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gyuswhore · 10 hours ago

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Cherry Picker [1]

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

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

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out.

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

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

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

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

“Illegal truck, I guess.”

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

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

“Fine. Change.”

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

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

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, did you—”

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

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

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

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

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

“That means—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t afford getting rusty.”

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

“What?”

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

“Lorry!”

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

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

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

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

“Lorelai!”

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

“You’re impossible.”

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

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

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

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

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

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

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

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

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

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

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. Really.”

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

“Only a few months.”

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you bring me here?

Six weeks.

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

Six weeks.

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

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

Six weeks.

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

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

Six weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just play the track,” you grumble.

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

“Lorry!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impossibly, your blood runs cold.

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

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

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason.

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

“I’m worse,” she states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“8 point 5! Nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

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

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?”

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

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

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

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

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

“Good for him.”

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

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

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs.

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

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

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

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

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

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

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

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

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that have to come from me too?”

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She leaves before you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ice is booked.”

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything stops.

!HOT TOPIC!

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

!HOT TOPIC!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lorry,” you sigh.

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

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

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

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

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

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only came third.”

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

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

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

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choi, stop fucking fighting.

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

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

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

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

“You’re temperament—”

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

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

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

“In most cases.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

conditional.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

!HOT TOPIC!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SVT, he reads on their jerseys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

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

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watches as you take a small step back.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

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

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

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold.

“What?” you snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You followed him?”

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

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

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

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

And then worst of all.

Are they dating?

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you said yes?”

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

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply.

“I don’t know.”

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

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

“Fuck no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends with the coach?”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s sickening. Sickening.

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lorelai.”

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

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

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

!HOT TOPIC!

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

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

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

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark?

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

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

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

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

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fgumi · 23 hours ago

Note

i need more loser!heeseung after reading that oh my gosh . yes yes yes yes. #needhim #needthat

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ LO$ER = LO♡ER

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; non-idol!heeseung x reader, GENRE; fluff, headcanon, WC; 2.7k, WARNING(S); mildly suggestive (what’s heeseung supposed to do when you’re so hot?), A/N; your wish is my command. i absolutely love loser!heeseung. it's a need. TAGS; @en-dream @heeheesang @httpenhoon @r1kification @seungheartyou, @starfallia @sugarikiz @hoondolls @bamguetismee @jnysaln @cixrosie @wensurr @heartheejake @m1kkso @hollyoongs @hoonieyun }

loser!heeseung was excited. so excited. why you may ask? because you agreed to go to anime con with him. you even suggested that the two of you cosplay. you asked to go as lucy and david from cyberpunk edgerunners, something that fit the aesthetic you two had built. so, heeseung checked himself out in the mirror, fumbling with the yellow jacket you sewed for him and fixing the pieces of his hair that fell out.

“baby, i think we’re gonna be late if we don’t head out n—”

you came out in your outfit as you adjusted the belt resting on your hip. heeseung didn’t have any words. you looked… gosh, how could he describe you without being weird? you were beautiful, even on the days you didn’t feel it. but… right now? heeseung felt ashamed to say that he understood all those nasty guys thirsting over cosplayers. holy crap, he hit the lotto. you were a vision.

“hee? do i look weird? i wasn’t sure about the wig either,” you pouted as you touched the long white strand.

“no!” heeseung shouted, then cleared his throat. “you look really good.”

you smiled and walked up to him, checking out the two of you in the mirror. “you also look very handsome. we make a good lucy and david, huh?”

your eyes glanced at heeseung through the mirror and noticed he was still looking at you with his mouth agape. you turned to him and waved your hand in front of his face. “hee?”

as he kept staring at you, you shifted. you couldn’t help but blush under his gaze. heeseung gulped. how was he going to keep all those creepy guys away from you? he can’t even fight! he’d have to cover you up! but then he wouldn’t get to look at you in this… this outfit.

you softly planted a kiss on his cheek and that brought him out of his daze. his ears were bright red when he stepped away from you.

“i— uh. um. we— you—” he stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought.

a giggle escaped you at his lack of words. you did a little spin for him. man, heeseung couldn’t help his eyes drifting down at the cutouts on your hips and how short your—no! stop objectifying her. bad heeseung. that is your lovely girlfriend, who you love very much and who, for some odd reasons, loves you too.

“hee,” you interrupted, your lashes lowering—wow, you looked ready to eat him. “i thought we were gonna be late?”

you crept up to him, your hand ghosting over his arm. you pressed into him. “i mean, we don’t have to go. i just thought you wanted—”

you didn’t end up going, by the way. your couple’s cosplay never saw the light of day. instead, they were scattered on your bedroom floor.

loser!heeseung didn’t know how to feel when you asked to play d&d with him. while he said yes (because he’d never say no to you), he was admittedly nervous. what if you thought he was a big nerd and wanted to leave him? what if you hated how he dm’d (dungeon master)? well, it was too late now. you guys were on your way to jeongin’s apartment.

contray to heeseung’s overthinking, you were excited. you finally got to experience one of heeseung’s favorite pastimes. you didn’t really understand the whole thing, but you were open to it! you did some late-night research and built your own little character. she was an eladrin sage druid at level 6. heeseung made sure to let you know that you’d be thrown right into the middle of this campaign and that all the other characters were at level 6.

when you guys arrived at the door, jeongin threw it open and you were taken aback. he was in full costume, armor and all. apparently, jeongin was also taken aback. he didn’t think you were actually coming.

“oh! uh, welcome to my apartment, y/n!” he stepped aside to let you and heeseung in. inside, you saw unfamiliar faces who were also in costume. jeongin pulled heeseung aside and whispered. “i didn’t think you were serious when you said that y/n was coming! and where’s your costume?”

heeseung gave him an apologetic look. “dude, i’m sorry. you know i can’t say no to her. and i didn’t want to overwhelm her before we even left the apartment.”

jeongin sighed. “you better still dm the same with the voices and everything. and no preferential treatment!”

heeseung nodded and went to sit by you. you leaned into him and whispered. “i feel incredibly underdressed. did you know they were going to dress up?”

he rubbed the back of his neck. “we usually do for every session.”

you pouted and looked him up and down. “i would’ve tried dressing up too if i knew! where’s your costume?”

oh, how heeseung loved you. you didn’t even bat an eye that they were all losers that liked to play dress up on a weekly basis. you were just put out that you weren’t told.

“i didn’t wanna pressure you when it’s your first time,” heeseung said, patting your knee. usually, heeseung would kiss your pout away, but he was in a room full of friends who were very blatantly staring at you.

a throat cleared, drawing heeseung’s attention towards jeongin. in a (poor) scottish accent, jeongin said. “dungeon master, the fellowship awaits ye!”

heeseung nodded and pulled out his notes for the campaign. when you tried to peek, he immediately leaned away, keeping the notebook shut. “the people in the campaign can’t see this,” he said.

understanding, you stopped trying to look. you just pulled out your phone with your character sheet on it. jeongin paused in his seat. “oh, y/n, did you need to build your character first? we can wait for you,” jeongin said in his normal voice.

you shook your head and waved your phone. “i built one in d&d beyond! i came prepared, sort of?”

now, jeongin didn’t have much opinion on you other than that you were heeseung’s really hot girlfriend. but, after seeing how you tried to prepare, he could say that he liked you.

once everyone settled down, heeseung resumed the campaign. it amazed you how he was able to switch between all those voices, acting out the npcs of the quest. the way you were staring at him intently made heeseung unusually nervous.

whenever his eyes shifted over to you, his dialogue faltered for a sec before he continued. he interacted with the others of the campaign before coming to a point in the story where you could hop in. you put on a proper english accent, trying to sound as much like arwen from lord of the rings (you watched it countless times with heeseung). if no one else was in the room right now, heeseung would’ve died from your cuteness. a part of him was geeking out right now. his girlfriend, the love of his life, was playing d&d with him. what did he do in his past life to deserve this?

then came the fights. as he narrated, his friends rolled on their turns, fighting against the monsters that heeseung created. when it came to your turn, you looked a bit out of your depth. you were scrolling through moves in the d&d index to see which ones you could do. everyone was thankfully patient with you.

“i use a 3rd level spell slot and call upon lightning to strike the monster closest to jeongin?” you commanded unsurely.

heeseung leaned over, careful to not expose any notes. “baby, you’re gonna hit jeongin with that spell and you gotta reference his character, not him. that spell has a damage radius of 5 feet. the monster is only 3 feet away from him.”

you deflated as you scrolled through your list of spells. you turned your phone to heeseung, showing him the spell you wanted to use instead. “can i use flame arrows instead?”

heeseung could just die from how cute you were. he shook his head and scrolled through your list and clicked on wind wall. “you can use this one and surround the monster. it’ll take bludgeoning damage once the wall forms, regardless of his strength saving throw.”

you nodded and got back into character. you acted as if you were really putting a wind wall up and commanded more confidently. “i erect a wind wall around the monster and separate him from thralladin.”

heeseung got back to dm’ing and rolled his dice, falling short for a saving throw. he took note of the damage and continued everyone else’s turn. the night was fun! heeseung couldn’t believe how quickly you picked it up or how into it you were. at the end of the night, when everyone was leaving, jeongin pulled him aside again. “dude, y/n’s actually cool.”

pride swelled in heeseung’s chest. you managed to get the okay from his friend, not that it really affected how he felt for you. you two said your goodbyes to jeongin and walked home. you were filled with excitement for the next session. “what kind of clothes should i get for illanaria? i’m thinking white robes with some sheer drapes to add a bit of flair. i really need to study up on my spells so i don’t keep wasting time scrolling through the index. should i also get a notebook?”

just when heeseung didn’t think he could fall for you any harder, you proved him wrong.

loser!heeseung has met your parents, but in passing. however, today was a dinner meant to force—he means give a chance (don’t tell y/n he said that)—him to talk to your parents in length.

“don’t be nervous! my mom’s loved you since high school!”

ya, it’s not your mom he’s worried about. your dad on the other hand? what was he even going to talk about with him? football? heeseung could barely understand the sport. home improvement? he always needed your help to build ikea furniture. there wasn’t much he could do to gain some points with your dad. he just prayed that he wouldn’t hate him too much.

after 4 years (you recently celebrated your anniversary!) of being together, heeseung was finally going to talk to your dad. no more small talk while he waits for you to come down. he was actually going to have to make conversation with your father. if his phone didn’t tell him how cold it was, he’d think it was summer with how he was sweating.

the door swung open to reveal your mom, who looked as jovial and vibrant as ever. “kids! come in, come in. it’s freezing out there. that stupid global warming is really messing with the temperature.”

heeseung greeted her warmly, awkwardly accepting her bear hug while balancing the mac n’ cheese in his right hand. she pulled away and gasped. “you brought your famous mac n’ cheese! y/n’s been raving about this ever since she had it. i can’t wait to try it!”

when she rushed off to set it on the dinner table, your dad appeared with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. he peered up at heeseung, since heeseung was slightly taller, and stared at him for a moment.

“so… you brought mac n’ cheese,” your dad said plainly.

heeseung laughed nervously. “i hope that’s okay?”

when your dad didn’t say anything for a second, you slapped his chest. “dad, stop intimidating him!”

your dad cracked a smile before ruffling your hair. “alright, sweetheart.” he clapped heeseung on the back and grinned. “i love mac n’ cheese! dinner’s almost ready, so make yourself feel at home!”

wow, he was a lot less intimidating than heeseung remembered. he thought back to all those moments in high school and wondered if your dad was just pretending to be stoic. your dad guided him to the dinner table before entering the kitchen again. as he moved around, your mom leaned forward. “so, heeseung, when are you going to ask my daughter to marry you?”

you choked on your water, water spraying out of the side of your mouth. heeseung quickly offered you a napkin and patted you on the back. you wiped your mouth and glared at your mom. “mom, that is not one of the preapproved questions. actually, i explicitly said you and dad can’t bring up anything about marriage.”

your mom tsked and pouted. “honey, you’ve been dating for so long. it’s a natural question.”

before you could protest, your dad brought over the rack of lamb, fresh from the oven. he placed it in the center and took off his gloves, kissing the top of your head afterwards. “your mother is just excited to have a son-in-law that can cook. you talk about him all the time. sue her for being curious.”

you talked about him with your parents? you glared up at your dad. “we haven’t even talked about that yet. i wonder why? oh ya, because we’re still in college!”

your dad raised his arms in surrender. “hey, i asked your mom to marry me when we were 16.”

“to which i said no,” your mom playfully jabbed. “we were far too young.”

“we’re also too young,” you grumbled, leaning into heeseung’s side. he wrapped his arms around your shoulder. he hoped your parents didn’t look at him too closely. his blush was probably covering his whole face. he didn’t realize your parents were also high school sweethearts.

“you also rejected dad until you were in college, anyway,” you added, clasping your hand with heeseung’s. ah, so not high school sweethearts.

when your dad settled beside your mom, she patted him on the chest. “he wasn’t always the hunk you see now.”

“okay, that was gross. can we eat now?” you groaned. your dad started making a plate and handed it to your mom. heeseung should also probably do this for you. he pulled away from you and started making your plate, avoiding the deviled eggs and piling on the mac n’ cheese. when he placed it down in front of you, your dad raised his eyebrow. “you still avoiding deviled eggs?”

you brought your plate closer to you, waiting to eat until heeseung had his plate. you stuck your tongue out at your dad. “i don’t when hee makes them.”

your dad looked at heeseung with a surprised look. “you made her eat deviled eggs?”

“i just added miso and switched the regular mayo out for the japanese one,” heeseung sheepishly laughed. “she seemed to enjoy them.”

a boisterous laugh escaped your dad as he leaned his head back. when he caught his breath, he gave heeseung an approving nod. “good on you, man.”

the rest of the dinner went smoothly, and heeseung felt himself relaxing. your dad wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he thought. they easily bonded over cooking and how the women in their life shouldn’t have to lift their pretty little fingers if they didn’t want to. heeseung felt relieved. your dad seemed to like him, especially after you telling him how much heeseung takes care of you.

by the end of it, your dad was inviting him back over—without you. “you should come over and we can workshop a course menu for the girls.”

heeseung grinned, promising to come back soon. you said your goodbyes and drove home. on the drive, you kissed your intertwined hands. “thanks for doing that.”

heeseung shook his head. “it’s no problem. i’m glad i got to talk to your parents.”

“nothing to worry about, right? they really like you,” you teased. “they even want you to marry me so they can trap you forever.”

heeseung hummed. he’d gladly be “trapped�� by your parents if it meant calling you his wife. should he go ring shopping? he didn’t have money for that right now. maybe once he gets his return offer. he could at least scroll on through websites.

“good thing i already do wanna marry you.”

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! you can now leave requests!

#enhypen #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #⍣ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚: writes #⍣ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚: headcanons #⍣ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚: 𝓪𝓷𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 #anon 〠

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billiereid · 2 days ago

Text

Toys: Haikyuu!! x Reader

Warnings: Rated X. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. Minors, do not interact.

Featuring: Toru Oikawa. Hajime Iwaizumi. Wakatoshi Ushijima. Satori Tendo. Fem!Reader.

Contains: Phone sex. Dom/sub dynamics. Begging. Voyeurism / Exhibitionism. Use of vibrators and/or dildos. Overstimulation. Sadist!Tendo. Mention of penetrative sex.

Summary: The subject of toys in the bedroom can be controversial. Everyone seems to have their own opinions, especially when their partner is involved. Here's how I think some of the Haikyuu!! men would feel about their female partner having a toy.

Author's Note: This is written post-timeskip. All characters are written to be adults.

Toru Oikawa

He was the person suggesting them in the first place.

Oikawa is away for his volleyball games all the time. So the two of you picked out a couple to use while he’s away.

When you’re together, he loves watching you get desperate with a vibrator on your clit.

And when he’s away, he has a hard time keeping his hands off himself when he hears you over the phone.

The squelch of your hot, sticky, wet pussy. Your soft moans.

And there are a few things you can say to get him really desperate and needy, all for you.

“Please, Toru,” you whimpered into the phone, tucked between your cheek and the pillow. “Need more… Iss not enough…” Your words were slurred, but Oikawa heard them all the same. He could hear the buzzing of a vibrator in the background. He knew which one it was, of course.

Toru’s voice shook as he spoke, and you knew he was stroking himself vigorously. “Aw, sweet girl,” he cooed, trying to maintain his dominant persona. But when his mind was filled with the sensation of your sweet sex clenching around him, it was hard not to whimper out loud. “It’s not enough? You miss my cock that bad?”

“Yes! Yes, miss you s’much,” you blurted out, your voice getting more and more desperate as the seconds pass. “Wanna come for your cock…”

Oikawa did his best to stifle his voice, but a slutty moan still dripped from his lips as you begged for him. “Oh babygirl,” he groaned. “Don’t worry. When I get home I’m gonna make you come so hard you can’t walk straight.”

Hajime Iwaizumi

He was a little bit intimidated by the fact that you have a toy.

The idea that something besides him could bring you so much pleasure is…

Well…

Disconcerting to him.

But then he walked in on you while you’re using it.

And he was s m i t t e n.

Both of you seemed to be frozen in time.

Iwaizumi was home early from a training session. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet. You were having a little bit of alone time. You hadn’t even heard the front door to your shared apartment open and shut. You didn’t even realize he was home until the door to your shared bedroom swung open, allowing the golden light from the hallway to pour into the dark room.

He saw you then. Wide eyes. Face flushed with pleasure. Wand attached to your clit. Pussy leaking with your arousal. You were frozen in time, startled by seeing him so abruptly in such a vulnerable position.

“Fuck, baby…” he uttered in a whisper, almost a growl. He didn’t dare move yet, wanting to burn this image into his memory for the rest of time. After a moment, he lets his duffle bag fall to the floor and takes a couple of steps toward the bed, eyes trained on your weeping pussy. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t bear the thought.

