#I just need to take a bite out of her so bad

[randompiecesofwriting]

Wrong Name (Part 2)

Summary: Part 2 of Wrong Name ft. an accidental proposal

Pairing: Jack Abbot x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warning: None! Just super cute!

Author’s note: And I present a part 2 I honestly never thought I would write! Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who left likes reblogs and comments they all mean that absolute world to me I love hearing about your favorite parts it absolutely makes my day and I hope you like this part too!

Check out part one here!

He thought he had learned to stop being so surprised to see you just show up at the hospital.

It was always with an excuse, dropping off food for the staff, meeting him after a shift to walk home, giving him something he had forgot at home, but he thinks you actually just like being around, and the rest of the doctors of the Pitt certainly felt the same way. He was pretty sure they just texted you, asking you to come when they needed you, and you never hesitated to follow through.

It was nice to have someone outside of the Pitt. It was something he learned early on with you. Nice to have someone with what felt like objective eyes on the good and the bad, who could give perspective from a point of view other than a medical professional. And somehow, you’ve become that person for the people in the ED still too new to have that network yet.

So maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised to see you sitting on a bench across from the hospital, drinking a beer from a familiar looking cooler, surrounded by familiar looking young doctors.

“Have my med students kidnapped you” a part of him relished the way everyone in the group but you jumped a little at his voice, their immediate reaction to try and hide the beer as if they had been caught doing something wrong.

All except you who grinned up at him from the bench, tilting your neck back eagerly to give him a quick kiss in greeting with a hum of approval. “Kidnap? Please, I think I could take them”

Mel’s head tilted slightly to the side as if trying to figure out whether you were joking or not while Javadi’s eyes go wide and bounce rapidly between the two of you still trying to figure out if she was somehow going to get in trouble for this.

It was Whitaker who pipped up to fill the silence “Well Santos knows Krav Maga”

You looked at the intern with a raised brow, watching as she tried to bite down and hide her proud smirk behind her can. “That’s okay she’d be on my side”

“Damn right I would” she responded immediately, clinking her can against yours in a toast as you chuckled.

“Well now that your white knight is here what do you say we head home” he cut in putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze.

“And that kiddies is my cue” You gave a dramatic groan as you stood up, raising your can in front of you to address them “to my favorite doctors in all of PTMC who work under Dr. Abbot” you gave a pause for dramatic effect “who I am incredibly proud of and did amazing work today”

Javadi gave a snort at that “you weren’t even here to verify that”

“Oh those weren’t my words” you assured her quickly “those came directly from Jack”

“Now hold on” he tired to interject but you steamrolled ahead.

“Goes on constantly about how proud he is of you guys”

“Wait a second”

“How you are the best residents he’s ever had”

“I certainly didn-“

“And that you’re all getting raises”

Jack tried to swallow back the chuckle that ruminated in his chest “And with that we are leaving”

You chuckled fondly at him, Jack beyond powerless to do anything but smile softly back at you.

“Alright I will see you all…probably fairly soon you’re kinda stuck with me now”

Mel pipped up just as you started to retreat “we’re still on for Friday right?”

“Yes” You responded eagerly, making your way over to Jack and not hesitating to take his hand in yours, giving the fingers a reassuring squeeze “your sister’s okay with it right?”

“Of course she is she likes you” Mel rolled her eyes like it was obvious only making your grin widen.

“Good I like her too. But I wanted to check. You can’t just crash a King sister tradition without checking” Pulling softly on his arm you started to lead Jack away from the benches, still calling out back behind you “text me if she doesn’t want me to come, no hurt feelings got it?”

Mel gave you a thumbs up in response, you just about to finally turn around and leave with Jack before Whitaker called out again.

“Goodbye Mrs.A-“

“Whittaker you finish that sentence I’ll sic Santos on you”

And finally, finally Jack had you all to himself. A comfortable silence falling over the two of you as you started to make the familiar trek home.

“You’ve met King’s sister?”

“You haven’t?”

And all Jack could do was laugh because of course you have. Of course you knew all about how she spent her time outside of work. Of course you had gotten yourself invited to their family tradition.

But still his mind was stuck on one particular part of that conversation. Unable to stop himself from asking even as he felt he shouldn’t. “Have you ever thought about it? Being Mrs. Abbot”

“Of course” you answered so quickly, so thoughtlessly, as if those two words hadn’t made his heart stutter in his chest “that’s why its written in pink glitter pen on every page of my diary”

And maybe you noticed the way his smile didn’t fully reach his eyes, or the way his laugh didn’t live in his chest as it normally did, but something made you pause before giving a more honest answer.

“Yeah I’ve thought about it”

He let the answer hang for a bit, let you enjoy yourself watching him squirm before he spoke “and?”

Like he knew you would you grinned back at him. Giving your interlocked hands a little swing “and I think I could go either way”

“Really?” he asked with a raised brow “you have no opinions?”

You shrugged in response “I think I’ve decided my priority is you.”

And truthfully he didn’t know what to say to that. In all the ways he had envisioned this conversation going, all the possible answers you could have given that was not one he had prepared for.

“I like what we have going” you shrugged, giving his hand a soft squeeze “we’re good. I like the idea of making it official, I don’t need it though” And finally you looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips, nothing short of complete devotion in your eyes “at the end of the day I’m going to spend my life with you Jack Abbot and there’s nothing you can do about it”

That finally pulled a real laugh out of him, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest, as he forced the two of you to stop, an action you didn’t seem at all surprised by.

He brought his palm up to cup your cheek, fingers threading lazily though the hair behind your ear as he rubbed softly back and forth on your skin, taking a moment to truly look at you, appreciate the beauty of the person he was so unfathomably lucky to call his. “You promise?”

“For you my dearest Jack Rabbit” you declared with a grin, going up onto your toes until your nose touched his, finishing on a whisper “I vow it”

-

“You know you two aren’t being subtle” Jack hadn’t even bothered to look up as he said it, had in fact spent the better part of the day avoiding their gaze as much as possible.

“Well I wasn’t going for subtle. Dana?” Robby stated matter-of-factly, glancing over at his charge nurse as he said it.

“I was going for overt” she shrugged.

And Jack knew exactly what their expressions would before he looked up, could guess the mixture of barely contained mirth and disappointment that would paint their features without needing to confirm.

“Well if you could keep your overt stares to yourselves that would be great”

“What is it Jackie-boy is it the ring?” Dana ignored him, leaning forward onto her forearms from across from him, bending down and seeking his gaze just as he usually did with people “I told you the ring’s perfect. It matches all of the stuff she already has well”

“No it’s not the ring” Jack cut her off with an annoyed look, keeping his head pointed down at the charting he had abandoned long ago “now if you excuse me some of us have a job to do”

“Well if not the ring then what?” Robby jumped in, mirroring Dana’s stance as he did so, the two doing their best to present a unified front, a fact that almost had Jack chuckling despite himself “You know when I told you she was too good for you I was mostly joking”

With a dramatic sigh Jack finally straightened and looked at the two across the desk from him, resigning himself to the fact that there was no escaping this conversation for much longer “no it’s not-“

“Dr. Abbot” Mel King his saving grace appeared next to him effectively catching the attention of all three of them, Jack more than happy to distract himself with whatever case she needed him on than withstand anymore grilling from his two so-called friends.

“Yes Dr. King”

“I just wanted to ask if-“ and he spoke too soon.

“No” Jack effectively cut off the line of questioning, turning back to his chart physically putting an end to the conversation

“But I just think that-“ Mel tried again

“No”

“Have you considered-“

“Still no”

“Dr. Abbot” Robby finally cut in, raising a brow at his friend as he put on his best teacher voice that only succeeded in pulling an eye roll from Jack “I’m not sure if you’re aware but this is a teaching hospital”

“It sure is” Jack responded in a similar tone “and teaching is exactly the thing I would love to be able to do today but thanks to some of us who have decided to be nosey and ‘overt’” he pointedly glared at the two of them “the rest of the staff have gotten it in their heads that they should get to be there when I propose”

And though he hoped that would be enough to get everyone back to work Jack was never that lucky, Robby immediately jumping in with “so it is for sure a when not an if then”.

Jack only glared at his friend, pointedly ignoring the shit-eating grin he wore as he stared unflinchingly back, Mel deciding this was the perfect opportunity to plead her case again “I just think that when it happens I-“

“Okay everyone listen up” Jack cut her off with a loud clap of his hands, effectively pulling the attention of anyone in the center of the ED.

“Dr. Abbot” Dana tried to call his attention, but he steamrolled ahead.

“I’m only going to say this once”

“Jack” Dana tried again as Jack once again pointedly ignored her.

“It will be done in private, just the two of us, at a time when I feel it is right alright?” He challenged the ED with a raised brow, his audience, despite his words, looking almost giddy before him.

“Sweetheart” Dana again tried to cut him off but Jack was too deep into his speech now.

“I appreciate your help with the ring and everything you all have done for the two of us but you need to stop pushing”

At this Dana had no more to say, little more than a deep sigh coming from the nurse as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the counter behind her.

“When I propose it will be on my own terms got it?”

The ED went silent around him, his students eyes wide as they did little more than stare up at him with rapt attention confusing Jack slightly.

“When you what”

Jack froze. He knew that voice. He knew that voice all too well. And even if he didn’t one look at the shit-eating grin on Robby’s face was more than enough to confirm it.

Jack spun in place quicker than his feet could really keep up to see you standing just a few feet behind him, frozen in place staring back at him with a wide-eyed gaze making Jack curse under his breath.

For the longest time no one said anything, the two of you frozen before one another as Jack’s head desperately reached for absolutely anything to say, finally settling on a defeated “what are you doing here”

“When you propose?” And God help him the way your lips twitched up at the corners as you said it made him nearly melt on the spot, Jack unable to fight the smile from growing on his lips in response as he took a few steps closer to you until he was almost chest to chest.

“Okay fine yes, when” he conceded with a soft chuckle, stooping his head slightly to fully meet your gaze as he drove his next point home “which is not this moment”

“But it’s going to happen?” Your question came back quick, your smile quickly growing to a full on grin that Jack wanted to be exasperated at. It would’ve been so much easier to shut down this conversation if he could remain stoic but the unbridled glee in your eyes had his resolve crumbling.

“In the future yes but I cannot stress this enough, not right now”

“Yes I say yes, or I will say yes” you eagerly grabbed at his forearms as the words all but spilled out of you. Jack helpless against the warmth that radiated within his chest at the action, his hands reaching forward to grab your face between them as a laugh threatened to bubble out of him.

“I am not proposing right now”

You all but ignored him, pulling his hands off your face but keeping them captured in your own as you continued on “have you already bought a ring? Can I see it?”

You were like a dog after a treat, oh so eager to barrel on ahead despite everything and Jack was finding it much too hard to be mad about it “I don’t have it on me because I refused to get engaged in the Pitt while I’m in scrubs”

And finally you seemed to properly take in the scene around you, the florescent lights ahead, the beep of machines all around you, the much too eager eyes of his coworkers who watched the scene before them unfold with rapt attention. “Alright fine”

Jack nearly sagged in relief at that, glad you were finally seeing things from his point of view before you cut him off again.

“But can I see it when we get home?”

A shocked laugh spilled out of the man as he shook his head, raking an exasperated hand over the lower half of his face “will you let me do it properly? Get on one knee, recite a speech I’ll pretend I didn’t spend hours writing. The whole nine yards” Never in his life did he think he would have to beg his fiancé to let him properly propose.

You pretended to think it over, the grin on your face telling him you were getting entirely too much enjoyment out of torturing him like this “Can we do dinner first? My favorite restaurant?”

He rolled his eyes at your response, unable to fight the fond smile from his lips as he did so “this isn’t a negotiation”

But you only stared up at him through your lashes, bottom lip pinned between your teeth, and Jack was putty in your hands, throwing  out the last resemblance of a plan he had with a sigh “we have reservations this weekend”

He barely got the words out before you were wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your lips up against his, Jack grinning happily into the kiss as he pulled you by the waist deeper into him, finding that he didn’t much mind this part of this catastrophe of a proposal.

But like usual the ED chimed in at the perfect time, an abrupt cheer from his friends around him pulling the two of you apart as you were swarmed by his med students, the kids eagerly pulling you into their own set of congratulatory hugs.

But with a grin like that on your face Jack still found he couldn’t be too mad about it.

A hand clapping his shoulder pulled Jack’s attention away from the excited conversation happening between you and his students, Robby sliding up next to him with a smug smile on his face “You know I’m honored you’d want me here today to witness-“

“Shut the fuck up” Jack cut him off sharply but with a chuckle, not hesitating to pull him into a hug, Robby whispering into his friends shoulder “I’m happy for you brother”

[xylatox]

frostbite || psh

Awake and ready to read another Rain fic :) The synopsis literally enraptured me, I'm so glad I can finally read it!!

Writing this as I've finished sharing my thoughts, apologies its longer than intended hehe.

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom. — I wanna talk about a LoL character here so bad because of the simile used but I'll shut my yap on that today :)

Oh my god, the way you described how the cold was welcomed?? I am on my knees for thst expression.

I always love to read the writing of others because you always see the difference in the way things are said, the way certain things are articulated that makes them, well, uniquely them just makes me so happy to see. I love the uniqueness of us as humans. I'm saying all this to say, I love how natural you right Rain, it feels almost as if you are speaking to me; something that feels so comforting I'd say, never lose that part about you ♡

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. — unfortunately I am very much Sunghoon in this moment. Especially from the standpoint as an ex-athlete, the grumpy, hatred feelings were definitely present with me when I was in that space.

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful.  — this is such a beautiful expression, oh my god.

“Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” — I can't help but think she's adorable

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. — god my heart hurts but not in the typical sense, it just :(( idk how to explain it. Also it's taking everything in me to not reference every other paragraph you wrote because I just love every moment??

God, from mc offering to help Hoon with his form (God bless her heart) and Hoon calling her Sunshine? which has like the most miniscule bite to it, i absolutely love it.

Also Ruka's behaviour at the rink, I want to comment on how off-putting it is, but I'll wait till later in the fic :)

Jake's girlfriend mention🤭Jake fic remembered😞 ugh fine I'll reread it.

“Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—”  SHES SO CUTE😭😭😭😭😭 OH MY GOD SHE IS ADORABLE, forget Hoon I want her, she's such a cutie ugh.

Also the Sunshine nickname has me weak in the knees, it's so ahh??? I naturally am more of a grumpy cat person sadly but it's so heartwarming when people are just naturally so sweet. It nice to see it since I'm so guarded, living through her in this moment.

Bambi-on-ice :( a cutie pie

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” — I didn't expect to feel sad reading this :') I unfortunately see myself a bit too much in how Hoon is portrayed (which is absolutely lovely) and I think that's why it hurts to see :(

Ah, I am back to make my comment on Ruka and in fact, the distaste I had for her initially has increased ten-fold. I do not take kindly to people talking I'll of others especially when you don't know them or what they've been true...I'm annoyed 💀

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” — I know Heeseung was mentioned earlier, but I'm going to particularly reference this one because the pancakes statement was so cute and Hee's cute like that (if it's obvious I'm Hee biased we ignore it :) ). I do love the moment between them at the diner, I think it's really sweet and shows the progression of their relationship

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” — as a child when I played piano more often I was so obsessed with Claire de Lune :((

The mc talking so sweetly about Ruka just shows how wonderful she is as a person with no Ill intent towards her and Ruka just....disappoints somehow.

GIRL😭not her lying about seeing him after the mc just saw him. She's too sweet because I would've definitely mentioned just seeing him😭😭 girl be fr.

After you mentioned Claire de Lune, I went to relisten to it for the memories, and as I read, I feel like their story is like that song. Their feelings aren't obvious and in your face, but it's soft, slowly creeping in and it comforts you in the progression that their relationship takes.

AND THE KISS😭😭when it happens it feels like the highlight of the song begins, ugh I absolutely love it. Your writing is so inspiring Rain. And also laughing at Ruka (not literally but in a scorpio sense), I'm so glad she saw that.

HOW DOES RUKA MAKE IT WORSE FOR HERSELF???? OH MY GOD. I love that Hoon stands up for her :( ik it's like basic stuff but that means the world to me.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss.  — god. God.....God oh my wow. This??? Rain girl you left me speechless

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” — haha I am also being driven crazy rn

IM SO GLAD MC FINALLY MET THE BOYS!!! EEK!!

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t. — I will sob mc is so fucking sweet oh my god.

Also Ruka is so fucking evil? idk how else to phrase it but is it thst hard seeing people happy?

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”— god my poor baby :(

“I love you.” — I will throw up. And he diednt follow this time I feel sick

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you. — sorry for referencing this entire moment, I absolutely could not help it I feel so sick.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”— god, I love the mc so much.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying. — oh my god.

Rain. This was such a beautiful piece. It was so comforting, especially from the standpoint of someone who was an athlete who used to compete and got an injury. My place in the sporting world unfortunately was something bittersweet (being more bitter than anything else) but your piece bought me comfort, helping me realize that it isn't so bad to feel if that makes sense? I love that it showed a healthy approach of being able to still continue in the athlete world even though injuries happen.

There was something really healing when Hoon was able to go back on ice. After I got injured, it was left to fester, despite doing physical therapy, I still have pain to this day unfortunately. I left my world of sport 2 years ago not because of the damage (something I was willing to take) but the treatment.

I'm just saying all this to say, thank you, Rain :) ♡

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ 25k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, ft. Ruka from baby monster, angst, probably more I'm missing...reader is heavily inspired by my yapping baby @beomiracles (serene).

crossing the line masterlist here.

Prologue. 

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom.

The cold welcomed him. Not with open arms, but with teeth. It bit through the seams of his hoodie, gnawed at the edges of his breath, and curled around the ache in his knee like a reminder. The air here was always sharp, always clean, always brimming with the promise of speed and sweat and glory. But tonight, it only felt hollow. Like an echo of the past, stretched thin over the bones of now. His blades scraped against the ice with a sound that used to thrill him. Now it felt surgical, sterile, like a scalpel carving open the truth he couldn’t avoid. 

He wasn’t on the team. Not really. Not anymore. Not while he recovered. And to Sunghoon, that meant the end of the world. Not playing hockey was his apocalypse. Jay said he needed time. Coach Bennett had nodded, voice clipped and clinical, masking the decision behind phrases like “risk mitigation” and “long-term recovery.” But Sunghoon knew what it meant: they didn’t trust his body, and maybe just maybe they didn’t trust him. What a load of bullshit. Sunghoon could play through the pain. He’s done it before. He wasn’t one to shy away from a little leg injury. Who cares, he’d push through. That’s what real pros did and Sunghoon would be a real pro one day. 

He clenched his jaw as the thought burned through him. His knee twinged again, and he tried not to limp, tried to walk like it didn’t hurt, tried to be the player he used to be. Every movement felt like a performance for an audience that had already left the theater. And then he heard it. A laugh. Light and lilted, drifting through the rink like glitter in a snow globe. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.

The figure skaters were still here. Of course they were. Sunghoon let out a groan, loud enough to be heard, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. She was the worst of them. Not in talent, but in spirit. Always smiling, always talking like life was some golden sunrise just waiting to be kissed. She had that annoying, relentless optimism, the kind that made Sunghoon’s blood itch. It wasn't just naive — it was offensive. Especially to someone like him, whose world had cracked open and swallowed him whole. How can someone look at the world and life and all that it offers and be happy about that? Life chewed you up and spit you out like old gum whenever it had the chance. 

She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her. Every glide, every spin, every leap across the ice was effortless. She was a poem written in motion. And somehow, her presence made the silence of his isolation scream louder. He dragged a puck across the rink, his stick slicing through the quiet like a blade. The sound was dull, defeated. She didn’t leave. Of course not. She was too kind or too stubborn or too oblivious to understand that he didn’t want to share this place. Not with anyone. Especially not her. She skated past, the breeze of her motion catching his hoodie, lifting it for a fraction of a second. She left behind a sentence as light as her blades: “Pretty night, huh? Ice looks good.” 

Sunghoon didn’t respond. 

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. But figure skaters didn’t know what it was to fall and stay broken. They didn’t know what it was to wake every day and feel your identity splinter under your ribs. They didn’t know how it felt to sit in the stands while your teammates practiced without you. Laughed without you. Moved on without you.  

He looked at her then, really looked. And for a moment, he thought of frostbite. 

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful. 

And by the time he noticed her, by the time he realized she was changing something in him, it was already too late. 

After. 

Sunghoon didn’t look at you again. Not when you moved like a falling star tracing soft-burning arcs in a frozen sky. Not when your laughter spilled into the rafters, bright as windchimes caught in a spring storm. Not even when you passed close enough for your perfume, warm citrus and something he couldn’t name to slip beneath his guard and settle in his lungs like memory. He focused instead on his own rhythm. On fury and fire, on the merciless repetition of sprints. Forward, brake. Backward, pivot. Turn. Drive. His blades carved the ice with the same fury that burned behind his eyes, every motion a prayer to reclaim what he’d lost. 

Jay said he wasn’t ready. Coach Bennett nodded like a verdict had been passed, and just like that, his kingdom of ice and glory had crumbled beneath him. Now, he ran drills alone in the shadow-hours, a ghost trying to resurrect himself one sharp breath at a time. This was supposed to be penance. Precision. Control. But then there was you. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not like that. Not with your reckless grace and your endless optimism. You spun where he sprinted. You leapt where he lunged. And you smiled like life hadn’t carved a hole in your chest and left you breathless in the wreckage. You were a contradiction. Light in a place he’d turned dark on purpose. 

Still, he moved around you. Like a storm steering around a cathedral. Like a soldier tiptoeing through a garden he didn’t believe in. Until you skated into his path. He didn’t see you at first, he was locked in the repetition, the heartbeat-thunder of his blades slicing the world into before and after. But then, there you were, gliding in without hesitation, your body all poetry and provocation.  

Sunghoon veered, instinct sharp and immediate. His edge caught. Balance tipped. His world lurched and for one heart-clenching second, he was weightless and helpless and human. He caught himself on the boards with a sharp breath, pain flashing down his leg like a warning flare. Behind him, your voice rose, bright, amused, infuriating.  

“That was a triple lutz of fury. You okay, Mr. Thundercloud?” He turned slowly, every muscle tight with the effort not to snap. 

“This is a hockey rink,” he bit out, eyes dark, voice heavy with disdain. “Not a ballerina recital.” 

You just grinned, like you hadn’t heard the venom — or worse, didn’t care. “It’s called figure skating,” you replied, the words wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” He stared at you for a beat too long. You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. 

Then he scoffed under his breath, muttered something bitter and small, and pushed off again away from your voice, your grin, your golden defiance. But your laughter followed him across the ice, light as snowfall, impossible to ignore. He skated harder. Faster. Angry at the sound. Angrier at the way it stayed. You were the flame he never meant to touch. But you’d already left blisters behind. 

The house loomed before him, golden-lit and quiet in the blue hush of evening. Sunghoon stepped across the threshold like a soldier returning from war, though the battlefield had only been frozen water and a girl who laughed like she belonged to the light. He limped. Not dramatically he would never allow that but enough that each step sent sparks of fire through his knee. His leg was screaming, a symphony of torn sinew and stubborn pride. He didn’t slow. Wouldn’t. Not for pain. Not for anyone. 

The frat house was unusually still for a Friday night. No bass shaking the walls. No shouted dares or the sound of someone racing through the halls with a fire extinguisher again. Just a soft, echoing quiet that pressed against the walls like an old quilt — threadbare, familiar. Heeseung was probably with his girlfriend, tangled up in the kind of love that softened even his sharpest sarcasm. And Jake, well, Jake had been quieter lately too. Ever since his girlfriend’s due date began casting long shadows across his smile. The house had learned to tiptoe around anticipation, around the hush of something sacred arriving. 

Sometimes Jay played his guitar in the evenings, those bittersweet chords bleeding down the stairs like spilled wine. But tonight, there was no music. Only the faint crackle of something cooking and the rhythmic clink of a wooden spoon against a pot. Sunghoon followed the scent to the kitchen, where Jay stood at the stove in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stirring something that smelled warm and nostalgic, tomato sauce, maybe. Garlic. Something close to comfort. 

Jay glanced up, eyes flicking to the limp before Sunghoon could hide it. “You okay?” he asked, brow creasing. “You’re pushing too hard again. You need to slow down.” 

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The words hit like cold water, shocking, unwelcome. He dropped his stick against the wall with a dull thunk, the sound far too final. “I don’t need your concern,” he snapped, voice low, bitter. “And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who kicked me off the team.” 

Jay’s stirring paused. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. “You weren’t kicked off,” Jay said carefully, like choosing the wrong word might light a fuse. “It’s a recovery period. You know that. It’s just protocol—” 

“Protocol?” Sunghoon echoed, a scoff splitting the word in two. “You think I care what the official term is? You benched me, Jay. You and Coach. And now you want to play big brother?” Jay turned fully now, eyes steady but tired. “It’s not about playing anything. I care, Sunghoon. That’s why we’re doing this. You’re not ready yet.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

“Someone has to.” 

There it was. The truth, bare and blunt. And it cracked something in Sunghoon, something already splintered beneath the surface. He stepped back, breath short, throat tight with all the things he didn’t want to admit: that the rink didn’t feel the same, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever skate like he used to, that you haunted the corners of his mind like a flame that refused to go out. He turned on his heel, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up his leg. “Whatever. Just—keep your advice to yourself.” 

And then he was out of the kitchen, storming up the stairs two at a time like he could leave the conversation behind if he moved fast enough. The pain chased him anyway. At the top of the landing, he paused, one hand on the railing, the other clenched into a fist. The house was silent again. Jay hadn’t followed. The scent of sauce still lingered, but it no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like a life that was continuing without him. 

He exhaled shakily. And behind his eyes, he saw the rink. Saw you. Spinning like the world was made of light. Smiling like you’d never been broken. He hated that it stayed with him. Hated it more that he wanted it to. 

Your dorm room was warm in the way a lived-in space should be. Golden light pooled against the far wall like honey, slanting through the blinds in stripes, soft and sleepy. The hum of a quiet Friday night filtered in through the window, distant laughter, footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional door creak or hallway chatter swallowed by plaster walls. 

Ruka was where she always was at this hour, curled up at her desk like a monk in silent study, her headphones draped loosely around her neck, textbooks spread like sacred offerings across the surface. She barely glanced up when you opened the door, nose buried in something with a terrifying title, highlighter held like a dagger mid-stroke. You didn’t mind. 

The two of you weren’t close, not in the way girls braided hair and whispered secrets into pillows at three in the morning. But there was a quiet kind of companionship in coexisting. She listened. You filled the air. She was younger than you, ran with a different crowd. 

