and read about your interest in announcing. You… you picked your major because of me?"

Your cheeks are definitely on fire now and there’s no way Soobin can’t see that. Why did you put that in your form, you embarrassing imbecile? 

Well. If Soobin has been gusty and virtuous enough to come looking for you and make an attempt to honestly explain himself and apologize, maybe you can be a little honest with him as well.

"You see… the freshman orientation you hosted last year left an impact on me," you reveal, unable to look at him. "And then I saw your sports coverage and realized that I want to be a sports announcer in future."

Soobin says your name, making you look up and meet his soft gaze. "I never thought I would do anything in life that would be worth an inspiration… so this means a lot to me. A lot.” His eyes are shining with sincerity and emotion, and you’re looking into them, spellbound. “I am so sorry I hurt you and I’m ready to try and make it up to you for as long as needed. I don’t really expect you to accept my apology, like I told you, but if you would please give me another chance, I would like to show you who I really am. And maybe initiate you, if you’d like?"

He finishes with a sweet, dimpled smile and maybe that is to be blamed for the way his question bounces right off of you.

"Initiate…me?" You cluelessly blink at him.

"Yeah. Into the club. All the members went through your application and some samples of you emceeing. So it’s not just mine, but everybody’s decision. Insistence, if you will. Request? We – we’d really really like to have you on our team."

Your eyes jump open very wide at that. Join the club of your dreams? He’s finally offering you the spot you thought you’d lost forever? 

Wait, did he say samples? Of you emceeing?  What?

"I’m sorry, what samples?"

A blush tinges his ears. "I contacted your friend Yeji about this, last evening. Please don’t be mad at her, she just wanted to help you. She told me how much this means to you… and then sent me a couple of clips of you managing a stage during a kids’ talent show in your neighborhood. You were really impressive, Y/N."

Holy fucking hell, you're going to scream. 

First at Hwang Yeji for going behind your back and selling you to the enemy, no matter what her motivation might’ve been. And then because your idol just complimented you on something you've learned from him.

"Th–thank you, Soobin." You bite your lip at the stutter in your voice, peering up at him with hesitant eyes. And then you decide to be honest with him again: "Your praise… means a lot to me."

Soobin's eyes sparkle at that, a warm smile pulling at his lips. "And I promise to always remember, respect and honor that. Just one chance?”

You stay like that for the next few moments, looking at him with a soft gaze.

You’ve been polishing your skills to prepare yourself for a spot in this club for a year. If you had gotten the chance to audition normally yesterday, there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve made the cut. So wouldn’t it be unfair if you give up now?

And then there’s Soobin, of course. It’s going to take you some time to trust him. But if he says he’s willing to work on it, says it with a sincerity in his eyes that gives you goosebumps, you believe it’s worth giving him a chance to correct the misunderstanding he caused yesterday.

You exhale, mind made up, and nod at the guy tentatively. “Promise me you will hear what I have to say before you draw any conclusions?”

He leans closer to you, bringing his face at the same level as yours and nods eagerly. “I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Do I take this as a yes to joining the club?”

His eagerness makes you crack a smile, which causes Soobin to scrunch his nose bashfully. You inhale deeply and give him another nod. “Yes, you may.”

Time flies really fast after that day as you attempt to find a stable way of juggling your classes and the club duties. 

The work isn’t as much in bulk as it is in the details. Soobin is, as you’d known beforehand, a meticulous perfectionist. Every single activity the club is involved in has to be fully planned in bullet points and a step-wise-step itinerary, and uploaded to the club’s shared Google Drive, days in advance, or Mr. President begins to lose his calm . You, being the newest addition to the bunch of six experienced members, are mostly tasked with assisting the guy on building this very itinerary.

Not that you mind.

The more time you spend next to him, witnessing him in his element up close and actually getting to peer into the creative wonderland that his mind is, the more you find yourself in awe of him. He has been a role model to you for a reason, after all.

With each passing day, you pat yourself on the back for taking a chance by accepting his apology as you slowly begin to see the real him – the version of him that is absolutely nothing like the asshole you met that day. And little by little, your trust in him begins to grow.

Soobin, to his credit, doesn’t leave a single stone unturned to make you feel welcome into the club. He is incredibly patient and delicate with you – always pausing to check whether you have been keeping up with all the new stuff or if you need any guidance.

