#Choy Diamond Hair

[venomousnakes]

230930 SHINee World VI Perfect Illumination in Saitama Day I

— Diamond Sky

[gyuswhore]

Cherry Picker [1]

«« "Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't." »» 

Choi Seungcheol x reader | part of the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios!

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

warnings: Hockey player! Seungcheol, figure skater! reader, *deep breath* ENEMIES TO LOVERS, angst, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], toxic friends, cheol has anger issues, kkuma appearance, @miniseokminnies makes also makes a fluffy appearance, injuries, mentions of blood, smut tags in the next part

synopsis: Cherry Picking [ice hockey]: a manoeuver in which a player, the floater, literally loafs (spends time in idleness) or casually skates behind the opposing team's unsuspecting defencemen while they are in their attacking zone. There wasn't much you counted on in life; just your skates, your drive and how it felt to win. And of course, your local ice rink, that is now being colonised by an obnoxious hockey team in all their big, loud, stinking glory. Neither does it help that one particular red donned specimen forgets to leave his cherry picking on the ice.

[a/n] (it's a long one but PLEASE read) : ITS HERE FINALLY this was an extremely bumpy ride and I wouldn't have finished it without all of my friends who quite literally kept me going. I know I made an update saying this was gonna end up being 20k max but it turns out my yap-itis is for life </33

the posting schedule for this fic is going to be a little less predictable, I will try to get part 2 out asap but I do not currently have a date for you.

big thank you to @highvern for betaing and making me feel better about this fic, @amourcheol for talking me out of meltdowns multiple times and for giving me some really good scene pointers, @ugh-yoongi for being so patient w me and explaining how ice hockey works with so much patience. ty to @the-boy-meets-evil @tusswrites @lovetaroandtaemin for also proof reading for me 🥹

HUGE thank you to everyone at @camandemstudios who agreed to be part of this collab and being part of the journey as we grow 🫶 please check out the collab masterlist linked above, there's already so many amazing fics posted ready for you to read <33

that being said, I know more about figure skating than I do about hockey, but even so there are defo some inconsistencies in terms of accuracies in this, please bear with me 🫶 remember to reblog or send me an ask telling me your thoughts, id love to hear what you guys think 🥹 masterlist

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out. 

“Sorry isn’t gonna give back my hour and thirteen minutes.” 

The strap of your gym bag cuts into your bare shoulder where the collar had slipped, the tight threading sure to leave a scratch by the time this is bound to be done. You’d managed to avoid coach Carroll’s morning cornering for a couple months, going above and beyond by showing up to the icy rink before she could even pull up in the parking lot in her blaring red Porsche, let alone before her ten minute meditations in her cream coloured seats. 

“There was an accident on the highway. Truck tipped over.”

“It’s eight in the morning,” Carroll points.

“Illegal truck, I guess.” 

Teeth to tongue, you know you’ve done it. 

She’s in her usual tracksuit, green today, that contrasts her bright red hair in its tight curls. Her glasses are her sensible Ralph Laurens, eyes piercing through the tinted lens as she holds her chin in her hands. Silent, calculating. 

“Fine. Change.” 

Your legs want to give out before you can even get your skates on. 

There were many things Isabella Carroll was good at. The industry would have one of them be a good coach; one of the most expensive, the one that squeezed the life out of her students to inject into the golds, silvers and bronzes they would then bring her on an equally diamond encrusted platter. 

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs. 

The fact she chose to skip out on verbally humiliating you meant you’d managed to strike that cord. She might be leaving in the next 45 minutes, but she has a very particular way of stretching the minutes into years. 

Like a whipped horse, you scurry into the locker rooms, skin crawling. Your gym bag is positively launched into your designated locker, shoes kicked off as you attempt to stick your right foot into your skates, narrowly missing your heel as it grazes right past the toe pick. 

You slow down after that, not needing a scar on your heel to match the large one on the side of your calf. 

By the time you jog back out, unzipping your jacket to throw onto one of the benches, coach is on the ice, following Marina who zips around on the other end of the rink in her step routine. 

It’s difficult to not rush through your warmups when you’re already late, your splits hardly pushed out as you pray all that running around in the desolate locker rooms was enough to stretch everything out. 

There’s a crash on the illuminated ice as you slip off your skate guards, Marina already practising her Salchows. “You’re in the air for enough time, why can’t you rotate?!” 

Right blade first, you step into the cold encircling, gliding into the centre to begin making your usual rounds around the circumference.

There’s a positive screech of your name from across the ice, wind blowing in your hair as you turn to look. “Do I need to hire someone to hold up your free leg? Fix it, girl!”  

Holding your left leg more taut, you attempt to transition into a jump and spin. You fail, landing on both feet. Somehow, falling on your ass felt like a better conclusion to that arc. 

“Wonderfully executed! Let’s try both hands on the ice too next time, really complete the contemporary finish,” coach hollers out to you as she continues to follow Marina at the same time. 

Trying again, you manage to land on your outer left blade. You receive no comment. 

You try the jump again, pushing into a sit spin. 

The momentum is enough to begin the familiar slack in your scalp, your bun loosening its grip on your hair. Biting your tongue would be dangerous right now, but you would if you could, especially considering the ramifications of your hair coming undone in front of her. 

The crouch as you spin burns your thighs like you’re being branded, pulling yourself back up as you finish abruptly. Still no comment, the unintelligible string of nagging coming from the other side of the rink. 

Marina stands hands on her hips, breathing so heavily she’s nearly heaving. Her blonde hair is loosening far worse than yours, strands framing her face. Coach Carroll waves her hands and shakes her head so quickly you wonder how her glasses haven’t flown off. You didn’t get to see what cardinal sin Marina committed to warrant this reaction, but you feel better knowing she’s exhausted enough to let her insults swim past. 

Ten seconds is enough to catch your breath, moving to do something busy enough to avoid another being screamed at across the ice, again. 

By the end of the remaining forty five minutes, you realised your punishment was also punishing Marina. Coach Carroll remained tailing Marina as you attempted to do everything that would please her, far away from her. Not a direction, praise or neutral comment in sight or sound, sealed with her always expected retorts. 

She leaves without a word, leaving you scrambling to the benches for a seat. Putting your skate guards on is torture, your legs refusing to pull up to reach them. You hardly notice Marina slam down into the seat beside you to mimic you slumped down and head lolled back, eyes closed to the bright ceiling. 

“These skates are gonna kill me,” you whine once you’ve caught your breath, unlacing them to inspect the blistering damage. 

“They’re brand new, what did you expect?” she retorts, moving to sit up straighter. Of course, you were grappling at straws expecting anything akin to sympathy from Marina. 

It was your misfortune that the day you had to break in your skates was the day you’d be late, your heavily bandaged foot still aching as you sit idle. 

Your lungs are still burning when you pull yourself back up, knees buckling the absolute slightest bit as you attempt to take the first baby step back onto the ice. 

“We need to get back to it,” Marina says, and you have half a mind to bite that you were up before her. 

She’s faster at slipping off her skate guards though, and you watch her back as she glides back onto the ice. You follow suit, trailing her as you speak. 

“Hey, I’m sorry Carroll was on your ass because of me. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, I overslept.”

She turns to look at you, ghost of a smile on her face. “Time to go old school I guess, I think my brother left behind his old alarm clock from college.”

“I guess—”

“Besides, I needed that. Wouldn’t have known my Salchows were sucky otherwise.”

She doesn’t let you respond and you’re left to watch as she takes off to warm herself back up. 

Strange as it was, you’ve found her behaviour simply doesn’t affect you anymore, choosing to take her as she was. She pushed you to be better, to work harder. Even now, as your ankle burns and your hip screams, you brace yourself into another axel entry, trying your hardest to keep up with Marina. 

It’s another couple hours when Marina leaves for her second appointment with her personal trainer, leaving you alone. 

It’s less crowded now, despite the head count going from two to one, but you appreciate the alleviation as you continue to practise for the rest of the morning. The rink feels more vast and your hip has stopped its incessant aches. 

Having finished a run through of your routine without music, you move towards the sound booth to turn on the tail end of your track, skating back to the echoing rink to brace yourself for the next four agonising minutes. 

You’ve adjusted your starting position about ten times by the time the silence of the song restarting settles. And then it begins, soft piano as you push yourself off into the throngs of this hellsent routine. 

It’s muscle memory by now, but your stomach lurches before you push into a jump anyway. There isn’t much time to ponder when you’re midair, tight yet contorted, trying to land on the right side of the blade. But there’s a phantom pain in your right ankle, right when you’re at the point of your arc, and you feel the all too dreaded panic flood in. 

You land on both feet, less than ideal but with no one to watch the fail, it was better than falling on your ass. There’s been worse outcomes, so there’s little you can do but continue into the step sequence. 

Trying to shake off that bout of panic, you briefly wonder if the music suddenly had more bass than you’d last checked. Perhaps you just hadn’t been practising like you should, but you make a mental note mid-spin to listen to the track again later tonight for any tidbits you’d missed. 

Your heartbeat is trying to accommodate more air than you can let it, especially as you feel the pulse in your ears quicken as you approach your final jump sequence. The music is louder yet muffled all the same, there’s an incessant banging that you can’t figure out is from your head or a corrupted music file. But you find that sweet spot, deciphering through the ruckus in your brain, and you jump. 

It happens again, the strange ache in your ankle that should be long gone, and just like that, all that panic you shook off in the interim comes hurtling back. The world’s gone silent, blaringly so, and for some heaven known reason, you’ve closed your eyes.

You aren’t so lucky this time round, landing directly on your back with a spectacular crash, the ice cutting cold through your thermals as you slide in the direction of your epic fall. Eyelids opening, they’re met with the spotlighted ceiling, head cushioned by the hard plane of ice beneath you. 

The pain in your ankle’s escaped like a fugitive, done it’s damaged and left you crumpled on the floor. The adrenaline is rushing just enough to keep you from identifying any other awakened aches, but you have a sneaking feeling your hip is going to hate you after this. 

You’re still laying flat on the ice when you realise you're laying in mostly silence. Your music is off, and has been since you came to on the floor. The banging, you realise, wasn’t just in your head either. The unmistakable reverberation of the locker rooms is loud and assuming, noises rattling all the way out onto the echoing rink. 

It takes the strength of a village to pull yourself up, but you do it anyhow, ignoring the blatant protests of your mind and soul as you squint across the rink to the sound booth. 

As you skate towards the gate, you assume it’s Hansol trying to get your attention by disrupting you mid session, but the figure shuffling into view is telling you otherwise. 

It isn’t anyone you know, clearer as you grow closer to the gate. It’s obvious he’s the culprit that turned off your music, your laptop shut and the wire to the speakers disconnected from the port. 

You stare at it pointedly as you grapple for your skate guards. 

The man does nothing but remain with his hands in the pockets of his bright red hoodie, hovering over your laptop as he watches you struggle with your skates. SVT stitched onto the back in black. He’s as blank faced as ever, a stark contrast to your heavy breathing as you come round. 

Standing up straight, you dart between your laptop and this person, waiting for an explanation that seems to be lost in the void. You’re still heaving slightly, scowl forming on your face as this strange man offers you nothing.

“Um, did you—”

“Yeah. It’s four,” he responds, like it was supposed to explain enough. 

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

“But it’s Monday,” you respond. It sounds stupid, but it meant something. The rink was reserved on the weekdays for coach Carroll’s mentees, the weekends for the public. 

This man and his big brown eyes gaze directly into your soul as he responds, “And that means…?” 

You’re sweaty and tired, your feet ache with about five new blisters from the last time you checked, and you’re sure you need to get your hip checked out. Perhaps that’s why there’s this unreasonable surge of irritation that rises in the back of your head, irrational and half blinding. 

“That means—”

“Seungcheol! Get your ass in the locker room before I drag you in there myself.” The voice that rings out is heavy and has you flinching, the man’s order echoing from somewhere in the tunnel that leads to the locker rooms. 

The man you assume is named Seungcheol begins to walk away from you without a word or gesture, and you can only blink at his retreating back. 

“Hey! Do you mind not touching my stuff next time round?” you call out as a last ditch attempt to have the last word. He turns his head to you, eyebrows raised and a smirk of mild disbelief growing on his face. Nothing is said as his head turns back to the front, strutting into the tunnel.

He lets you have your last word as he walks away, your gaze the same shade of crimson as his retreating form. 

“AND THEN—THESE—HUGE dudes with fucking botox or fillers in their shoulders storm out—”

Your vent is interrupted by Lorelai who’s burst out laughing mid bite of her sandwich, “What?”

“Botox!” she muffles a shriek through a full mouth.

“They were shoulder pads or something, you get it!” 

The air in the outside seating of this cafe is stellar, the perfect in between you wait for all year. The parasol above you is enough so you don’t have to squint your eyes in the late afternoon sun, the wind perfectly paced in a breeze. Your own sandwich remains untouched, the bread gone stale as you pick at the corner of the crust. 

“Apologies,” she yips. “So you're saying we’re being partially colonised by hockey players?”

“I don’t know! Was it a one time thing, a weekly thing? It can’t be a weekly thing, Monday afternoons are routine practice days.” 

“The routine you’ve been practising for the past year and a half?” 

“I can’t afford getting rusty.” 

Lorelai drops her head like she’s had enough, “Maybe these hockey jocks are a blessing.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Hey, do you want cake, they have cheesecake, I could get some!” 

“Lorry!”

“Okay,” she huffs, dropping back into her seat with blown cheeks. “I’m sorry.” 

Lorelai has a sense of humour that took you more than enough time to decipher, but that wasn’t nearly the first thing you noticed about her. She was beautiful, even more so with the sun gracing her like a loving embrace. The highlights in her otherwise dark hair make the hazel of her eyes pop like two perfectly welcoming cliffs to jump off from. She was the definition of spunk and valour, yet graceful in everything she does. Even now, as she picks up her smoked turkey on honey oat, complete with every fixing and condiment on earth, you question how she can wrench her mouth open to take a reasonable bite; but she does, not a crumb out of place. 

“I have to share a rink with dudes whose hockey sticks are gonna make craters in the ice, why are you not mourning with me?”

“Pretty sure your toe picks do the same thing.”

“Lorelai!” 

“Not the government name!” she wails as though woefully wounded. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Carroll didn’t hate me for no reason.” She smiles in her pride. 

Lorelai’s competitive skating career came to an end sometime last year before the Grand Prix, a decision she announced gracefully with the words BITE ME etched with sharpie on her brand new competition skates. It was difficult to erase the mental image of the scarlet of Carrol’s face when Lorelai marched in with her hair chopped so short it’d be impossible to pull into a bun, marked skates in hand and a mask of determined rebellion on her face. Of course, the whole ordeal could’ve been an email, but it simply wouldn’t have been Lorelai. 

“It’s not like you were trying very hard to please her,” you grumble, nibbling on a fry. 

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

“For one thing, your sponsors were paying a bucketload so you could have her.”

“I didn’t want Carroll as a coach. Ever. I wanted Jameson. The only reason they put me with Carroll was because they were putting you and Marina with her.” Her voice is hard, eyebrows raised the slightest bit. 

“What does Jameson offer that Carroll doesn’t?!”

“Oh! I don’t know, let’s see,” she raises her voice as her sarcasm begins to simmer with a lethal edge. “Maybe the fact that an hour training with Jameson doesn’t feel like the subjected wrath of a world war two dictator!”

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

“It means—!” Lorelai pauses to close her eyes, and you can almost hear her counting in her head. “It means nothing. Eat your sandwich before the bread starts molding.”

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

You attempt to channel some of that Lorelai energy when you get to the rink past noon on a weekday. You hope you’re reasonable in your hope that Hansol will be in his office as you walk towards the door. 

Three rapt knocks before you hear a muffled voice telling you to come in. The door creaks when you open it. Loudly, might you add. 

“How long is it gonna sing every time I come in here?” you grimace. 

Hansol looks at you from behind his laptop with a tight smile. “For as long as I keep forgetting to oil the hinges.”

Hansol, for as young and qualified as he is, is only the rink manager because his family owns the place. Having graduated the year before with a shiny new law degree, he opted to take a break from moving forward with his career to “slow down” as he put it. The rink was as slow as it could get for him, betting the only important thing on his laptop screen currently was solitaire. 

“Did you also forget that I have the rink during the day on weekdays? 

“Ah. You’ve encountered the hockey team.”

“Yes. They turned off my music mid routine.”

“They're only here till the renovations in their home rink are done, we’re the only other rink in town that’s closed to the public on weekdays.” 

“But they’re cutting into my practice time?” you add, brows furrowed. 

Hansol opens his mouth before closing it again, eyebrows raised. “You clock in here five days a week, ten hours a day.”

“And?”

Hansol huffs out a breath. “Listen, I know you and the other skaters like having the rink to yourselves, and I’d be happy if it was always just you guys. Trust me, these jocks are impossible to clean up after, let alone deal with. Between the launch pad calibre noise and the stupid plastic barriers I have to put up on the railings, I’d love for it to just be you guys. But the only times you officially have the rinks booked is in the mornings when you’re training with coach Carrol, the rest of the week is technically up for grabs.”

“Let me book the rest of the slots then.”

“SVT’s already booked most of the remaining hours.” Hansol’s voice is sympathetic, but his words seemed final. You aren’t sure how bad your face was contorted, because suddenly he’s adding, “But hey, you can look at the leftover hours if they work for you.”

He pulls out the roster on a tablet before handing it to you. It only takes you a minute to scroll before you realise the only viable options were past 10 PM. The rink closed at 11. 

You sigh, shoulders visibly sagging as you let out a bated breath of tension. “It’s fine.” You hand the tablet back to Hansol. “I’ll figure it out.”

Turning on your heel, you make a move to leave the premises. Hansol calls out your name. 

“I’m sorry. Really.” 

You muster a smile, one that you cannot feel the slightest bit. “It’s alright.”

“Only a few months.”

Something in your smile sours, and you nod absentmindedly. “Only a few months.” 

THERE WERE OTHER WAYS the universe could have let it happen, someplace where you might have forgiven yourself. Someplace you had reason to be. 

You were accustomed to physical exertion, how could you not be when you were what you were, but hiking on an incline was never something you fancied yourself with. Gyms and coaches and paved running trails are nothing like rocky terrains and steep mountain paths with no guide but a mobile map. 

The semi finals had passed you by, handing you a gold medal along the way as you thrust yourself into bliss. It was a job well done, so much so that you allowed yourself a weekend of something other than skating rinks and training sessions. So many nights that you can hardly remember, yet flash like lightning under your eyelids. Where you sobbed into your pillow and cursed yourself for ever having the gall to take a step back, to be so arrogant and blustering to announce yourself away from the thing that should’ve mattered the most. 

It only took one tiny crater in the path to twist your ankle so hard you crumple to the ground with a scream you cannot remember. More hands than you have holding on to your searing ankle, like they were holding it together with nothing but their palms and fingers. Lorelai was talking, and talking and talking, but all you could hear was the roaring question in your mind. 

Why did you bring me here? 

Six weeks. 

You watched with your own eyes as the Grand Prix final shuttered away on a reel, like you were watching a movie from an age you could not visit. 

Six weeks. 

Marina sat beside your bed and said words you’d never forget. 

“I’m sorry, but…this is your own fault.”

Six weeks. 

Lorelai wept, and said the same words for an entirely different reason. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault, it was my idea.” 

Six weeks. 

Carroll kept face, but you could see past the mask. A sigh that said more than any words of reassurance. Disappointed but not surprised. 

Six weeks you were bedridden with an ankle that refused to support your weight on the surface area of your bare foot, let alone on the 3/16th of an inch on a blade. 

Bedrest, meds, physical therapy, and still. The ache in your ankle follows you like a ghost haunting you of your worst mistake. 

It was your fault. You chose to put whimsy above everything you laboured for, for years and years. You chose to look past your shortcomings like they would not become your achilles heel. You chose to get on that trail. You chose to walk out on crutches.

You, who could land a jump on a fraction of an inch of steel, could now barely stand on her own two feet. 

You’d decided on that day, that you were as pathetic as they come.

IT WAS THE MOST natural decision to drag Lorelai out of where she rotted in bed to come with you to the rink. 

“You want me to fight them?” She’s wearing her Winnie the Pooh fuzzy pyjama pants and a university hoodie on top, her short hair concealed in the hood she’s pulled up. “They are hockey players. We are twigs!” 

“Lorry. Have you ever thrown a punch in your life?” you ask her as you pull your hair back into a loose bind. 

“No?” 

“Then why on earth would I ask you to fight goblins triple our size?” 

Her mouth is gaping in disbelief. “Why am I here then?” 

“You,” you start, grabbing your skates and moving out of the locker rooms. “Are gonna sit pretty in that sound booth and make sure nobody touches my laptop.”

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.” 

You ignore her as you walk towards the benches. “That stupid hockey team needs to know I have reinforcements of my own.”

Lorelai stands there, brows furrowed and in clothes that drown her. She glances down at her outfit and then back up at you. She deadpans, “This is the most unthreatening I have ever looked.”

“Just—” You stand up too quickly and feel yourself wobble. The railing is hardly a foot away, your hand moving over to grab it. Except your palms feel nothing but the flat of something smooth and hard, fingers bumping into the feeling of something unfamiliar. 

You manage to find your balance with a yelp, immediately snapping up to see where you missed the railing. The railing was still there, perfectly within arms reach. There’s a glare in your vision, like looking through a screen. Higher and higher, you realise quickly that you’ve been looking through a clear barrier so high up you can hardly find where it ends in its erect standing. 

Lorelai speaks up first, her voice resonating loudly, “Isn’t that supposed to be on the other side of the railing. Stupid, stupid Hansol.” 

It looks like it stretches throughout the circumference of the rink, wrapping whoever’s inside in a giant plastic fish bowl. 

There’s a clench in your jaw you can’t control, something a little more than annoyance building in your senses. It should be an easy thing to ignore, especially regarding its practically invisible nature, but its presence is all you can think about, even as you step your right blade onto the ice. 

Skating towards the middle of the rink, you feel claustrophobic. 

“Woah! You look like a zoo animal,” Lorealai adds unnecessarily. 

“Just play the track,” you grumble. 

“There should be a don’t tap on the glass sign,” she says, voice muffled as yells from the benches. “You already look like a weasel, can’t have confused people in the stands.” 

“Lorry!” 

“What?” she yells, her voice muffled as she yells from the benches. 

You curse the plastic that cages you as you yell louder, “Play the track!” 

Lorelai nods and makes a noise of understanding, and you watch her as she disappears into the sound booth. 

Taking your starting position, you wait for the quiet lull of the track before the beginning of the unmistakable piano; the low tremor in the beginning existing to prepare you to jump into the routine. You stand there with your arms out like a swan, waiting for your cue that won't seem to arrive. 

You almost yell out at Lorelai again before you suddenly hear the resonating shrill of the piano notes, startling yourself out of your first push. It’s fine, you’ll recover. You’re distracted by your staggered start and it’s enough to have you miss your first jump. It’s fine. You’ll recover. 

By the time the four minutes are up, you’ve missed two of your five jumps, a spin gone wrong, and nearly crashed into the plastic barrier. Not to mention, the aches in your body are enough to seem impossible to geographically pinpoint. 

It’s pointed, the way you make a beeline for the benches, refusing to look at Lorelai. You can almost imagine her expression, the poker face she has when she’s trying to think of ways to structure her next words nicely. 

“What was that?” she deadpans, voice a little far away. Your body hurts enough to take your focus away from her. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I thought your ankle was fine now?” she asks. 

You grit your teeth. “It is.” Lies. The way it was hurting you right now was making sure to remind you of that. 

“You know, you did pick back up a lot earlier than we thought—”

“I said I’m fine, Lorry,” you snap. “Now can you please play the track again.” 

You finally look up, and she looks like she wants to say something. But you’re on the ice before she can. 

You adapt to the excess muffle of the plastic barriers, ears straining to hear the beginning of the piano before you jump into the choreography smoother than last time. This time round, it’s better. The pain in your ankle and the budding one in your hip is apparent, but it’s suddenly easier to drown it out. Focusing on the music, keeping your centre of gravity, pushing into your jumps and spins with enough vigour to hold to what you are. 

Another four minutes pass and it’s over. Immediately, you swing over to the soundbooth to find Lorelai, only to find her joined by an extra set of people.

Impossibly, your blood runs cold. 

There’s a sneaking suspicion you know who it is despite the two men having their backs turned to you, especially judging by the obnoxious red jackets they have on. SVT. You can hear Lorelai speak indecipherably, her voice stern. 

“And you are?” one of them asks. You don’t recognise him, but you do the other one. The one who turned your music off the first day him and his team stepped foot in here. 

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason. 

“Gilmore?” The one you recognise snorts. Seungcheol, that’s what they called him the last time you saw him in the sound booth. 

“I’m worse,” she states. 

“Lorry?” you interrupt, arms crossed and gaze directed at her. 

“Lorry?” The one you don’t recognise says. “Like a truck?” 

“You think you’re funny?” Lorelai takes a step towards him, a fair attempt to look threatening if it weren’t for her very unthreatening attire. 

“Oh look at her pyjamas! It’s Pooh bear, Cheol,” he exclaims. That seems to irritate him. 

“Can you replay the track, please, I have to smooth things over,” you intervene. In your mind, ignoring their presence in your space was the best solution, refusing to give them a way to merge into your lane. 

“Woah, we have the rink booked today,” Seungcheol stops you. “4:30.”

Snapping around to find the clock on the adjacent wall, you read the time. “4:17. You can wait.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And thirteen minutes makes what difference?”

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

The other one thumps him on the back, all smiles. “We can wait, right, Cheol? Besides, we have to put our skates on.” 

His gaze is hard and doesn’t leave yours. “Fine.” 

You break away first to find Lorelai still in the same position, staring at the exchange. You ignore the two men that stand there and address her, “Play the track.”

Before the music begins, you glance back to the benches where the two men have seated themselves, apparently strapping in to watch you. You dig your nails into your palm to reign yourself back in. No point in getting upset. 

The piano begins, and you're determined to not mess up. Especially not right now. 

It goes well for all of 45 seconds, you're hitting the right beats, you feel like water. But then the first jump comes along and you see a flash of red from the stands. An irrational feeling hits you as you push into the first jump, it’s enough to make you stumble when you land. You manage to not fall, but it’s obvious you’ve messed up. 

Somewhere beyond the music you hear a distinct, “Solid 4!”

It distracts you again, and you miss a move. Somehow your second jump ends up worse, and you feel your bottom hit the hard ice. 

“8 point 5! Nice!”

It doesn’t take long for you to realise what they’re doing, anger crashing into you like a flash flood. Scoring your falls? You’re determined to make the next jump combination. You make it fine, but your quad Salchow turns into a triple. The oafs are too shallow to notice, so you hear no jeer. 

But you know that you messed up the only quad in your entire program. 

The last jump goes from a triple axel to a double, and you want to break something. 

The song ends, and you know you have another nine minutes left to yourself, but all you can think about is getting out of the vicinity as soon as possible. Away from all of the eyes that are trained on your hunched form. 

There’s nothing you know about Seungcheol, and yet, the thought of him even looking at you right now is unbearable. Twice you fell, countless times you failed. 

Lorelai says nothing while you pack up, and nothing as you leave the rink. 

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, CENTER,” LORELAI reads aloud from your bed with her mouth still full of salt ‘n vinegar chips. 

“Perfect, he already thinks he’s the center of the universe,” you grumble from your position on the floor of the bedroom. Your foam roller feels like heaven under your calves, but the position is beginning to cramp. 

“Surprised you haven’t heard of him, he’s half a celebrity.” 

You turn to her, “I have two gold medals and five podiums for every major skating event.”

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

“Hm. His skill and popularity would beg to differ.”

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?” 

“Because he’s cute,” she grins wide. “Although the other one was cuter, very angel-like. And he liked my Pooh Bear trousers. Can’t find his name on the team roster though.”

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

You’re cut off by a gasp, a loud one at that. “He coaches the babies!” 

Her face is contorted into something between an “aw” and a sob. 

Lorelai’s phone is dropped dramatically on the bed as she thrashes on your made (now unmade) bed. You swipe the phone and read. His picture is there, the name Yoon Jeonghan, Junior League Coach.

“Good for him.”

“He just got five times hotter,” she states like she’s out of breath. 

“Give it another meeting and he’ll give you five other reasons to hate him.”

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs. 

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

“Whatever.” Lorelai rolls her eyes and sets back on the bed, no doubt searching the man up by name. 

“Ow!” you yelp as you stand up from the ground, ankle twisting slightly in the process. 

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mumble quickly, hoping she’d drop it. But she catches your lingering stare on your bad ankle. 

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

“I just twisted it weird,” you defend, walking to pack up your foam rollers. 

You’re met with silence, but you know she’s thinking. Lorelai speaks, “Maybe you should skip out on the shelter today.”

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

Once, sometimes twice a week, you’d volunteer at the local pet shelter. It wasn’t hard work, mostly taking the bigger, more energetic dogs for their runs because it seemed you were the only one who could keep up with their stamina. And now Lorelai is trying to take that away from you. 

“I saw how you struggled at the rink today, there’s not a day you don’t rest. Like, actually rest.”

“That has nothing to do with me struggling!” you retort. 

“What is it then?” she asks, sitting up straighter, defiance in her gaze. “What is it that’s making you skate like you bought your first pair yesterday?”

The irritation is growing into something hotter, her defiance pushing you into a corner. 

“I know what you want to hear from me.” Your voice is shaky. “I’m not going to say it.”

“Because it’s not true? Or because you’ve been convinced it’s not?” 

You know what she’s talking about, and you know you’ve been avoiding the topic like it’s the plague. The ache in your ankle comes alive, and in that moment, you cannot tell if you’re imagining it or not. 

“Convinced by who?” you snap, shoving the box of foam rollers under your desk. 

“Does that have to come from me too?” 

“Lorry, I don’t know what you want from me!” 

“I—”

There’s a knock on your door, loud and demanding. Wrenching it open, you find Marina behind it. 

She has a frown on her face. “You’re still here? I thought you were running with the dogs today?”

“It’s none of your business if she goes or not, Marina.” Lorelai’s tongue drips with venom most commonly reserved for her most hated people. 