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. You flopped onto your bed and kicked off your shoes, legs hanging over the side like punctuation. “I swear the rink was cursed today. I could feel it in the air — like the ghosts of last season were judging me. And someone — won’t name names — almost ran me over. Again. Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘human speed bump’? Honestly, it’s impressive how fast he moves for someone with a busted knee. Like, hello? Take a nap, eat a granola bar, embrace mortality or something—” 

You paused to take a breath, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Anyway,” you continued, flopping dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “I survived. Mostly. Though Park Sunghoon nearly gave me frostbite with just a look. I swear, I’ve never seen someone skate like they’re mad at God.” That was when Ruka looked up. 

It was subtle — a tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity beneath her steady gaze. But you caught it. The way her highlighter froze mid-air. The way one perfectly arched brow quirked in delicate, deliberate motion. “Wait,” she said slowly, voice soft but edged with intrigue. “Park Sunghoon?” 

You blinked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?” 

“The hockey player?” 

You nodded, slower this time, as if each motion unlocked some hidden meaning. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so rare and quiet it felt like catching a butterfly mid-flight. “He’s really cute,” she said simply. “I kind of have a crush on him.” And just like that, the air shifted. 

Not drastically, no thunderclap, no sudden gust, but in the way a still lake ripples when someone tosses a stone. The world tilted a few degrees. You stared at her. Not out of disbelief, but in the strange, dissonant surprise that came from hearing someone else say his name with softness instead of frustration. Because you had only ever spoken of Sunghoon with fire in your voice. Sharp-edged. Wry. Annoyed, mostly. 

But Ruka’s words were wrapped in ribbon. Gentle. Blushing. You laughed, more to yourself than at her. “Well, that makes one of us.” 

She looked at you then, really looked, head tilted, eyes curious. “You don’t think he’s cute?” You hesitated. The thing was… you didn’t know. Not really. He was all sharp lines and silent storms, the kind of boy who walked like he didn’t belong to the earth. Beautiful, maybe, but in the way wolves were, wild, cold, untouchable. 

“I think,” you said finally, drawing each word like a thread between your fingers, “he’s complicated.” 

Ruka smiled again, turning back to her textbook with a knowing kind of grace. “Those usually are.” And just like that, the moment passed. She was back to her quiet, and you were left staring at the ceiling again, wondering when his name had started tasting different in your mouth. Like something that might linger. Like something that might matter. 

Monday morning clung to the world like a yawn that never quite finished. The sky was that dreamy kind of blue, the color of notebook margins and sleepy eyes, and you were already two sips into your iced coffee, pretending it had magical properties. Your lecture hall buzzed softly with life, pages flipping, keyboards clacking, the distant groan of someone remembering they had a quiz. You sank into your seat and opened your laptop, but your fingers hovered above the keys like dancers unsure of the next step. Your mind? Miles away. Lost somewhere between calculus and chaos. 

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, drawing shapes in the condensation on your cup. “Finals are coming. Sure. Death approaches in a syllabus-shaped cloak. But we’re gonna be fine. We’ve survived worse. Like that chem lab last semester. Or the time you accidentally locked yourself in the practice rink because you thought the red button opened the door. That was fun.” You laughed a little to yourself, a soft musical thing, then added quietly, “Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” 

You told yourself this because optimism was your armor. Because the world was already heavy enough, and if you didn’t keep spinning, you feared you’d sink. And besides, you liked spinning. You liked believing that everything, in its own way, would bloom eventually. Your fingers tapped absent-mindedly on your notebook. You were mid-thought — something about figuring out a study schedule, maybe, with your chin resting in your hand, your eyes soft and unfocused, when the air in the room shifted. 

Louder voices broke through the usual murmur like a crack of thunder across calm skies. You blinked, sat up straighter. At the back of the lecture hall, four silhouettes gathered in a tight circle. You recognized them instantly. Jay’s dark hair, Jake’s easy posture, Heeseung’s lazy slouch. And Sunghoon, standing like a blade half-drawn from its sheath, tension coiled in every muscle. Their voices weren’t loud loud, but they carried. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Sunghoon bit out, arms crossed like a shield. “You’re treating me like I’ve lost a leg.” Jay said something quieter — calmer — but you couldn’t make out the words. Sunghoon shook his head, jaw clenched. 

“I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I could be out there with you. But instead? I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” The words hit like a slap. No warning. No mercy. You blinked once. Twice. You looked down at your notebook, at the spirals you’d been doodling that suddenly looked like a fall. Like something unraveling. 

You weren’t surprised, not really. Not when you’d seen the anger in his shoulders, the way he moved like something had been carved out of him. Grief in motion. Frustration dressed in skates and scowls. Still, hearing it out loud… hurt. Just a little. Like biting into something sweet and finding the bitter underneath.

You forced a smile. Told yourself, He’s just mad. Just hurting. And people in pain say things they don’t mean. You knew that. You’d always known that. So you tucked the ache somewhere deep, beneath the layers of warmth you wrapped around your heart every day. You held your chin a little higher. Kept the sunshine burning in your chest even when the clouds gathered. 

Because that’s what you did. You stayed soft. You stayed bright. Even when the world gave you every reason not to. You glanced back at them one more time, just long enough to catch the storm still brewing in his eyes. Then you turned away. And smiled again. Even though this one didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

The late afternoon folded over the campus like a well-worn quilt, stitched in gold and quiet. Shadows stretched long and slow across the sidewalks, and the sky blushed softly, unsure whether it wanted to be day or night. You walked back to your dorm with your headphones on but no music playing, just the hush of your own thoughts echoing in the space between footsteps and fading sunlight. 

The building was its usual self: scuffed floors, sleepy corridors, the scent of someone's attempt at instant noodles clinging to the stairwell air. You climbed the steps like you always did, counting them beneath your breath like charms. 

One, two, three, four—everything will be fine.

Five, six, seven—you're stronger than this.

Eight, nine—just lace your skates and keep moving. 

Your key clicked into the lock, the door creaked open, and — Silence. Stillness, not unfamiliar, but… different. Ruka’s side of the room sat in its usual state of meticulous calm. Bed made like a hotel sheet ad, her books aligned like soldiers on her desk. But the chair was empty. Her headphones were gone. Her little desk lamp, usually the only star in your shared little galaxy was off. Your brows furrowed. She wasn’t the type to vanish without a trace. She was quiet, sure. Steady as a heartbeat. But dependable as gravity. On Saturdays, she studied. With her color-coded notes and an herbal tea steaming gently beside her elbow. A ritual. A rhythm.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and stood for a moment, frozen between thoughts. The silence was thick, pressing at your ears like water, and you almost called out her name, just to hear a sound bounce back. But you didn’t. You let it go. People have lives. Maybe she went out. Maybe someone swept her into a spontaneous adventure, a brief rebellion against her usual constellations. Maybe she just needed to breathe outside these four walls. You told yourself all of this, gently, while pulling open your bottom drawer.

Inside, your skates gleamed dully in the late-day light, blades catching the edge of dusk. You ran your fingers over the laces, the leather warm from where your dreams lived inside them. Then you pulled out your duffel, began packing with practiced hands, pads, gloves, that ridiculous fleece-lined jacket you never actually wore but always brought just in case. Each item folded like a promise. Each zipper, a punctuation mark. Each movement, a ritual. This is how we prepare. This is how we carry on. 

You glanced again at Ruka’s desk as you slung the bag over your shoulder, something quiet fluttering in your chest. Not quite worry, not quite longing. Just the awareness that something familiar had gone just a little bit strange.

You left the dorm with that feeling trailing behind you like a thread, caught in the breeze of your footsteps. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Time to skate. Time to shine.

Even if someone else’s words still echoed like bruises in the back of your mind. 

The rink was a cathedral of echoes when you arrived, cold light spilling from the overheads like moonlight dragged down to earth. You stepped through the side door with your duffel swinging low and your breath fogging in the air, a silent offering to the frozen gods of routine. The chill kissed your cheeks the moment you entered, familiar and unbothered by your presence. The ice welcomed you without question unlike the boy skating circles at the far end of the rink, cutting lines through frost like he was angry at the surface itself. 

Park Sunghoon. 

You saw him the moment you stepped through the arch of metal and fluorescent glow. Sharp lines of movement, precise but edged with frustration, like a dancer trying to turn fury into choreography. He didn’t look up. Of course, he didn’t. You might as well have been a ghost to him, a passing flicker in his periphery. And still… his words from this morning clung to you like fog to a mirror. “I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” 

You could’ve held onto that. Let it curdle in your chest. But you didn’t. You’d already chosen to let it melt like frost under sunlight. Because that was how you survived people like him, people with cold hearts and stormy eyes. You stayed warm. You stayed soft. Gooey, like a cookie. Even if his silence sliced like wind over bare skin. 

You moved toward the bench in the corner, began lacing your skates with steady fingers. A familiar rhythm. Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull. You took a deep breath. Told yourself that the ice was still yours. That joy could still be found here. And then you stepped onto it. The rink hummed beneath your blades. You skated a gentle warm-up, smooth glides and soft turns, tracing patterns in silence like a painter laying down the first strokes of something that might become beautiful. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him, like a shadow trailing just out of view. 

He kept his distance. Good. Let him.

You spun into your routine, finding the quiet joy in motion again. Practicing your turns, letting momentum carry you like a whispered secret. And then, a voice loud and shrill broke the icy silence between you two. “WOO! GO, SUNGHOON!” Your skate caught slightly on the edge of your turn, not enough to fall, but enough to blink you out of your trance. You slowed to a glide, turning toward the source. 

There, in the bleachers near the glass, waving like she was at a concert and not a cold, half-empty rink, was none other than Ruka. Your brows lifted before you could stop them. She had swapped her usual hoodie-and-headphones look for something more casual-cute. Perched on the edge of the seat like a cat in a sunbeam. And her eyes? They were locked onto Sunghoon like he was something out of a dream she’d once dared to whisper aloud. 

“Come on, you look great out there!” she called, clapping. “That last sprint? Totally NHL-worthy!” You blinked. Slowly. Sunghoon, mid-stride, skidded slightly, his jaw ticking as he looked over at her. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just the sharp exhale of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His annoyance was visible in the set of his shoulders, the way he stared past her like she was fog on the glass, there but inconvenient. 

Your heart tilted sideways in your chest. Not because of the awkwardness. Not because Ruka was cheering for the very boy who had called your world a joke in a voice laced with disdain. But because you saw him. You saw how he stiffened under her praise, how his skates moved sharper, faster, like he was trying to outskate her words. Like kindness grated on him more than silence. Like admiration was a language he didn’t know how to read. 

You stayed still for a moment, one hand on your hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You watched the way he avoided your gaze with deliberate precision. Like even eye contact might unravel him. Then you took a breath. Pushed off. Returned to your own practice. 

Because the ice didn’t belong to him. And your light didn’t need permission to shine.

Still, as you skated, you felt something settle into your bones. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just… the sharp awareness that everyone wore masks. Even the ones who scowled at sunshine and rolled their eyes at laughter. Especially them. 

The hours unfurled like ribbons across the ice, silver and slow. You and Sunghoon spun your separate galaxies across the same frozen sky, orbiting each other in careful silence. His skates tore into the rink with force, blades slicing like twin swords, while yours curved and dipped with the grace of moonlight slipping through branches. He was precision and thunder. You were rhythm and light. 

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. 

The locker room door creaked as you stepped off the ice. And there he was, Sunghoon, perched on the bench like a statue carved from winter itself. He sat hunched over his skates, fingers tugging sharply at the laces, his jaw tight, sweat painting constellations at his temple. You watched him for a beat. The way his leg trembled slightly. The sharp inhale when he shifted. Pain. Not just ghost pain, not the phantom ache of healing. Real. Present.

Your eyes narrowed, and the words came out before you could swallow them. “You’re doing it wrong,” you said, stepping forward, breath curling in the cold. 

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Doing what wrong?” 

“Your stride,” you said, matter-of-fact but warm, like you were offering a cup of tea to a frostbitten soul. “That’s why your leg still hurts so bad. Your form’s all off.” 

He finally glanced at you, those glacier eyes narrowing, irritation flickering just behind them like lightning beneath snowclouds. “I’m what?” 

“You’re playing wrong,” you repeated, standing tall despite your worn skates, your cheeks pink from the chill and adrenaline. “You’re putting too much pressure on the outer part of your knee when you push off. You’re compensating for the pain, which is making it worse.” 

He scoffed. “And you’re what, a doctor now?” 

“Nope.” You smiled, brightly, undeterred. “Just someone who’s fallen on her ass about a thousand times. Figure skaters crash constantly, but we know how to angle our bodies so the impact spreads. It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance. Control.” He looked back down at his skates, tugging harder now, the muscle in his forearm twitching. 

“I can help you, if you want,” you offered, genuine, hopeful, stubborn. “Just with the angles. Not to overstep. Just to help you skate without pain.” He didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe — just maybe — he was considering it. That something in his storm-cloud gaze might soften. Then he snorted. “No thanks, Sunshine.”

The nickname was sharp, but not cruel. More like a brush-off wrapped in thin sarcasm, tossed over his shoulder like a towel. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and limped toward the exit, each step radiating quiet fury. You watched him go, your hands still resting on your hips, heart stung but not shattered. Because here’s the thing about sunshine. It doesn’t need permission to rise. It just does.

So you exhaled. Smiled again, just for yourself. And whispered under your breath like a promise: “Tomorrow, then.” Because you weren’t done. Not even close. The ice hadn’t melted between you yet.

You slipped through the dorm door with your skates still swinging from your shoulder, the scent of cold clinging to your hair like snowflakes that refused to melt. The hallway was dim, the kind of golden hush that only existed in the sliver of hours between late afternoon and true evening, and the air in your room felt just a degree warmer than the rink, barely but enough to sting your fingers with returning blood. And there she was.

Ruka. Curled cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notebooks spread like wings around her. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, earbuds in, and she was scribbling something down with a pencil that had been chewed nearly to death. For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Something felt…off. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you knew people the way skaters knew their balance points — by instinct. You could feel when someone had shifted, even if they looked the same. She didn’t look up when you came in. 

Still, you offered a bright little sigh, a soft smile breaking across your face like morning light spilling across your pillow. “Hey, you disappeared before I left the rink.” You tossed your bag gently onto the floor and began tugging off your coat, the fabric whispering across your skin. “Didn’t even hear you leave. Were you skating again?” You played dumb, of course. 

Ruka blinked at her notebook, then slowly pulled an earbud free. Her eyes met yours. cool, calm, unreadable. “I wasn’t skating,” she said simply. 

You tilted your head, fingers pausing mid-zip on your hoodie. “Oh. So… what were you doing there?” 

it was a harmless question. Light as air. But her answer landed like a stone. “Just watching.” She turned back to her notes like punctuation, and you blinked. Something in her voice had been dipped in frost. Not biting, but distant. Measured. Not her usual soft-spoken stillness, the kind that let you chatter through silences without ever feeling unwelcome. No—this was different. This was cold. You stood there for a beat, hoodie half unzipped, heart tilting a little sideways. 

“Right,” you said, voice laced in artificial warmth. “That’s cool. I didn’t know you were a fan of the rink.” Ruka didn’t reply.

You let out a little laugh, quiet, the kind that fills a space just to prove you still can. And then, still smiling, you crossed the room and sat on your bed, your bones aching from practice, your mind unraveling in quiet questions. You didn’t press. You didn’t pry. That wasn’t your way.

But you thought about the way she had cheered earlier, about how her voice had filled the cold air with warmth meant for someone else. You thought about Sunghoon, skating like he could outrun something, and the way her gaze had followed him like he was the sun she’d never dared look at before. You lay back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes, things shift before you see them coming. And sometimes, people surprise you in the quietest ways.

But still, you stayed kind. Stayed bright. Because even if the room was colder than you remembered, you refused to stop being the warmth. 

The night had softened by the time Sunghoon made it back to the house, the sky bruised with the fading violet of dusk, and the air bit at his skin like it resented his stubbornness. His leg burned. Not the sharp, immediate pain of an old injury flaring, but the deep, heavy ache of something being pushed past its breaking point. Again. 

The front door creaked open under his weight, and the warmth of the frat house spilled over him like syrup. thick and too sweet. Familiar voices tangled together just past the hallway. Laughter. The clink of plates. The low strum of Jay’s voice. He almost turned around. But pride is a chain wrapped around the ribs. And his wouldn’t let go. He stepped inside.

The living room glowed gold, lit by the low hum of lamplight and the occasional flicker of the muted TV. Jay was leaned back on the couch, an open water bottle in hand, while Jake sat beside his very pregnant girlfriend, who had her feet propped up on a pillow. Her belly rose like a gentle tide beneath her sweater, and her eyes shone with that ever-glowing light. soft, observant, and infinitely kind. Three heads turned as Sunghoon limped through the door, his hoodie half-zipped and damp with leftover sweat from practice. 

“You’re limping worse than yesterday,” Jay said, always the captain, always the voice of reason. 

Jake chimed in a beat later, his brows drawn in concern. “Why won’t you just rest, man? You’re not gonna heal if you keep pushing like this.” Sunghoon dropped his gear by the door with a heavy thud, his jaw tight, the pain crawling up his leg like a storm trying to find a place to land. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, not looking at them. “I don’t need a lecture.” 

Jay sighed, the sound edged with exhaustion. “It’s not a lecture, Hoon. It’s basic logic. You’re tearing yourself up out there. You think Coach Bennett’ll let you back in if you break yourself completely?” 

Sunghoon turned, irritation flashing sharp and raw in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be ‘breaking’ if you hadn’t pulled me off the ice in the first place.” 

“You’re not off the team,” Jay replied calmly, setting his bottle down. “You’re on a required recovery period.” 

“The same thing,” Sunghoon snapped. “Don’t split hairs.” 

A quiet cough cut through the tension, and Jake’s girlfriend — sweet as spring rain — shifted a little on the couch. “I think what they’re trying to say is… maybe listening to your body isn’t the worst idea,” she said gently, her voice like a balm. “I mean, sometimes we think we’re fine just because we want to be.” 

It should’ve landed like comfort. But it struck like a match. “Mind your business,” Sunghoon said sharply, the words out before he could call them back. The room froze.

Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. “Hey. Don’t talk to my girl like that.” The silence that followed was molten. Sunghoon’s anger flickered, dimmed, and died out in a single breath. He stared at the floor, guilt pooling heavy in his chest like sleet. 

“I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, quieter now. “Sorry. That was—stupid. I’m sorry.” Jake’s girlfriend gave him a small, understanding smile. She always forgave too easily. That only made it worse. 

Sunghoon grabbed his water bottle and turned away, shoulders stiff, shame clinging to him like another layer of sweat-soaked fabric. He climbed the stairs slowly, every step a needle driven into the muscle behind his knee. When he reached his room, he shut the door softly almost tenderly and stood there in the quiet, staring at nothing for a long moment. The pain was still there, pulsing like a second heartbeat. But deeper than that — beneath the bruised ego and the battered pride was something else. 

Your voice, bright and persistent, kept echoing in his mind.

“You’re playing wrong.”“It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance.”“I can help you.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. It had sounded ridiculous earlier. But now, with the pain sharp and unrelenting, and the silence of the room pressing in like a judgment, your offer didn’t seem so foolish. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe you actually knew what you were talking about.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, leg stretched out in front of him like a broken line. The ice, the skates, the ache, the quiet praise you gave him even when he hadn’t earned it… it all blurred together. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to push the pain away. He let it sit beside him like a mirror. Maybe see you again tomorrow. And maybe… he’d listen this time. 

The sky was the color of wet pearls as you made your way to the rink, the kind of soft gray that promised rain but never delivered. Your skates were slung over your shoulder, biting at your hip with every step, and your breath came out in visible puffs that floated like little ghosts of determination. You were a girl on a mission, fueled by blind optimism and an unyielding belief that even the most frozen things could melt if you were warm enough, loud enough, kind enough. And Sunghoon? He was a glacier. But even glaciers cracked under time and pressure.

The door to the rink groaned open and welcomed you with that familiar chill, that bite of air laced with the perfume of ice and steel. You stepped in like it was a cathedral, reverent in your own way, eyes scanning the space that had become your evening altar. He was there. Already. Park Sunghoon. Laced in shadow and silence. 

He sat on the bench near the boards, bent over his skates, fingers threading laces with a quiet intensity, jaw set like it was carved from marble. His hair was damp at the edges, the kind of mess that spoke of someone who didn’t care enough to fix it but hadn’t quite let go of vanity either. The light caught on the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and for a moment you paused just a moment because something about him looked… different. He looked Less angry. Or maybe just tired of being angry. You couldn’t figure out which was which. 

You marched up anyway, smile already blooming like a sunflower on your face, warmth radiating off of you in a way the ice couldn’t fight. “Okay,” you said, breathless not from the cold but from the flurry of thoughts bursting behind your eyes. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—” 

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, but not cruel. Not cold. Just quiet. “I said okay,” he repeated, voice low but clear. “Meet me here. Every weekday. 6:30 p.m. sharp.” 

You stared at him, stunned into something dangerously close to speechless. “Wait. Wait, did you — did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Well don’t deny me — wait. What.” A ghost of a smirk, barely there, almost imaginary curved at the corner of his mouth. “Meet me here on time, Sunshine.” 

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, the sound tumbling out of you like birds startled into flight. “Sunshine, huh? You really can’t help yourself with the nicknames.” He stood then, tall and limping slightly, but not so much that you missed the way his frame shifted lighter. Like saying yes had peeled off a layer of armor. Like hope, when it finally arrived, it didn't have to announce itself loudly; it just had to be there. “6:30,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

You saluted with mock seriousness, grinning wide. “Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes and skated toward the ice, but this time… this time he didn’t avoid you. Not entirely. And just like that, a crack had opened in the glacier. Small. Fragile. But real. And you, all sun and stubbornness, were ready to shine straight through it. 

The next day dawned with a sky stretched in pale watercolor, as if the heavens themselves were yawning awake. And you moved with purpose, energy stitched into your limbs like golden thread, skipping down the hallway with your skates in one hand and a banana in the other, mid-bite, mid-monologue about how today was going to be the day Sunghoon learned the art of surrender. Not to defeat — oh no but to gravity. To momentum. To pain that teaches rather than punishes. 

The rink was quieter than usual when you arrived, its emptiness echoing with the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice. The air was its usual crisp kiss, sharp enough to sting but not to bruise. Sunghoon was already there, of course, punctual and pouting. He sat on the bench with his skate half-laced and his hoodie still on, like a knight begrudgingly preparing for a battle he didn’t believe in. You practically twirled in, dropping your bag with theatrical flair. “Alright, Captain Crankypants,” you called out, voice bright and bell-clear, “today we begin with the basics. Lesson one: how to fall like a pro.” 

He groaned, long and low, as if your very presence was the headache he couldn’t shake. “You want me to fall? On purpose?” His eyes flicked up at you, unimpressed. “Yeah, that sounds super smart.” You beamed at him, entirely unbothered. “Not just fall. Fall well. There’s an art to it, you know. A science. A rhythm. You can’t just slam into the ground like a dropped dumbbell, you’ll wreck yourself that way.” 

He scoffed, standing slowly, testing his weight on that healing leg with guarded precision. “Pretty sure falling’s the last thing I should be doing if I want to get back on the ice with my team.” 

“But that’s exactly why you should,” you replied, tilting your head, as if the answer was written in the frost forming along the glass. “Because falling isn’t the problem, Sunghoon. It’s how you fall. We don’t learn to stop gravity. We learn to meet it, roll with it, get back up without it stealing anything more than our breath.” His eyes narrowed, a storm cloud gathering, quiet but looming. “That’s figure skating stuff.” 

“Exactly,” you chirped. “Which is why you’re lucky you’ve got me.” 

He looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing as you tugged on your gloves. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” With slow reluctance, like a stubborn mountain giving in to time, Sunghoon followed you onto the ice. His strides were careful, a ghost of his former fluidity trailing behind each push. You watched him move with a softness in your gaze, knowing he was fighting something far deeper than physical injury. He was mourning a version of himself that had been left behind in the locker room that day, when his knee gave out and the world fell with it. You stopped near center rink and turned to face him. “Okay. Watch me.” 

You let yourself fall, dramatically and deliberately. A gentle twist of the hips, a tuck of the arms, a controlled slide that kissed the ice instead of collided with it. You rose just as quickly, nimble and unbothered. “See? Easy peasy, gravity is greedy but we’re smarter.” 

He muttered something under his breath, something about this being ridiculous, but you caught the way his lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. Just… conflict. And curiosity. “Try it,” you said, your voice dipped in sugar and sunshine. “Don’t think. Just fall. Trust that I’ll teach you how to land softer.” 

He hesitated, eyes flickering across the rink like it might mock him, like it might remember how once, not long ago, it had hurt him. But finally, with a sigh that could have been mistaken for wind, he crouched a little, awkward and stiff, and let himself go. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. He landed with a thud and a grunt, half-turned and slightly off balance. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t wince. And he didn’t stay down. You clapped, delighted. “Not bad! You’ve got the makings of a Bambi-on-ice!” 

He rolled his eyes, but he was sitting up now, flexing his leg, and something in his face had shifted. A flicker of belief. A spark of possibility.

You offered your hand. He didn’t take it. But he stood on his own. And that, in your eyes, was progress painted in frost and stubborn hope. Practice ended in a flurry of silence and exhale, the kind that leaves your lungs aching and your limbs trembling from exhaustion masked as endurance. The rink had settled into a sleepy hush, the overhead lights casting silver puddles onto the ice like pools of moonlight spilled from a weary sky. Sunghoon had spent most of the hour gliding just beyond your reach, stoic and brooding, a storm cloud in a jersey, orbiting your sunshine in quiet, reluctant circles. But progress had been made. Not in leaps or bounds, but in small things: the twitch of a smile that he didn’t quite manage to kill, the way he didn’t protest when you told him his weight distribution was off. Tiny steps, quiet victories. 

You both sat now on the bench that bordered the rink, his skates half-untied, yours dangling from your fingers as you caught your breath. His hoodie clung to him in damp creases, his hair plastered to his forehead, and yet he still managed to look like he’d stepped out of some tragic poem. A sonnet of scraped ice and stubbornness. “So…” you began, voice light as lace, “about Ruka.” 

He didn’t look at you, only furrowed his brows deeper into the shadows of his lashes. “Who?” 

You turned slightly, lacing one skate in slow loops as you stole a glance at his profile. “The girl who was here the other day. Cheering for you like it was the Olympics.” Realization flickered across his face like lightning fast, dismissive. “Oh. The cheerleader.” 

You laughed, not unkindly. “She’s not a cheerleader, she’s my roommate. And she might have a tiny little crush on you.” Sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as if the ceiling above might offer him divine rescue. “Great. Just what I need.” 

“What, adoration?” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “Must be so hard.” He didn’t answer right away, his jaw working through something he didn’t say aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t date.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?” 

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” 

He looked at you then, a long, lingering look, as if trying to decide whether your optimism was a costume or a calling. “I do love,” he said, softer this time. “I love the game. That’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

“But maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you offered, voice barely more than a breath. He let out a short laugh — dry, not cruel. “Sounds like something out of one of those cheesy rom-coms you’d make me watch.” 

