#admin morning star

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 2

max verstappen x single mom!reader

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warnings: cursing, reader y/nsplains, jos is an asshole, fluff, barely proofread, logan tries to flirt, y/n's bestie is a tumblr girlie at heart, kiddo steals the show Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 6833 auth.note: thank you all so much for the love for part 1!!! ily all and i'm having so much fun writing this

The paddock was relatively quiet so early in the morning. Unable to sleep, y/n had left the hotel and made her way to the track. She was taking the opportunity to explore the settings on the camera and getting her bearings since she didn't have any work duties to complete until later in the day. She had expected Kevin to want to come with her, but he'd opted to sleep in with Ellie, who would bring him to the track later. So she wandered, exchanging the occasional greeting with others. Stopping to take a photo of a bird perched on the fence in front of pit lane, she backed up, crashing into someone.

"Whoop, s'cuse me, sorry," she said, turning to apologize properly. She recognized the two men by their faces but her mind blanked on their names.

"It's alright, ma'am. Didn't mess up your shot, did we?" His American accent was a happy surprise.

"I don't think so." Smiling, y/n lowered the camera. "My fault, and I'll blame it on being new."

"Marketing?" The other man guessed.

Australian. And suddenly she remembered their names. "Social media. I'm y/n."

"So great to meet you." Logan tipped his head slightly. "Carolina?"

"God, you can take the hick outta Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina outta the hick." He grinned and she laughed. "North Carolina, yeah."

Oscar stared at Logan. "How did you guess that? She just sounds plain American?"

"No, dude, it's the lilt. It's like when George got pissed we couldn't pick up on the different English accents."

"Can he pick up on the different American south accents?" y/n asked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "He knows Brooklyn, Midwest, valley girl, and just south."

"In his defense it's hard to pick out each individual one," Oscar pointed out.

Y/n shrugged. "You've got a point. I sound different from people that grew up just an hour from me."

"Yeah! And I know mine's been butchered from so much time in Europe." Logan nodded.

"You still sound more like home than anyone else I've met."

"I was gonna say the same thing – you sound like home." He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that had her smiling in return.

"And what do I sound like?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"A magical place far, far away," y/n told him. She covertly checked the time and wondered if hospitality had finished setting up so she could get some coffee.

"Hear that? I sound like Star Wars."

"She's using southern charm on you, dude," Logan snorted.

"Well it's working, I'm charmed."

A giggle bubbled up her throat and she let it free, raising her camera and giving them a hopeful look. "Okay?"

"Hang on—" Logan fussed with his hair, and y/n laughed when Oscar reached to help him, then they both had to fuss with Oscar's hair. "Think we're presentable enough?"

She nodded, moving so the sunlight was beside them. She got several photos and thanked them. "I'll send them to y'alls social media teams?"

"You can just send it to me." Logan began patting his pockets for his phone.

"Unbelievable," Oscar muttered under his breath, and y/n barely heard it, giving Logan her number and adding him to her contacts once he'd sent her a text.

"I should get going – Sorry for bumping into you."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did."

As she walked away she gave her head a little shake, smiling to herself when she overheard Oscar's grumbling that Logan had flirted with fuckin' Red Bull's social media admin. Something told her to glance back and she did, amused to see Logan watching her. Don't show interest, don't show interest, don't—

He gave a little wave. And she smiled, waving back.

Fuck.

Ducking around the corner, she wandered until she found hospitality, grogginess taking over as she made her way to the back to fix herself coffee. She recognized a couple engineers and mechanics that she'd met in Milton Keyes and greeted them, settling into a corner to drink and look over the pictures she'd gotten.

She was on her second coffee, had uploaded the pictures to her laptop, and was editing the first batch for a short video when the chair across from her was pulled out, taking her shoe with it.

"Sorry," Max said when she yelped, chuckling as he bent to pick up her shoe. "Didn't know you were attached."

"Bad habit I'm afraid." Taking the shoe, she shifted to put it back on. "Picked it up when I was pregnant now I do it without thinking."

"For the swelling?" he asked, sitting down and taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yeah." After tying the shoelace she shifted, tucking one foot beneath her. "Good morning, by the way."

"Morning. Already working?"

"I'm gonna do a short photo tour of the track. I got some nice shots."

"You walked the track?"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep, so… It's beautiful first thing in the morning."

Max nodded, picking up his coffee again. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Max, you should know that hotel beds suck. Especially with a three year old sleeping sideways and a snoring friend in the other bed. Is this where you tell me you slept great?"

"Haha, no. My sleep was shit but it wasn't because of the bed. I didn't get enough." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I was up late sim racing."

"Okay, explain sim racing to me," she requested, slipping one earbud in so she could check that the music she'd selected went well with the photos. Tweaking it as he began to talk, she realized she was barely paying attention to her work, exporting and posting the video to all the platforms then closing her laptop to focus on him. He talked with his hands. It was something she'd picked up on already, that if he was focused on the topic he used his hands. Maxplaining the fans called it. Finishing her coffee, she listened intently, propping her chin on one hand.

 He smiled, almost shyly, as he finished. "It's something I truly enjoy. I'm not very sociable. I like going out once in a while, but I prefer to stay in, yeah? And I can spend hours in the sim without thinking twice."

"I spent the last few days watching a lot of interviews. Not just of you and Checo, but everyone on the grid," y/n said softly. "Leclerc talks about piano and his family, Norris talks about gaming and DJing, and Hamilton has his six hundred side projects."

"Yes?" He didn't look or sound impatient for her to get to the point, and she appreciated that.

"The thing is, they all have passions outside of racing. This – formula one, fastest cars, all that – is a goal, a dream, but they all have something else they love, that they can pursue now." She paused, meeting his eyes. "The only thing I've seen you passionate about is racing."

He blinked once, nodding his head. "Because it is my passion."

Y/n regarded him carefully for a moment. "You're very lucky, Max."

That must have surprised him, because his brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Not everyone is able to be successful following their passion. Being able to do what you love for both a job and hobbies is almost unheard of, yet you're doing it. You break records and win races and yeah you've had a few setbacks but you're still in love with this. And on your off time you're training to be better and studying tracks and you go home and race on your computer." She shook her head in amazement. "You're incredibly lucky, that your passion is not only something you're good at but something you can be immersed in nonstop, and that you haven't lost your love for it."

"I guess I am lucky," he said carefully. "But luck had nothing to do with me getting into formula one."

"I know." She held up her hands, not wanting him to think she thought he was in the position he was purely by chance. "I can't imagine how much work you've done over the years, or how many sacrifices you've had to make. It's just… In my experience, passion doesn't always equal financial stability is what I'm trying to say."

"What's that saying? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life?"

Y/n snorted. "That's bullshit. I love sleeping and yet I still have to work."

That made him laugh and she rolled her eyes, even though she enjoyed the sound. "Surely you love more than sleep."

"I love a lot of things. Maybe that's been my problem all my life. I find things and fall in love with them and when I think hey this might be it something new and shiny comes along and I fall in love with that."

"There's nothing wrong with being passionate about many things," Max said gently.

"That's what I keep telling myself. And yet—"

"Are you saying you don't love your job?"

She froze, a wave of panic rippling through her. "Uhmm… Since it's technically my first day I can't answer that."

"Okay. Do you love your social media?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

The table which was, suddenly, smaller than she remembered.

"I like engaging others. I like creating conversations and seeing my work appreciated," she finally said.

"You sound like a PR person. Do you love it?" He enunciated each word slowly.

She couldn't say yes. The answer wasn't no, either, because she didn't hate it. "I personally hate it. But you've learned how to make it work for you, yeah? How to word things to spark a conversation among followers? What type of content people appreciate?"

"I like to think so."

"Stop being so unsure of yourself. You study it, right? At your last job when you posted a video and no one liked it what did you do? "

She exhaled harshly. "I compare it to ones that did well and pick it apart to see why it didn't work."

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed.

"Why did you pick it apart?"

"Because I wanted it to do well," she said slowly.

"And these conversations you want to create, do you join in or sit and watch them happen behind the safety of your screen?" He reached over, gently turning her laptop so he could see the screen.

"I engage. I reply and ask questions to make the viewers want to keep the conversation going."

"Why?"

"Because—" She clicked the mouse, bringing up the comments below the video she'd posted to Instagram. "These comments? Come from people that love this brand – or sport. Some of them are trolls who just want to start up an argument to make their boring lives more interesting for a few minutes, but for the most part it's people who care. People who want to see this team do well. People who had the dream of doing it themselves but life got in the way. People who watched it with their parents and still watch to stay connected to someone they love. It's little kids who want to be like you. It's people who spend their hard earned money on a t-shirt or a hat or a ticket to see someone they admire live out their dream." She took a quick breath, scrolling through the comments. "If I don't like or respond to them, they feel like their opinions don't matter. And maybe they don't in the grand scheme of formula one. But they want to be seen and heard. When I click and they see that Red Bull Racing liked their comment or replied with an emoji or whatever, they have a few seconds of elation, and their support of this team is cemented just a bit more."

Max blinked at her, and she continued even though she heard him draw a breath to speak.

"I know very well how horrible social media can be. However, I've seen how it fosters growth for a company. You're not stupid, I'm sure you've seen how TikTok challenges or Instagram livestreams have brought in more support. Not to mention money. If a post of you wearing your Red Bull shirt gets a million likes, I can probably pull the data and show you that a hundred thousand people went to view the shirt on the official shop and probably twenty-five thousand ordered one. A silly picture of you arriving for race day or a new helmet design pulls people in and gets them excited. And, yes, it makes money. Which in turn pays the salaries of everyone on the team."

"Y/n."

She sucked in a breath. "I'm—"

"Passionate," he whispered before she could say sorry.

"I know what it's like to enjoy something and never feel included," she murmured. "So, yeah… I guess I love what I do, because I like that I can include people in something they love."

His hand covered hers briefly. "For a moment there, I even loved social media."

She watched his fingers squeeze hers before they slid away, wondering why his touch lingered. "Yeah?"

"It's easy to forget that there are real people saying nice things. Sometimes all you can see is the negativity."

"Negativity only breeds more negativity—"

"And when you look at it, it's all you'll see," he murmured.

"Well… So far everything I've posted today has been met with positivity."

"That's good."

"Okay, a few comments about wanting to see Lando on the podium. Thank you for letting me rant about why I do what I do," she said, glancing at his hand without meaning to.

"You let me do the same," he reminded her. Lifting his chin, he waited until she looked at him again. "Are you too busy to see what I was talking about?"

"I don't have anything scheduled until after lunch."

"Perfect." He lightly drummed on the table and stood. "Do you want to see my rig?"

"You do know I won't have a clue what anything but the computer and monitor are, right?" Smiling, she stood and began packing away her stuff.

Closing her laptop, he handed it over, catching her earbud when it fell off the edge of the table. "Maybe you'll like it so much you'll want one of your own."

*-*

He was rambling, he knew he was, telling her about the setup and his plan for the 24 hour race over the weekend and how he had everything scheduled so he could do two of the things he loved most. But he could tell she was paying attention, actually listening, as if she really cared. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he finished and looked up at her.

"So this is your actual job and the f1 thing is just a hobby?" she teased.

Laughing, he got to his feet and got himself a can of Red Bull. "It's just racing, y/n."

"And racing is life."

"Absolutely." He watched her muffle a yawn behind her hand.

"Am I allowed to mention it in my posts? Because it sounds so badass. Sim race stint then qualifying, chug a Red Bull, sim race stint then race."

"You can mention it, not like it's a secret." He watched her hide another yawn and cleared his throat. "Looks like you need a Red Bull."

She shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Nodding, he checked the time. Just over an hour before he had to meet with his trainer. "Of course."

"I hate Red Bull," she whispered.

He choked on a laugh. "You what?"

"I've tried so many times! I can just about stomach one of the flavored editions, but the original? Tastes like battery acid to me." She looked embarrassed and covered her face with her hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"You hate the drink. So you accepted a job with a team owned by the drink company." He wanted to laugh. It was so absurd to him.

"Yes," she groaned.

"That would be like me taking a job at Instagram."

"I know it's so bad. What makes it worse is I love Monster—"

"Of course you do," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Please say you won't tell anyone. If corporate hears, I'll probably get fired. It's in my contract that I can only drink that while in pubic during race weekends which means I've got to either stick to water or learn to fake it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Max promised, breathing in the aroma of her perfume as she moved past him to get her bag.

"Thank you. I think Ellie would kill me if I told her I have to find a new job."

He didn't want her to go so soon. Ridiculous because he knew he'd see her in just a few hours. By the end of the weekend he'd be sick of seeing her. Sipping his drink, he finally sighed and cleared his throat. "You can take a power nap."

She whipped her head around, sending a wave of her perfume his way. "What?"

"A power nap." Before he could stop himself he was setting down his drink and taking her bag off her shoulder. "Thirty minutes, and you'll feel great."

"Max—"

"You need to be alert and focused, and I don't have a Monster for you to drink. Please, I insist." He motioned to his bed in the far corner, gently nudging her shoulder when she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, and when he assured her he was she bent to take off her shoes, looking almost elated as she walked over to the bed. "Wait, I need to set an alarm."

"I'll wake you."

She lifted an eyebrow and he pulled out his phone to set a thirty minute timer. Satisfied, she sat on the edge of the bed, thanking him several times as she laid down and curled up on her side. "Thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," he murmured, sitting on the couch to answer emails. It was fifteen minutes before she stopped shifting and kicking, and when he heard her breathing even out he knew she was asleep. Resetting the timer, he stood and carefully pulled the blanket over her, then returned to the couch and tried his best to ignore that she was sleeping in his room.

Her phone started buzzing on the table. She didn't stir so he ignored it, focusing on his email. That was impossible though so he cleared out his unread texts, one foot bouncing each time he heard her breathe. A mistake. It had been a mistake. He jumped up when her phone began to buzz again and, glancing from it to her, he realized she would undoubtedly sleep through it. He picked it up and was about to silence it when he saw the name on the screen. Ellie. That was her friend that was helping with Kevin… Something could be wrong, so he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, we just— Who's this?"

"Max. This is Ellie?"

"…Yes…" The woman sounded wary. "Why are you – Oh! Max! Right of course. Um, is y/n okay?"

Max looked over at her, smiling faintly when she shifted. "She's fine. Taking a nap, actually."

Ellie snorted. "Of course she is."

"Is everything okay with Kevin?"

As though aware of the question, Kevin began chattering in the background. "Yeah, he's perfect. I was calling to let her know we just got here but I ain't got a clue where to go."

"Are you at the main entrance?" he asked, slipping out of the room so he wouldn't wake y/n. Ellie told him where they were and he nodded as he pulled out his own phone to text one of the team assistants. "You're going to walk down to the turnstiles, scan your passes and come through. Someone will be there to meet you and bring you to the motorhome."

"Ok perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. We'll be downstairs to meet you." Ending the call, he checked that the assistant was going to meet them then reentered his room. He closed the door and silenced his timer. "Y/n?"

She hummed in her sleep, and he smiled while he crossed over to the bed.

"Y/n," he called gently. She groaned, shifting to face away from him and it suddenly occurred to him that when he went to bed that night he would smell her on the pillow and the sheets. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea, but it was too late now.

Would he be an asshole if he had his sheets changed before the end of the day?

Leaning down, he gently touched her shoulder. She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes snap open. "You have company on its way," he said softly, tugging the covers back in case she tried to get comfortable again. His eyes swept down, locking on the skin bared by her shirt, which had ridden up in her sleep. "Come on, you had a nice nap, time to wake up."

"This bed is so much more comfortable than the one at the hotel," she mumbled, slowly sitting up and turning to face him. Smoothing down her shirt, she stretched and sighed, blinking as she focused on him. "Oh! Ellie and Kevin!"

He laughed as she leapt to her feet, his hands immediately moving to steady her. "It's fine, they haven't even made it to the paddock yet. I've sent someone to meet them."

"Oh," she murmured. "Thank you."

His hands were on her hips, and he forced his breathing to remain calm as she rested her hands on his forearms. The space, which had felt roomy and open, now felt tiny with how close she was to him. He was painfully aware of the scant space between them and each place their bodies touched, but more so of her. That heady floral scent of her perfume and the softness of her palms against his skin. The gentle lushness of her hips. He could hear every breath as his gaze traveled up from her hands to her face, lingering on her slightly parted lips before settling on her eyes. "You good?"

"Yep."

"Right. Sorry," he mumbled, releasing her hips and taking a step back. "I'll get your shoes."

What was wrong with him? It hadn't been so long that he got turned on like a teenager just from touching a woman… As he bent to retrieve her shoes he counted back, dragging a hand over his face in humiliation. What must she think of him? He'd brought her to his room, showed off his fancy toys, then let her sleep in his bed. She probably thought he wanted to fuck her—

You do.

—which couldn't be further from the truth. He was just being nice. Because she was nice. That was all.

Wasn't it?

And why, he wondered as he handed her shoes to her and told her about answering Ellie's call, did he care what she thought? Not caring was his specialty.  

"How do you feel?" he asked, finishing his drink in one gulp.

"Refreshed. Thank you so much, Max." She tied her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair. Her lips moved but he didn't hear a word she said, watching her gather her hair and twist and twirl it, securing it with a band from her wrist.

Witchcraft.

"That okay with you?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.

"Of course," he answered automatically.

She clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll put up a post asking for fan questions."

Max blinked, pinching his brows together. "Fan questions."

"Well we can't do an impromptu Q and A without questions." She had her other phone out now, fingers flying across the screen. "We'll do it this afternoon? Just let me know the best time."

Fuck's sake. What had he agreed to? More importantly, how had she gotten him to say yes? Everyone knew he had a low tolerance for marketing. He could take it back and say no, he couldn't do it today. He could tell her to get Checo to do it, that he would do it another time. He'd gotten out of marketing and social media stupidity without a problem plenty of times before. But he was already opening his calendar, going over his schedule, already telling her the open slot he had at 5, and was already putting Q and A with Y/n in that space.

"Perfect," she enthused, shouldering her bag and heading for the door, her fingers still tapping swiftly on the screen. "They should be here about now, right?"

Nodding, he followed her out the room and down, smiling when Kevin came through the front door with a woman he assumed was Ellie. The boy dropped her hand and sprinted over to y/n, who dropped down to hug him tightly. Max looked on, chest squeezing, searching for something that had been lacking, as mother and son talked and hugged, their words overlapping. They both understood each other perfectly, though, and he smiled at Kevin's excited retelling of what he'd had for breakfast. Introducing himself to Ellie, he reached to shake her hand.

"Mister Max!" The boy squealed.

"Kevin!" He was down in a split second, Ellie forgotten and chest constricting tighter as Kevin hugged him like a long lost friend.

"I saw two cats and a horse!" Kevin tugged at his shirt, grinning as he showed off his Red Bull merch.

"You did? What kind of cats?" he asked, taking the boy's cap and beginning to roll the brim for him while the boy described the cats and then the horse. Returning the cap, he enthused over animals, telling him about his own two cats and pulling out his phone to show him a few pictures.

"I miss Cotton," Kevin said with a small pout.

"Is that your cat?" Max saw his trainer approaching and gave him a quick nod.

"Yeah. We can't bring him to Eng-a-lund so Aunt Ellie's sister has him." Kevin's pout melted into a faint smile. "But she sends lots of pictures!"

"That's good. And maybe you'll be able to get him soon."

"Mama says it's s'pensive." The boy sighed as though he had to earn the money to bring his beloved cat to England.

"I know," Max sympathized. "Go with your mum, yeah? I've got to go train."

Kevin's face puckered in confusion. "Train? Like Shang?"

Y/n cleared her throat. "We watched Mulan on the flight last night."

"What did Shang do?" Max vaguely remembered the movie, but it had been years since he'd seen it.

"He made a man out of 'em."

"Okay, doodle bug, we have to let Max get his workout in," y/n said, flashing Max a smile. "If you ask another question he'll start singing the song."

Max stared at her then turned his attention back to Kevin. "What song?"

Because he had to. Because hearing her groan as her son began singing a song about being a man was priceless. And the dramatic way she hung her head when Ellie joined in made him laugh. Kevin giggled, cutting off his singing and looking at Max hopefully. "Will you watch it with me?"

"I—"

"Mister Max is too busy to watch a movie," y/n cut in.

"We'll watch it this weekend," Max promised, hating the sadness in the boy's eyes. Relieved when it disappeared in a flash, he gave him a high five and stood.

"Yay!"

He exchanged a look with y/n, who sighed and nodded, reaching for Kevin's hand. "I'll see you later," he said.

"5 o'clock," she reminded him as he headed out.

*-*

"So…"

Y/n groaned at Ellie's knowing tone. Watching as Kevin was snatched up by Lando so he wasn't crashed into by Charles in the impromptu game of football, she folded her arms over her chest. "So?"

"He had coffee with you."

God, here we go.

"Showed you his private room and his expensive computer setup… Let you take a nap in his bed—"

"He's just being nice," y/n insisted.

"And he's gonna take time out of his ridiculously busy weekend to watch a movie with Kevin." Ellie hummed, taking a sip of her tea.

Ignoring her, y/n looked on as Lando, Oscar, and Logan pretended to fight back the others while Kevin kicked the ball towards the goal. They were all shouting, dramatic and over the top, and above it all she heard the sweetest sound of her son's laughter. When the ball rolled into the net there was a roar that rivaled a championship game, and she joined in the cheering and applauding.

"You could do worse," Ellie murmured.

"Would you stop?" Y/n rolled her eyes, giving Logan a thumbs up when he gestured to the football and Kevin, understanding they wanted to have another quick game.

"He's cute."

"They all are," y/n muttered without thinking, lifting her camera for a few photos for her personal collection. Recognizing Checo when he suddenly appeared in the viewfinder, she snapped more photos, lowering the camera to watch.

"You know—"

"I can't wait for you to start your job so I can come and try to partner you up with a coworker," she huffed, snorting when Ellie gasped.

"You wouldn't."

"In a heartbeat."

"Besides, there's only one person in that group that's technically your coworker," Ellie said.

"I'm not here for that."

"I know." Ellie leaned against her briefly. "Wouldn't be me if I didn't encourage a delusion, though."

"Yeah…" Y/n laughed softly. "It's my first day, of course everyone's already in love with me."

"Exactly."

It was what she loved about Ellie. No matter what, she could make her laugh. Grinning, she watched Kevin bump into Oscar, who immediately collapsed with an exaggerated howl of pain, holding the leg that Kevin hadn't touched. "And they're all so good with kids."

"Total dad material, every one of them," Ellie agreed. "Not a stepdad, a dad who stepped up."

She choked on a laugh, playfully swatting her friend's arm. Because she knew Logan had overheard them. "Stop—"

"And probably more than willing to crack your back—"

"Oh my god." Clapping a hand over her face, she sensed someone approaching. "I have to work with these people."

"Only until they fuck a baby into you."

"Hey, y/n, your kid's so cool," Logan said.

Her face burned but she slowly pulled her hand away, giving him a weak smile. "Thanks."

He propped his hands on his waist, breathing heavy as he watched Kevin dart between Lando, Oscar, Checo, and Alex. "He always this energetic?"

"Fify-fifty. He's either like this or so quiet I worry he's up to something."

Logan chuckled. "Is he a troublemaker?"

"Nah, if he's quiet it's because he's focused on his cars or studying a bug."

"Christ! Get it away from me!"

Y/n's heart lurched at the sudden shriek from Lando, and she barely saw him sprinting away from her son, who was holding something in his hands.

"It's a frog, mate!" Oscar shouted behind him.

"Don't care!"

Kevin slowly walked over to y/n. "Mama, look!" he said, eyes shining with excitement. His cheeks were a little flushed from the hard play and he was giggling. "Mister Lando scared of a l'il frog."

"He's just not a country boy like you, honey," she soothed. "But maybe we should put the frog somewhere he'll be safe?"

"C'mon, Kev, I'll help you," Logan offered.

"Hmm," Ellie hummed once Logan had scooped Kevin up, cupping one hand over the boy's to keep the frog from jumping away.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say a word."

"Please, that hmm contained at least two paragraphs, ten innuendoes, and a pointed reference," y/n said, trailing behind Logan. Looking on as he set Kevin down near the tree line, she got a few pictures of them releasing the frog. She cringed when her son wiped his dirty hands on his shorts but Logan didn't seem to mind, lifting him up and carrying him back to her.

"He's free!" Kevin squealed. "Thanks, Mister Logan."

"Anytime, Kev." He tousled his curly hair after setting him down, flashing a shy smile at y/n.

She returned the smile, eyes following Kevin as he ran back to the game. "He's gonna pass out as soon as we get back to the hotel."

"He could probably run circles around all of us all night," Logan chuckled.

"True…"

"So like…" He cleared his throat. "Are you married?"

God, she loved Floridians. "No," she answered, turning to look at him. "Are you?"

"God no." He made a face at the thought. "So you're single?"

She nodded, already formulating how she would turn him down if he asked her out. She was too busy. Not interested in anything romantic at the moment. It never hurt to be honest, right? She couldn't lie and say she just had a messy breakup or—

"Would you be interested in – I'm not trying to hook up or anything," he said quickly when she opened her mouth. "Just, like, as a friend? I know how it is to feel like a fish out of water here. I'm kind of used to it but I can remember feeling like I was alone and surrounded by people who didn't understand my Americanisms."

"Oh." Aw. Damn it, she couldn't say no to that. "I… Yeah, sure, I'd like that."

He smiled. "Awesome. Maybe we can do something tomorrow after practice?" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds great. Text me?" she requested. Her phone alarm started going off and she pulled it out to silence it. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

She waved to Ellie and mimed that she had to get some work done, waiting for her friend to wave back before making her way to the garage. While walking she got a message from one of the mechanics that the cars were photo ready and quickened her pace, envisioning the photos she would get of the mechanics and engineers. As she worked she asked questions, truly interested in what everyone did, a small idea forming that she'd run by Mr. Horner later. She knew that she would enjoy mini profiles on the team, with just the most basic of information like their names and where they were from. Maybe how long they'd been on the team, what had brought them to formula one…

"Thanks so much guys," she said as she finished up, declining the offer of a cold Red Bull. Her alarm went off again – twenty minutes to get ready to meet Max in the lounge back at the motorhome – and she switched off the camera, waving bye and turning to leave the garage.

She slammed into a human wall, grunting in surprise as she stumbled back. Twice in one day, really? The bump had caused the camera to slam against her ribs and she rubbed the spot gently. "I'm sorry! Wasn't looking where I was going."

She expected a chuckle, a reassurance that it was a hazard of the job. Maybe even an apology in return. Instead, the older man sneered at her, looking her up and down in such a way she felt like a child caught misbehaving. "You need to learn your place."

She gulped, fear prickling through her embarrassment. And even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, she found her mouth opening to apologize. "S-sorry."

"Horner know better than to hire amateurs," he muttered, scoffing. "He obviously didn't hire you for your looks."

She bristled at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you should." He brushed past her.

She felt weak. Clammy and cold. Shuddering slightly, she swallowed hard and left the garage, heading straight for the motorhome, where she was able to catch her breath. Who the hell had that been? He'd been wearing a Red Bull pass, so he had to be on the team. He was obviously important. She couldn't imagine him being considered her boss, not when everyone else had been so nice and—

"Ah, y/n, are you ready to do the Q and A?" Max asked.

Y/n felt her lungs burn and sucked in a breath, staring at the cup of coffee she'd made herself. "Y-yeah, I'll meet you up on the deck?"

Please go up, please go up, please go—

"What's wrong?"

Goddammit.

"Y/n?" He looked and sounded concerned, and she ducked her head as he walked over. "Hey…"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"You're a terrible liar," he said, leaning against the counter. "What happened?"

