#I just want...more. I want so much more from this sport because I know it can give it to me. Even more adrenaline and satisfaction and joy

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Not just a pretty face

Part 2

Word count: 696

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: At a Grand Prix, influencer Y/n overhears Lando Norris dismissing her as a clueless, fame-chasing “dumb” influencer.

________________________________________________________

The roar of the engines vibrated through your chest as you stood in the paddock, the scent of burnt rubber and fuel filling the air. Your grandpa, dressed in a vintage Schumacher cap and an old Ferrari team shirt, stood beside you, his eyes twinkling with the excitement of being back at a race in person.

“Ach, this takes me back,” he murmured, gripping his paddock pass like it was a golden ticket.

You smiled, squeezing his arm. You had been invited to the Grand Prix as a VIP guest—your status as an international influencer granting you exclusive access—but you knew the real reason you were here. This wasn’t just another event to post about. It was the sport you had loved since childhood, the one your grandpa had introduced you to with hours of race footage and stories about legendary drivers.

No one knew how much you adored Formula 1. Your brand online was all about fashion, luxury, and travel, and you had never bothered to share this side of yourself. Maybe you liked having something that was just yours.

That, of course, was why Lando Norris’s words stung so much.

You had been passing by the McLaren hospitality when you heard him talking with his team. You weren’t eavesdropping—he wasn’t exactly being subtle.

“Yeah, she’s hot, but you know how these influencers are,” Lando scoffed. “She probably doesn’t even know what DRS is. Here for clout, like all of them.”

Your steps faltered.

“Dumb as rocks, too,” he added.

You clenched your jaw. Excuse me?

Taking a deep breath, you turned on your heel and stepped into the McLaren area, ignoring the surprised glances of the team members. Lando, seated casually on a couch, looked up just as you stopped in front of him.

“Wow, so rude and wrong,” you said, crossing your arms. “First of all, I went to university, so I’m not dumb—as you so eloquently put it.”

Lando blinked, caught off guard.

“And second,” you continued, tilting your head, “I’ve probably been watching Formula 1 longer than you’ve been racing in it. I know what DRS is, I know about tire degradation, I know why McLaren’s been struggling with drag lately, and I even know that your qualifying performances tend to be better than your race pace because of how the car handles over long stints. So maybe next time you assume a woman is just a brainless influencer, you should actually check your facts first.”

Silence.

The McLaren team members suddenly found their phones and coffee cups very interesting. Lando stared at you, mouth slightly open, the first flickers of embarrassment flashing across his face.

You gave him one last unimpressed look before turning on your heel and walking away.

Your grandpa, who had been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, chuckled. “Well, that was fun.”

Lando’s Redemption Arc

Lando couldn’t stop thinking about you.

The second you walked away, he knew he had screwed up. He had made assumptions—stupid ones, at that. And the way you had put him in his place so effortlessly? It was… annoyingly attractive.

That night, he found himself scrolling through your Instagram, going beyond the polished luxury photos and clicking on every story, every caption. And that’s when he noticed it—the subtle clues that you were more than what met the eye.

A throwback post with a Schumacher documentary in the background. A tiny Ferrari charm on your bracelet in an old photo. A blurry shot of an F1 race from the grandstands years ago, hidden among travel content.

You had been a fan all along.

Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. He felt like an idiot.

He wanted to see you again. Not just to apologize, but because now he was intrigued. You were gorgeous, yes, but you were also smart. Passionate. And clearly not someone who tolerated nonsense.

So when he spotted you in the paddock the next day, laughing with your grandpa near the Mercedes garage, he hesitated only for a moment before heading your way.

Time to fix his mistake.

And maybe—just maybe—make you see him in a different light, too.

[fandombead]

This is such an upsetting take fr. The AO3 subreddit (sigh) is notorious about using the “not social media” excuse as a way to defend never leaving comments…you can just. Not leave comments. You don’t have to validate the fact you just want to silent read. I’m not judging that, but the comment feature IS there to engage with people. A ton of writers aren’t just posting into the void, going through the process of editing it nicely just to never engage with the fandom. I’ve met some amazing people through the comments section on fics. I’ve befriended people and started great convos about the media we love, because writers aren’t some untouchable celebrities of fandom. They are often fellow fans who like to meet and interact with other fans to some degree.

Archive doesn’t mean you cannot be social there. It’s not the main purpose, but it can be a launching pad for it. I have ended up running into authors from AO3 or fans of my work on discord and tumblr and starting great friendships. Several starting with exchanges in comments.

The comment section IS for connection. AO3 not being social media just means that all the postings there need to be focused on some sort of fannish or transformative works. Even original works qualify. It’s just not meant to be a blog or full of placeholders. There’s no algorithm pushing content you might like at you: you just use the filters and tags or it will auto-sort by the most recent fics.

AO3 not being social media ≠ not being social. You’re allowed to interact how you like. And while i encourage telling authors if you enjoyed their work to foster a thriving environment that only grows the fandom in a positive way, not interacting is also something you are allowed to do. No one should shame you for it, but 99% of the time, it will make the author’s day even if you only leave one occasionally. It just makes AO3 feel more like a community place. “Archive” may seem clinical, and too serious or intimidating, but it’s just a fanwork collection. People can write for themselves (the story they’d like to read) but edit and post for the community, to share and hope it resonates with others. We’re humans, not content machines (AI fics are bottom of the gutter). We don’t and aren’t allowed to get paid for this like fan artists have the opportunity to (and that’s not a slight at them, I’m glad they can do so).

AO3 not being “social media” as we understand it actually makes the comments all that more important. There isn’t a forum within the archive for chatting or sharing fics you like to others. You have collections and bookmarks; the rest is done offsite. Often without the author even knowing people are talking about their stories or even like them that much. It really isn’t the same as sending a letter to an author you admire (even when they do respond to fans); fellow fans are far more accessible and often active in other spaces online. Again, they aren’t paid like authors either.

And getting older doesn’t negate enjoying that connection at all. Some people connect over sports or their job or their other hobbies. You don’t age out of wanting to connect with people who aren’t your immediate family and friends.

This issue is bigger than I can even cover in one post.

You again?

[yizhouism]

— bf!caleb headcanons;

trust that this man will not leave you alone. you want space? "sure," he says while taking one step away from you

he is LOCKED in and he will not let you go, i fear. should have ran away when you had the chance, when he was still willing to let you go... because now that's he's had you? yeah... sorry but it's till death with him! beyond that even (wink wink)

you can't stand him anymore? he'll tell you to sit on his face

you're tired of him? "no, you're not pipsqueak! you just need a nap"

always pulls the "sorry, my gf said i can't go card". like, it's to the point that everyone thinks you're an overprotective and controlling gf

you're not! he's the problem!!! he's the obsessed one!!!

time and time again you've told him to hang out with his friends more but noooooo, why would he want to spend his friday nights getting wasted with his friends when he can spend the night cuddling with you? do you not care about him anymore? do you want other girls to flirt with him at the bar? he's going to spend the whole night wishing he was in your arms anyway so don't make him go. pretty please? *cue the puppy dog eyes*

caleb clings to you like a koala. he's not just velcroed to you—he's superglued to you

a hand on your waist, playing with your fingers, squeezing your thigh, gently kicking your feet with his, his head on your shoulder, his head on your lap, backhugs whenever you're both standing, his fingers playing with your hair, a kiss to your shoulders, your cheeks, the back of your hand

speaking of physical affection, he likes to bite you! not in a possessive way (contrary to popular belief), he just has a severe case of gigil (cuteness aggression) whenever it comes to you

it's neverending and the most endearing part is that he doesn't even realize that he does it 🥹

but he will ease up if you ever express discomfort. after all, this man's first priority is your comfort and safety

he sees you pouting and not only does he want to kiss your lips but he also wants to munch on your cheeks. they're just so cute all puffed up like that, so can you really blame him?

caleb who can't help but notice how much of your stuff is themed around apples and planes—all reminders of him

when he finally noticed just how much you look for him in every aspect of your life, his heart just melted into a puddle. caleb is the type who always needs to feel needed, so to know that you need his presence to the point that most of your things are a testament to his being? yeah... he's a goner. he's never felt so loved before? god knows you're in for a long night of him worshipping you 🤞

the fighter plane keychain that hangs from your bag? your apple-themsd kitchenware? the map of skyhaven that decorates the wall above your couch? your apple-themed accessories—all of it makes him giddy

"you're love me a lot, don't ya pips?" he says teasingly, only for you to reply with a quiet but certain "i do"

it's so certain and so sure, and your eyes are looking at him with so much adoration, as if he painted the stars in the sky himself—it's just too much for his poor heart to handle that he finds himself hiding his face in the crook of your neck

caleb is not shy about letting people know he's taken. i mean... he wears the necklace you got him like a collar so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

he wears your apple-themed hair ties around his wrist (this is canon! see: longtime yesterday)

the type to always find a way to mention his girlfriend no matter what the topic of the conversation is

"you know, my girlfriend—" "we get it caleb, shut up!"

also always has a spare sanitary napkin or tampon on him. anything you might need, he has on him

if y'all started dating in highschool, i feel like he'd also be the type to order extra sets of his sports jerseys just to gift to you

nothing gets him going like seeing "xia, 05" plastered all over your back (caleb was player no. 5 in his highschool basketball team)

the type to run to you after every game and scoop you up in a big hug despite being all sweaty

"ugh, caleb, you're sweaty!" "oh hush, i know you love it, pips."

aaaand, he's not wrong 😞 there's just something so endearing to you about being the first person he runs to after every big win—like you're the prize instead of the trophy they just won

and to him, you are. you're the best prize—the best thing, best person in his life

[tsunodaradio]

change me at all costs ⛐ 𝐂𝐒𝟓𝟓

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 the three times carlos proposes and the one time you say yes.