You smiled, undeterred, pulling your coat tighter around you as the cold began to kiss at your skin. “You’d be surprised what stories can teach you.” 

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He stood, the worn laces of his skates now untied completely, his posture tight, shoulders stiff with the ache he wouldn’t admit. He slung his bag over one arm and glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the dull glow of the rink’s overhead light.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

“At 6:30,” you replied, standing too.

He nodded, already walking away, and you watched him disappear into the tunnel that led out of the rink, his shadow swallowed by silence. Still, even as the chill pressed into your bones and your breath misted in the air, you smiled. Because he hadn’t said no. And sometimes, that was the first word in a yes.

The frat house was pulsing, alive with sound and sweat and lights that flickered like epileptic stars. The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, the kind that didn’t come from within you but pressed on your ribs from the outside, trying to break in. It was the kind of night made for forgetting, flashing cups, flushed cheeks, dizzy laughter. But Sunghoon had nothing he wanted to forget, only things he was trying to survive. His body was a map of ache, his knee a smoldering ember, his back tensed and twisted, his temples drumming a painful rhythm. He should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve wrapped himself in the quiet and left the world to burn without him. 

Instead, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the limbs that bumped against his shoulders, the haze of perfume and cologne, the drunk declarations and loud, sloppy choruses of songs everyone pretended to know. The lights made everything look fake — skin too bright, eyes too glassy. He moved like a ghost among the living. The kitchen was a marginally calmer pocket of air, though even it buzzed with tension. Soobin stood near the counter, arms crossed, stoic in a way that looked practiced. Yunjin stood in front of him, animated, eyebrows tight and lips moving too fast, too sharp. Sunghoon didn’t catch the words, but the emotion slapped against the tile floor like broken glass. Love turned into a battlefield over cheap beer and pride. 

Heeseung leaned against the fridge, sipping something bright and unholy from a red plastic cup, and Jay stood beside him, eyes flicking from Soobin and Yunjin to Sunghoon with a practiced detachment. “Rough night?” Heeseung asked, his tone too casual to be innocent. 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He glanced at the tension in the room, the cracked silence in Soobin’s stance, the hurt in Yunjin’s voice. “What’s their deal?” he asked, jerking his chin in their direction. Jay shrugged, reaching for a half-empty bag of chips. “Who knows. Been like that all week.” 

“We try not to get involved,” Heeseung added, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sunghoon gave a noncommittal grunt and moved to grab a water bottle from the counter. The cold plastic stung his palm, grounded him for a second. The kitchen smelled like too many people and too many drinks, but it was better than the noise outside. 

Jay leaned in slightly. “Hey, by the way — a girl was walking around asking for you earlier.”  

At that, something in Sunghoon stuttered some quiet spark of thought, unspoken and unacknowledged. His mind flicked to you, impossibly bright and smiling, always halfway through a sentence, your words cotton candy and conviction. It was a fleeting hope, gone before he could even name it. Then Jay nodded toward the hallway, where Ruka stood, wearing confidence like perfume and eyeing the room like she owned it. 

Sunghoon’s mouth twisted. The little spark of hope snuffed out before it could catch flame. “Of course,” he muttered. He didn’t wait for her to notice him. He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, weaving back through the crowd, avoiding her gaze like it might pierce him. He wasn’t in the mood for polite smiles or coy compliments, not in the mood to be someone else’s fantasy when he couldn’t even bear being himself right now. 

He was almost free, fingers brushing the door to his room, sanctuary just a heartbeat away when her voice cut through the noise behind him. “Sunghoon, wait.” 

He froze. Not in obedience, but in dread the way a predator might freeze in the moment it realizes it’s been cornered. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, because if he didn’t look at her, maybe she’d vanish into the static of the party behind them. But Ruka didn’t vanish. She chased. Her heels clicked across the floor like punctuation in a sentence he didn’t want to read. Then her hand was on his arm — cloying, too warm, too familiar. He yanked away from her grasp like her touch burned. And maybe it did. Maybe everything burned lately. 

She flinched at his reaction, then softened her voice into something apologetic and breathy, practiced like a song she’d sung too many times. “I’m sorry, okay? I just— I wanted to say something.” He said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stairwell. “She’s not who you think she is,” Ruka said then, her voice low but sharp, like a knife being slipped between the ribs. “That girl you’ve been skating with. All that sunshine and sparkle? It’s a show. She’s not that happy. She's actually really depressing.” 

The words echoed strangely in the space between them, bouncing off the noise of the house and falling like lead at his feet. Sunghoon turned then, slowly, like something ancient and brimming with wrath. His face was calm, but his eyes — his eyes held storms. Not the kind that pass, but the kind that drown entire cities. “Mind your business,” he said, his voice cold enough to crack glass. 

Ruka blinked, taken aback. Maybe she’d expected amusement. Maybe she thought he’d nod in agreement or laugh, or at the very least, care. But he didn’t laugh. And he did care and that infuriated him even more. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned and stormed back down the stairs, shoving past strangers with empty smiles and red plastic cups. The house felt suffocating, bloated with sound and people and things he didn’t have the patience for. His skin felt tight, his heart loud, his thoughts louder. 

Why did it bother him? Why did her words sink under his skin like a splinter?

She didn’t know you. Not really. Not the way he’d started to. Not in the way you spoke about falling like it was an art form, not in the way you tried to fix him like he was something worth mending.  He shoved out the front door, the cold air biting at his skin like it, too, had something to prove. His breath left in bursts of fog, pain pulsing behind his kneecap as if to remind him of every bruise he carried, every truth he refused to name. 

He walked towards the diner that nearly everyone frequented on campus. Hoping and praying for some sense of solace. 

The booth by the window smelled of syrup and coffee and the kind of late-night grease that clung to the bones of a day too long lived. The diner was warm in the way a memory is warm, buzzing neon lights humming above like lullabies, and the soft clink of forks on ceramic drifting through the air like wind chimes in a storm's lull. You sat alone, chin propped up in your palm, tracing swirls in the condensation of your water glass, legs still sore from practice but your spirit untouched, untouched the way a flame dances even after the wax is nearly gone. Your plate was half full, pancakes cut into clumsy quarters, syrup pooling in the valleys. You were halfway through recounting your own day in your head out loud, of course, because silence had never been your companion when the bell above the door rang. 

You looked up. The words on your tongue stuttered into stillness. Sunghoon. It was Sunghoon. 

Still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing at the rink, his hair damp with sweat or melted frost, eyes dark with something that stormed just beneath the surface. He paused when he saw you, shoulders sinking with theatrical dread. Of course, he thought. Of course you’d be here, light personified, smile too wide for the hour and heart too open for someone who’d barely gotten a thank you out of him. 

“Sunghoon!” you beamed, like the sky had cracked open just to drop this moment into your lap. Your voice, effervescent as soda fizz, bounced toward him like a pebble skipping across water. He groaned. It was low, dramatic, and pulled from somewhere that wanted desperately to be annoyed, but didn’t quite make it. “Of course you’re here.” 

“Where else would I be?” you grinned, motioning to the seat across from you like you’d always meant it for him. “So… what brings you to this fine establishment at such a glamorous hour?” 

“I was hungry,” he deadpanned, walking over with the kind of gait that whispered of pain. He didn’t explain the limp, didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Why else would someone come to a diner?” Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“Touché,” you said, then leaned in with a twinkle in your eye. “Want to sit with me?” 

He opened his mouth, likely to decline with something sarcastic and sharp-edged, but the words caught on the way out. Maybe it was your smile, or the glow of the booth light painting soft halos in your hair, or maybe — though he’d never admit it —i t was just that being near you quieted something in him, something he didn’t know needed quieting. “Sure,” he muttered. 

He slid into the seat across from you, his movements slow, like each inch of space between pain and stillness had to be negotiated. You didn’t mention the way he winced as he sat. You just smiled again, folding your hands in front of you like this was a normal thing, the two of you, alone together in a corner of the night that didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Sunghoon didn’t tell you what Ruka had said. He didn’t tell you how it sat on his chest like a stone, how her voice echoed in his skull like wind through a cracked window. Because it wasn’t his to say. And because, deep down, he already knew it wasn’t true. 

He saw you fall on the ice and rise again like it was a song your body knew by heart. He heard the way your laughter curved around your words and the way your voice filled silence with life, not noise. No — whatever Ruka thought she knew of you, it was only a fraction, and not the kind he cared to carry. Instead, he stared down at your plate, brows raised. 

“Pancakes at midnight?” he asked. 

You shrugged, delighted. “Midnight pancakes fix all problems. Haven’t you heard?” 

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” 

“Well he sounds like a pretty smart guy.” You quirked, picking at your pancakes leisurely. 

Sunghoon huffed a laugh — small but still there. “Sure.” For a while, the two of you sat in something not quite silence, not quite conversation, but alive and breathing all the same. And in the quiet hum of syrup-sticky booths and flickering neon signs, something invisible began to shift. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter had become a kind of lullaby, murmuring softly beneath the quiet chatter of the few remaining night owls nestled into booths and barstools. Across from you, Sunghoon picked at the edge of a sugar packet, his fingers deft and idle, not quite meeting your eyes, but listening in that particular way he always did, like he was preparing to argue but got caught up in your melody instead. 

You sat across from him, legs tucked under you like a child curling into a story, your face glowing with the heat of possibility rather than the diner’s neon haze. And he watched you, not that he’d admit it. Not that he knew what to do with someone like you. “I’m going to make the podium this year,” you said, sudden and certain, stabbing a lone pancake piece with your fork like it was fate itself. “I don’t care what place. Bronze, silver, first runner-up to the crowd favorite. I just want to stand there, see the crowd, and know I didn’t fall flat.” 

Sunghoon blinked at you. “Figure skating finals?” 

You nodded, then grinned. “The big ones. My coach calls it the crown jewel. The end of the season, the whole year in a single performance. I tanked last time. fell on my opening jump and never recovered. My blade caught the edge, and it all spiraled. Couldn’t hear the music over the panic. I was supposed to shine and instead I… dulled.” 

The words weren’t bitter, just honest. You spoke of failure with a sort of reverent gentleness, as if it were a bruise you had long since accepted. It surprised him how freely you gave that part of yourself away. No dramatics. No self-pity. Just truth. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “And you’re trying again?” 

“Of course.” Your voice was light, but sure. “I owe it to the version of me that cried backstage and promised to do better. I owe it to the dream that didn’t die just because I messed up once. Besides, we fall all the time in figure skating on ice, off ice. You just get up and do it again.” Something in him shifted at that. The ice in his chest cracked a little more, as if the warmth in your voice could thaw even the places he'd long buried under frost and fury. 

You caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled, like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head. You’re the one always brooding like the main character in a sports anime.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge was gone. He stared at the last of his fries, then slowly pushed the plate aside. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost like it was a compliment. 

You beamed, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.” And just like that, between the flicker of fluorescent lights and the taste of melted syrup, the world felt a little less heavy. He didn’t tell you about Ruka. He didn’t mention the ache in his knee or the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt like lashing out or retreating. He just sat there, listening to you talk about your music selection and how you were planning to bedazzle your new competition costume yourself  “with enough rhinestones to blind the front row” and something quiet inside him settled.

He didn’t believe in miracles. But maybe… maybe he could believe in second chances. Especially the ones that came in the shape of bright eyes, chipped diner mugs, and a voice that refused to give up. Even on him. 

The night air was a velvet hush wrapped around the world, stitched with distant traffic and the occasional hum of streetlamp flicker. The diner door swung shut behind you both with a bell's chime like the last note of a lullaby. Outside, the cold kissed your cheeks and painted your exhales into fleeting ghosts, trailing behind you like forgotten sentences. You walked beside him, your boots crunching gently over old salt and fractured pavement, the glow of the diner still soft behind you. He walked with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as if he were always prepared for winter — even in spring. 

But you, you carried warmth like it bloomed from your chest. You talked, because silence begged to be filled and your thoughts were too colorful to keep caged. "I always liked walking at night," you began, voice barely louder than the rustle of your jacket. "When I was little, my dad used to say the stars came out just to eavesdrop on our dreams. I used to whisper to them before bed. Tell them everything I was too scared to say out loud." Sunghoon said nothing, only shifted slightly, head tilted as though your words trailed behind his ears like music on low volume. His footsteps matched yours, deliberate, steady. Listening. Always listening. 

You glanced up at the sky, where stars flickered shyly through the sprawl of city haze. “Some nights, when I’m scared before a competition, I still talk to them. Like, ‘Hey, I know I biffed the last triple loop but if you could just not let me crash this time, that’d be amazing.’” You laughed lightly. “They’re probably tired of hearing about my spiral sequences.” He almost smiled. Almost. You kept going, because silence in his company no longer felt daunting, only deep. A pool that welcomed your words, let them sink in, soak through. He didn’t need to speak. He just needed to be there, and somehow, he was. 

“I don’t think people realize how lonely it is to try to be great,” you mused. “Everyone sees the sparkle, the applause, the medals. But they don’t see the bruised knees. The missed meals. The days where you cry on the cold rink floor because you can’t land a stupid jump you’ve done a thousand times. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” Still, no answer. Just his steady breath beside you, vapor blooming and vanishing. But his eyes had that quiet fire, the kind that flickered only for the things that mattered. 

“I think… that’s why I don’t let myself stay down. Because even when it hurts, I still want it. Not the spotlight. Just the chance. To be better. To feel like I’m flying again, even if only for four minutes.” The street turned quieter, the neighborhood dipping into darker corners, sleepy houses pressing close together like secrets being kept warm. You stole a glance at him then, expecting — what? A laugh? A scoff? 

But Sunghoon’s gaze was forward, brows drawn in thought. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk faster, either. He stayed at your side like a shadow that had chosen you. And then, after a silence long enough to count heartbeats, he said, low and rough, “What’s your program this year?” 

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” He nodded once. Just once. And somehow, it felt like the biggest applause. You didn’t need him to say more. You didn’t need him to match your sunshine with light. He was the stillness where your words could echo and not be lost. And for that, you walked beside him in silence the rest of the way, the night folding around you both like a promise waiting to be made. 

The night had mellowed into something hushed and golden, a quiet that settled over your shared footsteps like falling petals. The city exhaled slowly, as if sighing into sleep, and still you walked beside him, two shadows drawn in parallel ink, aligned but never touching. Then, out of the hush, his voice rose like a single note plucked from a cello string, low and sudden. “What’s your deal with Ruka?” 

You blinked, startled by the sound, by the question, by the way his words cut through your stardust-thoughts like a falling star slicing the sky. You turned to him with raised brows, lips parted with a breath that hadn’t yet become a word. “Ruka?” you echoed, the name tasting foreign when it came from your mouth. 

He didn’t look at you, just kept walking, hands still in his pockets, his jaw set like stone worn smooth by time. It didn’t sound like idle curiosity. But then again, nothing about Park Sunghoon ever felt idle. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not because of the cold, but because something inside you had curled up, uncertain. 

“Oh, um. We’re not really close,” you said, the words spilling like marbles rolling across a hardwood floor — easy, but a little scattered. “She’s my roommate this year, just this year. My last roommate, Sakura, graduated early. We were kind of inseparable.” You smiled faintly at the memory, soft and aching. “She used to help me with my hair before competitions. Always had a bobby pin in her pocket, even if we were just going to the store. I miss her.” 

He said nothing, just nodded once. The moonlight caught his profile and painted it silver. “She’s really smart, Ruka,” you went on, feeling the silence ask for more even if he didn’t. “Always has her headphones in. Always studying. We talk sometimes, but mostly she just… lets me ramble. Which, you know, I tend to do.” You gave a light laugh, hoping the sound would cut the tension, soften the edges. 

But he didn’t laugh with you. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded again, like your words were being filed away in some hidden drawer inside him. And for a moment — brief and bitter and fleeting you felt a twinge. A single pulse of something dark and unfamiliar. It settled beneath your ribs like a secret. Jealousy. You didn’t want to call it that. You didn’t want to name the way your throat tightened when he asked about her, or the way your heart gave a suspicious little stutter at the thought of her name brushing his interest. 

Did he like her? The thought was ridiculous. Maybe. Maybe not. But it lodged in your chest like a thorn. And what surprised you most wasn’t the question. It was how much it mattered. You shook the feeling off with a practiced smile, the kind you wore in the mirror before competition, the one that told the world everything was okay, even if your knees were shaking. 

“She’s alright,” you said, voice light, breezy, so casual it almost disguised the knot in your gut. “But I think she prefers silence. I talk too much for her taste.” Still, he said nothing.

And you wondered, as the two of you drifted past sleeping houses and rustling trees, if you could ever stop wanting to know what was running behind his quiet eyes. Maybe he’d never say it. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But tonight, walking beside him through the tender hours of the dark, you wished he’d turn and say something that would loosen the twinge in your chest. Instead, he walked on. Still and silent. And you matched his pace, wondering if maybe that was enough. At least for now. 

The dorm room welcomed you with the kind of stillness that felt staged, like a scene waiting for the actors to step into place. The air was warm, tinged faintly with lavender and printer ink, the signature scent of shared space and sleepless study. You slipped inside quietly, the door closing behind you with a hush instead of a click. For once, your voice didn’t follow you in. 

You didn’t start with a story or a sigh, didn’t fill the silence with your usual cascade of chatter about a late-night craving or a skater’s cramp or how the moon had looked like a sugar cookie on the walk back. No, tonight you simply moved through the space like a ghost of yourself soft-footed, uncharacteristically quiet. Ruka was there, as always, hunched over her desk like a cathedral of discipline, shoulders drawn tight under the glow of her desk lamp. Her highlighter moved like a slow metronome across the page, precise and deliberate. But when you entered without a word, she paused. 

You didn’t notice at first. You were too focused on your routine kicking off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door, tucking your food container into the small fridge like you were sealing away the last hour of your night. The remnants of warm laughter and cool night air still clung to your skin, even as the fluorescent light washed everything colorless. It was only when she turned, slow and deliberate that you met her gaze. “I went to see Sunghoon tonight,” she said, her voice smooth but wrapped in something slippery. Something rehearsed. 

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Oh?” 

She nodded, looking back at her notes for a second like they might give her the courage to lie again. “Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” The words hung there like wet clothes on a line, dripping, sagging under the weight of their own fabrication. And you knew. You knew in the marrow of your bones, in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat still synced to the rhythm of footsteps beside Sunghoon’s. You knew because you had just walked home with him, the ache of his silence still pressed like thumbprints into your thoughts. But you said nothing.

You didn’t call her out or laugh or ask her why she thought you wouldn’t notice the lie curling like smoke between her syllables. You didn’t say, “Actually, I just walked home with him,” or, “That’s strange, he didn’t mention you.” No. Instead, you sat down at your desk, unzipping your jacket, fingers steady as you untied your shoes. You offered her a smile — small, polite, hollow in the middle and said, “That’s nice.” 

Ruka turned back to her notes, and you turned to face the wall, blinking slowly as if you could paint over the moment with enough quiet. And though you didn’t say it out loud, a strange new feeling began to settle beneath your ribs, something like suspicion, something like sadness. Not because of the lie itself, but because you couldn’t understand why she’d told it. What purpose it served. What it meant. But more than that, what unsettled you the most was how your heart gave the tiniest tug at the idea that she wanted Sunghoon to herself. That maybe, just maybe, she knew you were starting to want him too. And you hated how that made you feel.

By the time Sunghoon returned to the frat house, the storm of music and voices had softened into something gentler like rain losing its temper. The halls no longer throbbed with bass, just pulsed quietly with leftover laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shriek from the living room where someone was trying to revive a dying game of beer pong. The air smelled like stale cologne, cheap beer, and exhaustion.  

He pushed through the front door, body aching in ways he didn’t dare name, shoulders stiff with memory. The walk home had helped, a little. The diner even more so. Or maybe it wasn’t the diner, it was you. That smile. That damn voice of yours, all melody and motion, coloring every dull corner of his night until it looked like morning. He hadn’t even meant to go out. He just couldn’t stay there, not after the lies that curled out of Ruka’s mouth like perfume. 

Heeseung was sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips, half-asleep and still wearing his shoes. Jay sat nearby, nursing a water bottle like it was whiskey, his guitar leaning against the side table, untouched. They looked up when Sunghoon walked in, both of them clocking the shift in him, the unbrushed hair, the frown lines that had softened just barely, like something had tried to loosen their hold. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Diner,” Sunghoon muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His muscles cried out as he moved, his knee barking like it wanted to collapse. “You missed the show,” Heeseung said through a yawn. “Your little fangirl was here. Again.” 

Jay snorted. “Ruka. She was asking around for you. Whole place thought she’d get a kiss out of you before midnight.” Then came the question, as casual as it was crude, tossed out like a beer can into a bonfire. 

“So?” Jay leaned back, grinning. “You tap that?” 

The words hung in the room like fog, heavy and misplaced. Sunghoon didn’t even look up from the sink as he filled his glass. He stood still for a breath. Then another. “Hell no,” he said flatly. “I just went to the diner.” 

it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even irritated. It was simply true delivered with the sharp edge of certainty. A line drawn clean in the dirt. Jay let out a low whistle. Heeseung chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just sipped his water, jaw tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the counter like he was trying to smooth it out with sheer will.

Because what he didn’t say not to Jay, not to Heeseung, not even to himself was that he didn’t want Ruka. Had never wanted her. Not with her lipsticked lies and her eyes that always seemed to be searching for attention like it was currency. And yet, somehow, your voice kept echoing in his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget. “Falling is inevitable unless you can stop gravity.” He couldn’t stop gravity. Not on the ice. Not in his chest. And it was starting to terrify him. 

Monday came with the bite of wind and the soft shiver of pre-dawn blue, the kind of chill that kissed your skin and whispered promises of something new. The rink sat like a cathedral of silence, your shared sanctuary of sweat and bruised ego, laughter and aching limbs. The boards were cold. The air was colder. But you… you were warm, incandescent, still grinning as you laced your skates with hope braided into every loop. 

Sunghoon was already there, stretching his legs like the world had done him a personal disservice. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, but his eyes those, wintry things, found you easily, like a compass that refused to point anywhere else. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t complain as you chirped about your new routine, about your bruised knee from the spin you biffed on Saturday, about how this week felt like the start of something. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But he skated. And fell. A lot.

You counted at least thirteen crashes before you stopped keeping score—some clumsy, some oddly graceful, all equally frustrating for him. Each time, he’d scowl, curse under his breath, and brush himself off like he was made of pride stitched too tight. But you never stopped encouraging him, your words a steady stream of sunlight spilling through his clouds.

“Better!”

“That fall was cleaner!”

“You angled your shoulder perfectly!”

He looked at you like you were ridiculous. Which, maybe, you were. But you were ridiculously happy to be here. With him. By the time the clock curled toward the last stretch of practice, he’d finally done it. Not a fall, but a landing. A descent that didn’t jar his bones, one where his body absorbed the impact like water receiving rain, smooth, natural, right. You gasped and your joy exploded out of you, bright and loud and uncontainable.

“You did it!” you cheered, skates clattering against the ice as you skidded over to him. “You actually did it, Sunghoon!”

He looked up from where he was still crouched slightly, his breath misting the air, eyes wide. And for the first time, the very first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t that half-tilted, cynical curl he used when he was being sarcastic or amused. It was real. Unburdened. And somehow, it made him look like a boy again, soft-edged, bright-eyed, touched by something other than pain or pressure. The moment lingered. Too long. 

His smile stayed, your breath caught in your throat like a fluttering thing. The distance between you thinned until there was only the sound of the ice humming beneath your skates, and then,  Then you kissed him. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward, heart drumming in your chest like a war cry and a lullaby all at once, and kissed him — soft and sure, like the ice beneath your feet had whispered that you wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t kiss you back. 

You pulled away instantly, horror creeping into your chest like cold water. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—I mean I wasn’t trying to—ugh—Sunghoon, I just got caught up in the—” And then he was kissing you. Fast. Sure. No warning, no wind-up, just his lips on yours like punctuation, like a sentence he’d been writing in his head for days but didn’t know how to say out loud. You blinked when he pulled back. He looked stunned, maybe a little dazed. You were definitely breathless. And then, as if nothing had happened, you both went back to skating. Circling each other like stars in orbit silent, spinning, on fire. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But neither of you forgot it. 

Outside the glow of the floodlights, just beyond the fragile safety of the rink’s boards, a shadow lingered silent and still like frost waiting to bloom. Ruka stood there, tucked in the hollow between concrete and glass, her presence cloaked by the buzz of overhead lamps and the trance of celebration that unfolded before her. She hadn’t meant to come. She had only wanted to stop by, to catch another glimpse of him, of Sunghoon in that candid, breathless space where his armor sometimes slipped. Maybe she would pretend it was a coincidence again. Maybe she’d bring him something warm, an excuse wrapped in a paper cup and a shy smile. But what she saw was not Sunghoon alone. 

Through the gleaming haze of the ice, through the rhythm of blades carving truth into frozen ground, she saw you. Beaming. Radiant in your joy. And she saw Sunghoon — grinning back. Not his usual strained grimace or practiced smirk. No, this smile was something else. Real. Unearthed. Unearned, in her eyes. And then, the kiss. Her breath caught like a gasp in winter wind. She pressed her palm flat against the glass as if to steady herself, as if to break through the divide between her and what she saw, a moment that didn’t belong to her but felt like it should have. That soft, charged touch of lips in the heart of the rink burned like a betrayal, even if no promises had ever been made to her. It was a kiss that seemed to split the ice beneath her feet. And she hated how gentle it was, how true. 

The rage came slowly, like an icicle forming drip by bitter drip. A seethe in her gut. A fire in her lungs. She had spent so much time watching, studying, calculating, positioning herself at just the right angle to catch his eye. She knew the timing of his strides, the way his brows furrowed when he was lost in thought. She had noticed him long before you had ever touched the same ice. And yet it was you — scatterbrained, sunny, ever-yapping you — that he kissed.

She backed away, breath coming out in little bursts of fog, eyes trained on the scene unfolding before her like a play she hadn’t auditioned for but still wanted a lead in. She didn’t care that he pulled away quickly. She didn’t care that you stammered your apology. All she could see was the connection, the tether stretching invisible and unbreakable between your smile and his rare, reluctant joy. She could feel the bitterness pool in her chest like ink in water, spreading fast and without mercy. You hadn’t seen her. Neither had he. You never noticed the fracture blooming quietly in the corner of the world you shared. But she did. And it stung, not because it was love lost, but because it never even had the chance to begin. 