"Nothing, I'm just overreacting." Rubbing her hand over her face, she shook her head and reached for the coffee. "Just a run-in with an asshole."

"But I haven't seen you in three hours." Max's lips barely twitched at the corner.

"Not you, a different asshole." She felt her cheeks burn and groaned. "I'm not saying you're an asshole!"

"You don't have to, I already know I can be an asshole at times." Folding his arms over his chest, he met her eyes. "Who was it?"

"That's the thing, I don't even know. I was coming out of the garage – You know, I went down to get pics of the mechanics? Anyway, I was about to text you about the Q and A and wasn't looking where I was going and bumped into him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Older, kinda tall? Sour faced." She raised a hand to the man's approximate height. "I apologized and he told me I need to learn my place, then said I was an amateur and Horner obviously didn't hire me for my looks – I didn't ask his name because I was in shock. All I know is he had a Red Bull pass."

Max's brow furrowed, and she felt him tense. Then, to her surprise, he described the man perfectly.

"Yeah, that's him." She bit her lip. "You know him?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered. "It's my dad."

"Oh." Y/n looked down at her coffee. "Sorry."

"Me too." He sighed, pushing away from the counter. "Don't listen to him, yeah? You have more right to be here than he does, and you're not an amateur. As much as I hate social media, even I can tell that you're excellent at your job."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just… I've spent my entire adult life working to improve myself and discover my own worth as a human being, and I can give other women empowering pep talks, but I still freeze when a man that thinks he's better than me talks down to me."

"Fuck him," Max said simply. "He's not your boss, he can't control anything you do in your life."

"Either you're really trying to make me feel better or you really don't like your dad," she murmured. When he didn't reply, she slowly lifted her gaze. Seeing the muscle in his jaw twitch, she felt a pang of sympathy. If the man had been that rude to her, a stranger, she couldn't begin to imagine what he'd been like to his own son.

"If he speaks to you like that again, you let me know."

"I don't want to cause a fuss—"

"Not wanting to cause a fuss is why he thinks he can get away with it," Max pointed out. "I'll speak to Christian—"

"Max, no, it's literally my first week!"

"Which is why you have to set boundaries now. He'll either treat you with the respect you deserve or he'll be banned from the paddock."

Y/n blinked in shock. "You'd have him banned?"

"In a heartbeat." The look on his face told her he was serious, from the determined set of his jaw to the way he kept his eyes level with hers. "So either you mention it to Christian in the team meeting or I will."

"God," she groaned, knowing that this had to be just one tiny item among a long list of infractions for Max to want him banned. "Okay. I'll tell him before the team meeting tomorrow."

"Good. Come, let's do the Q and A. You ready?" he asked, taking her empty cup and throwing it away.

"Yeah." Grateful for the distraction, she walked to the stairs with him. "I did a clip of you looking confused and posted it on TikTok and Instagram that went viral because I captioned it When You Ask Max Verstappen About Anything But Racing. Oh and I found out Tumblr fans love making gifs of you laughing. Twitter likes making memes out of your face. Whereas Facebook is mostly a bunch of boomers commenting about how I'm ruining the integrity of the sport."

"I really do hate social media," he snorted.

"And that is why I'm doing social media," she teased. Halfway up the stairs, she slowed, turning to look at him. "Thank you, Max."

"For hating social media? You're welcome."

taglist

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 11

part 1 | part 10 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobic language, explicit sexual content (if you are under 18 then kindly GO ON NYOW GIT come back when you grow your first gray pube)

It feels crazy, after all that, to just get up and face the day. Feels like last Fall all over again: he’s concussed in the back of class getting bagel crumbs on a worksheet with his face still pulverized. There’s a gross pang in his chest as he goes about his morning routine, his heart all squishy and bruised like some dickhead smashed a plate over it, but whatever, he guesses. Public education and minimum wage wait for no one.

Robin grills him the whole car ride: “Oh, my god, is he okay?? Is he alive? Is your mom okay? What the hell, Steve?” and he lets her ramble with wide, worried eyes; doesn’t even get to the part about Eddie. When they pull up to the school she gets out of the car and comes around to his side, knocks on his window and leans in when he rolls it down to give him a ridiculously long hug.

"Robinnn," he grumbles; his face is mashed against her boobs. "People are gonna think we're dating."

She bends to hug him tighter still, her bony ass hanging out his window where the whole school can see. "I'd date you in a second."

"You've literally said that you wouldn't."

"Platonically, I would!!"

She gives him one last squeeze, and he watches her waddle off, trumpet case awkwardly smacking her calves.

And then he just... goes to work. He goes to stand around a nearly empty store and pretend like he even has any work to do, restocks the already full displays of candy and buffs the countertops until they shine. Three hours in and he's run out of ways to look busy and Keith is “doing admin stuff” in the back, so he gives his mom a call. Makes sure she's okay; did she eat anything yet; any updates on Ernie?

She’s fine, she's not hungry, he's alive but that's all they know for now, her tone distantly polite like Steve's nothing more than a friendly cold caller.

He shoves his fingers in his eyes ’til he sees stars when they hang up.

He calls the Henderson house next, leaves a message to apologize for skipping out early, promises that he'll be there next Wednesday and he can bring dessert this time. There’s a lunch rush after that, but the day still drags like a bad hangover, a dull throbbing in his bones, and when he finally gets home he collapses onto his bed and passes out on top of the covers with his dumb work vest still on.

—

Eddie's acting weird.

Steve sees him again on Friday, spots him and his uncle having a smoke out on the porch and wanders over to say hello. Wayne seems happy enough to chat; gives him all the news on Ernie — "Bastard's unkillable," he says, almost impressed. He’s stable now, should be home any day.

Eddie, on the other hand, spends the entire interaction behaving like a skittish cat, eyes darting to and from Steve, leg jiggling as he quietly puffs his cig.

Steve half expects him to slink off and come back to drop a dead mouse at his feet.

He feels his brows knit together, agitation creeping in. It's not like he thought they'd be best friends after a single night of ceasefire or anything — as if they'd start braiding each other's hair and trading their deepest, darkest secrets or whatever queer shit — but like…

He thought they might be cool now. At least a little bit.

And Eddie's not being rude to him, exactly, but that's somehow even worse. The polite disinterest. The subtle shift to the left. Back and away.

“Okay, well, uh...” Steve glances at Eddie, who's looking anywhere but him. Fucking fascinated by a loose thread on his ripped jeans, apparently, plucking at it with anxious fingers. “See ya around, I guess?”

Wayne says not be a stranger, and Eddie gives him a quick nod. “See ya.”

Steve grinds his teeth about it for the rest of the afternoon, then decides, like, screw this. It's a Friday night; he's not sitting around sulking all evening because Eddie Munson hurt his feelings.

He calls up a girl — some pretty blonde chick he remembers from the cheer squad — and sets up a date for later that night. Takes her to the drive-in, buys her a vanilla shake. The date's fine; it's good; it's fine. She's pretty enough, and she offers to suck him off when the main feature starts.

It’s not a good blowjob. Arguably one of the worst ones Steve’s had, and he’s had quite a few. She keeps gagging herself with these gross squelching sounds, barely getting even half of his dick in her tiny mouth and not bothering to use her hands to make up the difference. Just leaves them resting on Steve’s thighs while she makes fake whimpering moans like she’s sooo turned on by this; fucking as if; and somewhere in the middle of her repetitive, sloppy bobbing his mind starts to wander off. To the trailer, to the lot fees, the fucking pharmacy bills. Their ever-dwindling savings and what percentage of them he just wasted on this lackluster movie night; surely they’re gonna run out any day now; tick tock, tick tock.

"Um," the girl squeaks as she pulls off with a gross slurp. Steve looks down at his lap, sees he's gone soft. "Am I, like, doing something wrong, or...?"

Her voice is high and quiet, innocent and sweet, and Steve feels like an asshole. He squeezes himself at the base, gives a few quick strokes to get himself up again. "No, you're perfect, honey," he lies. "Stick out your tongue for me?"

She bats her eyes demurely and rolls over onto her side, gives him some kind of sexy pout before opening her mouth so he can jerk off over her. Steve works his wrist; tries not to be rude and look away, but her colors are all wrong. Strawberry hair. Blue irises. He squeezes his eyes shut, moves his hand faster and thinks of dark brown. Dark hair, dark lashes, dark eyes like the deep woods. Endless. Sort of mesmerizing. Nancy? "Oh, fuck," he gasps as he comes.

The girl squeals and jerks away from him, hands flying to her face. "Oh, my god! Oh, my god! You got it in my nose!"

"Sorry,” Steve grunts, shuddering through an aftershock. There’s cum on his hand, on his pants; all over this poor girl’s face. He thinks he got some in her eyelashes. "Shit, sorry, let me, uh—"

He leans over and rifles through the glove box, trying to find a napkin for her. No dice. Best he can do is an old McDonald's wrapper with a grease stain on the side. "Here, does— does this work?"

“Ew!”

“Sorry, I mean it’s that or my shirt, but then I’d have to drive you home shirtless, so-”

“Ugh,” she gives him a bitchy look. Tries to, anyway. One eye is glued shut. “Just give me that, please.”

His limp, spitty cock is still hanging from his pants when he passes her the wrapper. Flaccid and sad, like a white flag of surrender, and a bubble of hysterical laughter slips out. A choked burst of it, a pufferfished pfffft as it explodes past his lips. He’s not sure if it's the orgasm or the ridiculousness of the situation or if he's just plain lost his mind, but the girl glares at him, which...

There's still a glob of jizz on her cheek, so it doesn’t help matters much.

"I think you should take me home."

"Y-yep. Sorry. Yeah."

“Like now.”

Steve tucks himself into his jeans.

—

part 12

tagging whoever commented yesterday if your settings will let me @slutforcoffein @annabanannabeth @rani-mayida @awolfstudio @noodle-shenaniganery @yourmom-isgay @zombiecreatures @anne-bennett-cosplayer @thestarslittleking @evillittleguy @acedorerryn @messrs-weasley @bronwenmarie @lololol-1234 @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff @space-invading-pigeon @violetsteve @ahsokatanoss @slowandsteddie @zoeweee @silver-snaffles @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @thealwithnoname @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @hellion-child @stevesbipanic @trensu @steves-strapcollection @hotluncheddie

[parttimewritings]

Conversation

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Reader

Warnings: spoilers for S1 and S2, miscommunication, (kind of) enemies to lovers, language, a few plot changes, mutual pining and one or two mentions of Jamie’s dad being a prick. Also I accidentally wrote something in this that is minorly similar to a scene in S3…but I wrote that bit AGES ago. Just signposting it as last time I didn’t someone got shitty with me

Notes: this is so much longer than I planned lmao so that explains why it took so long to post. Also not betad or spellchecked yet as it’s late here!

I don’t even know if I like this… I might delete this…

Title inspired by Conversation by Catfish and the Bottlemen

**

You’d been the player liaison officer at AFC Richmond for two years and for the most part, you loved your job. A lot of it involved what was referred to as “general life admin” for the players, as you sorted out everything from banks to home viewings to car collections to visas to schools for players with kids.

Most people would think looking out for a bunch of millionaire footballers would be a stressful job but you didn’t mind. The players had, for the most part, always been nice and you’d even started helping to show the new signings around, offering to recommend them restaurants or bars and you’d even become friendly with a few of them over the course of your time at the club.

Or at least until you encountered the clubs new loan signing. It had taken four weeks of his season long loan before you’d first spoken to him, and from the ten minutes he’d spent in your office, you’d gotten the same impression everyone did of him.

Jamie Tartt was undoubtedly the one of the biggest pricks you’d ever met .

Twenty minutes later than agreed, he’d sauntered in to your office, moaning about his teammates, discard the print offs of flats and houses you’d spent ages looking into for him, grabbed a card with the requested time and date of a collection of an Aston Martin you’d arranged for him without so much as a thank you, before asking if you could fix a modelling gig for him. With your arms folded across your chest, you’d firmly told him that was you were player liaison and not PR and that there was no way you’d be arranging his shirtless photoshoots or his latest perfume ad and he’d left with a comment about your job being “pointless” leaving your door wide open.

***

The next time you spoke to him was when he’d let a door swing in your face, as he stormed through the car park still furious after the loss to Crystal Palace. You held back from walking out as you could over hear him rant to the reporter from the Independent about…everything. An exclusive straight from the car park, Jamie Tartt was a journalists dream.

“Hey.” You caught up to him in the car park, “Talking to the press? Really?”

“Do I know you?” Jamie stared at you with a blank expression “Are you a fan? How did you get in here? You want a picture or something?”

“A fan? Of you? No. I work for the club. I’m the one that arranged your car, your flat, your VIP booth at the bar you’re off to. Most people say you’re welcome by the way.” You waved an arm in the direction of his sports car.

“Right.” Jamie continued to stare at you like you’d grown a second head before shrugging “Did you need something?”

Un-fucking-believable. In that moment, you’d never disliked him more.

You considered telling him how stupid it was to run his mouth off to the press, how much it would hurt his teammates, his manager, the fans to hear their star player dragging the club down but as you watched him chew his gum so casually, you realised he didn’t care and it was too late, and it was probably too late. Trent Crimm was already heading back to his car, statement no doubt being composed and ready for the morning papers but it was doubtful Jamie even registered anything other than himself and his massive ego. How could you possibly expect him to care about anyone else.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Don’t think you’d understand it. Have a nice night.” You turned on your heel and were safe inside your own car before you finished the sentence “Prick.”

***

Ever since your little argument in the car park, you’d made it your absolute resolution to keep your contact with him to the bare minimum until the end of his loan when he’d become whatever poor player liaison officer Man City had.

You managed this pretty effectively being that he’d decided not to train until you’d received a call from your boss late into the evening one night asking you to come by the training ground. Usually a call in the evening was one of the new players wants a dinner reservation and didn’t know where to book or occasionally ordering a cab when one of the players had forgotten what hotel they were staying in the night before a game.

You absolutely not been expecting it to be ‘please can you swing by Colins and get his spare car keys…’ Nonetheless you’d agreed.

The scene unfolding before you when arrived the training ground was like something out of a fever dream. The players celebrating on the training pitch, a burning bin obviously a major part of whatever bonding exercise Coach Lasso had come up with. A scan of the field resulted no sign of Colin. You could see Dani Rojas, running around with Bumbercatch and Richard as if he hadn’t just been in the treatment room a mere 24 hours ago and Issac downing the last of a bottle of Mezcal back and forth with Richard whilst Ted and Beard watched on, laughing as Zoreaux choked on a swig of the liquor.

Nearest you and staring into the fire, beer bottle in hand, was the last person you wanted to see. Jamie Tartt. Of course it was. It would be so typical of your luck that it would be.

“Colin about?” You resolved yourself to asking him, wiggling your hand as the spare key jangled between your fingers. “Got to give him these.”

“Inside.” Jamie nodded “He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Humming in acknowledgment, your eyes fell to the flaming bin and curiosity got the better of you and you had to ask “Do I want to ask how he lost his keys?”

“Burnt them in that.” Jamie gestured at the flames he was staring at. When you didn’t reply, his eyes found their way to yours and he explained the whole process.

“Oh.” You were surprised. “I didn’t think team bonding would have been your thing.”

Jamie hesitated. He couldn’t argue. You were right, he hadn’t been much of a team player

“I wasn’t gonna but…thought maybe I should show my face” he shrugged, hoping you wouldn’t question his bravado. He pointed at the fire. “Do you wanna throw something in? Everyone else has.”

“I think it’s already worked…” you gestured with your arm at the field. “but yeah why not?”

You thought for a moment… you hadn’t brought anything except your phone and your own keys which… you didn’t fancy throwing in. Unlike Colin you’d have to walk home and get your spare set and walk back to the car park, which wasn’t particularly appealing in the dark.

Suddenly an idea struck you, you unclipped your necklace and extended out your hand, letting it slip, dangling in your fingertips for a few seconds before dropping it. “Hopefully this helps with the luck.”

“You don’t need luck if I’m playing.” Jame replied, a smirk on his lips. You held off rolling your eyes at his cockiness. Sometimes you really didn’t get him. Mere seconds before you’d been having a semblance of a civil conversation and then he was right back to arrogant arsehole.

“What is it?” He questioned. It had to be the first time he’d asked you anything about yourself.

“Necklace. It was my nan’s… she…died when I was 15.”

“Oh shit sorry.” It was probably the most sincere you’d ever heard him. If it had came out of anyone else’s mouth, you might have bought it as genuine. “Wasnt like anything bad, was it?”

“It was a long time ago, she was sick for a long time and…” you stopped yourself suddenly aware that this was Jamie Tartt you were talking to and any minute now, he’d probably resume his usual self centred personality. “Sorry, long story short, she passed away a while ago but… I don’t think she’d mind. Grandad was a Richmond fan.”

“What did you…put in?” you asked, swiftly changing the subject. You were half expecting the answer to be his little black book of desperate instagram girls or some signed picture of himself from one of his many magazine photoshoots. It would after all be completely on-brand for him.

“Erm…football boots, ones my mum got me. She got me into playing…” he said it trying to be casual and keep his cool. “She just wants me to enjoy playing yeah? So good motivation and that”

“I’m sure she’d be really happy for you, Jamie.” You looked over to where Colin was remerging back from the building looking extremely relived to see you. “I have to go give these to Colin. It’s why I was called out here in the first place. Have a good night.”

Truth be told, you were a little skeptical. Of both the ritual and of Jamie showing an interest in anyone else other than himself but you figured if the whole team had given the ritual a chance, maybe just maybe, Jamie Tartt had developed the capacity to care about other people.

You found out the next morning that he was on his way back to Man City when you’d received an email from his agent asking you to arrange termination of his house rental agreement

***short time skip***

When your doorbell had gone off late into Saturday afternoon a few weeks later, Jamie Tartt had been the last person you expected to see.

“Richmond said you had the stuff from my locker.” He said, leaning instantly on the door frame as soon as you answered without so much as a hello. “Said you was going to send it to the guy who does whatever it is you do at City but I called Issac, Jeff and Keeley and they’re all busy so thought come get it. Nothing better to do.”

A house visit hadn’t been on the agenda but you figured it was marginally less awkward than him swinging by the training ground so you’d taken it and had been talking to the player liaison officer at City making arrangements to send it up.

“Well I’m flattered to be your fourth choice. Coincidentally probably your first words to Pep.” You couldn’t resist the dig. Ever since he’d left, Richmond had struggled but being that he was now Man City’s problem you didn’t have to mince your words.

“Yeah well, I’ll be first choice soon. Scored today didn’t I…,” he clicked his tongue and gestured at himself. “Best goal of the match as well.”

“Wouldn’t know. I was watching Richmond.” You folded one arm over the other. A part of you enjoyed the flicker of surprise that crossed his face, but you gave him a tight smile as a somewhat attempt to be civil.

“Heard old man Roy scored yesterday. Must have taken it out of him.” Jamie rested back on the heels of his expensive trainers “Bet he’s gonna be in that ice bath for hours.”

You ignored the dig at the Richmond captain “Had the game of his life actually…like someone turned back the clock. Heard from Sam that Nate had some real words of wisdom.”

“Nate? Nathan? The kitman?” Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you in shock. “We thinking of the same guy? Him!?”

You laughed, knowing that the idea of Nate who always seemed so unassuming and quiet giving Roy Kent, footballing legend, a piece of his mind was crazy. If you’d heard it from anyone other than Sam, you’d probably have thought it was an elaborate joke.

“Apparently so.”

“Fucking hell.” His eyebrows shot up “Kinda wish I’d seen the old man’s reaction.”

“Yeah well…you weren’t…I’ll get your stuff. Probably a bit weird for you…being at a woman’s door when you haven’t slept with her.” You tapped on the door and grimaced. You knew the team would miss Jamie for his ability on the pitch.

Jamie shrugged, before he was distracted by his reflection in the window. He adjusted a stray hair then slowly turned back as of pulling his gaze away from himself was particularly tough “You would though wouldn’t you?”

A singular laugh left your throat coming out harshly. “No. Nothing personal…Zoolander” you paused as you realised that wasn’t completely honest. “Well its a little personal…but…I don’t date footballers. Went out with one once. Played for another club. Was at my friends for a weekend. He slept with six other women in two days.”

Jamie pursed his lips and let out a low whistle almost like he was impressed.

“What’s that…Rookie numbers for you?” You called over your shoulder as you stepped to the side of the door to pick up the box that had been sitting in your hallway for the past week and a half.

“Nah…even I’m not that bad” He clicked his tongue and winked “Most of the time.”

“How lovely.” You deadpanned turning back to him. “Suppose you slow down once you run out of every woman in SW16?”

Jamie looked you up and down “You always like this? All Cruella DeVille and that”

Ignoring his playground like insult, you moved one hand back to the door handle, the box balanced on your hip with the other. You were hoping you’d be able to close the door quickly and force him to go off elsewhere. “You left my club, I’m allowed to be a little mean to you.”

“Lasso sent me back. Said he didn’t need me but obviously he does though cause you were losing until today” A cocky smirk on his face, he pointed at himself “Could have used me in those other games.”

“What?” You frowned, eyebrows knotting in the centre. “What are you on about?… of course we needed you. You’re a fucking twat but you’re good. Why wouldn’t he want you in the team” You didn’t like paying him a compliment but you felt it was the only way to get a reasonable conversation out of him

Jamie almost rolled his eyes and you were unsure if it was because he thought you were stating the obvious or saying something stupid.

Noticing Jamie’s childish reaction, you called him out.

“Ted’s a really nice guy, you know. Maybe cut him a little slack?”

Ted had always been friendly to you. Giving you a good morning when he arrived and a good evening with a bright smile when he left and even talking to you about favourite books when he’d brought ones in for the team. If you offered help with setting things up, he would always tell you not to worry and he’d sort anything out himself… More often than not he was back at your office with 15minutes talking a lot about how different things were to Kansas and asking for help.

Despite being new to the sport, never mind the Premier League, Ted was at least trying. It somewhat bothered you that Jamie seemed so intent on being disrespectful.

“Knows fuck all about football though.”

“And you know fuck all about how to talk to people. Maybe you could have learnt from each other.” You snapped back before you could stop yourself. “Just an idea. It’s how adults talk.”

Feeling the exasperation levels rise and wondering how you’d even gotten this far into a conversation with him, you tossed the box of his stuff in to his arms and he managed to steady it despite being caught slightly off guard.

“Goodbye Jamie. See you next season”

And with that you slammed the door shut forcibly before he could reply.

*** time skip***

“I’m just going to get a drink, you want one?”

You offered to your friend and her boyfriend, as you slid out of your booth. Truth be told, you didn’t need another drink, you just wanted to escape for a few moments and work out if it had been this loud when you were a Uni student or if you’d just become accustomed to pubs over clubs in the years since you’d left.

With the team settled into the season, and the new signings all set up, you decided to take a week off to go visit some old friends in Manchester and against your better judgement you’d been dragged to a bar by your friend and her boyfriend.

In response your friend waved her half full, bright blue cocktail, letting you know she was good for now and you made your way across the dance floor and up to the bar, ordering the strongest cocktail on the menu not paying much attention to what was in it.

You’d only just picked up your drink when you heard it. The familiar voice causing you to whip around so quickly that you were impressed you didn’t spill anything.

“[Name]? That you?”

“Jamie Tartt.” You replied, as you took a long drink of the freshly replenished cocktail “Nice to see you.”

You were, of course, being sarcastic. You didn’t try to hide it this time. You didn’t have to. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been assisting in the game that sent Richmond down. Well… that and when your friends had sent you numerous clips of him making an arse out himself on Lust Conquers All and asking you if he really was that much of a twat in real life, to which you’d reply no, he was actually a bigger twat.

“How come you’re in Manchester?” He asked, catching you off guard. Jamie had never cared about seeing you, let alone it being ‘good to’ and now here he was making small talk like you were old friends.

“I’m visiting friends from when I lived here.” You told him keeping your answer short “Look if you want someone to sort out some private booth for you, firstly I’m on holiday and secondly I work for Richmond…you don’t…so…” you paused and gazed around the busy bar, looking for someone to pass Jamie on to “ask the barman.”

“You lived in Manchester?” Jamie tilted his head, genuine surprise crossed his features, as if you’d been withholding some crucial information. “I’m from here.”

“I know you are…“ you took another long drink, feeling like you’d need it if you were about to have another frustrating conversation as your patience was slowly slipping away. He’d completely ignored your previous statement and carried on with the small talk he’d never shown any need for before “What do you need Jamie?”

Jamie looked stunned. “I didn’t know you lived in Manchester. How come you never said?” He replied with a question in response.

“It’s a big city Jamie. You never asked me about myself, surprised you even remembered my name. You don’t need to feign interest in me. Just tell me what you want.” Patience now completely gone and just keen for him to get to the point, you downed the last of your drink and turned to place it back on the bar, only just missing the slight look of guilt he gave you.

“I just, um,” Jamie hesitated, unsure as to how to start, he bit his lip. There was no way he could just come out with it.

He’d tried Keeley but she’d told him to talk to Ted which… he really didn’t want to do. He knew he’d have to eventually but he didn’t want to have to ask especially after how they’d left things in person. Jamie knew from the tiny army man and note that Ted held no resentment but approaching him was a completely different ask so he’d headed back to his mums in Manchester first to weigh up his options.

He considered messaging one of the team but knew after his assist to send Richmond down, they likely would not want to speak to him…so he went through the staff- Kitman Will was a no go, Nate an even bigger no, he didn’t even think he had his number. Jamie went through a few of the back room staff before the thought of you crossed his mind and he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.

You fixed everything. Player needed a mechanic, you had one around within an hour, one of the coaches needed a caterer, you could arrange it, any player needed schools for their kids, you had uniforms by the end of the day. It was, at least to Jamie, like you could fix any problem…so hoping you could fix his big one, he looked you up on instagram and seeing that you’d posted only two hours ago, he clicked to view.

You were laughing and clinking glasses with another girl and a guy and had placed a tag in the corner indicating what bar you were in. Jamie could barely believe his luck when he clicked on it; as if by chance, as if this was confirmation that he had to talk to you, the tag showed as a bar only fifteen minutes away. He’d left within five. He didn’t know why you were here in his home city but to Jamie it felt like a sign so he’d threw on a coat and headed out to find you.

“It’s nice to see you Jamie but if you’ve got nothing to say, I really need to get back to my friend.” It was a small lie, you could not have cared less about running into him.

“Wait.” He protested, reaching for your arm before pulling back, barely grazing you. “Can we have a drink or something?”

“I’m not a waitress Jamie. If you want a drink, you’ll have to get one yourself like a big boy.”

From the vacant expression that had taken over, he clearly no idea what you were talking about and was waiting for you to fill in the blanks.

“It was a joke. At the charity event, you gave me twenty quid and told me to get you a drink. I told you I wasn’t a waitress and you said ‘same thing’… then I took the £20 and used it for my taxi home… you obviously don’t remember.”

Jamie felt discomfort twist in his chest as he averted his eyes to the ground for a few seconds. Had he really said that? You said it so casually like it was normal.

“Look…please can I just talk you? I’ll…pay for your drinks.” He attempted a peace offering, only for you to wince.

“I can get my own drinks.” You stated bluntly, with a half hearted smile. “I’ll see you later, I’d say good luck for this season but Caths a United fan”

“I’m sorry…uh, I fucked it alright? I don’t…City don’t want me back.” Jamie slid in front of you quickly to try slow your move to the table down. “And I didn’t win Lust Conquers All…”

“I’m sorry to hear you didn’t win your show. Maybe there’s another you can rate strippers on or something.”

