seungcheollies-cake

[seungcheollies-cake]

CIY CH 30

Chapter Thirty

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Welcome Home" 📍WC: 3.2k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Warning(s): 18+ rating (all of CIY is), anxiety 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @bunnliix, and @adelusionforyourthoughts 📍AN: The last chapter of Case: It's You. Book 2, Case: It's Us will begin posting most likely in the beginning of March. I have some collabs i want to focus on and to knock out pieces i missed last year with FFF. Anyways, the taglist fo CIU will be reset and directions to join will be listed at the end of this chapter. Are you ready for the climax of Case: It's You? 📍dividers and banner made by me!

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It was a lot more nerve wracking descending the stairs than you thought, a lot less prepared for this conversation than you had hoped for. You could see the majority of the open space, the industrial pipes and vents above with the fans blowing air. The whole space was renovated nicely, with a large sitting area that doubled as a game or theater set up with the large flat screen on the stone wall. Shelves occupied the rest full of books and other items, including a dagger and sword collection.

Wooyoung was the last to notice your presence, moving about the large industrial type kitchen cooking up a feast just as you had asked, but the others had all stopped to look up at the stairs the moment the door opened. San had let you step out first, taking it slow as you fought off the panic that threatened to engulf you. You told yourself you had no reason to be scared, they wouldn’t hurt you. Yeosang was watching from over his monitors he had set up on the dining table, Jongho standing next to him, while the other four were standing in the living area discussing something important if you had to guess from their demeanor.

They just… stared. Some smiled, like Hongjoong and Yunho, even Yeosang had a shy little smile. But otherwise their concern was so evident it almost made you turn and run back into the room. Wooyoung, bless him, noticed that when he noticed you. “There’s my pretty girl- hey! Y'all stop gawking at her! Not unless you’re going to get on your knees and beg for her love.” He pointed his spatula at a few of them as if ready to hit.

Yunho chuckled and made his way over to meet you at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry about that butterfly, we’re just happy to see you moving about.” You rolled your eyes but took his outstretched hand once you reached the last step. “Yeah, well, get used to it. I’m not about to be some doll you keep in a box.”

He smiled wider, stopping you there instead of helping you down like you thought. “Wouldn’t dream of it Butterfly, you’re meant to fly after all.” Blushing at his comment, you gently smacked his shoulder. “Shut it charmer, I’m hungry and I’d like to chit chat.” “Of course, anything you want.” He hummed out and then swept you into his arms. He hadn’t  been as clingy as the other two, so the contact threw you off, for a moment reminding you of the night you found out everything.

It left a bad taste in your mouth and had you scrambling out of his arms. “I can walk just fine.” With a huff you moved past him to the others: in particular Hongjoong. “I want answers. Please.” He nodded, sombering up and looking to the others. They each sat down and both Yeosang and Jongho made their way over. Yunho took his seat next to Mingi, placing a hand on his thigh to still Mingi's bouncing leg, Yeosang sitting next to Mingi on the other side and and Jongho sat on the arm next to him, all on one sofa. You glanced at San to have him sit, which he did, sitting on the far end of the other couch next to Seonghwa.

Even Wooyoung paused in his cook, leaning against the counter and giving you all his attention.

While you were thankful they did, none of them standing above you and giving you ample space, the intensity of their stares made you uneasy. Unwavering attention, somber expressions, even Jongho’s usual tense demeanor was for a different reason: concern for you.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a huff, placing your hands on your hips and furrowing your brow with a playful glare. “I swear to fucking God if you don't relax a little I'm going to start swinging! I'm not going to suddenly combust and I'm not made of crystal either.” 

At your threat, there were some tense smiles, but other Wooyoung scoffing in the kitchen no one relaxed.

“Yes you are.”

Surprisingly, it was Jongho who spoke up, drawing your attention with eyes wide with shock. “What did you say?” You took a step closer, ready to fight him on it. You weren't fragile. You weren’t-

“You are fragile. Ready to combust. Crystal or glass or whatever.” He repeated, shifting on the arm rest as Yeosang grabbed his arm with alarm. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking! And it's true. When I found you…”

As he trailed off you stepped forward, thigh brushing his knee as you stared him down with a locked brow. “What? What about it?!”

“Easy Gorgeous, this is what you wanted to talk about right?” Hongjoong stood up to try and intervene but you held up a hand to stop him, gaze locked onto Jongho's in a battle of wills.

“When I found you… when you held on to me, I thought… I thought we lost you for good.” His tone significantly softened, but he held eye contact, seeming just as shocked as you were by his words. “We don't want to lose you.”

“And when was I ever yours to lose Choi Jongho? Maybe some of the others but yours? Don't make me laugh.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes and waving him off dismissively.

Just for him to grab your hand and pull you closer. Out of reaction. You brought your other hand down in an attempt to hit him, just for him to grab your wrist. Both were now locked in his hands, his feet hooking behind your calves and effectively trapping you against him while he still sat on the arm of the couch unwavering. “Let. Me. GO!” You still struggled, but while you were smaller and could be quick, he was much more physically fit and overpowering. Despite your best efforts your breathing became labored, eyes wide with unbridled fear as your body reacted from trauma as opposed to Jongho himself.

Despite his rough grip, his face softened. “Look at me, little one, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Stiffening at the pet name, heat flooded your senses, mingling with the icy fear that was in your veins and somehow balancing it out. He didn’t say anything else, nor make a move, just waited out for your struggling to seize. Instead you deflated, hands balled into fists to try and keep your fingers from trembling more than they were. “Why does it matter to you?” Your previous demeanor to take action and demand answers was long gone, the vulnerable side of yourself that you often rejected coming back to the surface. These men had a way of bringing it out, apparently that meant Jongho as well. “I…” He started, dropping his hands from your wrists to settle on his thighs, giving you the option to back out if you wanted. When you didn’t, he continued, a tremble in his voice. “You… you matter to me little one, more than I’d like to admit. Butting heads with you, watching you thrive in this kind of work, seeing the way you interact with my partners here… It all matters to me. I’m sorry I reacted poorly, I thought if I could get you to walk away before you got too deep there was a chance for you to be happy elsewhere but… that’s not an option anymore is it?” You shook your head, staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. Softness was not something you expected to ever see from this man, and coupled with the pet name it had you feeling some type of way. “No… it’s not. I want to be a part of this. No, I need it. With you all. I want…” You paused, taking a deep breath to gather up what courage you could, turning to look at every single one of them before meeting Jongho’s still soft gaze. It felt like you had to tell him this the most. “I want to join the Black Pirates.” The way he smiled up at you had the apples of your cheeks burning, for a brief second finding him adorable. “For new members we take a vote and if it’s not unanimous, it fails. Should we take a vote?” He looked to the others, but you were staring at him, a question in them. “It’s not the first time for the vote… no, but I disagreed every time. I get it if that makes you angry at me.” Swallowing hard, you shook your head. Now that you understood a bit of why he was so hateful to you, you couldn’t be upset with his actions. Well, not at this moment. You might give him hell for it later though. “Just you though?” You couldn’t help but glance over at Yeosang and Yunho, having thought they two might have protested at least. You know San and Wooyoung wanted you since the first time you met them both, and the others had shown so as well over the last few weeks.

Yeosang caught you looking at him and smiled sheepishly, nodding his head. “I want you here. I uh- well…” He trailed off, getting more bashful the more you stared expectantly.

It was Wooyoung that chimed in, making his way over in a rush, announcing himself with a giggle before he pulled you back against him once he was sure you would not panic about it. “Sangie is obsessed with you, Goddess. Asks about you constantly, praises you. It’s so fucking cute to get him flustered just by mentioning you. You know, if you sat on his lap right now he would practically combust? He’s never been with a woman, just us, you could teach him a few things.”

“Wooyoung!” San stepped in, huffing as he stood up. “Let’s not suggest things like that right now.” “Why not? I think it would be very healing for her to hear just how much we want her and care about her. Did you know, love, that he’s been your secret admirer for awhile? Like that breakfast waiting for you the day you were late. Oh that was fun to get out of him.” You could hardly process what he was saying, watching the way Yeosang fidgeted and now refused to look at you, much like a shy boy in the presence of his crush. When Jongho slid his hand through the man’s hair, eliciting a low deep moan from him, your brain went haywire. Of course you had already decided Yeosang was adorable and had a lot of cute habits, like his lisp and the way he would preen at your praise just to name a few.

“I see. I’ll keep that in mind.” Shit, were you actually getting aroused by this? It was a nice thought that you actually could, but you knew the act itself was off the table. Especially if Jongho touching you like that had adrenaline running in your veins ready to fight and run. So you turned your attention right to Mingi who was sitting next to the pretty boy. He was watching with those boba eyes of his that melted your heart. You hadn’t talked to him since he had interrupted your time with Wooyoung, pouting from your lack of attention. “Do you want me here?” The sex, the shared moments in between, and the brief moments after… you couldn’t say for certain that he did want you here.

He looked offended you asked. “Of course I do Princess. Do you have any idea how badass and amazing you are? You’re an upgrade to our team for sure. And not just because the sex was amazing, I like you for way more than just that.” He elbowed Yunho next to him. “Right?” Yunho nodded, smiling softly as he patted his thigh and met your gaze. “Remember what I told you, Butterfly? This is another way I meant it, as a Pirate. San has always been right about you being perfect for us, and that means in this way too. You’re a hard worker, you fight for what you believe in, and you’re a force to be reckoned with. My balls still hurt thinking about your knee, you know.” He teased with a wink, resulting in a blush on your own cheeks. “I do feel bad about that but it didn’t seem to affect your performance.” You pointed out, shifting in Wooyoung’s arms. The man tightened his hold on you, chin resting on your shoulder as he let out a whine. “And you know how San and I feel already. We love you. Cherish you. Most definitely worship the ground you walk on Goddess. Having you as a Pirate with us? It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Fighting off the smile that wanted to spread across your lips was hard, so you didn’t. Especially when you locked eyes with San, his own smile mirroring yours, his dimples on full display. “You two are charmers, I swear.” San chuckled with Wooyoung, the broader man nodding. “It worked, we got you now don’t we?” You couldn’t deny that, warmth spreading through your body at their obvious affection. That meant six out of eight agreed for you to join. Six out of eight of them wanted you, wanted to work with you as an equal and a partner. Hesitantly you glanced at Seonghwa, feeling a bit intimidated despite knowing he did care for you. Still, you had held him at gunpoint, he had freed you at the safe house and you had, essentially, killed a man to try and fight for him and Hongjoong. Did they know that? How you had made that decision, in that moment, to fight for them? With nothing more than a knife? The way Seonghwa softened, you thought maybe he did. You felt shy, insecure, anxiety eating in your chest. So much had happened, all the care shown to you over this last week being second guessed at this moment. And he seemed to know that. “Angel?” He started, standing up slowly as you removed yourself from Wooyoung’s hold, his presence suddenly overwhelming for you. “Hey, it’s okay-” “It’s not. It’s not okay.” You stammered out, backing away from Wooyoung to create some space as heavy weighted emotions took hold in your heart. It finally hit, not just what had happened by the Red Wolves hand, but what led up to it. Your questioning at gunpoint, the way Yunho fucked you, being held hostage by them and still choosing to fight. What if that changed things? Did that really make you good enough? Did that really make you deserving of their words? Seonghwa shared a quick glance with Hongjoong and both approached you, stopping when you backed up. The guilt and pain that twisted their features suddenly twisted your own emotions in your gut. “You don’t think you deserve this… do you? Being a Pirate?” When you nodded, they reacted in a way that had you jumping, staring at Hongjoong now on his knees as he had fallen to them with a groan of pain. Seonghwa was shaking his head, using your shock over Hongjoong to close the distance and grab you by the waist. You jumped at that, attempting to pull away until you saw the gun.

“This is why, isn’t it? You don’t think we want someone that hurt us?” There was pure anguish in his voice, pushing it against your chest. “You think you’re a liability after what happened? And wondering just how we can agree to having you on board huh?” You hated how right he was, holding onto the gun because he wasn’t giving you a choice. “You wouldn’t have gone with them if I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t have been there if I didn’t hold you at gun point. You wouldn’t-” You were shut up with a kiss, words muffled against Seonghwa’s lips as he held you tight against him. Your mind went blank, confusion settling under the bliss that came from his sweet lips on yours. 

When he pulled away, he directed your attention to Hongjoong who was gripping his knees tightly, still on the ground but tense. He presented himself as if he was offering his life up to you for a mistake. And in hindsight, he was. He blamed himself for what happened, you could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he said your full name, slowly and syllable by syllable. “We signed up for situations like that, you hadn’t. Being a Pirate means there will always be a chance of that happening again-” The air in the room grew thick with a new tension, somber expressions befalling each member as they looked at you almost protectively. You normally would hate it, demand that you could take care of yourself.

But they knew you could, they admired that you could, and therefore their protective demeanor meant something entirely different to you.

Tears were running down your cheeks unexpectedly, finding new strength to pull from Seonghwa. He let you, watching as you were on your knees before Hongjoong the next second, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him. He latched on, burying his face into the crook of your neck, trembling in your arms. “Being a Pirate means I’m with you, all eight of you, and that’s more than worth the risk Hongjoong. I can’t think of anywhere else I want to be, or that fits me more. Working with you all, being with you all, just… this is my home, isn’t it?” There were arms wrapping around you both, a kiss pressed to the top of your head. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Seonghwa, the sound of his humming filling your ears. “Welcome home then Angel. We’re happy to have you.” Hongjoong’s arms tightened around you, a wet spot forming on your shirt from his own silent tears. “We’re in this together, Firecracker. Promise not to let you get hurt like that again okay?” As much as going through that again would terrify you, you glanced around the room, taking note of the others. Wooyoung was now holding San’s hand, freely crying while San was trying not too, both looking as if they wanted to come join. You waved them over, and they joined rather fast, surrounding you with so much warmth. Wooyoung on your right across from Seonghwa and San now behind you. Both kissing the top of your head just like Seonghwa did.

Then there were the other four, Mingi and Yeosang leaning into their respective partners, both Yunho and Jongho sharing a look of determination, all four watching you. With your own determination, you took a deep breath and kissed the top of Hongjoong’s head instead. “If I do… I’ll be okay. I’ll have the eight of you right? I think I can handle anything if I have you all in my corner.”

The four of them squeezed you tightly, the amount of emotions in the room overwhelming but it felt right. It felt right to experience this with them all, to be vulnerable with them and receive this support. This is what it meant to be with them all, to be in this together.

Seonghwa said the final words, making it official as he seemed to comfort his family; his lovers. “Then together. Welcome home Angel.”

To be part of the taglist you MUST follow these directions! 1- Reblog this chapter. No blank reblogs will be considered, feedback is needed.

2- Reblog the Case: It's You Masterlist with at least one thing you liked about the series.

3- You will NOT be added to the taglist if you do not have your age in your bio or have the tumblr basic photo. You will be blocked for no age, but if you have the basic pfp i will just exclude you from the taglist.

4- there will be a cap of 100, as i do not think 100 people will follow these directions to the tee.

5- there is the ao3 version of Case: It's You and Case: It's Us will be posted in time with the tumblr here. So if you want to be a silent reader, or miss your chance for the taglist, I suggest subscribing to both CIY and CIU when it comes out on ao3. My ao3 username is: Cutiepiedoom. You can also search for the story. The reason I'm doing this: Tumblr writing community is dying, I work hard for this story and yes I choose to post for free but I can also choose to only send to those I know enjoy this. i do not have to share my work, i can stop any time i want and I will if i think at any point it is not worth it to post. A Taglist in particular is a waste of my time, so I'd rather make sure I'm tagging people I KNOW are going to enjoy this series. And that means reblogging it, giving me feedback, geeking out about it, letting the author know that it is LOVED. Thats all you need to do and i can promise you thats plenty of motivation for authors to give more and more. It brightens are bad days and keeps our love for our hobby alive. So please, don't bitch about this <3

Thank you~ Doom.

[seungcheollies-cake]

The Leaders | Masterlist

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from"

ot8!ateez x f!reader

mafia au

genres and warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, eventual smut (mdni!) poly!ateez, smoking, drinking, gambling, illegal businesses, politics, violence, heavy themes, mild gore, multiple pairings, more specific warnings in the chapters

estimated word count: approx 200k

synopsis: in eden 1970, you join the inner circle of the crescent company by sharing information that could crumble the very foundations of eden itself. amidst the dark world of manipulation, connections, dirty politics and illegal dealings, you navigate with eight seemingly-refined gentlemen who have your back as the war with the elites begins. 

timeline | maps (to be released)

chapters:

one |

status: coming soon

taglist: apply here!

[seungcheollies-cake]

CIY CH 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader

📍Summary: "It's okay to be scared"

📍WC: 3k

📍AU: detective/mafia

📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance

📍Warning(s): mentions of torture/r@pe, mentions of minor character death, mentions of sex trafficking and kidnapping, PTSD, panic attacks. trauma triggers.

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @flurrys-creativity , @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts and occasionally @daemour

📍AN: a comfort chapter but there are still some serious topics so read at your own risk. also, not all panic attacks are like what reader experiences here in the chapter (this is going off my own p.a)

📍dividers and banner made by me!

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You couldn’t say how long had passed. A week? Maybe more? You hadn’t really moved from the room you were in, everything you could possibly need was brought to you. Food, water, any clothes from your apartment or belongings. Though you opted more for their clothes, the eager way some of them had begun to fight over who’s clothes you would wear next had you laughing.

To say you haven’t had a moment alone would be an understatement. Someone was with you always, even when you had to use the restroom. Which- that was an embarrassing situation on its own, but after you had tried to take care of yourself alone the first time… well the embarrassment was better than the pain and anguish.

Surprisingly you didn’t mind someone glued to your side at all times. If it wasn’t Wooyoung, it was San. If it wasn’t one of them, it was Seonghwa. On occasion there were multiple. Sometimes Hongjoong was in here with Seonghwa, sometimes Yeosang was sitting in the corner on his laptop while Wooyoung or San, or both, had your undivided attention.

Only for it to die as soon as you noticed the way they were looking at you. In awe, like their chest was aching.

It felt… wrong.

You were both grateful and appalled at the attention, and at the way they gave it. Ready to serve you, which from Wooyoung was normal and easy to accept- but when it was Seonghwa? Or the rare moments Mingi or Jongho or Yunho were here and soft with you… it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

None of them talked about it. They didn’t mention what had happened, nor the days before. Not even when you woke up screaming from a night terror, fighting off and hitting Hongjoong who had been the one watching you. The fact they felt the need to watch you was aggravating to say the least. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to be the first to say it. To mention it. To speak it into existence.

Once the pain began to subside, it was easier to forget it happened, pushing it to the back of your mind. In fact you were determined to act as if it had never happened, which wasn’t very easy to do, sandwiched between Wooyoung and San.

They were the touchiest, which you didn’t mind. Wooyoung was always touchy, but unlike before they were gentle and sweet: cupping your cheek, playing with your hands, kisses to your knuckles, and back rubs. San gave the better back rubs, rough and larger hands easing the tension there, but there was still a hard limit to how much they would touch you, as if the wrong touch would set you off. 

With a huff you pushed yourself up, both of them sitting up just as quickly ready to get you anything you needed. You let the annoyance show. “I’m hungry and I want to shower. One of you is a radiating heater and I am laying in my own sweat for fuck’s sake.”

San chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry Sweetcheeks, I can help you with the shower-”

“No, I want to shower by myself. You can help Mister Chef with the food.” You stared down your nose at him, daring him to say otherwise.

“How about I stay right here just in case you need me?”

“San.” You warned, ignoring Wooyoung who was watching the battle of wills with his fingers over his mouth in shock. “I can handle a fucking shower by myself.”

Sensing this was something you weren’t going to budge on, he sighed. “And you can shower by yourself, but I would like to sit out here and wait for you in case you do need me. I’ve been cleaning you up all week, who knows you might want me to fix the spots you missed.” He winked, resulting in you rolling your eyes.

His words did make you feel less suffocated, and you knew that was why he said them, which just had you conflicted. He read you a little too well sometimes.

“Fine then. Chef Wooyoung-”

“Yes my lovely Goddess?”

You also ignored their gazes on your back as you made your way to the bathroom, completely forgetting the fact that you had showered daily since coming here. Sometimes twice. Usually to keep your wounds clean, but mostly because you felt unclean. And each time, Wooyoung or San, or even Seonghwa, would stand in the shower in their swim shorts and a shirt to bathe you properly.

“I would like to come downstairs and eat so take your time.”

“Hm alright, I’m sure the others have suffered without my cooking anyways. Enjoy your shower Goddess. Would you like my clothes today?”

“I’m wearing them now.” You pointed out with a smirk. His sweats were the ones that fit you the easiest. “But I suppose.” Patting his head you climbed around them, ignoring the twinge of pain from your sore muscles. Being bedridden did numbers on your body, even recovering, but you ignored the damage in favor of putting on a brave face.

Before, you would focus all your attention on them, just follow their lead. Let them take care of you. It was easy.

Now, as you stare in the mirror with the shirt off, it was not easy.

The cuts and bruises had faded significantly but they were still there. There was still so much proof of what had happened. How can you pretend it didn’t when it was right there?

Taking a deep breath you pushed forward, muttering under your breath it was fine. You had left the bathroom door cracked, despite telling yourself it would have been fine to lock it and give yourself some space but the idea of you alone in a locked room?

You could handle this, you weren’t broken. He didn’t break you. It was just a shower.

Mentally you talked yourself through each step until you were under the nice luxury shower, shutting your eyes and letting the water run down your body. 

Big mistake.

There was no San or Wooyoung to keep you grounded. No clothes or sounds to remind you where you were, or keep your head out of that place.

You just wanted to forget. Just wanted to move on. But no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t happen, there was so much irrefutable proof that it did. No matter how much you didn’t want it to affect you, it did.

A scream erupted from you as arms were wrapped around you and you were pulled out of the shower. You slammed your fists down, hitting broad shoulders, but it didn’t deter whomever had you.

Not until you recognized San saying your name repeatedly.

You locked up, eyes flying open with fresh tears running down them. He had fresh scratches on his cheek from your nails, but his eyes held nothing but concern for you. “Are you with me now?”

They put so much effort into making you feel safe, you really didn’t know how to handle it. Was it because you were broken? No good to them? Or did they just feel like sucking up after what happened. You knew they felt guilty, from the moment you had latched onto Yunho when you woke up frightened. Then Wooyoung’s promise- which he had been keeping.

Slowly you nodded, realizing you were panting- no hyperventilating just a moment ago. “I- yes. Yes I’m here.”

“Good. We need to talk.” He turned the shower off and then grabbed a towel. He wrapped you up and carried you out to the bedroom, door shut and curtains pulled tight: usually both were open so you didn’t feel more trapped.

It was their way of caring for you, you couldn’t fault them for that. You just hated the why. Why they had to do so much. Treat you this way. And that without it you would be far more lost than you were now. You couldn’t run from it no matter how much you tried. How much you wanted to.

So as San sat you on the mattress and knelt before you, you peeled yourself away from him and grabbed the blankets to cocoon yourself in comfort. “Why did you come into the bathroom?”

San looked a bit perplexed, knees on the floor so he was still beneath you of sorts. “You were sobbing, quite loudly, and when I went in there you were struggling to breathe.” By your reaction, he gathered you hadn’t been aware of that. “Listen, I'm no stranger to these types of panic attacks. Sweetheart you have PTSD, which is understandable considering what happened. But pretending it didn’t happen isn’t going to fix it. Our bodies remember years after these things happen. I still struggle sometimes.”

Hugging the blanket tight you stared at him through the small hole you left yourself to breathe. “What do you mean? You went through something like that? Really?” It was hard to hide your disbelief, after all who could have gotten the jump on San? Big, muscly, trained to fight San?

He smiled wryly at you, and nodded. “Yeah… I did. I uh, guess it’s about time I let you in on my little secret. We went to school together, in fact you used to kick my ass in Taekwondo. I was a lot smaller then, higher pitched voice. Seemed to hit puberty late- yeah, now you remember.”

The more he had described himself, the more you did. The small twink that was a grade under year, and the only kid that wasn’t afraid to spare with you in your last year of high school. But he was shy, didn’t talk to you much, and he didn’t look much like the man before you. “But… didn’t that Choi San go missing shortly after his graduation? Don’t tell me you just joined up with these guys?”

He scoffed, but shook his head. “No, something happened first.” He crossed his arms over the mattress and rested his chin on the back of his hands, dropping the bomb. “I got sex trafficked. Red Wolves. I was one of the few that got sold in the city instead of shipped off, one of the Golden Circle business men had a certain… taste. It’s been a couple years but I still freak out about the idea of bottoming. I just…” He sighed, trailing off despite the bit of hurt in his voice. “Not with anyone here usually, but some days my mind just pluments and I can’t help it.”

Tears sprung back into your eyes at the imagery his words created. To imagine San, the sweet sunshine boy you remembered, going through something like that? “How’d you get out?”

“Wooyoung.” He brightened considerably at the name, smiling up at you. “He was hired as a call boy by the guy to do some things with me. He got me out by pulling some strings, and then put me here. I’m not the only one he got out of a tough bind, Yeosang too. He’s working hard to hopefully get his mother out of her situation but, that’s a lot harder than buying a sex slave or freeing you from someone else’s hold. Mingi too knows what it’s like, his mom got him into some serious shit when he was a minor.”

“Does it… does it ever go away?” You mumbled out, scooting closer and reaching for him.

Your heart hurt for every single one of them. You couldn’t imagine the pain and fear you felt belonging to one of these men. Sure they were mafia. Sure they lied to you. But how could you doubt them when they had treated you like this the past week or so?

So much made sense, and it warmed your heart to know their care wasn’t out of pity, but understanding. They knew the fear that you were put through. And they knew what came after.

San didn’t hesitate, sitting up straighter and holding his arms out. You climbed down onto his lap, shivering at the cold but he pulled the blankets back over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes and no. It’s something that’s going to live with you forever. It’ll shape a lot of what you do, but if you mean the pain… that does go away. As long as you address it and feel it when it pops up. But then you have to remind yourself that it’s in the past. That man can’t hurt you any more- hell Hongjoong made sure of that. He was covered in the man’s blood.”

“I remember. I didn’t…. I didn’t know what to think about it at the time. I could barely process that Hongjoong and Seonghwa were there. That they were tortured too. I realize not like me… or maybe?”

“Yeah, what you went through was that bastard's way of trying to hurt them too. And I’m sorry about that baby girl. You're always going to be a weak spot for us, because we care so much about you. Wooyoung told you he loved you… he’s not the only one you know.” San gently rubbed your back, the same way he had every chance he got recently. It soothed you, helped regulate your breathing, and now you knew he did it because it probably worked for him too.

Smiling, you buried your face into his neck and breathed him in, always a comforting scent. “Are you going to confess now too?”

“Honestly I’m ashamed I wasn’t the first one. I liked you long before they even knew you.” He admitted with a huff and you could feel him smile as you laughed. “Even when you kicked my ass I thought you were the coolest girl and I had the biggest crush.”

Lifting your head you arched a brow. “Oh, now I see, that’s what you meant when you had said you had imagined pinning me down so many times. Twink 3000 was a major pervert huh?” You teased, laughing even more as he blushed, stumbling over his words.

“I was hoping you would forget I said that-”

“How can I?” You interrupted, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. “There were times he would… touch me… that I comforted myself by thinking about those times with you guys. With you in the gym, Mingi, Wooyoung… I didn’t want to be scared of being touched like that.”

He softened, bringing his hands to your sides and holding you there. “It’s okay to be scared of it. It’s okay if you don’t trust us like that yet. Or ever again. We aren’t going to think less of you. We aren’t going to get upset if you don’t want us like that. Or if you only want one of us like that. Jongho doesn’t fuck all of us. Yeosang doesn’t either. Captain and Hwa share this bed, they’re a bit more than the rest of us but that’s fair. No one expects you to love or want us equally, but that doesn’t make you less of an equal in the ways that count.”

“Sannie-”

“It’s okay if you start crying randomly, or you need space or need the opposite. If you need a break or need to work. You went through something traumatic and you’re going to figure your triggers out and go through it differently than us.”

“Sannie.” You said it a bit louder this time, trying to get him out of his little tangent.

But he kept going, intent on getting his point across. “We just don’t know what you need yet so we were doing what works for us until you do but there isn’t anything wrong if you wanna keep this up too so like-”

“San!” You snapped out, then crashed your lips to his.

Sure you hadn’t intended on confessing to the little yapper, but you had been spurred on his and knowing you were loved after what happened was oddly healing. There was a long way to go though.

He was so startled he fell back, holding you to him but responding without hesitation once the shock passed. Of course kissing wasn’t something you thought you would want to do. Anything sexual, just as he had pointed out, but this was San.

This was your rock, your solid mountain. Your dimpled sunshine and perfect muscly pillow and you loved him. Just as much as you did Wooyoung.

“I guess I should talk to everyone and figure it out shouldn’t I?”

Your hands found San’s hair, curling in the short black strands and moaning against the kiss as you proved to yourself you could enjoy this. At least until his hands roamed down to your ass. Pulling away while simultaneously catching your breath you grabbed his hands. “Kisses for now. And yes, I love you. If you had stopped with your big ‘It’s okay’ speech for two seconds I could tell you that.”

He chuckled bashfully but was grinning up at you so much his dimples were on full display. “You looove me~”

“This is the part where you say it back dumbass.”

He laughed, sitting up just as he swept you into his arms and somehow managed to get you on the bed and him on his feet in a matter of seconds. “I love you too baby girl. Now let’s find those clothes for you and then we can go downstairs and eat. Though I am vetoing you being alone naked, or in a locked room until you actually feel comfortable and am not doing it just because we annoyed you with our clinginess.”

With a pout you nodded in agreement. Considering both seemed to be things you just couldn’t handle alone - yet - you could agree there. “Can I freely roam the building then and, I don’t know, try and do some work?”

“Oh so you do want to work?” He hummed out, moving over to the bin of clothes that had been gathered for you. “As a detective or…”

Now that was the real question. Traumatizing hostage experience aside, and your love for two of these men, where did you stand with them? As individuals, in a career sense… in a partner sense?

AN: One last chapter to go! Bringing Case: It's You to it's climax.

This story focused more on reader finding a home with Ateez and learning their secret, as well as some other things. but book 2, Case: It's Us, will tackle the usual plot point of taking down the rest of the crim world... if they can. From Revenge, to healing, to a whole lot of smut -- please look forward to book 2! I hope I can wrap this one up in a way that satisfies you all, and really shows where their relationship is here at the end of Book 1

Taglist will be done in reblogs and again, keep your eyes peeled for taglist instructions on the last chapter. Follow them and you will be added to the new taglist! The old one will be scrapped!

[seungcheollies-cake]

CIY CH 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Sharp Words" 📍WC: 3.2k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Warning(s): mentions of torture/r@pe, mentions of minor character death, a few punches, angst 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @flurrys-creativity , @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts and occasionally @daemour 📍AN: just like a little warning, these last few chapters will be emotionally packed and quite angsty. While there is comfort, there is also the characters each reacting to what happened in their own way and it has made me cry a lil. While it is made obvious what has happened to reader in this chapter, once more no details were given just a brief description of the damage of her body. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable or you just dont feel up to sharing these emotions with these characters atm, that is perfectly fine- please take the time to read this when you feel up to it. It's not going anywhere i promise! 📍dividers and banner made by me! ageless blocks will be blocked immediately if you interact with this post

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Somehow, despite Yunho’s speedy driving, you fell asleep by the time they arrived at their shared home: a small industrial building on the south river that was repurposed as their base of operations. It was also Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s main residence.

Hongjoong had Jongho take you right to the master bathroom, which he followed. Jongho didn’t want to set you down to undress you, so with the hot water running from the multiple shower heads, they both stood fully clothed as they washed you up. Jongho was careful to keep the water from hitting your face, turning you slowly and as carefully as he could while Hongjoong was just as gentle cleaning the blood - and dried semen - off your body. 

It was an effort to remain calm, both freezing up when you made any movement to wake. How you managed to sleep through the entire shower, which was not quick by any means, only had them concerned. While it made sense you didn’t sleep during your time held hostage, it still hurt.

Stepping out of the shower they were faced with the dilemma of getting you dry despite both in their soaked clothes. A knock on their door drew their attention, Yunho freshly changed and standing in the doorway. “Hwa sent me as back up.” 

As if handing off a fragile valuable, Jongho gently handed you over to Yunho and into the towel he had. He didn’t take his eyes off you, pain burning brightly in them. Hongjoong did the best to comfort their youngest, patting his back to avert his attention. “Let’s change and then regroup with everyone. She needs her rest. Is the doctor here yet?” Yunho nodded, already leaving the bathroom. “I’ll send her in once I put Butterfly down. She said it was best to keep her naked until after she examines her. I’ll stay with her to put her in something comfortable after.” “Good. Clothes- ah thank you.” Hongjoong trailed off as Yunho pointed to two piles of clothes on the counter before leaving with you.

Once both men were dressed in clean clothes, and Hongjoong was sure there was no more blood on him, they left to join the others downstairs, passing the doctor Haru sent on the way.

Seonghwa had changed and cleaned up as well, standing behind the large sofa that both Yeosang and Mingi were sitting at, San pacing off to the side. There were no remnants of the rescue mission on any of them: no blood or dust or dirt. As if reading his mind, Seonghwa spoke up. “We didn’t want any reminders of what happened in case Angel woke up and saw us. Is she…?” “She slept through the whole shower and is now being checked out by the doctor. Yunho is going to stay and get her comfortable after.” With a deep breath, Hongjoong crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s make this quick, I want a debrief.” “Now?” Mingi gawked, swallowing any other retort at Hongjoong’s glare. “Right. Um, Yeosang?” Yeosang glared at him for throwing him under the bus, but sighed and relented. “She never left the safe house.” He knew what they wanted to know the most, how you had gotten caught. Why you hadn’t been safe. “After Seonghwa let her go and joined you to fight off the Blood Hounds, she tried to find you both.” He swallowed hard, remembering what he had seen on the screen at the time, the pride he had felt followed by the fear. “Some had stayed behind after you both gave yourself up. You were barely in their van when she… she killed one of them, and then got caught. They had her in a different car.” “By the time Yunho and I got there, she was long gone.” Mingi added on, looking up at his leader. “Yunho thought it would be a good idea not to let the others know right off the bat, considering San was knee deep in Viper territory and Wooyoung was the middle man for some negotiations. He didn’t want to risk either of them getting too emotional.” “You didn’t tell me until the day of!” San swiveled on his heel as he snapped at him. “I could’ve been out looking for her sooner!”

“San, he has a point.”

“Don’t give me that shit Seonghwa! She was held hostage and tortured, and the fact no one told Wooyoung is-” “You haven’t either.” Yeosang chimed in nonchalantly. “He just knew about Captain and Hwa.”

San however looked away with obvious guilt on his face, broad shoulders somehow getting even more tense. “Of course I didn’t. He would’ve-” “And you would’ve too.” Hongjoong brought the attention back to himself. “Both you and Wooyoung will act first, plan after, especially if it would come to her. So if we wanted her back to us alive, Yunho made the right call.” That was the reason he was third in command. He made smart and logical decisions even in the middle of chaos. There were times both Hongjoong and Seonghwa had needed Yunho to keep them levelheaded even, especially when it came to you. “But we will have to tell him now. Once she’s a bit more rested.” “You know… it was shocking how Jongho reacted.” Mingi pointed out, drawing attention to the youngest who had been silent behind Hongjoong. “You volunteered to work on it, looking around the area the van was last spotted at well through the night.” Jongho was visibly uncomfortable at the topic, swallowing hard. In fact he was avoiding everyone’s gaze. “I thought they were going to kill her.” Silence fell over the room, a solemn tension as they each thought of how they would’ve felt if the Blood hounds had actually killed you. Would it have spared you from the torture? No, chances are they would have tortured you until you died. That just left how empty they would have felt with you gone, the guilt that would eat them alive.

They were still wrestling with those thoughts as Wooyoung strutted in up the stairs, letting out a sigh of relief. “You’re back!” He ran over with the intent of hugging them, but slowed once he got to San, noticing his body language and how the bigger man seemed to shrink away from him. “Sannie? What happened?” No one wanted to be the one to break the news, but they couldn’t hide it. Seonghwa and Hongjoong shared a look while Yeosang pulled out his tablet to look through the camera’s; he probably had one Junghoon on surveillance back at the precinct so he could be here for you. Mingi very obviously avoided looking at Wooyoung, even Jongho couldn’t hide the guilt on his features. Wooyoung looked at each of them, expression hardening as he realized quickly they were keeping something from him. Before he could question however, the door to the closed off loft, Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s area, opened and down the steps the doctor descended. Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, recognizing the woman. “Dr. Handong?”

The woman adjusted her glasses as she stepped forward, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. “I finished my examination, it’s just like you had said. Most of the cuts done were pretty shallow, but there were some older ones that were pretty deep. My best guess is due to struggling.” She had ignored most of the men and spoke directly to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. “No broken bones that I could make out, though her ankles and wrists are swollen from the binds she had been in. I left some painkillers and instructions for her care with the one upstairs and I can send over a female nurse to oversee her care for about a week?”

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on? She’s not talking about our Goddess is she? Why would she be all banged up?” Wooyoung’s voice rose an octave as he barked out questions, a tremble that grew with each word. “Wooyoung…” San reached out for him, but the man dodged him and stepped more in the room. “I think you know why.” Hongjoong moved to block Handong from Wooyoung’s view, needing this taken care of first. “Is there a reason a female nurse needs to be present? We can take care of her can’t we?” “No offense, but from my experience women don’t tend to lean on men after one has assaulted her in this way for days. She’s torn up pretty bad there, and it’s going to hurt and be uncomfortable for her to use the restroom, maybe even sit. It’s likely she’ll prefer female company, and a nurse would be able to make sure she is properly cleaned so no wounds get infected.” Handong replied coolly, unaffected by the reactions of the men. “You can leave the decision up to her, call me should she request one. My lady also extended the offer to have her recoup with us.”

“She’s not going anywhere!” Wooyoung’s shout startled Hongjoong enough to glance back, not at all surprised to see the fury and pain on his features. “Her home is with us and we’ll take care of her. My mom knows that.” He hissed out, pulling his arm from San’s grip and marching past the others. 

Mingi stood up to try and stop him, but Wooyoung was nothing if not quick. Jongho however grabbed him, yanking him back from the stairs. “Will you stop, she’s sleeping.” “Oh now you give a damn about her? After all the shit you said, you care how she is?” Wooyoung snapped out, struggling against his grip. “Let me go! You all did a fine job taking care of her after all.” “Wooyoung that’s not the case and you know it.” Hongjoong followed him in an attempt to help Jongho pull him away. Seonghwa had swept in and was seeing Handong out, the others rushing in to also keep Wooyoung from disturbing you. But he could be a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to you recently. He climbed over Jongho and onto the stairs, both of them scrambling and beginning to fight. Somehow Wooyoung was on top, connecting a fist to Jongho’s jaw and giving up on passing him. Instead, he released his anger out on him. “Stop keeping me from her!” “Woo!” San reached for him again, just to be elbowed back. The stairs were too narrow for them all to intervene. “Shut up San! It’s his fault! If he hadn’t been so dead set on keeping her out just because of his hurt pride she wouldn’t have been there! We could have kept her safe better!” He brought his fist down again, Jongho catching it and rolling them over and held him down. “Will you shut up! She’s sleeping!” Jongho hissed out, pinning his arms above his head but that didn’t stop Wooyoung from squirming under him. “Like you give a damn with your ‘I hate all women now that I was two timed by one’ mentality! Seriously get over yourself! You’re just fucking pissed your ego got hurt.” He spat out, earning a punch from Jongho that had his head hitting the concrete stairs. “You don’t have room to talk, throwing a fit she didn’t fuck you first.”

Suddenly Jongho was yanked off, surprisingly by Hongjoong, and pushed back into the others that held him still. “You two, enough. We can bitch about who’s fault it is all day but that does nothing to help her right now. It happened, she’s hurt, right now she needs-” “Don’t tell me what she needs, Captain.” Wooyoung hissed out as he sat up, glaring at Jongho intently. “San and I both told you all how well she fits. How perfect she is for us. But you didn’t want to believe it, insisting she was going to play us just like that bitch did you. She’s dead now, would it take her dying in your arms to get through your thick skull that she’s not like that?! Is that-” “No!” Jongho’s broken cry interrupted him, shoulders falling as he vehemently shook his head. “She might as well have when I caught her today. I knew she would get hurt if she got wrapped up with us and she did! I was-” “Right? Are you happy you are?” Wooyoung wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, staring him down. “It was going to end up this one way or another. Either we killed her off or she ended up as one of us. Captain said so, Jongho! But you kept fighting! Every time we made a vote you insisted no, and this was an all or nothing decision!” Jongho winced at his words, looking away and fists clenched at his sides. “I know… I-” Yeosang stepped up to him, taking his hands in his for silent comfort. Just as he did, San made his way over to Wooyoung, hesitating to see if the man would even let him approach.

Wooyoung did, reaching out for him. “Am I wrong Sannie?”

Instead of answering, the man pulled Wooyoung onto his lap and held him. “Let’s not fight. Please? She needs us right now and… I need her to be okay.” He buried his head in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, breathing him in as he held on tight. Wooyoung softened significantly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and holding him closer. “Oh baby, you’re right. I’m sorry… I can’t imagine how this feels for you.” Now that it seemed Wooyoung was calming down, focusing more on finding comfort and giving comfort with San, Hongjoong let out a long sigh. He moved to offer comfort as well, just to wobble and lean against the railing. “Shit…” They had been so concerned with you that Hongjoong had forgotten that he too had suffered torture, even if it was no where near as extensive as yours. It had been days since he ate or drank anything after all, and then somehow finding the strength to pull Jongho off Wooyoung? He was starting to crash from the adrenaline, now in the safety of his home, all of his lovers safe and secure.

Mingi was the one to catch and support Hongjoong when his legs gave out, having been silent the whole time. The man had his thoughts on the situation, but no one was in a condition to listen. “Should we get takeout?”

The simple question had a few of them laughing, food on no one’s mind but definitely on their stomachs with the few growls that resounded. 

“No need, I’ll cook.” Wooyoung lifted his head, voice strained from the silent tears he was finally letting slip. “I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon, Sannie and I can take care of our baby girl upstairs.” “That’ll be good.” Seonghwa called out from across the room, finally rejoining them. “Joong and I will eat and then rest down here. We all can take turns sitting upstairs with her in case she wakes up. We don’t want her to be alone.” Hongjoong nodded, leaning into Mingi and thankful for the support. “We’ll need some of you to be out on the field, but we can rely on Minjae and the others to oversee the Pirates main functions for now. Wooyoung can do a lot of work from here as can Yeosang so…” “I’ll have Yechan bring me some things from my place at the precinct, I don’t want to leave.” Yeosang chimed in, his entire focus still on Jongho. “You want to stay too, right?”

Slowly he nodded his head, leaning into Yeosang. “My jaw hurts.” Yeosang cracked a smile while Wooyoung laughed. “Good! My strength training is paying off. Soon I’ll have San sized muscles!” “Oh please, like we need more muscle.” Yeosang teased, taking Jongho over to the couch. Mingi also took that as a sign to start helping Hongjoong over to one of the couches around the large open spaced area. After setting him down, he helped Seonghwa. Wooyoung and San had gotten up and made their way to the open kitchen with the intention of feeding and taking care of the others. San started grabbing drinks while Wooyoung put all of his energy into cooking. Were any of them really okay? No. Silence fell over them as they busied themselves with whatever task, but every single one of them constantly glanced over at the windows of the loft, the black curtains hiding the room and any sound inside. They fretted over when you would wake up, over what your reaction would be, and so forth.

Wooyoung made a small feast and had it laid out on the coffee table so Hongjoong and Seonghwa could eat easily, the others also digging in with uncharacteristic silence. No flirting from Wooyoung or fight stories from San. No old man jokes from Jongho or mom and dad moments from their Captain and Vice. No teasing Mingi, or shenanigans that usually surrounded them when they ate together in this place.

Nothing but a heavy weight on their shoulders that didn’t feel any better with each bite. Wooyoung finally convinced Hongjoong to let him take food up to Yunho and for you, the man rushed up the stairs with a tray after he fretted over making it pretty for several moments. Stepping into the room he held the tray tightly so as not to drop it, but his heart felt like it fell through the floor. Yunho was on the bed with you on his lap, sobbing as he rocked back and forth gently. He looked up when Wooyoung entered, making a motion to keep quiet, but it drew your attention.

You lifted your head just as Wooyoung set the tray down nearby. Seeing the tears run down your swollen and red eyes hurt, but not as much as when you dislodged yourself from Yunho and lifted your arms up to Wooyoung.

The man burst into tears, easily sweeping you into his arms as he sat on the bed next to you. “It’s okay baby girl, you’re safe now. We aren’t going to let anything like that happen again.” You sniffled and sobbed, burying your head into the crook of his neck. “Wooyoung- don’t leave me.” The broken tone just tore at his heart even more and he sobbed silently into your hair that smelled of Seonghwa’s shampoo and conditioner. “Course not Goddess, how could I leave you? Never again you hear? I love you too much for that.” His own voice trembled with the confession, hands rubbing up and down your back, recognizing one of Mingi’s shirts that he kept here. They all had some clothes kept here and it was a joy to see you in them, to have you smelling like them and holding onto him like this. He just hated how it came about. 

His confession seemed to relax you, the soft touch of your dried lips on his neck sending a shiver down his spine as you breathed him in. “I love you too.” Just as his words had eased your mind, your confession eased his. He moved to lay you down under the blankets, continuing to hold you close and comfort you as best he could. 

Taglist- in reblogs!!

AN about the Taglists: So to make sure that when Case: It's Us has a taglist of readers I know are reading and interacting, I will be redoing the taglist for Case: It's Us. To apply for it, I'll have special instructions on the last chapter of Case: It's You to do so. SO if you are part of the Case: It's You taglist, keep in mind it won't be carried over unless you follow the instructions I give. And considering that Case: It's Us won't be posted until late Janruary-Early March (the exact date isnt decided yet, i have a busy end of the year so i do not want to make promises), it will be best to be put on that Taglist so you know when it's available. If you have ao3, I recommend following CIY on there, in which I will make an announcement on CIY when CIU is up on ao3 and you can subscribe to it for notifications that way. I post the ao3 and the Tumblr versions usually the same day or back to back days (its easier to post on ao3 as opposed to here where i need the warnings and tags for each chapter. Thank you for loving and following along to Case: It's You! Hard to believe two more chapters after this! If you've read the note, I would appreciate in the comments or in your reblog which of all characters of CIY are your favorite! As well as which one you would like to see more of! (yes I know Jongho please don't hate me) With Love~ Doom

[seungcheollies-cake]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader

2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread

a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul

Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 

“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”

Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”

“But Jeonghan—”

“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”

You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?

The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?

Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 

It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 

“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”

“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”

He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 

“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 

He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”

Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”

“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”

“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”

“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 

“Don't fail.”

He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”

Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 

He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 

With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 

(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)

There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 

His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 

Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 

He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 

In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 

There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 

He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 

Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”

“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”

“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”

As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 

A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 

There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 

“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 

Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”

“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”

“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.

You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”

“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”

“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”

“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 

You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”

Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 

Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 

When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 

You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 

“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”

“You're not leaving?” 

Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”

“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 

He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 

The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 

Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 

You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”

“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”

He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”

“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”

You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  

It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.

Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 

He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 

Him, his thoughts, and you. 

But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3

svt m.list

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[seungcheollies-cake]

CIY CH 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Breaking Point" 📍WC: 3.3k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @flurrys-creativity , @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts and occasionally @daemour 📍dividers by @cafekitsune banner made by me! ageless blocks will be blocked immediately if you interact with this post 📍AN: I HIGHLY recommend skipping this chapter if any of the following warnings below the cut are triggering or you are just not in a good headspace to read about a traumatizing event that befalls reader. It is not described in detail, but is described as having happened off screen. The trauma is not caused by any of the main cast, or idol representing character (i in fact refused to give him a name) masterlist | Previous | Next

📍Warning(s): extremely dark and triggering themes such as: mentions of r@pe, torture, graphic depiction of murder of minor character. Graphic details such as blood, stabbing, and talk of explosives. Kidnapping, held hostage, a somewhat cliche mafia scene with dark twists because trauma.

The bright lights woke the two men from their awkward slumber, Hongjoong being the first to lift his head despite a swollen eye. For three days of torture, the two of them were still pretty much in tact. It left Hongjoong feeling a bit… disappointed.

This was the feared Blood Hounds? The red chains around their necks were a give away, and with five of them it shouldn’t be too hard to cause some damage. So why were they mostly just bruises and busted skin from punches? The brass knuckles hurt something fierce, but aside from a dislocated shoulder all his bones were intact. He assumed it was the same for Seonghwa.

Twenty-four hour observation, no food or water but sleep was provided surprisingly. Probably to keep them coherent enough for the questioning.

And that was just as dull. Despite hunting them down, they knew so little. Didn’t even notice their connection to the law, or their full place in the Black Pirates. That was probably due to the Red Wolf that did the questioning. The man sat behind the lights, late thirties, early forties, and had his jacket open to expose his bare chest and the red wolf on his side. He even flaunted it often, making Hongjoong assume this man’s ego was bigger than the abandoned building they were in.

That was fine by him, it made it easier to play the game. “Let’s start from the beginning shall we? The black pirates are responsible for the hit on our territory a few weeks ago, correct?” The way the man emphasized ‘our’ just showed his pride over this situation. If Hongjoong had to guess, he was given this interrogation role as a test, most likely an ass kisser that worked his way up the ranks. A true coward under it all.

It made it hard not to mock him. “Not sure what you mean, please elaborate.” He licked some of the blood off his lip, tilting his head back and knocking it against Seonghwa to wake him up a bit more. The bright lights around them were annoying, but only really kept them awake now that they were. The man stood up and began to circle them, a little ticked off it seems with how harshly he glared. Hongjoong just yawned, seeming unaffected. Bored even. Because he was.

That just pissed off the wolf even more, throwing one of the lights to the ground in a rage as it broke and sparked out. “Three days we’ve been at this! How much longer are you going to keep playing this game?!” He shouted out, stomping over to Seonghwa and out of Hongjoong’s sight and gripping his hair.

Seonghwa spit in the man’s face. “As long as we want. Really, do you think you’re terrifying?” While he had a lot of bravado in his tone, Hongjoong could sense the underlying fear there. He knew his partner.

It had been three days and they weren’t sure if they had been out longer than a day. They had gone through scenarios like this dozens of times in case they were captured. Wooyoung could use his connection to the Pink Boas and as a freelancer to get out of his ties to the Pirates, something his mother had said she would always help with, but if it was any other member but Yeosang they had a plan.

