#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

[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.

[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?”

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my angel bunnies: Hell is empty all the demons are out there.

Or you're the beautiful, precious black diamond of one of Asia's most dangerous mob bosses, Choi San, and to ensure your safety, San appoints Seonghwa - his rabid, psychotic dog - as your personal bodyguard, but without realising it, San himself pushes you into the hands of the devil himself. And you will be more than happy to be seduced by its darkness, completely burning between two black suns.

San knew that Seonghwa was always a bit on edge, slightly crazy, but along with his wild, almost animalistic behaviour, Hwa was devoted to San to the core and would do the dirtiest and most horrible things for him without question, even if it was completely against his own wishes and principles.

To say that Seonghwa was furious when San ordered him to guard you and be your personal dog on a leash would be an understatement, but he still obeyed without question.

At first he couldn't understand what it was about you that made San crawl on his knees in front of you, ready to lick your heels, because when he wanted a tight, warm pussy he only had to snap his fingers, but the more time he spent with you, the more he understood what San saw in you.

And the stronger and more dangerous his desire to possess you became. With each passing day his thirst grew and Seonghwa wanted you so badly that he was willing to burn the whole fucking world to make you his.

Hwa sleeps and sees how he will fuck you. How he makes you his, over and over again. Hwa tosses and turns in his bed, feverish, sweating and breathing heavily, imagining so vividly how he's going to eat your cunt.

And he won't just eat your pussy, he'll devour and ravage your cunt like it's his last meal. Seonghwa will bring you to orgasm again and again, make you come so hard that his whole face, neck and even chest will be wet, and that's not counting how much you have squirt directly into his mouth, you will cry and squeal sweetly, beg him to stop, push his head away from your pussy, pull his hair, but Hwa will only slap your pussy roughly and aggressively and penetrate your anal with his fingers. "Mmm, my precious little angel, you will take everything that is given to you and you will take it until I myself decide that you have had enough."

In contrast to the aggressive, rough and almost wild pussy eating that Seonghwa always gives you, San treats your pussy like some kind of royal, almost divine thing and spends hours and hours licking and caressing it. Unlike Seonghwa, who fucks your hole with his long, slutty tongue until you squirt into his mouth, only to spit it all out on your cunt, San sticks out his kitty tongue and rubs your clit with his thumb, waiting for your juices to squirt onto his tongue, purring sweetly at the taste of your cunt and greedily swallowing everything you give him.

But there are also nights when they both end up in your bedroom, nights when San forces Seonghwa to watch him lick and fuck you. It irritates him so fucking much, the way you ride San's face while his kitty tongue tries to penetrate you as deep as possible, but he's too short and soft to bring you to orgasm by penetration.

Or the way you bounce on his thick cock, and even though your cunt stretches sweetly around his massive girth, Hwa knows he can fuck you better, all he has to do is insert the head of his cock into you and you'll squirt like a fountain for him. Or the way San rubs his cock on the sheets as he eagerly licks your pussy, and if it were him you'd be on top of him in a hot slutty 69 with your pussy rubbing against his nose and his tongue between your folds as you play with his balls and slurp his cock like candy.

And perhaps it would have been wiser for you to have chosen one of them before things got dangerous and deadly, but you wanted both, and you couldn't say no to either.

You were a fool to play with fire so carelessly, but as they say, let it burn.

[cheolieji]

Can u write a Seungcheol arranged marriage trope. Kinda enemies to lovers.pleasee😭been searching something like this for so longg

arranged love - choi seungcheol

wc: 3k~

pairing: wife!reader x husband!seungcheol

genre: e2l, a little angst, arranged marriage (obvi), suggestive (at the end but not rlly)

guide for requesting on my page [17] please read before requesting

proofread ✔️

A/N: it's barely enemies to lovers rlly, just two people who doesn't wanna be in an arranged marriage, but oh well it worked out In the end.

You hated him the moment he opened his mouth.

“I hope you don’t snore,” Seungcheol says, sliding into the seat beside you at your engagement dinner like it’s any other bland corporate meeting and not the night you’re being shackled to someone you barely tolerate.

You grip your champagne flute harder than necessary. “I hope you don’t breathe loudly. I’m a light sleeper.”

He glances at you, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, and it grates on you more than it should. Everything about him grates. The way he takes up space. The way his tailored suit hugs his body like it was made just for him. The way he looks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking and enjoys watching you squirm in silence.

The whole room buzzes with congratulations and approval. Not for the love you’re about to begin, but the empire you’re about to merge. Your family. His. A perfect match on paper. The kind of marriage that brings investors to their feet and reporters to their keyboards.

You don’t love him. You don’t even like him. And yet, you’re expected to stand beside him, smile for the cameras, and wear the diamond on your hand like it’s anything but a shackle.

“You really don’t want this either, do you?” you murmur under your breath.

He sips his wine and leans in, his voice low enough to make your pulse stutter. “Does anyone ever want a deal like this? We play our parts. That’s what we do.”

You meet his eyes. There’s no warmth in them. Just recognition. You’re both pawns in the same game, and somehow, that makes you hate him more.

The wedding is a blur of white and gold. Flashbulbs. Applause. Vows that feel like theater.

He doesn’t kiss you on the lips. Just brushes a chaste kiss to your cheek, which earns a round of coos from the audience. In the photos, you look perfect. Elegant. United.

Behind the scenes, you avoid his gaze. He avoids your touch.

The wedding night is no different. The penthouse is silent when you arrive. You kick off your heels and march toward the bedroom without waiting for him. The ensuite bathroom becomes your temporary escape. You scrub off your makeup like it’s guilt, brush your hair with aggression, and when you open the door again, he’s lying on the bed shirtless, scrolling through his phone like he owns the world.

You pause.

“You could have waited.”

“I figured you'd want the couch,” he says without looking up.

“I figured you would take it.”

He sets his phone down and meets your gaze. “Trust me. I’m not trying to sleep next to you either. We can switch tomorrow.”

You say nothing. Just cross the room and climb into bed with as much space between you as the king-sized mattress allows.

You stare at the ceiling for hours, body tense, every inhale of his enough to keep you from sleep.

The first few weeks are cold.

You operate like coworkers who hate each other. You rotate nights on the couch. Argue over trivial things—whose turn it is to restock the fridge, where the spare keys should go, who forgot to RSVP to that charity auction. Seungcheol has this way of staying maddeningly calm while you burn.

He makes coffee exactly the way you like it and never says a word about it.

You fold his dress shirts when they’re in the dryer and tell yourself it’s because wrinkled clothes reflect badly on you, not him.

You start to notice the way he reads before bed, how he runs his fingers along the page edges. How he cracks his knuckles when he's thinking. How his voice drops when he’s on a late-night call in the living room, unaware that you’re listening from the hallway.

He’s irritatingly considerate. Not nice. Never sweet. Just… thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect.

You catch him watching you sometimes. At dinners. Across the room. When you laugh too hard at something someone else said. His eyes soften just slightly before he looks away.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. He’s just playing his part.

But one night, everything shifts.

You’ve had a long day. An even longer dinner event with more fake smiles and one too many invasive questions about your nonexistent honeymoon.

When you step into the penthouse, you kick off your heels and sigh loudly, expecting silence.

But Seungcheol’s there. In the kitchen. Two glasses of wine already poured. His tie is loose, sleeves rolled up. He looks at you like he’s been waiting.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gentle in a way that makes you pause.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

He hands you the wine without pushing.

You sit across from him at the counter, sipping in silence.

“I’m tired of this,” you say after a moment.

“This… marriage?” he asks.

You nod. “Not the marriage. The pretending. The cold war we’re fighting. I can’t keep being angry all the time.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Then stop.”

Your brow furrows. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Because what would you even say? That you don’t know how to trust him? That the way he looks at you now makes your heart pound? That you’ve hated him for so long it’s become part of your routine, and letting that go means risking something else entirely?