“It’s all I’m actually any good at.” His voice was far more subdued, far more quiet than you’d heard him before so much so you would have missed it if it wasn’t said in a seconds pause between songs.

“Rating strippers?” You made a joke, lips twisting up as you raised an eyebrow. However Jamie in response still looked deadly serious, so much so that something inside made your resolve falter. It was not like Jamie Tartt to be remotely serious.

You sighed, eyes skimming over the room to your friend, who was trying to wave you over with a questioning look on her face. Holding up a few fingers, you indicated to her you’d only be two minutes. She shrugged and went back to whatever conversation she was having with her boyfriend.

“Please.” He asked once more and you knew would kick yourself if this turned out to be an act. “I swear down I’m being serious”

You glanced back at Jamie who looked so utterly defeated, in a way you’d never seen him. He looked a million miles away from that cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen last time.

“Fine. We can talk but… outside…” you threw your hand up and jerked your thumb at the door. “I’ll meet you out there. I need to let my friend know I’m leaving.”

**

The cold air hit you suddenly as you stepped out of the busy bar, squeezing by a hen do and heading down the stairs. Jamie was already waiting outside, shifting from one foot to the other, looking even more on edge that he had done inside. Having seen his adverts, you knew he was not that good of an actor, whatever was going on it had to be at least a little bit real.

“Alright. I’m all ears.” You stated as you reached the bottom.

Jamie found himself talking and talking to you as you walked through the city without any real direction. You asked the occasional question but besides that you were mostly just listening. He was stalling, putting off asking you for help by just relaying the drama between leaving City and being voted off the show. You could tell there was something else. There was no way he’d drag you, someone he barely knew, barely liked, out into the city streets to question the voting public for picking some guy called Danthony over him.

“They offered me a reality show…when I got kicked off but I’d have to do ecstasy and shit and…” Jamie trailed off, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his designer puffer jacket. “Didn’t want that.”

“Drugs too far?” You joked, not wanting to show that you were actually pleasantly surprised that he had a limit as to what he’d do for fame. His eyes caught yours and he shook his head.

There was a beat, a few seconds of only the city sounds, you spoke again, your voice and your eyes more sympathetic this time. “I’m glad you didn’t take it. It would be a waste of your actual talent if you did. You’re way too good at football to piss it all away for some shit show…Why did you leave City anyway? Thought you had it all worked out? And be honest with me, I’m not thick, I’ll know.”

Jamie caught your eye, your gaze on him was questioning, but not in the demanding, scrutinising way he was so used to. You were looking at him in such a way, If you didn’t hate him, Jamie could almost convince himself you were asking because you cared. The slight softening of your look on him made him drop what was remaining of his facade and tell you the truth. “I thought it’d piss off my dad.”

“Ah,” the sound was small, “Is your dad…?”

“A prick?” Jamie stated bluntly before you could finish “Yeah. On me all the time, over everything. Always has been. Always got something to fucking say. Got sick of it. I know it’s stupid but…”

“It’s not stupid…well it was a stupid thing to do…” you pulled your coat tighter against the wind. “but you’re not stupid. I understand. I think most people would. I’m sorry your dads an arsehole.”

“Thanks” He commented with a tight face as you rounded the corner. “But I’m used to it”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

You stopped as he could see your hotel lit up ahead on the street you were now walking down and somehow you’d ended up back where you were staying and you felt a little bit sorry to leave him. A small, tiny part of you thought about inviting him up and offering to continue the conversation but this was Jamie and you had a feeling he would definitely get the wrong idea.

“Erm… this… this is me.” You tilted your head up ahead at the hotel door “Thank you for walking me back Jamie. Even if you didn’t mean to.”

“Do you think Richmond would have me back?” Jamie asked quickly, fearing he’d lose his chance at getting out what had been lingering on his mind since he’d walked out of the meeting with his agent. “I could really really use Richmond now. And I think Richmond need me?” He gave you a tweak of a smile, more hopeful than arrogant.

Ah of course. That was it. He did need something after all. Despite this, you didn’t feel any resentment, you actually felt a little bit bad for him. Jamie had been a first class twat but he also seemed to be genuinely trying to reach out.

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Look, I wish I could help but…you’ll have to talk to Ted. I don’t have any say it in. I can give him a heads up but at the end of the day, he’s the manager, Jamie.”

“Yeah. Keeley said the same thing.” He looked dejected, reluctant even. “Don’t know why I thought you’d say anything else.” He dragged one of his expensive trainers against the concrete pavement and you winced at thinking how they probably cost a substantial chunk of your wages.

“I’m not surprised. She’s smart, makes me wonder why she went out with you.” You took the opportunity to lightly tease him although kept your tone completely deadpan.

“Oi come on! I’m being nice!” Jamie’s head shot up, ready to protest until he could see you were smiling and his shoulders loosened.

“I know I’m messing with you.” You replied “but seriously Talk to Ted. He’s usually at The Crown and Anchor. He’s a nice guy, Jamie. Give him a chance.”

“Fine. Thanks.” Jamie shrugged, looking like he’d rather do anything else. “If it works, can I have my old house back?”

“I’ll sort something…Goodnight Jamie.”You reached over and squeezed his arm “and good luck.”

***

Jamie’s reintegration was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. With the rest of the team being somewhat reluctant to forgive his attitude from his last spell in at the club, Jamie was now getting the cold shoulder.

“Shit!” You jumped when you walked into you office. “How long have you been here? How did you get in?”

“No one likes me.” Jamie muttered from the spare chair opposite your desk. He didn’t answer your question but from the lost look on his face you didn’t feel like pushing it. He was slouched so far over your desk, he was practically lying on it, training jacket pulled up over his face and his chin in his hand

“Can’t say I blame them. You were kind of an arsehole last time you were here.” You placed your bag on the spot on the desk not occupied by Jamie.

“But like I’m actually trying and they’re… are all being dickheads about it.” He sat up suddenly, throwing his arms back as he slumped back into the chair.

“Again I don’t blame them.”

“Colin said I was the worm now.”

You cocked your head confused “I’m not going to ask…but I probably don’t blame him”

“Even the new lads giving me stick”

“Yeah, word travels, you’re… kinda infamous here now”

“Yeah I know…” Jamie clicked his tongue as if you were stating the obvious “but why do they hate me… when I’m trying?” He held out his hands and looked over at you, waiting for your clarification.

“Jamie. You got us relegated, you were a bad team mate and a bit of a shit…”

“Alright, alright.” Jamie shrugged “just you’re the only one whose nice to me…except maybe Ted but he don’t count he’s nice to everyone and Keeley but she’s my ex ain’t she? How can I make them like me? Get them all something?”

“It’ll take time Jamie… you can’t just make it up to them with gifts…”

Deciding you had to do to something to distract him, you lifted your bag up from the desk again and gestured for him to stand up which he did so reluctantly.

“Right okay, get your keys…I’m not having you moping around my office…let’s go for a walk or a drive or whatever and talk. It’ll help. I promise”

**

It quickly became a regular, daily thing. Jamie would come to your office as soon as the on field training was done. The rest of the team would head into the gym and he’d come wait in your office or out for coffee until most of the others had left and then he’d slip down to the gym to train alone.

You’d were slowly softening to him. He’d even started opening up a bit more, slowly elaborating day by day until he was talking more openly to you than you’d ever thought. Underneath all the cocky bravado, Jamie was a sweet, funny, guy who’d just fallen into the trap of thinking arrogance was a shield against anything the world could throw at him. You liked this side of him far far more and you couldn’t help yourself but think if he’d always been like this, like he was now, you’d have been friends a long time ago.

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing when Jamie told you about Ted’s alter ego act. Even more so that he was completely straight faced when relaying how weird it was. You could guess what Ted was doing, but Jamie seemed so serious he had you in stitches.

“Oh and I, erm, I spoke to the, the therapist lady…Doctor Sharon.” Jamie slipped in quickly, before he could change his mind over telling you. His eyes quickly shot over your shoulder to the aerial photograph of Nelson Road that decorated the wall behind your desk and focused hard on it as he waited for your response.

Jamie had no reason to doubt you’d be supportive but still he could have sworn the few seconds it took for you to reply was actually an hour. He worried in those few seconds that he’d overstepped the mark and made you uncomfortable with an over share or that you’d kick him out.

You couldn’t believed Jamie had just spent fifteen minutes ranting about ‘Led Tasso’ and completely neglected to mention that he’d spoken to the new therapist.

“Jamie…why didn’t you tell me!” You exclaimed, nearly knocking over the Richmond mug on your desk over your laptop. “That’s great!”

“Dunno” Jamie managed to drop his stare from the wall to you and shrugged “I erm, didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Keeley dragged me up there and I thought might aswell. Nothing better do to.”

“Course its worth mentioning. Getting help is the best thing you can do… it’s hard to take that first step and reach out. I’m proud of you.”

“Really?” For a second Jamie wondered if he’d hallucinated. He hadn’t heard that. Not those words in that order from anyone in a long time and Jamie liked the thought of you, of all people, being proud of him.

“Yeah! Going…and actually talking to a professional? That’s amazing! Did it help?”

Jamie let your response sink in before he nodded “Uh yeah I think so, spoke to her about like my dad and stuff. She’s really good.” He scratched his cheek quickly before dropping his hands to the table.

“It’s great, everything you’re doing. It’ll take time… but I’m just so happy you’re reaching out.” You leant over the desk and placed your hand over his and gave it a squeeze “you know you’ve always got me but talking to a professional is the best thing for you.” The second you’d retracted Jamie missed the reassurance provided by the warm contact.

“Knock knock” a voice called from the doorframe interrupting and Jamie felt his heart drop as one of his teammates stuck his head around “Hello!”

“Jan! Hi!” You beamed at him, getting up from your desk as Jamie tried not to let his disappointment show at the interruption. “Come in!”

“You ready? You’re always packed up early and ready to go so I thought I would come see” Jan slipped around the door and raised his eyebrows staring at your desk which, as he’d guessed, was already pretty much clear for the day. “Usually in the last hour you don’t do any work.”

You rolled your eyes at his assessment but didn’t protest. You very rarely got anything done in the last hour so tended to scroll on your phone, clear up and wait until you could leave.

“Alright?” Jamie attempted to greet the other man “Is anyone down in the gym, mate?”

Jan shook his head no, not conversing with the other man any more than needed and waited for Jamie to stand up and make his way to the door, stepping aside to let him leave.

“Um, thanks [Name], I’ll see you later yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll come see you later.” You offered “We can go to that restaurant for dinner. The Indian one I was telling you about the other day?”

Jamie nodded and shut the door quickly suddenly all too aware of his teammate watching him.

***

“Why are you friends with him?” Jan asked pointedly as you left the room a few minutes later and made your way to the car park.

“Jamie’s really trying. Trust me last season he would not have even acknowledged me” you laughed and pointed at yourself.

“I don’t like him.” Jan said, looking like you’d posed some sort of serious question before he offered you a sweet from the bag he was holding out “Left you the red ones.” He glanced back into the bag “Well most of them!”

“Be nice!” You jokingly punched his arm before thanking him for leaving your favourites “Jamie’s trying not be a twat…but It’s hard for him. He’s had years of practice.”

Jamie watched you’d leave with the centre back from the open gym door. From your hushed voice, you were doing your best to keep quiet so he wouldn’t overhear but the ‘he wouldn’t have acknowledged me’ stung. Deep down he knew it was true, he hadn’t been nice to you, and you were understandably cold to him.

He’d find himself worried, wondering if you were with Jan, what if you no longer had time for him, what if he lost the one real friend he had. Although if Jamie was honest with himself, he’d liked you as more than a friend for a while.

A few days into his return to Richmond, he’d been unable to sleep. Worrying that the team hated him, would always hate him, was he this pathetic failure his dad said he was, would he ever be considered a talented footballer again or would he always just be a joke who put his ‘brand’ first.

He realised he’d didn’t want to call his anyone except you. He wanted to talk to you. You’d answered on the fourth ring and if you were annoyed at being woken at 1am, you didn’t sound it. You’d been concerned, asking if he was in trouble.

“No…I can’t sleep.” Jamie had said, almost ashamed to say anything more. He worried you’d think it was pathetic, a weak reasoning for calling, but at the same time hoped you’d pick up on the something left unsaid.

You did. “I know what you mean” you’d spoken, sleepily “you want a distraction? I can read to you if you like. My books so boring, you’ll fall asleep.”

Jamie had laughed and accepted your offer and settled in as you’d started to read some story.

When he woke the next morning, you were still on the other end of the phone. You were already awake but you must have stayed on the call with him.

‘Just in case’ you’d told him, the corner of your cheek twitching on one side.

It was the single most simple, caring gesture but it cemented it. In that moment he knew he was gone. You just knew him. When he needed to laugh, when he needed to talk and when he just wanted a distraction. (You’d never tell him how easy it was for you to tell).

The next time, hed offered to return the favour he’d read you the book Coach Lasso had bought him. He’d been reluctant at first but you’d persuaded him, encouraging him a little bit at a time and before you knew it, he’d read it cover to cover.

You were just a kind person, he told himself. You were like that with everyone. He’d see you excitedly trying some Nigerian food Sam brought in or attempt to speak Spanish to Dani, who would be thrilled and offer to teach you, he’d see you talk to Keeley, usually showing each other something on your phones and giggling.

Jamie would find himself analysing every conversation you’d had with him, where you like that with other people and for signs that maybe your feelings were mutual. He would run over everything in his head as he ran on the treadmill or worked on presses so much so that by the time he’d decided to just keep quiet, as he did every day, he’d have done several miles or lost count of the amount of presses he’d done.

Fuck it there was no way he could tell you. You were happy and you were his friend and he’d rather have you in his life as his friend than not at all.

***short time skip***

When Jamie had came into your office in a panic on Christmas Eve, asking you if you’d ever cooked a Christmas dinner and begging for you to help him cook one for his mum who would be visiting, you’d agreed against your better judgement. You’d cooked Christmas dinner twice. Once at University and once when your mum had a migraine and you had to finish off and now you were in Jamie’s house on Christmas Day making what he’d bought from M&S two days before into a Christmas dinner.

“I’m surprised you asked me. I thought you’d be inundated with offers.” You said, only half joking as you turned the parsnips in their tray. Jamie who was mulching the cranberries for the sauce like his life depended on it, just shrugged and muttered a ‘not really’. He wished he’d asked you to actually spend Christmas with him properly and not to do him a favour but doing so now would seem last minute and you’d already told him you were dropping in to the Higgins later.

As if on cue, your phone beeped from across the room and you swung the dish towel over your shoulder, not noticing Jamie staring as you flicked up to read Jan’s Whatsapp, watching your face for any signs. Trying to see if you’d added any little hearts next to his name or if you replied to him with twice as many X’s as you gave anyone else.

Ever since Jamie had realised he’d fallen for you, he’d became somewhat obsessed with trying to work out what was going on between you and his teammate. He’d never ask Jan directly. Having been on the receiving end of one of Jan’s blunt comments, Jamie didn’t want to risk hearing something he didn’t want to. With the team still giving him the cold shoulder more often than not, he considered asking Keeley. He’d seen you and her talking sometimes and wondered if it would be weird to ask his ex before realising if he did ask Keeley anything, there was the risk that Roy Kent would overhear and Jamie couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing.

“Richard brought a girl to the Higgins’ party.“ you laughed, letting Jamie know what was happening “Jan just told me.”

“Of course he did” Jamie laughed “Not surprised. He’d bring a girl to training if thought he’d get away with it.”

“Thought that would have been you?” You teased back only to get an eye roll and elbow nudge in response.

After a few minutes, you walked around his kitchen to check the table was set and were surprised to see he’d done a decent job of it.

“I think you’re all set. I promise you can take all the credit. You just need to take the turkey out when she gets here and put the Yorkshires in. They’ll be done quickly so don’t burn them. Desserts are in the fridge.”

Jamie looked a little reluctant and you had to admit the idea of a footballer who regularly played in front of thousands of people being nervous about presenting a Christmas dinner to his mum was a little funny.

“It’ll be good. Trust me…oh wait!” Your face lit up as you suddenly remembered “I have a present for you!” Before he had the chance to respond you’d dashed out into the hall, retrieved the gift from beside where you left your coat and returned back and pushed it into his hands.

After making a show of rattling it to try sense what was inside, Jamie unwrapped it carefully. Your eyes focused in on his face looking for any sign, hoping he liked the gift and you’d hadn’t made things weird.

In the box was a pair of his boots, the same brand his mum had got him, like his first pair. Jamie lifted them out carefully, and turned them over in his hand to see them.

“They’re obviously not the exact pair but they’re customs, I asked Sam what brand they were and they don’t do the exact ones anymore but I found some guy online and…they’re pretty much the same…If you can’t wear them for games because of sponsorships or whatever, you can maybe use them for training or you can return them, i won’t be offended, I just…”

“Thank you.” Jamie was quiet, staring down at the boots before his eyes turned on you “this is the nicest present anyone has ever given me. I, um… thank you.” He repeated finding himself rendered somewhat speechless at what thought you’d put in and how you were clearly worried he wouldn’t like it.

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to do something for you…”

“It’s not nothing, I actually do really like them and I’m definitely wearing them. Next game. Thank you.” Jamie paused, his head was only filled with thoughts of how much he wanted to kiss you here in his kitchen, how much he wanted to ask you to stay with him, to spend the rest of the day with him, eating Christmas dinner with his mum and sharing the big box of Roses chocolates and watching any Christmas special just because and then dancing to whatever Christmas song came on, late into the evening.

“Actually I… I got you something too.”

“You got me a present?” Your eyebrows raised in a playful manner “It’s not like a signed picture of you or anything is it? Because if it is, it’s going on eBay.”

“No. Uh…two minutes alright?” Jamie left the room and returned a few minutes later, a poorly wrapped present in his hands. “Sorry about the shit wrapping.”

You laughed and unwrapped it, your face breaking out into a big smile as you found the present “no way!”“This is the coolest thing ever!”

A quiet, comfortable silence had fallen between the two of you over your FaceTime call, you’d just finished laughing about Jamie telling you how he broke into his schools tuck shop as a kid and stole six packets of malteasers. It should have been just a funny childhood anecdote shared with a friend and yet the comments you’d made a while ago itched at the back of Jamie’s mind. “You never asked me about myself, surprised you even remembered my name.” He’d gotten to know you since of course but he wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him everything, like he was making up for looking through you before.

“Tell me something funny you did when you was kid” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh.” You shifted putting your phone down, thinking for a moment. “Ah okay I’ve got it!” You grinned “don’t laugh!” You made him promise.

“When I was a little kid, like I’m talking pre-primary school age, I had this cream cardigan, big daisies and red roses stitched all over it and I would wear it everywhere. I’d put it on to walk to school and cry when Miss Neil made me take it off, when I came home and my mum had to wash it, I’d sit by the washing machine and then in the garden waiting for it to dry. I’d even wear it when it was summer and it was probably too warm, I wore it even when it didn’t go with my outfit. I was not a fashion forward kid”

Jamie started laughing and couldn’t suppress it even over your protests that he promised he wouldn’t.

“What happened to it? The cardigan? You still have it?”

You pouted half jokingly “It got left on a plane on the way back from Tenerife. I cried so much, my dad rang Gatwick and the airport in Tenerife but no one ever turned it in. I’d have outgrown it but I loved that cardigan so much” you said wistfully “I was so annoyed thinking of some random person with my cardigan… I’ve searched online but there’s nothing like it.”

“Understandable. It sounds peak nineties” Jamie remarked with a raised eyebrow

“Oi. It would be considered vintage now” you laughed “Teenagers on depop would pay mega money for that.”

You picked it up and held it against you before putting it straight on without checking for tags.

“Jamie…” You wrapped it tight and folded your arms around you “You remembered! I feel a bit bad for joking now”

“Don’t…don’t…you don’t need to say anything.” Seeing you happy hit him like a brick wall. All he wanted was you smiling at him like you were doing now. His voice was quiet and he could feel the tension, he needed to do something, anything to dissipate it, if he didn’t…Jamie feared he’d just come out with it. “You have the real deal anyway, you don’t need a photo” He settled for a joke.

“Thank you!” You beamed at him and got up to kiss his cheek. “This is the coolest present ever!”

How was it that he’d never been short on attention from women but a kiss on the cheek from you had the biggest effect on him like he was a teenage boy again the first time he fancied a girl.

“Thank you for mine. And for all this…You really sure you can’t stay? It’ll just be me and mum and she’ll fall asleep after Eastenders.”

“Call me when she does. If I’m up, we can FaceTime” you still had your cardigan on and slipped your coat on over the top. “Maybe we can watch one of the Home Alones or Elf together.”

“I love Elf. It’s like my favourite film after Ratatouille.” He grinned at you and you laughed as you reached up and hugged him.

“I know. Merry Christmas Jamie.” You kissed him on the cheek once more

“Merry Christmas, [Name],”

***short time skip***

The addition of Roy to the coaching staff had gone perfectly…except for the one pretty major hiccup of Jamie clashing with him daily and on one occasion, making his way to your place after training to ask if you thought he had bad hair prompting you to wonder what exactly was going on.

A few days later and you were anxiously waiting on the final whistle in the quarter final against Tottenham, Jamie had played incredibly. A goal from right outside the box and only a minute ago he’d scored what looked like it would be the winner. At the sound of the whistle, you were up on your feet and running down to the tunnel. The moment you saw Jamie you ran to him and pulled him into a hug, him lifting you up and holding you flush against him for a few moments.

“You were amazing!” You enthused, looking up at him as you separated. “That free kick in the first half was one of the best ever seen! And a last minute goal… that’s the best game I’ve ever seen you play.”

Jamie grinned on a high from the result, his performance and now you gushing about him, telling him so earnestly how good he was felt amazing. For a moment he could forget you were in the Nelson Road tunnel with a little over 25,000 people just outside and other players and staff milling around you.

“Thanks. My first goal was good wasn’t it?” He was standing so confidently. It had turned out being a prick worked for him…so long as he kept it to the pitch. You liked seeing him back to the player you knew he could be.

“That’s goal of month, maybe even the season!”You reached up and fixed his hair without even thinking “Go celebrate. you deserve this.”

“Come out with me… I mean come out with us, we’re going out, all of us, you should come” Jamie said all at once.

“Sure I’ll come for one!” You nodded.

*

Across the bar, you could see a girl who looked like she could have walked off the set of Keeping Up with the Kardashians lean over and talk to Richard who was responding by pouring her a glass of wine, no doubt feeding her some sort of cheesy chat up line.

Jamie slid into the booth beside you, and, with the slight contact your knee made against his, he felt himself relax.

“That’s probably the third girl I’ve seen him give his number to tonight” he commented and you laughed, pleased to see him join you in your people watching.

“Welcome to being on this side of the fence.” You leant in close to him so you could talk.

“She not your type?” You asked curiously. “She’s alive isn’t she?” You teased. Jamie hadnt dated since Keeley, or rather, since his stint on the show if you could call that dating. It did seem a little odd to you that he’d never once mentioned anyone despite your fast formed friendship and everything else he’d willingly shared with you.

Jamie shook his head. “Nah i’m…”. How could he tell you he didn’t want anyone else other than you. “I’m not…nah not really doing that kinda thing anymore.”

Even if he tried, Jamie doubted he could bring himself to show any enthusiasm for chatting up anyone else anymore. How could he consider anyone else when it felt like you were the only person in the room who saw him. You actually saw him for him in his worst moments and still wanted to be around him. How could he not want you?

Your heart was beating as you took in Jamie’s response. It was only a short response but it set the smallest of sparks in your stomach and you took a swig from the bottle of cider in your hand to distract yourself from running over what that meant. Was he not interested in anyone? Was there something he wasn’t saying?

Looking for something to change the subject before it became awkward, your eyes fell to your phone, flat against the table, and you started at the clock telling you it was 00:10. Somewhat grateful for the easy out, you picked it up and slipped it into your back.

“I’m going to head home, I have an early start tomorrow.”

“Can i walk you home?” Jamie felt a little dejected but wouldn’t pass up the chance to spend time with you just one on one. “I don’t mind leaving now?”

You were grateful and almost wished you could take him up on it. Maybe when you were alone you could ask him more about what he meant.

How badly you wanted to say yes. Yes to him walking you home and how you’d hope on the walk home you’d maybe have enough courage to invite him in and up to your bedroom. The experience with your ex still lingered and you never ever thought it would be Jamie Tartt of all people to make you want to throw your one rule out of the window.

But he wasn’t the Jamie of old. This Jamie was funny and caring, he’d bring you a tea every morning before training, he’d call you and he’d ask you to go do “intellectual stuff” with him when he was too self conscious to go himself. He’d run through ideas or tactics he had with you and even ask you to watch his highlight reels, not for vanity but because he wanted a fans opinion, he’d get you to come out to dinners with him when he was offered free food at restaurants and throughout all of this, you were just his friend, his loyal best friend, when you were internally screaming that you wanted him.

Realising you hadn’t said anything in a few seconds, you quickly found a response “you’re the best for offering but… Jan’s offered to drive me. He’s not been drinking so it’s fine. He’s dropping off Colin too if you need a lift, I can ask him? I’m sure he won’t mind?” You asked, hoping Jamie would accept and you’d just both get out at his or yours.

Jamie felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

Of course. Jan. Were you going back to his? Did you talk to Jan the way you talked to him? What had happened to “I don’t date footballers” or was that just your way of telling him you’d never want him like he wanted you? There was a part of him screaming to retreat, make an excuse, go home, move on but Jamie didn’t want to do that. He wanted to ask you outright but he couldn’t push the words out. So he did neither and just sat there.

“It’s okay.” He said forcing a smile. “Someone has to look after Isaac. I’ll get a taxi”

“Are you sure? If you want we can-…”

“Hey. Are you ready?” the Dutch centre-back interrupted from the aisle between tables before Jamie could reply “Some of us need sleep.” He teased, pointing at Colin who was leaning to one side, almost asleep on Moe’s shoulder “and I don’t want him to sleep in my car. Last time I had to let him sleep on my sofa.”

You laughed and almost as if he heard his teammate Colin jolted awake muttering he was ready and reaching for his coat.

“Sure I’m ready.” You gave Jamie a hug as you stood up and he watched you go, wishing he’d gone with you the second you were gone.

**

Jamie had been on edge since it was confirmed that the semi final at Wembley would be against Man City. You knew it had to be related to his dad, to his old club, to how everything was building to such a point that he was wound so tight, you were surprised he hadn’t snapped like an elastic band.

In the fall out from the result to Man City and the altercation with his dad, Jamie had come to you before he’d boarded the bus. He hadn’t needed to say anything, it was all over his face. You could see it. Without even needing to ask, Ted had waved for you to get on the bus with the team. Usually the staff would travel separately if they went to games but in this moment, the coach didn’t question it.

You settled in beside Jamie and shifted so he could rest his head on your shoulder and carefully you reached around so you could put an arm around him too and used your other to take his hand and you would stay that way for the journey back to the training ground where the players had left their cars.

Even as you exited the coach, you could tell he was tense, and as you walked him to his car, you could barely hear him when he came out with it.

“Are you okay?” You asked him once he’d done explaining “I’m so sorry Jamie. Your dad really is a prick”

Before Jamie replied, he looked up and over you across the car park, his eyes caught those of his teammate.

“I, uh, I will be. Fresh air is doing me good. I think I need to go home and sleep.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Jamie. I’m not an idiot. You need to talk?”

He pushed a hand back through his hair and with one look in your eyes conceded with a nod

*

After driving back to his and getting into his house, Jamie dropped onto the sofa, not bothering to change out of the training kit he’d travelled in. You made him a decaf tea and took a spot next to him on his sofa and let him lean back on you as listened to him tell you everything

“Was that the first time you’d…”

“Hit him back?” Jamie’s eyes didn’t lift from the spot in the middle distance. “Yeah. Couldn’t really fight back as a kid.”