The walk back to the dorm felt like treading on the edge of a dream, your feet barely touching the ground, your breath catching on the remnants of laughter that still lingered like glitter in your chest. The night air was cool, brushing your cheeks like a secret, the kind that only stars overhead seemed to know. You tucked your hands into your coat pockets, smiled like a secret was blossoming behind your lips, and tilted your face skyward, as if asking the moon to keep your moment safe. You had kissed him. Or maybe the moment kissed you, soft and strange and suspended in time, like a snowflake caught mid-fall. It didn’t matter who leaned in first, or that he hesitated, or that nothing had been said after. What mattered was the way the world tilted after. The way his eyes had widened before he kissed you back like something inside him had cracked open. Like he’d been waiting all along but just didn’t know it. Something had changed, undeniably and irreversibly, and it made your limbs feel like cotton, your thoughts like honey. 

There was a shift now. Subtle but seismic. You could feel it humming in the soles of your feet, echoing in the memory of the moment. You didn’t know what it meant yet, not exactly but something had softened between you two, and in that softness, you found a kind of quiet joy. When you reached your building, you entered with the reverence of someone carrying something precious. The hallway lights buzzed faintly, and your steps echoed gently down the corridor, a rhythm almost musical in its contentment. You reached your door and turned the knob, half-expecting to see Ruka with her usual mess of notebooks and headphones, wrapped in her silent storm of thoughts and solitude. But the room was empty. 

The lights were off save for the sliver of streetlamp that painted silver lines through the blinds. The air was still, undisturbed. Ruka’s bed was neatly made, her chair tucked in, her world untouched. And for once, you were grateful. You slipped inside and let the door close behind you with a soft click, as if trying not to disturb the fragile bubble that wrapped around your joy. There was something beautiful in the quiet, something that gave you space to breathe, to process, to smile without anyone asking why. You moved slowly, deliberately, putting away your things, peeling off layers like petals until only your giddy little heart remained.

And then, standing there in the low light, you allowed yourself to relive the glide of your skates, the crispness of the air, the look on his face just before he closed the distance. You pressed your fingers gently to your lips, almost to confirm they still tingled. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t spoken about it. Not yet. It mattered that it happened. It mattered that, for the first time in a long time, your heart felt like it had been seen. And for that, you let yourself float just a little longer on the dream of it all. 

The walk home was quiet, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. Sunghoon’s limbs ached as usual, the kind of ache that seeped into marrow and muscle and made itself at home but tonight, it was quieter. Like even the pain had decided to take a breath, loosen its grip on his body and allow him a moment of peace. There was a strange calm moving through him, something light and unfamiliar. His mind replayed that kiss, not obsessively, but gently, like turning over a smooth stone in his pocket. The softness of your lips. The way you smiled before it happened. The burst of something warm and startling that bloomed in his chest when you leaned in, and even more so when he kissed you back. Like an ember flickering to life in a long-cold hearth. He didn’t want to overthink it, and yet, it sat with him now — steady, glowing, undeniable. But as the frat house came into view, that flickering warmth began to dim. She was there.

Perched like a stormcloud on the stone steps, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face streaked with tears that glistened under the porch light. Ruka. Her presence felt like a sudden cold front, a sharp drop in temperature, a wind that bit instead of kissed. Sunghoon paused at the edge of the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at him to turn around and disappear into the dark. But she looked up. And she saw him. 

He kept walking. Slow, steady, bracing himself. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet exhaustion. 

Ruka sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her too-expensive cardigan. “I saw you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of accusation. “I saw you guys… kissing.” 

Sunghoon blinked at her, unimpressed. “Okay?” he answered flatly, as if that alone should be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t. “She’s a fraud,” Ruka spat, sitting up straighter now, her voice rising with that familiar, jealous tension. “That whole sunshine act? It’s fake. She’s just pretending to be all sweet and happy. But it’s all a show. She’s actually, she’s miserable. She’s depressing. She’s not what you think she is.”  

He stared at her for a long moment. The wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a sound so far removed from the bitter drama at his feet. Sunghoon exhaled, slow and sharp like a blade pulled from a sheath. “You know what?” he said, voice like ice over steel. “Maybe you could stand to be a little more like her.” Ruka’s mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t give her time to respond. 

“She’s kind,” he went on. “She shows up for people. She cares even when she doesn’t have to. She’s loud and ridiculous and warm, and yeah, maybe that annoys the shit out of me sometimes, but at least she’s not hiding behind fake tears and whispering poison about other people to make herself feel better.” Her expression crumpled, her mouth trembling. 

“You don’t know her,” she whispered. “Neither do you,” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide who she is because she threatens your tiny little world.” 

Ruka’s hands curled into fists on her knees. “If you really want to know who she is, look her up,” she hissed, the venom returning. “Look up last year’s figure skating finals. Her name. Go ahead. See it for yourself.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

“Fuck off, Ruka,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was calm. Steady. Done. He pushed past her without another glance, the door slamming shut behind him like the end of a chapter. The warmth inside him didn’t dim this time. Not completely. In fact, it burned brighter now not in spite of her words, but because of the fact that he’d chosen to ignore them. That he’d defended you, and meant every syllable. He didn’t need to search your name. He didn’t care about the past you carried like quiet luggage. Because when he looked at you, all he saw was someone who got back up. Again and again. And that, more than anything, was real. 

Upstairs, behind the closed door of his room where the noise of the party below had faded to a dull, insignificant hum, Sunghoon sat on the edge of his bed like the silence itself had weight. It pooled in the corners of the room, settled on his shoulders, curled around his ankles. The warm echo of your kiss still lingered, on his lips, in his chest but so did Ruka’s voice. Sharp, needling. Insistent. “Look it up. Last year’s figure skating finals. Her name.” 

He didn’t want to. He knew better. He should have let it die on the doorstep where it belonged. But curiosity was a sly little creature. It nudged at him like a breeze slipping through a cracked window, whispering just look until he caved. So he did. 

With stiff fingers and an unsteady breath, he typed your name into the search bar, letting muscle memory carry him when intention hesitated. The first result glowed like a ghost: “Skater Meltdown at Regionals – Full Clip.” A thumbnail of you frozen mid-fall, your face blurred by motion, your body crumpling like something once fluid and graceful now shattered. He clicked play. 

The screen lit up with harsh white ice and the sound of polite applause. There you were, twirling onto the rink, arms extended, posture poised, the embodiment of elegance. And then it happened. A stumble, a miscalculation. The slip. The crash. You hit the ice with a sound that wasn't picked up by the microphones, but he could feel it all the same, sharp and echoing in his bones. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came after. The camera didn’t cut away. It kept rolling as you stood up, only to fall again. And again. And again. Until your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven and your eyes — oh, your eyes — were wild with disbelief, glazed with tears that refused to fall quietly. 

You broke. On camera. In front of judges and coaches and strangers and teammates and the faceless audience of the internet. You wept, not just from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and human and jagged with betrayal. You shouted through your tears, voice cracking like thawing ice, about how people only came to see the crash. How they clapped louder for the break than the recovery. How they waited for failure like it was a performance. Sunghoon felt something crawl into his throat and settle there — tight and aching. Not pity. Not embarrassment. But fury. 

Fury at Ruka, for daring to use this as a weapon. Because what he saw wasn’t weakness. What he saw was someone who got back up. Someone who, even in the middle of a storm that stole her breath and shattered her pride, still stood. Still tried. Still gave the world her tears because hiding them would’ve meant giving up entirely. He didn’t want to close the video. But he did. And then, with that same fire that lived in his limbs when he skated, he opened his phone and typed fast, not giving himself the chance to rethink it.

Sunghoon [11:43 PM]: Meet me at the rink. Please. 

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plan. It was an instinct, pulled from somewhere honest and immediate. Because he needed to see you, not just the practiced, cheery version of you that lit up rinks and rooms, but you, unfiltered, unguarded, as real as you’d been in that video. He needed you to know that it didn’t scare him. That it didn’t change anything. No. If anything, it only made him want to fall with you. And this time, not get back up alone. 

The rink was dark when you arrived, the overhead lights low like the stars were keeping secrets. The air was biting, laced with the cold whisper of ice and memory. Your breath puffed in clouds before you, and your heart thundered a frantic beat in your chest. You’d gotten Sunghoon’s message and hadn’t hesitated, you didn’t even change out of your practice clothes, just threw on a coat and sprinted across campus as if your soul had sensed something fragile waiting on the other end. The moment you stepped inside, your voice echoed in the stillness. “Sunghoon?” 

No response. The silence felt unfamiliar, too thick, too full of unsaid things. You found him in the locker room, perched on one of the benches, still in his practice gear, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The second you saw him, panic flickered behind your eyes. Was he hurt? Was something wrong? “Are you okay? Are you—oh my god, did something happen?” you rambled as you rushed to him, your hands fluttering over his arms, down to his knees, then back to his shoulders like you were checking for breaks or bruises. “Why did you call me? Are you hurt? Did you fall again? Why didn’t you just text what happened, Sunghoon, seriously, what is going—?” 

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss. 

When he pulled back, your fingers lingered near his jaw, your gaze flickering with confusion. “Sunghoon… what’s going on?” He looked at you like he was still catching up to his own heartbeat, his voice quiet but steady. “Ruka showed up at the house. Told me to look you up. Last year’s finals.” 

The words dropped like ice in your stomach. You stepped back, just slightly, and your body stiffened before you could stop it. “Oh.” Sunghoon saw it immediately, the way your shoulders curled inward, how your eyes shimmered with tears you didn’t want to spill. Your lips parted like you wanted to defend yourself, but no argument came, only the truth, raw and trembling. “I had a breakdown,” you whispered. “A really bad one. I’d been practicing that routine for weeks, getting up at dawn, going to bed at two, skipping meals, skipping sleep. I thought… if I could just nail that trick, I’d prove I was more than just the bubbly girl with the pretty smile. I was exhausted and wired and terrified. And when I fell… it was like the world collapsed with me.” 

You paused, voice cracking. “But I got back up. I always do. Even when it hurt. Even when the crowd didn’t cheer.” Sunghoon stood, eyes never leaving yours, and took your hands in his — warm, calloused, steady. “I know,” he said simply. “I watched the whole thing. And you — you — were the strongest person I’ve ever seen.” 

Your lips quivered. “But I broke down. I was angry and ugly and scared and—” 

“And you got back up,” he said, firmer now. “You didn’t stay on the ice. You didn’t let it define you. I—” he exhaled, voice softening, “—I was going to quit. When I got hurt, when it felt like everything I’d worked for just vanished, I wanted to give up. I didn’t see the point.” He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But then I met you,” he continued. “And you reminded me that even when it hurts, we keep skating. That it’s not the fall that defines us, it’s the moment after.” 

A silence stretched between you, delicate and profound. And in that stillness, you smiled. Not the bright, performative kind you wore in hallways and crowded rooms, but something quieter. Realer. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to reply. The way his fingers laced with yours said everything. The space between you fizzled like ice cracking under a sudden flame. There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, an instinct, perhaps, to hold back but it crumbled under the heat of the moment. Your hands were still curled inside his, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the rawness of being seen. 

Then you kissed him. No hesitancy this time. No uncertainty. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a quiet kind of desperation, the kind that had been building for weeks, hidden behind teasing words and soft glances, behind shared practices and unspoken understandings. His lips met yours like a dam finally breaking, and suddenly you were both lost to it. 

Sunghoon responded with a heat that startled even him. His hands slid from your waist to your back, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you to something real, something burning and alive. There was nothing cautious about it now, the kiss deepened, mouths parting with breathless urgency, tongues tangling, exhales catching like thunder on the edge of a storm. You gasped softly against his mouth when he walked you backward, your spine brushing the cool lockers behind you. The contrast only made you shiver more, and he kissed you again to chase it away. His hands were in your hair now, cradling the nape of your neck like you were something precious. And you were, he kissed you like you were rare, like you were the first warmth he’d felt after winter. 

Your body curved into his as if you’d always belonged there. You could feel the way he was holding back, restrained despite the tension humming through every inch of him. And maybe that’s what made it even more electric, knowing how tightly he was wound, how carefully he moved against you even as his breath quickened and his hands lingered. “Sunghoon…” you murmured against his lips, dizzy from the intensity. 

He didn’t answer, not in words. But the way he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled where they clutched at his chest was its own kind of vow. The air between you felt heady, thick with longing, the room humming with the pulse of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the glow of the locker room light, locked together in something fierce and tender and brand new. 

But when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of everything still waiting to be said, still waiting to be felt. And neither of you ran from it. No, you welcomed it like an incoming tide washing over your heart and your entire being. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, your breaths mingling in the space between like steam curling from a fresh cup of tea. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin, like maybe touching you was the only way to make sense of the storm inside him. 

You whispered his name again, barely a breath, and that was all it took. He kissed you once more, slower this time, deeper. There was a reverence in it, a kind of awe like he still couldn’t believe you were real and here and kissing him back. His hands slid down from your face to your waist again, and he pulled you in until there was nothing between you but heat and air. Your fingers wove into the dark strands of his hair, curling just slightly at the ends, tugging him closer in the most delicate, desperate way. 

The kiss grew from soft to smoldering, like fire catching slowly at first, then flaring brighter when the wind shifts. His lips moved against yours with more certainty now, more hunger, and yours responded in kind. It was dizzying, this exchange of breath and want, of emotion too big to name. Every brush of his mouth against yours made your knees weak, every sigh from his throat made your heart race like a drum in a thunderstorm.  You tugged at the hem of his shirt, not to take it off, but just to feel the warmth of him under your hands, the dip of his back, the rise of his spine, the solidness of muscle beneath skin. He shivered under your touch and kissed you like he was unraveling. 

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” 

You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless and glowing. “Good crazy or bad crazy?” 

He kissed you again instead of answering, and the answer was everything. For a long, lingering moment, the rink, the cold, the ice, the noise of the world, all of it faded away. There was only the warmth between you, only the taste of each other’s names on your tongues, only the ache of something new blooming fast and bright like spring breaking through the frost. 

With your back still pressed against the cold metal of the lockers you allowed yourself the luxury of tracing your hands up and down Sunghoon’s broad chest, feeling every contour, every muscle beneath your palms. Filthy thoughts filled your head as Sunghoon’s lips trailed down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. A gasp fell from your lips as he sucked on the skin where your neck met your collarbone. 

“Oh!” You squeaked, running your hands through his hair fisting the tufts in your nimble hands like your life depended on it. “Sunghoon…” Your voice trailed with heat laced in the words, want. “I want you.” 

“You want me?” He hummed, continuing his exploration of your neck. “How badly do you want me?” He was toying with you, playing with your need for him — your want. 

“So bad.” Your voice was airy — needy almost. His smirk said he loved it, the way you were willing to beg for him and willing you were. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been touched so intimately, with someone you cared for so fiercely. The pure lust and adrenaline coursing through your veins had left you feeling like you were ablaze. 

“Beg for it.” His voice was sharp — stern. It was so so hot. The way lips let your body, the way his eyes searched your traveling down your body drinking you in. The way your chest rose and fell as red hot searing need coursed through you. You do anything he asks of you at this moment, anything. 

“Please” You whimpered, hands grabbing at his hoodie. “Please, fuck me.” Your voice was sweet and light your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “I need it so bad.” 

“Fuckkkk” He groaned and next thing you knew his hands were under your thighs lifting you in his arms in one fail swoop. “I can’t resist you, Sunshine.” 

“I don’t want you to.” You pant as his hands find your skirt lifting it enough to show your panties. It was going to be quick, dirty. And that's exactly how you needed him. 

“Take me out.” He hissed at you. Your hands reach for his sweatpants pulling them down just enough to release him from his boxers. He was hard, of course. The tip red and angry with need. Your hand made a fist around his shaft pumping up and down. 

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his forehead falling forward to meet yours. “Touch yourself before i fuck you.” 

You listened carefully, moving your other hand down, pulling your white cotton panties to the side and rubbing at your sensitive nub with your fingers. “Oh my god.” You whined out. “Please Sunghoon, please” 

“Just a little bit more, baby.” He cooed, “You’re almost ready for me.” 

“I’m ready now.” You couldn’t contain the whimper that threatened to fall from your lips. “I need you, so bad.” 

“Okay, Sunshine.” He nodded, taking his length in his own hand all the whilst holding you up against the lockers. “I got you.” 

Sunghoon’s gazed fell from your face to where the two of you met, his tip slapping against your entrance like a knock. A gasp leaving your lips the instant he pushed into you — creating a beautiful stretch you felt through your entire body. 

Sunghoon started with a slow pace, allowing hips to tap against yours lightly. It was almost romantic the way his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanning your face with short pants. You were in love with this feeling — in love with this moment and how it consumes you whole. 

“Faster.” You whined, hands gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders with white knuckles. You were trying to ground yourself, the pleasure taking you to a whole other planet entirely. “Faster please Sunghoon.” 

Sunghoon said nothing, his only response was the quick motion of his hips against yours. The sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the locker room like a melody, it was a tune you’d grow to love if given the chance. “Oh– my god.” You chanted. “Oh my god.” 

“You close?” Sunghoon grunts, his voice gritty and harsh. “Take it.” 

“Yes.” Your head was weightless as it bobbled up and down in tune with Sunghoon’s harsh thrusts. “I’m so close.” 

“Gooood girl..” He cooed in your ear. “Cum for me.” 

Your end splashed into you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in an overbearing pleasure you’d never felt before. Your thighs trembled in Sunghoon’s hands as you rode out your high. Sunghoon falling suit, moaning your name like a mantra. You had never felt more connected to someone then you did in this moment. Tied together a web of emotion and something that felt so close to love. 

You were falling in love. It was fast and blinding and scary but it was true. You were falling in love. And you hoped and prayed Sunghoon was too. 

By the time you situated yourself it was almost too late into the night to try and sneak back into your dorm room. Plus the thought of seeing Ruka right now with the knowledge of what she had done had been sickening. Sunghoon offered for you to stay at his place and you were in no position to turn the offer down. You allowed him to take you home. You allowed him to worship your body until all hours of the night. And most importantly you allowed yourself to fall in love deeper and deeper as the clock ticked on. 

The morning sun trickled through the blinds in gentle stripes, painting golden bars across the sheets tangled around your legs. The air was still tinged with last night’s sweetness, a lull of warmth that lingered between your skin and his, and the scent of cold air and something distinctly him like mint and pine and a little bit of wild. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy but content, the kind of ache that whispered of a night where nothing was said aloud but everything was understood in touches, in sighs, in the soft tremble of lips pressed together in quiet devotion. 

Sunghoon was already up, standing near the edge of the room, half-dressed and slipping his hoodie over his head. The light hit his face just right, catching the soft curve of his cheek and the tired determination in his eyes. He looked like someone ready to face something, and for once, not run from it. You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist like the soft folds of a curtain falling back. “You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still raspy with sleep and something sweeter. 

He glanced at you, and there was a flicker in his gaze, that rare smile he barely gave anyone, small, crooked, a secret stitched between two hearts. “I’m going to talk to Jay,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “I want to ask him… to let me play again.” For a second, it felt like everything stopped. Not because you were surprised — no, you’d seen it coming, inching closer each time he took a fall and got up again, each time he looked at the ice with something softer than hate but because this was a moment of return. A full circle. A boy broken now choosing not to stay shattered. 

You smiled, and it was bright enough to make the room feel warmer. “You should,” you said, voice thick with pride. “You’re ready.” He stepped over to the bed, leaned down, and kissed you, quick and soft, like a promise sealed in the hush of morning. It wasn’t heated like the night before, but it burned all the same, quiet fire beneath skin.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song, leaving you alone with tangled sheets, sunlit silence, and a chest full of warmth. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh, fingers brushing your lips. Something had shifted. And you knew, with a certainty that reached down to your bones, that things were only just beginning. 

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. The air smelled of ice and rubber and worn leather, a scent that once haunted him, now stirring something in him that almost felt like peace. Almost. He walked toward the rink, skates slung over his shoulder, confidence stitched into the rhythm of his steps. The moment he stepped past the glass, heads turned. Jake was the first to notice, eyebrows lifting in surprise, his helmet tucked under one arm. Heeseung followed, stopping mid-lace with a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Jay’s brows drew together in disbelief, and even Soobin looked up from where he was adjusting his gloves. Coach Bennett, stoic as always, stood at the edge of the rink with his clipboard like it was a shield. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jay muttered, not unkindly, but wary. 

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “I’m here to show you I’m ready.” The words settled into the air like frost, and no one moved for a moment. Coach’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Sunghoon…” 

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, voice sharp as skates on fresh ice. “I’ve been training, I’ve been pushing myself. I’m not here to sit on the bench and clap for everyone else. I want to play.” There was a silence, heavy and cautious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Heeseung, who gave him nothing but a tight nod. “You’ve been through a lot,” Soobin offered gently. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about being cleared.” 

“I am cleared,” Sunghoon snapped, the warmth from earlier that morning slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “I’m cleared, I’m stronger, I’ve been working every goddamn day. But every time I come back here, you all look at me like I’m broken glass.” Coach Bennett looked down at his clipboard, unreadable. “It’s not about doubt, it’s about safety.” 

“Bullshit,” Sunghoon muttered. His jaw tensed, breath fogging in front of him. “You think I’d put myself back on this ice if I wasn’t ready?” Still, they didn’t move, didn’t soften. And something in him snapped, not the injury, not the tendon, but something deeper. A flare of frustration bloomed in his chest, blooming red hot. Heeseung, trying to defuse the crackle in the air, said, “Maybe just keep training with the figure skater—” 

Sunghoon’s head snapped up, and without meaning to, without even thinking, the words spilled out sharp and cruel. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” It felt like the words echoed, like even the boards flinched from them. A sting curled behind his ribs the moment it left his mouth, regret instantaneous, but pride, wounded and loud, kept him from pulling it back. “I want to come back to the real game,” he added, voice quieter, but iron-edged. “I’m done sitting out while you all pretend like I don’t exist.” 

A thick pause. Coach Bennett looked at him long and hard, then said slowly, “You can skate at next week’s practice. We’ll see then.” And just like that, it was done. But the victory tasted hollow on his tongue, and when Sunghoon sat to lace up his skates, the chill of the words he’d thrown, not at them, but at you, clung to him like frostbite. 

In the dim hush of the arena’s far bleachers, behind a column of shadow where the sun dared not reach, Ruka sat like a ghost in waiting, silent, calculating, and out of place. The buzz of the overhead lights hummed above her, flickering faintly, illuminating the sharp gleam in her eyes as she angled her phone just so. Her hand was steady. Patient. She shouldn’t have been there, wasn't allowed, wasn’t invited but Ruka had learned long ago that the world didn’t bend for those who asked politely. It bowed for the ones who took what they wanted. And right now, what she wanted was to unravel the ribbon of warmth that had started to thread its way between you and Sunghoon, to cut it with precision, to remind the world of who belonged in the spotlight and who didn’t. 

Her phone was already recording when Sunghoon stormed in, voice clear and edged with fire. She leaned forward, breath caught, her ears tuned sharply to every syllable. And then, there it was. The perfect storm. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” it hit the air like a slap, reverberating across the rink, and Ruka’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t so cold. Her thumb paused just long enough to ensure it had been captured, every inch of his exasperation, the tension in his voice, the pride bleeding into his posture. She tucked the phone into her coat pocket like a prize, one she’d deliver when the time was right, when the sting would land deepest. 

She didn’t care if Sunghoon hadn’t meant it. She didn’t care that he might already regret it. She wasn’t after truth, she was after control, and perception was always stronger than honesty in the court of whispered judgment. As the team fell into uneasy silence, she slipped out like a wisp of smoke, unnoticed and unseen, her heels light on the concrete floor, her breath misting in the chilled air. The doors of the arena sighed open and closed behind her with a hush. Outside, the sky stretched pale and gray, the wind carrying a sharpness that mirrored her resolve. 

Ruka wasn’t stupid she’d seen the way you looked at him, the way your smile bloomed for him like the first flower of spring. And more than that, she’d seen the way he looked back, that faint, unguarded flicker that once might have belonged to her but now seemed to burn only for you. So fine, she thought. If fire was what it took to make him see, then she’d set the whole thing ablaze. Let the ballerina dance on thin ice. She’d make sure the cracks came quick.

The front door creaked open with a burst of wind and sunlight, and Sunghoon stepped inside, shoulders high and heart thundering like blades against ice. His cheeks were flushed, not from the cold but from the triumph still coursing through him like static. The house was quiet, a rare lull between chaos, there you were. Sprawled across the living room floor in one of his oversized sweatshirts, your legs curled beneath you, your eyes bright as twin stars as they landed on him. The moment you saw his face, your own lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve. 

"Did they say yes? What did they say? Oh my god, are you back? When do you start? What did Jay say? Wait, did Heeseung—" Your words spilled out like a melody, fast and tumbling and effervescent, each one building on the last in that way only you could manage. It was a deluge of sunshine, and Sunghoon didn’t answer — not with words, not yet. Instead, with one smooth movement and a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he crossed the room in three long strides, swept you up with one arm around your waist, and kissed you. Firm, grounded, and breath-stealing. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knows it’s home.

You let out a delighted squeal, half-laughter against his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders as your feet dangled above the floor. “I take it they said yes,” you murmured when you pulled back, breathless, the corners of your mouth lifting in that way that always made his chest ache a little in the best way. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, but his voice held so much more than just agreement. It was relief and victory and hope. “Practice starts next week.” 

You beamed like you had swallowed the moon whole, eyes soft and full of a pride that wasn’t loud, but deep and unwavering. “I knew they’d say yes,” you said, cupping his cheek. “You were born for the ice.” He kissed you again, this time slower, with a touch more reverence, as if he was grounding himself in you. As if your faith in him was the thing tethering him to the world. And maybe it was.

He set you gently down, but your arms remained looped around his neck, unwilling to let go just yet. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes for a beat. “I’m so happy for you, Hoon.” His name on your lips still made something in him tremble. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would’ve,” you whispered. “But I’m glad I got to watch you do it anyway.” Outside, the wind whispered promises against the windows, and inside, in the soft glow of late afternoon, Sunghoon realized that somewhere between all the broken things, the injuries, the pressure, the pain he had found something whole. You. 

That night, the frat house was glowing, music vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat, laughter spilling out into the cold night air, the scent of cheap beer and cologne wrapping around the porch in a familiar haze. When Sunghoon leaned against your doorframe earlier, looking all casual with his hands shoved in his pockets and a soft smile threatening the edge of his mouth, asking you to come with him to the party, your yes had come quicker than your breath. There was no way you’d miss it not after the week the two of you had. So now, walking in beside him, hand ghosting near his like some secret tether, you tried not to look too amazed at the wild warmth of it all. Lights strung from the ceiling blinked like dying stars, red cups swirled in every hand, and voices collided like waves. It was chaos, but it was the good kind, the kind where possibility clung to the air like perfume.

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate. He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, and then he said it, just loud enough for the group clustered near the kitchen island to hear. “This is my girl.” It took you a second to process the words. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your smile tried to hide behind the cup in your hand, but you felt it. The gravity of it. How he said it so simply, like it wasn’t anything new, like it had been true for ages and he was just now stating a fact everyone should already know.

His friends turned toward you all at once, a mix of grins and raised brows. Jay was first to reach out, pulling you into a quick, one-armed hug. “So you’re the figure skater.”