He sets his glass down and steps closer.

Too close.

“I’m not pretending when it’s just us,” he says quietly.

Your breath hitches.

“You’re the one who acts like you can’t stand being in the same room,” he adds, voice low, nearly a whisper. “But you’re always looking at me.”

“So are you,” you shoot back.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes dark. “I am.”

He lifts his hand slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

His fingers brush your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His touch is warmer than you expect. Careful. Like he’s afraid to push too far.

Your voice is barely audible. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “But I think about you more than I should.”

That’s all it takes.

You surge forward first.

Your mouths crash together in a kiss that’s messy and hot and far too long overdue. His hands slip into your hair as your fingers tug at the collar of his shirt. It’s not soft. Not romantic. It’s months of tension and resentment and unspoken want, igniting like a match to dry kindling.

You gasp when he presses you against the counter, the edge digging into your hips. His lips move to your neck and you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as heat pools low in your stomach.

“I still hate you,” you breathe.

He chuckles against your throat. “You say that, but you’re pulling me closer.”

“I want to bite you.”

“Do it.”

You do.

He groans, and something about the sound makes you dizzy.

When he lifts you onto the counter, your legs wrap around his waist without thinking. His hands press into your thighs, mouth never leaving yours, and you wonder how you ever convinced yourself you didn’t want this.

You break the kiss only to breathe, foreheads pressed together, lips swollen, pulse racing.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you whisper.

His thumb brushes along your lower lip. “Doesn’t have to. We don’t have to label it.”

“So what are we?”

He pauses. Smiles faintly. “Married.”

You laugh, breathless. “God, I really do hate you.”

“No,” he says, voice like velvet. “You don’t.”

You pull him in again, and this time there’s no hesitation.

No pretending.

Only heat. Only hands. Only the taste of red wine and the quiet sound of your name on his lips like it’s something he’s been waiting to say in the dark.

And you let him.

Because maybe this marriage started as convenience.

But tonight, it feels like something else entirely.

The End.

(for now)

[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.

[slutforwoo]

rumors

| Choi San -one shot |

|☆ pairing: heiress!reader x heir san!

|☆ summary: rumor has it, the heir of Choi International has the hots for the heiress of the Kim Family Empire. seems it’s getting around to everyone, he said, she said situation. well. the up coming banquet might shed the light on these so called “rumors”

|☆ genre: 2nd chance?, smut, fluff

|☆ warnings: lower case intended, unprotected sex (use protection), oral (both f and m receiving), cum swallowing, san kisses read after he eats her out, semi rough sex, slight sub/dom dynamics, san is down bad, degrading, overstimulation. uh let me know if I missed anything! (probably did also not proofread it's 3 am and I was on a writing roll)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

he said, she said, it’s all you heard these days. lord knows your sick of it. why did everyone have to poke their noses into your business? you turn 24 still single with no boyfriend or husband, the community talks. and they talk quite loudly. he said she said. some believe your family set an arranged marriage, some believe you had a secret affair with god knows who. while others noticed the subtle looks and touches with none other the it boy himself. Choi. San.

you met when you were still teenagers, your parents deciding to go vacationing in Italy at the same time as his. you deemed it a silly summer fling when you were 18. yet you found yourself reminiscing about the midnight walks along the dimly light streets, exchanging sweet nothings to each other. the night at the beach where you laid together watching the stars above. sneaking around the hallways of the vacation house your family owned. you remembered every bit of it.

that summer engraved into your mind, but that’s all it was. a summer that no one knew about. it was a precious secret you shared. one only between you and him. but you never saw him again after your family left, until 3 years ago he moved to new york with his family. next thing you knew, it was stolen glances and touches at banquets and charity events. small talk every now and then when your friend groups mingle. but deep down you both knew you wanted to explore what you couldn’t before.

bringing you to now, sitting in your makeup chair as the stylist do your hair and makeup for tonight’s banquet. the jung corporation was throwing a masquerade ball charity event. and of course your parents demanded your attendance.

“miss y/n?” a voice called from the door way, one of the housekeepers walking in with a package.

“this was delivered for you, excuse me” she handed the package to you before excusing herself.

you looked at the black velvet box, tied with a red bow and a note. carefully uniting the bow you grab the note,

‘can’t wait to see you tonight beautiful. rumor has it we’re having a secret relationship you know. I hope you like the mask -C.S’

you feel the smile tug at your lips, placing the note to the side you open the box. inside lying a beautiful lace mask, adorned with small diamonds and pearls. you hold it in awe, he remembered your favorites, he knew you were likely to wear a black gown, if not black then emerald green. he knew regardless that it would match.

the stylist and makeup artist eye each other before eyeing you. you felt the way they stared, “if either of you say anything about this. I will make sure you never work again do you understand me” you spoke in a low tone. eyeing both women as they nod their heads quickly.

“Leah!” you call out, to your personal bodyguard who you had trusted your life with.

she walked over to you stoping in the door way. “yes miss?”

you place the note inside the box before you close it, “can you place this on my bed please, don’t let anyone touch it”you smiled handing her the box as she swiftly nods and walks away.

soon, you're heading to your room to change and do some final touches before leaving. walking in and locking the door before you changed into the beautiful gown your mother picked. you couldn’t be bothered with buying a gown yourself, so your mother decided to take it into her hands, making you grateful you didn’t have to.

after getting zipped up and slipping on your heels. you admire yourself in the mirror, happy with how you looked before adding the final touches, the silk gloves, pearl and diamond necklace with its matching bracelet. elegant and simple. opening the velvet box once more to pull out the beautiful mask.

“miss y/n? it is time to go your parents are waiting for you” Leah spoke as you spray your favorite perfume before following her to the entrance on the bottom floor.

“oh honey you look amazing”your mother gasped as she sees how beautiful her only daughter looks.

“thank you mother, where’s hongjoong?” you say as you scan for your older brother who was no where to be found at the moment.

that was until you hear foot steps coming down the stairs, taking a quick look to see your brother adorned in his custom balmain suit.

“alright, we all look good, y/n you look beautiful sweetheart. and hongjoong you really did inherit my good looks” your father laughed as he opened the door for everyone to leave, getting into the car and having the driver take them to the jung estate.

the ride was filled with the chatter of your family catching up on everyone’s deals. contrary to what people would expect your parents were very relax for the fact they have an empire to pass down. when hongjoong expressed his desire to work in the music industry they were weary about it, but when they learned you wanted to inherit the empire. they decided since you wanted it, you’d get it. thus them being very supportive of your brothers music career. having become a big deal in producing as well as making his own music.

“now y/nnie remember, the other mothers will try to set you up with their sons. do not feel pressured to say yes. you know how your father and I don’t care if you get married okay?” your mother spoke as you guys arrived at the estate. reassuring you it was okay to say no and they would deal with any complaints thrown their way.

“thank you mother, I hope we all enjoy our time here tonight” you smiled as you gave her a quick hug before exiting the vehicle. sliding down your mask as you walk the red carpet to get inside, paparazzi cameras flashing left and right. of course they’d be here, why fucking wouldn’t they. making a mental note to be extra careful in case of anything later in the night.

entering the estate was like entering another world, the living space filled with socialites and ceos. the lights dim, allowing the candles placed around to give it a darker feel. my god you loved it, the violins playing in the background, the quite chatter and whispers.

you allow yourself to walk around sipping on a glass of champagne, while simply admiring the decorations and mood of this event. casually tuning Into the whispers that were happening around you, eying you down.