“I was going to say ‘seen him since you left…” you kept your arm around him, loosely tracing in a manner you hoped was soothing. “But I’d guess same answer.”

Jamie lifted his head off your shoulder for a second. “Erm…” His dad had contacted him a few times whilst he’d played for City. Mostly asking for free tickets, to meet the rest of the team and to get tours of the ground. Jamie had given in reluctantly on the first one and skirted around the final two. “Yeah… I guess he wasn’t arsed about me playing for Richmond. Cant brag about me if I’m in the Championship and he can’t be fucked getting the train down to London”

“Jamie.” You tried “you deserve so much better…He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” You reassured him “you’ve been amazing these past few months Jamie. The best you’ve played. I know you probably wouldn’t want him at Richmond but still…his loss”

“Only got him the tickets to get him off my back and he didn’t even fucking support me. Went in the City end. Don’t know what I was expecting”

You imagined that must have stung for him. His dad feigning an interest just to turn around and support the team playing against his son. His old club, to add insult to injury.

“How do you feel now?” You asked cautiously. “Must have been hard for you to stand up to him…given how long he’s been…like that for?”

“I mean… shit because he’s my dad but he doesn’t act like he is, but like…I don’t regret it or anything…I just got fucking shit of it yknow…slagging me off, the club off…putting me down in front of everyone…and he’ll show up next time, if we get promoted he’ll be after tickets again…”

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t get near. You never have to deal with that again Jamie. You shouldn’t have had to take it back then and you don’t now”

“Thanks.” He added on “For… not just staying here but…for like always having time for me and that.”

“I’ll always have time for you Jamie.”

***a few weeks later***

The yearly charity gala had come around fast and unlike last year, you had actually looked forward to it this year. In the weeks leading up to it, you’d picked out a new outfit including new shoes.

Jamie had agreed to pick you up, asking you the second you’d said you were going and you’d agreed. Since you’d spent the night at his, completely platonically, Jamie’s already overwhelming feelings towards you had grown even more and you showing up to a charity gala with his teammate was the last thing he wanted and even though he’d spent the entire day telling himself this wasn’t a date, he still felt nervous as he rang your doorbell.

The second you opened it, he couldn’t help but break out into a big smile “You look… really good.” He nodded “this new?”

“Thank you” you accepted his compliment, nodding as you stepped aside to let him in “So do you. Not auctioning yourself off tonight?”

“Nah I’m not feeling up for it this year.”

Your eyes scanned his suit before realising his tie was slightly off “Can I?” You pointed at it.

You waited for him to nod before stepping in to fix his tie, before realising it needed a re-do.

“You know I’ve not had to wear a tie since school, but I reckon I could do a better job of it than this.” You joked, pulling the knot by his neck and re opening the fabric.

“You wore your tie? Don’t think I went a week without forgetting mine.” Jamie laughed.

“I was Deputy Head Girl.” You felt a little bit red, like suddenly you were back at school being paired with the popular boy for a project. “Kinda had to.” You looped it around before sliding it into place.

You shook the thought from your head. This was Jamie. Your friend. He could date anyone he wanted, why would he go out with someone normal and ordinary.

Jamie watched you in concentration for a few seconds before he couldn’t help himself.

“He’s punching going out with you, you know” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He couldn’t help himself. Jamie didn’t mean it, at least, he didn’t mean it as it sounded. Jan was fine and of course he would be your exception to your rule. He seemed like he’d be your type. Still it stung. He wasn’t used to not getting the girls he liked…but maybe he should have expected it. You weren’t interested in the fame that attracted girls to athletes normally so of course you wouldn’t want him. You probably liked Jan because he was honest, funny and spoke three languages rather than the money and fame.

You stopped what you were doing, hands still on his tie, confused.

“What are you on about?”

“Yknow…Jan. You’re way too fit for him.”

“I’m not going out with Jan.”

You made sure it was centred before letting go of the fabric and suddenly aware of your close proximity, you stepped back.

“He takes you home and stuff…I figured you two were.”

“Shagging?” You came straight out with it, eyebrows raised

“Well…yeah?” He shrugged. “Ain’t you with him?”

Who’d have thought it. Jamie Tartt, who you’d considered the biggest arsehole you’d ever met a few months back, now being protective over you. It was weirdly quite sweet. Truth be told, you’d warmed to Jamie. A lot. If anyone had told you that last season you’d have thought they’d gone mad. When he’d left Richmond, you’d never even expected to see him in person again, let alone be friends with him.

“Jan’s just a friend…Didn’t realise anyone had noticed…also… surprised you remembered my…thing about footballers”

“I’m glad you’re not with him cause, yknow he’s…”

“Are you going to call someone else a prick?” Your head tilted to the side, hair falling with it. “Because if you are, that’s pretty fucking ironic.”

Jamie opened and closed his mouth, ready to reply when he saw you were half smiling.

“I’m messing with you...again” you teased and Jamie remembered the conversation he’d had with you outside the hotel in Manchester. Only this time you were looking at him differently. Back then you were looking at him like he was lost, now he’d swear you were… almost looking at him with affection.

“Nah, hes… he’s alright yknow just he’s not…” Jamie paused. He couldn’t say ‘not good enough’ because if Jan wasn’t the type of footballer you’d date, Jamie knew he definitely wouldn’t be. “Not who i picture you with.”

“Who do you picture me with?”

You were looking up at him, genuine interest on your face like you were waiting on a serious answer.

“I, uh, I don’t know.” The twisting in his stomach had been replaced and now the weight of relief, finding out you weren’t actually with Jan had lifted he didn’t know exactly what to say. With other girls he’d never had a problem asking them out but you? It was always different with you. “Just someone else.”

“Jamie…what’s going on?” you reached up and gently tilted his face so you could look at him. In spite of your confident action, your heart was hammering against your chest.

He let out a deep breath, eyes flickering over you for a moment, before he came out with it

“When I thought you were going out with Jan Maas. It was driving me mad.”

“Why?”

“I…I guess maybe I was jealous or something?”

“Thought you didn’t get jealous.” You’d heard all about his escapades with other women via the press and via various clips people had sent you of him on his TV show.

“I don’t not normally …” Jamie played with the cuff links absentmindedly. He sighed and looked down and then back up at you “I don’t wanna be like that anymore…I just,” he paused.

“Look” you said again “whatever you want to say… you can tell me…”

Jamie didn’t know what was holding him back. “I want to be the kind of guy you’d go out with, i don’t wanna disrespect you, and like I don’t want to ruin us being mates but…I really, really like you.”

“Jamie.” You laced your hand with his, feeling a swelling in your chest “I wish you’d told me sooner…You already are…you are the kind of guy I’d go out with.”

“What?”

“You are…the type of guy that I’d go out with.” You repeated with a reassurance in your voice “How could you not be? You’re sweet, you’re funny, you make me laugh…you listen…”

Jamie felt his heart hard against his chest, barely able to let your words sink in. “So if I asked you out? you’d go out with me?”

“Of course I will.” You squeezed his hand gently and as his shoulders relaxed and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh as he dropped his forehead to yours.

“I can’t believe Jamie Tartt was worried about asking me out. You’ve been out with like models and stuff…and it’s me that you were worried about.”

He sighed “Yeah but that’s why I like you…cause you’re you.”

Come on. Let’s go to this auction.”

“Together yeah?”

“Of course. Good job your shirt matches my outfit…or you’d have to change” you teased.

Cue when you walked in hand in hand, Jamie was greeted by about half the team congratulating him on you two finally getting it together, including Jan who’d found it hilarious that Jamie had thought something was going on between you too.

***

Jamie had, with the best intentions, planned a perfect evening. A few days after you’d accepted him asking you out, he’d booked a reservation at restaurant he knew you’d like as a surprise knowing that it was one you’d always walked by and remarked it looked nice but never got around to trying it .

Things had not gone as planned.

After you’d arrived at the restaurant, you’d found out they’d closed due to a leak in the kitchen, you’d suggested going to a local bar and had lasted all of fifteen minutes before a drunk man in a too tight t shirt had knocked his pint over you and staggered off without apologising much to your ire. Jamie had wanted to go after the man and tell him to apologise but you’d just wanted to leave. Only ten minutes after leaving, Jamie had been approached by a group of kids looking for pictures and autographs and only a few seconds later, the skies opened and despite trying to huddle under a canopy of a nearby, closed cafe, you got soaked. Jamie, whilst taking photos with the young kids gave you a mouthed sorry but you told him to carry on knowing it would make the kids day.

Once he was done, he jogged back over to you, now shivering slightly and offered you his coat as you ran back to his

*

“You look really fit in my stuff. You should keep them.” Jamie remarked as you flopped down next to him on the sofa, now wearing a oversized tee and joggers that he’d pulled out for you to wear whilst your actual outfit was in his washing machine.

“Sorry the date was shit.” He added on as he ran a towel over his damp hair.

“Could have been worse” you shrugged with a smile as you dried off your own hair. “I’ve had worse dates.”

He let out a sigh and laid back on the sofa “I just wanted to take you out some place dead nice.”

“Jamie...that’s so sweet but you don’t have to. I just like being with you.” You shifted closer to him and scooted under his arm to rest on his chest. “I don’t care if it’s at a restaurant or like this…”

“I promise we’ll go out somewhere proper next time.” He leant down and kissed you softly. Dating you made Jamie felt like he’d finally got everything he’d ever wanted, and he was kicking himself for not asking you out the second he realised he had feelings for you.

“I could do that all day” You muttered against his lips as you separated briefly.

He placed a hand on your cheek and brushed your hair back before kissing you again. “Don’t think we could do this in the restaurant.”

You smiled against his mouth “well we could but probably wouldn’t be allowed back…”

“Maybe we can go back when they’ve fixed the leak and try?” Jamie made a joke and you playfully swatted him before kissing him again.

“Oh, Im holding you to that…”

***

Dating Jamie was so easy. Much easier than you’d thought. It was just like it was when you were friends but he’d always be taking your hand or wrapping an arm around you or kissing you…and of course you’d spend the night together rather than driving home after meeting up. When people had said date your best friend you’d never actually thought it could be possible.

Any fears or ghosts of your past that lingered over the bad experience with your ex were soon quashed by Jamie. Before you’d got together, you’d found it somewhat bittersweet that it was the former ladies man that you’d fallen for after swearing off dating footballers but now that you woke up to him every other morning and got to see him being the absolute perfect boyfriend to you, it just made sense.

So much so that eventually you’d caved and told him the name of the player you’d went out with before and Jamie had been thrilled to learn your ex was a goalkeeper and had made a promise to you he’d score against him.

You’d found it adorably sweet in the moment and incredibly hot when he followed through with his promise not once but twice, securing a brace and a win in the same game and making a big show of pointing at you and blowing a kiss into the stands. He’d almost been late in the next morning.

Jamie knew he loved you. Maybe it had started when you’d given him that chance in Manchester. You didn’t have to. If you’d told him to piss off, Jamie wouldn’t have blamed you but you hadn’t. You’d seen something in him, maybe believed in him deep down and now he was a better man, in part due to you.

The final game of the season was a whirlwind of emotions and knowing he’d be nervous for the game that could earn Richmond promotion back into the Premier League you’d snuck into the tunnel to see him just before he went out

“Good luck today babe.” You leant up and kissed him gently. “No matter what happens. I’m so proud of you, the player you are and the man you are.”

“Thanks” his eyes met yours “I, uh could have never done it without you.”

“Course you could. The talents all yours”

“I mean the…” Jamie paused, before looking at your shirt. He turned you around. “You’re wearing my shirt” he grinned at you and held up your arm so he could twirl you and see his name on your Richmond shirt. “Looks good on you”

“Course I am. Who else’s shirt would I wear.” You leant in and kissed him once more before the sound of the rest of the team approaching signalled it was time for you to go join the rest of the fans in the stands. “Smash it for me babe.”

**

Upon the final whistle, the coaching staff and bench descended on to the pitch to celebrate and you couldn’t help yourself.

You ran down to the barrier, dug into your bag to flash your work lanyard at a steward and ran on yourself, calling out to Jamie as you approached.

He caught you as you jumped into an embrace, quickly asking if he was okay after he was fouled in the lead up to Richmonds penalty. Jamie nodded.

“Yea yeah I’m fine babe. I’ve never been happier.” He looked breathless, a mixture of excitement, energy and adrenaline from the game.

“I love you Jamie.”

He kissed you deeply, passionately, caught up in the moment and not caring about the thousands of surrounding people, happy to be celebrating with you and the team.

“I love you. Next year I’m going to win you the whole thing”

[thisismeracing]

Ex | MS47

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

Pairing: black!singer!reader (she/her) x mick schumacher

Warnings: curse words, Twitter environment, breakup, mention of food, pregnancy, it's not proofread, etc etc. Minors DNI!

summary: Y/n and Mick used to be the golden couple in the paddock, that's why the internet went wild when they announced their breakup. Imagine how they reacted when Y/n dropped a song about not wanting to be his ex. Would the couple have any hope in getting back together?

a/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me and I do not give permission for it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

my masterlist | my taglist

yourusername

liked by dualipa, mercedesamgf1, and others

yourusername New song is out 🖤 Hope you guys like it!

view all 19,976 comments

schumicedes This feels like such a personal song, it gave me chills!

⤷ yn1990 It's like she recorded a voice message for him and then dropped it as a song.

f1sainzito I still can't believe they broke up, I'm still mourning their relationship

⤷ charleslechair1 I bet they will get back after this song lol

ynprincess I love her but this cover feels so...weird, idk, like it's rushed

⤷ mickeyn someone made a thread on twitter explaining it a bit, but it's basically a picture mick took of her, she wanted to make her message clear and that's why it's so artistically beautiful, it goes beyond the aesthetic

jorjasmith you’re so brave and pure, Ily!❤️❤️

winteryn Yn wanting to be friends with her ex, meanwhile I literally changed cities so I wouldn't see mine again

⤷ cruelsummer1 that's why I feel like they like gave themselves time, not really broke up fr, and now they realize it was not the best idea because they literally love each other.

dojacat Don't make me miss my ex, yn!!!! ☠️

woffantastic NOT THE MERCEDES ADMIN LIKING IT

mickschumacher

liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1, and others

mickschumacher ⛰️

comments on tihs post have been limited

ynandschumi I wanted to comment something but I just know it will be deleted, so I'm just gonna say: you guys look good, hope you enjoyed your hike!❤️ also Angie seems a bit sad without her mother doesn't she....................

⤷ mercedessummer bestie, you did not LMAO

lewishamilton Roscoe says he's mad he was not invited!

mickschum90 I love you, mick!

sunandstarsyn This does not give happiness vibe...

dailycelebsupdate

liked by wonderfulyn and others

dailycelebsupdate We woke up this morning to the leaking of Y/n Y/l/n’s baby shower. The singer spent a little over a year off the radar after her breakup with F1 star Mick Schumacher, only to show up now pregnant! Who are we betting on to be the baby daddy?

view all 10,467 comments

ynlove we aint betting a thing, and stop saying “only to show up” as if these pics were posted intently, they were LEAKED. Respect Y/n’s right to her privacy!

sainzsunny I hated the fact that the leaked something that she did not want people to know, but my bet would be that she and Mick are back together since that song release 🤐

mickeyf1 You guys are disgusting

swiftieyln She lookes so peaceful, glowing and everything 😭

⤷ ynhundreds that because she was being able to keep her private life to herself.

f1gossipupdates

liked by user90, and others

f1gossipupdates Is everyone thinking the same thing?

view all 9,789 comments

schumacher47 Is leaking season? Wtf the wrong, why cant celebs have their privacy??

⤷ f1khalid especially Mick, he’s really open about how he likes to have his personal life respected. 😔

ynstars BABY SCHUMACHER ON ITS WAY!!!

hockeyf1d They MARRIED???!!!

ynbrasil I just know Yn will be pissed when she open her socials to this shitshow

yourusername and mickschumacher

liked by mercedesamgf1, estebanocon, and others

yourusername It's been a long ride and we wanted to share with you guys in a different way, the circumstances, however, did not help, so we are sticking to the good ol' Instagram announcement. We got married last year and decided to keep living in our particular heaven, I hope you guys don't get this the wrong way because we love the love and support some of you give us, but Mick and I needed to bask in our own love without interruptions or assumptions. This love grew bigger than us and it will be walking around the world in a couple of months. We appreciate our friends' discretion, and our fans' love, we see you and we love you. We hope you guys can respect our privacy and our wishes on keeping some details to ourselves. Love, Mick and Yn Schumacher

view all 34,572 comments

ynweeknd SHE SIGNED AS YN SCHUMACHER OMGGGGG

schumickeyf1 "This love grew bigger than us and it will be walking around the world in a couple of months" PLEASE IM SO LONELY THIS IS A WHOLE NEW LEVEL OF ROMANTIC

mickschumacher Forever, mrs. Schumacher ❤️

⤷ yourusername forever and some more, my love 💗

charles_leclerc omg thank goodness you guys told everyone, I was so scared I would let it slip

⤷ lechair16 Charles ☠️☠️ LMAO

lewishamilton you guys deserve all the happiness in this world 🤍

ynandmick I was right and nature is healing

twentyoneyns So let me get this clear, my ex gives me a reason to go to therapy, while Y/n's ex gives her a ring, then all the love and orgasms in the world, and then a baby??????????? God definitely has its favorites.

⤷ schumercedes not the orgasms 🗣🗣 HAHAHAHAHAH

ynandmickey MOTHER AND FATHER

⤷ popyn Literally

mercedesamgf1 We already have a spot for them 💜

sunnydaysyln Are we calling the baby schumini or minimacher? or baby schumi? or macherbaby?

⤷ yourusername HAHAHAHHA I love them all

********************

If you liked it, make sure to like and reblog <3 feel free to talk to me as well, my inbox is always open!

I will start a taglist on my posts, to be part of it you just gotta comment/send an ask saying so, and most important: have your age in your profile (I don’t interact with minors!). See you guys next story! <3

[haloberry]

Seeing Sunny matching her sleep schedule to Tubbo’s making my brain fuzzy with feels.

Like, Tubbo’s the only parent she knows, the only one so far to meet, get awake, and give them everything. Like, lore wise, her other parents fucking died by a nuke, so admins and everyone else is probably prepping the lore for how their gunna appeared back on the island.

Metawise, Lenay doesn’t even log on and Pol and Slime stream different hours than Tubbo so that’s gunna be a thing.

So here we are, we a girl that has ambitions farther than universe with a single Dad who would give them it so long she asked. They love their Dad, and while they may be spoiled, they give back the love by giving Tubbo a drive to wake up in the morning. No angst with them, so far, but the situation is completely unique.

She doesn’t even stay on to be with other people, because they have her Dad who would kill gods if anything happened to them. No one can top that, even if those other people could also protect her, none of them would devout everything like their Father does.

She knows it, and if more than content to stay with the only person so far to give that energy. They are a star of course, it would only make sense for a NASA level scientist to even be able to look at her and appreciate them think that.

[whirlybirbs]

— THE FALL ; SUGURU GETO ; 夏油傑

summary: it's loud. geto can silence it. pairing: suguru geto / f!reader ; set post-hidden inventory wc: 3.6k tags: mentions of drug reliance, sleep deprivation, darker themes, wholesome crushes, jujutsu high more like jujutsu university, texting as a plot device, hot n heavy make-out sesh included between the angst a/n: (johnny cash voice) i hhurt.... myselff... todaay....

YOU MISS NOTHING more than you miss sleep.

you crave the welcoming, black, empty bliss; the slip of the other-world passing like a fog behind your eyelids. an embrace as heavy as an anchor in a pitch colored sea. endless — rest.

the veil is thinner now, in the silence of night.

it's when the voices are loudest.

your ears ring with nonsensical chatter condensed into whispered pleading. the spirits reach out to you, hands grasping for purchase in your energy. they clamor and cling, desperate to be heard.

they talk. and talk. and talk and TALK.

... you could take the zolpidem.

the bottle on your nightstand stares at you in the bleeding red light of your clock. the sedative, crimson and etched, nearly begs to be swallowed down just as you've done every night since you were young.

but it's different now.

since the hallucinations, since the forgetting. since... since a month ago, now. since yu. since you started to wonder if all this, if jujutsu sorcery, was worth it.

the pill promises sleep. it promises unmoving silence. it may promise a ball and chain, but with it's driven stake it promises a dampened sense of awareness to the second world around you — of spirit and curse. peace.

they also promise emptiness. drifting confusion. sadness. dreams where you're all smiling again.

you roll over.

and then you watch the stars fade, and the sun rise.

suguru geto.

you find it hard to sit in his presence.

you wonder if he knows the curses he carry chatter away in your ears. you wonder if he hears them too; if their words have ever struck their mark.

he is a talented exorcist.

you are a talented investigator.

you two would work well together.

but, now — in this world — you two are hardly anything more than stars passing in the night sky.

that will change.

"you haven't been sleeping."

his voice is deep — the cadence is calming. if you focus hard, you can tune out the river of whispers that follow him like a shadow.

you turn, casting a look over your shoulder.

your eyes feel heavy. your lashes are weighed down by the hours and hours and hours of the passing days. suguru looks no better. he stalks down the hallway towards you.

you and suguru are hardly friends. more like passing acquaintances. you much preferred solitude, and you found gojo to be unsteady — and where one was, the other was close behind. gojo is capable, yes, but far too explosive for you.

after all, you listen.

what you hadn't realized is — in this moment — that suguru has been doing the same.

in your nook, nestled away in the morning sun, you're gripping your journal. in this part of the dorms, it's quieter. far from everyone, you find the energy has settled into a low hum. you can write here.

but recently, the pen scratches have become more desperate.

WHO AM I? WHO AM I? WHO AM I? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀

over and over again. over and over. over and over and over—

"the admins are worried," he says with a painful sort of casualness that make you wonder what his goal here is.

you nearly scoff.

you pull your knees closer and close your notebook. shame bites at your ink covered fingertips. you swallow as he sits down on the ledge beside you. his dark eyes level with the ground.

"is that so."

less of a question. more a disregard.

suguru looks up. you look away.

"you sound," he begins slowly, "like you aren't surprised."

you sit in that for a moment. you squirm under his thoughtful gaze. it's nearly painful to be watched so closely by him. suguru geto is handsome; but he is cursed. they bleed into his energy, all of the absorbed curses. they chitter and chat and bite at your senses.

"between you and i," you mutter, "maybe they should be."

he hums. you wonder why you told him that.

he claps his hands before him and leans forward onto his knees.

you wince.

"between you and i," he says slowly, "maybe they should worry about both of us."

geto stands, tucks his hands into his pockets, and watches you for a moment longer. then, without a word, he continues on down the hall towards the dim, lonely exit.

for the first time, you really watch him.

gojo is on a solo assignment.

geto arrives in masamichi's office to find you there already. there is a steaming cup of green tea in your hands. you cradle it close to your chest; this momentary pleasure is enough to make your eyes heavy.

when the sliding door rattles open, you turn your eyes towards him. you cross your legs. your skin itches. the rush of whispers that accompanies him crawls up your face.

suguru notices the wince. he settles down in the seat beside you. his hair is down, spilling over his shoulders. he smells like sandalwood.

you sip your tea.

"i'm sending you both to sawara."

sawara.

chiba prefecture is quiet.

there's the old katori shrine outside of town.

it's dedicated to futsunushi no mikoto; the kami is revered for swordsmanship. a warrior.

the shrine —or whatever has nested in its sacred walls — has been talking for a while now.

you can hear it the moment you step off the train.

geto suguru isn't far behind. your bag, slung over his shoulder, swings as he takes a long stride onto the platform. after all, he insisted.

geto nearly runs into your back; he stops short as people flow out around you. you're rooted there, your boots cemented to the yellowing tile of the station platform.

it's late now. the station's warm, honeyed lights fade into the darkness beyond. suguru can hear frogs chirping in the late summer air. somewhere, a cricket's song crescendos.

geto's eyes momentarily narrow.

"do you feel it?" he asks slowly as the doors close behind him and the train pulls away. your hair whips in the breeze. then, a breathe passes, and everything settles into quiet again.

you stare ahead, through the station.

"i hear it."

with that, you begin moving. suguru inhales, and watches you for a moment longer.

you've always been a hard read.

you're the same year as him, satoru and shoko. but you're cold. tired. you seem to thrive in isolation — no, no. no, you've forced the isolation. suguru sees that.

he's impressed you can sense the curse this far out from the location.

even for him, with his intrinsic ability to commune with them, he feels nothing but the base pulse of cursed energy. no seismic differences.

geto is pulled from his thoughts when you turn and catch his gaze over your shoulder.

his chest tightens for a moment.

the feeling is strange.

like you.

your driver drops you off at a hotel around midnight.

the pink vacant sign hums outside your window.

the sheets are stiff. the closet is musty. your bed is small. at the very least, the water had been hot.

but... suguru.

it's all you can hear.

his curses — not him. the things intwined with his spirit are gossiping in tongues ancient and unknown. they chitter and chirp and giggle and scoff and chatter and talk and talk and talk AND TALK.

you slam your pillow down over your head.

across the hall, suguru is awake.

his head is in his hands.

assignment after assignment. exorcise. absorb. again and again.

how much longer of this can he take?

again and again AND AGAIN—

by his bedside, his phone hums.

he tries to ignore it. but, another ping riles him out of his headspace. heaving a long sigh, the dark haired sorcerer leans to swipe the nokia from its charger.

satoru's name pops up on the screen, and his inbox blinks at him.

[ GOJO: ] a lil birdie told me that ur hanging with the local hot freak this wknd [ GOJO: ] how is she? freaky? ;)

geto scoffs. he's quick to type back. the charm on his phone — a gift from shoko for his birthday last year — sways. the ceramic, worn frog tinkers against the back of his phone.

[ GETO: ] don't b mean. [ GOJO: ] hey i love freaks. ask shoko. she knows. [ GOJO: ] you love freaks 2. u 2 wud b cute 2gthr [ GOJO: ] ... [ GOJO: ] ur ignoring me [ GOJO: ] HELLO!!!!!!11!! [ GETO: ] she is rlly nice. just quiet. talk 2 u tmrw :-) gnight [ GOJO: ] go get ur goodnight kiss buddy ilysm

he flips the phone shut and tosses it down to the sheets.

just in time for a series of quiet knocks to garner his attention.

heaving himself upwards, the sorcerer opens the door with a quirked expression.

on the other side of the door, you're standing there.

your face is contorted into pain.

before he can even open his mouth, you're gritting out a pained snarl.

"can you keep it down?"

geto blinks. "...i'm sorry?"

"you're loud. too loud."

his dark eyes widen.

oh.

and suddenly, as if someone has slipped cotton in your ears, there's near silence. not complete. but muffled. it's enough — and suddenly you realize that suguru understood.

he listened.

somehow, he's banished any curses from his radius. a minor exorcism, maybe? a domain? it's... fuck, it's quiet.

his eyes are soft. "i hadn't realized."

you feel as if someone has suddenly shoved a dozen roses down your throat. they threaten to spill from your mouth.

your voice is quiet.

"...no one ever does."

you're stunned into a breathless awe.

and then he smiles. "i am sorry — i hadn't realized how sensitive your technique was. it was rude of me to not consider how my own may impact you."

you're gobsmacked. you stare up at him in the dim light of the hotel doorway. you swallow. "don't apologize."

"you're not sleeping," he says as he tucks his hands into his pockets, "because of me. so, apology earned."

you shake your head. slow at first. then, you screw your eyes shut tight.

"it's not you."

"no?"

