#“so uniquely you” PLEASE I AM SOBBING

[eightmakesonebraincell]

you know what's funny? that reblog or ask (i can't remember what it was) that was in response to one of chron's interactions where you said you've become dependent on me proofreading your fic so you don't hate it? THAT'S ME 🤝🤝🤝 THE WAY I WROTE THIS ENTIRE FIC HATING IT AND BEING LIKE THIS IS PROBABLY THE WORST FIC I'VE EVER WRITTEN BC I DIDN'T HAVE YOUR CONSTANT SURVEILLANCE THIS TIME LMAOOO 🤡 we've both become dependent i'm afraid 🤡 but omg we've talked about this a lot already but with my writing the emotions and feelings are one of the most important aspects so it makes ME warm to know i have ✨fazed✨ you >:D

YES MOODBOARD APPRECIATION I LOVE HAVING PHOTOS OF ALL OF THEM FROM THE SAME PHOTOSHOOT CAUSE THE UNIFORMITY OF IT ALL JUST >>> 😫🙌 AND I THINK MAKING THE MOODBOARD AND COMING UP WITH THE TITLE IS MY FAVOURITE PART OF WRITING FICS HONESTLY LMAO call me the next loseyoutoloveme 😼 if only

bro i did NOT know that hockey is your country's national sport bro if anything YOU should've been the one telling me how to write my fic LOL but i'm glad to hear that it wasn't confusing bc ik this fic was quite action-heavy

yunho is saur hot when he's competitive and uGH the coachella growling is what i imagine and i just 🥵 also you're right idk when it went from princess mingki 🌸💖 to mister mingles 🥸🧔‍♂️

no so true because it's not like they're just playing for socials or it's like changing teachers this is literally their career and everything is riding on the championships, so for their coach and literal anchor to change so suddenly is definitely hard to accept :'))

AHAHAHAH YEAH WOO AND YUNHO WERE PRICKS WITH THE NAME CALLING BUT 🤷‍♀️ ANGST YUM YUM and yes mister mingles makes many cameos as a true T throughout the fic

AASFJKSDHG YES WHEN I WROTE HONGJOONG I WAS LIKE yoikes he's an asshole like in surfers IDK IT JUST MAKES THE ANGST SO MUCH JUICIER WHEN IT'S HIM HAVING THE ENEMIES TO LOVERS ARC but also it made sense for /him/ to have said that and really set the tone for how the rest of the team would also treat you so lol sorry hongjoong babes but you gotta be the scapegoat asshole 🤭

ikkk and i think i really tried to make the scene of them finally finding their first coach super innocent and sweet like pLS just look at the things they were asking hongjoong for and how they were appreciating all the little things 🥹

RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT THE POWER THE SINGLE WORD "again" HAD IN THIS SCENE SO DELICIOUS and i was like >:DDDD each time i wrote it down again HOHOHO but defs both coach and the captain have very real reasons and rationales behind their opinions and thoughts so 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 for now we just suffer 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

dude the yeo scene offeringish you the seat still makes ME embarrassed too bro writing it physically pained me so much i had to tell you about it HAHAHAHA it would haunt me for the rest of my life if that ever happened to me irl

i tried so hard to give them ALL a solid backstory but my one braincell couldn't handle the workload so i was only able to give half of them a solid storyline but i like to think that the ones i didn't explore as much (like yungi, san 🫶) had their moments in surfers so it sort of evens out

I LOVE WRITING THE CONFRONTATION SCENES HAHAHAHA me being good at writing angsty confrontation and arguments whereas i would cry before even speaking up irl 🫨 BUT YES GIRLIE POPPED 👏 OFF 👏 was long coming and defs necessary for the growth of the team but also for all of them to realise that they actually /all/ had fault in this (and to finally get them to think YKNOW MAYBE YALL SHOULD TRAUMA BOND)

yeah i think it wasn't entirely realistic for the WHOLE team to be completely against you and for san especially, being the one to have been picking up the pieces after woo's injury (which ik is only revealed later but still) /he/ in particular would be able to see things a little bit better from your perspective bless his heart ❤️🫶

AHAHAHA when being able to curse in eight+ languages is for cursing out the antagonist in a ff 😌☝️

dude coach cho in hockey is the haneul in surfers like i really just think it's so important to have that warm and wise figure to be there to support mc and guide her through the angst (bc that would be me too) but definitely UGH his aura is just so fatherly and warm like he's so girl dad coded i just KNOW

yunho knowing how to keep it real and humble themselves 😺 WE SHARE THE SAME BRAINCELL they are NOT allowed to sleep peacefully after the revelation >:( and right?? like as much as they're on the wrong footing with one another reader just wants her players to be able to keep playing for as long as they can and she just wants to protect them :(((

AND OFC GOTTA HIT YOU STRAIGHT AWAY WITH THE WOO INJURY ANGST AND WOOSAN FEELZ BECAUSE TIMING AND ORDER OF SCENES IS EVERYTHING 😻😻😻

omg yes the "we're athletes too" and the whole idea of it not being pity, wanting to share the hurt together uGH mY HEART DJKGHFS AHAHAHAH FINALLY SOME COMFORT AFTER WHAT 15-20K???

definitely bro the team is built upon the coach + captain and if captain wavers it's a big RUH ROH and yeah having played a lot of sports there are just times where you can't play your best regardless of how much effort you've put into training and it's just so frustrating bc there's nothing you can do about it 😔 lowkey miss playing sport competitively now cause damn the feels >>>

AHHHHH I'M SO GLAD TO HEAR THE GAME SCENE PANNED OUT WELL because that was the longest scene i've ever written before and probably the most wordy and descriptive the scenes have ever been cause it wasn't even like a montage or anything but quite a detailed breakdown. so it makes me 😮‍💨 pHEw to know you were able to see every single moment I LOVE WHEN MY FICS ARE ABLE TO BE VIVIDLY IMAGINED AND FELT and pls omg this scene being The Scene that encapsulates me as a writer i'm going to sob :(((((

yess i really wanted reader to have relatable moments that let woo know that everybody is human and even /she/ has made her fair share of (dumb) mistakes. and defs having this connection where she is able to understand him the best with such similar experiences was really the pushing point where he realises that you're actually so much more to him than just a coach. and god i just want to give woo the biggest warmest hug and TELL HIM TO LOVE HIMSELF LIKE HE LOVES EVERYBODY ELSE 😭🫵

BRO THE KINKY THAT WAS WHAT I WAS REFERRING TO IN MY LIGHT REBLOG CAUSE LIKE YOU PUT THAT JOKE IN THERE SOMEWHERE TOO AND I WAS LIKE NANIIIIII ONE BRAINCELL????

i think the travelling /to/ the retreat scene was so necessary for ALL of us to heal a little (boys and us readers alike LMAO) and it was so fun to write cause i missed writing about their silly little interactions and the chaos they create like the 40 purchases HAHA and omg yes the dappled layers of snow was so big brained i lowkey wanted to gatekeep it for the next fic but oh well i've used up all my arsenal for hockey HAHAHA

not a loren fic without a cute montage of how their dynamics shift!!! i think this scene is the equivalent to the surfers scene that explores how they have a routine of summer days and there is familiarity in it but also that the familiarity starts to turn into something more :')) and it was just so cute to write about how DOMESTIC they all are which makes absolute sense bc they live together not just as a team but as BOYFIES 🤭🤭🤭

LOOK JONGHO'S MOTHER HAD TO TAKE AN L FOR THE PURPOSE OF THE PLOT HAHAHAH but we do have to say thank you to her bc at least we get our cute moment between reader and jongho which in turn pushes the sweet convo you get with joong which in turn makes you their unofficial girlfriend sooooooo

BUT RAHHH YES THE "who takes care of you?" IS LIKE THE SOFT LESS ANGSTY VERSION OF "who hurt you?" RAHHHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND I LOVE THIS LINE SO MUCH 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹

omg i don't think i've watched that before but for some reason that single line rings a bell and GOD DAMN does it SLAP like it hits bro and defs has the same sentiment because both acknowledge how the person is there for everybody but then who takes care of them :(((( bless their hearts and yours <333 hugs babes

yeah the boys deserve a retreat EVERY SINGLE OFF-SEASON @/kq blue birds are yall listening but it was one of my favourite scenes to write after all the angst because it truly encapsulates their dynamics with one another and the innocent fun that they have playing, especially ice hockey and they really needed that after all the pressure they felt related to the sport

AHAHAHAH NOT THE MOM WE'RE FAMOUS FOLLOWED BY ALL THE PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE THREATS and i think it was your 4am emo brain processing the story but nah bro the interview was the pre-finals interview asking them how they were feeling heading into the game and that's when they discover who the coach actually is ruh roh BUT YEAH THEY WILL GO ON TO WIN AND YES KARMA IS REAL HAH TAKE THAT COACH YEON 👊💢🦶💢

it just makes sense for woo to be the biggest simp (they all are, but woo would be the most vocal about it HAHAHA) AND YES THEIR FLOWERS HAVE FINALLY BLOOMED TO BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AFTER ALL OF THE FALLS THAT THEY HAD :'))

IK WE ALREADY TALKED ABOUT IT BUT YES I THINK BOTH SURFERS AND HOCKEY WILL FOREVER HAVE MY HEART BUT FOR DIFFERENT REASONS LIKE SURFERS IS SO WARM AND FUZZY AND NOSTALGIC AND HEALING WHEREAS HOCKEY IS MORE GROWTH AND LIFE LESSONS AND PLOT DYNAMIC i think after receiving your validation i have finally come to be proud of hockey AHAHAHAH (we both just suffer from hating our fics when we near the end)

THANK YOU SO MUCH BABES FOR YOUR LONG REBLOG LIKE I'VE READ THIS SO MANY TIMES ALREADY AND THE WAY I HEE HEE HA HA ED MY ENTIRE WAY THROUGH EVERY SINGLE ONE 👉👈

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.