You’re beginning to understand that it is in his nature to be kind. The word that got around about him has been correct all along – he really is gentle, understanding and sweet. And if he is going an extra mile for you with the intention of appeasing you because he is apologetic? Well… he’s damn well succeeding. 

The two of you have quickly fallen into a routine where you attend your 10 am Media Law class together, collect the communication majors Karina and Jongho from their block, and then report to Arin—the only senior in the club and known to be an effortless ace—in the broadcasting room. After a short briefing about the previous days’ tasks and a rundown of the fresh day’s checklist, you and Soobin depart to the library to work on it. 

After that you both attend your separate afternoon classes, meet up at the broadcasting room at four in the evening for the college announcements that are alternated between Yunjin and Jongin, sophomores and the final two members of the club, and the lot of you finally take your leave some time around six.

The first week is so exhausting for you that you are barely left with enough strength to feed yourself before you collapse into bed every night, let alone think about your academics. You don’t even text Yeji for three whole days, until she accosts you in the library. 

Soobin texts you, that evening, sharing tips on time management, task management as well as a small list of snacks that he munches on to retain energy. To say your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the gesture would be an understatement. 

The following weeks are full of you being on the receiving end of more such thoughtful acts by Soobin. Getting you coffee – one that is made exactly the way you like it – before the evening meet-up, walking you to your dorm if you don’t have anyone from your building accompanying you, repeatedly checking in to ensure you’re well-rested and not overwhelmed by the sudden change in your routine.

And then there is that one time, some three weeks later, when you're filling in for an absent Yunjin and make a mistake during the announcement – landing yourself at the receiving end of Arin's ire. You feel really bad about your mistake as it is, and so the addition of a reprimand from the senior you've come to look up to has you immensely low.

"She said it was a mistake, noona."

Your head snaps up at Soobin's firm statement. His eyebrows are furrowed and arms are crossed as he looks at Arin. You, along with three other pairs of eyes, gawk at the rare sight of Soobin getting angry, and the rarer sight of him going against the club's queen.

"She's apologized thrice. What more do you expect?"

Arin looks taken aback at the brusque interruption, but doesn't put up a fight against the president. "She needs to practice her pauses, Soobin."

"And she will. I'll make sure she does." He gives a small nod to her before turning his gaze to you. Put in spot, you stare back at him with wide eyes. "I'll stay with her while she practices."

Flashing you a small smile of reassurance, Soobin turns back to the other girl and pats her shoulder to calm her down. And because no one in powerful enough to maintain a frown when Soobin unleashes the power of his dimples upon them, Arin eventually smiles in defeated acceptance and dismisses the meeting.

But your heart never quite manages to dismiss the way this incident makes you feel.

Because Soobin holds true to the promise he made as well – accompanying you to the college's courtyard whenever you're both free and practicing speech with you. To be really honest, he seems to be wanting to spend all his free time with you. You find yourself having to say no to his texts at times because you have plans with Yeji, or are too tired to function.

You'd be lying if you claimed that having so much of his attention on you doesn't make your heart to somersaults in your chest. Which is why you begin to wonder where his extra mile of apologetic appeasement ends. 

The whole apology acceptance thing happened between the two of you awhile ago. He really shouldn't have a reason to continue to dote on you as if he has been hired to take care of you. Last time you checked, you were the one with a gigantic crush on him and not the other way round.

A few explanations pop up in your head, but none of them feel plausible enough for you to even think about. So you do the next best thing – share your dilemma with Yeji on an impromptu girls’ night in, one Saturday.

For a moment, your best friend squints her eyes in the way she does when she’s analyzing some complex situation. And then she shrugs a shoulder, pops a pretzel in her mouth and announces: “Sounds like he’s got a crush.”

You blink, caught so off-guard that you’re stunned into silence. It is only when she looks at you with her eyebrows raised that you manage to cough out a scoff. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

This time Yeji’s the one to scoff. “Excuse me? What’s so ridiculous about him liking you?”

“Dude. I…” You vaguely gesture to yourself. “I’m me. And he’s…him. Choi Soobin the Great, the prince, the God, the emcee of the year.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, what’s that supposed to mean? You’re you – the princess, the goddess, the prettiest girl on campus and the best student in our year.” She tosses a pretzel at you, scowling. “You’re amazing, bff. Choi Soobin is one lucky motherfucker to have the privilege to spend so much time with you. Of course he’d fall in love! I’d date you if I was into girls!”