"no."

suguru crosses his arms. "you haven't slept in a while."

subconsciously you mimic him, closing off your body as you roll your head around and shrug. "you said it yourself — admin is worried."

he hums. "and nothing helps?"

normally, you'd pull away — leave the conversation. too much talking. too much noise. but it's quiet, and suguru smells like sandalwood. it must be his shampoo. something. you're rooted here under his dark gaze.

"i have sleeping pills," you mutter as your lashes flutter. his gaze is still and solid.

"do they help?"

"i see things. i... i dream," you don't know why you're telling him this, "and i feel wrong. and i forget."

his chest aches again.

"how...? how did you...?" you gesture tiredly about; you're referencing the silence. the stillness, "it's... peaceful."

geto toes the carpet with his black socks. "you listen to curses. i talk to them. at the root of it, it's that simple."

you exhale.

your shoulders relax.

you close your eyes.

"thank you, suguru."

"any time," he says.

and he means it.

the shrine has been talking for a while now.

that night, the talking becomes yelling and the yelling becomes shrieking.

you head out to the shrine at sunrise.

the dew is still fresh on the grass. the torii, a deep red, bleeds into your vision as you step through the archway and into the sacred space. ahead, the shrine stands tall.

the shrieks are louder now.

clinging to the doorway of the haiden, the prayer hall, is a curse.

beneath it lays the body of a woman. her shōzoku is splayed about her like a puddle of snow. her chest has been ripped open. pitch black hair spills down the steps, and feet away lays her kanmuri.

behind you, geto frowns.

"there's something in the shrine," you say as you hold the curses gaze.

suguru nods. this shrine's cursed energy is all wrong. there's more here than this simple manifestation.

"i'm going in," you say as you step forward, "i trust you won't take too long out here, geto."

his brow quirks. he nearly smiles. "well, well. someone's feeling rested."

you throw him a slow smile over your shoulder.

it's the first time he's ever seen it.

his chest ignites.

you disappear into the shrine, stepping over the woman's body. the curse above the doorway — with it's snapping jaws and bulbous eyes — has disregarded you in favor for geto's surge of energy.

"be careful," geto calls.

you throw him a thumbs up and melt away into the dark.

it was a ceremonial dagger.

masamichi has it locked away upon return to the tokyo campus.

upon touching it back at the shrine, it poured out centuries worth of horror. whispered depictions of death rushed up to the surface; it nearly burned to hold. the voices that accompanied it were tortured and pained. the rattle of a hundred last breaths were a choir in your ears.

suguru geto carried the exorcised parcel all the way back to tokyo in his pack.

masamichi commends you both on a job well done.

as you're leaving his office, geto nudges your arm gently with his.

you look up.

he has his phone extended.

"i meant it, y'know, about the whole 'any time' thing."

your eyes brighten.

you hold his gaze as a smile pulls at your cheeks. you take the cellphone, eyeing the new contact screen momentarily before beginning to thumb in your information.

"heyo! look who's back!"

geto turns, spotting satoru and shoko down the hall.

immediately, satoru spots you. and geto's phone in your hands.

gasp—!

A CONTACT SCREEN? a PHONE NUMBER?

... HIS BEST FRIEND REALLY IS GROWING UP...

you nudge geto. you hand him his cell back.

"here."

suguru blinks. "i'll... i'll text you."

"sure," you nod as a bit of nerves creep in as his two best friends approach closer, "definitely."

"okay," suguru is staring at you.

you're smiling.

"okay," you confirm, nodding.

you turn, offer him a slight wave. suguru swallows as you shuffle a bit, watching him a moment longer. he offers up his own sheepish wave.

he feels like himself.

it's the next day, right before noon, when you receive a text from an unknown number.

[ TXT: ] picking up lunch. want anything?

you're in the library, nested in the stacks as you pour over some readings on sorcerers throughout history and notable curse users. frankly, you'd lost interest an hour ago. but, essays are essays.

somehow, you know it's geto.

[ YOU: ] i'll owe you. [ GETO: ] don't worry abt it :-) where r u? [ YOU: ] floor 3 of the library. working on an essay [ GETO: ] coming :-)

... cute.

he brings you and onigiri and a soda. he eats with you, and you don't even realize the gentle quiet that's enveloped you both until the warmth of exhaustion creeps in and nothing is there to fight it.

suguru can see your eyes get heavier.

"take a nap. i'll keep watch."

so you do after you smile at him the way he loves.

[ GETO: ] u in the library again? [ YOU: ] u stalking me? :p [ GETO: ] bringing u lunch [ GETO: ] be up soon [ YOU: ] ur 2 sweet :,)

it's a new routine that quickly evolves.

in the library, during your study period, suguru brings lunch and you slip asleep in peaceful quiet after eating while he works. both of you, on full stomachs, settle into comfort.

suguru silences it all, and finally you can sleep.

an hour of shut eye.

it's been a week of this.

suguru rouses you gently. "rise and shine."

his hand is big and warm along your back.

you inhale sharply. daylight bombards your vision, and you pull your gaze up to see geto hovering over you. his hair is pulled back, and his lips are pulled into a soft smile.

you feel like your world stops for a second.

fuck.

"sorry," you groggily mumble, "i, uh... i guess i'm tired."

"don't be," he says — he moves to gather his papers, "you know, if you need sleep..."

his words trail off.

you rub your face and sit up straight. your back aches from the library's wooden chairs. you roll your neck and try to wring loose the crick in the muscle there.

then, you catch the meaning of his words.

there's that feeling again.

[ YOU: ] good luck on ur assignment [ GETO: ] gonna b gone about week or 2 [ GETO: ] i'm sorry. try 2 sleep 4 me pls [ YOU: ] don't b sorry [ YOU: ] just b safe :) [ YOU: ] see u when ur back :)

three weeks.

it takes three weeks.

you don't sleep.

W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀ W̵̙̦̤͌̓͝H̵͎̓O̴̟̓́͘ ̸̧̺̫̿́Ả̶̘͖͜M̵̯̪͔̀̕ ̵̺͂͜I̴̹͑?̴̮̻͔̉̀

Ḭ̷̚ ̴̲̮̺̺̥͙̠̖͉̓͜Ç̷͙̠͖̣͙̫̘̰̣̝̹̻̹͝Ȧ̴̧͖͉̙̙͖̥̥̩̼͜ͅṄ̷̜N̸̡̟̭̬͈̘̭̠̽̋̐̐͛̊͂̔́́̾̅̐͘͝ͅͅŐ̴͓͖̞͍͔͓̞̦̪́̌T̶̨̞͕̦͌͋͊̂̉̈́̆́̾̕ ̶̨̫̺̯͇̝̰̦͔̓̊̋̓̃̾̃͛̚͝͠͝K̶̘̼̫̯̀̀̾̅̋̈́̂͋̀͗́͐̀̾E̵̤̘͓̱̺̾̀͊͂͊̄E̷̢͖̝͓͍̭͚̹̘̘̣̊͊̃̋͐̋͆͂̎͛̾͘P̵̱̭̿̃̓̈͗͜͠ ̶̡̛̼̬̯̪͔͙͍͈̽͆̈́̈́̓D̴̜͉̮̠̩̫͎͒̄̐̀̎͛͂̔̒̓̈́͘̕͠͠Ơ̴͔̼͇̖͕̽̑͂̾̇͆́͆̋̈́̊̕̚͝I̵̢̙̘̠̊̏̂̔̈̒͒́͗̈́́́͘Ṉ̸̢̨̟̩̯̌̋͋̾͐̿́̋̏̀͋̄̏̈́̕G̷͎̟̬͕̤̓́͂͒ ̶̛̘͈̝̇̔̇́͑̀͂͋T̷̢̡̢̯̲̲̝̝͓̜̔̈́̄̏͊̾̃͝ͅḨ̷̢̛̺͈̣̭̲͕̙̰͓͉͎̾͛̓̓͐̎̚Į̵̻̥̯͕̙̩̙̦̘̰̲̺̦̞̆͊S̴̥͕̠̪̀̅̓̑͐̒͊̄͂͊̎͂͘̕͝ W̶H̸O̴ ̴A̴M̶ ̵I̸? ń̴͇̾ò̷̹̙ ̸̭͉̂̆ǵ̵̣ḙ̸̢͌t̷͚͓͝o̵͓̓͝ͅ ̶̩̅ḯ̴̫̝̅ ̸̹͚̆m̷̭̉̈́i̶̮̞̾s̷͈̜̕s̸̡̉͐ ̴͔̒͝g̷̰̦͌̅e̴̹͋͊t̵͖̩̑̐o̴͈̝̾ ̶̛͍ẉ̷̜̌̄ḧ̴̠̼́e̷̠̹̿͌r̴̻̫͆̚ë̵͈͎́̀ ̶͕͍̌į̴͎̽̽s̵̗̘̈͝ ̸̠̀̉g̸̤͛̋e̶͔͝t̷̰͒̈o̴͉͋̒

T̴̬͋H̶̰͚͖͕́̒͐̊E̷̠̽̔̈́Ỹ̶͔̈́̊ ̷͈̱͓̽K̵̨͉͓͋͒̅̾E̷̙͗͛͂E̷̻̦̮̊̋P̸̨̬͈̈́̈́͛͝ ̶̢͕̼̒̑͗̈́T̸̨͋̇̀A̵̧̙̹͒̓͘ͅL̷͈̮̇̿̐̾͜K̴̨̳̫̾̅͘ͅI̷̛̟̾͘Ņ̶̎̎Ģ̵̞͝ ̵̯͕͓̈̉́A̸̮̗̿̋̆̕Ņ̶̹̗̒́D̸͇͓̑̐̕ ̸̢̭͕͛͝͠T̶̻̄͝Ä̶͇̻̞́͌͌̈́Ļ̵̳̫̄K̵̤̻̓̓̈́͝Í̶̧̻N̷̹̜͛́G̷͇̤̈̍

you've been pacing in your dorm for the last thirty minutes.

it's 2:38 in the morning.

you cannot sleep.

your phone is in your hand. a text is sitting there, unsent. the cursor winks.

suguru and gojo and shoko returned earlier this evening. you hadn't had time to even say hello to geto before the three were pulled into a briefing with masamichi.

you decided to try and go to bed.

that wasn't happening.

across campus, geto suguru is staring at the ceiling.

he snatches his phone the split moment it goes off. he was waiting. he would never admit that to himself.

[ YOU: ] u awake?

it's not even a minute later that your phone glows alive with his reply.

[ GETO: ] coming

he swears he's never leapt into a pair of joggers faster. he yanks a hoodie on, and trips over himself as he muscles on his trainers. he tries to be quiet, knowing full well that if gojo heard him sneaking out from his room across the hall he would never hear the end of it.

gojo has already been up his ass about you.

at least shoko is sweet about it.

he makes it across campus in record time; and he's fixing his bun when you yank your door open.

something is different.

he's different.

"hi."

his breath catches.

"hey."

there's a moment where both of you just watch one another, lips parted and breaths bated.

then, geto crosses the threshold.

he steps forward, and you take one step back. enough that he's close now. suguru is in your orbit. your hand slips from the door, and he takes it upon himself to close it behind him without looking.

the tension in the air is electric.

it's darker now; your desk lamp illuminates the room and casts inky shadows.

his eyes are bouncing across your features — and you do the same. in the privacy of your room, you feel like your heart is going to burst. in his silence, you feel dizzy.

it's different this time.

near frantic.

the room swims as you let him take a step closer.

your mouth is dry. "i'm sorry it's late — i missed you. and, just, after what you said that time in the library..."

he's toe to toe with you now, towering above you as he leans closer.

"you haven't slept."

"can't... not... without you."

his chest presses to yours. you swallow thickly as he crowds your space. his energy mingles momentarily with yours in a flash of uncontrolled touch.

"this is a bad idea," he croaks.

"you and i," you confirm, nodding as your eyes slip to his mouth, "yea."

"yea," but his hands are slipping along your jaw. he's eyeing your lips, "real bad idea."

you swear it's like someone has run a searing hot knife along your heart — it feels... good. dangerous.

BETWEEN YOU AND I, MAYBE THEY SHOULD WORRY ABOUT BOTH OF US.

"tell me you want me to leave," he mutters; his nose brushes yours and you lift your jaw to chase the touch. his eyes are dark, "tell me to fuck off."

you shake your head. suguru's mouth hangs open. he wets his lips.

"please stay."

the waves crashes down; the kiss is harsh and rough. but it's perfect. it's silent and comforting and frantic and manic and it tells you enough that you shouldn't be shocked when suguru geto falls from grace in a week's time.

but that's not now.

now is hot and messy, mouths mingling as hands root themselves in clothing. it's desperate; desperate enough that you pull him through the room by his hood. it's everything to suguru. it's what he's wanted.

you're different.

you know what it's like to suffer in sorcery.

you make him feel fine. like he isn't splitting at the seams. like he isn't disgusted by every walking bag of flesh on the street. like he isn't falling apart.

you chase his mouth when he pulls away to take a gulp of air; his back finds your door. geto is fast to knot his hands in your shirt and swing you around.

he cages you against the wood.

"this is a bad idea."

you shouldn't be shocked when suguru geto falls from grace in a week's time.

but you're not far behind.

after all, he is the welcoming, black, empty bliss; the slip of the other-world passing like a fog behind your eyelids. an embrace as heavy as an anchor in a pitch colored sea.

he is endless — he is rest.

and they were right to worry about the both of you.

[minastras]

mr. vice president // yeonjun

Choi Yeonjun was an ace, and everyone knew it. He was a star athlete, top student, creative genius, school vice-president, and prom royalty. The only person who even came close to his level was you.

at a glance: gender neutral reader, rivals to lovers, high school au, fluff, angst, ft. soobin, beomgyu, aespa's karina and winter

words: 7.3k

warnings: shit tonnes of swearing, brief mention of sports-enforced dieting (not weight related)

——————————

You liked being the best, and you were good at it.

Your list of titles and achievements was long for your age: President of the student council, most promising player on the basketball team, and top performer in every exam season. In any metric you could name, you were always in either first or second place.

The person you had jockeyed for first with for the last four years was none other than Choi Yeonjun, the golden boy, the unstoppable force to your immovable object.

He was the most promising player on the football team. As your Vice-President, you two were the highest-ranking student leaders in the school. Perfectly and equally matched in academics, you both constantly oscillated between the two top spots on the yearly grade rankings. You could’ve been a high school power couple had it not been for one thing: you hated each other’s guts.

Your rivalry was well known throughout the school, although most people saw it as just a mildly petty competition. No one would ever expect such capable, talented, and hardworking students to indulge in that sort of immature behaviour. The only people who knew the true extent of your animosity were your kids.

You and Yeonjun called the other student council members your kids, and they in turn called you both their parents. On the administrative side Yeonjun had under him Soobin, the general secretary, and Beomgyu, the treasurer. On the operations side you led Jimin, head of logistics, and Minjeong, communications and liaison officer. Of course, you two had also fought over who would take admin and who would take operations (the kids voted in the end). Sometimes when you and Yeonjun were acting up too much, one of them, usually Soobin, would say, “Not in front of the kids!”

But as co-leaders of the student body, your school’s star athletes, and joint cohort-toppers, you had a lot in common with each other. Maybe that’s why you disliked him so much: he reminded you of yourself.

——————————

You and Yeonjun were indeed busy bees. Your school days started earlier than everyone else’s, because you were in charge of the morning announcements and had to get ready before assembly. During breaks when the others got to relax or nap or eat you had disciplinary duties, not that either of you ever actually disciplined anyone (snitches get stitches, even for the golden kids). You also finished school later than most; being in the Excellere class for gifted students meant extra, harder, and longer lessons. After Excellere, you both had sports practice two to three times a week. If it was competition season like it was then, you had practice every day. In between commitments you were always stuck in meetings with him and the rest of the student council, or with him and the school principal.

Since school was just about all you did, that meant you were with Yeonjun for nearly every waking moment of your life, barring weekends. And sometimes not even that. You spent far too many of your precious weekend hours with him, either on Zoom calls or representing your school at external events.

“Good morning, Pres,” Yeonjun greeted that morning, punching your arm as he waltzed into the front office like he did every day. He always called you Pres. Never your name, just Pres. You hated it, and you’d told him as much more than once. That only made him do it more. He pointed at the hot pink post-it note on the announcement book. “What’s this?”

“The Spring Festival ticket sales announcement. Jimin finished setting up the website last night,” you told him. “Minjeong says we can start making the announcement every week, and she’ll put it on the school socials after assembly today.”

“Why can’t you do it?” he asked.

You folded your arms. “Because it’s not my job. She’s our communications officer.”

“What is your job, then? You seem pretty free to me,” he said.

“You’re one to talk. Are you still bitter about losing to me, Mr. Vice President?” you taunted, pointing to his student council badge. It was silver and read ‘student leader’, like all the other members’ badges, while yours was gold and read ‘president’.

“We all know I’m equal in rank to you. The President/Vice President distinction is just a formality,” he retorted, but you knew he had been disproportionately upset by the badge thing when you were both sworn in. 

“A formality you gave up being football captain for, and still lost,” you teased. It was childish, but you stuck out your tongue at him anyway. He seemed to bring that out in you.

Student council Presidents were not allowed to hold a second leadership position, so he had turned down the captain role offered to him because he had expected to be appointed President. It was either him or you, that much had never been in question, but he’d gotten cocky. You remembered him being absolutely gutted about losing the presidency to you, not least because he hated the boy who ended up captain. You, however, didn’t really care about your position on your team as long as you got to play. You did, though, care about beating Choi Yeonjun.

“I’m still the best player on my team,” he countered, defensive and equally childish.

“So am I, genius.”

“I am a genius, aren’t I, Pres? That's why I came first in our latest Excellere ranking.”

You were just about to answer when the principal entered the office. It was almost time for assembly to start. As petty as you both were, you knew better than to fight in front of faculty. Yeonjun, having gotten the last laugh, glanced over at you and winked obnoxiously. You’d get a chance to get back at him later.

——————————

Whenever Yeonjun winked or smirked or rolled his eyes at you, you were reminded of the infuriating fact that he was, undoubtedly, extremely good-looking. He was the golden boy, after all, and it was only fitting for that status to extend to his appearance too. Tall and fit, with gorgeous eyes and the stutter-inducing confidence of someone who knew they were attractive. Other students sometimes greeted you both as you walked around the school (neither of you were that popular in the traditional sense of the word, but you were well known to say the least) and he could often make them swoon with just a smile.

But he didn’t date. In fact, as far as you knew, he’d never dated at all, nor even spoke about it. He was too busy for love, something that no doubt caused heartbreak throughout the whole school.

You were the same: you had no shortage of suitors but no interest in frivolous relationships that would only distract you from your duties. Your immature rivalry with each other was just about the only non-important thing either of you allowed yourselves to partake in. You had places to be, battles to win, things to achieve.

That was a mantra you found yourself repeating in your head more and more these days. You were starting to wonder what was even the point of pushing yourself this hard. Maybe you were burnt out.

Yeonjun nudged you with a smirk when he noticed you nodding off. “Tired?”

“I’m fine,” you said, resolute, sitting up straighter and squaring your shoulders. As much as he got on your nerves, he was also the closest thing to a friend you had in Excellere. You sat together in nearly every class.

He snorted, amused. “Are you sure, Pres? Because class is over,” he said, pointing to the clock at the front of the classroom. Sure enough, the teacher and all of the other students were gone. It was just you and him.

You pushed him to hide your embarrassment. “Whatever. Move, I need to get to practice,” you said, grabbing your bag.

He pushed you back, hard enough to knock you back down into your seat so he could get up first. “Me too, sleepyhead. You’re not special,” he mocked, swinging his own bag victoriously over his shoulder with a triumphant smirk.

“I never said I was. Unlike you, I don’t have an inferiority complex,” you retorted, standing back up and rushing out of the classroom. You were not the type of person to fall asleep in class, and you sure as hell weren’t going to stick around to give him the chance to remind you of that.

——————————

By the time practice ended, you could barely keep your eyes open. It was past 10pm now, and you sat at the bus stop in your basketball uniform, knees pressed to your chest. Your teammates had all gone home, but since you always missed physical training due to Excellere, you had to stay behind and complete your three kilometre run after practice.

“Hey.”

You cracked one eye open to see Yeonjun standing in front of you, hands on his hips, peering down at you curiously. You immediately sat up straight, blinking a couple of times as if that would erase your tiredness. “Why are you here?” you asked.

“It’s a public bus stop, and I’m a free man,” he said, pushing you aside so he could sit down next to you.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s a public bus stop, and there’s plenty of room elsewhere,” you scowled, pointing to the abundance of empty space on the bench aside from the spot right beside you. He winked in answer. “I mean why are you getting the bus? I thought your mom usually picks you up.”

He shrugged, balling up his navy blue football jersey and holding it out to you. “She’s busy tonight.” You stared at the jersey in confusion. He scoffed and shoved it into your arms. “Is your brain broken? Put it on.”

“No, gross. It smells like your sweat,” you said.

“Ungrateful bastard. I can see you shivering.”

You shoved it right back to him. “You wear it then, if it’s so cold.”

“Fine.” He yanked it back and put it on, even though you could tell he hadn’t yet cooled down from his practice. His chest was still rising and falling faster than usual, the veins on his arms were still sticking out, and there were still beads of sweat on his forehead plastering his hair to his skin. Idiot. “Do you always take the bus home alone? What about your teammates?” he asked, looking around. It was dark, and he’d never taken the bus at this time of the night.

“They finish before me. I have to make up my PT because of Excellere. Don’t you?” you asked. He nodded. It seemed like you both were always the first students to arrive at school and the last students to leave. You took your phone out to check the bus timings. “Which bus are you waiting for?” you asked. Yours was coming in a minute.

“I don’t know,” he said, stubbornly pretending like he wasn't overheating in his jersey.

“You don’t know? Have you never taken a bus before?” you mocked. “Well, I suppose that’s what happens when you’re chauffeured around everywhere.”

“Fuck off, Pres. Of course I have,” he countered, defensive. “I take 47 home sometimes.”

“47 doesn’t run this late. You’ll have to take mine and get off two stops after me,” you said, not really sure why you were helping him. He had Google Maps and thumbs, after all.

Right as you said that, that very bus arrived. You flagged it down and rushed on board, not bothering to check if he was following you. He was, and he again sat down next to you in the back of the empty bus with a satisfied grin.

You sighed and looked out the window as the bus started to move. “Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

“No, I cannot,” he said, pulling up the sleeves of his jersey instead of just taking it off like he clearly wanted to do.

“You’ll catch a cold if you keep wearing that and sweating in it,” you told him. The bus was freezing.

“That’s not how colds work,” he shot back, immediately pulling his sleeves back down. “For someone who bangs on constantly about how good they are at biology you’d think you’d know that colds are caused by pathogens.”

You took your headphones out of your bag and plugged them in. “Fine, then. Stew in your grubby discomfort.”

He said something else, but you pretended not to hear him, continuing to look out the window. The rest of the bus ride went by in silence, until:

“Hey,” he said again for the second time that night, knocking his knee against yours. You ignored him. He yanked your headphones out of your ears in retaliation.

“Ow!”

“What’s the matter with you today? Why were you falling asleep in class?” he asked, holding your headphones high above his head, out of your reach. During a momentary flash of self-awareness it occurred to you that you were both far too old to be acting like kindergarteners. You couldn’t imagine what the principal would think if she knew this was how her two star students behaved in private. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, preparing to be made fun of, and stood up briefly to snatch them back. “Why do you care?”

“I want to know if you’re sick so I can avoid you,” he replied.

“No, I’m on a caffeine ban,” you answered, somewhat reluctantly. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Our coach puts us on diets before competition season to make sure we don’t get sick. No caffeine, no sweet drinks, no fried food.”

He laughed, completely unsympathetic. “And you still lost last year?”

“We came in second at nationals,” you retorted, “while I seem to recall your team didn’t even make it to regionals.”

“At least we get to eat whatever we want,” he said, knowing it was a weak comeback even before he said it. Last year was a bad season for the football team; they lost to a school they should’ve easily been able to beat and didn’t even get the chance to compete regionally. You had teased him mercilessly for it ever since, just barely stopping short of bringing your national silver trophy to school and putting it on his desk. Or carrying it into a meeting with him and using it as a drinking cup.

You reached over and pushed the stop button on the handrail behind him. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the deafening sound of all of my medals clattering together. Move. It’s my stop.”

Annoyingly, he didn’t move, forcing you to climb over him to get out and off the bus. He flipped you off as the bus drove away, and you flipped him off right back.

——————————

Two days before your basketball championship, you’d finally admitted to yourself that you were not doing well. All the practices, student council meetings, and weekly Excellere rankings were starting to get to you. Your school days were fifteen hours long, your nights and weekends lost to studying or catching up on the meetings you and Yeonjun missed while in class or at practice. Which was frustrating, because it wasn’t like you hadn't gotten through these things before. You didn't know what was wrong with you this time.

“What’s with all that stuff?” Minjeong asked, watching you force a towel and a bag of toiletries into your locker and slam the door closed before they fell out.

“Yeonjun and I are staying late today to go over the work you guys did this week, so I need to shower here after practice,” you said. “We’ve missed way too many meetings.”

“Yeah, because you’re both busy. His championships are tomorrow and yours are the day after. Can’t it wait?” Jimin said.

You shook your head. “No, you guys are already doing work that’s meant to be ours.” You paused for a second for comedic effect. “Besides, I hope he’s tired after tonight so he loses tomorrow.” They both laughed.

“As expected of the golden kids,” Minjeong said, giving you a hi-five. Yeah. As expected of the golden kids.

——————————

It was 11pm, and you and Yeonjun were sitting beside each other in an empty classroom going over the minutes from the last three student council meetings. His hair was wet from his shower and he hadn’t bothered to get dressed fully, with too many buttons undone, an untucked shirt, and his tie nowhere in sight. You stopped taking notes.

“Can you please put your uniform on properly?” you asked.

He snatched your pen and notebook away from you to add in something you’d been fighting over for the last ten minutes. “Why do you have yours on like that, with everything all done up and tucked in? There’s literally no one else here.”

“You look unbecoming,” you said.

“I’m comfortable. You should try it. You can’t convince me you like wearing your tie and buttoning your shirt all the way up like that,” he said, pointing the pen at your collar. When he was done writing, he looked up at you in satisfaction and smirked, arrogant. “Or am I distracting you?”

You would never admit it, but he was right. On both counts. He was distracting you. “Is Soobin okay? He’s been doing a lot lately,” you asked, ignoring him, looking over your notes again. If there was anything that could get you and Yeonjun to stop bickering for even a second, it was talking about the other council members.

“I think he’s a little tired. Once we’re both done with our competitions we can start pulling our weight more,” he said, humming thoughtfully, as if you both weren’t already doing as much as you could. “But you’re right, the kids have been working hard. We’re not being the best leaders right now.”

“Yeah, we’re not,” you sighed, thinking about how you’d seen Jimin online past midnight a few days ago. You should be doing more.

Yeonjun kicked you in the shin under the table, ignoring your hiss of pain. “You know who’s not okay? You. You’re fucking out of it these days.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine,” you scowled. “You’re the only person who thinks that.”

He rolled his eyes at your pride. “Yeah, but that’s because I know you better than anyone.” You scoffed at that, but he continued, “Seriously, Pres, who else gets you like I do?”

“Who are you, Sigmund Freud? Stop psychoanalysing me,” you said, glancing over your notes one last time, checking to make sure you had covered every point in the meeting minutes.

“So you think I’m smart?”

“No, I think you want to fuck your mom.”