Three days. That was the minimum needed for rescue. It gave Yeosang plenty of time to track their whereabouts, and the others to mobilize an extraction. It would have begun the moment there was an attack on the safe house. But Hongjoong knew it wasn’t for them that his partner was scared for, but he was sick with worry over you. Had you made it out? Did you go to Yeosang or did you run? What if you fought? Even Hongjoong couldn’t deny that was an option, knowing how feisty you could be. You weren’t the type to run anyways, but for once Hongjoong wished you were.

Sure their torture was pretty minimal but for you? A random woman in a Pirate safe house? Oh they wouldn’t attempt to question you, he knew that. He tried not to think about it though, tried not to let the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach bother him. The implications that they were going easy on the torture on purpose and that it might have something to do with you. The real torture was not knowing if you were safe. The hits, starvation and dehydration were nothing. The soreness of his muscles he thought would be a nice excuse to beg you for a massage. Still, none of that compared to how he was sure Seonghwa felt.

He had watched over you since day one, first like a protective mother to see what damage you would do to his nest, then you were part of it. They wanted to make it official, maybe have you spend a few nights in their bed after all this was over.

So he knew Seonghwa didn’t care about the punch the man threw, jolting to the side as it connected with his jaw. He spit out blood onto the concrete just in Hongjoong’s view, but he kept his face stone cold. He never liked when Hwa’s pretty face got hurt.

The smug look on the man’s face was just as disgusting. “Then maybe a little bit more?” He nodded to two of the men and they left the room. There was a door opening somewhere, loud bass heavy music filtering out that hummed through the concrete under their feet. “Of what? Boredom?” Hongjoong through out with a bout of dry laughter. “I’ve had more intense fucks than this. Not even a whip or paddle or a knife? Booooring.” “Don’t give him any ideas, love, he’s already struggling with his creativity.” Seonghwa added on, finally lifting his head. “I think he might make it in a kindergarten painting class now.” 

In retaliation he grabbed Hwa by the hair again, yanking him up. Hongjoong was proud of the sinful moan Seonghwa let out, resulting in their ‘interrogator’ dropping his head and stepping back with a groan of disgust. “Seriously? Are you two getting off on this?” “Hardly. It’s not rough enough.” Seonghwa hummed out, licking his lips as he turned as if to look at Hongjoong. “You do it so much better baby.” “Ugh, gross.” 

Hongjoong had took a risk that the red wolves wouldn’t use them against each other sexually, too homophobic to do any touching or raping of sorts. He was glad that the risk was paying off.

Off in the distance they could hear the door and music again, and that feeling of dread returned. 

The wolf smirked, motioning to one of the men and pointing to the lights. Hongjoong watched with a frown as the hound turned two of their lights to the door, shining on the dark hallway just outside. A spotlight for a show.

“What? Got some fancy torture machine you’re going to bring out? Really, it’s like you want to get us off.” Despite that growing pit in his stomach, Hongjoong forced the taunt out. He wanted to wipe that disgusting smug smirk off his face the second the spotlight illuminated up the three people in the doorway.

Seonghwa’s pained gasp hurt as much as the sight of you. “Angel?” Hongjoong steeled his expression, taking in the sight of you to fuel the growing rage and bloodthirst that was building. Every cute, every drop of blood, every bruise, he would pay them back tenfold. None of that mattered compared to the mental damage they no doubt did on you, as you hadn’t even reacted to Seonghwa calling out for you. Body limp as you were dragged further into “Not so cocky now?” The wolf hummed out, making his way over to you and with each step Seonghwa and he began to thrash in their chains. “Oh you really don’t want me near her? Where do you think I am when I’m not here with you?” He slid up behind you, hand running over your exposed stomach and down. 

The way you tensed and began to shake wasn’t lost on the two men, both unable to look away from the one part of your naked body they had tried so hard to ignore. When the disgusting man cupped your bloody privates, Hongjoong let out a yell, thrashing even more against the chains. They had been loosening them slowly, but now it hadn’t been fast enough.

Not when the blindfold was removed from your eyes and the dead look in them brought tears burning behind their eyelids. Not when you wouldn’t look at them, you didn’t even seem mentally there.

“Can’t say her pussy was so good that I’d fight like this for it. Maybe her mouth if she hadn’t tried to bite off my dick. Ass far too tight…” He grabbed your mouth as he talked, smearing some of the dried blood from your lips and then thrust his hips against your back. Hongjoong knew he was taunting, just rubbing in the damage he had done to you, and it was working.

Seonghwa tried calling out for you again, desperation and pain in his tone that twisted Hongjoong’s heart further. Once more you didn’t react. “You son of a bitch let her go.” He threatened lowly, throttling hard enough the studs that kept the chair in place were beginning to break. For the briefest moments they froze, the brandishing of the knife against your throat giving them pause. You didn’t even flinch, but you trembled. The fear radiating off of you was palpable. What the fuck had he done to get you like this?

Only the beating of their hearts told them time was still passing, even their breath halted, the smug look on the wolf’s face growing by the second. He opened his mouth to taunt, but all hell broke loose before he got a word out.

The next few moments rushed by quickly, all starting with Seonghwa finally picking the chain and the metal falling loosely around them. Either because he finally got it loose, or because of who they saw just in the shadows of the bright doorway. Before the wolf had time to react, the knife was pulled out of his hand and tossed to Hongjoong who caught it easily, just as a gun was thrown to Seonghwa, thanks to Jongho rushing into the room and dislodging you from the man.

Finally, just in time, the others were here. That bit of relief had the other two men moving with confidence, fueled by their rage of what was done to you.

You fell limply against Jongho’s chest as he kicked the man right into one of the spotlights. He tripped over it, both crashing to the ground, which Hongjoong took as his opportunity to pounce on the man.

He spared no mercy as he first slit the man’s throat, just a bit shallow so he would suffer, then jabbed the knife into him over and over before he could bleed out. He kept eye contact, wanting his fury known. Even long after the body was limp beneath him he kept going, Seonghwa having effectively eliminated the blood hounds with a precise bullet to each of their skulls, leaving no enemy alive.

Only his rage. One stab for each mark on you. Each bruise. Each cut. For the number of times this disgusting being had probably violated you. For the dead look in your eyes, the way you trembled.

It was all Hongjoong could do, screaming at the dead man as if it could somehow take away the pain he inflicted on you. Seonghwa had to walk over and peel Hongjoong off of the dead body, grabbing his wrist to get him to drop the knife. They shared a look, Seonghwa shaking his head and then nudging his chin in your direction. He followed, tensing up at the sight of you huddled against Jongho’s chest, holding onto his shirt with such a death grip. 

Hongjoong knew you both still didn’t trust or like each other, so it shocked him out of his rage, the pain boiling to the surface once more. Jongho was leaning against the wall, holding you to him with both arms around your back. You were laying your cheek against his shoulder, breathing heavily and uneven but seemingly dazed. Tears had started falling down your cheeks, and Jongho looked as pained as Hongjoong was feeling. “We need to get her out of here Joongie.” Seonghwa gently prompted, rubbing his lover’s back. Despite how distraught he had been moments ago, Seonghwa sounded much more clear headed now. It helped ground Hongjoong, dropping the knife. “Where… where are the others?” Hongjoong managed to get out, still panting from the excursion of, well, murdering someone brutally. Jongho didn’t even look up from you, gaze glued to your face, following each tear that fell down your cheek. “Yunho is out front with the van, Mingi is setting up the explosives on the ground floor, San and I split up and he checked the floor below us-” He stopped as he heard music, the base vibrating through the concrete, and then it stopped. “That music was louder on the first floor, we took out the guards there when it was vibrating the place…” He trailed off when they heard screams. San’s screams.

They were screams of anguish. The three of them shared a silent look of understanding before glancing at you. He must have found the room you were kept in, aware the building was currently clear of enemies if he had entered the room to begin with. Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa with a pleading look. “He’ll need you, I won’t be calm enough.” “And I would be?” He hissed out, motioning to you just to have you flinch. It was both a good and bad sign. Good that you were still, to some extent aware of your surroundings… but that meant you were probably aware of what they just did. “Angel…” He sighed, relenting as he pocketed the gun and moved around slowly so as not to spook you. “Get her to the car, and then let's blow this place up.”

Seonghwa left then, hurrying down the hall and leaving behind silence. Hongjoong was afraid to reach for you at first, freezing up when his bloody hand got close. You stared at the blood there, seemingly more present, then looked up at him. He gave the softest most gentle smile he could muster at the moment. “Hey firecracker. You're safe now.”

Your gaze shifted to the dead body behind him, then back to him questionly. “Yes, I killed him. He hurt you, he didn't deserve to live another second. Now… do you want to go home with us? We can clean you up and feed you. Does that sound nice?”

The both of them waited for some answer from you, and it came in the form of wrapping your arms around Jongho's neck. The man held on tighter, looking up at his leader for answers on what to do. 

Hongjoong motioned at the door. “Carry her out, she's probably in a lot of pain so be gentle. You have Yeosang on the line?” He pointed to his ear where the piece was. At Jongho's nod while he slowly picked you up, Hongjoong grabbed it and stuck It in his ear. 

“How bad is it?” Yeosang immediately spoke into the piece and Hongjoong could hear a nervous clicking on the other side. “When I saw them grab her the other day I tried to get Yunho there I-”

“Yeosang. This isn't your fault.” Hongjoong chided  as he followed Jongho out of the room, keeping an eye out but he knew Seonghwa would have dealt with any strangers on his way. “She's alive, but I need you to warn the others. Where is Wooyoung?”

“He's with Minjae at the base. He was going to bring them in as backup if needed. He won't… he won't handle it Captain.”

“I know. So you're going to tell him to check the other locations and safe houses we have with Minjae and the others and that I want a full report tonight. We need to…” his gaze flickered back to you, still trembling in Jongho's arms and hiding your face against his shoulder. Jongho himself looked as pained as Hongjoong felt, but he was whispering gentle words to you so low that not even Hongjoong could make them out. “We're going to give her time to rest before Wooyoung sees her.”

“Understood? What else?” There was a firmness to Yeosang's tone that took Hongjoong by surprise, but he pushed on.

“Just warn Mingi and Yunho not to panic. Hwa is with San. If Yunho has a blanket or something to cover her, he needs to have it ready. Contact Wooyoung’s mother for a female doctor, Firecracker might trust-”

Hongjoong broke off when he heard someone else on the connection. Seonghwa. “Joong… there are pictures of what he did to her. The bed is soaked in blood and the chains…”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Mingi's voice suddenly cut in, broadcasting on all channels. “What the fuck did they do to our Princess?!”

“Easy Mingi. She needs us calm right now okay? Get this building ready to blow.” Hongjoong attempted to pacify him as the ascended the stairs. The skipped the floor below, hitting the ground floor and headed for the entrance. Mingi met them first and Hongjoong quickly moved to get in the way.

He hated the way his eyes went big and glassy, the color draining from his face as he stared at you. When Mingi tried to reach out though, Jongho stepped back, shaking his head. “She just stopped shaking. Don't. No more surprises for her.”

Hongjoong was shocked by the defensiveness of Jongho’s tone, so was Mingi, both staring at him like the many just grew a second head.

Jongho dipped his head and just rushed off for the door, past the two dead guards there. So Mingi turned to Hongjoong, finally taking in the blood that covered him before asking. “Tell me that belongs to the one who hurt her.”

“It does.” It was Seonghwa that answered, holding an angry San by the back of the neck as they descended the stairs. “He's nothing more than a mutilated corpse. We started a fire in the room she was held in, but let's burn this whole place to the ground.”

“Is she…” San prompted, blood sneered on his cheek and a crumbled picture in his hand. “She’s alive right?” He refused to look at either of them, his shoulders and voice trembling.

Hongjoong knew that this was hardest for San no doubt, with his experience and his past with you. Softly Hongjoong patted his broad shoulders. “She needs us to be strong, okay? Would our firecracker want us looking at her like she's broken goods?”

“No.” The three others, and Yeosang, all chimed in.

“Then let's go. It's about time we take her home.” He guided them outside to the waiting van, the door was open and Jongho was sitting on the floor, his back against the driver seat a very pissed off Yunho sat in. The man was gripping the steering wheel hard enough the veins on his hands were sticking out.

Hongjoong forced Mingi up front, climbing in the back with Seonghwa who was already covering you up with the blankets since Jongho refused to let you go. Er, well, you were now holding onto his arm so Hongjoong could only assume you didn't let him.

That just hurt more.

No more than a few seconds of pulling away from the building did a series of explosions go off, the building crumbling to rabble but for Hongjoong that wasn't enough. He couldn't take away what had happened to you, just the place it did. Nor could he undo the fact it happened to you… because of him. Of them and where they had you.

Only silence accompanied the somber tension in the van.

Taglist will be added to reblogs so they will be easy to ignore!

[seungcheollies-cake]

CIY CH 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Breaking Point" 📍WC: 3.3k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @flurrys-creativity , @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts and occasionally @daemour 📍dividers by @cafekitsune banner made by me! ageless blocks will be blocked immediately if you interact with this post 📍AN: I HIGHLY recommend skipping this chapter if any of the following warnings below the cut are triggering or you are just not in a good headspace to read about a traumatizing event that befalls reader. It is not described in detail, but is described as having happened off screen. The trauma is not caused by any of the main cast, or idol representing character (i in fact refused to give him a name) masterlist | Previous | Next

📍Warning(s): extremely dark and triggering themes such as: mentions of r@pe, torture, graphic depiction of murder of minor character. Graphic details such as blood, stabbing, and talk of explosives. Kidnapping, held hostage, a somewhat cliche mafia scene with dark twists because trauma.

The bright lights woke the two men from their awkward slumber, Hongjoong being the first to lift his head despite a swollen eye. For three days of torture, the two of them were still pretty much in tact. It left Hongjoong feeling a bit… disappointed.

This was the feared Blood Hounds? The red chains around their necks were a give away, and with five of them it shouldn’t be too hard to cause some damage. So why were they mostly just bruises and busted skin from punches? The brass knuckles hurt something fierce, but aside from a dislocated shoulder all his bones were intact. He assumed it was the same for Seonghwa.

Twenty-four hour observation, no food or water but sleep was provided surprisingly. Probably to keep them coherent enough for the questioning.

And that was just as dull. Despite hunting them down, they knew so little. Didn’t even notice their connection to the law, or their full place in the Black Pirates. That was probably due to the Red Wolf that did the questioning. The man sat behind the lights, late thirties, early forties, and had his jacket open to expose his bare chest and the red wolf on his side. He even flaunted it often, making Hongjoong assume this man’s ego was bigger than the abandoned building they were in.

That was fine by him, it made it easier to play the game. “Let’s start from the beginning shall we? The black pirates are responsible for the hit on our territory a few weeks ago, correct?” The way the man emphasized ‘our’ just showed his pride over this situation. If Hongjoong had to guess, he was given this interrogation role as a test, most likely an ass kisser that worked his way up the ranks. A true coward under it all.

It made it hard not to mock him. “Not sure what you mean, please elaborate.” He licked some of the blood off his lip, tilting his head back and knocking it against Seonghwa to wake him up a bit more. The bright lights around them were annoying, but only really kept them awake now that they were. The man stood up and began to circle them, a little ticked off it seems with how harshly he glared. Hongjoong just yawned, seeming unaffected. Bored even. Because he was.

That just pissed off the wolf even more, throwing one of the lights to the ground in a rage as it broke and sparked out. “Three days we’ve been at this! How much longer are you going to keep playing this game?!” He shouted out, stomping over to Seonghwa and out of Hongjoong’s sight and gripping his hair.

Seonghwa spit in the man’s face. “As long as we want. Really, do you think you’re terrifying?” While he had a lot of bravado in his tone, Hongjoong could sense the underlying fear there. He knew his partner.

It had been three days and they weren’t sure if they had been out longer than a day. They had gone through scenarios like this dozens of times in case they were captured. Wooyoung could use his connection to the Pink Boas and as a freelancer to get out of his ties to the Pirates, something his mother had said she would always help with, but if it was any other member but Yeosang they had a plan.

Three days. That was the minimum needed for rescue. It gave Yeosang plenty of time to track their whereabouts, and the others to mobilize an extraction. It would have begun the moment there was an attack on the safe house. But Hongjoong knew it wasn’t for them that his partner was scared for, but he was sick with worry over you. Had you made it out? Did you go to Yeosang or did you run? What if you fought? Even Hongjoong couldn’t deny that was an option, knowing how feisty you could be. You weren’t the type to run anyways, but for once Hongjoong wished you were.

Sure their torture was pretty minimal but for you? A random woman in a Pirate safe house? Oh they wouldn’t attempt to question you, he knew that. He tried not to think about it though, tried not to let the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach bother him. The implications that they were going easy on the torture on purpose and that it might have something to do with you. The real torture was not knowing if you were safe. The hits, starvation and dehydration were nothing. The soreness of his muscles he thought would be a nice excuse to beg you for a massage. Still, none of that compared to how he was sure Seonghwa felt.

He had watched over you since day one, first like a protective mother to see what damage you would do to his nest, then you were part of it. They wanted to make it official, maybe have you spend a few nights in their bed after all this was over.

So he knew Seonghwa didn’t care about the punch the man threw, jolting to the side as it connected with his jaw. He spit out blood onto the concrete just in Hongjoong’s view, but he kept his face stone cold. He never liked when Hwa’s pretty face got hurt.

The smug look on the man’s face was just as disgusting. “Then maybe a little bit more?” He nodded to two of the men and they left the room. There was a door opening somewhere, loud bass heavy music filtering out that hummed through the concrete under their feet. “Of what? Boredom?” Hongjoong through out with a bout of dry laughter. “I’ve had more intense fucks than this. Not even a whip or paddle or a knife? Booooring.” “Don’t give him any ideas, love, he’s already struggling with his creativity.” Seonghwa added on, finally lifting his head. “I think he might make it in a kindergarten painting class now.” 

In retaliation he grabbed Hwa by the hair again, yanking him up. Hongjoong was proud of the sinful moan Seonghwa let out, resulting in their ‘interrogator’ dropping his head and stepping back with a groan of disgust. “Seriously? Are you two getting off on this?” “Hardly. It’s not rough enough.” Seonghwa hummed out, licking his lips as he turned as if to look at Hongjoong. “You do it so much better baby.” “Ugh, gross.” 

Hongjoong had took a risk that the red wolves wouldn’t use them against each other sexually, too homophobic to do any touching or raping of sorts. He was glad that the risk was paying off.

Off in the distance they could hear the door and music again, and that feeling of dread returned. 

The wolf smirked, motioning to one of the men and pointing to the lights. Hongjoong watched with a frown as the hound turned two of their lights to the door, shining on the dark hallway just outside. A spotlight for a show.

“What? Got some fancy torture machine you’re going to bring out? Really, it’s like you want to get us off.” Despite that growing pit in his stomach, Hongjoong forced the taunt out. He wanted to wipe that disgusting smug smirk off his face the second the spotlight illuminated up the three people in the doorway.

Seonghwa’s pained gasp hurt as much as the sight of you. “Angel?” Hongjoong steeled his expression, taking in the sight of you to fuel the growing rage and bloodthirst that was building. Every cute, every drop of blood, every bruise, he would pay them back tenfold. None of that mattered compared to the mental damage they no doubt did on you, as you hadn’t even reacted to Seonghwa calling out for you. Body limp as you were dragged further into “Not so cocky now?” The wolf hummed out, making his way over to you and with each step Seonghwa and he began to thrash in their chains. “Oh you really don’t want me near her? Where do you think I am when I’m not here with you?” He slid up behind you, hand running over your exposed stomach and down. 

The way you tensed and began to shake wasn’t lost on the two men, both unable to look away from the one part of your naked body they had tried so hard to ignore. When the disgusting man cupped your bloody privates, Hongjoong let out a yell, thrashing even more against the chains. They had been loosening them slowly, but now it hadn’t been fast enough.

Not when the blindfold was removed from your eyes and the dead look in them brought tears burning behind their eyelids. Not when you wouldn’t look at them, you didn’t even seem mentally there.

“Can’t say her pussy was so good that I’d fight like this for it. Maybe her mouth if she hadn’t tried to bite off my dick. Ass far too tight…” He grabbed your mouth as he talked, smearing some of the dried blood from your lips and then thrust his hips against your back. Hongjoong knew he was taunting, just rubbing in the damage he had done to you, and it was working.

Seonghwa tried calling out for you again, desperation and pain in his tone that twisted Hongjoong’s heart further. Once more you didn’t react. “You son of a bitch let her go.” He threatened lowly, throttling hard enough the studs that kept the chair in place were beginning to break. For the briefest moments they froze, the brandishing of the knife against your throat giving them pause. You didn’t even flinch, but you trembled. The fear radiating off of you was palpable. What the fuck had he done to get you like this?

Only the beating of their hearts told them time was still passing, even their breath halted, the smug look on the wolf’s face growing by the second. He opened his mouth to taunt, but all hell broke loose before he got a word out.

The next few moments rushed by quickly, all starting with Seonghwa finally picking the chain and the metal falling loosely around them. Either because he finally got it loose, or because of who they saw just in the shadows of the bright doorway. Before the wolf had time to react, the knife was pulled out of his hand and tossed to Hongjoong who caught it easily, just as a gun was thrown to Seonghwa, thanks to Jongho rushing into the room and dislodging you from the man.

Finally, just in time, the others were here. That bit of relief had the other two men moving with confidence, fueled by their rage of what was done to you.

You fell limply against Jongho’s chest as he kicked the man right into one of the spotlights. He tripped over it, both crashing to the ground, which Hongjoong took as his opportunity to pounce on the man.

He spared no mercy as he first slit the man’s throat, just a bit shallow so he would suffer, then jabbed the knife into him over and over before he could bleed out. He kept eye contact, wanting his fury known. Even long after the body was limp beneath him he kept going, Seonghwa having effectively eliminated the blood hounds with a precise bullet to each of their skulls, leaving no enemy alive.

Only his rage. One stab for each mark on you. Each bruise. Each cut. For the number of times this disgusting being had probably violated you. For the dead look in your eyes, the way you trembled.

It was all Hongjoong could do, screaming at the dead man as if it could somehow take away the pain he inflicted on you. Seonghwa had to walk over and peel Hongjoong off of the dead body, grabbing his wrist to get him to drop the knife. They shared a look, Seonghwa shaking his head and then nudging his chin in your direction. He followed, tensing up at the sight of you huddled against Jongho’s chest, holding onto his shirt with such a death grip. 

Hongjoong knew you both still didn’t trust or like each other, so it shocked him out of his rage, the pain boiling to the surface once more. Jongho was leaning against the wall, holding you to him with both arms around your back. You were laying your cheek against his shoulder, breathing heavily and uneven but seemingly dazed. Tears had started falling down your cheeks, and Jongho looked as pained as Hongjoong was feeling. “We need to get her out of here Joongie.” Seonghwa gently prompted, rubbing his lover’s back. Despite how distraught he had been moments ago, Seonghwa sounded much more clear headed now. It helped ground Hongjoong, dropping the knife. “Where… where are the others?” Hongjoong managed to get out, still panting from the excursion of, well, murdering someone brutally. Jongho didn’t even look up from you, gaze glued to your face, following each tear that fell down your cheek. “Yunho is out front with the van, Mingi is setting up the explosives on the ground floor, San and I split up and he checked the floor below us-” He stopped as he heard music, the base vibrating through the concrete, and then it stopped. “That music was louder on the first floor, we took out the guards there when it was vibrating the place…” He trailed off when they heard screams. San’s screams.

They were screams of anguish. The three of them shared a silent look of understanding before glancing at you. He must have found the room you were kept in, aware the building was currently clear of enemies if he had entered the room to begin with. Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa with a pleading look. “He’ll need you, I won’t be calm enough.” “And I would be?” He hissed out, motioning to you just to have you flinch. It was both a good and bad sign. Good that you were still, to some extent aware of your surroundings… but that meant you were probably aware of what they just did. “Angel…” He sighed, relenting as he pocketed the gun and moved around slowly so as not to spook you. “Get her to the car, and then let's blow this place up.”

Seonghwa left then, hurrying down the hall and leaving behind silence. Hongjoong was afraid to reach for you at first, freezing up when his bloody hand got close. You stared at the blood there, seemingly more present, then looked up at him. He gave the softest most gentle smile he could muster at the moment. “Hey firecracker. You're safe now.”

Your gaze shifted to the dead body behind him, then back to him questionly. “Yes, I killed him. He hurt you, he didn't deserve to live another second. Now… do you want to go home with us? We can clean you up and feed you. Does that sound nice?”

The both of them waited for some answer from you, and it came in the form of wrapping your arms around Jongho's neck. The man held on tighter, looking up at his leader for answers on what to do. 

Hongjoong motioned at the door. “Carry her out, she's probably in a lot of pain so be gentle. You have Yeosang on the line?” He pointed to his ear where the piece was. At Jongho's nod while he slowly picked you up, Hongjoong grabbed it and stuck It in his ear. 

“How bad is it?” Yeosang immediately spoke into the piece and Hongjoong could hear a nervous clicking on the other side. “When I saw them grab her the other day I tried to get Yunho there I-”

“Yeosang. This isn't your fault.” Hongjoong chided  as he followed Jongho out of the room, keeping an eye out but he knew Seonghwa would have dealt with any strangers on his way. “She's alive, but I need you to warn the others. Where is Wooyoung?”

“He's with Minjae at the base. He was going to bring them in as backup if needed. He won't… he won't handle it Captain.”

“I know. So you're going to tell him to check the other locations and safe houses we have with Minjae and the others and that I want a full report tonight. We need to…” his gaze flickered back to you, still trembling in Jongho's arms and hiding your face against his shoulder. Jongho himself looked as pained as Hongjoong felt, but he was whispering gentle words to you so low that not even Hongjoong could make them out. “We're going to give her time to rest before Wooyoung sees her.”

“Understood? What else?” There was a firmness to Yeosang's tone that took Hongjoong by surprise, but he pushed on.

“Just warn Mingi and Yunho not to panic. Hwa is with San. If Yunho has a blanket or something to cover her, he needs to have it ready. Contact Wooyoung’s mother for a female doctor, Firecracker might trust-”

Hongjoong broke off when he heard someone else on the connection. Seonghwa. “Joong… there are pictures of what he did to her. The bed is soaked in blood and the chains…”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Mingi's voice suddenly cut in, broadcasting on all channels. “What the fuck did they do to our Princess?!”

“Easy Mingi. She needs us calm right now okay? Get this building ready to blow.” Hongjoong attempted to pacify him as the ascended the stairs. The skipped the floor below, hitting the ground floor and headed for the entrance. Mingi met them first and Hongjoong quickly moved to get in the way.

He hated the way his eyes went big and glassy, the color draining from his face as he stared at you. When Mingi tried to reach out though, Jongho stepped back, shaking his head. “She just stopped shaking. Don't. No more surprises for her.”

Hongjoong was shocked by the defensiveness of Jongho’s tone, so was Mingi, both staring at him like the many just grew a second head.

Jongho dipped his head and just rushed off for the door, past the two dead guards there. So Mingi turned to Hongjoong, finally taking in the blood that covered him before asking. “Tell me that belongs to the one who hurt her.”

“It does.” It was Seonghwa that answered, holding an angry San by the back of the neck as they descended the stairs. “He's nothing more than a mutilated corpse. We started a fire in the room she was held in, but let's burn this whole place to the ground.”

“Is she…” San prompted, blood sneered on his cheek and a crumbled picture in his hand. “She’s alive right?” He refused to look at either of them, his shoulders and voice trembling.

Hongjoong knew that this was hardest for San no doubt, with his experience and his past with you. Softly Hongjoong patted his broad shoulders. “She needs us to be strong, okay? Would our firecracker want us looking at her like she's broken goods?”

“No.” The three others, and Yeosang, all chimed in.

“Then let's go. It's about time we take her home.” He guided them outside to the waiting van, the door was open and Jongho was sitting on the floor, his back against the driver seat a very pissed off Yunho sat in. The man was gripping the steering wheel hard enough the veins on his hands were sticking out.

Hongjoong forced Mingi up front, climbing in the back with Seonghwa who was already covering you up with the blankets since Jongho refused to let you go. Er, well, you were now holding onto his arm so Hongjoong could only assume you didn't let him.

That just hurt more.

No more than a few seconds of pulling away from the building did a series of explosions go off, the building crumbling to rabble but for Hongjoong that wasn't enough. He couldn't take away what had happened to you, just the place it did. Nor could he undo the fact it happened to you… because of him. Of them and where they had you.

Only silence accompanied the somber tension in the van.

Taglist will be added to reblogs so they will be easy to ignore!

[seungcheollies-cake]

𝔞𝔰𝔥 | 𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

Pairing: pyromaniac!Jeong Yunho x slasher!Reader AU: non-idol Summary: When Dr. Kim Hongjoong arrives at the manor with his assistant, Jeong Yunho, an unsettling urge stirs within you—to extinguish his vibrant spark. But little did you know that even the brightest lights have a way of casting the darkest shadows—OR, you and Yunho commit crimes all in the name of love. Word Count: 6.6K Warnings: MDNI SMUT (18+), dark themes, swearing, blood, m*rder, violence, this is purely fictional and the characters are unhinged, I don't condone this behavior, sorry San

a/n: dropping my poor attempt at gothic horror and running away

“Love?” you sang, skipping toward your paramour, your voice lilting in a way that would have sounded sweet if not for the blood splattered across your cheeks and the wicked gleam in your eye. The crimson stained your dress as you twirled the blade in hand, its tip dripping in time with your steps.

“How did I do?”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Yunho sighed, almost wistfully, his tone warm despite the dark intent behind his words. He reached out, his thumb tracing a path down your blood-streaked cheek.

You grinned, throwing yourself into his arms as he caught you effortlessly, pulling you into a kiss so deep that the world around you blurred. Smoke clung to him like a second skin, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of blood that lingered in the air.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes flickered to the bloodied corpse swaying gently from the chandelier—your latest masterpiece. Yunho’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable, save for the slight curl of his lips. Approval, tinged with something far darker.

“Wasted potential,” you pouted, toying with the lapel of Yunho’s jacket. “I really wanted to keep him.”

His jaw tensed, and you caught the way his eyes darkened, the playful warmth in them giving way to something far more dangerous. Yunho’s hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm enough to send a spark of heat through your body. The small, possessive squeeze was a reminder of the simmering jealousy lurking beneath his otherwise laid-back demeanor.

“There’s no more room in your collection, darling,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low as he locked eyes with you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“You know I don’t like it when other men look at you.”

Something about his possessiveness sent a thrill through you. Most people would cower under such intensity, but you? You reveled in it. Your pulse quickened, your breaths coming shallow and fast, giddy with excitement. 

The first time you met Yunho, he was supposed to die like all the others. 

Aurora Manor had been in the Kang family for generations. The sprawling manor, with its towering spires and labyrinthine gardens, served as both your home and your hunting ground. Most guests, enchanted by the manor’s old-world charm and your family’s disarming smiles, never suspected the danger lurking within. 

Yunho had arrived as the assistant to your brother’s college friend, Dr. Kim Hongjoong, who was staying at the manor for a weeklong visit, and like any good hunter, you set your sights on him almost immediately. 

Yunho’s kind personality and genuine warmth made him your forbidden fruit, all the more tempting with every effortless gesture. He seamlessly fit into the household, endearing himself to everyone with his intoxicating laughter echoing through the halls. There was something about him—too vibrant, too tempting, like a fire burning too brightly. 

It made you want to extinguish that spark, to dim the light in his eyes just to see what he looked like in the dark–perfect, still, and beautiful, another piece in your collection.

But you were wrong. So, wrong. 

“Oh hush, Mimi,” you said, tilting your head in mock sympathy. “No one can hear you out here—not even San.” The mention of his name sent another wave of sobs through her, and you smirked, savoring every broken sound.

Her voice cracked under the strain, her cries fraught with desperation as she dangled helplessly from the barn rafter.

“But soon,” you continued, more to yourself now, “with you out of the way, I’ll finally have the chance to add him to my collection. Perhaps Father can even arrange for me to marry him.” 

Mimi’s screams turned to pitiful whimpers as her strength waned, and you took a step closer, the wooden floor creaking under your weight. 

“You know,” you began, your voice carrying an eerie sweetness, “I’d almost feel bad for you if you weren’t so utterly insufferable.” You twirled a silver blade between your fingers, watching how the dim light caught on its edge. 

“Parading around high society as if you’re anything more than a lowborn whore,” you added, your tone sharpening. “Throwing yourself at him like the desperate little thing you are, sullying him… but now”—you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper—“here we are.”

You leaned in, your face inches from hers, and grinned. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure San remembers you fondly. Maybe I’ll tell him you ran away, too ashamed to show your face after I caught you alone with–”

“Y/N?”

The barn door creaked open suddenly, and you froze, your blood turning to ice. Slowly, you turned to see Yunho standing in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the moonlight. The horror in his eyes was unmistakable.

If Yunho ran, if he told anyone—

No. You wouldn’t let that happen.

“Oh, Yunho,” you said, your tone light and sweet, though your heart was thumping in your chest. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Without a second thought, you drew your knife across Mimi’s throat. A wet gurgle escaped her lips, and blood spurting from the gash, painting the wooden floor and splattering across your dress. You didn’t flinch, your eyes never leaving Yunho’s as her body went limp, swaying slightly from the rafter.

You stepped forward, but Yunho matched you with a step back, his dark eyes unreadable before he turned and fled into the night. He was fast—far faster than you had anticipated. His long strides carried him through the maze of shadows, but you were relentless, the knife in your hand catching the moonlight as you darted after him.

You surged forward, your knife aiming for his chest. But he sidestepped, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist mid-swing, knocking the knife from your grasp. The weapon clattered to the ground, but you didn’t falter. You fought back, striking at him with every ounce of strength you had. He caught your arm, spun you around, and pinned it above your head as he pressed you against a tree.

But with a sharp twist, you broke free, shoving him back and diving for the knife. Your fingers brushed the handle just as his hand closed around your ankle, dragging you away. You kicked out, forcing him to release you, and scrambled to your feet, the knife now firmly in your grasp. 

The blade’s edge hovered above his skin, the pressure faint enough to make your intentions clear. Yunho’s back pressed firmly against the rough bark, his breath steady despite the danger glinting in your eyes. You dragged the blade downward, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath the cold steel.

“Killing you would be such a waste,” you murmured, tilting your head as if savoring the thought. You dragged the tip slowly, deliberately, savoring the subtle resistance as it caught on the fabric without piercing his skin.

“You’d make such a beautiful addition,” you continued, “I wouldn’t mind another pretty face.”

Yunho didn’t flinch. Instead, his smirk grew, his gaze dipping to your lips before dragging back up to meet your eyes. 

“You talk like I’m prey,” he said, his voice low and disturbingly calm.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, stopping the knife mid-drag, his grip unyielding as he leaned in. 

“But you’re not the only predator here.”

The blade slipped from your hand, falling to the ground with a muffled thud. You barely had a second to react before he reversed your positions, pinning you against the tree. His lips crashed against yours with a force that stole your breath, his hand flying to your throat and loosening its grip just enough to let you gasp against him.

The kiss was anything but gentle; it was raw, demanding, and unapologetically consuming, as though he wanted to claim you in a way words never could. You responded with equal fervor, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw a low growl from him. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips red and slightly swollen, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Let me show you.”

You searched his face, trying to gauge his seriousness. The dark, glittering look in his eyes—filled with an almost reverent fascination—sent a shiver down your spine.

⊹

“Fire has always spoken to me,” Yunho murmured, his voice low and smooth, as he grabbed your hand and led you back to the barn. 

“It’s wild, uncontrollable…but if you know how to handle it, it becomes art.” 

Yunho reached into his pocket and retrieved a small metal lighter, its polished silver surface glinting faintly in the light. 

“Do you see it?” He tilted the lighter slightly, letting the flame stretch upward. “It’s alive. It breathes, it moves, and when it’s fed… it transforms.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, captivated by the intensity in his voice and the mesmerizing way he handled the flame. A slow smile tugged at your lips as you stared into the flickering light, an exhilarating, dark thrill coursing through you, making your fingers twitch.

Your gaze shifted to Mimi’s lifeless body, her form dangling lifelessly in the position you’d left her. Her vacant eyes stared into nothingness, her form swaying faintly with the whispers of wind slipping through the cracks in the barn walls. You took a step closer, unable to resist admiring your work. The silence was deafening, yet perversely satisfying—a chilling reminder of the finality of it all.

Behind you, Yunho moved with quiet precision, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against him. His free hand pressed the lighter into your palm, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch.

“See for yourself,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. 

With a flick of your thumb, the lighter sparked to life, its small flame casting a faint glow. You lowered it to the edge of her clothes. The instant the fire touched the fabric, it flared with a hungry hiss, consuming it greedily as tendrils of smoke spiraled into the air.

As the flames climbed higher, their flickering light reflecting in your eyes, you leaned back against Yunho. A laugh rose from deep within you—soft and subdued at first, then breaking free, loud and unrestrained.

Smoke clung to your clothes and hair as you and Yunho darted through the garden, the night air doing little to temper the heat still pulsing in your veins.

The faint glow of the fire lit your path back to the manor, its flickering light casting eerie shadows on the statues and hedges as you weaved through them. Breathless but still riding the high, you slipped inside the manor, creeping up the grand staircase to your room.

Yunho surged toward you, mouth latching onto your lips as he tore at your bodice, desperate to devour that chaos that was you. He pressed a kiss to the swell of your breasts, the tip of his tongue tracing over the soft skin before latching on to a nipple. Your hands fumbled to unbutton his trousers, desperate to get him undressed. You couldn't help the cry that escaped your throat when you felt his hand slip under your skirts and between your legs.

“Do you know how quickly a fire spreads when there’s gasoline in the air?” he asked, lips ghosting against the sensitive mound. His long fingers traced lazy circles around your slit, his ministrations, deliberate and teasing, as if drawing more of those precious sounds from you was his sole purpose.

You shook your head, stumbling back on to the mattress, your mind scrambling to respond, but you couldn't. Not when everything about him—his eyes, voice, and intensity—was pulling you deeper into the fire.

“It only takes a spark,” he purred, pressing against your lips. 

Yunho’s fingers brushed gently against the strands of your hair that clung to your face, tucking them behind your ear. He sat back on his heels, working his cock out of his trousers, fisting it without breaking eye contact with you. 

“One tiny spark, and everything you thought you controlled goes up in flames.”

He lined his leaky cockhead against you, teasing your sopping cunt with the tip. You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing and kneading as he pulled out, then moved back in halfway. 

“W-What happens when the fire gets out of control?” you gasped, your breath hitching with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your face flushed with intensity. 

Yunho bottomed out with a low groan, his body tense as he stilled inside you. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, the primal focus in them unwavering as he watched your face twist in pleasure. The way your lips parted, your eyes fluttering and rolling back, and the way your tits bounced—he drank it all in, captivated.

“You let it burn,” his lips latched on to your jawline, peppering kisses down to your neck, pushing your leg up higher so he could angle himself deeper. 

“Because once it consumes everything,” his voice faltered, at the way your pussy twitched around him, “there’s no escape.” 

Yunho’s pace became erratic, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. You squealed when his cock slid against your walls, and you couldn’t think of anything other than how you wanted him to fuck you stupid. You wanted to surrender to him, to be completely devoured by someone who could match you, challenge you, and make you feel alive in ways you never imagined. 

“Fuck fuck, take me, Yunho, please,” you babbled, ready to submit to him.

The way he stuffed you full, the sound of his hips pounding against your ass, accompanied by the sloppy squelches of your pussy drenching him with your juices, or the way he tugged at your hair, making sure you couldn’t get away stirred a heat in your lower belly, growing unbearable. 

You could smell his musk, sweat, and something else—something primal invade your senses, and you shivered. You were getting lightheaded and you swore you could hear your own heartbeat, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe as your orgasm tore through you.   

It was a smoldering ache that spread like wildfire. You clung to him, every sensation heightened—the warmth of his body beneath your touch, and the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Yunho felt the knot in his stomach tighten, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down through the aftershocks. You knew he was teetering on the edge of his own high, and you wiggled, clenching down hard to milking him. You felt it. The way his hips stuttered, filling you completely to the brim with thick velvety ropes of cum. 

"Want you, o-only you," he stammered, struggling to catch his bread. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss a desperate collision of tongues and teeth, an unspoken promise of the darkness that bound you together. 

“Let me be yours.”

"Darling," you called out, your voice carrying a playful lilt as you meticulously polished a set of knives laid out before you. 

Yunho, seated comfortably by the hearth with a book in hand, tilted his head slightly in your direction but didn’t yet look up. His sharp features softened under the golden glow of the firelight, but there was a glint of suspicion in his eyes.

“Yes?” he replied, dragging out the word in that familiar tone that was both indulgent and wary—a tone reserved just for you when he suspected you were up to something.

You stepped closer, draping your arms lazily over his broad shoulders, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on his chest. His lips quirked into a small smile despite himself, though his gaze flicked briefly to the blades on the table.

“It seems we’ll be going to our next victim, rather than him coming to us.”

"The Choi’s," Yunho muttered, his jaw tightening, the muscle twitching ever so slightly as he processed your words.

“Isn’t it perfect?” you continued, a note of excitement in your voice. “A grand estate, a lavish event, and San, all under one roof. It’s almost as if the stars aligned just for us.”

A shadow flickered across Yunho’s expression, his eyes narrowing briefly. In a swift, almost instinctive motion, his hands found your waist, gripping firmly as he yanked you against him.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with a growl that sent a thrill down your spine.

Tilting your head, you offered him a coy smile, feigning innocence. “San’s hardly a threat to you.” Your fingers reached up, tracing a delicate path along the line of his jaw, the touch soft, meant to soothe.

“You know you're the only one I have eyes for.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though the possessive gleam in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against the corner of your lips. 

“Because if he tries anything, it won’t be you who takes care of him.”

The carriage rattled along the cobblestone, every jolt and bump pressing you further into the cramped confines of the plush interior.

“Who thought this was a good idea?” you grumbled, wedged between Yeosang’s broad shoulders on one side and Hongjoong’s sharp elbows on the other. Across from you, Yunho sat with an amused smile tugging at his lips, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama.

“Might I remind you,” Yeosang began, his tone clipped and precise, “that as an unwed woman, you are still subject to scrutiny amongst the rest of society.”

You shot him a look. “Oh, forgive me, dear brother. I didn’t realize your lectures came free with the cramped seating arrangement.”

Hongjoong snorted, trying—and failing—to stifle his laughter. “Yeosang does have a point, though. You wouldn’t want whispers of impropriety, would you?”

“Whispers of impropriety are practically a given,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. 

“And if they get too loud, I could always… take care of the problem.” You punctuated the statement with a wicked smirk, earning raised brows from both men beside you.

“Take care of the problem?” Hongjoong echoed, feigning shock as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You mean every single person in attendance at the ball?”

“I wouldn’t need to dispose of everyone,” you replied smoothly, leaning back in your seat despite the lack of room.

“Just the ones who I particularly dislike. Though I would spare your fiance, brother, she’s quite lovely.” 

Yeosang’s betrothed was indeed lovely, but in the way a porcelain doll might be—delicate, beautiful, and utterly unaware of the shadows looming just beyond her perfect little world.

The Choi estate finally loomed into view, its grand spires and glowing windows promising a night of intrigue and chaos. For now, you were content to let the banter fade as you prepared for the night ahead.

“You all survived,” Hongjoong declared as the carriage came to a halt. He threw the door open with a flourish, stepping out dramatically. “You’re welcome.”

You navigated the crowd of guests with purpose, the fabric of your gown swishing against the polished marble floor as you scanned the room, intent on finding San.

Convincing your father to agree to the engagement hadn’t been easy. You’d begged and pleaded, painting San as the perfect addition to the collection—handsome, charming, well-connected, and clever enough to keep you interested.

Your father remained unmoved, but you persisted, highlighting the political advantages of the match. Eventually, he relented—not because of your arguments, but because of your relentless determination that promised you’d stop at nothing to make San yours.

“There you are,” you said, slipping seamlessly into the role of the devoted fiancée. Without waiting for an invitation, you placed your hand lightly on San’s arm, your touch both possessive and calculated.

From the shadows, Yunho’s eyes burned with a dark intensity as he watched the exchange. His jaw clenched as San’s hand brushed yours—a gesture that seemed casual to spectators but carried intent he didn’t like.

“Walk with me,” you whispered, the command so lightly delivered it felt like an invitation. You didn’t wait for San’s answer, turning toward the garden doors with a confidence that ensured he’d follow.

The night air greeted you as you stepped onto the terrace, the chatter of the ballroom fading behind you. You barely glanced back as San fell into step beside you, his movements measured and unhurried.

“Not a fan of the crowd?” he asked, his tone conversational.

“Am I not allowed to have any privacy with my betrothed?” you replied, leading him down a path lined with hedges. 

San followed, his footsteps measured and unhurried. “Privacy?” he repeated, a soft chuckle escaping him. “That’s a rare luxury in our world. You know that everyone is waiting for the next scandal.”

“Indeed,” you sighed, your tone tinged with weariness, the perfect prelude to what came next.

You took a small step closer, your movement subtle yet designed to chip away at his composure. Your gaze locked onto his, steady and inviting, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. His eyes flickered to your lips before returning to meet yours, his composure faltering for a heartbeat. 

“That’s why,” you murmured, your voice soft, intimate, as though the words were meant for him alone, “this is the perfect opportunity for us to… escape.”

His brows lifted slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Escape?” 

You leaned in just enough to let your breath ghost against his skin, your next words dripping with suggestion.

“Away from the eyes that watch our every move. Doesn’t the idea tempt you, even just a little?” you whispered, your fingers lightly brushing his sleeve. 

Yunho watched as you wove your trap with precision, the threads of your web wrapping tighter around your victim. He fought to suppress his darker instincts: to tear San away from you, to smother him in flames, and put an end to the amusement. 

Yet he remained still, rooted in the shadows like a predator lying in wait. He knew better than to interfere. The success of your hunt depended on San’s willingness to step into your web, unaware of the danger closing in from every side. 

⊹

“Mmph, San just like that,” you moaned, voice breathy and as he slammed up into you. You could feel every inch of him as you rode him, the tip of his cock sliding against your walls and pressing into your soft, slick flesh.

Your thighs were trembling as you rose up and rolled back down onto his length, your own slickness dripping from your core, down your legs and over his thighs. 

“Fuck, you little minx,” he chuckled, reaching out to swat your ass. “Your idea of an escape wasn’t such a bad idea.”

San was panting now, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, muscles coiled tight beneath his skin. You leaned in closer, your fingers curling around his jaw, tilting his face upward into a kiss. Your lips brushed his, but your eyes stayed open, a faint smirk dancing on your lips as you watched Yunho out of the corner of your eye.

Yunho's brow twitched ever so slightly. His gaze remained steady, but the subtle tightening of his jaw hinted at the jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He could have ended this easily, efficiently, moments ago. One swift move, and San would’ve been neutralized, sparing him the theatrics unfolding before him. 

San’s hands slid down to the fat of your ass, his grip firm and possessive, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. He was consumed by the heat of your touch and the illusion of control.

“I can practically feel your jealousy from here,” you purred, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. 

San stiffened at your words, his head snapping around to follow your gaze. His eyes widened as they locked onto Yunho, who stepped out from the shadows, the glint of a syringe catching the dim light.

“What the—” San began, his voice tinged with confusion and anger.

“I’m sorry about this, darling,” you whispered, your tone laced with a teasing sweetness. “You’re far too sweet for someone like me.”

In one fluid motion, Yunho struck, the needle slipping into San’s neck with clinical precision. The sharp hiss of the syringe was barely audible, but the effect was immediate. His body jerked, muscles tensing for a brief moment before the sedative began to take hold. 

“Sannie?” you cooed mockingly, your voice lilting as you gazed up at him. 

A low groan escaped San’s lips, his eyelids fluttering weakly as the haze of unconsciousness began to lift. His head lolled to the side before snapping upright, a sharp intake of breath signaling the return of his senses.

Above him, the elaborate chandelier swayed, its gilded arms and crystal droplets gleaming eerily in the dim light. Thick ropes cut into his wrists, binding him to the curved metal and leaving him strung up like a puppet.

As a figure emerged beneath the chandelier, the haze in his vision couldn't obscure your unmistakable presence. Despite the pain and confusion, he recognized you instantly.

“Y/N!” he barked, his tinged with anger.

“Me?” you replied with a mock innocence, pointing to yourself with the knife in hand.

“Why are you doing this? Put me down!”

You tilted your head, your expression hovering somewhere between amusement and indifference. The faintest smile tugged at your lips as you took a step closer, inspecting the blade in your hand as if it were far more interesting than his presence.

“Well, I wanted to keep you for myself,” you began, your voice light and casual, as though discussing the weather. Slowly, you circled around San, your footsteps muffled by the exquisite rug. 

“But, you see, keeping someone requires a certain...process.”

San’s eyes followed your every move, his body tensing with every word. “Process?” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You stopped in front of him, leaning slightly closer as if sharing a secret. 

“It’s something of a family tradition” you began, fiddling with the blade in hand. “We’ve been curators for generations. Artists, really, in preserving beauty. Faces, bodies... souls. It’s an art passed down from my ancestors.”

“You…kill people and turn them into...into trophies?” San’s breathing grew heavier, his heart racing as he struggled to process your words.

“And you were going to do that to…me?” 

“Of course,” you replied, as if the answer were obvious. “You would’ve been my crown jewel.”

“You’re insane!” San hissed. 

“People keep saying that,” you mused, “but I think they just don’t understand that it’s about preservation—ensuring the things we treasure don’t fade away with time.”

Your eyes roamed over his face with a detached sort of admiration, as if he were a sculpture in a gallery rather than a living, breathing man. Slowly, you closed the distance between you, craning your neck upward to meet his scowl. 

“It’s a shame,” you murmured, your voice softening into something disturbingly tender, “to waste a face and body sculpted by God himself.”

San’s form was a masterpiece, from the way his chest heaved beneath the ropes binding him to the ridges of his abdomen catching the flickering candlelight like carved stone. His arms strained against the restraints, biceps taut, and the sheen of sweat on his body accentuated every curve and line, turning him into a living, breathing statue.

The faint screech of steel against flesh made him flinch, his head jerking away sharply as he tried to put even the smallest distance between you. 

“It starts with the skin,” you said, the blade’s edge gliding slowly up his abdomen, its cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. “Carefully removed, tenderly treated with salts and oils to keep it soft, supple… perfect. No flaws, no mistakes.”

The blade lingered against his chest, resting just above the frantic beat of his heart. Your fingers tightened around the hilt, tilting it slightly as you admire the quiver of his muscles beneath the steel. "Then the muscle—preserved layer by layer, until what’s left is the very essence of you. It’s… devotion.”