Marina, still in her workout clothes and duffel bag, furrows her eyebrows. “Who shoved a pole up your ass?” 

“I’m leaving in five,” you hiss, before making a motion to close the door. 

When you turn around, Lorelai is still on your bed, hands in fists like she’s holding herself back. There’s more behind her eyes than you could even consider unravelling. 

She leaves before you. 

THE ENTIRE WAY TO the rink was just one constant string of prayer. 

All of them go unanswered when you walk in to find the rink full of hockey players in red and black gear. 

The only thing you can do is curse under your breath, only watching frozen in your tracks as a million players skate across the rink passing and yelling at each other. No one you recognise, their helmets and gear eluding any semblance of individuality. 

Where you stand, a little ways away from the plastic screen and the benches, a dark circular puck suddenly slams directly into the boundary at eye level. On instinct, you flinch at the loud bang, half expecting to get hit. 

When you open your eyes, somebody’s skating up to the boundary, and you lock eyes through the cage of his helmet. 

Your blood is suddenly charged with something electric, fingers curling into fists on instinct. 

Suddenly, all that rings in your ears is the distinct jeers of numbers over the muffle of plastic as you continue to fall, and fall, and fall on the cold, unforgiving ice. The amusement in your failure, the joy in your defeat. 

Spinning on your heel, you stalk to Hansol’s office. 

In your blinding anger, you take a wrong turn, looking up to realise you’ve walked into the locker rooms. You’re one step into the men's locker room when you come back to your senses, startling yourself once again as you spin back from where you came, only you’ve been caught. 

For all the luck you’ve received in this life, it seems to opt out at that exact moment as you hear the unmistakable noise of a herd of ogres walking in, the glare of red on the walls surrounding them. Frozen in your spot, you can only grip the straps of your duffel bag harder, tense up like you were preparing for impact. When they turn the corner, the brilliant idea of simply walking towards the women’s locker rooms befalls you. But it’s too late. 

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack. 

His helmet is in his hands instead of on his head, revealing a sopping mop of hair drenched in what you can only imagine is sweat. He’s laughing at his teammate who’s making futile attempts to escape his own helmet, not noticing you in the way. 

Until he does. His smile fades immediately, eyebrows raised as he registers you in the doorway. You feel his gaze on you for a few silent moments, his teammates shushing at the shift in the air. Seungcheol opens his mouth, and you already know all that’s going to leave it is dung. “Didn’t realise the rink had a vacancy. Do I need to show you my ID to take a shower?”

A rustle of chortles and chuckles flitter from the group. “Go ahead. I don’t need an ID to tell you need a shower.”

Somebody ooh’s, despite it not being your best work. You suppose it was your delivery that did it. Deciding to continue riding that high, you simply turn towards the women’s locker rooms, refusing to give Seungcheol the luxury of your eyes on him.

Hurtling into the women’s locker room, you throw your duffel bag somewhere you’ll regret and crumple into one of the seats. You count to ten, attempting to take the image of Seungcheol out of your brain. 

It was difficult to rile you up to this extent, a trait you needed to possess if you were to be coached by Carroll in any capacity. There was so much you heard from her mouth, swallowing it like a prescribed pill and nothing more. Take what you were given, because it was given by the best, bought for you by the best.

Yet for some reason, Seungcheol manages to irk you in ways you previously have never encountered. Irritating people come and go, but you doubt you could place him as something as simple as just irritating. His presence felt like an intrusion, his air was thick like a concentrated gas. Everything he’s said to you so far has come from nothing but disdain and condescension, his haughty personality the only takeaway when he enters a room. 

You’re still in your outdoor shoes and jacket by the time twenty minutes are over, coming to a conclusion as you get up from the empty, soulless locker room. Hansol is in his office when you make the formality knock before barging in. His head is on the desk, like he’s asleep. It takes him a second, by he lifts his forehead from the papers on the tabletop to regard you at the door. You hear him sigh. 

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re turning out worse than those baboons,” he curses before setting his forehead back onto the table. “Write it on the sticky note, I’ll put it in the schedule.”

“Now. I wanna book a slot for right now,” you grit. 

Hansol whips his head up again, eyes wide like he’s holding himself back, nodding furiously as he pulls his keyboard towards himself with an unnecessarily aggressive tug. “Fine. 2:16 till closing. Enter. Print. Here.”

He hands you the printed receipt of your slot, ripping it from the printer tray as he does it. You take it from him in the same vigour, hardly a thank you as you spin on your heels and walk out the door. You stop for a minute, turning back around to yell into the office. 

“Go home if you’re just gonna nap on your desk!” 

Not waiting for a response, you stalk towards the locker rooms. Within minutes you’ve tugged on your skates, laptop and shoes in each hand as you emerge out the tunnel to the rink. 

The ice is empty, mostly. Placing your laptop in the sound booth and your shoes under the benches, you step foot on the ice. They’re there, on the other end, sitting on the cold ice with their jerseys still on, eating what looks like cups of dippin dots. 

Seungcheol and Jeonghan, you remember from Lorelai’s squealing, either don’t notice you on the ice, or simply choose not to. Because it’s easy as you skate up to them, gaining speed from across the rink, you slide to a stop, sending a perfect spray of ice from your skates, directly into their ice cream cups. 

Seungcheol’s full spoon hangs mid air, halfway to his mouth, now garnished with ice shavings. 

“Thought you’d have the respect to keep the dippin dots out of this,” Jeonghan comments, disbelief in his eyes as he looks up at you. 

“Ice is booked.” 

“What time?” Seungcheol asks. Your gaze flickers to the left side of his face, a nasty bruise blooming purple and blue that you hadn’t noticed before. 

“2:16. It’s nearly fifteen minutes past.”

“You’re only one person.” He’s significantly more annoyed than when you saw him outside the locker rooms just minutes ago. 

“And?”

“And…you have about 97% of the rink to yourself.”

You raise your brows, hands on your hips. “But I booked 100% of it. So I’m gonna need that plane of ice you’re currently sitting on.” 

“What if I don’t move?” Seungcheol presses. It’s menacing, the way he looks at you, like he’s a lion only waiting to be provoked. Maybe he’s already halfway there, because it sure looks like it. 

“We’ll find out another day,” Jeonghan sings before you can snap back, grabbing onto the collar of Seungcheol’s red and white jersey to yank him up. He continues to glare as he obliges with his friend’s tugs, nearly as angry as you are. “Let’s go, sport.”

You watch as they walk to the exit of the ice, realising they’re wearing their shoes instead of their skates. 

Jeonghan calls from the benches, right before he and Seungcheol move out of view. “Trash those for us, would you?” 

Their half eaten dippin dots cups, with the ice now melting on them remains on the floor of the rink. Once again, the unexplainable urge to kick something befalls you, hearing them laugh and talk from far away as they exit the rink behind their long gone teammates. 

You give in, swinging a leg over to kick the cups and spoons, dippin dots and plastic scattering across the ice. It’s another sprawl of mess you’ll have to clean up, but it feels good to ruin something of his, no matter how inconsequential. The empty rink encourages you, needing to scream so loud the plastic barriers crack and break. You know it’s impossible, but that doesn’t stop the urge. 

You channel it into the most aggressive warmups on ice you’ve ever done. Your spins are faster, your jumps higher. But this also means you crash heavier, fall harder. It’s then, sitting on the bench to take a break, breathing so heavy you can hardly sip your water, you find an unmistakable headline on your browser home page. 

Everything stops. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed center may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

BEFORE EVERYTHING, BEFORE YOUR ankle, before it began to feel like your world was crumbling at your feet, came the scar on your leg. 

In hindsight, it feels like it was the very thing that set the ball rolling, the beginning of your demise. 

Coach Carroll was only on her first handful of sessions with you, Lorelai and Marina, all of you still learning her quirks and expectations as a coach. 

It happened when you were on the sidelines, hanging over the boundary as Lorelai handed you a water bottle from the benches. Marina was practicing her routine, taking up most of the ice as Coach followed on the side. It seemed unclear, to this day, whether you’d drifted inwards on the ice as you sipped from the bottle, unaware. But when you felt the hot searing pain in your calf, there were only two people on the scene. 

Marina skated past, her free leg in the air, meeting your calf as she skated past, effectively slicing into your leg in a deep gash. Blood was wiped off the ice, your leg bandaged and wrapped. Not without Coach and her comments, of course. 

You heard her berate Marina from the other room, for moving closer to the boundary than what was required for her routine, heard the way she gave her the blame. And then she round up on you. 

“Idiot! No reason to be on the ice when you aren’t practicing, did you want it to be your ankles too?!” 

It was the first time you realised that Carroll was beyond your perception of the word demanding, her gaze remained in a high place, no regard for what it took to get there. Even if it meant destroying her skaters. 

Marina apologised. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there, I would’ve dropped my leg—”

“It’s okay, Marina. Really,” you smiled through the still aching wound. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

She smiled a little too, “Lesson learned, I guess. Don’t loiter on the ice.” 

It was difficult to keep the smile from fading as you heard her say that.

“What shit apology is that?!” Lorelai yelled as soon as you mentioned it to her later. You cringe as you realise what slipped, and to whom it slipped to. 

“It’s the best I’m gonna get from her, Lorry. Honestly, I don’t care.”

“You’re out of service for a week till that slice heals and that’s all she has to give you?” 

Lorelai is breathing heavily, mostly because she’s been practicing her triple axels for her routine, but also because she’s extensively heated for you. You watch her from the benches. 

“Lorry,” you sigh. 

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

“Are you trying to say she did it on purpose?” you ask. 

“No! Let me finish, woman,” she snaps. “I wanna win, you wanna win. We’re doing everything we can because we want to win—”

“So this was a subconscious attack?” you interject. 

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” Lorelai begins to skate backwards and away, leaving you on the bench. 

“NO! Wait, okay, I’m sorry I won’t interrupt.”

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

It wasn’t until you were back in your shared apartment, Marina out doing whatever while Lorelai hijacked your bed that she got to finish her sentence. She was rubbing ointment on a bruise while you changed the  bandage on your calf. 

“Her need to win is ruining her. And it’s like she’s taking us down with her. I know she doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t want to hurt us. But she thinks this kind of hurt is good, if it’s the kind of hurt that pushes you to win.”

You cringed at the sight of the wound, still red and ugly. 

“She might not have meant to hurt your leg, but—don’t loiter on the ice? Really?”

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

“Exactly! You don’t need that reminder because I think you’ve learned better than anyone else to not stay on the rink when someone is practising. A couple weeks ago she made some stupid comment because I left the gym early. Nothing inherently rude, she’s never actually rude. But it was pointed anyway. I’ve been up since six in the morning I think I deserve slacking off a little, it was nearly midnight for fuck’s sake!” 

Cleaning the wound was taking everything you had, the need to hiss at the contact of the wet cloth was near abominable. 

“Her…her perception’s a little warped. But her heart’s in the right place!”

Lorelai had rolled her eyes, screwing the cap of her ointment tube back on with unnecessary force. “I never said it wasn’t, just—stop defending her! I’m sorry but half the reason she continues to act like this is because you listen to her.”

At that moment, you felt a little offended. Of course, Marina had her moments where she’d say something a little less than healthy, especially coming from a friend. But you’d always thought you handled it better than most. 

You met Marina when you were still only splotchy faced preteens, during a competition where she came second and you came third. She’d been skating for longer, so it was expected, but you also couldn’t conceal your surprise when you’d found the state of her later on. You were ecstatic simply because you managed to make it to the podium, but it seemed Marina’s tears held another thought process for her. 

You found her crying in the locker rooms later on, her coach who looked like she…should’ve been comforting her, but it was more like a stern talking to, to suck it up and work harder next time round. 

When you tried to help her, out came words you felt oh so strange coming from a stranger. “What do you know? You came third!”

It hurt. Possibly the first genuine stab of the feeling you’d ever felt. In the following weeks, when Marina apologised and you’d begun to build a friendship, you felt something peculiar. Practice sessions on the ice became harder, your two hour sessions were suddenly extending to four, sometimes five hours a day. All of it, your own doing. 

It was subconscious when it was happening, the silent tug of You came third! What you first considered an achievement became an intermediate step. 

If there was anywhere that you’d pinpoint the shift, from when figure skating went from fun to a responsibility, you’d pick that exact moment. When someone congratulated you later on, it wasn’t a big smile and a thank you.

“I only came third.”

Your calf healed and all that was left was a scar, but there in the discolouration of your skin, also lay a realisation. 

SEUNGCHEOL HOSTS ABSOLUTELY ZERO thoughts in his mind as he shoves the collar of his hoodie over his head. Slamming the door shut on the rest of his red SVT paraphernalia, he makes quick work of his hair, shoes on and out the door within the minute. Jeonghan is still fast asleep when he leaves, mouth open and drooling onto his pillow when Seungcheol walks into his room to let him know he’s leaving. 

Jeonghan might tag along to practice for the fun of it despite leaving his competitive hockey career behind him, but his distaste for 6 AM practice remains forever unchanged. He’d see him later though, on the rink lingering once the sun is higher in the sky and Jeonghan deems it less of a sin to be awake. 

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend. 

By the time he gets to the rink, most of the team has already geared up. The locker room is splotched with red, moving towards the back of the room to get to his own locker. They weren’t assigned, but he liked to have his claim. He had one in the old rink, the one locker everyone knew was his. And now he has one here, despite the temporary nature of the ordeal. The rest of the boys know to steer clear, as does he for the others who have their lucky spots. 

Mingyu bumps into his shoulder when Seungcheol is looking down, immediately whipping around to bow a full ninety degrees. He’s laughing as he apologises, not really sorry, but Seungcheol is too exhausted to humour him too much. 

He’d been up playing games all night, under the covers in the dark, his phone brightness up too high and his eyes too wide open. He could feel the regret when his alarm blared while it was still dark outside, his eyelids stuck together, refusing to open. It cost him fifteen minutes of warming up, but he’d make it somehow. 

Seungcheol can hear coach Mason’s booming voice from outside, moving closer and closer to hustle the rest of the boys out onto the rink. He shoves his foot into his skates, making sure all that’s left is to lace them up. 

“Look alive, boys! I want you on the ice within the minute,” he booms into the locker room. 

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. When he gets up to leave the locker rooms, his hockey stick and helmet in hand, he’s the last straggling few to leave. Chan earns himself a hard thump on the back from Coach as he scurries out. 

There’s a hand on Seungcheol’s chest as he’s about to exit, Coach stopping him from leaving. 

He looks up, expecting a hard look from Mason, ready to hear a mildly violent threat about being late to call time again. Except Seungcheol finds him with his own gaze on the floor. 

“Rink manager said I could use his office. We should talk there.”

Seungcheol could’ve said he knows what this was going to be about. The game last weekend had less than ideal results, not because they didn’t win, but more so because of the WWE level brawl that went down in the benches during one of the intermissions. 

He tenses, but it was more like he was squaring up. His shoulders are hard, his grip on his hockey stick tighter. Of course, he wasn’t about to swing at his coach, but one could say it was simply a subconscious response. 

The entire walk to the office, Seungcheol thinks of new ways Coach could address his issue. But the gist was always simple. 

Choi, stop fucking fighting. 

He’d usually just rip Seungcheol a new one in front of the boys, berate him and verbally throttle him in the hopes that he’d keep his anger under check. But as they turn towards the door to the office, Seungcheol has to remind himself that this was a first. Being led aside, like he was being led into some formal meeting. 

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

The office is barren, hardly looks like it’s used with how sparse the equipment is. The amount of dark brown gives it enough warmth to not make it look like some sick form of solitary confinement. That doesn't stop Seungcheol from feeling a hint of pity for whoever has to work here. There’s no nameplate. 

Coach doesn’t take a seat, opting to lean against the table in front of him instead. His arms are folded, and he’s not looking him in the eye. A crawl of suspicion creeps up Seungcheol’s neck, as though in an attempt to ambush him. 

It’s silent in the room as he waits for Coach to speak, refusing to be the one to break it. 

When he does speak, it’s not in his usual Coach voice. Without the built in bass and tremors he was born with. 

“There’s no easy way to break this,” he starts, eyes drifting up to somewhere on the barren walls. “But I’m gonna try my darndest.”

Finally, he feels Coach’s gaze lock with Seungcheol’s expecting pair. 

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

Coach squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s recalibrating. “Your contract is up by the end of the season. And the tie wearers and the shoe shiners don't wanna re-sign you.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean don’t wanna re-sign me, on what grounds?!”

“You’re temperament—”

“I’ve scored at least two goals for every game you’ve put me in, I’m your most consistent player!”

“They have no qualms with you when you’re on the ice.”

Seungcheol knows where this is going. He knows what knocked up alley this is turning to and he hates it. “Which is all that should matter.”

“In most cases.”

“Is this about last weekend? You didn’t hear him, he deserved more than a broken fucking nose—”

“I didn’t need to hear him, because I know. I know he’s a jackass, I know they’re all jackasses! They know that too. You need to learn to let things go, let them chirp—”

“He was coming on to my mother!” Seungcheol bellows, now properly angry. He remembers the guy’s name, Jason or something. 

“His coach came onto my entire bloodline when we were young, this is Kim’s strategy! You’re playing right into their hands like a dog! For fuck’s sake, Choi! Punching someone in the chiclets isn’t always the answer!” Coach Mason is shaking his hands in front of him like some violent prayer. 

Seungcheol drops his hockey stick and helmet, mouth open as he huffs and puffs. He wants to pace, wants to point his fingers at Coach and make a few threats of his own. 

“Just—”

Seungcheol rounds up on him. “Seungkwan punched a guy in the mouth. Wonwoo kicked one in the balls.”

“Seungcheol. This is becoming nearly. Every. Single. Game. Not the occasional tousle we can pull people out of. You can’t keep sending people to the hospital, it’s a wonder nobody's pressed charges yet!”

“So that’s it? I’m being punished because some dick runs his mouth?” 

“This is about you, Seungcheol. You need to get a fucking grip. You’ve started picking at your own teammates, shoving Mingyu around—seriously?”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens but nothing leaves it. He ends up gaping like a fish. 

For all that it was worth, for everything he’d been through, Seungcheol always assumed his seat was safe. Always assumed he’d have the position he does. Because he showed results, won them nearly every game and put up a damn good fight in the ones they didn’t. 

Seungcheol knew he was an asset, but not for one minute, stop to realise that this was all

conditional. 

For everything he did for this team, for every fiber of his being he poured into its chalice, they were spitting it all right back into his face. Chewed and warped and rid of anything worth salvaging. 

The red in his chest, back, stomach, spelling out the unmistakable letters of his team. The red in his helmet that rests beside the red in his hockey stick. 

“Listen, as much of a pain in the ass you are, you’re good fucking player. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters. But it’s not up to me, so we need to work around that. They’re worried about the repercussions of your behaviour. And you are gonna make sure you keep yourself in check.” 

Coach walks closer, finger digging into Seungcheol’s chest through his jersey. “I want no more fights, no more kicking and punching and swearing no matter how much that motherfucker deserves it, I don’t care. Do whatever it takes. God knows I’ll never forgive you if you make me agree to those prissy hands in suits.”

Coach left Seungcheol in the barren office, stepping over his stick and helmet as he exited the room, leaving him alone. His fingers flex under his gloves, like he’s trying to remind himself to stay in the moment. His exhales are stronger than his inhales, his vision blurring as the desk turns into two, and then disappears for a second. 

He can hear the distinct sound of the puck slamming into hockey sticks. Practice had started. By the time Seungcheol walks out, he’s the last person to go through the mandatory drills. 

The rink is mostly empty as the team gears up for a practice match, leaving Seungcheol enough reign to slam into every puck like he had some personal vendetta against every last one. It’s one after the other, sent directly into the open net, waiting. 

Practice goes fine, as good as it could go with the scrambled eggs that had become of Seungcheol’s mental state. He found himself whipping his head around to Jun when he fumbled an assist, face scrunched under his helmet as he prepared to send him to hell in a handbasket. 

He sees Jun physically tense up in defense, and the insult (for once) dies on Seungcheol’s tongue. 

“Just—keep up, alright,” he says instead. His tone is empty, and on a downward slope. 

If anyone finds it odd, they don’t say. 

It’s a couple more hours of passes, assists and hollers across the ice, regrouping the teams every so often to keep the rotation consistent. 

Over here, everyone is in red, everyone is on his side. The bleachers are empty, devoid of spectators to watch him lose his cool on anything. But he thinks of the way Jun recoiled, like he was preparing for the worst of his teammate’s words. He and Jun are friends. 

Somewhere amidst his thoughts, the puck flies directly into Seungcheol’s face, banging into the cage of his helmet with a noise that resonates across the rink. He’s startled enough to skate back a little, not before hearing another resounding thwack! from next to him. The puck rebounded from his helmet and hit the plastic barrier with a noise that had everyone looking over. 

Skating up to where the puck fell back onto the ice, he looks up to where it hit the barrier. 

Through the plastic he sees…you. You're staring at the same spot he is, where there’s a slight mark from the force of the rubber. 

And then your eyes drift up, locking with his own. 

Like every other person he’s around, he watches you tense up. But it’s laced with something more than just bracing for impact. 

It’s apprehension, your form turbulent and agitated. It’s all he can see when you spin on your heels and walk away in the opposite direction from him. 

The all too familiar irritation sparks in the back of Seungcheol’s mind, as it does when you’re around. All he does is slam his stick into the ice with force, pushing the puck back into the middle of the rink. 

They’re nearly done by that point, and he finds that Jeonghan has graced himself in the benches. He’s wearing his old jersey, likely because he doesn’t want Coach to notice him and accuse him of distracting his players. 

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway. 

Seungcheol tells him to wait up, walking towards the locker room with the rest of the rest of the team to wash up. He finds some reprieve in Seungkwan’s attempts at fumbling with his helmet, letting out a laugh as he fights with it. Looking up as they take the turn towards the locker rooms as a group, he somehow finds himself in your presence, again. 

It’s the same thing, like you’ve been connected to a faulty circuit and you’re trying not to show it. You look like you want to say something but all Seungcheol can do is send a snarky remark of his own. 

Even as you walk away after the ordeal, he feels anything but settled. 

It’s like the world has it out for him, because as he opts to stalk back to where Jeonghan was, forgoing a shower, there’s only another calamity waiting for him. 

Jeonghan is in the rink, sitting on the ice with two cups of what looks like dippin dots. He looks up when he hears his treads on the ice, having taken his skates off already. Seungcheol crumples to the ground and on the ice next to his friend. 

The first words he utters are the only ones that’ve been on his mind all day. “They want to drop me.”

Jeonghan only grimaces in response, only running his hands through his hair as he sighs loudly. “I know. I heard.”

Seungcheol perks up, head lifting from the ice. “...How?”

That’s how Seungcheol has Jeonghan’s phone so close to his face he’s hardly an inch away from the screen. He reads and reads and reads. And his blood boils and boils and boils. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

SEAT AT RISK FOR SVT HOCKEY TEAM’S SHINING STAR? Read All About It Here! 

Choi Seungcheol’s seat for next season at risk? Insider reports that the hot headed centre may be at risk of contract termination due to recent controversy. The hockey player, renowned for his aggressive playing tendencies, seems to be taking his temperament outside of the rink. Multiple games played by SVT have been subject to eventful halves and quarters, the center seen getting violent in the benches with opposing team members, and sometimes even team members of his own! While his short temper has always been a recurring subject in the news, his skills as a player have always remained top notch—we do wonder if he even has to try! The tables seem to turn a little differently this time around though, because it looks that SVT higher ups have been fed up with the increasing reports of Choi’s aggressive behaviour. Insider sources report that talks of a contract termination may be coming into order. While he has proven to be an effective player on the ice, it seems as though it won’t be saving him from this particular ramification! 

Stay tuned, hockey fanatics, as we bring you more updates on Choi’s sticky situation! 

Of course, to add to the absolute media pandemonium, you had shown up on the rink itself after Seungcheol had to read through the entirety of that stupid article. Jeonghan was smart to pull him away from the situation before he wrapped both his hands around your neck in an ultimatum. 

The way you stood there, hip popped like you owned the damn place, face haughty and demanding. You stood while they sat, looking down at Seungcheol like he was some pesky ant. There was nothing he would’ve rather done in that moment than swing his leg clean across your ankles, and watch in delight as you crash onto the ice in front of him. 

“What the fuck is her problem?” he grits as soon as he’s in the locker rooms. Collecting his things to leave and take a shower at home. 

Jeonghan walks behind him, hands in his pocket in idleness as he watches his friend pack up. He’s humming a tune that’s possibly too familiar to Seungcheol. “Hm. She does seem a little wound too tight.”

“Wound too tight?! I’ve seen her thrice just today and every single time she looks like she wants to skin my fucking hide!”

Jeonghan only snorts. “Thing two isn’t any better. She’s cute though.”

Seungcheol whips around. “Who gets that territorial over a sound booth?!”

“Down, boy,” Jeonghan soothes, half in jest. “Surprised she isn’t here today either.”

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

“I would, actually, yes. What was her name?”

“Something to do with a train or a bus or something—”

“Lorry! Right,” Jeonghan furrows his brows. “I don’t think that’s her real name.”

Seungcheol throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he motions he’s done. “I don’t think anyone who actually loves their child would name them after a bus.”

Jeonghan halts in his steps. “My dead dog’s name was Lorry.”

Seungcheol is extra nice for the rest of the way home. 

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

His dreams are full of voices, of every single teammate he’s ever had. The junior league, his high school team, up to his college team, and finally, his team right now. 

They’re all murmuring like they were paid to do it, uttering the same things, over and over. He doesn’t belong here, they don’t want him here, he doesn’t deserve what he has. 

And with the way his heart is racing when he jolts awake, cold sweat and all, he realises he’s kicked his blanket off of him sometime during the night. He looks over to his alarm clock that glares bright in the dark of his room; 5:08 AM.

He doesn’t need to be up, but it seems his own subconscious has given him a good enough scare to make sure every last essence of sleep escapes him. He lays on his back, catching his breath like he just ran a marathon. 

Seungcheol hasn’t woken up from a nightmare like this since middle school, one that knocks the breath from his lungs and fills his head with all the horrible things in the world. With every moment that passes after that conversation with Coach Mason, his ordeal becomes increasingly real. 

In that moment, laying in his bedroom, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above, he wonders if he’s made the right choice to come this far. 

With all the confidence he’s exuded, the thought is downright terrifying. 

Seungcheol was a difficult child. Too much energy, too much to say, too much to do. His parents didn’t know the first thing about hockey, just that it involved enough hitting and running and practice to let their son let out all that pent up energy, so maybe, just maybe, he’d sit still and do his homework. While they attempted to sign him up at the local rink, he was already zooming out towards the benches to see the fabled giant block of ice his parents told him about. 

And there it was, just like in the movies, a giant expanse of ice that made him shiver even in his thick Winnie The Pooh puffer vest. There’s sounds, loud ones, of deep clacks that echo across the rink. It seems to be coming from the dozens of people skating on the rink, decked out in red gear. 

SVT, he reads on their jerseys. 

His mother chides him for straying when they finally find him near the gate, watching the team practice. The rink manager is there as well, showing his parents around. 

“The SVT’s practice here and have a junior league too, but I’m afraid it’s full. But our coach is great too, I’m sure he’ll do well.”

Seungcheol’s parents didn’t mind, but he wanted those jerseys, wanted his name in red splashed across his back as he glided across the ice. 

It didn’t take long for his coach and his parents to realise that putting him in a helmet was a good idea. He was smoking the rest of the kids from day one, his balance on the ice better than any other his age, his hold on a hockey stick like second nature, his aim as he hit his first puck, dazzling. 

As he got older, entering his preteen and teen years, he had another realisation. That he was as horrible at school as he was good at hockey. 

“Perhaps you should take a break from hockey,” his high school guidance counsellor had said. His grades were displayed in front of her like a case study, the hopeless clear in her intermittent sighs and the occasional purse of her lips. “Utilise that time to fix at least one of your grades. Pour all your eggs in one basket.”

The thought was absurd. No, he would not be dropping hockey when it was the only thing that pushed him to wake up in the morning. 

He’d felt the tremble of irritation rise in himself, sitting there in that office. It angered him, made him feel like his success was measured by a criteria not made for him. He had said nothing as he slipped out of chair and left the room. 

The day before his graduation, sweat dripping onto the ice as he sent free pucks into the net, he was missing more than he was getting in. It was making him more mad than it should, hands shaking with fury as he berated himself for not being able to succeed in something so simple.

His last puck was before him, and he swung his stick harder than ever and watched as it flew directly into the net. The sound is louder than usual, resonating across the rink. Seungcheol looked down at the detached pieces in his hand and quickly realised that he’d effectively broken his hockey stick.

It wasn’t expensive, so the quality wasn’t nearly what it should be, wasn’t nearly as durable. But this was new to him. He’d never broken a stick before. 

Anger. Perhaps that was what he'd forgone, perhaps that was what he needed. To get on his knees from his back, to get on his feet from his knees. 

When he graduated the next day, Seungcheol knew what he was going to do with his life. Finally had an answer for the infinite questions about his future. 

Hockey. Seungcheol was going to play hockey for the rest of his life. He was going to get into SVT, he was going to become the best player they’ve ever had. He was going to make more money than what he would have as a doctor or a lawyer or whatever else the entire world wanted him to do instead. 

Seungcheol was going to be on the ice wearing red if it’s the last thing he does. 

That’s what pushes him out of bed at 8:45 in the morning, his dream that was once in his hands now flitting through the gaps of his fingers. 

The anger that pushed him here, was now pushing him out. 

He packs his things and leaves the house, welcoming the cold of the outdoors. 

There’s the distinct sound of blade cutting through ice when he gets nearer to the rink itself, a shout of a shrill voice he can’t decipher. Official practice doesn’t start for another couple hours, and he doesn’t remember Coach Mason cutting the pitch in his voice for anything ever. There’s only one other person that could possibly be gracing the rink.

Seungcheol finds three people on the rink. The bright red curly mop of hair catches his eye first, her arms folded over her green puffer jacket, apprehension in her entire posture. He assumes this is your coach. 

There’s a blonde one breathing heavily as she straightens out of a spin, listening to the coach as she shakes her head violently as she speaks. 