♫ starring: carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader. ♫ word count: 2.8k. ♫ includes: fluff, romance, suggestive. mentions of alcohol consumption. established relationship, so much love :(, some spanish. @binisainz requested mitski's cover of bleachers' let's get married. ♫ commentary box: inclined to pack tf up because i don't think i'm ever going to top this. i cannot stress this enough: loop the song while reading. man. what a time. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Did you not get the memo?” 

Before you even turn around, you can already imagine the look on Carlos’ face. A raised eyebrow, maybe. A hint of a smile. Sure enough, he’s sporting that very expression when you glance over your shoulder. 

Fiddling with his cufflinks, Carlos mumbles, “I’ve switched to Williams blue, corazón.”

Your dress for the night is closer to his previous team. It’s not the same shade of red and the highlights are more gold than yellow, but you can certainly see where he’s coming from. This is the outfit of a Ferrari tifosi. 

Ignoring his jab, you hold out the jewelry set that has been giving you grief. “Help me put this on,” you say.

Carlos is already crossing the room before the full sentence is over. He takes the necklace first, and you gather your hair to one side as he fiddles with the clasp. 

“Seriously,” he doubles down. There’s that familiar edge of petulance in his tone, the one you know is mostly joking. Mostly. “I’m sure I’ve bought you at least one blue dress. They’re going to say you hate my new team.” 

Your shoulders shake as you laugh; Carlos pauses to admire the sound. He recovers quickly, now reaching out for your earrings. 

“No one is going to say that,” you argue for the sake of arguing. 

“Everybody is going to say that,” he shoots back. “Betrayed by my own girlfriend. I can already see the headlines.” 

Your earrings now firmly in place, you turn around fully to shoot Carlos a half-hearted glare. He’s dressed to the nines for tonight’s charity gala. His suit, immaculately pressed; his tie, a gift you had gotten him three or so years ago.

You rest your palm against his chest. Instinctively, he places his own hand on top of yours, even as he maintains that slight frown at your alleged betrayal. 

“It’s not Ferrari colors, cariño,” you say patiently.

“Oh?” He cocks his eyebrows a little higher, as if challenging you to debate what he considers to be obvious. “What is it, then?” 

“Think.” 

“Think?” 

“What else is red and yellow?” 

Carlos indulges you. He always does. “There’s red and yellow on a traffic light,” he offers. 

You shake your head. He lets out a small sound— one caught between amusement and frustration.  “Are you ketchup and mustard?” he grumbles, and you gently bump your knee against his in retaliation. 

“You’re overthinking it,” you say. “It’s right here.” 

“Right where?” 

You reach up to tug at the lapel of his suit jacket. That’s when it seems to hit Carlos. The pin resting right over his left breast, given to him over a decade ago by family who always wanted him to remember who he was. A miniature golden flag featuring three horizontal stripes of red and yellow. 

“Spain,” he says, a little bit dazed. 

You reward him by tilting upward to kiss him. Only on the corner of his mouth this time, but a sweet kiss all the same. The teams might change—

“Not Ferrari. Not Williams,” you murmur in the low light of your en suite bathroom. “Just you. Just you.” 

— But Carlos will always be Carlos. 

He’s contemplative as you pull away. He doesn’t let you go that far, his hand still keeping yours firmly pinned over his chest. It’s why you feel the slight stutter in his heartbeat. Before you can deliver some jab about it, he pulls the rug out from underneath your feet. 

“I could marry you, you know?” he says. 

It’s not something entirely out of the left field. The two of you are mutual in the thought that you’ve passed the age of dating for experience. Anything, now, involves future-proofing. Building a life to be shared together. 

You haven’t talked about it a lot, though. For the most part, it’s enough that you’re on the same page. And so you’ve joked about cradles after a couple of glasses of wine; you’ve used the fantasies for ammunition during one or two instances of lovemaking. 

But to hear it, now, completely sober and without a hint of a tease—

Your tone is quiet, almost shy. “It’s just a dress, cariño.” 

It’s not just a dress. You know that. He knows that. He says it out loud, too, as his hand tightens its hold of yours. “It’s not,” he whispers, partly to himself.

You don’t know what to say. 

Gracefully, Carlos recovers faster than you. He blinks once, twice. And then he’s putting his smile back on, like he’s entertained at how effortlessly the two of you fell into something so tender. 

“Well?” he quips. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“What?” you sputter. 

“I asked you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word, “to marry me. What do you say?” 

It’s a little easier, now, when you can clock the mirth in Carlos’ tone. You give him a low, derisive groan in response, using your hand on his chest to push him back. He detaches with a laugh, his eyes glinting in that mischievous way you’re used to. 

“I say— we are going to be late,” you snipe. “Go fix your hair already.” 

He clutches his chest, feigning offense. “It’s already fixed! Are you saying it looks bad?” 

The impromptu proposal is forgotten, folded in between petty squabbles over hair products and a hasty makeout session in the entryway. But you should know better than to think Carlos would ever let this— let you— go. 

It happens next after a win.

The details are hazy; the mad dash for points always did feel like a whirlwind to you. There’s one too many safety cars, a hint of rain mid-race, a brush with the wall and an ironclad strategy.

It’s all so fast. One moment, Carlos is stealing a kiss from you. (For good luck, he claims, his lips pressed to your temple.) 

The next, he’s first to shuttle past the checkered flag.

“Carlos Sainz has won Yas Marina!” the commentators screech.

You catch words like in a Williams and ahead of Verstappen and legendary, but you’re too busy exchanging bone-crushing hugs with the ecstatic Williams team. A podium finish at the last race of the year is always cause for celebration. 

It’s a glorious finish, fitting of someone who had to crawl his way through hell and back. You’re convinced you’ll remember this your whole life— the way he thrusts his trophy over his head, the way the fireworks go off like technicolor prophecies. 

There are cameras on you, of course. Close-ups of your tear-stained cheeks; photographs of your hands wrung together. His happiness, his safety, is your answered prayer. 

Carlos has some prayers of his own. 

The worst of the media obligations are done. He’s given the cursory reunion, the vouchsafed five minutes with those who love him most. 

There’s his parents, of course, who whisper mi campeón so much that the words feel like Carlos’ second name. There’s the team principal. His co-driver. 

And then. And then. 

It’s in his eyes. You see it, there, when he finally looks towards you. You know Carlos so well that you can predict that look, that you know what’s already on the tip of his tongue. 

“No, no,” you say hastily, the words splintered between your laughs and sobs. “Don’t even think about it!”

He is thinking about it, though. It’s probably the moment in his head. Carlos is a greedy man; he could use another win. Preferably one you’ll grant when he’s down on one knee. 

But he knows you’re right, too. This is not the time. Not when there are dozens of cameras trained on him. Not when everybody is probably thinking it, expecting it, anticipating a velvet box hidden somewhere in his tracksuit. 

And so he settles for something second best. He throws his arm around your shoulders, precariously dangling the trophy in his other hand. You respond by wrapping your arms around his middle. 

The two of you click into place like magnets. Carlos seals it with a kiss, ducking his head low in a futile bid to hide you two with the brim of his cap. 

It doesn’t work. The kiss is front-page news the next day, subject to dozens of videos and articles questioning Where’s the ring? 

But that’s for tomorrow. For now, Carlos tastes like cheap champagne and the drugstore lip gloss you’d given him before the race. 

For now, Carlos is simply yours. 

The evening shimmers like a promise of something yet to come.

You’ve never been more grateful that most important events in your life fall during the off-season. Tonight, it’s your parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary and Carlos is your enthusiastic plus one. 

He’s well-loved by your family and friends. They’ve since gotten over the myth and the legend of him being a renown race car driver. To them, now, he is merely the love of your life, and vice versa. 

Your younger cousins race past the two of you, shrieking as they play their little game. Your aunts and uncles swap stories of their own marriage, giving you and Carlos unsolicited advice. 

Never go to sleep angry. Your wife is always right. Don’t stop holding hands. 

The last one, Carlos takes to heart. 

For majority of the party, he keeps his touch on you. A casual arm over the back of your chair. His fingers absentmindedly toying with the hem of your dress. His shoulder pressed against yours all throughout dinner. 