“I’m not some thing,” he spat, his voice trembling with anger.

“No,” you agreed, stepping back just enough to grant him the illusion of space.

“You’re not a thing, San. You’re divine. I had to have you. Something as perfect as you deserves to be worshiped...forever.”

His chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths, his eyes flickering with desperation as he tried to process your words. But before he could respond, you turned your attention elsewhere, mischief creeping into your expression.

“But alas,” you said, your voice laced with mock sorrow, “I only have eyes for one man now. And since he said no...”

You stepped closer, your movements unhurried, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. Your smile widened ever so slightly as you tilted your head toward San, “...you can’t be a part of my collection.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, the knife moved, finding its mark in an instant, slicing clean through the fragile barrier of flesh at the base of his throat.

A strangled gasp escaped him as his body jerked violently against the ropes that bound him. His wide eyes met yours, filled with disbelief, a desperate plea lingering just behind the surface. But you weren’t done.

Another thrust. And another.

The blade sank into his gut, each motion deliberate and unhurried, as if you were painting a masterpiece with every strike. Blood gushed from the fresh wounds, pooling beneath him, staining the floor at your feet. His body convulsed, his muscles straining against the bonds in a futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

You stepped back, watching the light drain from his eyes. There was a strange beauty in the way his features softened, his defiance melting into something quieter, almost serene.

“Love?” you sang, skipping toward your paramour, your voice lilting in a way that would have sounded sweet if not for the blood splattered across your cheeks and the wicked gleam in your eye. The crimson stained your dress as you twirled the blade in hand, its tip dripping in time with your steps.

“How did I do?”

“Did you enjoy pouring accelerant around the manor?” you asked, your voice teasing as you glanced at Yunho. 

He huffed, slipping his hand into San’s fur coat. His fingers rummaged through the pockets, seeking anything worth pilfering, until they brushed against a cigar case.

"I would have enjoyed it a lot more if he didn't have his hands all over you," Yunho muttered with displeasure. He bit down on the cigar, his gaze never leaving yours. The flicker of his lighter caught the curve of his pout, the cigar’s tip flaring bright before he exhaled a slow, lazy plume of smoke.

“I’m sorry my love, it was part of the plan,” you said softly. 

Rising onto your tiptoes, your hands rested lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. You leaned in, brushing a tender kiss to his lips. His mouth softened against yours, the lingering tension dissolving with his quiet sigh, leaving the cigar forgotten in his hand.

“Let me make it up to you?” you whispered against his lips.

His gaze bore into yours for a moment, intense and unyielding before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without a word, Yunho turned and sauntered toward the chaise, easing himself against the cushions. With his arm draped along the backrest, he commanded you with hooded eyes, tracking your movement as you approached.

Trembling with excitement, you let your bloodied dress slip from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You sunk to your knees before him as your hands smoothed up his thighs, working to undo his trousers. The fabric gave away and Yunho lifted his hips as you pulled them down, his hand immediately fisting in your hair, dragging you up. 

"Open,” he commanded with a tone that could only send a shiver down your spine. 

Your lips parted, and he leaned in, capturing you in a rough, consuming kiss. The taste of tobacco lingered on his tongue, its rich, smoky heat clouding your senses and making your head spin. As the kiss deepened, he exhaled slowly, sending a plume of smoke into your mouth.

When he finally pulled back, your lips tingled from the loss of contact, the ghost of his touch still lingering. Yunho crushed the cigar against the ashtray before beckoning you forward with his fingers.

You stuck your tongue out, allowing his thick shaft to slide past your lips. Yunho groaned as you wrapped your hands around the base of his cock, your tongue flattening along his length and tucking his tip along the underside. Your tongue swirled around the tip before as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with each pass.

He threw his head back, his thrusts growing rougher as he bucked into your mouth, tears forming in the corner of your eyes from how thick your lover’s cock was. 

“That’s it, you’ll take it all won’t you love?” he encouraged. 

You nodded as best you could, moaning wantonly as he proceeded to fuck your face, moving faster and harder. Wetness dripped between your thighs, the taste of his arousal driving your own need to be fucked as you slid a hand down, fingers pressing between your legs.

Yunho hissed from the vibration of your moan and momentarily released his grip on your hair. His fingers pressed into your cheeks, squishing them gently but firmly, tilting your head to ensure your gaze stayed locked with his. You looked up at him, panting, cheeks flushed and swollen lips parted–his little angel. He yanked you toward him, his mouth crushing against yours as his tongue forced its way past your lips, savoring his own taste. 

“Mmph, Yunho please,” you gasped between kisses, “I need it,” you begged, squeezing your thighs together to relieve the ache you felt between them. 

“I thought you were going to make it up to me, but I guess I can’t help it when you look like a fucking angel.” 

His grip on your arm was firm, as he hauled you upward with almost no effort. He guided you on to his lap, his angry cockhead teasing your folds as you straddled his hips. You bit back a whimper, grinding against his dick, giving you the relief you so desperately needed. 

“What do you need? Use your words, darling.”

“Need to be fucked, need you in me,” you whined, reaching between your to line his cock against your cunt but he stopped, grabbing a hold of your wrist. 

“You want me to fuck you right after you had another man in you?”

“You know there is no one else. Please, please just fuck me, please! I'm begging you, I'm yours, only yours. Only ever yours. Always!”

Yunho hoisted you up by the hips and sheathed himself inside of you, his tip kissing against your most sensitive spot. You reveled in the way the curve of his dick caressed your walls, writhing yourself against him, desperate to fuck yourself up and down his length. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

You obeyed, bringing your hands behind your back as his hand wrapped firmly around your wrists, holding them in place, a reminder of who was in control. 

“Yes, sir,” you stuttered, rolling your hips against him. Yunho sucked his teeth, admiring the way you were so compliant for him, how you desperately wanted to please him–a sharp contrast from the calculated killer you had been moments before. 

Squelching sounds filled the room as you slid along his length before slamming back down, the sound spurring you on as he entered you again and again, each thrust harder than the last. You felt like you could cum at any moment as the pleasure was overwhelming but you didn’t want him to know how close you were. 

“I know you’re close, angel,” he taunted against your nipple, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. “Let got for mmf–”

You leaned forward, stuffing Yunho’s mouth with one of your tits, revenge for forcing you to keep your hands behind your back. He groaned, tongue lapping against your nipple as your arousal seeped from your core down, pooling around in a milky white ring around the base of his cock. 

Yunho was growing impatient with you and slid his hand up, his fingers curling around your throat with a slight squeeze that had you spiraling into a haze of delirium. That was all it took for your cunt to spasm as your release finally came. 

"That's my angel," he cooed, relaxing the grip on your wrists and letting his hand slide behind your back. He cupped the back of your head, pulling you toward him, his dark gaze still holding you captive. Despite the haziness, you fought to meet his stare, feeling every ounce of your control slip further away.

You couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, the way his bangs clung to his forehead, and the tension in the muscles of his arms and torso.

He looked breathtaking like this.

You could tell he was close, breathing heavily and moaning against your skin before a deep shudder rolled through him. You watched with delight as his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back in pleasure as he stuffed you full with his seed. 

"Can I still keep the fur coat?" you asked, glancing up at Yunho with wide, pleading eyes. 

“No.”

⊹

“I think I might retire from hunting. Burning is much more efficient. Fun, even.”

“Fun?” he echoed, arching a brow as his dark eyes fixed on you. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, his gaze studying your face like you were the only thing worth noticing amidst the chaos.

You held Yunho’s hand, your fingers intertwined with his, swinging idly as the two of you strolled away from the estate. Taking one last drag, he tossed the cigar, letting it tumble to the ground before igniting the trail of gasoline. A sudden rush of flames raced toward the manor, hungrily consuming the line of accelerant until it disappeared into the heart of the ballroom.

The pungent smell of smoke filled the air as you and Yunho made your way down the winding path from the Choi estate. Screams pierced the night as flames erupted within, and guests fled the grounds in a chaotic swarm, their tailored suits and gowns streaked with soot and ash as they stumbled across the manicured lawns.

You could feel the faint tremble of excitement in Yunho’s grip, the subtle way his thumb traced small circles against your knuckles.

“I mean, look at this,” you gestured at the inferno behind you as another section of the manor’s roof caved in. “There’s no need to clean up, no loose ends, and it’s efficient.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked back to the blaze, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something almost reverent in his expression. The heat, the destruction—it spoke to something deep within him, a hunger he tried to keep buried but could never fully ignore. He inhaled deeply, the scent of smoke filling his lungs, and his lips curved into a slow, almost dreamy smile.

“There’s instant satisfaction in destruction. I won’t have to feel bad about letting potential dolls go to waste,” you sighed, your tone carrying a faint edge. You were still a bit bitter about having to dispose of San. A pity, really.

But the things you do for love.

Yunho laughter rumbled through his chest as he pulled you closer.  “Looks like I’ve created a monster,” he mused, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

Behind you, the inferno raged on, the deep groans of the collapsing manor blending with the desperate cries of those escaping. But you both kept moving, the blaze fading into the distance as the night swallowed you whole.

[seungcheollies-cake]

mafia!teez this, mafia!teez that, what about gothic!villain teez!?!

𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 | preview

Aurora Manor—once a grand estate—was abandoned after a series of unfortunate events befell its original inhabitants. Over the years, the manor was repurposed into various ventures, each one ultimately failing before it was consumed by fire. Yet even In the distant future, the malevolent presence that once haunted the grounds still lingers in the very earth where it stood.

"Darling," your husband called after you, his voice sweet, feigning concern, "you’ll only hurt yourself if you keep running."

Ever since he arrived, a suffocating darkness had fallen over the manor, creeping into every corner like an insidious fog.  You could feel their presence behind you, shadows stretching and contorting on the walls as if the manor itself conspired against your escape.

Nothing was amiss at first. Life at the manor continued, despite the presence of your husband's colleague, Dr. Kim Hongjoong, who was in town for a medical conference.

But then the manor staff began to disappear.

At first, their absences were explained away—illnesses, sudden resignations, family emergencies. Yet no letters came, no relatives inquired. And then, one by one, they returned.

But not in the way you expected.

The first victim was a young maid, no older than eighteen. You found her seated at the piano in the drawing room, her hands positioned on the keys, her head tilted unnaturally to the side as if listening to an unseen conductor. Her skin was waxy, her eyes dull and glassy, her body stiff as though the life had been drained and replaced with something hollow.

Then came the head butler, standing at attention in the dining room, silver tray in hand. His face was locked in a courteous expression, but his joints creaked when you brushed past him, like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.

Every room became a macabre gallery of grotesque displays—bodies posed in everyday scenes, their expressions frozen in mockery of life. 

Now, as you ran through those same cursed halls, the memory of their lifeless faces drove you forward, even as the storm outside threatened to consume you. You couldn’t join their grisly gallery. Not yet. Not ever.

You could feel their presence behind you, shadows stretching and contorting on the walls as if the manor itself conspired against your escape. The hall twisted into a labyrinth, the flickering light from sconces casting monstrous shapes that seemed alive. 

You stumbled into the deluge, rain drenching you to the bone and stealing the breath from your lungs. Mud squelched underfoot as you staggered toward the estate’s boundary, the towering trees thrashing in the wind like angry titans. But you knew they wouldn’t stop. The hunt was too intoxicating for them, the chase a sick game they had perfected.

You dared not look back, even as your instincts screamed that they were near, their eyes gleaming in the darkness like predators savoring the end of the chase.

[seungcheollies-cake]

HEARING SEONGHWA MOAN WAS NOT ON MY MORNING AGENDA SSKCJDHSJSJAGDBCB 😵‍💫

[seungcheollies-cake]

GO WITH IT

MARK LEE (이민형)

ABOUT 𓂃 ࣪˖ “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

WARNING 𓂃 ࣪˖ language, mark is a bit of a slut, 18+ spiderman kiss (you’ll see lmao), allusions to fat cock mark… 😵‍💫, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mark’s name repeated like 78 times (no seriously, it’s up there), reader bent like a pretzel, orgasm denial, this author loves a comma, a pinch of softdom!mark, silly ending

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪˖ bestfriend!mark x bestfriend!reader

WORD COUNT 𓂃 ࣪˖ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𓂃 ࣪˖ a little surprise drop for my favorite neo! i guess it's also a wee bit of a belated birthday gift to him :) i skimmed it for typos and stuff but i unfortunately did not edit it the way i should have, sorrryyyyy hope y'all enjoy! omg also reader's room is yu nabi's from the kdrama nevertheless hehehe

Nobody was busier than your best friend, Mark Lee. Between his job, his vibrant social life, and his weekly family dinners, you were lucky to be offered a slot in his schedule. It was always a yes to Mark Lee. Usually.

The last three times Mark had tried to make plans with you were all failed attempts, and the excuses varied each time. There was nothing shameful about the truth, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that your friendship was being thrown to the backburner while you sloppily attempted to get your life together. He knew all about your small business, taking commissions for art prints and ceramics, but he had no idea how much time and effort went into each piece. Besides, knowing Mark he would offer to help, and that wasn’t going to be of service to you in the slightest. 

All you could do was rot in bed, hoping that something would spark your creative mind to no avail. Frustration was starting to take up every corner of your mind— from the nonstop orders that you couldn’t fulfill, to your supplier raising prices, to the fact that you hadn’t had a good date in two years. You were wound too tight to function, and any minute now you were going to start pulling your hair out in chunks.

The sound of the pin-pad at your door let you know that Mark was about to come barreling through. There were so many times that you’d be in strict creation mode, headphones in at full blast while Mark banged at the door pleading for you to answer; when it started to feel like a normal part of your routine, he just requested the code to let himself in. “Yo!”

Except, this time, none of that was necessary. Your headphones were stuffed in their case on the other side of the room, workstation completely untouched with your multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Despite the custom orders piling up over the last two weeks, you hadn’t had the artistic strength to move forward with any of them. The only thing you could do to  buy yourself a little time was to post a message asking for patience and understanding while you navigate some vague emotional hardship. Realistically, though, it would only buy you another week or so before people would start to get angry. 

“Hi.” Perched on a stool near the kitchen island, eyes locked on the cup of coffee you warmed up seventeen minutes ago, you were out of it.

Mark waved a few inches from your face, trying to get your full attention. “Hello? Earth to ___, are you okay?”

You snapped out of it, looking over at your best friend to see that he was dressed for a night on the town. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind right now.”

White, distressed tank top, loose plaid button-up undone, and his sexiest pair of black jeans. The way the meticulous curls fell around his face, looping around his forehead in a way that feigned boylike wonder. He looked oh so delicious, but you would never tell him that— his ego was big enough for the both of you. “Anything I could help with?”

A stifled chuckle barely reached his ears before you cleared your throat, turning toward him with renewed energy. “No, not really.”

Mark put his phone and keys down on the counter, taking a quick intermission to wash his hands before walking back over to you. He’d never been in your apartment in this way before— an unannounced hangout where you’re clearly just a stop along the way, being so underdressed in his presence. He’d seen you in a swimsuit before, but something about a big shirt and underwear felt far more intimate than the two strips of fabric. “This is like the third time you’ve curved me, if you hate me just say that.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking dramatic. I’m just busy.” You shoved at his shoulder, urging him to take a seat so you wouldn’t feel so awkward with him standing over you. He refused cooly, taking a look around your apartment to make sure you hadn’t been aimlessly rotting since the last time he stopped by.

“Even I'm not that busy. What’s going on?”

“I’ve just…” You sighed heavily, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Talking about everything wrong in your life felt far too heavy, too much to divulge to a friend seemingly just doing a wellness check. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’ve got all these creative blocks that won’t go away and honestly I just need to be fucked like properly fucked to get my juices flowing again but all of the men worth giving it up to are in hiding.”

Mark stood there, mouth agape in disbelief. He did ask, after all. “Woah.”

“Yeah.” It felt embarrassing to hear laid out like that, but there weren’t too many secrets between you and Mark in the first place. Your sex lives weren’t off limits for discussion, and the two of you had plenty of chats that were NSFW in nature. But blurting out how badly  you needed to be railed? That was a new one.

The silence spoke for itself, apparently. You didn’t want to chance a glance up at him, but you knew that you’d have to say something. Maybe something to cover your ass, let him know that you’re well aware how ‘TMI’ that was. Or even—

“I’ll fuck you.”

You nearly choked on air,“What?!” Now you had no choice but to look at him, scanning the twinkle in his eyes in search of sincerity.

“I’m really good, too.” He took a step towards you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands found home in his shirt pockets. This was a side of Mark you rarely got to see— charming, smooth, confident. There were times, namely on nights out, where you’d get a taste of it, watching him chat it up in some dark corner with the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. But this, being on the receiving end? Watching his eyes drink you in like sweet tea on a balmy Southern summer afternoon? It was enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“Mark—”

The smile he cracks at you makes you embarrassed for even considering it. “I’m just messing with you, geez,” Heat takes over your face as you try to hide it from him, palms rubbing at your cheeks as your heartbeat tries to find its resting rate. “Although, given that reaction, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t be what?”

“Messing with you. Joking, rather. I can definitely mess with you, if you want,” Running so hot and cold in such a short window of time has you shivering under his gaze, scared to make the wrong move and ruin what you’d beg him for. “Hm? Is that what you want?”

The air is thick with anticipation, nothing but the consistent drip from a ceiling leak as the soundtrack to your staring contest with Mark. He was so close to you in all of his Friday night glory, cologne a cloud around you as the heat from his chest permeated your personal space. You were certain that just one taste, just one night in the throes of passion with a curly haired Mark Lee would solve all of your problems. If you closed your eyes, you could picture it— sweaty bodies intertwined amidst the sweltering heat of your studio after dark, the fanning of his breath in your face as he rocks into you, his strong frame caging you into the bed so all you can focus on is Mark, Mark, Mark! His sighs and whines of pleasure flooding your senses so they’re all you can pay attention to, just his voice and his unrelenting pace as he— “___,” The sound of your name on his tongue snapped you out of your lustful haze. “Offer’s about to expire, baby.”

Mark slipped his jacket off without breaking away from you, dropping it carelessly on the floor while your attention wandered to his arms. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, crossing his arms against his chest as he awaited your answer. “You’re serious? This isn’t some cruel prank where if I say yes, you’ll tell me it was just a joke?”

“That’s not my idea of a prank, princess, where’s the fun in that?” Mark licked his lips, a faint smirk taking over. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we can pretend this never happened,” His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sweetly making their way to your lips. “But if it were up to me? I’d have you seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment.”

That was all you needed to lunge into a kiss with him, throwing him slightly off guard as you practically tossed yourself into his arms. But his lips were ready for you, steaming hot and sopping wet— just the way you like it. The smush of your lips together so suddenly garnered the sweetest moan from him, just enough to tease you of what’s to come. His arms wrapped around your torso like a claw machine, pulling you so flush against him as though he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. 

Your lips were still tingling as he pulled away to lap kisses against your neck, peppering anywhere his lips could reach. “M-Mark, hmngh.”

It was no secret that Mark had a bit of a reputation in the bedroom, but you never thought you’d witness it firsthand. His hands delved blindly to your legs, hoisting you around his waist so he could move you over to your bed. You almost had a mind to remind him of the three big steps up to your bedroom area, but he was far suaver than you gave him credit for— this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

He tossed you on the bed, the slight recoil exhilarating before he was all over you again. “If a proper fuck is what you want…” His kisses had shifted to your chest, lips and tongue sucking in the essence of your skin like he couldn’t bear not to. He was almost more excited than you were, his touch reaching anywhere and everywhere all at once, like he couldn’t get enough of exploring everything you had to offer. It was all starting to feel real as Mark made a move to lift up your shirt and the implication of your best friend seeing you naked caught up with you.

“Wait, wait. We’re gonna see each other naked.”

Mark, with the fabric of your shirt caught in his teeth, stared at you blankly. “Yeah…” 

“Shouldn’t that be weird?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip with the hand closest to it. “Maybe, but how do you suggest we fuck then? Through my jeans?” He pulled your body swiftly down the mattress so you could feel how hard he was through your panties. 

“Shut the fuck up, oh, my God.”

“I was trying to before you got all weird and jittery,” Mark made a move for your shirt again, and this time you didn’t fight him on it. The balmy air hit your pert nipples the second they were exposed, and Mark couldn’t stop the gruff  noise that formed in his throat. “Just as pretty as I imagined.” You squirmed at the compliment, cheeks heating up at the sight of him drooling over you. “Like that? Hm? Are you my pretty girl?” 

His lips wrapped around the peak of your breast, tongue swirling to the same pattern his thumb and forefinger followed on your other nipple. “Yes!” It was embarrassing, how fast you succumbed to his commands. He struck with confidence, maneuvering his way around your body like he’d done it before. “I’m your pretty girl.”

“So sexy saying that for me, baby,” Your legs part instinctually to make more room for him, and Mark took that as his sign to shift gears. “You know… sometimes, every now and then, I’d think about you. If I needed a little extra push towards ecstasy, you’d pop in my head. Think about the way you’d look if I got my hands on you. How you’d feel, how you’d taste,” His fingers prodded at the growing wet patch on your underwear. “Gonna let me see?”

Your back arched off the mattress, hands pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Mark, please stop asking, just do it.”

“Mm, say ‘please’ again.”

“Mark!”

His laugh would be even sexier if it weren’t at your expense. “Alright, fine.” Your panties stayed on as his tongue lapped at your folds through them, the flimsy cotton doing absolutely nothing to stop him from devouring you. You jerked at the feeling as his tongue licked a bold strip through your folds, your hands entangling themselves in his curly locs. “You’re so wet, holy shit.”

One quick motion moved your panties to the side, puffy wet lips on full display for his greedy eyes. His eyes sparkled at the sight, mouth watering at the mere thought of getting to taste you. “Smell so good, pretty girl.” He was so hungry and you were the only one who could satiate him. His tongue had a mind of its own, pressing flat against your folds without a second thought, “Taste even better.”

Mark’s grip on your thighs held you in place as he licked you clean, running his tongue against every nerve-ending he could feel for. He pulled them apart just enough to spread you out for him, just enough to be on full display for him. Your taste occupied every corner of his mind as he blacked out in pleasure, lapping up every drop your gushing pussy offered up.

He circled your clit until you saw stars, your squirming uncontrollable as his tongue darted inside of you. “You’re so good to me.”

Mark groaned between your thighs, in love with the praise you were showering him with. There was something about how natural and seamless it was for you to compliment him that turned him on even more, if that was possible. “I don't think I'll ever get enough of how you taste, Christ.”

His free hand slithered up your torso, sinking his thumb into your eager mouth while his continued working at your core. He wasn’t shy, either, licking boldly from your ass to your clit while shaking his tongue side to side. Slurping up every drop that dribbled out of your entrance, twisting his tongue as far inside of you as he could reach. You were dripping down his chin by the time he introduced his fingers, prodding at your glistening hole with just one to test the waters. He took the way you gripped onto his hair as his sign that you were more than enjoying it. “F-feels good, oh, God.”

“Mm, don’t be shy.”

Laving at your clit, he drank up the praises the way he was drinking you up. He only pulled away to fully discard your panties, diving back into center with renewed vigor. “Need more.” You didn’t want to push him any closer to you, scared you’d smother him, but he didn’t seem afraid to drown. He’d awoken something desperately greedy inside of you, and you were slipping further into a haze of pleasure with every passing moment. Two fingers pressed their way inside of you, pumping slowly to get you adjusted before the jerk of your hips told him to pick up the pace. You couldn’t hold still with the way he was devouring you, mouth and hands prying you open deliciously all for his enjoyment. He would die between your thighs if you let him, you’re sure of it.

You had to physically pull him off of you to get him to stop, orgasming bubbling inside of you in record time. “Want you inside of me already.” The entirety of the lower half of his face was a sticky mess of your arousal, from his nose to his chin completely covered in you. “Bro, you need to wipe… that.” Times like these, you were glad that you kept tissues on your nightstand.

“You cannot and will not call me ‘bro’ now that I know what you taste like. How insulting.”

It hadn’t dawned on you that Mark was still fully dressed, sans his plaid jacket-shirt that was curled in a sad pile on the floor. “Is that an order?”

He bit at his lip, eyes darkening as he drank in your bare figure sprawled beneath him. Your hands ran themselves up and down his arms, finally getting a chance to admire his body after all the focus was turned to you. Maybe it was the lighting, the way his hair fell over his eyes, or just the fact that he was the best kisser you’d had the pleasure of test driving— but he looked divine. Halo of light circling his head as he fumbled with his belt, biceps flexing as he lifted the tank top off of his lean frame. Suddenly, he wasn’t your friend anymore; he was something new entirely.

You were so lost in your own adoration of him that you hadn’t noticed he was undressed, pulling you directly underneath him as he kissed at your collarbones. “Where’d you go off to, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, snapping back to reality (which was so much better than whatever was going on in your will they-won’t they fantasy). “Thank you, for this.”

Mark didn’t respond with words, instead opting to kiss you softly, tenderly. Slowly, deeply, passionately kissing you as he lowered himself atop of you. He wasn’t in a rush anymore, pulling you into him like you were made of glass, grinding against your center like you had all the time in the world. Everything was so delicate, like he was savoring the moment for years to come. It scared you, if you were being honest. “Mark? You know you can still kiss me while you’re inside of me, yeah?”

He hummed in approval, connecting your mouths again in a slow, languid kiss, tongues slithering into each other's mouths and twisting messily. You could feel him lining up with your entrance, his hand wrapped around his girth to guide himself into you steadily. Chancing a look down, you tried to hide the way your eyes bulged out at the sheer size of him— he would never let you hear the end of it if you fawned over how huge he was. It took all of your willpower to remain still, your body welcomed him as though it had hundreds of times, the shape of him slotting inside of you like he was made to. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could travel to your neck, groaning out his praise against your sticky skin. The absence of his lips on yours made you whine, hands wandering the expanse of his back just for confirmation that this was real. “Tell me how it feels.”

You couldn’t. Months of the worst dry spell you’d ever experienced coming to a head with Mark milking you for everything you had couldn’t be described. All you could do was moan, coiling around him even tighter as he started to rock his hips forward as though he was testing the waters. He was the only thing you could focus on— his scent, his taste, they way his nose pressed right against yours, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours against the mattress, the dionysian desire his hips were fulfilling. It was all just Mark, Mark, Mark. “Mark!” His teeth couldn’t resist nipping at your lip, pulling on it playfully before letting go to let his tongues soothe the area.

“I can’t help it, you’re so fun to play with.” He kissed you to make up for the quick dot of pain, relishing in the way you immediately kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m, I’m close.”

He spread your legs further apart to give himself more room to buck his hips, pressing at your thighs as he fucked into you faster. “Hold it.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You asked for the Mark Lee experience,” His thrusts grew pointed, almost exaggerated as his hips drove forward with precision, “and I’m gonna give it to you.”

You could feel yourself teetering dangerously close to the edge, stomach coiled tight and lungs working overtime. The mere thought of being denied your orgasm was getting you worked up— you hate not getting your way. Your legs wrapped around Mark’s waist, locking your ankles together for good measure. If he wanted to play games, you were down for it. “Harder.”

But instead of faster, Mark slowed to a complete stop, hands drifting down to your hips to pin them to the mattress. “Oh, baby, do you think I’m stupid?” He chuckled in your face, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “That’s a sure fire way to get nothing.”

“Wait, no, please! I didn’t mean it.”

The damage had already been done. His patience with you was wearing thin, and he didn’t take kindly to disobedience. “Have you learned your lesson?” Each second that passed stole a piece of your orgasm away with it, that delicious ball of tension and heat simmering down to a cool pit of nothing the longer Mark held your hips down. Your heart stopped fluttering with urgency, slowing to its resting rate as you dealt with the consequences of trying to outsmart your best friend. “Speak up, baby.”

“Yes,” You hissed out, annoyed that your declaration of needing to be fucked was currently going unanswered. Who is he to deny you of the very thing he promised you? “I learned my lesson.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, “God, you’re so sexy when you behave yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest as he pulled away from you entirely. “What happened to ‘having me seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment’?” 

It was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes, fingers running through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “Up against the wall.” You did as he said, spreading your hands against the wall as you felt him behind you, lining himself up with your sodden entrance. The inward arch felt unnatural at first, but you settled into it as you got comfortable in it. “Look up at me.” Mark was towering over you, quite literally. From this angle, all you had to do to see his face was look up and there he was with that devilish smile. His cock pressed into you as you watched him, the sheer thickness splitting you clean open for him, sucking him in like your pussy had been waiting for him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Maybe it was the taboo of sleeping with a friend, but your body was on fire. You felt your entire body heating up at the sudden change in his demeanor, switching your flirty best friend to a man absolutely starved. With your eyes screwed shut, you reached a hand out to hold onto his arm, fingers giving it a squeeze, head bumping the bare skin of his chest.

“Fuck.”

You were even wetter than you were while he had you pinned to the mattress, the feeling of being filled by him more electrifying after a brief intermission. He was all over you again and that was all that mattered, walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip that had both of you gasping for air.

“Shit,” he hiss, already lost in the sensation, “so good to me, ___, so fucking good.” He emphasized the last syllable with a gentle thrust that had your nails scratching at the wall. Your orgasm was building back up faster than you would’ve liked it to, considering you knew Mark wouldn’t let you cum so soon after denying you.

It hit you deeply, in all the right places at the right angle. Mark was that good from the start, and you couldn’t believe you’d been missing out on it. If you knew he was this goof, you would’ve ruined the friendship ages ago. “So fucking deep, Mark, keep going like that,” you moaned, just as caught up as he was.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, fucking into you with much more vigor than before, gripping your ass with such force you half expected to see the dents after. You moaned all you had to say, all you had to feel into each other’s mouths. When his velvety tongue enveloped yours you could almost taste the remnants of your arousal and the chocolate muffin he ate right in between sweeping and mopping. The water was still running, hitting part of his back and your leg.

You couldn’t pull away from him even if you tried— he was a part of you now, molded into each other’s bodies until you became one. “Wanna keep fucking you forever,” he groaned, pouring his all into every touch. “Keep you on me forever.”

It threw you for a loop. Keep you forever? Mark was a lot more emotional than he let on, sure, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant it in ways other than platonic. You couldn’t even stop him to ask what he meant by that because he was so deep in your guts that you were starting to feel him in your throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you cried out, biting your lip when he hit a certain spot inside you and kept hitting it over and over again— the taste of blood didn’t stop you. “Don’tstopdon’tsopdon’tstop-”  

“Fuck,” he whisper, voice strained and raspy, smacking at your ass before gripping it and bringing you down to meet his increasingly harsh thrusts, the slap echoing throughout your studio apartment. “Wanna fuck you forever, baby.” One hand kept its vice grip on your hip while the other grasped at your neck, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “Gimme a kiss, pretty girl.” Your lips found his despite the blurring of your vision, a supple lock as he steadied rocking into your core. Kissing him upside down felt worlds away from the first kiss you shared with him, and yet you still couldn’t get enough of it. The hand on your hip slithered up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple as he pulled away from the kiss. “So obedient.”

All the shame had disappeared from your body, the satisfaction of finally being fucked numbing you to his quips completely. His name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to be set free, but the way his hips ricocheted off your ass made you short circuit. Your skin was hot to the touch, goosebumps littering the expanse of your body as your toes curled around the fabric of your duvet. 

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?” Mark tutted. You hold back your moans, reveling in the sensation of his tip sliding up and down you dripping folds. Interrupting his own rhythm just to get a rise out of you, giving you no warning before shoving himself right back in. 

“Bet this was your plan all along,” You ignore the fact that he technically initiated all of this, too blissed out to snap back at him cheekily. “Dripping all over my cock, fuck.” He’s thinking out loud, eyes locked at the way your pussy invites him in, grip unrelenting with each thrust. He drew his hips back again to repeat the same unforgiving tempo, laughing to himself at the way your thighs shake in anticipation.

“Wanted this for so long.” You whine, bashful about the confession rolling off your tongue so easily. Mark had always occupied a special part of your mind, but the barrier of your friendship with him always kept you from thinking of him in that way for too long. He’s hot, sure, and one of the most genuine guys you’d ever met— but risking that by dating him felt too stupid to risk.

Mark didn’t keep you waiting for too long, filling you to the brim with one stroke that had your toes curling. You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he adopts a frenzied pace that nearly knocks you into the wall in front of you. “You’re so fucking warm.”  He can’t help but moan out at the feeling, clutching onto your hips as he pistons in and out of you. Blunt fingers digging into your skin as you let your body fall forward. You felt so full.

“Mark, fuck.” you whine, probably a tad too loud considering how thin the walls feel at night but you couldn’t help it, with the way he held onto you and fucked you like he had never had good pussy in his life. “Faster.”

“Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please’.” He teased, testing your obedience despite knowing you’d obey him. There was just something about knowing he held your pleasure in the palm of his hands, knowing that you’d do anything he asked of you. 

“Please, please, please Mark, need you so bad.” It sounded  pathetic, and it only makes Markn screw his eyes shut as he fucks you harder. All control lost as he watches the drool drip from your mouth down the wall— he was really fucking your brains out.

Mark's rough groans were slowly morphing  into needy moans, the sound causing even more slick to build up between your legs. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” And you really were, considering you had nothing but the wall to grip onto, you let your body go wherever Mark led it. Each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax, his dick hitting every single spot that you’re sure you’d see stars.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum? Mm, you can cum. Cum all over my dick, lemme see that pretty face.” You arched inward one last time for him, looking up at the man sending you to heaven and back on a loop. “There you go. Good fucking girl.” Mark smacked your ass sharply, holding onto your ass as he switched his rhythm to harsh, precise thrusts that were sure to throw you over the edge of pleasure. He kissed your forehead as the growing tension in the pit of your stomach snapped, your walls contracting around him in a tight frenzy that nearly triggered his own. He didn’t slow down, though. The clutching of pussy did absolutely nothing to deter him from fucking you with the same rigor, hips just as quick as they were before he finally let you cum.

“M-Mark, I don’...” The aftershocks of ecstasy silenced you in your tracks, the sparks of pleasure like electricity through your bloodstream. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed at the change of your tune, thumb flitting down to flick at your clit. “Baby needs more? Haven’t had enough yet?”

Even with him poking fun at your desperation, you were too drunk on his cock to care. All you could manage was a chorus of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me as Mark held you flush against him. “God, yes, fill me up like that.” Your arousal was dripping all over the inside of your thighs, the sticky slick glistening under the moonlight that peaked through your curtains. 

“That’s right, I’m not fucking done with you yet, pretty girl.” This side of him was lethal. He was insatiable, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, greedy for the way you bent to his every whim. It was such a change of pace from the way he was kissing you in missionary, the way he treated you like a doll that he was afraid of hurting you. “Feel good?”

He was mocking you— of course, it was good. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know; but feeding his ego was so addictive. The way he’d reward you for praising him was enough for you to fall for the trap every single time. “So, good, Mark, hngh.”

The smack of his hips against your ass bounced off the walls, echoing the depravity that you and Mark were oh so good at acting on. All of your senses on overdrive, the overstimulation pulling at you from every end, you weren’t sure if you could take it all for much longer. Drool slipped from your mouth onto Mark’s arm, the edges of your vision blurring as you could feel yourself bubbling over. “Gonna cum again?”

“‘m gonna cum again.”

He was drunk with the power of controlling you. “Hold it.”

“Mark, I can’t.” You were surprised you were even able to do it the first two times he commanded it, not used to having gratification delayed against your wishes.

“Gonna fill you up and then you can cum.” It only took a few more targeted thrusts before he was spilling his seed into you, an endless leak of evidence of what took place over the last hour or so. Even as his cock began to soften, he made sure to fuck you through it, massaging tight circles into your clit until your legs spasmed. The air was snatched from your lungs, eyes flittering shut in sweet relief. It was only two orgasms, but the build up had really taken it out of you. Mark flipped you over gently on your back, brushing the hair out of your face as you sleepily opened your eyes.

“Look at that. Take a look at the mess we made, baby.” 

He gestured between your legs, a slippery canvas of cum smeared across your most intimate parts. “So much…” You couldn’t stop yourself from gathering some on your fingers, popping them into your mouth for a taste of the two of you mixed together.

Your brain was on fire, neurons alight with the molten sensation that was Mark Lee. Even though you took him up on the offer, you weren’t expecting him to completely change your world. A solid orgasm and a pat of the back, maybe. But now you were afraid that he was your new addiction that you’d never be able to feed. 

You woke up in a fresh sleep shirt to the smell of toasted bagels and coffee. Mark balanced the plates and mugs the best he could as he tackled the steps leading up to your bedroom area. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?”

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee into your hands, kissing you on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. You were exhausted, wanted to let you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The coffee was exactly to your liking, just what you needed after a night of fucking like rabbits. “So, should we talk about… it?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and there was no hiding it, his hair pulled back into a messy bun so his face was on full display. “I mean, only if you want to? I’m okay with proceeding however you want to.”

“You’d be fine staying friends? Never talking about it? Pretending that nothing’s changed?”

He shrugged, “if that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” His attention shifted to his breakfast, eyes zeroed in on his eggs and toast like it was a gourmet meal. “Just don’t wanna make you feel weird about it, you know?”

“Mark?” You placed your coffee and plate down on your bedside table, turning your full attention to him as he continued to avoid your gaze. “What did you mean by all the ‘keep you forever’ stuff then?”

He rushed to try to explain himself, scrambling his words into a whole lot of nothing. “It’s not, like, a big deal or anything. I just get possessive… in bed, sometimes. I’m not a weirdo or anything, I promise.”

None of that mattered to you anyway, your dreams of Mark that clouded your head all night giving you the push you needed to throw caution to the wind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to risk it all with him? One kiss, chaste and sweet, was enough to shut him up for just a moment. “So if I said we should try exploring further, maybe go on a date or something, you’d say yes?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling agape as he searched your face for any signs that you were being facetious. “Y-yeah, yes. If that’s what you want.” He was so bad with his feelings, sometimes— but you were more than willing to be patient.

“Well, good, because that’s what I want.”

[seungcheollies-cake]

CIY CH 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Final puzzle pieces" 📍WC: 3.3k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Warning(s): 18+ rating, kidnapping, captive reader, guns, threats 📍AN: finally got it done, but it's just one thing after another now haha whoops 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts and occasionally @daemour 📍dividers and banner made by me! ageless blocks will be blocked immediately if you interact with this post

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The sting reverberating through your cheek woke you up, followed by mumbled obscenities. If you wanted to open your eyes, now you didn't, not when you recognized the voice.

Jongho. 

“I know you're awake, your breathing changed.” 

Huffing, you relented and peaked an eye open, wincing at the harsh light swinging above you. You lifted your head that had been hanging back haphazardly, attempting to bring a hand up to block out the bright light but you found them tied…  to the chair you were in.

Blood running cold you tested the ropes, glancing down at yourself to at least take notice you weren’t in the clothes you had been before. Even cleaned up, modest tee-shirt and jeans, hair pulled out of your face but no bra and underwear. “Who the fuck cleans someone up they plan on killing?” You scoffed out, forcing your anger to the surface and everything else into a box in the back of your heart to better deal with this situation.

After all, who the fuck would fuck someone like that just to tie them up like this?

It was so hard to believe them when they did such contradicting stuff like this. And to leave you with Jongho? The man that wanted nothing to do with you?

Your glare matched his, even if your head was throbbing. No windows or outside light to give you a time so who knew how long you were out for. It didn’t make sense to be out long enough for this after what had happened, but could you get answers? Did it even matter? “Why don’t you just kill me?” You spat out instead, gaze running over his attire as he was now leaning against the only door in the room. Ripped jeans, black sweater pushed up his elbows and for once, no gloves. You could make out some lettering on his knuckles, three on each hand but from the angle, you couldn’t tell what they were.

He caught you looking, flexing his hands before running the palms over his thighs and displaying the tattoo: P-I-R-A-T-E. If he was trying to intimidate you, it didn’t work, you were already expecting your death. You knew you had fucked up bad, so this was your own fault. Plus… what did you really have to fight for? You were a realist, there was no getting out of this. You couldn’t take down a group of skilled men that had ties in both the justice system and criminal world. But you also didn’t think they had a place for you among their group, not anymore.

Those hopes were dashed.

“You look pathetic.” Jongho sneered out, snapping your attention back to his face. “Given up already?” “I’m not delusional, I know how this ends for me.” Did you have the resources and resilience to run? Not without throwing your pride aside for abandoning your job. Your life meant less than your pride apparently.

Jongho rolled his eyes and closed the distance, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re a fucking idiot.” “So I’ve learned. Have any other new insults or will you just end it already?” This time you literally spat in his face, right on his cheek. He wiped it away slowly, the anger in his gaze much fiercer than any he had shown before. This must be how he really felt about you.

How could have things worked out with the unit with him like this anyways? Your own anger began to dissipate, a feeling of helplessness rising up to choke your bruised throat.

“You held a gun to Hwa-” “Ah so you want to beat me up first for threatening the pretty man? Well do it.” “They would have told you if you just asked.” He snapped back, voice raised, You rolled your eyes, struggling with the ropes. “And why should I have? You lot haven’t been the most welcoming. You made it perfectly clear, and still are, that I am not welcome here. Why should I have trusted you wouldn’t do this in the first place if I had come to them?!”

Perhaps it was the throbbing of your own head but you thought he winced at your words. Just imagining things, you told yourself. “So you threaten us first?!” He spat out, fists clenched at his side. “What else do I have left to lose?” Your tone shifted, the weight of your actions, the pain this entire ordeal had inflicted on you, finally reared it’s ugly head. “I have nothing. Nothing but my pride. So just kill me. Get it over with. If you’re going to anyways, just do it. I’m no use to you alive, I have nothing you gain from keeping me like this.” Your head drooped forward, shoulders slumped. It was the truth, you had no value, no worth, and nothing more to fight for.

Silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, but if you counted your breaths it was a meer couple seconds. 

“This is why you should've stayed away. This life takes everything from you." There was an ache in his voice that shocked you, but not as much as the pure defeated pain on his features when you looked up.

It had occurred to you before, that each of them had some ties or reason to really hate the criminal underground and one of the existing families. Seonghwa’s parents trying to sell his sister off to the Golden Circle- Yunho’s father dying in a hit, Mingi’s own troubled adolescence running for the gangs. Yeosang’s program is owned by the red wolves, Wooyoung’s mother being the head of the Pink Boa’s… but you hadn’t once thought about Jongho.

You had tried not to think about him as often as possible, but now you couldn't help but wonder. What had happened to him that he didn’t want you getting involved with this life? For a moment, you wondered if he had been worried about you.

It was dashed away when you heard other voices and he made his speedy escape out of the room. Sure you were now curious but what right did you have to know?

You didn’t expect to leave this, well what looked like a safe house, alive.

Unfortunately Jongho didn’t come right back, leaving you to stew in your rage, fear, and sadness. You didn’t like to be left alone with your thoughts for too long, then you would start to doubt yourself.

But what choice did you have? What outcome could you think of that you haven’t already? The potential to join them? So that you could live?

The longer you stayed tied to the chair, the more dying seemed like a better option. You were ready to give in, to give up. Pride be damned. Your parents be damned. S.K and your friends be damned. You were tired.

Minutes dragged on until you were sure an hour passed, hearing no sounds outside the door. You debated attempting to escape, but the camera in the corner of the room dashed that idea. “Are you enjoying this? Fucking pervert, always watching.” You taunted, staring down the camera so you didn’t have to think. If you attempted to escape, Yeosang would just alert the others… Was that how Yunho knew? Did Yeosang alert them that you took Seonghwa into your apartment? He did admit to having access to the camera’s in the halls, but that didn’t sit right with you. How would they know that you meant harm? How would they know you weren’t just going to fuck the man?

Because if they knew, why would Seonghwa even go into your apartment? Why kiss you? Why would he let you see his tattoo? It didn’t make sense, and you were far too mentally exhausted to continue mulling it over. So, taunting an imaginary enemy sounded plenty fun. “Are you salty Yeosang? I figured things out before you had a chance huh? Kinda liked you watching. Pretty and smart but that little perverted side?” You licked your lips and tilted your head. “Kinda hot. Too bad I can’t see how you’re reacting to all this? Getting stuck watching me while you all- what? Decide how to make me disappear?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “As smart and resourceful as you lot are, I’m surprised you didn’t have a plan for this set up just in case.” Or was this the plan? Were they just keeping you occupied until they had it all put in place?

If that was the case, you didn’t want to wait around for that… well it wasn’t smart to do so. What you wanted was entirely different from what you needed to do to get out of this. You should escape, at least attempt to. You should be giving your all to trying to live another day. To survive.

But those doubts you had pushed to the back of your mind earlier were now pushing forward once more, asking you why you should even try? They just grew stronger the more you struggled. The ropes were thick, rubbing your wrists raw as you struggled but that was the only part of your body exposed to them. Your ankles, knees, and waist were all tightly bound over your clothing. You could potentially grab the chair by the armrests your hands were tied to and prop yourself onto you feet awkwardly to smash it against a wall, but the chair seem bolted to the ground.

So after working up a bit of a sweat struggling, you slumped in the seat and glared at the camera. Still no Jongho, or anyone else, just you, a camera, and your thoughts.

Your thoughts easily won. Minutes ticked by to another hour- maybe more- as you mentally cycled through your life for some purpose to live for, as well as something to bargain or a different outcome than this. Maybe the past few weeks meant enough to them they’d just have you leave the country?

Would you go? Could you trust them enough to agree? No, you didn’t think you could. You had to admit to yourself, whatever connection you had felt growing between you and them felt foreign and broken now. You couldn’t trust it, trust that they weren’t playing you like a chess piece. They hadn’t wanted you there from the beginning, and you were going to cause problems… of course they would’ve played on your vulnerability to get you compliant enough to stay out of their way. That’s what you would have done if the roles were reversed. You mulled over everything they had done. The harsh words, the cold shoulder, the disgust at you: an outsider. The tests, the praise, the desire that had grown and become more visible from them the longer you were there. Yeosang and Mingi having your side against Chan. Seonghwa’s comfort and understanding, his kisses, what he had said to Minho and Chan at the cafe.

“Our treasure.”

Taking in deep breaths to fight off the tears, you shifted your attention back to anything else. It was no good to focus on those things, not when those very same men had you tied to a chair at a location you didn’t know. 

It was when you finally got your emotions under control, pushed those feelings back to the box enough you no longer felt like suffocating on them, that the door opened finally.

Both Hongjoong and Seonghwa stepped in, wearing gaudy outfits that really solidified they were mafia for you. As if they should be on the streets starting a fight, yet for a brief moment you let yourself admit they were attractive. Fur hats suited the Captain, and Seonghwa in a low cut gold shirt, neck tattoos on full display, and with black hair styled in a half updo? Somehow he was intimidating.

His eyes softened on you though, while Hongjoong shoved his hands in his jeans and rocked on his heels, not meeting your eyes.

Somehow you managed to keep your cool, relaxing your shoulders and watching Seonghwa through disinterested eyes. “So, no one is denying it. I want to hear it.” “We’re the Black Pirates.” Hongjoong chimed in before Seonghwa could, stepping up to his second in command and lazily drooping his arm over his shoulder. “Half of us were in it before the unit, the other half joined through the unit.” The man smirked as your eyes went wide, a sparkle of hope in them. 

You dashed it away as quickly as you could though. “How did you know I was questioning Seonghwa?” “I had Yunho and Jongho install cameras in your apartment when they helped you move in.” Seonghwa admitted, tearing his eyes away from yours. “We’ve had tabs on your phone and laptop as well.”

The anger in the back of your chest tried to rear up again, but you didn’t let it despite a clench of your jaw and a few tightly wound words. “Is that so…” “Ever since you saw my tattoo at the gym, we have been taking some precautions. You are a firecracker after all, an unpredictable one at that.” Hongjoong added, keeping eye contact as he smiled at the sprinkle of praise in his words. You could hear it in his tone, attempting to block it out of your heart. “So when Seonghwa would pick you up, Yunho was to follow a few minutes behind. He acted the second you pulled the gun out, not far from your place already and we had a duplicate of your key just in case.” “I know Yunho getting involved messed some things up-” Seonghwa paused when you scoffed, frowning as it was now your turn not to look them in the eye. “I wanted to talk to you as calmly as I could. Remind you that we do give a damn about you.” “Is that what that fuck was about?” Blinking back tears, you narrowed your eyes on the pretty man, chanting in your head not to break down. You had done that enough around them. “You enjoyed it didn’t you?” Hongjoong quipped out, stepping up to you and taking your chin in his hand. He was much more gentle than Jongho but still firm. “Firecracker… come on, don’t turn us away. I promise we were going to tell you. Just have… some things to clean up first. Now that you know we are the Black Pirates, think about our position. What we have at stake.” You wanted to argue, but his words did ring in your head. San was still in trouble, even more so if he was a Pirate and a cop and they found out. “Then… why? Why are you a crime syndicate when you’re also the legal unit responsible for taking it down?” Hongjoong dropped his hand, standing up and pocketing his hands in his jeans. “Because as one or the other we’ll never be able to shape the underworld into what we need. Seonghwa will lose his sister to the Golden Circle. Wooyoung’s mother will always be under their thumb, unable to get out. Yunho will never get justice for his father… These are all stories you’ve heard of ours and they’re true. The combined power is the best we got.”

“Angel…” Seonghwa stepped up and knelt next to you, expression soft as he cupped your cheek. “We aren’t going to kill you. But you have to make a decision. Either you have to join us, which we hoped you would, or we can arrange for you to leave the country or countryside. We can pull strings so your law enforcement credentials are still valid and can get you a career elsewhere.” The most telling thing was that they didn’t want to kill you. You could see it on their faces. The softness of Seonghwa’s features, the desperation in his eyes, and the way Hongjoong was fidgeting and avoiding your gaze.

It was the loud way your stomach grumbled that broke the heavy tension, Seonghwa fighting off a smile while you tried not to let heat build in your cheeks at just how loud it was. “I think food is in order first. We’ll go make you something and give you time to think about it.” “And by we he means him. I’ll uh, supervise.” Hongjoong offered a charming smile that did calm some of your nerves somehow.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes as he pulled the man by the cardigan to the door. “You will update some of our very worried members about Angel’s state. If I remember correctly, Wooyoung had some very nasty threats if you didn’t update him about her state before nightfall, and it is evening already.”

“We were giving her time to think things over first!” “Well now she has some more. Come come, go make that call.” Seonghwa pushed Hongjoong out of the room, smiling back at you. “Think about it, we’ll untie you to eat and talk things over… like partners okay?” How could your heart not swell with affection? 

The moment the door was shut you were grinning, unable to help yourself. Crime bosses they might be, but they acted like an adorable married couple at times. And they reassured you the offer to join them, fully, was still on the table.