The last part of her sentence makes you giggle. “Stop, no one’s talking about love just yet. Do you really think he could be doing all of that with… I don’t know… the intention to woo me?”

“Of course! He’d be a fool not to!” Yeji sits up from her recline on the couch, nearly aggressively grabbing onto your shoulders to shake you. “Didn’t you hear the part where I told you I would date—hell, Ryujin would date you!”

You gape at your best friend, feeling uplifted, reassured and confused all at once. “Wha—? Does Ryujin like girls?”

“No, but she’d still date you. She’s open minded that way.”

“Yeji, what the f—”

“My point is!” She raises a finger up to silence your protest. “You’re fabulous and amazing and gorgeous – have you seen your eyes? Bff, they’re fucking pretty. Do you know what that makes you? More fucking pretty. He likes you, boo, and he's probably got a list of reasons why.”

Yeji’s love language might be words of affirmation through… aggression, but it is surely effective at reminding you of the fact that you’re lovable.

And so more time goes by, with things staying mostly normal if you don’t count the way your cheeks seem to get extra warmer with every cup of coffee that Soobin hands you, lately. If your locked gazes stay locked for longer than necessary, or if his goodbye hugs linger a little and cause your heart to nearly beat out of your chest – it is no one’s business but your own. 

You know, deep in your heart, that you never really got over the guy. He left you heartbroken for a total of 36 hours, while he's spent more than 36 days swirling up a swarm of butterflies in your tummy with every action of his.

It is inevitable for you to fall for him all over again.

You have absolutely no plans of doing anything about it, however, because you have come to really cherish the close friendship you share with Soobin. You like the wheel of routine the two of you constantly spin within and don't wanna change a thing about it.

Although, that is not to say that no change ends up happening.

The wheel of routine makes a detour around a week later, some five weeks after your initiation into the broadcasting club, when you find yourself wrapped in a jacket and still shivering, sitting next to the university’s star athlete on the bleachers in the hockey arena, at six in the morning.

“Is that all? For real?” Choi Yeonjun asks you with his eyes wide in pleasant surprise. “That was quick.”

While you just nod with a chuckle, his girlfriend peers at you from his other side and punches him in the side. “I’ve told you the important questions don’t take that long! Your fangirls just wanna extend the interviews because they wanna ogle you longer.”

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore, I promise,” you tell the girl with a grin, which she returns fully.

“Nah, you don’t even have to tell me because I can see it in your body language,” she mumbles, pressing her cheek into her boyfriend’s shoulder, over which he tips his own head affectionately. “You’re the first ever girl to not view him like a piece of meat. I’m not even kidding.”

“Ah, I’m sorry about that. Your man’s okay, but he’s not my type.”

Yeonjun grins widely at your words, while her girlfriend breaks into laughter because she apparently hasn’t heard anyone use the adjective “okay” for Yeonjun ever before. 

Anyone that tries to get between these two must be crazy, you realize, because you’ve sat with them for less than an hour and can already tell how deeply in love they are. And how stinkingly cute they are together.

Well, the general consensus states that Yeonjun is cute, too. Along with being handsome, beautiful, sexy – and a whole plethora of other adjectives that his fans use for him. But it becomes hard for you to agree with the opinion when your heart, instead, chooses to skip a beat for the dimpled cutie seated two steps away from you, smiling at you from behind his camera.

Right as your eyes meet, Soobin waves a hand at you to let you know he has stopped recording. Nodding, you wave goodbye to the couple next to you and leave the spot to walk up to your cameraman. 

“If I get hypothermia, you’re footing my hospital bills,” you announce as you settle next to a laughing Soobin, intentionally shifting closer to him to hopefully absorb some of his body heat. 

“I told you to bring a jacket, didn’t I?”

“And I did, but it was useless.”

“Because it was denim!” He gives a full belly laugh at that, and the sound is so beautiful to your ears that it becomes hard for you to maintain your scowl of annoyance. “Who brings a denim jacket when asked to carry one?”

“Hey, you texted me at five am!” you whine in complaint. “I could barely open my eyes, my brain wasn’t working!”

“Is that why you didn’t question me?” His tone is a little teasing and so are his raised eyebrows as he smirks at you. “I asked you to come downstairs quickly and you arrived within ten minutes, ready to run away to the mountains with me if I asked. What’s up with that, hm?”