He’s in a mood, you can tell. He spends the evening leaning into your personal space so he can whisper one thing or another. Little nothings of this dress will look good on the bedroom floor and I know something sweeter than this dessert. 

You rebuff him at each turn, grumbling about keeping things PG-13. He’s amused— maybe a little tipsy— as he giggles and keeps on going. At one point, he slips into his mother tongue, emboldened by the fact that nobody will understand the filth. Not even you. 

Me vuelves loco, he says after you coo at a baby cousin.

¿Por qué no lo hacemos aquí?, he says as the two of you wander around the garden for a bit. 

Quiero que me montes con ese vestido puesto, he says with a playful tug of your outfit. 

“Stop,” you hiss, the tips of your ears burning red. “Behave, Carlos.” 

The lack of his usual pet name has Carlos letting up, though barely. Your parents are readying to give a toast and he’s back to pretending like he’s innocent, his palm flat on the small of your back. 

The toast is a good one. A reminder of love that endures. There’s not a single dry eye in attendance by the time your parents are setting up for their tradition— a slow dance to the very first song they waltzed to. 

As the small crowd watches on, you feel Carlos’ hand twitch at your back. You glance at him. He’s not looking at your parents. 

He’s looking at you.

His next words are soft. Spoken like a secret, shared like a destiny.

“¿Cásate conmigo?”

There’s no need for a translation. You know this question, know the look on his face. 

Marry me? 

You want to believe it’s the Chardonnay talking. The overwhelming feeling of seeing love endure and persist. But there’s something serious underneath all of it, something just below the surface. 

Carlos isn’t smirking, isn’t joking. He’s asking, and he’s waiting for your answer. 

But, again, again, again— 

This is not yours. Not your evening. Not when there’s a haze of alcohol over the two of you; not when it’s your parents that are meant to be the center of attention.

You give Carlos’ knee a gentle squeeze. It’s enough to pull him out of his head. His face breaks into a sheepish smile and he mumbles an apology; your heart seizes up. You don’t want him to be sorry, don’t want him to think he owes you anything of consequence.

Aiming for levity, you ask, “Where’s the ring?”

He stares at you like you’re the crazy one. You press on, tone playfully chiding.

“Where’s the ring?” you insist. “You can’t be proposing without a ring, cariño.”

Carlos laughs, then. It’s a forgiving sound. “You’re right,” he concedes as he reaches across the table.

He hesitates to pull his touch away from you, but what he plans to do requires both hands. His fingers are a bit clumsy in their movements; once or twice, he has to start over, and you can do nothing but watch with growing fascination.

He gets there eventually. Gently, ever so gently, he takes your hand in his. (He shakes like it’s the real thing.)

The tissue paper ring is slid onto your finger.

It’s a crude imitation of what he truly hopes to give you one day, but at this very point in time, it’s better than any cut of diamond in the world. 

“Mrs. Carlos Sainz,” he says reverently, his gaze flitting to your face to check your reaction.

He finds nothing but your smile, giddy and wide. 

On a day where everything seems to be going wrong, Carlos sets things right. 

The kitchen faucet breaks. He watches a fifteen-minute YouTube video and declares he is now an expert plumber. He succeeds in getting the faucet back into shape, but not without flooding the floor in the process.

You order takeout for lunch; they neglect your special instructions on the pizza. Carlos issues them a strongly-worded review before painstakingly picking out the olives you dislike so much, setting them as far away from you as possible.

Even the shower is not spared by your supposed bad luck. There’s some issue with the apartment’s storage tanks. Carlos lets you bitch and moan, and then, again— that self-assured, reassuring commitment of I’ll fix it. 

You can hear him moving around in the bathroom, can hear the water sloshing in the tub as he tries to get it to the temperature you want. He rightfully assumes you’re still stewing in your misfortune, so he pitches his voice just loud enough for you to hear him singing offkey. 

“I know it's bad when we look out, but bad, bad people, they don’t live in our house,” he belts. “So, I'm gonna get right for you honey! Take all of my medicine, spend you all my money, yeah!”

It chips right through your foul mood. 

By the time you’re getting into the tub with Carlos— the water exactly how you like it— there is no doubt in your mind that this is the person you want to spend all of your days with. The good, the bad. All of it. 

Nothing matters after that. 

Not the dinner plans that have to be canceled due to some double booking by the restaurant. Not the load shedding that plunges your apartment into darkness. Not the stickiness of your sweat as the two of you crawl into bed for an early night. 

The sheets are abandoned, but cuddling is non-negotiable. Despite the heat, he pulls you to him until your foreheads are pressed against each other. 

The conditions are arguably less than ideal.

But if you spend your whole life waiting for the perfect moment, then that will be all it is. Your whole life, waiting.

Your voice is small but certain.

“Let’s get married.” 

Carlos, half-awake, hums a hushed, questioning “hm?”  

“Let’s get married,” you repeat, your breath warm over his face. “I want to marry you, Carlos Sainz.” 

He tilts forward just so, his eyelashes fluttering over yours. When he kisses you, it’s unhurried. Like he knows he’s going to have a hundred more kisses like this— at the altar, in your old age, on your wedding anniversary decades down the line. 

When he pulls away, he murmurs his next words against your mouth. “I heard you the first time,” he rasps. “I just wanted to hear it again.” 

You laugh, and you laugh, and you laugh, feeling an entire lifetime worth of love swell in your very being. You can barely make out his face in the darkness, but you like to think he’s smiling. 

“But I want to be the one who asks,” he says once you’ve settled down. 

“Ask, then.” 

“How impatient, corazón. I should make you wait.”

“You wouldn’t.” 

“No,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t.” 

A beat.

“The ring is in the bedside table,” he reveals, and your heart lurches in your chest. “Underneath my underwear.” 

“Really?” 

“I could get it right now.” 

“No.” Your arms tighten around Carlos. You’re not having second thoughts; you want that much to be clear. You just don’t want any distance between the two of you. 

Not now. Not ever. 

“Just ask,” you tell him gently. “We can do everything else later. Just— just ask. One more time. One last time.” 

There’s a moment of silence. It stretches, long and suspenseful, and you know it’s Carlos’ way of finding the courage he needs. “Okay,” he says, the word exhaled. “Okay.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

[mehiwilldoitlater]

TFP Bumblebee x Ballerina!Reader

requested by @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved

Rafael knew you for a long time; being the kid of his neighborhood was normal. You were older than him, the same age as Jack at least, but besides that, you never bothered talking with him and being a listener for his problems.

Being in a big family means being forgotten sometimes, and maybe it was your kind and understandable nature that led you to become a half-sister to him. And, mostly because he was an open book to you, you immediately noticed the change in behavior in the boy, but he was a smart one, so if there was a problem, he could have always come to you, no?

Well, problems did come in the form of a big, scary robot that had noticed how close you were to the boy and presumed your affiliation with their enemy. Only after your rescue from the nemesis Rafael did finally open up to you about the Autobot…and Bumblebee. Oh, so now the mysterious yellow sports car had a meaning!

You became a helper in certain situations, but never that close to the point of being part of the team and getting a guardian. As you liked to say, you had something that was making you busier than ever.

"It's because she's practicing ballet at a higher level!" Said Raf with a hint of pride. You smiled, waving your hand like scoffing away those words.

"I'm still trying to reach that! I still have to pass the audition."

"Oh! Like for a rock band?!" Said enthusiastically Miko, more interested in that than your dance practice.

"Not quite. I want to learn in the Dance Academy of New York, but to do that, I need to be judged by a committee."

"New York?" Jack asked, "It's on the other side of the country. Are you sure about it?"

"I know it's far..." But who doesn't take sacrifices for their dreams?"

You failed to notice a strange look coming from a certain robot.

Bee was one of the first to find curiosity in this new world, always with his head in some new activities only for the joy to know and embrace this world that had accepted him.

And, of course, he was ready to accept your own humanity, as he accepted the ones of the other kids. You were somehow similar to Rafael due to your calm demeanor, but you were also different. You pushed Rafael to develop his hacker skills, listened to his rumbling and passion, and the boy enjoyed helping you some time to time in your own passion. Though he didn't know it, Rafael had dragged the Autobot into long hours of recording your training, making Bee more curious about you than ever.

On Cybertron they did have many things that could be related to Earth in the matter of art, but that…that was new. Your body was strict, rigid, and immovable as stone, but your movements were graceful like a fresh energon river. Your feet tipped, holding your entire body high in the ground, allowing you to make moves that his own metal body couldn't even dare to make, and he did dare.

Ratchet never knew how Bumblebee got his head crashed on that wall; that was a secret between the mech and no one.

And then those jumps! When fully prepared, the distance that you were able to cover in one jump was remarkable! Sometimes he feared for you to fall, to hurt yourself, to the point that, even after a perfect landing, you could see his hands already in position to catch you. You couldn't hold a giggle sometimes, thinking about how cute that mech was during your training. But your elegance and grace were only a product of your passion and dedication to your art.