Seungcheol finds you a little ways away from the pair, practising jumps. 

He doesn’t emerge into the benches, remaining in the shadows where he wouldn’t be so blaringly obvious. There’s no reason for him to hide, but he doesn’t think of this as hiding. 

Seungcheol watches for the next few minutes, watches you make most of your jumps, fall for some. Your coach shouts for particular names for jumps, something about axels and lutz’ that he can’t tell the difference from when put into action. At least he thinks that’s what you’re doing. 

And then he hears it as your coach moves closer to the barriers. “What’s gotten into you? Keep acting this stupid and I’ll excuse myself from the job, I have better people to coach.”

Her tone, her words, the sharp edge of her tongue, it’s all triggering a very specific part of Seunghceol’s brain. 

“Is it your ankle? Because if it is, then I’m here to tell you to get out of your own head. Your ankle is fine, you wouldn’t be able to get on the ice at all if it wasn’t.” 

There it comes. Those words aren’t directed towards Seungcheol, nor could they apply to him in any capacity. But the way this coach is speaking is making him irrationally angry. 

“Are you gonna keep pretending you have a handicap? Because if you are then I have no work here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

For whatever reason, the sound of you apologising makes the fire rage doubly. It’s enough to blur his vision, enough to make him question what on earth this coach could have on you to let her speak to you in that way. 

The choice words are already in his head as he claps back in his own head, like he was the one at the receiving end. 

He doesn’t stay, disappearing even further into the tunnel to where the locker rooms are. He doesn’t understand why he’s huffing and puffing as much as he is. All that occupies him is what possible reasons you could have to just take it lying down. 

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates in his pocket, slipping it out to realise it’s Jeonghan. 

He picks up, and barely has time to say hello before his voice perks up from the other line. “Where are you?” He sounds like he just woke up. 

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

“My angry voice is not—” he begins to grit, seething, but closes his eyes and takes a moment. “I’m not mad.”

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

Seungcheol hangs up before he can go on. To his utmost irritation, he feels significantly calmer. 

The rink is devoid of your red headed coach when Seungcheol makes his way there after a few minutes. The blonde one is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the rink as you skated across the expanse. He only watches as you land the couple attempts at jumps, the ice breaking ground in a spray every time you put pressure on your blades. 

Seungcheol is just standing there, blank faced with an empty head. His mind was quiet for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, standing idle as he follows your figure around the rink like a fixation point. 

The sound is more consistent, less of the loud jabs of hockey sticks meeting the ice, more constant lines of scraping as you migrate across the rink. The speakers boom no sound, but the musicality in the noise of the ice is enough to imagine a rhythm. 

No part of him desires getting on the ice to oust you out, no part of him wants to touch his hockey stick that sits in the locker room. He doesn’t need extra practice, not with hockey at least. 

And when you notice him, unmoving in the benches, he watches as something hard overcomes your expression. You skate over, and he keeps his gaze fixated on the ice.

Skating up to the gate, he sees in his peripheral vision as you slip on your skate guards, stepping out into the real world. 

“You don’t have the rink booked, I checked,” you huff, moving to find your things on the other set of benches. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. “I don’t want the rink right now.”

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

“I’m here to tell you to start filling in the stupid craters your skates make in the ice. The guys keep tripping.” 

“You big hockey thugs getting defeated by a toe pick?” 

Seungcheol turns to finally look at you, and you look nothing as graceful as you did on the ice. He wants to scoff. 

You continue, “I have to deal with your stupid barriers fucking up my sound system. I think your guys can deal with a couple digs in the ice.” 

“Great, we’ll just lose a couple teeth, who really gives a fuck.” 

“If this is about giving fucks,” you get up from your water break, leaving the bench. “Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't."

Seungcheol’s entire being is ablaze. He reshuffles his footing. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” you repeat, voice moving a pitch higher. “My fucking problem is that you and your overgrown posse of baboons drop in here out of the blue and then act like you own the damn place!”

“Right, because it’s your name on the fucking lease. Excuse us for trespassing on public property!”

You’re yelling. Seungcheol is yelling. It’s either that or the hollow of the rink is now carrying your voices farther out. 

“I’ve had enough of you acting like you don’t take up this entire fucking space!” Your arms wave wildly, gesturing to the large area of the rink. “You’re everywhere, all the fucking time, it’s sickening!”

“Everywhere, huh?” He takes a step closer to you. And then another. He revels in the sight of your face turning a splotchy red. “Thought I was only a bother on the ice? Where else have I been plaguing you in mystic hallucinations?”

Seungcheol’s eyes give away nothing but provocation. He knows he didn’t start this, but in the true essence of who he is, he would be the one to end it. 

It’s clear you’re taken aback. At this moment, he’s the closest he’s ever been to you. But it’s for nothing if it isn’t to press on you further, to tower over you and your outburst. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, you brute.”

“Then is it not me taking up all your space?” he asks. “Because there’s three feet of air between us, and yet the least in our very short time together.”

He watches as you take a small step back.

“So where else have I been any closer, so consistently, if it wasn’t part of your imagination?”

There’s a certain kind of venom in your stare, in the sneer that lifts your mouth, enough to ensure that it’d render him six feet deep. But he lives in reality, so he deems it safe to take another step closer. 

“You’re a screw up,” you almost whisper. Appalled and scandalised. 

“So I’ve been told,” Seungcheol breathed. “But something tells me we’re not so different in that department.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that I’m all you can think about,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That feels like a lot. You’d agree, because everywhere, all the fucking time is a lot.” 

Seungcheol has hardly finished his sentence before he feels the light breeze of you gathering your few things, shouldering him hard and walking away from him. Into the tunnel, into the locker rooms, into hell, wherever it was that you ended up by the close of the day. 

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

LORELAI HAD MADE IT quite clear that any figure skating talk was off the table, and talk surrounding Marina even more so. You tried not to point out the obvious predicament, but the fact that you lived with Marina did not affect her demand. 

Miraculously, not talking about skating or Marina was the most free you’d felt in ages. It was mildly embarrassing in the beginning, when on a run with Lorealai who was also helping out at the dog shelter, because you realised all you talked about was, maybe not Marina, but definitely a lot of skating. 

You slow down a little to give Kkuma a couple minutes to breathe, but Lorealai is still running at her pace with her significantly more energetic husky, Bennie. 

“Stay there, I’ll catch up!” she yells over her shoulder as she takes the left around the block to circle back. 

You oblige, moving to a walking pace as Lorelai appears from behind you after a couple minutes. She slows to a jog and loiters around you for a minute, you increase your speed to match hers. 

“Jeonghan…” she pauses to take a breath. But your interest is piqued, especially if she was talking about the same Jeonghan you were thinking about. “Jeonghan invited me to the game this weekend.”

Hold. 

“What?” you snap.

“Game. This weekend,” she huffs, still breathing heavily. 

“Like, a hockey game?” you ask, brows furrowed. 

“No, for disney on ice,” she announces. “They’re doing beauty and the beast, Jeonghan’s the beauty, Seungcheol is the beast. It’s a whole production, really. Real good stuff.”

You can only roll your eyes at the elaborate sarcasm. She continues, “Of course, it's a hockey game! What else do they do at that rink all day?”

“Gosh, sorry,” you frown. “Since when do you talk to Jeonghan?”

She looks over, wicked smile on her face. “Since I found him on Instagram.”

“You followed him?”

“No, why would I do that? Bumped into him at the gym a while ago, and we went out for coffee afterwards.”

Nothing of the ordeal is making sense, your brows still knit together and your mouth downturned in confusion. 

“Catch you in a minute!” she yelps as she takes off into a run again, Bennie right next to her as she circles round again. 

The few minutes that it’s just you and tiny Kkuma are flooded with questions. How did she just bump into Jeonghan? Lorelai hardly goes to the gym. Asking her to come to the hockey game? 

And then worst of all. 

Are they dating? 

By the time Lorelai is back, she’s out of breath again, and fully unequipped to answer all of the questions you shoot at her like rapid fire. 

“Why were you at the gym? He’s a junior league coach, he’s not even gonna be playing!”

“God!” she groans, heaving. “Slow…down.”

“Fine!” You stop in your tracks entirely, to which Lorelai is happy to oblige as she crouches with her hand on her knees. Bennie tugs at her leash, the big bounding ball of fluff ready to race the winds again. 

You count to ten, hands on your hips as Kkuma lets out a small, confused yip now that you’re completely idle on the track. 

“Talk.” 

With an all too dramatic flip of her short hair, she pulls herself up and into an explanation. “I couldn’t tell you because we weren’t talking when it all happened.”

It’s true, it did take a while for you to go back to normal after that run in with Marina in your bedroom. You suppose it won’t be happening again with the new no-Marina-talk rule, since she seemed to be quite the common factor in many of your rifts over the years. 

“I went to the gym to blow off some steam—don’t look like that, I’m being serious!” 

You make an attempt at fixing your face as she continues. 

“He saw me first and came up to say hi. Went our separate ways but once we finished up he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee since we were both done working out.” 

“And you said yes?”

“I said yes. Because he is cute, and I had been stalking his very public Instagram and it was just the perfect opportunity!” 

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply. 

“I don’t know.”

“He asked you to the game?” you point out. 

“Well, yes, but he hasn’t asked me asked me.” Somewhere in her voice there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Besides, he said to bring you as well.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come ooon! Jeonghan’s gonna be in the benches and I don’t know anyone else there!” she whines. 

“Hey, we should switch dogs!” you announce as you yank Bennie’s leash out of Lorelai’s hands, stuffing  Kkuma’s leash into her free hand. 

You take off into a sprint, and Bennie is happy to keep up with you as you quite literally run away from the situation. Lorelai is yelling your name, her annoyance abundant. 

Ignoring her is easy. Just the thought of walking into one of those games is enough to force a scoff, to watch your rink inhabited with like minded buffoonery as they ruin the bleachers and the ice. 

By the time you make it back, the hilarity of the situation hasn’t left you. And it seems neither has Lorelai, who remains standing with Kkuma at her feet, waiting to trap you. 

It’s the easiest thing to do, to turn right back around and circle the other way. 

“You can’t run away from me forever!” she shouts behind you as you disappear again. 

Maybe you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You can’t run away from Seungcheol forever! Quit pretending like you aren’t dying to fall into those giant arms!” Lorelai has a very specific talent of injecting all the drama in the world in the tone of her voice. She’s sure to utilize that skill as she hollers after you. 

That seems to do it for you, slowing down, half ready to whip around and holler a profanity or two right back. 

You’re more triggered than usual, but mostly because all the jab does is remind you of the last time you saw him. The arrogance in his demeanor, the way he belittled you with just his eyes, the shadow of his towering frame, caging you like a lost animal. 

You hated it. Despised it. Despised him. His disgusting innuendos, the all so misleading innocence on his face as he cornered you with both his body and his words. 

Lorelai could deal you whatever card there was tied up her sleeve, but getting you anywhere near the rink for the game this weekend was going to require more than just dessert bribes and sweet talking. Dragging you by the ankles could be a possibility, but all for naught when you dig your nails in anyway. 

It was impossible. Not doable. Non-existent in the cards of your destiny. A repelling force. 

So why, would one ask, were you decked out in the most  heinous red scarf with the letters SVT stitched on like a warning, sitting in the bleachers and looking down at the same rink you practice your spins and jumps in everyday? 

Neither you or Lorelai could answer that question, both your stories as blurry as fog as to how either of you managed to get you in that fabled seat. 

You could see the exact place you and Seungcheol had your last showdown, the opposing team in black now occupying that side of the benches. The thought puts you in an impossibly sour mood. It’s not like Lorelai could say anything about it, half because she knows you’re one snide remark away from jumping into the merch table, and half because she was too busy making heart eyes at Jeonghan who’s just spotted her in her seat. 

“I’ll be back,” she informs haphazardly as she positively bounds down the steps to the end of the bleachers, where Jeonghan waits for her. The people in their seats shuffle, annoyed at the overenthusiastic fan who practically slides down in front of their legs towards the railing. But Lorelai couldn’t care less, not with what stood beyond that very railing. 

Tearing your eyes away from the lovebirds, you take in the hustle and bustle of the pregame happenings, most of the bleachers in disarray as they humour the merch stands and the food stalls. The rink smells different because of it, both the added number of food trucks and drink stands, but also with the amount of people that occupy the expanse. 

The only times you see the rink this packed is when you’re too wracked with nerves to notice anything other than your own two feet. Hands wringing and head spinning, the chaos of the world is nothing against the pandemonium in your mind. You’re usually wearing a sparkly dress that glitters even from the very last row of bleachers, hair taut and makeup caked on like a layer of icing. 

Taking your time, you let your eyes flit over all that you forgo the other times. The stands are a mix of red and black, and so are the benches and ice that are occupied by men in full hockey gear. 

You’re too high up to make out the names on the back of all those jerseys, let alone a face underneath the already concealing helmets. The problem is forgotten when you feel the weight of two hands slam against your folded arms, tugging you out of your seat like it was stolen property. 

“Jeonghan said we could sit closer to the benches downstairs!” Lorelai is frantic, like this wasn’t a matter of reserved seats but the last plane to leave hell itself. 

“Lor—” Finishing a sentence when she’s in this state is a luxury you learn quickly to live without, because all that concerns her right now is getting closer to the man that seems to have enraptured her like never before. 

It’s disgusting. But you follow her anyway, down the steps that you nearly eat shit on, gracefully of course, because what figure skater doesn’t fall with an epic crash worthy of an Expendables cameo. You stabilise yourself enough to get to the seats Lorelai is talking about, and sure enough, Jeonghan would barely have to get on his tiptoes to hoist himself into the bleachers altogether. You question the safety of the context but decide that it wasn’t your problem if someone decided to pounce on one of the players. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t revel in the absolute scene of Seungcheol getting jumped by an over-passionate fan. You’re suddenly very grateful for the front row seats. 

There’s a bucket of chicken tenders and fries in your lap out of nowhere, matching the one in Lorelai’s hands. “Also Jeonghan?” you hum as you inspect the sauce options. 

“Mhm, he’s friends with the vendor outside,” she grins. 

You narrow your eyes at the revelation, finding it utmost strange how close he seems to be with nearly everyone. “Why is he on the benches, again?” you ask. 

“Because—” she draws before you cut her off. 

“Friends with the coach?”

“How’d you know?!” she exclaims. Her attention is diverted as the speakers suddenly boom with something other than generic pop music. So is yours, when you hear a deep baritone of a commentator’s voice carries throughout the rink. 

The shuffle around you is suddenly doubling in speed, everyone getting into their seats. You look over in front of you, where the benches are in an equally panicked shuffle. You spot Jeonghan easily, mostly because he’s one of the few in the vicinity without a helmet or what looks like a giant space suit. The next thing you note is the person he’s talking to, his back turned to you, but familiar all the same. 

CHOI, 95, reads his jersey. Automatically, your jaw clenches.  “Don’t look over there!” Lorelai chides, grabbing your jaw and moving it to force you to rip your eyes away from him. 

“Lorelai, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but unlike your boy toy, he’s actually gonna be on the ice,” you verbalise through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts. 

Rolling your eyes, you only listen as she realises what she’s said. “Okay, um, look at Jeon instead! Or Kim, or Boo, just. For god’s sake, there’s fifty other players on the ice, just don’t let one of them ruin your night!” 

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sinking into your seat. 

It isn’t long before your eyes trail over anyway, and Seungcheol still doesn’t have his helmet on. You can see his face now, and he looks like he’s mad at Jeonghan about something. 

Inevitably, your mind wanders to the fated article that somehow made its way into your recommended, the certainty it put in you that Seungcheol didn’t stand a chance in his team anymore. It seemed true enough, his anger, that he continues to display, seemed to be his default emotional setting. 

Your hockey knowledge was subpar at best, but one thing you did know was the aggression factor of the sport. Of all the things that could cut his career clean down the middle, this was the last of your guesses.  

Even now, as you watch him absentmindedly point and jerk like his supposed friend had managed to bring him something that was personally offensive, it’s all connecting too well. 

But when you snap into reality, you realise very quickly that he was pointing…at you. 

Seungcheol is mad that Jeonghan (effectively) brought you to the match. 

A chortle of disbelief is quick to make itself known, wanting to yell across the throng that you were every bit as upset that he was in your vicinity too. It also brings you satisfaction, a pure grain of hope, that maybe this would be enough for him to completely fuck up on the ice today. 

You say a quick amen before the baritone of the commentator makes itself known again. The echo is too much for you to decipher what’s going on, but you have your answer when you watch the reds and the blacks form what looks like a line across the width of the rink, right in the center. 

You don’t register when the puck landed, or if it was always there, just that the loud clacks and bangs are in tandem with the cheer from the crowds. The puck is an impossible commodity to keep up with, even with just your eyes. It appears for a moment before it’s lost again, shooting around in your peripheral vision like a pesky fly you can never get a hold of. 

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself. 

Lorelai answers anyway, snorting, “Fuck if I know.”

The numbers on the lit screens are doing nothing to help out your predicament, too much happening for you to even begin to deconstruct. You choose to lay back and enjoy your chicken tenders and fries, complimenting the sauce choices to Lorelai along the way, who continues to calibrate her attention on the man that remains in the benches. Jeonghan looks over periodically to send her a wave and a blinding smile. 

You’ve made a good enough dent in your chicken and fries bucket by the time it’s intermission, about ready for a drink by now. Lorelai makes herself useful and runs down to get you both something, mostly because Jeonghan was now more focused on the team that’s huddled around one another, another man you assume is their coach huddled right with them. 

The scores are 2-2, as provided by the person behind you who was apparently sick of your placid obliviousness. It did feel slightly awkward to be the only person not as excited to be front and center, so you remind yourself to thank him profusely. 

Your attention drifts back to the benches, inevitably as you’ve been so unfortunately placed to be able to breathe down the player’s necks. They’ve dispersed from their huddle, but are not yet on the ice. They’re sitting down, catching their breaths, drinking from water bottles. On the other side, the opposing team, a sea of black and white flooding their own end of the benches. It’s a sinking colour, not an ounce of depth in the shade. It’s taking over the benches. 

Except it’s the players that are moving, like they’re diffusing into the scarlet territory. 

You watch, as one player in black moves his mouth, speaking, upturned and eyebrows cocked. It’s clear he’s gone well past enemy lines, the front lines suddenly at attention. There’s not much you can make out, nothing much besides the very haughty expression on the player’s face. His eyes are covered by the sweaty mop on his head, but you don’t need to see them to find the malice that infiltrates his entire stance.

The scene, where both sides seem to be closing in on each other, has you automatically sitting up straighter. The air is going static, especially as you realise the player's mouth is moving faster as he jabs at — Seungcheol. 

They’re fighting, only verbally for now, but it’s undeniable the way the heat grows by the second. All you can see is the back of Seugncheol’s jersey as he begins to step back from the ordeal, like he was fighting the urge to take a step forward instead. 

Jeonghan’s hand is on Seungcheol’s elbow, and one glance at the rest of the players on this side shows every last one on edge. Their coach is nowhere to be seen. 

But he doesn’t stop talking, still standing in their territory. He yells something loud enough to hear the pitch of his voice, but not nearly enough to understand what he’s saying. 

You could see it on the player’s face. Hook, line and sinker. 

It happens so suddenly. Seungcheol surges forward like a dart, something flies out and hits the player square in the face. 

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face. 

You gasp out loud as you register what’s happening. The player removes his hand from his face, and for some reason, emerges grinning. 

Seungcheol swings first, his fist rising and coming down on his cheek with a sound you can hear. You feel nauseous. 

It’s pandemonium. You can see Jeonghan practically on top of Seungcheol, a number of other players attempting to get him off the man he continues to grab and shake up like a fugitive. The other player is throwing his own punches.

For one, horrifying moment, the force of the punch pushes Seungcheol’s face towards the stands enough to let you get an eyeful. All you see is red, beyond just his jersey. His mouth is full of blood, the front of his jersey dripped with it, his knuckles clustered with it. 

The hand clasped around your mouth is your own, eyes blown in horror. 

All around you, the world has their phones out like it was some show meant just for them, like this was exactly what they came here for. 

It’s sickening. Sickening. 

You brave another look, and they’ve been yanked off of one another. Seungcheol is being pushed down the tunnel and away from sight. Jeonghan has his hands clutched around Seungcheol like he’s nearly ready for another outbreak, his face grim. 

Your eyes keep away from Seungcheol’s face on purpose.  “Goodness, what is going on, I could barely get through the crowd,” Lorelai’s irritated voice infiltrates your ears, and you’re immediately brought back down to earth. 

Arms full of more snacks and drinks, it only takes her one look at your rattled self to know. 

“What happened?”

“I…they were…fighting. I don’t know, it just—Seungcheol was throwing punches and there was…blood, so much blood.”

She’s gotten a grip on your hand, her fingers warm under your cold, shivering ones. “Do you wanna leave?” she asks slowly. 

One look over her shoulder is enough to tell you it’d be impossible. Everyone was too excited to care to cater to two people going in the opposite direction of the action. So you tell her there was no point, and you attempt to calm your racing heart as she sits next to you. 

Snagging one of the packs from her mountain of snacks, you rip it open and let the sickly sweet smell infiltrate your nostrils. Popping one of the confections in your mouth, it’s hard to not make a face. It’s the sourest thing you could’ve picked, the tartness enough to distract you from the outside world. Eyes scrunched closed, you swallow the rush of saliva to ask Lorelai what the fuck she brought.

You chortle, and it has Lorelai looking over. “Whoops! That one’s mine.”

She snags the bag from your loosened grip, replacing it with a tamer bag of original flavoured potato chips. The chips are trying, but there’s not much you can do besides wait for the residues of the godawful candy to subside. 

The ordeal seems to have calmed you the slightest bit, finally able to turn back to the ice. The rink is back to being occupied, players from both ends pouring onto the ice. You note a minor shoulder shove at the gate, but look away like it’d stop the calamity from intensifying. 

The game ensues as normal, but you note the blatant absence of CHOI in the sea of red and white jerseys. You don’t mention it, and neither does Lorelai. 

You’re about to burst by the time the finals moments are upon the game, the overtime minutes beginning to tick as the crowd grows restless by the second. With the little you’ve managed to grasp, you’re sure that SVT is only one goal away from the overtake. It’s making you nervous, like you’re waiting for your own score to be announced after a free skate. 

The puck is a mere percentage easier to navigate after a couple hours of keeping after it; it skips between players you’re beginning to recognise from the back of their jersey. Kim, Boo, Wen, Kim, Lee. The opposing team intercepts for a moment, and you find yourself letting out an irritated shake of the shoulders. Back to Kim, Lee, Lee, and then, right into the net. 

The jittering crowd suddenly went so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

And then the world around you erupts. It’s impossible to classify the sound as cheers when racketeers off your entire being like an unearthly sound, the stands on their feet hollering and screaming and yelling at their players that are fighting to keep their new overtake in the final seconds before the game officially ends. 

And when it does, you’re sure you need to get your ears checked out. 

Looking over, you catch Lorelai’s eye, and you can’t help but laugh. A delightful laugh that releases itself in the midst of the chaos of red, scarlet and cherry. Somebody’s thrown a red blanket over you, another has begun to hand out congratulatory cherry lollipops (you pass, but Lorealai would be damned if she did), people are hugging each other so tight and you get the inkling they’ve only met each other today. 

The ice is one giant dogpile, red on red as they suffocate one another in celebration. 

Perhaps you didn’t realise how important the game actually was, or maybe every game is like this, loud, proud and exultant. You find yourself imagining how they feel. 

The lost feeling of bouquets and flowers whisked in your direction, stuffed animals and hundreds of other things that scream adoration as your performance comes to a close. It’s a physical manifestation of an adoring crowd, as though making it tangible makes it a little more real. 

The rush, you can feel it resonate off of the scarlet side of the benches, and it’s enough for you to realise that yes, this was an important match. For them anyway. 

The way out of the rink is reasonably packed, but you manage to squeeze through the doors and towards where Lorelai had parked with fewer than expected obstruction. “Thought you might wait to see Jeonghan before we leave,” you hum as you walk to the parking spot. 

“I was going to, but he’s probably dealing with what happened,” she utters slowly. A flash of red at the mention, gone as soon as it came. Lorelai adds with a little extra pep to her voice, “It’s okay! I’ll send him a text, we were planning on dinner tomorrow anyway.”

The side eye you send is met with a light shove. “This one seems serious. Dragging me here for his sake and now dinner with him?”

Lorelai was infamous for taking it excruciatingly slow, the time between the talking stage and the first date stretching for months. She claims it’s to make sure she's not roping herself into something she’d regret, which you’ll admit has seemed to work out in her favour. Her last relationship lasted years before Josh had to move away. 

Jeonghan seems to have her under some warped spell, because Lorelai was hurtling into this relationship like a too compressed cannon ball. There was nothing you knew about Jeonghan other than his friendship with Seungcheol, his position as junior league coach and his habit of loitering on the ice; which means there wasn’t much opinion to be had on the whole conquest. Regardless, you decide to caution her some other day, when she’s not glowing and over the moon like a robust teenager. 

Slipping into the passenger seat, you slump like never before, already dreaming about the bedrotting session you’re about to have; glorious enough for the books. 

“Do you wanna grab food and rot on the couch?” she asks. 

“You’re still hungry after all that?” you huff, your mouth still flavoured with artificial sweetness paired with the savoury of the chicken and fries. You pull out your phone for the first time in nearly three hours, the home screen alarming full of missed notifications. Text messages, mentions and phone calls. For whatever reason, you swipe right past and open your browser. 

“It’ll take about an hour till we’re settled, should be hungry enough by then,” she comments, a gentle growl coming from beneath you as the engine comes to life. 

Somewhere between the lines of the seatbelt sign pinging, and the radio blaring itself into the space, you’ve read a headline that’s enough to halt your world. 

“There’s this new Chinese place that opened nearby here. Or this Persian restaurant but it’s like 20 minutes in the other direction. Or do we just do soup—”

“Lorelai.”

She turns to look at you in the passenger seat, seatbelt alarm still dinging as you remain with your seatbelt off as she pulls out of the parking space, like the official soundtrack to your doom. She brakes, hard. Lorelai is always Lorry with you, her full name only ever when you’re feigning irritation. 

There’s nothing irritating about the situation, but everything is wrong with it. 

It’s like you were in the benches, taking punches while simultaneously throwing a few yourself. You’re out of breath still seated, your skin tingles like a million arachnids crawling under your skin under your layers. You’re in the eddy of a horrifying whirlpool, that’s pulling you down, down, down, down, down, down—

!HOT TOPIC!

FIGURE SKATER OR FIGURINE? NOTHING GRACEFUL ABOUT Y/N L/N’S FALL FROM THE PINNACLE OF THE SKATING WORLD. Read from the Source!

From a pocket princess, to a rising star. From a rising star to the top of the world. From the top of the world to… a bottomless hell? How did Y/N L/N end up here? 

It’s nothing new that L/N’s presence was notable during the flashy ISU Grand Prix held in Beijing last year, the podium notably shuffled as a result. The skater’s ankle injury was never awarded a career ending title, but with the way her comeback remains as foggy as it did since the initial announcement, one must begin to wonder if we’ll ever see L/N on the competitive ice again. 

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark? 

Trusted sources report that L/N’s sponsors are growing weary of her extended vacation, and are just about ready to pull the rug! In addition, sources also report her floundering lack of consistency in practice sessions on the ice, her condition beyond someone as onerous as even Isabella Carroll to manoeuvre into success. Talk about futile! 

Now, we’re all hoping that our glittering gold medalist is only a victim of mindless chatter, however, we must concede, neither we nor our sources are holding on to too much hope. 

Keep on the lookout for more updates from us on our fallen (?) star!

[a/n]: hehehehehe remember to reblog and tell me your thoughts

[k-hotchoisan]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

<san x fem!reader>

Choi San. Half naked. Cowboy hat. Useless ass crop vest.

Your dreams are wetter than the sweat on his chest.

a/n: no words just horny thoughts the moment choi san appeared like that in the mv and I needed to get it off my chest. 🤗

wc: 1.8K

warnings: smut. pwp, party!au, deepthroating, blowjobs, slight hair pulling, one time spanking (LMAO), orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, it's just choi san brain rot, kinda dacryphilia?, yo it's just straight up filth that's all you need to know

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan  @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf  @jeon-ify @itza-meee @Miss-Fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @owlbeforesunset @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @Haleyjoye @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @ewok7attack @yunhogrippers @kibs-and-bits @Liyahbug  @mikrausch @sophiemueller05 @lissiesykes  @yeo-arriba @luvt0kki @vic0921 @httpseungmxn

You stare down at the man a couple of feet away, his figure too prominent to miss. He’s in a useless black cropped vest, bronze studs lined up the hems of the clothing accompanied with long fringe details that hung lower than the fucking vest itself. You barely take notice of the leather pants he wore, mostly because his arms were just there—thick and so perfectly muscled. But the star of the fucking show? His bare fucking tits. The vest barely covered jack shit, his tits just basking under the dim lights, thick and perky. Your eyes shift to his face before you start flooding the vicinity with your drool. Hell no. 

San still hasn’t noticed you. Maybe it’s because of the obnoxious black cowboy hat he has on looking like it’s blocking his view or something. And he tops the look off with a simple black bandana decorated with fringes that he wraps around his neck. 

You want to wrap yourself around his neck too. 

Your hunky little crush still doesn’t seem to notice you blatantly ogling him since it looks like he’s engrossed in a conversation with Mingi. 

The sound of a desert-themed party sounded interesting to you when your friend brought it up to you but it didn’t hook you in enough to actually garner your interest to go, that was, until your friend had offhandedly mentioned that San would be there.

You didn’t put your hopes up of course, because in your peripherals, it seemed like you weren’t the only pair of eyes just eye fucking San, and so you were satisfied letting your fantasies just stay within the confines of your brain, now just full Choi San brain rot. 

And when your brain starts ringing alarms on San looking like he was looking your direction, your eyes immediately shifting to your drink. But it seems like you caught his attention. 

From your peripherals, you watch him push past people, approaching you much quicker than you had liked. 

“Hey, y/n, caught you staring”, he smiles cheekily. 

“You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you Choi San?” 

He shrugs. 