You could remember both your promise to Haru and to Yunho. They knew this was coming, and now you could see they were asking you to really think this over once it was time. You didn’t know what it meant to be a part of a crime syndicate, considering the other ones at play in the city, but you could not imagine them selling people or producing drugs just for profit or pimping out young girls. Perhaps you could ask them about what their organization actually did, since they worked so hard to keep the Black Pirates out of law enforcement reports, your knowledge over them was limited after all.

Relaxing as you thought of what questions to ask, what was important in your decision, you heard chaos outside your door. It had only been maybe ten minutes since you were left alone, and now Seonghwa was busting through the door. You could hear yelling now, multiple voices, and he seemed disheveled. 

“Time to go Angel.” He moved around you to start undoing the knots, but got frustrated and just started cutting them instead. “What’s going on?” Most of the yells you heard were screams of pain, while words were too muffled to hear but none were Hongjoong. “Ambush. Crimson Wolves by the looks of it. Yeosang no doubt has the others on the way for back up but I don’t think we’re making it out of here.” There was a hardness to his tone that frightened you, but no panic. Seonghwa probably didn’t think they were going to die here. So captured and tortured? Your blood ran cold. “Let me help.” He chuckled, finally freeing you and handing you the knife. “They would kill you. It’ll ease our minds if you get out and find one of the others. Left of the hallway there is a backdoor. Find the alley and keep running left until you hit main street. You’ll know where you are and can head back to Yeosang okay?” In a moment of desperation, he kissed you.

Not a goodbye kiss, but there was a desperation there you could taste. Your lips lingered for a second, Hongjoong’s cry for Hwa pulling him away.

One last longing look and he was gone. Now you could run, head to Yeosang, or just run in general. Maybe to SK.

Or, you could try and fight. Make up your mind about where you want to belong. FIght for it.

You left the room with a new found determination, your choice made. There was no going back now.

Taglist (Capped): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse

| @philijack | @lelaleleb | @isiloiale | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames

| @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  | @cloudysannie | @sugarnspice630

| @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu |  @sousydive |  @fatalt | @iwishiwasrichasfuck

| @bitchwhytho | @st4rhwa | @thesafecafe | @alextheweeb7 | @ddaeing

Taglist will be continued in a reblog!!

[seungcheollies-cake]

Park Seonghwa invented tank tops 🔥

[seungcheollies-cake]

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 37.6k

c/w: sweaty and athletic ateez (warning well deserved), explicit profanity, themes of corruption and rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries, kissing, boys are in an established relationship, m x m interactions

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: it has made me incredibly touched to see so many of my readers from the essence of youth come back to support this new oneshot. thank you from the bottom of my heart ♡ and as always, this fic would not have been possible without @sorryimananti-romantic and her undying support

if someone were to ask yunho–or anybody on the team–when he feels the most alive, his answer would be the same every single time: when he is on the ice, just like he is right now.

the air of the rink is already chilly, but with the added cold of emerging autumn, each rugged lungful he takes fills his chest with vigour. only his own heavy breathing can be heard as the rest of the players’ shouts become muffled into the background outside of his helmet. he tightens his grip on his stick, muscles locked and engaged with adrenaline. his vision narrows, an opening suddenly clearing itself through the tangle of sticks and jungle of skates–a golden opportunity for him to take.

“san!” he yells.

their usual goaltender glances upwards as he handles the puck rebounding off the boards. his jaw tightens and with a practised flick of his wrist, san chips the puck over an incoming stick’s attempt to block the pass. there’s a burst of explosive power as yunho speeds up along the opposite boards to receive the landing puck, hoping to break away from the opposing team’s offensive players before he passes it off.

the flash of a blue jersey appears in yunho’s vision with alarming momentum. they lower and widen their stance, shoulder positioned in front ready to knock him directly into the boards in an attempt to steal the puck, leaving yunho with no choice but to mirror their actions. he braces himself as the opponent rams into him with more force than a usual play, and in combination with their own towering height, yunho finds himself being pushed into the plexiglass panels as he loses possession of the puck.

involuntarily, he lets out a threatening growl of vexation. there is a teasing chuckle from the other player that still has him pinned against the wall despite the continuing game, which clearly tells him that the excessive body check was deliberate. yunho has half a mind to flip their positions, knowing he could easily overpower the other. but before he can adjust his stick out of the way to make good use of his hands, the opponent playfully knocks their helmets together.

“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.”

all of the tension escapes yunho’s body, because he will never not find mingi’s attempts to flirt mid-game–with his mouthguard and resultant bumbling pronunciation–to be amusing. he endearingly rolls his eyes and sighs, “have you not heard of, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

“you’re not a bear, though,” mingi squirms cheekily on the spot, still up in yunho’s personal space because he knows the older will never be truly annoyed by his antics. “you’re just a cute, harmless puppy.”

before mingi can blink, yunho grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. yunho smirks, “and they also say, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”

wooyoung tongues his cheek with mischief at the sight of the two, nice and cosy against the walls of the rink. he hands his stick off to seonghwa, who is starting to remove his helmet, and skates in their direction, ignoring the dull throb in his left ankle. wooyoung only bothers to slow himself down slightly, instead letting his trajectory be cushioned by something else.

mingi lets out a pathetic noise as the air is squeezed out of his chest from the impact of wooyoung and yunho’s added weight. the latter grunts out, a little breathless, “woo, please, you’re going to knock somebody out like this one day.”

it goes in one ear and out the other as wooyoung grins up at him to state, “seonghwa scored so we lost ‘cause you were too busy making out with mister mingles here.”

yunho pushes off the wall to free himself from the sandwich of bodies and pivots on his skates to jab wooyoung’s padded chest. “you and san were doing the exact same thing just five minutes ago.”

“we’re on the same team,” wooyoung shrugs, “whereas mingi is not, so you’re fraternising with the enemy. now come on losers, captain’s wrapping up practice.”

the three of them glide along the ice to rejoin the rest of the team, where they are stepping out of the rink to sit on the benches. they remove their helmets and start unlacing their skates as hongjoong gathers the attention of the team.

“great work from everybody today, especially you, jongho. your backhand wrist shots are improving–keep it up. now just a reminder to everyone that our regular games start next week so i want you all to make sure you are stretching and cooling down properly,” he emphasises. he pointedly looks at yeosang, who has already begun to wander his way off to the changerooms, at the same time that seonghwa scruffs him by the back of his jersey and gently tugs him back to the team.

jongho peels off his blue practice jersey as he scans the arena and absentmindedly asks, “is coach still not here? it’s already the end of practice.”

“he said he had something to sort out today, but would come round if everything went well,” seonghwa answers, also craning his neck to look for signs of their coach.

from where you and coach cho are watching from the designated scouting area in the arena, the team is unable to spot you two. you had come from the final negotiations of your contract with coach cho and had watched their team, the red devils, play the last period of their game. despite it only being a friendly match amongst the team’s players, you have already grasped a sense of their playing style–it is heavy on the offensive at the expense of defence, just like how you used to play. it is fast-paced, aggressive and…prone to injury.

“let’s go meet the team,” coach cho voices, making his way out of the viewing area as you follow beside him. all the players look up from their skates that they are still unlacing or from their stretches on the floor when you two near the arrangement of benches surrounding the rink. they greet coach cho enthusiastically and you can see why from the way the older man smiles at them like they are his own sons.

“y/n, this is the team, the red devils–my pride and joy. boys, this is y/n,” he introduces. “i had to miss practice to meet up with y/n and make sure she was happy to sign on as part of the red devils.”

said team gives you disinterested glances, a complete change from the receptivity with which they respond to coach cho. one of the red-jerseyed boys, who you recognise as wooyoung, utters sarcastically, “cute, but we don’t need a mascot or cheerleader.”

coach cho chuckles lightly, “she’s your new coach.”

“hold on, you were serious about–” “–are you coaching a different team–” “–you don’t want us anymore?”

some of the boys erupt into a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the sudden announcement, whereas the others stay quiet, flickers of flashbacks stirring up from within the depths of their memories. their coach raises his hands to settle them as he apologises, “i didn’t want to say anything before i was one hundred percent sure that things would go ahead, and i wasn’t sure whether y/n would accept the offer.”

“is it because your wife is due soon?” san interrupts.

coach cho nods, “with twins, and i want to be present to help–as a husband and a father. but that just isn’t feasible as your coach, as much as i love you boys.”

training as professional athletes takes incredible perseverance, discipline and commitment. there are early mornings, late nights, weekends and public holidays. it takes sacrifices in the form of time and relationships, especially when they must travel away from home for up to weeks on end to compete in matches. and with the start of the regular season, the intensity is only going to ramp up. as hard as the athletes train, the coach works twice as hard to make it all possible.

the team needs somebody to be there for them to ensure they make it into the playoffs, and it just won’t be fair for anybody–the players and his own family–if coach cho were to keep his position. and the team gets it, they really do, but–

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete, and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

autumn, 2018: pre-season

hongjoong believes all coaches are to be respected. it does not matter what kind of team they coach, how many years of experience they have, or whether they have built up a reputation for themselves. to hongjoong, respect for coaches is not something earned nor negotiable–it is something well-deserved and expected, as is for anybody in a position that is higher in the chain of command.

he may be the captain of their unofficial team, but hongjoong knows that the way a team can place their blind trust in the coach is irreplaceable, regardless of how much the other players rely on him too.

hongjoong watches as his boys carry out the practice drill he has set up for them. yeosang handles the puck around the cones before passing it to wooyoung, primed offensively near the goal to make a quick shot, who groans when his shot rebounds off the post. as he retrieves the disc, yeosang takes over wooyoung’s position near the goal ready to receive yunho’s pass as he starts to work his way through the cones next.

they are limited in the type of drills they can practise because hongjoong was only able to rent half of the community rink for a measly two hours. the boys are not even in proper uniform, wearing only their shin guards under their sweatpants and gloves on their hands to prevent any injuries when the centre had stated very firmly they would not be allowed in with their bulky equipment.

and yet, none of this has dampened the boys’ spirits. san teasingly brags that it is his chance to show off his skills other than goaltending, and jongho thanks hongjoong quietly for renting the rink in the first place. their understanding nods and comforting hugs make hongjoong’s heart clench, even more so as the team eagerly and diligently practise the drills in mediocre conditions but with fiery determination to prove their worth as newly-signed athletes under the kq blue birds.

this is exactly why hongjoong is driven to find them a coach–any coach: to give his boys a solid pillar they can rely on, because he himself lacks the resources and strings to pull in order to fulfil their shared dreams. he needs to keep his boys as one team, instead of scattered into other teams as extra players like a gracious opportunity for the leftovers, since kq does not yet have a coach available for the eight of them.

“captain!”

the excitement in seonghwa’s voice startles hongjoong more than the speed at which the alternate captain skates towards him. seonghwa digs his skates into the ice at the last second, stopping himself just shy of knocking the other over as he exclaims, “he emailed back!”

“the coach you reached out to?” hongjoong clarifies, eyes growing wide.

having caught wind of his signed contract as a professional athlete, an acquaintance of seonghwa’s had reached out offering to pass on the contact of their acquaintance, who apparently knew somebody with coaching experience. it was rare for a coach to take on a rookie team unless there were incredible benefits, so he and hongjoong had drafted and sent an email with little to no expectations for a reply. but seonghwa’s furious nodding is telling otherwise, and his eyes sparkle as he shoves his phone in hongjoong’s face to show him the email.

dear mr park, thank you for your interest and for reaching out with your proposal. i have looked at your athlete profiles and it appears that you all have big dreams and extremely promising futures. it would be my utmost pleasure to help you all reach your true potential by coaching your team. if you would like to arrange a meeting in person to discuss expectations and conditions regarding training, competitions and future championships prior to finalising the contracts with your company, please let me know what times and dates best suit yourself and your team captain, mr kim. i look forward to working with you all. kind regards, coach yeon

“holy shit,” hongjoong steadies seonghwa’s giddy hand to read the email again. when he reaches the last line, he starts once more from the beginning to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. then he breathes out with finality, “holy shit. am i reading this right?”

“yeah, joong. you’re reading it right.”

hongjoong is not often one to be affectionate with the others, but yanking seonghwa into a bone-crushing hug as he repeats holy shit like a mantra is the only response he is able to muster. the older laughs wetly, throat constricting with overwhelming joy and he holds onto his captain until the other pulls back.

“you tell them, okay?” seonghwa does not wait for a response before he is raising his voice to gather the others, “boys! hongjoong has good news for us!”

like puppies responding to the call of food, their heads immediately perk up and they abandon the puck and the drill to speed towards their two captains. there is a clamour of questions as they enthusiastically predict what is going to be said.

“are they letting us use the rink for longer?”

wooyoung squeezes himself in between yunho and mingi to ask, “are we getting the whole rink?!”

“no way,” san gasps, “or did our practice jerseys arrive?”

hongjoong’s eyes soften at their guesses. his boys demand so little from him when he wants to give them everything they could never even think of asking for. he glances at seonghwa, who looks just about ready to burst from his own excitement, then reveals, “we’ve found a coach willing to take on our team.”

dead silence. yeosang blinks and wooyoung’s jaw drops. jongho, who had been lazily circling around the group, comically slows to a stop, joining the rest of the boys in frozen stupor. it is only broken when yunho dares to confirm, “does this mean we won’t be rostered as extras for other teams?”

everyone’s hopeful eyes look at hongjoong. he nods, “we’re staying together and playing as our own team.”

it is obvious the moment the information registers in their minds and the implications of what it means for the team’s future starts to sink in. they explode into a flurry of movement and hongjoong and seonghwa find themselves swept up into the middle of a clumsy group huddle as shouts are exchanged, uncaring of who is listening or talking.

“are we finally playing in championships with the big dogs?”

“we’re going to play interstate?”

“oh my god, what if we get into nationals?”

“nah, fuck that boys, let’s go international! we’re going to represent korea one day and become the best team in the world.”

the amount of voices overlapping one another are overwhelming, but it is overwhelming in the way that it makes hongjoong soar up into the clouds, wings stretched to their full span and carried by the hollers and cheers surrounding him in every direction. his cheeks hurt from smiling because these are the boys that he knows and loves.

they may only be a small team of eight, but they have dreams that are big enough to fill the entire universe.

“what’s the coaches name–” “–know if they’re a good coach–” “–teams have they coached before–”

seonghwa chuckles as the boys hound them with question after question and hongjoong appeases their curiosity dotingly, “we’ll find out when we meet him–coach yeon.”

but it does not matter what qualifications coach yeon has or does not have, and it does not matter what teams he has coached or has not coached before. what matters is that he is a coach and he is willing to be their coach, because it means that hongjoong and his boys are finally taking the next step towards their big dreams. 

and most importantly, they will be in this together…as the red devils.

autumn, present: regular season

“again.”

hongjoong grits his teeth, taking up his position as centre again in the marked circle for the practice drill. even during defensive faceoff plays, he and the team are accustomed to taking on an aggressive approach. when he wins possession of the puck, the wingers–usually yeosang and wooyoung, or jongho when substituted on–quickly breakaway and move forward with him into the offensive zone.

obviously, they have other strategic plays too to switch up the predictability of their tactics, such as moving the puck towards the board whilst yeosang covers him, or by passing the puck back to the mingi in defence. but overall, their team is capable of rapidly flipping from defensive to offensive play using the aggressive setup.

the practice drill you are currently running emphasises heavily on the defence–the reverse setup play. hongjoong is to pass backwards but in the direction of the boards whilst yeosang supports and wooyoung covers the area directly between the circle and san. mingi moves towards the boards to receive the puck, and their other defenceman, yunho, assists with covering the goal.

hongjoong does admit that this play is much safer and stabler, but it is also much slower and…cowardly. his team is called the red devils for a reason and their reputation as demons on ice is not something that he is going to throw away–not following years of blood, sweat and tears to stand back up after falling during their rookie year.

when he assumes his stance once again inside the faceoff circle opposite seonghwa, who is playing the centre position as the mock opponent, you drop the puck onto the centre dot. the moment it hits the ice, hongjoong clears it with his stick towards the right boards. it doesn’t go back far enough for mingi to receive though, so yeosang makes the split decision to burst sideways to retrieve the puck, all three forwards moving aggressively in synchronisation to advance offensively once he gains possession.

you stop them, shaking your head. “again.”

it has been a week since your first meeting with the team, and with the start of the regular season, training has focused on refining their strategies. the red devils are playing in the korean ice hockey league for the second time, an annual national championship with a singular men’s division.

teams from all over korea gather in seoul to compete in regular-season games at the gangneung ice arena against the other teams in rotation. depending on the number of participants, the red devils will need to play an average of three games a week for the next five to six months. then based on the outcome of the games, if your team scores within the top thirty two, they will be able to enter the playoffs.

last year, the red devils were only able to make it to the quarterfinals before they were knocked out. but considering it was their first time competing in a proper championship–as opposed to the rookie leagues and interstate competitions they competed in during the first four years of their career–making it into the top eight teams out of over a hundred or so teams was already impressive enough.

your team’s first regular-season game starts tomorrow, so it does not matter that this is the sixth time in a row that you have stopped them during this drill. you will make them restart until they perfect the play. with that in mind, you release the puck onto the centre dot of the circle once more, but this time seonghwa wins the faceoff, clearing it to the side where jongho is waiting as his left wing. seonghwa looks at you guiltily and anticipates the word that will come out of your mouth.

you bite your tongue, having sensed the rising tension amongst the team an hour ago, but now they are almost at their boiling point. closing your eyes briefly, you try reminding yourself to think about the situation from your players’ perspectives.

their career progression rides on this championship, and with their grit and determination, they will not settle for simply beating their own record in ranking. no, they vie for first place. only the top team secures a position in the international ice hockey league, the most coveted opportunity to represent korea in the championship between the world’s best teams.

and it is during this vital time–when the stress levels and stakes are as high as they can get–that the boys have suddenly had to change coaches. not only have they lost their most trusted support and guide, they have only had one week to adjust to their new one–you. in the grand scheme of things, one week is nowhere near enough time to develop any sort of meaningful relationship where they are able to listen to and rely on you.

taking a breath, you explain, “being so focused on offence leaves your team vulnerable if the opposing team also has aggressive forwards that you can’t break through. the faceoff play needs to be adjusted for those situations, otherwise it’ll be too difficult to control the puck and it will more than likely end up in chaos. it won’t be a game of professional skill anymore, but a circus of dirty play.”

your defence-focused coaching style has worked well for all the past teams you have taught, both men’s and women’s teams. you know that the boys play an offence-focused style; you are reminded too closely of your past self every time they rush head-on into every situation. and it is exactly because of that–because you know the dangers that come with their aggressive style–that you are making them adjust their play. their career comes first and if they suffer an injury, there may not be a career left.

so you will play the bad cop if you have to. they will come to understand you one day.

san bites down on his mouthguard as he listens from his position in the goal. he is able to see each and every play unfold, better than any other of his teammates, so he knows where you are coming from. whilst he has become used to the pressures that come with goaltending, no amount of training or competitions will ever fully eliminate the sudden spike in fear and anticipation the moment the opposing team’s forwards break past yunho and mingi.

san is the team’s last line of defence and the best outcome is that a game never comes down to just him, the opponent’s stick, and his goal. it is true that his team needs to work on their defensive plays, so when the others huff in defiance and reluctantly reset their positions, san simply lowers his centre of gravity in wait for your cue to restart the drill.

“again.”

outside the arena, the echo of sticks and scraping of skates sound faintly as the first leaf of autumn begins to fall to the ground. as time passes, the rest of the leaves will also succumb to a similar fate, only differing in how. some will fall in a slow and graceful descent, whilst others…

…a rapid and spiralling whirlwind downwards.

counting the heads and finding all eight of your players seated in the bus, you nod to the driver to close the door and start driving. most of the boys have chosen to sit on a two-seater by themselves, only yunho and mingi choosing to sit together. they share a set of wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at one of their phones, likely monitoring one of their own matches or one of another team’s.

the rest of the boys sit alone, faces grim and tight as they stare out the window. they look exactly like you used to and it hits you with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.

the ride to the competition venue–much less for the very first game of the season–is always the quietest, air strung tight with nerves as everyone prepares themselves psychologically for the inevitable pressures that the game will bring. being able to compose and centre one’s mindset is already half the battle won, and whilst nobody says it out loud, you all know that today’s results, despite it only being day one, will set the tone for the next four to five months as they fight to qualify for the playoffs.

as you make one final sweep from the back of the bus to the front whilst it pulls away from the curb, you accidentally make eye contact with yeosang. you give him a polite smile and he opens his mouth, closes it on second thought, then decides to ask anyway, “do you want to sit here?”

it is a lie to say that you are not surprised by the question, so you stumble over your response as you stammer, “oh, okay. thanks.”

yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. but backtracking now and rejecting his offer would be a million times worse and you can only try to hide the flaming heat behind your cheeks as best as you can as you sit down in the seat.

he fiddles with the straps of his bag and you can feel his discomfort reeking off his hands. in an attempt to break the ice, you glance at him, “are you nervous for the game?”

he nods, “don’t think it gets any less nerve-wracking no matter how many games you play.”

“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” you hum.

yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

you do not know him well enough to be able to discern whether he is joking with you or not. opting to clear your throat instead, you point out, “you have your teammates who you can trust.”

“yeah…teammates.”

and you have me, too, as your coach, you want to say.

the hopeful glimpse in the dark of your eyes is enough for yeosang to pick up on your thoughts. he swallows uncomfortably and looks away.

we don’t know that yet.

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying once more to extend the conversation after a pregnant pause. “did you guys have a coach before cho?” either you have a shitty sense of appropriate conversation starters or yeosang wants absolutely nothing to do with you (it is likely both, but one can be optimistic), because his shoulders tense almost immediately.

“we did…just one,” he starts off carefully. you think that that is going to be the end of it, but then he adds on, “we don’t really talk about him though.”

and there it is–the end of the conversation. it is his nice way of telling you that there is no more to be said, so you sit the rest of the ride in silence next to yeosang, pretending not to let the sheer awkwardness suffocate you.

when the bus arrives at the gangneung ice arena, you hurry to alight and only then do you feel like you are able to breathe again. you plaster on a smile and notify the boys, “your first game is in two hours against the panthers. you’ve been allocated locker room 3B.”

they make their way into the centre and you trail behind in wait as they find their designated space. warm-ups will be first so they will not be needing their full gear just yet, which means it should not take long for them to change.

inside the locker room, the red devils shrug off their bulky duffle bags and change into their game jerseys, lacing and relacing their skates to ensure the snuggest fits. hongjoong alerts, “boys, time to go out and start warming up,” receiving a chorus of acknowledgement as everyone grabs the rest of the gear that they need.

before jongho places his phone into his assigned locker, he habitually taps on the screen one last time to check for any notifications and finds a single text from his younger brother, jonghyuk. he knows he should not read it, much less right before his first game, but the smaller part inside him that yearns for his family’s recognition dares to hope for something. dragging the preview down to avoid opening it, jongho reads the text.

are you just going to keep pretending you haven’t read our messages?

jongho clenches his jaw and swipes the notification away as if that will also erase it from his mind. tossing his phone into the locker, he shuts it with a harsh swing, resting his forehead against the cool metal as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. this game–this championship–jongho has to win; he cannot afford to lose.

“captain.”

hongjoong turns around to see jongho striding up towards him, brows furrowed and voice troubled as he questions, “are we really not going to tell coach what our game plan is? shouldn’t we work together with her?”

“jongho,” the captain sighs, “we got lucky with coach cho, but we know better than anyone else that not all coaches are like him.”

from where he has been listening in on the conversation at the doors leading out of the locker room, seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen. there is a moment of silence; the rest of the team have already made their way to the ice rink.

“what if we lose?”

it is the way that his voice grows small and timid that hongjoong realises it is not his captain that jongho needs right now. hongjoong’s gaze softens as he searches the younger’s eyes, “did your family say something again?”

he receives no answer but it tells him more than enough. “you trust me?”

jongho’s almost imperceptible nod does not escape hongjoong’s observations, so he continues to reassure, “we’ll win. my boys are the best players, you included, and we already have experience playing in this competition.” he ducks down slightly to meet jongho’s gaze, “and even if we do lose? we lose because of our own skills–not because of anybody else.”

his words tug a small smile out of the corner of the youngest’s lips, and hongjoong returns it with a relieved smile. with a nudge, he sends jongho in the direction of the door, where seonghwa pretends to ruffle his hair affectionately knowing that it will be dodged. seonghwa chuckles lightly and watches him walk off, unbeknownst to his captain watching him.

“hey,” hongjoong calls out gently, “i know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t what i meant.”

seonghwa looks back and winces, “i can’t help it.”

“and that’s why i will keep telling you no matter how many times you need to hear it. it is not your fault–never was, and never will be,” hongjoong cocks his head playfully as he raises an eyebrow.

“same goes to you then, captain,” seonghwa returns the banter, shoulders relaxing and head shaking, “not your fault either.”

“you’re right, so let’s get the fuck out there and smash our game, yeah?” hongjoong slings his arm around the other and leads them both out of the locker room to join the rest of the boys.

what he does not say, though, is that seonghwa is wrong. seonghwa may have been the one to reach out to coach yeon, but hongjoong was the one who made the executive decision to accept and trust coach yeon.

he is not going to make the same mistake twice this time, because it is not just about protecting his dreams, his career, or those of his teammates–it is about protecting the people he loves.

hongjoong will not let them fall…not again.

winter, 2018: regular season

jongho twirls his phone in his hand, intermittently turning the screen on and off. he sits in the corner of the locker room, away from the rest of the boys as they wait for coach yeon to return from checking in and filling out their required paperwork. only several competitions later will they realise that their locker room is small, cramped and dim, but to their fresh, bright-eyed excitement at competing in a professional league for the first time, they hardly have time to critique the assigned space.

the phone comes to a stop. making up his mind, jongho taps on the screen and navigates to the keypad. dialling his mother’s number, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits with bated breath as it is left to ring.

“what do you want,” comes her curt response when she finally picks up.

jongho’s words falter, “oh, nothing…i just wanted to tell you that we’re playing our first game today.”

“game? your little team doesn’t even have a coach,” his mother patronises.

shoulders curling in on themselves, jongho hesitantly voices, “i told you last month that we got a coach.”

“i forgot,” she brushes him off, “and it must not be a very important competition then, seeing as it isn’t worth remembering.”

“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts.

she sceptically probes, “is it national? international?”

“no…regionals.”

“is it ranked at least?”

“it’s just an entry-level competition for rookie teams,” jongho trails off, discouraged and confidence in shambles.

his mother scoffs at his answers, none of which are the ones she wants to hear. “you have no excuse not to win this competition, then. this is child’s play. just look at jonghyuk. he’s two years younger than you, yet already has his eyes on the olympics. if you lose, i don’t want to hear about it–don’t bring shame to our family.”

“okay,” jongho mumbles, but his answer is only heard by the beeping dial of the ended call…and the rest of the boys it seems, if not apparent by the sombre hush that has settled over the room and the worried lips that he sees when he looks up.

yeosang’s mouth parts, the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue, but then coach yeon enters the locker room and calls for their attention. jongho gives them a reassuring smile before setting his phone beside him on the bench and directing his gaze to their coach, grateful for the distraction. it leaves yeosang and the others with no choice but to drop it for now.

coach yeon erases the old scribbles on the room’s whiteboard and replaces it with rough markings of the hockey rink. he drags the magnets into the different zones, each one representative of a player, as he goes over the final lineup and their respective positions based on the opposing team they have been pooled against.

“stay strong on the offensive and maintain a 2-1-2 formation where possible–yeosang, i want you up there with hongjoong and put pressure on the other team. if they gain puck possession, both of you fall back to where wooyoung is and maintain 3-2.��

the three forwards nod and coach yeon touches one of the magnets positioned on the player’s bench. “jongho, you’ll come on for your shift during the second period. whoever you replace will come back in later to sub the other wing. yeosang and wooyoung, you should both be playing again during the third period.”

“yes, coach,” jongho acknowledges.

coach yeon continues on to review their game plan and hongjoong steps up to assist with detailing their different strategic plays. to jongho though, their words sound like he is listening from underwater as his mind involuntary drifts off. it is a small saving grace that his parents do not care for his match, because it means that they will not see that he is not part of the starting lineup.

for seven of the people in the locker room, winning the competition is an aspiration, but for one of them it is an expectation. and for the remaining individual, the competition in itself is an opportunity, but for an entirely different reason.

winter, present: regular season

inevitably, you find out. when discrepancies start to occur between training, pre-game meetings and the actual games, it is only a matter of time before you start to notice them.

it starts off with the uncommon plays that are simply a response to the game situation–ones that are dire and not often brought up prior to them actually occurring. during their fourth regular game of the season, the red devils are behind by two goals. the last period is almost over when they miraculously gain the power advantage after two of the opposing players are sent to the penalty box in quick succession.

before you realise what is happening, hongjoong gives his team a signal and both yunho and mingi on defence and san in the goal all rush forward to attack with the wings. you can only watch with wide eyes as they risk an empty net in the hopes of scoring two much-needed goals to even the playing field.

wooyoung manages to score one with a quick shot, but with the release of the opponents from the penalty box, their advantage is put to an end and they ultimately finish the match with a loss. you do not dwell too much on their sudden change in tactics despite the lack of communication with you, because you understand that every single game requires a different approach. sometimes, there is no time to strategise, only time to act.

but one occurrence turns into two, and two turns into several. and when, during one of their matches the week prior, jongho and wooyoung swap positions on the left and right sides of the rink as soon as the youngest replaces yeosang’s shift, it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you.

the boys are not brainless. it is not a coincidence for you and the team to discuss one game plan in the locker room only for it to completely change the moment they step onto the hockey rink.

you silently watch as the boys prepare for a faceoff in their defensive zone. they are currently playing against the incheon bears and the timing of the penalty puts you all on edge; the score is currently tied four to four and only twelve seconds are left on the clock. you had requested a time-out right as the referee made the call in hopes of stopping the momentum of the opposing team and to tell the boys to play defensively for this faceoff.

“play it safe. stall for the last twelve seconds and drag the game into overtime,” you had ordered.

the incheon bears have made a shift change with their player number four coming on for the faceoff, their right wing who has low stamina but terrifyingly accurate shots. he is responsible for most of his team’s goals and several other scoring attempts that san had only just managed to block. you are also almost certain that they will be aggressively body checking your players to make this faceoff count for them. your forwards have to play safely–not just for the sake of the game’s score.

at your defensive suggestion, san had nodded in agreement with you, “forwards need to make passes with sure lanes–nothing that can risk getting intercepted. go for the reverse setup play if you guys can.”

“we don’t need to take this into overtime,” hongjoong had started to argue, “other than number four, the rest of their offence is weak. as long as we break past him, we have an opportunity to score.”

“captain–”

the whistle blows before mingi can give his two cents, the mere thirty seconds for the time-out far too short, and the boys hurry to enter the rink again. hongjoong leans in quickly to say something to them before they disperse into their positions and mingi glances at you, almost guiltily.

you do not have the confidence that your team will listen. san may have seen the advantages in favouring a defensive play, but he is not the one who will decide which direction the puck will go when the referee drops it onto the ice. hongjoong is.

the hand of the referee raises to signal the start of the faceoff and both team’s centre forwards lower their stance. then the puck hits the ice. hongjoong’s nimble reflexes help him to snap his wrist and twist the puck away from the incheon bear’s player, wooyoung already surging ahead with explosive strides towards the other end of the rink. but just as you fear, the opponent’s left wing thunders at hongjoong with horrifying speed, intention solely to bowl him over onto the ice–not to steal the puck.

“fuck, captain!” you yell, heart leaping up into your throat as it cuts off your breath.

hongjoong’s eyes snap upwards and darken, jaws aching from the force with which he grinds his teeth together despite his mouthguard. he suddenly pivots on the edges of his skates and shifts his weight to only just narrowly miss the body check, then flicks the puck away before another player can knock him down.

he does not need to look before passing to where he knows wooyoung will be, years of synergy allowing their plays to connect seamlessly. except incheon bear’s number four has predicted their exact play, having been watching from the benches and noting your forwards’ preference for aggressive attacks.

“shit,” yunho curses under his breath, ice shaving under his skates from the accelerating force of his strides towards the puck. he is not going to make it in time. “mingi!”

seonghwa jolts up to his feet from the player’s bench, chest mid-inhale with apprehension at the captain’s pass. the puck is intercepted within the blink of an eye and with a well-timed punch turn around yunho’s attempt to regain possession, the rival team’s number four makes a shot for the goal.

it is too fast for mingi’s stick to block–arm still stretching out with desperation–and although san drops down to his knees in hopes of barricading the goal with his leg pads, the trajectory of the puck arcs higher than he had predicted.

as the puck soars past san and hits the netting of the goal, the buzzer sounds in tandem with the eruption of cheers around the rink. all around, the incheon bears swarm towards their number four in joyous celebration. mingi leans over to rest his hands on his knees from both exhaustion and defeat, and the other boys stand in similar stances as the outcome of the game registers in their tired minds.

in an attempt to cheer them up despite his own disappointment, seonghwa half-heartedly smiles at his boys as they slowly start to trudge their way off the rink. “we played well, boys. it was unlucky that our pass got intercepted, but we can do better next time.”

“good thing it isn’t the playoffs yet,” yunho tries to joke, “so we’re still in the competition.”

nobody cracks a smile and wooyoung’s face is dark, hand grabbing the walls in support to favour his left foot whilst lifting his skates over the slight ledge of the bench door. noting his slight limp, san quietly murmurs in worry, “did you tape your ankle?”

wooyoung shakes his head. “i ran out. forgot to buy some yesterday.”

“make sure you ice it tonight then, okay?” san gently supports him by the elbow to the benches so they can loosen the laces of their skates and grab their things before heading to the locker room.

you look away to flip through the notebook in your hand instead, trying to calm the shaking of your hands. ice hockey is a contact sport and you cannot protect the players from every single collision, but that last body check that hongjoong had been unprepared for still has acid pooling into your mouth. you scratch the score ‘4-5’ onto a page filled with their scores from this season thus far. a quick calculation tells you that the red devils have just as many losses as they have wins, which in all honesty, is not looking good.

this…conflict needs to be cleared with the team–with hongjoong. you cannot let this concealment of tactics and blatant changing of strategies right in your face continue any longer, because at the rate they are going, they may not even make it into the playoffs. and as you make eye contact with san, who has been staring despondently at the puck that still lies in his goal, you know that you must clear the air for the team, too. the last thing you need is for their own teamwork to fall apart because their differing opinions on your coaching starts to drive a wedge between them.

san stills when you break your gaze and glance away to pivot on your heels in the direction of the changerooms. from the way your mouth thins and neck becomes rigid, he is quite certain you are not happy—and rightfully so, san must admit. he stalls time by slipping off his bulky gloves and freeing his hands up to remove his helmet and mouthguard too.

noting that the other boys have grabbed most of their belongings, san heads off first to meet you, knowing that they will follow him soon after. he walks down the corridor easily balancing on his skates and rounds the corner to their locker room. except the sight that greets him has his feet halting and taking a step back behind the doorway.

your hand is deep in one of their bags. san is unsure whose bag it is, but the brief glimpse of the black canvas bag he caught is enough to tell him that it is one of theirs. although he is not making any accusations, he also cannot think of a reason as to why you would be rummaging through their bags.

“why are you just standing there?”

jongho’s voice startles him and he mumbles, “nothing,” before stepping through the door with the rest of his team. you are sitting on a bench in front of an empty locker now and if he did not know better, san would think that he had imagined the last minute. he glances discreetly at the bag you had been poking through and recognises it as wooyoung’s.

gingerly seating himself in front of his own locker, san waits on edge as mingi also grasps the atmosphere and sits too. gradually, the boys read the room with tactful glances and linger on their feet or on the benches. all except for one.

“what was that?” you cut through the silence with a directed question at hongjoong.

the captain continues to toss his gloves into his unzipped bag at the bottom of his locker before proceeding to unlace his skates, not once turning to look at you.

“what was what?”

you know fully well that he is aware of what you are talking about but you decide to humour him as you elaborate, “that last faceoff. i clearly told you to play defensively, but you went against it to try for a goal. and let me guess, you told the others to ignore what i said.”

“and so what if i did?” hongjoong challenges. yeosang’s wide eyes dart from side to side and yunho watches on uneasily as his captain finally turns to glare at you. “in that moment–as a player on the rink–i saw the opportunity and took it. if there is a chance to attack, then my team takes it. we don’t run away like cowards.”

the successive jabs at your athletic retirement cause a lick of phantom heat to wrap around your shoulder. your jaw grinds as you hold yourself back from biting the bait. “then i’m curious as to what opportunity you saw every time you decided to withhold game tactics from me, or every time you changed the strategy the moment you and your team stepped foot onto the rink.”

“maybe we would respect and listen to your coaching if it actually suited the playing style of our team. heavy defence may have worked for the grey eagles, but i think you need to reevaluate your abilities as a coach because it seems like you are forgetting that we are not them. forcing us to play defensively like your past team is not going to work for shit, coach,” hongjoong mocks.

you scoff to the side, questioning your own ears. it borders on a laugh, because that is his reason? you have been adjusting their playing style not only based on the situation that arises each game, but in general for their own good. earning his respect be damned, you will not stand for this.

you return the same scornful tone, “well then, captain, considering you just lost the fucking match because you were too arrogant to defend for twelve fucking seconds, i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you.

“if you do not have the decency to at least tell me what you have discussed with the boys so that i can adjust the plays accordingly, then i think the shit results of your games so far speak for themselves. teams have a coach for a reason whether you like it or not…or maybe i should say, whether you trust them or not,” you snap.

running your stressed fingers through your hair, you tear your eyes away from hongjoong’s defiant eyes. the two youngest avoid your gaze, whereas yunho and yeosang simply stare at you with their jaws slack at a loss for words. the fire within you almost quenches when your eyes skim over san, mingi and even seonghwa, who are fiddling with their jerseys with guilt.

the room suddenly feels too small and too stuffy. “change. the bus will be waiting outside,” you mumble, then you leave without a further word.

nobody in the room moves in the wake of the argument, not even hongjoong, who continues to bore holes in the doorway that you have just disappeared through. yunho’s eyes awkwardly dart back and forth between hongjoong and the other boys before they land on the bench you had been sitting on.

the notebook you are always holding is still there, left behind in your haste to leave. he stands up to grab it, turning on his heels to chase after you when the open pages catch his eye. “woah,” yunho breathes out, double-taking and bringing the notebook closer towards him to read the contents. “this is insane.”

you have marked down not only their score for every single game they have played this season, but you have also tracked the statistics of who has scored, assisted, or successfully defended a shot. yunho flips back through the pages as the other boys come to crowd around him. there are logs of their major games from the past five years, diagrams of their faceoff plays and formations, analyses of their strengths in games won and similarly, analyses of their weaknesses in games they have lost.

“oh, fuck,” mingi curses when yunho flips to the more recent pages and they see that you have compiled the same details and information, only more concisely, for every single opponent team the red devils have played against this season. there is no way of seeing this–hours upon hours of hard work–and still questioning your intentions as their coach. “i think we owe coach a huge fuckin’ apology.”

hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?”

“captain,” mingi deliberately calls. it is at times like this where being the only logical thinker in the team has its merits. it may be harsh, but mingi must draw the line between their professional and personal life. this dispute must stay strictly within the bounds of their career without blurring the lines over into their romantic involvement with one another, otherwise things could get messy real fast.

mingi stares at the captain as he reasons, “this isn’t about taking sides. from a solely rational point of view, i think it may have been better for us to play safe and defend like coach had suggested.”

from beside him, san nods in agreement. mingi continues, “and i’m not just talking about today–there were a lot of times when coach’s plays might have worked out better than bulldozing ahead with offence. yeah, we’ve won a few games but we’ve also lost just as many. how many of those could we have won if we had trusted coach?”

yunho backs him up whilst gesturing vaguely between the both of them and san, “it’s easier for the three of us to see from defence, but their forwards were already close to intercepting our faceoffs quite a few times that game.”

hongjoong’s immediate thought is to defend himself, because he is their captain and their centre forward; the one who leads them into opportunities to score and win. he knows that every single time he chooses an aggressive play, it is at the risk of weaker defence. the odds have never deterred him, though, because he has always been confident in his abilities–in his team’s abilities.

but if, even now with the palpable experience of losing because of his own decision, it still does not deter him from taking risks in a situation where offence may be his downfall, then is he confident…or overconfident?

it is quiet for a moment. hongjoong swallows the urge to justify against their opinions–against your opinions–instead looking around at his team. he meets jongho’s round eyes and he remembers one of the very reasons why he is so committed to leading the red devils to the gold trophy. why, if he is becoming a hurdle instead to their victory, then he needs to change. “what does everybody else think? seonghwa?”

“we’ve been wary of y/n all this time, but the more games we play and especially after…” the alternate captain vaguely gestures in the air, “...today, we should really work with her instead of relying on ourselves. we’ve seen her notebook, too, and i think that’s more than enough for us to see that the effort and resolve she places in our team is genuine. we need to acknowledge that and apologise.”

“not even coach cho went to these lengths, and most definitely not coach yeon,” yeosang shrugs as he offhandedly comments.

spurred on by everybody else, san carefully voices the thought that has been lingering on his mind, “i think it’s time to tell her the truth. we owe her that much.”

the truth. the wounds that not even coach cho knows of.

hongjoong’s distrust in you may have initially been true to his desire to protect his boys from something like that from happening again. but he is now realising that you may have seen right through him. perhaps at some point in time, it became unwillingness to trust you, blinded by his prideful title as the demon king of the ice rink but at the expense of his team under the guise of wanting to safeguard them.

exhaling shakily, voice thick with regret, hongjoong accepts, “i’ve let you all down, haven’t i?”

“no,” yunho gently rebukes. “letting us down would be refusing to listen to us. we trust you for a reason, hongjoong.”

not just as a captain, but as everything else too.

seonghwa wraps an arm comfortingly around him. with hongjoong’s demonic presence on the ice once he is in the zone, it is easy to forget that he actually has a shorter stature than all of them. “that’s right, we trust you,” seonghwa affirms. “the next step is for us to trust our coach as well. we’re a team, but it isn’t complete without our coach.”

“and this apology isn’t yours alone to bear,” yunho reminds. “like seonghwa said, we’re a team and we all have fault in our behaviour towards y/n. if i’m honest, i had a shitty attitude and gave her a hard time at the start too,” he admits, wincing at the memory.

yunho is not the only one who grimaces as they reflect on their own actions–whether they happened when you were first introduced to the team, during your first training together, or even up until today’s game. but wooyoung, who has been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, still has a niggling doubt: one that is most personal to him in comparison to the rest of the team.

wooyoung reveals his thoughts, “but what about her choice to stop playing? i still can’t think of a good reason that i can respect her for having retired.”

“then we ask her,” mingi proposes.

jongho nods, also curious to know whether there is more to your decision than you have let on. “today, though? we don’t really want to come off as accusatory or anything. it might be good to give her some space today.”

“what’s our schedule looking like tomorrow? training?”

everyone looks at seonghwa, the most likely person to know their schedule off by heart. he does, and he scratches his head as he recalls, “no, recovery day. low-intensity cardio in the morning and…a team meeting with coach in the afternoon.”

“tomorrow it is, then,” hongjoong concludes. there are hums of agreement and the decision appears to appease wooyoung enough for the boys to start dispersing, heading to their lockers to finally start changing out of their gear.

wooyoung tosses his helmet and gloves onto the bench in front of his locker before sitting with a sharp but discreet inhale. he carefully loosens the laces on his skates, easing the left one off his foot slowly. the relief is immediate and his fingertips gingerly touch the throbbing area around his ankle. it is not too swollen, but he will need to ice it when they get back to their apartment and he will definitely need to buy more tape.

he sheds off the rest of his gear and uniform, leaving them on the bench too to air out while he takes a quick shower. as he roughly towels his wet hair afterwards, he drags his kit bag further out to make it easier to toss everything in.

“huh?” wooyoung makes a noise of confusion when he unzips the bag, hand immediately reaching in to grab the item that has caught his eye. it is partially covered by his hoodie but he would be able to recognise the packaging anywhere.

“what’s wrong?” san asks, glancing over.

the younger brandishes the brand new roll of strapping tape he has found in his bag, the frown etched across his face slowly relaxing into amused exasperation as he reasons, “i must not have seen this in my bag all along.”

san is about to snort and make fun of his inattentiveness, but a sudden thought stuns the smile off his face. it was not that wooyoung had managed to miss the spare roll in his bag. it was–

“y/n,” he quietly exhales with realisation.

at wooyoung’s questioning what?, san looks at him with upturned eyebrows. “the tape–coach was the one who put it in your bag, right before we all walked in here.”

“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?”

san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” he turns to zip up his own kit bag and leaves wooyoung to digest the revelation. the boy is quiet for the rest of the time, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he stares ahead and absentmindedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room.

when they exit the ice arena, they do not expect to see you. and yet, there you stand beside their bus waiting stonily with your jacket zipped up and hands in your pockets. you mentally count them off without acknowledging them as they start to store their kit bags under the bus and board. yeosang gets on first, taking a seat near the front of the bus as usual. he watches from the window as you wait for the rest of the boys.

you follow jongho up the stairs, the last to load his kit bag, and tell the driver that you are all good to leave. yeosang sits a little straighter as he tucks his small backpack further under the seat in front of him with his feet, having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. yeosang leans back into the cushions of his seat, unfamiliar with the sense of disappointment he feels.

the ride back from the competition venue–much less after a lost game–is always quiet, players both physically and mentally exhausted from the strain. this time, though, it is strikingly silent, but you appreciate it–need it.

you stare out of the window as the trees flicker past like a repetitive motion film. most of their leaves have already fallen off, littering the ground in a blur of tragic glory. and with the beginning of winter, the trees will soon become completely bare, bringing about the period of time when there is nothing but bleak emptiness.

winter, 2019: regular season

‘2019 ice hockey rookie stars tournament: team standings’

hongjoong stares at the printed piece of paper with seonghwa at his side, where the results of all the team’s round-robin games have been taped up onto the walls of the stadium. hongjoong does not even bother reading from the top, eyes going straight down to the bottom of the page instead.

the red devils are dead last, having lost every single one of their matches. even the korean penguins, who had nil wins either, had managed to beat them earlier today, ranking them at the lowest of all teams. it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity.

nobody else but the two captains of the team have decided to look at the rankings. they had all already known towards the end of the regular season that they would not stand a chance at making it into the playoffs. and yet, hongjoong and seonghwa need to see the results for themselves. it is almost masochistic, forcing themselves to look at the fruitless results of their hard work in their first competition that has so devastatingly crushed their morality.

seonghwa picks at his cuticles fretfully and wonders whether he made the wrong decision to give up his education in pursuit of becoming an athlete. he thinks of his parents, who had encouraged him with supportive smiles and offers of financial support the moment he brought up the idea–was it all in vain?

“are you two done looking?”

both of the boys turn at the question to find a captain with his team waiting to look at the standings.

“yeah, sorry,” hongjoong mumbles before stepping aside to yield his spot. the players swarm forwards and he is pushed further back away from the list like a physical representation of his distance from the playoffs.

somebody from the other team yells, “we made it! we’re in the playoffs!” and they simultaneously break out into cries and cheers as they celebrate together.

hongjoong watches on bitterly, wishing with every cell in his body that that was him and his boys. how is he going to walk back into the locker room as their captain when all of his boys have eyes that are rimmed red and cheeks that are blotchy from despair–when there are captains like that who have successfully led their team to at least a chance at winning the competition.

the feeling of a pinky slowly hooking around his own draws hongjoong out of his pain. “let’s go back,” seonghwa murmurs, tugging him away from the still-celebrating team. together, both of them start to walk back through the hallways to their locker room. 

“aren’t we down here?” seonghwa questions, standing at the t-intersection that hongjoong has absentmindedly walked straight past.

“oh, yeah. sorry,” hongjoong apologises and begins to backtrack. his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a voice. “wait, doesn’t that sound like coach?”

before seonghwa can respond, hongjoong has turned around yet again towards the voice in search of their coach. seonghwa hurries to catch up and that is when he hears it too.

“have you transferred the money?”

“yes, i wired you the remaining amount the moment we won,” a deeper, unrecognisable voice reassures.

hongjoong’s footsteps falter, brows knitting together and head cocking to one side. he gestures for seonghwa to slow down, pressing a finger on his other hand to his lips. both of them creep forward silently.

the unfamiliar voice probes, “your team–you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?”

hongjoong and seonghwa do not need to see him to confirm their suspicions when they hear the unmistakable laughter of coach yeon. through the gravelly sound, he mocks, “they have no fucking clue even though they’ve lost every single one of their games. they’re dumber than fucking sheep. their captain tells me everything about their plays and strategies and they never question it when i change things around.”

seonghwa clutches the back of hongjoong’s jersey with a death grip, knowing that without it, his captain will punch coach yeon’s face into a bloody mess. but as much as their coach deserves it, it is not worth the disciplinary action that will inevitably follow, likely suspension, because–

“plus, even if they do somehow find out, what can they do about it? bullshit, that’s what. they have no evidence and they’re not going to risk blowing this up and ruining their own careers instead,” coach yeon boasts smugly. “losing like that as a rookie group in their first year out is completely normal. no one will believe them, and no coach is going to want their team after that because of their ‘shitty sportsmanship’ or out of fear of being accused in the same way if they lose again.”

at coach yeon’s words, seonghwa scrambles to put them into context with his dread-riddled mind. the echoing pounding in his ears tells him that he has just heard something that was never meant to be known. he does not even notice that the voices start to grow distant as the two men begin to walk off, but hongjoong does.

the trembling grip that is still on the back of his jersey grounds hongjoong enough not to throw everything away and sprint up to coach yeon with vile words and heated fists, but he also cannot do nothing. hongjoong peers around the corner before seonghwa can counteract his movement, desperate to identify who exactly coach yeon is talking to. except the revelation has him reeling, hands white from how hard his fingers dig into his palm–a stark contrast to the deep scarlet of flames that leap forth from his murderous eyes.

because the person who is walking beside coach yeon is the coach of the korean penguins. hongjoong and his boys have not been losing because of their skills they believed to be fucking shit–coach yeon has been fucking ensuring they lose.

for money.

winter, present: regular season

you stand on the balcony of your apartment. the sliding glass doors are shut behind you to keep the heat trapped inside, but for now you welcome the refreshing cold of the winter chill as you simply observe.

below on the streets, the miniature specks of people and cars mill around as if you are watching a game simulation. it is strangely humbling to think that each and every one of the people you see are living their own lives, completely distinct to yours with different yet very real problems of their own, but in the grand scheme of the cosmos, you are all insignificant.

you wonder what concern the people holding their coffee are plagued with right now; what problem the people crossing the street are facing. you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens?

the phone in your hand buzzes. you look to see if it is from coach cho and manage a small smile of relief when the notification is indeed from him.

apologies y/n, i was busy earlier. i can call now if you still need me?

you send an affirmative reply, then slide to answer the call that comes through. “hi coach, sorry to bother you.”