Your cheeks feel on fire at the implication of his words. Clearing your throat, you try to come up with a response, but your heartbeat is too loud in your ears and meeting Soobin’s playful gaze might just make it crash due to the onslaught of overwhelming emotions.

Well. At least you’re feeling a little warmer now.

“You – you said it was a surprise and a huge honor that I’d later thank you for… I got excited,” you mumble, entwining your cold fingers and stuffing your hands beneath your knees to warm them up. “Thanks for thinking of me for this honor but honestly…” You gesture towards Yeonjun with your chin. “I don't really care for athletes. They’re not my type. I prefer brains over brawn. This guy’s taken, anyway, so people should really…”

You trail off when you turn to look at Soobin and find him smiling at you almost knowingly, such unabashed affection in his gaze that your throat closes up with nervousness. 

“I… I – I mean—”

“Yeonjun’s not your type?”

Swallowing past your nerves, you very slowly shake your head. “Is that a surprise?”

He shrugs his shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant, but you see the stiffness that enters his spine at the question. “Yeah, kind of. He’s… well, everyone I know either wants him or wants to be him.”

Wants to be him? Oh… Your lips curve up in a small smile as it begins to make sense to you. “Including you?”

His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at you. “He’s the most popular guy at our uni, Y/N. Who wouldn’t wanna be him?”

You should be surprised by his answer but you somehow aren’t. Because this ties up with a number of things you’ve been unable to fully make sense of about Soobin. Most of all, this explains why it would get him so riled up that people would try to use him and his club – one of the most sacred things he holds in his life – just to get close to Yeonjun. It would also explain why he would have felt insecure and jealous about it.

Emotions such as these are hard to navigate. Within the month that you’ve spent working closely with Soobin, you’ve come to know that he cares about his friends a lot – he truly loves them and would go to extreme lengths to help them whenever and wherever. It pains you that he struggles with this burden on the inside.

You need him to know that he shouldn’t. That he doesn’t need to. 

Which is why you shuffle closer to him, to the point where your thighs brush together, and look into his wide, bunny eyes to tell him that: “When I first saw you, I was fully convinced you were the most popular guy at the uni. And it stayed with me for months until I began my research into uni related facts and opinions and found out about our hockey team. This is why I could never gather enough courage to approach you, you know? You were this tall, handsome and sweet guy – textbook university crush material. How could you not be the most popular?”

Soobin’s cheeks turn pink, then pinker, then bright red, and by the end of your confession, he’s got a trail of redness climbing up to his ears. His eyes stay glued to yours, even as he bites down on his bottom lip.

When you see the way he exhales shakily, you finally release a giggle at his flustered state. “What? Are you really blushing that hard? How're you so cool as an emcee but your cheeks go red when a girl compliments you, Soobin?”

Soobin huffs out a laugh through his nose and rolls his eyes, pursing his lips to bite back his smile. Then he shakes his head. “Not just any girl.” 

This time, you feel a similar blush begin to cover your face. You attempt to joke it away. “I… I’m h–honored, I guess?”

Smirking at your stutters, Soobin simply averts his gaze from yours and goes back to packing up the recording equipment. “Speaking of honors, by the way. This isn't exactly what I was talking about.”

You frown in confusion. “Oh? So what is—wait. Why did you wake me up at five, then?!”

“Woah, easy!” he laughs when you get up and brace your fists on your waist, ready to throw hands. “I brought you here because having your first solo interview with Yeonjun would give you a good boost of publicity for your future with the club.”

“Ow, are we using him for clout?” You scrunch your nose up when Soobin proudly nods.

“Precisely. And also to give you a small rehearsal so that you know what all to focus on when you prepare for the freshman orientation that’s coming up soon.”

You freeze in the middle of a nod.

To prepare you for what? 

Your brain refuses to comprehend the words. He couldn’t possibly be talking about the orientation, right? 

Eyes wide and jaw dropped, you stare at Soobin while he seamlessly continues to speak.

“You're pretty comfortable with the mic and you actually enjoy interacting with groups. I still remember the clips your friend had shown me. Orientation stage requires the ability to interact well and improvise upon the script efficiently, because you’re tasked with making sure these bunch of seventeen year olds feel welcome into their new surroundings. And you, ma’am, happen to be an ace at both the arts.”