“I heard she’s engaged to jung wooyoung”

“well I heard she’s engaged to choi jongho, isn’t she lucky”

“i’ve heard there’s something secret going on with her and choi san”

“well ive heard she’s a whore and that’s why she hasn’t settled down yet”

ah and there it was. those damn rumors. irritation growing in ur veins as you down the champagne and decide to wonder away from the main event. navigating the corridors and eventually finding an empty library on the other end of the estate.

you take in the the beautiful old library, the rustic wood that ran along the shelves. the fire place that was lit dimly, the small couches in the center. the different paintings that hung in the empty spaces here and there.

being so sucked into your own world you didn’t even hear when the door opened.

“it’s beautiful right?” a voice spoke, causing you to jump as you turn around. your eyes locking onto those cat like eyes. eyes that you would recognize anywhere. choi san.

“just absolutely stunning. I hope to build one like it at my own estate”you smiled “thank you for the mask san” his name rolled off your tongue, and he loved the way it sounded.

“anytime princess”he smiled, allowing himself to fully walk into the library closing the door shut behind him. “you know princess, there’s been a lot of rumors about us lately” he said, stoping directly in front of you.

“tell me something I don’t know san”you sigh, looking up at the man who was a bit too close for your liking considering the fact you felt hot with him this close to you. “I heard you cant get me out of your head choi. is it true?” you spoke in questionable tone as you held eye contact with him.

“I heard that you write about me in that journal you carry around y/n”he states stepping closer to you, making you take a step back into the bookshelf.

“maybe I do” you admit, it was true. you continuously wrote about that summer, wishing for it to become a reality once more. to be his once again, this time longer than a fling.

“then maybe it’s true I can’t get you out of my head” he whispered, his hand reaching up to your cheek. slowly caressing it.

his hands felt like fire against your skin in the best way possible. you found yourself leaning into his touch. eyes looking up at him with the same adoration you did 5 years ago. san can swear he felt his knees almost give out on him. god he couldn’t help but admire the beautiful woman you became.

oh how badly he wanted to admit he kept tabs on you, he owned every magazine you were on the cover of, any interview he’s seen it, any product promotion he’s bought. he never forgot about you.

“san, we can’t do this and you know it”you whispered as he snaked his arm around your waist pulling you closer to him. lips just inches apart.

“we’re both single y/n. neither of us have anything to lose”he spoke and he was right. if anything both of your parents would be ecstatic. but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to do this all in secret. the touches, glances, occasional meet ups.

“but it’s so much more fun this way” you say as you wrap your arms around his neck to look up at him. “don’t tell me you don’t think it’s fun”you pout.

he chuckles and goes to remove your mask, wanting to see all of you. god you genuinely were so gorgeous and he didn’t understand how a person could be so captivating. “it’s fun but, i’m sick of people asking you to marry their sons”he whispered before pulling you into a deep and hungry kiss.

you returned the hungry and need into the kiss. his lips were just as soft as you remembered. he pushes you more into the bookcase, causing a moan to escape your lips when he bit your lip and kissed his way down your neck.

“s-san we can get caught”you pant as he continues to kiss down your collarbone.

“locked the door and woo doesn’t care”he mumbles against your skin. leaving a couple more kisses before he returned to eye level. “tell me you want this or i’ll stop”he said lips hovering over your own once more. and there was nothing you wanted more than him in this moment.

“I want it san. take me” the whisper leaves your lips as he crashes his into yours once more, hands finding the back of your dress. he undoes the bow holding the corset together as your hands slip off his jacket and get to unbuttoning his shirt.

your dress falls to the ground, gathering at your feet before sam guides you out, sitting you on the couch as he took off his shirt and slacks, leaving him in his boxers.

but god did the sight of you sprawled out on the couch look divine. the dark red lingerie clung to your figure accentuating every curve. eyes that were eyeing him down like if he was prey. it’s the sight he prayed for. he was hoping he’d see tonight.

“come on, remind me who I really belong to”you snark, eyeing him up and down with a smug grin on ur face as you tilt your head.

in that he wasted no more time, pulling your panties to the side to dive his tongue into you. causing a broken moan to leave your lips. it had been so long since you and him did this. almost 10 months ago. and there was no way you were letting anyone other than san touch you this way. he sucked and nibbled on your clit, making you moan out his name.

“fuck san more. please” you moaned as he explored every inch of you, going as deep as his tongue would let him. leading you to be a squirming mess. it just felt so good. you knew your body would react this way, it always did. he knew you like the back of his hand. he knows how to make you feel the utmost pleasure anytime you sleep with him.

san finding himself devouring you as if he’d never see you again. every drop of your slick on his tongue. god he would never. ever get enough of eating you out. knowing that he makes a mess of you with this alone.

“g-gonna come”you whine out, legs locking around his head. his arms finding your thighs to hold you in place as you climax on his tongue. collecting some of your cum in his mouth, he came back up to kiss you. making you taste how sweet you were.

“let me return the favor”you pulled away smiling as you stood up and pushed him on the couch that was behind him. dropping to your knees, taking the hair tie that you kept in your purse and tying up your hair.

not allowing him to argue as you pull down his boxers and take his dick into your hands. pumping it a couple times before taking him into ur mouth. going nice and slower for a bit before you picked up the pace.

hollowing out your cheeks as you let your tongue go flat as you suck him off.

“oh fuck y/n”he groaned as he took your ponytail into his hand. guiding you up and down slightly. you wanted it hear more. you needed to. you loved the sound of his groans and whines.

so you did the first thing that came to mind. you took him all the way in. your nose touching his pelvic bone, slightly gagging as san takes this opportunity to thrust into your throat. causing broken whines to escape his lips. “ ‘m gonna cum baby” he whined as he tried to take you off his dick to cum on you. but you wouldn’t let him.

you wanted every last drop of him in your mouth. so you kept going until his hips sputtered and he stilled. coating your throat and mouth white as he pulled out to see your makeup runny from gagging and tearing up. you smiled at him as you swallowed what was left in your mouth, getting up from the floor you straddle him.

“i’m yours sannie” you whispered in his ear as you lined him up with your entrance. slowly sinking down on him. loud moans escaping your mouth as you stretch to fit him inside you. his hand makes its way to your mouth.

“now you can’t be too loud either. quite down or ill fuck your face down into this sofa. understood?” he spoke before you completely sink down on him. nodding your head yes to being as quite as possible.

moving your hips up and down, you enjoy the slight pain than comes with adjusting to his length. arms finding their way to his chest for support as you bounced up and down on him.

“your such a good girl y/n. my good girl you know that” he whispered as he grabbed onto your hips, hugging you close to him before thrusting up into you.

moans pour out one after three other as san picks up his pace. “a-all y-yours sannie”you whined out as his dick dragged against your walls making you feel like you were on cloud nine. he was hitting spots you didn’t even know where there.

“all. fucking. mine” he moaned out as he moved you into all fours on the couch, pushing your head into the couch as he fucked you from behind.

“I doubt the mothers would want you with their sons if they saw how much of a slut you are for me”he panted as he picked up the peace. he had to remind you who your body adored. but you knew it wasn’t just your body who adored him. your heart did too.

“s-san please fuck too much” you cry out. tears streaming down your cheek as you mumble out incoherent words. “ gonna cum”

“come for me baby. come on show me who you belong to” he said, giving hard and fast thrust. pushing you over the edge as your body shook and your walls tightened around him.

san knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, he tried to pull out but you stopped him.

“i’m on the pill. in me. please”you beg, mind and body overwhelmed from the pleasure.

you didn’t have to tell san twice, with a few more thrust he stills and spills inside of you. his body collapsing on your to lay on your chest.

he listened to your rapid heartbeat slow down. “you did so well for me princess”he said, looking up at you as he held you close to him. “and I meant it. be mine in the eye of the public. please y/n”he begged, tracing your collarbone.

“i’ve always been yours san”you whisper out loud enough for him to hear. looking down at his flushed face and messy hair.