[plumipal]

Last Name Dilemma

Yknow, this is purely for myself, happy me hating my last name. This is a yandere thing btw and please note that I am an artist, not a writer :,) so sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes

I had this amazing idea. If you don't really like your last name and get sucked into the world of twisted wonderland, why not just get a new one? It's very easy when you have suitors vying for your attention at every corner of the school! 🤭

It all started in the cafeteria...

Of course they were overjoyed you thought their last names were cool, did this mean you indirectly wanted to marry them? Well the game is on, and they for sure will win.

Much to their displeasure though, rumors speads fast at NRC, with everyone else quickly getting to know about your lastname dilemma. They are not backing down, wanting to burn the world down just to achieve their happy ending with you.

Ace

Of course you would want to marry him! He is your first friend in this wretched school after all! (Deuce would like to differ on that statement but yeah)

Ace may not be the richest, smartest or most beautiful, but he is your best friend, (hopefully) your first choise and (will make sure to be) your first love! Guy is serious. He will also pull all sorts of dirty tricks against everyone else, you're his bestie to marry no one else's!

Deuce

Ah poor little Deuce. Guy choked on his food when he first heard you talk about how cool their last names sounded. You think his last name is cool? Does that mean that you like him too? You wanna date him, marry him? Be his forever?? He is feeding into his own delusions and your words are only making it worse.

As soon as he has finished lunch he will excuse himself and make a call to his mom and tell her the wonderful news on how you and him will definitely get married! (He just gotta get you a sweet, sweet ring that you deserve)

Cater

Cater being quick on the trends, he was even quicker on the rumors about you having no last name (and definelty needing one). He has such a cute last name, it would fit so well with you! <3

He is already dreaming up the perfect magicam wedding, to show off how the oh so wonderful you chose him, and no one else. He also dreams of the private moments after, how you'll hold him as he sobs his heart out, so happy you chose him. He hopes these silly daydreams will soon become reality, cos he can't wait much longer..

He also definelty overloads you with his clones, giving you so much love you don't need to turn to anyone else for that :)

Trey

When Trey heard the rumors he sighed, feeling bad for how overwhelmed you probably are with everyone else's proposals. Well, come to him whenever you feel like it's too much, he will always make sure to lktsen to your problems (he loves the domestic feel to just having late night chats with you in the heartlbuyl kitchen as he prepares another batch of sweets for the next unbirthday party).

He will make sure that his own proposal of marriage is short and sweet, and he is sure it will win you over, who wouldn't want his sweets all day every day? He will make sure to feed and love you for the rest of eternity if you chose him <3

Riddle

Riddle is messy, he wants you as his spouse and he kinda wants it NOW, since he feels like he deserves it. You're the perfect match to him, the king of hearts to his queen od hearts...

He will show off how good of a husband he would be to you, how he will take care of you with a stable job, how he will help you with all homework and make sure you get special treatment on unbirthday parties. If he sees anyone trying to propose why they should be yours and not him, well, you know his unique magic...

Jack

Wolves mate for life. Jack wants to mate for life. Who does he want as his mate? You. You have changed his life, and he does not want to lose you, please. He is territorial, liking how your name would sound with his last name, now he just gotta make it happen..

Ruggie

Ruggie feels desperate when he hears the rumors. Why would you chose him, when you have literal celebrities, prince's and high standing people vying for you? Then he remembers, he owes you. It's usually the other way around yes, bur he owes you somehow.

With this he cooks up the amazing plan of giving you his last name as a thanks for that one time. He also gotta introduce you to his family, he knows granny bucchi is gonna peer pressure you into accepting marriage with him...

Leona

Leona will not lose you. He has lost so much coming second to everyone he knows. He will NOT lose you to anyone here, he will fight dirty and kill for you if there's a chance he gets with you. He has the money to hire help to get rid of people too, and that same money can sway you into chosing him, since that deadbeat crow ain't giving you a liveable sum to live on.

He makes sure to capture you for naps whenever he can, making sure to leave his scent on you, enough so most people can smell how he has been on you.

Floyd

Eeh? Shrimps wants a good last name?? Well with his you could scare oh so many away, leading to an easy life for you! It also leads to a fun life with you and him, and there will never be a dull moment in his life with you by his side!

Just don't take his last name with his brother yeah? Get with him instead.

Jade

Oya? The prefect wants a last name? A husband too perhaps? Jade's smile widens as he plans out how to trap you into a wonderful marriage with him. Perhaps some of his new mushrooms in his terrariums will make you tired enough to get you to sign a marriage contract with him?

Just don't marry his brother instead of him, he don't really know how he would handle that..

Azul

Azul feels himself become of sp happy whenhe heard the rumors. Finally! You will have him corner you as soon as he can, sweet smile on his face as he offers you a golden contract of his. He crafted it meticulously, making sure everything in it would be perfect for the both of you.

He tries to butter you up so badly, please he just wants you to himself, is that too much to ask for?

Jamil

Jamil has to hold back to use snake whisper, but he has it in case you chose the wrong option (not him). He wants you, he does that to lose you to anyone, ESPECIALLY KALIM. He probably uses snake whisper against others, to sabotage, to do anything. He just can't lose you...

He definelty shows off his cooking and cleaning skills, showing how he can be the perfect househusband for you. Look how good you could have it with him...

Kalim

Kalim is manipulative about this. He mat not be aware of it, bur he sure is. He wants you as his (spouce) bestie, and he will get that. Guy has never gotten a no, and he will not get one now (he hope atleast).

Let him plan you a grandiose wedding! With food, clothes, venue, parades and so much more worth millions and millions of thaumarks. He will space no expense for you!

Epel

Why is epel so roughened up? Why he fought for your hand of course! Isn't it manly to show off that you can easily fend gör your love? He also loves loves LOVES the attention you give him as you fix him up.

He feels so proud of the fights he won, wearing the scars like proud medals, so please take care of them before they get infected- he will only let you do it-

Maybe he will get into more fights if he can get your heavenly touch as a reward..

Rook

Rook stalks you on the daily, so of course he got to work as soon as the words left your mouth. He will hunt you down, get your heart and love and live happily every after :)

He 100% gets violent as well, bur of course you won't see that side of him! He wouldn't want to scare you..

Vil

Vil is certain you will chose him. He is the fairest of them all (niege don't count he is ugly), that is what you deserve. He will take care of you, especially your appearance. You've sent how he is with epel, now get ready for double that...

He dolls you up, makes you the best version of yourself so he can show you off on his socials,to mush it into that dumb nieges face that THE vil had you and niege doesn't. He is the fairest of them all with you of course..

Of course, he is the only queen worthy enought for your love and affection, so please just marry him already, he wants a Photoshoot together with you...

Idia (plus Ortho being STRICTLY PLATONIC)

I'm sorry but have you read his ssr story? Guy doxxes over nothing lol. He will breach your security if you tell him no, he has lost so much already, can't he have you please? You're the only thing he wants...

He will 100% use Ortho against you, backing you into a corner together with the robot. Ortho wants to make his brother happy, and he would be the happiest together with you. Ortho would also be so so so happy if you were his bif sibling too!

Theyve lost so much, they just want a happy family, together with you.. (ORTHO ONLY WANTS YOU AS A SIBLING NO WEIRD SHI AGAINST ORTHO PLEASE)

Sebek

Sebek has to run to lilia for guidance. Why has this human out this wonderful spell on him, why does he feel so lightweight? Why is his face so red? Why does he want to reject you for the rest od your days, more than he wants to protect malleus?

He wants to marry you. To have a wonderful marriage between human hand half fae, almost liek his parents... he will protect you at all costs. Please do love his loudmouth ass back..

Silver

Silver has no last name as well, so in his mind you both are already matching. He is too sleepy to actually do anything other than fall asleep with you.

Lilia

Lilia would snicker at the rumors. Ah, how he feels young again, silly what love can do to someone... he would love to help his son's with this, but sadly he wants this just as much if not more...

Malleus

Malleus does not want to lose his friend. His first and only real friend. He has tried to court you for so long, and now that you've dropped a hint that you wanted him (by saying you wanted a cool last name) he starts the royal courting traditions.

He follows all the traditions, step by step, being very careful to be correct and sparing no expense. He makes sure you see the future home of yours (the castle), his humongous hoard and his greatest treasure, gao gao dragon..

.. holy hell this was so much longer than what I expected. Well, who would you go for? Do tell :,)

Also, would yall want more long form content like this or way more short form? My asks got deleted so don't really have any to draw smhhh </3 so do send shi in please <3

[hitomisuzuya]

Im sending hugs to you. I hope this ask helps in any way it can. If you dont want to write it, feel free to ignore (although id appreciate it if youd answer the ask and tell me you wont write it.) love love love you and your writings!

Request!

Fatui scara coming home earlier than his wife which is rare since hes the one thats usually late cuz of harbinger duties. One she does arrive, its practically hours that should be spent in bed, resting. He senses wife troubles aka wife in need of love and attention due to being exhausted from work, life or whatever may be. All he knows is that he needs to get rid of your stress. By fucking it out of you, that is.

I can see this as soft dom scara but you can do whatever you like ^^

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Creampie. Husband!Scaramouche. Degradation. Soft!Dom Scara.

Thank you, dear ❤️ Writing this did help. I am glad everyone likes my soft doms a lot. Scara is straight up husband material in a lot of unique ways 😌

Scaramouche is very set in his ways, his eyes immediately hooding with annoyance the moment he walked through the door. He didn't receive his usual greeting: his wife's arms wrapped around him, nuzzling into his neck with: "I missed you. I am glad you are home."

This man legit walked into every room and looked around. Pulled back the curtains to every window, looking outside in hopes of seeing you. Sighing, he crossed his arms. "Where is my wife?"