He sat on the bed, roughly tugging his dick free from his shorts and boxers. “Don’t fucking stop,” Hajime uttered quietly, as if being too loud was going to ruin the moment. “I wanna see you come.”

Wakatoshi Ushijima

He enjoys the fact that you have toys.

But he will very rarely use them on you.

It isn’t that he doesn’t like them, or that he doesn’t want to.

He just doesn’t usually think about it.

But if you ask…

This man will literally do anything you ask.

You had been so unbelievably sweet when you asked.

Ushijima couldn’t say no to you. Not when you were laid underneath him in just your panties, looking up at him with those eyes…

And now, here you were, laid underneath him. Your legs were wrapped around his waist. He was buried inside you to the hilt, thrusting slowly. He held a wand to your clit. He could feel the powerful vibrations on his dick. He was desperate now, watching you squirm and whimper under the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

You had come at least four times now, but Wakatoshi wasn’t stopping. In this moment, he was obsessed with the way you twitched underneath him. And that feeling only intensified when your cunt started gushing around his dick.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, almost mindlessly. “You look so fucking gorgeous like this…”

Satori Tendo

He’s a sadist if I ever did see one.

In all seriousness, he loves toys in the bedroom.

He never does last very long on his own.

So he likes to torture you with toys first, so he can make the moment last as long as possible.

How long had it been? How many times had you already come?

You had lost track. It seemed like hours that you had laid underneath Tendo on the bed. Your squirt covered your thighs, your ass, the sheets beneath you, and Satori’s face and hands. Your eyes were glassy, your face flushed, your legs trembling as you did your best to keep them spread. There was a fresh, red handprint on your inner thigh where he had punished you for letting them fall closed before.

But he hadn’t lost track. No, he was keeping a very detailed count of how many times you came, how many times you squirted, how many times the pleasure had brought tears to your eyes. Which toys made you come the hardest, which ones made your eyes roll back, which ones made your legs shake, and which ones made you squirt. The selection of toys he had used was spread out on the bed next to you, each one more covered in your slick and come than the last.

Finally, you watch Tendo take off his boxers. Even with your tired, glassy eyes, you could see how hard it was. It was an angry shade of red, the veins prominent up and down the length. You wondered if it hurt him to be that hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. He lifted your legs over his shoulders, practically bending you in half as he leaned down and whispered in your ear, “You think you can come one more time for me?”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu smut #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi smut #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima #ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu tendo #tendo #tendo x reader #tendo smut

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achilles-rage · 12 hours ago

Text

Stop Moving

summary: when you’re both invited to an old friend’s wedding, you decide to share a hotel room to save money. imagine your surprise when you open the door and realize that there’s only one bed.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this was gonna be a drabble based on a couple prompts, but i got carried away, so here’s this!! it’s a mix of a bunch of different tropes, hope you enjoy<33

warnings: smut, buck living up to the nickname firehose (hehe), reader’s first time, friends to lovers, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ only!

You were surprised when you got the wedding invitation; you haven’t heard from the groom in years, not since you met him when you were visiting your grandparents when you were a teenager. You were even more surprised when your friend from work, Buck, had also gotten an invitation.

Small world, you think.

You learned that they had met when he was travelling the country in his early twenties, and although neither of you had seen him in years, you thought you’d both go together. To save money.

You felt like you’d been driving for hours as you make your way to the wedding, but finally, Buck pulls into the hotel parking lot.

You lug all of your bags inside and get the key to your room; deciding to room together for a couple of nights. It’s not like you’ll be in the room much, anyway, and you’re close enough with Buck that it doesn’t seem like a big deal.

It feels like a bit bigger of a deal, though, when you open the door and see one queen sized bed in the middle of the room.

Yoy let out a sigh as you walk over and drop your bags on the bed, too tired to think about the complications of your situation.

“I can go down and ask for a different room?” Buck says, his words barely registering as you sit down on the bed then lay back, closing your eyes.

“It’s fine. We can do it tomorrow. I'm too tired.” you mumble, and when he finally turns and sees you already laying on the bed, he chuckles softly.

“Yeah, sure. Alright. We can definitely do that.” he says, throat going dry as it sinks in that you’ll be sharing a bed.

He’s liked you for months, but he’s been too afraid of ruining your friendship, so he’s never done anything about his feelings.

You both take your turns changing in the bathroom, and when you pull your pajamas out of your bag, your stomach drops. You were expecting to be sleeping alone, and all you packed was an oversized shirt. One that just barely covers your ass.

You put the shirt on with a loud sigh, then peek your head out of the bathroom door to see Buck already in bed, shirtless.

“Okay, I only packed a pajama shirt. So, we’re gonna ignore it, and never talk about this again.” you say as you look around the corner at him. His eyes raise up to meet yours when he hears your voice, and then he smirks, setting his phone down on his lap to watch your walk of shame.

“Right, no teasing. Got it.” he says smugly, eyes glued to you as you finally step out from around the corner and make your way towards your side of the bed.

His eyes travel down your bare legs, and he has to fight the urge to let out a low groan. He watches the way your thick thighs move with each step, and he has to force his eyes back up to your face. He wouldn’t be able to explain away the fact that he’s rock hard under the sheets if you were to notice.

You turn off your lamps and get settled without another word, but after a little while, you feel a shiver erupt through your body. It's freezing in this room, and the thin sheets aren’t doing a thing to protect you from the cold.

Buck feels you shiver beside him, and he gets up quickly and walks over to the a/c unit to turn up the heat. You hear him huff a moment later, and you lift your head off the pillow to look at the outline of his body in the dark, brow raised.

“The A/C is broken. It’s stuck at this temperature.” he says with a huff, then gets back into bed.

When he’s back under the sheets, he reaches out and touches your arm, hissing quietly as his fingers feel how cold your skin is.

“You’re freezing. come here.” he tells you, opening his arms and urging you over.

“No, I'm fine.” you try to reassure him just as a shiver ripples through your body; from your head to your toes.

“No, come here. I'll warm you up.” You sigh, then move over to him slowly, turning around and pressing your back to his chest as he pulls you closer.

You feel instantly warmer as his skin touches yours, but now you just feel awkward, not wanting to move. His breath is hitting your neck with each exhale, and he feels so good wrapped around you, but you can feel your heart threatening to burst out of your chest at your situation.

After a while, you think he’s fallen asleep, so you move slightly, trying to get comfortable in his arms. You’re still pressed against him, but you don’t think you’re moving that much. You’re proven wrong, however, when his hand grips your hip hard, forcing you to stop moving.

“Stop moving.” he whispers, voice tight and sharp.

“Whg? I’m just trying to-” you begin, but the words die in your throat when you feel his hard cock against your back.

Your lips part in surprise, and your breath catches in your throat at the idea that you did that to him. God, you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole right now.

“I'm sorry.” you whisper, beginning to move away from him, but his hand on your hip stops you immediately.

“Don’t apologize.” he replies, then raises up onto his elbow, looking down at you as you turn slightly to meet his eyes.

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes, but he can also see the emotions behind it as well, the lust, and without thinking twice, he leans down and kisses you softly.

The kiss starts out unsure, his hand trembling just a millimetre from your cheek as he gauges your reaction. But, when he feels you melt into him, he kisses you deeper, desperately.

You moan softly against his lips, and when he gets that hint of satisfaction from you, he’s quick to move on top of you, hips pinning you down as his kisses move down your neck.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” he rasps against your skin while one hand moves up and down your side and the other holds himself up.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask as he brings his head back to look at you, smiling cheekily.

“Didn’t wanna ruin the friendship.” he says with a shrug, then kisses your lips again. His actions are like he can’t even believe this is happening, and you don’t believe it either. You just hope to anyone that will listen that this isn’t only happening because he’d be turned on by anyone in his bed.

“It's ruined now.” you say softly, a smile making its way onto your face as he pulls back and lets his fingers move down your body and towards the waistband of your panties.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” he says with a quiet chuckle before letting his fingers dip under the fabric of your panties and attach to your throbbing clit.

You have to bite back a moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip as his fingers move in gentle circles, but he shakes his head, tutting softly.

“Uh, uh. Let me hear you.” he tells you earnestly, taking in the sight of you looking up at him with so much desperation in your eyes.

“Buck, please.” you whisper after a moment, feeling lust fill your belly. All you want right now is him, not his fingers.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes searching yours as he slows the movements of his fingers working at your clit.

“Yes.” you say breathlessly, nodding fervently. Without another word he pushes your panties to the side, and then pulls himself from his pants, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Wait,” you hesitate just as the head of his cock threatens to push past your glistening folds. “I've never- I haven't done this before.”

He stops immediately, stilling as he processes your words. You feel your cheeks heating up as he looks down at you with furrowed brows, embarrassment filling your body at your confession.

“Never?” he clarifies, tilting his head to the side.

“No.” you whisper, voice barely audible as your eyes dart away from his.

You’re surprised when his lips meet yours again, his touch and presence so reassuring as your racing heartbeat slows.

“That's alright. We can take it as slow as you want.” he tells you when he pulls back, eyes soft and understanding. His smile makes you smile, and you nod slowly, letting out a relieved sigh.

“Okay, I'm ready.” you tell him, and he nods, telling you to stop him if you need a break before he begins to push his cock into your dripping pussy.

“There we go, good girl. Just relax for me.” he coos, easing into you slowly to let you adjust to his size. He feels guilty as he sees your face scrunch up in discomfort, but he knows that the feeling is normal, and he needs to take it slowly to make sure you’re okay.

“Doing so good. Almost there, baby.” he reassures you when he’s halfway into you, feeling your grip on his shoulders tighten as you grow accustomed to the sheer size of him.

Finally, he’s buried himself to the hilt, but he stays still, wanting you to feel comfortable enough for him to begin to move again.

“Tell me when I can move, okay?” he says, looking into your eyes as they flutter closed, and then open, and then closed.

“Okay. You can move.” you say after a moment, opening your eyes and looking up at him.

He nods, then pulls out slowly, watching your face for any sign of pair or discomfort before pushing back into you, groaning as you clench around him and pull him further into your tight cunt.

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.” he growls, bringing his head down to press his lips to yours, trying to keep your mind off the slight discomfort you no doubt feel. He knows he’s not necessarily the best person to take you for the first time; his size having been a problem even with more experienced women, but he doesn’t even want to think about you giving yourself to another man.

No one else will treat you as well as him. No one will take their time with you like he will.

He keeps his pace slow and steady, moaning in your ear each time you whimper or squirm under him.

It doesn’t take long for either of you to get close to the edge; the very idea that he finally has you being enough to get Buck there, and the attention he gives to your clit with his fingers having that pit in your belly growing with each second that passes

“Buck, I’m gonna-” you whimper, clenching around him as you teeter on the edge.

“Let go, pretty girl. I’ve got you.” he purrs in your ear, feeling himself twitching inside of you as he brings his lips back to yours again.

You both cum with loud moans, bodies going taut in pure ecstasy as Buck fills you full of his seed. At this moment he thinks about the fact that he doesn’t know if you’re even on birth control, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re squeezing him so fucking good.

When he finally pulls out, he goes to the bathroom to grab a warm washcloth and clean you up, and then he pulls you into his arms and lets you rest your head against his chest.

Right as you drift to sleep, Buck speaks quietly, his arm squeezing your shoulder as he whispers “I love you.”

The next day goes by quickly. The wedding is beautiful, and your shared friend is exactly the same as you both remember him.

You both sit right beside each other at your table for dinner, Buck’s hand never leaving your thigh.

He's finally got you, and he never wants to let you go again. Especially when you look so pretty in your dress.

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mattsobvimyfav · 2 days ago

Text

neighbors (matthew sturniolo)

pt 10

A couple of days had passed and Nick just posted the vlog from our drive around LA. Charlie and I were lounging on the couch, scrolling through our phones. My notifications had been blowing up all day. Every few seconds, a new comment popped up, most of them about the kiss Matt and I had shared in the vlog. The hate comments didn’t faze me—they were ridiculous and honestly kind of entertaining. People had too much time on their hands.

“Oh my God,” Charlie said, leaning over to peek at my phone. “They’re actually mad about a kiss? Like, of all things to care about.”

I shrugged, smirking. “Apparently, I’m public enemy number one. Should I frame this?”

She laughed, but before either of us could say more, my phone started buzzing. Matt’s name flashed on the screen. I answered quickly, putting the call on speaker.

“Hey,” I greeted casually, expecting him to laugh about the comments with me.

“Have you seen my comment section?” His voice was tense, his tone clipped.

I sat up straighter. “Uh, yeah. People are being dumb. Who cares?”

“I care,” he snapped. “It’s not just about you, Y/N. They’re not even saying awful things about me. Its just about how I ‘picked the wrong girl’ or whatever. It’s everywhere.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me, mouthing, ‘Seriously?’

“Matt, they’re just bitching,” I said, trying to stay calm. “You know none of that matters.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” he shot back. “Your TikTok isn’t flooded with comments about how I ‘deserve better’ or how you’re ‘using me for clout.’ It's pissing me off.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Okay, so what do you want to do? We can’t control what people say.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before he spoke again, his tone softer but still firm. “Troll back. Lets just start making whatever we are way more public give them a real reason to be mad.”

I hesitated, glancing at Charlie, who was already nodding eagerly as if to say, ‘Just do it.’

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let’s do it, I love being a dick online.”

Matt let out a breath, some of the tension easing from his voice. “Deal. I’ll come over later.”

As I hung up, Charlie smirked at me. “Hes gonna make you do porn on tiktok.”

“We havent even fucked,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“WHAT?” She yelled jumping up sitting straight up “What the fuck was going on the other night than?”

“He just ate me out and oh my god the hottest thing ever, he was so turned on that started jerking off. Just to eating me out” I said feeling a warmth between my legs rethinking about the night me and Matt shared.

“Wow. Thats really fucking hot, hes inlove with you” Charlie said looking away from me “Im picturing it in my head. I'm jealous” I laughed at her response as we laid back down going back to our phones.

Later that night, Matt came over, his irritation over the comments still lingering but hidden under his usual calm demeanor. I greeted him at the door, grinning as I waved him inside. "Ready to show the internet who's boss?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "You mean, ready to show the internet that I don’t care, but also kind of care? Yeah, let’s do this."

Charlie, lounging on the couch with her popcorn, chimed in. “Make it iconic, okay? Something that makes the haters cry.”

Scrolling through TikTok, I landed on the “A boy who’s jacked and kind” trend. I turned the screen to Matt. “How about this one? It’s simple, it’s bold, and it’ll get them talking.”

Matt glanced at the screen, then at me, his lips quivering into a smirk. “You really think you can handle me lifting you like that?”

“Please,” I scoffed. “The question is whether you can handle me.”

Charlie snorted from the couch. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

We set up the phone, positioning it on the kitchen counter for the perfect angle. Charlie jumping around on the couch in the back, I stood in front of Matt as the trend’s audio began playing. The line “A boy who’s jacked” came up, and right on cue, Matt’s hands slid to my hips. With a swift, practiced motion, he lifted me effortlessly, placing me on his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me as I balanced on his shoulder, gripping onto him for support. The audio continued, transitioning to “and kind,” and Matt gave the camera with a playful grin, tapping my leg lightly.

Matt walked over grabbing his phone while I was still on his shoulders, added the caption: “my lady” and hit post.

Charlie shrugged, looking over Matt’s shoulder. “I like my cameo.”

Matt gently lowered me back to the ground, his hands lingering on my waist. “Think that’ll do the trick?”

I leaned into him slightly, grinning. “Oh, it’ll definitely stir the pot. But at least this time, it’s on our terms.”

We flopped onto the couch next to Charlie, refreshing the post to watch the views climb almost instantly. Matt wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as the first wave of comments rolled in.

As we sat on the couch, watching the likes and comments roll in from Matt’s TikTok, I turned to him with a mischievous grin. “Okay, now it’s my turn. We’re making one for my account.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see,” I teased, grabbing his hand to pull him up. “We need a parking lot for this one.”

Without hesitation, he stood, grabbed his keys, and intertwined his fingers with mine. I laughed as he practically dragged me to the door, his excitement contagious.

“BYE LOVERS! Chris and Nick will be here when you get back!” Charlie yelled from the couch.

“Bye baby!” I yelled back to her

By the time we reached the car, I was giggling uncontrollably. “You don’t even know what we’re doing yet.”

“Don’t care,” he said opening the passenger door for me. “You said parking lot, so we’re going to a parking lot.”

The drive was filled with us singing to old songs wed listen to in college. His curiosity clearly bubbling under the surface. “So,” he finally asked, “are you going to clue me in, or do I just wing it when we get there?”

I smirked, looking out the window. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

He shook his head, chuckling as he turned into a small, dimly lit parking lot. “This good enough for your tiktok?”

“Perfect,” I said, hopping out of the car. I grabbed my phone and propped it up against the tire, adjusting the angle until it captured the open space behind us.

Matt leaned against the car, watching me with amused curiosity. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s the move?”

I pulled up the audio and played it for him, explaining as it went. “Okay, so, I start spinning in the frame when the music begins, and then you run in, pick me up, and keep running off-screen.”

He nodded, walking away.

I laughed, hitting record and jogging into position. The audio started, and I spun slowly, my arms outstretched as the music swelled. ‘You better lock your phone-’ Right on cue, Matt dashed into the frame, scooping me up effortlessly. I squealed in surprise as he kept running, the camera capturing the two of us disappearing into the shadows.

When he finally stopped, both of us were laughing uncontrollably. “That was perfect,” I said, catching my breath as he set me down.

“Obviously,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Now, let’s see it.”

We walked back to the car, reviewing the footage together under the soft glow of the streetlights. The video was exactly what I had imagined.

“You’re posting that, right?” Matt asked, his arm draped casually over my shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I said, uploading the video with the caption: “my future baby daddy.”