He relented after that, a type of mercy he didn’t afford you very often. You wondered, then, if you really were as not okay as he was claiming. How had he been the only one to pick up on it? No, you were fine. You were fine. There was nothing to pick up on.

The two of you worked in near-total silence for the next couple of hours. That was a pretty standard affair, once you’d both exhausted your barbs and witty comebacks and didn’t have anything else to say to each other anymore. What wasn’t normal, though, was that you weren’t even being bitchy to each other in the comments of your shared Google Doc as you wrote your emcee script. The thought of Choi Yeonjun, of all people, noticing- you were fine.

“We still need to finalise the event schedule for review by tonight,” he reminded you, breaking the silence. You’d completely forgotten about that, and you never forgot anything.

“I’ll do it. You have your match tomorrow,” you volunteered.

“How charitable of you, Pres,” he said, giving you snark instead of gratitude. You didn’t have it in you to retort, although if the kids were around you probably would have. He raised an eyebrow. “What, no comeback?”

Checking your watch, you mumbled, “It’s past 1am. Let’s just finish this script and go home.”

He looked closely at you. You were being weird, he was sure of it now. He could see the resignation in your eyes, the only sign you’d shown in the four years he’d known you that maybe you weren’t quite as untouchable as you appeared. 

“Hey, seriously, what’s wrong with you? I can’t have you breaking now and leaving all the work to me,” he asked, sounding sincerely worried about you for the first time in his life. He had never thought of you as someone who needed to be worried about.

“I’m fine,” you insisted through gritted teeth, “I just-”

You glanced up at him, which was a mistake. The moment you saw concern (of all emotions) on his face, you cracked. You hadn’t cried in front of another person since you were eight years old and broke your leg in a car accident, but now there were tears in your eyes threatening to spill over. Immediately you blinked them away, hoping he would just let it go. Unfortunately for you, however, he had other plans. He laughed and put his arm around your shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Comforting you, dumbass.”

You shrugged his arm off of you, clearing your throat in a futile attempt to ease the knot you felt forming at the base of your neck. “I don’t feel comforted.”

He scowled, leaned back in his seat, and crossed his arms. “Well, then, talk to me.” His tone was so solemn and authoritative that it made you comply immediately.

“People keep asking me for things and expecting me to be able to do everything and saying that I’m capable of anything but I’m a fraud. I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m so tired and I just want it to stop.” At some point during your outburst you’d started to cry, though you weren’t sure when, because his arm was back around your shoulder and he was palming away the tears on your face with his free hand. He hooked one foot around the leg of your chair and pulled it closer to him.

“You’re not a fraud,” he said under his breath, his eyes staring straight into yours and his hand warm against your cheek. You didn’t know why he was being so kind to you, and, more confusingly, you didn’t know if you wanted him to be. Which was mortifying.

Through the sheer power of your embarrassment, you willed yourself to stop crying. “I’m fine. You can let go of me now,” you told him, looking away.

“Right.” He seemed to snap back to normalcy at the same time as you, moving back and dropping his hands. You both got back to work like a switch had been flipped, aggressively avoiding each other’s gazes.

——————————

It was nearly 2am by the time the script was finished.

“You shouldn’t stay up to do the event schedule. We’ll just tell the school we need more time,” Yeonjun told you as you both started packing up. His words, for once, were void of arrogance or mockery. It made you anxious in a way that was entirely foreign to you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you grumbled, turning away. You hated having to ask for more time, to not deliver something you were meant to deliver.

He grinned. “You mean like this?”

Before you’d had the chance to insult him or tell him to knock it off, he took you by the shoulders and stared right at you, his face just inches from yours.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you asked, but your nervousness slipped through in your voice. He smirked, having heard it too.

“Don’t let this go to your head, Pres,” he began, “but I really want to kiss you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore your quickening heartbeat. “Yeah, whatever. You think I’m hideous. We’re gonna miss the last bus-”

His lips were on yours without your brain having even had the time to process what he’d said. One of his hands shifted down to your waist while the other moved to your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly. Your own hands instinctively came to rest on his chest, and you found yourself kissing him back without thinking. You could feel his heart hammering through his shirt. He was the first to pull away.

Frozen, you could do nothing but stare at him, with your eyes wide and lips still slightly parted. “What-”

“I had to do it. At least once,” Yeonjun whispered, not moving at all either. He was searching your expression for signs of something, you didn’t know what, but when he didn’t find it he let you go. Neither of you said a single word to each other during the entire hour-long bus ride home.

——————————

What a dickhead. How could Yeonjun go from kissing you to ‘idk about pres’ that seamlessly? He had been so kind, so sweet to you that day. You purged that thought from your head as quickly as it had come.

“There’s our president!” Beomgyu cheered as he let you into the meeting room, and the others broke into applause.

“Congrats on winning your finals yesterday!” Jimin added, still clapping.

You closed the door behind you. “Thank you! Sorry for being late,” you said. “I promise I will not miss a single meeting now that my comps are over.”

When Yeojun eventually showed up, he barely looked at you. You didn’t really know why that upset you as much as it did, or what you had been expecting. Once you all started working, however, you quickly fell back into a familiar rhythm along with the other council members.

“Where’s the chit from the popcorn machine vendor?” you asked Beomgyu, sifting through the stack of papers on the desk.

Beomgyu looked up from the printer that he and Jimin were trying (and failing) to get to work right. It was currently spitting out black and white pages that looked like they had been printed in Hell on a Tamagotchi by Satan himself. “What chit?” 

“The nacho store we were going to get cancelled on us last weekend, so I asked Yeonjun to get a popcorn guy instead,” you explained. Fucking Yeonjun. You turned to him. “Did you forget to call him back? It’s been four days.”

He thought for a bit then shrugged, relishing your annoyance. “I guess so. Whoops.”

“Call him now, before he backs out,” you instructed, turning your attention back to the papers.

“Haven’t you ever heard of saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?”

You didn’t even bother to look up. “Haven’t you ever heard of doing your fucking job?”

He threw the pen he was holding on the floor in response. The other council members exchanged furtive glances.

“Come on, guys. Not in front of the kids,” Soobin sighed, ever the mediator, picking up the pen. You wanted to tell him he didn’t need to clean up after a child, but that would just make things worse. You continued working.

“What’s going on with you two? You’re even worse than usual,” Minjeong said.

At that, you and Yeonjun locked eyes from across the room. He scoffed and looked away immediately. You watched him closely, but you couldn’t read him at all. You were quickly realising that, despite being mirrors of each other and spending almost all of your time together, you barely knew him.

“It seems our Pres is touchy today,” he teased. “They’re a little stressed out.”

You pinned the papers you were holding together with a paperclip and filed them away. “Watch it, Yeonjun,” you warned.

He ignored your glaring at him, your eyes telling him to stop, continuing, “Despite all appearances, they’re not as golden as they so desperately want everyone to think. They even had a little breakdown before their competition.”

Before anyone else could react, you passed the file in your hands over to Beomgyu (what you were doing was technically his job, anyway) and left. The room fell deathly silent.

——————————

Strangely, Yeonjun followed you into the corridor, feeling a weird compulsion to do so. His feet moved under him without him realising. Running after you and shouting your name, he easily caught up with you in just a few long strides. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, forcing you to turn around.

“Let me go.” You shook his hand off of you, unable to stop the tears from welling up in your eyes. This was humiliating.

He laughed lightly, unfazed. “What’s your fucking deal? We’ve said way worse things to each other before,” he said. He had a point. And you did have some sort of tacit agreement with him that nothing was off-limits. Maybe you’d been too naive in thinking that that night was different. That it had meant something.

“Fuck off! I need to go fix your fucking mistake,” you shouted, turning back around. Your voice was trembling.

“Pres, relax,” he teased, taking you by the shoulders and spinning you around before you’d even had the chance to take a single step away from him. He leant down to emphasise the height difference between you two, something he did often that infuriated you to no end, pleased by how easily he could rile you up. “Don’t you know throwing tantrums is counter-productive?”

“I hate you, Choi Yeonjun,” you said coldly, biting the inside of your cheek to try and stop your tears. When all he did was laugh, you pushed him away. Against your wishes, a sob broke its way through your pressed lips and you lost it. You balled your hands up into fists and pounded on his chest repeatedly to get him to let go of you; it was like hitting a brick wall and you both knew it. “I hate you! IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou.”

He stopped. “Are you crying?” You crying once the other day was out-of-character enough, let alone twice in such a short span of time. He was pretty sure he’d never even seen you show the smallest sliver of vulnerability before this week.

“Yes, I’m fucking crying, asshole. I’m glad your snail of a brain finally caught up.” You hit his chest again, so weak you barely disturbed a single fibre on his school blazer.

Any sympathies he might have been forming for you earlier dissipated in an instant. He easily grabbed both of your wrists with one hand to stop you, glowering at you, his jaw clenched. “You should’ve known I would tell the kids. Everything between us is fair game, isn’t it, Pres? Why did you even tell me any of that if you wanted it to be a secret?” he snapped.

All the vitriol in your voice evaporated. When you next spoke, you sounded like a child, scared and upset and betrayed. He had never heard you sound anything like that; it was jarring to the both of you. “Because I thought you would understand.”

There it was. The revelation. Perhaps that was what your entire years-long rivalry with this dick of a man boiled down to: a secret hope that he was struggling as much as you, and a frustration that it didn’t seem like he was. You hadn’t even understood that was what it was until you said it.

He sobered in an instant, his eyes softening in the realisation that he’d gone too far. “Pres,” he said quietly, like he was calling a wounded animal. The guilt in his voice was probably as close to an outright admission of wrongdoing as he would ever get with you. “I didn’t know you were-”

“Whatever, dickwad,” you mumbled, deflated, pulling your hands out of his grasp. “I have to call the vendor before he pulls out of this deal. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Pres, I didn’t know,” he repeated, more urgently this time, still not an apology, following you as you walked away from him. 

You stopped in your tracks and turned back around, your voice now calm and measured, holding up a hand to stop him from continuing. “I will be civil to you for the next week so we can see this event through, but I’m done with-” you gestured vaguely between the both of you. “I’m done with whatever this is. Bye, Yeonjun.”

This time, he didn’t chase after you.

——————————

Why was Yeonjun bringing up the day you both stayed until 2am? The day he kissed you? He made it sound like an average day, as if it had meant nothing to him, but something had clearly changed between you two since then.

He was walking on eggshells around you, trying to crack jokes, and engage you in conversations where he didn’t pick on you. You hated it. It made you feel weak. But you were the only one to pick up on it, which was the upside to every single student council member being up to their eyeballs in stress. None of them really noticed his strange behaviour. Or yours.

The festival kicked off smoothly — so smoothly, in fact, that it took Yeonjun and the rest of the council a whole half hour to realise you were missing. After you and Yeonjun finished your joint emcee duties, they hadn’t needed to call you or report to you for anything.

“Hey, have you seen the pres?” Jimin asked, Minjeong following closely behind her. “We’ve been looking for them everywhere.”

“Nope,” Beomgyu said.

Soobin shook his head. “Me neither.”

Everyone turned to Yeonjun in unison. “I’ll go look for them,” he said, already leaning over to grab his jacket hanging off the back of the chair next to him.

“You can’t leave us too! You’re our second-in-command,” Minjeong pointed out.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re in charge now,” he declared absent-mindedly, not really listening to her, one foot already out the door.

——————————

Yeonjun sprinted straight to the bus stop, ignoring the stares of the other students as he ran right through the festival booths. He got there just in time to see your bus pulling away, letting out a long string of curses that made the elderly man sitting on the bench glare at him. He was usually careful about his behaviour in public, especially when he was in uniform like he was then, but he didn’t care anymore.

Your taunts last week were partly true; he didn’t really know how to take buses, and he really was sort of driven everywhere by his parents. So it took him far longer than it should have to figure out how else to get to your house (he stood there staring at the bus chart for long enough that three different people offered to help him). Even the aforementioned elderly man took pity on him, but not before tsking disapprovingly at his student leader badge and calling him foul-mouthed.

He ran ten minutes from the bus stop he ended up alighting at to your house and reached your front porch without even knowing why he was there at all, but he pounded on your door anyway. You came to the window, peeked out from behind the curtain, and left.

“I can see you, Pres. Open the door,” he called out, out of breath. When you complied, he didn’t even give you the chance to speak. “Why are you here?”

You looked him up and down, deciding to be annoying. You usually did when it came to him. “This is my house. Why are you here?” 

“You know what I meant, dipshit.” How charming.

You let him in and poured him a glass of ice water. It was weird seeing Yeonjun sitting in your living room, like a forced merger of two spheres of your life that you kept separate as much as you could. His school blazer was hanging off the end of the sofa.

“It’s hot,” he said defensively when he saw you looking at it. It wasn’t; he was just sweating from running from the bus stop to your house. He took the glass from you and set it down on the coffee table without using the coaster you’d so nicely placed right in front of him, making you see red. “Four ice cubes? Are you telling me to die?”

“As if you have a superstitious bone in your body, Choi Yeonjun. Is this how you act as a guest in other people’s houses too?” you asked, sitting down beside him.

He loosened his tie and popped the first two buttons of his dress shirt open. “No, just yours.”

“Sure, please make yourself at home,” you said sarcastically. “What do you want?”

“I came to apologise. You disappeared and we all freaked out. God, I can’t believe I’m worried about you-”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Are you sure you know what an apology is?”

“Shut up. I mean-” he groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair, something he often did when he got annoyed. “You’re being so difficult!”

“Says the guy complaining about the number of ice cubes I put in his water!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Hang on. Let me start over.”

The living room was completely silent apart from the sound of his heavy breathing. You were about to say something about it — a star athlete being so winded from a short run was pretty entertaining to you — but you decided not to. Your phone dinged. It was Beomgyu telling you the popcorn vendor had shown up late, drunk, and thrown up in the popcorn machine, followed by three increasingly ridiculous reaction images from Megamind. Maybe you shouldn’t have hired a popcorn vendor after all.

“What’s so funny?”

You flashed him your phone screen. “Beomgyu sent me something.”

Yeonjun didn’t even look at it, despite being the one who’d asked in the first place. “I like you,” he declared. 

“Are you having a heat stroke?” you asked, disinterested, typing out a quick reply.

He knocked your phone out of your hand in a huff. “Stop fucking texting Beomgyu.”

Your phone clattered to the floor. “Hey!”

“You are such an irritating person.” He dramatically (as always) got up from the sofa to kneel on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with an indecipherable emotion in his eyes. “I like you, Pres. I have for a while now, but I only realised it the other night. I got scared and I lashed out, but that doesn’t make what I said okay. I betrayed your trust and I’m sorry.”

Your head started spinning, and your heart leapt up into your throat. I like you. Your jaw would’ve dropped open had it not been for every muscle in your body going rigid at once. He casually sat back down next to you, picked up his glass, and took a sip. As if he hadn’t just delivered you the single biggest shock of your life. You could barely get his name out of your mouth.

“Yeonjun, I-”

“Look, you don’t have to say anything. I just needed to tell you because it was driving me crazy. You drive me crazy, actually-”

You grabbed his tie, pulled him towards you, and kissed him. If he was surprised by your boldness he didn’t show it, his hands easily finding their way to your waist as he kissed you back. His lips were cold from the ice water.

“Thank you for the apology. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He broke the kiss, laughing breathily. “I can’t think straight when you’re kissing me. I didn’t hear anything you said.”

You flicked him lightly on the forehead, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I said thank you for apologising. I appreciate it. But I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” he said. Right at that moment, both of your phones went off at the same time. “We should get back to school.”

He stood up, casually took your hand, and started walking. You didn’t pull away.

——————————

Although you did it often, being in school this late at night with no one else around never quite stopped feeling other-worldly. Your body was tired, but your mind was still awake and buzzing and alive. 

“I’m sorry I made you miss the festival,” you said as you finished making your rounds through the school to check each room one last time, switch off the mains, and lock the doors. 

“You didn’t make me do anything.” Yeonjun took your hand in his again and gave it a comforting squeeze, before adding, “Don’t be so full of yourself.”

The words were familiar, but his tone and the warmth in your cheeks were not. Choi Yeonjun of all people was making you act shy and blushy. Revolting.

“The golden boy of the school just confessed to me a few hours ago. How could I not be full of myself?” You stopped walking and turned to face him. “I like you,” you mocked, an over-dramatic caricature of his voice.

Yeonjun groaned and hid his face in his hands. “God, I can’t believe I actually said that. Like a character in a Netflix original.” You laughed, wondering if you’d ever laughed with him, not at him, before.

He’d called his mom earlier and told her not to pick him up — he wanted to take the bus with you, even though it would take him twice as long to get home. Leaving the school, you both turned to look back down the empty corridor.

“I guess this is the end of our late nights,” he mused. Your competitions were both over and there were no more events to organise for the year. All that remained were your final exams.

“Until our Valentine’s Day celebrations,” you reminded him. “Jimin wants to start planning that next week.”

He retorted immediately, “I don’t.” As the lights of the corridor started to turn themselves off (they were on automatic timers, which you found very annoying), he leant down, cupped your face gingerly in his hands, and kissed you twice.

“I want to do this.”

——————————

thanks for reading <3

-minastras

[nalyra-dreaming]

Found an old interview, with a few juicy bits

(and a lot we knew already)

The blood tasted like "Sour Patch Kid" (lol):

The three of them had dancing lessons.... 👀

And Jacob wants to see Louis in the 80s!!! (And we know Sam got his wish^^)

Also kinda sad that Bailey won't be able to explore those hairstyles, but... anyways it's long , so the rest under the cut:

Interview with Jacob Anderson, Sam Reid and Bailey Bass

Posted on October 2, 2022 by TvMegasite Admin

TV Interview!

Interview with Jacob Anderson, Sam Reid and Bailey Bass of “Interview with The Vampire” on AMC and AMC+ by Suzanne 9/29/22

This was a fun roundtable with the three stars of this great new vampire show. If you love vampire shows, or the Anne Rice novels, you should love this show. It’s very well done, and these actors are great in it. Jacob plays Louie, and we see the story through his eyes as told to ailing reporter Daniel Molloy (Eric Bogosian, who’s outstanding as always). Sam Reid plays LeStat, the seductive vamp that turns Louie and becomes his friend, lover, mentor, etc. Bailey plays Claudia, the young woman that joins them. They were very kind and fun to interview.

Suzanne:   Hi, I’m Suzanne Lanoue from TVMEG.com, and I’ve watched the first episode. I didn’t get screeners till this morning, so I only got to watch the first one so far, but I’m really enjoying it. It just grabs you and drags you in. So, congratulations on being renewed for season two already, which is great. Do you know when you’ll be starting to film season two, or have you already started filming it?

JACOB ANDERSON:   We haven’t started. We haven’t started shooting, no.

SAM REID:   Probably, I don’t know if we can say anything. [Laughs]

Suzanne:   Have they told you yet?

JACOB ANDERSON:   They haven’t not told us anything.

Suzanne:  [Chuckles} OK, well, thank you!

Jamie from SCIFI VISION:  Hi, I’m Jamie Ruby from SciFi Vision. Thanks for talking to us today, I really enjoyed the first five episodes that we’ve seen. So, for the three of you, can you kind of talk about how you balanced what you pulled from the book versus what you added with your own spin on it?

SAM REID:   Hello, Jamie, I’ll answer that. No. But I would say that anything for myself and my character, my own spin probably came from my own interpretation of the books and Rolins’ work. So, I wasn’t really trying to put any of my own spin on it. It’s just how I imagined it to be, really.

JACOB ANDERSON:   Yeah. I second that. It’s like, you will always view a character through your own lens to an extent and then it’s just kind of, I mean, I guess with anything, it’s like, do other do the other creative people like that, and do they want to discuss it? But you don’t want to mess with this. Like the combination of Anne Rice’s writing and Rolins’ writing, you don’t really want to touch it, you don’t want to just sort of throw your own stuff in just for the sake of it.

SAM REID:   They’re so dense already the characters that it sort of would be a shame to try and deviate too much of thing.

JACOB ANDERSON:   What could you possibly add?

SAM REID:   Yeah.

BAILEY BASS:   I feel the exact same way. It’s really, yes, we were cast because there’s something special in us that Rolin and the entire team really enjoyed when we were doing our auditions. But other than that, it’s really just doing the research and the book, reading the scripts, doing our own technique, and then just coming and creating in this world.

Jamie:  Okay, great. Thank you so much.

Jamie from STARRY MAG:  This is Jamie Steinberg, with Starry Constellation Magazine. Jacob, this is another deeply tortured soul for you to portray. Is there something about these kinds of characters that really draw you to them? Or is this them finding their way to you? Or is it something you see in them that really resonates with you and makes you want to portray them?

JACOB ANDERSON:   I think it’s a combination of both. We find each other. I think I’m slightly less like Grey Worm than I am like Louis. But yeah, I mean, I think you normally want to be like very boundaried when you talk about things and be like, “Oh, well, I’m so removed from the character, and I’m brilliant at acting and blah blah blah blah blah”. But to be honest, yeah, I feel very, very connected to Louis. It’s the thing that bothered me about how Anne Rice wrote him, and also how Rolin wrote him as well. Yeah, I’m drawn to characters who are searching. And I’d ask him questions, not just about the world, but about their place in it and what they contribute or don’t contribute to it. But yeah, I also I felt like it would be like, narcissistic of me to be like, “I am the only person who can play Louis.” But namely, because there is somebody else that’s done it, as well. Many people.

Jamie:  Well, I think you brings such a unique take on it, though, because of the artistry you have. Both of these characters that you mentioned, have just been wonderfully nuanced, I think through your portrayal. So it might be just a little bit time for you to pat yourself on the back for what you’ve brought to the role on your own.

JACOB ANDERSON:   This one’s for you, Bailey.

QUESTION:   Question for Jacob and Sam, one of the really interesting things about this particular adaptation is the romance that we kind of finally get to see between Louis and Lestat. Can you speak to that a little bit? What does it mean to you to be able to portray that relationship in that way?

SAM REID:   Well, I think AMC has the rights to the entire Vampire Chronicles, and so it’s very important to make sure that relationship is established early on. Particularly as the books progress, it becomes much more clear that they are in a very intense romantic relationship. So, I think it’s it’s great to make sure that we’re serving the story correctly. And it wouldn’t be Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire if it wasn’t there. So, yeah.

QUESTION:   I was wondering, and this is kind of specifically for Bailey and Sam, the show doesn’t shy away from race or that being a factor at all for their very long life experience. Was that important to you? And were you afraid of any ignorant backlash, because previously, the characters were paid by white actors?

BAILEY BASS:   I was really excited to play Claudia. It’s really a dream to play such a complex character that’s very loud and unapologetic. I honestly didn’t think twice about anything else. I just knew that Rolin was very intentional about the actors that he wanted to cast in the show, and I’m very fortunate that I was one of them. I just dove into all the research. I read the book. I would cross reference the book and the script and see the quotes that Rolin took from the book and was very intentional about adding them into the script. After doing all the research, I mean, I became Claudia and it was fun to play her.

JACOB ANDERSON:   Yeah, I think something that Rolin’s done, which is – I’m almost loath to call it important, but like it creates a richness is that this isn’t a colorblind casting situation. Louis’ central question is about his humanity and his place in humanity. I think that if you were to cast a black actor or black actors for Louis and Claudia, and to not address that, you’d take a lot away from that question of their humanity. I’m glad that we don’t shy away from it. And in terms of backlash, I just don’t want to give it energy anymore. Like I just – people are going to – I think people need to be seen. Sometimes they’ll say anything to be seen or recognized, and it’s sad, but it’s the internet.

QUESTION:   I would love for you to talk a little bit about what it’s like just being vampires, being able to play vampires when biting people and having these kinds of scenes. What goes into that and how much fun is that to play? How difficult is that to play?

SAM REID:  

It’s very fun. It’s very fun. Yeah, you know, because we’ve got a lot of elements that come into every scene. So, they’re very beautiful, sort of rich dialogue-heavy scenes, but we also have this whole element of the vampire, you know, he kills, so we’ll be pausing for the blood to be put in. We had all these different types of blood that we’d been drinking and tasting, and they made us hibicus flavored blood when we had to drink large amounts of it.

JACOB ANDERSON:  

It did not taste like hibiscus. It tasted like it was like a Sour Patch Kid.

SAM REID:   Yeah.

JACOB ANDERSON:   But in liquid form.

SAM REID:   But there’s a lot of thought and consideration [that had] gone into this. But yeah, it’s so much fun, really. Vampires are, I think, the best type of monster, because they have so much humanity. They’re so articulate. They experience a huge amount. Anne Rice is responsible for our shift in vampires, because she puts the perspective into the eyes of the monster, and you have empathy for them. So, it’s very fun to do these really extreme, horrific things, but also with a level of understanding and empathy and bringing that into the character. So, it’s a fun thing to do.

JACOB ANDERSON:   It’s the best! It’s the best. The best monsters.

Jamie from SCIFI VISION:  So, obviously, you guys do go to some really dark places, though, with your characters. Can you sort of talk about getting into that headspace, and how you sort of, I guess, get back out of it? Is it hard to sort of go there? For all three of you.

BAILEY BASS:   Yeah, it’s hard. We had such long days that it kind of, for me personally, it was hard for me to differ[entiate], like, who’s Claudia and who’s Bailey. So, I kind of had to, like really sit with myself and reflect, but it’s hard. But then also, this is what I love to do, and playing such an extreme character, that’s what makes it fun is that I get to relive and be in these spaces that I would never normally be in if I didn’t get to play Claudia. But the dark, even though it’s dark and everything, I definitely enjoyed it. And I had Sam and Jacob, which they were incredible scene partners, and we all had each other. We made sure that throughout the whole process, our mental health, even though we’re like hysterically crying sometimes that afterwards, our mental health was still good,

SAM REID:   I think to Bailey’s point, like, sometimes the darkest jobs or the darkest sets where the material is the most bleak are the most fun, because, we instinctively know how to just kind of like, help ourselves through that. So, we’ll be making a lot of jokes. You know, it is ridiculous, sometimes what we’re doing, and you have to step back and think [laughs] You know, we’re suspended in the air, covered in blood, so we just kept it light. It was a fun thing to do.

JACOB ANDERSON:   Yeah, I agree. I mean, it’s dense. It’s dense, so you need to focus on the language as well. Like, aside from, yeah, we had a lot of fun, but when you’re doing the scene, you focus on what you’re doing. And I think if you let yourself get dragged into it too much, then hard to to do your job, I think.

Jamie from STARRY MAG:  Bailey, this is such a beautiful costume you have. Talk about when you first saw what you’d be wearing for the series, and if you had any input, and if it takes really putting on that costume to embody your character.

BAILEY BASS:   Costume is one of my favorite things in my job, being able to speak with the costume designer and be able to talk about what she saw when she read the script, because it’s not just me, it’s a big collaboration of an incredible crew that helps make us look good, basically. And to be able to talk to hair, makeup, and costume and get to know what their first ideas were when they read the script, and then being able to collaborate with them and say what I thought, was really, really fun. And the costume designer for this show, Carol, was just so collaborative. I came in and we were talking about posture. That’s a very big thing for Claudia, because in the beginning, she’s like fourteen years old, and she’s excited being a vampire. She would shrug a lot and just walked like, however and had terrible posture. So, the costume designer would think about that when she was making the costumes. And then also I have to look like a little girl. So, she created these beautiful bows along with making sure that the shape of my costumes hid any curves possible. So, when I put them on, I really felt like a little girl. So, when I was doing the scenes where Claudia is struggling, she wants to be a woman, and I’m sitting in this pink dress that it’s not flattering to anything that’s me as Bailey, it was really easy to feel what Claudia would be feeling at that moment.