He was pretty sure the entirety of Teyvat, and maybe even Celestia was impressed that he'd found a woman who could tolerate him, and the general experience even knowing him brought. He would've been the biggest idiot not to lock you down when he did.

Being the man that he is, Scaramouche knew exactly what you needed the moment he saw you walk in the door. You looked tired, anxious, and lonely. He knew you got anxious without him, and the fact that he'd stayed away three days longer than he promised didn't help much.

Scaramouche knew what he had to do: these tensions were best relieved by fucking you raw, absolutely dumb and drooling on his cock. Real men tended to their wife. And he was determined to do nothing short of that.

From the way your pussy was clenching around his cock as he fucked into you from behind more than said how much you missed him. There wasn't one moment where his cock hadn't been aching to buried raw inside of you.

The relentless pace with which his hips smacked into yours was furious. "Sc-Scara!" You cried out, his cock head nudging firm and consistent into your sweet spot struck you breathless, your fingers clawing at the sheets. You could barely breath as shamelessly loud moans sounded from your throat, "I can't breathe! I need you so badly," The latter was said behind a choked back sobs of pleasure, your hips pushing back into his cock.

"Shh, shh, I know, kitten. I know," Scaramouche groaned, he reached a shaky down to stroke the back of your head before grabbing a handful of your hair, "Just shut that pretty brain of yours off, and focus on one thing," He pulled your head back, pushing a hand down on the small of your back to make you arch it down, "Pleasing me."

He smirked feeling such a shiver rippled through you. The more dominant he got with you, the more you relaxed. Archons, he'd missed you so fucking much. Both him and his cock. Your pussy was clutching so warm, perfect, and tight on his cock. Craving to milk it for all it was worth that it was hard to keep himself from cumming.

Fucking his pretty wife full of his cum was part of tending to her. And there was more than a thick, milky ring glistening on his cock. "Fuck I can feel it, you are so close," He groaned drunkenly, reaching down to rub and pinch your clit, "Cum on your husband's dick like the cock drunk slut you are," He kept a hand on your hip, holding your body still so he could fuck his cock as deep inside of you as he could.

You were dizzy, seeing stars and drooling. Your pussy only clenched tighter, your clit swelling and throbbing more underneath his fingers as he degradingly praised you. He delivered a firm smack across your ass to emphasize he meant what he said.

You mewled in bliss, your toes curling as pleasure burst white hot behind your eyes. You felt every pulse of his thick, veiny cock dragging between your sensitive walls. You could barely hold yourself up on your elbows, your whole body shaking from pleasure.

Scaramouche was certain all those unwanted, stressful tensions were melting away from you. "Who do you belong to, kitten?" He purred, the pads of his fingers skating on your clit, "Who did you swear to honor and obey?"

"You! It's you, Scaramouche!" You barely heard the shaky laugh behind you before the knot of your orgasm finally broke apart, your pussy squirting as you creamed hard on his cock. You could barely comprehend up from down, all the feelings of how hard it was being lonely, waiting all the time was for you was forgotten.

"That's fucking right," Scaramouche moaned, his cock pulsing cum for third time that night inside of you, "Look at my good girl fucking shake, my perfect obedient slut," He babbled. His eyes drifted closed, lost in the haze of how perfect his cock felt sheathed inside of you.

The satisfaction Scaramouche felt was immense when he pulled out of you, his cum oozing out of you as he gently flipped you over onto your back. Your arms immediately wrapped around him as he collapsed on top of you. "I missed you, Scara. I missed you so much," You said sleepily, nuzzling into his neck.

"Finally," He murmured, holding you against him.

[aajjks]

loser ≠ lover (m)

synopsis. He wants you so much, even if you’ll destroy him, because he’d let you.

fem reader x yandere oc.

warnings. yándere, öbsession, masochïstic tendencies, mentions of physical, emotional abûse, unhealthy thöughts, èxtreme obsession, obsessive thoughts.

note. MY FIRST OC!!!!! UHHH IM SO SO NERVOUS BECAUSE IM NEW TO THIS KIND OF THING BUT I HOPE YOU ALL WILL GIVE HIM A CHANCE. HES ALL YOURS TO INTERACT WITH, send fanart?!?? Please I’d be honoured, send asks talk to him!!!! 😭💌

second instalment x

loser boy who worships the ground you walk on!

Who licks off the dirt that trails off your shoes as you walk down the school hallway.

loser boy who is so obsessed with you that he can’t breathe if he can’t get a look at you.

loser boy who can’t feel anything but love for you, passion that pumps so hard in his veins for you, who can’t say a word without stuttering except your name.

Loser boy who follows you around like a lost puppy, who doesn’t care if your ‘friends’ cuss at him, if you call him a dirty dog.

At least you’re talking to him! God, he’s so lucky!

“Goodness fuck off! You sicko! How’d you find my address!?” You spit at him, your eyes filled so beautifully with hues of disgust, your luscious lips curled up in annoyance. He smiles so brightly at you, God, you’re so beautiful.

“O-Oh please! C-Call me more names! P-Please!” He begs, on his knees, his raven hair falling on his grey orbs, his lashes wet as he begs you.

You feel embarrassed, He notices, yet he feels his heart burning from the need to hear you insult him.

It’s been too long.

And that’s why he’s here, at 1 am right infront of your door, begging.

“Fucking masochist! You’re so disgusting! FUCK OFF.” The way your shoe hits his jaw, makes him moan out your name like a prayer.

You groan in anger, he gets up again, you struggle against him, your nails scratch him, the burn feels euphoric, he missed you so bad.

“You don’t understand huh?!? LEAVE. ME. ALONE.” You try to get away from him, the boy doesn’t let you, instead he grabs your legs, wrapping his arms around them, “n-no please! take me back please!” He’s sobbing.

Yet his heart loves the thrill of your resistance, it turns him on so much, his pants feel so painfully tight, “NEVER! You ARE NOT GOOD FOR ANYTHING! You are of no use to me anymore!” you keep insulting him, it makes him feel so relieved.

You hadn’t been talking to him for so long, he almost went insane without you.

“Y-YN p-please kiss me!” He stands up, “p-please!”

“FUCK OFF Ezekiel!” His mind blurs.

His tongue lulls out and he whimpers as you finally utter his name out, it sounds so good, so erotic from your mouth, His name was made for you to call out.

He is so obsessed with you.

“S-Say it again… p-please!” Ezekiel stands up, his knees wobble, the stormy grey eyes are full of lust, craziness.

You roll your eyes at him again, it only makes him so much more excited, he loves your rejection so much, he always has.

Because it’s a unique bond between you, you treat him special, he knows.

“fuck off weirdo.” Ezekiel doesn’t say anything but pushes you against the door of your house, “YN…” he brings his face so much closer to you, he feels scared yet thrilled.

You’re so unpredictable, it makes him shake with anticipation.

“P-Please don’t leave- don’t-don’t abandon me! I-I’m sorry I disappointed you b-but he deserved it.” You raise your eyebrows at his ‘apology’

“No. Get away from me you sick freak! You had no right to beat him up like that, who are you huh? My boyfriend? Please…” you scoff, “you’re nothing to me Ezekiel, absolutely nothing.” You spit again at him.

God.

“You’re just a pathetic man who gets me off. You’re just a pastime you get that?” You point your finger to his chest.

“Y’know you’re lucky you have a big dick and a pretty face. sometimes you’re obedient too and you make good punching bag.” You laugh so cruelly, venom drips in your words.

Yet he takes it as words of praise.

“You’re like my dog.”

Yes he is.

“S-So please just take me back? I-I’m so sorry YN…. Please punish me but not like this! H-HIT ME.” He takes your hand and swipes it hard across his cheek.

You gasp in surprise, Ezekiel looks at you with pure desperation. “Please! I-I can’t live without you,” he bites his lower lip, the mole under his lips becomes more evident.

“I-I can please you! I can help you get off! Please let me- give me a chance- I’ll make you cum as many times you’ll want to- PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE AT REDEMPTION!”

“P-Please!”

[darkestspring]

Can I get gluttony #6 for aegon 

2k followers event | requests open

You always knew people thought the worst of Aegon, it had been worse to witness it. From Alicent, from Otto, from Aemond, from even his father. It was like you were the only one who gave Aegon the benefit of the doubt, who tried to trust him and believe him.

"Please believe me, I would never do such a thing to you." Aegon sobbed into your lap as the accusations of him being spotted in a brothel had come rolling in.

You knew Aegon had been known for visiting them, but you also knew it was a habit he'd put effort into dropping after he married you, and you believed him. He had always seemed sincere to you, honest.

He had never hidden what he had done and you had put it in the past along with everything else that came before you.

You sighed softly as you ran your fingers through his hair softly as you sat on the bed you shared with him. "Aegon..." You frowned softly as his weeping.

"I never-!" He hiccupped into your lap. "I never went into the brothel! I was in Flea Bottom, but not for the brothel, I swear it!" He looked pitiful as he looked up at you with tearful eyes. "I was looking through the merchants that something sell unique items, I never went anywhere near the brothel, I swear it, may any gods out there destroy my soul if I'm lying to you."

He didn't have to go this far, you believed him. It pained you that he was so used to others not believing him to the point that he was sobbing into your lap and pleading for you to believe him.

"It's okay, I believe you. I'm not upset." Through how upset you were for him, you managed to give him a smile, one of your hands shifting down to cup his cheek. "I know you've been trying so hard to be better, my dearest heart."

"You deserve better than what I am right now, but I'm going to keep trying to become someone you deserve." He promised you, returning to resting his head in your lap for comfort, not wanting to move away from you.

"I know, my dearest heart, but don't force yourself. Change can only come from a willingness to change and not from forcing it. I will always believe your words first before anyone else. So, no more tears." You hummed softly.