Then he mouths something, but you can’t seem to catch what, and that sentiment seems to have been written all over your face, because the smell of spicy citrus hits you, accompanied by the low rumble of San’s voice right at your ear, freezing you at your spot.

“I was saying that you’re a pretty cowgirl today.”

Shit. Fuck. 

You stare up at San, tears gradually pooling at the corner of your eyes at how fucking thick this man’s cock is. But gods did it feel so fucking good to have San’s fat fucking cock shoved down your throat like that. You watch the way his abs contract when his groans are pulled out from him, the way his nipples are so fucking hard from how horny he is making you suck him off like that. Your panties are pretty much useless at this point trying to keep your slick from trickling down your thighs. 

“Fuck. You’re such a good fucking girl for me aren’t you?” San groans, his fingers tugging harder against your scalp, forcing you to take his cock deeper. You manage to hum in agreement almost too quickly, and San only scoffs at your desperation, well not that he’s holding up any better. His eyes shut again, and he throws his head back, rutting his hips against your face, his moans going up in pitch, and when he happens to steal a glance at your face fucking his cock, you feel the space in your mouth fill up even more. 

Only curses and moans leave San’s mouth, and there’s only so much force you can use to squeeze your thighs from holding your cunt off from leaking all over the fucking floor. 

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, dollface. I can’t fucking—fuck!—can’t fucking wait to fuck your other tight little hole next”, San huffs breathlessly, his sanity dangerously dropping in levels. 

With a broken, deep moan, he suddenly pulls out of your mouth, fucking his cock with his hand instead, letting his cum spill over your mouth and chest, slightly shaking from the pleasure especially when he can’t keep his eyes off you licking his cum off his cock and the corner of your lips. 

You watch him catch his breath, and he’s so fucking attractive when he furrows his brows like that, but you decide to pull away to get some towels to clean yourself up. 

The moment you stand and turn around, San’s arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest, and you realise his fingers are loosening the knot on your top, and San doesn’t waste time to yank it off your shoulders. You barely have the time to process but you realise it doesn’t fucking matter the moment his deep voice bleeds right into the crevices of your brain. 

“Now where do you think you’re going babe? I said I was gonna fuck your other hole next, wasn’t I?” 

No more butterflies in your stomach anymore, it’s probably a whole ecosystem at this point. 

San’s fingers intertwine with yours, unfortunately, he doesn’t let it stay a second more fluffy when he has you on the bed, his thick fingers tugging off every single useless piece of clothing off you. San licks his lips when he’s greeted with the sight of your pussy just so fucking wet and leaking for him. His eyes meet yours, and he looks like he’s about to eat you up any second.

“How much do you like walking straight?” He asks, his fingers trailing a fucking blaze down your thighs, and you watch the way his cock hardens—the way precum from his silt is mixing with the thick cum from before when his thumb tugs against your wet folds. 

He looms over you, fingers keeping your legs spread wide open for him, his pants pulled lower, his half-hard cock resting on your inner thigh. 

“Not much of a fan”, you reply, realising that trying to snap your legs shut with Choi San’s fingers in between them was a stupid idea. 

“Good”, is all San replies before he pushes his thick cock right into your pussy, and you swear he’s knocked out all the wind from you at the way his thick cock slid in, filling your whole fucking pussy up. You gasp, fingernails digging into his arms, but he doesn’t even seem to take notice. But what he does take notice of is the way you’re fluttering around him, so fucking dazed at the way his cock feels in you. 

“So fucking good, San”, it leaves your lips as a whine. 

He exchanges a smile, “Your tight pretty pussy, and it’s all for me.”

Your eyes roll back when he pulls out slightly and thrusts into you again, and again, until the sounds grow wetter, louder, and San fucks you harder, making you wonder if you were gonna lose your legs or mind first. The sensations are completely melting off the neurons of your brain, and your hands are pressing against his chest, feeling his heart beating wildly. You feel your face flush slightly, wondering if he feels the same way as you do. 

Your thoughts are completely cut short when you feel his fingers curl around your neck, forcing you to look up at him when he lets his lips melt against yours. Your tongues meet, and you taste very light hints of alcohol underneath the sweetness. Soft moans pour out of San, and he’s only getting thicker inside of you as he lets your hands rake through his short locks.

“You’re like fucking heaven, you know that?” San whispers as he pulls back. The sweetness lasts for a second until he adds on, “And I wanna drag you down with me, baby.”

His arms are around you and he lifts you, in one swift motion, he has you straddling his hips, and you do him a favour by getting his pants off him. San pretty much kicks the remainder of his pants off, his arms pull you by your thighs to his once more, and you’re hoping you don’t drool because something about San being fully naked beneath you, only his vest barely covering his fat tits, just ready for you to fucking ride him was sending you into a fucking orbit. 

And even when you’re dripping and stretched open for San, the feeling of his cock splitting you open from below only threatened your remaining sanity. You watch San bite his lip, holding himself back from just bursting into you, also evident from the way his fingers are pressing hard against your thighs. 

But when you start grinding against him, he realises he probably isn’t gonna last much longer. 

And when his cock hits your spots for the nth time from below, your cunt flutters without warning, and the knot snaps before you could even say anything, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking tidal wave.

And San isn’t slowing down. 

His face is in complete bliss—muttering curses and releasing moans,

“Ah, fuck. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, he hisses, feeling you pulsate around him helplessly as he continues to fuck into you, forcing you to continue bouncing off his cock. 

Tears bubble at the corner of your eyes once more from the sheer pleasure the moment you feel San hold your ass down, your arms wrapped tightly around him, feeling his cock twitch and spurt warm cum right into your poor hole. Wait. Something feels funny. You swallow hard, hoping, praying he doesn’t do anything because you swear something might just break in you if he does.

“S-San, wait it’s too much-“

You’re barely holding it together, and it all falls apart when his palm lands an impact right on your ass, forcing another wave of orgasm to hit you even harder this time, a strained cry leaving your throat, your pussy completely pushing San’s cock out, your hips lifting off him as you squirt all over his thighs, San’s cum spurting out alongside the clear liquid. San watches the way your eyes are screwed shut, your tears trickling down your cheeks, the way your body violently shakes while he soothes you with his palm up and down your back, and he thinks he’s in love. 

As you descend from your high, San captures your lips with his, humming soft praises of taking him so well once he pulls away, letting you lie on his chest. 

“I guess you're my pretty cowgirl tonight ”, he teases, letting you hit his chest playfully. 

San’s arm snakes around your waist as the both of you slowly make your way to the front door, catching the gaze of the partygoers, and he leans in as the both of you walk, low enough to reach your ears,

“I’ll make good use of the bandana next time too, so tell me doll face, how close do you like your wrists to be?”

[fear-is-truth]

HOW THEY CELEBRATE VALENTINE’S DAY WITH YOU

♡ warnings. — oral sex (f!receiving) ⋆ p in v ⋆ MDNI 18+ ♡ ft. — hwang in-ho (front man) ‧ nam-gyu (124) ‧ choi su-bong (230) ‧ kang dae-ho (388). ♡ jackie’s note. — very rushed; excuse the typos

HWANG IN-HO doesn’t really celebrate valentine’s day, but you’re soft, naive. you care about things like this. so he humours you. he allows you to sit in his lap, kiss him all sweet and eager, all the while grinding down on his cock. you’re wearing nothing but the necklace he bought you—thin rose gold chain, diamond-encrusted pendant nestled against your collarbone. he watches it in a trance, the pendant bouncing on your tits as you move up and down, your cunt warm and tight around him like a glove. his hands rest on your hips, guiding you even though you don’t need it—you’re already pathetically eager to please.

“thought you wanted a romantic night,” he muses, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “this what you had in mind?” you nod breathlessly, nails digging into his shoulders. in-ho likes you like this—so needy, so fucking grateful for the attention. he tilts his head back against the couch, admiring you with an amused smile, as your lips part when you take him deeper. his patience stretches thin when you start to shake, movements getting sloppy. placing both hands on your waist, he shoves you down onto him. “c’mon, you can do better than that,” fingers ghost over your stomach, closing loosely around your throat. feeling the vibrations as your breath stutters. “what, you get tired that quick?” you shake your head no, but you’re so close, squeezing around him. in-ho doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, but he lets you have it—and when you finally go limp in his arms, he strokes your hair, chuckles low against your ear. “happy valentine’s.”

NAM-GYU is far from the romantic type. tonight—valentine’s day—he’s between your legs, which is rare enough that it almost feels like a gift. he takes his sweet time with kitten licks, tongue flicking over your swollen clit before sealing his lips around it, suckling. he’s messy, too. sloppy. doesn’t care if it dribbles down his chin, doesn’t care about the obscene slurping noises. but when you whimper and your hips buck against his mouth, nam-gyu simply pries your thighs further apart. when you’re right there, teetering on the edge, he slows down a bit. lets you tug on his hair as you grind against his face. and when you fall apart, breathless and trembling, he licks his lips, swiping the slick from his chin with his thumb. then he looks up at you—so damn pleased with himself—and smirks. “happy valentine’s.”

CHOI SU-BONG is a busy man. schedules packed, deadlines looming, cameras always on him. but on valentine’s day, he clears everything for you. his team knows better than to even try and book him—he’s off the grid. the day is extravagant. private dining, exclusive shopping, things you’d never let yourself indulge in if it weren’t for him. he buys you everything you so much as glance at. waits for that little flicker of want, whips out his black and it’s yours. but the real gift comes later. back in his penthouse, su-bong lays you out on the bed, fingers tracing the fresh diamond pendant settled against your collarbone. he spares the dirty talk and doesn’t waste any time—not when you’re so wound up. his mouth is hot against your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone, breasts. he settles between your thighs takes hold of your ankles, placing them over his shoulders. a groan escapes when he sees how ready you are for him.

“p-please. wan’ you.” you manage, and that’s all it takes—his patience snapped (not that he’s a patient man to start with), feeding his cock into you inch by glorious inch. the position has you spread wide, locked in place and unable to squirm away from the way he fills you. “señorita,” a stretched groan deep from his throat, “taking it so fuckin’ good.” each thrust knocks a little sound out of you, breathy and high-pitched. your hands claw at the silk sheets and he chuckles, adjusting his stance to angle another thrust—there, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see sparks. su-bong presses his thumbs into the soft flesh of your thighs, he’s barely getting started, but you’re already falling apart—fucked-out and glassy-eyed, just for him. “happy valentine’s, baby,” he coos, “hope you can still walk tomorrow.”

KANG DAE-HO wakes up before you do. it’s still early, the dark sky outside tinted with pale yellow, but he doesn’t mind. this morning is special. valentine’s day. he’s planned everything—breakfast at your favourite café, a walk along the han river, dinner at a rooftop restaurant. but right now, all he wants is this. you stir when he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. warm hand drifts under the covers, tracing over your stomach, up to your ribs. his voice is still husky with sleep when he murmurs a “morning, baby.” into the crook of your neck. your eyelids flutter open, a raspy moan escaping your parted lips. his hand is now between your thighs. god, how you love waking up like this.

“you’re so pretty,” he marvels, nuzzling his nose against yours. he rolls you onto your back, hovering over you, trailing kisses down your jaw, the column of your throat before he returns to your lips. there’s no rush—there never is, not with dae-ho. when he finally pushes into you—that glorious stretch, you sigh into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck. “gonna make today perfect for you,” he promises. and he does. he doesn’t let up until he’s wrung every ounce of pleasure from you, until you’re a soft, boneless mess beneath him, spent and sated. only then does he press a kiss to the tip of your nose, smoothing your hair back. “happy valentine’s, angel,” he smiles as he tucks you against his chest.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[woozivrsefactry]

choi seungcheol as your sugar daddy

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol and thats the most canon svt trope

★ .ᐟsugar daddy seungcheol who pays all your bills just because he has the money to

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who loves buying all the latest clothes from your favorite luxury brands

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who smells so good all the time because of all the expensive perfumes he uses

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who is basically your personal chauffeur as you ride his slick black SUV

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who would take you to month long vacation to any country you feel like at least once a year

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who pays for all your hair, nails and saloon appointments and even chooses for your hair or nails everytime you're confused

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who pays for all your hair, nails and saloon appointments and even chooses for your hair or nails everytime you're confused

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol with whom you don't have to use your brain at all, just sit and feel happy and pretty all the time

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who buys you diamonds and rubies and pearl everytime you get slightly upset

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who apart from expensive items would also shower you with simple gifts like flowers and teadybears and chocolates just so you know that he loves as a person and not a possession

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who would convert you to a high-maintainance girl if you weren't already.

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who would have you cockwarm him in his personal office as he works

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who bought a high quality extra sturdy bed because he fucks hard and he has broken your bed once.

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who always buys two pairs of the same lingerie for you everytime because he always rips them off when he sees your sexy body in them the first time

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who loves watching you ride his cock, watching the shiny diamonds adorning your neck bounce as you do

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who buys so many sex toys for you but only allows you to use them when he's away for work and instructing you and watching you play with them on facetime

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who has fucked you in the restrooms of the various Michelin star restaurants he takes you to for dates

★ .ᐟ sugar daddy seungcheol who loves watching your makeup mess up from the tears that run down your face from overstimulation when he's eating you out while you are still all dressed up in expensive silk dresses you wore for the party he took you to.

[jeon-ify]

warnings: dom!san, professor!san, hairpulling, making out, degradation, swearing, slapping, fingering, rough sex, hickeys, size kink, cnc if you squint!!, if i missed anything lmk!

“you wanna get an A in my class? maybe start paying attention.”

he mocks as his fingers tug and pull at your nipples to pull you closer to him. you whimper in response, begging for a release when he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“have you retained any information? or is your brain full of dirty thoughts, hm?” his fingers move up to the nape of your neck, squeezing and kissing your jaw, licking your chin, up to your lips. he squeezes your jaw to force your mouth open, sticking his tongue where it belongs— in your mouth. you suck on the muscle, deepening the kiss. he grunts and moans in response, already almost cumming in his pants from the feeling of your mouth on his. he pulls away, tugging at your hair so you’re looking up at him.

“y-yes, mr. choi. been thinking about you bending me over your desk— fucking me hard.” you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his fingers between your thighs.

“fuck, y/n. such a whore. what would the dean say if he walked in and saw you fucking your english professor? open your legs, stop fuckin’ closing them.”

he spreads your legs with his big, smooth, veiny hands, landing a sharp slap on your pussy. you jerk in response, the feeling making your legs weak.

“fuck! please, please please.” you whine. your skirt is riding up to your waist as mr. choi pulls and tugs at your tits.

“love these so fuckin’ much. always distracting me. wanna fuck them, let me fuck your tits, ms. y/n.” he leans down to suck at the bud, leaving purple marks and red scratches to make you remember who you belong to from this point on.

“oh my— want you in my pussy, daddy, please just touch me there—“

you just want him to fuck you. he’s edging you for hours on end. class ended at 3:12pm, it’s 6:21pm.

“yeah? i’ll fuck them another time, hm?” he slides his white button up off as you run your fingers down his toned torso.

“you ready to take me?” he lines himself up with you, pushing and pulling to get you to adjust to his size.

god, he’s so fucking big. the vein that runs up his shaft is prominent, making your mouth water at the sensation of the twitch you feel between your legs. he finally enters you with a jolt, your body pushing away from mr. choi as he thrusts into you harshly.

“fuck, oh my fucking god, you’re so pretty, y/n. how haven’t i fucked you before?” he throws both your legs up his shoulders, fucking you at a faster pace as he fiddles with the diamond anklet you’ve put on this morning.

“s-sir please, fuck slow down. you’re too big!”

but he doesn’t stop. instead, he pulls you deeper so he’s reaching a spot that makes your entire body shake.

“o-oh my— i’m cumming, i’m cumming, i’m cumming.” you manage. your body stills as your juices cover mr. choi’s cock.

“fuck, y/n. gonna fill you to the brim with my cum. keep it in until next class, and maybe i’ll put in a good word to your math teacher, hm?”

his thrusts become less harsh, as you feel him twitch inside of you. he pulls out, watching his cum leak out of you. he thrusts the tip back in, pushing all of his cum right back into you, so a drop isn’t wasted.

“nice and full, fuckin’ love your pretty pussy, baby. stay after class tomorrow. have something special for you.”

you get home that night, receiving a notification from your school canvas.

“Choi, San: ENG-131 has updated your overall grade

A ………….. 102%”

—————————

omfg.

[cheollipop]

heists and celebrations

navi | taglist

pairing: jung wooyoung x fem!reader x choi san

w.c.: 3.9k

tags: smut, they're all criminals/partners in crime, criminal behaviour (theft), mentioned boxer!san and his manager!wooyoung, some reckless driving

with the stolen necklace secured around your neck, wooyoung slumped back in his seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel while his eyes remained focused on the overhead mirror, watching his two partners celebrate another successful heist in the back of his van.

warnings: semi-public sex, van sex, really fucking filthy sex (genuinely disgusting), dom!woosan, sub!reader, some jealousy, reader is wearing red lipstick and it gets everywhere, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cum swallowing, cum sharing, spit kink, praise, degradation (reader is called a slut once), a cute little breeding kink, a sprinkle of breath play (barely any), some begging, overstimulation, nicknames (sannie; youngie; baby, darling, sweetheart, love, good girl, pretty girl), wooyoung watches them fuck the whole time, and teases san because he's cute when riled up

A/N: I've had this fic idea in my notes since the very first woosan teaser dropped so I'm really glad I was finally able to write it out! ( ´∀ `) though challenging fsr, I really enjoyed writing the smut for this one. happy reading! ^^

nsfw under the cut—minors dni!! 🔞

Walking past the metal detectors, you raised your phone to peek at your reflection, making sure the glitter on your eyelids and the red painting your lips were intact, smacking them together once before walking further into exhibit.

Your footsteps slowed as you passed the broad, arched doorway and entered a wider gallery with accessories from numerous eras lining the walls, people crowding in front of the displays. Your eyes trailed over the diamonds and gold encased within the glass boxes, the overhead lights reflecting the luxury accessories. In any other heist, your eyes would remain forward, playing the role of a mere passerby minding their own business. But today, you were just another visitor in this exhibit, ogling at the jewellery on display. A quick, discrete scan of the room was enough to find you your target – standing near the wall to your left, the blonde head of hair displacing him in the monochrome room.

Just as you were about to move towards the tall figure, your gaze unintentionally flitted to the right, colliding with feline eyes staring right back at you from the other side of the room – the man standing idly in a uniform too big for him, bruises from last night’s match tainting his angular features. You twisted your body in the other direction, heeled boots clacking over the polished tile with confident strides, your eyes meeting the blonde man’s and dragging his attention off the rowdy school kids in the far corner. You waited until his gaze fell on you to dig the tip of your tongue into the corner of your mouth, blinking innocently as you approached him, your eyes moving down to read the ID card hanging off his neck.

Security Guard Song Mingi

Stepping into his personal space, your hand flew to his shoulder and you drew your eyebrows together in feigned distress. “Oh, thank God! Sir, could you please help me?”

Mingi’s head lowered to eye the hand resting delicately over his chest, looking back up to meet your anxious eyes. “S-sure, yes, of course," he stuttered when your fingers tightened around his lapel. "What can I help you with?"

You twisted your body and walked backwards until you hit the wall behind him, slumping against it and exhaling deeply. “My friend,” you paused, looking up at him now that he’d turned his back to the rest of the room. You blinked faux tears into your eyes, quivering your bottom lip ever so slightly while you spoke, “I’ve been looking for her for hours. Could you please help me find her, Sir?”

You watched Mingi’s ears shift hues, his head turning to the side as he coughed awkwardly. The bright red blurred in your peripheral as you stared ahead, nodding discretely at the idle figure across the room and watching it slip past the restricted ribbon closing off a section of the exhibit, looking back at Mingi when broad shoulders disappeared behind the corner.

“She said she’d meet me at the Tiffany and Co. section, but she never showed up. She won’t even answer her phone,” you leaned forward to wrap your fingers around his forearm, looking up at him with wide eyes, glassy with simulated concern. “I’m really worried about her, Sir. Please help me?”

--

Nimble fingers worked over the display case’s lock, occasionally looking back at the doorless entrance to confirm he was still in the clear. Moving his attention back to the small keyhole, he worked the pick and wrench inside with steady hands, the flashlight held between his lips reflecting off the glass. A whispered curse vibrated around the flashlight when his jacket sleeve slid down his arm, covering the hand holding the pick – along with the bloody scrapes and bruises colouring his knuckles – but he was too far in to back out now, working the lock with the fabric draped over it. After a few more tries, a muted click sounded and the glass door swung open.

Cat-like eyes raised off the picked lock to examine the diamond necklace hanging off the jewellery stand, studying the angle at which the light bounced off the large stones. Reaching forward, he carefully lifted the necklace with his index and thumb around the clasp, securing it in the felt bag he’d pulled out of his blazer before tucking it back inside. Digging his hand into his back pocket, he pulled out an identical replica – cheap moissanite bedazzling the silver – and intricately placed it inside the case, adjusting it over the stand before closing the glass door and listening for the soft click of its automatic lock.

Pulling the flashlight out of his mouth, he switched it off and patted his breast pocket once before walking back towards the entryway. A quick peek into the short hallway outside to ensure it was empty followed by quick steps past the red ribbon sealing off the section he had been in, San squinted at the bright overhead lights as he made it back into the main gallery, rooting himself in his previous position just in time for five suited men to make their way into the big room. Their conversation continued as they walked past San, nodding in acknowledgement before making their way over the restriction ribbon and through the short hallway, grease from the sandwiches they’d had for lunch coating their moving lips.

The familiar sonance of your laugh drew his attention to the wide entrance, his eyes finding yours over the blonde security guard’s shoulder before trailing down to study the arm draped over your waist. The plan was for you to guide him away from this gallery and into another, but there you were, barely an inch separating you and the tall man. San’s eyebrow twitched at the proximity, but more so at the dumb smile splitting his face in half while his other arm points towards where your ‘friend’ was supposedly waiting for you. Meeting your gaze once again, he gave you a firm nod before solemnly staring ahead.

With a flirty smile and a few bats of your eyelashes, you slipped a fake number into Mingi’s phone and walked away, the guard barely noticing you walking in the opposite direction of which he pointed you in.

San’s eyes flitted to the antique clock hung up on the wall across from him, turning around just in time to watch a man with a sharp nose and jet-black hair approach him. Quickly glancing at his ID card, San bowed slightly and began walking away as his ‘shift’ came to an end.

“Wait,” the deep baritone halted San’s movements, twisting his torso to look back at the guard. “Let me see your ID,” he reached a hand out, palm up and expecting.

San blinked once, twice, before pulling the lanyard off his neck and handing it to the man in front of him, turning his body to face him fully. The grim man examined the card, flipping it over a few times before sliding it back into San’s hand.

“Good work today, Yunho,” he gave him a tight smile which San reciprocated with a small bow before he moved away to stand where San had been all evening.

Stepping out of the stuffy exhibit and into the chilly night, San inhaled deeply, walking down the small steps and reaching into his blazer for the felt bag, swiftly stuffing it into his slacks before shrugging off the loose uniform and slinging it over his shoulder. He strutted down the block, his lips pursed as he whistled mindlessly, his soiled tank top sticking to his body with the night breeze blowing over his skin.

A few minutes of walking led him to a familiar convenience store, the lights flickering weakly and the table set out the front swaying with the light wind. Casually peeking over his shoulder, he made sure no one was following him before turning a corner, your familiar figure – resting against the graffitied wall – waiting for him in the damp alleyway. You pushed yourself off the grimy concrete, a smile stretching your lips when your eyes zeroed in on the felt bag pinched between two of his fingers.

Grabbing onto the thin material of his tank top, you pushed San backwards until his body crashed into the wall, the red on your lips transferring to his when you pressed your mouths together, the metallic taste of blood seeping into your taste buds as you licked over the corner of his lip. San’s fingers wrapped around your nape, inhaling deeply before parting his lips and running his tongue over your bottom teeth. Cold fingers tickled the sides of your neck, a heavy weight falling over your collarbones while San’s tongue pressed against yours. One of your hands untangled from the material of his top, running over your decolletage until your fingers made contact with the cool silver and curved over the slope of the large diamonds. The felt bag – now empty and worthless – fell into the puddle by your feet, the malodor of sewage masked by the hunger in San’s eyes, his hands wandering over your body while he devoured you.

A loud honk from the van parked down the alley cut your fit of passion short. You giggled at San’s irritated griping as you made your way to the vehicle, the metal surface littered with dents of various sizes and the colourful lettering chipping off the white paint. You walked past San as he pulled at the back handles, skipping your way to the front and watching the door fly open, sliding into the passenger seat as Wooyoung retreated back into his.

“Welcome back,” he flicked the tip of your nose, his eyes fixed on the glimmering stones hanging off your neck. “I’m guessing we can skip the debrief?” A lopsided smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Looping two fingers around the silver band, he tugged you towards him, the clasp digging into the back of your neck as some of the lipstick still painting your lips smeared over Wooyoung’s, his tongue gliding over yours to flatten over the roof of your mouth.

The curtain behind you slid open, San’s deep grumble obscured by your heavy breathing. “Ya! I worked my ass off to get that. If you wanna pull that hard, just buy her a leash,” he propped his forearm on the back of the seat, resting his chin over it to study the red smudged over Wooyoung’s lips.

“Worked our asses off,” you complained.

“No, I worked my ass off while you were busy flirting with that prick.”

You could see Wooyoung’s eyebrow quirk, his questioning gaze lasting only a second before he parted from you with a final kiss, letting go of the necklace and slumping back in his seat to turn the engine on. “Leave her alone, Sannie. If you wanted to be praised for doing your job right, you should’ve just said so,” he pressed his foot down on the pedal, reversing out of the alleyway before digging his palm into the steering wheel and turning it twice to move onto the empty road.

The pout on your lips faded when your eyes met San’s, angling his chin to point at Wooyoung, the silent communication bringing a shared smile to your lips.

“Youngie,” you tugged on his sleeve, leaning over the console to get closer to him.

“Yeah, baby?” his eyes remained trained on the road, a few cars driving alongside him on the dark highway.

San chuckled breathily, “I think our pretty girl wants to thank you for the ride. We couldn’t have pulled this off without you. Right, sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly, gliding your palm up his thigh and inwards to tease at his clothed crotch. He glanced over at you, his teeth peeking through his parting lips, the corners curled upwards.

“Oh really? Is there anything else you want to thank me for?”

“Thank you for getting rid of that Yunho guy, we would’ve been in trouble if he had been there,” your fingers trailed over the zipper, circling his button before popping it open.

“Mm, that’s right. Come on now, sweet girl, thank me properly,” Wooyoung slumped further down in his seat, widening his legs and dropping one hand off the steering wheel to give you space.

Just as you freed his half-hard length from the confines of his boxers, San’s hand cupped the back of your head and pushed you down. Your torso bent over the console, the gear stick digging into your waist by the time San let go of you.

You pulled away slightly, fingers wrapped around his base and tongue rolled out to place kitten licks over his cockhead. Wooyoung peeked down at you to follow the line of drool dripping off your tongue to lubricate his cock, snapping his eyes back up to the road with a guttural groan squeezed your fist around him. You pressed your lips to his tip, placing your hands over his upper thighs and moving back to admire the painted outline of your lips – the last of your lipstick colouring it red.

When you deemed him hard enough, your lips closed around his leaking head, giving him a gentle suck to feel his thighs contract before taking him further into your mouth. You nuzzled your nose into the hair around his base and relaxed your throat, flattening your tongue over the underside of his cock and reveling in the tight grunts it elicited from above.

A loud horn blared from the lane beside yours, Wooyoung’s vision unblurring and his palm hurriedly gliding over the steering wheel to adjust the swerving van. San snickered behind him, partly at your muffled coughs around the younger man’s cock as the rough steering jerked your body around. You pull away to breathe once the vehicle settled, inhaling deeply and clearing your throat, the bitter taste of precum on your tongue.

“I don’t think she’s thanking you hard enough, Youngie,” San tsked behind you, palming over his clothed cock as he took in your red eyes and sniffling nose.

“Mm, I think you’re right,” the arm resting idly over the console raised, fingers tangling in the hair at your nape and pushing your head downwards until the warmth of your mouth engulfed him once again, soft groans escaping through gritted teeth as your throat constricted around his tip. With the hand in your hair, he began moving you over his cock, bobbing your head and noting the weight of the necklace adoring your neck falling over his thigh every time his tip brushed against your uvula. “Fuuuuck, that’s my good girl.”

The outline of his vein slid over your tongue, pulsing as you took him down your throat. You could hear the slick movement of San’s hand over his cock, his eyes moving between your stretched lips and Wooyoung’s parted ones, soft, breathy moans muffled under the wind rushing through the open window. You felt him twitch inside your mouth, the familiar clench of his abdomen egging you on, taking him all the way and hollowing your cheeks. The van veered to the left again, Wooyoung’s eyes barely open as pleasure rushed through his veins with every squeeze around his cockhead. You swallowed around him once, twice, before gagging around the hot ribbons of white shooting down your throat. The limp fingers in your hair regained their strength, pushing your head down while he rolled his hips into your mouth, your jaw going slack as he used you to milk out the last of his cum.

San’s eyes fluttered shut to take in the melodies playing through Wooyoung’s parted lips – rough grunts paired with airy moans while he fucked the last of his load into your mouth, pulling you off him to wipe the tip of his cock over your face, a line of cum smeared over your cheek. A few seconds of muted shuffling passed before saltiness consumed San’s tastebuds, your mouth roughly pressing against his, tongue breaching his lips to share some of Wooyoung’s release. His Adam’s apple bobbed, eagerly swallowing down the tangy liquid before diving in for more, pushing you further into him with a hand to the back of your head. A throaty moan vibrated against your lips, San’s cock lurching in his limp fist as he sucked the last of Wooyoung’s load off your tongue. Pulling away, you grabbed San’s jaw firmly and moved your head closer to spit into his open mouth, a mixture of your spit and his marbled with milky white reflecting the passing streetlights before disappearing down his throat.

“Wooyoung, fuck,” he spoke, words slurred from the tight grip you have on his jaw, rolling his wrist around his leaking cockhead. “Pull over. I need her right fucking now.”