As we got back into the car, I glanced over at him, grinning. “You really don’t question anything, do you?”

He shrugged, kissing my forehead. “Not when it comes to you.”

When we got back to the house, the sound of voices and laughter greeted us as we stepped inside. Chris and Nick were now sprawled out on the couch with Charlie, the TV playing in the background.

As soon as I walked in, a wave of excitement hit me. Everything had been going so well lately, and I couldn’t help but feel like life was finally falling into place. “Guys!” I yelled, throwing my arms up in the air. “We should celebrate tonight!”

Nick perked up, looking intrigued. “What are we celebrating exactly?”

“Everything!” I exclaimed. “Life!”

Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Yes Y/N! I LOVE CELEBRATING LIFE!” Chris jumped up wrapping his arms around my shoulders behind me as we jumped like school girls.

Nick’s face lit up. “Well, if we’re talking about celebrating, I know Tara Yummy is throwing a party tonight. Should we go?”

Charlie’s eyes widened with excitement. “I’m in! We haven’t been to one of her parties. We've only ever dmed her a few times about a collab”

Matt looked over at me, smirking. “You good with that?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation, “Let’s go, I can tell Chris is gonna match my freak tonight” I said while patting his arm that was hanging on me.

Charlie laughed at me and Chris jumping around, we exchanged a quick glance before I turned, pointing toward the door. “Alright, you three. Go home and get ready.”

Nick groaned but stood up, dragging Matt with him. “Fine, but you better not take forever.”

“No promises!” Charlie called out as the boys headed out, leaving us to start planning our outfits for the night.

The moment the boys left, Charlie and I raced upstairs to start getting ready. The excitement of the night buzzed between us, making us laugh and talk over each other as we dug through our closets for the perfect outfits.

“I’m thinking something bold,” I said, pulling out a burgundy strapless corset top that hugged my figure and showed off just the right amount of cleavage. I paired it with a tight black cloth skirt that barely covered my ass and my black heeled boots. “What do you think?”

Charlie whistled, grinning. “Matt’s going to fuck you infront of everyone.”

I laughed, tossing a pillow at her. “We’re celebrating life, remember? What about you?”

She held up a black crop top with thin straps that fit her perfectly and paired it with a jean mini skirt that showed off her long legs. She added a pair of cute ankle boots. “How’s this?”

“Absolutely stunning,” I said with a grin.

We got to work on our makeup and hair, After straightening my hair and leaving it sleek and shiny, I turned to Charlie, who was curling her hair into loose waves.

“You’re going to have every guy at that party eating out of your hand,” I teased, spraying her hair with setting spray.

“Please, as long as Chris is that's all I care ‘bout,” she shot back, but her smile was wide.

By the time we finished, we took a couple pictures in the mirror, grinning like excited to finally meet Tara, and get drunk.

“Let’s do this,” I said, grabbing my phone to text the boys to let them know we were almost ready.

“They better not keep us waiting,” Charlie added with a laugh as we headed downstairs, our heels clicking against the floor, excitement building for the night ahead.

Charlie and I were halfway through our second nip of vodka, as we danced around the kitchen. The boys walked in just as I tipped the tiny bottle back, the liquid burning slightly as it slid down my throat.

“Starting without us?” Nick teased. Chris followed close behind, already laughing at the scene.

Matt came in last, his eyes locking on me immediately. I caught the smirk tugging at his lips as he walked over. Just as I was placing the empty nip on the counter, his hands slid around my waist, and one moved down to grab my butt firmly.

I shrieked, startled, and spun my head around to glare at him, but he leaned down to whisper in my ear, his voice low and teasing. “Let’s go.”

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I turned back around, trying to hide my flushed face as I reached for my bag. Charlie wiggled her eyebrows at me but said nothing as she grabbed her purse and slid her phone into it.

“All set?” Chris asked.

“Matt’s driving,” Nick said with a grin.

“Lucky me,” I said, giving Matt a playful smirk. “That means you can take care of me when I'm hammered.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled, gesturing toward the door. “Per usual.”

Charlie and I followed the boys outside, the cool night air hitting our skin as we clicked down the driveway in our heels. Matt opened the passenger door for me, and I slid in, adjusting my skirt as he walked around to the driver’s side. Charlie climbed into the back with Chris and Nick, and we were off, heading for Tara’s party.

The car was filled with excitement and music as we drove, everyone hyped for the night ahead. I leaned back in my seat, sneaking a glance at Matt as he drove, his hand gripping the wheel tightly, the other holding my thigh.

The house was packed with music blasting through the speakers and groups of people talking and laughing in every corner. As we walked in, the energy was electric.

“Y/N! Charlie!” A high-pitched squeal came from across the room, and Tara was practically sprinting toward us. She threw her arms around me first, then Charlie, her excitement contagious. “I was so excited when Nick told me you guys were coming! Finally, I get to meet the infamous Y/N and Charlie. You’re even prettier in person!”

Charlie and I exchanged amused smiles. “You’re so sweet, Tara,” I said, hugging her back.

“Come on,” Tara said, linking her arms with ours. “Let me show you where the drinks are. We’re getting started right now.”

She led us through the crowd, leaving Matt, Nick and Chris to socialize with other people, to a makeshift bar setup on the kitchen counter, complete with every type of alcohol imaginable. Tara wasted no time, grabbing shot glasses and pouring tequila like a pro.

“Let’s go, ladies,” she said, holding up her shot glass.

“Cheers!” we all yelled, clinking glasses before throwing back the first shot.

And then the second.

And then the third.

Before long, Charlie and I were fully committed to a shot-for-shot competition with Tara, each round getting harder to keep up with her.

“Come on, lightweight!” Tara teased as Charlie hesitated before the seventh shot, but I wasn’t about to back down. I threw our shot back, wincing as the burn hit my throat.

By the time an hour had passed, the three of us were absolutely obliterated. Tara was laughing so hard she was leaning on the counter for support, and Charlie and I were clinging to each other to stay upright.

“I love you guys,” Tara slurred, throwing her arms around us. “You’re my favorite people in the world now.”

“You’re my favorite!” Charlie yelled back, equally as drunk, before dissolving into giggles.

I nodded enthusiastically, my head spinning but too far gone to care. “Best friends forever,” I declared, raising my empty shot glass in the air like it was some kind of victory trophy.

The party was in full swing, the music pounding in my chest as I stumbled my way through the crowd, drink still clutched in my hand. My vision blurred slightly, but I was riding a wave of tipsy confidence—until I spotted him.

Matt.

He was leaning casually against the wall, talking to some girl. She was laughing at something he said, leaning in just a little too close. A flash of annoyance surged through me, cutting through the haze of alcohol. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to our college days—Matt fucking girl after girl.

Fueled by jealousy and bad judgment, I stormed across the room, stumbling slightly but determined. “What the hell is this?” I blurted, my voice louder than I intended.

Matt straightened up, his brows furrowing as he looked at me. “Y/N—”

“No, seriously,” I slurred, gesturing wildly at the girl. “What’s happening here?”

The girl blinked in confusion, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, I’m gonna go...” she muttered, excusing herself quickly as the tension between Matt and me became palpable.

Matt’s jaw tightened, and before I could say another word, he grabbed my wrist. “We’re not doing this here,” he said firmly, his voice low but commanding. He pulled me through the crowd, ignoring my protests, until we were in a quiet, empty room.

He let go of my wrist, closing the door behind us. Turning to face me, his eyes were sharp, his tone clearly pissed. “What the fuck was that, Y/N?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” I shot back, swaying slightly on my feet. “Talking to some random girl like I don’t even exist? What’s the deal, Matt? Back to your old habits?”

His hands went to his temples, rubbing them in frustration. “Are you serious right now? She’s just a friend! And even if she wasn’t, that’s not what this is. You’re drunk and making something out of nothing.”

“I saw the way she was looking at you,” I accused, my voice trembling. “And you weren’t exactly pushing her away.”

He took a step closer, his voice lowering as he leaned in. “Y/N, you’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight. Chill the fuck out.”

As Matt’s words echoed in the small, dimly lit room, I could feel the tension building, the weight of everything from the party to my frustrations pressing down on me. But then, unexpectedly, the alcohol made everything feel lighter.

I giggled, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably from my chest. "I love you," I blurted out, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Matt looked at me, eyebrows raised, clearly taken aback by my sudden shift in mood. "What?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

I shrugged, the smile on my face turning mischievous despite the still-present anger in my head. "I mean, I do," I said, a silly grin stretching across my face.

He stood there, speechless for a moment, his eyes searching mine. His lips quirked upward into a small, amused smile as he let out a deep breath. "You’re drunk, Y/N."

"Yeah, I know," I said, still grinning, "but I still love you."

He shook his head, chuckling lightly, before stepping closer. "You're lucky you're cute when you're drunk."

"You still love me, though," I teased,

"Yeah, I do," he admitted, his expression softening. "But let's get you back to the party before you start loving everyone."

I laughed again, “How about you just let me love you..” I pushed Matt back as he stumbled onto the bed.

“y/n don't… you're drunk.” Matt said as I walked towards him, placing myself on his lap.

“Just shut the fuck up Matt and kiss me”

And when he finally gave me what I wanted, his lips crashing against mine as he moved against me, the world disappeared. There was only Matt—his touch, his voice, his everything.

Matt’s hands gripped my hips, his hold firm but controlled, as if he was grounding himself as much as he was grounding me.

His body was flush against mine, every inch of him radiating heat. “Wait till tomorrow,” he murmured, his lips brushing against mine, teasing but not giving me the kiss I desperately wanted. “I refuse to fuck you this drunk, y/n. And you are making it oh so hard”

“Shut up,” I whispered, tugging at his hair to start kissing his neck as I grinded my hips into his.

His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch was both gentle and possessive, a reminder that in this moment, I was his and his alone.

“Get off me before I go against all my morals,” he said, his voice rough and full of promise. “I say full of love and respect.” he moaned out as I perfected my last hickey on him.

“There, I just needed you to shut up so I could show people. You belong to someone” I said as I leaned back looking at my work.

“Good to know.” Matt said as he leaned down, starting his own art peace on my chest.

Once he was finished he grabbed my hips standing me up. “Lets go baby” He grabbed my hand pulling me towards the door. I stopped in the mirror fixing my hair and seeing Matt's two hickeys, one on each breast. Matt walked over to the mirror inspecting the couple I left trailing down his neck. “God you are so sexy” He said, kissing my cheek as he guided me out to the party.

As Matt and I stepped back into the party, the loud music and chatter hit me like a wave. The room felt like it was spinning a little, but I held onto Matt's arm for balance. We were just about to make our way back to the group when Chris spotted us from across the room.

He ran over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There you are," he said, stopping in front of us. His eyes flicked between Matt and me before landing on me. "Y/N, I need you bad."

My eyebrows shot up, and Matt's posture immediately tensed beside me, sensing something was off. Chris, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the undercurrent of tension.

"I'm sorry," Chris said with a playful shrug, glancing over at Matt, "No, not like that anymore. I need you as my beer pong partner." He laughed realizing how bad his first sentence sounded.

Matt's grip on my arm tightened, but before I could even ask what he meant, Chris waved a hand dismissively and added with a wink, I couldn't help but laugh, feeling the tension ease a bit. "You scared me for a second there," I joked, shaking my head at Chris.

Matt let out a small laugh too, his shoulders loosening as he realized it was just Chris being his usual, over-the-top self. "Yeah, she’s off-limits for now," Matt said, his tone affectionate but teasing. "But you can have her for beer pong."

Chris grinned and pulled me toward the game, but not before giving Matt a quick look. "Don't worry, I only need her to win this game. And you," he added, glancing at me, "are the best person for the job."

"Let’s do it then," I said, grinning and ready to dive into the chaos of the game, trying to push any lingering doubts aside.

Chris, despite being a bit too drunk to focus, had an energy that was hard to ignore. He bounced on his feet, grinning like a madman as he lined up to take his first shot. “Alright, we got this, Y/N,” he said with way too much confidence, raising his beer.

Across from us, Jake and Tara stood ready, both giving us playful smirks. Tara was already holding her own drink, clearly just as drunk as me, while Jake had a look of determination on his face, obviously eager to win. “You’re going down,” Jake said with a laugh, tossing the ping pong ball up and readying himself to launch it across the table.

Nick and Matt stood off to the side, cheering us on. Nick was practically jumping up and down in excitement, while Matt pushed himself off the wall, going behind me whispering in my ear. "Come on, Baby"

The game started off slower than I expected, with Chris getting distracted by anything and everything—whether it was a drink on the table or someone else at the party walking by. But even in his drunken state, he was surprisingly good. Tara missed her first few shots, but Jake was still hitting his, making me sweat a little. I had to focus, but thankfully, Chris and I managed to keep our heads in the game.

We took turns, and each time, I felt the tension rise. Tara and Jake had their competitive energy going, but it was clear Chris and I had the upper hand—probably because Tara and Jake were having more fun than they were serious about winning. Chris finally got it together after a few more missed throws, throwing his ball with incredible force and sinking it into one of the last cups.

“Fuck yeah!” Chris shouted, stumbling and almost tipping over. I had to grab him to stop him from falling off balance.

In the final round, it came down to one last shot. Jake was up, and I knew he was going to give it everything he had. He took a deep breath, lined up his shot, and threw the ping pong ball—only for it to bounce off the rim and miss entirely. The room fell silent for a second before Chris and I erupted into cheers.

“We did it!” I yelled, laughing as Chris grabbed me in a half-hug and spun me around. “I can’t believe we won!”

Nick and Matt, who had been watching from the sidelines, immediately started clapping and cheering. “FINALLY!” Nick shouted, high-fiving Chris.

Tara and Jake laughed good-naturedly, though I could tell they were a little disappointed. “Alright, alright, you guys earned it,” Jake said, tossing a playful glare in our direction.

An hour had passed, and the energy of the party was starting to get to me. I could feel the buzz starting to wear off, and I was ready to head home. I looked over at Matt, who was leaning against the wall, talking to Nick. He caught my eye, and I gave him a small nod, silently telling him I was ready to go.

I walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. "Matt, I think it's time to head home," I said, trying to keep the smile on my face, but feeling the exhaustion from the party creeping in. The lights were too bright, the music a little too loud, and I just wanted to go back to the comfort of my place.

Matt nodded, his hand immediately finding mine. "Alright, let's get out of here," he said, pulling me toward the door. We waved to Tara and a few others as we made our way out of the party and into the cool night air.

Nick, who went to get Chris and Charlie, was already making his way to the car, pulling Chris and Charlie along with him. We all piled into the car, with Matt driving, me in the passenger seat, and the rest of the crew in the back. The ride was mostly quiet, everyone content in their own thoughts after a long night.

As we drove through the city streets, I could feel the tension finally easing. The party was fun, but there was something about heading home with Matt, knowing the night was winding down. I leaned my head against the window, watching the streetlights blur past as we made our way home.

Matt glanced over at me, a small smile on his face. "You good?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Yeah," I replied, smiling back at him. "Just ready to be alone with you."

We drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence, the sounds of the car and the occasional laugh from the backseat filling the air. The night had been eventful, but now all I wanted was the peace of being home with Matt.

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#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #neighbor #roommates

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triplefrontierbabe · 3 days ago

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Hey! I love reading your work eSPECIALLY the smaus they're just 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼 I want them to be in my soul you get me?

Anyways I wanted to request a sebastian vettel x reader fic where he's living alone/occasionally gets his kids around the house and the reader is his neighbour, a little bonding over the snowstorm and power outage, and him helping w the occasional car trouble (wink wink) Nothing too specific just wanted to read about seb through your writing!

Snowed In with Sebastian Vettel

summary: you’re snowed in, so is Sebastian

pairing: f! reader x single! dad! Sebastian

warning: pining, some fluff?

a/n: I’m absolutely in love with all the Sebastian requests I’ve gotten. Also, anonymous, you’re so kind 😭🥹 I hope this did your idea justice! (should I make a part two???)

word count: 2k

Life has always been quieter in the countryside; less people, less noise and more distance between yourself and others. Although being a solo-flying person has its perks, it does feel alienating at times. You learned this all too fast once you finally moved towards the countryside. No longer did you have to share a wall with a noisy neighbor who has no regard for those around them, you were on your own and your closest neighbor was more than just a couple meters away.

Sebastian- that’s your neighbor- a single, recently divorced dad of three. When you first moved into your house, you went around your neighborhood to introduce yourself to your neighbors, most of whom seemed to be empty nesters, retired or both. Sebastian however was only retired, although you came to find out he said he still works philanthropically. The day you first met him, you also met his kids but it was only through an absentminded observation in the coming days that you realized he was single… not that that is important.

The days of living in your quant neighborhood came and went. Summer turned into fall which turned into winter. Through that time you occasionally had run-ins with Sebastian on the street, checking the mail or going for an afternoon walk. Eventually those run-ins became more intentional on both your parts. You figured out that he checks the mail at the same time each day, he figured out that you leave for work in the mornings promptly at 7:31 on the dot.

One fall morning, you got off to a very rough start. Your tire was flat and you could not find your car jack for the life of you. So, you made your way next door in search of help. You knocked on Sebastian’s door since you knew he was still at home and you’re pretty sure his kids were with their mom this week.

“This is gonna sound so stupid, but do you have a car jack?” You said as soon as Sebastian opened his front door. He chuckled a little at your distressed state, your usual cardigan you wore to work was thrown somewhere in your garage in a fit of slight rage earlier.

“Well, good morning to you too.” He said, smiling at you. Before then, you never realized how much taller he is than you. You have to crane your neck just to meet his gaze.

“Sorry, good morning, Sebastian.” You respond, letting out a huff of frustration.