Aegon climbed onto the bed with you, your hands running through his hair softly as he slowly fell asleep against you, soft snores leaving his lips.

"My poor, dearest heart. You need only ask me to kill someone for you." You were glad he was too deep in sleep to hear your words.

This wouldn't do, you'd have to deal with people who were spreading these false rumors.

[harmonysanreads]

i’m just thinking abot ur recent post about when you cry during a movie… i’m having dr. ratio brainrot rn pls help

no but so real. he’d just delve into the illogicality of the film while ur sobbing your eyes out. he just doesn’t understand why you’re so affected? 1. it’s not real 2. you can see this coming from a mile away (and it can be either: the thing is pretty obvious, or the thing isn’t that obvious and ratio is too smart for his own good).

when he sees you cry he does scoff at the fact that you’re crying at something so trivial, but tones down his comments and maybe… if he feels nice enough, subtly wraps an arm around you in attempt to console you.

this is more general film/movie hcs but;

actually at any point while you’re watching a film he starts rattling on about how the film’s production is bad, how that sound effect wasn’t actually realistic (they could’ve done better sound design), how the actors aren’t actually speaking in the film, they actually record their lines later on.

(he mentioned that once and now you can’t stop thinking about it while watching literally anything, be it a live show or not. when you’re having a mini-crisis over if someone on a live gameshow is actually speaking or saying their lines later, he rolls his eyes and reminds you of the fact that it’s live. you miss the fond smile on his face while he does. it’s nice to know that you pay attention to his comments during the film-)

he just ruins movies for you and at some point you never mention the fact that you’re gonna watch a film or invite him to the movies anymore. he gets a bit pouty over it — maybe you mention a film you recently watched and he stares at you, mildly offended that he wasn’t invited. you explain that he keeps ruining the film for you, why can’t you let imagination be imagination?

okay… so he tries his best to tone it down. only for you. he still points out the obvious, but tries to bite back his comments when the lead does a stunt that comes off a bit too… unnatural? (it’s just nice to see your amazed face… that’s all.) or a poor done joke that really should’ve been performed better (he likes the way you giggle at it, even if it isn’t a very good one).

i’m actualy suffering dr ratio brainrot so bad rn he is taking over my life he lives in my head rent free please help

[ Post in question ]

Anon, please save me because I too am having massive Ratio brainrot after reading your ask(s).

I think infodumping is one of Ratio's love-languages in general. It's difficult to grasp unless you've known him for a while but he wouldn't just go parading around information about a specific topic to just anyone. Moreover, he always puts emphasis on self-learning. So unless he detects enthusiasm and effort for learning or if he really likes someone, I can't see him speaking this much — about movies nonetheless.

But if we consider it being his unique way of showing affection, I presume it'll annoy him greatly if the reaction he gets is counterproductive and refrain from it altogether in the worst-case scenario. Complaining about bad filmmaking is Ratio's way of connecting with you throughout the ordeal, you can watch a movie with anyone but, how many will passionately criticize (and flaunt their knowledge) every scene in front of you? It requires a level of trust and sharing certain thoughts with someone else necessities you have good rapport, at least for characters like Ratio.

So when you mentioned him trying to tone down on the criticisms ultimately instead of shutting it off entirely, that just showed how much he actually cares about you, which I think is very sweet.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Please, elaborate on wishiwashi! I am learning a lot about pokemon as the mother of a small child who declared himself meowth, so I am a pokemon immigrant.

Okay so most Pokémon fish are limpid and dull but let me tell you about Wishiwashi

So Wishiwashi is a weak-ass pathetic craven fish whose entire emotional range is "sobbing animé tears", which it does at all times. Imagine the weakest, most useless little animé anchovy of all time, and then imagine it trying to exist in a world where ecoterrorism is rife, ghosts are real, the horrors of the deep (above it on the food chain) have magic powers, and sometimes you might need to fight god. Imagine what that looks like.

Imagine no more. Here it is:

BUT THE THING IS

Pokémon all come with an Ability - a superpower they innately have. Some are absurdly powerful (there are gods who change the weather with their very presence), some are quirky (there's a horrifying bear with Fluffy - so much fur it takes half the damage from physical moves but twice the damage from Fire moves), and some are useless (Run Away, the Ability that lets you run away from wild Pokémon.)

Wishiwashi has a unique Ability. It is called Schooling.

Basically, as long as its health is above 25%, it schools with other Wishiwashi into the shape of a single giant monstrous fish. They arrange themselves into a fish shape, and move like a single Pokémon. This makes Wishiwashi so powerful it becomes immune to multiple other moves. It becomes so powerful its base attack jumps from 20 to 140. It becomes so powerful it's known as the demon of the sea. Imagine what that looks like.

Imagine no more. Here it is:

And then you take its health down to 25% or less and its friends freak out and everyone leaves and it's back to being a crying useless wimp.

I love Wishiwashi

[vamp4kaulitz]

Bill k. X Reader w/ Thunder thighs? HC pls,or imagine whatever you want really (DO NOT FEEL PRESSURED,YOU NEED SLEEP,YOU NEED TO EAT,AND MAKE SURE YOU READ ENOUGH FANFIC)

BILL KAULITZ X GN! READER W THUNDER THIGHS HCS

pairing: bill kaulitz x gn! reader

hika🕷️:: TYSMM FOR THE REQUEST MLLL!! I will make sure I’m taking care of myself, I love you smm💞!! sorry i haven’t been posting- i lowk dont know what to write😢. lol it’s 2am rn. psa 6/21; yes i am black and im aware i wrote this on Juneteenth.

SFW

i feel like bill is a thigh guy and he would LOVE your thighs sm. i mean he would always have this hands on your thighs, he would just be the touchy lil guy he is.

he’d definitely help rub coconut oil on them<3 this man loves helping you out, especially because he loves feeling your soft skin.

if you feel insecure about them, he would reassure you and kiss all over them. bill would kiss and nip at your thighs, whispering praises.

if you ever decided to get rid of them by working out, he’d be a bit but he would always be there to support you(such a good boyfriend)

would DEFINITELY use your legs as pillows. bill would stuff his face between your things 24/7. if not, he would rub and kiss them without a care in the world.

if someone points out your thighs in a negative way, best believe this man is THROWING HANDS!! how could someone talk about his precious baby like that? especially in front of him? hes not letting any insult go unheard.

“the fuck did you just say? why don’t you mind your own fucking business and leave them alone!” he shouted at them loudly, not caring who looks.

“say one more fucking thing and i will knock your teeth out.” he spat and grabbed your hand and walked away<33

if you ever ranted on how you hate your thighs, he’d be right by your side, listening to you. he would comfort you no matter what.

“i just hate my things, they are so annoying..!” you sobbed out and bill hugged you tightly.

“im sorry you feel that way baby. your unique, always remember that okay?”

NSFW (skip if uncomfortable)

oh gosh where can I even start? he would leave all types of hickeys all over them.

while eating you out, he would push them apart and squeeze them while he worked his way with you, demanding you to not close your legs.

“keep these beautiful legs spread for me, liebe.”

oh my gosh SIT ON HIS FACE PLSS. he downright begs for it, not caring if he seems desperate, that’s because he is.

“please please please schatz i want you to sit on my face!!” he whined as he begged and begged.

“but my thighs bill- what if they squish you or run out of breath?” you pouted. he didn’t care if he couldn’t breath after.

after some convincing you’d give in. he was like a happy kid who’s parent got them what they wanted from the store.

“fine fine fine! ill sit on your face, you happy?” you groaned and he smiled so widely. “i promsieee it’ll feel so good!” he said excitedly.

you didn’t put your full weight on him because you were scared of squishing him with your thighs. you lowered yourself on him, but not fully.

“i said, put your full weight on me.” he said and gripped your thighs and pushed you down on his face. you moaned loudly as his tongue skillfully moved against you, his tongue piercing feeling so so good.

You came so hard that you could’ve sworn you saw stars. You pulled off his face and he wiped his mouth and smirked.

“told ya you’d like it.” he teased and you rolled your eyes playfully.

hika🕷️:: i wrote this in one sitting goodbye..also requests are finally open sooo send me your horny stuff you lil goobers!! remember NOT to cross my rules!!

[yuri-is-online]

Since enough time has passed that I can reasonably assume you saw the Book 7 update, any thoughts on what happened with Kalim and Jamil? It’s certainly interesting how Malleus’s very naive/limited idea of happiness and his lack of understanding of his schoolmates are very much on display here.

The girls are fighting

- 🦐

So I want to get ahead of a few points, namely that "Malleus isn't creating the dreams himself" and I want to point out that while he isn't personally creating each and every detail, when casting the spell he did so with the intention of creating a world in his image of happiness. That means a world where no one knew loss, which he says before using his magic so while it is fair to critique posts like the one I am currently making for claiming "Malleus doesn't know his classmates is putting too much blame on him personally when he isn't tailoring their dreams-"

It isn't exactly because if he did really know his classmates he would understand why his idea of happiness is so flawed, which I think is sort of the idea of the chapter. Malleus does not understand humanity because he is (practically) immortal, and he is actively resistant to it for a variety of reasons, all of which have to do with the fact he is still practically a child. He is experiencing character development because he is growing up, me saying "wow he doesn't understand shit" is not meant to be a personal attack on him it is just me reading the chapter. This bit with Kalim and Jamil really made me think about him weaving a world with no loss into his spell, the dreams are actively removing things that would cause the individual students to experience loss, as a result creating more of it. Kalim loses the real Jamil, but he also loses his gained awareness of the reality of the Scalding Sands's class system. Jamil loses his status as a servant, but he also loses his perspective on life. Going back to the previous dreams, Rook loses Vil's friendship, but gains a world where his idol achieved his dreams. Loss hurts, but it is essential for growth. Malleus hates this because, as he says at the start of Diasomnia, he fails to see why he is so powerful if it doesn't get him what he actually wants. What he wants is Lilia and genuine friendship like he has with Yuu, and his magic can't get him that for real so he's accepting store bought.