--

The van jumped over a speedbump, the driver too distracted to slow down, eyes trained on the overhead mirror instead of the road as two bodies moved steadily in the reflection. Two fingers twisted the volume knob to the left, silencing the music to revel in the harmony of moans surging from the back of the van.

The worn-down mattress was anything but comfortable, your dripping pussy adding to the stains decorating it. Looking over to the side, your eyes settled on the discarded boxing gloves from the night before, splotches of maroon flaking off the faux leather. One of San’s hands cupped the back of your head, pushing your face down while he pounded into you from the back, his other pulling at the necklace around your neck, the diamonds pressing into your skin to form thin crescents.

Wooyoung scoffed at the sight – red spreading from the soiled collar of San’s tank top and up to his neck, beads of sweat rolling down his skin and sinking into the cheap cotton. “What happened to all your hard work, hm?” his eyes rolled down to San’s white knuckles, wrapped tightly around the accessory restricting your airflow.

“Shut up,” he spat, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs as he pumped his cock between your fluttering walls. The hand covering the back of your head slid down your spine to squeeze at your waist, his blunt nails stabbing into your heated flesh while husky grunts vibrated through his throat.

Wooyoung’s eyes shifted to your face, concealed as you looked over to the side, your lips parted with drool pooling under your head. “Aw, I think Sannie got a little jealous earlier. Right, sweetheart?”

The words reduced to mere sounds in your head, the syllables meshing as San’s cockhead pistoned into your g-spot, barely registering the rough fingers tangling into the hair at your crown before sharp pain seared through your scalp, your chest lifting off the tattered mattress and neck craning as San angled your face upwards. You sucked in deep breaths now that the silver band wasn't digging into your neck, choking around broken cries of pleasure. Hooded eyes studied your face in the small mirror – pupils dilated, tears and glitter eyeshow staining your heated cheeks with saliva trickling down your chin, body jerking forward every time San’s hips slammed into yours, his cock stretching you open around his girth.

“'Don’t think she can answer,” San rasped, his eyes dropping to watch the flesh of your ass ripple every time he drove into your clenching cunt. “Ah- So fucking tight for me.”

Wooyoung’s fingers squeezed around the steering wheel, “is he fucking you good, baby?” The corners of his lips twitched with a concealed smirk, “or is my pretty slut still thinking about that man’s cock?”

Your brain short-circuited, shots of burning pleasure soaring through your veins and forcing your eyes shut. “it’s good, s-so good,” your speech was barely coherent, moans spilling out of you as San continued to fuck you through Wooyoung’s interrogation.

“What about my second question?” San’s eyes flew towards the mirror to meet Wooyoung’s, clenching his jaw so tight it bordered on painful, the younger man smiling to himself over how easy it was to rile San up.

San rammed his cock inside you, holding it deep within your cunt while he bent at the waist to whisper in your ear, the deep baritone of his voice nearly masked under your pathetic moaning, “be a good girl and answer Youngie’s question, or have I already fucked you dumb?"

“I-I’m not! ‘Love Sannie’s cock so much- hnngh!” your upper body flopped onto the mattress, your scalp burning under the palm San had flattened over your head, fingers rubbing soothing lines over your roots while he ground his cock into your heat.

“That’s right,” he pressed his lips to your slick shoulder and gave you a harsh thrust, rolling his hips once, twice before pulling off you. His hands slid down your body to grab at your hips, dragging you back over his length with a grip tight enough to promise bruises. One of his knees nudged against your inner thigh to spread your legs even further, giving you a few seconds to breathe before he began hammering his cock into you. “Love my cock so much you’ll let me breed this tight pussy, won’t you, darling?

“Nghh- fuck! Sannie, please-”

“Give it to me, love, ‘wanna feel you cream all over my cock,” the tautness of his voice, strained as he chased his orgasm with sloppy thrusts, was enough to send you over the edge.

Your vision went black as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, thighs shaking while you your orgasm rushed through you. A succession of curses and San’s name rolled off your tongue, followed by desperate pleas for him to come as he frantically humped your overstimulated cunt. Your body jolted as pain mixed with pleasure, your vision blurring with tears while San used you like a cocksleeve, leaning over you to whisper in your ear, whimpered praise falling off his tongue – a melody of ‘just a little more’ and ‘you can take it’ sending shivers down your spine.

You felt him split you open thrice before a familiar warmth spread through your lower belly, his cock twitching between your fluttering walls as he unloaded his seed inside you. His arms wrapped around your middle, holding your body flush against his shuddering chest while he grinded into your used cunt, draining himself of every last drop. Delicate hands smoothed over your sides at the pained whimper you released into the dungy mattress, San’s softening cock slipping out of you and making way for a stream of his cum to trickle out of your gaping hole. He took a few seconds to moon over the mess he'd created before pursing his lips and adding to it, dropping a wad of spit onto your drenched pussy, your hips jolting when a calloused thumb ran through the fluids painting your folds.

You barely noticed the van making a sharp turn, the engine going silent half a minute later and drawing your attention to the front, a rest stop sign shining through the windshield. Wooyoung’s head poked through the gap between the seats, his eyes glazed over as he took in the sweaty bodies sprawled out in their own mess. He lifted his arm to hurl a roll of cash at San, his eyes remaining fixed on your twitching form as he imagined the steady stream of cum making its way down your thighs.

“Sannie, go grab some food and water. I think I need to be thanked a little more.”

reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!! ^^ apply for my tag list here (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[gyuslvrr]

[ᴄ.ʏᴊ] | 𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗶𝗿

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: being the newest mbank mc comes with its perks - that's in choi yeonjun's case though as he gets to flirt with you on air!

ᴀ/ɴ: gn reader. this is so old it’s from the gbgb era 😭 this is CRINGE!!!

“My darlings are here today.” Yeonjun announces with his usual bright smile stretched across his features. You watch fondly as he speaks about his team members, even if he looks quite stupid as he does so with the fake airline hat that’s a bit too big for his head.

“Right. Isn’t it your first time promoting while being an MC, Yeonjun?” You ask, recalling the scripted conversation that was printed onto your cue cards. You mentally pat yourself on the back after saying the sentence correctly and not fumbling over it.

“Yes!” He replies cheerily “Tell me something, [y/n]” Yeonjun adds.

You blink. You don’t quite remember this in the script.

“Yeah?” You reply as your free hand cards through your hair nervously. The pressure to remember your reply has your heart racing nervously. Maybe it’s a little extra embarrassing to forget your line when past MC Soobin (who was extremely good at his job) is politely stood behind you and Yeonjun with the rest of TXT.

“Do you prefer good boys or bad boys?” He asks daringly. You hear a couple of the TXT boys stifle their laughter behind cupped hands and pursed lips at the question.

Definitely not in the script.

“Bad boys, of course” You reply swiftly. Whether it was a set up to introduce TXT, you’re not sure, but you take the lead to part from Yeonjun to introduce the group.

There’s a couple whoops from behind you, accompanied by an eyebrow wiggle from Beomgyu which you caught after the broadcast (a stern message was sent to him after).

With a swift pre-introduction of the group, you slide away to reveal the five members. They cheerily introduce themselves with Yeonjun switching seamlessly between MC Yeonjun and TXT Yeonjun. It’s amazing how he’s able to switch between personas without fumbling over his words.

You’re almost so amazed that you just about miss your cue.

“Y-Yeonjun,” You stutter, jumping onto your cue “Hopefully it’s not too much to ask, but would you and your members like to sing a couple of your killing parts from Good Boy gone Bad?” You smile, hiding how flustered you are behind your mic. A couple of the members giggle lightly, catching that you almost missed your line.

With flushed faces, each member sings their little killing parts. You can’t help but smile brightly, watching as they become a little flustered when the crew cheers them on.

“집어치워 love 개나 줘 forever

피 대신 흘러 monochrome diamonds

Killed it, I killed it myself

곤두박질 부러진 날개로

추락해도 아프지 않아 anymore

I like being bad.” Yeonjun refuted his rap, exuding a confidence that you don’t think you’ll ever have. Any time an MC has asked you to sing or rap when you’re standing in the idol’s position has felt like the world has caved in on you.

“[Y/N].” Yeonjun starts once you’ve all stopped clapping. You nod, looking eagerly at Yeonjun. The devious expression on his face causes your stomach to drop.

“Since you said you like bad boys, did you hear when I said I like being bad?” He smugly asks, ignoring the bird like screeches emanating from his group (namely Kai and Beomgyu) as well as the flustered yelling of staff.

You look absolutely bewildered and the camera man takes the opportunity to zoom in on you. You stare at Yeonjun who continues to smugly smirk, but you can see a lightly red dusting begin to appear on his cheeks.

“Um…” You stutter, wrecking your head to find anything else in the script. Beomgyu is shouting and to say the least, complete chaos is erupting behind you. Not only have the group made it obvious that this definitely isn’t in the script but your reaction solidifies it.

“Anyway,” You segway, desperately trying to find a way out of the situation “Up next, The Boyz and Astro.”

The crew are still laughing as the camera cuts, even the camera shakes as the camera man tries to keep his laugh in. You let out a flustered laugh, beelining for the general waiting room.

You weave past staff, idols and all sorts of people, dodging their laughs and remarks as they had been watching the whole ordeal on the small monitoring screens places throughout the building.

It’s not hard to hear the pounding footsteps that follow behind you. Kai’s loud laugh and the general noise that follows Beomgyu ensures the thought that they’re practically running after you.

You’re swift, though. You reach the MC room and close the door over, ignoring how the staff fawn over you to fix your hair and makeup. You have probable another hour of recording and you’ve practically sweat all of your makeup off from pure nerves.

“[y/n]!” Yeonjun shouts over the sound of the door thwacking off of its hinges. You jump, not expecting the sound or Yeonjun so quickly.

“Did you have to slam the door?” You query, passing a look over your shoulder. Your hair and makeup team were silently pampering you and therefore not giving you room to move. Yeonjun takes the chance to walk in front of you so he can speak to you properly.

“You got so embarrassed, it was funny.” He smiles, laughing at the annoyed look scrawled across your brows. Your makeup artist taps your forehead, silently telling you to stop creasing. You sigh.

“I am never doing a broadcast with you again. You are so lucky that the other MC isn’t here today.” You scoff.

Yeonjun laughs “What do you mean?”

“Cause I’m going to beat your ass and no one is going to be here to stop me.”

[beomie3]

pretty in pink - choi soobin

pairing: boyfriend!soobin x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: your boyfriend soobin treats you on national gf day <3 but what he doesn't know is that you have a small surprise for him as well; showcasing your new lacy pink lingerie set ;)

content/warnings: established relationship, fluff, smut, reader surprises soobin with lingerie, heavy kissing, riding, nudity, cursing.

a/n: i wrote this on a bit of a whim, just thinking about cute & cuddly bf soobin that treats you like the princess you are <3 enjoy! ^_^

soundtrack ♫ what would i do? - strawberry guy ♫ pink bubblegum - lavi kou

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ɞ

national girlfriends day was arguably one of soobin's favorite days. in theory, it was kind of tied between today and your birthday because they both excited him to no end; getting to plan out the perfect day that you deserved more than ever, filled with little presents and treats left and right.

and with that you awoke to the scent of pancakes and maple syrup, aware of the door pushed open by his shoulder as he walked in with a wooden tray, displaying three different colorful plates and a tall glass of orange juice.

you kissed the soft skin of his bicep when he set the tray on your lap, still groggy under the warm sheets. you thanked him for the beautiful array of fruits and the most delicious-looking plate of pancakes and bacon that you just couldn't wait to dig into.

when he came back in to take your dishes, he also surprised you with the prettiest bouquet of pink roses, making you jump up onto your feet on the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck in a big hug, smothering his adorable face with kisses.

after some soft morning cuddles and unplanned wrestling matches with soobin, you readied yourself for the day, dressing in a cute pink outfit that matched with the bubblegum pink of your boyfriend's sweater.

you couldn't help but fawn over the way his blonde hair and clear-framed glasses complimented him so well, along with the soft fuzzy sweater you would probably be wearing if he didn't currently have it on.

before leaving the house, you pressed your lips to his cheek as he sneaked in a mirror picture to capture the cute moment, his large hand around your waist as he adorably smiled at the camera with a scrunched nose. what a cute couple you two were; his gigantic stature almost too tall for the mirror by the front door, which he set at the perfect height for you to check your outfit every day. 

it was a sunny and special afternoon. soobin took you out without you having a single idea of where you were going, surprised to arrive at a small jeweler's shop. he let you pick out the cutest dainty necklace with a small diamond heart, one that you decided symbolized your diamond love for him. he made sure to save just enough money for this day, happy just to spend it all on you.

your fingers were interlaced with his the entire day, like always, so freaking proud to walk next to such an amazing man like him as he gazed down at you fondly, a gentle smile on his lips the entire time. 

the day seemed it couldn't get any better until he treated you to a romantic dinner that outlooked the beautiful view of your town, watching the clouds together and pointing at one that looked like a bunny, telling him how much it reminded you of him.

he smiled, his eyes creasing into half moons, almost shut like always when he grins, his adorable teeth glimmering in the light. your stomach rushed with the swirl of butterflies, absolutely mesmerized with the way he shyly laughed, but how he also loosened up throughout the night and became progressively goofier. 

although it was girlfriends day to him, it was nothing boyfriend day in your heart because of how much you were reminded of his love, falling even deeper for him. 

~

after a long, fun day, you returned home to find the last of his presents; a big box of your favorite candies on the bed with a sweet note in the handwriting you so loved, a small drawing of a bunny decorating the outside of it.

what soobin didn't know was that you also had a small surprise for him; showcasing the new lacy pink lingerie set you bought, and what better time to show him than now? it was the cherry on top to such a perfect day. and he definitely deserved it after making your life so wonderful.

he lay on the bed, sprawled out across white sheets just scrolling on his phone, dropping it immediately when he saw your figure emerge from the bathroom.

"hi binnie," you gently leaned on the doorframe, a small smile on your rosy cheeks as you sucked on one of the lollipops he gifted you; sensing his gentle eyes travel everywhere imaginable.

his lips parted, simply speechless at the sight of you looking drop-dead gorgeous in the light pink, sheer lingerie that hugged your body so beautifully, biting his lip at the way your nipples were visible through the lace.

"oh wow- hi," he pretty much mumbled, eyes wide as he stared in awe, a pink tinge warming his cheeks. he burried half of his face in a pillow as he got more and more flustered the longer you stood there. "so beautiful," came out muffled from under the pillow.

you walked over to him, reaching to touch his feather-soft hair that was slightly disheveled from the sheets. your stomach twirled with the thought of your fingers intertwined in his hair; tugging at it as his name left your lips, wanting to melt at the sheer thought of his skin on yours.

he looked up from the pillow, his cheeks so flushed under his now crooked glasses that you gently pulled off to reveal his glimmering eyes, slowly tugging up into a pretty smile as he melted into your soft hand on his cheek. 

he situated himself to sit up on the bed, back against the headboard as you crawled over him, taking a seat on his thighs as you straddled him.

taking the lollipop out of your mouth, you slowly lowered it to his mouth and he took it, never taking his eyes off of yours as he enjoyed the bubblegum flavor. his long fingers immediately found their way to the pink lace of your waist, thumbs soft over the thin material and paying mind to your body heat seeping past the fabric. 

he searched your eyes, trailing down to your lips and then to your neck and chest, admiring the way one strap hung loosely off of your shoulder.

you slowly removed the stick from his mouth, abandoning it on the bedside table as you pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, gliding your tongue over his bottom lip to taste your favorite strawberry chapstick he always wore; also enjoying the subtle bubblegum flavor of his tongue.

he couldn't help the deep noise that escaped his throat as you shifted around on his hips, the rock-hard tent in his sweats obvious through the thin material of your panties. he brought his hand to your hair, softly petting the strands as he settled it to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. you ground on him with a subtle pace now, inviting small moans to escape your throat as his boner felt amazing against your now throbbing clit.

"soobin...you feel so good," you whispered against the shell of his ear, making him practically melt at the praise and sound of his name in one sentence. he hummed, pressing small butterfly kisses around your neck as he settled his hands to your waist, guiding your hips to rock back and forth against himself.

he was absolutely overtaken by pleasure, not knowing how he would possibly be able to contain himself when he’s actually inside of you. he rested his head on the headboard, simply looking up at you in awe, eyelids half closed as his mouth fell slightly agape; his hot breath fanning on your chin.

you slipped your fingers past the elastic of his sweatpants, using it as his cue to slightly lift his hips up as you helped undress him; skin growing hotter the moment his sweatpants landed on the floor and he could feel your wetness squishing against his bareness; even through your underwear.

you tugged his shirt over his head, the last article of clothing before he was completely naked under you. skin hot and utterly delectable under your touch. you just wanted to kiss and lick every square inch of his body, give yourself to him completely; because you knew he always took amazing care of you, your body, and it's needs. 

your make-out became so messy that you had to come up for breaths with how you practically devoured one another's lips, strings of saliva connecting the two of you with every breath.

"i need you so bad," he practically begged against your neck, licking and sucking love bites on the soft skin. and with that you lifted off of him, moving your panties to the side with the help of his two fingers, infatuated with the wetness that coated them when he lightly brushed them along your folds. 

you both watched his tip slowly disappear into you as you slowly lowered down onto his throbbing hardness, wincing at the sheer stretch.

"you're taking me so well angel," he cooed, rubbing slow circles into your clit as you bit your lip at the pleasure and slight discomfort as you sunk down even more, eyes locked as he watched you in awe.

your warmth now engulfed him as you sat down entirely, your bottom flush against his thighs, his breath husky as he grunted against your neck. you were already a moaning mess before you could even begin to ride him, still adjusting to his size through a whimpering, messy makeout.

soobin always had the utmost patience with you, he never ever rushed you and always let you take it at your own pace. what mattered to him most was that you were getting the pleasure you wanted, needed, and deserved.

he kissed down to the soft material over your nipple, licking your hardened bud that prodded through the lace, your skin buzzing at the heat of his tongue seeping through to your skin. your moans echoed through the bedroom as you began to slightly pick up your pace, a subtle burn in your thighs as you kept a slow and steady up-and-down motion.

he couldn't help but fiddle with the loose strap on your shoulder as your boobs began to bounce in his face, fingers drawn to gently tug at the elastic. you reached down, helping the other strap off of your shoulder so that your top hung loosely.

he peeled the lace over your chest, watching attentively like he was opening a present as your bare tits became exposed to him in all of their beauty. although he had seen them countless times, something about seeing them through the pink lace of lingerie had his heart doing cartwheels.

he took your nipple into his mouth as you rode him, increasing your pace at the overwhelming pleasure of his warm mouth on the sensitive skin of your chest, the fullness of his cock inside of you, and his fingers perfectly circling your clit.

he knew your body so well that you felt you wanted to explode any second at the brain-melting pleasure he provided. his gentleness and sweetness outshined everything, though, always treating you like a princess and nothing less. 

he almost wanted to drool at the sight of you enjoying yourself, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you bounced on him, hands on his chest to keep your balance. what got him was the sound of his name repeatedly leaving your lips, mixed with some profanities and lewd noises, telling him how good he was making you feel, how fucking perfect he is.

your praise always meant the world to him, making his face heat up as a small smile grew on his lips. "you're perfect," he whispered into the thick air, making your lips tug at each corner, uniting your lips with his.

suddenly, you reached back to grab a hold of his calves, perching up on your feet so that you could have more precision with your movements. he licked his lips through a deep moan because in this position he got the best view of himself disappearing in and out of you, watching the way you stretch over him and how your clit throbs when his tip hits your g-spot. such a lewd sight, he could almost come on the spot. but he wanted to last as long as possible for you, holding back his urge for as long as he physically could.

you gasped when he began to circle your clit quickly with his thumb, throwing your head back at the warm tingles that darted across your spine, your stomach tightening with an oncoming orgasm, just wanting to come undone.

"right there soob- i'm right there," you moaned through a clenched jaw, tears pricking your eyes as your legs began to give out with how tired they were. he helped guide your hips with one hand, circling your clit with the other.

suddenly, he began rubbing your clit up and down because he knew the slight change of motion would push you right over the edge, and it did. he sent you spiraling into what felt another dimension as you unraveled completely around his bareness, feeling him lift your hips up as he shot his warm fluid all over your stomach, accidentally getting some on your new set.

"oh no!" he gasped out of breath, a hand over his mouth; worried he may have ruined the delicate lace with the fluids he didn't think twice about releasing all over you. 

you laughed, appreciating his concern, but not giving a care in the world; it was always bound to get a little messy. you cupped his face in your hands, kissing him sweetly before rubbing your nose against his.

"its okay, soobie," you reassured him with a grin, all of his worries melting away at the sight of your pearly smile, finding one of his own form on his face instinctively. you two sat there for a moment, foreheads pressed to one another's as you caught your breaths. 

he suddenly wrapped his hands around your waist, picking you up and gently laying you on the soft bed, tugging your lingerie off of you. he was determined to go to the bathroom and scrub it clean, making you giggle at his silliness when he jogged over to the bathroom in a hurry. deep down he didn't want it ruined because of how perfect it looked on you, wanting to see it on you again, over and over. every night, if he could.

"i'm running a bath for my beautiful girlfriend!" his voice echoed through the bathroom which made you laugh, your chest undeniably filling with warmth at his kindness. yet you also buried your burning face in a pillow, knowing damn well you would probably fuck again the moment you entered the tub together. and then cuddle the night away, simply enjoying one another's warm skin and smiles. 

your cheeks burned with how much you smiled, so, so happy to be his girlfriend. so much so that you began plotting boyfriend day, wanting to also give him the best day ever. you already planned on getting another set of lingerie because of how much he loved it. one that would make him melt even more.

“have i ever told you you look so pretty in pink?” his voice rings out from the bathroom again as he’s busy washing the pretty lace.

“not as pretty as you!” you reply, burying your head back under the pillow. you don’t know what was more pink, your flushed cheeks or the hearts that floated around you with the love you had for choi soobin.

<3

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞʚ・ ୨୧・ɞ

a/n: thank you sm for 300 followers!!! <3 i hope you enjoyed <3 ^_^ remember that you always deserve someone as caring as soob!! :) love u all!

[youngwonhui]

✦ live on my knees, make you see | ch. 1

*•. member: choi seungcheol x afab reader

*•. summary: the first morning of your new job doesn’t go quite as planned. Ever since then, you realized that the rest of your life slowly turned off of its axis or maybe fits into the missing space you’ve been feeling throughout your life. In the centre of it all, there’s Seungcheol. The stranger you’ve met for the second time on that same morning.

*•. genre: angst, strangers to lovers; kinda, corporate and family drama, life and misunderstanding happened in general

*•. wc: 7,723

*•. warnings: unintentionally introducing corporate drama. no, i am not projecting. maybe.

*•. cross posted in AO3

*•. masterlist

chapter 1 | chapter 2

Huffing and puffing into your first day at the new job is not ideal. But the fact that you had missed the bus and the new office building are basically needle in a haystack, so now you’re climbing upstairs, ten minutes before you’re supposed to meet your new boss.

It’s enough, probably. It’s just not ideal.

When you look up, impossibly out of breath, the sight stumped you. Nowhere was a sign that points you to the agency. Only a single black door along the hallway. Which is not the ones you’ve remembered seeing on the google maps.

Darned all the only online interviews, making you unable to familiarize yourself with the new environment. Resulting on this small kerfuffle on the very first day.

Hands on your hips, jacket slung into it, you try to organize your thought. Making a mind to knock on that door and find out some direction. That is, if there are anything behind those doors.

You are proven wrong when said door flung open. Just as you’ve raised your balled fist to knock on it. Now it just froze in the air while the figure behind the door stood wide eyed.

Immediately taking a step back and lowering your hand, you cursed your day further. It’s barely 9AM and you’re facing hurdles one after another just to get to your work. The man who you assumed is the resident behind the door remain planted on his feet. One hand holding on the knob, and another a tied-up plastic with big sign of recyclable materials on it.

You just had to get in the way a man and their trash huh?

“Hey, uh sorry I didn’t mean to disturb. I’m looking for Diamond & Carats? The agency? The address said that it’ll be in this building?” You inquire to the stunned man; hair still ruffled from sleep and clad in a mismatch pajama set. Passing moments flow when he still stares at you with what you can assumed is a shocked gaze. You hoped you don’t surprise him too much. Yet you still need some sort of answer. So you waved your hand, and the man sputters out of his thought. Muttering sorry for basically spacing out on you.

“Agency? The advertising agency?” You nodded, finally a semblance of help. “Well, you’ve missed it then. Because they’re supposed to be one floor down from here. You should go downstairs and then took a right into the corner, only then you could see the sign where the entrance is.”

“Thank you.” You were already descending down the stairs, being punctual became your number one priority for now.

Following the direction from the kind stranger, you manage to find the somewhat hidden entrance to your new office. Thankfully not looking too disheveled as you steal a glance from the big reflective glass wall displayed along the entrance. A kind receptionist has welcomed you and now leading you to a waiting room.

Way to go on your new job.

Your thought traveled back to your college days. Never were the top student, but you were always down for an opportunity of a job. That’s why you took the graveyard shift as the library’s clerk. True to your nature, the college library was never your frequent spot. That’s why the first day on your library job, this situation is almost mirroring that day. Not knowing exactly where to go.

You’re just hoping this job isn’t much like the library job. Getting more and more lost inside the maze you couldn’t even see.

Although back then the maze was clear. As clear as the big shelves by the back of those library.

As you wait to be introduced to the team, you make a mental note to thank the kind stranger upstairs. Connecting the dots, you assume he lived there as the residential tenant. Or he’s just a janitor that work in his sleepwear, which is an option you couldn’t really comprehend.

After being welcomed by your team manager, a middle aged man with some sort of sleazy tone and too much confident on his shoulder, you’re eventually introduced to your team. A small tight knit one consists of three people around your age. Soyeon, Jisun, and Chan. You were kindly informed that your predecessor left because they preferred to retire early.

“Well that’s new, but not surprising.” You smiled at Soyeon, quite literally doesn’t know what to do with the information you just received.

Accepting this job are solely based on the salary you had offered. The startup tends to offer that but hearing that your predecessor has decided to step down because they prefer to be unemployed sounds a little odd in your mind. But you kept that thought away. In store as you try to focus on every little point from the tour around office guided by your new team.

Your sleazy boss has left long ago. Making his sleazy way back to his desk before handing your introduction tour over to your team. You have a sneaky feeling that man wasn’t very fluent around the office.

They kindly explained the flow of work after introducing you basically to the whole floor. From then it’s the administrative like logging into the company’s work database, to Chan’s many tricks on working with the copy machine. Sensing that Chan is throwing out a joke, you let out a belated laughter. Half regretting how awkward and a little rude you might come out as.

Sensing that your new team are kind in nature, they probably only wanting to be kind to you so they can quickly finish any of their postponed project. Seeing that your predecessor ‘retiring’ early completely falter the team’s progress. As seen at the timeline you had skimmed through after you’re logged into the desktop.

“Thank you for all the guidance, guys, honestly. I will make sure not used the mug that shaped as a woman’s bosoms, as well as touching the Greek yoghurt in the fridge.” You dabble yourself an attempt to joke back. Relieved when each of your team laughs. They’re too kind.

Maybe your first day isn’t so bad after all.

\\

One thing you made sure in your every job are finding a safe spot for your escape from the grueling office environment. A hidden space just to have a private conversation, or better for you, smoke.

You had made sure to asks your team discreetly after the daily meeting. After your long and failed attempts to find one. To your surprise, Chan provided you with an answer. So here you are, perched on the tall wooden fence of the building’s hidden backyard/alley. Clean enough to take a breather, and discreet enough to not have too many eyes looking as it’s secluded behind the car park. You thanked whoever the building owner are for deciding to have this sort of space rather than having it unmanaged.

Exhaling through your lips, you scanned through the copies of files you had brought. Lists of report from your predecessor regarding each progress of the projects handled by your now current team. Stumped doesn’t even begin to describe your state of thoughts. Although progressing somewhat nicely, there are few times that some projects are held back due to vague reasons. And that doesn’t seem weird, but if said vague reasons are repeated many times, that’s just suspicious to your eyes.

Folding the papers and stuffing it back to your jacket pocket, you decided to put a bookmark on that and just enjoy your cig for now. Freeing your mind through the toxic stick. You cursed for not bringing your favourite scarf with you today, as the wind blew a chilling breeze to your neck. Despite the blazing sunlight.

Your eyes eventually landed to the opened window on the topmost floor of the building. There’s a man basking in the sunlight with his back facing you. The worn-out neckline of the white T-shirt are showing you a patch of skin decorated in tattoos. The view is not very clear as you’re almost ten meters apart.

There's a tuft of messy brown hair illuminated under the sunlight. It further convinces you that it's the man that helped you at your first day. Without hesitation, you picked up a stray pebble. Sizeable enough to throw and make some noise. And some noise you make as the stone make contact against the polished concrete wall. A few feet beside the opened window. And some attention you gained. The turned back now facing you.

“Hey, you.” You started, trying your best not to be too loud.

“I'm gonna assume you're trying to get my attention and not aiming straight at my head.” The man replied with a slight smirk. His eyes squint at you, blinded by sunlight.

“Don’t worry, i have great aim.”

“I see, you’re just bad with direction then.”

“Touché. You still remember me.�� You laugh lightly, throwing the cigarette butt into your portable ashtray. “I still just wanted to thank you for that day you know. It was my first day here. I’m also sorry for barging like that.”

“Seungcheol, Choi. Everybody calls me Cheol. Also, no worries. The office downstairs are not very visible with their signs. I sent back too many delivery packages back down because they’re also not familiar with the place.”

“I’m Y/n, glad to meet you.”

With a mock salute and a nod from the man perched on upstairs window, your smoking break ended like that. Before you immediately rushed inside when you saw a glimpse of your watch.

Upstairs, an amused smile painted in Seungcheol lips. Glad of the surprise he got for today, in a form of you.

As it turns out bumping into Seungcheol is as easy as it gets.

From walking into the building together in the morning, to occasional talk whenever you’re on your smoke break. Whether Seungcheol are perched on his window or just simply on the level ground as yours. You don’t question as why he is making a way back to his place at 8AM, looking as if he’s having a rough night just by the nest of messy hair he’s sporting. He doesn’t question the apparent stress etched into your feature. Getting more and more prominent in each day you took your smoke break.