"I think it was good!" Said Rafael putting in reverse again the video. Your face, instead, showed another result.

"No, no. The position was good, but I ended up too unsynchronized. These legs shouldn't have made this movement at all."

A series of sounds came from the Autobot, calling your and Rafael's attention.

"Bee said that it was perfect; maybe you should take a rest! Too much training could become distressful."

You sighed; maybe those two were right? But the audition was just a few weeks away! You didn't want to stop…

Well, maybe that was a bad habit that Bee had noticed. Rafael did have talked about it before, maybe sugarcoating the matter by saying that you were a very dedicated person, but when he saw how bad your feet were, how many painful wounds, abrasions, blisters, and more you had on them, hidden under those silky slippers…

You were a warrior, but even a soldier needs to know when to stop.

Sometimes it wasn't about getting good; sometimes it was just about loving to dance, swinging around, following some music from the radio, and circling around mimicking a few moves. You were really something that he couldn't describe, a creature from beyond space.

It was in those moments, while he watched you, that he allowed himself to dare a little, moving his hand towards you, two fingers on the ground, the other two a little higher than the other, moving them at your time and speed. It was then, when you noticed him, that with that kind smile you allowed yourself to touch him, to become your partner even for just one song.

"You know Bee?" you spoke, holding some laughter. "You make such an amazing dance partner!"

Under his mask, he's smiled, without care if someone else could enter the room, finding the both of you in that position.

Rafael understood why, after the day of the audition, when your results came back, his guardian showed so little joy from your acceptance entry. While everyone congratulated you, he stayed in the back, faking happiness in front of your excitement. Bee was happy, really, your dream was coming true!… And that meant that you needed to leave.

"I'll be back for Christmas and holidays. Aldo, my phone will always be ready!"

That was you who said that to everyone… That was what he wanted to hold on to, alongside the knowledge that he wanted to be there, the day when finally everyone would be able to see how shiny you were, what a star you had become, one that he already knew.

He promised you this too the day of your departure for the academy, to see you at your first performance for the opera!

He just hoped to have some more time…

[jumbojazzcats93]

I'm not nice (Pt. 2) - Ghost

Part 1

Summary - A Queen driven to resent her King by his lack of consideration for her in relation to his mistress.

Tags/Warnings - royalty, infidelity, love to hate, angst, inspired by Please, Please, Please by Sabrina Carpenter

Banners by @/saradika-graphics @lveegsoi @skulfan1

This has been sitting in my drafts and I'm so displeased with it, but i don't wanna keep waiting cause I'll never be happy with it lol

You'd hired an aide. An assistant of sorts. Your workload had just been a bit too much lately.

You opened the screening process to anyone who had graduated from the capital's academy, to include commoners. The nobles were scandalized at the inclusion; the king himself even voiced his distaste for the idea. Privately, of course. He, thankfully, had enough etiquette to not oppose you in public. And while you would have preferred a woman for the position, the empire was in short supply of educated female graduates. The man you'd chosen was sufficient, though, and while born a commoner, he was a top graduate at the academy. Nobles were often graduated for their status, regardless of their grades, but commoners had to work hard to graduate. Especially, if they wanted to graduate top of the class.

Seeing as how he would be part of your staff, you'd provided him his own room within the queens palace and given him a week to move in, adjust, and learn some of the etiquette required of someone in his position. You'd heard not a word from him during that time, but you'd certainly heard of him.

"You know, Your Majesty, the maids are in quite a stir over your new aide."

You were greeted with a poorly hidden smile in the mirror upon opening your eyes. The mirthful look in the eyes of your lady's maid made you narrow yours back at her through the mirror.

"They say he's quite handsome... incredibly polite... and charming, too."

You hummed, closing your eyes again as she styled your hair, "I wonder if his looks will make people think i've taken him on to make His Majesty jealous."

Her scoff was so aggressive it could be felt through her hands.

You calmly affirmed, "You know that's what the council will think, Josie."

She clicked her tongue and a wry smile pulled at your lips.

"Blathering fools, the lot of them. Only there to kiss the feet of the king whenever the chance arises."

A small silence overtook the room before your eyes opened. You both erupted into laughter the moment your eyes met.

The maids certainly were right. The man standing before your desk in greeting was wildly handsome. Not the type of prim and proper handsome that Nobel men often sported. No. This man had a comparable type of ruggedness to Simon. A gentleman older than you who had obviously seen more work than just paperwork and that of what was required of him at the academy.

"It's an incredible honor and pleasure to make your acquaintance Your Majesty. I would kneel if not for my leg. Old injuries of war, you see..." he trailed off.

"It's quite alright, sir, there's absolutely no need. I'd been informed of your predicament in advance and had a seat arranged especially for our meeting." You motioned for him to sit. "I commissioned a desk be made for you, but I'm afraid it will be another week before it arrives." Your sheepish admission made him chuckle.

"The rumors speak truth. You're as generous as I thought, Your Majesty."

He let out a quite grunt as he sat. The wear and tear on his body showing in the oddness of his movements. You might have overlooked it, but years of watching Simon make such similar movements had trained your eye to catch even the faintest signs of compensation. Sitting down with him at your desk, you dismissed all the servants but Josie and began to fill him in on your reasons for seeking his aid.

"The reason I've asked for your assistance, Sir John Price, is because-", your mouth opened and closed as you attempted to find the right words. "Well to put it quite plainly... I find the king to be lacking in certain diplomatic aspects lately." Pushing the words out, you offer him a tight smile. With hesitance and a deep breathe, he nods once.

"At the risk of sounding imprudent, I must ask Your Majesty. I've heard rumors that you've taken me on as more of a... companion... of sorts. Would you be willing to clarify what my role here will truly entail?"

You must've looked mortified. Across the room Josie looked scandalized.

You looked away. You were so frustrated it felt as though you could tear up. You had discussed this with Josie at length and concluded it might benefit your image to seem as though you were not simply being tossed aside by the King. Allowing the court to see you as being so unbothered would certainly make you look less pathetic... but if you told Mr. Price you intended to let the rumors make their rounds, would he refuse the position? You hadn't considered.

"Mr. Price, please know I expect nothing of you outside of your duties as an aide..." He was clearly able to see the intention of such an open ended answer. The sympathetic smile on his face made that very clear.

"Your Majesty."

Your face was burning with your shame.

"I am here as a servant to my Queen. She may ask of me whatever she wishes and I will bear it." After a pause, he quietly added, "I am a simple man, Your Majesty. Rumors will not affect me."

You could hardly spare him a glance for fear of becoming emotional. Such a noble man was willing to sacrifice his reputation for yours?

"It will not be forever, Mr. Price. Please, believe me." You whispered. Your fists, knotted in your skirts and your inability to meet his eyes for more than a moment must've laid your guilt towards him bare enough.

"I wouldn't complain even if it was, My Queen."

"I hear you've officially instated your aide."

The clatter of silverware against tableware continues. You continue eating as he pauses his meal.

"You chose the commoner that I advised against."

You nodded, continuing to eat. You'd long grown used to these awkward weekly dinner conversations.

He persisted, "Did you choose him because I asked you not to? Perhaps to spite me?"

"Oh, for goodness sake...", you mumbled to yourself, dabbing at your mouth with the napkin. Your sigh echoed throughout the dining hall. "Must you ruin this evening with such accusations, Your Majesty?"

Quarreling would surely make the servants uncomfortable, but honestly... it was such an exasperating question. His silence gave no hints of agitation at your disrespect, but you also knew you weren't to push your luck either.

"He is qualified. What else is required?"

"My Queen, I know you're not deaf to the rumors."

Your brow scrunching up, you clicked your tongue and huffed. "Is that was this is about?"

His silent stare from across the table was almost accusing. You'd not put up with such hypocrisy from this man. Your fingers drummed at the table.

"If we must do this in front of the servants...", you muttered. "- you'll unsurprisingly find that my reason for requiring the most qualified aide I could find is because, Your Majesty, you have been shirking your responsibilities as a ruler and I, as your Queen, have taken them upon myself so as to keep the flow and order of things in check." As he tried to speak up, you added, "Without complaint, I might add."

Silence.

"It is my duty to preform when and where you cannot."

You stood and he quickly followed suit.

"My queen-"

"If you'll please inform my lady's maid that i've gone to my study." You announced generally to the servants, holding eye contact with Simon. Stepping from behind the table, you curtsied to him and hurriedly left the dining hall, leaving him standing there dissatisfied and disgruntled.

As unbecoming and unladylike as it was, you loved catching lizards in the garden. The green ones were so pretty, and they were all so small and cute. With the weather cooling lately, it had become the absolute perfect temperature to be outside. The Queen's garden was seldom traversed by anyone outside of the Queen's palace. Such privacy made it an easy place to shed the visage of The Queen and just be yourself; to indulge in childlike antics such as catching lizards. Your mother would shreik at the sight of you knelt in the gravel, soiling such a gorgeous dress and playing with, what she would call, vermin.