Still in disbelief, you sit next to him again and forward a hand to hold onto his forearm, bringing his focus back on you. “Soobin… are you sure? I’ve – I’ve been here for a month, and—”

“And you were amazing even before you joined us.” He turns to you to take both your palms between his, and says your name. A surge of sparks passes through your nerve endings at the warm contact, but Soobin’s gaze grounds you – it’s so open and honest that it compels you to believe every word he says to you. “You’ve only improved with each day, right? You will be great, I’m absolutely sure.”

Nodding slowly, you begin to smile when he does.

Giving your hands a jerk, Soobin points at the couple seated a few feet away. “Just you wait and see, you’re about to go viral when this bit is released. The one girl that remains unaffected by Choi Yeonjun’s charm? Oh, you’re gonna pull so many admirers within a week. Get ready for fanboys crushing on you and sliding into your DMs. Bet they’ll have a fan page up and running before your next public appearance.” 

You break into laughter, craning away from him at his teasing. But Soobin tugs at your hands to pull you back up, this time bringing you closer to him than you were before. The previous traces of playfulness have given way to a small, expectant smile on his face.

"Do I get brownie points for being the first in line?"

What? What? An awkward chuckle leaves you, quickly dwindling when Soobin's smile remains unchanged as he continues to look into your eyes. "What… what are you talking about?"

He tilts his head sweetly, giving your hands a small squeeze as he says your name. "As if I haven't been so obvious… You're the most talented member our group has seen in a while, you know? I can't look away from you when you're working and, like, initially I thought I was being a fan… But then I started to daydream about your bright eyes, gorgeous smiles, your cute giggles, your huge fucking heart that is always so kind to everyone, and…" Soobin pauses with a sigh, cheeks turning red and dimples flashing. "Come on, are you really gonna make me say it?"

Your breath comes in stuttered gasps as you try to gather your thoughts. "Soo–Soobin, I… I… Do you really…?"

"Really like you and really want to go out with you? Yeah, I do.” He smiles at you, bringing your faces close enough to boop your nose with his own. "Is there a problem?"

"You… like me?" You feel terribly confused, somewhat lost, and just a bit scared. If Soobin doesn't mean it with one hundred percent sincerity, you'll never recover from this hurt. So you just try to deflect: "But you barely know me?"

He pulls away with a small scoff of disbelief, eyes widening in surprise. "So it's believable for you to have a crush on me when you'd never even held a conversation with me, but you can't accept that I like you because you're the most beautiful, most intelligent and the most caring person I've ever met in my life?"

Your breath hitches on an exhale – and you're unable to breathe in again for long moments after that. 

He thinks you're beautiful, intelligent and caring.

He likes you.

He actually likes you.

Yeji's words of aggressive affirmative circle in your head: He likes you, boo, and he's probably got a list of reasons why.

She was… actually right? Holy shit…

You're so freaking emotional right now, you might cry.

A cross between a chuckle and a sniffle escapes you despite your attempts of stifling it, catching Soobin by surprise. His hands immediately let go of yours to cup your cheeks in concern.

"Hey, hey, what happened? Please don't think too hard about—"

"Soobin," you cut him off with a whisper. "I like you, too. So, so much."

A slow smile begins to curl his lips up, beautifully. "You do?"

"I have for so long. I… don't think I ever stopped."

"Even with the way I hurt you so bad?" His face becomes somber for a moment. 

"Yes, even then. You've shown me who you really are, Soobin, and that person is amazing. You've proven to me that I caught you in a moment of weakness, and… I think I understand it now more than ever." You smile when his lashes flutter, eyes gazing at you as if in wonder. "Besides, I think I forgave you when you first got me my correct coffee order with that cute smile of yours."

He blushes again. "Ah, so my smile is cute?"

"The cutest." You solemnly nod, cheeks still held in his palms. "Your whole face is."

"Well then, I hope you're okay with my cute face doing this?"

You know what is coming as you watch him erase the space between your mouth and his, and yet you're not nearly prepared for the way your blood turns electric the moment his plush, heart-shaped lips make contact with yours. Pure fire surges through you, body strung tight one moment and then fallen pliant in his hold the next.

Soobin's thumbs brush against the heated flesh of your cheeks, as if attempting to comfort your loud heartbeat – but it's to no avail. Your heart works faster and faster with every push of his mouth against yours, so full of giddiness that it eventually seems to levitaties up and above your body, leaving you weightless and breathless.