“no, you’re alright. is everything okay?”

you hesitate before revealing, “...i messed things up with the boys.”

“the team?” his voice goes gentle, fatherly nature extending to you too. “what happened?”

“hongjoong and i had an argument today after the game because he keeps changing the team’s plays without letting me know, or even after we’ve agreed on something else. it was only meant to be a talk, but then things escalated and we ended up fighting. i just–i don’t know what you saw in me, coach, because i don’t think i’m fit for the boys,” you ramble. “they’re not listening to me, they probably don’t even like me, and we’re going terribly with the season.”

you take a breath as you timidly admit, “i don’t think we’re going to make it into the playoffs and it’s going to be my fault.”

“hey,” coach cho grounds you, “making the playoffs would be great, yes, but the reality is that most teams don’t. and you’re still very young yourself–this is your, what…fifth year of coaching?”

throat too sticky to formulate a response, you simply hum.

“when i first started coaching, i was older than you and it was still a steep learning curve during my first ten years. i believed that coaches deserved the utmost respect and that my opinion was final. they’re my players, so of course i should be the one laying down the laws,” he chuckles. “but growing up was realising that whilst the respect is still there, it needs to be mutual. coaching a team is not a hierarchy of ‘i command, you listen’, but a show of leadership with the captain at the front of the team–not on top of them.”

his words strike a chord within you. coaching the boys was frustrating because they were not listening to you. but it should never have been a case of who listens to who–it should always have been a reciprocated relationship of everyone listening to one other.

as if he can physically feel the guilt that is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach, coach cho draws your attention to something else. “remember what i told you when we met the team for the first time? why i chose you specifically?”

“because of our similar playing styles?” you recall.

“exactly,” he confirms, “you know best the strategies and plays that work, and what their strengths and weaknesses are, because they were also your own. you need to be a coach to their playing style, not the other way around–they shouldn’t be a player to your coaching style.”

you cannot help but worry, “what if they get injured?”

“y/n, this is where your similarities can either be your biggest flaw or your greatest asset as a coach. no matter how safely they play, there will always be a risk of injury. that is just how the sport works and you know that the best. you can teach them to assess the risk and pull back if they really need to, but ultimately, there is no way of eliminating the risk completely.” coach cho pauses, then asks, “if you could meet your younger self, would you make yourself change your playing style?”

would you? as you imagine what you would tell your past self if you had the chance to, you find that you do not have an answer. perhaps for the sake of a prolonged career, you would. but then would it be your passion and skills that are playing the game, or your fears and worries?

if you cannot come to a decision even for yourself, then it is completely unfair for you to restrain the boys within the cages of what you view as safety for their own good. harnessing the defensive skills may have been functional for the grey eagles, but like hongjoong said, you are coaching the red devils now and it is not working for them. you must come to terms that you cannot protect the boys at every opportunity–consciously or unconsciously–you need to be a coach to them.

coach cho, aware that you have come to a conclusion, asks you one final question, “have you told the boys why you retired?”

“no, not yet,” you shake your head. you already have an idea of what he is going to say to you next.

“i think it’s time for you to tell them,” he advises. “remember, y/n, sometimes you need to be vulnerable with them first before you can make things right.”

after coach cho ends the call, you do not make a move to go back inside the apartment. you stay standing on your balcony, arms folded as you lean against the handrail listening to the faint rumble of traffic and hustle of busy activity. life goes on, and so will yours; you just have to make it count.

the trees on the streets may be stripped bare and lonely throughout winter, but eventually you learn to appreciate its nothingness. it is a necessity in order to start afresh.

mingi stares at the blinking cursor that sits in the open search bar. it has been empty for the last twenty minutes since he started up his laptop, wondering whether it would be an invasion of privacy for him to look you up on the internet.

he makes up his mind. he knows that he was the one to tell wooyoung only mere hours ago that they would ask you about your decision to retire tomorrow at the meeting, but mingi supposes it would not hurt to simply see what sort of athlete you were like before.

typing your full name into the search engine, mingi hits ‘enter’ and waits for the results to appear. he combs through the first several links quickly. they all have the same information; ice hockey databases and websites that detail your age, nationality, physical stats and position, but the sections that usually list your team and agency are now blank.

mingi is surprised to learn you were also a centre forward. he scrolls down to your game logs and match statistics that span from 2014 to 2019. you have won an impressive number of championships, most notably the under-18 and under-21 women’s ice hockey league. they are both international competitions and mingi is not sure how your reputation has flown under all of their radars.

frowning, he goes back to the search engine and clicks on the next page in an attempt to find more information. it is not until he clicks yet again to the next page that he finds a low-reputed news article from almost eight years ago where you are the main subject.

‘y/n l/n, youngest player of ‘black cats’, wins ice hockey championship at the age of sixteen’ the headline reads. there is not much to the article, but it outlines your admirable achievement at your young age as a rising prodigy in the ice hockey scene. mingi agrees, since he knows that you also go on to win another international competition a few years after that. just as he is about to close the tab, there is a recommended link that catches his eye.

he hovers his cursor over it. the hyperlinked headline does not explicitly say your name, but the phrasing really only alludes to one athlete considering it is a recommended link on your article. mingi does not know whether he wants to click on it, though, because he is afraid of confirming it is you.

and if it is…then the others will also need to see this too.

“hongjoong, guys, come look at this,” mingi calls out, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he walks out into the open living room. the others look up from where they are sitting or emerge from out of their rooms at his summon.

“what’s this?” hongjoong reaches out to receive the laptop and places it on the table. his eyes skim the screen, trying to make sense of what mingi is showing them.

mingi points to the hyperlink he had been mulling over. “i think we need to look at this.”

solemnity washes over the boys as their curious gazes dull and darken, realisation of what exactly they are reading dawning upon them. all at once, their hearts clench in solidarity. hongjoong clicks on the link. the only sound that permeates the silence is the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. nobody talks. nobody moves.

ice hockey star announces retirement following shoulder injury june 18, 2019 star player y/n l/n, centre forward of the ‘black cats’, has announced her retirement from professional ice hockey today. her decision follows lingering issues after suffering from a rotator cuff tear during the grand finals of this year’s under-21 women’s ice hockey league. l/n has been under the ice hockey spotlight ever since her win in the under-18’s league as the youngest player on her team. she is well-known for her offensive threat to the opponents, bold playing style and unparalleled skill breaking through the lines of defence.  during the grand finals in april, l/n was body checked from the side by ‘polar bears’’ kim hyejin. although full-body checking is illegal in women’s hockey, it is not uncommon during the heat of competitions. l/n suffered a severe right rotator cuff tear and is reported to have received open surgery last month. l/n did not provide further details about her recovery, however stated that she plans to focus on her physical rehabilitation in the meantime.

the glare of the screen stares back at the boys as they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life.

“coach wasn’t telling us to play defensively at all the crucial times just for the sake of the game strategy…” seonghwa grasps.

“...but because she didn’t want the same thing to happen to us,” hongjoong finishes. one of your heated remarks during your argument with him suddenly resounds in his mind: and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you. you had been reliving your own demons every single time hongjoong and his boys were playing aggressively on the ice. “fuck,” he mutters.

mingi leans down a little. “wait, see if there are any other articles about this.”

fingers dancing across the keyboard, hongjoong opens up a new tab. another quick search of your name with the keywords ‘injury’ and ‘retirement’ yields no further articles. mingi is certain you would have had more media coverage considering you had suffered an injury at the rising peak of your prodigious career, so he finds it strange that there is close to no information about this.

“it almost looks as if somebody had the articles purged from the internet,” mingi observes.

jongho nods with furrowed brows, “maybe y/n? but why would she go to the length to remove them?”

“i mean, wooyoung didn’t exactly go around flaunting off his injury to the media. maybe she didn’t want the attention anymore,” yeosang guesses.

yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.”

“i think the real question is why coach didn’t tell us that her injury was the reason why she stopped playing,” seonghwa wonders, “it was never really a choice like she made it out to be.”

none of them know the answer. hongjoong slowly closes the laptop, exhaling deeply, “we’ve got a lot of things to clear up tomorrow…and a lot of apologising. i’m going to sleep early. you all should too.”

with that, he gets out of his seat and disappears into his bedroom. hongjoong’s mind is heavy and crowded and he knows he is going to be awake for a while.

nobody sleeps well that night. especially wooyoung.

spring, 2023: playoffs

“what do you mean i can’t compete in the playoffs?”

“you have a fractured ankle, wooyoung. the playoffs are honestly the least of your concerns and if you keep straining yourself like this, it won’t just be the playoffs that you can’t compete in–it’ll be the rest of your life,” coach cho admonishes.

“but this is our first proper championship, coach,” wooyoung begs, “you have to let me play.”

coach cho hates that he has to say no and if he could swap ankles with his player, he would do so in a heartbeat. “this isn’t a choice. you physically cannot play. what are you going to do out there on the ice? crawl?”

“fuck, coach, you don’t understand. it was so hard for us to get to this point. this means everything to me, fuck, please,” wooyoung pleads between heaving breaths.

“i’m sorry, wooyoung,” coach cho apologises, leaving no further room for argument as the other boys divert their gazes to the floor.

hongjoong gently squeezes wooyoung’s shoulder. “the doctor said that your cast can come off in about eight weeks and if it’s looking good, you can gradually join in on any light training when it’s off-season.”

wooyoung does not care because in eight week’s time the playoffs will already be over. he knows he is being unreasonable and that there is no chance he will be able to set foot in an ice rink within the next two months. but his heart and mind are operating separately and the only thing his heart can see is the opportunity of playing in the championships slipping right out of his grasp.

he is already angry at himself for getting injured in the first place but it is not enough to quell wooyoung’s raging inferno. so he does the only thing he can think of in the moment–he spits out his anger with a venomous, “i hate you all.”

it hurts the boys more to see wooyoung hurting and coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.”

wooyoung jerks his head away defiantly, but they know he is only trying to hide his tears. unable to watch any longer, san moves in closer and pulls the younger into his arms.

“fuck off, san. i don’t need you.”

san swallows the hurt in his chest because he knows there is no truth behind wooyoung’s words. “i know you don’t,” he offers, “but i need you. so just let me stay.”

wooyoung’s body sags as all of the fight slips out of him in the form of shuddering sobs. san embraces him tightly, as if he has picked up all the pieces of the other and only a hug can make him whole again.

“i’m sorry,” wooyoung chokes out.

san shakes his head with reassuring hushes, “don’t be. you focus on recovering and we’ll take it from here.”

like that, wooyoung’s anger is quenched and the team goes on to compete in the playoffs without him. but in the absence of anger comes other emotions, jealousy and insecurity the ugliest of them all. wooyoung despises the bitter taste in his mouth as he sits on the player’s bench outside of the rink each game, only able to helplessly watch his team advance further in the playoffs without him.

and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him playing as their left wing, then do they really need him at all? he never gets to find out the answer though. they lose in the quarter finals.

wooyoung does not tell anybody about the ill relief he feels…and he vows to take that secret with him to the grave.

winter, present: regular season

the moment you walk into kq’s meeting room, a rehearsed apology for the team on the tip of your tongue, you realise that something is off. not necessarily wrong, per se; just off.

all the boys are sitting around the table as usual, though the overhead projector that is routinely already set up with video footage of their recent games has been put on standby mode. but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. it is familiar in the sense that people have looked at you this way in the past, but it is foreign in the sense that it has never come from the boys before.

“hi, coach,” hongjoong clears his throat awkwardly, opting to look at the wall behind you instead of your eyes as if even he knows this is the first time he has ever addressed you as such. “we had a…talk last night and thought we should probably clear up a few things before we discuss the actual games.”

although you share the same sentiment as they do, hongjoong’s words put you on guard. gingerly, you lower yourself into an empty seat across from him. “i also have a couple of things to say, but you guys start,” you cue.

hongjoong glances at seonghwa beside him, who in turn gives him a miniscule shrug. neither of them know how to bring it up with you as they are afraid of saying the wrong thing. thankfully, mingi steps in, not one to beat around the bush.

“why didn’t you tell us about your injury?” he asks directly.

with mingi’s question, you are suddenly able to place their expression. the boys look at you warily as if you are a wounded animal they are afraid will run away. you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now.

your prickles emerge and your instinctive reaction is to deny it. you have kept your injury a secret up until now for a reason and the unexpected confrontation has all of your sirens blaring to keep it a secret. but then you remember coach cho’s advice–you remember the apology you had mulled over all night–and you force your prickles to retract.

you take a breath. coach cho would not have told them about your injury, so there is only one way the boys could have found out about it. “you read the articles, didn’t you?”

mingi at least has the decency to look sheepish as he admits, “one…but there weren’t any others.”

“i thought as much,” you mumble to yourself, smiling tightly. you choose not to think about how they came across the article. “i wanted them all removed and my agency managed to pull enough connections to sweep the articles under the rug, but i should have known that in this day and age it would be impossible to get rid of any media completely.”

the question remains as to why you have chosen to keep this hidden and also–

“why did you want them removed, though?” hongjoong furrows his brows.

you have faced countless demons in the last six years. the injury itself, the abrupt end to your golden days, and the forced reconciliation with the fact that you will never be able to play again. and yet, the demon that continues to haunt you to this day is the media spotlight that chases after you as if you are a circus animal.

you are unable to look at any of them in the eye as you finally bare yourself open to the boys. “the articles felt belittling and shameful–they still do. they made me feel less as an athlete then and they make me feel less as a coach now. i worked my heart and soul to get to where i was with the skills that i had, but you don’t understand just how crippling it is for all of that to be overshadowed by an injury. it was no longer a celebration of my achievements, simply because nobody cared anymore. it just became a fucking broken record of, ‘how does it feel to have fallen at the peak of your career?’

“then when i became a coach, it didn’t matter how well my team performed or how hard they worked to win the championships. the question became, ‘how does it feel to coach after being forced to retire because of your injury?’ no matter how hard i tried, i just could not escape the hellhole of my injury.”

guilt settles in the pit of mingi’s stomach as it also does for the others. they may not have written the article, but by consuming it and searching for more, they had unknowingly joined the faceless masses of those who had hurt you.

you dig your thumbs into the flesh of your thighs to stop your voice from shaking as you continue, “the media will not care for the achievements that myself or my players accomplish when there is something even better–a sob story. but i do not need that kind of pity. not from athletes, not from other coaches, and most definitely not from strangers silently pitying my life from behind their newspaper or screen when i did not ask for any of it. i made people forget and i kept this all hidden because my career, be it as a coach or a former athlete, does not deserve to be reduced to that kind of shit.”

the raw honesty behind your words strikes the boys silent. what they thought they had started to understand about you, they are now realising was barely the tip of the iceberg. seonghwa wonders for just how long you have left this wound bleeding and untreated. he calls out for you sadly, “coach, you should’ve told us.”

when you look up, you are surprised to find wetness brimming his eyes. you feel the hot rush of emotions build up behind your own eyes but from anger, because why is he upset? what reason does he have to cry when you are the one who has suffered all this time?

your voice is biting when you respond, “and have you look down on me like everybody else? i just said, i do not need your pity–”

“it’s not pity,” a voice interrupts firmly. of all people, you least expected it to come from wooyoung. his tone stays unyielding as he holds your gaze. “we’re athletes too, y/n.”

the way he includes you in the collective–as an athlete–has your glare softening immediately, replaced by the dangerous quivering of your bottom lip while he elaborates, albeit voice gentler now, “we are hurting for you–with you. it is not pity; it is standing by your side in hopes that we can help you up if you ever fall again.”

because it is okay to fall, and you will fall; wooyoung knows that the best.

you tilt your head upwards as you desperately blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill. the swell of emotions that had churned in your chest had not been anger but fatigue, you realise. wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help.

“i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly.

“then let us share the hurt with you.”

the dam breaks and your tears fall freely down your cheeks. it starts off with a nod so miniscule that the boys think they have imagined it, but then slowly and surely, your head moves up and down with more conviction. “okay,” you whisper.

you had always thought that you had come to terms with your injury and the end of your career, but perhaps you are still mourning your loss…and perhaps that is okay. like looking into a time-warped mirror, wooyoung sees the fight slip out of your body with a sob as you apologise, “i’m sorry.”

san wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around you if it can take away even just a fraction of your hurt. but he knows that he cannot cross the boundaries of professionalism despite the intimate nature of the conversation right now, especially when you and the team are only just starting to patch things up. so instead, he opts to rub his thumb over the knuckles of wooyoung’s hand from under the table, which has slipped into his, hoping that one day he will be able to do the same for you.

“we understand,” hongjoong answers on their behalf, “you were doing what you needed to do in order to protect yourself.”

and if you do not realise that he says those words for himself and his team to hear too, then you will by the end of the conversation as you walk away with a newfound understanding of them.

“no, not just for that,” you shake your head, roughly swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “it ended up negatively influencing the way i coached you guys, even if it was subconscious. i let my own trauma dictate how i wanted you to play: defensively all the time whether it was needed or not. hongjoong, you were right about me not coaching your team as your team.”

you try your damned hardest to keep your voice steady so that you can look at them properly to apologise, “i’m sorry i made it so hard to trust me as your coach.”

“okay, let me stop you right there,” yunho smiles gently, sliding a tissue box in your direction. “we were pricks too, so half the apology is ours.”

“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle.

hongjoong is glad that you are able to find something to laugh about even with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, and he finds his mouth curling into a bittersweet smile. you have been honest and vulnerable with them and now it is their turn.

“we have something to tell you about our past coach,” he starts, drawing your gaze to him. “not coach cho–our very first coach. we’re not trying to justify that what we did as a result was okay, but…”

“but hopefully i can understand,” you finish when hongjoong hesitates. he nods and you mirror his action with a reassuring smile to encourage him to talk.

but irregardless of what they tell you, you already know that you want to understand them, because understanding is the first step to forgiving, and you want that too.

so with intermittent comments from the other boys, hongjoong reveals to you the hidden wounds they have been nursing. and as they tell you about coach yeon, how their trust in him had been misplaced, how he had betrayed it for money at the expense of their championship, and how they had then let that become mistrust in you and your reason for retiring, wooyoung finds himself quiet so that he can steal glances at you.

he can see it now. the untameable beast within you of passion for ice hockey that has been forcibly chained down to the ground with the weight of the earth. the devastating torment that must incessantly surge through you in the most debilitating waves, tenfold any anguish he felt when he was unable to compete in the playoffs. the blemished canvas of dark and ghastly emotions that you do not let see the light of day, yet continue to coexist in hidden silence.

it is there and then that wooyoung realises you and him may be more similar than he thought–that you may actually understand him better than any of his seven boys.

you stop the drill.

yeosang gracefully turns in an arc whilst keeping the puck close to his stick as hongjoong and seonghwa dig their skates into the ice to brake before their momentum takes out the younger.

“let’s have jongho try using the perimeter of the rink instead of passing to yeosang this time. start the faceoff again,” you instruct.

the chorus of responses that you receive are zealous, even slightly teasing as the boys lower their voices with a, “yes, coach!” and give you small salutes with their gloved hands. you cannot help but snort and shake your head, waving at them to retake their positions.

practice is short today, since your team has a game tomorrow. the first half an hour consisted of running through offensive formations for power plays and you are now focusing on defensive penalty kills. your two captains and wooyoung are playing as the mock opponents, preparing your remaining wings and defenseman for a situation where they are down a player.

hongjoong seems to mull over a thought as he looks at the formation of his boys. “you mentioned the team we’re playing against has a tendency to position their forwards higher up, didn’t you?” he asks and  when you nod, he suggests, “what do you think about trying the diamond formation instead? might help close some of their shooting lanes.”

with the captain’s input, you reposition yeosang further up to form the tip of the diamond, and yunho too to cover the right point whilst jongho covers the left. mingi moves in a little closer to the goal to cover the bottom of the diamond and you make sure to point out the importance of his position.

“if the opportunity arises, we can transition into a counterattack instead with 3-1. but we’ll need to make sure we still cover the goal in case they turn it back over again–mingi, this will probably be you. support whoever has the puck from behind, but make sure you don’t go too far forward.”

mingi answers with an affirmative and yeosang passes the puck to hongjoong for him to commence the penalty kill. at your whistle, the rink explodes into action. wooyoung and seonghwa immediately split down the perimeters to open up shooting lanes for their captain, who passes the puck off to wooyoung the moment he has cleared half the rink. with a brief adjustment of the puck’s angle, he attempts a cross-ice pass to where seonghwa is free on the other side.

with astonishing speed, jongho intercepts the puck and yells, “3-1!” he continues to barrel forward with the momentum of his explosive acceleration towards the goal as yeosang anticipates a pass and yunho joins the counterattack rush to his right. the three of your players charge forwards with adrenaline as mingi covers them from behind. jongho chips the puck over hongjoong’s stick, which is immediately taken up by yeosang. without a goaltender, he finishes it off with an easy shot into the net.

the tempo and execution of the rush surprises not just you, but the boys themselves too, who are tapping their sticks together with elated excitement at the success of the play. it may only be a simulated practice drill, but you still share in the same pride and contentment that hongjoong’s face glows at you with.

he cocks his head to the side with a paired smile and you return the same nonverbal acknowledgement. corners of your lips still lifted up, you gather the boys, “let’s have a drink break.”

as the boys make their way over to the benches, removing their gloves and helmets, you eye the water bottles and make sure you have enough–five in the cooler and three on the bench beside it. san bounds up to you after grabbing one from the cooler, bragging, “coach! did you see the way jongho intercepted that puck?”

from beside him, wooyoung reenacts the moment with wild flails of his limbs and airy whooshes from his mouth, jongho watching with bashful giggles. you indulge in their animated recount and listen intently. “he was amazingly fast,” you agree.

yeosang passes an opened bottle to wooyoung before untwisting the lid to his own, commenting, “the ankle weights on top of all the training must be working.”

the boys are not currently wearing any, but you had slowly implemented the use of vests, ankle or wrist weights during specific drills. now that they have taken them off and are playing without the burden of the additional mass, you are all starting to see the gains of their hard work.

you smirk with satisfaction, “of course. if my players are going to bulldoze across the ice, may as well make them fast enough to avoid all the opponents.”

“don’t encourage her,” wooyoung elbows yeosang scandalously. “she’s going to make us wear heavier weights next practice.”

“you don’t get to complain if you don’t even wear the weights,” you quip.

he knows his injury means that he cannot wear the weights in case it places stress on his ankle, so he curses at you with no real heat just for the sake of cursing, “fuck you.”

you wink, “love you too.”

wooyoung shuts his mouth and scrunches the bridge of his nose with faux displeasure, and jongho laughs at his inability to faze you. you glance down and open your notebook to mention, “on that note, though, how do we feel about going up a few hundred grams next week?”

“i’m fine with that,” yeosang says at the same time jongho confirms, “sounds good.” most of the other boys also nod that they are fine with increasing their weights, save for seonghwa who notifies you that he is still adjusting so he will keep his as it is for now.

you jot down ticks and crosses next to their names corresponding to their answers whilst suggesting, “yunho and mingi, you can both probably try half a kilogram since your body masses are higher.”

said boys peer over your shoulder to see what their new weights would be, then yunho makes a noise of intriguement. “coach, did you write these?”

you look to where his finger is pointing to–sticky notes upon sticky notes of unorganised observations and reminders to yourself. starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!”

he holds it up and open above him, voice gleeful as he reads one out, “‘jongho, wooyoung and yeosang prefer water at room temperature when training–take bottles out of cooler!’”

“aw, coach,” wooyoung coos, “did you deliberately leave three bottles in room temperature for us on the bench?”

feeling your ears heat up from being exposed, you swipe at the notebook. your skates give you added height, but so do yunho’s skates, so your attempts to jump for it are futile.

“‘boys want to eat abura soba after their win’,” he continues to read, pausing to let out a dramatic gasp, “are you going to treat us, coach?” his question is met with enthusiasm.

when another wild swipe sends a sharp sting down your shoulder from the movement, reminding you of the pain that had flared up a few days ago, you decide to change tactics. you grab the back and front of his jersey with your hands, completely ready to commit to scaling him like a literal tree. but then a different set of hands easily takes the notebook out of yunho’s and of course it would be mingi. you insult, “give it back, you tall buffoon!”

mingi is hardly fazed as you switch targets to him, your fingertips nowhere near reaching the notebook as he snickers and reads, “‘trial jongho as starting forward–wait.” he lowers his hands with sobriety and you are finally able to snatch the notebook back, shutting it before they can read any more of your sticky notes. it is not like there is anything they cannot know, but it is sort of embarrassing for them to see how much attention you pay to them.

“you want jongho on the starting lineup?” mingi confirms that he has not read it wrong, eyes as wide as all the other boys as they look at you.

jongho is almost certain that you must have meant somebody else, or something else, because there is no way that he would be given the opportunity to start for the team–not when they have yeosang and wooyoung as their wings, and the choice of hongjoong or seonghwa as their centres. he is used to being the player who momentarily relieves others of their shift on the ice, or as his parents so like to remind him, option b.

“why do you all look so surprised?” you frown. beckoning at jongho with your chin, you ask, “you’ve been practising hard to make your right hand just as good as your left hand, haven’t you? so let’s take advantage of your versatility and unpredictability on ice and throw the opponents off. what do you think?”

jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”

the pleased smile on hongjoong’s face is enough to make his cheeks sore and he wraps his arm around the youngest’s shoulders. he praises, “look at you, our wild card and our hidden ace,” as seonghwa declares, “i know he’ll do us so proud.”

both yeosang and wooyoung simultaneously offer their positions in the starting lineup and the rest of the boys watch on with fond expressions. they are grateful that you have recognised the talents and hard work of their youngest. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career.

you conclude, “we’ve been on a good streak with our games. let’s ride the momentum and show the other teams what jongho is capable of–what we’re all capable of.”

“yes, coach!” they shout, the loud echo of their voices reverberating and filling the rink with buzzing energy for the remainder of the training session.

spirits still high by the time you call it a wrap, you let them change as you grab your own belongings. there is a team meeting in the afternoon so you and the boys will be going back to kq to eat at the cafeteria and use the booked room. you pause when you see wooyoung loitering by your bag. he still has not changed out of his practice clothes.

“i’m not letting you on the bus if you’re planning on staying in those clothes,” you joke.

“i’m going to change!” he scowls indignantly, then avoids eye contact as he thrusts something out in your direction. he mumbles, “had some spares. didn’t want them. just dumping them with you so you can stash them or use them or whatever, i don’t care.”

you grab the small bag, brows creased with confusion, but wooyoung dashes away to change before you can ask what it is. you peer inside and to your pleasant surprise, there are two packs of pain relief patches. your shoulder protests at the lack of attention you have given it in the last few days. the pain is chronic and never really goes away, but it has been bothering you more than usual recently, so it is all in good timing that you now have some patches.

you make a mental note to stick one on when you get to the company and grab your bag after ensuring your notebook is stored inside. as you head towards the change rooms to wait for the boys, you spot a piece of paper on the floor. it looks like rubbish that you must have missed on your way in earlier so you pick it up to throw away. but when your fingertips touch the familiar sheen of the wax-like paper, you realise wooyoung must have dropped it.

it is confirmed when you unfold it to read the text and see that it is from yesterday evening, at the pharmacy that is just across the street from the company; in your hands you hold wooyoung’s receipt for two packs of pain relief patches.

spring marks the start of the playoffs. in synchronisation with the burst of life that blooms with the season, your boys, too, flourish in the league.

the unpredictability of your team’s strategies that entail a mix of both yours and hongjoong’s prowess helps to secure wins over the remainder of the regular season. despite the unsteady start to the season, it allows your team to scrape into the round of sixteen near the bottom of the standings.

the red devils are seeded against the team that is third in the rankings, and then against the sixth-standing team in the quarterfinals. in upsets that knock out two of the most anticipated teams in the league, your boys advance into the semifinals, their reputation as the demons of the ice rink that had laid low now rapidly spreading.

where none of the other competitors had paid you and your players any mind before, barely even noticing your presence, the opponents now glance and watch your team walk past with an air of confidence through the arena. their tense jaws and hard gazes size up your athletes–formidable rivals who have suddenly barrelled up the ranks from out of nowhere and now pose perhaps the biggest threat as a team that has somehow slipped under their radars.

you know; your team may be small in numbers. but with yunho and mingi flanking the sides of the boys, and even with hongjoong’s charismatic aura alone leading the front, which extends around him like a dark cloud of terror and envelops the rest of the group too, your team is a pack of predators at the tip of the apex.

other players part to make a path for your boys, whose heads are held high and eyes are set only on their captain and you, their coach, as you all walk to your assigned changeroom. the nerves have long dissipated because the ice rink is your territory and the other teams are your prey.

the moment you shut the door behind the last of them into the room though, the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.”

from their glowing faces alone, you can tell that they are all basking in the feeling of finally being recognised and reckoned with. yunho bats his eyelids and pinches his voice higher into a falsetto, “oh wooyoung! you’re so handsome and cool, could i please have your signature?”

mingi imitates him and pounces on wooyoung, begging for a photo together as he clings onto his elbow. it sets off the rest of the boys to crowd around like mock fans with faux exhilaration. you snort at their antics, leaving wooyoung to sign imaginary sheets of paper with his imaginary pen in favour of ensuring all of their backup equipment and gear is correctly located outside or in the storage area.

you allow the boys adequate time to change into their full gear for their warm-up prior to the actual semifinal game before you walk back into the locker room. your ears perk up when you catch the end of san’s question, “that’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“what is?” you ask out of curiosity, flipping open the provided cooler and adding several sports drinks into the ice.

“i overheard someone on the white tigers team say that their head coach happened to fall sick, so they have their assistant coach today,” jongho mentions.

the surge of brazen smiles and reassured glints in their eyes at the reveal of information makes you falter to a degree. you lightly chastise, “don’t let that get to your heads and start being cocky–play as you usually do and do not underestimate them just because their head coach is off.”

you pull your notebook out of your bag, the familiar cover and weight of the book providing you with a sense of security as you remind the boys, “the white tigers have a very similar playing style as us. we may have worked hard on our defensive strategies, but with similar strengths and weaknesses overall, it won’t hurt for us to still be cautious.”

“yes, coach,” they chorus.

hongjoong nods, “let’s go warm up, then finalise our starting lineup for the game.”

your team’s allocated time on the rink passes by quickly and it is followed by the last adjustments to the discussed strategies and game plan, thorough checks of their gear, and the remaining boys who are still wearing their practice jerseys change out of the blue into their red game uniform. in full gear, there your boys stand, presence intimidating and demoniac. the boys do not live up to their team name; their team name lives up to them.

they stride through the hallway for their semifinal game against the white tigers. right at the end before it leads to the ice rink, yunho yells, “pep talk, captain!”

hongjoong groans, rolling his eyes, but places the blade of his stick onto the rubber flooring nonetheless. the rest of the boys huddle around, their sticks meeting in the centre of the circle and standing close together so that their helmets and shoulders knock against one another. you are also swept into the circle with yeosang and san by your sides.

“boys…and girl,” hongjoong snickers to himself before recollecting his very inspirational train of thought, “we’ve fought hard to make it this far–this is the first time we’ve made it into the semis, so let’s keep running until the very end, yeah?”

to the team’s increasingly loud cheers, hongjoong yells, “let’s fuck it up out there!”

their sticks hit the ground in unison and despite the muted sound of the cushioned flooring, their shouts of fighting resolve and unwavering determination drown out everything else. together, you emerge from the hallway and your starting players take their positions on the ice, ready to fuck it up.

only, it happens literally.

the moment the puck hits the ice and the white tigers’ centre forward, byun, wrestles it away with his blade, hongjoong immediately knows it is going to be one of those games. the ones where his competitive grit is fueling his mind ablaze but his body is leaden-footed as if he is wading through quicksand; where his body is just unable to keep up and move the way he wants it to. it is one of those days where his condition is just inexplicably off and there is nothing he can do about it except hope that his years of training and sheer aptitude for the sport will be enough.

“fuck,” you curse under your breath at hongjoong’s slip as jongho and yeosang rush to fall back and support those in defence. “he wasn’t like that during the warm-ups.”

byun is not only agile and swift, but is almost an identical reflection of hongjoong’s own bold and assertive offence. the centre forward powers through with evasive turns around yunho’s attempt to body check him, unafraid and confident. passing the blue line into your team’s defensive zone, byun flicks the puck at the goal.

the point shot is an unexceptional attempt to score, nothing that san’s reflexive goaltending cannot take care of. he extends his left foot and blocks the low shot with his leg pad, where the puck then slides in yunho’s direction. you did not doubt for a moment that san would not be able to save the shot, but it is still a close call that is far too early in the game to be a good sign.

your team’s greatest strength is their unspoken synergy and seamless unity, but it is also their greatest weakness. when one player stumbles, particularly when it is their captain–the very roots of the team–their bond runs so deeply that it throws their teamwork out of harmony and ultimately impacts the entire team.

with san’s save, yunho regains possession and handles the puck around the back of their net to shake off the pressure that the white tigers’ forwards are placing on him, as well as to buy his own team some time to reassemble in their formation.

you know that this is not going to work for long; you have to change the momentum of the game, and fast. “seonghwa, get ready,” you alert. “you’re going on for hongjoong.”

the alternate captain stands, alarmed at the unexpected line change so early into the game. he grips his stick with white knuckles and watches his team as he waits for your cue. yunho hits the puck against the boards where yeosang successfully receives the rebound.

“breakout!” yeosang yells and rushes forward with the chasing skates of the opponents nipping at his heels. jongho clears the centre line into the offensive zone at the same time hongjoong screens and blocks the view of the white tigers’ goaltender, setting up for an opportunity to score.

when the opponent’s left defence and wing advance on yeosang rapidly, he fakes a deceptive pass towards the boards before twisting the blade of his stick and flicking the puck between their skates instead in hongjoong’s direction. but like an eagle honing in on a small rodent, byun swoops in to snatch the puck, flipping the possession again.

the tides turn and all the athletes on the rink race towards your team’s net, a cutthroat competition between triumph and desperation to chase the puck. byun passes to the player on his left as they both dash closer, the left forward immediately returning the puck the moment he receives it to break past mingi’s defence.

you are able to see the white tigers’ right wing following closely behind ready for a drop pass, but in your team’s frenzied minds, they are unable to read the play. yunho approaches byun, who is expecting the defence and leaves the puck behind whilst skating on, knowing that it will be received by his trailing teammate. with the momentary confusion that is enough to disrupt both yunho and san’s gaze on the puck, the opponent’s right wing winds his stick back just enough to build power without sacrificing speed, then slaps the puck into the corner of the goal–

–and scores. within the first three minutes of the game.

“seonghwa,” you call out again with urgency as the whistle blows. you turn to look at him, “you’re up. you have to break the flow of the team. not just the white tigers, but ours too–the boys are panicking and you need to help anchor them.”

he nods, steadying his hand on the board in preparation to hop over it, and you yell out for the captain, “change!”

hongjoong sees the gesture of your hand pointing at the bench, and although his chest tightens with frustration at himself, he speeds towards the edge of the rink to change. once the captain is close enough, seonghwa pushes his skate off the benches to launch himself over the top of the boards onto the ice then propels himself forward to take the centre faceoff.

the captain sits down heavily on the bench, defeat already broiling off of his slumped body in smothering swells. you really cannot afford to take your eyes off the game; it waits for nobody and the whistle has already blown, the rink erupting into commotion. but whilst you need to watch the game unfold, you need hongjoong just as much, and his team needs him.

you turn him slightly to face you so that he can see your face of resolution. “you are the captain, so be the captain–for the team…and for yourself,” you invigorate, voice raised so that he can hear you over the noise of the stadium. 

you give his shoulder a hard squeeze, certain he will not be able to even feel it from under the pads of his uniform. regardless, he understands your intentions and nods grimly, the fog in his eyes clearing. wooyoung taps the back of his helmet in a show of encouragement and hongjoong returns the gesture with appreciation. 

a particularly loud thump draws the attention of all three of you back to the game. from the grimace on yeosang’s face and his hand steadying himself on the boards, it is obvious he has just been body checked into the wall. seonghwa pursues the puck with graceful yet powerful speed before he digs both skates perpendicular into the ice to suddenly change direction. pushing off, he accelerates back towards the white tigers’ defensive zone when mingi manages to disrupt the opponent’s stickhandling enough for yunho to sweep the puck and skate it up the perimeter of the rink away from their net.

wooyoung also goes on for yeosang but as the left wing, so jongho switches position to play as the right forward. he skates past the benches when an opportunity arises and he hands off his stick whilst grabbing his right-handed stick from you with practised ease.

with the line change of forwards and with seonghwa on as your centre, your team stabilises to an extent. the red devils are no longer being pushed back but they are also unable to push forward. the game is at a stalemate, although the tides remain in favour of the white tigers with both their positional and psychological advantage of the first goal.

you can see the pressure weighing down on your boys; passes that yunho and mingi would be capable of executing blindfolded are miscalculated; predictable manoeuvres still mislead wooyoung in the wrong direction; seonghwa and jongho fail to notice the opportunities for clear passing and shooting lanes; and the openings appear far too wide and innumerable for san to cover the goal from. the relentless offensive pressure that the white tigers places on your team, strikingly similar to how the boys played when you first started coaching them, does not give any breathing room either.

so that is how the first period comes to an end–losing zero to one with none of your players performing at their best condition. their steps are heavy and burdened as they walk back to the locker room for the intermission, helmets removed the moment they come off the ice to reveal hardened expressions. in the privacy of your assigned room, most of the boys adjust the pads in their gear and yunho peels off his shin guards to let them air out.

you pass around their iced bottles and as exhausted as they are, they make sure to voice their gratitude. san grabs wooyoung’s bottle for him, since the younger is bent over loosening the laces of his left skate. “here,” san murmurs, twisting open the cap and passing it to wooyoung once he straightens his back.

similarly, seonghwa hands over an opened bottle to yeosang before taking a swig of his own. “you’re okay?” he checks, the particularly rough body check that yeosang had copped earlier in the game still at the forefront of his mind.

yeosang gives the alternate captain a reassuring smile, “i’m okay.”

appeased by the answer, seonghwa turns to look at hongjoong, who is re-taping the blade of his stick. “what about you?” seonghwa softly asks, “you’re feeling okay?”

hongjoong glances up briefly at the back of your figure. you are busy shifting the red magnets around on the whiteboard and erasing the markings you had made prior to the start of the semifinals. when you turn around to gather their attention, you accidentally make eye contact with him and break out into a small smile.

“yeah,” hongjoong replies, “i’m feeling okay.”

“alright, listen up boys, that was just the first period. we’re not even halfway into this game and we’ve started to even up the playing field now that we’ve found our footing,” you encourage. “we just have to make sure we keep our heads cool and read their plays instead of simply reacting to their movements.”

you look at each of them as you direct, “their centre forward, byun, has been on for almost all of first period, so there’s probably going to be a shift change, if not a complete line change of forwards. they have the leniency to swap out their top players since they’re in the lead, which means if we want to break their momentum, we need to break it then.”

shifting yourself slightly out of the way, the boys are able to see the new arrangement of positions you have marked out on the whiteboard. “we’re starting the second period by sharpening our offence in the 2-2-1 formation,” you explain. you beckon your head at the captain, “hongjoong, you’re back on. you and wooyoung are to position yourselves up high between the neutral and offensive zones–try to screen their goaltender when our boys have possession. yunho, i want you to move up to our blue line with jongho and open up as many passing lanes as you two can. mingi will stay in defence and help cover the goal with san in case the white tigers makes a counterattack.

“use this opportunity to make as many scoring chances as you can. if there isn’t a clear shot but there’s a chance it can be continued on by another one of us, then go for it anyway–any sort of pressure we can put on their team is better than none.”

your forwards nod with understanding, so you continue to the most important point, “but the moment byun and the wings–kim and song, i think they are–come back on, we’re reversing the formation.” you reposition half of the magnets into a 1-2-2 formation. “only hongjoong will stay up high; wooyoung will fall back and join jongho in the neutral zone; put pressure on their forwards from there. yunho and mingi, you’ll play left and right defence as usual.”

san listens intently when you start moving the black magnets that represent the opposing players and call out to him directly. you warn, “san, be careful of their drop passes. kim and song have been skating forward but leaving the puck behind for byun to score multiple times throughout the first period. they have you primed to predict it now, so they’re probably going to change their tactic and pass directly in front of the goal instead.”

“yes, coach,” san acknowledges.

a glance at the screen on the wall of the locker room tells you that there are only a few minutes left of the intermission. “gear up and get ready to go back on,” you instruct the boys.

they make final adjustments to their pads and yunho tapes his shin guards back into place under his socks. you make sure they all have their helmets and sticks when they start to file out of the locker room once they are ready and you grab wooyoung’s gloves for him while he ties the laces of his skates again.

“thanks,” he reaches out for them as he stands up. except he stumbles slightly when he puts weight on his left ankle and your hand instinctively grabs his to steady him.

your eyes grow wide with concern. you know that wooyoung is the type to keep quiet about his pain, even if you ask, “does your ankle hurt?”

“no, my legs just fell asleep on me from sitting,” he reassures, conscious of your hand that still holds his. he smiles through his lie and hopes that you are unable to pick up on it. the buzzer sounds before you can, though, warning you both that there is only one minute remaining until the game resumes.

hurriedly you tell him, “let me know if you need to come off.”

somebody yells out your names, forcing you both to rush off to join the rest of the team in the hallway. wooyoung knows that he should admit to you right there and then that his ankle does hurt, but he will not–he cannot…because he owes it to his team.

they do not know and they will never know, but there is not a day that goes past where wooyoung does not feel guilty for having desired for their loss last year. he has to play and win this championship for his team because only then can he start to forgive himself. but until he wins, he deserves to suffer.

those in the lineup rapidly glide across the ice to take their positions, wooyoung included. a short buzzer sounds, the puck is dropped, and the second period starts. immediately you can see that your boys have the advantage. the white tigers had not expected you to take such an aggressive approach of offence considering that you are losing.

and sure enough, just as you had predicted, their coach has changed their entire line of forwards. the players are still undeniably skilled, but they visibly struggle to match the pace at which hongjoong and wooyoung are now leading your team to attack.

the rink is under the boys’ control; the neutral zone has become a stronghold with the resistance of both jongho and yunho’s combined strength and mingi’s reinforcement from behind. wooyoung weaves through the players with polished agility as he creates passing opportunities around the offensive zone, whilst hongjoong makes his own path with imposing might, his devilish wings spread. and even if the white tigers somehow manage to gain possession of the puck and break past your defence, san looks impossibly larger than the goal itself, leaving no openings for their forwards to score.

it is well into the second period when the perfect play sets itself up. with mingi blocking any possible rebounds off the boards, yunho’s attempt to body check the white tigers’ right wing forces the player to pass the puck across the ice. before their centre forward is able to receive it, jongho has already intercepted and is thundering ahead with his stick controlling the puck.

“high!” he shouts, ploughing through the neutral zone as wooyoung and hongjoong immediately respond to his call and skate up towards the goal.

jongho deliberately looks at his captain but flicks the puck with a forehand pass in the other direction, too fast for the defenders to react to. wooyoung easily receives the anticipated pass, thighs burning and his left ankle stinging as he rushes towards the goal from the left with powerful acceleration. the white tigers’ goaltender immediately lowers his stance and raises his arms in preparation to block his shot.

in the corner of his eye, wooyoung sees hongjoong matching his lightning pace on his right, the captain’s eyes narrowed with concentration and body weight tilted forward as he hurtles past the defenders. wooyoung pretends to wind up his stick for a slap shot into the net, only to twist the angle of his arms at the last second to send the puck skittering across the ice directly parallel to the goal. the goaltender drops down to his knees, having anticipated a scoring attempt, except the puck is now nearing hongjoong.

hongjoong sees it clearly–the trajectory that the puck is taking and the perfect point where it needs to meet his stick. without breaking its momentum, his arms contract to swing his stick and the blade collides with the puck with forceful precision, sending it hurtling through the air. the goaltender desperately scrabbles back onto his skates to defend the other side of the goal, but it is too late.

the puck flies past the posts and hits the netting.

the horn blares and echoing cheers erupt throughout the stadium as the lights flick on to shine across the net and your forward players. hongjoong yells with fierce triumph, stick raised into the air as wooyoung excitedly collides into him. the duo disappear amongst the bodies of your boys as they swarm around them feverish exuberance.

“that’s our fucking captain–” “–woo’s assist was insane!”

hongjoong cannot even tell who is who as he is jostled around in overjoyed laughter and beaming smiles, numerous hands reaching out to tap his and wooyoung’s helmets and shoulders. from outside the rink, you, seonghwa and yeosang have long stopped sitting on the benches, bodies too strung tight with hopeful tension to stay seated, so you are immediately swept up into a hug as the three of you celebrate the goal with identical exhilaration.

the game is still far from over but the morale has just skyrocketed through the roof as if the red devils have scored the winning goal. combined with the team’s fans electrifying the atmosphere of the stadium, it definitely feels like it, and you are starting to see hope that the ones advancing to the finals after today will be your boys.

“line change!” you faintly hear, so you still to watch all three of the white tigers’ forwards skate towards the boards. byun, kim and song jump onto the rink, back on offence in the wake of your goal.

hongjoong makes eye contact with you when you search for him amongst the team huddle and in unison, you both nod, pride and determination unspoken in your gazes–the real game is about to start now. the boys start to disperse and take up their positions around the marked circle for the centre faceoff, and hongjoong and byun meet head-to-head once again in the middle of the rink.

the white tigers’ centre forward smirks condescendingly, “cute goal.”

hongjoong’s face thunders over but he will not let himself resort to dirty sportsmanship. he bites his tongue and lowers his stance, focusing his attention on the game instead.

“ready,” the referee signals, then the puck is released.

byun manages to steal it and sends it backwards to his defensemen to open up more passing lanes, but as discussed, your boys mutually move into the 1-2-2 formation to fortify against their offensive plays. despite the pressure of the white tigers’ top forwards back in play, your team is riding on the momentum of your goal; although you had been treading to keep your heads above the water during the first period, there is now an air of confidence that permeates the ambience of the rink in favour of your boys. 

an angled pass from their defence rebounds off the boards and kim receives it high in the neutral zone. he attempts an immediate pass across the ice to song, except the safety net of your player’s defensive formation allows mingi to thrust out with his stick to intercept the pass. he signals, “breakout!” before deflecting it to wooyoung.

the turnover of possession immediately triggers a switch in defence to offence as wooyoung handles the puck back the other way. his wrists twist the stick with measured coordination, controlling the blade and puck as an extension of his own hands while approaching the offensive zone. wooyoung sees the white tigers’ defensemen racing towards him so he abruptly pivots towards the left to drag the black disc around their extended sticks.

suddenly, a sharp pain engulfs his ankle that has his legs crumbling as he staggers off balance. wooyoung manages to stay upright, using his stick to steady himself, but the momentary stumble is more than enough of an opening for byun to steal possession from behind him.

the rival centre forward swerves around jongho then stays close to the perimeter to avoid mingi’s resistant defence. behind mingi, san splays his legs out as he prepares to block the left side of the goal, but byun continues blazing on and wraps around the back of the net. san follows his movement and swiftly shifts over to the right instead while byun cradles the puck with his blade to lift it into the air the moment he approaches.

yunho cannot risk a penalty by raising his own stick to block its trajectory, so he shifts his body in hopes of deflecting the shot before it reaches san. but byun’s wrists snap and tuck the airborne puck at a sharp angle right past the red goalpost…and the horn blows to mark the scoring of a goal.

your jaw plummets at the same time that your heart does. not even your lungs work, your body frozen stock-still. once more, the white tigers are back in the lead only mere minutes after the score had been painstakingly tied by your team.

“fuck!” wooyoung curses and slams his gloved fist against the ice, having dropped to his knees in enraged denial.

seonghwa looks on with despondence from beside you as hongjoong drags wooyoung back up to his feet. the captain’s jaws are clenched in frustration but only because of the score itself–never because of his boys. when mingi and yunho try to comfort san with firm squeezes and uttered reassurances, he can only return a tight smile, all three of their breaths heavy and irregular from exertion and dismay.

for the boys to have climbed so arduously and persistently to even the scores, only to be knocked off and their momentum obliterated so mercilessly soon, it is even more demoralising than the white tigers’ first goal. after all, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.

through the deep ache in your heart, you mutedly say to yeosang, “go on for wooyoung, and tell jongho to change sticks and play as left wing.”

“yes, coach,” he replies, voice delicate. yeosang waits as you gesture for wooyoung to come off before he hops over the boards and skates in jongho’s direction.

“woo,” you murmur as your left wing makes his way back to the benches, but he avoids your gaze and keeps his head down. you bite your lips and decide not to push it for now. instead, you press an opened bottle into his gloved hand.

wooyoung is thankful that the bottle is half empty, because his hand unconsciously clenches around it with quivering shame and he would have spilled the water were it full. he makes no move to bring the bottle up to his lips; he doubts the water would go down his constricted throat anyway. the penetrative guilt of his tears hurts immeasurably more than the piercing throb of his ankle because he may have just cost his team the win…again.

even when the buzzer signals the end of the second period, wooyoung dares not to look up. the score is one to two and it is his fault. the intermission passes by in a haze of dissociation, his body robotically moving on autopilot into the locker room and back to the ice rink. wooyoung does not even know whether there are line changes to the positions or whether the game strategy has been altered.

but it does not matter because it does not concern him–as if any coach would put him on after his grave mistake. what wooyoung fails to notice though is the glances of worry in his direction, and they do not come solely from his boys.

the stakes run at their highest in the third and final period. tension suffocates the entire stadium, invisible hands that snake around your throats with a hangman’s loose and make you break out into cold sweats. all the players on the ice rink put everything that they have on the line because by the end of the next twenty minutes, only one team will be advancing to the finals.

from the moment the puck is dropped into play and the timer resumes, the rink is a torrential battlefield of contesting skates and grappling sticks. dramatic passes and unforeseen interceptions lead to rapid turnovers that force both teams to hastily switch back and forth between offence and defence.

but everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. for every scoring attempt that the red devils make, the white tigers make three, steadily and gradually pushing your boys back in the final stretch of the game. and while most of your forwards’ goals are blocked in the nick of time, most of theirs are not.

as a last resort in the face of the crisis, you calculate the risks then add seonghwa onto the field. “yunho, change!” you yell, pulling him off defence.