“well then shall we prove the rumors right?” he suggested as he helped you get up and clean urself before he redresses himself.

helping your take your hair and touch up with the makeup you keep in ur purse. removing the most messy parts and touching up.

as he’s zipping your your gown up, he places a kiss on your shoulder before whispering into your ear “all mine”.

you both take a couple of last looks to make sure you look completely presentable before exiting the library and making your way back to the event. couples danced on the floor to the slow classical tune that played.

san grabbed your hand as he led you to the center of the dance floor, pulling you close to him.

you smile to urself as you hear the audible gasp around the room. whispers that weren’t quite whispers as the two of you danced in each others arms.

“there’s is no way”

“he picks her out of all the girls?!”

“she’s so lucky”

“no he’s lucky do you guys not know how powerful she already is”

“I knew those damn rumors were right”

the whispers continued and continued. but you both could care less. the way your body filled with our happiness because he was holding you close in front of all the women and men that want him. yet he wants you.

“let’s get out of here?” he whispers

“absolutely”you smile

he takes your hand and the two of you run out of the estate, you stumble taking your heels off to run faster. having no idea where he is leading you.

but there you were. running hand in hand with the man you wanted to have so badly. and you had him once again this time you were positive on never letting him go again.

finally after a bit of running you made it to the edge of a beautiful lake lit with lanterns and fairy lights. the both of you sat underneath the stars, your head in his lap looking at his beautiful smile he had.

“i didn’t think id ever be grateful for those rumors you know”

“oh princess. you were going to be mine either way. they just helped speed up the process without me knowing” he laughed as he held your face.

and there it was. that same feeling he gave you 5 years ago on the beach in italy. it made you smile like an idiot. an idiot who was finally able to relive what she wanted most. and one who also just got something she’s wanted for a while. maybe it was your fault it took so long. but neither of you could deny how fun it was to feed the rumors.

[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.

[pradaax]

Dark But Just A Game

Choi San x Reader 18+

A pretty little fool to think exceptions still rule

Killers take life, hunters chase prey, lovers surrender hearts, yet money is all of the above. You understand this better than anyone. Some might call you crazy, but you prefer to think of yourself as ambitious. Ambition tastes sweeter when dipped in danger, and you've developed quite the appetite. You follow the rules, but only because they’re the game you’ve chosen to master

You adjust the black fur coat draped over your shoulders, the plush texture a stark contrast against the cool bite of the Parisian night. Your fingers trail over the diamond necklace resting at your collarbone a piece worth nearly half a million, a symbol of conquest, of power. The driver steps out, rounds the sleek black car, and pulls the door open for you, you step out, heels clicking against the pavement. The breeze snakes around you.

Your eyes lift to the grand entrance of Le Mirage Noir, the most exclusive casino in the city. It looms before you, opulent and decadent, its golden glow bleeding onto the cobblestone streets. A playground for the rich, the corrupt, and the dangerous.

The grand stairs leading up to its entrance feel like a runway. You walk them as if they were, each step a statement, each movement calculated.

A guard eyes you as you approach, but you don’t even spare him a glance. Instead, you slip the gold card from your clutch and place it in his gloved hand. He inspects it briefly before punching in a code. The doors swing open, revealing the private sanctum of the elite. The real game isn’t played on the main floor with common millionaires throwing away their fortunes on roulette and whiskey—it’s played here, in the shadows, where the stakes are more than money.

A woman in a tight red dress, iPad in hand, scans the room. "The game will begin after when our last guest arrives," she announces, her voice clipped and professional.

You barely acknowledge her, the scent of aged whiskey and burning cigars lingers in the air, mixing with the quiet tension that settles over the room. You slide into a seat at the opulent card table, ignoring the curious glances from men who think they’ve never seen a woman like you before. They are wrong, of course. They have seen your kind in their nightmares.

And then, the air changes.

A presence strong, deliberate, commanding.

Choi San.

You knew he would be here. His reputation precedes him, though no criminal record taints his name, the best predators leave no trace. His business dealings are whispered behind closed doors, and tonight, you are finally close enough to see for yourself.

His dark hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place, features sharp enough to carve into the weak. The suit clings to his broad shoulders, but it’s the lack of a shirt underneath that draws eyes. The sharp lines of his torso are on display, a deliberate provocation. He moves with a confidence most men fake, his presence a force even before he speaks.

He slides into the seat beside you, and the scent of his cologne, a blend of cedar-wood and something deeper, more dangerous wraps around you like a silk noose.

“Game will now begin.” The dealer announces, his uniform crisp, his tone devoid of emotion.

Rules are read and cards are dealt. The game is simple but the true game is not in the cards; it is in the glances, the subtle movements, the power play beneath the surface.

You are aware of San’s eyes drifting to you occasionally, studying, assessing. He leans slightly closer as he picks up his cards, his voice a quiet murmur, meant only for you.

"I don’t believe we’ve met."

His accent filled your ears, you don’t look at him immediately. Let him wait. When you do turn, it is with the ease of someone unimpressed yet vaguely entertained. "Haven’t we?" You muse, taking a slow sip from your crystal glass. "I feel like we have."

His lips curl slightly at the edges, a ghost of amusement dancing across his face. "No, I would remember."

"How flattering." You say dryly, placing your bet without hesitation. The dealer moves to San. He doesn’t even glance at his chips as he matches your wager effortlessly.

The room hums with quiet tension, the soft clink of glasses and the shuffle of cards a background symphony to the game unfolding before you. Your fingers rest lightly against your stack of chips, your expression unreadable.

San studies you, his gaze carrying the weight of someone who rarely meets his equal at the table whether it be in business, in power, or in danger. His fingers tap against the green velvet, a single, rhythmic beat, like a countdown to something inevitable.

"You play with confidence," he remarks, his voice smooth, rich like aged whiskey. "But confidence can be mistaken for recklessness."

You turn your head meeting his eyes, "And hesitation can be mistaken for weakness." You counter.

San lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating between you. He enjoys this. The push and pull, the veiled threats wrapped in silk words.

The dealer flips the next card. A queen of hearts.

Your pulse remains steady, though you can feel the shift in the game. This is not just about winning. Not in the way these men at the table think.

Your true game is being played between glances, in the way your fingers trail the rim of your glass, the way San watches the movement, as if deciphering a secret code.

"Tell me," he muses, placing his next bet without looking. "Does a woman like you follow rules?"

The way he asks makes it clear he already has his own theories.

You lean in slightly, close enough that your perfume something dark, laced with jasmine and intrigue mingles with the scent of his cologne. "I could ask you the same thing." You murmur, a ghost of a smirk on your lips.

San’s gaze darkens just slightly, something shifting behind those sharp, unreadable eyes. "Perhaps, but I have a feeling we both already know the answer."

The final card is revealed.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then, San places his hand down, revealing his cards. A strong hand. One that would crush most opponents.

But not you.

You let the moment stretch before flipping yours over, stronger. Unbeatable.

A slow, deliberate victory.

San exhales through his nose, a quiet huff of amusement rather than frustration. He lifts his glass, tilting it toward you in a silent toast. "Impressive."

You accept the compliment with the slightest tilt of your head. "I know."

The dealer clears the table, sweeping away the remnants of the game, but the real match, the one unspoken, lingering between you and San remains unfinished. The weight of his gaze presses against you as he stands, fastening the single button of his suit jacket with an almost lazy confidence.

He extends a hand, palm up, an unspoken invitation. “Join me for a drink?”

You let a beat pass, letting the moment stretch just enough to make him wait. Then, with an almost amused tilt of your head, you place your fingers in his. His grip is steady, warm, but never desperate. A man who is used to control.

At the bar, a glass of deep red wine appears in front of you before you even speak. San slides onto the stool beside you, his own drink. A dark amber whiskey already in hand.

“You don’t second-guess yourself,” he observes, his eyes locked on yours over the rim of his glass. “That kind of certainty isn’t common.”