You try to kiss him back to the best of your abilities, but you feel like you've been entranced – held in a dreamlike state that has rendered you completely immobile and turned your brain to goo.

Soobin seems to recognise your condition, somehow, pulling away from the kiss with a chuckle brushed against your slightly parted lips. Lidded eyes look into yours with a smile held in them, his chocolate irises turned to thin rings due to how dilated his pupils are. 

"You good?"

His voice comes out all hoarse and breathless, making your stomach clench with desire and you're instantly spurred into motion.

Reaching out with both your hands, you grip onto the back of Soobin's neck and the side of his jaw, and this time pull him in for a proper kiss with equal participation. His breath hitches for a moment, but is released in the form of a small grunt when you open your mouth against his – and that is all you need to absolutely lose yourself into the taste and feel of Choi Soobin.

You would've probably stayed lost for quite a bit too, had a loud whistle not echoed around the arena, making both you and Soobin jump apart with startled gasps. Wide eyed, you look at each other, and then two stairs above you.

Yeonjun's girlfriend is grinning at you with her entire teeth on display, while the guy himself has his arm extended towards the two of you, thumb pointed downwards.

"Her first interview isn't even out yet, dude!" he calls out, booing Soobin with his entire arm. "Literally obliterating her popularity before she could even gather bitches, you're so lame and insecure, Soob, boo hoooo!"

Soobin tosses a random plastic case towards the guy, whining into your ear as he rests his chin on your shoulder grumpily. You giggle at his pout, entwining your hands together to bring them up and press a soft kiss to the back of his.

"Are we going on that date before or after the interview is aired, then?" you tease the guy, wiggling your eyebrows.

Soobin glares at you through playfully narrowed eyes beneath lowered eyebrows, until you're giggling again and he's kissing your smile. "Definitely before."

© yeonboy 2023 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Prologue

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None for this chapter [this also isn’t beta’d so bear with me]

Notes: it took me so long to work up the courage to actually post my first work, so enjoy! I’ll be over here anxiously awaiting your thoughts.

Word Count: 705

Series Masterlist

A clear horizon. An orange sunset fading into vivid pinks and purples as the atmosphere darkens in preparation for the night. Evening sun warming your face, the space around you drifting into silence as calm settles into your bones, time halting its ever constant forward march, no thoughts or worries.

That’s what it felt like, the moment my eyes met Jasper Hale’s. Like I was done searching for what my heart was in need of as soon as I glanced into those golden pools of his.

• January 24th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

Based on the non-stop gossip floating around this microscopic high school, I’m the newest kid on the block. Dethroning the most recent to wear the title, Bella Swan, the Police Chief’s daughter.

Now, I’m not opposed to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State, but Forks could strive to be a little more than a one-stoplight town and add a few more amenities. This big city Texas girl needs a little more than Forks Outfitters - the one stop shop for food, basic clothing, and hardware.

I left Dallas because my mom needed me here, my dad didn’t want to trade sunshine and big ranches for rain and freezing temperatures. They’re happily divorced, but I can tell that over time it’s worn her down. I’m just a junior in high school, but I guess she and I can navigate this together.

God, let there be cute boys at this high school, I’m begging you.

I was almost immediately accosted by what I deemed the welcoming committee the moment I locked the door to my car and began the dreaded ‘new kid’ trek to the front office of Forks High School. Stares came from anyone loitering in the parking lot before class while this overly-excited kid, who introduced himself as Eric Yorkie, began what had to be a well rehearsed ‘anything you need’ spiel.

All hopes of flying under the radar halfway through junior year vanished into thin air and I hadn’t even made it to the sidewalk yet.

“Eric? I really appreciate your help and concern, but I was hoping to kinda just glide in on my first day and blend in.” I said as we walked together through the wet parking lot, dodging the bigger puddles so I wouldn't soak my shoes before I got to my first class of the day.

“Oh that’s pretty much impossible here, newcomers are always the only thing everyone talks about. Don’t be scared to hit me up with questions later though, good luck!” Shouting that last part as he dashed off to class, turning the heads of a few close students.

A deep sigh passed my lips as I trudged on, pulling open the heavy door to the administration office. It’s nice to have someone offer help on my first day, I just wish this town was big enough so that I could get lost on everyone’s list of priorities to gossip about or stare at.