“behind you,” byun alerts song as seonghwa powers across the ice right into the cutthroat action, before cursing when the white tigers nearly lose possession of the puck.

your two captains unrelentingly pursue the black disc at the forefront of your team, their complementary synergy and unity a whirlwind of prowess to be reckoned with as they try not to let the burden of scoring weigh them down. despite the overwhelming pressure as the team’s last line of defence, even more so now that you have sacrificed stability to capitalise on having two centre forwards, san’s cat-like eyes do not cloud over, only intensely scanning the field and the opponent’s plays.

you glance at the clock. there are only two minutes left and even the combined efforts of your forwards is not working. you never thought that you would ever have to do this as a coach, but now you are afraid there is no choice. “yunho,” you urge.

his head turns to you and you see the ashen pallor of your own face reflected on his as the very probable outcome of the game dawns across your minds. you make your decision. “you’re going back on. for san.”

yunho’s eyes widen. “for san? i can’t play as goaltender–”

“no,” you shake your head, “we’re playing without a goaltender.”

sixty seconds.

save for wooyoung, all of your defenders, wings and centre forwards make a last-minute spurt to attack, not letting their bodies recover for even a split second as they strain their burning legs and gasping lungs.

thirty seconds.

they desperately break past the physical boundaries of their own stamina into their last reserves of pure grit and will, draining every last drop that their mental resilience has to offer.

ten seconds.

they do not give up. they try again and again to score. but against all of your prayers, all of your tears and sweat and against all of your hopes, the gap does not close. the final buzzer blares throughout the entire stadium, marking the red devil’s loss.

two to six.

your players stand motionless, ghosts of denial and despair amongst the crazed jumps and bounds of celebration as the white tigers flock across the rink towards one another. hongjoong tilts his head upwards to stop the rush of tears from falling down his face, both yunho and seonghwa mirrors of his pain as sweat and tears drip down in salty trails. san grasps the edge of the board in front of him, his head hung low and shoulders quaking from how hard he tries to stifle his sobs so that wooyoung does not hear him.

not one of your boys are able to accept the results of the match. not even you can bring yourself to utter a single word of consolation, be it for yourself or for them. and as you watch the wretched image of your heartbroken boys, choking back tears of your own that you are unaware still manage to escape the corners of your eyes, the only sounds in your ears their stricken cries, you are reminded that the path of an athlete and coach is nothing like its portrayal in movies and stories; where hard work triumphs and leads to sure success.

the harsh reality is that there is no dramatic comeback. there is no underdog victory. there is no miracle and there is no final to advance to. you and your boys lose by triple the amount of your own goals and just like that, the journey has come to an end at the semifinals.

it is an anticlimactic defeat, the gap so far that your team could not even see the light at the end of the tunnel. and somehow…that feels far worse than losing by just a marginal difference.

the locker room is mostly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the closing of zippers and rustling of canvas as the boys who have finished showering and changing pack the rest of their gear for the final time. there are no more intermittent sniffles, leaving behind a miserable hush of emptiness instead. even the dying flicker of the light in the far corner of the ceiling thrums with more energy than the boys combined.

you sit on one of the benches and absentmindedly thumb through your notebook. seonghwa sits to your right, his kit bag already long organised and tidied to preoccupy his mind. the warmth from the close proximity of your thighs and elbows is a gracious comfort to the both of you. it no longer makes your backs straighten with uptightness, conscious of the boundaries between coach and athlete–not after your hearts and bodies melded together in hugs of solace after the final buzzer of the semifinals and melted away those lines.

seonghwa places his hand soothingly on your knee and murmurs, “stop looking at that. we’ll think about it later all together.”

none of the words or diagrams had been registering in your head, but you nod and close your notebook anyway. he probably does not want to see it either. you rest your head back against the wall behind you with a small exhale, blankly watching your team instead until your eyes travel around the room. 

you count, then count again, before calling out, “captain, is wooyoung still showering?”

hongjoong cranes his neck around at the same time that everybody else does as well. “don’t think so,” he frowns, “i’m pretty sure he was one of the first ones out.”

wooyoung’s kit bag is still unpacked in his locker, so he is definitely not already waiting for the bus outside. before his absence can raise any alarms–the last thing the boys need on their plate right now–you stand and announce, “i’ll go find him. he probably just lost track of time.”

“do you need me to come with you?” yeosang rises to his feet.

you shake your head and reassure, “keep packing your bag.” then you turn to make your way out of the locker room when somebody calls out for you.

“coach, wait.”

it’s san, who skitters in front of you to press something into your hands. “give this to him when you see him?”

the item crinkles and a glance downwards reveals that it is an instant ice pack. you smile softly, stuffing it into the pocket of your jacket and hoping that nobody notices the ice pack that is already in there. “of course,” you gently touch his forearm. “i’ll be back.”

this time you make it out to the corridor but you do not get further than four steps before another voice stops you.

“coach!”

when you turn around, hongjoong emerges from the doorway. he slows down as he catches up to stand in front of you. “i…” his voice falters. “i’m sorry.”

i’m sorry i didn’t realise wooyoung was gone. i’m sorry i didn’t do my job as captain…and i’m sorry for losing. 

“no,” you shake your head. “don’t be.” because you tried your best…and you did not give up. beckoning in the direction of the locker room, you tell him, “take care of the boys, okay? i’ll be back with wooyoung.”

the rigidity in hongjoong’s shoulders dissipates. “thank you…y/n.”

you smile, “anytime, hongjoong.” you wait for him to walk back inside before you finally turn to find wooyoung.

the arena is massive but apart from the locker room–which you already know wooyoung is not in–there are limited places that offer privacy from the multitude of people who mill around, be it other athletes, staff or spectators. you know from personal experience, so you head to the one place that is usually guaranteed to be somewhat out of the public eye.

“oh, fuck me,” wooyoung startles when you sit yourself down heavily on the same step as him, his curse echoing around the both of you. “how the fuck did you know i would be here?”

you snort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “i hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t exactly an original experience. i’m pretty sure every athlete has hidden here to cry at one point in their career.”

the slight spark of light that had ignited within wooyoung at your appearance suddenly flickers out, reminded of why exactly he is hiding in the emergency stairwell in the first place. shame tears his eyes away from you, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“i want to be left alone,” he murmurs.

although you respect his request, that is the opposite of what he needs. left to his own thoughts and devices, you know that wooyoung will spiral dangerously in guilt and self-reproach, even if the red devil’s loss is not his fault–is not anybody’s fault.

the two of you sit in silence, wooyoung intermittently swiping at a lone tear that threatens to drip off his chin, and you mulling over the words that you hold close to your heart. eventually, you break the quietude with a soft chuckle.

“the first game i ever played i was actually on left defence. our team was losing by two goals and i suddenly had the puck. i still remember seeing an opening in the goal and feeling the surge of confidence that i did when i hit the puck…but you know what?”

wooyoung does not answer, does not look up from where he is picking at his cuticles, but you can feel his curiosity so you continue, “it was an own goal. i scored into my own team’s net and it wasn’t until i scored another goal before i finally realised which way i was meant to go. obviously, my team wasn’t very happy with me, but then i ended up winning the game for them anyway and that’s how i started playing as centre forward.

“there was also a time during internationals where i argued against the ref’s call and got myself put into the penalty box. it cost our team a goal–the tiebreaker, too. i learnt my lesson and never did that again. and then there was the first couple of years i started to coached. i thought i had enough experience as a player to be a perfect coach. it wasn’t until one of my teams told me to pull my head out of my ass that i realised i was anything but.”

that gets a small snicker from out of him. you deliberate, “i’d like to think that we make the best team now, though.”

he scowls disgruntledly, “we’re your only team.”

“and my favourite team, too,” you laugh softly, gauging his expression. “my point is, wooyoung, we all make mistakes. but the reason why we make them in the first place is because we love playing. we do what our heart wants to in the moment and we play for ourselves because otherwise, there would be nothing left of us without ice hockey. what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.”

wooyoung feels the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest because they are only half true to him. his passion and love for the sport indeed burns eternally as a blazing inferno inside of him, but his persistence to play today was due to ulterior motives. to acknowledge that aloud is a different story, though.

your voice takes on a lighter tone, “although i guess in this case, you should be sitting down with that ankle of yours. you know you should not be gambling with your injuries.”

he finally looks at you; a former athlete who did not even have the luxury to gamble your injury. it suddenly scares him to imagine just an ounce of the conflicting anguish that must course through you at his continuous decisions to endanger his own career–the anguish that you have made sure to never show, lest it affect them.

“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.

it is your turn to look away. you know that the question is not directed at himself but your entire career. with a bittersweet chuckle, you allow yourself to admit, “every day. i still get angry and i still get upset. i wake up in the morning wondering why it had to be me and i go to bed at night wondering why i didn’t deserve a second chance.

“but i’m okay; it gets easier to be okay. coaching means that i still get to go on the ice, i still get to experience the adrenaline of games and i still get to play through you guys. and most of all…i still have a team. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.”

at your admission, wooyoung is reminded of how you are possibly the only one who would be able to truly understand him. he musters his courage and confesses, “i wanted us to lose last year…and we did end up losing.”

it catches you off guard, the direction of the conversation not what you had expected, but you neutralise your expression and tone so as to not make him feel defensive. “how come?”

he swallows. “my ankle–i fractured it last year just before we made it into the playoffs, so i wasn’t able to compete. i had been so angry at first; angry at myself for getting injured, angry at my coach for not letting me play, angry at my team because they could play. then when it became clear that i wasn’t going to be able to compete regardless of how angry i was, i became jealous, insecure and…afraid. jongho and i share the same position, and i mean, look at him now–he’s able to play both left and right wing. if they had won the playoffs without me, then would the team really need me?

“they did end up losing, just like i had wanted them to, but that made me feel so much worse–made me realise just how terrible i am of a person. the guilt eats me alive every single day and i tell myself that i will make it up to them this time, that i will risk everything to win for them…” wooyoung scoffs pathetically at himself, “only for me to fuck things up because of my fucking ankle again.”

you get it. the slow gnawing of yourself from the endless feelings that you ‘should not have’ until you become no more than an empty husk. ever since your own injury, you have spent nights on end trying to reconcile with your emotions in your own confusing and formidable journey, but for the first time ever, you are grateful that you did–because you can keep wooyoung company on his. 

you carefully voice, “i think it was okay for you to have felt the way that you did. they’re your feelings and nobody can invalidate them nor your experience. what i came to realise was that all of those ‘ugly’ feelings do not make us ugly for having them–they simply make us human. it is only a problem when those feelings end up hurting other people, but i think the person you hurt the most…was yourself, wooyoung.”

at your words, he looks at you with wide eyes, a fresh swell of wetness gathering in them. wooyoung is kind and loving to everybody, yet has never once thought about deserving that kindness and love for himself. you smile gently, trying to hide the slight quiver in your own lips as your heart clenches with a desire to be loved in his stead.

“you know, woo, i’ve watched basically all of your past games including the quarterfinals from last year. but if i were to compare it to today’s game, it was as if two completely different teams were playing. your team was alive today–a truly united team where every member is the driving force behind each other’s passion for the game. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again.

“yes, the trophy and the championship title is coveted but it is not what truly matters to them and neither to you. it wasn’t the actual win itself that you wanted today, but being able to win for them. and if your boys were to pick between winning without you and losing with you, i’m pretty sure you know better than i do what their immediate choice would be.”

should the other boys be here right now, they would instantly berate your ears off for even suggesting the first option. the thought flickers through wooyoung’s mind too and the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly.

still, he apprehensively confirms, “...no one is angry at me?”

“no,” you reply, voice soft, “not at all. but we are worried.”

you are reminded of the weight in the pocket of your jacket. pulling it out, you present the ice pack to wooyoung. “look, san told me to give this to you.”

his fingertips brush against your palm when he reaches out, hand hovering over the ice pack as if he does not dare to touch it. “san did?” he whispers.

when you nod, the final confirmation that he needs that nobody–you included–harbours ill feelings for him and his actions, he allows himself to take the ice pack. allows himself to love himself.

“you need to take care of your body,” you fondly chastise, lightening the atmosphere. “did coach cho not drill into you that as an athlete, your body is your most valuable asset? if you thought he was bad, he’s going to seem like an angel when i’m through with you. you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.”

wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response.

no longer does he have to carry this burden alone because you are there for him now. but you know that you are not the only one who can be there for wooyoung. the dynamic between the boys runs past mere teammates and from what you have noticed, quite possibly even friends.

tentatively, you suggest, “maybe this is something you should tell the others about. that way you can truly let things go.”

his gaze wavers at the idea as he looks at you. yet, the miniscule smile and encouraging nod you give him fills him with tranquillity. perhaps it is time to let go, but the only way he can truly do that is if he is honest to the boys about his feelings–if he is honest to himself.

“okay,” he breathes out softly.

you grace him with another beat of silence before you stand up, extending your hand out to him. “let’s go.”

wooyoung takes your offered hand and lets you pull him up to his feet. he does not know if it is intentional, but the slight squeeze you give him right before your hand lets go of his fills him with warmth. the feeling stays with him even when he activates the ice pack as you two walk back to the locker room.

right at the doorway where the rest of the team is behind, you stop. you place your hand on wooyoung’s back, whose brows are starting to furrow in confusion. “i’ll be waiting out here. take your time,” you tell him.

“thank you, coach,” wooyoung returns your soft smile.

before you can think better of it, you reply, “i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement, waiting for him to walk through the threshold before you close the door behind him.

the first few months you had coached the red devils, mistrust had been in the shape of private conversations that deliberately excluded you. but now, trust is in the conversations that you know you do not need to be a part of. so you simply lean against the wall and wait.

and when they emerge from the locker room half an hour later, you know you have made the right decision upon seeing their eased expressions and relaxed shoulders. the air is still sombre, their defeat in the semifinals still fresh at the forefront of everybody’s minds, but what matters now is that they will face the loss together–the eight of them and you.

“here you go.”

hongjoong hands you your bag so that you do not have to go back in to grab it. you take it graciously from him, then with him by your side, you two lead the group through the arena–past the gazes and whispers that follow your group–and out to the team’s bus.

first to load his kit bag, yeosang takes his usual seat towards the front and waits. he has long developed the habit of placing his backpack under the seat in front of him instead of beside him. as the bus starts to pull away once all the bags are properly stored, you wordlessly take the seat next to him. your knees intermittently brush up against each other with the slight sway of the bus, but neither one of you make a move to shift your legs away.

you and yeosang watch the outside world whirl by the window, just like you always do. except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced.

a brief movement below your line of vision causes you to glance down. it is yeosang’s hand, palm upturned with a silent invitation of solace. you slide your fingers into his, an extension of the comfort you wish to give to them, and them to you.

what you and the boys do not realise, though, is that your flowers have simply bloomed elsewhere.

your jaw drops in sync with the last of the heavy suitcases that seonghwa rests on the floor outside their apartment complex. the amount of his luggage is easily equivalent to at least half the team’s.

“these are all yours?” you confirm.

seonghwa looks at you strangely, “of course. why?”

you look at him strangely. “are you planning on moving? why did you pack enough for a trip around the world?”

“well somebody didn’t want to tell us where we were going, so i had to make sure i was prepared for wherever our destination would be.”

“it’s called a surprise for a reason,” you shake your head, “and i did tell you to pack for cold weather, didn’t i?”

seonghwa fakes offence, scoffing, “can i remind you that it is still spring here, so my apologies for assuming that it might potentially mean we are travelling overseas.”

“you’re such a worrywart, you old fart,” wooyoung teases, circling around the older on his rideable suitcase.

seonghwa yelps when the wheels nearly run over his toes and he threatens, “next time you wet through your entire pack of underwear, don’t come crawling and begging for my spares.”

the suitcase halts indignantly to a stop with its rider. “that was one time,” wooyoung complains, “and it wasn’t even my fault!”

“it wasn’t even my fault,” seonghwa mocks. “i told you not to put your shampoo in a ziplock bag but no, you said that it would be fine.”

wooyoung sticks his index finger up. “correction, hongjoong said that it would be fine.”

“what the fuck, wooyoung,” hongjoong blanches at the sudden disclosure.

“and that’s exactly where you are at fault,” seonghwa cocks his eyebrow at wooyoung. “why would you listen to him?”

“what the fuck, seonghwa. i’m your captain,” hongjoong scowls.

“only during games.”

when you make eye contact with san, the two of you can only sigh with amused resignation. the rest of the boys shake their heads and proceed to load their luggage onto the bus, leaving the trio to feud it out in the background.

as mingi stacks his luggage beside yunho’s, he turns to ask, “are you sure we don’t need our kits?”

“you all brought your skates and sticks with you?” you question in return. when mingi and yunho nod, you reassure them, “then that’s all you need.”

jongho pipes up from beside you, “but what about training?”

“mental training,” you simply grin before hopping up the stairs to sit beside yeosang.

the boys gradually take their seats, even wooyoung and the two oldest despite their continued bickering. somebody yells out over the commotion, “coach! are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”

you peer backwards over the top of your seat to find everyone’s eager eyes on you. “nope,” you snicker, “you’ll find out when we get there. we are going on a holiday though, i’ll tell you that much.”

there is a surge of excitement at your confirmation and a similar fluttering eagerness flits through you, except yours is because you cannot wait to see their reactions. you really hope that the next two weeks will help to reset the team’s morale and give them a much-needed break.

“kq let us go on holiday?” yeosang asks with an impressed look as you settle back in your seat.

you give him a proud smirk. “i’m pretty convincing when i want to be. plus, we just had playoffs and we would all benefit from the rest. what better time to do that than at the start of the off-season?”

“there is no better time.”

“exactly.”

and so the bus starts the four-hour drive towards what the boys will soon come to realise is a team retreat. mingi connects his phone to the bluetooth, in charge of shuffling the music that blasts through the speakers, turning the atmosphere of the bus into a lively concert once it becomes obvious that it is going to be a long trip.

you have to yell over their deafening singing–which you have to admit actually sounds quite impressive–numerous times for them to sit their asses down, their enthusiasm uncontainable by the seat belts and law regulations. but they look their age, free and untroubled; just a group of boys up to their silly antics with one another, so you cannot bring yourself to truly regulate them.

the bus drives on, making a rest stop at one of the service areas along the highway so that you can stretch your legs in fresh air, use the restrooms and most importantly–

“food!”

their hollers resound before the doors of the bus even open. the second that the gap is large enough to fit one of them through, most of the boys go sprinting off like a stampede of toddlers in the direction of the food court.

wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”

“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.”

you laugh brightly as you are jostled around and you pull a card out of your back pocket, holding it up like a golden ticket. you waggle your brows playfully, “it’s on the company card.”

both wooyoung and yunho freeze. their eyes instantaneously start to glimmer, faces radiating when they slowly look at each other. then before you can react, they pounce on you, linking their arm through yours on either side of you and dragging you along to catch up with the rest of the team.

“buy whatever you want!” wooyoung brags and waves the card that he has seized off of you, “it’s on me!”

the service area itself is a field trip as the eight boys cause carnage throughout, except the destruction is in the number of times they swipe the company card. their hands quickly fill with rice cakes and fish skewers, corn dogs and grilled squid, more bags of walnut pastries and roasted potatoes tucked safely under their elbows. they demolish the snacks at the same rate it takes for the next ones to be prepared and the card is tossed around to keep up with their purchases.

they do not forget about the drinks either, getting iced americanos and barley tea to go along with their snacks, and banana milk and soda for the next leg of the trip. whatever catches their eyes–basically everything they lay their eyes upon–they buy. you do have to draw the line at daytime drinking though, narrowing your eyes at the cases of beer jongho and yunho try to pick up until they sheepishly put them back.

(you also end up having to purchase motion sickness tablets because seonghwa and mingi gorge themselves so full on snacks that they are queasy before they even make it back on the bus. kq’s president sends you a text too, asking just what exactly you and the boys have bought to rack up almost forty consecutive purchases at a service area. but the subsequent message asking if they are enjoying themselves tells you that his question is all in good fun.)

their energy mellows out during the last hour of the trip, both from tiring themselves out and from the gradual change in the scenery outside the windows. no longer can you see an endless mirage of highway road and open fields.

as the miles build up the further you travel, it leads deeper into a mountainous woodland with the trees growing denser and thicker around you. the narrower road winds around the base of hills and the bus driver carefully navigates the undisturbed peace of the forest. it starts to get colder and when the branches of the trees gradually dress themselves in dappled layers of snow, more of you shoulder on the thick coats and puffer jackets you had told them to bring.

the bus eventually arrives at a clearing amongst the pine trees, revealing a large but welcoming cottage pension. its wooden exterior and sloped roof gives it a distinctly cosy and rustic look, with large glass doors spanning the entire height of the walls that will let you admire the surrounding mountainous beauty from inside. off to the side of the cottage, there is a sizeable lake that has frozen over and immediately, you know that this was the perfect place to choose.

the boys press their faces against the window to get a better look as the bus pulls up beside the accommodation. “woah,” they breathe out, their exhales fogging up the glass.

they follow you off the bus in a trance, mouths open and unable to peel their eyes away lest they waste even a second to drink up the sight before them. here, in the heart of the taebaek mountains, it is still a winter wonderland despite the spring blossoms that cover the rest of seoul.

you turn to face them, walking backwards slowly and spreading your arms out with fond tenderness. “welcome to your home for the next two weeks, boys.”

even though it is simply an illusion created by taebaek’s geographical location and mountainous terrain, this time you find yourself appreciating the coldness and bareness of the winter-like ambience that cocoons you and your boys. it is as if time has stopped and there are no worries…only time to heal and start afresh.

living together, even if just for a holiday, is different.

you are used to only seeing the team in their training clothes, practice jerseys or bulked up in their padded gear and uniform. but here, the boys wear lounging sweatpants and worn hoodies, hair soft and poking into their eyes, bodies and expressions unguarded as they laze around. and where you are used to only seeing them at training, meetings and games, all rigorously scheduled and planned, there are no expectations to follow and no limits as to when you see them here.

the boys have their own organised chaoticness to their daily routines, having been living together for almost seven years now, and it seamlessly integrates into the space of the cottage too. but what truly surprises you and them is how you naturally blend into it.

when you rented the pension, you had ensured there were at least three bathrooms to accommodate all nine of you. however, you quickly discover that numbers mean nothing because the boys are incapable of staggering their morning and nightly bathroom routines one by one like you had assumed they would. you also realise that it is not that they are incapable, but that they like and want to do everything together.

space within a room holds no meaning to them and they are perfectly content to stand pressed up against each other’s sides, expertly dodging elbows and leaning over one another to reach for their toothbrushes or skincare. after that first night, you wake up in the morning and patter off in search for the least cramped bathroom to wriggle yourself into, up to three of you sharing the large sink and mirror that now looks comparatively tiny as you brush your teeth together.

more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into.

“we make the perfect ratio as the two tallest plus you as the shortest,” mingi likes to rationalise, “so it averages out perfectly with three boys in each of the other bathrooms.”

“but san’s shoulders are basically the equivalent of two grown men, so your point is invalid no matter how we divide ourselves up,” you like to argue back.

except they refuse to see reason. instead, yunho raises the volume of the speaker he has set on the sink’s counter that blasts out music to playfully drown you out. you relent every time and it turns into goofy dancing from the three of you as you pull silly expressions at one another in the mirror. when you rinse your mouth, mingi will start a gargling competition without fail, but none of you have lasted for more than three seconds before you begin to choke with laughter.

(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.)

seonghwa shakes his head whenever he passes the bathroom, insisting, “the only thing you guys are missing is a disco ball.” he is definitely not jealous of the fun you three are having. not at all.

the eldest has his own routine though, visible in the way he prepares everybody’s cups of coffee in the morning. they are all made differently according to individual preferences; no sugar, double shots, a dash of milk, brown sugar, matcha powder or decaf. and despite the fact that yeosang is usually up the earliest, seonghwa does not allow him to make his own coffee.

seonghwa claims it is because nobody knows how to properly use the drip brewer, but yeosang sits next to you and murmurs into your ear, “he just won’t admit that he likes to make them for us.” it must be the chill of the morning, but yeosang’s warm, whispery voice always sends goosebumps over your arms.

by the second morning, seonghwa finds himself naturally grabbing an extra cup and the hot surprise greets you with one and a half teaspoons of sugar in it, just how you like it. hongjoong emerges from the bathroom moments later to grab his cup and as he takes a careful sip, his eyes flit over the remaining cups on the table. seonghwa can practically hear the numbers ticking up in his head.

“y/n already took hers,” he verbalises, beckoning with his chin.

hongjoong turns around in the same direction to see you curled up on the sofa next to jongho and yeosang, your feet tucked comfortably underneath you as you lean forward out of curiosity to take a sip of jongho’s americano. when your expression scrunches up from the shock of bitterness, jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction.

“oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.”

seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.”

hongjoong does not peel his gaze away from the three of you all cosied up on the couch. “you’re right, they’re both goners,” he hums absentmindedly, not at all registering who exactly it is who is being referred to.

(the true answer is that there are more than three of them.)

you discover that wooyoung is usually in charge of cooking, but in return, everybody else gets up to clear and wash the dishes the moment the last pair of chopsticks is placed down on the table. that is the only time they are allowed into the kitchen because they are apparently all walking hazards.

but when wooyoung realises you can actually handle a knife without giving him grey hairs from watching, the two of you easily divide the roles and tasks between yourselves. like a waltzing dance, you move together in the kitchen to prepare the meals. he passes you the spices in the overhead cabinets before you ask and you close the fridge when he takes out a pack of meat or vegetables.

cooking with wooyoung is never without bickering. he does not let you hear the end of the time you bump your head on the edge of the counter when you try to grab a saucepan from underneath, or the time you squeal after the oil starts to splatter from the onions. but if that is the reason why he starts to subtly move his hand to cushion the edges of the counters when you bend down to find something, or why he chooses to do the stirring and frying while you slice, then he pretends it is merely coincidence.

san never strays far away from the kitchen whenever you and wooyoung are cooking. you have noticed that they do not really ever stray apart–none of the boys do, though. wooyoung talks as you and san listen and the latter does not stop smiling as he watches wooyoung multitask. what you do not realise is the countless times you have forgotten to keep cooking because you are watching him too with the same expression that san wears.

(the rest of the boys realise and they also see the way san and wooyoung will pause to gaze at you.)

when you two have mostly finished cooking and it is simply a matter of waiting for the sauce to simmer or the soup to boil, you find that wooyoung will take his seat next to san on the barstools at the island, knees and thighs touching as he continues the conversation. you gravitate towards them the first time before catching yourself, cautious that you may be intruding, but then san gives you a dimpled smile and beckons for you to come and sit by his other side.

san likes to keep a gentle hand resting on wooyoung’s knee as he talks. when he does the same thing to you without even looking, your lungs stop working for a minute. the only thought that consumes your mind is the warm sensation of san’s thumb soothingly running back and forth across your skin. you do not want him to stop, so you stay still in hopes that he continues. you are pretty sure san does not even consciously realise he is doing it.

(san does, and he is glad you do not move away.)

in the hours after dinner and before you all head off to sleep, you pile the thick blankets into the open living room and squish yourselves on the least number of couches as possible. again, space holds no meaning when you are with the boys and you find the press of yeosang and hongjoong’s skin against your own more natural there than not.

sometimes you watch movies together, other times talking with low voices as the hours tick by, and other times where you are all doing your own things but in the presence of one another. regardless, the nine of you stay cuddled in front of the fireplace with the warm glow of the fire and the light dreamy flutter of snow outside the windows.

yeosang tenderly tucks the blankets up around mingi’s shoulders when he falls asleep before turning to you on his other side. “are you warm enough?” he softly asks. and even though you say you are, he still tucks the edges of your blanket under your chin, nestling you safely within the blanket, hongjoong’s side and his own body.

the boys are naturally affectionate with one another and seeing the close dynamic of their…friendship so intimately in the environment of the retreat reminds you once more of the possibility that their relationship may run deeper than they let on.

(but when that affection extends to you, you wonder what exactly that may mean for your own relationship with the boys.)

and so living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. it is different when they are the first sight to greet you when you wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and voice still husky from fatigue as they murmur good mornings to you, and your cheeks start to glow with rosiness.

it is different when the decisions you make together are not about a change in formation or a defensive power play, but what to make for dinner and what movie you want to watch afterwards, and it makes you begin to wonder what other mundane decisions you want to make with them. it is different when they wrap you in their embrace–eight consecutive hugs–to bid you goodnight, and it takes you longer to fall asleep because you toss restlessly in your bed as their smiles replay in your head.

being on the retreat together is strangely domestic and homelike. but it has been almost nine months since you have started coaching the boys and thus seeing them every day for countless hours on end. so really, this trip should not change anything.

and yet, it feels like everything is changing.

jongho pays no mind to the conversation that is happening around him. last he heard, half of you are wanting to go out to skate on the lake before the sun sets and the other half are wanting to finish the halli galli championship you had started the night prior.

he is happy to do either but his mind is distracted by something else. as the screen of his phone lights up, jongho’s eyes flicker down and he puts his hand over the glowing display before anybody can see the caller id. you glance at him when you catch the movement in the corner of your peripheral vision, only to look away when yunho calls out your name to see which of the two options you would prefer.

the screen goes black as the call goes unanswered. seconds later, it lights up briefly with a notification.

pick up.

then the caller id shows up again. jongho grabs his phone and mumbles to nobody in particular, “going to grab something from my room.”

closing the door to the room that he is sharing with hongjoong in the pension, jongho sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. whilst he has no qualms ignoring their messages now, he still finds it difficult to do the same to their phone calls. he finds his resolve weakening as he watches his phone ring for the third time within minutes.

so jongho picks up. “mother,” he greets stiffly.

she scoffs scathingly, “you finally decided to pick up.”

“i’ve been busy with the playoffs.” a half lie.

“busy? busy losing, you mean,” his mother ridicules. jongho is taken aback by the fact that she is aware, since he did not tell his family. it makes sense when she berates, “do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out from your aunt? she told me to congratulate you for making it into the semifinals–the semifinals, jongho.”

he feels a heat of shame at what she is insinuating. jongho defends, “that’s still the top four out of seventy six teams.”

“nobody cares,” she turns her nose up. “it does not matter if you came fourth, second or last–unless you win first place, the result is not worth anything. our entire family has a legacy of achievements and your younger brother even has an olympic gold medal now. but what have you done? this is a mere national competition and yet you are incapable of making it into the finals.”

“jong–” his name dies on the tip of your tongue and your hand stops before you can knock on the door when you hear jongho’s muffled voice.

the boys had finally decided to grab their skates so you had come to get jongho to join everybody outside. realising he is talking to somebody, you are about to turn away and give him some privacy, but the words you hear make you freeze. 

it is not the conversation itself that you overhear; it is the wounded tone of jongho’s voice that makes it impossible for you to walk away. your feet stay rooted to the spot, in fact, wanting to enter the room. you have not heard jongho in such great affliction before, not even when he was consoling the boys with tears in his own eyes after their crushing defeat in the playoffs. 

“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.

he has lived his entire life being told that he is not good enough–constantly compared to the accomplishments of his family, particularly those of his younger brother. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person.

his mother is silent and for a brief moment, jongho thinks that she may finally see some sense in his words…only for her to unfeelingly state, “when they are worth celebrating.” with a simple, “do better,” she hangs up on him.

jongho’s hand falls limply into his lap, phone slipping out of his lax fingers with a dull thud to the ground. he wants to swear. he wants to cry. he wants to throw his phone against the wall until the screen shatters. but jongho simply leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, the crushing weight of dejection forcing his lungs to exhale shakily.

there is a faint, timid knock on the door. he knows who it is immediately–only one person would knock so softly. “come in,” he answers listlessly, because he could never bring himself to ignore you no matter his own feelings.

the door cracks open to reveal your tentative figure and you slip through the opening. from the way your lips are pulled down, eyes rounded with concern, jongho knows that you have connected enough dots to understand the context of the phone call.

you approach the bed and try to ignore how small the boy in front of you looks with his shoulders hunched inwards on themselves. jongho has always appeared as the most collected and composed, even more so than the captain, and it makes your chest tight to realise he has simply been hiding this whole time.

jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.

he presses his face into the soft warmth of your stomach. the darkness welcomes him with safety and comfort and he lets out a stuttering breath that racks his entire body. you wrap one arm around his shoulders and cradle the back of his head with your other, your fingers tenderly caressing his hair in soothing motions.

although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.”

and they are the words he has been wanting to hear his entire life. unable to keep it together any longer, jongho breaks down in your arms with tearful sobs and allows himself to grieve for the acknowledgement he has yearned his entire life and never received. however, it will only be for tonight because he has realised that it is futile to chase after recognition from a person who refuses to see his worth, even if that person is his own family.

there will always be other people who can see his actual worth; the same people who will still love him even if he does not have a gold trophy to call his. for him, those people are his seven boys and you.

so he stays in your arms with you wrapped around him, time lost to the two of you. he cries until he has no tears left and you tilt your head upwards to stop the flow of your own tears before they can drip down onto the crown of his head. and outside the bedroom, hongjoong quietly eases the door shut to give you both some privacy.

you do not know how much time has passed when you finally step out. jongho has fallen asleep after you tucked him under his covers, exhausted. heading towards your room to change out of your shirt, you are startled by the sight of hongjoong lingering near the door.

“you didn’t go out with the boys?

he shakes his head, then conscious of where you two are standing, he gestures inside your room and follows you in. “is jongho okay?” hongjoong asks.

“i think so…he’s sleeping now but probably just needs a bit more time,” you sigh, “i just wish i could do more for him.”

hongjoong reassures, “you are already doing so much more than you realise.”

for jongho. for wooyoung. for all of them. comfort has never been about the words or actions, but the person who is by their side, and for the boys, having you there is already enough.

“really?” you worry.

“yes, really.”

before he realises what he is doing, hongjoong reaches out to gingerly cup the side of your face to thumb away the worry in your brows. “y/n, you take care of us all the time…but who takes care of you?” he whispers.

“i’m your coach, of course i–”

“no,” he interrupts. “you aren’t just our coach and from what i have seen, you aren’t just our friend either. unless…” hongjoong hesitates, “unless i’ve been reading everything wrong, then in which case, tell me and i’ll move away.”

you do not reply. your eyes flicker back and forth between his, your heart racing and mind blank. it is true–they are not just your players and they are not just your friends either, but you are unsure about taking such a huge leap of faith and acting upon the feelings you have only just started to understand.

hongjoong takes your silence as encouragement to step even closer until he is right in front of you. he keeps his hand on your cheek, his other coming up to delicately cradle your waist. you are standing intimately enough for his warm breath to span across your cheeks as he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now.

“if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.”

as one of theirs.

you swallow and confirm, “are you all together?”

“yes, we’re dating each other,” hongjoong nods.

“but then why…” your voice trials off. why me, too?

hongjoong taps the tip of your nose and jokes lightly, “is there a capped limit as to how many people we are allowed to love?”

it pulls a giggle out of you and he smiles fondly as he reiterates, “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?”

for a moment you wonder what will happen to your professional relationship with the boys–what will happen if things do not work out or worse, if other people find out and report you all for it. but when you really think about it, you realise that the professionalism between you and the boys has long since blurred. 

you do not know if you can go back to seoul after this retreat and act like you do not want to continue living with them. most importantly, you do not want to know if you can. so you take the leap of faith and nod–you want to be theirs.

when you first met the red devils in autumn last year, you were resolved to win over them. never would you have expected that you would win them over in more ways than one…and be won over yourself.

“hi, girlfriend.”

seonghwa smacks the back of wooyoung’s head. “stop pressuring her,” he hisses as the younger cackles delightfully and strides away through the snow impressively fast considering he is wearing his skates.

“ignore him,” seonghwa turns to you, where you are sitting on the porch steps to the cottage. he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates.

“i can do it myself,” you start.

“i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to hide the shy smile that blooms across your face and when that fails, you duck your head down instead. ever since your talk with hongjoong the other day, the boys have been significantly more obvious and proactive with their displays of affection for you. however, you are pretty sure they had their own conversation when you were asleep or in the shower, because not one of them pressures you into something you are not ready for, even if that includes making your relationship official.

“there you go. is it too tight? too loose?” seonghwa taps your skates and you tell him they are perfect. taking his offered hand with an appreciative smile, he pulls you up to your feet and you go to join the rest of the boys on the frozen lake.

you are sure it feels the same for every single one of your boys–nothing can compare to that moment when you first step onto the ice. it is where you become a completely different person; a fish back in water, in control and at home.

it had been a gamble renting the cottage pension as you were unable to know whether the lake would be frozen over enough to allow for skating. but it is as if the heavens know not to separate you and your boys from the love and passion that your entire lives revolve around, because you are blessed to see them scrambling out to play on the frozen lake almost every single day, just like they are right now.

san spots you and seonghwa and beckons for you two to join. “hongjoong’s the tagger,” he calls out.

the captain stands at the other end of the lake, back facing everybody as he drawls, “green light…”

before hongjoong even starts to enunciate the first word, yunho, wooyoung and jongho have already pushed off their skates to advance. it sets off an immediate chorus of indignant shouts and desperate acceleration amongst everybody else to catch up. you laugh and seonghwa drags you along with him urgently, unable to stand your apparent nonchalance and uncompetitiveness.

but oh, how wrong he is. very quickly, you join the majority of the boys in a game of who can be the most sneaky with dirty play. wooyoung and mingi tussle with one another right as hongjoong turns around with his yell of ‘red light!’, trying to topple the other over so they get caught. jongho yanks on the back of seonghwa’s jacket whilst yeosang giggles and joins in to yank on jongho’s, effectively preventing all three of them from advancing forward.

“let go of me, you brats!” seonghwa flails forward against the combined weight of the two boys but to no avail.

you use yunho’s height to your advantage and hide behind him, steadily creeping forward even when hongjoong has turned around to face you all. yunho quickly catches on and extends his hands backwards for you to latch onto. you are more than happy to let him do all the hard work skating you both towards the captain and you grin cheekily at the trio–still caught up in their self-induced tug-of-war–as you overtake them easily.

“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules.

“life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers, “san, you moved your mouth! go back.”

san gives an indignant cry, “favouritism, i say!” but, bless his heart, moves back to the starting line regardless. 

when yunho is almost towering over hongjoong, he cues you to get ready to escape by letting go of your hands. you pivot around and without waiting for anything else, you start to run away.

“gree–”

yunho tags hongjoong’s right shoulder before pushing off to the left so that he escapes the other’s immediate line of vision. except it means that the first person that hongjoong sees when he turns around is you.

an involuntary squeal escapes you when you hear the terrifying crispness of skates on ice right behind you followed by the captain’s arms snaking around your waist. “caught you, babe” he beams. hongjoong lifts you up with shit-eating smugness at your reaction–both at his close proximity and the pet name–spins you around for good measure, then sets you back down to chase after the others.

wooyoung skates in a wide arc to dodge the captain’s frenzied rampage, only to suddenly appear right beside you with the most telling glint in his sparkling eyes that he is up to mischief. he grins.

“wooyoung, no,” you warn.

he grabs you by the waist. “wooyoung, yes.”

wooyoung pushes off his skates with you in front of him at breakneck speed across the ice, bellowing at the top of his voice, “make way for the cripples!”

you scream the entire way to the end of the lake, hands clutching onto his like a lifeline as a colourful string of words flies out of your mouth. you think you black out for a second because when you open your eyes again, you are in a heaving tangle of arms and legs on the cushiony surface of powdery snow.

“oh, shit,” hongjoong winces.

the boys speed towards you and wooyoung, and yunho peers down at you on the ground with panicked concern in his eyes. “are you two okay?” he asks but when he sees that you are laughing, unrestrained and radiating joy, yunho relaxes and joins in with relief.

they–mainly seonghwa–fuss over you both enough to reassure themselves that there is not so much as a scratch or bruise, before mingi suggests playing a casual hockey game of five versus four. there are to be no goaltenders and san fashions makeshift goalposts by poking sticks into the snow on either ends of the lake.

the team splits into their usual arrangement when they are required to be in two groups; hongjoong, yunho, san and wooyoung; seonghwa, yeosang, mingi and jongho. normally, you would offer to be the honorary referee…but the boys have never been rough with you and you have confidence that you will not get hurt. so for the first time in years, you play.

it is far from a proper league game and it will never be enough to quench your thirst as a former athlete, but for now, gripping your stick on the ice in tandem with the others, you are content–you are alive.

like red light, green light, the game starts off fair and proper for a grand total of two minutes. then it becomes a circus of foul plays and increasingly creative methods of cheating as all sense of order is tossed out the window. yunho and san stand in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to handle the puck, whilst hongjoong and wooyoung flank your sides and use their sticks to block any attempts to steal the puck. as a shielded group of five, you all move up towards the goalposts like a formidable army tank.

in retaliation, jongho physically manhandles hongjoong out of the way, hugging him from behind with a vice grip that he swears not to let go. seonghwa, mingi and yeosang imitate him with similar displays of strength, turning the entire match into a childish scuffle of chaos and hysterics.

there are no proper rules, no proper gear and no proper stadium–only the bare minimum, yourselves and uncontainable laughter. it feels like you are kids again, little souls harbouring colossal dreams, running around on the fields with long branches and a pine cone you had found when you could not afford to go to a real rink.

it is like you have gone back in time to when all you knew about ice hockey from watching it on your television screen was that you had to get the puck into the goal. you and the boys are fresh, blank slates without a care in the world for the countless strategies and tactical plays that you have learned over the length of your careers.

without the pressures and routines of strict training regimes, you all reignite the very roots of your ardour and fervour for ice hockey. no longer is it about the scores and making it into the playoffs. no longer is it about winning the championships to gain the acknowledgement of other people. no longer is it about the trauma of betrayal, injury and defeat you have experienced.

playing is simply the thrill of skating liberally with no burdens across the ice. it is the feeling of thriving when your blade connects with the puck and sends vibrations up your arms. it is the rush of adrenaline as everyone moves in tandem with the same singular thought in your hearts–that you love ice hockey with your entire lives. and that in itself is already more than enough, even without a gold trophy and championship title to prove it to yourselves.

for the last five years, the boys have had the leaves of their trees forcibly plucked and removed–by family, by coaches, and by injuries…but now?

it is time for their flowers to bloom.

spring, 2025: playoffs

standing off to the side, you watch your boys listening attentively to the reporter who is conducting an interview with them. you have continued to stay out of the media spotlight where possible, not yet entirely comfortable standing in front of the cameras again, but your boys have quickly grown accustomed to media coverage ever since their popularity gained traction thanks to their undefeated streak in the regular season.

the interviewer glances down at her prompt card before asking, “so tell me, what has been a major contribution to your success this season? your team has made a name for yourselves as the undefeated champions so far–quite a contrast to how you started off last season.”

seonghwa laughs cordially with her. “we were getting used to a lot of changes last year so our teamwork and mentality wasn’t the best,” he admits. “our agency gave us some time off to recalibrate, which really helped us to focus on building ourselves–as individuals and as a team. i think we learnt to place our unconditional trust in one another and our coach. we still play with a dominantly offensive approach, but we’ve been adopting different playing styles and experimenting with them, so this relies heavily on believing in each other.”

yunho nods, gesturing for the microphone to add, “as cliche as it may sound, a huge part of our growth was also learning how to accept loss. this wasn’t just in the context of being defeated in the semifinals but in the wider lens of our past mistakes, relationships, and even situations that we could not change.

“it has been a tough journey for a lot of us over the last year, but we were lucky enough to have each other’s support,” yunho’s nostalgic smile reflects your own as you realise just how far both you and all of your boys have come. “once we were able to let go, it meant that we could enjoy our career for what it truly is–playing the sport of our dreams together, every day.”

the reporter’s ears perk up in interest at the segway to probe and she jumps on the opportunity to ask, “i am sure many of your fans have been curious for a long time. is there a special somebody who has supported you–or any of you–throughout your journey?”

yunho passes the microphone to the hand that has extended out to reach for it. it’s san this time, who has a charmingly confident persona that he takes on whenever he answers questions during interviews. good thing too, because their fans are going to need something to distract them from understanding the confession he is about to make.

“there is. we all do, actually,” his deep voice rolls off his tongue like butter. the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.”

off to the side, wooyoung sends a wink in your direction and you have to muffle a snort with your hand and divert your glance away. the structural framework of the stadium ceiling suddenly looks very interesting. san stands there incredibly smug at his joke that he knows nobody but you and the boys will pick up on.

by the time you tune back into the conversation, the reporter has moved onto the next question. “last year, you lost to the white tigers in the semifinals. how do you feel about facing them again later today?”

due to a spike in popularity, the korean ice hockey league had to divide its teams into two separate groups for the regular season matches this year. both the red devils and the white tigers had been placed in different groups and by some twist of fate, had ranked at the top and then seeded accordingly on either ends of the tournament brackets. now, your team faces theirs in the very last game of the season.

the finals.

“we’re quite excited, actually,” jongho responds. “we have been wanting to play against the white tigers again some day and i don’t think it gets any more fitting than meeting them in the finals. they have some incredible players but like seonghwa mentioned before, we’ve been working hard to adjust our playing style to suit the situation. our coach has put in a lot of effort to hone in on our strengths and weaknesses, so no matter what today’s outcome is, we’re confident that it won’t be an easy win for either team.”

“i am sure the finals is going to be a thrilling match. now, speaking of coaches,” the interviewer starts and you can see hongjoong’s hand twitching subtly at his side, ready to step in and deflect the question need be should it pertain to you.

she continues, “how does it feel to play against your former coach?”

yeosang and mingi frown, unable to neutralise the confusion on their faces. hongjoong smiles calmly, ultimately taking over the microphone as he apologises, “sorry, could you please elaborate your question?”

it is the interviewer’s turn to fluster slightly but she nods quickly, “you must not be aware, then.”

your eyes dart back and forth as you try to recall whether there is a crucial piece of information you have somehow missed or forgotten to tell the boys. the tone of her voice foreshadows something that makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“last year, the white tigers had a stand-in coach, so you probably did not know.” she says her next words carefully and despite the bustling movement that fills the entire stadium, you can hear the exact moment all of your hearts drop.

“the coach of the white tigers is coach yeon, your team’s former coach in 2018…and he’s here today.”

you are the first to rush back into their locker room. frantically, you grab the official guide that had been given to you by the ice hockey league prior to the start of the regular season from out of your bag. you flip through it, team profiles upon team profiles blending into a hazy blur of faces as you find the one you are trying to look for.

“y/n,” somebody gently murmurs from behind you but you do not register their call. you continue to flick through the pages and when you find the profile for the white tigers, you scan the top of the page for a certain name with a shaky finger.

head coach: yeon ha joon

“oh my god,” you breathe out, hands lowering to your sides and gaze wavering. how the fuck had you managed to miss it this entire time?

you are not the only one affected by the revelation. the change room is pervaded by unease and restlessness, and wooyoung paces back and forth despite hongjoong’s attempts to get him to sit down. hongjoong himself cannot even remember how he answered the question about coach yeon, only that he had somehow excused themselves not long after to cut the interview short.

“how is he still a coach?” seonghwa furrows his brows.

wooyoung stops pacing and your eyes are drawn to him when he suddenly blanches, “what if coach yeon is doing the opposite now and paying other teams to let his own team win?”

“no way–” “–i wouldn’t put it past him–” “–surely not?” the boys’ voices overlap at the speculation.

it is a valid speculation based on what they have told you in the past about coach yeon. however, you stay quiet, suddenly aware of the fact that it is not something that would favour you should it be true. you gnaw the inside of your cheek because as much as you know that your boys would not suspect you, you still worry that doubt may cross their minds at one point, even if only briefly.

“unless the money he offered every single time was equivalent to the prize money, it’s highly unlikely the teams would have all accepted, right?” jongho points out.

yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”

the way everybody immediately agrees expels some of the anxiety within you, filling you with reassurance and security that starts to relax your chest instead. wooyoung chooses that moment to finally sit down on the bench beside you. he adds, “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.”

san chucks a water bottle at him. despite yourself, you laugh and admit, “that is…strangely comforting.”

“see,” wooyoung triumphantly boots the bottle back at the older. “she gets it.”

seonghwa intercepts the pitiful bottle before it becomes weaponised and sets it down next to him. “she wouldn’t accept the money in the first place.”

“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions.

yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”

“and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion.

it is quiet in the locker room. the coach of the white tigers is indeed coach yeon…and so what? what exactly about the revelation has pushed you all to the edge of the cliff?

mingi cocks his head. “what i’m trying to say is, does it make any difference whether he is their coach or not? think about it–regardless of how he got his team to the finals, he has no unfair advantage over us. there’s no way that he has bribed a fixed win in the finals, and he has no access to any insider knowledge that could jeopardise our tactics and plays.

“the only leverage that he ‘has’ is a psychological advantage–if we can even call it that. but we’re not the same boys who were too naive and powerless to do anything about it six years ago. if anything, we can easily turn this to work in our favour because i don’t know about you guys, but i’m ready to drag his ass through the mud. what we said earlier about not caring for today’s outcome? nah, fuck that. we’re going to fuck him up and show him that he messed with the wrong people.”

he takes everybody’s silence as misunderstanding of his last statement and he hurriedly clarifies there is no violent intent, “by winning. fairly.”

“damn,” jongho whistles. “you’re onto something for once.”

mingi clambers over seonghwa’s legs to grab the forgotten bottle and it goes flying across the room with violent intent. “dude, what the fuck,” mingi grouses.

the dull thud that resounds when jongho holds san’s leg pad up to block the projectile is enough to shift the mood in the room entirely. you finally relax into hongjoong’s side and he moulds you closer to him with the arm that he snakes around your waist as you both watch the locker room erupt into familiar pre-game mayhem.

yunho immediately scoops up the bottle and pitches it again. san stands to the side worrying over his poor leg pads as jongho uses them to bat the makeshift ball. his impressive accuracy makes you wonder whether they would have made it just as big as they are now had they formed a baseball team instead, but then yeosang narrowly dodges the bottle before it gives him a black eye, wooyoung cackles in the background, and you think better of it.

seonghwa joins you both on the bench and amongst all of the mischievous chaos and raucous laughter, you feel at peace, your hands clasped tenderly in the hands of your two captains–in unity, trust and love. you affectionately squeeze their hands with unspoken conviction.

you know your boys are going to play well; you just have a good feeling.

the energy in the room spikes exponentially as you huddle together one final time before you walk out of the locker room, through the hallways and to the arena–one final time before you step out to the ice rink as the red devils, playing in the final match.

you and your boys stand in a circle as close as it is physically possible with their bulky pads and game jerseys that they wear so proudly. it is indiscernible where one of you starts and where another ends from how intimately you all press together. your huddle is a woven nexus of arms and your hearts pound as one entity.

everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. not a single one of your boys has made it this far without falling at least once, and the conscious thought makes your heart swell and your throat constrict with overwhelming emotion.

somehow, you manage to choke out, “i am so, so proud of all of you.”

yunho and seonghwa’s own eyes start to heat up with wetness. from your side, san kisses your temple with feather-like tenderness, “and we’re so proud of you. y/n, you have grown just as much as we have.”