You take your time with your drink, savoring the taste before you respond. “Certainty comes from knowing exactly what you want.”

A small, knowing smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “And what is it that you want?”

You set your glass down gently, your fingers tracing the rim. Then, you turn toward him, your expression unreadable, but your voice smooth as silk.

“What makes you think I’d tell you?”

Perhaps it was the drinks or perhaps it was the way his gaze lingered on your exposed thigh through the slit in your dress, or how he would slowly lick his bottom lip, or even how his knee would gently nudge yours, each time with a quiet, unspoken tension.

Maybe that’s what led to this moment.

Pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, the city lights flickering in the background, his lips trailed down your neck as he pulled your coat off with an urgent intensity.

Your fingers deftly undid the button of his jacket, your hands trailing down the hard line of his abs. He smirked against your neck, the heat of his breath sending a shiver through you, before his lips found yours again.

The kiss was far from gentle; it was raw, desperate, a battle for control. San’s hands slid down your waist, his nails biting into your sides, making you gasp against his mouth. He yanked you closer, and your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. In an instant, your legs circled his torso as he lifted you effortlessly.

He carried you down the dimly lit hallway and into his room, where you were roughly thrown onto the plush, king-sized bed. His jacket was tossed aside, his strong arms on full display, the noticeable bulge in his pants making your pulse quicken. You bit your lip at the sight. “Let’s see how good you feel, darling,” he murmured.

He tugged your ankles, dragging you closer with ease. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you pressed your heel against his chest, a sly grin playing on your lips as you applied just a bit of pressure. His grip on your ankle tightened, but he didn’t stop you. Slowly, you dragged your heel down his chest, stopping right at the bulge straining against his pants.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding under there.” You teased, your heel pressed against it gently. Your eyes locked with his, dark and heavy lidded. He let out a low scoff, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Come on, I'm waiting, darling." You taunted mirroring his smirk, tilting your head slightly. The mockery in your tone didn’t go unnoticed, and you could see the way his jaw tensed. You had him right where you wanted. You had the upper hand now, and you both knew it.

He catches your ankle, gripping it tightly, pushing it aside. “You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he says, the amusement evident in his voice, but the dangerous edge never leaves. In one smooth motion, he shifts, pulling you closer, his body settling between your legs. His fingers trace the line of your thigh, sending warmth trailing up your body as he whispers, “But sharp tongues tend to get bitten.”

You bit your bottom lip as his hand slid under your silky dress, his gaze locked on yours, never wavering. His fingers brushed your heat, and he let out a low hum, feeling how soaked you were through your panties. Without a word, he pushed them aside and slipped a finger inside. The soft moan that escaped your lips only made his eyes darken with hunger as his finger curled inside you.

San slowly withdrew his finger, and in an instant, you were flipped onto your stomach. He yanked your dress down, followed by the lace panties you wore. The sound of his zipper being undone made you turn your head just slightly, and as he pulled down his pants and boxers, his large length was revealed. He reached over to the nightstand, pulling out a condom.

He held the edge of the gold wrapper between his teeth as he grabbed your legs pulling you closer to the edge, your eyes lifting to catch his reflection in the large mirror in front of you. With a practiced motion, he tore open the wrapper and slid the condom on.

"Going to fill you up so good." He whispered, his voice low and steady. He crouched down, parting your cheeks, and ran his tongue over your heat, making you flinch at the unexpected sensation.

His nails dug into your skin as he continued, flicking his tongue with steady precision. You moaned, your body reacting to the pleasure. San stood upright, positioning himself at your entrance, and slowly pushed in, making sure you took every inch.

"Fuck-"

"Taking it so well, aren't you?" He chuckled, his nails digging into your sides, and you knew the marks would bruise later. One hand gripped a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. Your eyes met his in the mirror, a trail of drool slipping from the corner of your lips. "Look at the mess you’ve become for me."

He suddenly pulled away, leaving you gasping at the emptiness. With a swift motion, he turned you onto your back, leaning down to take your breasts in his hands. He tugged at one, his mouth closing around it as his tongue teased the hardened tip. Your hands instinctively fisted in his hair, pulling him closer.

He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours once more, the kiss growing deeper. A soft moan escaped you as he entered you again, and you bit down hard on his bottom lip, making him groan lowly. The sharp, metallic taste was mingled with the sweetness of the kiss.

His hand tightened around your throat, breaking the kiss as he gazed down at you, a mess beneath him. With each hard thrust, he kept pushing deeper, his thumb tracing the trail of saliva from your lips, sliding into your mouth. The room echoed with the sounds of your bodies colliding, the air thick with heat and desire.

"You're so tight." He whispered, the words making you tighten instinctively around him. He groaned as you wrapped your legs around him, pushing him deeper. "Can you feel me in your stomach?" He breathed out thrusting into you harder. You could only hum in response, words slipping away in the overwhelming sensation.

San lifted himself, placing one of your legs over his shoulder as he began to rub your clit, causing your back to arch. "Ahh—San," you moaned, your head turning as your eyes rolled, unable to hold back the wave of pleasure but you couldn't finish yet.

"Let me... mmm... ride you." You whispered, your words barely audible. His movements froze, and he slowly pulled away. You gripped his arm, pulling him down onto the bed. He settled onto his back as you kicked off your heels and crawled toward him.

With deliberate slowness, you sank down on him, a groan escaping his lips as you took him in completely. You threw your head back as he filled you, the sensation overwhelming. Gently, you began to move your hips, building a steady rhythm.

"Your dick feels so good inside me." You moaned out unable to hold the sinful words coming from your mouth. "I bet it does, baby girl." His hands firmly on your hips, guiding your movements to quicken. A tingling sensation on your clit caused your walls to tighten.

Your hands grip his shoulders firmly as you move rhythmically on his cock, leaning forward with louder moans while your nipples brush against his chest, pushing him even deeper. 

The warmth creeping through your body intensified with each slide downward. He cupped your chin, lifting it gently to press his lips against yours. 

Your legs grew weaker as your walls tightened around him. San pushed upward with greater speed and intensity, causing you to cry out from the overpowering pleasure. "Oh God, I’m abo-" 

"Me too, baby, me too."

With one final movement, you both reached your peak. You collapsed onto his heaving chest, your legs trembling and both your breath mingling in the aftermath.

Dark But Just A Game

[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.”

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[pinkpowderpuffbaby]

Lipstick

Rating: Explicit

Category: M x F (Choi Jongho x Reader Y/N)

Tags: Smut, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Subspace, Dom Choi Jongho, Oppa Kink, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Married Life, Domestic, Use of Pet Names

Words count: 3.4K

It was late Friday afternoon when you were coming home from your work meeting. The outfit you picked for the day was all black, sleek and elegant, silk skirt, high heels. You opted for deep red lipstick to break it up a little, a gift from your husband for Valentine's day. So many of your female colleagues complimented you today, you felt confident and happy, your meeting went well and the weekend was right ahead. 

You were buzzing with energy as you opened the door to your apartment, humming a song you heard on the radio while driving. You took your heels off, immediately feeling relief. You knew Jongho wasn’t home yet so you poured yourself a glass of wine, sat on a couch and turned on the TV, simply relaxing. 

Maybe an hour later you heard the front door open, not minding it, absorbed in the show you were watching, sipping your wine. Jongho stepped into the living room, going around the couch, bending down and kissing you hello, right on the top of your head.

“Did you have a good day, sweetheart?" he asked. 

You looked up, blinking to zoom on his face, your smile automatically appearing. He was dressed formally, light makeup still on. He looked tired but handsome. His eyebrows and eyeshadow were a little smudged, probably from rubbing his face. He was so sweet, even when tired.

“My day was great. Was yours? You didn’t text me, you must have been busy.”

“Same old.” 

He stood up from hugging you, now fully looking at you.