“Well, you’re in luck,” He began “I happen to know a thing or two about cars.” You’ll never admit this to his face but upon the first time you met him, you were able to figure out he was a retired Formula 1 driver, though you’ll never admit that realization to his face.

“Why don’t you step in for a moment, the jack’s in the garage and it’s chilly out.” He says stepping aside to let you into his house. It’s the first time you’ve actually stepped foot in his house since all your interactions have occurred on the exterior. As he walks away to grab the jack, you let your eyes scan over the entryway. There’s a table with pictures of him with his kids and a photo of him from his beginning days in Formula 1. He was cute back then but his rugged look now fits him best you think to yourself. Despite being a home of three kids, the house is surprisingly clean, at least from what you can see from your spot in the foyer. After a few moments, Sebastian returns with the jack in his hand.

“Alright let’s go fix your tire.” He exclaims, waving the piece of metal in his hand. You turn on your heel to head out the door. Sebastian is close behind you and as he opens the door, he lightly lays his hand on your lower back to usher you out.

It only takes Sebastian a few moments to replace your tire which is half the time it would’ve taken you.

“There, good as new!” He says excitedly standing up and brushing his hands off on the sides of his jeans. You are quick to snap yourself out of the daze you were in– his arms just looked really good and muscular.

“Thank you so much, I owe you one.” You say clasping your hands together, bringing them up to rest beneath your chin as your gaze meets Sebastian’s. Thankfully, you were able to get to work on time with just a couple minutes to spare.

Ever since that one fall day, you circumstantially saw each other more often. Like one time Sebastian accidentally received a piece of your mail in his mailbox, or one time the lid of his garbage can blew into your yard, so on and so forth.

But no interaction could compare to the one you were bound to experience today. This winter’s weather is the nastiest the town has had in years. Every news station is predicting inches of snow, enough to keep everyone snowed in and worst of all, potential power outages. Snow began falling earlier today and it was enough to keep you home to work remotely. Last night you prepared yourself for Snowmageddon by breaking out all the candles and flashlights you would find.

Around lunch time, you noticed the snowfall begin to pick up. The accumulation was beginning to become serious and borderline worrying. And as you were beginning to prepare yourself a cup of soup for dinner, the power went out.

You thought you could power through the night without power, but the lack of heat got the better of you. The previous owner’s of your house had boarded up the fireplace and you always told yourself you’d get around to it but you never did. It only took a look out your side window to see smoke coming out of the chimney next door. So, you bundled yourself up in your coat, hat, scarf and blanket and trudged through the snow to the house next door.

Which brings you to where you are now; on the front porch of Sebastian’s house. It only took a couple knocks for Sebastian to come and answer the door.

“Are you okay?” He immediately asks, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside. He’s wearing a black crewneck and gray sweatpants with an old Red Bull beanie which makes him look like an off-duty lumberjack since he’s let his hair and beard grow out.

“My power is out and my stupid fireplace is boarded up and I feel like I’m freezing to death.” You say as water fills your eyes. It’s hard to tell if the tears are from the blistering cold or just sheer frustration. In the back of your mind, you kick yourself for only having these interactions with Sebastian when you’re in a moment of desperation.

Sebastian gives you a look of pity when he sees a singular tear roll down your cheek. His heart breaks a little at the sight of your lip quivering and more tears welling up in your eyes.

“Please, make yourself comfortable in front of the fire. I’ll get you a cup of tea.” He says guiding you to the couch that’s in front of the fireplace, crackling with comforting heat. You sit down and wrap your blanket tighter around your body. Looking around the room you see more photos of him and his kids and a few pieces of memorabilia from racing. By a quick glance, it’s hardly noticeable that he was ever a world renowned driver but it’s evident that since his retirement, he’s been trying to assimilate as normal of a life as he can.

Sebastian returns to the room with two mugs of herbal tea and a cup of soup. He sets the tea and soup down in front of you as he sits himself on the other end of the sofa.

You both sit in silence for a few minutes as you eat your soup and occasionally steep your tea. It’s a comfortable silence, neither of you feel the need to disrupt it as you drink in the moment of being in someone else’s company.

“This is very kind of you,” You begin to say while taking a sip of your tea “after this, I really do owe you.”

“Don’t even worry about it, seriously. After all, I have been meaning to invite you over ever since you moved in– I mean we’ve lived next door for months now and there’s only so much you can know about a person by checking the mail.” He says laughing. You offer him a smile as you nod your head. He is right, for months you’ve lived next to him but your words have always been very limited.

“Well, why don’t you start things off? Tell me about yourself.” You say, turning your body sideways so that your back rests against the armrest of the couch to face Sebastian.

He tells you the cliff notes version of his life, from his racing career to starting a family and retiring and he quickly brushes over the divorce that happened two years ago. In turn, you tell him about yourself, your job and what made you move out to the countryside. Easily enough, your conversation flows into talking about anything and everything. He tells you tales from the paddock and you tell him about the drama happening in your office.

In the middle of your hours-long conversation, Sebastian gets up to add more firewood to keep the fire burning. The domesticity of the situation is now at the forefront of your mind. You can’t remember the last time you really sat down and talked with someone like this. A small smile appears on your face when Sebastian turns back around to you.

“What?” He says with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Nothing. Just relishing in the moment.” You say as your smile grows wider. Sebastian stops in his tracks for a beat before he breaks out a toothy smile.

“Ever since I moved out here, I’ve just felt a little lonely so it’s nice to be in good company.” You say holding Sebastian’s gaze while he sits back down on the couch, closer to you this time.

“I know how you feel. The solitude out here is nice until it’s not.” He says looking at the fire. You’re still looking at him and you notice how the glow of the fire reflects in his bright eyes. Absentmindedly your eyes travel down his nose to his lips then up to his hair. It isn’t until you bring your gaze back to his eyes that you see he’s turned his attention back to you and he most certainly caught you analyzing his features. Your eyes meet his and your cheeks immediately flush out of embarrassment. How has it taken you this long to finally look at him, let alone really be in his presence?

“You should get some rest, it’s been a long day.” He says finally breaking the silence and you out of your thoughts. His eyes quickly flicker down to your lips then back up to your eyes. You’re too shocked to move or say anything. Whatever happens, happens you think to yourself. But nothing does. Sebastian simply stands up from the sofa, says goodnight then moves to the other sofa in the room. You’re too tired to overthink the interaction that was just had, you’ll do that in the morning. After a few moments of listening to the fire crackle, you drift off to sleep.

A couple hours later, Sebastian wakes up to feed the fire more wood to keep the warmth going. He sees you peacefully asleep on the couch with your hair tousled and your lips slightly parted, but to him you’ve never looked more radiant than in that moment. On his way back to his sofa, he leaves a small kiss on the crown of your head. Maybe being snowed in isn’t such a bad thing.

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myrmica · 20 hours ago

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some loose thoughts on The Full Story of WORMHOLE: Minecraft’s Deadliest Exploit...

largely building on thoughts i had while watching it with my partner, and conversations i had on discord (shoutout will 75hearts irrealisms). i started writing notes in the s4 directory and it got away from me so it's a post now. disclaimer also that while i am very critical here, i still found the video interesting. the problems with it are interesting problems. second disclaimer that everything is about vitalasy (and princezam) forever.

the video is presented as The Full Story, the Truth, things spoke didn’t want to show during season 4 or in the videos he released about it then, because it would make him look too bad. he says this about it in a youtube comment, before it's released:

the first hour or so of this video succeeds incredibly in being what he says it’s going to be; you get information we’ve never heard before about the dupe war and spoke’s thought processes therein. you get this, the best moment of the entire video:

[51:00 - 54:40] Spoke: I'm not kidding when I say this, but this was probably the angriest I've ever been while playing minecraft. Not only was I so dumbfounded that I really just sat there popping totems, but after I died I was dead silent for 15 minutes. Except for the few times I practiced the lies I would have to tell Mapicc and Zam, to somehow save this plan. [Video cuts to that recording of Spoke talking to himself after he respawns. He wanders around the post-dupe-war wasteland, no items in his inventory.] Spoke: What was the thought process? [cut] I just wanna ask, what—[cut] I'm really curious… about the thought process of this one. [cut] Come here for a second—[cut] So here's the first issue. [cut] Here's the problem I see with this thinking. [cut] I thought you were very well aware of the intentions. [cut] there's a difference between... and prolonging—[cut]—I need to keep going with the plan. I want to get back to the vault. [cut back to voiceover] Spoke: I needed a way to somehow gain their trust back and keep the vault safe, so I wouldn't be banned. At first I thought about telling them my plan to trick Parrot into doing the exploit, but I already had too much on the line to risk something like that. The second idea was telling them the lie I told Parrot, about doing this for the NPPP, but that would just confirm their beliefs and they would for sure pocket the duped items. The only idea I had left was to tell them... I scripted this. A couple months before these events, I ran a staged roleplay server called Unstable, and I would invite these guys on for the scripted recordings. So I already had that stigma with me, and I assumed if I just told them I was helping the enemy find the vault for content, that I learned my lesson or something, they would forgive me and let me back. I knew from there I just had to go on with the plan in a different way, so I joined a call with them. But I didn't realize how bad I truly messed up. [cut to that call] Spoke: So what's the plan? Mapicc: Spoke, you—[exhales]—you've given us so many reasons not to trust you. Spoke: Which is? Mapicc: You speak ominously, you have a bad record, you're—you were in contact with Parrot the entire time. Vortex called me and said there are at least three or four double agents that are on Team Awesome right now, that are actually on Parrot's side. Spoke: Christ. You guys—okay, okay, i'm just gonna be completely clean, bro. Parrot's a double agent on APO. Parrot is an obvious double agent on APO. But he's not a double agent in content, guys. He's a double agent to make the story better. I literally have not told them the base coords to make this more interesting. Mapicc: The base is gone, Spoke. Spoke: YOU BLEW IT UP? Mapicc: we took— Spoke: WHAT THE--WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Mapicc: We took a ridiculous amount of money and we're hiding far away, Spoke. Spoke: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY. [cut to narration] Spoke: There was literally no point in me continuing this lie, since the vault was confirmed to be gone. But, what you're about to see is what no content creator should do on any SMP. And despite me using quote-unquote content and entertainment against them to get my way, all I really did was ruin their videos.

my whole point in the barrier blocks essay about season 4 was that lifesteal’s storytelling is competitive. and it is something weaponized on screen in season 4 plenty of times, but it’s never so blatant as this. It’s never admitted like this. Spoke outright saying, “i fucked everyone else over so i could get my video.” I never considered that the scripting thing might be a flat out lie like this. even though i knew spoke was ultimately doing all of that as part of the plan to get parrot in position for wormhole, and even though i came to the conclusion that dupe war couldn’t really have been “scripted” in a way that mattered even without knowing that spoke was lying about this, because WHY would you LIE ABOUT THIS?

It’s kind of beautiful. the perfect piece of information about season 4 to tie it all up in a bow.

and it’s incredible for being this albeit brief, raw glimpse into spoke’s mind. a completely off camera moment that nobody ever would have seen. something you never, ever get from spoke, who rarely streams, and refuses to let other players see inside of his head, or even have real conversations with him in season 4. whose power is predicated on maintaining that exact distance. because it all falls apart if you get to hear how he feels underneath it all, if you get to see the way everything he does in season 4 is nothing but madly improvising lie after lie, trying to keep the tower he’s built intact even as it is constantly at risk of falling out from under him. It’s spoke making himself for once truly vulnerable, truly seen.

but… AFTER this point, the video largely loses this undercurrent of emotional vulnerability that sells the whole thing’s premise. It doesn’t matter if spoke is lying about minutiae in that first part of the video, fudging dates and summarizing events, because the emotional honesty matters so much more. but a lot of the threads spoke presents to us in the beginning of the video never feel like they actually get delivered on, and this window into his mind is closed to us again. It feels like he falls back into the motions of just, making a lifesteal video, making a minecraft youtube video. this moment with the dupe war feels like something legitimately special and unique, precisely because of that element of vulnerability. It’s probably the closest a lifesteal video has ever come to capturing the parts of lifesteal that i love, the things you only really get on stream where it’s much harder to keep up the sort of powerplays spoke relies on.

unfortunately you are hardwired to make youtube videos and there is no saving you. I would wager there are two full hours of reused footage that adds basically nothing. and it’s the worst deflationary effect i’ve ever seen. the tension builds to this crazy height and then it’s just gone and you’re watching, dr. donut vip day. poopies the endermite nonsense. nothing against poopies the endermite nonsense, but you show me all of that and then you expect me to watch you fuck around with minecraft mobs for 40 minutes straight?

and just as a side note, it’s edited in the most confusing way possible. i think this was heightened for me because i watched it with my partner who isn’t quite as into lifesteal as i am, but this video is comprised of: 1) brand new footage and new voiceovers by spoke explaining his current feelings/reflections on what happened then, 2) old stream footage, and 3) footage from old videos that spoke previously uploaded, including the editing choices from those old videos. none of these things are ever flagged or indicated to the viewer, you have no real way of knowing which is which unless you’ve seen all of those old streams and videos. and this carries over into the way spoke presents information to you, because it’s still largely done in the rapid-fire information summary, telling instead of showing style that plagues these videos. i don’t know how you are expected to absorb any information from this narration style if you don’t already know the minute details of everything that happened in season 4. which i do, so it was fine, just stylistically puzzling on several levels.

which brings us to…. an elephant in the room. the thing left out of what is billed as the full truth. vitalasy is not part of this video. spoke’s relationship with the other exploiters at large is never really dwelled on or explored, even when ash does appear on screen relatively frequently, but there is not a single clip of vitalasy speaking in this video. we get a couple screenshots of his discord messages, only on screen for seconds, a few of which appear to be dated from a different day than spoke says they are. he’s mentioned about as infrequently as you could possibly manage to discuss season 4, let alone wormhole, without vitalasy. who we know spoke was working with in some capacity throughout the full duration of these events, who appears both in the beginning of this video as spoke establishes where the exploit came from, and in the end, when spoke jumps into the void and ops vitalasy in the same moment.

there are all of these scenes where the bedrock prison is there but never explained, or someone (parrot in one of the last pivotal conversations spoke has with him in the video) is holding an eclipse shield, and it all makes him so overwhelmingly present in his absence. spoke seems to realize how glaring it feels, because he addresses it:

[3:25:17 - 3:25:34] Spoke: I told Ash I would give him whatever item he wanted, except operator. Even though he was bummed out, he said it was fine. Vitalasy on the other hand wasn't too happy. There was some more stuff between us that I had to cut out since this video is already too long, but long story short Vitalasy felt entitled to it because he found the glitch, which does make sense. However, the risk of another player having admin was too much, and I declined.

every other time spoke mentions vitalasy, it’s with this same combination of avoidance and active dismissal. I keep coming back to that scene at the end; “i gave vitalasy op” and no further acknowledgement. what do you mean more happened between you but you’re not going to show us, and in everything we do get it feels like nothing at all has changed since season 4, you’re still portraying him in the exact same way he was portrayed then? framing it as the full truth, but there’s still this central point you’re taking great pains to talk around. the video is too long. the video is already four hours, how much worse could it get? what about all of that reused footage? that you could cut, and the pacing of the video would be better for it? am I really supposed to believe that’s why you made that decision?

and ultimately this plays into why the video doesn’t really work for me past that hour-or-so mark. because spoke isn’t actually being honest. past that point, things are glossed over or hidden the same way they would be in any lifesteal video.

maybe part of this is the fact that the dupe war stuff is new information to me where what was streamed at the end of season 4 isn't, even if it was cut out of the youtube videos, but i really don’t think it’s just that. It’s in the pacing of the video, what’s prioritized and what isn’t, the amount of time and dramatic attention given to these final moments.