A confused call of "Your Majesty?" had you stumbling to your feet and spinning around, hiding the poor lizard behind you in gently cupped hands. Mr. Price stood one flower patch away on an adjacent path, an absolutely bemused look on his face.

"Goodness, it is you."

He hurried as best he could through the grass.

"Your Majesty, what could possibly have had you on the ground like that?" His concerned gaze trailed your dirt dusted dress and the ground around you.

"Did you perhaps drop something?"

You were sweating. This was mortifying. The lizard was wriggling around in panic in your palms. Your face must've been tight.

"I'm quite alright, Mr. Price. I just dropped a glove while loo- ah!"

Price jumped back at your shout. The dumb lizard had bit your finger! He saw the lizard go flying into the bushes out of the corner of his eye as you flung your hands and spun around, stumbling back from the flower bed and right into him. As you assessed your hand with dramatic scrutiny, you felt Mr. Price begin to laugh.

"Sir, this is no laughing matter!" Your anxious scolding almost sobered him up until...

"I had no idea they could bite!"

Price barked out a hardy laugh at your concerned exclamation.

"You were holding that poor creature the whole time?" He laughed. "No wonder it bit you!"

"Mr. Price!" You cried out.

"Captain John Price?" Another voice called.

You both spin around.

"Your Highness-" Panic suddenly crept into your chest. His expression on his face was confused, accusatory, bewildered. Besides you Mr. Price was as straight as a rod.

"Your Highness, Lieutenant General Riley." He greets. The familiarity of the titles raises a flag, but with Simon's slow approach and the astute scrutiny in his gaze... you feared what this interaction was about to become. A tense moment passes in silence with Simon giving you a look you've not seen him make in a long time, but as you poise yourself to speak, his gaze leaves you in favor of John.

"Captain Price, let us speak privately at a later time. We have much to catch up on." With that, Simon continues down the path to leave the garden. No fuss or fight... but a rather revered tone.

A long sigh draws your attention back to Mr. Price. He's watching Simon leave with a twinge of a frown, but as he turns his attention to you it morphs into a wry smile.

"Your Lady's Maid will have my head for the state of you, My Queen." Leaning on his cane, he reaches one hand out to carefully fix small peices of your hair. "Let's us return you to her, than." He states as he gently leads you back to the entrance of your garden.

[darcyolsson]

If heartstopper were to get another season, in what way would you see Tori and Michael’s story line going? What would you like to see personally?

oooh good question!! i mean obviously there's the storyline in the comics, i would love to see the show also explore tori's asexuality and her relationship with michael. i know i'm saying this as the number1sproldenshipper4ever BUT since there's a bit more room for storytelling in a tv show format i would looove to see them explore that and the way it affects their relationship a bit more in-depth. heartbreak high is the only piece of media i can think of which had a storyline like that, so it would be really interesting and unique to see i think :)

also, i would love to see the way michael's relationship to nick & charlie evolves! in the comics we didn't really get to see that (we see that theyre initially a bit hesitant towards each other, and then once we jump to the section after the diary entries they've already grown to be friends) which i was always a bit sad about because their relationship has always fascinated me. they went from actively disliking each other in solitaire to being really quite close- how did that happen!! i want to see the awkward family dinners i want to see nick and michael bond over sports i want to see them finally act like friends for the first time over a game of mario kart. i know hstv canon is a bit different from book/comic canon and hstv n&c don't have as much of an issue with michael as they did in the books, but i still believe there's an opportunity there to show that relationship growth <3 since all four of them have difficult family relationships in some way their 'acting like two married couples with a younger brother they have shared custody over at the age of 18' dynamic has always been so good to me. there CAN be found family within the biological family and i would like to see it on my netflix screen please. please. this has been my essay

(also, i cant believe heartstopper s4 STILL hasnt been either confirmed or cancelled??? is it just me or does this feel exceptionally long someone come and get them)

[xylatox]

Collide | lhs

Woke up from my nap to see this masterpiece published by Rain! :) I'm so excited to read another fic of hers, unto my thoughts!!

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. — I already love the beginning lmfao

You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. — as a retired player of competitive sport, I get people being competitive but if this is how they move in hockey??? I honestly don't blame reader (I absolutely love her) for reacting like that because??😭 respectfully I wouldn't want them near me with that behaviour.

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. — I absolutely love her 😭 her personality is so amazing.

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. — The curation (please tell me thats a word) of reader's personality is absolutely amazing, like everything about her from just the bluntness and sarcasm I absolutely love. I do love that despite these traits being seen she still decides to go with Yunjin to the game, the action I think shows her sweeter side and value for the friendship (girl friendships on top ftw)

It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—” they're so cute! they're dynamic is like black cat x golden retriever; I think there's something about the chaos yet sweetness that retrievers have that Yunjin displays to me :) I absolutely love their dynamic.

Side comment, a hockey game is 3 HOURS????? WHAT. (we don't have ice hockey here so I'm in surprise and idk how long field hockey games are lol)

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. — Yunjin is so cute ahhh

You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey. — famous last words lol

Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink. — the 2 duos meet hehe :)) I love that both friend pairings have the dynamic I mentioned earlier :) it makes me so happy, like —“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.  — makes this tiny moment so important to me.

Also Hee and reader's first interaction is absolutely hilarious to me, like I feel bad for reader, don't get me wrong, I think it's just the stark difference in their personalities of the bat that make it comical.

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard. — Not fate playing with her omg, who would've thought.

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late." — honestly me. I hope this doesn't come off as terrible, like I'm okay if you're a few mins late, but am hour and a half??? respect people and their time pls :((. Oh and Hee's reason makes it worse for me I can't even lie.

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. — the literal irritation from Hee went by so fast because Sunoo :(((( a cutie

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?” — HELLO??? HE APOLOGIZES??? Good on him honestly

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” — I absolutely cannot help but feel soft.

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” — situation of a shitty coach :/ I guess it explains the behaviour to kind of avoid being a pushover (??) especially since the sports scene is brutal.

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” —???? as someone who avoided history in highschool, this is insane news to me (I don't think we learnt British history to that extent where I'm from and mostly focused on their Colonization).

Despite the moment they had before, in terms of his Dad messaging and mention of how was he before — “See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.” — this is absolutely hilarious.

And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder. — SCREAMING. I'm such a loser when it comes to Heeseung.

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. — this little moment :( the way reader realized he was more withdrawm and asked if he wanted to get away, crying.

Their little moment at the diner :( I'm so sad, both of them becoming understanding as they have a shitty parent:((

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” — me and reader are the same, I have never seen Interstellar; in fact most movies I haven't seen💀.

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?” — he can't just say this and get away with it omg.

Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. — OH MY GOD????

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. — HEESEUNG, why would you say that😭 I'm begging he just phrased it wrong and didn't kiss her because of that.

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” — my poor baby:(

I'm so glad they have their moment and he apologies but —Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. — this is the most loser Heeseung has appeared for the entire fic omg😭   

Also it's so cute how we see reader at a game again and she's so much more different, her energy is so much softer and she's just so cute. And the way she stands up for him!!!

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.” — nooooo😞😞😞😞

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.”  — NOOOOOOO😭😭😭😭

Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours. — SCREAMING!!!

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?”  — I'll say it again, I love their friendship fr, I genuinely adore them.

You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. — YES YUNJIN YOU GO :// on another note I feel so bad for reader, she (and anyone) for that matter doesn't deserve that.

Heesung is such an idiot —The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” — like I'm so glad he did well but he's an idiot oh my god, boys can be stupid.

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now. — im going to throw up, I feel so bad ahhh :(

Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.” — Sunoo is here again!!!! Also a moment to appreciate Soobin too, he's such a sweetheart:( and another moment to appreciate Sunoo being there and them taking:(( he's such a cutie.

She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?” — I already have a bad feeling about this

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” — :(((

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.” — the endddddd :((((((((

Oh my goodness!! this was amazing. I absolutely loved every moment of this and I just love how the rawness of everything between the 2 was betrayed from start to finish. Rain!! I'm so glad I got to read another work of yours, it was an absolute pleasure and a lovely start to the series :))

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

crossing the line series.

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes. 

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.” 

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.” 

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box. 

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—” 

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.” 

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit. 

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!” 

​​You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey. 

-

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this. 

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here. 

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink. 

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing. 

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?” 

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here. 

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well. 

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.  Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies. 

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth. 

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess. 

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?” 

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?” 

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more. 

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to. 

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?” 

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.” 

Your stomach sinks. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect. 

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again. 

-

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.” 

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.” 

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it. 

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard. 

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence. 

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.” 

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it. 

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you. 

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement. 

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out. 

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath. 

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?” 

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?” 

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—” 

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.” 

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.” 

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.” 

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.” 

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.” 

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.” 

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.” 

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.” 

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting. 

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,’ when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.” 

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.” 

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.” 