You laughed. “Guilty.”

“I’m Jake,” said the one with dimples, his voice warm and curious, like he’d been waiting to meet you. “You’re way too happy to be hanging out with Sunghoon.”

You giggled and nudged your shoulder into Sunghoon’s. “I think I balance him out.”

“Or drive him insane,” Soobin added dryly from the couch. His arm was loosely slung around a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was beautiful, no doubt, sleek and poised, but her smile was more of a formality than anything real. That had to be Yunjin. She gave you a quick nod. “You’re very…bubbly.”

“Is that code for loud?” you asked, grinning wide. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” Soobin cracked a half-smile, and even Yunjin let out the tiniest huff that could’ve been a laugh if you squinted. Still, there was tension between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight. They stood close but didn’t seem to touch, not really. Their words skipped past each other like stones across water, and you wondered what storm brewed quietly behind their silence. Heeseung leaned in then, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “She’s the opposite of you, man. Like…completely.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, sipping his drink with a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.” And the way he looked at you when he said it like it wasn’t a flaw, like it was the best thing about you, made your chest bloom with something warm and wild. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled into yours like they belonged there, like maybe they always had. The music shifted into something slower, the kind of beat that made everything else fade, and the crowd swayed around you like the sea. You weren’t quite sure how the night would end, but for now, wrapped in the golden hum of laughter and light, with Sunghoon by your side and your name spoken like something precious between strangers who might become friends you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

The night had curled itself into comfort, like a candle-lit secret shared between strangers now growing familiar. You stood with Sunghoon and his friends in the corner of the room where the music wasn’t too loud, where voices could still dance freely. You were mid-laugh, something Jake had said, your face lit with that easy, golden joy you wore like a second skin. Sunghoon stood close to you, his arm brushing yours every so often, eyes softer than anyone had seen them in weeks. You didn’t know it, but he’d been watching you like you were a lighthouse in the storm, something to steer by. And then the room chilled.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in air, the way conversation dulled, footsteps falling heavy behind the group. You turned before Sunghoon did, and there she was. Ruka. Her presence bled tension into the moment, a sharpness that made smiles go stiff and gazes flick downward. She stood with her arms crossed, dressed like she belonged and yet looking so out of place. You smiled at her anyway, your voice honeyed and warm.

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t.

Instead, her lip curled, and her voice dropped low, sharp enough to wound. “Drop the act.” The words sliced through the air like glass breaking. The laughter stopped, your own breath hitching slightly as confusion passed across your face. “What?” you asked, softly, not in disbelief, but in the kind of gentle hope that maybe you’d misheard her.

“I said,” Ruka stepped closer now, venom twisting in her pretty mouth, “drop the fucking act. The bubbly sunshine girl thing? It's fake. And everyone here’s falling for it, but it’s pathetic.” A heavy silence fell. Jake blinked, Soobin muttered something under his breath. Yunjin folded her arms tightly. And beside you, you felt Sunghoon stiffen, like his muscles remembered rage before his mind caught up.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. But Ruka only laughed, a cold, humorless thing that curled at the edges like smoke. “Really? You’re defending her?” She looked at him, eyes glinting with something twisted and triumphant. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said he was wasting his time with the ‘ballerina on ice.’”

You froze. The words hung between you like frost. You turned, your head tilting slightly toward Sunghoon, expression unreadable. But he was already shaking his head, already stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rising, urgent. “I was pissed, I was trying to prove I was ready to play again, and I said something stupid—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruka said smoothly. “They can hear it for themselves.” She pulled out her phone, unlocking it with the ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. The recording played loud and clear, his voice unmistakable: “I’m just wasting time with the ballerina on ice. I want to come back to the real game.”

The words hit like a slap. Your chest ached, something invisible curling tight around your lungs. You stood still, perfectly still, like movement might make it worse. The others glanced between you both, some awkward, some stunned. Heeseung winced. Jay looked furious. Jake muttered, “Dude,” under his breath. Sunghoon reached for you then, eyes wide, desperate. “I didn’t mean it—” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. But your smile, your radiant, effortless smile — wavered. Only a flicker, barely there, like a candle in the wind.

The music faded. Or maybe it didn't, maybe it still pulsed behind you, still thudded with the bass of cheap speakers and louder laughter, but in your ears it was gone. Replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat — wild and feral, pounding like fists against a closed door. Your cheeks flushed hot, but your hands had gone cold, and everything in the room blurred with the sting of unshed tears. Your eyes found Sunghoon’s, but it wasn’t safety you felt.

It was betrayal. And shame. Shame so sudden it roared up your throat and turned the warmth in your chest to something molten and broken. “Wait—” he whispered, stepping toward you. You pulled back.

He looked like he’d been struck, like the reach of his hand had meant everything. Maybe it had. But you were already moving, weaving between people, ignoring the murmurs and awkward stares, the way the group parted like water around you. Your heels scraped the floor. Someone said your name, maybe Jake, maybe Heeseung, but you didn’t turn back. You pushed through the door and into the yard where the cold night air hit your face like glass. You breathed it in too fast, too hard, hoping it would drown out the heat of humiliation clawing at your throat. The stars blurred above you, cruel and glinting. Behind you — footsteps.

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but it wavered at the edges, shivering like frost under sunlight. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear it. Everyone heard it, Sunghoon.”

“I was angry,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me play, I—I said something I didn’t mean because I was desperate. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“You called me a waste of time,” you whispered, voice breaking now. “You said I wasn’t the real game.” His expression collapsed. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to kiss me. I didn’t ask to be anything more than the annoying figure skater who shares your rink time.”

“You’re not—don’t say that,” he said, stepping closer. But you stepped back.

“I should’ve known better,” you said, voice low now, shaking. “You were always going to go back to them. To the game. And I was just practice. Just something to pass the time.”

“That’s not true.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re more than that. You mean—fuck, you mean everything.” And then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words cracked the night in two. You stared at him, eyes wide, breath stolen clean from your lungs. But it was too late. You shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving. “Don’t say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Then why did you say that?” The question hung between you like a blade. And he had no answer. Or maybe he did, but not one that could stitch the wound he’d just made. So you turned. You turned before he could see the way your whole body broke in half. Before he could see the shiver in your spine and the way your hands curled into your coat like it could somehow hold you together. You walked. Past the yard, down the sidewalk, away from the party that once felt like light. Sunghoon didn’t follow this time. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days pass like shadows beneath your skates, faint and fleeting, yet always there. Each morning you wake with a hollow echo in your chest, a silence that’s grown too familiar. You lace up your skates like armor, wear your routines like battle hymns. You skate harder now, faster, carving the ice like it wronged you. Blades slicing through your thoughts, breath fogging in the cold as you spin through everything you can’t say. You haven’t spoken to Sunghoon since that night. You’ve seen him in passing, walking across campus, laughing with Heeseung outside the rink, nodding at Coach Bennett with that quiet intensity in his eyes, but you never linger. You turn corners when he comes close. Pretend not to hear when his voice drifts from down the hallway. You are your own silence, sharp and unyielding.

The dorm is no better. Ruka has become a ghost, and you let her be. You don’t look at her, don’t respond to her passive remarks or the way she sighs when you walk in. She’s tried to speak, maybe once, maybe twice, but you shut her out with the same coldness she once offered you. You spend more time out of the room than in it. Your application to switch dorms is in the system now, a silent wish sent to the stars. All you can do is wait. But the nights… the nights are the worst. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Your mind replays everything, his voice, his kiss, the look on his face when you turned away. You wonder if he’s been practicing. You wonder if he hates himself for what he said. You wonder if he meant it.

That night, the silence in your room presses in too tightly, the hum of your mini-fridge too loud, the shadows too long. You grab your skates and your coat. The rink calls to you not just as an escape, but as something close to home. Familiar. Honest. The moment you step inside, the air hits you like memory. Cold. Quiet. Unforgiving. You walk past the front lobby, past the empty locker rooms, and step onto the bleachers with the intention of warming up slowly, maybe skating alone under the low light until the sun peeks over the horizon. 

But you stop short. Because he’s already there. Sunghoon. Alone. On the ice. He’s skating, not perfectly, not as fluid as you’ve seen before, but he’s trying. Focused. Determined. His brows are drawn together, the sweat at his temples shining under the low rink lights. He doesn’t see you at first. Doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. You don’t move. You watch him glide forward, stumble slightly, then correct. He exhales, pushes again. Again. And again. He’s practicing. Your chest tightens. 

At first, you want to run. The moment you see him standing there beneath the pale glow of the rink lights, alone, waiting, searching the dark for something like hope, your body tells you to turn around. To vanish into the quiet of night and not look back. You’ve been skating circles around your own heart for days now, tightening the laces of your silence so securely that the thought of unraveling them in front of him makes you tremble. But it’s too late. His eyes catch yours, and you freeze like a deer in the frost. The tension between you snaps taut.

“Wait,” he says, voice catching, breathless. “Please—don’t go.” You don’t speak. He steps closer, every movement slow, like he’s approaching something delicate, something sacred. His eyes are wide and shining in the cold, like he’s on the edge of something, begging not to fall.

“Just talk to me,” he says. “Please. I—I need to say something.” You don’t know what compels you to stay. Maybe it’s the quiver in his voice or the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Maybe it’s the days of silence, heavy as snowfall, finally breaking. But you nod. You sit. And you listen. “I’m sorry,” he says first, and the words drop between you like stones sinking into a still lake. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t look at him yet. You’re afraid to. Afraid that if you do, your heart will unravel right there on the ice. He keeps going. “When you first asked me if I believed in love, I told you I didn’t. That it wasn’t real. That it was for other people, not me. And you, you just smiled like you knew something I didn’t. You said I just hadn’t found the right person yet.” You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s closer now. Kneeling in front of you, his palms flat against the boards, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I found her,” he whispers. “I found you.” The words hit you like a gust of wind, unexpected, sharp, and tender. You blink, and the tears finally come, soft and shimmering, gliding down your cheeks like melting snow. His gaze flickers, worried, but you raise a hand, just one, and rest it over his.

“What you said that night…” you begin, voice cracking like a brittle branch. “It hurt, Sunghoon. God, it hurt. But I don’t think it was the words, not really. It was the moment. The humiliation. Being exposed in front of everyone. Like I was something to be mocked.” He looks like he might cry too.

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you whisper.

“I mean every word,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Your lips tremble. And before either of you can speak again, you kiss him. It’s not the fiery kiss of confession or the desperate press of need. It’s gentle. Forgiving. It’s two broken pieces finding a way to fit again, not quite perfect, but perfectly trying. His arms circle your waist, pulling you in close, grounding you as your fingers brush his jaw, his neck, his hair. The kiss deepens with every second. Not in heat, but in heart. Like a vow passed between mouths too tired for words.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”

“I promise,” he replies, voice raw. “No more.” And in that quiet, ice-slicked space between apology and absolution, you feel it, that something between you hasn’t shattered. It’s only just begun to bloom. 

Epilogue. 

The arena hums like a living thing, buzzing nerves and echoing chants, the chill of the ice rising into the rafters like ghosts of old games, old dreams. You sit somewhere in the middle of it all, wrapped in a scarf and a soft coat, heart thudding so loud it’s almost a drumline. Your fingers are clasped tight in your lap, your breath fogs in little puffs before your lips, and your eyes are locked on the rink like the story of your whole life might unfold across its frozen face. It’s his first game back.

Sunghoon. And you can’t remember the last time you were this full of feeling, pride, nerves, joy, a fragile ribbon of fear, but most of all, love. Love so big and bright and burning it feels like a comet carved into your chest. The lights above dim slightly, just a flicker, and then the team is called out one by one. The crowd roars like a wave, cresting and crashing with every name announced, jerseys flashing, skates hissing against the ice as the players appear. And then, there he is. Sunghoon skates out like he’s flying, his form clean and sharp and easy, like every moment he ever doubted himself has been burned away. The crowd cheers louder, not because they know the whole story, but because they can feel it. The comeback. The storm stilled. The boy who refused to give in.

You feel breathless watching him. And then, mid-glide, he turns his head. Finds you in the crowd like a compass always knows where north is. His eyes catch yours and in that moment, the noise fades. The arena, the lights, the cheers — all of it vanishes, melting away like frost under the sun. There’s just him. And you. He points at you — simple, easy, certain. And then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate.

“I love you.” Three words mouthed without a sound, but somehow louder than thunder. Your chest caves in, and a laugh breaks from your throat, trembling and tearful all at once. You nod, hand over your heart, mouthing it back: I love you too. And in that charged quiet between you, across ice and lights and distance, the ache of the past slips into something softer. Something holy. The game begins but you're not really watching the puck.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

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[authorhjk1]

I’m on a Yoona craze rn lol, hope you can make a good one out of this pls.

Mint

(Yoona X Male Reader) wordcount: 1066 words

"I feel like I'm overdressed."

Yoona looks around the store, holding onto her dress.

"You're beautiful. That's all that matters."

You give her forehead a kiss and together you round next corner.

"What do you think about this one?"

You point towards a fully equipped kitchen. The drawers are white and have golden handles, the counter is made out of white marble and the golden ceiling lights match the sink.

"I don't know. It looks kinda cold to me. Expansive and without any soul in it."

The two of you walk past it and you let your hand glide over the counter. Now that your wedding date is set, you're out to get stuff for your future house. You and Yoona are strolling through IKEA with her parents a little further behind.

"I like this one more."

Your fiancee points towards another kitchen. It has more of an older, vintage vibe to it. More wood and less steel.

"It looks good."

She walks up to the counter and lets her hands wander over it.

"This is even the perfect hight."

You know she means for cooking, but you can't help yourself.

"Yes, it is."

You whisper into her ear and slightly bend her over. For the people walking by it's barely noticeable, but Yoona gasps in fake surprise.

"Stop it, you are crazy."

She playfully slaps your arm.

The two of you continue to walk through another couple of sets of kitchens, leaving Yoona's parents even further behind.

"I like this one too."

This time she picked out one similar to the one you noticed before, but it's slightly darker and has silver highlights instead of golden ones.

"Yeah, it looks good."

You suddenly notice that the two of you aren't very close to the main aisle anymore. And no one seems to be close by. You step behind Yoona once more as she opens one of the drawers. This time you don't play around. You've been staying at her parent's house for almost a week and you didn't have any chance to enjoy some alone time with your fiancee at all. And IKEA is definitely not the right place for this either. But with a woman like Yoona there's only so much you can take.

You carefully take a hold of her waist and push her hips against the counter.

"Hey, what are you-?"

At first she thinks you're teasing her again. But she feels you pressing yourself against her. She can feel your grip on her waist. She feels your cock against her ass through your pants and her dress.

"Babe, we can't do this here."

She whispers in surprise and worry. And usually you would've agreed, but you made a decision a couple of seconds ago and you won't be able to change your mind now. It's too late.

"No one is gonna see."

Your ragged breath against her neck makes a cold shower run down her spine. And Yoona realizes that it really is too late to turn this around.

She bites her lip as you reach under her dress and she comes to peace with it that this is going to happen right now.

"I need you so bad."

You whisper into her ear as one of your hands moves upwards along one of her thighs. After finding her panties, you quickly push past them, unable to bother with any kind of foreplay.

"Oh god."

Yoona gasps in pleasure when she feels two of your fingers enter her pussy. She knows how risky this is. The two of you are in the middle of IKEA, your backs facing the main aisle and her parents could potentially walk around the corner at any moment. All of it just starts to turn her on more when you kiss her neck while you continue to move your fingers inside of her.

"I'm wet enough, just do it."

She moans, almost sounding desperate for your cock.

Usually, Yoona wouldn't let you fuck her without warming you up with her mouth first, but this time is an exception. You don't even bother with opening your pants. Just your zipper. And a moment later, your tip brushes against your fiance's wet lips.

"So good."

Yoona sighs as she feels you slowly pushing into her. Her hands are planted flat on the surface of the counter. She's bent over, ready to take your pounding. You know you have to do this quickly. And as much as you'd love to enjoy yourself, you also know that after a week of abstinence you won't last very long anyway.

You start to thrust in and out of her. Slowly at first, then a little faster. Usually, you'd love to hear the sound of your hips clapping against her cheeks, but now you make sure Yoona's dress is in between the two of you. Your grip on her hips tightens as you feel her tighten around you as well. Your pace quickens with every moan that leaves her lips. The two of you work like a well oiled machine, just like you always have.

Yoona pushes back into you, meeting every thrust of yours so you can penetrate her as deeply as possible. She bites back her moans, while you bury your head in her neck to silence yourself. She holds onto the counter to make sure the two of you stay in position, while you continue to use your strength to give her quick and deep thrusts.

"Harder."

A louder moan escapes her lips as you reach around to squeeze one of her tits through the mint coloured fabric. The two of you lose yourselves in each other's pleasure. Yoona feels your cock hit the deepest spot inside of her, while you feel her walls hugging your cock with all their strength.

But just as you predicted, it doesn't last for long. Yoona's quick, shallow breathing tells you that isn't heading for an orgasm, but is still enjoying this immensely. You on the other hand can feel your own orgasm approaching. The last couple of thrusts are powered by lust and self control and not rhythm and skill.

"I'm gonna put a baby in you."

Your raspy voice is half a threat, half a promise.

"Yes, do it."

Yoona moans for it. Begs for it.

You empty yourself inside of her pussy and she can feel your warmth flooding her body.

---------------------

Hi everyone!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Just wanted to let you guys know that the next chapter is chapter number 50. That means I won't write it for just 30 minutes, but make it longer. I will continue to this with the 100th, 150th and so on.

Stay healthy!

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑈𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑂𝑙𝑑 𝑅𝑜𝑜𝑚

★彡[ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ]彡★

When Bakugo’s mom told him he had to come home to celebrate his dad’s birthday, he knew he had no way out. Mitsuki Bakugo didn’t ask for favors; she gave orders. And this time, not only did she want her son there, but she made it clear you had to come with him too.

“Don’t even think about showing up alone, Katsuki,” Mitsuki’s voice had boomed over the phone. “She’s part of the family too, got it?”

The plan seemed simple enough: spend the weekend eating, cutting cake, and taking long naps in front of the TV. Nothing too wild. But everything changed the moment they stepped inside the house.

“Alright,” Mitsuki announced as she greeted them, crossing her arms. “Katsuki, your usual room. You, darling,” she said, turning to you with a much softer smile, “you’re sleeping in the guest room.”

“What the hell…?” Bakugo muttered, raising an eyebrow at his mom.

“Got a problem?” Mitsuki shot back, challenging him with a raised brow.

He opened his mouth to argue, but a discreet pinch to his side from you made him grunt and shut up.

“Fine, Mrs. Bakugo,” you said with a sweet smile. “No problem.”

Bakugo shot you a glare as he gathered his stuff grumpily, like a rebellious teenager being punished. He stormed up the stairs two steps at a time, grumbling in barely contained anger. When he opened the door to his old room, another growl escaped his throat.

The room was frozen in time: All Might posters, a shelf full of dusty comics, and in the middle of it all, a tiny bed that, at one point, might’ve been comfy. Now, his feet would hang off if he stretched too much.

“What the hell this is?!” he yelled, throwing his suitcase on the floor.

You leaned against the doorframe, holding back a laugh.

“This is damn a trap!” he complained, flopping back onto the bed. The frame creaked under his weight.

“Oh, I didn’t know it bothered you so much to not sleep next to me,” you teased, stepping into the room.

“Shut the hell up!” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile widened. It was hard to take his anger seriously when his hair was all messy from the fall, and his expression looked more like a pouty kid than a fearsome pro-hero.

Without thinking much, you walked over to him and, in one smooth motion, sat down on his lap. Bakugo immediately tensed, like he was about to protest, but his hands instinctively grabbed you, settling on your waist.

“It’s not that bad,” you murmured, running your fingers along his jawline. “Could be worse.”

“Oh yeah? How?” he spat, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

“They could’ve made you sleep on the couch,” you replied with a light laugh, leaning in to brush your forehead against his.

Bakugo let out a low grunt, this time much less irritated, and leaned his forehead against yours. Up close, his red eyes seemed much warmer, glowing with a playful gleam.

The kisses started innocent, just small playful touches on the corners of your lips. But with Bakugo, innocence didn’t last long. His demanding mouth found yours, pulling you into a hungry kiss, full of desperate need. His tongue brushed against yours in a possessive glide, demanding your surrender, while your breaths mixed in soft pants.

His large, warm hands didn’t waste any time slipping down your back, touching you with firm, determined caresses. He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you sharply until you were sitting completely on him, his rock-solid body pressing against yours.

Bakugo let out a low growl of pleasure when his hands moved lower, shamelessly landing on your ass. He squeezed it with force, as if it was his—because to him, it was—molding the flesh between his fingers without a second thought while he continued to devour you with kisses.

“Damn...” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving wet kisses and small bites that made your skin tingle. At the same time, his hands kept roaming your curves, caressing you with a dangerous mix of tenderness and barely contained hunger. Especially on your ass, which he kneaded with a devotion that made you sigh in pleasure.

Every time you shifted slightly on him, seeking more friction, Bakugo let out another approving grunt, his hands holding you even tighter, his lips claiming every inch of exposed skin as if he wanted to mark you as his.

The kisses grew more intense, spilling into desperate touches and murmurs full of desire. Your legs still over his lap, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt while his lips found yours over and over, between soft bites and muffled laughs.

“Damn, you like teasing me.”

“Me?” you responded with fake innocence, leaving a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Could it be that you're just too easy?”

“I’m gonna—”

He never finished the threat. Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the hall, firm and way too close. Both of you froze, as if caught stealing in the middle of a crime scene.

Bakugo’s reaction was immediate: his face paled slightly, his eyes widened for just a second—Shit, it’s my mom!—and without thinking twice, he grabbed you by the waist and shoved you off his lap like his life depended on it.

“Hey!” you managed to complain in an urgent whisper as you fell flat on your ass with a muffled thud.

Bakugo barely threw you a warning glance, then put a finger to his lips to signal for silence. Then, like a reflex, he grabbed your arm and dragged you under his bed.

“What the hell, Bakugo!” you whispered furiously, the cramped space making you smack your forehead against one of the low bed slats.

“Shut up!” he hissed at you in a fierce whisper, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline.

It was ridiculous: just minutes before, he had been whining about being treated like a kid... and now he was hiding you like a teenager caught breaking the rules.

"I can’t believe this... I’m a damn Pro-Hero, and I’m hiding my girlfriend like I’m fifteen," he thought, sweating cold as he heard the doorknob turn.

The door opened slowly, and who stepped in wasn’t Mitsuki—much to his relief—but his dad, Masaru Bakugo, wearing his usual calm expression.

“Katsuki,” his dad greeted, poking his head into the room without suspecting a thing. “We need to go grab a few things for tomorrow. When you’re done settling in, there’s dinner in the fridge, alright?”

Bakugo nodded stiffly, crossing his arms with all the seriousness he could muster.

“Alright…”

Masaru smiled, about to leave, but then seemed to remember something.

“Oh, and Y/n?”

For a moment, Bakugo nearly had a heart attack. Cold sweat ran down his neck. From the floor, you could see his jaw tighten, his red eyes darting quickly as he thought of an excuse.

“In the bathroom,” he blurted out quickly, as naturally as someone who lies every day.

Masaru nodded, not giving it much thought.

“Okay, see you later,” he said with a friendly wave before closing the door quietly.

Bakugo waited several seconds in complete silence. Only when he heard the footsteps fade completely did he let out the breath he had been holding.

He crouched down, lifting the mattress slightly and poking his head out toward you.

“Can I come out of hiding now, boss?” you whispered sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was a slight curve at the corner of his lips, a smile he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.

He extended his hand to help you out from under the bed, and when you were standing, you didn’t miss the chance to laugh softly.

“Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to be treated like a kid?” you teased, smug.

Bakugo snorted, crossing his arms like it would protect him from your teasing.

“Tsk! It’s not the same, damn it.” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks still slightly flushed. “I’m not giving my mom a damn reason to lecture me all night.”

“Sure, sure…” you moved closer to him with a mischievous smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Still, it was cute seeing you panic.”

“I’m not cute!” he protested with a grunt, but his arms had already slid around your waist, pulling you back into him.

彡[Masterlist]彡

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[dragoneyelashart]

SPIN THE BOTTLE

authors note: i'm so tired it's like crazy, anyways short fic! warnings: smut, slight exhibitionism, cheating (kinda) “okay, it’s y/n’s turn to spin!” a voice calls out excitedly, the sound of eager laughter echoing in your ears. you glance around the circle of your friends, a sheepish blush creeping up your neck, your heart suddenly thudding in your chest. with trembling hands, you slowly reach for the green bottle placed at the center of the circle, its smooth surface cool to the touch. 

a chorus of “whoo’s” and “cheer’s” fills the air, their energy only amplifying the nerves twisting in your stomach. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and with a single motion, you push the bottle, sending it spinning with surprising skill. your eyes never leave it, watching as it picks up speed, whirling around the circle. the room starts to quiet as everyone waits in anticipation. 

the bottle begins to slow, its rotation gradually coming to a halt. you find your gaze drifting, first over the faces of your friends, each one filled with eager curiosity. but then, your eyes lock onto two people—your boyfriend, sitting across from you with an expectant smile, and billie, the girl who’s been a constant presence in your heart, the one you’ve silently adored for as long as you can remember.

a wave of heat rushes to your face, and you bite your lip to quell the anxious fluttering in your chest. the room holds its breath as the bottle slows to a near stop, and your heart leaps into your throat. it’s coming down to the wire. will it land on him? or her?

the bottle finally jerks to a stop, pointing directly at billie.

“okay, wet dream much?” your friend whispers in your ear, their voice teasing, though it only seems to amplify the growing pit of anxiety deep in your stomach. you try to stifle a nervous giggle, but it only makes the situation feel even more surreal. every ounce of your body feels both electrified and paralyzed at once, the eyes of your friends heavy on you, filled with excitement and judgment.

billie’s gaze shifts toward you, a mischievous glint in her eye, and for a brief moment, you swear the world goes still. her lips curl into a playful, almost teasing smile, and you can feel the heat of your own cheeks burning as you try to focus on anything but her. she seems to relish the tension, her presence suddenly consuming all the air in the room.

“okay i dare billie to make y/n cum in less than 5 minutes” shock is plastered on your face, your boyfriend hadn’t even been able to make you cum in 5 minutes, how would billie do it?

your friends erupt into laughter and playful catcalls, but it only makes you feel more exposed, more vulnerable. your breath hitches, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. this wasn’t just a silly game anymore. no, this was a moment you’d dreamed of—and now that it’s real, it feels like you might drown in it.

“don’t keep us waiting!” another friend yells as you walk to the room, their words dragging you back to reality. but all you can do is stare at billie, the intensity in her eyes pulling you in, your thoughts scrambling for some sense of control, but none coming.