Keeping this theme of removing the possibility for loss from people's lives, I'm most curious about what Ruggie and Cater's dreams will be like. Will Ruggie have both his parents? I can't even begin to think about Cater- I think his dream might be genuinely depressing. There's a lot of potential for it to be super disturbing and I kind of hope he gets a card, just because it would suck if his dream was used for comedy. I think that should go to Deuce, I think he should be wearing glasses and using a bunch of big words he doesn't understand and that Ace and Grim should call him a dork.

Speaking of Ace I want his dream to involve Yuu staying in Twisted Wonderland. I am manifesting it, I am begging Miss Yana please, he was so chill about Yuu leaving saying it was a bridge they'd cross when they get there, Miss Yana please I want him to cry. I want him to break down sobbing when he has to admit Yuu can't stay in Twisted Wonderland forever I want his unique magic to manifest in a goddamn dream because of how desperate he is- why are you running and calling emergency services, hello I am so very hinged and not remotely sleep deprived- PLEASE PLEASE PLAESE AKSAJBRGKJRGDRHGJ

[s-rosie]

Javery Hcssss

hi guysssss! I hope you like these hcs and enjoyed them as much as i liked making them. I took some of the tips. I got from my last post and used to them to make these. Please comment any more ways I can improve. I’m always trying to get better. Thank you.

when jameson first started dating her, she had never received romantic affection, so she had no idea to react to it and just combusted

jamie leaves the biggest and darkest hickeys on her and she sometimes doesn’t even realize until she hears snickering

at a gala, one time avery pulled jameson into the bathroom and they made out until alisa came looking for them, averys red lipstick stained his face and there was no makeup to cover it up causing alisa to just scream at them for like 20 minutes and he walked around the gala with lipstick stains on his face the rest of the night

avery once told jameson what she always wanted her first dance song to be, and a few hours later he called her to help her find her phone and her ringtone for him was that song (in my mind it is timeless by ts but you decide)

she had so much trouble showing jameson just how much she loved him at first, so she would write him letters telling him her feelings, jameson then incorporated some of the things ave wrote in the letters into his wedding vows (she also included some of things he said in his love confession in tfg in her vows (they both started sobbing and no one else knew why))

avery and jamie make each other scrapbooks about things they do together

jameson goes up randomly to ave and takes a 0.5 of her, that photo then becomes his lock screen for the day

whenever the song call me maybe comes on, jamie SCREAMS that song to ave no matter if they are in public or not

they watch disney movies and go to the parks together all the time

sometimes when it rains, they go to a secluded part of the estate and slow dance

they once got food poisoning together from a 3:00 am taco bell run and they held each other while the other threw up

when they were still in school, jamie did theatre and avery was the assistant director just so she could watch jamie preform. he also had to stage kiss and almost dropped out because he felt like he was cheating on ave. she assured him it was fine

jameson once did avery’s makeup and hair and it looked so good people thought it was professionally done

once ave asked jameson what she should get done to her nails, and he responded with something like “rounded square nude french tips” and she just sat there like “how the hell does he know that”

when jamie gives avery one of his jackets, he always pretends like he’s not cold and ave finds it adorable

jamie was once on avery’s phone and read some of the texts she sent max about him (like her absolutely thirsting for him) and he was so surprised because it was a major flip from her usual self

he always opens car doors and pulls out ave’s seat

like i said in my last hc post about them being theatre kids and dressing up like eliza and ham for halloween, he was posting stuff the whole night like “my life is going fine because elliza is in it” and she was posting stuff like “he better say no to this” while he looked over at another girl in a red dress (everyone thought it was adorable and hilarious)

jameson can sketch and draw pretty well, and ave can paint, so they once made a custom chess board

no matter if they admit it or not, they cannot sleep without each other. like if the other is out working late or sum, the one in bed cannot fall asleep.

jamie loves braiding avery’s hair and he even watches tutorials on how to make complex braids so her looks unique. when people ask who/how she did her hair, she responds with an excited “oh! it was jamie, hes the best!” and he just smiles proudly.

they make up very complicated yet super cute handshakes that they do often

they once made a tiktok of them singing promiscuous and the fans went BALLISTIC

avery once waxed jameson’s eyebrows and gave him acrylic nails for fun (he looked absolutely fabulous)

i really hope you liked theseee! please let me know how i can improve. also my inbox is open if you have any requests or recommendations. thank you so much!

[aratribow]

I love how your art stays almost stagnant in a homey way. I scrolled down a bit to look at some of your art (I'm obsessed sorry I hope you don't mind) and while you did improve on lighting quite a bit, you still have such a distinct and uniquely beautiful artstyle that makes me feel at home whenever I see it. Everyone talks about how an artist's work tastes (I do too) but what about FEEL? Yours feels like a warm fireplace in the coldest winter. Tysm for posting when you don't have to. Everyone appreciates the beauty of your art, but I also want to take the time to appreciate the time you took to create your art (proofreading this particular sentence was really funny LMAO). How many YEARS it took to get to your desired style. You are an amazing artist and I hope you enjoy drawing, however please prioritize your life (school, jobs?) so you can prosper. Perhaps I'm making this too long but what I mean to say is will you marry me

(I wanted to end it at that but just in case you think I'm serious this is a joke a JOKE I jest haha 🙏 unless...)

seriously though! I mean every word! You and your art are amazing!! 💕)

M so sorry op but this is SOOO JINGHENGJING ASF I SWEAR, fan jy and artist dh frfr and i make no rules

Me 👆 reading this wall of LOVE THAT U TOOK TIME OUT OF YOUR DAY TO WRITE LIKE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AND NO OP HOW CAN I EVER MIND U SCROLLING THROUGH MY BLOG WKSBKSNS M JUST ISNSJSSJW NOT ENOUGH WORDS. I've just been WAILING the entire time reading this and and YOU'RE SO SWEET OMG, validation is OFF THE ROOFS WITH THIS ONE.

M so happy my art feels like a fireplace on the coldest winters op....KSNSJSN SOBS

No shit but the sentence that made U laugh while proofreading? That's A LOT FOR ME. M JUST RESPECTFULLY DYING IN A CORNER, THAT'S SOOOO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA TwT

And I do prioritize my studies op, thanku for your concerns ^^ also KSHDJENSKEJJE I AM SO SORRY BUT THE "what I mean to say is will you marry me?" HAD ME IN SHAMBLES. I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT BUT OMGGG DAS SO CUTE OF U

THANKU SM FOR YOUR ASK OP ur so adorbs omg. Have a great day/night!! MWAH

[the-fluff-piece]

Sanji - loving his s/o with self esteem issues

this is part of the request for a headcanon from @zephyrian-journ it turned into a whole story, whoops i hope it's okay!

Sanji x fem!reader who has problems with her body, I can only write from my perspective so keep that in mind!

Mention of stress response, insecurity with one's own body, mention of restricting

Here are my Masterlists

My Masterlist - Short and Multichapter stories

Headcanon Masterlist

Sanji expresses his love through food and service, he is just like that. So when you stop eating his creations and request only the plainest, low caloric options he is starting to feel really anxious. When you refuse to be touched and hide your body from the world he starts to panic. When you become absent minded and cautious, when you retreat and keep to yourself - he has a full breakdown.

He waits until you are alone and approaches you with an uncomfortable expression.

"So, what's wrong?" He asks, avoiding your gaze.

"What do you mean?" You ask back.

"You're kind of distant lately and...did I do something wrong?" The gaze of his blue eyes is locked on his shoes, his graceful fingers are fumbling nervously, he looks like a boy that has done something seriously wrong.

"No, not at all" you try to look into his eyes, but he turns away.

"I understand." He runs away. When you catch his arm and he turns around, tears are already flowing from his face. "I understand, I am not good enough for you anymore, I won't bother you anymore with my presence" the end of his sentence is hardly understandable, since he is sobbing loudly now, sinking to his knees. "You don't love me anymore, I am not good enough" he cries as he dramatically hugs your knees.

"Shh, don't cry babe, I love you more than anything, you know that" you tell him as you soothingly stroke his hair and kiss the tears away. "Why would you think that I don't love you anymore? You're the best thing that ever happened to me" you tell him as he looks up at you with puppy eyes, pressing his cheek against your chest.

"You're not eating my cakes anymore, you don't let me touch you, we're not bathing together anymore...it's like you don't want to be with me anymoooooooooooooore" the last word transitions into a long, whiny sob and he cries like a waterfall again.

"It's got nothing to do with you!" You explain to him. "You're perfect, you know that. It's me."

He blinks tears out of his eyes and looks at you. "THAN WHYYYYYYY" he helplessly gestures with his hands as he's crying out his question.

"...I gained weight. I don't fit into my jeans anymore. I just...I feel like a whale. I don't feel comfortable right now. I didn't want you to notice until I lost it again. Which doesn't seem to be working. And I was never thin to begin with..." your voice breaks as you struggle to express all you are feeling. "I just didn't want to disappoint you." Now you have tears in your eyes, avoiding his puzzled look.

"What?" He gets up and holds your shoulders. "How would you disappoint me?" He tries to catch your gaze but you are avoiding him.

"You like pretty women. I don't even know what you see in me, and now it's gotten worse. I just didn't want you to notice"

It is harder to say than you thought and now you're sobbing. Suddenly you're pressed against his chest, the soft fabric of Sanjis suit is catching your tears.

"I was so stupid and superficial I even manage to hurt you now with it! I'm so sorry! I didn't know what I even could expect from a relationship. I just know that you are unique and perfect and that I feel as safe with you as never before. I like your body because it is yours, and I want to see it grow old together with mine." he lifts your chin up and looks into your eyes. He looks dead serious now, despite his reddened and puffy eyes.