Once he paid a visit to the office, knocking lightly at the glass door when you’re coincidentally passing by. In his one hand is a tube of a sample posters. Mistakenly left by his door by the courier. You thanked him before turning back in. Fighting the urge to cooed at the fluffy white dog in his other hand.

On one of the mornings, you bumped to Seungcheol looking quite haggard, he blurted out that he’s just spend few nights up in a jam session. You managed to stop him as he rambled and assured him that you didn’t think that he just came back from a heist. You calmly told Seungcheol that he doesn’t owe you any explanation for the way he’s look at that chilly morning.

“Yeah, sorry for rambling. Long story short i’m a music producer. Not that it expla-”

“Hey, Seungcheol. It’s cool. Breathe.” You paused in front of the stairs. Seungcheol mirroring you before taking a deep breath. He then looks to you through his long lashes, before bursting into small laughter. Feeling how ridiculous he might have been.

“Sorry, it’s too early for me to bug you huh?”

“Nah, it’s alright. Besides, i sort of done this to you too, remember?” You continue your steps to your office. Like before, Seungcheol follow your action. Making his way back home.

“That’s true.”

The climbing up the stairs then filled with comfortable silence. Before parting ways as you had to make a turn to your office, you call to Seungcheol one last time.

“I’m a project manager. If that explained anything.” You smiled as you shrug. The sight of Seungcheol smile bid your goodbye as you turn your back to him. Heading straight to the office while Seungcheol climbs one more floor back to his house.

One night, you were working overtime to finish the last touches to the project, and you were ordering some takeout for dinner. After thanking the courier, you were helping the old man to navigate a way out when Seungcheol just making his way upstairs. Presumably going back home.

“Are you working late?” Seungcheol offhandedly remarks, pointing to the big bag of chinese takeout you’re holding.

You had ordered too much pot stickers. In your defense it was a buy one gets one promo. You failed to think out that you were eating for one.

“It happened so. Much to catch up, so little time.”

“Well, godspeed.” Seungcheol offered you a pumped-up fist as a good luck. For some reason, an impulse thought passed by your head. As Seungcheol begin his trek upstairs back to his home.

“Would you—” Your voice stopped the man. Turning to face you, mid-stairs. “Do you like pot stickers? or maybe shrimp fried rice? I happened to order too many.” You raised the plastic bags. Seungcheol looks like he's having contemplating thought.

“Sure, i could go for pot stickers.” You quickly walk over to handed Seungcheol the food, but the taller man stopped your hand midair. A question hanging by the tip of his tongue.

“Do you want some beer with your dinner? Maybe take some break?”

\\

“You're torturing yourself. A can of beer with your dinner is such a treat. You'll sleep well afterwards too.”

On a whim, you had quickly agreed to be invited over to Seungcheol's apartment. Foregoing the dark and empty office as you gather the work papers and laptop and then vacated to Seungcheol's spacious living room. Clear coffee table now filled with a spread of chinese takeout with cans of beer belonging to each of you.

Laughing at the way you've been distancing yourself with beer, Seungcheol took one pot sticker in one bite. Humming at the way the crispy skin enveloping the warm filling. You share a look of acknowledgement. Earning a thumbs up as you took pride of the restaurant you had frequent in.

“I'm giving you the number of the restaurant. They deliver faster through there rather than when you ordered through app.” You had finished with your fried rice, sipping the cold beer to wash the grease. “Although maybe they do it faster because i'm their number one customer.”

“That's too bad.” Seungcheol slumped back to his couch, a brief pout on his lips before taking another quick bite. “Guess i have to go through you so i can get fast delivery. Or some extra food.”

“You make it sounds like i'm a dealer.” You retort, looking up from editing the graph data in your laptop.

“No, but you’re kinda gatekeeping.” He points his chopsticks at you accusingly, you only shook your head before returning your attention back to the laptop.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me being here like this?” You muttered, not sparing a glance.

“Well i live here alone, And with the dog of course. If i don’t like it i can just kick you out, you know.” Seungcheol replied, accompanied by a teasing smirk and a shrug.

“Ouch, that’s not very neighbourly of you.”

“How about you? no one that’s gonna worry about you back home?”

You can only scoff lightly, fingers flying on your keyboard to fix up a typo.

“I’m a grown adult. No one have to worries about me.” You said with a tight smile on your lips.

“Well as a neighbourly duty, i’ll be the one. It’s dangerous to be alone downstairs in your office. Feel free to knock upstairs if you’re feeling lonely when you work overtime.”

“I might work overtime often to be honest. With the way the company work.” You paused, pursing your lips in slight frustration. “It’s been almost two weeks and everything is weird, well mostly my boss. My team are fairly kind and welcoming. Which is kind of admirable with the things they have went through.”

“What do you mean?” To Seungcheol’s question, you slowly put aside your laptop and hold up stack of papers you fish out of the piles you brought with you. Scooting closer to him. When Seungcheol realizes you’re showing him a bunch of companies’ data his eyes grown wide. “Are you sure you’re allowed to show me these?”

“Seungcheol you’re a music producer, what? You’re not secretly an employee of a chemical waste or biofuel company, aren’t you?”

A dry chuckle escapes Seungcheol lips as he shook his head. Slight ecstatic that you had remembered his occupation he had mentioned on a fly a few days back when you’re both making a way into the building at early morning. He had to defend the gnarly look in his face that clearly shown he hasn’t sleep or took a shower for days.

“So what is this tea you’re showing me?” Seungcheol prompted, eyes skimming through the graphs and datas you shown him.

“So to put it simply, as it turns out my boss has been embezzling money through some of my team’s old projects. And that is without them knowing. Them being my team. Not to mention his deep connection with some of our clients which, well let’s just say it could be categorized as corporate collusion.” With a downturned smile, you look over to Seungcheol who looks like he’s just been splashed with a bucket of water.

“Y/n this is big?” You nod, taking back the papers of evidence from Seungcheol’s hand. He simply doesn’t want to dip his hand further into this. “Are you- what are you going to do with this?”

“At the meeting tomorrow, i’m planning to show this to the board of investors. As well as the CEO. Some small group of people who’s in charge. I have all the data classified as anonymous but i have all of my team’s confession as well as some of other team.” You sighed deeply, a small dreaded vine weaved through you but you had remembered how some of your team has been nothing but kind to you and you can’t just let your boss use them for just a tool to fill his wallet. “I am sorry Seungcheol i didn’t mean to drop all of this corporate bullshit on you.”

“Uh, no don’t worry. I’m sure it’s been hard for you and your team. Especially since you’re new at that company.” Seungcheol assures you calmly. Shifting in his seat as you resigned back, sighing in half anticipation and half anxiety. “I’m glad you can trust me enough to spill all of this though.”

“Is it weird that i’m not very scared for this?” You rattle the stack of paper in your hand. “I kind of just wanted this to end soon so that i could continue work peacefully.”

“I don’t think it is. You just don’t want any jerk doing bullshit in your work. That’s understandable.” Seungcheol shrugged, assuring you of your feeling. The buzz in your system somewhat helps to his statement. “Although maybe you can treat your team for a drinks? When this all over? They kind of deserved it more.” Seungcheol reaching over across to grab your can of beer before handing it to you. His is already in hand, then offering a cheer. “Godspeed for your meeting tomorrow?”

“Cheers.”

\\

Relief, that’s what you feel at first. The long and winding meeting goes somewhat smoothly and as you had expected, none of them had catch up on what your boss has done. You can’t really grasp what they feel at first but the seething tone and the gradually visible lines of frustration and anger as they turn pages and pages of your so-called report of ‘evidence’ assures you a little bit.

They sent you away at noon, thanking you of what you’ve presented before you make your way back to your team room. Passing by the spacious room of your boss, feet propped up on the desk. Incognizant while doing virtually no work.

You’re immediately swarmed with question as soon as your team saw you enter the room. You quickly urged them to stay calm and make no fuss.

“Are we in trouble?” Jisun whispered lowly, the apparent anxiousness and fear shown in her demeanour.

“We all know who deserve to be in trouble. And none if it is us.” Chan’s statement followed with agreeing nods along the room. Still keeping any noise down between yourself and the team.

“Chan is right. For now, we need to keep everything on the lowkey as we let the board and the people in charge took care of the problem yeah?” You reassure the room, looking over the pairs of eyer gazing back at you with worries.

“I’m sorry, but how are you being so calm about this?” Soyeon lean over her desk, closer to you in curiousness.

“Although it’s never been this big, sadly it’s not even my first rodeo. I work in too many places where people are just jerks and serial bulshitters.” You deadpanned before turning back to the work at hand. Then remembering Seungcheol words last night, you look up around the room to your team.

Your whole life, you were never the sentimental type. Workplace relationship is never the one thing you tries to maintain. Simply because you go through your job as quickly as you need it to be. Or more like, as much as your bills need.

The situation never lets you have the luxury to pursue anything as glimmering as a love life. The acquaintances you made along the way, you are truly thankful even though at times those relationship felt like a transaction.

“Hey, listen. Is everybody free tonight? After work? Let’s get some drinks and bites, it’s on me.”

While Soyeon and Jisun exchange a look, Chan immediately raises his hand in agreement. An excited smile etched in his face, the lip piercing glinting under the light. Within a beat, Jisun and Soyeon agrees to your invitation eventually.

The impromptu celebration was the perfect cover. Your unsuspecting boss might think that you and your team simply letting loose after a long successful project, but in reality, you are celebrating for other things as well. It is also a time to regroup and properly getting to know who you’re working with. Not only the brief conversation between hustling to meet deadline that hurdles you one after another.

So now, sitting comfortably at the outdoor table of the restaurant, you’re ordering the second round of cocktails to accompany the stream of gleeful conversations going on. It’s perfect, you think. If the walls powered by your social battery slowly crumbling, you could slip away easily into the crowds of people.

Unfortunately, your coworker is the friendly type of drunk.

After letting loose of any work burden by the end of the first round. You spend the next thirty minutes trying to deflect any attention turned towards you.

“Okay, am i the only one that is getting interviewed here? None of you obviously need to know how many times i’ve been in relationship.” You laughed as you finished, then taking a sip of your beer. It reminded you of someone.

“Well, we’re basically know everything about each other here. So yeah.” Chan chuckled, Jisun and Soyeon nodded accordingly.

It doesn’t help that they basically introduced themselves as a group regarding everything you possibly needed to know. Maybe sometimes wen’t overboard when Jisun casually mentioned that Chan spent a night in jail once for beating up a pervert in a subway station.

The three has been a close friend since before they even enter the company. Somehow the synergy resulted from their friendship reflected well in each other work, yet still maintaining to keep each other in check as they strive to win a challenge. You clearly admire them. Not just at their reliability, but also the way they can found solace as well as ignited spirit. They’re each other’s person.

“I know we’re kinda not in the mood to talk about work.” Jisun hesitantly begins, earning your attention as well as a curious eyes from her friends. “But what do you think will happen? About you know who.”

“I’m sure you all read the final document i sent last night?” Your coworkers nodded. “I can assure you i’ve mentioned none of any informant, so no repercussion will find its way to you. The next step, well i can only imagine the board will conduct meeting on how to safely remove ‘you know who’. They wouldn’t like to be tricked for their money. Especially in such company like ours. Although, there’s probability that the corruption runs deep. Meaning that a few in the upper management took their hand deep in the same jar as ‘you know who’.”

You had your suspicion. Yet you still took the evidence to the board.

As cliché as it sounds, you can’t stand injustice. If anything happened, you have your evidence after long winded lowkey digging into the financial team, as well as putting together those evidence which obviously isn’t your main specialty. Perhaps because none of your job history has required you to do so.

Or worst case scenario you get fired. And that’s that.

“Wait but doesn’t it mean that there’s a chance that you might be in trouble?” Jisun voiced out. You simply shrug to push the thought aside. Right on time when the waiter had come over to deliver your drinks. You easily urged the increasingly worried bunch to drink.

“Well we can’t never be too sure, can’t we? Even if we have steel evidence. Now let’s just drink!”

The three hesitantly exchanged glances before taking a hesitant sip.

Never in your mind that you’d sacrifice this much. Just to what? Protect a few innocent people who might or might not be in trouble? You shook your head to push the thoughts away.

It might hurt to lose a steady source of income, you thought instead. But you always know one or two kid who needs tutoring, or that one convenience store that always need a part timer. A few moments to cool down before going back to the job hunt.

Disgustingly vicious cycle, but you’re no stranger to that.

You had found out that focusing on your job like a mad man is better than another path down to the edge. At least you’re well enough. But does it make you happy enough?

\\

“How’s the big bad meeting?”

Unsurprisingly, Seungcheol had made a visit to your hidden—apparently not so hidden backyard. He emerges from the parking lot exit, carrying a bundle of white in his arms. A pair of shiny glasses perched at his wavy hair as he’s cladded in a red puffer vest.

“It is neither big nor bad. It went well in case you’re wondering. Or somewhat— i don’t know.” You can’t help to shrug off. Not wanting to acknowledge the apparent silent front the upper management has been doing. It is not helping that your so-called boss is having ‘business meeting’ out of office for a few days. Which you don’t know the detail.

“Why doesn’t it sound very reassuring?” There’s a genuine concern in his tone. Shifting closer to where you stood. You instinctively put out your cigarette, after realizing that the very white bundle is his dog with a pink bow.

“Simply said that i’ve done what i need to do, and still waiting for answer. So yeah, maybe reassurance is a rare sight for me.” You paused, entire focus stolen from the man in front of you and into the fluffy being he held.

“Oh yeah, this is Kkuma. I realized i haven’t introduced you to her. She’s pretty much my daughter.” You recognized the proud smile painted on his face. As well as the soft smile with a gaze you could only describe as loving.

“Well hello Kkuma, aren’t you a cutie.” You make a small wave, bowing down closer to came face to face with the dog.

To your surprise, the little dog makes a surge forward to eventually licked your face. With a slight shock you look up to Seungcheol a moment, then back to the excited dog. You spend no time to gift her friendly scratches and pats.

“I always wanted a pet.” You begin, already pulling away to not overexcite the little fluff. “Princess Kkuma here makes me rethinking an old dream.” Your confession sends you both into a fit of laughter.

“What’s stopping you? This little princess has been a blessing for me ever since she arrives.” It’s such a sight to see a man of Seungcheol stature to hold the little white fluffy creature with such loving and care.

“Well, my whole life it was just me any my mother. And she wasn’t very well for such a long time. So having a pet wasn’t very ideal. And then after she passed, i’m just too occupied with other things, i can’t even think about getting a little friend.” You reasoned; an upturned smile quickly returns back to an unchanged face when Kkuma bark softly to you.

“Y/n i’m so sorry, i- well. You could always knock on my door, if you’d like to meet this princess.” You could feel the slight tension Seungcheol hid behind his words. But you brush it off like always.

Glancing at the time, you eventually excused yourself to Seungcheol. Hands in your pocket as you walk away and back into the building. Climbing sets of stairs back to your desk to wait around. And giving each of your teammate a reassuring smile every time you spot them staring at their screen with familiar dread.

A few days later, the rush of footsteps quickly welcomes you as you enter the front door of the office. Startling both you and the poor receptionist. You were not early admittedly, but you weren’t too late. So you don’t expect such fuss. You look up from your thick bundle of your scarf and quickly recognized your three teammates has swarmed you with a gleeful expression mirroring in each other.

“Have you check your email?”

“It’s done!”

“Ding-dong the witch is dead!”

It’s a continuous series of excited whispering as the three practically corners you back into the wall. Wide eyed and eventually realizing what’s going on, you look around the room and quickly shot an apologetic look to anyone who’s disturbed by the sudden commotion. You hastily ushered the excited bunch to your work room. Then sat them down with shushing motion like you would do with children.

“Okay. Now, with precise and workplace appropriate tone and volume, explain to me what happened.” You begin, eyeing the three as they exchange glances. Unfurling the scarf from your neck and neatly folding them on top of your desk.

Wordlessly, the bunch elected Jisun to lift up the phone in her hand and show you the email they had excitedly asks. It was a blast email, directed to everyone in the company. A short paragraph detailing that your boss, has been removed from the company for theft and misappropriation of project for his own benefit. The removal is effective immediately.

After skimming the short email signed by the CEO. You silently look up with mouth slightly agape in surprised. Then beginning to open your own mailbox to check if it’s not a mere trickery.

Sure to it, there’s the same email but followed by a private message directed only to you. Simply stating that your boss has been taken on a business trip as a trick from the board and CEO to corner him and break the news to him. To minimalize the possibility of commotion in the office. Also to keep things private and and as lowkey as possible. The next step as well as evidence already handed to the legal team to investigate further.

You try to suppress a smile. Bad thing to overjoy over one's misfortune. But the relief you felt feeling like it’s a pure oxygen flowing through your vein. Simply invigorating, as clearly shown between the three in front of you.

As if an invisible chain just came off of them. Jisun, Soyeon, and Chan has a continuous smile etched to their face even until one by one said goodbye to you once the clock hits 5PM. As you begin to clean up and get ready to go home, you can’t help to smile to yourself as well. Quite in disbelief over the amount of happiness you can get over helping people. You team who you barely know for less than six months.

Suddenly your thought flew to the man resides upstairs.

Then, in a blink of an eye your feet have led you there. Knocking the door with a pack of beer Chan has hidden in his secret stash beside the copier. You had promised to repay him back.

“Hey, Y/n.”

Holding up the beer in your hand, Seungcheol show off his smile before stepping aside and letting you in. Unlike the first time that you’re welcome to a fairly kempt place, now there’s a few splayed-out papers in the coffee table surrounding the crumpled-up burger wrappers as well as half eaten fries. Complete with clothes strewn all over the place, you try to maintain a straight face but Seungcheol’s quick senses are faster.

“Wait, let me clean up a little.” Seungcheol rushes to throw away any trash, his quick steps eventually pulling the attention of his dog. Which ended up being too curious and following every step he takes. “Kkuma, please. I almost walk all over you.”

Feeling rather burdensome, you quickly put the beers down and then you try to gain Kkuma’s attention instead to distract her from hindering Seungcheol’s attempt. Still walking around the apartment, Seungcheol mouthing a thank you as he collects a T-shirt on top of the dining table. You had made your spot on the hallway, sitting cross legged on the floor as Kkuma whimpering softly to gain your full attention. Her paw tapping lightly at the end of your soft scarf.

Moments later, Seungcheol re-appear with a grin. Catching his breath in a new set of clothes and a beanie. Presumably hiding a wild tuft of hair. You shot him an impressed look. Eyes widened and a questioning smile over the attire change.

“I sweat too much from running around.” He simply reasoned, joining you on the floor. His eyes trained to his dog. Kkuma already curled up beside you, chewing a strawberry plushie. You had delegated your scarf as a makeshift cushion beside her when Kkuma persist on the colourful garment that’s previously wrapped around your neck.

“I’m sorry though, i don’t mean to barge in tonight. I shouldn’t hav-”

“Shush, you’re bringing me beer.” Seungcheol leaned back across from you. You could see signs of exhaustion in his face and it brought a feeling similar of sadness in you. “Besides, i’ve been in such a rut. I couldn’t find time to clean up at all. So, you being here is kinda helping.”

Offering a can to him, he quickly opens it before clinking it to your already opened ones.

“So, to what do i owe the pleasure?” Seungcheol questions.

“Well now i-” You hesitated for a moment. Feeling the lump of unease slowly coming up, barging in and bringing your good mood when Seungcheol is showing fatigue while having no time to even clean up his apartment. But the look in his eyes. The big and encouraging look that lies atop his somewhat charming eyebags. “Well i have good news about my boss.”

You try to not imagine how Seungcheol’s eyes glow brighter upon your words. Then, to your following silence Seungcheol quickly nods in understanding over your slight hesitation. You continue while explaining that there’s so little that you can really share around. So, he took your good news with him, that’s enough.

“I’m sorry.” Your pardon took his full attention. “I came here without thinking and just barging in like a kid in a candy store.” You smile apologetically.

“No Y/n, you shouldn’t. It’s a weird corporate thing, i truly understand. I think i should be the one to apologize though. You’re here hoping to share the good news with a friend and met with a shipwreck instead.” Seungcheol chuckled, then taking a swig of his beer. The can seemingly light in his grip with the speed he’s taken to down the content.

The silence followed drowns his word to realization. The heaviness of it. The bitter smile Seungcheol tries to hide eventually surfacing. Its appearance further prove the state Seungcheol is in. His initial jokes have lost its meaning when reality kicks in.

“You’re not a shipwreck Seungcheol.” You voiced out softly. “I might be in no help in an artistic or musical side, but hey since we’re ‘friend’ then you can talk to me.” Your emphasis on friend instantly bursting out a smile from Seungcheol. Yours followed suit.

“It’s the usual, really. I get too overwhelmed with work and then can’t really write anything worth a dime. Then, i neglect everything before indulging on unhealthy meal before forcing myself to stay awake until i get any semblance of some melody that’s maybe good enough.” Seungcheol smiles bitterly, crushing the empty can of beer into the wooden floor before fidgeting with his beanie.

You blinked at the sight in front of you. Minding the dog that’s now fallen fast asleep on your side, you make a shift forward to sit right in front of Seungcheol. Now his attention is up to you.

“Give me your hand, both of them.” You hold out your palm to Seungcheol. To your little surprise, he gives in to lay both of his hand on top of yours. Palms up as you shot him a quick thanks before bringing his hand together, yours enclosing around his interlaced fingers. “It’ll be better if you close your eyes.” Seuncheol follows suit. Sighing when he can feel your hands squeezing his before caressing it softly. “My mom used to do this to me out of nowhere. When she became sick at the hospital, she does this whenever i’m about to leave. I like to think that’s her way to make me feel calm.”

Seungcheol eyes flutter open at your recollection. He’s welcomed by the sight of your smiling face down to the joined hands. With all his might, Seungcheol swallowed down the words he’s about to say. He likes to think that his body remembers. Years and years have passed but his body remembers.

How nice it is to be held by you.

“Your mother sounds great.” Seungcheol find himself whispers. Quickly replied by your chuckle before you let go of his hand and giving it one last pat. Seungcheol tries to hold back the whine in his throat.

Thankfully you didn’t make change on your proximity.

“Well she’s like most mothers. All great until she thinks their child is causing trouble. Which is probably most of the time for her.” You paused, a whisper of smile grazing your face. As it’s been a long time since you talk about your mother. The sudden topic of reminiscence jogs a happy memory in your mind. “Although i do understand her. It’s never been easy to raise a child alone, right?”

“Not that i have a child, but i think so.” Seungcheol would like to know more about your story, but for now he’s willing to stay where he’s at. Straying off of any possible uncomfortable topic.

You squint your eyes playfully at Seungcheol. Taking note of how the lines in his face has visibly soften. You like to think he’s loosened up due to the alcohol in his bloodstream. But you might never know.

“How could you disregard Kkuma like that. She’s right there.”

Seungcheol covers his mouth to stop himself to burst out laughing. Doesn’t wanna disturb his dog snoozing nearby, his heart clenched at the sight of your scarf. You smile at the way the outer corner of his eyes wrinkle endearingly and the dimple deepened. But he might never know.

\\

It is safe to say that work has been smooth sailing as of late. Although there’s small commotion outside of your boss’ office, when the legal team is doing a sweep of any document in there. Now, the room remained locked with its lights off. Hiding all the remnants of strewn papers and anything that’s deemed unimportant.

It sparks a happiness when you observe how your team work happily day by day. Unlike the first time you saw them, how they reminded you of a litter of abandoned kitten.

Sure, you and your team need to adjust to your new team manager, but the transition has been a trouble-free one. And you thanked your team for the full cooperation. Helping you when bumped into any obstacle regarding all the old files or project.

The day ended when your team manager thanked you and your team for the recent successful pitch on an ad campaign. Grinning the moment your team manager left, Chan sets off a howling cheer with the rest in tow.

“So, anyone up for a celebration?” You voiced out the idea, which sadly met with uneasy exchange of glances.

“I have to take a raincheck on that. I got a date waiting for me at the italian restaurant nearby.” Chan quickly shoulders on his bag and make a quick exit. Probably trying to avoid his friends teasing.

“We’re so sorry Y/n we got a pre-ordered tickets for a movie. But you’re welcome to join in? I’m sure there’s still available ticket.” Jisun points to herself and Soyeon, eyes all expectants.

But you noticed the small underlying hesitancy in both. You could easily interpret it, you weren’t born yesterday.

“Ahh, no i wouldn’t want to impose on your date.” You said that with a wink. Hoping to alleviate any awkwardness as your words send the two into a fit of giggle.

Quickly saying goodbye, they left you to your own device. The opened window on your desktop is just showing mostly planning for new project meeting. You feel like you’re owed to have a night off. The sun is barely setting, you’re contemplating to pay Seungcheol another surprise visit.

And then you did.

As a repayment for taking Chan’s stock of refreshment, you had stocked the mini fridge used by your team. Beers, gatorade, or even the mango yoghurt Jisun always have for dessert. You took enough beer and then sets off upstairs. Bidding goodbye to any employee still hanging around to finish a deadline or just simply wasting time until the night falls.

With your shirt already unbuttoned at two top, and jacket slung on your arm, you try you best to look as relaxed as possible.

It’s weird that nowadays, these habits came to you like it’s deserved. Visiting Seungcheol always resulting in a time spent inside a bubble of coziness. Where you could let down all guards and freely let yourself laughs as he makes a cute mistake when he’s trying to brag about his cooking skill. Or when Kkuma refuses to listen to him and Seungcheol proudly calling it a talent.

A chuckle escaped your lips, standing in front of the familiar door as you wait for the resident to opens it and welcomes you in. You almost looking forward to seeing the messy tuft of hair, sometimes falls down into his long lashes but never quite obstructing his view as you noticed that Seungcheol has this habit to runs his fingers to his hair as an attempt to keep it in place.

Eventually you hear the doorknob clicking open. Looking up, the sight welcomes you are far from what you had expected. Not even in million years as a pair of bright brown eyes knock the air out of your lungs completely.

The figure behind the door was not Seungcheol. But it wasn’t a stranger. Yet not an acquaintance either. Just another person who had made appearance in your thought. Glued to an idea, imagination of all the ‘what could’ and ‘what if’.

You had never been shy to admit that your mother raises you as an unwed single mother. People had never been nosy enough to seek out why, or where your father has been. It seems like it’s clear in your demeanor that you’re not even gonna acknowledge him in your life.

People could assume, but you and your mother knew the truth. Of your father’s whereabout and how his life going. Possibly thousand miles away from the life he left behind, and into the one he actually lived with a new family.

One of them you saw today.

“Y/n?” The stranger muttered. The proximity allowing you to hear it loud and clear.

You feel like you can’t breathe, yet your bloodstream flow quicker that waterfalls. The can of beer already drops to the floor. As you took a stumbling step back, your confounding mind tries to plan a way to escape the present situation.

Pivoting on an unsure foot, you almost stumble before making your way to the stairs. Hands flew to make it to the handle, but there’s faster ones giving you balance. The familiar dark pool of brown eyes came to your sight.

“S- seungcheol.” The words barely made it out of your lips, but the important ones never.

No explanation of why you’re fleeing from his opened front door while clearly in distress. Well, it’s not that you have extensive explanation as of why your father’s son suddenly made an appearance into your life. So you could only remain silent as your shaking arms held tight by Seungcheol.

Steadying Kkuma in his other hand, Seungcheol gaze back to his opened front door. Frowning at the sight of the frozen figure, pale as his eyes fixed to the back of your neck as if he’s seen a ghost. Bright brown eyes not even looking at the questioning glare from Seungcheol. “Hansol?”

With this you shook your arms free of Seungcheol’s hold and then making your way down the stairs and out of the building. Disregarding the faint call from Seungcheol in your rush.

\\

|| next chapter

fun fact, the first excerpts written for this fic was in 2017

[baek-at-it-again95]

We Know

Pairings: park seonghwa x fem reader x choi san

genres/content: action, agent au, mafia au? rivalry, leader bang chan, angry seonghwa, y/n is san's weakness lol

Warnings: profanity, violence, weapons, suggestive content!! please take care of yourselves <3

A/N: I am nervous about this one y'all 😳 I've never written something like this before, but it ended up being so fun! This is for my friends, @milfks and L, who had these wonderful ideas! Love you two lots <3

Synopsis: Tonight's mission is in your hands, and you're eager to prove that you're capable of handling it on your own. Unfortunately, your plans are interrupted a bit sooner than you expected.

***

"I've got eyes on him," you mumble, pretending to fix your diamond earring as you adjust your earpiece. Surveying from the platform of the mansion's grand staircase, your eyes follow a man in a black suit as he turns the corner and disappears down a far hallway.

Chan's sigh rings in your earpiece. "Be careful."

"I can handle myself. Trust me."

"I trust you, Y/N. You know that. It's everyone else that I don't trust. It's your first time unaccompanied," Chan says.

"Like I said, I can handle it. Besides, the boys are always out by themselves and they're just fine." If you could see Chan right now, you know he'd be pinching the bridge of his nose out of stress, holding back from giving you a lecture on why your situation is different from theirs. You know his concern is out of love, and he would blame himself if anything were ever to happen to you. But this is your chance to prove yourself. Tonight, you'll be participating in an auction to get your hands on the Cromer, a powerful artifact that can control time. It's been rumored that ATEEZ has their sights set on it as well, so Chan had you do as much research on them as possible. Unfortunately for you, they're quite good at covering their tracks and keeping their identities under wraps. You know only a few of their names and faces, so you'll need to be extra careful about your approach to this. 

The auction will begin in about an hour, and you'd rather not hear a lecture from Chan. "I'm going in," you whisper. Your black dress flatters your figure perfectly, and you're excited to show it off tonight. With a deep breath, you make your way down the staircase, your heels silent on the expensive red carpet.

Clusters of people stand together around the large space, sipping champagne and chatting amongst themselves. Many wives have separated into groups away from their husbands, who go on and on about their latest business ventures and investments. Understandable—how boring. You greet some people as you go, your charming smile in effect as their eyes land on you. One woman compliments your dress as you pass by, and you enthusiastically return her compliment, telling her that her own dress brings out her eyes. She blushes and tells you it's custom made, which basically means "my dress is worth twice as much as the average person's monthly paycheck." 