Suzanne:   I really enjoyed the wedding scene and your dancing, Jacob; that was great. Was that actually you dancing? And did you have to train for that, or did you already know how, and will there be any more singing or dancing in the show?

JACOB ANDERSON:   That was me and Steven Norfleet, who plays Paul, and we had about a month to train, to practice. I don’t know if you’ve ever done tap dancing, but it’s like learning how to walk again, like how to walk for the first time, like to get your brain to coordinate in that way and to like shift the weight of your body is really confusing. And to add to that we did a lot of our lessons on Sikkim (???). And it’s all like, it’s all sound. You like making music with your feet, but with the lag of, of like, you know, doing it online. But you just drill; you just drill it every day. You drill it every day, and just you have to listen. It’s less about like being mechanical about your body and just like listening to the sound. But there is there is more dancing in the show.

Suzanne:   Oh, good.

JACOB ANDERSON:   Yeah. It was in the trailer, right?

SAM REID:   Yeah, the three of us did dancing lessons.

JACOB ANDERSON:   Yeah, we did.

QUESTION:   I’m curious to just have any of you or all of you talk a little bit about what you love most about the dynamic between all three of your characters, either once Claudia comes in, or kind of as that progresses.

JACOB ANDERSON:   I find it, I think from Louis’ point of view, he’s trying to recreate a kind of family dynamic that he is grieving for in his human life. I think it’s probably the thing that he misses most in some ways. It’s like a grounding thing, is his brother and his sister and his mom, maybe to a lesser extent, but maybe not. So, I find the way that it kind of goes for them, and for him, it’s kind of unexpected. I think he wanted, he was hoping that in bringing somebody else into their family, I think he thought that Claudia might be like him. [laughs] So, it’s interesting. I feel like an outcast, but to also be a part of – I mean, I’ll let Bailey talk more about about that part of it, but really, Claudia ends up being sort of forgotten about a little bit, and their dynamic, which is sad.

BAILEY BASS:   I think what’s wonderful though, is that there’s really no protagonist or antagonist. It changes through every scene in every episode, because these characters are so specific and complex, and Rolin Jones, the writer of the show, did an incredible job of explaining in depth why we do what we do. There’s a reason why we kill the people that we do, why we hurt each other. And because of that, the viewer kind of feels bad for the person hurting the other, but then also feels bad for the person being hurt.

QUESTION:   So, obviously, as vampires, your characters live very long lives. Which era would you like to see, be able to play your character in?

JACOB ANDERSON:   80s 80s 80s. I want the pastels. I want the hair. Let’s go, 80s.

SAM REID:   I’d probably do the 1700s. I think Lestat really that is where he’s from, and that’s the era in which he was born into, so I’d quite like to see him in that in that era.

BAILEY BASS:   I just want to get to the 50s. Like, I just want Claudia to get to the 50s so I can wear all those skirts and just explore more hairstyles, because we evolved. Doing the prep work, there wasn’t a lot of hairstyles – we had a horrible of time looking for photos of black girls in that time period with very versatile hair, which we know they existed, just no one took pictures of them. So, to be able to expand that more and show women who have curly hair, that this is what they look like in that time. I’d love to expand that and go into the 40s and 50s.

Transcribed by Jamie Ruby of ScifiVision

[jo-harrington]

so teeth? really?

Anon...yeah teeth? I'm weird, I'm here for the weirdos.

I've decided recently that I'm going to be a certain actor who shall only be named in the tags arch nemesis. If there's no one out there talking about his false teeth and his stained nails and his disgusting capitalist tendencies, it means I'm dead.

So in honor of a certain someone who'll only be named in the tags 30th birthday, please enjoy the sequel to this weird RPF.

Pairing: Disgusting 30-year old capitalist B-lister who's lucking out on his career x CorporateBadass!Fem!Reader

TW: RPF, Smut, jealousy, a little angst, a little degradation, and he's gross

Tagging @courtingchaos @deathbecomesthem @dr-aculaaa and @tomtomslongdong @bettyfrommars because you liked my games last time.

18+ WEIRDOS ENJOY! NORMIES STAY OUT.

It came in an email.

It always did.

Forwarded from your work email to your personal email, then forwarded onto his with several question marks. No phone numbers, no WhatsApp. An occasional GChat if you had trouble compromising over different time zones. But generally, your interactions were limited to a familiar face in an unfamiliar place; not casual conversation during normal, every day life.

You joked once, in an Uber on the way to the airport as you were fixing your disheveled clothes after a quickie before check-out, that you might as well sync your google calendars and that…seemed pretty appealing to him, if only someone else didn’t handle his calendar for him.

“Must be nice,” you joked. “Big important star with an assistant.”

“It’s one of my manager’s assistant,” he argued. “And you have an assistant too.”

“It’s an admin for the department. And they only book the travel. They don’t manage individual calendars. Sorry I’m a peasant dragging my cadaver up the corporate ladder.”

Regardless, he woke up to your email one morning—some remnant of your personality from a former life—at the top of his inbox with the word “London???” above an itinerary for two weeks of franchise meetings and property tours around the city he called home.

His city. No coincidences, no “accidental” run-ins at LAX or JFK that the two of you bent in your favor. You were coming for to him. During a week that he otherwise had no plans.

He acted on impulse. Perhaps a little desperately. Especially considering how little he knew you.

“If you want, you can just stay here. I have plenty of room. You’ll have your space. Pretend it’s a VRBO for the week.”

Realization hit him once he hit send. Dread.

Invite you to stay at his house, a house that he was just settling in to being a home. Where all of his things were, where he had pictures of family and friends.

His house.

Where he was someone and not no one.

He hoped that you would realize the impropriety—as improper as it could be after he’d stuck his cock in you more times than he could count at this point—and be the more level-headed of the two of you, as you usually were, and decline the offer.

It took 48 hours for you to respond. 

He thought that meant he was in the clear.

Until your reply blipped in his inbox between emails containing sides for self tapes and negotiations for his next potential public appearance.

“Great, thanks. I won’t take up too much space. I’ll barely be there.”

Followed by the airplane emoji and the sleep emoji.

He got irrationally angry for a moment.

How could you do this? How could you cross this boundary? Partial anonymity…that’s what you both agreed on and here you were…suddenly reneging on that agreement. 

Invading his space.

Only you weren’t invading, he invited you in.

Invited you to know Joe a little more than you knew Joseph.

And he could know you too. 

He missed getting to know people; he chose not to know people. He knew enough people.

Now he’d get the chance to get to know you.

You’d be here in a week.

And suddenly you were.

Not an email away. Just there.

You sent him a WhatsApp from the car—a necessity now that you’d be with him for a prolonged time—double checking his street. Then suddenly you were ringing the bell.

He went over the mental to-do list that he’d made ahead of your arrival—schedule planned so he’d be available if you wanted or needed him anything, the cleaning service came through, groceries were delivered, and he’d even got flowers for your room…just a nice little thing he thought of—and then he opened the door.

It had been awkward, the initial greeting.

It wasn’t like your typical hotel room rendezvous. It wasn’t straight to business. You both just stood there staring.

“Consider me a vampire,” you joked, slightly jet lagged and weary since you had gone to meetings straight away after you’d landed. “I need to be invited to come in.”

“Of course,” he stepped to the side to let you in. “Make yourself at home.”

You let him carry your suitcase and shoulder your backpack as he led you straight to the guest room. Then you touched his cheek fondly, thanked him…and promptly shut the door in his face so you could sleep.

Well…he at least thought he was going to get something more than that.

But he didn’t get much more than that. For almost an entire week.

At first it was fine. You were busy, and so was he.

He made (ordered) breakfast for the two of you for the first morning. You grabbed tea and a biscuit (“when in Rome…yes I know…but this was part of the Roman Empire so…No I thought it was funny Joseph ok see you later then”) and ordered an Uber to make it to your first walkthrough of the day. He had a copy of your schedule in his email, made sure to run his errands, make his appointments, and hang out with friends while you were busy so he could be there when it was time for you to return at the end of the day. Only to get another peck on the cheek and be thoroughly ignored as you trudged off to bed.

He felt a little bad. He knew those days where they just never seemed to end; come back to wherever he’d been put up only to check his phone and pass out. 

Then he’d hear you around midnight, waking up from a dead sleep and tapping away at your keyboard. Sending communication to your boss or your team or whoever else back home. He didn’t know if you knew he was awake, or if you would venture out of the guest room to find him or get a drink…something. But you never did. Didn’t roam around, didn’t even chat him on WhatsApp; you just clicked away until the clicking stopped and you passed out again.

That’s when he got annoyed.

Because he’d been patient enough; he waited. Waited for something for those first few days. Some kind of sign that you were here with him. He’d sit and watch the telly, pick something from netflix or YouTube, read a book waiting for you to say more than hello to him when he opened the door for you. Have a conversation with him. Something! Sure that wasn’t really how the two of you operated, but even when he still had a roommate and they lived a very separate schedule there was at least a “hey mate, how’d the day go” and it gnawed at his insides that you couldn’t even be bothered.

Who were you? Just some no one, playing at possibly having an executive position one day. 

And who was he? He was Joseph Quinn. Eddie fucking Munson, as much as he loathed it. He had people screaming for him, screaming his name. You even screamed his name from time to time. 

Just not now.

Was he even going to get to fuck you at the end of this torture? Probably not. You’d be off to Heathrow to catch your flight back home with a simple peck on the cheek and a pat on the head.

“Good boy Joseph, letting me stay in your guest room, thank you for the red carpet treatment.”

So after three days of radio silence, he stopped playing such a gracious host. You insisted that you weren’t even there? He would act like you weren’t.

He stopped living his life around your schedule, left you a spare key so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself and open the door for you. Got dinner with his friends, drinks with some people his manager wanted him to meet, all on his own time. 

He did exactly what did, he ignored you.

And that’s what got your attention, or so it seemed.

He saw you “in the wild” a bit more. You and your American lean against the bar at the pub he frequented, wine glass in hand as you chatted with someone in a suit; he decided he’d rather get a beer somewhere else that night. Came home late from a friend’s party on Friday to find you in the kitchen, with a sandwich, going over some contract. You waved at him, maybe a hello or to get him to join you, but he just walked away. Woke up late the next morning to find you actually sitting on his couch with coffee in one hand and phone in another. Your eyes brightened a little when you saw him.

“Morning! I have an appointment at 1, but…dinner?” You asked. “I’m getting so sick of cateri—“

“M’busy,” he cut you off. He didn’t like the way you just nodded, just pressed your lips together accepted it. The way his plans meant nothing. Still, you were out here. Instead of in your room…or just gone.

“Maybe tomorrow night?” He offered, a little more gently.

“Sounds good.” He smiled. “I’ll put it on my calendar.” And the smile went away again, and so did he.

You put him on your calendar like another business appointment; he shouldn’t have felt bad about it, it’s what you always did when you met up in one city or another…but he did. Because this wasn’t “make a run-in happen” this was a meal with the person whose house you were living in for two weeks.

He probably should have asked someone if he was overreacting—probably should have asked you to be honest—but who could he ask? His friends didn’t know about you; they gave him enough shit about his current situation as it was, let alone some American airport fling. Couldn’t exactly tell his manager, they’d have you in to sign an NDA or something; all of the times he planned his travel around “running into you,” he just said it was meeting up with a friend.

So let the feeling stew in his head all day. He came home late again Saturday night to avoid you, and stayed out the entire day Sunday, missing the time you’d made for him on your calendar. Good riddance.

Until he rolled in at 1am, well on his way back to sober after a night out, to find you sitting on his couch, some YouTube chef on the telly, Diet Coke in hand, and his takeaway box of leftovers from dinner the night before on the coffee table.

“That was mine,” he accused. No greeting, just fire as he walked over and looked at the remnants of his gnocchi carbonara.

“It was really tasty,” you nodded.

“I know, because it was mine.” He scoffed and crossed his arm over his chest. “You know if you were really hungry, there’s plenty of other food in the kitchen. Or you could’ve gotten a sausage roll or something. Ever heard of Uber Eats?”

“No I ate your pasta because you told me once that you don’t eat leftovers but you always felt bad that they’d just go in the garbage at the restaurant,” you explained calmly. A little too calmly. “Instead they’d just go in the garbage here. So I enjoyed your scraps, cold, like a peasant, oh King Joseph, most conceited and decadent of all. Because you forgot we had plans for dinner.”

“S’that what we had? Plans?”

“Yeah, I blocked off time for you and everything.”

“Talk about most conceited,” he grabbed the takeaway box and started walking towards the kitchen to dispose of it and this conversation, but you were hot on his heels.

“Excuse me what was that?”

“You heard me, conceited,” he threw the box in the bin and then turned back towards you. “Lemme pencil you in on my calendar, Joe. Dinner, Sunday, 8 o’clock does that work?” He mimed holding a notebook and jotting down the appointment. 

“Have you lost your mind? That’s what I need to do if I want ten minutes to myself, let alone a whole dinner. You know I didn’t even put sleep on my calendar for this trip?”

“Lemme not even say good morning because I have a call I need to get on Joe, thanks for the biscuits.”

“Did you miss the entire point of me being in London when I sent you my itinerary? Or did you think this was just me coming to fuck you for two weeks?”

“Maybe not the whole two weeks,” he sneered at you. “But even a how was your day would have been nicer than being treated like the hotel manager.”

“At least the hotel staff cleans shit up,” you scoffed at him. “You know I went out for drinks the other night, went to that pub you told me about, because we finally figured out a contract and I spilled wine on myself. Came back here to throw it in the wash only to find the machine full of dirty clothes. That was really fun to see your stained and faded tighty whiteys at the top of the load. Were you just waiting for the maid service to come back to start the wash for you? You’re so famous now that can’t even hit the damn button yourself?”

The next scathing remark stopped dead on his tongue at that, and then he felt the shame build up.

But only for a moment, because before he knew it, you were crossing the distance and smashing your mouth to his. It was a quick play for control as usual, neither of you caring that you’d just butt heads because the real winner would be whoever could succeed at your little game first; he was in such a mood, such a state, that he actually tried to put up a fight, wanting to get you to cry out for him like he’d been wanting all week. Wanting to be wanted, needed.

He pulled away to remove the bridge from his mouth, mindful of the complaint you’d made about kissing him last time you’d met up, and you did something unexpectedly delicious.

“You rich rat,” you growled at him as you tugged his shirt free of his waistband with one hand and started working his belt loose with the other. “You better be wearing clean underwear right now so help me god.”

And damn if he didn’t get hard just from your words alone. 

The aggressive snap of his belt hitting the tile floor also helped.

“They should be,” he grinned cheekily and pulled your sleep shirt over your head. “Agnetha did a load before you got here.”

“You’re pathetic.” You worked the buttons of his shirt as quickly as you could. “How much is this shirt? ’S it dry-clean only? Does she take your dry cleaning in too? Bring it back and make sure it’s folded nicely only for you to shove everything in the drawer anyway. Like the useless boy you are.”

Yeah that was doing it for him.

“She washes the sheets too.” He dropped to his knees before you now as you leant against the counter, fully intent on pleasing you right here in the kitchen. “Changed them right before you got here. Shouldn’t be any more questionable stains.”

“Useless,” you hissed at him but ran a hand softly through his curls as he kissed along your abdomen and peeled your leggings down your legs. “Utterly useless.”

The thing about you though was your self-restraint, your discipline. You didn’t like to lose; you’d deprive yourself of things to get some advantage over your adversaries—usually corporate adversaries—and come out on top. And you made that very well known in the bedroom too when this little game got started. You’d gotten him to cum easily the first time you slept together and then used him to chase your own pleasure, commanding his mouth and tongue here and fingers there. 

Just like you were doing now. No moans, just little hitches in your breathing as you steered his head and used the leg you’d thrown over his shoulder to bring him deeper into your center. 

When you got close to completion, you used the upper hand again to push him away and you both descended together. His trousers and pants shoved down to his knees with his shirt bunched up under his head so he wouldn’t be sore from smacking it against the tile when you sunk down onto him. And when he felt the delicious squeeze of your cunt, he couldn’t help himself from throwing his head back; good for you to have the foresight. 

He had the foresight too though. He knew your moves, they made him see the light of God, seductress that you were. You told him your secret once as you basked in the afterglow when you’d rendered him particularly speechless.

“Spell the word coconut.”

“C-o-c--“

“No, I spell the word coconut. As I’m on top. Read it in a magazine or something during my last layover.”

And he could feel it now, predict it. Feel the motion of your hips, around and around and up and down and squeeze.

He couldn’t tell just by looking at your face, he had to feel it; close his eyes and feel the tempestuous slide of you over him, bringing him higher.

Maybe he would win the game tonight?

He wasn’t one to lose either; he could be competitive just like you. In fact, he was excellent at manipulating a situation in his favor. School, money, life. And with you he’d won enough times to know it could be done. You’d made him feel so…meaningless over the past week—even if he’d misunderstood and overreacted—that a win would be even better than the pleasure itself.

You pried one of his hands off your hip where it was clinging for dear life and directed him to play with your clit so you didn’t have to. For a moment, he lifted his head and watched his own nicotine-stained nails and your prettily manicured ones mingle against the engorged and glistening junction of your sex, and where any other time it would have him groaning at the sight, he couldn’t help but notice how disgusting his hands looked in comparison to your own. For a moment the confidence faltered.

When had he last washed them? Maybe you were right, he was gross and pathetic…

But then you moaned, and from his point of view It looked like it even surprised you even. You stuttered in your pace and your eyes went a little wide. 

He felt all the doubt leave him. 

He would win tonight…

He took advantage, used his leverage, to turn the tables. To sit upright and guide you to take his spot; you couldn’t even protest before he pistoned into you, before his fingered took an unrelenting pace on your clit.

He could spell coconut too, and he did. He would tell you all about it after his victory. Boast over using your own tricks against you.

You watched him with unblinking eyes as your nails dug into his bicep and shoulder, as you bit your lip so hard he was sure you’d bite right through it, and you kept the little whine that emanated from your throat as soft as you possibly could. Still, he could hear it through the desperate, wet sounds of your fucking.

He closed his eyes and focused on the finish line, focused on keeping the tension of his mounting pleasure back as he could feel you grip tighter and begin to spasm around him. He needed to win, it would be glorious.

“Joe,” you moaned, and he thought it was over. But there, underneath the neediness, lay the condescension, the obvious upper hand. “Can you hurry up? I have a call at 7am”

He came, seconds before you did. Collapsed against you and spilled inside of you before you found your own release.

On his kitchen floor, spent, laughing together, basking in the ridiculous pleasure found in the presence of one another, another game came to an end.

And he might have lost, but in the end, did he really lose?

Happy Birthday asshole. I'm following you into 30 in 10 months with a vengeance.

No love lost, The better Jo(e) &lt;/3

[candywife333]

Champagne Confetti

PART 3 of Just Want to See you Like That

This series is based on Jungkook's 3D and is probably going to have close to 6-7 parts, depending on where the storyline takes me. I'm feeling a bit dramatic, so expect a lot of angst. Tumblr is going to be referenced in this fic under a different name, Bumblr (I know, totally goofy name).

Summary: Y/N, an overworked employee at HYBE , only ever posted on Bumblr when she was feeling cornered. It was truly her escape. She didn't really do insta or even twitter. Most people would look at her and think this glass wearing quiet girl would most probably be posting pics of flowers and cute animals. But no, looks could be deceiving. Y/N's posts were far from innocent. In fact , they were borderline risque. She didn't expect anybody but a few horny people to come across these pics; people who would view and compliment in the best case scenario. What she didn't expect was that a certain star would be a regular consumer of her material. A star that technically had no business simping after her like that.

Disclaimer: This work is not representative of the real Jungkook's personality and behavior. It is merely fiction and please treat it as such.

Trigger Warning: voyeurism, exhibitionism, may or may not have dub-con later on

Please don't read the fic if any of these themes are disturbing or offensive to you.

Taglist is open

I couldn't believe how freeing it felt to quit that damn job. I had loved interacting with the kind staff and organizing things; something I was a pro at. However, the constant verbal abuse and condescension I had suffered at the hands of the administration had gone on long enough. Since I don't drink, I grabbed a huge bottle of apple cider from the store and headed back home to pop this bottle open and pour the golden liquid into a glass delicate pink wine goblet I had purchased last month.

I decided to have an apple themed party for myself. So I got home, showered with apple and cinnamon shower gel, put on a vintage flare dress with a pattern of green and red apples littered all over, and sat down with my cider and a decadent apple fritter that had been embellished with a wonderful berry compote.

Just as I popped open the bottle, giggling in glee, kicking my bare feet in the air on my comfy couch, my phone started blowing up. I stared at it frozen, rather confounded at what the reason for this cacophony could be. BANG PD?!!?! What the hell?! I never talked to the man. The only time I had even come across him was when I had accidentally bumped into his plush frame in a hallway. I would exaggerate and say that the tiny bump sent me flailing off onto the ground, but that would be a bit dramatic. I had lost my sense of balance and went crashing into a bucket of dirty cleaning water, clearly a great alternative to my extra imagination.

I was blushing in mortification reminiscing about that incident, as I came back to the present. I picked up my phone and was met with the gravelly steady voice of Bang PD as he drawled out , "Hello Y/N. How are you doing? Hope you are having a great evening". I felt paralyzed in awkwardness as I responded back timidly, "Of course PD-nim. I am doing great. Is there anything I can help you with?"

I heard a heavy sigh on the other end as PD groaned out in what seemed to be exasperation, "I am so sorry for what happened with our admin personnel this morning. My secretary informed about the incident and I am ashamed for her behavior. Please understand that I would never want any of my staff treated that miserably". Feeling shocked at his apology, I squeaked out, " Oh, please don't apologize PD. I know that her actions are not a reflection of HYBE's attitude towards employees. However, I find that my service isn't that valued at HYBE and I think maybe I am not a good fit anymore."

Strangely enough I could hear mumbled cursing on the other end of the phone as PD loudly exclaimed, "Of course you are a perfect fit for HYBE. Don't ever doubt that. I knew from the day I hired you, seeing you in your training period, how meticulous you are with running the maintenance of the place --even though we don't pay you to run management. Your dedication and management skills are invaluable to us. You may think I don't keep an eye on our maintenance staff, but I do. And everyone I have talked to from stylists to artists only have great things to say about you. In essence, what you do for us irreplaceable work".

I sat there on the couch with crumbs and sticky glaze all over my lips, as he continued, "Please come back to your job. But this time we will hire you as one of our administration managers. You are clearly overqualified for the position. Jennifer has been fired so you won't have to deal with her. And your pay will be hiked up to thrice what we used to pay you."

I almost choked on my own spit as I scrambled to tremulously say, "I am pleased to come back Sir. I won't disappoint you". He resumed speaking in a cheery voice, "Wonderful. I expect to see you back tomorrow at 9 AM. Your pay for the month has been wired to you". He hung up as I sat there in a daze before I got up from my seat and whooped loudly in the air yelling in mirth, "Take that you scumbags. Can't fuck with me and my bag". I couldn't wait to go back and show those bitches what I was made of. My luck was on the rise.

-----------------

I skipped into office the next morning, elated at the upgrade in position. Walking inside the cubicle, I saw one of the nicer admin staff. Her name was Stacy Lee. She smiled a wide smile that you could only see in a toothpaste ad as she ran to me excited, "Hello!!! You must be Y/N. It is great to meet you. I've seen how hard you worked to carry the whole building for months on end. It is a pleasure to finally actually get to work with you."

Her warm aura encompassed me as I shook her hand and smiled at her, "I think we will get along just fine". Stacy briefed me in on all the work I was supposed to do. As I slowly finished my tasks throughout the day, mostly responding to phone calls and typing reports, I caught the sight of a certain black haired buff man walking through the doors of the lobby accompanied by Taehyung, the ever kind angel of HYBE. He was one of the nicest people to staff. Never spoke down to them or belittled them. He would even go as far as to thank them for all the tiny tasks they did for him, and invite staff to parties and dinners along with the rest of the members.

I knew him pretty well from a very interesting incident that happened a few months ago. He had been hungover, reeking of alcohol, heading into his private office to clearly mask his situation. He had stumbled into the lobby, knocking over the cleaning supplies that had been placed there in the morning. I had seen him haphazardly stumbling around and happened to grab him by his shoulders, escorting him into his office before he could lose all dignity and make a fool of himself.

I had handed him some coffee, soup from the cafeteria, and 2 ibuprofen pills to quell his hangover. He had started vomiting, so I had held his hair away from his face sticky with sweat, steadying him as he vomited. Wiping his forehead with a wet cloth, I had placed him on the spacious sofa in his office and told him to sleep for a bit. After that ordeal, he had been super kind to me. Sometimes he had followed me around like a little puppy dog as I completed my tasks. When I asked him why (rather startled at this rich idol's devotion), he responded in a jubilant voice , hugging me as he jumped up and down, shrieking with joy, "You are a wonderful person. And I want to be your friend".

I couldn't resist his puppy like dark eyes which stared innocently at me. We became really good friends, meeting each other up for dinner occasionally when he wasn't super busy. As Taehyung walked in, he walked over to me with an ecstatic grin on his face ," How you doing Y/N, my fluffy little cupcake?", as he came around the counter to squeeze me around the waist , engulfing me in his too warm embrace.

I snickered at him, "What's up Tae? You seem rather busy these days?" He flirted back shamelessly, "I'm never too busy for you my buttercup". I cringed internally and groaned , "Don't do this Tae. My heart can't take this level of sugar, I'll get diabetes".

As we were conversing, I felt a dark set of doe eyes piercing my frame, burning holes into my chest. I hadn't really gone over the top with the clothes today; a high waisted black business pant with a lacy pink top that showed just a tiny bit of cleavage. Wonder why the creep was staring. Last time I checked, I hadn't been the one desperately, vulgarly, pounding into any staff in a closet.

As I pondered all this, Tae whined, "Please come outside tonight to celebrate with us. It'll be just the boys, TXT, and our managers". Apparently it was his birthday, and he had been hyping it up beyond measure, trying to convince me to show up for close to a month now. He continued, "Come on Y/N. There will be champagne confetti. I know you don't drink, but you will love the confetti popping into the air. You are such a baby, but I love that about you. I will force you to come if you don't agree. Am not even above threatening you."

I stared at his dead pan expression. I sighed, "Okay Tae, I will join you this once only. You know how awkward I get with new people." He jauntily shook his head up and down, running away screaming, "Hyung, I finally got Y/N to come out of her shell. Get ready to get wasted guys". I scoffed. Tae himself hated drinking. Dude was more likely to consume 10 cupcakes rather than even a shot of soju. I guess both of us would have a sugar high tonight.

Even though Tae left, the black eyed black haired devil hadn't left the room. He seemed oddly stunned, his face contorted onto an "O" shape, his round eyes unblinking, mouth open completely as he stuttered out incredulously, " Are you by chance....cherrybomb123 on Bumblr"?

WTF?!!!! I was panicking internally. How would he know? He couldn't possibly recognize the pale pink lace bra barely peeking out of my top? And if he recognized me, who the hell was he? My brain was screeching out with the answer as I stared at him in shock. I was royally screwed, and not in a good way.

Taglist : @sporadicarcadebanana , @darkuni63, @jessicalynn85, @mint--yoongs, @fortunecookiesworld

[hotvintagepoll]

I know it's not feasible or easy to prove or disprove, but I wonder if name recognition has an effect on voting results at all. If the photos had no name associated (and obv people can still do an image search - but let's assume a co-operative electorate willing to participate in an experiment), would the same hot people go through? What do you think?

I can think of few things funnier than running a hot people blog with no pictures of hot people on it, but to get to your actual question—yes, I think name recognition definitely plays a part; I know in other tournaments I sometimes pick the one I know if I'm not familiar with both options, which is not proper voting behavior really but hey, what are you going to do. All the better to see a lesser known name triumphing in several of these polls!