"Please forgive me!" He pleads. "I don't want you to feel unwanted! What can I do?"

"I don't know..." you say.

He nods, tears and snot running down his face.

"I'll find a way!" He promises.

For the next days, he's serious and quiet. Every time you talk, he tells you how much he loves you, but things between you seem tense. He also seems to do a lot more stuff for Nami than usual - carrying stuff for her, bringing her more treats, constantly asking what he could do. All in all, a strange situation. Tension builds and you are even more insecure about him than before, painfully aware that he was into Nami way before you two met.

So when you see them vanish in Nami's room, you cannot help but get a bad feeling. When they don't come out for quite a while, you decide to have a look. Nothing unusual to just knock and see what they're up to.

You knock - no answer. You try the handle, it's open. You enter and see them standing in the room, heads together. It's hard to see exactly what's happening there, but Sanji immediately jumps up, looking guilty.

"Y/n! What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to see this!" He shouts angrily. He has never used this kind of tone with you. After the last days, it's enough. You turn on your heel and try to get away before anyone is seeing you cry.

You're already halfway across the ship when you hear him behind you: "wait, It's not what it looks like!"

He quickly catches up and blocks your way.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this, don't cry" he says, but you're already crying.

"Leave me alone" you tell him.

"No, I'll never leave alone again" he says, his voice suddenly quiet and soft. Through the veil of your tears, you see him go down on one knee.

"I'll never leave you, because I want you to become my wife!" He's shouting, for everyone to hear, as he holds up a golden ring encrusted with diamonds.

"I got this ring from Nami's treasure, I hope you like it. If not I'll get another one!" He looks at you, awaiting your answer.

This was the last thing you expected. The two of you never talked about marriage.

"What?" You ask, overwhelmed by everything.

"I want to share everything with you for the rest of my life. I want to grow old with you! I want to become better for you all the time. I want you to become my family, because I love you so much! I told you I will find a way to show you how much you mean to me. This is it. Please marry me!"

For a painful second, you hesitate and his lower lip already begins to tremble. You hold out your hand and let him slip the ring on your finger. He kisses your hand and holds it against his cheek. You can feel a tear running down his face.

"You make me so happy" he cries. "Let's be a family!"

______________________________

Soooo....this one took me *checks date* forever, I am so sorry! I will be working through my drafts and requests as I have a bit more time now! Hope you liked it :D

[hitomisuzuya]

Vision play with Electro. Comfort smut. Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Cunilligus. Fingering. Fingersucking. Degradation. Smutty appreciation for Scaramouche's fingers and his undoubtedly god tier tongue.

a/n: Just a few more weeks to go until July is over. I plan on writing something for Childe's birthday on the 20th.

Scaramouche may not always be the best as processing his own emotions, but he was completely in tune with yours. He knew when you were stressed. So he liked to take care of you in the way that you took care of him.

He didn't need to breathe, and he more than took full advantage of that. Spending hours between your thighs, licking and sucking on your cunt like a starved dog, relentlessly making you squirt on his tongue and fingers over and over again.

Scaramouche teased and swirled the tip of his tongue on your clit. "Scara, please lick me," You whimpered, squirming on the bed, your clit throbbing against his tongue. You reached down, spreading your dripping folds for him.

Smirking up at you, he batted your hand away. "So eager, what a fucking slut," He flicked kitten licks on your clit. "I love seeing you squirm for me, now I want to hear you moan."

Scaramouche had this unique ability of imbuing Electro onto his tongue, keening a high pitched moan from your throat when you felt Electro hum against your clit.

He groaned in bliss when you pressed his face on your cunt, holding it against his mouth when you bucked your hips up seeking more friction from his tongue. Pushing your hips back down on the bed, he latched his lips onto your clit to suck on it, pushing two fingers inside of you.

You cried out when he hooked his fingers on your sweet spot, sending soft shocks of Electro against it. "Scara, I am gonna-" He cut you off with a harsh suck on your clit.

"You are going to what, squirt all over my fingers like a total whore?" Scaramouche taunted, swirling his tongue, sending stronger bolts of Electro on your clit. He always enjoyed watching your cheeks flush from his degradation. "You'll pass out before you stop cumming for me, slut."

He mercilessly teased his fingers on sweet spot, making you squirt on his fingers. His tongue laved at your clit, soaking in every sob of pleasure while you bucked your hips up.

"Clean your mess," Sitting up, Scaramouche pulled his fingers out of you, and pushed them into your mouth. Mewling happily, you flicked your tongue against his knuckles, opening your mouth eagerly for him. You nuzzled your cheek against his wrist, sucking on his fingers.

He pumped them in and out of your mouth, making you choke on them. Pressing down on your tongue, he inserted a third finger when you coughed. You moaned around his fingers when he started rubbing your clit, pinching and rolling it between the pads of his fingers.

Drool pooled from the corners of your mouth, your body twitching in pleasure as you writhed on the bed. "Cum again for me, whore. Your body is begging for it," Scaramouche pulled his fingers out of your mouth, returning his tongue onto your cunt.

"More, please more," You babbled, crying out when he abruptly shocked your sweet spot with his fingers. He sucked wetly on your clit, coaxing you to cum screaming on his fingers.

Licking down your cunt, he pushed his tongue inside of you, swirling his tongue between your walls to help you chase your high. He drank in your fucked out expression, vibrating a purr of approval on your clit.

Crawling up your body, Scaramouche kissed you, making you taste him on his mouth, grinding his throbbing cock between your legs. "I'm going to fuck you dumber on my cock now. Take all of it like a good girl, and cry louder for me."

[nanaloco]

hi sorry to bother you. I just wanted to request an nct dream scenario for when their s/o scratches their back? Preferably with extra fluff 😅

How Nct Dream react when their s/o scratches their back

Oh my god anon that's so cute 😭😭😭 I had to write one for each member when I saw this!

I tried to make each members story unique and different so you might not like some of them but I hope it's still a good read ♡

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff, sad mark, minor injury? (Jeno fell off his bike), I didn't proofread this!! I wanted to write this for this anon but I've got exams soon

Genre : Nct Dream x gn!reader

Mark

It was when he was half asleep, he had a really bad day today and all he could think about after a bad day was being clung to your side with his head on your chest, enjoying your soft touch which sends his stomach spinning. You've got your arms around him as he starts to quietly sob, you slowly run your fingers along his back, grazing your fingernails gently on the thin fabric of his loose black tee. 'I'm not too sure what happened today to make you feel like this, but just know I'm always here for you when you need me ok?' A muffled 'ok' is all you get out of the stuffy nosed mark as you wipe his tears and kiss his forehead. He lowers his head as your hands make their way to his back, 'want to talk about what happened today?' You feel the vibration of his throat as he humms. 'Well, everyone and everything is just reminding me how uncapable I am, of a lot of things really. I just keep messing everything up. I feel like I'm not good enough and I just want to give up'.

'Well I'm not too sure what Mark you know, but my boyfriend, the Mark lee I know is amazing in every possible way.' You say with a warm smile on your face as your fingers start rubbing his back, slowly turning into a soft scratching motion which Mark loved the feeling of; he appreciated you so much. 'He's also very talented, and very very smart.' You scratched his chin and with that his eyelids slowly start to become heavy. Hearing your sweet affirming words had him feeling much better, the light scratch was a new feeling and he loved every second of it.

Renjun

You were just chilling on the bathroom stool while he was bathing carrying out your usual stalking behaviours of following your boyfriend who you so much adored absolutely everywhere. You had been showing him funny tiktok videos you've found while scrolling along your for you page for the past hour. 'Since you forced the door open, you might aswell be useful' you raise your hand to your chest as you acted shocked and hurt. 'Since your here, please could you wash my back for me? I can't reach too easily since I have suuuch broad shoulders' you roll your eyes but are totally loving the idea. You grab his pink loofa and squirt some of your expensive bubble bath formula onto it and begin to clean his ' broad' shoulders and back, covering every inch with the velvety pearly white bubbles. Ditching the loofa, you carress and lather the soap into his back in circular motions, you begin doing the same circular movement on his back with your nails gaving him a mini nail massage. He moves closer to the edge of the tub so you have better access, 'that feels really nice' he says with s smile on his face, slowly closing his eyes; you then gently wipe away the bubbles from the hairline on the back of his head and tell him to move to the middle so you can wash all the bubbles off. You scoop up water and drench his back with water from his shoulders down, bringing your hands down in carressing scratches along with the water. You give a chaste kiss to his nape while scooping up some bubbles into your hand secretly, he turns around confused at the sudden kiss and to his surprise, you bring out your secret weapon, spreading them onto his chin like santa; lauging like a maniac at the ridiculously serious expression spread across his face for someone rocking a bubble beard. 'Oh it's on' he declared while grabbing a handful of bubbles and slapping them onto you face, laughing hysterically at how fast your smile faded. 'HEY!' You exclaim almost falling into the tub trying to grab him 'I promise you I'll remember this, so don't forget what you did today.' You grimace as you wipe yout face with his face towel and throw it at him, walking out leaving the door open so all the warm air can escape before he can make it out the tub. 'Baby- I'm-I'm sorry!' He yells between his uncontrollable laughter, you're just too sickeningly cute.