Today is going to be a long day.

“Good morning dear!” A sweet older woman announced from behind the central desk in the front office. The name plate in front of her reading ‘Administrative Secretary Shelly Cope’.

“Good morning Miss Cope. I’m Y/n Y/l/n, here to pick up my class schedule and hopefully a map of the place?” I said, cutting to the chase. The front office is a giant fish bowl to the students walking by outside, no one wants to spend more time than necessary here on their first day.

“Oh yes! I’ve got it all printed out and ready to go for ya dear, along with your locker assignment.” She says with a smile, passing the papers across her desk. “Let me know if you have any questions or if you need help with anything!”

“Yes ma’am, thank you!” I responded, half reading my new schedule - half aware of where I was going as I press a shoulder to the exit.

First period Biology

Second period English

Third period Spanish

Fourth period Trigonom-

The front office door smacks straight into an unsuspecting, gorgeous, golden-eyed fellow student, sending the papers clutched in my hands to the ground.

Next

[fannyyann]

Tkachuk tells NHL.com how change in approach lifted game for Panthers

Forward no longer playing it safe, becomes ultimate clutch player in Florida

FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla. – There was a time in Matthew Tkachuk’s life when he played it safe. It’s hard to remember now, hard to get that image out of your head, the one where he is crushing opponents and taking over Stanley Cup Playoff games and literally walking off the ice after scoring a game-winning goal in the fourth overtime of Game 1 of the 2023 Eastern Conference Final. 

It’s hard to remember there was a before. 

But there was.

Once upon a time, like most mortals, Tkachuk didn’t want to make a mistake. He didn’t want to be blamed. He didn’t want to err, to let down his teammates, the fans, himself. It was a time when he wasn’t quite as confident, wasn’t quite as assured -- if that can be believed -- when he didn’t know that, for him, safe was the riskiest play of all. 

“I think maybe earlier in my career, being a young player, not wanting to be the guy that made the mistake, [I] maybe played a little bit safe in the high-pressure situations,” Tkachuk said. “Just trying to play it smart and, honestly, safe’s a perfect word for it. 

“And then a couple years ago, I was like, why not make the play when nobody else wants to try to attempt it because they’re too nervous [about] what bad’s gonna happen? And I’ve seemed to go the other way, in the extreme other way, and that’s seemed to work the last few years.”

Tkachuk pinpoints it exactly, to 2021-22, his final season with the Calgary Flames, before the trade, before he landed in South Florida and became a genre-crossing star, before he helped propel the Panthers to the Stanley Cup Final last season. 

“I was like, ‘Why not?’” Tkachuk said. “Why wouldn’t you want to be the guy that can make that right play at the last minute of the game or whatever? … I’m like, I’m capable, I feel like I’m a good enough player where I can be confident in myself no matter what the situation is. And that’s just kind of kept going.”

The Panthers and Tkachuk will need it to keep going, as they head to the playoffs having hit a tough skid of late. The Panthers, who are set to face the Boston Bruins at TD Garden on Saturday (3:30 p.m. ET; ABC, ESPN+, SN, TVAS), are 3-6-1 in their past 10 games, including a 6-0 win against the Ottawa Senators on Thursday. 

They are second in the Atlantic Division, four points behind the Bruins, having clinched a playoff spot on March 28, a far cry from last season when the Panthers clinched with a single game remaining on their schedule. They then fell behind 3-1 in the best-of-7 first-round series against the Bruins. That was when they -- and Tkachuk -- came roaring back to force a Game 7. To win that Game 7. 

“I knew what he could bring on a stage like that, but I don’t think the whole rest of the world knew what he could do,” brother and Senators captain Brady Tkachuk said. “So for him to show what he was all about is pretty cool. And I think he’s got another level to his game.”

Paul Maurice thinks he knows why. 

The Panthers coach has seen a handful of players in his career who are elite, who might even rise to the level of potential Hockey Hall of Fame players. And when he’s viewing them, he notes something, something that seems to be common to all of them.

“I watch them and they have a higher expectation of the result,” Maurice said. “And the analogy I used [was] when that guy goes in and buys a suit, he expects it to fit right and it’s going to look good. He has an expectation of the result. 