“You look really good.” You laughed, head tilting back, delighted.

“I am wearing the lipstick you got me for Valentine's.”

“I see.”

He sat on the couch next to you, putting his feet up on the sofa, mindlessly playing with your fingers as he was watching the TV. Going over your left ring finger, twisting your rings, a pretty silver band right next to the big diamond. You could feel his breath on your bare shoulder, his cologne all over his thick sweater.

“Are you tired? Or hungry?” you asked after a little while.

He hummed, abruptly lifting your legs, putting them by his on the sofa as he laid his head on your shoulder. His hands were holding you close, to fit you both on the sofa. You could feel the heat radiating off his body. “No.”

“Are you going to take a nap?” You could feel his hair tickling the side of your face. 

“No.” There was a moment of silence before he continued: ”You didn’t kiss me.”

“What?” you chuckled. 

“You didn’t give me a kiss when I came home.”

You tilted your head so you could look into his face and there it was. Sweet little pout on his lips, boba eyes looking like a kicked puppy.

“I have bright red lipstick on, it would have been all over your face.”

“Excuses,” he huffed, clearly offended. There was never a dull day with your husband. He may have looked standoffish and like he didn’t like physical touch, but in actuality he was big on small touches and little exhibits of affection, just not in front of people. You were the same. Sometimes you felt a little guilty, because you wanted to touch, hug or kiss him more but you didn’t want to look too clingy. 

“You have been warned.” You bent down, leaving your lips on his for a few seconds before going back to watching the TV, your bodies still in a comfortable position on the sofa.  

“I have been working like a dog the whole week and all I get is a peck, I see.”

“Jongho-ya, is this about your praise kink?” You were fully laughing now, the giggles shaking your body against his. You expected him to say something silly back, but in response his strong hands manhandled your body on top of his, grabbing your thighs in each hand, your faces nose to nose. 

“Try saying that again, pretty girl. Don’t test me.” His whole demeanor changed, watching you with his dominant bedroom eyes, tongue between his sparkly teeth. Normally you wouldn’t say anything back, naturally shy in any type of dirty talk. Jongho was the specialist in that area, he had an extremely dirty mouth, making you flush bright on a regular basis. As your eyes fell to his plump lips you saw the red lipstick print slightly smudged on his top lip going all the way to the corner of his mouth. You gulped. It should have looked foolish but instead he looked like a wet dream. In the dim light of the room lit just by the TV, there was a shadow over his face, making him look more serious paired with the commanding look in his eyes. 

“You have lipstick on you,” you said in a small voice, your eyes not leaving his. By each second you could feel the atmosphere thicken. Lately your sex life was different. Your relationship as a whole was different. Before it was mostly silly and playful, but as Jongho got older you could feel him becoming more dominant in every area of your relationship. You relied on him more, giving him more control in situations. He took pressure well and you knew he was a solid pillar in your everyday stressful situations. He initiated serious mature conversations, making sure everything was set straight, that you understood each other, that you were there for each other. That reflected in your sex life as well. He sat you one afternoon in the kitchen, all serious, and he asked you if you were willing to try something new. You were honest then, uncomfortable but fully trusting him with your thoughts and desires. You fell in love with a sweet boy and now seeing him being a man with a reliable and mature personality, you knew you chose right. You grew older together and every step you matured,  it was obvious you were meant for each other. Every time you felt like you couldn't love him more, he proved you wrong. 

“Why don’t you put more on me? Mark me up?” he whispered into your mouth, leaving you breathless. You melted into his touch, your chest on his, kissing him deeply. It took a few sentences and you were completely gone, already in a subspace, ready to please, do anything he asks.

“There are so many layers of clothes between us but I can still feel how wet you are getting.” He laughed as you laid your forehead into his neck, embarrassed. He was mocking you and you felt your pussy twitch. When you sat in the kitchen a few months ago, this is what you told him and he was playing his part a little too good. Better than your mind was, before you told him. You wanted him to degrade you, to be a little mean. Not too much, but just right. To swear a little, to slap, to laugh at you. To command. 

“Get up, panties off, keep the skirt on. Then sit back on my lap.” It was hard getting up, pulling off of his warmth. You did what he told you, you wanted to please him.

“Rub your pussy over the belt buckle.”

“What?” You flushed red, more than you already were. You could feel your entire body burn from embarrassment. 

“Are you deaf? I am not going to repeat myself. And for talking back I am not helping you.” He folded his hand behind his head, a smug smile on his cheeks.He wasn’t fully hard and the knowledge that he could control his desires and you made you lightheaded. You moved your hips, your opening landing directly onto his belt buckle. You leaned into your knees, finding a balance as you started to move in circles over the cold steel buckle, trying to find a rhythm you would like. You were a little scared to put your hands anywhere on his body, scared of the punishment that could follow. You couldn't be too long without his touch before you would lose your mind. The rubbing felt good, but not good enough. You wanted to kiss him. Your moans were filled with frustration. 

“Is this not good enough for you? Sometimes you are so desperate but too shy to say anything and I enjoy watching you mentally fighting with yourself to say something. You come to me and try to make me initiate it. But it’s you who wants to get fucked. You should learn how to ask for it.”

“Please?”

“Please what?

“More,” you whispered, out of breath. Your body was shaking, trying to keep balance and not rub too hard over the buckle. You were frustrated, you wanted more but didn’t know how to ask. What to say so he would like your answer. 

“Speak up. I won’t touch you if you won’t talk. In fact I can leave all together.” His face looked completely at ease, like he wasn’t affected at all. Even when you were on the verge of tears, trying to find words and courage to ask for what you actually wanted. The longer the silence was, the more you felt his patience wear thin. He sat up with you in his lap and you understood immediately he was ready to leave.

“Please no, no. Please, don’t leave. Jongho-ya, I am sorry. Oppa, please. Need you.”

“Then speak the fuck up.” There was a little fire in his eyes and you felt your dignity slipping away. The moment he started to put swear words in commands, you were done for.  

“I need your cock, I don’t care how. I want to be good for you. I will do whatever you want me to do.” You felt tears in the corner of your eyes, full of shame but as you finally said those words aloud.. 

“On your knees, beg me to allow you to suck it.” You were scared to move too slow, immediately falling to your knees, the sound of your bone hitting the wood loud in the room.

“Oppa, please, can I suck your dick?” The humiliation tears weren’t stopping and you felt your mascara stinging your eyes. You didn’t want to test his patience more.

“Where is the lipstick?” You gulped, urged to ask him what he means, but another ‘what’ would send him over the edge. Leaving you alone. You tried to remember, to be quick enough with your answer.

“On the kitchen table, in my handbag.” He moved swiftly, the kitchen table was only a few steps away. Your gaze fell on the floor in front of you, patiently waiting for what was to come. 

You lifted your eyes the moment he was in front of you, his hands handing you the lipstick.

“I will see how deep you can take it by the mark you leave on me. By that I will judge if you deserve to be fucked.” The depth of his voice made you moan out loud, your inner thighs were completely soaked by your slick. You wanted him so badly it made you delirious. 

He unbuckled his pants slowly, making sure your full attention was on his crotch. The moment his underwear was off, your mouth opened. Ready to prove yourself worthy.

“You have one try, put the lipstick on and take it as deep as you can. No gagging. No sucking yet. Understood?” 

“Yes.” 

You weren’t that good with not gagging, but the idea that he would’t fuck you made you determined. Shakingly you opened the lipstick bullet, making sure to apply a thick layer. You must have looked messy but when you saw how the red smudges looked on his face you didn’t mind at all. Your lips enveloped his width, not closing around it yet, as you were trying to calm yourself enough to allow his dick to go deeper. When his tip hit the back of your throat you closed your lips to make the mark evident. The entire time he stood firmly, his hands on his hips, not touching you anywhere and that alone made new tears pool up in your eyes.