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up. 

And wait.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response. 

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.” 

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.” 

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all. 

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late." 

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?” 

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.” 

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?” 

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.” 

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.” 

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done. 

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life. 

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.” 

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?” 

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.” 

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.” 

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm. 

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—” 

“Hey” 

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?” 

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.” 

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?” 

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…" 

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous. 

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.” 

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung. 

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.” 

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.” 

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?” 

“Five sharp.” 

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.” 

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much. 

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice. 

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.” 

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues. 

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.” 

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.” 

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?” 

She nods, sitting up a little.  “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?” 

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.” 

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.” 

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.” 

​​You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.” 

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine. 

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all. 

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.” 

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently. 

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him. 

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.” 

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp. 

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—” 

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table. 

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own. 

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?” 

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back. 

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—” 

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable. 

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens. 

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it. 

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. 

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.” 

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung. 

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable. 

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?” 

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” 

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.” 

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse. 

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you. 

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired. 

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.” 

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care. 

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape. 

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it. 

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?” 

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going. 

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling. 

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?” 

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.” 

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens. 

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now. 

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same. 

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different. 

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. 

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table. 

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” 

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?” 

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup. 

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.” 

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.” 

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things. 

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library. 

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies. 

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” 

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.” 

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood. 

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.” 

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type. 

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?” 

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too.. 

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same. 

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until— 

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?” 

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?” 

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?” 

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.” 

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.” 

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice. 

He looks up, amused. “What?” 

“You read it?” 

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.” 

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?” 

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. 

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger. 

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out. 

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not. 

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break. 

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.” 

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—” 

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses. 

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes. 

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down. 

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there. 

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that. 

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.” 

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him. 

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.” 

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him? 

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.” 

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him. 

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.” 

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur. 

Heeseung blinks. “You do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”  

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good. 

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands. 

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different. 

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung. 

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great. 

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands. 

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before. 

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.” 

You blink, startled. “What?” 

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.” 

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.” 

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?” 

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—” 

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.” 

Your stomach flips. “I do not.” 

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”  

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise. 

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back? 

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face. 

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.” 

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..” 

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation. 

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..” 

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found. 

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really. 

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she. 

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.” 

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself. 

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases. 

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed. 

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?” 

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.” 

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening. 

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him. 

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens. 

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?” 

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself. 

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them. 

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin. 

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene. 

“Damn.” 

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.” 

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking. 

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it. 

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do. 

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking? 

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. 

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?” 

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.” 

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.” 

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.” 

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil. 

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.” 

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.” 

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?” 

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.” 

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about? 

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.”  Oh. Oh. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—” 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.” 

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon. 

“I wasn’t trying to-” 

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—” 

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?” 

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.” 

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up. 

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.” 

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again. 

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours. 

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. 

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to. 

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..” 

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.” 

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff. 

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” 

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips. 

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him. 

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before. 

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight. 

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?” 

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it. 

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.” 

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers. 

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good. 

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed. 

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before. 

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.” 

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to. 

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was. 

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size. 

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?” 

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.” 

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet. 

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.” 

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.  

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up. 

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.” 

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit. 

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin. 

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.” 

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?” 

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.” 

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?” 

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.” 

“I know.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” 

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know. 

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.” 

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?” 

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.” 

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks. 

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with. 

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner. 

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened. 

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy. 

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless. 

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.” 

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach. 

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.” 

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. 

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.” 

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see. 

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?” 

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts. 

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for. 

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together. 

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really. 

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung. 

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.” 

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled. 

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.” 

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.” 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?” 

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door. 

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” 

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.” 

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—” 

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then make me get it.” 

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?” 

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear? 

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now. 

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?” 

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.” 

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” 

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek. 

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin. 

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you. 

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him. 

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.” 

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.” 

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.” 

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.” 

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.” 

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him. 

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.” 

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.” 

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.” 

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung. 

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?” 

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—” 

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.” 

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.” 

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder. 

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you. 

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.” 

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” 

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.” 

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?” 

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.” 

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.” 

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?” 

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.” 

“Okay”

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

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

[catboybiologist]

I know you don't want to be seen as an expert on hrt, so you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I feel like you're the best person for me to ask, I've been closeted for years bc of highschool, but will be graduating this year and a little bit after that I think I will be done with being in the social settings that have made me hold off on transition. I was wondering if you have any tips for possibly boymoding while I start hrt and if you have any range of how long I may be able to boymode with relative ease? Again you don't need to answer, you just seem like you may have some info and/or your followers could also provide their info.

I boymoded full time for 9 months on HRT, so I do have a couple little nuggets of advice. Remember that all of this varies wildly from person to person. Also remember that you're starting at (I'm assuming) 18yo, which might affect your access and such.

Boymoding while you start HRT is a common move, and I totally understand why. The biggest thing to remember about hrt is that your "real" start is when your blood levels stabilize appropriately, not when you take your first dose. There are some, small changes that happen before then, but significant development really only starts at that point.

The reason I'm saying this is because it affects your boymoding. I had no problem boymoding in those first 9 months. My first levels check that showed female hormonal ranges happened at about 8 months. After that, I was rapidly feminizing, even though I was losing weight. I would say that about the 1yr mark was the point I could no longer boymode comfortably, and only did so in extremely specific contexts with great effort past that point.

To give you an idea:

That initial burst of development, ending at about day 100, was easy to hide. The changes from ~day 300 on were not- I was rapidly losing weight, so even though my chest wasn't getting bigger, it was more contrasted with the rest of my body. I couldn't claim them as male fat anymore.

The chest is usually what gives away boymoding early.

This all said, here's the basic boymoder toolkit:

A lightly compressive sports bra or bralette. Don't use a binder in early development, and prioritize comfort. I used a Nike sports bra as well as a CK racerback bralette, which is a classic for early hrt transfemmes.

Slightly baggy clothes. Usually button downs help more than t shirts. The boymoder hoody is a meme, but it does help. That said, I'd recommend trying to get stuff that you can style in femme outfits later! I mostly used flannel and light, breathable hiking shirts to boymode. I can use these as sporty "cardigans" and jackets now. Example: here's me wearing a flannel buttoned right at the start of HRT, vs me wearing one as a cardigan a couple months ago:

And, tbh, that's kind of it. It's not much, but it has to "fool" people who will already be biased into perceiving you as a guy. Socially transitioning then helps snap them into seeing you as a girl.

Fair warning though: while it is helpful to boymode for a bit for most people, you're not gonna suddenly "flick a switch" and become ultra femme overnight once you do come out. There's no avoiding the awkward zones associated with transition. Boymoding helps minimize those, however.

I'm rambling at this point but godspeed. You have an amazing experience and an amazing life ahead of you.

[escapingthecurse]

Jealousy - Rosekiller/Jegulus Microfic - 658 words

Barty had never even considered that he could fall for a gryffindor, of all people. maybe it wasnt that surprising, for a ravenclaw and a gryffindor to end up together, but he wasn't the type, honestly.

Evan and Barty had a thing going for the last year, though it wasn't until a few months ago that Barty had felt comfortable using the word boyfriend to describe the slytherin.

His best friend was also a slytherin, of course, being Regulus Black. And Barty would not deny he had looked at Regulus in a way friends didn't look at each other, the truth was that Regulus was the first man he had ever kissed, and they had been drunk, and it had never moved past that.

But here Barty was, sat on a couch in the room of requirement, discovered by Regulus himself earlier that year. It had become the hangout for them all, a place where he and Panda as ravenclaws could join the slytherins, and then Marlene started showing up with Dorcas, and soon they had a handful of gryffindors there too. but today, it was only the four of them in the room, and Barty was not complaining one bit.

Evan's head was in Barty's lap, as Barty played with his boyfriends hair, but his eyes were elsewhere - looking across the room at where Regulus was sat, whispering in James ear. Barty had spoken to Evan regarding the fact he very much still thought Regulus was attractive, and Evan had agreed, but neither of them had wanted to ruin the friendship they had, so never bought it up to Regulus.

But now Barty was watching, and it wasnt Regulus he was staring at. it was James. with those muscles and his mess of hair, and the cheeky grin the older boy sported, Barty felt more insane than usual.

He looked down to Evan, who had been watching Barty with a knowing look in his eyes, "can i do something stupid, Ev?" Barty would whisper, and Evan sat up with a nod, giving silent permission.

It was quick, not giving either of the other couple a chance to react before Barty dropped down on the couch beside James. "watchu whispering about?" he purred, leaning close to the gryffindor while keeping his eyes on Regulus, seeking permission from him too. And Regulus knew, they were close enough that he could tell what Barty wanted, and he nodded too, his cheeks flushing slightly.