In the scene towards the end where spoke monologues to parrot, after he tricks parrot into giving him admin, parrot doesn't say anything. It’s just spoke talking at him, and then the scene ends without parrot getting a word in edgewise. you get that little moment between them before spoke puts on pants and jumps into the void, but that's still parrot responding to spoke's lie, not to the truth. even if you don't get some sort of conclusion or elaboration on parrot's thoughts here, which is fair enough, you don't even get any real reflection on all of it from spoke in the end.

this is how the video ends:

[3:55:40 - 3:57:25] Spoke: After that I was left thinking, why in the world did I do this? I mean, I was so confused I ended up yelling "Ah, fuck this." then I put on some pants, gave Vitalasy op, and jumped in the void. No one understood why I did this, and I didn't either. Why did I let them win? Why did I follow the rules of the challenge in the first place? Why did it feel like I did all of this for nothing? I wouldn't find the answer until far later. For the next season Parrot didn't want to be the owner anymore, due to the stress and time it took, but he reached out to me and Ash to take his place. He did this, apparently, because we knew a lot about server stuff, but we were willing to give it a shot. I ended up hating that season. Since, no one trusted me, my only teammates on the server were Ash, and surprisingly Planetlord, who almost became the server villain himself, but the worst part was that there was no point in exploiting anymore. Why would I break the game to obtain something I could just get through console? Except, that's when it clicked. The following year, I brought back my Unstable series, this time with Parrot and Wemmbu. These videos would be scripted, but not scripted to save time or be efficient, but instead to push the boundaries of storytelling in minecraft. I've had so much fun this past year, creating things that have never been seen in the game, and that's when I realized it. My favorite moments from the wormhole were when I was making a plan destined to fail, or when I abused a new exploit, or literally any moment when i was doing something that had never been done before. I did the wormhole because it felt like I was doing the impossible. And that feeling was pretty cool.

the whole thing kind of defeats it’s own point doesn’t it? All of this weight on your self reflection, and the mistakes you made, and the way you prioritized your own Content/Story/Narrative/Career/Etc above the other people you were playing with, about chasing this feeling of power. and how, the power was only made real in the lie. you had to lie about how powerful the exploit was in order to trick someone into handing real power to you, and you had to keep that lie up so he wouldn’t stop you, because at every moment you worried that he could stop you. the wormhole is nothing, the exploit was nothing, in any of the ways that really mattered. at one point in this same video, spoke launches a hack client because he’s bored and it isn’t even remarked upon, because there’s no weight placed on launching a hack client. it’s not about what the wormhole can do, it’s about convincing everyone that what you’re doing is interesting enough, is powerful enough, that the power becomes real. it's a social game. If spoke is honest, spoke loses his power. If spoke is vulnerable, spoke loses his power. If spoke, at any moment, stops obfuscating and posturing and acting scary and obtuse and selling his power, spoke loses his power.

that’s what happens to vitalasy. vitalasy is vulnerable, and more importantly accessible, to both the audience and to the other players. because he will sit there and talk to you for hours, and argue with you, and consider your point. spoke makes himself unreachable, so vitalasy receives all of the social consequences that spoke is outrunning by keeping that careful distance. and you have to assume that vitalasy becoming the scapegoat was nothing but useful to him, even if it wasn’t something spoke did intentionally, or consciously.

at a certain point, the only explanation for why spoke won't just actually come clean to parrot instead of hanging onto all of these false pretenses, pivots everything he does on the nppp story in the end, instead of being honest about the conditions nppp was formed under in the first place, is because he doesn't want to deal with the consequences.

everything spoke does in s4 is both chasing that feeling of power in doing what should be impossible, and running away from the point where all of that crumbles and he has to face social repercussions for it. especially when it's obvious that in spite of the lie underpinning everything, and the fact that he was using parrot to achieve godhood, he still cares. it's not like there's this sense of glee in his villainy that will endure, it's just going to hurt if he stops digging himself into this pit, so he can't stop.

he still spent that time with parrot. it was still a real team, no matter why spoke did it in the first place. and the story spoke is telling about the nppp is so much more compelling, so much more meaningful, even when it can never add up right in the end. it's one thing to hurt someone by lying to them, and it's another thing to start wishing the story you were telling was the truth because you won yourself over. In the same way that vitalasy changes course during season 4 because of how much he cares about zam, only you never get to see it happen with spoke. If spoke does feel this, it doesn’t stop him. he doesn’t change his course.

what happens to vitalasy is maybe what spoke is afraid of. because vitalasy does receive those social consequences, on screen, and it’s worse by far than anything we ever see spoke receive. It all falls apart and vitalasy has to respond to it right then and there, taking center stage in a way that allows spoke to slip by under the radar.

despite this, it’s a strange kind of mutual parasitism that works out for both of them in the end: spoke remaining committed to his lie, keeping himself hidden and detached, is what allows vitalasy to avoid playing the villain role he realizes he hates, even when nobody but vitalasy seems to apprehend this as a victory for him. neither wants to be in the other’s shoes. it's easy to look at spoke doing all of this heavy lifting and think, vitalasy really didn't do anything, did he? he found the glitch and that was it, he got spoke involved. but in the end vitalasy says: this is exactly what i wanted.

and vitalasy is put in that position of social vulnerability largely through zam’s presence, acting on lifesteal as a force that (largely unconsciously, at this point) demands vulnerability on multiple levels; not only must you be visible to the audience, but you must be comfortable losing, you must open yourself to embarrassment and potential mockery. you must care. where spoke lets the audience in on nothing, zam lets us in on everything. If zam is going to portray vitalasy a certain way no matter what (and she is, because she refuses to do anything if the audience isn’t there with her), the only course of action is to attempt to control the narrative yourself. even though the more information the audience has, the more you're seen, the less control there is. (a second shoutout to will 75hearts irrealisms on this one)

i guess i don’t know what i want, really. you can’t expect more. It’s a youtube video. he’s not going to stop behaving like it’s a youtube video. but there’s something there, there’s really something there.

zam is my favorite lifesteal member for a reason, and part of it is in the pure lack of care for making videos. going back and watching a zam stream from season 3, the difference is immediately apparent; everything zam did then, she did for the sake of a video. and somewhere over the course of season 4 that changes. so much changes.

If we’re being honest, lifesteal isn’t what I want it to be a lot of the time. most of the players don’t approach it in the ways that interest me. but the thing I care about is real. it is there. and every once in a while, you get it from someone you aren’t expecting, at least for a moment. but whatever, that feeling was pretty cool, wasn’t it? the exploit was pretty cool.

#m #lifesteal #being really weird about it as always thumbs up #more to be said in relation to all of this about zam joining spoke at the end of s4 but i can't collect my thoughts on that #there's also a whole thing about. like. in the long run it's maybe better not to be so emotionally vulnerable to the audience. that was #kind of awful for the people involved a lot of the time. and in post-s4 lifesteal there is a very palpable push and pull about this because #it's like everyone has realized The Potential For Vulnerability and is trying to reconcile with it or shut it off or (etc)#however that doesn't change the fact that it's what makes me care about any of this

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spadeprincesss · 2 days ago

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How would the couples (each of them) react to their partners getting kidnapped, and what would happen to the said kidnapper(s)? (I say death)

this is such a good question that will definitely inspire thoughts! warning this is gonna get LONG because i love over explaining things and scenarios so full answer by ship under the cut!

1. Zelda if Green got kidnapped:

Zelda would honestly be the one with her head most on her shoulders if Green were to get kidnapped, because she’s the Queen and she can’t be seen panicking even though she’d be worried sick for him. Considering Green is the future King Consort him being kidnapped would be a pretty big deal and would warrant investigation (and a declaration if war if done by another country). However behind closed doors she’d be losing sleep, crying and praying to the Goddesses that Green is alright, while in the day she works restlessly, wishing she could go out there and look for him herself.

2. Green if Zelda was kidnapped:

Green would be beside himself with worry if Zelda got kidnapped, and of course given Zelda is The Queen the rest of the kingdom would fret with him. If they’re already engaged or married that would leave Green completely in charge of the kingdom, and although he’d take the responsibility in stride it would worry him beyond belief that he can’t go out to rescue her himself like he did once before. It would be extremely hard to get him to rest during this time, and just like with Green depending on who kidnaps her the implications would be just as bad or worse.

3. Red if Blue got kidnapped:

Red wouldn’t be able to believe the news once he receives it, unable to picture Blue in any sort of hostage situation. He’d cry and worry constantly if Blue is doing anything stupid, because he knows his lover isn’t patient and isn’t one to simply follow orders if he doesn’t respect the person, and acting like that while hostage is a quick way to get yourself killed! Red would NOT take no for an answer to joining the search party, and as passive a person as he is he won’t hesitate to go in rods blazing if Blue is in danger!

4. Blue if Red gets kidnapped:

Dealing with a worried Blue is torture to everyone around him, because although he’s worked on his anger management throughout the years he can still explode if dealing with a lot of emotions. And Red being kidnapped… would worry him more than anything. He’d be sending search parties left and right, bordering on overworking his knights, and definitely overworking himself. It would take everyone else sitting him down to get him to slow down, and Blue would break, saying he never wants Red to get hurt, he can’t lose him!

5. Vio if Shadow gets kidnapped:

Shadow being kidnapped would require some special circumstances given his powers, not many people would try to kidnap what is basically an immortal monster. I can picture it being a case that Vaati or Ganon or another big baddie is revived and they use their power to force Shadow under their control. That would piss Vio off, because all Shadow was ever wanted was autonomy, to ve his own person, yet left and right someone who thinks themself so high and mighty wants to use him as a puppet. Vio would be drawing up strategies and theories on how to both defeat whoever took Shadow and to rescue Shadow himself. He would not rest, not while Shadow is captive, it would take many interventions for him to slow down, because “Shadow wouldn’t want you to tear yourself apart like this”.

6. Shadow if Vio got kidnapped:

So Vio being kidnapped is honestly the one that is statistically most likely to happen in the context of my AU given he’s a scout and often goes into enemy territory lmao. What this means however is that if dealing with a worried Blue is bad then dealing with a worried Shadow is worse, because Shadow has powers, his form can shift, if out of control he can cause some real damage and the only way to really stop him physically is to hurt him which no one wants to do. He’d demand to be set free to tear apart whoever took Vio, but its not so simple, thankfully Zelda would hold his hands and let him cry on her shoulder, promising they will all do everything they can to bring Vio home.

As for what happens to the kidnapper that is very situational for most everyone, though Blue, Vio and Shadow would want to kill whoever is responsible. If it’s done by a small individual party Zelda and Green would be forced to give the guilty party a fair trial, if it’s another kingdom altogether well… war basically! Red would want to bring them to justice too, he doesn’t believe in unnecessary violence, but he won’t be nice about it either!

Sorry for the long reply, but i hope you enjoy!

#four swords #vio link #shadow link #red link #blue link #green link #princess zelda #green x zelda #red x blue #red link x blue link #vidow #asks #decorated heroes au

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stars4noah · 2 days ago

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HALLEY'S COMET- six.

{WARNINGS}: swearing, mention of a bar

w.c- 2,038

a.n- i'm gonna be so honest, chapter five was originally going to be the end of this series but i was driving and i had a crazy idea. enjoy more chapters because i don't think this story will be ending any time soon.

{TAGLIST}: @lacy1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @chey-h @rumoured-whispers @oobleoob @dontwantthemoney @n0n3xsisting

"i'll love you forever." he said softly.

"and always?" i asked

he laughed softly, nuzzling his face in my hair.

"and always, my love."

"[y/n]. dude, come on. wake up." nicholas' voice broke through my hard slumber, jolting me awake. i furrowed my brows, sitting up slowly and looking around. i was on the tour bus. but why? i had just been on the couch with noah..

i ran a hand over my face, trying to gather my thoughts. we just finished a show. noah and i got into another argument. but this argument was different from the one in my dream. and then i left. no.. that part was a dream. i fell asleep.

it was all fake.

the music, the new album, the sex and the kisses and the 'i love you's. it was all fake. as much as i hated him, i felt a strange sense of disappointment down in my gut. it hit me like a train. this perfect life had been built up in my mind in the course of just a couple hours. was that really what i wanted? who was i kidding, of course it was. it was all i'd ever wanted in life. to be in love. to be happy. to be able to live out my dreams freely.

even though i definitely wasn't interested in the music industry.

"what, is she still sleeping?" i heard noah's voice getting closer, and i rolled my eyes as i jumped out of my bunk. "no, asshole. i'm awake."

"oh, she lives!" he said. "what were you even dreaming about? you've been tossing and turning and talking for the past 30 minutes." he said, his arms crossed.

"fuck off, noah." i grumbled, searching for some clothes for the show tonight.

"not until you learn how to do your job right."

i rolled my eyes, retreating to the bathroom to go and get ready.

"i swear, it's like he lives to piss me off. doesn't he have anything better to do? like, i dunno, hook up with girls? make music? write lyrics? instead of fucking with me. it's annoying." i rambled to nicholas as i set up my camera, him standing beside me.

and then he suggested the most absurd thing ever.

"i dunno, [y/n], maybe he likes you."

i choked on nothing, my eyes widening. "are you insane? him? like me? never in a million years would that happen."

nicholas laughed softly. "i mean, the way he talks about you when you're not around says otherwise. it's always [y/n] this, [y/n] that. don't you see the way he stares at you when you're not looking? or how he put extra effort in when he knows you're gonna be closer to the stage?"

i stayed quiet. he kind of had a point. i never heard him speak about me or felt his stares, but i could tell that he always dressed nicer or sang better when i was closer.

maybe..

no. hell no. just because i had that stupid dream doesn't mean a thing. i hate him, he hates me. and that's final.

"you're delusional." i said.

"you're in denial." he retorted, walking off to go get ready for the show.

as i continued to set up, i felt a pair of eyes on me. i looked up briefly, noticing noah looking at me before he quickly looked away, going to talk with some girl.

why was i jealous? it's not like we were together. not like i liked him. not like i imagined a future with him every time my insomnia kept me awake at night.

whatever. it didn't matter.

NOAH'S POV.

i finished up my conversation with some random girl whose name i couldn't even remember. i didn't know why, but some part of me just yearned to make [y/n] jealous. to make her wish i was giving her all of my attention instead of giving it to others. i needed her to know how i felt. how i looked at her, how i yearned for her.

what am i saying? i don't like her. at all. she's cocky and stuck up and beautiful and funny and-

fuck.

i watched as she walked around the arena, humming to herself as she adjusted the settings on her camera, not paying a lick of attention to where she was going. a couple more steps and she would-

CRASH!

"ow! fuck!"

i scoffed, walking over to where she was sat on the ground, rubbing the back of her head.

"you good there, princess? looks like you fell." i smirked.

she rolled her eyes, pulling herself up to her feet. "i'm fine."

"you sure? you took quite the fall there." i said.

she smirked. "aww, are you showing actual human empathy for once?"

i scoffed. "keep dreaming. i can't afford to lose my photographer right now. do your job." i said, walking away.

the lights dimmed as we took the stage, the crowd's energy palpable. i stepped up to the microphone, my intense gaze sweeping over the audience. among the sea of faces, my eyes locked with hers, an unfamiliar spark igniting between the two of us.

"the sutures in my head keep getting ripped out. these open wounds are the thoughts i can't stop thinking about. digging for purpose, feelings resurface. and involuntarily my system gets nervous."

there was a crowd of people in the arena. our first sold out show ever. we just released our album Finding God Before God Finds Me a couple months ago, and for our first sold out show of the tour, i decided to add a couple songs from our very first album.

"tell me tonight that you'll be by yourself. cause something bad will happen if you are with someone else. i'm just all fucked up, and i really need your help. i really need your help."

i looked at [y/n] in the front row, snapping pictures. when she was so close to the stage, i always felt like i performed better. seeing her smile at nicholas, hearing her sing along to our songs. it gave me motivation. i closed my eyes.

"there's a lotta hollow souls out there all alone, and they're waiting for you to invite 'em back into my home. they touched and they took what was rightfully mine. now i'm the devil, and their souls just went up in price."

images of her face filled my mind as i sang. her smile, her scowl, her tears and her laughter. every part of her was gorgeous. every part of her made me fall in love deeper and deeper every day. why couldn't i admit these feelings?

"set me free, i think i'm giving up. don't wait for me, i think i've had enough. set me free, i think i'm giving up. don't wait for me, i've had enough, enough now"

right. i had bailey. my girlfriend. i wondered what she was doing right now. maybe sleeping or shopping or watching tv in our bed at home. even though i had her, part of me felt off. it didn't feel like she really loved me. everyone always tried to convince me to break up with her. but she's my girl. the love of my life, the woman i wanted to marry one day. right?

as we got back onto the bus, i came to a realization.

one, i wasn't happy with bailey. she was toxic, manipulative, and i was pretty sure she was cheating on me.

two, i was utterly, hopelessly in love with [y/n].

i laid on my bunk, wide awake with my thoughts swarming in my mind. i was in love with her. i was in love with another woman. what the hell was wrong with me?

"there's a thousand voices in my head. i just hope it doesn't take a rope around my neck to put them all to rest." i hummed to myself, scrolling on my phone.

"noah?" [y/n]'s voice spoke from her bunk, her head peeking out of the curtain. "i thought you went for drinks with the others."

"nope." i said. "i'm not in the mood."

she raised an eyebrow. "that's weird. why?"

i shrugged. "i'm thinking."

"about?"

"none of your business."

she rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath before retreating back to her bunk.

it was quiet for another moment before i spoke.

"hey, [y/n]?" i said quietly, not wanting to disturb her in case she had fallen asleep.

"what?"

i bit my lip. "what do i do if i'm in love with someone.. but i'm in a relationship?"

she peeked her head out again, raising an eyebrow. "break up with the girl, duh. don't lead her on if you're not interested anymore. that's a dick move." she said. "wait, don't tell me you're breaking up with bailey?"

i shrugged again. "i dunno yet."

"jesus, finally." she said, and i frowned. "first of all, don't say that. second, i said i don't know yet. i'm thinking."

she sighed. "noah, you know she's a shit person. she literally abuses you. she's a toxic, manipulative asshole. and if you're in love with another woman who you know can give you the love that you deserve, shoot your shot. don't sit there and suffer just because you don't want to hurt someone's feelings."

i wasn't sure why, but a small bit of rage filled my body at the way she spoke about bailey. "don't talk about her like that. that's not true. she's just doing what she knows is best for me." i said, and she scoffed.

"whatever you say."

"you're just jealous." i crossed my arms.

she raised her eyebrows. "of what? cause its definitely not her behaviour. or literally any aspect of her personality or life."

i laid back down, ignoring her for the rest of the ride. i knew she was right, but i hated to admit it. i loved bailey. she was all that i had.

when we first got together, everything was great. i swore that i would marry her one day. and then she started going out more and staying out later and sometimes i didn't feel like i could trust her. but i let it slide because bringing it up would just lead to arguments. i didn't want arguments.

but as her behaviour continued and i saw my friends in happy, loving relationships, i realized it wasn't normal. being treated like this wasn't normal, and it wasn't what i wanted. i wanted to be happy. feel loved.

i wanted to be loved by [y/n].

with a sigh and a slightly heavy heart, i texted bailey a long message.

'i want to start this off by saying i know what you did. i know what you've been doing behind my back for longer than i'd like to admit. i loved you bailey, i really did. but we can't be together anymore. i want things that you can't provide me. i know you've been cheating on me, and i let it go because we all make mistakes. but this is more than a mistake. please don't try to fight this, just accept it. you would rather sleep with multiple other men than be with me, and that's okay. i can't be what you need, and you can't be what i need. we weren't made for each other. this is goodbye.'

with tears in my eyes, i put on my headphones and put my phone on silent, blasting some music as i washed away these feelings that i didn't want to hit me at this moment. i hated being vulnerable. i'd cry it out when i was alone.

i sat in my bunk for the rest of the night, trying to fall asleep but i couldn't. instead, i drew in my notebook and wrote down the occasional lyric that popped into my mind.