“thank you for being our coach,” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from your other side, the tip of his nose softly nuzzling you.

wooyoung reaches out to thumb the round of your cheek, “and thank you for loving us when we found it difficult to love ourselves.”

you had always viewed your injury and career with anger, bitterness and anguish…but you have finally come to terms with it. in the process of healing, you have learnt to love yourself, love eight other people, and to be loved. you have had your golden days as an athlete and you are now living your golden days as a coach–

–the very coach of the red devils, your team of boys who are living through their golden days as athletes, and you are going to lead them to victory in the finals.

swiping at a tear that slips down your cheeks, you grin. “boys, let’s win this match and then,” you pause as you meet their determined gazes, their smiles wide with uncontainable excitement, the tension in the room electrifying and palpable.

“let’s go international.”

you may have all fallen before–as athletes, as coaches, as a team–but you will always stand back up together, because at the end of the day your dream is theirs and their dream is yours. and like autumn, the leaves fall for a reason; they must fall before the spring flowers can bloom to their full beauty.

and bloom your flowers have.

[seungcheollies-cake]

stay safe today. your wellbeing matters. you matter.

[seungcheollies-cake]

“did you know…”, you begin, tracing vernon’s neck as he hums in delight.

“know what?”, the vibration of his throat reaches your lips.

“they say that your moles mark the places your soulmate liked kissing you in your past life”, your words come out calmly, even though your heart is beating loudly inside your chest.

vernon chuckles, firmly wrapping an arm around your waist in a silent plea of ‘please, don’t stop’.

“that’s kinda cute.”

“it is”, you nod, breathing in his scent. “and i think it’s true, that would explain why you have so many moles on your neck.”

“do i?”

vernon pulls back a little, just enough to look you in the eyes. he tries not to focus on how red and plump your lips are right now.

“you do. one on the left side, one on the right side, and one on the back”, you say with a little smile, like you had his body memorized by now - which you did.

he smiles softly. “and you’re the one who did it?”

“i mean…”, you bite back a smug smile. “who else could have loved your neck in the past life as much as i do today?”

“no one”, he says in a heartbeat. “plus, you only have one soulmate.”

you lean forward to peck his lips, humming when he deepens the kiss.

“and that’s me?”, you whisper against his lips.

vernon laughs. his eyes are closed, and you melt in the way his thumb is caressing the skin of your waist underneath your shirt.

“you said it yourself”, he whispers back. “who else could it be?”

a/n: i am just a girl with a heavy crush on her bias, pls forgive me.

[seungcheollies-cake]

not according to plan | hjs

summary: your ex-fiance is getting married and everyone you know is going to be there. when he calls to ask if you're coming, you accidentally mention a boyfriend. which would be fine, if you weren't very single. thankfully your best friend comes through with the perfect solution when he sets you up with a friend of his. what could possibly go wrong?

pairing: joshua x f.reader genre: fake dating, strangers to friends to ?? | fluff, slight angst, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~22.1k notes/warnings: johnny suh as the ex-fiancee (sorry, he's not great in this), other idols born in '95 used as background characters, mentions of past cheating, food & alcohol, lots of "dates", reader is referenced as coming from a rich family, mention of being an escort (minus the sex?) smut warnings: making out, multiple smut scenes (kind of, it could be a continuation), multiple orgasms, teasing, they're both v obsessed with each other's bodies, protected sex, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), scratching/marking, squirting, overstimulation, use of lube, i think that's it (but let me know if it's not)

author's note: this fic is dedicated to the lovely @shuadotcom, i'm so sorry it took me literal months to finish fake dating!joshua but here we are anyway. i'm not sure how this one got so away from me either lmao. banner credit to the beautiful @wongyuseokie who (again) did this very last minute. thank you to @wonwussy & @kwanisms for the mid-fic beta. thank you to @wooahaeproductions, @horanghater, @cheolism, & @hannieween for listening to me talk about this and helping with things like petnames & dates.

taglist at the end (& join my permanent taglist here)

“It’s fine, it’s been years and I’m over it. Plus, I’ve been seeing someone anyway and he’s great. So I wasn’t ignoring your invite,” you say without a second thought. 

It’s just a stream of consciousness. The lie comes flying out of your mouth faster than your brain can process it. That’s exactly what it is, too. A lie. You’re not seeing anyone and haven’t been in a serious relationship since the person on the other end of the call broke your heart. 

“Oh, wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to…well, I didn’t know. My mom didn’t say anything when she said she had spoken to your mom about whether or not you were coming to the wedding,” Johnny says with a little bit of ramble. 

“You know how my mom can be, I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet,” you deflect. 

“I’m happy for you, then,” Johnny says. 

“Thanks, I’m happy for you, too,” you force out. Somehow, it doesn’t sound like the lie you know that it is.

“So, it’s not weird, then? I mean our moms are best friends, so the rest of your family is all going to be there. A lot of your friends will be there. I know you haven’t RSVP’d yet, but…” Johnny starts.

“Nope! Not weird at all,” you utter, hoping that your voice sounds even. “It’d be weirder if I wasn’t there, right?” 

“Probably, yeah,” Johnny says. “That’s great, though. Do you want me to mark you down as a yes? I can even add a plus-one, if you want to bring your partner.” 

“That’s so thoughtful, but I wouldn’t want to put you out. I know how expensive weddings can be,” you say and try to sound sincere.

“No, it’s no issue, actually. We have a few extra seats that we left just in case we forgot someone or didn’t know about someone’s partner,” Johnny presses. “So we’ll see you both there?”

“Yeah, you will,” you hurry out. This conversation needs to be over. 

It’s only an hour after hanging up with your ex-fiancee that your mom calls to tell you she can’t believe she had to hear it from Mrs. Suh that you’re dating someone. Which includes a whole lot of deflecting and promises about when she can meet this mystery man. Another twenty minutes after you hang up with your mom, you get a pointed text from your younger sister. The two of you haven’t ever been all that close, so she shouldn’t be surprised that you haven’t mentioned him. She made her side pretty clear when she maintained her friendship with Johnny’s new fiancée. That new fiancee, a close friend of your sisters, also just so happened to be the girl he cheated on you with. So, she can hardly expect to have a close sister bond. Yet, she seems oddly suspicious that she didn’t know you were seeing someone seriously. 

Your quiet Saturday afternoon turns into a full blown headache all thanks to one call from the asshole that you really thought you left in the past. Of course, now is the perfect time for him to pop back up. Now, when you’re even between any sort of casual sex. Now, when you don’t even have someone that you can call up to pretend to date you. This is going to be one of the worst calls that you have to make when you have to admit you made it all up, that you will absolutely not be showing your face at the wedding, and you will also be changing your name before moving away.

For now, you do the only thing that you can think of doing. You call the only person that can give you any perspective on this whole fucking disaster. 

“Well hello,” your best friend answers. 

“Jeonghan, I fucked up,” you say without preamble. 

“This is gonna be good,” he responds. 

“I just got off the phone with my mom,” you begin.

“What did she want?” he asks, knowing that it won’t be anything good.

“Well, you know, to talk about this new boyfriend of mine,” you continue.

“You haven’t dated anyone in forever,” Jeonghan chuckles. 

“Thank you for that,” you snark. “And then, of course, I get a text from my perfect sister wondering why she’s also just hearing about this boyfriend of mine.” 

“Why do your sister and your mom think you’re dating someone?” Jeonghan asks.

“Oh, well, you know. Johnny called today,” you offer.

“Fuck that guy,” Jeonghan interjects.

“He wanted to know why I hadn’t responded to his wedding invite and assumed it was awkward because I was single, so I told him I was seeing someone,” you finally finish.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jeonghan says into the silence and you can imagine his face.

“Right? My life is a fucking mess and now Johnny thinks that I’m bringing my boyfriend,” you groan.

“I’ll start planning the story for why you suddenly left town,” Jeonghan says. 

“For real, my life is over,” you whine.

“What are you gonna do?” Jeonghan asks softly. 

This is really why you called him. Jeonghan is a shithead, sometimes, and he can be a bit of a chaos demon. He also can be a bit of a schemer, especially when it comes to winning a game. But, he’s unfailingly kind and caring to the people he holds dear. He absolutely hates getting into any kind of real conflict with his friends. There’s that whole side to him that honestly wouldn’t hurt a fly and always has a way to comfort. That’s the side that you get now. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, voice just as quiet. “I’m just…I don’t want to let him win, you know?”

And Jeonghan does know. You’ve been friends since before you started dating Johnny. Even though he never liked him, Jeonghan supported you in your relationship. When Johnny proposed, he called your other friends and set up the best engagement party anyone could ask for. From the outside, nobody would ever know that he hated your partner. Honestly, he’s the best friend anyone in the world could ask for. 

Before he got around to setting up the bridal shower, which he’d been quietly planning for months, your whole world turned upside down. Johnny cheated, had been cheating awhile, actually, and Jeonghan was there to pick up the pieces. Somehow, he was the only one that seemed to make it better, probably because he didn’t want to act like things were okay when they weren’t. It was easy to cry in front of him, easy to be vulnerable, easy to just let the process play out so you could heal. Even though he never liked Johnny, he also didn’t say he told you so. This had never been something that crossed his mind. 

“Okay, you’re gonna hate it, but I have an idea,” Jeonghan says.

“Those are never comforting words coming from you,” slips out of your mouth.

“Usually I’d yell at you, but…” he trails off. 

“I swear, if you’re about to say that we pretend to be dating like some romcom, I will hang up the phone,” you warn.

“First of all, that’s rude, I’m a great boyfriend,” Jeonghan says. 

“I never said you weren’t, Hannie, you know I think you’re gorgeous,” you sigh. 

“That’s true, I am,” Jeonghan says through a laugh.

“But, I also know you remember what an unmitigated disaster it was when we fucked,” you point out, earning an even louder laugh. 

“Wow, and here I thought that it was actually great sex,” he says. 

“I’m not gonna keep stroking your ego, I already admitted you were gorgeous. I don’t need to praise the sex, too,” you declare.

“Stroking my…come on, you’re making it too easy,” Jeonghan points out.

“Funny, because I remember you being the easy one that night,” you say, finally managing to get a shot in.

“I hate you,” Jeonghan snorts. 

“I know,” you answer. “Didn’t you say that you had an idea?” 

Jeonghan clears his throat. “Right, yeah. Well, I know this guy and maybe he can help you out.” 

“What is he, an escort?” you snort out.

“Do you want my help or not?” Jeonghan asks.

“Yoon Jeonghan, are you about to set me up with an escort?” you challenge.

“No, of course not, just trust me,” he says.

Just trust me might be the three most terrifying words that could come out of Jeonghan’s mouth, especially when you’re not usually on the receiving end of his schemes. It’s not like you have much choice, though. The wedding is in six weeks and you have to find a solution, fast. So, what choice do you have other than trusting your best friend? How could this go wrong? 

You still think this is a terrible idea, yet agree to meet Jeonghan’s friend, Joshua, anyway. Apparently, he’s somewhat new to the area, doesn’t know many people, and is incredibly easy to be around. There’s no mention of why Jeonghan thinks he might be willing to pretend to be your boyfriend. A part of you wonders if your friend even told him, but he’s not that cruel. So, whatever the case, Joshua must at least have some idea of what he’s walking into. 

Several days pass between the nightmare of a call from Johnny and you actually meeting Joshua, which only adds to your anxiety about whether or not this is going to work. Johnny is asking for a name for the seating chart and for dinner selections. Your mom wants to know when they’ll be able to meet this new boyfriend before the wedding (because “meeting him for the first time at a wedding is gauche” and we wouldn’t want that). Your sister is convinced that he doesn’t actually exist since you haven’t posted him on social media. That you can at least answer to say that not everyone posts their entire life online like she does. It doesn’t seem to allay her suspicions, though. 

Then, there’s the fact that you’re actually meeting Joshua for the first time at dinner. All you wanted was to go for coffee, yet he insisted. You couldn’t exactly press the point. Not when you’re planning to ask this stranger to pretend to date you just so that you can avoid the embarrassment at your ex’s wedding. On top of that, because Jeonghan really is a demon at his core, you don’t know what Joshua looks like. Don’t know who to look for. Which leads to you doing the only sensible thing and showing up 5 minutes late for dinner, hoping that he’ll already be at the table when you get there.

It works.

When you give the reservation name at the host stand, you’re immediately led back to a table. Without even thinking about it, you smooth your hands down the front of your dress, looking for a small amount of comfort in this situation. It’s not even that you struggle around new people, this is just…well, it’s a lot. It’s out of anyone’s comfort zone. Whatever you’re expecting, it’s not the man sitting at the table the host leads you to. He nearly stops you in your tracks. 

His black hair is perfectly styled down to the pieces on one side that come down over his forehead. The black dress shirt he wears is open at least one button too many, but he makes the exposed chest look work in a way models would envy. Even though his pants are black as well, he makes it look classic and effortless, rather than too dark. That’s all without even acknowledging the soft smile on his face. This man would break a thousand hearts without even saying a damn word. While you’re appreciating him, you miss the way his eyes rake over you appreciatively. Miss the way his eyes trace your curves and the way the dress clings to you. 

In one fluid motion, he’s standing up to greet you, a gentle kiss placed on your cheek. Is it weird if your knees are a little weak? Well, even if it is, there’s nothing you can do. You’re completely captivated. 

“You must be Joshua,” you say. Brilliant, you think. That’s obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you. Jeonghan had nothing but good things to say,” he answers with another smile as he pulls your seat out for you. 

“I feel like he hardly told me about you,” you respond. Joshua raises a perfect eyebrow at that.

“Then why did you agree to go out with me?” Joshua asks. 

“Go out with…is this a date?” The question comes tumbling out. 

Joshua’s eyes widen in genuine confusion. “Is it not?” 

“What, exactly, did Jeonghan say to you?” 

A lot and nothing at all, it turns out. Joshua tells you about how he’s somewhat new to the area, which you knew. About how he met Jeonghan through work, kind of. They work in the same building doing very different things and happened to run into each other getting coffee a handful of times before Jeonghan introduced himself. The two had hung out several times, something Jeonghan had not really mentioned, and gotten to know each other over drinks more than once. The very first time, Jeonghan had mentioned you and Joshua admits immediately being intrigued without pressing for more information. 

In any case, Jeonghan talked about you pretty freely, a fact that’s hardly surprising. Before Joshua texted you, Jeonghan had mentioned, in what Joshua calls an offhand way, that you were sick of dating the same people. According to Joshua, through Jeonghan, you were looking to possibly be set up. (Read: Jeonghan thinks he’s crafty and isn’t going to come out and tell this man what you’re really looking for. Typical Jeonghan, honestly. You know that “offhand comment” was anything but. And you had the audacity to think Jeonghan would have to tell Joshua what he’s getting into. Rookie move.)

Now you’re in a bit of an awkward situation because this man is honestly gorgeous, one of the prettiest humans you’ve ever met. And, already, he seems like he might be sweet with a pretty good sense of humor. It’s just…well, you’re absolutely not looking for a relationship and this is the last person you want to get involved in your mess. Thankfully, you get a moment to catch your breath when someone comes by to take a drink order and suggest an appetizer. It’s just enough time for you to talk yourself into telling Joshua the real story.

To his credit, he only looks mildly surprised as you outline your whole situation, inform him that yes, Jeonghan does know all of this, and clarify why you didn’t actually realize it was a date. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes seem to sparkle a bit when you also admit that he’s absolutely stunning in a way that hurts your feelings. Easier to miss is the way his face barely falls when you say that you’re not actually looking for something right now. Interesting. 

“So that’s the whole thing and now that I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you, I’m sure you’ll understand if we never see each other after tonight,” you finish.

“How am I supposed to go to a wedding as your boyfriend in a matter of weeks if we don’t see each other after tonight?” Joshua wonders.

“I…what?” you sputter out. 

“Well, sure, we need to work out a few details, but I’m game,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just really confused?” You don’t even have food yet and this is already the most interesting date you’ve been on, possibly ever. 

“I, uh, may have left a part of my past out when I was sharing what Jeonghan knew about me,” Joshua says. “And honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it or that he did this. I’d be mad if I wasn’t so impressed by how crafty it was.” 

“I’m going to need you to connect some dots for me,” you admit. “Oh and also never tell Jeonghan you appreciate him being crafty. His ego is too big as it is.”

“The first time Jeonghan and I hung out, we went out for drinks, got a little wasted, and I told him about how I got through my university studies without any debts,” Joshua says, pausing long enough for someone to set the appetizer down. “He’s observant, Jeonghan, I’ll give him that. He noticed I had designer clothes, shoes, that kind of thing. And he noticed I didn’t pay attention to the prices of the drinks. So I made a vague comment about being lucky to have found a way through my studies without taking out loans.”

“I’m sure he asked you about that, he loves it when he thinks there’s a scheme,” you note with a smile.

“You’re right about that,” Joshua agrees. “So I, well I told him. When I was in school, I met this woman out one night and she paid me to go to events with her. She wanted, and these were her words, ‘someone young and hot’ with her. And the next four years, that’s what I did. I let people pay for me to go to events with them. Never more than that. I was clear that I wasn’t selling sex or anything, just company.” 

You lean back in your seat with an appraising look. “An entrepreneur from the beginning.” 

“Hey, no judgment,” Joshua says. All you can do is smile.

“I’m not judging, that was really smart and you’re obviously attractive enough for it,” you acknowledge.

“Thank you,” Joshua says. It doesn’t have the air of cockiness Jeonghan’s answer would. He actually seems sincere in accepting the compliment. 

“But, I’m still not going to pay you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” you say, even if it’s a bit reluctant. 

“I wasn’t asking you to,” Joshua shrugs. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“Why would you offer to pretend to do something like this? You don’t even know me,” you point out.

“No, I don’t. But, you seem like a good person. And I like Jeonghan, he’s nice…” Joshua says, stopping when you try to cover a scoff. 

“Nice?” you question when you’re caught.

“Wrong word choice,” Joshua dismisses. “He seems like the kind of person that’s a loyal friend, like he would go into battle to protect you. Like someone you can actually trust.”

“He is all of those things, yeah,” you admit.

“And if those things are true, then him holding you out as his best friend means you’re probably all of those things too,” Joshua reasons. 

“I try to be,” you agree. 

“Plus, Jeonghan did mention you had seriously dated someone that was pretty rich, so I figure it’s probably the guy getting married and it’ll be a nice wedding,” Joshua says with a smile. The joke is obvious by the look in his eyes.

“It’s interesting that he mentioned Johnny, that’s my ex, being rich,” you idly comment.

“Is he not?” Joshua wonders.

“Jeonghan is a lot of things, but he’d never lie to his friends,” you answer first. “So, yeah, he is. Well, his family is at least. His mom and mine run a lot of events together, like galas and shit. That’s how we all know each other.”

“Are you rich, too?” Joshua wonders. There’s that little twinkle of something in his eyes again, but there’s also sincerity.

“I’m still not paying you,” you retort.

“Fine,” Joshua agrees. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” 

There’s a weird world’s colliding feeling to having both Jeonghan and Joshua in your apartment. But, Jeonghan doesn’t like to be left out of things. Once you told him that you and Joshua both knew about his scheming, he offered to help in any way he could. Which is likely just so he’s included. You’ll take what you can get. Now, it means that he and Joshua are sitting on your couch, scrolling through pictures on Joshua’s phone to decide what to include in an instagram post. That’s the first step you and Joshua agreed on. If you’re going to sell this whole fake relationship, then your sister actually is right. There has to be some sort of proof of it online. Which also means that your post has to talk about how you’ve been keeping it quiet and just enjoying getting to know each other without any pressure. Jeonghan takes credit for that, even if you got there on your own. 

“I think I like this one,” Jeonghan says and turns the phone around to show you. 

“Why that one?” you ask. 

“Why not? Don’t you like it?” Joshua worries.

“I don’t know, I feel like my hand is doing something weird,” you point out.

“You look great,” Joshua assures you.

“Oh, ew, you’re not really dating,” Jeonghan complains. 

“You do know you’re going to have to stop saying that, right?” you ask.

“Maybe I didn’t know either,” Jeonghan shrugs.

“No, I’m with her, you’re her best friend and you definitely would’ve known,” Joshua agrees. 

“Why are you on her side already?” Jeonghan whines.

“Because she’s cool and she’s not the one who knew what I did in college and set me up,” Joshua says with a laugh. 

This is how it’s been going for the last hour. You’re not really much for putting a lot of effort into your posts, so this all feels like too much. But, you know that it’s important for it to feel real and it’s important to get it right. You’re honestly pretty happy to just let the guys take the lead and go with the flow of it all. There are going to be plenty of opportunities for you to take the lead. You’re going to take your breaks where you can. 

(That had also meant not putting up too much of a fight when Jeonghan told you to bring multiple outfits with you. Or when you had to change your hairstyle and makeup between the photos so it looked like they hadn’t all been taken the same day. Honestly, this was so much easier for Joshua. Then again, he’s the one doing you a favor. So maybe you can let him have it.)

After you finally get your couple pictures posted, and get a flurry of messages ranging from surprise to congratulations, you move onto preparing Joshua to meet your parents, your sister, and her husband. Jeonghan is actually a lot of help with that because he’s been around them a lot. Well, he’s helpful after he tries to scare Joshua about how intimidating it’s going to be only to give up when Joshua is unbothered. He’s so calm about everything that it’s actually kind of nice to be around. And he has no problem firing back at Jeonghan, which is really fun to watch. 

You go through what your parents are like, what they do both for work and as hobbies. Joshua perks up at the mention of your dad loving music and sometimes spending his weekends just exploring new venues. It seems like there might be more to that, though you don’t press when he waves it off. It’s different when you talk about your sister, two years younger and already married. Not that you’re dying to be married or even care that she got married before you. That’s always seemed like a weird societal expectation, anyway. What does it matter when anyone gets married? If it’s their right person, then it makes sense. You being upset over your failed engagement really doesn’t have anything to do with your sister’s marriage, despite her instance it does. 

It becomes obvious that you’re losing Jeonghan’s attention when you turn down his request to start playing games or watch a movie. It’s not that you don’t want to do those things, it’s just that you have a lot to cover in far less time than you realized. Sure, the wedding is still weeks away. What’s not weeks away is your first dinner with your family. That’s going to be around the corner. The least you could do, you figured, was plan a time before posting pictures on instagram. So, Jeonghan asks if it’s okay to leave and you almost sigh in relief. This will be easier without an extra person.

“Not to pry, but what’s the deal with you and Jeonghan?” Joshua asks when you settle back on the couch with a glass of wine. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I don’t know, I feel like I was picking up on something,” Joshua shrugs.

“We’re really just friends,” you assure him.

“Sometimes those are the best…” Joshua starts.

“Don’t,” you cut off. He worries for a second before he realizes you’re smiling. “We did try. Not so much a try, I guess, but we slept together maybe 6 months after Johnny and I broke it off and it just wasn’t it.” 

“You and him slept together?” Joshua questions.

“Is that weird for you?” you ask.

“No, it’s just interesting that you’re still so close,” Joshua observes.

“I guess,” you say with a shrug. “He’s great, obviously attractive, but we just, I don’t know. I didn’t feel anything. Neither did he. So, staying friends seemed like the right choice.”

“Interesting,” is all Joshua says. “Have you dated anyone seriously since Johnny?” 

“Not that seriously, no,” you admit. “I’ve gone on dates with different people and some of them stuck around for a bit, but nothing serious.” 

“Not finding the right people?” Joshua presses.

“I just haven’t found anyone that made me feel like Johnny did at the beginning or even like I did when he proposed,” you say. 

“I can understand that, even if I don’t really get it. You’re gorgeous, anyone would be lucky,” he says smoothly. You cover a blush with a slight eye roll. 

“I guess that’s why most of my close friends will also believe that I kept a new relationship on the low. They saw me post-Johnny and have seen me try to date,” you share.

“Yeah that’s good for us, at least,” Joshua agrees.

“What about you, though? When was your last relationship?” you ask.

“Ah, well it’s been a little over a year,” Joshua says. 

“Bad ending?” you wonder. You’re not sure why you press him on it.

“It wasn’t great,” Joshua says with a chuckle. “She, uh, well she decided that she just really would rather be with one of my friends than with me.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that,” you say, suddenly sorry.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he says. “She didn’t actually cheat on me, but she had started getting close to him and sharing everything with him.”

“Arguably worse, in my opinion. Emotional cheating is still a thing,” you say, trying to offer comfort. 

“Thank you,” Joshua says. His eyes are soft and full of care. “And, like you, I have dated since then, just nothing worth talking about.” 

It’s an easy transition from that into talking about your backgrounds. Like speed dating, except somehow more intense. You learn Joshua’s birthday, his parents names, that he’s an only child, and where he grew up. Nothing is too small and you joke about taking notes before you actually go to get a notebook. Joshua tells you his favorite color and his favorite food, tells you about his favorite memories, favorite places where he grew up, and favorite places he’s found since moving here. There’s a way that his face lights up when he talks about his friends that’s drawing you in. You tell him the same. That all feels a little surface level, which you point out. If this is going to work, it has to be deeper, more serious. 

That’s when something seems to almost break down. Joshua suggests that you tell each other the deep stuff, the things that you don’t always admit to someone you’re dating. Or, maybe you admit it and don’t get into the reasons why. When Joshua goes first and admits that he’s happiest when he’s playing his guitar, even if nobody else is listening, his whole face changes. It’s like a completely different version of him. He’s got an open face as it is, that hasn’t changed, but you realize maybe he’s a little guarded behind the smile as well. Maybe there really is more depth than he wants anyone to realize. Maybe this is going to be more interesting than you thought.

“Can I hear you play?” you ask. His face is adorable with his eyes full of surprise.

“You want to hear me play?” There’s an emotion you can’t place when he looks at you.

“I love music, too, Joshua,” you say softly. “I’d love to see what you’re passionate about.”

“Oh, well, I usually play at this acoustic night on Thursdays at a coffee shop downtown,” Joshua tells you.

“You do? That’s so cute!” you say before second guessing it. He looks away like he’s a little embarrassed and you worry for a split second.

“I’d love it if you came by,” he says.

“It’s a shame that we can’t say that’s where we met,” you admit.

“Wait, that would be a good idea, actually,” Joshua says and you smile. 

“It would be, but I also know events like that. It’s always a similar crowd so I’m sure someone will know that I’ve never been,” you reason. 

“Fair point,” Joshua concedes. 

“Why don’t we just say we met on a dating app?” you suggest and Joshua pulls up his face. “Okay, I know apps are lame and honestly, I don’t use them much. But, think about it. That’s the perfect reason why we didn’t bring it up until now, we didn’t want to answer the ‘where did you meet’ question by saying an app.” 

“Okay, yeah, I do actually like that because it’s easy and it doesn’t feel like a wild story,” Joshua says. 

“What about your parents?” you ask. “Do we need to make plans to meet them if you’re also posting about me?” 

“We can figure that out, but they live pretty far away so it would probably just be over FaceTime or something,” he says.

“I also understand if you don’t want to do that because we’re just pretending,” you suggest. 

“No, it’d be cool to have you meet them. Even if the relationship isn’t real, I’d like to be friends for real, so that’s not a total lie,” Joshua reasons. 

“I’d like to be friends too,” you agree. “How long have you been living here, now?” 

“Oh, um, like 8 months?” Joshua says like a question.

“I was figuring like a month or two with the way Jeonghan talks about you,” you laugh. 

“You’ve been friends with him for years, you’re not actually surprised,” Joshua points out. 

“Okay so now I guess we have to figure out when we started dating,” you comment.

“And everything else, but we can do it,” Joshua says. 

You’re a little nervous sitting on your couch waiting for Joshua to show up. Even though you offered to pick him up for dinner with your family tonight, he insisted on being the one to drive. Of course he’s right on time, which you’re already realizing is a trait of his. He’s even a gentleman when he opens the door for you, just like he pulled the chair out the first time you met for the date-not-date. As you put your seatbelt on, you notice that there are a few things in the backseat. 

“What’s all that?” you ask as he slides into the driver’s seat. 

“Flowers for your mom, a bottle of scotch for your dad, and a cheese board for your sister because you said they just moved and she likes to host,” Joshua lists off as if it’s nothing.

“You did not have to get things for all of them,” you point out. 

“Of course I did, but I also wanted to. I’m trying to make a good impression,” he says, making your heart a little light.

“That’s so kind,” you whisper out.

“Oh, I thought of something else,” Joshua shifts. You’re worried you made him uncomfortable until he speaks again. “Are you a pet name person in relationships?”

That makes you snort, something that would embarrass you in any other situation. It’s not the first time he’s heard it, though. “That depends on what you want to call me.”

“That’s a dangerous way to say that,” Joshua answers. His eyes are still on the road, yet you don’t miss the way he reacts.

“I don’t like overly cutesy names,” you say to diffuse a little bit of the moment. “Like, I don’t know, if you want to call me sugarplum or honeybunch or something like that, please don’t.”

“You’re just giving me ideas to take away my fun,” he pouts.

“Well, what were you thinking of calling me? Or are you even a pet name person?” you ask.

“I do like them,” Joshua says. “I’m not sure that I have a go-to or anything. For you, I might say angel or possibly darling.”

“I think I prefer angel, if I’m allowed to pick,” you say after a moment.

“Of course,” Joshua replies. Studying his face, you’re looking for a hint of mocking or insincerity, but there’s nothing to find. This is just him.

“Do you want me to use a pet name for you?” you wonder.

“I’d happily take one, no pressure, though,” he says. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” you tell him. “Something generic like babe doesn’t feel right.”

“Are you saying I’m special?” Now you can hear the light teasing in his voice. 

“I take it back, any more compliments are going to go to your head,” you huff out. 

As you get closer to your parents’ house, you start to bounce your knee with an excess of nervous energy. It’s not until Joshua reaches a hand out to take one of yours that you’re even sure you’re doing it. There’s something calming about it, though. Nothing about him reaching out feels like he’s trying to stop you, just show that you’re not alone in this. Which is more than welcome. The last person you brought to meet your parents was Johnny. Given how that ended and why Joshua is around in the first place, it’s not exactly the most comforting thought.

Once you pull up to their house, you take a deep breath. It’s only to settle your rising nerves, but it also serves to give Joshua enough time to come and open your door. Even though you’ve told him that he doesn’t need to be this sweet, he insists. Without saying a word, he holds out a hand to help you out of the car. Instead of dropping your hand once you’re out, he uses it to pull you into him and wraps his arms around you. There’s this immediate sense of comfort, like you have actually been dating for months. You inhale his cologne without meaning to, something warm and woodsy. 

“It’s going to be fine, parents love me,” he assures you when you pull away.

“I don’t doubt that,” you say, releasing the breath you were holding and your tension with it. 

“So come on, my little granola wrapper, let’s go,” Joshua says as he lets you go to get the gifts out of his backseat. 

It takes you a full few seconds to register what came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?” 

“Is that not the one?” he asks, eyes alight with some kind of mischief. 

“I’m not going to encourage this,” you huff.

“Whatever you say, jellybean,” he throws out casually. 

The second you step into the house, you see exactly what Joshua means. Your mother is fawning over him in a matter of seconds, your father is making plans to show him his records, your sister’s husband is asking when they can go out for drinks, and your sister even holds back the snark. All during the course of the pre-dinner drinks and largely, you think, due to the gifts that Joshua brought. He had a reason for the meaning behind the type of flowers for your mother, a favorite musician who swore by the scotch for your dad, and even bought the cheese board from a small business that customized things. 

Dinner comes along and you still feel like you’ve barely said anything with Joshua masterfully steering the conversation. He even makes it sound good that you met on an app, with his improvised story of wanting to meet people in a new city. According to him, he wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you and was done for the second he saw you sitting at dinner. It’s something real, that you met him for dinner the first time at a fancy downtown restaurant. And you realize you never actually asked what his impression was that first night. More than once, you catch yourself watching his profile as he talks to one of your family members. Everything about him is at ease and you wonder if it really is all fake. Not that you think anything about him is disingenuous, he’s just really good at making people like him. 

The only hiccup doesn’t come until your mother is pulling out dessert. According to your sister, she’s got an excellent pie in the refrigerator that you simply have to try. You’re about to say something when Joshua beats you to it. 

“I don’t think my little sugarplum likes fruit pies, but it sounds amazing and I’d love a piece,” Joshua interjects smoothly. 

Your sister nearly spits out her drink, whether it’s at the nickname or him speaking up for you, you’re not sure. In any other situation, you would scold him for the name, but you’re a little stunned he remembers you don’t like pie. It came up once in a rapid fire of likes and dislikes. 

“You’re right, she doesn’t,” your sister agrees. “I’d almost forgotten.” 

(That’s when you’re sure it was another of your sister’s tests. Trying to catch you in some kind of lie about your relationship. But, it doesn’t work and you feel a little victorious for that.)

The doorbell rings through the house and you look to your mother, silently asking if she’s expecting someone. It’s unusual for them to have company calling this late on a Friday night. It’s usually reserved for dinners with friends or family or galas. Unsurprisingly, your mother doesn’t seem to know who it could be, but disappears to answer the door all the same. When a voice drifts through from the hallway, you freeze on the spot.

“I really just came by to drop that off for my mom, I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d hate to intrude on dessert,” the guest says. 

“Nonsense, you’re not interrupting,” your mother insists. 

“I saw an unfamiliar car, so I figured you might have guests,” he says as they come through the doorway into the living area. 

Your heart stutters a little in your chest, feels heavier for seeing him. Somehow he looks taller and broader than the last time you saw him. He’s wearing his hair shorter and he looks more mature, somehow, like he’s seen so much more of the world than when you were together. Which is probably true, if you think about it. It’s been a couple years and that means he’s had more time working with his father. 

“That would be my car,” Joshua says, getting to his feet immediately and extending his hand. “I’m Joshua.” 

“Johnny,” he answers and shakes Joshua’s hand. Yet, his face looks a little tense and his eyes mostly stay on you. 

“It’s just family,” your mother shares, though Johnny can obviously see that himself, “since our darling daughter finally brought Joshua around to meet us.” 

“I’m glad she did, dinner was wonderful and the company was even better,” Joshua says with a smile at your mother. She nearly blushes at his compliment. 

“Oh, hush,” your mother says with a wave of her hand. “I was just getting some pie if you’d like to stay for a piece, Johnny. Although, I’d hate to keep you from home.”

Joshua sits back down next to you, a little closer than is strictly necessary, and puts his arm along the back of the couch behind you. You feel safe pressed up against his side like that. Johnny clears his throat when he looks away from the pair of you. “Gabby has been out of town all week, actually, so I’m going back to an empty home anyway. I’d love to stay for a piece of your famous cherry pie.” 

“Great!” your mother says and disappears off into the kitchen. 

“What’s got Gabby away?” your sister asks. 

“Just a conference,” Johnny answers. “There was a final banquet tonight and she’ll be home tomorrow.” 

“She’s busy, away this week, bachelorette next weekend,” she says offhand. 

“Keeping tabs on when everything is?” you ask of your sister. She looks at you like you’re crazy and Johnny looks awkward.

“No, I was invited to it,” your sister answers evenly. 

Before you can even answer, Joshua is speaking up. Probably sensing your discomfort. After all, you hadn’t gotten to tell him that Johnny’s fiance is friends with your younger sister. They had gone to school together and been close. Stealing her sister’s fiancée doesn’t seem to have impacted the friendship. 

“You must be excited with the big day getting so close,” Joshua says. He moves his arm from behind you so that he can take your hand on your thigh. It makes you look down at your hands before glancing at him, only to find his gaze on you already. It also means you miss the way Johnny follows the movement. 

“Uh, yeah, I mean, I’m definitely excited. It’s just been a lot of planning,” Johnny says. 

“I bet,” Joshua says. “Thank you so much for inviting me, I know how stressful changes can be.” 

“It’s no problem, I’m happy you’ll both be there,” Johnny says. 

With almost a practiced subtlety, Joshua squeezes your hand. There’s so much in that one movement. A reassurance, a reminder to breathe, a reminder that he’s there, a promise that everything is going to be okay. Your heart hurts seeing Johnny sitting in the living room so casually as if nothing happened, but it doesn’t hurt as much as you expected. Maybe that has something to do with this impossibly kind, completely idiotic person next to you. You also can’t help the way your gaze lands on him. Just in profile, at first, before he senses your look and turns to you with a dazzling smile. It’s like there’s nobody else in the world but the two of you.

The conversation shifts slightly when your mother comes back in with a tray full of pie slices and your father comes back with whatever record he was looking for to show Joshua. Just like that, you survive your first in-person interaction with Johnny. Actually come out of it feeling like you might be able to handle this. The smile you send Joshua while he’s eating his pie is so fond that you’re not even sure who you are. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night,” Jeonghan says in lieu of a hello.

“Hello to you too, I’m good, thanks for asking,” you retort.

“Greetings are for people who remember their best friends, not for people who send a single sentence recap after bringing their fake boyfriend home to meet the family,” Jeonghan states immediately.

“That’s a very long rule,” you note.

“Deserved, though,” Jeonghan says.

“I was tired, Han, it was a long night,” you explain.

“A long night where your ex showed up,” he reminds you.

“That actually wasn’t so bad,” you admit. “Joshua made it feel pretty easy.”

“Oh did he now?” 

You don’t have to be in the same room as Jeonghan to hear the expression on his face when he says that. “It was just easy, Jeonghan, nothing more than that.”

“What did your parents think?” he asks, switching gears.

“They loved him, like actually loved him. My mom was enamored and kept calling him handsome. My dad was talking about music with him and making plans to go check out some acoustic music venue. Even the ice queen couldn’t find anything to fault him for,” you share.

“She’s less of an ice queen and more of a mean girl and a bitch,” Jeonghan adds.

“You said it,” you mumble.

“I mean, come on, who thinks it’s okay for their friend to sleep with their sister’s fiancé? And then stays friends with the girl?” Jeonghan gets really defensive with this. He would ride for you to the ends of the world, which you do love. Just not today. 

“I don’t wanna relive that whole thing, it’s done and over. Nothing to do now,” you say, weariness seeping into your voice.

“Would you want to do anything about it?” Jeonghan asks.

“What do you mean?” You answer the question with a question.

“Like would you want to go back to when you were with Johnny?” Jeonghan asks.

You think about it for half a second. “No.” 

“That was fast,” Jeonghan comments.

“What’s there to go back to? He made his choice and I’m fine, honestly. It was weird seeing him and hearing him talk about his wedding, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought,” you say.

“Is that because of your Prince Charming?” Your best friend, always doing the most, puts this question into a sing-song voice. 

“He’s not a Prince Charming. You’re so annoying,” you scoff. 

“I don’t know, he sure seems to be saving you,” Jeonghan presses. 

“I can’t with…” you start, trailing off at the knock on your door.

“Who’s there?” Jeonghan asks. 

“No clue,” you answer, getting off your couch to go see. 

“I bet it’s Prince Charming,” Jeonghan laughs out.

“Would you fuck…” you begin as you open the door to find the very subject of your conversation on the other side, “off.”

“I’m right aren’t I?” Jeonghan is nearly shrieking with glee.

“Sorry, gotta go,” you say.

“Oh no, no, no,” Jeonghan tries.

You’re stepping aside to let Joshua into your apartment. “I’ll see you tomorrow for brunch.”

“Let me know if I need to add one more to the reservation,” Jeonghan says. 

“Goodbye,” you say with an eye roll Jeonghan can’t see, but will surely hear. You hang up as soon as he also says goodbye.

“Jeonghan?” Joshua guesses.

“Unfortunately,” you confirm. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting,” Joshua says. It’s nothing like when someone says it out of forced courtesy. He actually seems like he’s making sure he’s not intruding. 

“No, not at all, I just wasn’t expecting you,” you admit. 

“Sometimes that’s the best time to come over,” Joshua says with a shrug.

“Does that mean you have a plan?” you wonder.

“Yup,” Joshua says.

“Gonna tell me what it is?” you ask.

“Nope,” he says with a concerning smile, popping the end of nope. “Go put on something comfortable but with layers. And we’re not going hiking or anything like that.” 

An hour later, you’re pulling off the road in an area you’ve never been to, even with as long as you’ve lived here. The views are instantly enough to take your breath away. You can see the whole city below you, all the bustle of traffic and skyscrapers. Somewhere, you know there are people rushing to and fro, too busy to stop and appreciate what’s around them. Straight ahead, you can see the way the low clouds glide around, splitting around the very tops of the buildings. It’s beautiful and it also makes you realize just how small you are. 

While you’ve been appreciating the views in front of you, Joshua has been gathering his supplies from the trunk. By the time you turn around, he’s laying a blanket and basket down on the ground in front of the car. 

“Is this…did you set up a picnic?” you ask.

“I wanted to show you this place and figured some food might be nice,” he says with an easy smile. 

“That’s so sweet,” you say earnestly.

You settle on the blanket next to him and look through the food he’s pulling out. There are some of your favorite things and some things you’re not even sure you’ve seen before. Somehow, though, you feel like they might become some of your new favorites. He even brought plates and he sets about putting one together for you to pick at.

Joshua tells you about how this is his favorite place and he found it completely by accident. He loves being down in the city and around all the people, but there’s something nice about seeing things from this perspective too. It’s like he can just disconnect for a while. Turn off his phone. Read or listen to music. Just be totally alone. It’s how he works through a problem or gets the perspective he needs.

“I can’t believe you’re sharing it with me,” you admit and his eyes light up with his smile.

“I just thought, after last night, you might appreciate having a place to get away from it all,” Joshua says.

You want to say something, anything, really, to acknowledge what Joshua just said. Try to say something. Your throat doesn’t want to cooperate, it seems. Your brain, either. In fact, all you can manage to do is turn away to hide the tears. Joshua is observant, though. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into his chest and runs his hand along your back. He quietly soothes you as you cry out a lot of emotions you didn’t even realize you were experiencing. 

And something about him comforting you, this near stranger who doesn’t actually owe you anything, sets you off more. In the early days of your relationship with Johnny, you know it was good. It must have been. Surely, it was more than a relationship between two people who had known each other for years with families that were intertwined. You don’t remember it anymore. Don’t remember him ever holding you like this without even knowing what was wrong. Don’t remember him taking you on a date like this just because he thought you would enjoy it. Since you haven’t seriously dated anyone since the break-up, he also feels like your only frame of reference. That makes you sad for an entirely different reason. Who loses it over someone just being a little kind?

“I’m so sorry,” you finally say when you manage to pull yourself together. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“For just crying like that and being such a mess,” you say. 

Joshua shakes his head. Moves his hand up to your face and waits for confirmation that it’s okay. When you nod, he gently wipes the tears from under your eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. What you’re going through with your ex, most of us could never even imagine that kind of pain.”

“But still, you barely know me and here you are trying to be kind and all I can do is cry,” you say. 

“First of all, I think last night and the food I put together show I’ve actually learned a lot about you in a short time,” he says and you have to laugh at that. He’s right. “Second, I’m just happy you feel safe enough with me to cry. It’s not healthy to hold all that in. You’re not in this alone.”

That brings you up short more than anything. He’s right, again (an annoying habit, if you’re being honest). You don’t feel any hesitation around him. Nothing to stop you from crying if you feel like crying. That’s unusual, to say the least. Normally, you’ll do anything to avoid anyone seeing you emotional. But, this man you just met is different. He’s safe. You’re not sure how or why, but you know you can trust him. 

“Are you free tomorrow for brunch?” you ask. Joshua gives you a quizzical look for a moment at the sudden topic change. 

“Yeah, why?” he asks. 

“I just need to send one quick text and then I want to do what you said you normally do here. Disconnect from the world and just appreciate the afternoon,” you say and find yourself smiling along with his smile. He really is so beautiful. 

You: add one to the reservation for brunch tomorrow and i’ll call you tonight when i’m home

You switch your phone into Do Not Disturb before the response comes and turn all your attention back to Joshua. 

Over the next couple weeks, Joshua slips seamlessly into your life and your existing friendships. Some of them, like those closest to you that come along to the Sunday brunches, know the whole story. It’s not like they would believe you had kept a relationship secret for that long, anyway. And it’s good to have a few extra sets of eyes and ears helping to sell the story. Other friends get the same story that your family and Johnny got. It’s not that you don’t trust them, you do. It’s more important to keep the circle of people who know the real story as small as possible, though, so that it actually succeeds. All your friends adore him from the second they meet him. The only surprise is how well Jeonghan seems to be adjusting to sharing your time. He wants to give you a hard time, yet he doesn’t. 

You meet all Joshua’s friends and coworkers, too. It feels way easier than it should the first time you join him and his coworkers after work for drinks. They spend most of the time giving Joshua a hard time that he’s kept you to himself for so long. It’s easy to fall into step and you find that you do know him a lot better than you think. So, it’s just as easy for you to jump in when they’re giving him a hard time. He pretends to be annoyed, but you can tell by the way he smiles that he likes it. It’s one of those genuine smiles that makes his eyes bigger and brighter. Everything just feels…easy. Like this whole thing wasn’t actually a bad idea after all. 

Your favorite part might be the first time you got with him to an Open Mic Night and get to see him play. He’s got that easy kind of confidence on the guitar. Like he knows he’s talented, but not in a cocky way. It’s his singing that catches you off guard. His voice moves over the notes with an ease that makes you wonder why this isn’t something he’s doing for a living. He’s got this way of pulling you into songs that you don’t even know. And he’s so kind with the people that show up just to see him play. They all seem just as happy to meet you and know that he’s happy. 

There’s only been one part that’s been difficult. Not difficult, exactly, but not as comfortable as some of the other things. While you and Joshua talked through anything and everything to prepare to start a fake relationship, you covered comfort levels with physical affection. You both say you’re comfortable with physical touch, though he seems to seek it out more than you do. That includes at least some level of PDA as a couple. You’ve never really been one to just randomly make out with a partner in public, but you’ve never been shy about expressing affection either. It was fine, when it was all theoretical. 

In actual practice, it’s been a little more difficult. The first time Joshua had pressed a kiss to the side of your head while you were out with people that didn’t know it was fake caught you off guard. It shouldn’t have, he asked before doing it and you confirmed it was fine. What you hadn’t been entirely prepared for was how it would feel when he did it. Or how it would feel that he was so casual about it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it wasn’t making you rethink everything in your life. 

Tonight, you’re hanging out with friends at Hyejin’s house. You and her have been friends since before you even started school. So, she knows what’s really going on with Joshua. Your other friends there, though, are mostly not in on it. Which is fine. You’re shockingly comfortable with the song and dance. 

It’s not actually fine. 

It starts the same as any other time you’ve been out somewhere with him. You’re sitting close together on the couch, thighs pressed together, with his arm behind you along the back of the couch. Periodically, his fingers play with the sleeve of your shirt. It’s an absentminded habit and you’re used to it. He’s usually keeping some sort of contact with you in a very subtle way. You learned right away that he did like physical touch, but it was rarely something obvious. One drink in and his affection got a little more obvious. Arm wrapped firmly around you. More kisses pressed to the side of your head. 

Two drinks in and it changes again. He removes his arm from around you in favor of holding your hand. Playing with your fingers while he’s having other conversations, like he doesn’t even realize. Hand squeezing your thigh. Or tracing patterns into the material of your pants. Head dropping down on your shoulder when he’s not talking to someone else. And it’s definitely not fine. You’re nursing your drink, but even if you weren’t, his constant presence would sober you. Since you’ve just finally finished your first, you think maybe a second is a good idea.

It’s not. Joshua gets another drink, his third, and you decline. Instead, you stick with the water you’ve been drinking since you couldn’t even finish your second. You want to be able to respond, whatever happens. Respond to whatever new form of affection unlocks with this next drink. 

“I hope you stick around, you’re my favorite of the partners that we’ve met,” Mimi announces to Joshua when he plops back down next to you. 

You’re glad that you hadn’t taken a sip because it would’ve come out immediately. Mimi has been a friend for a long time as well, and you love her, but she doesn’t know the truth. 

“Don’t I know it,” Joshua agrees, earning a lot of laughter. 

“Have you met Johnny yet? I know you’re going to the wedding,” Taehyung wonders. 

“Yeah Johnny showed up magically the night I brought him by to meet my parents, sister, and brother-in-law,” you say, regaining some composure. 

“I think you traded up,” Joshua says, eyes laser focused on you. 

You’re not so lucky this time and you just took a sip. You nearly choke. “Do you?”

“Definitely,” Joshua insists. 

“I agree,” Jimin says and Mimi elbows him in the side. “What?”

“You’re going to the wedding,” she says. 

“So? He’s a fucking tool,” Jimin shrugs off. 

“Are you all going, then?” Joshua asks. 

“A good portion of us, yeah,” Hyejin says. “Family connections, you know?” 

“I wasn’t invited,” Mimi pouts. 

“Want to come?” Taehyung asks and Mimi laughs. 

“Tae, my love, you can’t just invite people,” Mimi says and shakes her head. 

“I have a plus-one,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I think we all knew I wouldn’t make it to the wedding in my relationship. But, Johnny still thinks I’m bringing someone.”

“Damn, okay. I’m in,” Mimi says. 

“I’m not going either, my family ties weren’t enough to get an invite,” Jeonghan says without any sorrow in his eyes. 

“That’s because of what you said to him after the break up,” Hyejin interrupts with a laugh. 

“I don’t remember saying anything that bad,” Jeonghan shrugs, and examines his finger nails to show how little he cares. 

“Remind me to show you what he said some time, it was fucking gold,” Hyejin says to Joshua.

“Do you have it saved?” you ask.

“I should have it framed, honestly,” Hyejin says. “Get you a best friend like Jeonghan, for real, for real.” 

“Hey, that’s my best friend, get your own,” you joke. 

“That’s a shame you won’t be there though, Han, I could’ve used the familiar face,” Joshua says.

“Like you’re going to be paying attention to anyone but your date,” Hyejin teases. 

“Can you blame me? I still can’t believe how lucky I got,” Joshua says without any hint that he’s pretending. It makes your heart skip a couple beats as you try to catch your breath. 

“Ugh, I’m so single,” Mimi whines. 

“Maybe not after the wedding,” Hyejin teases. 

The conversations devolve from there into separate, smaller chats. Joshua is back to tracing patterns into your leg. Without warning, he pops his head up and places a quick peck on your lips before dropping his head onto your shoulder again. He’s so nonchalant about it that you’re not really sure it even happened. You’ve kissed a couple times like that, quick pecks in public. But, it’s always been when you’ve talked about it. It isn’t until you look up to meet Jeonghan’s eyes that you know it all really happened. 

Joshua, unaware that he’s just turned your world a little upside down, moves his head to look at you again. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

It’s barely a whisper and you know he’s not drunk. He’s not sober either, though. And you’ve had drinks around each other before. He’s just never been quite so glued to your side or free with the compliments. You’re also not usually so singularly focused on him. A fact that doesn’t go entirely unnoticed. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. 

“I’m kinda hungry,” he continues in a bit of a whine. 