James looked confused, for a second, as redness spread up Regulus face, but the confusion was cut off by shock as Bartys lips connected with his. It was only when Barty pulled away to breath that James had a chance to react, starting to speak "what-" before he was cut off by the louder boy. "youre a bastard, you know, potter. those arms, that hair, that smile. the way you touch regulus when you think im not looking." and then Barty looked at Regulus too, adding on "youre a bastard too, Reggie, because you know full well how jealous i get" he smirked slightly, turning back to James with a look of desire "no more though, me and Ev agreed. no more Jealousy"

Evan was standing near them now, watching his boyfriend trace shapes against James skin, and making eye contact with the older boy with a pleading look. James could only nod, well aware that he had also spent the last few months trying not to stare at the couple, but it wasnt James that Evan went for. the blonde dropped himself onto Regulus lap and kissed him so deeply, in the way that Barty specifically adored, leaving James to turn back towards the ravenclaw, only to find Barty was still staring at him. "our boyfriends are having fun" Barty spoke, his grin only growing, and his fingers wrapping around James wrist "are you just going to watch, then? or do you want to join in"

[theangrycomet]

TFP's designs reflect the writer's decisions regarding character direction very well.

It's not as though I don't like the designs on their own; on the contrary I actually love the less-action-figure-and-more-extraterrestrial art direction they took with the Transformers.

But a lot of the designs push certain aspects so far to the point where their barely recognizable from the characters they are supposed to be.

Somewhat Coherent Ramblings below on the 3 biggest "victims" with my (admittedly limited) transformers lore knowledge.

is that a stickbug or a snake?

Starscream got a bad back from carrying the entire Decepticon cause on his shoulders while Megatron's snorting up Satan's crotch dust so forgive his poor posture.

Like it's a solid design for a for a sniveling backstabber- being able to look like a pathetic little bug one second to a ruthless killer the next.

And I love how he's rigged and animated- forget Predaking most of the animatign budget went into Starscream's theatrics-

Honestly he's probably the least "problematic" for lack of a better word for me because he can be fixed with giving him a paint job and maybe a helmet- probably styled along the lines of RID!Starscream's helm and he'd be fine.

A bigger part of my problems with his design now that I've ruminated on it is more how he's not allowed to feel like a proper, competent threat on his own after the first half of S1- and in turn, how he's not allowed to be intimidating more often.

the Sleeping Beauty Dress argument

Seriously tho- like she looks good but why did they make her blue specifically? Just make her a dark magenta to go with the muted color scheme of the show if your worried about her standing out to much (she's a $30k sports bike in bumfuck nevada- she's already flunked the "in disguise" part of the class)

I get the "oh the she's only girl she shouldn't be pink" argument but you know what would address that? HAVING MORE FEMALE CHARACTERS.

Getting off track...

Again, Arcee's design on it's own, even with the whole "female transformers must be motorbikes so we have an excuse to make them slender" trend, it's really cool.

It reflects her tough-love approach, and how the war has left her sharp around the edges so she doesn't get hurt again. But she doesn't really feel like an ARCEE design.

Like I've said before, it feels like at times the writers couldn't get permission to get the characters they wanted and decided to write the characters they could get to fit the story they wanted to tell, and that reflects in their designs at times. She takes charge of the team because she's best suited for the job, just ask her.

Arcee even is the one to take out Shockwave and allow her and Cliffjumper's escape- similar to how another blue-femme rescued a similarly named friend from Shockwave's clutches back in G1.

With this design and writing direction, it would have been better suited to another spiky blue femme; Chromia. She even comes with an established red love interest to kill off (sorry Ironhide).

Hell if the writers REALLY wanted they could have even still had her Tailgate Event happen with her favorite sharpshooter (sorry Moonracer).

Arcee girly pop

boombox gone eldritch cyber horror

I love this design so much, but where the HELL is Soundwave supposed to store his minicons??? That's his whole thing! Yes he has Laserbeak- but there should be SOME indication of where his lost Cassettes used to go even if they are dead (which in all likely hood they are but again- SEPERATE post).

It's very interesting to me how stripped down he looks, as though with each cassette he's literally lost a piece of himself.

Give Soundwave his Full-Grown Children Back Damn You.

Rumble and Frenzy would have had a fucking BLAST messing with the Jasper team- humans and bots alike.

Bonus:

I will admit when I found RID Drift's design and how Jetstorm and Slipstream are docked on him, I am curious if Soundwave's had his Cassettes on his arms too.

Because if that is the case Soundwave does have room on his arms for at least two- maybe four on the shoulders.

[scared-of-relationship]

Headcanons for NEL Master Strikers - Blue Lock

First time headcanon, World 5 is on their way, got lost in thoughts while writing them. Please do not reupload this without credit. (Will be edited in the future)

> Noel Noa

I feel like he actually don't enjoy luxury as much as other who is as successful as him

He looks like someone who enjoy picnic, he likes somewhere where eh is near nature, picnic near lake, picnic under the tree...

His smile is the sweetest, even your non-sugar tea will taste so sweet if you drink them while watching him smiling

Lowkey, feel like he likes to buy things he never get to buy when he was still living in slumps of France. AND he might not admit childish things he wants thinking you'll thought it's useless.

He's the happiest man on earth if you get him something that's on his Wishlist for AGES (especially childish things he wants)

I feel like he shows affection through touch.

I don't see him as a man who will do much chores, sorry

The chores he mostly will do without you ask is clean the dishes and do laundry (by that I mean those laundry they do that just put the clothes in the machine and stuff)

Doesn't like the idea of you admiring other man than him.

Even if it's animated character like Gojo from JJK, or Sylus from LnD

(as a LnD player) It's not like he'll prohibited you from playing otome game, its just he feels jealous

you need to assure him from time to time he means the world to you

> Lavinho

Hmmm, Lavinho... He is unique, he is something.

Not even in a bad way, he is genuinely unique. You have never met a man who is like him.

He is mature, but he is also childish.

He is sweet, but he can also be too playful it sometimes quite annoying. But he is still an amazing understanding and respectful man

He is soft, yet he is also rough.

He is... VERY by very i mean VERY romantic lover.

the kind that will kiss the mud you walk on

the kind who take your hand gently and kiss every inch of your skin from your finger to your shoulder then met your lips

Oh, yeah he go nakey alot, mostly at home

or not using shirt from time to time

not because he want to show off his abs or what

He's just used to it. and be ready to see his body more often when summer comes.

And don't expect him to be all cuddly in the summer, you'll be kicked or pick up like kitten and put you on the other side of the bed or couch because "DAMN THE WEATHER ITS SO HOT, EVEN OUR AC FEELS LIKE HEATER" - Lavinho every summer

Don't really mind whatever you like, like literally in anything.

You like drawing, painting? Sure. Sing? Sure. Dancing? Hell yeah! Cooking? Great. Sports? Swimming? Run a marathon? Sure. He supports you in anything you like. Maybe even join you to enjoy those with you.

> Chris Prince

Romantic lover 2.0

I'm talking the money talks moment.

Like HE WILL SPENT HIS ENTIRE LIFE SAVINGS IF YOU LET HIM

What do you want? YSL? Dior? Gucci? Hermes? Versace? Louis Vuitton? Prada? Anything say your poison

If you don't like him spending his money on you, it is fine too. He'll give you anything his body and power can give you. He can be your best friend and your boyfriend (He prefer boyfriend first though) but yeah something like that.

Don't mind him and his stares whenever you both are on a date. Stare at you lovingly like he's on drugs or sumn.

He is VERY energetic, touchy and loud.

Do not trust him with some minor secrets. especially ones where you don't do pinky promise or sumn.

Oh, but you can't also hide anything from him because he'll try to find out, whether with you, by you or not, he'll find out.

You don't tell him what you eat this lunch, he'll kiss you and know DAMN well you just had coffee and pastry with that buttery and coffee taste from your mouth! Oh? Eggs and bacon? HELL YEAH HE IS RIGHT AGAIN

> Marc Snuffy

He's one of these sweet angel, gentleman with lots of respect for you and your choice

He'd respect your beliefs, your choice, everything

Even though there's something he doesn't agree on, he still say it in SUCH a respectful manner

Is he arrogant though? Very

He is not the narcissistic type, but he is confident about his own ability and how great he is.

Held his own head high quite prideful of himself (like the rest of these all men actually).

But not one where you find him annoying, he knows when to be humble and when to be haughty

He treat you better like, genuinely better than anyone you ever dated with

I'm talking about breakfast in bed, do chores, cooks, cleans, help you, pick you up, take you home by 9, not touching you unless you want him to, etc.

Maybe because of his age, maybe you make him to be someone better

Has a harsh mouth towards his kids at work (by that I mean the ubers). I'm talking about, "GOD DAMMIT!" "You damn brat" "What an ass" typa calling but caring and loving

if he ever get mad at you, he actually try to tell you and worried about you

you sometimes may take it that he is a little old minded (he is old) but it's just what he used to hear back when he was your age

he GENUIENLY worried if you ever do stupid shit. Don't do that for the safety of his old heart

> Julian Loki

Like Snuffy, he is used to be told what to do.