'i'll flip it with you and me inside.'

'heaven know's i ain't gettin' over you.'

'thought you were somebody else.'

'no way to right these wrongs, either way i'm feeling, it might just cost something in the millions. i know that i can't resist.'

fuck. this was going to be good.

#edenspeaks #stars4noah #bad omens #noah sebastian #halley'scomet #bad omens x reader #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens fanfiction

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witches-dream · 2 days ago

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The trailer is just. Gorgeous. In every way. The feeling of dizziness, infinity and confusion it gives is impeccable, i love the way everything flows together, i love the gorgeous 3d models and the horror of not really knowing what's real and what's fake. And ofc Japanese Shmilk is ohhhh my god 😳😳😳

Ok so pv doesn't appear to be going alone, he's accompanied by GingerBrave, Strawberry and Wizard who appear a bunch of times, and White Lily, who in pretty sure only appears in the beginning. But in a lot of scenes pv is alone, making me think that he's gonna get separated from the rest after some point.

With the epic releases we've had accompanying the beast and awakened ancient releases, there's been a pattern of the first epic being someone who's on the beasts side and second being someone who's on the ancients side. It's only happened twice though so both of Shmilks epics might be on his side tho. The cookie with dark hair gives me butler vibes. The one with white hair looks like the type of character who appears cute and sweet, but it's secretly fucked up, sorta like Haetae. That's all i can say about them for now

Other than that, the rest of my thoughts are pretty scattered, so let's see

1. Love the music

2. Love the chess and the taro cards and the circus and the eyes theming. Not enough mirrors tho

3. Love whatever the hell this thing is

I really really hope we get some answers about either Blueberry Yogurt Academy or Dark Moon Magic, ideally both, which is what i think this is about

4. This Cookie reminds me of Crimson Moon Acolyte but i may be tripping lol

5. If anyone still had doubts about whether we were gonna get glimpses of pre corrupt Shmilk, i think it's pretty obvious now that we are

6. If this update doesn't make pv's character any more interesting to me I'm gonna be sad (i think he's boring)

7. Again. Where the heck White Lily gone

She appears at the start a couple of times, but the very next scene after the puppeteer one, she's gone. She also doesn't appear in later instances of the rest of the gang appearing, then running up the stairs, getting sucked into the nefarious vortex and on the chess scene. I wonder if Shmilks gonna gaslight pv about that, knowing how important she is to him. Plus Blueberry Yogurt Academy connection again

8. THE STAIRS. I've been listening to Stairwell by Nick Lutsko religiously waiting for this update you don't know how happy i am to see the goddamn stairs. This song to me is from Shmilks pov, singing about pv and "she" is Lily

9. Since when is Shmilk snake-coded. I'm living for it tho

10. I just realized i think the reflection is showing a Shmilkified version of pv. New costume anybody? (Don't have too many hopes for this tho lol)

11. The title screen, again, is gorgeous, probably one of my all-time favorites

So what can we see here? Once again, like with the other beast updates, the presence of the beast is overwhelming, and the hero appears small and insignificant. We can expect this turning the other way around in the second half of the update, though i imagine it will be a bigger change than with Mystic Flour/Dark Cacao and Burning Spice/Golden Cheese. Simply because i can't see pv being in the same position as sm here tbh

We only see one of the new cookies? Where's the second one?

There's cutouts of the other ancients in the picture (and they appear elsewhere in the trailer too) which makes me think that, just like Shmilk compares pv to his past self, he's gonna do that shit about the other ancients too. Just to say like ohhh you have this potential to become evil too you know, all of you.

My theory from a while ago was that Shmilk was gonna show pv the past of the beasts, showing that they too were good and driven by a desire to help others and spread kindness, which could make pv sympathize, because he's a softie like that. Which would then either corrupt pv or make him want to try to "redeem" the beasts and want to help them, which the beasts could obviously abuse. From The devs pov, that's a good way to hype the fans and tease pre-corruption costumes, which i think are 100% coming at some point. (Btw i don't think the coty costume Mystic is gonna get will be her pre-corrupt one, simply because i think that's planned regardless. She's gonna get a different, unique one. Plus, coty costumes are legendaries I'm pretty sure, and i think pre-corrupt costumes are gonna be epics, maybe specials, but deffo not legendaries. Watch me be wrong tho). Similarly to how Dark Cacao got so miserably helpless in his story and Golden Cheese was so physically and mentally drained in hers, i think Vanilla will be in a similar state before awakening too, but he's gonna have to break out of the illusions Shmilk feeds him, so maybe like. He's gonna get very very close to corrupting as a result of Shmilks influence. I hope I'm making sense here lol

12. Last thing i think. The decor set is gonna be sick

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #talk tag

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formula-ghost · 2 hours ago

Text

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 1

SERIES SUMMARY: You’ve been best friends with Oscar Piastri since you were seven, far before the dream of Formula 1 even seemed possible. You’ve been with him from the very beginning—due, in no small part, to the fact that you’ve been in love with him since you were a teenager. But when a breakup and championship battle rattles the very foundations of your friendship, you begin to question if you ever really knew him. (Best friends to lovers, based on the song Wildflower by Billie Eilish)

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

WARNINGS: Oscar is not a very good boyfriend to Lily and Lily is not a very good girlfriend to Oscar. Potentially changed some dates (I think Oscar and Lily started dating when they were 17 or 18, but I’m making them 18 for the sake of the flashback scenes). Reader is “the girl he told me not to worry about” through no fault of her own. This story has a lot of complex character dynamics and everyone is flawed! References to sex but no actual smut.

A/N: Ah new series! I hope this is good—I’m trying some new stuff with the flashbacks and story layers, so I hope it doesn’t read too confusingly! Also, I’m trying to be more intentional with showing instead of telling with my dialogue and such, so hopefully that is an improvement. I always welcome constructive criticism, but either way, I hope you all enjoy this.

“Lily left me.”

He only needed those three words to convey the gravity of the situation. On the other end of the line, you were silent. He was too. What was there to say?

No, it couldn’t be real. Oscar and Lily were inseparable. The dream couple of Formula 1. Your best friend had been in love with her since the pair were 18, attending boarding school in the UK together while Oscar pursued his dreams of making it to F1.

They were each other’s everything. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But you had seen this coming for a while now. It was just a shock for it to actually happen.

Finally, after an eternity, you spoke, still too shocked to formulate a coherent thought. “What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean she fucking left me. What else do you want me to say?” You could hear the quivering in his voice, giving away the sadness behind his abrasive response. You weren’t offended one bit.

“Shit, Osc, I’m so sorry. I… don’t know what to say. Do you want me to come over? Or you can come to mine?”

“I’m outside yours right now. In the car park.”

“I’ll let you in,” you said. The mental image you conjured of Oscar outside your apartment crying in his fancy McLaren would have been comical, if not given the circumstances.

He let himself in only a few moments later, hoodie covering his tall and muscled frame. He was soaked from the rain outside—he must have come directly from the confrontation.

“Oh, Oscar,” you said, pulling him into a hug, cringing at the contact with his soggy hoodie, but knowing that there were far more important things to be worried about.

You rubbed your hands up and down his shoulder blades that now heaved with sobs. His entire body shook with the fervor of his tears, and you just held him, gently shushing him and promising that everything will be okay.

“I don’t know how she could do this to me,” he said, gasping out the words between haggard breaths. “The championship—I can’t do it without her.”

“I know,” you assured him. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not, YN, it’s not gonna be okay. I love her. And she just threw away so many years.”

“I know.” You just kept assuring him, tightening your grip on him as his sobs became more intense. “Just breathe.”

“Why would she do this to me?” he asked. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

You knew. And deep down, Oscar did too. That was a conversation for another day. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen this coming.

You didn’t have it in you to lie to him. You had always been the type to pride yourself on being honest, even when the truth hurt, but you couldn’t bear to do it now. You changed the subject.

“Oscar, you’re soaking wet. I’ll find you something else and warm that up in the dryer, yeah? Just sit down, take a deep breath, and let me get this figured out.”

He sat down on your couch and took off his hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing his toned body. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before—you’d been friends with him since you were seven, growing up together. He almost felt like a brother to you, sometimes.

Maybe it wouldn’t be weird at all, except for the fact that you’d been in love with him for over a decade now.

But right now that didn’t matter. He had plenty of old hoodies over in your apartment, which you carefully folded every time he forgot them. Placing his wet clothes in the dryer and setting the temp on high, you reached to the shelf above you and grabbed a random one. You unfolded it—an Alpine hoodie from back in the day, before his time at McLaren. You smiled at the memories that flashed in your mind, before quickly returning to Oscar with the garment.

He had moved from your couch to your bedroom, holding a pillow on his lap, hunched over where the top of it met his chin. He was staring off into space, not breaking his gaze at the plain white wall.

You sat next to him, handing him the hoodie, and he mumbled a small thanks as he grabbed it. He didn’t put it on, instead just holding it with the pillow, as if filling his arms with the plush material would fill the hole now left in his heart.

“Oscar, I… don’t have anything profound to say. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t respond at first, instead just silently letting the tears well up in his eyes.

“I guess I should have seen this coming,” he said quietly.

You paused, unsure whether or not you should agree with him. But you were nothing if not honest.

“Yeah,” you said, “it’s been a rough few months.”

“I guess we just both fell out of love.”

“I mean… how did the conversation go?”

It would be stupidly easy for Oscar to lie and say he didn’t remember Lily’s every word. But he knew better, and so did you. As he explained, the memory replayed in his head.

“I can’t do this anymore, Oscar,” Lily said, a simple yet devastating statement.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” His confusion was genuine, much to the chagrin of his angry girlfriend.

“The fact that you even have to ask that proves my point.”

“Lily, talk to me. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Oscar stood up, now understanding the full gravity of the situation he found himself in.

“I’m trying to say that I’m not happy anymore, and neither are you. I wanted to at least give it until the end of the season, but I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when we both know bloody well that it’s not! Don’t you want something better than this, Oscar?” Lily pleaded.

“I just want you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t lie to me. You say that but you put everything else before me. I’m not a priority to you. I haven’t been in a long time.”

“I’ll quit F1. We can go back to the UK and live a normal life.”

“No. We both know that you wouldn’t do that.” Her tone was incredulous, twinged with a slight anger at the mere suggestion.

“Yes, I would. I’d do anything. Don’t do this, Lily. Not now, not when I need you the most.”

Lily grabbed his hand, leading him to sit down on the couch next to her. “Oscar,” she began, “we had a good run. You made me so, so happy for so long.” She reached up to gently cup his cheeks and wipe away where tears were now forming at the edge of his eyes. “I saw you achieve things that neither of us ever thought were possible. But…I can’t stay any longer. Not when there’s no place for me in your heart anymore.”

You sighed. You knew every word that Lily had said was right. But you also knew you couldn’t get that through to Oscar, at least not until the shock wore off.

The words remained unspoken. You had been there for all of it. Lily was his first love, his only girlfriend, and everyone assumed that he’d marry her one day; you included.

“I just…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on acting like my life didn’t just fall apart. How did you do it?”

This was Oscar's first breakup, but you had been through too many, it seemed, since he was asking you for advice on how to handle them.

The truth? It was very easy to get over a breakup when every partner you’ve ever had was a feeble attempt at denial. When they all inevitably failed, you just went back to bask in Oscar’s platonic love. It was enough.

“I won’t lie to you, the first one is always hell. You feel like you’re going crazy for a while. You lose hope that you’ll ever feel happier, because everything reminds you of them. And then one day it just…doesn’t. The only thing that heals it is time and finding love around you, you know, friends and family.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

‘Well, I’m not going to lie to you and say it’ll be easy, because it won't. But it will be okay—not today, but someday. You’ve got something to focus on with the championship. And I’ll be here.” You gave him an empathetic smile.

Maybe you weren’t the most comforting friend to most. But you and Oscar had a bond that was very different to most friendships. You understood each other’s idiosyncrasies in ways no one else could. So when shit hit the fan, it was always each other that you went to.

You continued, “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Thank you.”

There was only one problem: your apartment only had one bed. And to the dismay of fanfiction writers across the world, you all would not be sharing it.

You distracted Oscar by cooking a meal and watching a comfort movie—Cars, a classic. You could tell he was exhausted by the way his head on your shoulder sloped just a little too heavily downwards as the credits rolled.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed,” you said, gently pushing him awake. He sleepily stumbled back into your bedroom and collapsed on the bed, almost instantly falling back asleep.

You took the couch, but despite the money you spent splurging on the extra cushioned sofa, no sleep came to you.

It wasn’t any physical discomfort that fueled your insomnia, but rather, the events of the previous evening. Lily had actually left Oscar. She had finally pulled the plug.

Yes, in some ways, it was expected. But at the same time, you couldn’t imagine a version of your best friend that wasn’t madly in love with his girlfriend.

From the outside, though, you couldn’t blame Lily one bit. You wondered what had been the last straw.

You could think of three possible moments. First: The Apartment.

“I’m moving to Monaco,” Oscar began, and you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Of course, one day he’d make it to Monaco. That was the dream of every Formula 1 driver, right? The beauty of the French Riviera and tax evasion. And you’d be left at your aging flat in the UK, waiting for those precious few days a year where he was free to grace you with his presence.

“That’s amazing!” you said, only half believing it to be true.

“In a few weeks I’m gonna go look at condos. Come with me? Lily can’t get off work.”

“Of course,” you replied. You’d already been to Monaco before for Oscar’s races, but you wouldn’t turn down any reason to get out of the constant dreary rain of the UK.

You felt like a celebrity as you coasted through the Monte Carlo streets in the passenger side of Oscar’s McLaren, on your way to tour fabulous properties for your best friend (the actual celebrity). You breathed in the saltwater breeze, fresh and tinged with the air of wealth and splendor.

But it hurt your heart to know that you were helping your best friend leave. You imagined him getting up and doing his morning runs along the harbor, the sun blazing down the strained muscles on his back. Then you laughed to yourself at the thought of Oscar, the pastiest Aussie you knew, getting sunburnt.

At the first property you met the realtor, who (after mistaking you for Lily; not the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last) took the pair of you to different condos throughout the day.

Oscar decided on the final one you saw; two bedrooms, plenty of natural light, and a great view. Elegant, refined and practical—just like Oscar himself.

The realtor handed him the paperwork and left as you stood on the balcony, looking at the beauty of the city before you. You were quiet, unusually so, and Oscar noticed.

He sat the paperwork on the kitchen counter and walked onto the balcony next to you. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice lowered. “You’re gonna make such beautiful memories here.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me now?”

You smiled and laughed. “A little,” you admitted, “I can’t help it. I’ll miss you all.”

“You could always come with us. You seem to like it here,” he teased, tilting his head toward the edge of the balcony.

“You’d have to give me a raise if I was gonna afford Monaco rent prices.” You’d been running Oscar’s merch store and social media for the past few years, making a great wage, but nowhere near the immense wealth you’d need to call a place like this home. You joked with him, knowing Oscar actually had nothing to do with how much you got paid.

“I would if I could. But, I mean, if you had a place to stay it wouldn’t really be that bad.”

“Are you suggesting I move into your guest room?”

Now he laughed. “No, but I’m just saying, if you had an apartment, you could make it work.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused, but trying to go along with the joke. “Well, sure, but apartments don’t just appear out of thin air.”

“You never know.” Oscar scratched the back of his neck and looked away, a sign of the awkwardness that now blanketed your moment on the balcony.

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, theoretically, if someone were to have a spare apartment that they weren’t using, you could live there and Monaco would be a reasonable place to live, no?”

You didn’t answer his question, instead just giving him another confused glance until he gave up whatever he was trying to say. He still couldn’t meet your gaze.

“Look—I don’t want to live so far away from my friend. Is that such a bad thing?”

“Oscar, you…”

“I got you an apartment.”

“You… bought me an apartment. In Monaco.” It came out more like a statement than a question, evidence of your shock. He reached into his pocket and dug out a key, holding it out to you.

You just looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Oscar, I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“How much was it?”

“I have more than enough money.”

“Answer the question.”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “About 4 million?”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Before you say anything,” he began, “I made over 30 million last year. I have more money than I’d ever know what to do with, so why not just spend it all on the people I love?”

“Oscar… I can’t, that’s too much.”

“Will you at least go look at it with me? Actually, I’m driving, so you don’t have a choice,” he joked, walking back into the apartment. “Let’s go.”

You sighed, smiling to yourself. There was no way you could let Oscar buy you a 4 million dollar apartment, but also, how could you not? The wind whipped through your hair as you rolled down the window of his McLaren, drinking in the beauty of the city around you.

The apartment was smaller than the one he had picked for himself and Lily, but you didn’t mind one bit. It was perfectly cosy, and God, the view was spectacular. You could see the whole city from his apartment, but here, you could see the water. You stepped on the balcony and took a deep breath, taking in the sound of the ocean waves beneath you.

Oscar followed you. “It’s a bit small, but I figured you’d like the view.”

“Oscar…”

“If you really don’t want it, I can rent it out. But I’d much rather have you close.” He held out the keys again. “What do you say?”

You could have told him you needed more time to think about it, but deep down, you already knew what you wanted. You took the keys. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Oscar. Seriously.”

“No need to thank me.” He smiled.

Back in the UK, he showed Lily the photos he had taken of the condo he had chosen for them as they went over the paperwork one last time.

He grabbed the pen to scratch out one of the boxes Lily had checked, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, did I mess something up?” Shit. She leaned over his shoulder, reading the paperwork aloud. “Please indicate if you own any additional properties in the principality of Monaco.” She looked at Oscar. “You already have a property there?”

“Oh, erm, yeah,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there.

“How come I never heard about this?”

“Um, I just got it a bit ago.”