You moved your head off of him, your knees hurting, waiting patiently for his verdict. Too scared to look yourself. The silence stretched, he came closer, lifting your chin up to look at him. 

“Open up, kitten. You did good.” You opened your mouth a little, feeling him tapping his tip over your bottom lip. Happiness filled you, you did good, he was satisfied. 

“You can suck a little. Not too much, you want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

You began to suck his tip, precum coating your lips as your tongue did little licking motions just how you knew he liked it. 

“Are you a cockslut? Or is it just for me? Around everyone else you act so disgusted when they make sex jokes or talk dirty but if only they knew. I think what you really want is to be my pet, to wait for me when I come home, ass up on all fours, desperate to feel me inside of you.” He caressed your chin and the side of your face with the back of his hand, the motion completely contradicting his dirty words. You were so gone you didn’t have it in you to even try to oppose. His words were true anyways, you could only nod.

“Beg me to fuck you.” 

You weren’t quick enough, the time it took you to swallow all your saliva mixed with his precum was over time limit for Jongho’s patience. 

“If you won’t speak, you will have to finish yourself up. I don’t reward quiet girls.”

“Oppa, I need you to breed me.” You blinked innocently as you wiped your nose that was running from trying not to gag. You could feel how the lipstick smeared all over your chin, lower cheeks and your hand. That broke Jongho’s act a little, swearing under his breath as rubbed the spot between his brows, now clear he was as desperate as you to get inside. You were both still fully clothed, which made the entire act a little dirtier. 

“Get on the edge of the couch, you only get my dick to the mark you made, not more.”

You quickly looked down, finally seeing how well you did. Good, but not enough. There were a good five centimeters left behind the lipstick mark. Before you could look up fully, he was by your side, holding you by the hips, tip already inside. You gasped, first from surprise, then from the sheer satisfaction of finally feeling his bare cock in you. He really pushed only to the line, you could feel he wasn’t fully in, but you could also feel his tip stroke the opening of your cervix. 

“Squeeze.”

“What?” Wrong answer. 

“Don’t fucking piss me off. Squeeze me inside. Make sure you feel every ridge and then tell me how well I fill you up.” He was irritated, you could tell he wanted to push his cock fully in, but had to stand behind his words. The power imbalance punched air out of your lungs. You wanted to speak, to not make him mad, but you simply couldn’t. You didn’t want to be punished further. You looked right into his eyes, trying to tell him with your gaze to go easy on you now, not wanting to use a safe word, because you didn’t want to stop, only to ease the degradation. The angry line between his eyebrows relaxed. He understood.  

“Do you want me to tell you how I feel?” You nodded.

“I can feel your cervix at the top of my tip, begging to be bred, opening up just because your body knows it’s me. I can feel you don’t want me to leave. Do you feel good, all filled up, kitten?”

“Perfect. Love you. Kiss.” You couldn't put coherent sentences together. Every time he thrusted inside of you, you felt like cumming, but not quite. You needed him to touch you more, to kiss you. It wasn’t enough. He chuckled, amused, partly slipping out of the dom space. His hand found yours, interviewing the fingers together as he bent down to kiss you fully. Your face was a mess of cried mascara, smudged lipstick, salty tears and saliva. Jongho’s cheek came close to yours and to your surprise he started to rub your cheeks together. Transferring all the mess to his face as well. 

“Want to be marked too, I told you. Only mark that’s left is here.” He whispered into your ear, as his fingers touched exactly where his dick was buried inside of you. And that did it for you. You felt your orgasm washing over your body, hot and sudden. Your belly muscles were twitching, head tilted back, waiting for him to finish inside to make you complete. Your eyes were squeezed closed but you could hear Jongho’s quick breaths and then a gentle bite to your shoulder as he came inside. You felt super calm and happy but still out of it. You knew the subspace crash would come any second now. So did Jongho. 

He gathered you in his embrace, moving his body under yours, putting you on top of him without pulling out. You felt fresh tears prickle your eyes.

“Shh, baby. You did so good. You are my good girl. My perfect girl. I love you so much.”

He didn’t move and the solid presence and tight squeeze of his hug was like a weighted blanket. Perfect, soothing as you came back to yourself. You laid on top of him for what felt like hours, but realistically it could be a couple of minutes. 

“I am sorry, I can’t speak well during it. That I can’t voice it.” You whispered, feeling a little guilty. He was perfect, fulfilling your every wish, but you weren’t so good at fulfilling his. He told you in the kitchen during the sex talk months ago, he wanted to be praised, worshipped. You knew you needed to work on it more. You praised him a lot day to day, but it was hard to come out of your shy shelf during sex. You wanted him to know how good he was, how attractive, how good he tasted. 

“It’s okay, baby. Will you say something now in your pretty words?” You didn’t want to say it in pretty words, you wanted to tell him the truth, even if it was too late.

“I-...I love you and I love every trait about you but I love your body too. From your neck, to your shoulders and back. And your thighs, waist and calves. I love how you smell and feel and taste. Jongho-ya, I know I am shy but I will work on it. I will tell you next time I want you. I want you to know I want you all the time. Sometimes during work, I could be in the middle of a meeting and all I can think about is blowing you. It’s maddening. I know it looks like you have to initiate all the time but if it was on me I wouldn’t be anywhere but on your dick, I am so serious. I-”

“Oh my god. Okay. That’s enough.” You could feel your words were affecting him because he was still in you, but you could also see his ears being bright red. He was shy too. You wanted to laugh, but when he saw your corners lifting he began to get up, slipping gently out of you.

“Please don’t go. Take me with you.” You whined, back in a playful mood, now laced with tiredness. You were ready to shower and cuddle your husband in bed.

“Baby, I have to pee, let go.” Jongho was gently trying to get you off of him.

“Take me with you. I can help you.”

“Help me pee? Oh my god, is this what I created? We should shower, the lipstick is everywhere.”

“It’s waterproof tho. And it stains.” You laughed amused. His entire face was a mess, the lipstick was all over his cheeks, collarbones as well as on his clothes. And of course-. 

“What?! It’s literally around my dick!”

[liliesformingi]

"much love, laufey" - a mini series by @liliesformingi. view series masterlist, and outline here.

7. 'misty' - wooyoung x reader “look at me, i'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree.”

author's note: boy oh boy i need a love like this

From the second he’d caught your eye from across the crowded room, you felt every single nerve ending in your body melt like a jar of warm honey, sensation and common sense and any train of thought, finished or otherwise, oozing from your consciousness. Sticky, sweet and so addictive.

It had only been a small smile, maybe a wink.

It didn’t matter that you’d spent the past four years of your life together as a couple. It didn’t matter that the necklace hanging down your collarbone had been a gift for your first anniversary; silver, pearls and tiny white diamonds, dripping like starlight down your skin. No, it didn’t matter that you were his.

You still felt so overwhelmed with love in his presence, just by mere observation.

You weren’t paying attention to the conversation you were in anymore. Hell, you were probably the worst hostess in the universe. But the lights were dim, the moon was glowing through the window, and Jung Wooyoung, the love of your life, was mere metres across the room from you. Your guests were happy enough to entertain themselves. You needed to entertain yourself.

As soon as you appeared by his side, his focus immediately shifted from the smalltalk he was making with Choi San about business strategies. A hand slipped around your waist, fingers gently kneading themselves into the soft flesh of your hips. Your skin was warm, scented with musk and amber. Familiar. And your heartbeat began to settle, slowing to a less frantic rhythm, one that synced with the chest beside yours. 

You slipped your fingers into his, silver rings colliding against each other. He rubbed gentle circles into your palm, and the moment he found a pause in the conversation, he excused himself.

In a fit of lovesick giggles, Wooyoung led you to the balcony outside your shared bedroom. The wind was chilly, but you were wrapped in his embrace before you could complain. He held you close, lips ghosting your neck and collarbone. 