“you look so nervous baby, promise i don’t bite,” you whimper slightly, too quiet for  billie to hear but it lingers. billie start’s a stop watch on her phone, just as proof for their friend’s waiting outside. billie pushes you down on the bed, running her hands down your body. 

“fuck baby, d’you know how long i’ve waited for this” billie groans, you hips buck at her words.

“please bil, don’t tease, need you so bad” a loud whine escapes you. the both of you grabbing at each other’s clothes, forcing yourselves to be even closer to each other. billie kisses you softly at first, but turns rough, her teeth clashing with yours and softly bites down on your bottom lip. her fingers trail down to your panties ripping them off in one swift motion, before rubbing your clit fast. you back arches off the bed after the sudden feeling of pleasure. 

“so pretty, y’know that mama, makes mommy go crazy” you moan out loud, billie pushes two fingers into you while you babble incoherently about how good she’s making you feel. she fucks them into you quick, at a pace you’ve never felt before. they felt so deep, yet so empty when she’d take them out. whimpers and moans fall quick out of your mouth, “yesyesyes, mommy so good, fuck” 

“come on baby, cum for me, make a mess on mommy’s fingers” with that you fall over the edge. 

2 mins 20 seconds…

“think we can get in a second round?” 

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @eloiseluvsbillie @bxllxebxtch @ifnot-foryou @giannaeilish @giannaeilish2 @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann

send me an ask, or comment if you want to be added to my taglist!

[teliphone]

Sweetest Goal

Summary: Lottie Matthews and you are soccer opponents. Your coach warns you not to get distracted by anything. The rivalry between the two schools is big, causing fights to break out. Is it okay that your supposed enemy is saving you? 

Fluff <3

Warning(s): Bullying, cussing, typical school fist fights, Fem!reader 

Word Count: 5.3k

a/n: This is a remaster of my old (2023) fanfic I made. The old one was... interesting (bad), so I had to make it better. Hope you guys enjoy this cute fanfic!

-

Your lungs burn with each step. You ran with all your might, your eyes focused on two things. 

The soccer ball and the opponent.

She comes closer to the left of your peripheral vision. You breathe heavily as you thrust yourself forward. Sliding your knee against the turf with your right leg sticking out to kick the soccer ball. The ball misses the girl's feet by three inches and it goes rolling over to your teammate, Taissa Turner. 

While on the ground, you are able to catch your breath. You hear the crowd cheering as you watch your teammate kick the ball closer to the goal. She successfully dodges two opponents with her quick turns.

You push yourself up from the ground and start picking up speed again, just in case Taissa needs backup. But you were not required because she sent the ball flying into the goal. 

The crowd lets out a roar. Taissa spreads her arms out and comes running back to you. She engulfs you in a hug that nearly knocks the air out of you. Seconds later, you feel your other teammates crashing into the hug. They start to cheer and chant. You glance at the score. 3-2. Closing your eyes, you continue enjoying the cheerful spirit of your teammates. 

-

“Great job out there girls!” The coach beams in the locker room. The girls sit on the benches, patting their sweat with towels. Some were taking swings from their water bottles. You stand near the coach with your arms crossed. The coach tilts his head at you before giving you a proud slap on the shoulder. The action causes you to jerk forward. You bite back a smile. 

“That was a nice pass you did out there,” He compliments. The girls cheer and bang their fists against the lockers in applause. It sounds like thunder. 

“What you guys did out there is what a team is like. I am so proud of each and every one of you. Our next game is in a couple of days. I expect you to keep up the good work. I will see you guys at practice tomorrow morning,” He coaches. 

“Yes sir!” The girls salute in unison as a joke. Giggles can be heard among them. You feel a gentle hand touch your back. You glance up at your couch with a confused expression.  

“May I have a word with you?” The coach asks. You agree and he walks out of the locker room. You give Taissa a “what the?” look and she returns with an “I don’t know, good luck” look. You inhale a deep breath to calm your nerves. You follow behind until he stops near the bleachers. You brace yourself. He turns around and itches his forehead. 

“I want you to be more stern with yourself for the girls,” He begins. You drop your gaze to the cement floor and your shoulders drop. 

This again. 

When this year’s soccer season started, he picked you to be the leader of the team. You declined at first because you felt there was too much responsibility and expectations. You were afraid you would fail everyone. You didn’t see in yourself that you could be a leader, but apparently, the coach and your teammates see it. 

“… I am trying my best,” You quietly reply. He chuckles softly and pats your shoulder, causing you to look back up to him again. 

“I know you are, and I appreciate that a lot. These girls respect you whether or not you see that. I know it creates a lot of pressure for you, but that is the role of a leader. The season so far has been going extremely well. I expect you to keep this devotion. Don’t let anything distract you from the team's goal of going to the nationals,” He reminds you. His look is soft and encouraging. You nod your head slowly. His words sink in and suddenly you feel the urge to be better. To be a role model for your team. You love your teammates more than anything else. He sees it in your eyes and relaxes his shoulders. 

“See you tomorrow,” He waves. You watch him walk away for a few seconds before turning around. You walk into the locker rooms and a few teammates are already done packing up. They sit around chatting with each other. You zipline to Taissa, who has a locker next to yours. Giving her a tight smile before opening your locker. She watches as you shove clothes into your bag. 

Taissa is wearing the school’s bomber jacket. The sleeves are orange and the middle is black with orange detailing. The school's fox mascot logo is on the left side chest. 

Your school is called Urocyon High School. Based on the gray fox (scientific name: Urocyon cinereoargenteus) commonly found in the state of New Jersey. Foxes are known for their speed, cunningness, and smarts, which you believe represent your soccer team perfectly.  

“What did you guys talk about?” She asks curiously, taking a seat on the bench. Her hands are tucked in the pockets of the bomber jacket. You shrug your shoulders as you continue packing up. You try to sound nonchalant. 

“Oh, you know… The usual leader coaching,” You sigh. She chuckles and tilts her head up against the lockers. She looks at the ceiling with a warm smile.

“You’re a good leader,” She reminds you. 

You’ve expressed your concerns to her a couple of times now. She understands why you feel stressed, but defends you when you say you aren’t fit to be a leader. 

You shut your locker a little louder than you expected. You watch her with a stressed expression, eyebrows arching up and lips frowning. She turns her head to look at you with a curious grin. Quietly watching you wrestle with yourself in your head. She is used to this part of you. 

“Why didn’t he pick you? You’re so much more charismatic, strong, and brave-"

“Trust me. If I became a leader, I’d push the girls to the point of quitting. They would hate it. You know me! I hate slackers,” She laughs. You pause and press your lips together. 

“You have a point,” You blurt. She rolls her eyes while smiling. You put on the school bomber jacket to match her. Lastly, you zip up your backpack and swing it over your shoulders. She gets up from her seat with a huff, patting her hands against her thighs. You could tell she is already starting to get sore. She throws her left arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Let's go eat! I am starving!” She beams, dragging you along with her to the exit. 

-

You and Taissa go to the regular late-night burger spot. It is the spot you two always go to, and it quickly became a tradition. The bell chimes as she pushes the doors open. 

Boy, do you love that smell of grease! 

You two stand patiently before one of the workers glances over from where he was tasked. Travis, your favorite server. He attends a different high school, but you don’t know exactly which one. There are a couple of schools in this town. His eyes light up and he brushes his hands on the apron before walking over. He leans against the host station.

“The fox girls are back again!” Travis greets happily. Taissa waves her hands gloriously, as if someone placed a red carpet underneath her feet. Except there was no red carpet, but an old welcome rug that had been losing its bright red color. It looks a bit brown now.  

“You guys won another match today, didn't you?” He grins. Taissa crosses her arms and leans back til her shoulder touches yours. She has a smug smile. You quickly copy her behavior. You can’t leave your best friend hanging. 

“We sure did,” She beams. He happily nods his head. He glances at a certain booth and looks back. 

“Luckily for you foxes, your table is free. The usual?” He questions.

“Yes, please,” You answer. He gestures to you two towards the table and leaves for the kitchen. You plop onto the seat that faces the door while Taissa sits opposite. She immediately goes to mess with the condiments. She clicks the salt and pepper bottles together. You stretch your legs out and yawn, which makes your eyes water. The match earlier is starting to take a toll on you. You place your elbow on the table and lean your chin against your palm. 

“Are you nervous for the next game?” You break the silence. Taissa stops messing with the salt shaker. She straightens her back and gives you a stern look. 

“No,” She states. You sigh and avert your eye to the window. The moon hovers behind the tall trees. Street lights are illuminating the streets. The neon burger sign flickers, indicating how old the place is. You can see a few other cars parked in front. 

“I am,” You confess. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Just because we lost to the Yellowjackets every round last year does not mean we can’t beat them this year,” She points out. The mention of Yellowjackets makes you grimace. 

Yellowjackets from Wiskayok High School. The girls' soccer team, as much as you hate to admit it, is good. Your team and the Yellowjackets have been neck to neck for generations. The rivalry naturally became a thing. Wiskayok High School is closer to the South side of town, while Uyrocyon High School (your school) is located closer to the North. Both teams became the main competition in the town. 

You know all the members of the other team. You secretly search them up on the athlete's website. You analyze all their names and heights. It’s a little odd, you felt like you could be good friends with them if the situation were different. 

Travis comes back out with the dishes, snapping you out of thought. He slides Taissa her dish first, then you. 

“Anything else I could get for you guys?” He asks in a worky manner. Taissa shakes her head, and you thank him. He smiles and leaves to attend to other tasks. You two start munching like you’ve never eaten before. As if your stomach were an endless pit. Ketchup starts rolling down Taissa’s lip. You smile and reach over to grab her a napkin. 

The bells from the door twinkled again, revealing that someone had opened the door. You glance up and nearly choke on your food. 

Yellow and blue colors were the first warning indicators. 

Three yellowjacket boys walk in with a smug look. Two of them had their hands in their jean pockets while one leaned on the top of the host table. He uses his free hand to brush along his golden hair. They curiously glance around the place, indicating it’s the first time they’ve been here. As they look around, one of them makes eye contact with you. You quickly jerk your attention back to your meal and silently pray they didn’t recognize you. Your heart starts hammering against your chest. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see pairs of shoes gathering next to your booth. You let out a shaky breath.  

“Well, well, well, look who we have here. Isn’t this the foxie girls?” The blonde boy snickers. 

Foxie: Slang for sexually appealing; attractive.

You lower your head and clench your jaw. You loathe that nickname.

Though it can be empowering for some, it was meant to degrade the Urocyon girls' soccer team. Claiming that your team focuses on looks and body rather than skill. Which could not be more wrong. You’ve seen how much time and dedication your team has put in. On the other hand, you’ve seen the poor record score of the Yellowjackets' men's sports. An ongoing record of only winning two games a season. You wanted to taunt them, but then remembered you’re the team leader. You didn’t want to cause more trouble. You bite your tongue and sink more into your seat. 

Taissa had other plans in mind. 

“Well, well, well, isn’t this the failure of the school?” She mocks. That triggers the brunette boy next to the blonde. He slams both his hands on the table, rattling the glass water cups. He leans in close to her with a glare. 

“You should watch that pretty mouth of yours. Keep talking shit and we’ll leave a sting,” He threatens. 

“I’m so scared,” She rolls her eyes. The brunette keeps his stance, not backing down. Nor does Taissa. She glares back with the same amount of hatred. You nervously gulp from feeling the tension increases. You lift your hands to touch hers to remind her to keep her cool. 

The third boy with black hair finally pulls the brunette back. 

“Hey dude, we should just leave them alone,” He suggests. He playfully wraps his arms around his friend's shoulder, pulling him away from the table. 

You let out a sigh, not realizing you’ve been holding your breath. You almost thanked him. Finally, a Yellowjacket that is nice with human decency…

That was true til he had the nerve to utter more words. 

“They’re just a bunch of cock suckers winning their way up,” He laughs loudly.  

Your blood runs cold. With a quick move, you jerk your foot outwards in front of the foot closest to you. This action trips the brunette forward, pulling his black-haired friend along to the ground. Taissa gasps before laughing loudly. She holds onto her stomach and looks at you with sparkling eyes. She couldn’t believe you just did that. You didn’t either. Your lips curl into a small smile, hidden behind your hair. 

The brunette boy grunts and glares up from the ground. His cheeks are bright red from embarrassment. His friends try to calm him down, but he ignores them. He hoists himself up and begins to charge at you. You widen your eyes and brace yourself. 

Suddenly, a figure jumps in front. A girl. Long, wavy, and black hair that reaches just below her shoulders. 

“You guys are embarrassing me. Please go,” She groans, with a finger rubbing her temple in annoyance. Your eyes lower down to examine her more. Come to find out she’s also wearing a yellow and blue bomber jacket. 

She’s a Yellowjacket. 

“That girl tripped me!” The brunette boy whines. You feel the hairs on your arm raise from how cringeworthy he sounds. Taissa’s face scrunches in disgust. The yellowjacket girl crosses her arms and jerks her chin towards the door. 

“Leave or I’ll tell your coach you’ve been smoking weed before games,” She threatens. That threat seems to do the job because the three boys halt their movement. They quickly glance at each other nervously. The blonde boy clenches his fist and makes the first move to the exit. He tilts his head to the side.

“You’re lucky this time,” He says in a low tone. The three boys glare at you before exiting the restaurant. You watch as the door opens and rings again, then they disappear behind it.

The girl lets out a deep sigh and turns around. She makes eye contact with you. Her face is filled with shame and disappointment. From the angle where you sit, you had to crane your neck to look at her. You immediately recognize her from the athlete research you did on the Yellowjackets women's soccer team. 

Lottie (Charlotte) Matthews. The girl who has been praised for her skillful foot techniques.  

“Thank you… for helping us,” You test. You are still hesitant about Yellowjackets, but she did save you. The least you can do is show gratitude. Her shoulders relax and before she can talk more, Travis comes up. Basically pushing her to the side. 

“You girls okay? I just heard from another coworker. Sorry I didn’t jump in on time, I was busy in the kitchen…” He apologizes, but you stop listening and focus more on Lottie. She gives you a small, shy smile before quietly stepping away to return to her booth. Your cheeks turn pink from realizing how close she was. 

Her table was right behind yours. She must have heard everything you and Taissa shared earlier. 

 -

The crowd is noisy with numerous conversations. You glance nervously at the crowd and notice the seats are more filled than usual. This is understandable since your team is going to go against the Yellowjackets today. Today's match is played on Yellowjacket's home base. You examine the crowd more and see that there is a larger majority of yellow and blue. Makes sense since you’re playing in their territory. You avert your attention back into the field. 

The spokesperson introduces the Uyrocyon team first. Your team stands in a straight line. Staring at the crowd with heads lifted high to express confidence. Underneath your facade, your heart is racing. You cautiously brush your white and orange jersey. The crowd cheers respectfully. Except for the boy's sports team who boos, but thankfully they are overpowered by the Uryrocyon classmates who came to watch. The spokesperson continues and the crowd anticipates the home team players. 

“Everyone give it up to the Yellowjackets!” 

The crowd roars and thunders. You gulp nervously before peeking to the side. You watch as each yellowjacket runs out, waving their hands at the crowd. Your eyes naturally focus on Lottie. She is smiling brightly as she runs. Her hair swaying back and forth as she gazes around at the crowd. The long strands of her hair are tucked in a ponytail. After she runs to her position, she peeks at you. Offering a small smile once she finds out you are already eyeing her. You clench your teeth to stop yourself from smiling back. You look away first to keep your mind focused on the game.  

“Just a distraction,” You mumble to yourself. You pull your teammates in a circle and stare at their eyes. Giving a stern look, you give a motivational speech in hopes of easing their stress. 

“Remember the strategy the coach has given us. Stay focused and cautious. Work together as a team. I trust each one of you. We can do this,” You grunt. Your team places their hands on top of each other and pushes up with a scream. 

The chosen starter players run to the field while the rest run to the benches. You rush to the referee with Jackie Taylor, the Yellowjackets team captain. You give her a quick smile in which she returns. The referee tosses the coin and it lands on the side Jackie picked.

Everyone returns to their positions. 

It starts a little slow. Everyone is getting used to each other's play moves, but soon it gets heated. The Yellowjackets currently pass the ball around your team's goal. You feel a fear creep up your neck. Yellowjacket kicks a ball upward and Taissa fails to steal the ball. The ball spins to another yellowjacket, who hits her head against it. The ball goes flying into your goal. 

1 - 0

The crowd roars in excitement. Yellojackets cheer with each other. You see your goalie holding her head down in disappointment. You quickly run up to your goalie to clench her shoulders. 

“We still have time to catch up! Keep your head up!” You remind her. She nods her head and her eyes switch back to confidence. 

The whistle blows again, and this time, your team has successfully stolen the soccer ball. Taissa runs full speed to the other side of the field. You push yourself forward on the opposite side of her. She glances and sees your free space. She kicks it hard and the ball flies over to you. You catch the ball with your foot and continue running forward. Then Lottie appears in front of you. You halt to a pause. 

She is running to steal the ball. 

You quickly turn, but she is quicker and invades your space. Her foot slightly grazes against the ball and your eyes widen. 

How?! You quietly panic. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see another yellow jacket running up. If you waste more time, you surely will be cornered. Turning again, you see your teammate on the other side. You kick the ball and watch it roll over to your team. You left out a breath of relief. Lottie runs from you, but before she goes away, she turns her head slightly. You can see the corner of her lips smiling. That small move makes you clench your jaw. You will not let her treat you like you’re an easy target.

You run beside her to defend your team from her. She widens her eyes in shock at your sudden tactic, but quickly recovers. She stops her run and angles in the other direction. You quickly stop and turn to catch up to her. Your hand is extended out as she stands behind you. 

“Obsessive much?” She whispers, slightly leaning down to your ear.

“You wish,” You groan, staring straight ahead. The teammates are currently passing the ball toward each other. You hear her breathe out a laugh. She licks her lips and slouches further down.  

“I kinda do,” She sighs in a joking manner. Your ears turn red, and you spin around to glare at her. From this sudden angle, she is leaning down toward your face. You can see her moles up close. Her plump lips are close to yours. Your eyes widen and stumble backwards. She quickly leans back to straighten her posture, just as shocked as you. A blush forms on her cheeks and to avoid further mistakes, she runs away. You don’t understand why your heart is beating so fast. 

“What are you doing? Keep moving!” Taissa shouts at you. Right. You mentally curse Lottie for distracting you. You run forward to find a different Yellowjacket to block. But it was no use because, on the opposite side of the field, the yellowjackets had successfully earned another goal.

2 - 0

You fail to keep a calm composure. You glare at the clock and see there are only eighteen minutes left til the game ends. 

Your team loses 1-2. Within the eighteen minutes left, Taissa managed to get a goal, but it was not enough to win the whole round. Your teammates sit quietly and sulkily next to each other. No one is making a sound. They felt defeated again, as if no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t beat the Yellowjackets girls' soccer team. 

You stand in front of them, hands on your hips. You bite your lips. You couldn’t help but feel like this loss was your fault. You were distracted and didn’t give the game 100% of your attention. Coach warned you about this moment. 

“Don’t beat yourselves up,” You speak out to the team. You wish you could take your own advice. Taking a deep breath, you calm yourself. You have to stay strong for your team. After a few more exchanges of bits of advice and conversations from the coach, the team is heading towards their cars. You stay last to ponder over your actions. You lean into your car seat and shut your eyes. An image of Lottie appears in your head. 

“No distractions,” You softly mumble. 

-

It's the next day and you stand in front of the mirror, awkwardly staring at yourself. You had on your party outfit, but were not really in the mood. Your coach had made all your teammates go to a party with other soccer players in the district to “make friends”. As much as your teammates begged not to go, he said this is for the greater good of sportsmanship. 

So here you are now, standing awkwardly amongst the crowd with a red cup in hand. You take small sips of the bitter liquid, not hoping to get flat out drunk. Loud waves of laughter and conversations can be heard all around you. Not to mention the mix smells of cigs and weed. 

It’s dark out with a few lights and a fire pit illuminating the area. You scan around in hopes of finding your teammates. You hoped they didn’t ditch. Your eyes move among the people and stop at a certain girl. 

Lottie stands in a circle with her friends, giggling and waving the cigarette between her fingers. She taps the bud with her thumb as she nods her head. Her outfit is pink, which matches her really well. She lowers the cigarette and turns her head slightly, making eye contact with you. Her eyes widen in glee and she lifts her hand to wave. 

You’re a bit awkward. Shyly smiling and slowly lifting your hands. You could barely manage a full wave before Taissa crashes into you. The liquid in your cup splashes around and drips on the side. She chuckles and wraps her arms around you in a hug. 

“So glad I found you,” She mumbles into your hair. You give her a playful cringe and try to shove her away. You sneak a peek back towards Lottie, but she’s already looking away. You try not to show your disappointment by looking back at Taissa. 

The rest of the night consists of you making “accidental” eye contact with Lottie. She looks away first most of the time, making it feel like you’re staring too much. You didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, so you stopped. You even avoided her when she was close in the circle of friends. Currently, you're swaying your body slowly to the music while closing your eyes. 

“Yo, bro. It’s those girls from the restaurant,” You hear familiar voices whisper behind you. Goosebumps rise on your skin. Footsteps quickly approach you. Suddenly, you feel a hard tug on your shoulders. You gasp in shock and pain. 

“Funny to find you here,” The brunette boy greets. The blonde boy lifts a cigarette towards his lips and takes a long drag. His eyes slowly scan your body. A smile appears on his lips as he blows out the smoke. 

“Holy shit you’re actually kinda hot?” He chuckles. He takes a step closer to you, causing you to step back. You clench the red cup. You try to cover yourself with your hands as an attempt to feel safe. His eyes darken a little. He flicks the cig onto the ground and places his hands on your hip. You immediately slap his hands away, glaring at him angrily. 

“Get away from me,” You snap. Taissa turns around from her conversation. Once she sees the conflict, she quickly pushes people out of the way and rushes toward you. 

“Come on now, pretty girls should-”

Before he could continue, Taissa shoves him away… hard. He slams against his friends. The commotion creates attention, causing people to be silent and look over. Soon, a small circle forms around you. 

“Fucken bitches!” The black hair boy barks. He clenches his fist and starts running towards you. He stumbles over his footsteps a bit due to the amount of alcohol in his system. He sways his fist towards your face, but you quickly dodge. He stumbles from his weight and nearly falls over. He regains his balance and charges at you again. From the corner of your eyes, you can see a group of girls joining in the circle. You figured out who they were. The Yellowjackets girls' soccer team. 

“Hey, stop it!” Jackie Taylor yells. The rest of the girls block the boys from you and Taissa. Lottie rushes to stand in front of you like a shield. She crosses her arms in annoyance. 

“Didn’t I warn you guys last time?” She grumbles. You glance around to see many people joining to watch the fight. You lower your head close to Lottie's back to cover your face. You didn’t want to draw attention, especially for something like this. Your coach would not be pleased. 

The boys ignore her and swing their fists again. The blonde boy wrestles against the girls, leaving the brunette to face Lottie. With the chaos stirring, Lottie doesn’t realize the brunette boy charging to punch her face. You couldn’t warn her fast enough and his fist connects with her cheek. She loudly grunts and stumbles back. She lifts her hands to touch her lower lip. Blood paints her fingers. She glares at him between her heavy-lidded eyes. Your eyes widen in shock. Lottie got punched because she was trying to help you. Without a second thought, you slam your body against his stomach. He gasps in confusion. You weren’t a strong fighter. You clench onto his body and he tries to pry you off him. You are not moving one bit, like you were glued. You didn’t want him to hurt Lottie again. 

“Get this girl off me!” He begs, digging his fingers into your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut and grunt against his attempt to push you off. Lottie watches with her eyes wide. A small chuckle escapes her broken lip. She couldn’t believe you would do something like this. She was about to join the fight to help you, but a group of football players came in to break up the fight. 

-

You don’t really know what happens next, but you're sitting on the concrete floor of the sidewalk. Your fingers gently rub the side of your hips. It feels like it's bruised by how hard the boy was clawing at you. You hiss each time you press your fingers in. 

“Need time alone?” You hear Lottie ask from beside you. You turn your head up to look at her. The street lights shine perfectly against her face. You quietly shake your head and she smiles. She plops herself next to you with a soft grunt. Her hands are placed beside her as she looks up into the night sky. She doesn’t say anything else, too busy staring at the stars. You nibble your bottom lip nervously. 

“Thank you… Again,” You break the silence. She tilts her head to look at you. She breaks into a smile again, which makes your heart squeeze. She looks so cute in this setting. You avert your stare to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. 

“I’m sorry you had to deal with those idiots,” She mumbles. Your lips curl into a small smile. The images of the fight flash in your mind, causing you to chuckle. Lottie leans her body forward to get a better look at you. Her eyes soften when she sees you expressing joy. She usually doesn’t see you smile since she only sees you hyper-focused during games. She likes seeing you like this. A secret promise she made that night to see this side of you more. 

“What are you laughing about?” She beams. You lift your hands to your lips to cover your smile. 

“I was thinking about the fight,” You reveal. She starts chuckling with you. She remembers how hard you were clenching onto that boy. It was kind of cute to her. The two of you softly giggle with each other til it dies out once you shyly analyze the cut on her lips. You slowly lift your hands towards her lips. Her breathing slows as she feels your thumb rub against the dry blood. You clean the area underneath the cut while she stares deep into your eyes. You lower your hands and glance up to make eye contact with her. You feel yourself grow hot as a blush appears on your cheeks. She gulps and slowly blinks. You both jerk your faces back to the empty streets, both blushing and nervous. You quickly get up from the ground. 

“I- I should probably go-” You stop talking when Lottie grabs onto your hand. Her soft fingers wrap against yours.

“Stay,” Lottie breathes out. Time seems to stand still for a moment. The sound of your heartbeat is louder than your thoughts. You nervously nod your head and return to sitting by her side. Her hands never leave yours- instead, she laces them and places them onto her lap. There was no need to say anything for a while. Both of you felt the same way. 

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

First Time

Character: Cho Hyun-Ju X fem!reader

Summary: scissoring for the first time after her penis-to-vagina surgery.

Warnings:

🔥 Explicit sexual content (scissoring / tribbing)

💖 Post-surgery sensitivity (Hyunju has had bottom surgery; focus on new sensations)

🥺 Whining / begging kink (soft, cute, not harsh)

💦 High emotional intensity (but not too heavy — a playful, breathless vibe)

🛏 Consensual first-time (both are enthusiastic and checking in)

🧸 Mild overstimulation themes (Hyunju feeling overwhelmed in a good way)

💕 Light dominance (you are leading but it’s very tender)

😳 Touch starvation / clinginess (especially after climax)

The air between you and Hyunju felt charged, thick with something heavier than nervousness but sweeter than fear. She was lying back against the pillows, her cheeks flushed, her hair messy in the way you loved — soft and wild.

You were both half-dressed, kissing lazily, touches growing bolder with every minute. When you pulled back to breathe, Hyunju whined, chasing your mouth with hers, her hands clutching at your waist.