Lily could sense her boyfriend’s hesitancy. “Is this something I wasn’t supposed to know about?”

“Oh, no,” he said, “it’s not like that. I just didn’t think to mention it.”

“So, what is this property?”

“An apartment.”

Lily hated feeling like she was having to interrogate Oscar, but clearly there was some piece of the puzzle missing that was causing his reluctance.

“An apartment?” she questioned. “You got another apartment?”

“Yeah, I, um,” he looked at the ceiling while scratching his neck, a clear sign of his nervousness, “I was planning on giving it to YN.”

“You bought YN an apartment in Monaco? When were you planning on telling me about this?”

His walls of defense had finally broken down. “It’s not a big deal. I made more than enough last season, I could afford it. And it’s just easier to have her there for the brand shoots and media stuff. Plus, I mean, she came to London to support me after graduation, even though I know she hates it here. I just figured I should repay the favor.”

“...Okay,” Lily began, her voice tinged with skepticism. “So, you do realize what this looks like, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my boyfriend bought an apartment for his “best friend” and tried to hide it from me. That’s the kind of thing cheating husbands do in movies, buy an apartment for their mistress for her to keep it quiet.”

Oscar wasn’t sure what annoyed him more, the air quotes Lily placed around “best friend” or the insinuation that he had been unfaithful.

“Lily, seriously? I’m not cheating on you, I love you and you know that.”

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. You know YN and I have been friends forever, it’s not like I did this for some random woman. I don’t appreciate being accused of lying.”

“But you were lying by omission.”

“Lily—”

“You know, nothing against her, but one of the reasons I was looking forward to this move was having more…us time. Without YN.”

The statement brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Despite what she had said, it seemed like Lily did have something against you.

“You know, this kind of thing is why I was putting off telling you about it.”

“What are you saying?” she asked. Oscar knew he was tempting fire, but he didn’t care.

He continued, “You’re freaking out because I did something kind for a friend. I’m allowed to do whatever I want with my money.”

“I never said you weren’t, and I’m not freaking out. But I guess I’m just such a horrible person for saying I want to spend more time with my boyfriend.”

“If you’re putting down my “best friend” to do it,” he said, mocking her air quotes, “then yeah, that’s not cool.”

“Oscar, you’re being so…weird about all of this. I’m not insulting YN. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“We’re literally going on vacation in February!”

“With friends. You invited your friends to our romantic getaway, Oscar.”

“You know I only have so much time off during the off season, and I’m spending most of it with realtors and accountants and eight thousand other people preparing us for this move. God forbid I want to invite my friends to Italy with us. Not everything can be just us, Lily.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’m done with this conversation.”

The second next instance you could think of happened on the trip.

It was a beautiful getaway to the Amalfi Coast, your dream destination that you’d somehow never made it to.

The group of Oscar’s friends, including you and Lando, had plans to come and go, with everyone being gone before the fourteenth so that Oscar and Lily could have their Valentine's Day date. Of course, you knew nothing of the arguments they’d had in the past about this, but you had common sense enough to not be a third wheel. Oscar thought this was a good enough compromise.

Well, he thought.

From the moment he picked you up from the airport, you could tell that the energy was different than usual. He blamed it on jet lag, but you knew better. You knew your best friend too well.

It didn’t take you long to figure out the problem was between him and Lily. She was colder towards him; not enough for anyone but you and him to notice, but still there and undeniable.

Even weirder was Lily’s…preoccupation, it seemed, with pointing out single and attractive men to you. It wasn’t a hushed reality that you were single, and had been for some time. You'd given up on dating a long time ago—you knew that you had already found the love of your life, and he just happened to be Lily’s boyfriend.

But, of course, you’d never tell anyone this. Lots of people were confused because you seemed so fine being single. But you thought that Lily, one of your best friends (at least, by association), would know that you weren’t really interested in meeting anyone.

You sat with Lily in a restaurant overlooking the coast, the balcony having been rented out by Oscar for one of your last dinners. You all were waiting for him and Lando to join you, passing the time by ordering wine and appetizers.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Lily said, gesturing her head to your waiter that was walking back into the main restaurant.

You didn’t really know what to say. You glanced at him through the glass wall. “Lily, he most definitely plays for the other team, if you know what I mean,” you joked, reaching for a slice of bread on the table. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

“Well I don’t mean for me, I meant for you.”

You chuckled. “For me?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t you want to get yourself a hot Italian man?”

“I’m perfectly happy being single.” You tried to diffuse the awkward conversation, keeping a kind tone in your voice as you ate the bread and looked into the distance at the coastline.

“Oh, come on. We’ll get you someone, don’t worry.”

“I really am fine being single.”

“You know who else is single?” she asked, clearly ignoring your protests. “Lando!”

You laughed aloud. “Oh God, no. If I wanted to be cheated on, I would have stayed with my ex. Besides, Oscar would kill him.”

A curious fact: Oscar had never approved of a single person you had ever introduced him to. You had to spend hours talking him out of running over your ex with his F1 car after you found out about his infidelity.

“Oh, who cares what Oscar thinks? I think you should go for it,” she said, watching as the waiter returned to pour your glasses of wine.

“Lily,” you said, holding your glass, ready to take a sip, “I don’t want to be in a relationship, like, at all. It’s just…not for me.” You sipped the wine, but through the reflection on the glass, you could see that Lily had pursed her lips in an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“If you want me to stop third-wheeling you and Oscar, you can just say so,” you joked as the boys made their way to the balcony to join you.

You didn’t know it, but your joke cut deep in Lily’s heart.

Nothing was said about it during the dinner, but Lily’s strange energy continued. It quickly became uncomfortable how much she was pushing Lando and you to interact.

And when you all made your way to a local nightclub after the dinner, it didn’t get any better. Lando quickly got himself lost in the crowd, and you were once again left to be the third wheel.

You could tell that Lily was getting annoyed, but to be fair, she was also annoying you.

“Go dance with Lando!” she shouted over the thumping bass. She gestured to the opposite corner of the small club, where Lando was currently making out with some random Italian woman.

You pointed this fact out to Lily, who just grimaced.

“Do you just want me to go away?” you joked.

“Yes!” she said, and you were taken aback, because she was definitely not joking.

Oscar was at the bar getting drinks, far enough away that he couldn’t hear. To be honest, you didn’t even want to be in this club anymore.

So you snuck out and began your walk home without telling any of them.

As you walked along the cobblestone streets, Oscar handed Lily a drink, pausing when he noticed that you weren’t there to receive yours. “Where’s YN?” he asked.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she headed back,” Lily said.

“By herself? Should we go check on her?”

Lily wanted to roll her eyes. “No, she’s just tired. C’mon, let’s go dance!”

Oscar obeyed, but couldn’t ignore the feeling inside him that something about this whole night had been odd.

The next time he saw Lando, he decided to say something about it.

“Hey mate, are you going back soon?” he asked. Lando nodded, clearly tipsy. “Can you check on YN? Lily said she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Sure,” he said, annoyed at the mention of you again.

He did come back to the house soon, but with an equally drunk and giggly woman on his arm, the same girl he had been making out with in the corner of the club.

You didn’t expect any of them for a long time, so you sat in the living room of the AirBNB, watching the waves cascade into the shore, romanticizing this complicated feeling that coiled itself inside of you.

That was, until Lando stumbled in.

His eyes got wide as dinner plates upon seeing you. The girl on his arm giggled and walked off into the nearest bathroom.

“Hey YN,” he slurred. “Are you dying?”

You laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Lily said you were sick.”

“Nope, I’m good.”

He looked to the closed door of the bathroom. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“You’re fine. I’m…uh, not interested, anyway. I don’t know what Lily’s been on about today.”

“Oh, thank God,” he exhaled. You laughed, despite the sting of rejection in his relief. “Well, I’ll keep it quiet.”

“I’ve got headphones.”

You made your way to your room and put on your noise cancelling headphones, passing the time by scrolling and catching up on work emails, before falling asleep.

You didn’t sleep through the night, instead waking up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was just beginning to round itself along the golden coast. You left your room to get a glass of water, not expecting to see the rest of your friends in the kitchen.

Lily looked hungover as hell, leaning her elbow on the counter, her hand resting uncomfortably on her forehead. Oscar was leaning against the counter on the other side while Lando sat at the bar next to Lily, drinking something out of a mug. His flight home was going to leave soon.

You nodded to your three companions as you sipped your water glass, feeling the tension around you like an oncoming migraine.

“You feeling okay?” Oscar asked. “Lily said you weren’t doing well last night.”

“Ah, just tired,” you answered. Lily had lied to both Lando and Oscar. That was a conversation for another day.

“Well rested now?” Lily asked, her voice tinged with anger and fake sympathy.

“I’m fine,” was all you could answer. You glanced at Oscar, who gave you a knowing look. You had no idea what had gotten into her.

“Are you feeling okay, Lily? You look like you’re about to throw up,” you said, a more genuine concern in your voice.

“I’m fine too,” she said, clearly not fine.

Lando’s Uber pulled up, and you took the opportunity to help him transfer all his bags in one trip.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?” he asked as you heaved the suitcase up into the trunk.

“No idea,” you answered. “Before you all got to the restaurant last night she was being…weird. For the record, I didn’t put her up to any of that.”

“I figured as much. You’re not the type.” Lando was right—it was common knowledge that you were happily single.

“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. For the record, it made me uncomfortable too.”

He exhaled. “Eh, we’re cool. No hard feelings, yeah? I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.”

“I hope so,” you said, giving him a wave as the car disappeared into the winding roads of the coast.

Back in the house, you could hear Oscar and Lily whispering to each other. You wanted nothing more than to disappear and act like this weird night and morning had never happened, but unfortunately, you had to cross through the kitchen back to your room.

A hush went through the room when you entered. You walked as quickly as possible through the kitchen, but were stopped by a voice.

“YN,” Lily called. “I think you should leave.”

“Lily—” Oscar interjected.

“I was just going back to my room anyway,” you explained.

“That’s not what I meant. I think you should go home.”

“Lily, don’t do this—” Oscar pleaded. You just stood in shock.

“Actually, let me clarify,” she continued. “YN, I don’t want you here. Go home.”

“Lily!” Oscar interjected. “Don’t say that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, even though it was definitely not fine. “Let me pack and I’ll be on my way.”

You turned and continued back to your room, fully prepared to do as you had just said. But Oscar followed you.

“YN, wait. Stay,” he said.

“Oscar, it’s fine.”

“I am so sorry that Lily said that, but I want you here.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two or why she’s so upset at me, but if someone tells me to go, I’m not going to overstay my welcome.”

“Still, that was so rude.”

“I’ve got thick skin. I won’t cry myself to sleep over it.” You looked out the window to the coast. “Look, I’ll just find someplace else to stay. A hotel for a few nights is cheaper than trying to reschedule my flight, anyways.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me, Osc,” you said, patting his shoulder. “Go talk to her, figure out what’s wrong.”

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I already know what’s wrong. She’s mad that we don’t spend enough time together.”

“Then go spend time with her.”

“That was the plan! But, I mean, I’m pissed that she said that to you. And she spent all day yesterday trying to set you and Lando up, which was fucking weird.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled with a twinge of laughter. “Look, with my record I can’t exactly give you love advice, but I don’t mind leaving. You all clearly need some space, anyway. Just text me if you need anything, okay?”

Oscar gave you a flat smile and nod.

You packed and quickly booked a private room at a local hostel for the next few days, planning to enjoy the last few days as a solo trip. You truly didn’t care, but in the back of your mind, you hoped that everything would be okay. You never received that text from Oscar.

Back at the house, Oscar and Lily were alone. And neither of them were happy.

“Just fucking go with her if you’re that mad,” Lily said, egging Oscar on. He had always been slow to anger, but he couldn’t deny that he was pissed.

“What is wrong with you?” he questioned. “Why would you say that to her? Do you understand how rude that is? And not to mention the fact that you were being fucking weird with her and Lando all night.”

“Oscar, I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“No, I’m pissed!”

“And, as usual, it’s all about your feelings, hm?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act stupid. Do you know how much I’ve put up with because I don’t want to hurt your feelings? Every vacation, every race weekend, she’s always there. And I put up with her because she’s your friend, but I don’t like her, Oscar.”

“What did she do to you?” he asked. But Lily couldn’t answer. It wasn’t like there had been a specific incident or falling out; in fact, you had always been kind to her. Lily’s silence was all the answer that Oscar needed.

“You knew that YN and I were a package deal from the beginning.”

Tears came to Lily’s eyes. “But this was supposed to be our trip. Just us.”

“Lily, they were only here for a few days. I specifically set it up so that we’d have 2 weeks to ourselves after they left. Is that not enough?”

She was silent, at first. Then came a question out of left field.

“Were you going to propose?” she asked.

Oscar made a face. “Propose?”

“I thought the point of the trip was that you were going to propose.” She looked away, trying to hide her tears. “I’m tired of feeling like an outsider in my own relationship. I’m sick of YN third wheeling, so I thought if I set her up with Lando, maybe she’d leave us alone for a while.” Her voice was tinged with an angry mocking.

She continued, softer, “Oscar, I want to be your wife, I want to grow old with you—”

But Oscar had little sympathy for her. “That’s really what all this was about? Lily, I’m not proposing any time soon.”

“We’ve been together for nearly five years.”

“I know. But with the season starting soon—”

“There’ll always be another season, another race. Is your plan to just marry me when you retire?” The sarcasm had returned to her voice. “Do you even want to marry me?”

“Of course I do. But we’re young, we have time. I’m in no rush.”

“I feel like you don’t care about what I want at all.”

“Lily, I’m trying. But I feel like you want me to cut off my best friend and settle down at 22. You’re asking things of me that I can’t give you.”

“Then why are we even doing this?” Lily asked.

“Because I love you, and I want this to work! But Lily, you can’t treat my friends like that. If you’re angry at me, talk to me, but don’t take it out on them. YN is an important part of my life, too.”

“I’m well aware.”

Oscar sighed. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I’m going back to bed,” Lily announced, leaving the conversation altogether.

When she woke up, her head was pounding. Oscar was asleep beside her, his back towards her, no warmth even in his unconscious state. She had slept through the entire day—the moon hung high in the sky.

As she quietly made her way to the kitchen and got some water and a snack, the memory of what had happened came back, rushing over her. She felt horrible.

The sleep and food had reset her mind. Make no mistake, she was still upset at Oscar, but what he had said was right—she shouldn’t have taken it out on you. She needed to make it right.

She texted you. Hey YN, are you awake? I’d like to talk. In person, if you can.

Only a few minutes later you responded, affirming that you were available and sending the address of your hostel. Lily got there quickly, quietly walking through the rooms to your private room in the back. When you shut the door behind you and you both sat on the bed, she broke down.

“YN,” Lily began, “I am so sorry about this morning. Truthfully, I was upset at Oscar and I took it out on you, and I shouldn't have. I was so rude.”

“It’s okay,” you assured.

“No, it’s not,” Lily interjected. But she seemed at a loss for words. “I just… sometimes, I feel like I hardly get any alone time with Oscar anymore.”

“Because I’m always there?” you joked, not knowing how close to the truth you really were. Lily didn’t respond. “Look, if you want me to take a step back, I can do that.”

Her response was quiet. “Would that be too much to ask?”

“No.” But it was, in a way. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces, but your expression gave away nothing. “I understand.”

“I don’t think he loves me anymore,” Lily confessed. You normally didn’t want to know the details of their relationship, because the truth was too heavy to bear. But it seemed cruel to cut her off. “I feel like he never wants to be around me, like he prefers his work and his friends over me. I want to get married and he doesn’t. He keeps saying it's too soon and he’s busy, but it’s been nearly five years! I mean, how long does he want me to wait?”

You felt uncomfortable, not sure how to comfort your best friend's girlfriend. So you were honest. “I don’t know, Lily. I don’t know what goes on in Oscar’s head any more than you do.”

“Yes you do,” she replied. “You’ve known him longer.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“No, no, no,” you said, wrapping Lily in an embrace as she cried. “No, he’s not. He loves you so much.”

“No,” she echoed. “He doesn’t.”

You didn’t know how to respond. You just held her.

At one point, your phone buzzed, illuminating the screen. Some unimportant notification, but you noticed the date and time more than that. It was past midnight; Valentine’s Day.

The third instance was during the first weekend of the 2025 season; the Australian Grand Prix.

You hadn’t heard from Oscar since the trip. You didn’t really know what to say, and part of you was dreading having to speak to him, knowing that your mere presence was now a strain on his relationship.

Of course Lily wanted more time with him. It made sense. You were present at…most things, actually. But Oscar always invited you, and besides, they lived together. If you had known that you had overstayed your welcome, you never would have gone in the first place.

But on the other hand, you and Oscar had been a part of each other’s lives for nearly double the time that Lily had been around. It wasn’t a competition, but you couldn’t shake that sour feeling that rested in your stomach, that if given the chance, Lily would want you gone for good.

Regardless, between the trip and the grand prix, life went on as normal. It was odd, since your job was literally running all the official OP81 media pages and merch website. You couldn’t not be a part of his life—you made your living by posting memes about him on the internet and organizing all his merch sales.

So, naturally, you went to nearly all the races to take photos of fans, the paddock, and the garage. It was one of your favorite parts of the job.

But Australia was different. It was Oscar’s home race, and a place full of memories for you.

Your family had moved to Australia when you were only seven, having absolutely no friends, except the sweet boy next door in your cul de sac. At first he was cold. You thought he hated you. But you were nothing if not stubborn.

You remembered it like it was yesterday; for Christmas, you asked for a pink motorized jeep, just like the black one that Oscar—the neighbour boy, back then—had. You squealed for joy when you got it. And the very first thing you did was challenge him to a race.

He ignored you. So you rammed your car into his, causing both of them to break. Ever since, somehow, you’d been inseparable.