You continue to weave through the crowds and admittedly get a bit distracted, still thinking about the woman's compliment. As you turn into the hallway you witnessed your target disappear into, you bump straight into an oncoming person. A strong arm wraps around your waist before you can lose balance on your high heels. 

"Woah there, doll. Straying too far, are we?" A tall man with dark hair looks down at you, his eyebrows raised.

Park Seonghwa. Just the man you were looking for. 

"My apologies sir," you say quietly, feigning innocence and avoiding his eyes. His arm leaves your waist after steadying you. "I was wandering in hopes of finding a vacant room to lie down...I'm afraid I've had a bit too many drinks too early in the night." You stumble for dramatic effect, hoping he'll eat up your lies. "I have to sober up before the auction," you say, shaking your head. "Daddy will throw a fit if I spend all his money tonight."

The man looks amused. "Yeah? Better be careful, princess."

"I can handle myself," you say for the second time tonight, stepping closer to trace the pads of your manicured fingers over the fabric on his chest. He tilts your chin up gently, and you meet his intense gaze. He's breathtaking. Suddenly, you have an idea that seems much more fun than your previous plans.

Sorry Chan, you think as you press yourself against Seonghwa.

***

You didn't find anything of importance on Seonghwa's person, but you did manage to slip a tracking device into his suit pocket. Chan should be able to access his location any minute now.

You enter the auction room fifteen minutes before the event is scheduled to start, scanning the tables for your seat. It's dimly lit, a majority of the lighting coming from a screen behind the stage. You don't see Seonghwa seated anywhere yet.

"And what are the starting bids on you, lovely?" a low voice asks, breath tickling your ear. You turn to look at the owner of the voice, his strong facial features almost as striking as his neatly-styled red hair. He's practically undressing you with his eyes, and you can't say you hate it.

"Whatever you've got to offer, pretty boy," you reply sweetly. He smirks, pleased with himself as one of his hands finds your waist.

"My friend says you're not as innocent as you look."

"Pardon?" you ask. The man turns you around, your back against his broad chest as his free hand reaches up to your ear. Before you know it, your earpiece is on the ground in front of you, crushed beneath a polished designer shoe. Looking up, you see that the shoe belongs to none other than Park Seonghwa. Of course they're working together.

You freeze as something cold presses to the exposed small of your back. 

Fuck.

"One wrong move and you're done for, princess," the man with red hair says calmly, lowering himself back down to your ear. "Try to cause a scene and innocent people will pay the price."

You take a deep breath before nodding your head in submission. You slowly turn back around and watch as he returns his gun to his shoulder holster, his expensive blazer completely concealing it. No one around you sees the ordeal, too distracted and eager to spend their money. The man then puts his arm around your shoulders, leading you out of the auction room. Seonghwa follows close behind, making sure you aren't able to slip away. You have no idea if he is armed at this point in time.

You're led into a large meeting room at the very end of the upstairs corridor, the bright moonlight seeping through the open balcony doors and illuminating the glossy wooden table at the center of the room. You catch a glimpse of the pretty garden below the balcony before the man guiding you throws you to the floor. You can feel the bruises forming on your knees instantly.

You don't dare fight back yet—your training in hand-to-hand combat doesn't do shit when your opponents are armed with guns, of course. You would attempt it if he were alone, but with Seonghwa present and potentially armed, you'd rather feel the situation out. 

God, Chan will never let you out onto the field again. He's probably losing his mind now that you've lost contact with each other. Not to mention the fact that you were busted before you even had a chance to get what you came here for. The auction is going to start any minute, and now you're certain there are other ATEEZ members in the auction room that are ready to claim the Cromer instead of you.

You're angry with yourself for not being more prepared with your own weapon, but your favorite handgun unfortunately didn't fit under your dress of choice. You sigh to yourself. At least you look good in it. 

"Give it up, sweetheart. We know what's going on here," the man with red hair says. Seonghwa locks the door behind him before speaking.

"I saw your wolf tattoo, and I've seen only one other just like it. You're working with Bang Chan," he states, is emotions unreadable. 

No. You had forgotten to conceal your waist tattoo since your dress fully covers it. You hadn't expected to completely remove your dress tonight. Rookie mistake. You should expect everything. 

"All this over a tattoo?" You eye him, downplaying the situation.

"How brave of you to interfere with our operation by yourself," the other man comments, ignoring your previous sentence. "No back up here to save you, huh?" 

"Oh, you don't really believe she's here alone, do you, San?" Seonghwa asks. Choi San. You recognize that name. Seonghwa comes over to you, a completely different aura surrounding him now. He's intimidating, gripping your chin with much more force than he had earlier. "Be a good girl and tell us where your friends are, yeah? Don't make things difficult." A chill runs down your spine at his threat. 

"I'm not here with anyone," you state. It's the truth. Even though Chan had insisted he wait in his car nearby, you convinced him to stay and monitor operations from your base. If you don't make contact within the next hour or two, he'll know something is wrong and follow Seonghwa's location.

"Wrong answer, princess." He grips your hair harshly and you wince. "I have a hard time believing that they would put you in a situation like this without back up. Where are they?"

It's sweet of him to underestimate you, honestly. You got yourself into this situation, and you're sure as hell going to get yourself out. You're already halfway done formulating your escape plan. "I said they're not here," you answer again. He lets go of your hair with a hiss.

"It would pain me to ruin such a pretty face...I think we'll let the boss deal with you." 

The boss? Chan told you that no one knows the leader of ATEEZ—it's safe to assume that anyone who's seen him hasn't lived to tell the tale. You're not sure if he'll have any mercy at all to offer you. But maybe these two still have some in them.

"No, please!" you plead, your fists balled up as they rest on your thighs. "If I tell you where they are, will you go easy on me?" You let your head hang low, looking at the floor. San lowers himself in front of you and you find his eyes. You blink, letting a few tears slip down your cheeks. 

"Sure, doll face. We will." You look away from him to briefly meet eyes with Seonghwa. He still stands at full height, arms crossed as he looks down at you. Perhaps it's your tears making your vision blurry, but you swear his gaze softens at the sight of you. You look back to San, sniffling.

"You promise?"

Now, never ever would someone in their right mind trust a promise from someone like them. But you're not planning on following through with your own side of the promise, either. Two can play at this game. You would never jeopardize the safety of SKZ...you told Chan you could handle yourself and you meant it.

"Promise," San says. He's truly something else, radiating such strong and convincing charm. You would fall for his promise in a heartbeat if you didn't know who he really was.

As you slowly rise from your knees, San stands with you. "They made me do it," you confess, more tears spilling from your eyes and taking your favorite mascara with them. "They said they would kill me if I didn't," you whisper, looking away. 

"It's okay, doll," San says, coming closer to comfort you. You flinch before he touches you. "Just tell us where they are, okay? We'll help you." You bury yourself in his chest, your frame shaking in his arms as you cry quietly.

Your best performance yet, if you say so yourself.

After a long minute in his embrace, you begin to pull away. In the process, you grab the gun out of San's shoulder holster and hold the barrel to the center of his chest. He curses under his breath, raising his arms in defeat. You slowly step backwards, turning your aim to Seonghwa as a warning not to try anything, and then returning your aim to San. Seonghwa makes no attempt to grab for anything, so now you know for a fact that he is unarmed.

"I told you the first time that there's no one here with me." You smile. "But it's nice to discover that you both have a heart." 

"Tell Chan we said hi," Seonghwa replies, irritated. 

"Of course, it would be rude of me not to. It's truly been a pleasure, boys." You give Seonghwa a wink. "We'll meet again, right? Maybe you can introduce me to your boss next time."

You've backed up far enough to step onto the balcony, assessing the situation above and below. The garden below is deserted now that the auction has started, but it's a far drop to the ground. There is another balcony above you, but it seems a bit too high for you to escape to. You're trapped, so you're going to have to pull this off fast to avoid getting hurt. 

All you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat as you throw the gun over the railing into the garden. If you slip up, they could get their hands on it again, and you cannot let that happen. You'll fight the real way if you must.

As soon as it leaves your hands, the men launch at you. You quickly dodge them, ducking under San's punch and managing to sweep Seonghwa's leg, knocking him to the ground. Now that they're both on the balcony, you run back inside, shutting the french doors and locking them behind you. You know it will barely do anything to set them back—they could easily break them down if they wanted to. Through the glass, you watch as San pulls Seonghwa off the ground and looks at you. He doesn't make an immediate effort to get inside.

Is he letting you go? 

You shouldn't wait around any longer to find out. You blow him a kiss before taking your exit out into the main hall. 

But after stepping out, you see why they let you go...

[k-hotchoisan]

Congrats on 500! I’m requesting number 5 😁🫶🏻

5. Get spanked by San or Dom Hongjoong?

wE’RE ALMOST TO THE END MY ANGEL and obviously how could I NOT write spanking if it’s not Choi San and his love for asses 🍑

ENJOY 🩷🌶️

Bad kitties need to be punished and San knows just the way to do it

Warnings: smut, spanking kink, suggestive, cat hybrid!Reader, degradation & punishment, impact play

Tag list: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies

San has kept cats. He has a pet cat back home. But when finds out your actual form, he’s rendered speechless—when he wakes up one day , feeling something soft curl around his leg and he spots a pair of fluffy cat ears twitch under the covers, San pulls back the sheets frantically and he stares at you in your hybrid feline form. Your eyes slowly open as you rub your eyes, your slits turning circular when you spot the shocked male before you.

He likes the way you always curl around him, pawing at his lap, and some times just lying your head there while he does his work. Despite the fact that you’re part human, sometimes you just grow mischievous, enjoying poking fun at your human partner, even teasing him by grinding against his crotch when you’re both comfortably cuddling, before you leave him completely high and dry. San tolerates it at first, but it’s starting to drive him insane at the way you’re constantly teasing him like that, especially when you look at him with those fuckin feline eyes.

The final straw was when you had you head nuzzled on San’s lap as usual, with San stroking your hair, and sometimes he massages your ears, and you let out soft purrs, pressing your head into his bare thighs. You stick your tongue out, giving kitten licks, and you feel San squirm slightly in his seat as you travel dangerously close to his crotch.

“Kitty”, he calls endearingly, despite the warning behind the soft tone. You ignore him, giving his thighs a couple more licks as San shifts beneath you, and you don’t miss the way you see his cock pressing against the fabric of his pants. You wonder how much you should push him.

It turns out, not much. That’s mostly because when you bare your small fangs and bite down onto his inner thigh, he jolts with a low groan, and the hand on your ears grip your hair instead, as he tugs your head up to face him.

“I think I’ve been patient enough, kitty”, he mutters, pitch low enough to send electricity down your spine from the anticipation. You only stare back with a small smile.

“Have you?” You ask, your tail trailing across his jaw. San stares down at you, and you see something flash across his eyes, something that makes you want to bolt.

But for once, he’s faster, his muscled arm curled around your waist, holding you down and essentially trapping you. You claw at his arm, almost flailing and his free arm grabs both your wrist, pinning them before you. You severely underestimate his strength, because he pulls you onto his lap as if you’re a rag doll.

You mewl, your tail flailing, as you feel your shorts being tugged off you, only your bare ass out with your pretty panties which is slowly starting to soak.

“Bad kittens need to be punished”, San hums, his palm grazing over your soft and supple flesh. Your tail instinctively coils around his arm.

San has always prided himself as an ass man, and deep inside, he’s always wanted a piece of yours, but you were always teasing him, and he finally snapped. Among all of the times he’s been teased by you—the lap grinding, your kitten licks, the worst was by far whenever he sees you stretch. You always had your back arched, your tail fully erected, and your ass fully out, especially right when he walks into the room. He knows you do it on purpose, because when you stare at him, you accompany your alluring stare with a smirk.

But now, he has you trapped in his arms, right where he wants you.

He doesn’t give you a warning before his hand lands on your ass, the sound of the slap louder than your squeal. Your eyes are blown wide open this time, not from the sting, but from the shock.

And for some fuck ass reason, it’s starting to make you wet.

“How many times did you do that? Teasing, licking, biting. What else is there?” You hear San’s voice above you, feigning being lost in thought.

When he doesn’t get an answer, the sound of your ass being slapped echoes in your shared apartment, and you hiss, jolting forward as San shifts you back into position.

“Kitten, tell me, what else did you do?”

You barely form the thoughts to even answer him. But you try, “grinding?”

Another slap. Your mind is starting to melt as the sting begins to make you leak more.

“You’re partially right. But it’s the worst when you stretch. Bad kitty, having your ass up in the air whenever I walk in. You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?”

Fuck. You really did underestimate him. You feel his hard cock pressed against your hip. The tip of his shorts is starting to get wet.

You jolt when his palm meets your skin, this time a moan leaving your lips as you shudder. San cocks an eyebrow. His eyes cast down at the growing dark patch on your panties and scoffs.

“Just how dirty is my kitty? Getting off being punished like this?” He lands another one, but lingers to grab a fistful of your ass, groaning at how your ass spills between this fingers. San cannot keep his eyes off at the way it jiggles whenever he lands his palm on it, and it’s driving him up the wall.

He rubs your ass gently, admiring at how the pink tint is gradually flooding your cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry”, you manage to choke out, fighting against the pleasure pulsing in your gradually wet cunt.

San doesn’t answer you, but he yanks your panties off, tossing it somewhere on the couch, you don’t know. You gasp at the cold breeze tickling your bare cunt now. He soaks two fingers in his mouth, and soon you jolt from the feeling of two digits rubbing against your clit.

“S-Sannie”, you mewl, struggling against his grip. He doesn’t relent, or rather, his grip only tightens. “P-please!”

“Count your spankings. One for every way you’ve teased me. We’ll start over from one if you don’t do it right. Is that clear, kitten?”

You whine. Another smack.

“Y-yes”, you spit, this time the sensitivity at whole another notch now that your bare cunt is exposed.

“Good kitty.”

San raises his hand.

Smack.

“One”, you begin, biting the inner of your cheek.

Smack.

“Two…” you trail, once you’re able to relax your hips.

Smack.

For some reason, the third smack had your eyes rolled back. You feel more slick leak, now your inner thighs are so dirty with your juices. It’s beginning to stain San’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to heed attention to it.

“Kitty”, San coos, and another smack echoes through the apartment. “We’re starting over.”

You’re beginning to sob, from how sensitive your ass is getting from all the spanking, and the more he does it, the more you feel your mind about break from good it feels. Your ears are pointed forward.

Smack.

“One.”

Smack.

“T-two.”

Smack.

“Three”, you whimper, trying to lick the drool that pooled at the corner of your lips.

Smack.

“F-four”, You shift uncomfortably, wanting some sort of friction on your clit. It’s getting too much.

Smack.

“F-five”, you sob, your thighs contracting as more slick oozes out of your neglected pussy. You are so unbelievably drenched that your mind has completely gone hazy, and you don’t register the way San is stroking your ass to relive some of the numbness of the sting.

San releases your wrists, and has you sit on his lap while presses gentle kisses on your temple, showering you with praises.

“That’s my good kitty. You took them so well. Did I hurt you too much?” He asks, combing your hair from your face before he wipes the tear stain from your cheeks. Your ears twitch.

You shake your head. If he did, you’d probably stop him, and he would have definitely stopped. A soft smile spreads across your partner’s lips as he cups your cheeks, and you feel all ounces of rationality slip out of your mind when his lips are on yours, and your tail coils around his arm by instinct, your ears completely relaxing in his touch.

You push him back when your lips part from his, and you’re sitting directly on his stiff erection. His shorts are so stained from the mixture of his precum and your dirty juices.

“Hit me more when you’re fucking me stupid, please”, you mutter as you grind softy against his hips, San’s groans filling your sensitive ears.

His fingers press against your hips and his tongue peeks at the corner of his lips.

“Naughty kitty.”

[eternallytxt]

Pretty (wo)Man TEASER

Warnings and Themes: cursing, alcohol consumption, fluff, comedy, some angst, childhood best friends to lovers, rich!reader, socialite!reader, fake dating trope

Words: projected to be 7k ish

Playlist: Trust Fund Baby - Tomorrow x Together, Perfume - NCT DOJAEJUNG, Those Eyes - New West, Diamonds + And Pearls - DPR LIVE, Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse, Don't Let Me Go - Cigarettes After Sex

Summary: Soobin and (Y/N) have been friends since kindergarten. Yes. (Y/N) (L/N), the future inheritor to one of the biggest luxury fashion brands in the world, and Choi Soobin - just Soobin. Now, "just Soobin" is going to be posing as (Y/N)'s fake boyfriend for a celebrity wedding. But first, he needs to look the part (courtesy of his best friend and her daddy's money, of course).

A/N: would you guys believe me if I said I've had this concept in the drafts since I was 15? (yes because I have a wip graveyard)

Anyway, I love cheesy 2000s rom-coms (yes I KNOW Pretty Woman is a 90s movie), so I wanted to write one, and Soobin is very much rom-com male lead coded. Hope you enjoy it!

She’s been a part of my life since I was six.

I remember I was playing in a sand pit at my neighborhood park. The sand was wet, courtesy of the rain the day prior, so it was perfect for packing together sturdy sand castles. I didn’t have to worry about sharing the space since the park happened to be empty. The whole sandbox was my metaphorical oyster. My mom was on a nearby bench, reading her book, and my older sister and brother were playing on the swings. 

I was used to playing by myself growing up. Don't get me wrong! I actually enjoyed being by myself most of the time. I was more of the read-comic-books-alone-at-home type. Plus, I had a huge imagination, so I could entertain myself in a doorless, windowless, toyless room for hours on end.

I had just begun digging a moat for the sand castle (my best one ever, in my humble opinion) when a girl about my age appeared in front of me with her hands clasped behind her back. “I really like your sand castle,” she had said, a sweet grin pushing up rosy cheeks.

The girl looked way too clean for a kid, especially one playing at a muddy old park. Her hair was glossy without a single strand out of place and tied up neatly, topped with a blush pink bow. The sparkly dress she wore was the same color, and so were the flats that adorned her feet. She reminded me a little of my sister when we took our family photos last year.

I frowned a little, then shrugged before continuing to dig. “Isth ok, I guess.” 

You see, I had just lost not one, but both of my front teeth, so I talked with a slight lisp.

 Barely a moment passed when the girl plopped down right next to me, getting sand all over her dress. I stared at her wide-eyed and she stared right back at me with a grin, now showing off her missing two front teeth.

“My name is (Y/N)! Can I play wif you?” I was confused as to why such a princess-ey-looking girl wanted to play in the dirty sand. All my sister wanted to do was play with her Barbies, nowhere near dirt. But I was a pretty chill kid, so I shrugged my scrawny shoulders again and replied, “Sure. My name is Soobin.”

We played for what seemed like forever in that sandbox. At one point, I noticed an equally polished-looking man in a suit speaking to my mom on the bench. (Y/N) told me that that was her  “assistant, Seunghyun.” I didn't know what that meant at the time. Neither of us knew what it meant that (Y/N) was an heiress, either, but it was apparently very important.

After that day at the park, my mom organized play dates with (Y/N) through Seunghyun, and she soon became my best friend. For the most part, I went over to her extremely large house. I met her mom and dad, who both dressed a lot fancier than my mom and dad.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was the heiress to the multibillion dollar fashion conglomerate, CROWN. They weren't clothes that my family could afford at all, but people that were famous and extremely wealthy could wear once and throw away. Of course, our five and six-year-old minds didn't really understand just how important that was, nor did we really care. All we really cared about was playing and doing things best friends did together.

19 years passed (yes, nineteen) and our friendship never faltered. We both watched each other go through different phases (including my secret crush on her when I was 15, but we don’t need to talk about that). We had fights of course – never anything too serious, but they still happened. They typically always ended with me going to reconcile almost immediately after, but (Y/N) beating me to it with a phone call, wailing and crying about how much she missed me already. She was secretly very sensitive. 

As I grew older, I began to have this nagging feeling that (Y/N)’s parents didn't approve of our friendship. After all, she was extremely rich and important. I was just….Choi Soobin. Normal, not rich Choi Soobin. (Y/N), of course, knew of my anxieties, and was always quick to reassure me. “Soobin, we've been best friends since we were kids. Do you really think that I care if my parents don't like you? I like you, and that's all that matters!”

I was now 25 and (Y/N) was soon to be turning 24. I’ve since moved out of my family's apartment and into my own shortly after college. (Y/N) had also moved out, but into an expensive penthouse. The major difference was that I made just enough for rent and the bills, while (Y/N)’s penthouse was covered by her parents. She tried to beg for something smaller (and further away), but “the heir to a multibillion-dollar business isn’t going to live in a little shanty”, so that was the end of that argument. Instead, she became my non-roomate roommate. Weekends I wasn’t caught up with overtime work and (Y/N) with a photoshoot or party were spent on my couch with a popcorn bucket, fast food, and whatever shows we were feeling that day.

That's where I was today, sitting in my tiny Seoul apartment with (Y/N), watching the first episode of a new slice-of-life anime on Netflix. My head was in (Y/N)’s lap, fingers absentmindedly playing with freshly washed hair as my abnormally long legs hung over the other arm of the tiny two-seater. A perfectly normal way for best friends to hang out.

Her ministrations suddenly came to a halt. “Hey, Soob?”

I looked up and saw (Y/N)’s glowing colors flickering across her features, her eyes still glued to the TV screen.  “What's up?” 

She finally looked down at me and, when she saw my eyes on her, a small grin grew on her face.

“My cousin is getting married and I'm in the wedding party, so I need a date. You wanna pretend to be my boyfriend?”

Pause…WHAT?

coming soon

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Husband!Choi Seungcheol x F!Reader TW : children ; adultry ; divorce ; angst ; Word Count : 3.1k

The breakfast table was full of life as your daughters sat around it, laughing, joking, teasing each other playfully as you and your husband watched on in adoration. Neither of them knew how hard it was for you to continue smiling, the continue playing the role in this act that you had called your life. Of course, you loved them, you adored them, you devoted your life to them from the second they were born… But the man who sat at the other end of the table, wearing the same smile as you, the man that you had vowed to devote your life to… You didn’t love him, not anymore, not the way you used to, you just couldn’t. 

The house was empty now, at least it felt that way once your girls left for school. Even with Cheol sitting across from you at the table, it just felt empty, and it had been feeling that way for the last two years now. “I can’t keep doing this… It’s not fair to them, it’s not fair to me.” You murmured, your fingers tugging at your rings to slip them off, but his hand immediately shot across the table to stop you. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this… It was a mistake, I know it was… I’ve been regretting it and I always will, but I haven’t done it since. I love you, Y/N… Only you. I love our family, our girls…” His thumb brushed along the diamond facet that adorned the ring that he had placed on your finger almost ten years ago now. “I know that you’ll never forgive me… And I don’t ever expect you to, but I don’t want to throw this away. Even if not for us… For the girls…” 

The girls, who had been your only reason for staying the extra two years anyway, but you couldn’t keep pretending, it was getting harder and harder with each passing day. “I can’t even look at you… Not the way that I used to…” You choked out, sliding your hand out from underneath his. “Every time I see your face, when I wake up next to you… All I can see is… That day… I can’t forget it, and I can’t forgive you…” You took a shaky breath, exhaling it in a soft sob. “I can’t keep pretending to live every single day like nothing is wrong. I can’t trust you… It’s unbearable… I don’t even want to look at you.” 

His hands slid back across the table as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. “I… I’m sorry…” He whimpered, almost folding into himself as he slumped forward. “Y-You’re my wife… my everything… I don’t want to live without you, without our girls…” His bottom lip trembled as stared at the silver band that wrapped around his own finger, engraved with both of your initials. “I love you… you know that…” 

You shuddered at the proclamation, three words that used to have your heart fluttering whenever you heard him say it, but now it only hurt you. You just couldn’t believe him. “Please don’t say that. Don’t tell me you love me.” You sighed, shaking your head before letting it drop down into your hands. “I think it would be best if… if we just got a d-“

His eyes widened as his head whipped up at you. “Don’t say the D word… don’t say that. We don’t need that.” He whispered it as if just the beginning letter of the word were nothing but filth. “What would it do to the girls? Think about them…” 

You groaned loudly, tired of it, the constant back and forth and then the settling that you’d do when your daughters were brought up. “Stop using them against me, Cheol!” You frustratedly sighed, running your hands through your already tousled hair. “I’m sure they’ll understand enough, at least until they’re older and I can tell them the real reason.” 

“The real reason?” He posed, leaning back in his chair, his shoulders slumping as his eyes stared down at his hands folded in his lap. “My secretary… she was nothing to me. It was… It was a slip up, a mistake. It just… It happened, and I don’t… I don’t want the girls to know about that. I want them to think that we loved each other, we just… we couldn’t be together anymore…” 

“That excuse will only create more questions.” You mumbled, leaning back in your chair just as he was. “They have the right to know the truth about you, about what you did to me, how you ruined this family.” You let out a huff, but when you inhaled, it was like a new breath of fresh air. It had been so hard to hold that in for so long, and now you finally got it off your chest. “I won’t tell them now though, not yet, and it’s not for you, it’s for them, to protect their innocence.” 

“Please, just… Just one chance.” The plea fell from his lips in a single breath, one lost attempt to salvage his marriage, his family, but it was already gone, he just needed to come to terms with it, much like you had to when you had caught him in the act. “I-I… I fired her after you caught us… I haven’t even spoken to her since that day. I don’t want anyone but you. I haven’t been with anyone that isn’t you in two years… I swear on everything, it’s the truth.” 

Your lips were drawn in, and the hardest part was that you knew he was being honest, you knew that ever since that day, he had been nothing but faithful… But there was doubt lingering in your mind and in your heart about just how faithful he’d stay. “That memory… What I saw… It will always be with me. I can’t forget that…” The lump in your throat was painfully swallowed down as you slowly slid the rings off your finger and placed them on the center of the table. “I can’t… The trust… It’s not there anymore. I love you, but not the way I used to. I simply love you because you’re the father of my children, but nothing more than that. I want you to be happy, I want you to be healthy, I want you to be safe… But I don’t want to be with you, not anymore.” 

Those words were the hardest to get out because that was the end, it was the end of everything, the end of all the years you had put into being with him, all the times you shared together, all of the family vacations, lazy weekend mornings walking out of bed and seeing him in the kitchen attempting to make breakfast. It was the end of family holidays where the four of you were together and happy… Although the end had come two years ago, and even though he was still there, it was simply prolonging what you knew had to be done. 

It had been over the moment you stepped into his office, a bag of carry out in your hands, a familiar flutter in your stomach whenever you thought about seeing him. You were going to talk to him about the upcoming trip that he, you, and the kids would take while they were on spring break, a trip that you were looking forward to surprising the girls with. You never thought that you’d find him and his secretary caught in the most intimate of acts in his office. You remembered the way your heart sank, your stomach dropping just as fast as the bag of food you had been carrying. You didn’t even care that the contents of the bag had spilled out across the freshly steam cleaned carpets, you had lost all sense of your appetite anyway. That had been the end, and no amount of apologies or gifts, no amount of I love you’s or notes written neatly in apology cards would ever make up for the pain and the heartache he had caused you that day. It was over. 

“Mr. Joshua is taking us to Disney during summer vacation, did mom tell you that?” Hyeri looked up at Cheol as he stood at the checkout line at the store. He both loved and hated visitation weekends. He missed his girls dearly during the week, and every single evening spent alone was just another reminder that he had ruined everything because of his selfishness and his carelessness. He loved when Hyeri and Yuri would be dropped off at his place, and he’d relish in the hugs they’d give him, he’d listen intently to the stories they’d tell him about how school went that week and all the things they were learning. But he hated hearing about Mr. Joshua, the man in your life that had taken his place, the man that was soon to be your husband and the step-father of his girls. “He even said he’s gonna get us into the castle. Yuri is super excited!” 

It took everything for him to not be upset about it, only because he didn’t want the girls to be upset with him for not being excited with them. Surely they didn’t understand that this Mr. Joshua character was a threat to Cheol and he hated even the utterance of his name. “That’s… That’s wonderful, honey. I’m sure that you and your sister will have a great time.” He rustled her hair before grabbing the bags of groceries off the ledge of the checkout counter before grabbing both his daughters hands and walking to the car. “So… Where do you think we should go this summer? We can go to the beach or to a really cool amusement park… What do you think?” 

No, he wasn’t trying to one up your new fiance, he was simply trying to figure out something fun to do with his children during their summer vacation. It’s not like he felt like he was losing his daughters to some guy that he only met a couple times during their birthday parties. Nope. “Well, Mr. Josh said that there’s a beach there too. It’s in like… California or something.” Yuri said, climbing into the backseat and clicking her seatbelt before pulling out her phone, just another thing that your soon to be husband had gifted his daughters with. 

“California? Like… In America California?” Cheol stammered out, pausing at the back of the car as he piled the groceries in the trunk. “Your mother never told me about that… When… When was she going to tell me?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it, and while he was happy that his daughters were so excited for the trip, he couldn’t help but be agitated about the obscurity of all the details and how much he didn’t know. 

“I don’t know…” Hyeri mumbled, her face, much like her sisters, glued to the phone in her hand. The sight irritated him, they were only 12 and 10 years old, they shouldn’t even have devices like that. “I really wanted to go to that arcade though, the new one, with the laser tag. That looked fun.” She mused, and Cheol made sure to remember that while also trying to control his irritation as he closed the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat. He needed to talk to you, and he needed to talk to you as soon as possible. 

“Alright, you two go play for a bit while I start cooking dinner. Think of a movie for us to watch before bed too.” Cheol called out after the girls as they ran into the house, but much to his disappointment, they went into their separate rooms and he was sure that they were just going to be on their phones until he called them for dinner. The only good thing about it was that he could call you and not have them listen to him. He quickly pulled out his phone and slipped in an earbud, dialing your number and waiting for you to pick up. 

“Hey… Is everything alright? Are the girls okay? It’s not time for their goodnight call… What’s going on?” Your panicked voice came through in his ear after the first ring, and he could hear the sound of someone, a man, most likely Joshua asking what was going on in the background. “Hello? Cheol?” 