Jeno

He had a bike accident (consisting of driving his bike down a ramp and forgetting to break, crashing into the wall and some how landing ontop of his bike on his back) which he insists hurts way more than it sounds. He claims he doesn't need to go to hospital and communicates to you the importance of you giving him a massage and that that's all he needs. So today, Prior to your scheduled 'make Jeno feel better-cuddle-sesh' (named by him) you planned to give him a nice muscle relaxing massage following the tutorial you watched on youtube shortly after you recieved his phonecall sharing the 'horrible news' and making plans on how you're gonna make him feel better.  You had prepared some candles for him and when he came through the door, you gave him a tight hug around the waist and grabbed his hand dragging him to the sofa, he follows along scraping his feet along the floor pouting his lips. You lead him to the couch where you took off his coat and felt around his back as he winced in pain.  'My baby's really hurt hmmm' you frown. You practice what you learnt from youtube, losely following the circular hand movements from the tutorial, he groaned in approval, he made it seem like a joke but he really was injured. You instruct him to take off his shirt as you hurry to your feet to grab an an ice pack from the freezer. You sit down next to him and he rests his chin on your thigh, you smoothed the pack of frozen peas along his bruised back. You then start to skim your nails lightly along to soothe the pins and needles from the contact with the cold pack. You could feel his tense muscles start to relax. 'You always know what to do to make me feel better'

Jaemin

Jaemin walks through the door with a grin on his face happy to see you,he rushes to the couch you're lying on, gently sitting next to you and he softly peppers kisses all over your face 'aaa! You're so cute, let me take care of you' he says, lifting your head onto his lap and carressing your hair. You block his hands and sit up, to stare at him with a serious expression 'no, today, I'm gonna take care of you.' You say straddling his lap and cupping his face, squishing his cheeks to the point where his eyes close and pressing a short sweet  peck on his stretched out lips. 'What are you going to do' he barely makes out as you're still squeezing the life out of him, lowering his hands to rest on your hips. You swing your legs around his waist to hug him on his side with your back facing the longer side of the couch, wraping your arms around his neck and pulling backwards causing him to topple over and land on top of you. 'Move down u idiot' he obeys squirming down the couch and his legs are sticking up into the air from the knees down due to the couch's arm rest. The couch obviously isn't big enough for the two of you but he's not going to ruin your moment. 'I'm gonna take care of you' you kiss his temple and start carresing his back leaving small scratches as he took in your sweet addictive natural scent 'I love you' he mumbles against your arm, you leave sweet trails of soft scratches down his back. In your mind you were totally wooing him with your romantic tactics but in reality, this couch was way too small for the two of you and his butt was hanging in the air. But for Jaemin, he wouldn't rather be anywhere else but in your arms. Because this is so perfect and just so you. You decided you're going to take care of him today and he just loves The idea of that

Haechan

He enters your bedroom in your shared appartment where you were sitting up against the headboard, peacefully playing silly little games on your phone when he comes leaping at you; 'babbyy' practically throwing himself onto your still figure, head in your lap, snaking his arms around your waste with his cheek pressed against your stomach. 'Look at meee' your eyes were still glued to your phone as you've almost completed level 30 of doors on roblox. He gives you grabby hands so you put your elbow on his head to move him out of the way so you can focus. He lets you stay like that sighing as you get through door 30 and just win your mini goal 'YES!!' you exclaim happily as you'd been stuck on that level for a while. 'Sorry what were u saying?' He turns over onto his back, 'Give me attention' he says bringing your hand to his lips 'anything for my patient boyfriend' you say cupping his cheeks 'what can I do for you?' 'Can you scratch my back I need your touch right now' you tickle his stomach as if to answer 'of course' and he starts to whine and squirm, then you trace your hands to his hair. He turns back to his previous position with his arms around your waist. 'I want to eat you' as he makes a threatening facial expression pretenting to eat your stomach, you feign a gasp and make a soft scratching motion from his scalp to his lower back. Melting into your touch, his eyes slowly flutter close. In love with the sensation of your touch, he grabs your hand and puts it through the neckhole of his sweater leading you to his bare skin. 'Ah.. I'm seriously in love with you'

Chenle

You two were just coming from the grocery store he dragged you out of bed to 'chenlee I'm so tired of walking I hate you'

'Welllll I can get you a ride?' He replies smugly 'PLEASE THANK YOU MY LEGS ARE ABOUT TO GIVING IN' you say thanking god that you don't have to walk another step. He puts the groceries in his hands onto the floor and kneels down infront of you 'Chuber at your service, the boyfriend uber service' you deadpan at him, walking straight past his ridiculous antics; he giggles as he follows, still on his knees infront of you with that pisstaking grin on his face. You sigh in defeat and wrap your arms around his neck, he retaliates by quickly standing up and sticking his butt out causing you to fling your legs out 'CHENLE'. You can practically hear his cocky smirk as he stands up straight and goes back to collect your groceries 'Chenle I'm far too old to be getting piggy back rides' 'It's keeping the romance aliiive!' You can only roll your eyes. You've got quite a bit to walk until you two can get to your appartment, he's staying over tonight so you went to get his snacks because 'you don't know how to get good snacks' 'Y/n my head itches, can you scratch the left side, my hands are obviously full' you can tell he rolled his eyes. 'It's because your head is covered with dandruff' you retaliate and stick your tongue out. You lightly separate his bone straight dark brown hair and scratch exactly where he needed it, slowly making your way to his nape, reverting to wrapping your arms around his front and scratching his sides which he responds to with laughter and slightly starts to sway 'that tickles' he says between breaths of laughter. You start scratching his upper back and he can feel the soft stroaks through his fabric winter coat, It was soothing. 'That feels really nice.' He almost wanted to close his eyes but he'll have to save that for when he's at your house cozy in your blankets with you in his arms.

Jisung

This baby managed to get sun burnt because he forgot sunscreen yesterday on your vacation with his and your group of friends. Him and his friends had been playing volleyball while your group hit the pool. He got lightly sunburnt so now hes sat imbetween your outstretched legs as you applying some remedy oil to his skin, along with some sunscreen. 'You seriously need to be more careful jisung, you're not a little kid anymore, seriously' he lowers his head and starts tracing shapes on your shin, you lightly copy those shapes into his sunscreen covered back with your nails. 'Ah!' He whined, you give a worried expression as you ask 'am I hurting you?' One hand brought to your mouth for dramatic effect, retracting your hands to rest them on his hips 'no it feels nice, don't stop, I'm just really ticklish on my back' he confessed shyly laughing. 'actually, this feels kind of nice'. Well! You say quickly rising to your feet as a sheepish smile follows, you look ridiculous, time to capture my amazing artwork you say as you make that picture frame motion; closing one eye to look at your masterpiece through your lense, you see jisung has turned around and is staring at you with those googly eyes. You turned quickly to find your phone ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.

Tysm for reading and thank you anon for giving me such a cute theme to work with!

Asks don't bother me at all I love replying to these so flood ky ask box guys!!

I love you all SOOOOO MUCH mwah!

[lynnlovesthestars]

The veil, chapter 1.

Astarion x oc (@wisterialynn)

Fluff, little angsty at the end but not too much.

AN: I'm aliveee this is finally chaoter one of the veil, ive been working on it for a while, i wrote it like 4 times before being satisfied with it ngl, but here it is..

for those who missed the intro, you can find it here.

The picture is a render i made in blender of astarion n lynn

The ‘poor vampire in need of a cuddle’ sat with arms wide open, and despite the bite being real, everything was too good to be true? How often do you hear of waking up next to the man of your dreams? And a fictional man at it? NEVER. Lynn was not going to believe it until he’s sure he’s not delusional, and even if it was real, there was still a major problem that needed to be addressed. He couldn’t just close an eye on it, it felt.. wrong.

“You don't know me” He sighed, Astarion was in a game, where his actions were controlled by someone else, him. A game where he was stripped of his free will- do characters in games even understand the concept of free will? But nevertheless, he didn’t know anything about him, the one Astarion fell for.. Was not real, Lynn was different from the game Lynn, so different. Starting from the fact that game-Lynn is tall, muscular, and Lynn was actually barely taller than Astarion, and lean, definitely not jacked like Lynn though. 

As he sat there overthinking he realized how even in his brain this was confusing, so many Lynns, and such a small brain Lynn had.

“I know you enough” Astarion’s demeanor relaxed, his eyes softened as if in understanding of his point, yet still holding that fondness you’d expect from a lover. It made Lynn’s heart soft, so soft he could have almost ignored the problem, if it wasn’t for the guilt that would haunt him for lying to him.

“But what you felt, the person you met.. that Lynn is not me.” He lowered his eyes nervously, fidgeting with his hands.

Astarion leaned forward, his hand cupped Lynn’s cheek and gently guided his head to look up at him, his look expectant. “I know, but I heard you.. your laugh, your rambling, I heard you cry.. and I'm pretty sure I heard you please yourself-.” He grabbed Lynn's hand with his free one to kiss the back of it, nonchalantly ignoring the last bit of his admission.

‘You heard me what?!’ Lynn gasped shocked, yet stopped before he could ask for more details.

“The point is, now I have all the time in the universe to get to know you.” He smiled tenderly- a new habit he had developed just because of Lynn- in those hours when he’d ramble to someone else, or when he’d sit commenting as he went through the story- as he traced the swell of Lynn’s cheek. “I want to experience all that I missed..” He admitted taken over by the need to open his heart to him. “I want to live it all with you, again and I want to get to know you like you know me.” His claw trailed at last, following the ever so soft path traced by the pad of his finger as Astarion kissed his temple. “I want to see your smiles, I want to kiss you so bad I've never felt like this before.. I just want the chance to love you like you and I deserve.” He confessed at last while for a moment, he had almost swore he heard his dead heart pound in his chest.

It was a lot to take in for Lynn, all his life everything was so ordinary, boring even, so this chance to live something unique.. Was too good to be true. He couldn’t help his pessimism from ebbing through. 

“What if I'm not as you expected? What if I'm underwhelming? Life here.. is much more boring.. I am much more boring” He lowered his eyes ashamed. He dreamt to be his for weeks, no months, he’d wake up sobbing and alone wishing to be enough for that kind of love that went above and beyond.

“Maybe I need some boring” Astarion gently brushed the stray tear that cascaded down Lynn’s cheek so quickly he swore it was almost a reflex. “We don’t need to rush this, just like you taught me” He smiled as he kissed the tip of his nose. 