By that I mean, he was pushed into the spotlight too young to even experience what it feels like to be a teenager.

He is polite, respectful.

Is he a little narcissistic? yes. Is he arrogant? indeed. Not very but you know its there.

He actually quite the lover, quite romantic, quite sweet, he has the rizz

Oh, he is GEN Z coded, like genuinely.

The way he text, expect shit like "tbh idk wdyt bb?"

WTF WHY YOU TALKIN IN MORSE CODE

"anw wya?" "sn hm ttyl!"

Yeah, you're confused? Me too

His love language to you is GIFT GIVING. But he doesn't like it when you spent money on him, unless its necessary, like if its a gift or sumn like that

He LOVES it when you come to his match! Especially when he spot you in the crowd, OH HE IS GOING INSANE!!!

He likes to show off too, but not so much that it annoys you (it never annoys you tbh)

Yeah, to me he is a sweet summer child.

Maybe a little childish here and there, especially when you're 1-2 years older than him.

a little wanna be babied by you or be all affectionate, dgaf if there's his teammates or paparazzi around

Blue Lock and its characters are created by Muneyuki Kaneshiro and illustrated by Yusuke Nomura. I do not own any rights to the original work; these are all fan-made stories created for entertainment purposes.

[artvscvntymullet]

I have a will idea?

Maybe she works for one of the other creators and Will talks about his Deliveroo/Uber eats bill which is outrageous as he gets takeaway 2 sometimes 3 times a day and she offers to help teach him how to cook and they develop a relationship from that

A TASTE OF SOMETHING NEW - WILLNE

thank you for the request, this one was so fun to write!!

content warnings : none

word count : 2200 words

You’d always known Will was a bit of a mess when it came to his eating habits. It was a running joke among his friends and fans—he was the guy who ordered takeaway like it was an Olympic sport. You’d see him posting on his socials about his latest Uber Eats or Deliveroo delivery, always boasting about how many times he’d “treated himself” to food. But recently, you’d noticed he’d been talking about his takeaway habit a little more than usual.

One evening, while scrolling through your social media feed, you came across a video of Will chatting about how much he spent on food every month. He looked both frustrated and amused as he ran the numbers aloud.

"So, my takeaway bill this month is extortionate," Will said, holding up his phone as if trying to show the camera his bank statement. "Two or three times a day, every day. That’s literally all I’m eating. I can’t cook, so I just keep ordering. I think I could’ve bought a small car with how much I’ve spent."

You couldn’t help but laugh. It was funny—and kind of sad at the same time. Will wasn’t exactly poor, but the guy had absolutely no clue how to feed himself. You had seen him cook in the past, and while he wasn’t hopeless, it was clear that cooking wasn’t his priority. But that’s where you came in. You were known for your skills in the kitchen—friends always begged you to make them meals or show them your recipes. Maybe this was your chance to help Will out.

You didn’t waste any time. You sent him a message: Hey Will, I saw your latest video about your takeaway addiction. I get it—takeaway is great, but your bank account’s not gonna be happy if you keep this up. If you want, I can teach you how to cook. It’s not that hard, and trust me, you’ll save a ton of money. Plus, I’m really good in the kitchen.

It didn’t take long for him to respond, and the message was exactly what you expected: skeptical, but open: Wait, you think you can teach me how to cook? I can barely make toast, but alright, I’m intrigued. What do you have in mind?

You grinned to yourself. The guy was definitely down for the challenge, even if he didn’t believe you could change his ways. You quickly replied: How about we start simple? I’ll show you how to make a decent dinner without burning your kitchen down. I promise you, I won’t let you screw it up. What about this weekend?

His reply came through almost instantly: Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. If I end up with a burnt kitchen, I’m blaming you though.

Saturday arrived, and you were feeling oddly excited about it. You packed up a few groceries, grabbed a few ingredients, and headed to Will’s flat.

When you arrived, he was already waiting for you by the door, grinning sheepishly. "I know I agreed to this, but I still don’t get how you think you can teach me to cook," he said, laughing as you walked inside. "I can’t even microwave food properly. Like, it’s a struggle."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "We’ll start slow. Don’t worry, I’ll be here to guide you." You dropped the bags onto the counter and began pulling out ingredients. "Today, we’re making a simple pasta dish. It’s easy, but it tastes way better than ordering in. Trust me."

The lesson started out slow. Will was completely clueless at first—he needed help with everything, from chopping the vegetables to stirring the sauce. But as you worked through the steps, you noticed something: Will wasn’t just following along because you were telling him what to do. He was genuinely interested. He asked questions, joked around, and seemed to enjoy learning how to actually make something from scratch. It was a bit adorable, to be honest.

"Okay, I’m not gonna lie," Will said, grinning at you from across the counter, "this actually smells good. Like, I’m impressed."

You smiled, pleased with how things were going. "See? It’s not so hard. You just need a little patience and some practice."

By the time dinner was ready, you were both sitting down to the pasta you’d made together. Will took a bite, looking impressed. "Okay, wow," he said, his eyes wide. "This is really good. You weren’t lying." He gave you a playful look. "So, what’s next? Am I ready for a Michelin star?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not quite, but we’ll get there. You’ll be making full meals on your own in no time."

Over the next few weeks, you and Will continued your cooking lessons. You showed him how to make all kinds of things—from stir fry to homemade burgers. Every time, he was impressed by how good the food tasted, and how easy it could be to cook for himself. Slowly but surely, Will was starting to ditch the takeaways.

One evening, after a particularly fun cooking session, Will surprised you. You were both sitting on the couch, enjoying the meal you’d just made, when he turned to you, "I’ve gotta admit," he said, his voice a little more serious than usual, "I never thought I’d be into cooking. But… it’s been pretty fun, hanging out with you. And I’m actually kinda enjoying it. You’re pretty good at this."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. "I’m glad you’re liking it. But, you know, you’ve got a talent for it too. Just needed the right teacher."

There was a slight pause before Will looked at you, a bit more earnest now. "Well, if I’m being honest… I kinda look forward to these cooking sessions more than just the food."

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to quiet down. His gaze softened, and he moved just a little closer, his voice a little lower. "I mean, I really enjoy spending time with you," he added, a bit shy, his eyes meeting yours. "I didn’t expect it, but I think you’re great. I guess… I’m really glad you reached out to help me."

The air between you both felt different now—charged with something new, something more. You shifted closer, your voice barely above a whisper as you responded.

"I’m glad too, Will. I didn’t expect this either… but I think I’m starting to look forward to it too. More than I thought I would."

For a second, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, natural, like everything had led up to this moment. Will hesitated before leaning in just enough to brush his lips against yours, soft and slow. "I think you’ve taught me more than just how to cook," he murmured against your lips, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’ve taught me how to enjoy the little things. Like spending time with someone who makes everything better."

You smiled against his lips, your hand finding its way to his chest. "Well, you’ve been a pretty good student. And I’m starting to think… maybe this could be something even better than cooking."

His eyes softened, a tender look that made your heart race, before he kissed you again, this time a little deeper, a little longer. In that moment, you realized that all the little lessons you’d taught him had led you both here—into something real, something that was growing into something much more than either of you expected.

A few months later, you and Will had become regulars in each other’s kitchens. You still taught him new things, but now it was more than just cooking—it was about building something real together. Every meal, every shared moment, and every smile was a reminder that sometimes, it takes a little help in the kitchen to cook up something much sweeter.

"Hey," Will said one night, as he leaned in to kiss you after a meal you both had just finished preparing, "this whole ‘cooking together’ thing? Best decision I ever made."

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around him. "Yeah, me too."

And for the first time in a long time, you realized that this wasn’t just about cooking anymore, it was something much more.

[sarcasmchandlerbing]

Some Leafs players collages

[feline-evil]

I don't normally talk about his tan because it's all anyone talks about, which i get but it has been an integral part of the character for ages so i'm not surprised by it when i see it and therefore don't have much to add to the convo (i'm more surprised when i DON'T see it), but as much as i know that the show was disrupted by the blizzard and MJF was probably elsewhere/at home/not at the stadium and that's why there was some variance in appearance my little pattern seeking brain is like oooohhh...... hair slicked back straight and tanned vs no tan and curly hair, are these signifiers of the facade vs the real* MJF....And when it looks more hastily or heavily applied is that to show us how artificial the facade is........

*(Still in kayfabe)

Like obviously there's variance he's had his hair unstyled and had the tan at the same time but notably......that's how he looked when the mask slipped. And when the mask was off he had no tan and his curly hair in the mirror scene.... You have to imagine me standing in front of a pinboard Pepe Silvia style ok, that's how i am about this man. It could mean nothing, it could just be natural variation in a sport that requires traveling a lot and being in a lot of different places, if thats the case then RESPECT. But it could also mean everything. The tan IS deliberate it's a deliberate character choice regardless. It might not be as deep as i think it is though. But what if it is? But what if (i am dragged offstage by shepherds hooks)

[theflyingfeeling]

the love of my entire life