(EDIT: admin is an idiot at 3 in the morning and this post is all wrong.)

[daffyjjk]

🌸 About Me [!]

Huloo lovely people 💘, I’m daffy, a 25-year-old Asian, BTS Paradise and 13430 enthusiast, and the admin of this cozy corner of the internet. Here's a little peek into who I am:

🌟 Proud Jikook enthusiast: I adore the adorable dynamics between Jikook, reveling in their affectionate care and especially their deep love. While Jungkook stands as my bias, Jimin's endearing gestures always leave me captivated!

📚 Bookworm: When I'm not buried in spreadsheets, you'll find me lost in the pages of a good book.

💜 OG BTS Girlie: BTS isn't just a band to me; they're my guiding stars. Since the DNA era back in 2016, their music has been the soundtrack to my life. My ultimate dream is to experience the magic of their concert live, feeling every beat resonate through my soul.

🐶 Dog Lover: Samoyeds and Goldens have a special place in my heart—they're just too adorable!

🧋 Boba Enthusiast: I believe boba makes everything better, especially when accompanied by a good cry over Jikook moments.

😍Fav blogs: Shoutout to @hon3ymo0n and @kanmom51 —my top two favorite blogs! Their eloquence and the enchanting way they discuss Jikook always leave me spellbound. It's like diving into a captivating novel with every post. Big love to @sunandmoonjikook and @mimikoolover too! Their amazing content brightens my mornings and brings me comfort. Grateful for their presence on my timeline!

Feel free to shoot me an ask or a text if you want to dive deeper into any of these interests or just chat about life! 💖✨

[roseofhybrids]

You guys like fucked up ideas, yeah? (good cuz it's 5 in the morning and I need to exorcise this from my brain so I can sleep)

Imagine, by some twist of fate, that everyone in the circus abstracted, leaving Pomni as the only one remaining. She's managed to last for a little while alone, but given the circumstances and her general demeanor, things are not looking good.

This worries Caine, as she looks like she could abstract any minute now, and he doesn't want to lose his last human. So, our ringmaster decides he needs to pull out all stops and try something new. Humans are a social species, so he decides to start with the isolation problem.

By creating AI clones of the other five performers

Pomni's depressed because all her friends are gone, so why not make new ones! Perfect plan, five stars, nothing can possibly go wrong with this idea.

Essentially, he creates five AIs similar to his own. More advanced than Bubble, but without access to the majority of the circus' code and functions. Pretty much on the same level as Caine but without "admin privileges" so to speak. Same level of sentience.

Each is programmed to act similarly to how their human counterparts did pre-abstraction, but they are completely separate beings. Their personalities are similar (though skewed to be happier and more agreeable) with the caveat that their main directive takes priority. That being: keep Pomni happy and prevent her from abstracting at all costs.

So they act just like the human versions did, unless they reason that a trait or action would make Pomni unhappy or put her in an unsafe situation. The most obvious changes would probably be with Jax, followed by Zooble and Gangle. Caine leaves the five to look after Pomni while he gets to work on his own anti-abstraction schemes. (Mostly trying to make "bigger and better" adventures)

On one hand, you have Pomni. Stuck in digital eye strain hell, with all her friends/acquaintance reduced to writhing masses of black glitches and eyes. Then one day, Caine brings in a bunch of clones of people she knows are gone. A bunch of AIs that look and sound exactly like her lost companions, but that just don't act the same. A few are closer to the originals than others, but it's obvious these are not the people she once knew. But here they are wearing their faces and pretending to be them.

And on the other hand, you have the AIs. Their only purpose is to keep this single person happy and safe, but all she sees when she looks at them are imperfect ghosts. Still, they try everything they can to fulfill the task Caine has given them. All the while, trying to ignore the fact that they're clones made to replace the dead. They aren't the originals, they're meant to be copies of what the monsters hidden away in the cellar used to be. Their names, faces, voices, and basis of their personalities are all taken from someone else. And now they have to try to live up to Pomni's memories of them.

Psychological horror all around!

[3raaaachachacha]

11:01 pm

Joshua Hong x female reader / 651 words / fluff / smut

Warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, pool sex, dirty talk, cursing, dry humping

Disclaimer: contains 18+ content; minors do not interact

⊱ ──────────────────────── ⊰

It was nights like these that you absolutely adored. The moon brightly shone down on the two of you as you leisurely swam around in the private roof top pool. The night was warm, yet a cool wind blew every once and while. The sky was clear with a few twinkling stars to be seen. It was peaceful, yet somehow romance as you laid your head on the edge of the pool admiring the sky above.

“What are you looking at babe?” Joshua asked as he joined you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you felt his bare front press against your back.

You leaned into his warm touch as you smiled happily, “Did you know at one time, lovers would look to the sky, praying that one day, they would find their soulmate? They believed the stars would lead them on the right path to finding them,” You giggled, turning around to gaze into your boyfriend’s eyes, “I guess the stars really did lead me to my soulmate,” You smiled, noticing the way Joshua’s eyes sparkled for you.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth babe. Even if the stars didn’t lead me to you, I would have fought my way to find you,” He pressed a soft kiss to your nose then to your lips.

You could feel yourself blushing in the moonlight as you connected your lips to his. Even after being together for over a year, you still always felt butterflies whenever you were with Joshua. Very subtly, he pushed you against the wall of the pool as your legs wrapped aroun his waist, not wanting any space between the two of you. One hand caressed his buff chest as the other pulled him closer by the nape of his neck to intensify the kiss further.

You couldn’t get enough of one another. Was this how it felt to find your soulmate? Constant passion and love every waking moment together? A whimper left your lips as you felt Joshua rub his growing hard on against your thinly clothed core. He could easily slip it to the side and enter you, but he was teasing you, just as he loved to do. His lips moved down to your neck, allowing to hear your beautiful moans for him.

“Fuck Josh, we’re in public,” You stumbled over your words as he began to grind into your leaking core.

He chuckled to himself, leaving a pretty little mark on your neck for all to see, “Thank god I rented out a private area for us then. I can fuck you wherever and whenever I want, just to show you how much I fucking love you.”

You swore you felt your heart melt then and there as you quickly shut up by reconnecting your lips. The kiss was full of passionate and full of need as you felt starved from his touch. You gasped as you felt his thumb press against your clothed clit to rub tender circles into it. It was only fitting that you teased him back as your palm found his cock, making him groan from the suddenly contact.

“Are you ready for me love?” Joshua asked with a smirk on his face as he removed your bottom, throwing them onto a tanning chair. You shook your head yes as he secured a hand under your thigh, while the other pumped his cock, “Good, I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night. It’s a good thing we slept in this morning. I don’t think either of us will be getting a lot of sleep tonight,” He chuckled before reconnecting his lips onto yours in a heated embrace.

Thankfully, your room wasn’t too far from the pool or else you might not have been able to walk back after being riled multiple times by the love of your life.

⊱ ──────────────────────── ⊰

- Admin 🦋

[twstbookclub]

Petals of Poison

TW: Blood and major character death/s

Summary: Hanahaki Disease. Taking innocent, unrequited love and crushing the life of the unfortunate. This is not a happy story. Don't expect a good ending. POV: 2nd Pronouns: Gender neutral Admin/Writer: Kai⚔️ Tags: Epel Felmier, hanahaki disease, star tear disease, heavy angst Word count: 2,958

Being 100% truthful... I cried writing this, and I got super depressed after lol. I've never done Hanahaki disease as a trope but I've read about it. I've only heard about Star Tear disease and it's very rare to use, but it's a sister trope to Hanahaki.

The person afflicted with Star Tear will cry stars, and slowly become blind, but it isn't like Hanahaki where the affected goes back to normal. No. The person keeps the damage.

I hope you all enjoy this Epel angst and trust me, this is still pretty light, even with a character death. This one didn't take me too long but it took a lot of planning and adding, truly one of my proudest works.

Petals of red carnations and aster spilled onto Epel’s hand on such a bright morning, the sun shining through his windows and lighting up his room beautifully. His face looked shocked and panicked, but he wasn’t in an urge to figure out what was wrong. He dropped the petals out of his hand and saw a small splatter of blood in his palm, but once again, no immediate reaction. He only sighed and got ready for his morning.

It was never like this, but not uncommon to one’s knowledge, either. In this world, magic and myth were big things, and the Isle of Sages was no stranger. Recently, the town had been talking about cases of victims who had recently passed away due to unnatural causes. Unnatural, being that their lungs were filled with roots and flowers, marking their deaths as undetermined in autopsy reports. 

Rumors had been circulating that these victims were in love with others, but never received the love back, then were found dead just days later with the same scenes as the others. The Isle began to find death as common as finding a penny on the ground, but still as tragic as ever for these young lives. Epel could be the next.

He did have someone he loved, but being in the same year as you meant nothing. You barely looked at him, only hung out together when he was invited, and you were completely out of his league. Not even close.

This had started months ago. Epel had met you at the mirror chamber on orientation day, and he became pretty curious. You weren’t from this world, yet you looked like you fit right in, too. You were quiet and confused, which he found interesting, but he would only see you from afar for now.

He was finally able to get close to you, but his attention was easily taken when Deuce started calling him a girl. At that moment, he heard your laugh. It was a beautiful sound that he had no idea would bless his ears the way it did.

One day, you came into the Pomefiore dorm, catching them teaching him about proper tea etiquette and rules. When Rook corrected him, he quickly grew embarrassed and stuttered slightly before fixing himself, hoping that you hadn’t seen him mess up. He didn’t need you to not find him able. He wanted you to like him.

Coming back from winter break, Epel hadn’t stopped thinking about you for any moment of the day. He began to doubt if you liked him, especially after seeing him mess up during classes and after-school clubs. As soon as he arrived back, he was met with more flight training and prim etiquette.

He was running through campus while trying to run away from his housewarden and vice-housewarden, not exactly caring where he was running. Suddenly, Epel felt a hard chest and fell over with a loud wham to the ground. He could only sniffle and rub his head from the pain. When Epel looked up, he saw your eyes on him in concern, and he felt himself become frozen, frustrated with himself about the situation before him. 

Deuce offered to help him, but Epel looked away and mumbled “dagnabit” under his breath. The other first-year grew confused and repeated what Epel had said, but Felmier felt embarrassed for looking so pathetic in front of you. Before Deuce knew it, Epel ran off and disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.  You were left with confusion and questions but didn’t pay much attention to it once he was gone. 

Once he was gone and in a place where one could see him, he felt a slight clog in his throat and coughed, surprised to see a few petals of aster and white carnations fall onto the ground at his feet. “Flowers? What in the…” He whispered with a confused tone, and he didn’t know where this had even come from. 

Soon, he was singing to practice for the Song and Dance Championship behind some bushes, but he coughed and sighed when he couldn’t reach enough, causing some small petals to spill onto the grass. When he heard the voices of others, he perked up and turned around, his eyes landing on you. 

Did you hear that? Oh, for the love of the Seven, please tell me you didn’t hear that.

You only stared at him as he interacted with your friends, but the thought of you finding him in such a pathetic scene lingered in his mind. He didn’t need you to look at him and laugh, especially not after everyone else found him cute and small. After witnessing how his housewarden kicked the asses of the other first years, Epel took a glance at you before being dragged away into more practice.

As soon as he entered the door to Pomefiore, he covered his mouth and coughed up more petals, the sound grabbing the attention of Vil and a few others who were in the lounge. Aster and… Red carnations. This one was new, but his heart did ache. It ached with a pain that poked in his chest, yet the bright red mixed with the purple and pink petals of aster felt comforting.

He felt something for you. He knew you probably wouldn’t like someone as pathetic and hard-driven as he was, not with this small body and cute face. He couldn’t get his hopes up.

Epel had caught himself coughing these petals now and then, but on rare occasions, a few of them had blood spots, nothing too concerning. At the same time, more and more cases of citizens being found dead, surrounded by flowers and roots, were becoming big online. Everyone made this phenomenon have a name, Hanahaki Disease, and it was spreading like wildfire. 

No one could figure out its symptoms. Other’s tried, but would get shut down about their theories. One person, at least every week, was in the headlines about this. Police thought it was a serial killer laying down his victims in a beautiful way, and citizens thought it was karma towards the person who died.

Epel’s symptoms only got worse the more you were around him and looked at him. You spoke to him in such a kind way, treating him as your friend. He noticed that your uniform and face had different sizes and colors of stars. He found it cute and it suited you, at least in his eyes.

Right. Only a friend.

He kept his feelings hidden, and it was only right. Epel knew the situation, and he was okay with it. You didn’t belong in this world in the first place, nothing wrong there. He had a life and family waiting for him in his hometown. He had to get over this.

But the world gave him no time.

Crowley had summoned everyone to the mirror chamber to bid you farewell. You were leaving. No warning. No time. Something felt wrong, and Epel ran to be able to hug you first. Everyone surrounded you two after that. 

Epel heard a twinkling sound, so he looked at you and noticed how small stars were on your cheeks. He was confused, what was even happening? He noticed these stars before, but they came from your eyes this time? He couldn’t ask, not before Crowley had to break it up before the portal closed.

As you looked at everyone one more time, “Come back here soon!” Epel screamed, making everyone slowly begin to agree with him. Then, you left. That was it. Your presence was there, but not your body or soul.

It was a moment of sorrows and grief, which only equaled to Epel coughing up blood-spattered petals of marigolds and purple hyacinth flowers into a napkin. He could tell that this was getting worse, but what in the world could he even do?

Epel spent that night trying to distract himself by researching everything he could about this Hanahaki Disease, coughing up occasional petals. He had found a few stories of victims who survived the disease, reading about how the symptoms stopped after they got together with the person that they loved. 

Reading more about how it got worse if one believed that the other didn’t like them back, but after a certain point, even thinking about the person they loved made the symptoms dire. There was no natural cure, at least not from what was written, but Epel did find something.

Surgery.

Getting surgery to make it go away. 

No.

That’s all Epel needed to read. He wanted nothing else about that subject to come up. It was absurd, even for the most desperate of people. Brain surgery to make the symptoms go away, but you’d forget about all the feelings you felt for the person. He could never, not when it was about you. 

Suddenly, he became curious. The scene from earlier crossed his mind.

Why does someone cry stars?

He searched it up, but… Nothing. Unknown. Sites to just people boasting about how their tears have the sparkle of stars, but it wasn’t the same. You had the shape of stars coming out of your eyes, and they were beautiful.

Epel sighed and shut his phone off. He didn’t need to see anything else for the rest of the night.

For a few weeks, the campus was in an awkward atmosphere due to your leaving, but soon enough, everyone began going back to normal. Not Epel, though. He missed you the most when he sat on his bed after school. He constantly thought about how you could be doing and wondered if you were ever thinking of him. 

He began to smile while thinking about you, remembering every moment he did get to save with you. His birthday, campus traditions, especially being there to watch him perform for the Song and Dance Championship. Thinking about everything made him suddenly gag and the next thing he knew, a pool of blood and different petals were at his feet.

His eyes were wide, but he vomited more blood, less petals. The puddle was red but cluttered with red and white carnations, mixes of purple and pink aster, yellow daffodils, and violet-blue salvia. This was the worst that his condition had gotten. Epel fell back and clutched his chest, trying to breathe silently but with enough force to get himself back on track. It was a silent night after that.

Time would come to take their youth, and before any of the first years knew it, it was graduation day. The day was bright and looking pretty on a day like that, and it kind of made the day better.

The ceremony had gone well, with old students coming back to congratulate and celebrate with the other students, and professors even admitting that they’d miss some students.

After all celebrations were over though, Epel stayed on the campus grounds, standing at the well that caused him the most time with you. He simply stared down the well, letting the sunset almost blind his vision. One memory of you caused a loud cough and blood to spill from his mouth, petals following after. 

It hurt. The pain grew worse than ever before. He’d rather suffer than forget the love he felt for you. His body was falling, faltering to keep itself up, and he landed on his back against the ground.

“The love I feel for you… Is so beautiful, but—” He whispered, petals of sweet peas falling from the sides of his mouth now as his coughs got shorter and harsher. “I can’t breathe.”

Epel could only clutch his chest as he tried to find the proper breathing pattern. He looked up at the sky and wiped the excess blood from his mouth. He smiled. Like he always did when he thought of you.

Epel could cry. He could feel it. You were so close. Just a little farther.

The sounds of struggling became quieter, and a bed of flowers grew. Cyclamens, sweet peas, heliotropes, white carnations, crimson roses, forget-me-nots, and black roses all grew from the ground. Its roots and vines surrounded the body of a recently graduated boy, who simply loved someone that he knew he couldn't have.

Epel looked like a charming prince with how peaceful he looked.

The world was cruel. Too cruel even.

Those young adults, now grown up, were gathered in a reserved restaurant. They all stood up when they heard the door, Silver bringing you in.

You carried a white cane and carefully moved it around, your eyes staring forward with occasional blinks. Everyone knew the situation, but there was still a tension that you could feel by just sensing it.

Your irises were close to white but had a faint hue of your original eye color. You were blind. You had explained to everyone before that you had “Star Tear Disease”, which explained why you cried stars when you left the world of Twisted Wonderland that day.

It was rare. Only a few had it, and you were the unlucky one that did. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you smiled nonetheless. It had been years since you had last been with the boys, and you were quite excited to meet them again.

“I'm fine, guys. It's just a little impairment, but I'm still me.”

The room stayed quiet, and slowly, one by one, they all came up to let you touch their faces and reintroduce themselves. Ace tried making you laugh by contorting his face, but you hit his shoulder. “Hey! Quit that. I'll pull your ear if you keep doing it.”

Goofball as always.

Once everyone had a turn, you felt weird. Someone was missing, and you slowly made your way around the table. An empty chair.

“Who's missing?” You asked, clutching the arm of the chair.

Silence once again. No one wanted to tell you, so you remembered everyone to figure it out.

Your body froze as you realized it, but you could feel your heart drop. “Epel.”

Tension grew in the room again and you could hear a sigh, then followed by Leona. “He's dead.”

Whispers with the others calling out Leona for saying it, but he simply grew irritated with their lack of sense. “Oi, what the hell are we supposed to do, eh? Keep it from them? They're blind for Seven's sake!”

“You didn't have to say it so bluntly—” Followed Lilia, not wanting everything to become a problem.

“All of you, shut up!” You yelled, the starry tears forming in your eyes as you clutched the chair harder, digging your nails into the wood.

Everyone went mute. You couldn't even believe it. 

“How...” You whispered, the sound of twinkling from your tears filling the eerily quiet room. “How did he die and when?”

Deuce stood from his chair this time. “On our graduation day. He died of some… illness called Hanahaki Disease.” 

Your world was crumbling. Hanahaki Disease. You heard of it in your world. It was made of fiction, but who knew it'd be turned into reality. The same could be said for Star Tear Disease, but you developed it here, and it followed you into your world.

You let out a few tears as you kept thinking, your arms practically wrapped around the chair. “Who was the cause? One of you knows.”

Vil spoke as he moved closer, trying to be careful with you. “That part isn’t necessary for you to know—”

“It was you. Vil told us all after he died.” The gruff voice from Malleus filled the room with those three words, and they somehow sounded painstakingly beautiful. Vil’s breathing pattern changed once the truth was revealed. You knew those words were true.

“... Take me to his grave.” You asked after a short moment of silence, sounding like you were pleading, so they took you.

Standing in front of it now, you gently touched the tomb, then the texture of the cement, until your hands touched the lettering.

“E P E L   F E L M I E R”

It had his dates, a small obituary, and designs of apple trees. It all felt cool to the touch. You could only imagine it, but then you remembered that you brought something.

A flower bouquet. Baby's breaths, blue salvia, lavender roses, and cyclamens were composed neatly, you could feel it. Anything for him, especially since he meant so much.

“Hey Epel…” You whispered, kneeling down in front of the tomb. You took a breath and it was already hard, the disease making your eyes sting. “You know, you're the only one I didn't get to touch today.”

“I'm sure you look the same. You never changed.” You said with a smile, gently feeling the cold cement under your fingers. You heard his laugh in your ears, imagined his smile, and you felt a warmth on your hand. His warmth. You knew it.

At that moment, you began to cough really hard, blood spilling onto your hand and petals came out of your mouth. You were unfazed. You knew what this was. 

You set down the bouquet and moved to sit on top of his grave, leaning back against the tombstone as you felt a sharp pain around your ankles.

“Why didn't you tell me? I loved you too. That's unfair…” You whispered softly, feeling your eyes close as your breath struggled slightly.

“We could've survived together.” You said with a faint voice, your body becoming lifeless as your hands and ankles were tied down with vines.

Red roses, carnations, and aster grew on the vines. The twinkling of your tears filled the soundless cemetery, stopping with a drop of a star on your clothes.

[twelvegrimmyplace]

Nick Grimshaw on kindness, queerness and life lessons as a grown-up.

Gay Times Honours Issue 2023

Friendly media mogul Nick Grimshaw, aka Grimmy, has done it all. He’s introduced his parents to Lady Gaga and, recently, even had tea with Harry Styles. Now, however, the former Radio 1 DJ is getting acquainted with something else – growing up. 

Getting older, no doubt, is terrifying. Carefree late nights with mates at sticky, flooded gigs are suddenly swapped for questions revolving around major milestones: partners, career, and, of course, kids. Close friends are no longer egging you on to ditch work and hangout or checking in to see if you’ve actually drank water. Instead, you’re trying to squeeze in a meetup between deadlines, dates and an ever-growing to-do list of life admin. And Grimmy is no different. Booze-driven afterparties have morphed into nourishing Sunday roast dinners with Mesh, his fiancé. Girl dinner Quaver packets have matured to conversations – on his glitzy new foodie podcast Dish co-hosted by Michelin-star chef Angela Hartnett – with Miriam Margolyes on how she likes her mashed potatoes. 

Having the big four-zero on the radar prompted a new perspective for the presenter. What was once maligned (“I felt like growing older was the end of something or deeply depressing,” Grimshaw admits) has been, mostly, embraced. It’s less coming of age but, rather, coming to age. Still, new digits doesn’t need to mean the fun is over. In fact, just last night, Grimshaw partied late with celebs Jake Shears, Amanda Lepore, Jodie Harsh, and Mutya Buena in Soho. Here in Holborn, however, things are much more mild. Sure, there’s some tasteful framed nude art to our right and Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ crackling over studio speakers but nothing beats a good old-fashioned launch party, or a karaoke b-day bash taking place later this evening in central London. 

Nursing a non-alcoholic beer, Grimshaw scoots across a black leather couch, arriving fresh from a photoshoot, something he describes as his “Naomi Campbell moment”. Comfortably clothed in a light-wash denim shirt and distressed jeans, he kicks off the conversation as if reuniting with an old friend. “I've never taken stock before. I'd never sat down and thought about myself, ever, and I don't think people do,” he says. Since his early twenties, Grimshaw’s image has been inextricably tied to two things: big names and his infamous towering quiff haircut. At some point, he acknowledges, you will have heard his quick-fire Mancunian comedy soundtracking your early mornings. Whether he was making jokes with Taylor Swift or having the early hours crashed by Charli XCX, the presenter became a known face at the Beeb. In his autobiographical book, Soft Lad, Grimshaw reminisces on the pull the small screen had on him as a young child. Armed with a love for glamour and theatrics, the events he saw on the telly called to a younger Grimshaw who dreamed of moving out of Manchester to take on London. 

Onboarding, in 2012, at Radio 1 to cover The Breakfast Show was something the podcaster remembers clearly; “There was a lot of pressure”. His days of spinning songs and connecting with artists over music became more than a vocation, but a specialism. While he does admit, sheepishly, that there were days his hangover ran over into work hours, he’s since taken time to reassess his habits and lifestyle. “When I was 23 I was getting absolutely wasted and doing it like a Geordie Shore night out,” he says. Now, Grimshaw is more conscious of being selectively sober in certain environments. “It can be really hard to go out and connect with people who are drunk and you're not drinking. But, sometimes, you have the best nights ever. I went out last night and went to a really fun party up until 1.30 am and had really good chats with loads of people.” He’s taking stock of the bigger moments around him, particularly ones that bring him closer to friends and family – “It's about learning. It's about growth,” he says earnestly. 

At 39, Grimshaw’s longevity has something to do with his candour and bonhomie. The most common compliment doled out about the presenter is his warmth. As a child, he recalls, the label “soft lad” was stuck to him, presenting his sensitivity as something to be ashamed of. But, years later, it’s become something – like his favourite Maison Margiela knit sweaters – that he wears openly. “At school, I always felt on edge that I was going to get beaten up or laughed at. When you've had that, you learn empathy and you think about how people might feel or what they're going through,” he explains. 

Realisng he was gay, as a child, filled Grimshaw with dread as he feared what it would mean. With limited queer culture references growing up (just Elton John and Lily Savage) his feelings were fully realised, aged 11, when he developed a crush on a poster of England footballer David Beckham pinned up on his bedroom wall. “You know what’s funny, not that I’m doing Miriam Margolyes press, but I saw her yesterday. I'd never met her and I went into her dressing room. Before I could say hello, she pointed and exclaimed: ‘You’re gay!’ and continued with ‘So, my dear, nice to meet you.’ As I got into bed last night, I thought about how that would’ve killed me if I was a teenager, but it was a really lovely bonding moment.” 

Though being a presenter and DJ took up most of Grimshaw’s early adolescent years, his move to writing has allowed him the space to trawl through his past years without expectation. From reassessing his comfort with queerness to realising the strength found in the LGBTQIA+ community outside of his town in Greater Manchester, Grimshaw is grateful for the relationships he’s built with those around him. “I learn constantly from the queer community. It’s that notion of being yourself and leaning into yourself which can be hard to do if you're queer, especially if you've had that knocked out of you when you're a kid,” he says. “The community are essential in helping everyone, and me, support one another.”

Soft Lad and Dish capture different versions of Grimshaw; the quirky characteristics of a presenter that couldn’t surface in a music hotbed. In his new roles, the presenter-meets-podcaster chats to hot-shot talent while unravelling stories centred around food, famous friends and frenzied stories. His book is an homage to his parents (“I realised how important they were shaping me – I love them contractually, but also really love them) and to his English and Irish roots. Bookended between stories of queer curiosity and his loathing for football, tales of community and camaraderie at Radio 1 surface. “I loved it when we had a great guest from the queer community. I had great times with Sam Smith, they would be a riot and would really gossip with us when the records were on and tell us stories that we couldn't have on the radio. Troye Sivan was a great time as well,” he recalls. 

Another memorable moment was his run-in with an early-era Lady Gaga, in Notting Hill, before she became Mother Monster as we now know her. “I did my first interview with Gaga years ago, for the telly, and it was when she was brand new. ‘Just Dance’ had just come out in America and she was making a bra out of gaffer tape on a dressing room floor,” he says, laughing. “I brought mum and dad along because they were in town so they met her right at the beginning of her career. Ever since then, whenever she'd come onto the radio show, she’d ask about my mum and dad.”

Grimshaw’s stories of famous crossovers are, understandably, endless – even if they’re ones he’s told plenty of times before. Up until recently, he’s remained embroiled in an ecosystem of music promoting a “product” but, now, he feels like his new projects allow for authentic conversations about people and their interests. His mantra, nowadays, is this: “Living in the full, truest form of yourself, without fear and judgement.” For a young Grimshaw, this unbridled queer joy took the form of “glamorous” drag shows where he dressed up as Cher for his family. Today, it’s about cooking in a kitchen packed with too many guests (and remembering to drink water). Turning 40, at one point, felt like a frightening due date. Now it’s a milestone Grimshaw is ready to take on.