"You’re so mean," she pouted, her voice breathless and whiny in a way that made your stomach flip. "You keep teasing me…"

You laughed softly, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "I'm not teasing," you said, kissing her temple. "I'm just... taking my time."

Hyunju shivered under you, her whole body so sensitive it was almost unfair — every brush of your fingertips along her ribs made her gasp, every kiss at the corner of her mouth made her hips roll up toward you without her meaning to.

"Please," she whispered, almost petulant. "I can't... I'm so—"

You kissed her properly then, swallowing her little whines, your body slotting against hers like it was made for this. She moaned into your mouth, arching up, desperate for friction, desperate for more.

You slid your thigh between hers carefully, feeling the tremble that ran through her as her slickness pressed against you, hot and new and overwhelming.

"You’re okay?" you whispered against her lips, heart thudding in your throat.

Hyunju nodded frantically, eyes shining, cheeks burning pink. "Feels— it feels too good," she whimpered, and the sound went straight through you.

You kissed her again, deeper, and began to move your hips in slow, rocking motions, grinding your thigh against her, feeling the way her body was already trembling.

Hyunju gasped — sharp and needy — her hands scrambling at your shoulders, nails digging in just a little. Every movement against you dragged a helpless moan from her throat, high and breathy, her thighs squeezing around you desperately.

"You’re so sensitive, baby," you whispered, adoring the way she was already falling apart, already writhing under you. You rocked against her just a little harder, and she choked out a soft sob, biting down on her lower lip to keep quiet.

"Don't tease," she whined, voice breaking, hips bucking up uncontrollably. "Don't stop, please—"

"I won't," you promised, your forehead pressed against hers, feeling every shaky breath, every frantic heartbeat.

You shifted, lining your body up against hers, letting your soaked folds press and slip against each other — the first real touch, so hot and raw it made both of you gasp out loud.

"Fuck, fuck," Hyunju whined helplessly, hands fisting in the sheets now, her whole body jerking under yours. "Feels— s-so much—"

"I know, love," you whispered, voice shaking just as much as your hands were. You couldn't believe how good it felt, how close you already were just from the wet, desperate friction, the slip-slide of your bodies fitting together so perfectly.

You moved against her slowly at first, savoring every whimper, every shudder that ran through her. But Hyunju couldn’t stop moving — hips twitching up into yours, chasing every spark of pleasure like she couldn’t stand a single second without it.

"Need you," she whined again, half sobbing, her voice breaking so prettily it nearly undid you. "Need it so bad, please—"

You captured her mouth again, devouring every cry, every needy little sound, as you started to rock harder, grinding your soaked pussy against hers with desperate, messy rhythm.

Hyunju's cries grew higher, needier, her nails raking helplessly down your back as she writhed beneath you.

And when she finally came, it wasn’t a single moment — it was a whole, shaking, whimpering thing — her hips jerking, her thighs clamping around yours, her voice breaking into the sweetest, rawest little sobs as you held her through it, kissing her tears away.

You kept moving until you fell apart too, gasping her name against her throat, overwhelmed by the wet, beautiful mess of it all.

After, you collapsed together, bodies tangled, still trembling.

Hyunju hid her burning face against your neck, whining again. "You broke me," she mumbled pitifully, voice thick and soft.

You just laughed, hugging her tighter, kissing the top of her head.

"I’ll fix you, baby," you whispered. "Again and again."

And judging by the way she clung to you, still shaking, still needy?

You both knew you would.

[beef-brisket]

Adam chuckled: Babe, I fucking love it. You won't believe the shit I've eaten, I know bad food, and this ain't it. Fucking- five star, Lu.

Lucifer: ...You mean it?

Adam: Fuck yeah! Do you know what a Royal Goliath Beetle is?

Lucifer: Uh... no? Sounds big.

Adam: It's fucking huge... Eve and I used to eat the grubs. Fucking... worst experience of my fucking life... the guts came out- and depending on where you bite, it would squirt on your face. Cain got it up his nose once, poor kid. Cried for hours.

When Adam saw the disgusted look on Lucifer's face, he laughed: W-What I'm saying is, I've eaten some horrible shit, so I know shit food when I eat it, yeah? This isn't shit. It'll take more than burnt meat to put me off.

They sat in silence as they ate. Lucifer wasn't sure if he believed Adam, but he'd like to. Surely, he'd be used to a certain standard of cooking after so long in Heaven. But he won't push back on it. He doesn't want to annoy Adam.

Lucifer: ...I've never asked you about your time on Earth.

Adam shrugged: Not much to tell. It was pretty shit. Everything wants to kill you, and you have to kill everything. It's a weird circle. I once saw a stag that had the head of another stag caught in its antlers. Fucking... creepy things. They get so many problems. Fucking- viral, bacterial, and parasitic diseases. Fucking- neurological disorders. Crazy shit... I see why Al's a fucking deer, their unsettling fucking things. You don't know fear until you see one of those big fuckers with a broken necks just staring at you.

Lucifer: That... sounds like Bambi.

Adam laughs: Damn right. Weird bastard.

-

Lucifer could feel himself crashing again. It didn't help that Charlie seemed to be doing everything herself or used Vaggie or Alastor to help her. She didn't need him. Again. But Lucifer knew it would only last so long.

It didn't help that even Adam was keeping to himself. Apparently, the last few therapy sessions have been rough.

But it all came to a head during one of Charlie's lessons. Lucifer tried one more time to be helpful, but Charlie turned him down. In front of everyone. Lucifer felt tears pricking at his eyes. He was trying so hard to hold them back that he didn't notice Alastor appear next to him.

Leaning down, Alastor smiled widely: How embarrassing~. I feel for you, Your Highness, it must kill you knowing your precious daughter would rather have anyone else but you at her side. Perhaps you should take the hint, hm~?

Lucifer tensed at each word before nodding and teleporting back to his room. He needed to get out of here before he broke down.

Adam glared at Alastor as the sinner rose to his full height. What the fuck did he say?!

Adam: Scuse me, Char.

Charlie: Oh- uh, that's fine, Adam!

He could hear Vaggie arguing, but Adam was determined to see Lucifer before he did something stupid.

King of Depression

@beef-brisket

Lucifer had been helping around the hotel or he tried to at least. There wasn't much he could really do, but he couldn't help with any of the actual redemption planning. That was more Charlie's area of work and he just trusted that she knew what she was doing.

Adam had been staying at the hotel and over the last few months they seemed to have gotten back on friendly terms, which was nice. But he's been going to therapy with Charlie and doing his own thing.

Lucifer made them pancakes....... There's only so many pancakes someone can make before people get sick of them.

He felt that familiar feeling of darkness creeping into him, it felt like he was a bump on a log just getting in people's way. Like he wasn't wanted there and that he was useless.

Maybe he should go back to the manor, Charlie hadn't been asking for help for anything and he didn't want to bother Adam........ He probably didn't want him around much anyway.....

No one did.

Maybe a couple days at home will be fine, he can check up on his work and get some things done.

That was the plan anyway.

-

Adam came knocking on Lucifer's door at the hotel, it's been two weeks since he's since the little guy and he's actually starting to worry a little.

Adam: Open up shortie!

The door opened a little bit and opening it more Adam could see that Lucifer wasn't even there. And by the looks of it he hadn't been there for a while.

Adam: The fuck?

He went back down to the lobby to talk to Charlie, she was organizing her binder.

Adam: Yo girlie, where's your old man?

Charlie blinked: He's not in his room?

Adam: No, he hasn't been here for a while.

Charlie: Hmmm, he might be at home. Would you mind checking up on him?

Adam: Yeah I guess.

Charlie smiled and thanked him, she opened a portal to the front of the manor.

Adam: ..... Why is this place so fucking big?

-

Lucifer groaned and pulled the blanket up to his face, the curtains in his room were drawn but there was a sliver of light making it in. He doesn't remember when he left his bed last.

Maybe he could have a nap, he was just so tired.

[wiserteriaoverbarefeet]

I might loosen my grip, but I won't ever let her go

little!jackie / autistic!jackie, cg!nat - post rescue and living together CW: minor ptsd flashback, some references to childhood trauma, accidents word count: 3196

Nat comes home to dimmed lights and the sound of animated voices crackling on the television. As she kicks off her boots and drops her bag by the door, she can hear Jackie murmuring something to herself. It’s a soft familiar voice, scripting out the tangential dialogue Nat’s become everso acquainted with these past few months. It’s all she needs to know exactly what headspace Jackie is in right now. 

Nat turns to the living room, brushes her hands on her jeans, and smiles when she sees her. 

Jackie’s sitting on the floor in front of the sofa with all her Calico Critters on the coffee table. They’re made up in an arrangement Nat’s sure has some sort of significance, and an episode of Powerpuff Girls is playing on the TV. 

Nat approaches the smaller girl from behind and lightly touches her shoulders. As she sits beside her, she can already feel the day's stress beginning to melt away. The argument with her boss over the recent scheduling debacles and the angry customer who’d cursed her out over a fucking Nirvana record of all things - it’s all moving behind her. All that matters now is she’s content in the home she never thought she’d have with the person she loves more than anything.

“Hey, Jackie.”

Jackie grins at the sound of Nat's low voice. It takes her a second to react - she’s always a bit slow like this - but soon, she looks away from her toys and over at Nat.

“I made a new story,” she says. “This one-” Jackie picks up a kitten wearing a blue button-up and dress pants. “He just got caught having an affair. So now his wife - she’s taking all the kids and they’re leaving. They took the car and all the money and everything.”

Nat widens her eyes and resists the urge to laugh. Jackie’s stories have always been on the dramatic side. She’s spent countless hours by now rambling on about secret pregnancies, love triangles, and even murder. For as silly as it is, Nat would be lying if she said she wasn’t invested too.

“They’re gonna move to Sac-a-meno while he’s at work. And he has no idea.” 

Nat stifles a snort at the mispronunciation. “Shit… that’s pretty intense.” 

Jackie nods. Her eyes are wide in thought as she looks back at her arrangement. 

“Bad word, Natty.” 

“Right, sorry, Jack.”

“But, you can play too. Or you can watch.” 

Jackie’s voice is flat and gaze stays on her critters. With her tongue poked out in focus, she carefully places the ex-wife (a deer in a frilly dress) and three baby fawns into a pink plastic car. 

Nat smiles. For a while, she had thought the apparent disinterest was something to worry about. She used to tell herself it was a sign that Jackie had become bothered by her presence and just didn’t know how to say it. Now, after months of living together, Nat knows it’s the opposite. She knows it’s the Jackie that’s spent years hidden beneath a carefully curated mask - tied to her knowledge that she can flap her hands and bounce on her toes and still, Nat will be there. 

“Who can I play as?” Nat asks. “Can I be…” She picks up a grey kitten wearing a collared shirt, tie, and argyle pants. “A cool butch love interest?” 

Jackie purses her lips and furrows her brow. Her eyes trail to the kitten in Nat’s hand, then over to Nat herself, who’s looking back at Jackie with a cheesy grin. It takes everything Nat has not to laugh at the sight. Because sure, she already knows rejection is coming, but she can’t help it - she likes to tease. She likes seeing Jackie work through the process of figuring out how to let her down easy. Or, on the rare occasion that Jackie isn’t so patient, she likes to hear her idea of a seven-year-old insult. 

“Um…” Jackie bites her lip. “Actually, maybe you can just watch.”

She takes the kitten from Nat and sets him on the floor beside her, off limits. 

Nat sighs, but accepts the suggestion. She pulls her knees into her chest and watches in silence as Jackie goes back to mumbling to herself and the critters. It goes on for a few minutes before the younger girl turns to her once more. 

“Natty?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How long would it take to drive to Sac-a-meno?”

“Uhhh…” Nat pauses. “I don’t know. Like a few days, maybe?” 

“Oh.” 

Jackie frowns. “Then we need a hotel. They can’t just be in the car all night. ‘s not safe.” 

“Well, what about…” Nat grabs the stack of magazines Jackie keeps under the coffee table and places it on the surface. “This? If they’re behind the magazines, we can pretend they’re in the hotel.” 

Jackie contemplates the idea for a moment. She tilts her head as she inspects the structure, then nods. With a quiet vroooom-ing noise, she rolls the car up to it and unpacks the animals. She’s quickly interrupted, however, by the sound of TV static crackling. 

“Fuck- again?” Nat grumbles. 

Jackie doesn’t get the chance to correct her before Nat is walking toward it and fiddling with the knobs. 

“This piece of junk…” 

They’d gotten it at a thrift store a few weeks after moving in. It was cheap - too cheap - and had been giving them problems ever since. Still, money was tight and replacing it was low on their list of priorities. So long as they slapped the screen every so often or mindlessly spun around the knobs at the bottom, it seemed to mostly resolve itself. 

Thankfully, this time is no different. After a few minutes of tampering - the image reappears - now on the weather channel. 

“That’s boring,” Jackie groans. “Where’s the other show?”

“Don’t worry, I’m finding it.”

Nat twists the knob again. She freezes, however, when she sees a flash of their old soccer team come across the screen. 

“...almost two years since flight 2525…” 

Nat swallows. She can see the reporters and how their mouths are moving but she can’t hear anything beyond it. There’s ringing in her ears and something’s echoing behind her - screams or something like them. It’s crashing down with the metal walls that once collapsed around her and swallows her whole. Nat’s spent nearly six hundred days trying to wipe it all from her mind yet it still attacks at full force. It drowns out any remembrance of what she’d been doing before - the only thing she can register now being the sound of fleeting sparks and frantic breathing. 

Nat’s eyes harden as instinctive tears fill them. She tries to catch the air around her, tries to remind herself where she is and what she was doing. 

Home, she thinks. Home with Jackie. 

Nat’s toes curl into the carpet and soak in the scratchy sensation. 

If she closes her eyes, she can vaguely see that day at the furniture store and the notepad she’d carried to add up the expenses. The numbers were so much higher than she’d been used to but Jackie said they were getting a good deal. It hadn’t felt like it - not in the slightest. But Jackie knew these things better than she did, so Nat let her take the lead. 

Fuck - Jackie. 

Nat opens her eyes and lunges forward to turn off the tv. The millisecond of silence is quickly replaced with the return of city clamor - honking cars and sirens from the streets below. It’s enough to make Nat spiral even further until she hears the sound of Jackie’s whimpers. 

Nat rushes over and crouches down beside her. 

“Jackie, I’m so sorry,” she breathes, voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I- fuck, I didn’t mean to keep it on.” 

Jackie’s eyes are so wide as Nat cups her cheek. Silent tears fall and her chin quivers viciously but she refuses to let herself really cry. It’s almost painful to watch. Jackie’s gasping for air through tiny, restrained breaths and all Nat can think is it looks just like the quiet anxiety attacks she used to have back in the cabin. 

“Hey, Jack, look at me,” she says. She takes Jackie’s hands and squeezes them as she sits in front of her. “Take a breath with me.” 

Nat does her best to take a deep inhale, dramatizing the movement to make it easier to follow. But Jackie falters in return. The panic in her eyes only increases as her lips part to try and grasp whatever oxygen she can.

“It’s okay,” Nat says. “It’s okay, let’s try again. Just one deep breath, alright?” 

She puts Jackie’s hand on her chest and layers her palm on top of it as she models the breath once more. This time, Jackie’s somewhat able to follow along. It takes the slightest weight off of Nat’s shoulder - the confirmation that she’s doing the right thing all she needs right now.

“Good girl,” she praises. “You’re doing really good. Just keep breathing, okay?”

Jackie manages a nod and continues to follow along. She focuses on the feeling of Nat’s steady heartbeat against her palm and the pressure of Nat’s hand over hers. When her own breaths finally level out, Nat smiles and gives a sigh of relief.  

“You okay?” 

Jackie makes a noise. She looks away with her brow knit and does her best to process the question. Eventually, she turns back to Nat and whimpers once more. Nat squeezes Jackie’s hand and follows her gaze down to the smaller girl’s lap. She can’t help but sigh when she sees the wet spot slowly spreading across Jackie’s thighs. 

“Oh, Jack… that’s alright.” 

Jackie shakes her head. Her lips pull heavily into a frown as the tears she’d been fighting so hard to keep at bay finally spill. 

“You just got scared,” Nat reminds her. She reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind Jackie’s ear, but Jackie squirms away. Nat tries not to let it sting but the effort is useless. The ache in her chest is making itself known whether she wants to acknowledge  it or not.

“And you were already feelin’ small. Accidents just happen sometimes - it’s okay to be embarrassed but it’s not your fault.” 

Jackie shrugs, unconvinced. She looks away for a moment with her eyes glazed over and withdrawn before reaching a clumsy hand toward Nat’s shirt. 

“Come on,” Nat says, offering a small smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

---

Jackie stands with her arms folded over her chest, sniffling and frowning as Nat digs through her drawers. She’s taking too long. She’s standing too far away and doing the wrong thing - why doesn’t she realize she’s doing the wrong thing?

Frustrated, Jackie whines and wipes at her eyes. She wishes she had the voice to say she doesn’t care what pants she wears - she just wants Nat to be with her again. The dresser feels a hundred miles away and it’s making Jackie’s stomach twist and turn all weird. It’s like that time she rode the teacups in Wildwood with Mari when they were eight and Mari spun them so fast Jackie almost puked. 

“How about these?” Nat asks. She holds up a pair of pastel blue pajama pants patterned with bunnies. Normally, they’re Jackie’s favorites. But today, she shakes her head. 

“Jack…” Nat sighs and looks at the pile of all the other pairs Jackie had rejected. “Come on, work with me here, kid.”

Jackie makes a noise and pulls her shoulders up to her ears. She’s trying! She wants to tell Nat that she is. But it’s so hard to focus when Nat’s so far and her legs are so cold and damp and itchy. And it’s even harder when Jackie knows the bunny pants would be too hot but the flannel pjs would be too scratchy and the sweatpants would be tight on her ankles and she isn’t sure she can handle that right now. 

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m–” 

Nat closes her eyes and puts her forehead in her hand. Jackie can’t help the influx of tears it causes - she doesn’t want to make Nat mad, she doesn’t want to be difficult. She just can’t handle it. The wet legs and the distance between them and the bad pants. It’s too much. 

“I know,” Nat breathes. “It’s not- it’s not because of you. I’m not angry, I'm just– I’m stressed. We’re both stressed. But it’s gonna be okay. I believe in us.” 

Jackie sniffs and slips her thumb between her lips, hoping Nat won’t deter her the way she normally does. Thankfully, Nat just puts her hands on Jackie’s upper arms the way she does when Jackie needs help grounding herself. 

“What about my clothes?” Nat suggests. “Would you be okay with a pair of my pants?” 

Jackie nods. She always likes wearing Nat’s clothes. 

The response gets a smile out of Nat, who takes Jackie’s hand and guides her to the other dresser. After another minute of deliberation, Jackie picks out a pair of Nat’s boxers. It isn’t really pants per se, but Nat doesn’t push it. She helps Jackie clean up in the bathroom then changes her into a pull-up (much to Jackie’s dismay) and shorts.

“Feelin’ better, bug?” Nat asks once they’re done. 

Jackie shrugs and looks past her. She slips her thumb in and out from between her lips while her free hand pulls down at her t-shirt.

She thinks she feels better. Or at least, she thinks she should. She isn’t wet anymore, she’s got Nat’s shorts, and the scary stuff from the TV is gone. But the knot in Jackie’s stomach is still present as ever and she can feel a weird, frustrated energy shooting through her limbs. 

Jackie makes a face and throws her arms beside her. She whines, glancing over at Nat, and flaps as hard as she can. She wants Nat to understand - Jackie isn’t sure what, exactly, but she knows Nat is supposed to. 

“Hey, Jackie, come with me,” Nat says. Her voice is soft as she guides Jackie out of the bathroom and back into the living room. “Have you eaten yet?” 

Oh. 

Jackie shakes her head. She’d been too focused on her critters to remember it was time for lunch. And by the time Nat had gotten home - weren’t they supposed to have dinner? She can’t remember. 

“I bet that’s why you’re still havin’ a hard time.”

Nat smiles through the words - her voice kind and reassuring. And still, Jackie can’t help the way she protests them. She makes a small noise and looks at the ground, stuffing her hands back into the bottom of her shirt. She knows she’s supposed to be getting better at that… she’s trying as hard as she can. It’s just so easy to forget when her stomach doesn’t rumble the way it used to and half the things in the cabinet make her feel like throwing up. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Nat whispers. 

She takes Jackie over to the sofa and carefully pulls her into her lap. Jackie instantly curls into her - her knees tucking around Nat’s frame as her hands reach for the hem of Nat’s shirt. 

“I could make you the yellow mac and cheese,” Nat suggests. “With the Arthur shapes - does that sound good?” 

Jackie shakes her head and presses it into Nat’s shoulder. She does want the Arthur shapes, but if Nat makes the yellow mac and cheese - she’ll be all the way in the kitchen. It’ll take a hundred years and she’ll have the stove on which means she’ll have to focus extra hard and Jackie will be all alone again. 

“Dino nuggets and smiley fries?” 

Jackie whines and tightens her grip on Nat’s shirt. The nuggets have to go in the microwave and Nat would have to use that alone. And even if she didn’t - it’ll make a loud beep when it’s done and Jackie can never tell when the beep is coming.

Burying her face even further, Jackie slips her thumb between her lips. She wishes she could tell Nat why it’s all wrong but even if her voice could make it out of her throat right now - it’s more like alphabet soup than real words in her head. 

“What about…” Nat pauses. Her hand runs up and down Jackie’s back in a comforting motion. “Curly noodles?” 

When Jackie shakes her head again, Nat can’t help but sigh. It somehow hurts even more than if she’d yelled - like a hammer coming down after being held above Jackie’s head. Because Jackie doesn’t want to disappoint her - she doesn’t want to make her mad. But it feels like all those times back home when she was actually this small. All those times her mother snapped because she was too quiet, too slow, too difficult, too Jackie. 

Jackie doesn’t even realize she’s started to cry until she feels Nat's thumb carefully brushing away her tears. 

“Hey, Jack…” Nat breathes. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I know you’re trying.” 

The reassurance only makes Jackie cry harder. She presses her forehead back into Nat’s shirt and clings to her as tightly as she can. Quickly, Nat hugs her back - her strong arms holding her with the tightness Jackie needs as her hand continues to stroke her spine. 

“It must be hard when you can’t talk,” she says. “You’ve got all those thoughts in your head and they’re just… stuck in there.” 

Jackie nods. She chokes out a sob and sniffs back her snot. 

“But just… just because it makes it harder for me to understand, it doesn’t make you a bad kid,” Nat adds. She looks down at Jackie and adjusts her on her lap. “You know that, right?”

Jackie doesn’t respond. She sniffs again and nuzzles even closer to Nat, trying to hide her face in bleach-blonde hair.

After a moment, she manages to tap Nat’s chest with her free hand. 

Nat looks down at her, confused.

“What is it?” 

Jackie taps her again. 

“You want me?” 

A nod. 

“Oh,” Nat says. A smile spreads across her lips, slow and soft before she kisses Jackie’s forehead. “Well, I knew that, silly!”

But when Jackie taps a third time, Nat gives a longer, more decisive oooh.

“You just don’t want me to leave, is that it?” 

Jackie nods. She can feel something swelling in her chest - the joy of finally being understood as she taps Nat even harder. She taps and she taps - over and over again until Nat has to move her hand away so she won’t bruise her chest. 

“God, I should’ve figured that out sooner,” she murmurs. She looks back at Jackie, still smiling, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere, bug. I promise.” 

“Hey, we can get take out,” Nat adds, laughing when Jackie’s stomach rumbles. “And you can sit here with me while we wait. We won’t have to move at all.”

Jackie manages a smile at the sound. She looks up at Nat, watery eyes now glistening with reassurance. It was all she’d ever wanted, she thinks. To be here together; safe and secure. 

[thatbitchery]

& while networking remember to stay as far away as possible from the political social justice warrior fuck the system cancel king virtue signalling godess with paragraphs about a celebrity they've never met change the world paper straw for climate activist whatever. The second someone makes an external locus point their personality pack your bags and walk, that's a losers table you're being set up for failure.

Now I want you to be very careful, I'm not saying stay away from people that care about these things, anyone with a working brain cell knows most of these are noble, I'm saying acting like you care about the world will do nothing but bite you in the behind later. You're a woman. You're a woman in a man's world. You're a matriach in a patriarchy. How does this not click to women, every single thing you ever say and do will be used against you in the high court of life- and not just by men. By women, too. When your level up gurus says be mean she's on to everything, be mean. Be a carnivore and be materialistic and be an overconsumer- that will do you a billion times more favors than trying to identify with some good cause. You can never be good. The world will never let you, so be bad. Be shitty.

First of all it's a fumbling of your bag- gravely so- to think you can fix the world. Unless the thing directly affects you and yours it makes absolutely no sense to loudly and publicly care about it unless you're a pickmeisha . I remember when the Palestine and Israel made news 24/7 for their whatever and I had this one socialite friend that decided it's her time to be humane. I'm not in social media so I'm always falling behind in the news. One day this other girl texts me asks do you see what (Lets call her Sara) has been posting on Instagram? Obviously no I haven't so I get screenshots. It's noble to support a cause but as a social media influencer whose entire brand is based on sponsorships by major brands its important you maintain political neutrality, this is just common sense. So I say yes it's stupid to have all your pinned posts highlighting a struggle that is not only not yours but you also benefit from but how is this my business? Why is this something you wanted me to know? They work at the same agency so she tells me Sara was supposed to do an ad for CocaCola and run a campaign for a sizeable amount of money but just lost it because Coca Cola is, according to the public, pro-Israel, and the agency as a whole has been disconsidered for any future brands that are pro-Israel (And we know these are the big billions) , can I talk to her about this because if she does it'll look like workplace competition? I wear my mother boots and alright, let us save a career. I see Sara over lunch and say hey so how's the going? I was lurking on your Instagram the other day, how come you didn't tell me you're Palestinian? She laughs because she's actually full European but it doesn't hurt to care, does it? I say yeah I get the point but you need to take all that shit down for the sake of your career and post positive quotes that focus on humanity if you're so concerned but we don't pick sides? She says well Bella Hadid is Pro Palestine- Okay but a) Are you Bella Hadid? and b) Are you Palestinian? It makes perfect sense for Bella Hadid to loudly be Pro Palestine she IS Palestinian and she's Bella Hadid, Versace will still want her on their runway even if she wrote a ten-billion-page anti Italy manifesto. SHE is the brand. You have 300k followers and most are bots, let's not. SO now you're costing your agency that pay YOUR bills brand deals while you walk around in Levi's and Bulgari how tone deaf are you? Obviously we fall out and her agency drops her, except agencies are a network so if A drops you B doesn't want you all the way to D, and they WILL withdraw the bot followers they used to bump you up it is in fact that serious. The way this industry works if you get blacklisted by A you're blacklisted by them all, and where are the Palestinians you fought so much for? The way upper society works if you fall out with A you've fallen out with them all- no one wants to shoulder the burden of you.