He cleared his throat, taking one last glance at the girls' rooms to make sure he was in the clear before speaking. “When were you going to tell me about this California trip? You can’t just take vacations like that without telling me about them… Especially not out of the country, Y/N.” He ranted, running his hands through his hair as he angrily started pulling groceries out of the bags. “You might be enjoying your life and living it up with your new man right now, but they’re my kids too and I’d like to know where they’re going and what they’re doing.” 

The sound of a heavy sigh from your end came rushing through his earphone like a gust of wind. “For Christs sake, Cheol. We just talked about it this morning before you get them. I was going to tell you when it was actually set in stone, but right now we don’t even know when we’re taking the trip. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t make it seem like I’m the bitch right now for finding someone who not only loves me, but loves our girls enough to want to take them on vacations and do things with all of us as a family.” 

Family… The word, whether you knew it or not, was like a gunshot wound right through his chest. Family was something that he had always wanted, something that he had gotten, but he had taken it for granted and lost it in the blink of an eye. It should be him taking you and his girls on trips to California, taking his girls to Disney for the summer, but it wasn’t, and never would be. All he could feel was anger about it, anger and regret. “Yeah, he loves them so much… That’s… That’s why he got them those phones that they’re attached to now. Won’t even get off them to play like normal damn kids anymore. He’s father of the year though, right?” 

“Good God, is this really what this is about?” You muttered, and the sound of it, the way you sounded so annoyed, yet your voice was still so beautiful, it hurt him even more. “They got the phones in case of an emergency. They weren’t even supposed to take them over your house, so you can take them away if you want, but when they come home Joshua and I will have a talk with them about it. And if this is about you being worried about Josh one upping you as a dad… You’re being ridiculous. Hyeri and Yuri love you, more than anything. You don’t have anything to be worried about. Just enjoy the weekend with the girls, get them off their phones and spend time with them… That’s what they want. Okay?” 

He took a shaky breath, his body hunched over the counter and his hand covering his mouth as he let out broken sobs that he tried to muffle in his palm. “I miss you… I miss you so much. I miss being home with you and the girls, I miss life with you, with my family… I love you… I can’t stop loving you… I don’t want to be with anyone if it’s not you…” It had been two years since the divorce, since you packed up with the girls and left to live in your own apartment. His heart completely shattered that day, and the only time it ever feels even half mended is on the weekends when he has Hyeri and Yuri, but having to let them go is like feeling that heartbreak all over again. “You said you wanted me to be happy, but I’m not… I’m not, Y/N. I feel like I’m dying… My life is nothing without you and the girls in it… How could you move on?” 

Your own ragged breaths, as if you were crying as well, were heard through the earphone. Were you crying? Did you miss him too? “Please don’t do this… You don’t know how hard it was for me to let go of everything that we had. There’s memories of you constantly, memories that I’ll never be able to get rid of. I miss what we had before the incident, I love the you that I thought you were… I’ve never fully moved on, and I know that I never will… But I couldn’t stay with you. I needed to be with someone that I know I can trust, that I know won’t hurt me… I needed to move forward… But I never moved on. You need to move forward too.” He heard the deep breath, the way it got lodged in your throat before you had to clear it to speak again. “I have to go, okay? Tell the girls I love them, and try to get them off their phones. Play a boardgame or something with them… They miss you all week… Don’t waste the time you have with them… Please? Goodbye, Cheol… I’ll see you Sunday night.” 

And with that the call was ended, and he was left crying more than he had been before. Just another revelation that it had been his fault that he lost everything, that you were now moving forward in your life with a new man, a guy that would most likely end up closer to his daughters than he ever will be. He was the better man, a man that Cheols daughters could look up to, a man that wouldn’t hurt his family the way Cheol had. 

Life had gone on for you, for his girls, but for him, he was stuck in the past, living over and over the day at the table when you had ended things for good. It was the day he finally realized just how badly he had messed up, and just how great the loss was. He felt it then, and he was still feeling it now as the silence surrounded him in the house that was once a home for his family, a house that he refused to leave. There was no happiness, and there never would be. He’d never get you back, he’d only see his girls on the weekends…. How could his life ever go on when the only things that gave his life meaning he had carelessly thrown away? 

[nanawritesit]

Chained Up - Choi San x Reader

bodyguard!san x mafia-daughter!reader: contains NSFW content (18+/MDNI!) 🔞

tw: female reader, reader has a deceased mother and a neglectful/ abusive father, cursing, slight angst into smut into fluff

mentions of: guns, drugs, alcohol, violence, theft, death, and kidnapping

nsfw content: p in v sex, protected sex, spanking, hair pulling, hard dom san, making out, groping, neck kissing, nipple sucking, cat and mouse dynamic, predator x prey themes, nicknames “good girl,” “little mouse,” “baby,” and “sparky.”

—————

“San, if you don’t put me down right now I’m gonna kill you!” you demanded from your position over his shoulder. You were pounding on his back with your fists as hard as you could while he carried you through the front door of your penthouse apartment.

He said nothing and showed no reaction to the pounding you were giving his lower back, having dealt with much stronger pain before. You knew this, but you still had to try your best to escape him. You always tried, but hardly ever succeeded.

Once you had reached the top of the marble stairs, he swiftly kicked open the door of your bedroom, tossing you down on your enormous lace canopy bed. In the few short seconds it took you to straighten yourself up, he had already locked your door, and was standing in front of it with his arms crossed, glaring at you with a straight face.

“You are unbelievable! I hate you!” you screamed, balling your fists as you felt angry tears prickle your eyes.

He knew you didn’t, still giving no reaction. “You wouldn’t get out of the limo.” he said curtly. “How else was I supposed to get you inside?”

“That’s not what I’m mad about, and you know it!” you huffed, getting up to go to your walk in closet. It had no door, so you could still see and talk to him. You began removing your jewelry and unpacking your designer handbag, placing them back in their respective places. It was a routine you did numerous times, so you were on autopilot, letting your rage be your main focus.

“I don’t understand why you’re upset with me. I was just doing my job. You know the rules, and you broke them anyway.” he replied, leaning against the door frame of your closet, arms still crossed. You hated that smug expression on his face. You would’ve slapped it off if you could, but you knew he would catch your hand and pin you down, exactly as he had done every other time before.

“You ruined my birthday party San! Is that part of your fucking job description?” you screeched, slapping your hand down on the vanity.

“No, but retrieving you when you sneak off is.” he explained, walking over towards you.

You were currently fiddling with the zipper on the back of your Valentino gown. It was a long, slender, black lace number, with a low cut chest and a high leg slit that perfectly showed off your diamond garter. The light that reflected off of it perfectly illuminated the serpent tattoo on your upper thigh, the one that was the symbol of your father’s mob. You got it when you turned 18, as a protection symbol.

“I don’t need your help!” you spat, swatting his hands away. He just put them on his hips, cocking his leg out patiently. He watched you struggle for another 30 seconds, tugging at the zipper to no avail. You dropped your hands and stared up at the ceiling in annoyance. “Damnit San, don’t just stand there, help me unzip this!”

You watched a satisfied smirk creep up his face through the mirror in front of you. It made your blood boil as he helped you step out of it. You huffed away, sitting down at your vanity to brush the curls out of your hair and remove your makeup.

He still didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the fact that he had destroyed your happiness tonight. He just went about your routine as usual, hanging up your dress and placing it back up on the proper rack.

“I just wanted to have a normal 21st birthday party, like a normal fucking girl.” you complained. “I just wanted to go to the club with my girlfriends, drink, dance, and have a good time.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that?” he asked, sitting down on the plush sofa in the corner and crossing his legs nonchalantly. “I could’ve accompanied you.”

You snapped your head around and glared at him. “It was supposed to be a girls’ night. You know, something most girls get to do in their twenties.”

“You’re not most girls sparky, and you know that.” he replied cooly.

You scoffed at the use of his usual nickname for you, turning back away from him. “Yeah, I do. But you could’ve cut me some slack for once. Except for Lia, my friends aren’t the kind of girls who can let loose with a guy hanging around them.”

“No, I couldn’t have ‘cut you some slack.’ Your father would fire me for losing control of you, I’d get the shit beaten out of me, and then I’d be transferred to another gang. Is that what you want?” he asked, cocking his eyebrow up in question.

“No, that’s not what I fucking want!” you cried out, slamming your hairbrush down on the table. “I wanted tonight to just be me, Lia, Minnie, Liz, and Giselle. No guns, no fights, and no body guards.” You hissed out the last part since it pertained directly to him.

“Well, that’s not how things work.” he got up and stood beside you, even though you refused to look at him. “You’re the only daughter of one of the worlds’ most powerful and wealthy mafia bosses. You’re the heir to the throne so to speak. And it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“I was perfectly safe at the club…” you mumbled, fiddling with the diamonds on your garter.

He gave a cold chuckle, then stopped in front of you with his hands gripping the arms of your chair, caging you in. He pushed his head forward, prompting you to look up at him.

“Oh you were, were you? I would’ve thought otherwise, given the way that asshole was feeling you up.” he seethed in a growl barely above a whisper, a dangerous smile on his face.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, and your breath hitched in your throat. You hated how protective he was. Even more so, you hated how attractive he was when he got protective.

Remembering your current situation, you blinked and swallowed hard. “We were just dancing. Until you barged in and dragged me out of there in front of everyone.”

“Oh yeah? You had no idea that I would come find you?” he inquired, titling his head to the side in amusement. “You weren’t putting on a show to make me jealous?”

You bit the side of your cheek in annoyance at how easily he could read you. Five years of forced proximity will do that to you, but he didn’t need to be so damn cocky about it.

“Don’t act like you don’t like playing cat and mouse.” you teased, giving him a cute grin.

“I do. But the job comes first.” he said flatly.

You let out a small gasp as you felt a sharp pang in your chest. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and a large lump began to form in your throat.

His eyes widened slightly at the realization of what he had just said. “No, Y/N, come on, I didn’t mean it like that-“

“Fuck you, San!” you cried, pushing him away from you and stomping off to your bathroom. “I’m taking a shower. Unless you want to do a fucking perimeter check, I suggest you leave me alone.”

You slammed the door behind you, then broke out into sobs. To most, what he said to you wouldn’t have been much of an insult. But to you, it was a painful reminder that your relationship wasn’t either of your top priorities, no matter how desperately you both wanted it to be. Your father would never allow that.

For the first ten years of your life, you knew your father as the kindest and most gentle man ever, despite the horrible things he did for work. He loved you and your mother more than anything, and he made sure you both knew it. He was always so affectionate and caring. But he got too soft. He stopped being careful, getting too comfortable in the role of a family man. And everything changed when your mother was kidnapped and killed right in front of him.

The day of her funeral, he held you while you both cried. Then when you woke up the next day, he was a completely different person. He never smiled, he never laughed, he never did anything but work. You hardly ever saw him, as he was always away on business. When you did see him, he was cold and distant. He would ask you how you were doing in school, and that was about it. No hugs, no kisses, nothing. He was just gone.

Your father also became paranoid about your safety. You got hardly any freedom after that, and your life as a normal ten year old girl was gone forever. You were under constant surveillance by a full security team, even while you were at school. If you so much as sniffled, your father knew about it. You were never allowed to go to sleepovers, or attend parties, or hang out with your friends outside of school. Which wasn’t really a problem until you became a teenager.

Being emotionally neglected made you act out quite a bit. The only way you could get any attention from your father was by getting into trouble. You snuck out, stole, went to parties, got into fights, did drugs, drank, smoked, got pierced… everything a typical delinquent would do. And every time, your security team would find you and bring you back to your father, who would punish you severely. Sometimes he would hit you, sometimes he would take away your phone, sometimes he would lock you in your room for days. But at least he was paying attention to you.

It was clear to your father that what he was doing wasn’t working. No matter how many times he punished you, you never learned. There was also the fact that you would be going to college in a few years, and there was no way your father could send an entire security team to your university. That was where San came in.

When you were sixteen, you decided to sneak out for a party. However, as you were halfway out your bedroom window, you felt a hand grip your ankle and drag you back inside. Obviously terrified because none of the security guards were ever allowed in your room, you began kicking and screaming with all your might, but this guy was way too strong. He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down to the floor in just a few seconds. Suddenly, your bedroom light clicked on. You expected to see some big, burly thug holding you down, but it was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen.

“Good evening, dearest daughter. I see you’ve met your new full-time body guard. This is Choi San. San, this is my daughter, Y/N.” your father introduced you to each other from the doorway. Your father decided that instead of having a team of multiple security guards watching you from a distance, you would have just one who was next to you 24/7.

You seriously doubted how San was going to replicate the protection of entire team of men. He was seventeen, had a smaller frame, and wasn’t very tall. But you quickly learned not to underestimate him. He was lethal, and would stop at nothing to keep you safe. His instructions from your father were simple: watch you at all times, never let you escape, and regularly report your safety back to him. He could use force if he wanted to. There was only one hard rule: absolutely no romance.

It wasn’t a hard rule to follow at first. The two of you actually hated each other. You were furious that you suddenly had to be followed around by a kid posing as your classmate who kept you from having any sort of fun. And he wasn’t thrilled that he had to be a glorified watch dog to a headstrong, misbehaving mafia princess. You even had to share a bedroom. You were totally and completely chained up together.

However, since you guys were forced to spend all of your time together, you learned every little thing about one another. You knew each others favorite foods, sleeping positions, movie preferences, most embarrassing moments, and funniest jokes. It was easy to gain admiration for each others strength, you learning about how he was thrown into the mafia at the age of 13, and him realizing you lost both of your parents all at once, your mother physically and your father emotionally. Admiration quickly turned into friendship, and when you were 19 and he was 20, things got complicated. You broke the number one rule. No romance.

Your father failed to realize one thing: just because he stopped being human when your mother died, didn’t mean that everyone else did too.

Neither of you had ever gotten to date anyone or experience physical intimacy since you were chained up together. You had shared a bedroom for years, but nothing had ever gotten physical behind the occasional platonic cuddle. It really couldn’t have with your dad home anyway. But everything changed when you went to college and got your own apartment together. It was really easy to start acting like a couple once you were out of your father’s house. And being adults, you had hormones just like anyone else. It wasn’t long before you shared your first kiss, and then your first time hooking up with each other…

The two of you did everything a couple would normally do, but you could never call yourself a couple. You couldn’t get too comfortable since the relationship was technically business. San worked for your father, who trusted him with his most precious asset: his heir. If anything threatened that, he wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of him. He wouldn’t care at all that you were in love with him, or that you’ve shared everything with each other for the past five years, or that you were the only reason the other was still alive. None of that would matter to him. He didn’t see people as human beings anymore, just assets.

Sometimes you were able to play the part of boyfriend and girlfriend. You got permission from your father to tell your friends that San was your boyfriend so they wouldn’t be suspicious of his proximity to you. However, that back fired on nights like tonight where he would show up and drag you out by force. Things like that get perceived as abusive and controlling. You’ll never forget the looks on your friends faces. Minnie looked like she was about to kill him, Liz was practically in tears, and Giselle was obviously annoyed that he had showed up again. The only one who understood was your best friend Lia. She was your fathers consigliere’s daughter, and the two of you had been close since childhood. Not too close obviously, since you were never allowed out without supervision, but close enough for her to understand what was going on.

Pretending to be together was even more painful in a way. You got a glimpse of what it would be like if you were two normal people in love, not the mafia boss’s daughter and her body guard. You understood your dynamic well, but it still hurt when San brought it up.

Now that you thought about it, you did overreact a little bit. You did know San would find you eventually, and it was kind of stupid of you to think he wouldn’t. You also knew it was childish to try to make him jealous. But you had a tendency to act like a kid, since you never really got to be one for very long. You began to feel bad for lashing out at him.

You blinked, remembering what you had originally set off to do. You removed the rest of your clothes, which was pretty much just underwear, tights, and your garter, and hopped in the shower. You imagined yourself washing away everything that was plaguing you. How you didn’t know how you would explain this to your friends tomorrow, your fight with San, and how you could never have a normal life because of your father. You wiped all of it away under the hot water, sighing in relief.

You came out of the bathroom wrapped up in your towel to see San sitting on the edge of your bed reading a book. It was something he did every night before bed. He glanced up at you, his eyes softening.

“I got you something for your birthday.” he practically whispered, still feeling guilty from what he said earlier.

Having cooled off in the shower, you sat down next to him and held your hands out. He reached behind him and grabbed a little white box, placing it gingerly in your hands. You opened it up, and your jaw fell open when you saw a silver ring in a zig zag pattern with little diamonds over the top.

“It’s supposed to resemble a lightning bolt.” he explained, taking it out of the box and grabbing your hand. “I got it as a promise that I’ll always be here for you.” He delicately slipped it over your ring finger.

You lifted up your hand and stretched out your fingers to admire it. “San, it’s… it’s perfect. I love it.” You couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your face as you threw your arms over him. He chuckled, wrapping his own arms around your back.

“I’m glad you like it, sparky.” he replied.

San had called you sparky for as long as you could remember. When his colleagues found out he was becoming a guard dog, they patted him on the back and told him he was on easy street now. But you proved to be the furthest thing from easy. Most people just saw you as a spoiled princess, but you were so much more than that. You were fierce, headstrong, independent, and savage. It was a defense mechanism, and San had somehow managed to slip through all your cracks. On one particular night, you were having an argument during a thunderstorm. Right as you shrieked at him, lighting struck a tree outside.

“Damn sparky, you don’t need to smite me with lightning.” he had said, holding up his hands in surrender. It made you laugh uncontrollably, forgetting your argument instantly. Since then, the name just stuck. It seemed to fit you perfectly. Like lighting, you were bright and beautiful, but also so terrifying and lethal.

“I’m sorry about what I said.” he confessed, running his hand along your back comfortingly. “I didn’t mean that the job was more important than you. I just meant that in order for us to stay together, there’s certain expectations that have to be met.”

“I know, San. I’m sorry for breaking the rules and lashing out at you.” you sighed, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. It was so easy to lean into his touch. It was comfortable and familiar, unlike many other things in your life.

“It’s okay, really. Our lives are unfair, and it’s understandable that you’d still want a normal experience. But we have to be careful if we want things to work between us.” he told you. You knew everything that he was saying was right, but part of you still didn’t want to accept it.

“Is it always going to be like this?” you whispered to avoid crying, feeling tears well up again.

He leaned back and placed a hand on your cheek, locking eyes with you. “We’ll figure it out baby. I promise.” Your heart swelled as a single tear fell down your cheek, but you smiled regardless.

He wiped away your tear with his thumb and slowly leaned down to kiss you. You met his lips halfway, bringing a hand up into the back of his hair to lightly tug at its blonde tips. You always loved when he grew his hair out into a shaggy mullet. The short, dark strands that fell in front of his face, and the long, bleached pieces that hung around his neck… it was the perfect hair for him.

The kiss began to deepen, both of you holding onto each other tightly with roaming hands. You both let out small little mewls as your tongues entered each others mouths. He pulled you onto his lap, spreading your legs for you to straddle him. You didn’t stop kissing for a second, simply pushing him down onto the mattress and pinning his wrists beneath you. You knew you could never keep him down, but it was nice to pretend you could. Plus, the fact that he let you showed he was willing to put aside his pride and submit to you.

His hands began trailing across your body, one reaching down to grope your ass and the other reaching up to feel your breast. You pulled away from his lips and began trailing kisses down his neck, licking and biting gently. He sighed in pleasure, his grip on you tightening.

“Y/N… be careful…” he panted desperately. “Don’t leave any marks…”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you smirked, not letting up at all. “You belong to me, don’t you? I should be able to mark you up if I want to.”

“Fuck…” he huffed, squinting his eyes shut. He knew you were right. Once you started kissing his neck, you could make him do anything.

Suddenly, he flipped you around, pinning you down beneath him. His chain was swinging in your face as he glared down at you hungrily, like a beast eyeing up its prey.

“Don’t forget baby, you belong to me too.” he growled, his hot breath hitting your neck and sending shivers down your spine. “You think you can run away from me?” He gripped onto your wrists tightly, pushing you further into the mattress. He leaned down even more, until he was mere centimeters away from your face. “You’re damn right I like playing cat and mouse. But you’re playing with a very big cat, with very sharp claws. Don’t you know what’s good for you, little mouse?”

Your chest felt like it was about to explode, and the adrenaline rush that surged through your veins made you feel so excited. You loved it when he got like this. It was scary, but also so sexy.

“Why don’t you show me what’s good for me, big cat?” you suggested, biting your lip.

Suddenly, it was like a switch flipped, and he began ravishing you. He tore your towel off, tossing it to the side. He began trailing sloppy kisses all over your body. Down your neck and chest, stopping to suck on each nipple, then down to your stomach and stopping above your core, where you needed him most.

“San please…” you whimpered pathetically. “No teasing tonight. I need you inside of me.”

“Why should I give you what you want when you’ve been so naughty?” he teased gripping onto your thighs. His finger traced over your serpent tattoo. “Sneaking out, drinking, dancing with another guy…” his nails sunk into your flesh at the last part. You inhaled a sharp breath at the feeling, the slight pain only making you more excited.

“I’m so sorry I was bad…” you whined, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders as he crawled back up your body. “You’re always so good to me. I should behave better.”

“Yes, you should…” he pondered, glancing down at you condescendingly. “Maybe the only way to get you to listen is to punish you.”

You yelped as he pulled you up with ease and threw you over his lap, face down. Before you could even react, his hand came down on your bare ass, making you cry out. The sting was addictive, and you instantly wanted more.

“You think it’s cute to make me jealous?” he growled in your ear as he grabbed your hair and pulled you up. “I’m the only one who gets to touch you, understand?”

“Yes, I do! I- ah!” you shrieked as he spanked you a second time.

“If I ever see another guy touching you, I’ll break his fucking hands.” he seethed, rubbing your ass which was growing redder and warmer by the second.

“I promise, I’ll never let a guy touch me again!” you babbled incoherently.

“Oh I know you won’t, baby.” he cooed, inhaling sharply. His hand came down on your ass a third time, then a fourth. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Your legs fell out underneath you, making your face fall flat into the sheets. The sensation made you so dizzy that you barely felt him move you off his lap and flip you over again. You heard him unbuckle his belt and then shed his slacks and boxers. You opened your eyes to see him looming overtop of you, completely bare save for the condom around his member.

“Did you learn your lesson baby?” he asked with a false pout, tilting your chin up to face him.

You nodded frantically. “Yes, I did. I’ll be good from now on.”

“Good girl. Now let me give you a real birthday gift.”

With that, he began pumping his cock into your entrance, both of you moaning and grunting harder with every inch. Once he was completely inside of you, he began pounding into you, making the springs of your bed creak over and over.

You threw your head back as your pussy clenched around him, sucking him in further and further. “Fuck, San…” you panted, wrapping your legs around his back and moving your hips in rhythm with him. The added force made his head drop in pleasure, huffing into your neck.

He looked up to see your tits bouncing up and down as he slammed his hips into you. “God baby, you look so good when you’re getting fucked.” The light suddenly reflected off of the ring he gave you, making his cock twitch inside of you.

“Please Sannie, I need more…” you mewled, clenching your thighs tight around his hips.

“Oh, how bad do you want it baby?” he asked, slowing his pace down just to torture you.

“I don’t want it Sannie, I need it!” you screamed, throwing your head back in frustration. “I’d do anything for it, I need it so bad I want to cry…”

He chuckled, clearly pleased by hearing you beg for more of his cock. He sat up on his legs and grabbed each of your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders as he dipped his cock down into you. Your knees began getting pushed closer and closer to your shoulders, until they were almost touching completely.

“Fuck, San, this angle!” you cried out, placing a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t do that baby, I wanna hear you scream.” he demanded. gripping onto your ankles tighter. “Now, who do you belong to?”

“You San, I belong to you…” you whimpered. You could feel that knot in your stomach beginning to uncoil. He was hitting all the right spots, driving you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Louder.” he grunted, his pace picking up until he was fucking you senseless. It was obvious that he was about to finish too.

“I belong to you San, and only you!” you cried out as loud as you could, your voice reverberating off the walls of your room. Thank god you had soundproof walls.

“Oh yes, yes!” he exclaimed as he finished inside of you, his thrusts getting messier. The way he was whimpering at how your pussy gripped his sensitive cock, the dark pieces of hair that clung to the sweat on his forehead, his mouth slightly open, his chain swinging in your face… the sight was simply divine. You pushed your hips up against his to get the friction you were missing, and in a few seconds, you came undone beneath him.

“Oh, oh fuck, I- ugh!” you yelled, eyes rolling back in your head as your toes curled up. His gaze was fixed on you, taking in every single one of your features. No sight in the world was better to him than the one of you finishing on his cock.

Once you were done, he collapsed on top of you, panting heavily. You brought a hand up into his hair to gently run your fingers through it as you collected yourself.

“Best fucking birthday ever.” you laughed. He chuckled along with you, sitting up to brush your hair out of your face.

“I’m glad I could make it up to you, sparky.” he grinned, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Wanna go to bed?” You nodded, and he got up to get your pajamas out of your dresser. He knew your favorite big shirt and shorts combo to wear to sleep. Then he walked back over to you and began dressing you. It was small acts like this that showed you how much he really cared about you.

Once you were dressed, he threw your blanket over top of you and tucked you in. He then went back over to the dresser to get himself a fresh pair of boxers, putting them on before getting under the covers to spoon you. You thought it was so funny that he was usually so brutal, but he couldn’t fall asleep without cuddling something like a baby.

“San?” you asked meekly, fiddling with your ring.

“Hm?” he hummed, burrowing his face into your neck.

“I love you.” you confessed.

You had never said it to each other once in the five years you had spent together. Not sarcastically, not platonically, and certainly not romantically. You both silently knew it was a dangerous thing to say. You could be ripped apart at any second. You weren’t even supposed to like each other, let alone love. It wasn’t smart to get too attached, or too comfortable, or too intimate. But here you were.

The silence between the two of you was deafening. You were about to get up and run away in embarrassment and shame, when suddenly he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. “I love you too Y/N.”

You sighed in relief, snuggling further into your blankets. You began to drift off to sleep, feeling completely safe and content with San next to you. Maybe what you were doing was risky, but right now it didn’t matter. Right now, you were just a silly young girl in love, not a mafia daughter. Maybe tomorrow you would wake up and regret it, but it wouldn’t change anything. The two of you would always be chained up together. It would be foolish to pretend you didn’t love it. And you both knew you would do anything to keep it that way.

[cherrycheolcoups]

seventeen fic recs - sugar daddy au

started: 05/14/23

updated: ---

[apparently only 95z have been written as sugar daddies soooooo. this is more of a 95z sugar daddy au masterlist instead!]

link to my overall fic recs masterlist here: unavailable for now. working on posting the masterlist

BY MEMBER:

choi seungcheol: [FIRST UP YOU ALREADY KNOW]

sapiosexual by @smileysuh

pairing: seungcheol x afab!reader | rating: 18+ explicit | word count: 18.6k | preview: "You're a beautiful, bright, young woman, and you're agreeing to be a companion to some middle aged psych nut who hardly has enough time for you-" you both laugh a little at the way he refers to himself, "compensation is a must." | content/trigger warning: daddy kink/issues, size/shoulder/back kink, contractual relationship, unspecified age difference, unprotected sex, choking, semi bondage, multiple sex scenes, fingering, squirting, oral (m/f receiving), baby oil massage, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, overstim, dacryphilia, slight orgasm denial, hand kink, etc... | pet names: (his) daddy (hers) gorgeous, angel, darling, my love, pretty girl, etc. | IT'S LITERALLY SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD!!! one of my all time fav cheol fics on here ugh HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT'S 1000000000000/10!!!

lover by @starlightxsvt

pairing: dom!seungcheol x sub!inexperienced! female reader | warnings: profanities, reader is shy and timid, she is also a simp, age gap tho it isn't mentioned, lying, insecurities, mention of terminal illness, dom/sub dynamics, explicit secual content: multiple sex scenes, daddy kink obviously, kissing, a little degradation (slut), marking, big dicc! cheol, one tit slap, one spank, a little fingering, a lil clit biting? tit worshipping, male oral, choking, virgin sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys, this is just fiction!), forced orgasms, multiple orgasms, crying, creampie, seggs so gud she passes out, lots of emotions that needs to be addressed, cheol is kind of an asshole at times? | word count: 15.7k | synopsis: the worst first meeting and then an uncanny proposition is enough to cause trouble for you. you fall for a man who doesn't seem all that keen on returning your feelings

diamonds in the sky by @scrixtcn

pairing: choi seungcheol x reader | word count: 12.2k | a/n: coups is sweet and caring but also is perfectly able to throw money at his problems for them to not be problems anymore. also him in any kind of suit kills me | genre: sugar daddy/ceo!au, strangers to lovers!au, equal amounts of fluff and complicated not quite angst but angsty feelings

yoon jeonghan:

playboy by @starlightxsvt

pairing: dom!jeonghan x sub!inexperienced! female reader | word count: 18.8k | warnings: profanities, drinking, smoking, blond jh that turns into black haired jh, stealing, jealousy, reader is somewhat of a brat, age gap (not mentioned), soft playful dom jeonghan, hella teasing, kissing, marking, use of belt as restraint, daddy kink, name calling, nipple play, fingering, male and female oral, choking, crying, some spanking, overstimulation, unprotected sex, virgin sex, creampie, multiple sex scenes | synopsis: you try to steal from him. things take a turn when he catches you in the act. seemingly for the better at first but then for the worse when you catch feelings for him. | this is part of a series by the author where the 95z are sugar daddies. highly recommend the series!

hong jisoo:

gentleman by @starlightxsvt

pairing: dom!joshua x sub!inexperienced!female reader | word count: 21.2k | warnings: profanities, ANGST, abandonment issues, toxic family, minor character death, mentions of addiction (drugs), emotional constipation, arguments, kissing, marking, age gap, daddy kink, hard dom!joshua, brat!reader, so much teasing!!!, bdsm themes- nipple play, marking, fingering, ice play, spanking (belt), pussy slapping, crying, female oral, cum eating, virgin sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple sex scenes | synopsis: a silly dare leads you to him and he has you charmed quickly. but matters of the heart can never be that easy, especially when you want to avoid them.