“I mean, I didn’t-” Lynn was cut off before he could say more. “No, no, I remember your voice..” He pointed at him with his head. “..you went on a pretty long monologue on ‘how you wished you could actually remind me that there’s no rush, and how you wished you’d be by my side all the way” He nodded proudly as he paraphrased the words he had heard through the veil. Lynn couldn’t help but chuckle at his memory, the monologue in question still  imprinted in his mind- since he had bored one of his friends about it- as Astarion instead was staring at his lips. “Can I kiss you..?” He whispered as he resisted the urge to just do it, to kiss him. To do it desperately, sloppy, uncalculated.

Lynn didn't know how to put into words his insecurities, what words would properly say ‘people like me don’t often kiss so, i apologize if i barely know what i'm doing’, whatever he could come up with sounded pretty lame. “I haven't kissed in a while” He admitted ashamed, shaking his head. What he didn’t know was that Astarion didn’t care, he barely knew what he was doing himself- in a different universe and with the emotional stability of a log.

“It's okay.. we can fix that” Astarion hummed.

Lrynn's touch was gentle, shaky almost as he cupped Astarion's cheek, his eyes tracing the path from Astarion's nose to his lips as if he had never seen him before, and he finally understood what they meant when in books they mentioned the butterflies. He could feel that sensation rising deep in his stomach as he was so close to him, so close from kissing him.

His thumb swiped his cheek gently as the other arm wrapped around the vampire's middle, they were on their knees, in front of each other, one still completely dressed while the other sat only on his shirt, all over the place.

"You are even more breathtaking up close" Lynn murmured as he leaned forward, brushing his nose with Astarion's, hesitant to close the distance between them.

"I wish I could put into words what I'm feeling right now" Astarion whispered as he took the lead, his lips pressing softly against Lynn’s while his hand cupped his cheek.

It was maddening how they were deprived of the feeling for so long, how their lips chased each other for more.

One single, gentle kiss quickly turned into a lot of small, desperate ones which became gasps for air as they desperately held onto each other.

They barely understood how they ended up laying, Astarion’s clothes mostly discarded as their shirts and undergarments were only left. “You are mine, you understand?” Astarion kissed his neck, his cold tongue trailing to his collarbone as he had to resist the urge to bite down on the supple flesh of his shoulder.

“Y-yes” Lynn whimpered under the vampire’s skilled touch.

“Good, my sweet” Astarion purred as he reluctantly pulled back, pulling the other down with him under the duvet. “Much better” Astarion hummed as he relished the feeling of the head pressed against his chest, and the warm body enveloping him instead of the unnecessarily heavy pieces of armor.

God knows how long they laid there in silence. Lynn could feel it deep in his bones that he was going to wake up any time soon.

“Tell me of this world” Astarion broke the silence of the barely lit room.

“Well vampires don’t exist here, and neither does magic” He thinks out loud. “Wait” A sudden idea floated in his brain.. If vampires don’t exist.. Could it be..?  The idea of being able to treasure this moment forever makes the butterflies in Lynn’s stomach erupt happily.

The human reaches to his nightstand, his phone reading ‘7 am’ as he unlocks the device. His cheeks flush deeply as he has to old back from staring at his lockscreen. 

“What’s that?” Astarion asks, confused as he follows the other movements, curious of the device in his hands. 

“This is a phone, you can talk to people with it, and go on the internet, and take pictures with it” He explains as he quickly looks for his camera app. “See, i want to remember this forever, but i don’t know if it’ll work” He drops the phone on his chest before taking a peak, wanting to find out if it worked right there with Astarion.

“I suppose but whatever it is, it can't hurt to try..”

“You are right “ He smiles as he picks up the phone again and looks at the screen.

“Ah it’s that man again” Astarion scoffs as he takes a better look at the screen where the same face as the lock screen shows up, this time dressed- or rather undressed differently. “Do you have a boyfriend or something?” He grasps at Lynn’s wrist, jealousy bubbling in his stomach at the thought as he goes back to ignore the screen.

“You are an idiot, you know?” Lynn laughs as he realizes what was happening. “Can we focus on what we were doing?” He asks, trying to keep his laughter down.

“Sure” He scoffs. “What are we doing?” He asks as Lynn lifts up his phone again, this time met with the image of that man and Lynn way too close for the vampire’s taste.

“It's called a picture, it's like a painting but taken instantly, and here..” Lynn raises his free hand to point at the screen, where the image mimics his movements perfectly. “You can see the outcome” He smiles, astonished at the image displayed, at the way Astarion’s locks and Lynn’s mixed on the pillow, how slowly Astarion’s eyes widened as he sat up, his nose impossibly close to the screen as the shutter sound echoed in the room before Astarion could understand completely.

“Is that..?” He asked as he tapped on the screen, amazed how the figure in the silly machine would follow him almost instantly. Magic if Lynn didn’t already tell him there was no such thing there.

“Yes love…” Lynn smiled as he gave the vampire all the time he needed.

He was astounded, speechless even as he noticed the way his ears twitched and reddened, his eyes fell on his fangs, so many times he tried to understand how sharp they were, yet nothing compared to how they looked, so polished despite never sharpening them. The fangs that sunk in so many animals, and so many times in the throats of evil creatures since he had met tav.

Then he locked eyes with himself, a shiver ran down his spine. Those were the piercing eyes with which he seduced men and women of all kind all over the gates, those were the eyes kids would be scared of at night, those were the eyes that no one in the gates would ever miss.

It was imperceptible the change in the vampire, yet Lynn couldn’t help but notice how his lips suddenly curled down.

“Star?” He called unsure, what if it was all too much for him? What if he saw something he disliked? What if? It was something  his mind couldn’t stop.

“Sorry, I got mesmerized by the handsome fellow in there” He lied.

[comfycuddles]

You know what I think...

It's time we start talking about Peter Capaldi.

When we talk about Doctor Who and our favourite modern doctors, we always go round and round in the same circles:

"David Tennant is the greatest Doctor!"

"No way! Matt Smith brought this goofy nature to the character, while maintaining the Doctor's eternal darkness!"

"Please! Nine was funny and sassy and just overall great. He deserved more credit. Eccelston was the best Doctor!"

And sometimes even a:

"I think that although she had to endure poor writing, a female Doctor was refreshing!"

I agree with this of course, and every Doctor brings something with them, you know who we don't post enough about? Or even generally talk about enough?

Peter fucking Capaldi. I seriously think he might be one of the most underrated Doctors of the modern era and It's a WASTE.

From the very beginning he was just amazing. "Do you know how to fly this thing?" ICONIC. His first episode was pure crack in the very best way. (The way he flirted with the dinosaur, anybody?)

Capaldi had this amazing connection with Jenna as Clara (Although I am a Clara stan idc so I might be a little biased about that) and their dynamic was so much fun to watch.

Not unlike David Tennant Peter is such a fan of the show. (As was confirmed by Jenna) But is also nice about it too. He doesn't go around just correcting everyone, but he wants everyone to know what an amazing show it is and wants people to love it just as much as he does.

Also 12 was so iconic??? Fighting fucking Robin Hood with a spoon? Awesome! Rolling into the middle ages on a fucking tank, calling people "Dude", making puns and dumb jokes and above else SLAYING that guitar?! Yes! A thousands times Yes! Just the best space grandpa ever!

Capaldi is so unhinged and has this chaotic energy while still appearing as the sanest person in the room. Just look up some stories about him fucking around on the set.

It was also very refreshing to see an older Doctor. I mean, I think Capaldi wad the oldest guy to play the Doctor since HARTNELL. He still had this youthful energy, but he just seemed so DONE with everyones bullshit. 12 handled things with a certain maturity that I kinda loved.

Like he has life experience, he KNOWS what his actions will cause and that's GOOD to see of the Doctor. And at the same time he's also forgiving himself for all the things he's done, which is even BETTER.

And don't even talk to me about his relationship with his companions and Missy. First of all the latter gives me life. And his relationship with Bill was so good y'all. I mean, he punched a racist in the face for her. (ICON!!!!) And were just adorable.

And my final point, the biggest point: Peter Capaldi is just an AMAZING actor. We all love "Heaven sent" and It's just the greatest episode EVER and this is party because Moffat wrote it so beautifully, but also because of Capaldi's Jaw dropping performance!!! If he wasn't SUCH an amazing actor the episode would have never worked. And I am certain of this fact. He did that y'all! HE. DID. THAT.

Capaldi gave some of the best speeches and performances in Doctor Who history. And everyone sleeps on it, and I say "No more!" Also his line. "Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?" DONE, SOBBING ON THE DAMN FLOOR. I need to say with this that I'm NOT an emotional person at all. But somehow that line hit me right in the feels and never stopped.

So yeah

Eccelston was hilarious and fun and amazing

David was awesome and I think It's definitely deserved that he goes down in history as one of the greatest Doctors.

Matt had some heartwrenging moments that I'll never get over, was as cool as bowties and just lovely

And Jody was unique and ADORABLE!

But y'all are SLEEPING on Peter Capaldi and 12 and that is SO undeserved.

Mister Capaldi Sir, if you ever see this, (You probably won't, but that's okay. I hope it does though) just know, that I love and adore you so much and think you are one of the greatest actors and human beings in the history of everything. And you DESERVE to know that. I will forever be proud to say that 12 that is my favourite Doctor of all time. And I say this without half a doubt in my mind. I'm a proud Peter Capaldi stan until the end of time. And just know that I and so many more people along with me have so much LOVE for you. (Most of us not in a creepy way though) and you are CRIMINALLY underrated.

Thank you so much for reading my rant.

This has been a Peter Capaldi/12th Doctor appreciation post. And I invite you to reblog this and show your love for the best Doctor. Only positivity though, stay nice.