Your parents traveled a lot for work, so instead of constantly going with them, you found yourself staying with the Piastri family for months at a time. Nicole truly felt like your second mom, and Hattie was the sister you never had. And Oscar was…Oscar. It was impossible to describe the bond between you.

Your parents were never too keen on Oscar, though. They kept it quiet when you were little, but as you grew, their dislike became more outward.

He was 14, leaving for boarding school in the UK. When he told you, you cried. That’s the only time he ever saw you cry.

You wanted to go with him, but your parents couldn’t afford it. He promised he wouldn’t let your friendship die, and he was true to his word. When he got into the higher formulas in racing, he helped you get your job so that you all would never be that far from each other again.

But your parents always said he was using you, stringing you along, exploiting your labor. Though you’d never admitted it to another soul, they knew you well enough to understand that you loved him.

You cut your parents off a long time ago.

Sometimes the fans were worse. Half of them loved you—the half that understood that you could give them access to your idol—but the other half of them called you a beneficiary of nepotism, a gold digger, or a homewrecker. You learned at a young age to develop thick skin.

And it was how you both behaved on race weekends that really exemplified the difference between you and Lily.

You liked to be everywhere at once—in the garage trying to interpret the engineers’ technical jargon, in the grandstands taking photos of fans, in the pitlane shooting the shit with the race stewards. You always wore Oscar’s merch, and you wanted to be in the middle of all the action.

Lily, in contrast, was more reserved. She always looked put together, and frankly stunning, at all her appearances. She preferred to watch the race from the comfort and privacy of McLaren hospitality, and when she did interact with fans, she was respectful but short, very conscious of her space.

Neither of you were better or worse than the other. But no one could deny that you were polar opposites.

You got to Australia before Oscar himself did, having been invited to spend a few days with your surrogate family before you’d have to stay in the hotel, per F1 employee policy. Nicole had told Oscar, who you assumed had told Lily, and when you didn’t hear anything for a few days before you were meant to fly out, you thought everything was fine.

Of course, you thought wrong.

You spent 3 days with Oscar’s family, relishing the warm feeling of belonging that you’d missed. The Piastri guest room felt more like your own childhood bedroom. Of course, Nicole asked how you’d been, but you were politely distant, wanting to respect the fact that Oscar and Lily’s relationship was none of your business.

When the pair finally landed in Australia and made their way to Oscar’s childhood home for the night, though, things worsened.

When Nicole got back from picking them up from the airport, you were in the kitchen prepping dinner. Hearing the front door close, you looked up and smiled, greeting the group.

“YN! What are you doing here?” Lily asked, her voice tentative.

Nicole answered for you. “Oh, she’s been here since Sunday. I’m so happy to have all my kids under the same roof again,” she joked, turning to Oscar to reach up and pinch his cheeks.

Lily just gave a pained smile.

You didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t talked to Oscar in nearly a month. You wanted to honor her wishes—but it seemed like her wish was for you to vanish into thin air.

The rest of the night you were unusually quiet, trying to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult for Nicole to notice that something was up, but she knew better than to bring it up in front of the whole table.

After dinner she wanted everyone to gather in the living room and watch a movie, which you quickly bowed out of, complaining of exhaustion.

As the credits rolled, Nicole leaned over to whisper to Oscar, “Is everything okay with YN?”

Lily overheard and interjected, “She’s fine.” Nicole raised an eyebrow.

Oscar responded, “The home grand prix is always busy for her.”

The answer wasn’t sufficient enough to crush Nicole’s suspicions, but she didn’t have any more time to pry as her son and his girlfriend quickly decided to retire for the night themselves.

The next morning, as everyone was packing to get to the hotel, Nicole decided to ask you herself if everything was okay. But predictably, again, you just said that you were fine. And the morning was so hectic that she didn’t really have the time to interrogate you.

Once you all got settled and to the track for media day, work mode took over, and you forgot all about the tension at the Piastri family home. Though you quite literally were paid to follow Oscar around all day, you felt more like the paparazzi than his friend, hardly ever speaking to him.

And as you went back to the hotel room alone to edit and post for tonight, you felt like a stranger in your own body.

You didn’t want to do this anymore. You missed your friend, but more importantly, you missed being yourself.

But what were you supposed to do? You loved Oscar. Oscar loved Lily. Lily hated you.

You were stuck between three impossible choices: stick around and be forced to subdue yourself into a shell of your true personality until Lily decided she wasn’t upset at you anymore, lose everything you’d ever built by quitting and moving away like you knew she wanted, or continue being yourself and possibly cost Oscar the love of his life.

Yeah, this was a wonderful predicament you found yourself in, through no fault of your own.

You moved like a zombie through the free practices and qualifying. When it was finally time for the grand prix, you assumed your usual place in the McLaren garage, for work if nothing else.

But then, Oscar won.

No team rules. No convoluted strategies. Just Oscar doing what he did best.

You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the shout of the garage and the crowd in the distance, cheering out for their hometown hero. You ran out with everyone to the barricades to greet your best friend.

Though he still had his helmet on, you could see the effects of his smile in his squinted eyes. He pumped his fist in the air, cheering to himself before running to the barricades to jump into the waiting arms of the crowd. You cheered with them, overwhelmed with pride.

Oscar locked eyes with you, cupping your face with his gloved hands and pressing the top of his helmet to your forehead. “I did it, YN!”

“You did!” you yelled, smiling ear to ear.

Of course, people took photos. Photos that Oscar posted later that night.

Lily didn’t like it—the sweet intimacy of the moment, front and center on Oscar’s Instagram page. Why would you post that? It was like you were taunting her.

Lily sat on the edge of the hotel bed while Oscar showered, both of them preparing to meet you, Lando, and a few McLaren team members to celebrate his win.

When Oscar emerged from the bathroom, Lily asked him, “Osc, can you do me a favor?”

“Hm?” he murmured as he dried his hair.

“Can you take down that picture that YN posted?”

“YN posted something?” he questioned, grabbing his phone. As his social media manager, you had access to all his accounts, but occasionally he’d post something himself, too. “I don’t see what you’re talking about.”

Lily pursed her lips. “The first picture from the post she made an hour ago.”

“Oh, this?” Oscar held up his phone. “I posted that.”

Lily was silent.

“Why do you want me to delete it? It’s a good photo.”

Lily just looked at him. Oscar sighed and archived the photo. “There, happy?”

His tone was much harsher than he intended, but to be honest, he was getting tired of the constant fighting, and his patience was wearing thin.

Lily kept quiet, just silently going into the bathroom to start doing her makeup.

In the lobby of the hotel an hour or so later, you awkwardly stood with Lando waiting for the couple to arrive. Once again you were torn—should you miss out on celebrating with your best friend on his first ever home win, or should you go and strain his relationship further?

You were just going to say screw it and go back up to your room when you saw Lily and Oscar walking towards you. Though there was no tension between them, there was no love either. They both just looked…tired.

Everyone had decided to keep it relaxed for tonight, just doing a nice group dinner with Oscar’s family. It was fine, albeit a tad awkward, because you were sitting between Lando and some McLaren employees you didn’t know, at the opposite end of the table from Lily, Oscar, and his family.

You knew this couldn’t continue forever. Something had to break. And it did, when you and Lando ended up back in Oscar and Lily’s room, drinking your way through a bottle of nice champagne.

The alcohol seemed to have calmed Lando’s nerves, as he was actually normal with you. And Oscar was a blushy, smiling mess and he and his teammate laughed at something you couldn’t remember.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the mood was ruined by Lily’s drunken slurring. “Oh my God, YN, just shut up! Go away!” she giggled and grabbed Oscar’s arm.

Usually, you were calm, letting any infraction roll off of you like waves on the beach. But the alcohol emboldened you.

“Lily, what the fuck is your problem with me?” you asked.

The mood shifted, and Lily gave you a look of disgust. “I was just joking, God.”

“No you weren’t.”

Lando chimed in. “Well, I think I gotta call it a night.” He got up and patted Oscar on the back. The two men stood up to walk out, leaving just you and Lily alone in the hotel room.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is with me, but don’t act like there isn’t one. It’s obvious that you don’t want me around, I don’t know what I ever did to you.”

Lily had clearly been sobered up by your seriousness. Still, she burst into tears.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

You sighed, unable to keep your anger in the face of her cries. She continued, “I just… Oscar and I were each other’s first everything. First love, first kiss…first time. I love him so much.”

“I’m not trying to steal him from you.”

Lily was quiet, and so were you. Something she had said gave you pause.

They were each other’s first everything—no, that couldn’t be true.

Because you were Oscar’s first.

It had been many years—you were both 18—and you had never spoken about what happened. But you remembered.

He came back home for Christmas from the UK. It was before he had even met Lily.

You welcomed him home with an embrace—even with the frequent phone calls you had, you couldn’t help but miss your best friend, now here before you, in the flesh.

Neither of you could sleep that night, and somehow you both found yourself in Oscar’s childhood bedroom, quiet in the early hours of the morning.

Though it was warm outside, Nicole had a habit of keeping the house frigid, so you and Oscar huddled together under the handmade quilt that decorated his bed. The moment was tender and quiet, together in the soft darkness.

“Do you like it in the UK?” you asked him, your question searching for a genuine answer.

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s what I have to do for the races.”

“But do you ever get…lonely?”

He paused. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

You traced small circles on the skin of your leg. The closeness of the moment was uncomfortable.

“But you have friends, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re not, y’know, friends for life.”

“I get you.” You really did, not having many friends of your own since Oscar left. “But you must have a ton of girls, though. They all want the cool race car driver.” You smiled, trying to use your humor to lighten the intimacy of the moment.

“No,” was all he answered. “And if I had a girlfriend, you’d be the first to know, anyway.” In the dark of the room, you could only see the outline of his features, but you could feel the pull of his eyes looking at you. “What, do you have a boyfriend? Is that why you’re bringing this up?” he asked.

“Of course I don’t.”

“What do you mean, of course?”

“I mean, why would I have a boyfriend? I have no friends and half the people at school think you don’t even exist.”

“What?” he laughed.

“Well, yeah, when I say my best friend drives race cars in the UK, most people think I’m making you up.”

“Shit,” he laughed.

“So, yeah, it doesn’t exactly get me dates,” you laughed. You felt your throat stiffen. “I haven’t even had my first kiss or anything.”

The silence in the room was thick. “I haven’t either,” Oscar confessed.

You found it hard to believe. Oscar was handsome, funny, everything a girl could want. Neither of you had ever been social butterflies, though.

Under the blanket, Oscar reached for your hand, placing it in his. Your heart was beating out of your chest; you had never even held a boy’s hand.

“We could just…do it now,” he said. “Just to get it over with.” He feigned his usual nonchalance, but you could feel the increase of his heartbeat and the ever so subtle tremble in his voice.

It would be easy for you to laugh it off like a joke. But you knew it wasn’t. And you wanted him.

“Okay,” you said, your voice breathy with nervousness.

You sat up on the bed, and saw the dark outline of his figure leaning towards you, gently tilting your head.

And when his lips met yours, it felt like home. Like everything in your entire life had left you up to this moment, here in the warmth of your best friend’s childhood bedroom.

The kiss lasted longer than you anticipated, but when he did pull away, it was too soon. You were grateful for the darkness that hid your expression. But even without the light, Oscar could see the truth behind your eyes.

“We could…keep going.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

One of his hands found your waist now, pulling you closer, as his other hand pushed back your hair that had fallen in your face.

Once again his lips met yours. It wasn’t like a spark within you—more like a calming, a sense of peace and safety. Of all the boys you’d crushed on before, Oscar was different. You trusted him with everything.

And you showed him so.

He slipped his tongue past your teeth, tentative, as if he was scared to do the wrong thing. But you let him close the gap, your own tongue gliding along his, goosebumps going down your back the closer you got.

He wanted to put his hands all over you, but he was nervous.

He pulled away. “I…don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t either. Is it actually your first time?”

“Yeah. You don’t mind me being your first?”

“I trust you.”

So you both took it slow, taking each other’s hands where you wanted to be touched, not focusing on anything but the other.

The love you made was quiet and simple, beautiful yet imperfect. But you didn’t need perfect. You just needed him.

The next morning, you slipped out of his room before anyone was awake, afraid of what would happen if they found out.

But no one ever did. Oscar never said a word about it ever again, and neither did you; after the holidays, he went back to school and met Lily, and the rest was history.

But you remembered. And as you sat in that hotel room years later waiting for him, you felt numb.

By the time he got back Lily had calmed down, but you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You announced your departure, but Oscar decided to walk you out, too.

You closed the door behind you, but Oscar pulled you to not leave so quickly.

“Hey, is everything alright with you and Lily?”

“No. It’s not.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why she’s being like this.”

You just stared at him, your face blank.

“What,” he asked, “don’t tell me you’re mad too.”

“Was Lily your first?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

Oscar looked over his shoulder. “I’d really rather not talk about this in the hallway…”

“So do you want to go in the room and talk about it? In front of her? Because you lied to one of us. Which one was it?”

“YN, it’s—”

“Which one of us did you lie to, Oscar?”

He let out a sharp exhale, knowing there was no way to escape your line of questioning. He leaned down to whisper to you. “I didn’t lie to her. She just…assumed, and I never corrected her.”

“That’s still lying.”

“You really think I should go in there and tell her the truth?” His voice dripped with frustration.

“Yes. She deserves to know.”

“You know why I never told her? Because I knew this shit would happen, she’d get jealous and try to push you out of my life. If I tell her now, she’ll make me choose between the two of you.”

“Do you blame her?” you asked, astounded at how Oscar could be so clueless.

“Seriously?” he retorted. “You think she’s justified in doing all this to you? The entire reason she’s mad is because she knows if she tries to make me choose, I’m not choosing her.”

“Don’t say that! Oscar, she’s your girlfriend. You should love her.”

“I do. But things just…aren’t the same anymore. It’s like she wants me to change my whole life for her. I can’t do that.”

Unbeknownst to you, Lily got up from the bed and walked to the door, pressing her ear to it, where she could faintly hear you and Oscar arguing.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Oscar continued. “And if you don’t want her to split us up, just let me handle it.”

“Oscar, she deserves better than this. I’ve missed spending time with you, but… you’ve got to tell her the truth.”

Lily opened the door. “I knew it,” she said, her eyes full of tears. “I knew you were cheating.”

Your eyes were wide as dinner plates as Oscar cursed to himself. “Lily, I swear to God that is not what happened—”

“Don’t. Don’t even try,” she said, but Oscar pushed his way back into the room anyway. He looked back to you, and even without words, you knew it was time to go. You needed some sleep.

Unfortunately, Oscar would not be getting any sleep tonight.

“Oscar, just stop lying to me! I’m tired of this!’ Lily cried, curling her legs to her chest as she sat on the bed.

“Lily, I swear, I have never cheated on you. What YN and I were talking about was something from a long time ago.”

“We’ve been together for five years!”

“Can I just explain myself? Please?”

Lily just broke down in sobs. “Do whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

Oscar sighed. “Look, I…I have lied to you. You weren’t my first. YN was.” He looked at his girlfriend, who was still just silently crying. “It was before we even met, and it was just once, and we’ve never done anything since. I would never cheat on you, I love you and—”

“When and where was it?” Lily asked, cutting him off with her statement more like a command than a question.

“The December before we met, when I came home for Christmas.”

“In your bed?”

He nodded.

“Oscar, I slept in that bed next to you the other night.”

He said nothing.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Lily, I promise, I love you more than anything.”

“Then why would you lie to me for five years?”

Oscar took a deep breath and said, “Because I was afraid you would be upset. People don’t understand that me and YN are just friends. I mean, we were raised together, she’s like my sister.”

“You had sex with her. You took each other’s virginity.”

“It wasn’t…like that.”

“How can it not be like that? Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

About an hour after you left, you heard a knock on your hotel room door, and you answered. It was, of course, Lily.

“Tell me whatever Oscar wouldn’t,” she said. Her eyes were still puffy and red.

You welcomed her in, beginning to tell her the entire truth. “Oscar and I had sex when we were 18, before he met you. We never talked about it afterwards. After you met I didn’t want to bring it up, I just assumed he’d do the right thing and tell you. I didn’t want to pry into your relationship.”

So, your stories matched. And Lily knew that you were nothing if not honest.

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”

“No, I mean, are you in love with him?”

You didn’t answer immediately. What were you supposed to say?

Tears fought their way to the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I don’t know,” you began, but that was a lie, you did know. “I guess…I have a special type of love for him. We grew up together. When we were younger, yes, I wanted to be his girlfriend. But then he met you, and… Lily, he was so happy! I just…I realized that I wanted him to be happy more than I wanted him to be mine. So I made peace with the fact that this is how it had to be.”

Lily was overwhelmed with your honesty, in the face of so much deception.

You continued, “I don’t blame you for being upset at me. Oscar should have been honest about what our friendship was like from the very beginning instead of lying to you. But I swear, we haven’t done anything while you all have been together. I’ve been cheated on and I know how much that hurts, I would never do that to anyone else. I’m so sorry it ended up like this.”

“No,” Lily said, “You’re the only one who’s been honest with me throughout all of this. Thank you.”

After that, you hadn’t heard from Oscar after that for a long time. Or, at least, a few weeks felt like a long time to you. But you had other pressing matters—your workload was through the roof with Oscar’s wins. Lando had snatched himself a win too, setting up an early battle for the championship. It was too early into the season to call it, but you knew Oscar was feeling the pressure with the possibility of his first championship dangling so close in front of him. So you kept your distance, not wanting to be a distraction.

That was, until he called you, saying just those three painful words.

“Lily left me.”

The sun was cresting over the horizon, illuminating the thick glass of your balcony and flooding light into your living room. You hadn’t gotten an ounce of rest.

From your bedroom, you could hear Oscar snoring. You just let him sleep.

God knows you both needed it.

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