I remember watching this clip of this lady explaining how capitalism sucks and the comments was everyone calling her out on her iPhone and watch all the things capitalism has given her.

Being a social justice warrior will always backfire because

a) it's an outward locus point so it marks you as a lower-class person. Caring about things that do not directly affect you or you aren't getting paid to care about immediately marks you for someone to get bullied because you are a pickmeisha seeking approval outside yourself.

b) YOU benefit from injustice. Your phone was made by the exploitation of laborers in China. Your human hair wig comes from a ten year old Asian kid that had to sell it for 10$ to feed her family. Your favorite jeans are filling landfills and your gold watch exists because some kid almost died in a mine. Your favorite dessert- you benefit from injustice. You are quite literally biting the hand that feeds you.

So it's better to Kim Kardashian post your jet and walk in closet and say yes, I'm rich yes i took a five-minute flight that raised global warming to Europe to try a dessert than it is to Greta Whatshername campaign for the planet because no one cares. Donate to charities and care for what you care about but do not make it your personality- and given birds of the same feather flock together stay away from Knightess In Dumb Armor about to save the world through the power of a social media post and a hashtag. Unless you're JK Rowling so rich it can not affect you mind your business. Be strategic about what you publicly care about. As a feminist yes I care about survivors and victims and will donate give a platform but as someone navigating high society why would I tell Epstein Junior actually you'll go to hell for being a pedophile when he can just have me dropped off the streets tomorrow? Did that end pedophilia? Are the kids now safe? Is he in hell? Exactly what did I accomplish? Could've kept my mouth shut and scored a million dollar deal then donated and paid for what needs to be paid for and stayed alive?

BMAC

[freshbakedbreadstick]

Of Traits and Closets - Stack x F! POC coded! Reader x Smoke

Elias "Stack" Moore x F! POC CODED! Reader x Elijah "Smoke" Moore

Summary: Stack was a bad influence on you, for sure. But you can't forget that Smoke was cut from the same exact cloth.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is described to have a vagina. Reader's appearance is not mentioned, HOWEVER, I wrote this with women of color in mind!! NO SPOILERS! Starts revolving around Reader and Stack, Smoke joins in at the end. Mentions of vaginal fingering, dirty talk, probably out of character because I STILL haven't seen the movie yet, reader wears a dress, lots of dirty talk, THREESOME, no incest between twins just sharing, usage of pet names (baby, angel, girl, etc.), breast and nipple play, groping, some religious mentions (in a comical way), Stack definitely likes to bite, unprotected semi PIV, sorry if I miss anything, brothers will be brothers.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Imma be honest with u all . . . IM NOT SUPER PROUD OF THIS 1 idk what happened i just . . . 😭 I've been editing it for 3 days n redoing it n it just feel it's weak but idkkkk I might be ovethinking it . STILL HAVENT SEEN THE MOVIE i need to REAL bad i just don't have the timeee ! ! Anyways need both of them❗️as always ENJOY BESTIES

(Pretend this gif includes them both bc there aren't that many with them I can find w/o spoilers 😭)

You loved your boys, you really did. Both of them had traits that you just absolutely adored. You could list them all... but it would take ages to get through all of them.

But, as an example... Smoke was the leader, calm and collected but so sweet. He was the one to kiss your tears away, cooing as his hands trailed over your skin in the candlelight.

But Stack, oh sweet Stack, he was the troublemaker... and fuck did you love him for this.

He was the one to tease you, pinching your sides, trailing his hands up to cup your breasts for the most brief second before rushing off snickering, grinning like a fool. He was the one to drip cool ice cream over your skin on purpose accident during a warm summer's day, cooing that he would clean it up for you only to run his tongue over each droplet, letting himself wander a little too far. He was the one to pull you away with a mischievous smirk, sneaking you off under his twin's nose... like right now.

"Come on baby, come on," he whispered, hand gripping your wrist as he tugged you along with him, feet light as he moved toward the closet.

You whipped your head around, halfheartedly looking through the shadows for a pair of eyes, ones that you know would click their tongue and shake their head at your actions. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth when you saw nobody around.

"Stack," you whispered, voice whiny, "I don't know if-"

He pulled you into the darkness of the closet, making you gasp as you stumbled into the back wall, eyesight enveloped in darkness as he pulled the door shut. It clicked so softly closed, despite his rough pull, indicating to nobody that your bodies were sneaking away into it.

"Shhh, it's okay, it's just me," his smooth voice said, lifting at the end.

Your eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but you could hear the sly grin he was, for sure, sporting in his voice.

His hands moved quickly, large and warm as they gripped your hips, pulling you flush against the solid bulge underneath his linen pants. You could only gasp and moan at the feeling, "Jesus."

"Don't take the lord's name in vain, now" he murmured with a small laugh at your audible eyeroll, hands sliding up your sides to the straps of your flimsy linen dress. Was it improper for a lady to wear such an item? Maybe, but it had been so hot lately that it was all you could bare to wear.

He touched it ever so gently, letting it fall slowly, almost comically slowly, down your shoulder. He chuckled, the sound rolling deep from his chest, as he watched your chest rise and fall through the cracks of light peeking in through the door.

"I'll be quick, baby, I promise. Smoke won't even notice..." he murmured, leaning in to lick at the saltiness of your skin from your bare shoulder blade to the junction of your neck, pressing a kiss there.

You took a shaky breath, skin erupting in goosebumps. With wide eyes and a bit back grin you gave in, moving your own hands to grip his button down, wrinkling the fabric between your fingers.

"You sure?" You whispered, voice slowly becoming slurred with need. He hummed softly, hearing the way your neediness matched his own.

Your fingernail gently flicked the buttons at the front, the sound of each click inaudible between your pants, his hums, and the wrinkling of fabric. Your action didn't go unnoticed, however... it only added fuel to his fire.

He brushed his tongue over his bottom lip, suppressing the shudder at your voice. He loved it when your humored him, matching his energy of trouble in your own way. It only made his cock throb almost painfully. He swore to himself that if he could die from a lack of stimulation, he would've died right here and now.

"Oh sweet angel," he rasped out, yanking the strap further down, finger trailing to pull the top down to reveal one of your breasts, "Grant me salvation..."

"Stack-" you murmured, cutting yourself off with a choked moan as his warm mouth suddenly enveloped your nipple, feeling it pebble against his wet tongue.

You flinched as he suckled harshly, humming eagerly at the way your body arched into his mouth, head falling back against the wall and hips inadvertently grinding into him. He bit gently, tongue coming to soothe the pleasurable sting.

"Thought you were so worried about my brother finding out," he purred as he pulled back, blowing air onto your abused nipple.

You jerked at the feeling, "Well if your gonna be like this, might as well give in..."

You both let out breathy chuckles, his hand moving down your hip to the hem of your dress. He took a second to toy with it, twisting it in his fingers, letting you feel the heat of his skin through the fabric, before sliding his hand underneath.

"I know you can't say no to me," he cooed, leaning in to kiss you. You could only hum, eyes shutting, hand coming to cup his cheek, brushing against his stubble.

His hand trailed up, fingertips grazing ever so slightly over your skin as he moved to hook his finger over your underwear, ready to slide them down in the painstakingly slow way he loved to do. It made your body shiver, pussy aching in anticipation.

But his hand... found nothing there, no little cotton strap, nothing. He felt his pulse quicken, knees nearly giving out as he suppressed the urge to fall to his knees and pray, burying his gratitude over having a girl like you in his life into your bare cunt.

But instead, he yanked himself away to look at you with wide eyes,"Dirty, dirty girl... no panties, no bloomers, nothing?"

You felt your cheeks flush. Despite planning this, you couldn't help but have a moment of brief shyness. Your teeth chewed your bottom lip, looking at him through your lashes while trying, and failing, to look innocent, "It's too hot for all that nonsense, baby..."

A partial truth. You couldn't help but think Smoke was right when he would tease, saying his brother was a bad influence on you, influencing you to do things like wearing low cut tops so that could lean over in front of each twin, giving them a quick eye full.

Or in this case, foregoing panties when the day slowed down and it got cool enough to bare skin to skin contact with one another.

His grin made his cheeks hurt, but he didnt care, he only cared about the way your voice rasped, making his cock twitch in his briefs, "You minx... you're just as bad as me..."

Eyes narrowing, free hand coming down to toy with the button on his fly, you whispered, "Oh no... I could never be..."

This made him shiver and growl, rushing in to kiss you again, teeth gnashing and tongue intertwining with your own, swallowing your moans.

It was a blur of heavy breaths and furious movements from here to the moment you were both pushing your clothes to the side, desperate to relieve the aching of your cores with one other.

Your fingers yanked his fly open so hard that the button flew off, clattering and rolling onto the floor. Meanwhile, his own hand bunched your dress, pulling it up over your chest to reveal your body to him.

He groaned at the sight, tongue swiping over his bottom lip and dark eyes trailing over every inch of you, "So pretty... and all for me..."

His free hand then came to roughly grip your thigh, yanking it apart just in time to see a small drip fall to floor between you. It glistened, almost taunting you both, on the wooden floor, somehow managing to be one of the only things to catch the light from the cracks of the door, nearly illuminating the embarrassing sight for both of you to see.

He let out a low whistle as your cheeks burned, "Have I been neglecting you, baby? Have I been ignoring this honeypot so badly that she makes a mess of our floors when she sees me?"

You suddenly cried out, feeling his hand let go of your thigh, rough fingertips brushing through your folds, from your slit to your clit, gathering the wetness onto his fingers.

"Need a taste," he whispered, voice rough and low, eyeing the wetness coating his fingers.

The look in his eyes was almost animal, the wild feeling coursing through his veins as his brain told him he needed to devour you right then and there. He needed to taste you, smell you, needed to have you imprinted in his mind and soul right then and there, it was unbearable!

But you on the other hand, you couldnt take it anymore. Youhad enough at this point, you were tired of the foreplay and the teasing touches and all the waiting. You were tired to the glances across the room, of the innuendos over the dining table, and of the practiced reluctance, you wanted, no, needed him now.

You let your hand snake under his briefs to grip his cock, hearing him hiss as his hand quickly moved to grip your thigh again. His other hand let go of your dress, moving to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him again as he rubbed circles into your skin.

"Take it out baby," he said lowly, "I know you can't wait. My girl isn't very patient, isn't she?"

You could only stare at him, chest heaving as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, using your other hand to pull his clothes away, finally freeing him to the warm air of the dark closet. His bottom lip quivered, shiny with the saliva that coated it, parting as he groaned, heavy, aching cock no longer constricted in his pants. It felt so good for him, finally able to feel your hand around him, instead of his own palming himself in the bathroom as he waited for you to alone to pounce.

"Ohhhh see that baby?" He cooed, forehead pressing to your own, "Look at it, look at my cock. See how wet my tip is? You did that babydoll... all you. Make me so hard, want you so bad..."

His eyes shifted from your face down as you carefully ran your hand over his shaft, fingers tracing the bulging vein on the underside all the way to the leaking tip. He jerked his hips into your hand, letting you inadvertently jerk him off a small bit, the proximity allowing him to breathe in your scent.

"Need it," you whispered, voice thick and pupils blown wide despite the darkness, watching the desperation in his body.

"I know baby, I know..." he cooed, "Gonna fuck that pussy until your crying out my name."

His knee knocked your leg open, letting you slowly jerk his cock as he shifted your hips. Then... the head of his cock nudged right up against your clit. You both groaned, so loud at this point, but too drunk in the feeling of one another to even care about your little hiding game.

"That's right..." he panted, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, "Juuuust like that. Needed my baby, needed her sweet pussy real bad too. My cock missed you, you know, missed his pussy real bad while i was out workin' for you..."

He was always so mouthy, one of your favorite attributes too. While Smoke was also quite talkative when it came to you, he preferred to whisper sweet nothings as you two made love, the slow deep rolling of his hips accompanied with his coos of how pretty you looked taking him pushing you over the edge every time. But when it came to Stack, he was brash and unashamed, telling you exactly how you made him feel in the dirtiest of ways. How he got that dirty mouth, you didn't know, but you at least knew which brother got their mouth washed out with soap more often in childhood.

You let him hook one of your legs over his hip, jerking your hips to match his movements are you ground against his cock. It was hot and muggy in the closet now, making your skin feel sticky but the sensation feel so much more intense. It made you lightheaded as your senses were overwhelmed by his touch, his voice, his scent, and everything him.

Your nose buried itself into the crook of his neck, listening to him coo to you as he pressed the head right up against your entrance, pushing it teasingly in and out.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling the way he would push the tip in for a moment, barely letting you feel the pleasure of being stretched over him, before pulling back out.

"Want it that bad?" He babbled, "My girl needs it so bad that she can't even handle getting just the tip? My brother neglecting you too?"

It was just you and Smoke home today, Stack was out running his errands and doing his work. And while it was not true that Smoke neglected you, he did have a tendency to get caught up in taking care of his buisness at home, focused on getting his work done before coming to press kisses to your neck from behind as you washed the dishes, bending you over the sink to say his thank yous for being so patient and hardworking around the house.

But of course, they were brothers and they were twins, a little friendly competition definitely happened between the two.

"This why you got me here?" You slurred, hips moving to chase him, but he only pulled away and grinned, "This an ego boost for you?"

"No baby, this is me showin' you that my brother makes love while I fuck-"

The door swung open.

You both gasped, scrambling for a second. It resulted in you jerking your head back and hitting your head on the wall, Stack tripping over his pants, which you didn't even notice had fallen to his ankles, as he stumbled away from you. He slammed his back against the other wall with a loud groan, the two of you flushed, mouths agape to see Smoke standing there, looking unamused.

His eyes raked from his brother, brow twitching as he saw him clamber to stand up, cock out and dripping. He then turned to you, legs shaking and breasts peeking out from where Stack had pulled the collar of your shirt down, chest heaving and skin shiny with a film of sweat.

The corners of his mouth twitched as his eyes locked onto the few droplets that managed to make their way down to the floor between your legs, staining the floor proudly.

"Taking too long," he said, drawling out the last letter as his eyes narrowing slightly.

Neither of you said anything or even looked away from the hulking frame in the doorway, air filled with the sound of pants and racing hearts.

Smoke shifted, hand moving to cup your cheek. It made you soften, feeling his gentle hold cradle your face so sweetly, skin smelling like the outside air he was in moments ago. His hand was cool to the touch, the temperature change against your cheek compared to the stuffy air of the closet making you sigh softly.

"You think I can't fuck her?" He said, not even bothering to look at Stack as his hand shifted to grip your jaw, tight. He maneuvered both of you around, pulling your back to his chest and making it so that his back was pressed against the wall you were just against.

You eyes made contact with Stack's seeing the way his cock twitched at the sight of your exposed breast and stunned face. He groaned softly as Smoke gripped the bottom hem of your dress, tugging it up to your neck.

You watched Stack's hand shake, arm twitching to inch toward his cock, eyes raking down your body. Then, the familiar jingle of a belt filled the air, making you still.

Smoke just snickered, eyes looking up and over your shoulder to see that his brother started putting a show for you, hand locked around his cock, lazily jerking himself off.

"Brother," Smoke said, making Stack jerk his head up, "I'll show you that I know how to fuck her."

And he sure did. Both did, actually. God, you really did love your boys.

[tartsinarat]

Drawing the comic is taking me ages to do and I need to take a break sooooo meme redraw time :3

ALSO BEFORE I START, the ratworm ends up being completely fine afterward it’s just mainly playing dead after getting hurt and does get healed by Eda afterwards because she felt kinda bad for it getting brutally attacked for basically no reason by the weird gremlin creature that now lives in her house

So, this happened only a couple weeks after Pip started living with Eda… which means they haven’t been able to really get to know each other well enough and so Eda hadn’t yet learned most of Pip’s sillier (and scarier) quirks…

So this poor woman was completely blindsided when she left to go quickly sort out some errands and came back to Pip running up to her while covered in titan knows who’s blood, excitedly grabbing her hand and then dragging her over to go see the extremely huge and half-dead wild ratworm by her door that he somehow managed to kill?? (It was actually his curse that did it, hence the giant bite marks around its body but he wanted to take the credit instead, for some reason?)

But yeah, you know how cats bring you trophies they’ve hunted as a gift that they expect their owner to eat? That’s what Pip is basically doing lmfao

It’s actually pretty wholesome because he wanted to show Eda his appreciation/ respect for taking him in and thought that this was the best way to do so for reasons only him and the titan know…

Also originally Eda was first extremely proud but then also extremely terrified about the fact that such a lil guy could kill a feral ratworm

Like her emotions went from “let’s gooooo! That little pipsqueak finally managed to protect himself with my teachings ” to “wait- I haven’t even taught him anything yet??” And then after Eda actually asks him about it and Pip says that he spent the whole day stalking the poor thing and then attacked it after it got tired… it made her finally go to “holy titan, I’m probably going to be next”

She’s not even in the wrong for being scared and thinking she’s next tbh as the face he’s got in the pic shows Pip’s pure and genuine bloodlust /j

Og meme

[explosionshark]

Well. I'll be honest, I had forgotten most of the details about the rape plot that kicks off in the last third of the book, which I'll be discussing without excerpts below. Covering the whole end of the book here before I move on to the third

Okay so Rachel meets Trent and let's him know she figured out he's an elf. Some more stuff comes to light about the connection between their fathers which I haven't bothered covering in these recaps yet but suffice to say they used to be homies who worked on outlawed biomedical research together and this is somehow linked to Rachel's dad's betrayal and ultimate death.

ANYWAY the main takeaway is Trent hires Rachel to find the real killer, who he suspects to be a master vampire targeting leyline witches. At some point it's revealed that the demon who attacked them both at the end of Dead Witch Walking was called forth by the same person killing these other witches, for the same reason - Trent and Rachel are both proficient in leylines.

Nick and Rachel summon the demon (henceforth known as Al) and cut another deal. He tells them his summoner was Piscary.

Rachel goes back home to wait before she can make a move. She hears weird noises and then there's this little bit

TOTAL confidence in Ivy's commitment and ability to protect her at all costs. It's so casual but so certain. True romance imo

But then Ivy gets dumped at the church. She's in a bad state, having been uh. I think the term the book settles on later is "blood-raped" by Piscary - forced to break her fast and take blood for the first time in years and coerced into sex also. Basically, she nearly drained Piscary and then he drank from her - she was made into his Scion despite her protests.

It's pretty gnarly, she's very upset, delirious and traumatized while she recounts what happened. Despite the dangerous position she's in with Ivy very on the edge and barely hanging on, Rachel sticks by her and helps take care of her

A lot of this scene has these nice little details of Rachel reflecting on her life with Ivy and how much they mean to each other and how committed she is to sticking by her.

She's also furious at Piscary and needs hard proof before Trent will pay her for the job she took. Once Ivy is settled she makes a futile attempt to get some backup from the FIB or Trent and can't get through to anyone. Recklessly, she goes to confront Piscary anyway, trusting that Jenks and Nick will be able to get her backup.

It's not a confrontation that goes well! Kisten tries to help a little but he's a little useless. Piscary reveals some of his plan - killing leyline witches is his attempt to stifle Trent's plans. He's looking for something elf-related in the Everafter that Piscary doesn't want him finding.

Piscary is also just gross about the Ivy stuff. He's the originator of her vampiric line and has been for multiple generations trying to get a perfect companion out of them to make into his Scion. Undead vamps can only be killed by classic vampire rules but being immortal and soulless drives them insane over time if they don't have enough blood or reasons to live. He wanted Ivy to be his eternal companion even after she died.

He also reveals that Ivy first developed a relationship with Rachel and left the I.S. with her because he commanded it

This is big! First of all, it wraps up a plot thread dangling from the first book at the revelation Ivy was prepared to move into the Church way before they quit the I.S. Now we know why. But more it colors in a lot more of Ivy's background and motivation

The fact that meeting Rachel gives Ivy an opportunity to try to drag herself out of the fucked up vampire hierarchy she hated despite being literally bred for it is crazy. And though Piscary talks about Rachel as a pet for Ivy, it's clear that Ivy genuinely loves and cares for her. It also throws the earlier almost bite scene into a different context.

That scene is the only time Ivy ignores a flat-out refusal from Rachel and now we know it's due to a combination of her instincts going haywire AND Piscary's ultimatum. Though I think it's interesting and super heartbreaking that Piscary's threat alone wasn't enough, despite her craving his approval. Her willingness to lie to him and defy him and use him to keep Rachel safe and respect her boundaries is insane in context. I love her soooo much.

Anyway - they fight, Rachel pulls a bunch of leyline power through Nick (oh no!), one of Trent's bodyguards shows up to help, oh yeah the demon Al also shows up but Rachel makes a deal with him to be its willing familiar which means Piscary can't use it to kill her. I'm getting the order on some of these things sort of wrong. Anyway - she lives! Al agrees to be a witness in Piscary's trial! It's all wrapped up for now!

Little bit more about Ivy as the book wraps up

So. Poor Ivy. She's in for a rough one. Rachel suspects she's practicing again. She also was majorly traumatized and is still Piscary's scion and thus technically the heir to his vampire empire, though for now she and Kisten are allowing everyone else to believe Kist still has that role. Ivy's refusing to see Piscary while he's in prison.

Anyway then Rachel finally gets a car and the book ends

I'm starting book 3 later today 😔

Alright baby The Good, The Bad and The Undead re-read starts HERE and NOW with another insane Rachel/Ivy moment courtesy of Rachel's chapter 4 exposition dump

"might be slipping into an area I didn't want it to go" FUCKING IF ONLY!!! MY LIFE WOULD RULE RIGHT NOW IF THAT HAPPENED BUT IT DIDN'T SO HERE I AM INSTEAD

Anyway arguing with your stupid rat bf about how he's threatened by your hot bisexual and super super horny for you roommate #justRachelthings

[nightly-valkyrie]

It's Falky Friday!!!! YAY :)))

[waitineedaname]

I've decided to finally compile all my daemon au thoughts into one post instead of just flooding my friends' dms with them! I doubt I'll ever managed to actually write a fic for it because there's no way I can pull together a coherent enough plot so it would just be a series of vaguely connected vignettes, BUT. it's on my brain always.

Shen Qingqiu has a red-crowned crane. She felt Shen Jiu die when Shen Yuan transmigrated, and she was NOT PLEASED, which definitely puts a damper on their relationship at first, though she begrudgingly plays along with Shen Yuan assuming the role of Shen Qingqiu because the alternative is death and she will NOT let this fool's incompetence kill her. She eventually comes around to him, but she generally has Shen Jiu's rather acerbic and distrustful personality

Luo Binghe's daemon is unsettled at the beginning because he's still a kid. He usually chooses smaller, easier to hide forms when they're out in public, only choosing bigger forms when they're alone. Eventually, as he becomes more comfortable with Shen Qingqiu, he starts coming out of his shell more and exploring more forms around him -- a lamb bleating at his heels, a little lion cub tumbling around the Bamboo House's private training grounds. On one notable occasion he took on a crane form as an attempt to get in SQQ's daemon's good graces. She did not appreciate it.

He doesn't settle until the Endless Abyss. In PIDW, Bingge's daemon settled as a chow chow, a dog that looks soft and fluffy but is prone to, uh. aggression issues. In SVSSS, Bingmei's daemon settles as a Tibetan mastiff, an absolute unit of a dog that LOOKS intimidating, but is really just very protective

Shang Qinghua has a yellow-throated marten daemon! This is, notably, not the daemon the original goods had. Since he transmigrated as a baby, the original goods' daemon hadn't settled and was Also a baby, so he didn't end up with a grown adult's fully settled daemon like Shen Yuan did. Martens look very cute and nonthreatening, but they are fierce predators and will take down animals much larger than them! He usually keeps her hidden in his robes, but she wiggled out to screech at him to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE when things started going wrong at the Immortal Alliance Conference, and her having a different form is what clued SQQ in that SQH might also be a transmigrator

Liu Qingge has a snow leopard and Yue Qingyuan has an Asian black bear. These daemons were chosen because Tibetan mastiffs were kept to protect monks from snow leopards and bears lol

Plot stuff under the cut!

SQQ's daemon is aware of the System, and therefore gets to learn things about SQQ's fate in the original novel. she is Not Pleased.

She remains reserved and guarded for a while, but it's hard to resist Shen Yuan's persistent charm, so she does warm up to him eventually. She's not wild about being touched, but she'll occasionally allow him to pet her feathers. She's also not wild about letting That Little Beast live in the Bamboo House, but she quickly learns Shen Yuan is just as stubborn as her A-Jiu was, so she allows it if only as a chance to keep a closer (suspicious) eye on Binghe

They definitely get much closer after the Immortal Alliance Conference, because she can tell just how much SQQ is grieving, and it pains her too. At this point, she's started seeing him as Her Person and not just a bodysnatcher

When they run into Binghe and his daemon again at Jinlan City, they both get to enjoy remembering the graphic descriptions of how in PIDW, Binghe's daemon had ripped SQQ's daemon's wings off as part of his torture. And oh fuck, his daemon settled as something even BIGGER this time?? Look at those jaws!!! Clearly the thump thump thump of his tail wagging against the floor at the sight of them is because he's excited to get his revenge. Definitely not because he's excited to see them again

On rare occasions, daemons of powerful cultivators can survive beyond the death of their person, usually only if the daemon is particularly strongwilled. She survived Shen Jiu's death once already. She's certain she could survive until SQQ gets into the back-up mushroom body. They thought it would only be a few minutes. They didn't expect it to take five years.

She is absolutely catatonic with grief during those five years. Binghe takes her survival as proof that Shizun's soul must have survived, certainly he will be able to bring him back if his daemon is still alive. He treats her with the utmost respect, the same way he treats SQQ's corpse. He never touches her directly since he knows she hates being touched. She never spoke much to him before, but now she doesn't even speak at all. She just curls up on the bed where he keeps the body, resting her head on Shen Qingqiu's chest

When Plantzun does finally show up and chaos ensues with the corpse hot potato, she confirms any of Binghe's suspicions about Shen Qingqiu's identity by swooping into the fray to peck angrily at the familiar stranger, some life and vitality finally returned to her and she scolds him for taking FIVE YEARS?? SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE AGREED TO THIS IF SHE'D KNOWN IT WOULD TAKE FIVE YEARS, HOW DARE HE. Shen Qingqiu is first so relieved to see her, and then terrified because she immediately broke his cover

After everything settles and the plot concludes and bingqiu get their happy ended, Binghe's daemon becomes SUCH a lapdog. Clingy rescue dog made of velcro type of vibe. They have to get a big enough bed to fit two grown men and a 150 pound dog. He LOVES Shizun headpats. SQQ's daemon does not ever join these cuddle sessions, but she always keeps an eye on them from her nest of pillows across the room because like hell is she ever letting Shen Qingqiu out of her sight again

[fjordfolk]

puppy fever, might be terminal