“Well you were the one who thought skipping dinner was smart,” you tease him. 

“But my little honeybunch,” he teases back. You snort and miss the way several of your friends watch the interaction because they know how you are about weird pet names. 

“Try again, sweetheart,” you answer. 

“Sweetheart, I like the way that sounds,” he says, distracted. 

“Just a little longer and we can leave and get something to eat,” you say and he sighs. 

“Fine,” he concedes and kisses your cheek, just barely a whisper away from the corner of your mouth. 

About half an hour later, you say your goodbyes. Despite your suggestions, Joshua continued drinking instead of switching to water. It’s as fine as it can be, though. He’s just an affectionate drinker. He wraps an arm around you, slipping a hand into your back pocket so that he can whisper thanks again. You do your best to shrug it off and let him drape his arms around your shoulder instead. 

The car ride is quiet, initially. You pick a playlist that he made for you after you first met. Something he seems to enjoy. You’re nearly back at his place when he says that he doesn’t have anything to eat. But, luckily, there’s a place around the corner that he loves that’s still open. He manages to place an order on the app, gets something for you as well, and pays before getting there. All you have to do is walk in. 

“I hope you’ll come in and eat with me,” he says when you get back into the car. 

You’re not really sure how to tell him that you don’t want to. Not because you don’t want to spend time with him. Or that you don’t appreciate him ordering something he knows you’ll like. No, it’s so much deeper than that. It’s that you don’t know if your heart can handle it. You’ve got a couple more weeks of this and your heart is taking a beating. All of this is fake. It’ll be over after the wedding. But, the compliments don’t feel fake. The kisses don’t feel fake. The affection doesn’t feel fake. Your heart racing is real, oh so real. You don’t need anyone to tell you that you’re in way too deep. 

None of that comes out, though. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” you say and hold your breath for a second. You hadn’t meant to say that when it was just you. 

Joshua smiles over at you. “Really do like that.” 

Does he know what he’s doing to you? Can he hear your heart hammering in your chest? Can he hear your breath catch? Does he know how insanely beautiful he is? Or that he’s all the more beautiful because he’s so unfailingly kind? 

Probably not, because he gets distracted and starts singing along as the song changes. It’s welcome, but also a little devastating. His voice cuts through you in a way you’re still very unprepared to handle.

After another few minutes, you’re at Joshua’s place. He springs back into action and tries to open your door for you, even though you’re the driver. He settles for taking hold of your hand as he walks to his door, only reluctantly dropping it when he gets to the door. 

His apartment is familiar to you, it has to be for this to be believable. So, he sets the food out and you grab plates. You grab a couple waters from the fridge while he takes the food over to the couch, bypassing the table. You sit next to him, leaving enough space between you that you’re not touching. Hoping he doesn’t think anything of it. 

It’s useless, apparently, because he slides over to press into your side.

What’s worse (not that you thought that was possible) is that he picks things off of your plate and gives you food off his plate. Tries to feed it to you, actually, and pouts when you don’t let him. It takes everything in you not to beg him to be gentle on your heart. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing to you as he smiles and jokes. Doesn’t seem to think twice about playing with your hands or his hand on your leg or any of the things he usually does when you have an audience. There’s nobody here to see and he’s not usually this touchy when you’re alone. Maybe it’s the drinks.

“I like your friends a lot, you know,” he says out of nowhere.

“They like you, too,” you assure him.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I’d assume they like me as well,” you laugh out.

“No, I meant me. Do you like me?” he asks, eyes big and vulnerable.

Please, Joshua, I’m begging you. Be gentle with me, you think so loud you’re worried he might hear.

“I’m actually a little sick of you,” you joke. 

“But, but,” he begins and dramatically throws himself in your lap. 

“You’re the worst,” you say without any bite. Your hands find their way into his hair, softly running through the strands.

“That feels nice,” he says softly. “Can I just stay like this? I’m tired.” 

“Of course,” you whisper.

“You’ll stay with me?” he asks, sounding like he’s about to drift off.

You’re sure he won’t remember any of this. Not because he’s drunk, but he’s on the edges of sleep. So, you answer in a whisper. “Always.” 

Maybe he’s not the one that needs to be careful with your heart. Maybe it’s you that needs to be careful. You know that you could walk away. That you could just remind him that this is all fake and there’s nobody around to see now. That’s not what you do. So, maybe you’re just as much to blame. 

Sunday Joshua: thanks for taking care of me last night Joshua: idk why the drinks hit me so hard Joshua: when did you leave?  Monday Joshua: is everything okay? Did i say something stupid? Tuesday Joshua: i don’t wanna sound clingy but are we still getting together at your place after work?

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you need to respond. You know that what you’re doing isn’t fair to anyone. It’s not like Joshua can somehow read your mind to realize you’re spiraling. It just feels a little paralyzing. This is a weird limbo of knowing you might be in over your head, but still believing this is all fake. 

Jeonghan: hey dummy i know you’re ignoring joshua so i’m coming over tonight  Jeonghan: i told him you’ve been busy at work and i haven’t heard from you either but we have some talking to do

Leave it to Jeonghan. You had almost forgotten, with how well you’ve gotten to know Joshua, that it was Jeonghan who introduced you in the first place. Of course he would text your best friend when he couldn’t get a hold of you. Does that make you feel better? Not really, you think, because it feels like a real relationship in a way. Oh well, you can talk about it with Jeonghan. If he shows up, that is.

And he does, less than an hour later.

“I’m here,” he announces when he comes in the door.

“Thanks for knocking and giving me the chance to pretend I’m not here,” you call back.

“Your car is outside and you have your location turned on,” Jeonghan says. 

“Right,” you answer as he comes through the hall holding a bag from your favorite take out place.

“At least I come bearing gifts,” he says.

“You’re an angel, do you know that?” you ask and reach for the bag.

Jeonghan snorts. “I’m gonna remind you of that the next time you call me a demon.” 

“Well, Lucifer was a fallen angel,” you reason with a shrug. 

“I hate you,” he says.

“I know,” you answer. 

Jeonghan busies himself with taking out the food and making sure you have napkins. Tells you what he wants to drink when you get up to go into the kitchen. Calls for you to grab some utensils as well. By the time you sit back down with him, he’s flipping through a streaming service trying to find something to watch. It’s not at all what you’re expecting and you just let it happen. The two of you have been friends long enough to know you should just let things play out.

With some mindless show on in the background, Jeonghan talks about work and your friends and everything else that’s been going on the past few days. Like it’s been weeks since you last saw him. Mostly, he talks about how Taehyung has been blowing up his phone asking for advice about Mimi, which is actually news to you. Sure, you saw him ask her if she wanted to go with him to the wedding. What you had not expected was for him to actually be interested. Which he is, if his messages to Jeonghan are anything to go by. It’s been everything from advice about talking to her to what kinds of things she might like as a surprise. They would probably be cute, you think. 

“Yeah, well, sometimes feelings catch us off guard,” Jeonghan says when you admit your surprise.

Damn. Did you really walk right into that?

“True,” you admit, knowing that’s the best answer you can give.

“Talk to me,” Jeonghan urges. 

“About what?” you ask to buy more time.

“Joshua,” he says.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you state. That makes him fix you with a look.

“Clearly there is or you wouldn’t be ignoring him,” he says. 

“We’re not really dating so I don’t owe him constant updates. I’m not ignoring him. I just have other shit to do,” you say without looking at him.

“Would you like to be?” he asks. That does make you turn to him.

“Like to be what?” you ask, though you think you know.

“Really dating him,” Jeonghan says.

It’s a crossroads kind of moment. You could say that you don’t want that. That would be a lie, though, and Jeonghan doesn’t like it when you lie. Can always tell the second you say something that’s not true. The truth is that you’ve spent nearly every moment since that stupid night at Hyejin’s place thinking about what you actually feel for your fake boyfriend. 

“I don’t…know,” you say slowly and earn a smile because it’s not a lie.

“I was there the other night too, I saw the way it all played out,” he says.

“I mean, does it matter? This is all fake and soon, it’ll be over,” you say.

“Of course it matters and it’ll be over soon? Please,” Jeonghan scoffs. “I know he’s told you that he wants to keep you in his life after Johnny’s wedding. So, what? You’re just gonna be like okay, that was fun, let’s never talk again?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say quietly.

He rolls his eyes. “Try again, buttercup.” 

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s just nice,” you say, avoidant as ever. 

“He looks at you like he’d give you the moon if you asked for it,” Jeonghan snorts out.

“He’s just nice, Han,” you disagree.

“Maybe,” your closest friend concedes, a rare move for him. It feels weird all the same. “Whatever it is, text him back. He misses you and I don’t want to hear anymore about how he’s worrying he upset you.”

“He’s been worrying that he upset me?” you ask. Your heart constricts at that.

“Yeah, for some reason he actually likes your company,” he says. “Can’t relate.”

You smack Jeonghan on the arm. “Says the man who shows up at my place unannounced when I ignore him for a day.”

“No, I was just bored,” he argued. “And you’re way too stubborn to sort out your shit on your own.”

 “I’m not stubborn, but fine, I’ll text him,” you relent.

“Now,” he says.

“What?”

“Text him now so that I know you actually did it.”

You roll your eyes at him, but pull your phone out anyway. Angling it away from Jeonghan so that he can’t see your screen. He’s such a nosy brat sometimes.

You: hey, i’m sorry. It’s been really busy and i had a lot on my mind You: wanna do something tomorrow?

The response comes right away and you ignore the smug look on Jeonghan’s face as you quickly make plans. If Jeonghan was anyone else, he would probably just let you be since he ultimately got what he wanted. But, he’s not anyone else. And he’s as caring to his friends as he is calculating when he wants something. So, he’s not doing it to be cruel, not at all. He just wants you to consider what you’re actually feeling. 

You’ll never tell Jeonghan how much you appreciate him talking everything through with you. Never tell him how good it feels to get all the thoughts out of your head. To his credit, he’s not smug and he doesn’t tell you that he’s been right about your feelings all along. He just listens, supports you when you need it, and encourages you to keep thinking through everything that’s going on.

As a make-up for slightly ignoring Joshua (over your own internal freak out), you take him to dinner at your favorite restaurant. It’s this tiny little hole-in-the-wall that people seem to walk past. The kind of place where you couldn’t overspend even if you tried because the couple that owned it just wanted to share good food. The kind of place where they know everyone by name. It makes you feel instantly at ease. 

Joshua doesn’t say it, but he also kind of can’t believe you wanted to show him some place that meant so much to you. All he could do was watch, with so much fondness, as you spoke to the couple about everything under the sun. Watch as you turned slightly red when they scolded you for taking so long to bring Joshua by. Smile as you promised the both of you would be back. Despite trying to pay, you beat him to it. Even leaving a massive tip because you insisted the couple had undercharged you. They made a big show of not wanting to take the tip and you only reminded them the cash would stay sitting on the counter. You weren’t taking it back either. 

You don’t really think about it when you take a picture of you and Joshua to upload on Instagram. At least, you try not to. Later, when you’re home and winding down for the night, you pull the picture back up. It’s amazing just how happy both of you look. You don’t need to read the comments to know that you’ve never looked so happy in your life. Every part of you wants to pull back again. It’s overwhelming. But, Jeonghan’s voice plays in your head and instead you push past. Make more plans that could break your heart. You have to just trust that he won’t. 

It isn’t until the weekend that you’re able to see him again because your schedules didn’t quite match up. That doesn’t stop him from calling you at night, though. Insisting that he wants to know how your day was, even if you can only spare a few minutes for a call. (Which never ends up being the case. You fall asleep on the phone with him twice. His voice is just so soothing when it’s all deep and soft.) 

Again, Joshua tells you the date is a surprise. He can be a little bit of a demon, when it suits him. Sure, he likes to pretend he’s not. That he’s above the chaos. Then, he does something like this and he can’t really escape it. But, he’s so sure he knows what you like that he’s positive you’ll enjoy the date. You remember how that chat had gone, too. You were ready to go to sleep, but unable to say goodnight. 

(“I have our next date planned,” Joshua says, voice soft to match the calm of the night.

“What is it?” you wonder.

“A surprise,” he answers.

“What if I don’t like it?” you ask back.

“You will,” he assures you.

“You sure seem to think you know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah, I do. Don’t worry, you’ll like this too,” he says.

There was no point in denying it. That confidence sent a bit of a shiver through you.) 

It turns out that the date is at a winery where you’re painting with wine. You have to ask him to say it again because you’ve only ever heard of wine and paint classes. Painting with wine is entirely new to you. It sounds fun, though, and you know how crafty Joshua can be, have seen all the projects around his apartment. So, even though you’re definitely not that artistic, you’re excited to see this as well. 

Admittedly, by the end of the session, your painting isn’t bad. It was a bit weird to use wine in that way, but they let you drink as well. Which makes it a lot easier to just go along with the idea of painting. Joshua’s painting, on the other hand, is beautiful. Not for the first time, you think his talents might be wasted at an office job. You’ve seen the bracelets he makes and now you’ve seen him paint. You’ve heard him sing and play the guitar. He’s impossibly artistic in a way that should make you jealous. Instead, it just makes you more endeared to him. 

You snap a picture of him and his art when he’s not looking and upload it before he can even realize it. It’s only when a notification goes off on his phone that he realizes. He doesn’t even say anything, just gets a sparkle in his eyes that makes you weary immediately. He’s busy tapping away on his own phone before a notification sounds on yours. Maybe you weren’t the only one to steal a candid shot if the picture of you laughing with a glass of wine in one hand and a paintbrush in the other is anything to go by. It’s the caption that really ruins you, though. Just a simple “think I’m addicted to her light”. It’s so simple and also so much sweeter than yours. You fight through the urge to run away. 

Which lasts until you get home from dinner. It was the perfect date, truly. Joshua always seems to know exactly how to plan out a day so everything works. After sipping wine and painting, he took you to one of his favorite restaurants. Nothing too pretentious, just kind of unassuming. The kind of place where you get good food and even better conversation. It’s (mostly) easy to keep your mind off the way your heart keeps racing.

When you’re back home, you’re not so lucky.

Back home, alone in your apartment, there aren’t any distractions. Nothing to stop your mind from all the ways that it can sabotage your own happiness. Nothing to stop you from thinking about how nobody, not even Johnny, has ever planned out such thoughtful dates for you. Nobody has ever taken the time to really know you like Joshua. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you better than anyone you’ve ever dated. Which is terrifying, since this is all fake. And he hasn’t even known you that long. 

So, you do the rational thing and you pull back again. Answer his texts so that he doesn’t send Jeonghan over to figure out what’s wrong, but don’t make solid plans. Talk a lot about a work project that you really need to get done ahead of schedule so that you’re not stressing leading up to the wedding. And you throw in some easy suggestions in the meantime so that it still seems like you’re making an effort. 

Lunch on a work day so that it has a set ending time. Which still tugs at your heartstrings a bit because he takes a longer lunch just to meet you closer to where you work. 

An event where your parents purchased a table for charity because he’s in high demand with your family around. And he can’t be as affectionate. 

His Open Mic Nights, but with the excuse that you can’t stay too late because of your project and he should stick around with his friends. You’ll get home safely.

Small little things that keep you around him and keep up your conversations while still giving you time to breathe. You’re sure that you’re pulling it all off. And then, the wedding is around the corner. The finish line is in sight. 

You: I’m not going to the wedding You: you don’t have to come pick me up Joshua: what are you talking about? You: i’m not going Joshua: but it’s literally in a few hours? You: yeah and i don’t wanna go, so you’re off the hook You: thanks for everything, but you don’t have to pretend anymore

Even if you know you’re being a little petulant, you don’t really care. This whole thing was supposed to be about protecting your heart. Protecting your pride. Not showing up to your cheating ex-fiance's wedding alone and looking like some kind of loser. It was not supposed to be about your heart getting clobbered anyway. So, you’re doing the only logical thing you can think of. Ignoring your problems. Avoiding both the wedding and Joshua. What you’re not prepared for, though you should be, is the knock that comes at your door half an hour later. 

Joshua is on the other side of the door and your heart actually stops. He’s got his tux on and his hair styled back off his face. His eyes are soft as they take you in, noting that you have your hair and make up done. Though, you’re still in your sweats. You got at least that far before you decided this was a stupid fucking decision. 

“Can I come in?” he asks when you don’t say anything.

“Sure,” you say and step aside. 

“You look like you’re getting ready,” he comments once he’s inside.

“I was, until I texted you,” you answer. “Speaking of, why are you here?”

“Because we had plans,” he says. 

“Yeah to go see my ex-fiance marry the girl he cheated on me with. Oh, and for you to pretend to be my boyfriend so I didn’t look pathetic,” you say with a huff. 

“You’re not pathetic. He’s an asshole,” Joshua says. He doesn’t swear often, so it catches you a little off guard. 

“Well, whatever, you don’t have to go. So, I’m not really sure why you’re here,” you say. 

“You’re being so cold. What’s going on?” Joshua asks and reaches out to you. Instead, you duck away from his touch. 

“Nothing is going on. It was stupid to care what Johnny thought or to try and save face somehow,” you say. 

“It’s not stupid. He hurt you and you didn’t deserve that,” Joshua urges.

“You really don’t know me that well. Maybe I did deserve it. Maybe I was awful to him and he had no choice,” you say.

“We both know that’s not true,” he says.

“Do we?” you challenge. 

“Yes, we do,” he presses. “There is nothing you could do that justifies cheating instead of just breaking it off. But, I also know you didn’t do anything wrong. Jeonghan and I talked about it.”

“You spoke to Jeonghan about my relationship behind my back?” you question. 

“What is going on? We’ve been hanging out for weeks and getting to know each other. I just wanted to know more about someone I was going to be helping. And I like knowing you,” Joshua says and you have to look away. You don’t need the reminder of how much time you’ve spent with him.

“Yeah, sorry about all that time we wasted. I’ll pay you back for the tux or anything else you had to buy to pretend to date me,” you say and he looks genuinely confused.

“I don’t…want you to pay me back for anything. It wasn’t a waste of time. I did this because I wanted to,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to pretend anymore because I’m not going to the stupid fucking wedding. It was a really bad idea in the first place,” you say.

Joshua clenches his jaw and looks away. Like maybe he’s frustrated. “What is going on? Do you still have feelings for him?” 

“For who? Johnny?” you ask, so insanely caught off guard that you forget you’re mad.

“Yes,” Joshua says tightly.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you bark out.

“Well? You’re being really weird and now you don’t want to go to a wedding that we’ve been planning on,” he starts.

“Yeah, which should make you happy, since you don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend anymore,” you say.

“Because you’re still in love with Johnny,” Joshua finishes like he hadn’t even heard you.

“Oh my god,” you nearly scream. “I’m not fucking in love with Johnny. This isn’t about him.”

“So, you don’t want to go to the wedding and it has nothing to do with him? That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. 

“No, I don’t want to keep doing this,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “I don’t want to keep pretending to date you when I -”

You clamp your mouth shut. Unable to believe that you almost blurted out how you feel.

“When you what?” he challenges. “What? Is it that bad being around me? Is that it? Are you just sick of me? Ready to toss me aside?”

You laugh bitterly, not even able to appreciate the irony in the situation. “No, Joshua, I don’t want to toss you aside.” 

“Then, what? What am I supposed to think when you’ve been pushing me away for the last couple weeks? And I have to act like I haven’t noticed all the ways you’ve kept me at arm’s length since we went to the winery. Why did you just decide, literally today, that you don’t want to go to the wedding after all?” he asks, rambling. He’s pacing in front of you. “Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?”

“Because I don’t want to get hurt!” you blurt out. “Because I don’t want to go to my fucking scumbag of an ex’s wedding where everyone is going to be giving me these looks of pity or focusing on my relationship with him when all I want is this.”

“This? What?” he asks, coming to a stop.

“This, Joshua, you and me. Having this just all be pretend is breaking my heart. I can’t keep doing it. It was supposed to keep me from getting my heart broken. It sucks and I hate it and I just wish it wasn’t pretend. I don’t want to go to the wedding and have you be so sweet and kind and caring when I’m going to know it has an expiration date. That it’s all just been for show,” you admit. You turn away, clutching your arms around your center because you’re so tired. And so exposed. So vulnerable. It’s awful.

The tears won’t stop, so you don’t notice how Joshua has closed the space between you until he wraps his arms around you from behind. Pulls you back against his chest and presses a kiss into your hair.

“So, let’s stop saying it’s pretend,” he whispers. 

“What?” you whisper back.

He turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him and gently brushes away the tears. “Let’s stop saying it’s fake. It doesn’t feel fake, does it?”

“No,” is all you can manage.

“So, it’s not fake and we’re not pretending,” he says.

“But,” you start to protest. 

“I knew I was in trouble, really deep trouble, as soon as we left your parents’ house. I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he says as he gently runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe away a tear . Your eyes go wide.

“That was barely a week in,” you say and he just shrugs. “And I’d dumped all my bullshit on you.”

“I think that’s actually what made me like you so much,” he says. “It was supposed to be fake and we were trying to get to know each other well enough to pull it off. But, instead, I just realized you were actually perfect.”

“Perfect? I was broken,” you joke and he shakes his head.

“No, you’ve been hurt. Who hasn’t? You’re also strong, kind, funny, a fiercely loyal friend, and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met, inside and out,” he says. 

“That’s so, you’re so sweet,” you say and try to hide your face. He doesn’t let you. “You like me?”

“I’ve liked you the whole time. I did think it was a date, after all,” he says. “And do you think I’m that affectionate with everyone?”

“We were pretending,” you argue.

“I wasn’t,” he argues back.

“Our closest friends thought you were,” you disagree.

“And was anyone else there in my apartment when I was still being affectionate?” he asks.

“Well, no, but…” you start.

“I heard you say always,” he tells you.

“You did?” you ask, sure that it’s been your secret this whole time.

“We don’t have to go to the wedding. But, if it’s just because you don’t want this to be over with me, then it’s not going to be over. I’m yours for as long as you want me,” he says so earnestly it nearly makes you blush.

“Careful, you might get sick of me,” you joke.

He puts a finger under your chin so he can look you in the eyes. “I’ll say it again. I’m yours as long as you want me. I won’t get sick of you.” 

“I…” you start and don’t know where to go. So you do the only thing you can think of and kiss him. It’s clear he’s a little caught off guard, but he recovers quickly. His arms wrap around you to hold you tight against him. It’s the first time you’ve really kissed him and you’re so screwed because he really is perfect at this too. 

“So, do I get you for the rest of today?” he asks.

You take in his tuxedo again, for real this time. Appreciating how well it’s tailored and how amazing he looks. With a sigh, you say, “you know, it’s a shame to waste such a nice tux.”

“Are you…I thought we weren’t going,” he stutters.

“I’m probably gonna have to fix my makeup in the car, but why not? I want to show off my super hot and very real boyfriend,” you say and watch him choke on air. 

“You can’t just say…” he starts.

“Damn, sick of me already?” you tease.

“You know I’m not,” he answers and moves to follow you.

“No, no. You don’t get to see me changing. I’ll be back out in a second,” you say. 

You’re in the middle of shimmying into your dress when you realize that you do still have a lot to talk about. A lot to figure out. This whole situation has been unusual, though, so it probably makes sense that there isn’t a template. Once you have your shoes on, you walk back into the living room, prepared to say something, only to find Joshua speechless.

“You look…” he starts.

“You’ve seen the dress already,” you say and smile.

“Not on you. Not in person. You look amazing,” he says and crosses to pull you into his arms. “Are you sure we have to go?”

“Yes,” you say and swat him. “But, I do know we have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m not in a rush,” he says and allows you to step away.

“We might need to be in a bit of a rush,” you say, checking the time and gathering all your things. 

“Let’s go, then,” Joshua says and offers his arm. 

The wedding passes in kind of a blur. In truth, you barely even register Johnny or what he’s doing beyond the actual ceremony. The reception is so massive that it’s easiest just to focus on the people around you. Especially when you’re at a table with your friends. Thankfully, you’re not at a table with your parents or your sister. It does mean, though, that you’re sitting next to Hyejin, who has definitely realized that something shifted between you and Joshua. So, she’s trying to sneak in a question any time she can. Which is hard, given that Joshua is more attached to you than ever. And Hyejin doesn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to you. All you manage to let her know is that it’s real now and that you’ll fill her in after the wedding. (You’re also thankful that people seem to be cooing over Taehyung and Mimi since they’re the shiny new topic.)

It’s also nice to have Joshua there because he’s a built in way to excuse yourself from any conversation that you don’t want to be part of. It’s easy to just say you’re going to go back to the table. Or, in the case of a good song coming on, he’ll be quick to drag you to the dance floor and away from whatever conversation you’re stuck in. He’s a good dancer, too. You don’t miss the way Hyejin catches your eye when the first slow song comes on and he pulls you close to him. But, that’s a conversation for another day. All you wanted was to appreciate the way his hand felt on your lower back or your hand felt in his. 

When it was finally time to leave, Joshua led you out of the event, arm around you to guide you. Neither of you were drunk, but you had still hired someone to take you to and from the wedding anyway. A gift from your parents to appreciate you “doing the right thing” and coming to the wedding. For the sake of the families. It made you roll your eyes at the time, yet you’re thankful now. It would be far better than having to take an Uber or trying to get a room at the hotel (and risking seeing everyone else staying there the next morning). The ride home also gave you the chance to talk. Really talk. Neither of you cared much that someone else was driving (and he had the partition up, anyway), as you talked about your feelings honestly for the first time. 

As it turned out, you had a lot to say. Both of you. You hadn’t been nearly as good at hiding your feelings from Joshua as you had been at hiding them from yourself. He had hoped you were going to admit them to him after that night at his apartment. Instead, you avoided him. Yes, he knew that you had been avoiding him. You also weren’t very good at picking up on the signs he dropped about his feelings for you. He admitted that he could have just said something, but he was trying to be subtle so he didn’t scare you off. Trying to let his actions speak through more affection. You admit you were scared to think it was anything more than it actually was. Scared of your feelings. Scared of getting hurt again. Joshua completely understands that and admits that he’s a little scared, too, because you’re definitely more important to him than he was anticipating. He’s also confident that you can work through it together. It gives you a feeling of hope. Makes everything about you feel lighter. You see that relief reflected in Joshua’s eyes when they scan yours. 

The car pulls to a stop and he gets out first. He holds his hand out to help you out of the car. You’re not really sure what comes over you.

“Come up with me,” you ask, but it’s more of a statement. 

He hesitates, conflicted. “I don’t know if I should.”

“Why?” you ask, clearly confused.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave,” he answers and you smile.

“Then stay,” you shrug, “at least for breakfast.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, you turn and head for the front door of the building. It means you miss the way he freezes in place, but you can guess at that by how long it takes before he catches up to you. He’s unusually quiet and still beside you as you go up the elevator and then behind you as you unlock the door. 

“I’m gonna go change,” you announce after you drop your keys by the door. You look back at Joshua, appreciating him in the tuxedo one last time. “I’ve got some clothes in the spare room that should fit. They’re Jeonghan’s ” 

You take the opportunity to breathe for a second, to let it settle in that you asked Joshua to come in with you and stay the night. Then, you set about changing out of your dress. Carefully clean your face free of the make-up. Brush through your hair and twist it back off of your face. Once you’re in comfy clothes and bare faced, you head back out into the living room. It’s odd that you don’t even feel self-conscious about Joshua seeing you like this, you’re instantly comfortable. 

Joshua’s back is to you in the kitchen. When he turns around, you see that he’s put together a little platter of snacks. You also were right, the t-shirt and shorts he picked out seem to fit him well. Jeonghan is a little slighter than Joshua, but he wears most of his clothes on the baggier side. 

“Thanks for the clothes,” he says when you both meet on the couch. “I was worried when you said you had spare clothes they were gonna be from an ex or Johnny or something.” 

Your laugh is sudden and clearly catches Joshua off guard. “I wouldn’t have kept any of Johnny’s clothes. I gave them all to charity.” 

“I’m sure he was thrilled with that,” Joshua laughs.

“They made a killing reselling them,” you laugh in response. “Wanna watch something?”

“Sure, you pick,” he says.

You start clicking through your saved list to find something that the two of you can watch. Once you settle on something, Joshua motions you over. Even if you want to pretend you’re considering it, you can’t. Every part of you wants to be close to him. When you slide over, he pulls you in tighter to his body and you fit like you always belonged there with him. 

If you thought he was physically affectionate when he was pretending, it’s nothing compared to now that he knows you’re both in this. He has one hand running along your arm or the other along your thigh. Sometimes he reaches out to take one of your hands. Other times he presses kisses into your hair. It’s pretty clear right away that he’s not paying much attention to the show. 

If you’re being honest, you’re not really either.

Everything is distracting. The way his fingers on the bare skin of your arm raises goosebumps. The way his kiss in your hair makes your eyes close in appreciation. The way he squeezes your thigh and short circuits your brain. 

You can’t help it. You turn your head so that you can look at him. He caresses your cheek, so gentle. Runs his thumb across your lip. You’re holding your breath, just waiting to see what he’s going to do. When you feel like you’re going to go a little bit insane, his hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you in. It’s exactly like the first kiss before the wedding. At least, at first. It’s gentle, but full of so much desire. It’s also slow, like there’s no rush to any of it.

The position is really uncomfortable, though. You shift your legs so they’re draped over one of Joshua’s. He doesn’t miss a beat. It just allows him to pull you closer. There’s something incredibly intimate in kissing him like this. There’s this weird contrast of desire and comfort. It’s heated, but also a little lazy. Like you have all the time in the world. Which you do, you think, now that you’re being honest about your feelings.  When Joshua pulls back from the kiss, you chase his lips for a second before realizing that he’s pulled away. The way he looks at you nearly melts you into the couch.

“I don’t want to assume where this is headed, but maybe we should take it to the bedroom?” he asks. It’s cute, the way he’s a little shy. Like you didn’t invite him in to spend the night. Yeah, you’re in way over your head. At least it seems like he might be too. 

You pull your legs back so that you can stand up. His eyes track your movements as you reach your hand back to him. He accepts it without a word and lets you lead him to the bedroom. Even if he’s seen your bedroom before, this feels different. You’re waiting for him to look around, but his eyes are glued on you. Joshua even waits for you to lead him all the way to the bed, so you direct him to sit on the edge. 

Once Joshua is seated, you step between his legs and tilt your head down to kiss him. He wraps his arms around you so that he can pull you against him. There’s barely any space between you. It sends a little bit of a shiver as his hands run up your back and back down. The touch is gentle and caring. Like he’s trying to put everything he feels into it. Something about it just makes you feel so insanely safe. 

He’s the one to break the kiss again, but this time it’s to move back onto the bed and grab your hand to pull you along with him. It’s easy to just follow suit and get comfortable laying next to him, bodies facing each other. The kissing picks up when your lips meet again. Joshua kisses you breathless with a passion you’re eager to explore. One of his hands rests on your hip, casually sliding beneath your shirt and caressing up your side. You press your body further into his and capture his moan with a kiss. It feels like you’re a bit drunk off each other.

When Joshua’s hand moves back down, you take the chance to throw your leg over his hip, allowing you to press further into him and feel how this is turning him on. Part of you knows that he’s still waiting for you to set the pace. Or that he wants things to be a little slower. So, you help him out and roll the two of you over so that you’re straddled on top of him. Putting his hands on your hips, you lean over to kiss him again. In this position, you can also grind into his lap. You delight in how he’s already getting hard beneath you, enjoy the way his hands grip the soft flesh of your hips.

He pulls back and looks at you with blown pupils. “Baby, please don’t tease me.” 

“No silly pet name?” you tease him. 

“Not when you’re getting me this turned on like a horny teenager,” he whines. 

“You mean like this?” you ask, injecting as much innocence as you can when you slowly drag your clothed pussy across his dick again. 

Joshua throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and grips you tighter. “Yes.” 

“So you don’t like it?” you ask, grinding a little more. 

“Fuck,” he hisses out. And somehow that’s the thing that almost breaks you. Why is that one swear so hot on his lips? 

Without saying anything, you sit up a little bit, still making sure you’re straddling Joshua, so that you can pull his shirt off him. Your eyes go wide because you’ve never seen him shirtless. You’ve seen him in well fitted suits or shirts, but this is entirely different. His chest looks like it was sculpted by an artist. All your attention is on your fingers running along his chest and you don’t see the way it makes him a little shy. 

His hands reach for your own shirt, playing with the hem like he’s asking permission. So, you move his hands aside and pull it over your head, leaving your skin bare as well. You watch him drink you in, feeling almost empowered by the desire you see in his eyes. He pulls you back towards him so that he can get one of your breasts into his mouth. The way he teases your nipple with his tongue has you clenching around nothing. You can feel how wet it’s making you and try your best not to squirm when he moves from one breast to the other. 

“I need you,” you utter. 

“I need you, too,” he says against your skin. His hips buck up into you almost involuntarily. 

You slide off of him and pull your shorts down and he gasps that you don’t have any underwear on. It isn’t like you were expecting anything, you just wanted to be prepared. While he’s still a little drunk on the sight of you fully naked, you help him discard the rest of his clothing. The sight of his cock springing free, precum leaking out, has you wanting to get your mouth on him. 

But, you’re realizing, what you really want is to feel him inside you. After so much tension and wondering, you just want to have this moment together. You want to be as close as two people can possibly get. You want all the intimacy and to be able to see his face. It’s this thought that pushes you back to the bed to lay with him. 

Joshua repositions and runs a hand down your body. Lets his fingers run along your thighs and tease their way up to gather some of your wetness. Your eyes close as he runs a finger up your slit. It’s such a little amount of contact and it makes you moan anyway. 

“Damn, are you this wet just for me?” he asks and presses a kiss into the first bit of your skin he can reach.

“I want to feel you,” you admit. Joshua makes you press a finger into your pussy, but you stop him. Confusion takes over his features.

“I thought…do you not want this?” he asks. 

“I do, but I want…I want all of you,” you admit. “I want to feel you deep inside of me. I want to be completely ruined by you. I want to come together.” 

“Shit,” he hisses, hand stilling against your body. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“I want to taste you soon,” he says, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

The thought of him between your legs makes you shiver. It’s almost enough to forget that you want this first time to be together. “Deal.” 

“Do you have condoms? I wasn’t exactly expecting…” he says, trailing off.

“That drawer,” you say and point. 

He rolls himself off of the bed to open the drawer. You’re not sure why you expect his hands to be a little unsteady when he rips open the wrapper and rolls it onto himself, but he’s so calm. Maybe it’s just you that’s a little nervous. At least, that’s what you think until you catch the look on his face. It has to be the same as yours, naked want mixed with a little bit of uncertainty. Everything else has been so easy with you, what if this is where it goes wrong? 

“Just lay back,” he urges you, voice calming any lingering nerves. His voice drops to a whisper, like the next statement is just for him. “You’re so beautiful, every single inch of you.” 

It makes your heart constrict in a way that you’re not really prepared for. It would be nice if your feelings could stop flooding in all at once like a dam breaking. It’s overwhelming. You do as he says, though, and lean back against the pillow. Joshua gently spreads your legs apart and takes another moment to appreciate you. He can’t seem to help himself from running a finger along your entrance. 

Even though he would fully be within his rights to tease you, he doesn’t. He lines himself up at your entrance and looks to you for final confirmation. All you can manage is a nod. You know he wants to hear you, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. So, he accepts the nods and slowly presses into you.

“Fuck,” you hiss as you adjust to him. 

“Are you okay?” he worries.

“Feels good,” you say with a slight whine. “It’s just been a bit.” 

He presses the rest of the way into you and then stills so you can get used to him. It’s really overwhelming. Not just because you’re finally feeling him inside of you. More so because he’s looking at you with more adoration than you’ve ever felt in your life. Like this is it for him. Like you’re it for him. It’s too early to be thinking of love, but you really don’t know if anyone has ever loved you so completely. You think he’s probably it for you too. 

Once he finally starts to move, you know it’s going to be over entirely too fast. He starts with slow thrusts, testing what you want. You dig your fingers into his arms as a way to ground yourself. To anchor yourself to him and in the moment. When he picks up the pace, your mind goes entirely blank. It’s just the right speed. While you love the hard and fast fucking, there’s something so much more intimate about this kind of in between speed. 

“God you feel so good,” he whines as he snaps into you again. “So tight and perfect.” 

“You’re so - oh my god,” you moan out, unable to finish the sentence as he hits you just right. 

Joshua moves one of your legs so that it’s over his shoulder and presses further into you, hitting deeper than you were prepared for.

“Fuck, Joshua, holy shit,” you scream out. 

“Love the sound of my name on your lips,” he manages as his thrusts pick up pace. 

You want to respond that you love saying it, want to say anything, but the thrusts are entirely too much. As if it wasn’t already too much, Joshua adjusts again so that he can press his thumb against your clit. He rubs circles in time with his thrusts and you think that you might see stars. You throw your head back, eyes pressed shut.

“Look at me, baby. I wanna see you when you come,” he urges, his own voice sounding ragged. 

Despite wanting to focus on the pressure building between you, you do as he asks. Your eyes meet his and it’s that look that makes that coil snap. You’re coming hard and digging your fingers into whatever you can find to release some of the tension in your body. This might be the best orgasm you’ve had. 

When you come back to this plane, Joshua has stilled inside of you. One of his hands gently caresses your face as he mumbles quiet praises. It’s so impossibly tender.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you can move,” you assure him.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles. 

His pace now picks up to something fast and hard with one of his large hands anchoring your thigh to his body. Your hands grip any part of his body that they can reach and you relish the way he hisses when your nails drag patterns down his skin. Marking him so that he belongs to you. Just as you belong so completely to him. 

It seems impossible but you can feel the tension building low in your stomach again. His thrusts are so hard that you feel like his cock might split you open and something about it just works for you. You hadn’t thought anything about him would translate to this kind of hard and fast sex, but it’s somehow better than you could have imagined. With him so focused on chasing his own high, you rub circles on your clit to bring yourself over the edge again. You tumble over the edge for a second time just as Joshua’s thrusts get erratic. You do your best to take over the rhythm before slowing down. 

Joshua collapses on top of you, cock still buried in your pussy, and sighs. His weight on top of you feels like the best security you’ve ever had. Your hands find their way into his hair, gently stroking and scratching his scalp. As he comes back around, he presses his head further into your hand. 

“Hey,” you say when he looks up at you.

“You’re perfect,” he responds and you can’t keep the smile off your face. 

“You were pretty perfect yourself,” you say. 

“Am I too heavy, I could…” he starts and you pull him tighter against you.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles his face into your neck. But, you know that you can’t stay like this forever. So you don’t protest when he gently pulls himself up and gets out of the bed. You’re right behind him, leading him into the bathroom so that you can get both of you cleaned up. 

After getting cleaned up, dressed, and doing your respective night time routines, you and Joshua are settled back into your bed (on top of a fresh set of sheets). Although you’ve never been much for falling asleep cuddling, you can’t imagine leaving any space between you and him. When he wraps himself around you, all you can do is smile and settle deeper into his perfect chest. Honestly, every inch of this man is perfect and you’d be annoyed if you weren’t so helplessly attached to him. 

And it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long time. You wake up with his chest pressed into your back and his arm still wrapped around you. It sounds like he’s still asleep based on his breathing and so you’re just considering slipping out of the bed. He moves in his sleep and pulls you tighter against him, making you feel that he’s semi-hard again. You press back against him, almost testing if he’s really asleep. 

He’s not. 

Joshua’s hand, already against the skin of your stomach and underneath your shirt, moves further up to your breast. His hand squeezes your breast and then he brushes his thumb over your nipple. Your body responds to his touch embarrassingly fast, which only seems to spur him on. He’s got your nipple between his fingers before you press back into him again, wiggling your ass against his dick without pretending you’re doing otherwise.

“Good morning beautiful,” Joshua says in a raspy voice into your ear. 

The warmth of his breath along with the pressure of him rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger has you suppressing a moan. In the quiet of the morning, he hears it anyway. He removes his hand from your breast and you want to pout at the loss of contact. That is, until his hand works down between your legs, roughly grabbing hold of your pussy through your shorts. He runs his middle finger through your folds, likely feeling the way your shorts are getting soaked through already. 

“Feels like someone might have woken up ready,” he says into your ear, voice sinfully low. His finger is still slowly teasing you through the damn material of your shorts. Somehow that makes it feel hotter. 

“I wonder why,” you retort, undermined by the way you squirm under his touch. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks and stops his movements. 

Your hand immediately moves to his. To guide him back to your cunt. “Please don’t. Want to see what those hands can do.” 

His mouth is still by your ear, so you hear the dark chuckle and feel the air tickle you. He moves your hand aside along with your shorts as he slips his hand inside the fabric. His middle finger resumes the previous pattern almost lazily. You’re about to ask him to stop teasing you when he presses a finger inside you suddenly.

“Fuck,” you nearly scream. 

“Is someone a little sensitive?” he teases. He’s a fucking demon and you would gladly sell your soul so he didn’t stop. 

The way he pumps his finger inside of you is entirely too slow. But, when you try to meet his rhythm, he stops. Just when you think you might actually die, he inserts a second finger. It makes your back arch, pressing your ass further against his now very hard cock. He hisses and pulls his fingers out from you. As you’re turning over to adjust your position, you see him insert his fingers into his mouth. Holy shit. He really is the hottest man you’ve ever met. 

Instead of letting you carry on in any way, he pushes himself up and repositions. You’re not really sure what he’s doing until he reaches for your shorts to pull them off. His focus is on you, silently asking for permission again. All you can do is nod. 

“Told you that I wanted to taste you,” he reminds you once your shorts are off. 

“Are you sure…” you start to ask before he cuts you off.

His head snaps up so he can meet your eyes. “I’ve been waiting to taste you for weeks.”

That shuts you up pretty effectively. What can you really say in response to that? Anything you might have said dies in your throat as he licks a messy stripe up your folds. He quickly settles, using one hand to keep you spread open for him, and licks into you. It’s all you can do to keep your eyes on him as his head bobs between your legs. You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him in place even though you know he’s not going anywhere. (And okay, maybe it’s more to ground yourself to him than anything else.) 

It shouldn’t be surprising that his attentiveness translates this well, but it is a little surprising how well he seems to know your body. The way he knows just when to switch from licking into your cunt to flicking his tongue over your clit. The way he knows when he needs to add a finger and then a second. The way he can tell everything your body needs before you even realize it. 

By the time he pulls himself up your body, he’s got you nearly panting from the build up. The kiss he presses to your lips is sloppy and a little desperate. Like you’re both totally fucked out. His fingers inside you keep a relentless pace as he hooks them, hitting that perfect spot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you yell out, breaking the kiss. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire in an entirely different way from the night before. 

There’s nothing in the world but Joshua and the way he coaxes everything out of you. The way he has you squirting on his fingers. You’re not even sure if the praise coming out of your mouth makes any sense and you’re definitely not sure what he says in return. It’s all you can do just to appreciate the moment. 

You think that you’re going to get the chance to get your mouth around his cock now that he’s given you another mind blowing orgasm. But, by the time you get your breathing under control, you see that he’s rolling a condom from your drawer onto himself. He pulls you to the edge of the bed so that your legs are hanging off. It’s instantly stronger than you’re expecting from him and pulls a gasp from you. 

Without even thinking, your legs fall open. Joshua seems to have found a bottle of lube, too, and spreads it over his cock. When he lines himself up at your entrance, you expect him to ease in like the night before. He doesn’t. He snaps his full length inside of you in one motion and you’re so overstimulated, but it feels so good.

“Fuck me, Joshua, oh my fucking god,” you say and clench down around his dick. 

“Shit, that feels so good,” he hisses. 

“You feel so good,” you moan. 

“You have no idea,” he answers and starts thrusting. 

It’s a complete haze from the moment you hear his skin slap against your own. Every coherent thought leaves your head. There is nothing in the world but you and him and the way you make each other feel. He leans over your body, crowds your space. Steals sloppy, desperate kisses. Praises you constantly and in broken sentences. It’s all you can do just to hold on, so sore and so unable to stop.

Your hands grip into the sheets around you that are completely rumpled. You try everything to keep your eyes on Joshua’s face. Memorize the way he looks when he’s concentrating. Appreciate how totally gone he is because you’re sure it’s the same look you have. Delight in the way his eyes get even wider when you clench your pussy around him. 

It feels a little like he’s using your body to chase his own high, except there’s total comfort in that. All you want is for him to feel as good as you do. All you want is for him to get that release, especially since you haven’t been able to get your mouth on his cock yet. 

“Harder Joshua, please. I know you’re close,”  you beg and he obliges immediately. 

Even though you’re trying to meet the rhythm, you can’t. It’s too erratic and too unpredictable. So you pull him down to you again and kiss him. Slip your tongue inside his mouth and let the kisses get as sloppy as they need to. You feel how close he is and only kiss him harder. He breaks the kiss for the last few thrusts, groaning as he comes. You’re right there with him. 

(Later, he tells you that he’s never seen anyone hotter than you when you come. It would make you embarrassed in any other situation. But, you realize that you’ve never been with anyone that’s come close to him, so maybe it’s okay to accept his praise. Maybe you deserve it. Maybe this is the person that you’ve been waiting for.)

Now, you really do have to get up and clean up. As tempting as Joshua’s offer to shower together is, you don’t want it to turn into shower sex because that’s just not sexy (or practical). Neither one of you can seem to guarantee keeping their hands off the other. Instead, you tell him that he can use the shower in your guest room. It’s fully stocked and there are still more spare clothes in there. He insists that he should get some laundry going because you must be running out of clean sheets and you definitely made a mess. 

With Joshua cleaning up some around the house, you’re the first out of the shower and dressed. Pleasantly sore in the kind of way you really enjoy. You’re sitting on the couch and scrolling through your phone, trying to decide if you want to order food or just cook what you already have. Before you can make a decision, there’s a knock at the door. It’s impossible to guess who it could be. Even Jeonghan wouldn’t bother you like this. Although he’s been texting asking for an update after you told him you finally got your shit together, he wouldn’t show up like this. 

When you open the door, you’d give anything for it to just be Jeonghan. Instead, you see a face that you’ve been seeing entirely too much lately.

“What are you doing here, Johnny?” you ask with a heavy sigh. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

“Why?” you ask.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he pleads.

“Johnny, it’s the day after your wedding. What the fuck are you doing on my doorstep?” you ask, arms crossed. 

“Are you really going to make me do this in the hallway?” he asks. 

“I don’t see any reason to invite you inside,” you retort. 

“It’s about your, uh, boyfriend,” Johnny says a little awkwardly.

“Joshua?” you ask because that actually piques your interest a bit.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“No. What about Joshua?” you ask.

“This is really awkward. It would be better if we were sitting down…” Johnny starts.

“My little honeybun, is everything okay?” Joshua asks from inside the apartment. He must be out of the shower. 

“Babe, we talked about the pet names,” you remind him as he joins you at the door.

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t expecting him to be here,” Johnny says.

“I’m her boyfriend, so I know why I’m here. What are you doing here?” Joshua says without hiding any disdain.  "Are you really her boyfriend, though?" Johnny challenges. You stiffen almost imperceptibly, but Joshua must notice it because he wraps an arm around you protectively. "Of course I am. Why are you here?"

“I needed to talk to her,” Johnny says stiffly.

“About you, apparently,” you say with your eyes on Joshua. 

“Right, so can you give us a minute?” Johnny asks with his eyes on Joshua.

“No, he can’t. If you have something to say, just say it. Then you can leave us alone,” you say.

“Fine, if you really want it to be like this, fine,” Johnny says. “I knew he looked familiar when I saw him at your parents’ house with you. It just took me a while. I ran into him at a couple of functions back when I was in college and traveling all around for my dad.” 

“Okay? And? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure why I care,” you say even though you know where he’s going.

“He was always with older women,” Johnny presses. 

“Can you just make your point so we can get back to our day?” Joshua asks.

“Fine,” Johnny says, irritated. “The whispers were that women paid him to come to the events with them. That he was selling himself to them.” 

You actually snort at the phrasing. It takes you several seconds to compose yourself. You wonder what the point of Johnny doing this and if it’s his way of trying to keep you on the hook. Then you realize that you don’t really care what he does. For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely happy. 

“I’m glad you think this is funny,” Johnny says. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I know how Joshua helped pay for his education. And like why am I going to give him a hard time over seizing an opportunity? There’s nothing wrong with profiting off of someone wanting his company platonically,” you say. 

“You’re assuming he wasn’t also sleeping with them,” Johnny says, a little stubborn.

“No, I’m not assuming. I know he wasn’t because we’ve talked about this. He told me all about it without even being prompted. And unlike certain people in my life, I have absolutely no reason to doubt him. I know I can actually trust him,” you say. “It was also years before we met. We’ve all got history.”

“Nice dig,” he says. 

“It’s not a dig, Johnny. Not everything is a slight,” you say with a sigh. “Where does Gabby think you are?”

“What?” Johnny asks. 

“Your wife,” you clarify. “Where does she think you are?”

“Oh, well, that’s not important. I just said I had some errands to take care of,” Johnny says and you roll your eyes.

“We’re done, Johnny,” you say.

“Wait,” he says as you’re moving to shut the door. “I know I fucked up, but…”

“There’s no buts. Not anymore,” you say. “Maybe there was a point where I’d want to hear the buts and the apologies and all that. I’m happy now, though, and you can’t even tell your wife that you came to see your ex-fiancee the day after your wedding.” 

“It’s not like…” he starts and you start to close the door at the same time.

“It’s exactly like that. Goodbye, Johnny,” you say. 

The second you close the door, you feel a giant weight lifted off you. You just feel tired. It’s obvious that there aren’t any feelings there anymore, so him pretending he cares as a pretense to see you just feels irritating.

“Are you okay?” Joshua asks, eyes raking over you.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, really. I think I knew when I saw him at my parents’ house that time you came over for dinner that I was completely over it,” you say. “I’m sorry he tried to bring something like that up or make it a big deal.” 

“I don’t care. It’s like you said, I did it and I’m not ashamed of that,” he says. “But, uh, I really wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” you ask.

“For defending me and for saying you trust me,” he says. It makes you a little shy for a second, so you look down.

“Oh, well, it’s not a big deal,” you say. 

Joshua closes the space and tilts your chin up to look at him. “It’s a huge deal to me. I know we started pretending, but trusting me means the absolute world.” 

“You make it easy,” you admit. 

That seems to render him a little speechless as well because all he does is pull you into him in the tightest hug he’s ever given you. Your body fits into his like a puzzle piece. Which sounds sappy, even if in your head, and you don’t actually care. It’s the safest and the happiest you’ve ever felt.

“What?” he asks when you pull away.

“Nothing, I just think this is going to work,” you say. 

Joshua smiles at you, that genuine smile he saves for when he’s at his happiest. “Yeah, I think so too.” 

i hope you enjoyed this fic! let me know your thoughts 💕

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