“Missed you,” you mumbled, eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

“Even from just across the room?” he teased, but his actions proved he’d missed your presence just as much as you had. His hands slipped to your waist, and the two of you swayed softly, the muffled sound of jazz from the party seeping through the doorway to the balcony.

The rest of the city was dark, aside from a few lit up windows. The wind blew, the buildings sparkled, and you felt every inch of your body fizz from head to toe, as if your veins pumped champagne instead of blood.

“I’m so lucky to have you . . . you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that, right? There’s nobody else I’d ditch a party for, let alone one I’m hosting. Nobody else I’ve felt this way for.”

“You talk a lot, my love,” you said, smiling up at him. “I know. I’m even luckier to have you.”

His eyes shifted into crescents, and you trailed your finger down his jawline adoringly.

You took a moment to admire Wooyoung; his warm, chocolate-brown eyes, the single freckle under his lower lashes, his habit of running his hands through his hair, his lips, the plumpest, most beautifully rose-tinted lips you’d ever seen.

He looked like an angel.

Now, in a silky black shirt and tailored slacks, his soft brown hair tousled, eyes sleepy from the lateness of the evening  and the smear of your burgundy lipstick on his left cheek, he looked perfect. It was enough to send you into another fit of overwhelming adoration for the boy you called your own, enough to set all your senses on fire and let the blood run through your body like stardust.

He pressed a kiss to your lips and ran a hand through your hair, holding you steady against his chest.

It had always been easy with Wooyoung. You’d always felt electrified, a buzz that was familiar and comforting. 

When you told him things, he never contradicted you, questioned you, asked you why, how, when. He would nod slowly, wipe the tears from your cheeks, rub your shoulders, kiss your cheeks, lips, forehead, nose. 

Whilst your love adored to talk, to express every single thing he felt for you in word after word, he also knew when actions were all that was needed.

You didn’t necessarily believe in soulmates.

You didn’t believe in the kind of love that could just walk in and make itself at home in your heart, even if you were to never, ever see them again. The kind of love that just appeared after moments of longing.

Whatever had happened to you and Wooyoung, it was long built up. Catching each other staring, quick kisses to the cheek whenever you left the house, and nights like these.

Maybe this was the kind of love you’d been waiting for.

Maybe? No, this was what you’d been waiting for.

Helpless in his gaze, the kind of vulnerability that you found so much comfort in around him. 

“Why did we host this party?” you asked quietly, arms slung loosely around his waist and face pressed into his chest.

“For you, my love,” he replied, eyes sparkling.

“But nothing’s happened,” you said in confusion, looking up at him. The glint in his eye brightened, and he gently pried your body off him.

“Not yet,” he smiled, kneeling down on one knee.

taglist: @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiiza @zenlackszen @kur0kki @peskybirdysya @nujeskz @jessxxxfwd @xuchiya @bee-gremlin @radblizzardpizzas-blog @matchahintonagar @diekleinesuesse@xh01bri @lunaryoongie @k1xiara @cloudy-lilly @sunnysidesins @lveegsoi@arcvillie @flqwrlvr @huachengsbestie01 @subby-men-forever @lezleeferguson-120 @mrsminseochoi @alyssajavenss @0sunshinecryptid0 @silveritydreams @moonlitarcade @ahuiahoe @urlocalmultigroupfan @my-neurodivergent-world @wooyoungsbrat @eunwonji | send an ask, dm or comment to be added :)

୨ৎ fic library ୨ৎ about me ୨ৎ req rules ୨ৎ taglist ୨ৎ

[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!

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

Masterlist

Down below is my master list of the fics I've done and future fics I'm hoping to do. Slowly, more will be added over time. That includes fics, love interests and maybe even fandoms.

So everything is sorted into alphabetical order by fandom and love interest. Which honestly helps me a lot to keep track of everything.

I start with singular love interests and then go into polyamorous/throuple relationships.

If you wanna be on the taglist, please let me know. Enjoy reading.

Taglist. Progress Update.

---------

Alice In Borderland:

Ryohei Arisu - ♥️

Our Future - Link. Summary: You and Arisu discuss what you might want in the future.

Hand In Hand - Link. (Coming soon.) Summary: Arisu takes every opportunity to hold your hand.

Shuntaro Chishiya - ♦️

Mornings Like This - Link. Summary: Waking up with Chishiya.

Daikichi Karube - 🚬

Goodbye, My Love - Link. (Coming soon.) Summary: You and Karube are engaged. This is a look at your final moments together during the 7 of Hearts game.

Hikari Kuina - ♣️

Knight In Blue Bikini - Link. (Coming soon.) Summary: Kuina gets to be the hero for you, her girlfriend. The damsel in distress.

Suguru Niragi - ♠️

Soft Nights - Link. Summary: A soft end to the day with Niragi.

I Knew I'd Stay - Link. (Coming soon.) Summary: Niragi is a monster. But you'd stay no matter what.

Arisu x Reader x Karube - 💜

Life Line Collection - Link. Summary: A collection of stories about you and your boyfriends, Arisu and Karube.

Arisu x Reader x Chishiya - 🩵

Heart and Diamond Collection - Link. Summary: A collection of stories about you and your boyfriends, Arisu and Chishiya.

Banda x Reader x Yaba - 🩸

Drawn To You - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: Coming soon.

Chishiya x Reader x Niragi - 🩷

Love Line Collection - Link. Summary: A collection of stories about your relationship with Chishiya and Niragi.

---------

All Of Us Are Dead:

Choi Nam-ra - 🎧

Study Date- Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You study with your best friend often. This time, you decide to confess how you really feel.

Han Gyeong-su - 😁

Hands Off- Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You're very protective of your boyfriend.

Lee Cheong-san - 🍗

Hands- Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You and Cheongsan take every excuse to hold hands.

Lee Su-hyeok - 😏

Knight In Black Blazer- Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You accidentally trip; thankfully, your boyfriend is there to catch you.

Yoon Gwi-nam - 👁‍🗨

Untitled- Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Cheong-san x Reader x Su-hyeok - 💚

Not So Secret- Link. Summary: A collection of stories about you and your boyfriends, Cheong-san and Su-hyeok.

---------

Squid Game:

Cho Hyun-ju - 🔫

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Choi Su-bong 'Thanos' - 💊

I Think They Call This Love - Link. Summary: Subong asks you to dance to cheer you up after a game.

Hwang In-ho - 🥃

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Hwang Jun-ho - 🚨

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Kang Dae-ho - 🐶

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Kim Jun-hee - 🚼

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Se-mi - 🔥

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Seong Gi-hun - 🥹

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

---------

Weak Hero:

Ahn Su-ho - 💤

Hold Me Tight - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: Su-ho is feeling tired and stressed. He just wants you to hold him.

Geum Seong-je - 🎮

Protect The Glasses - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You hold your boyfriend's glasses when he gets in a fight.

Go Hyun-tak - 🏀

Puppy - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: While watching your boyfriend practice, you come across a puppy.

Na Baek-jin -🖋

Relax, My Love - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You help your boyfriend relax after a day of studying and leading the Union.

Park Hu-min - 🤯

From Red To Black - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: You help your crush dye his hair, which leads to a confession.

Seo Jun-tae - 👓

Untitled - Link. Summary: Coming soon.

Yeon Si-eun - 📖

Math - Link. (Coming eventually.) Summary: Math is really hard. Thankfully, your boyfriend is ready to help you study

Si-eun x Reader x Su-ho - 💛

Love at First Fight - Link. Summary: A collection of stories about you and your boyfriends, Si-eun and Su-ho.

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Everything Taglist: Thank you for supporting me.

@thecheshireprincess @potato-vagina @spanish-delulu-23 @deliciousmagazinequeen