“With Matthew, it seems to me, it’s tied, there’s four minutes [left], he’s excited about that situation because he has a really high expectation that something good’s going to happen because over the course of his life, that’s exactly what’s happened. It wasn’t a lottery. It’s just he’s gone out and made it happen, so he wants to and believes it can. 

“I never sensed any arrogance on him. I truly have not. It’s not like, hey, give me the puck, I’m the shooter. He just thinks when he hits the ice, it could happen, and his life has told him that it could happen. So why wouldn’t you enjoy the hell out of that?”

Oh, and he is. 

Not only has South Florida been a revelation for Tkachuk, so too has the team, which has entered into the top echelon of the NHL. He has figured out himself and his game, not only that he can -- and will -- come up big in the biggest of moments, but that he can also adjust to fit what the team requires, mold his game to the situation. 

Asked if he is a chameleon, he readily agrees. 

Especially in the playoffs. 

“I look at those types of playoff games differently,” Tkachuk said. “Like some people if they’re not producing, they’re not doing too much to help their team, whereas one of the good things that I’m able to do is recognize what my team needs out of me on that particular night or that particular shift. 

“There are some nights when offense comes second and all I’m trying to do is run around, be physical, try to forecheck and try to gain my team momentum like that. Even if teams are keying in on me or really focusing on me, there’s ways to make an impact.”

No one can argue with that. The Bruins still bear the scars -- some literal, some figurative -- of what Tkachuk did to them in the playoffs last spring. 

In the final four games of the first-round series, Tkachuk had eight points (four goals, four assists) to help them win the best-of-7 series. 

Boston forward Trent Frederic, who traces his understanding of Tkachuk back to basement games as kids in St. Louis, said that he thinks that, likely, had Tkachuk not been on the Panthers, the Bruins would have advanced. 

But he was. They didn’t. And now it’s not hard to believe that many teams are uninterested in seeing the Panthers on the opposing bench in the playoffs, in seeing Tkachuk on the opposing bench. 

Before a cracked sternum forced him to miss the fifth and final game of the last season’s Cup Final, Tkachuk had 24 points (11 goals, 13 assists), including four game-winning goals, in 20 playoff games. 

“So the playoffs, I think the one quote, he’s a [expletive] gamer, that’s how I feel about him in the playoffs last year. And I know it’s profane, but it’s also very specific words, it’s exactly the way I feel about him,” Maurice said. “Sometimes the words just fit. Sometimes they’re casual and you swear too much. Sometimes I do. But that is how I -- a [expletive] gamer. He comes up with the biggest plays time and time again. And his energy level to be able to play at that level, that was specific to the hockey. 

“This year, I’ve gotten to watch what an incredible leader he is.”

He sees it on the bench, in the exhortation of his teammates, in his calming of them, in his barking at them. He sees it when he brought a friend and his two kids into the dressing room after a game in Detroit, when Tkachuk paused in his postgame showering routine to sign a jersey, to take a picture, to get Carter Verhaeghe out of the shower to sign the other jersey. 

“I don’t even blame players who don’t sign,” Maurice said. “But he doesn’t have to do that, and he does that consistently. … It’s not fake. It’s not showy. I think he understands the responsibility that he has and he takes care of it.”

There are so many responsibilities heaped on Tkachuk now. 

He is a leader on the ice and off it. He is the second-leading scorer, with 83 points (24 goals, 59 assists), the top chirper and certainly the most talked about player on the Panthers. And he is ready, once again, to receive that pressure. He is ready for the playoffs. He is ready for the eyes and the lights and all that comes with it.

“I enjoy it,” Tkachuk said. “I think that the high intense games and the rivalry games and the, just like the intense part of the games that some guys might not feel too confident or comfortable, I seem to thrive in them and I love those moments.”

There will be no shortage of those moments in the waning days of the season, in the start of the playoffs, as the Panthers attempt to replicate their Cinderella run to the Final last season -- without the Cinderella part. 

Because much like the Panthers, who have been at or near the top of the NHL all season, there will be no surprises when it comes to Tkachuk. He is known, now. Known for stealing games, for coming up big in the biggest moments, for never, ever playing it safe. 

And when the pressure comes, as it will, he will be right there. 

“Knowing him, that’s going to make him go to another level,” Brady Tkachuk said. “And I think for him, he’s going to love, not the spotlight, but the opportunity that comes from that and what he’s going to be able to do with that. He gets better when the pressure is higher.”