#MY PRETTY CHELSEA YOU ARE SO TALENTED

[enha-stars]

oh my gosh. this was so freaking beautiful, i can't. chels, you already know just what i think of this but my god did you knock it out of the park.

from the found family to the he attention to detail and the way you’ve so clearly painted a picture and the way you’ve added everyones opinions and the dialogue? absolutely fucking amazing.

one of the best pieces of writing ever and i am SO excited for part 2 (in a month, because you love me so much).

ssv hoon will go down in history because why was i giggling and squealing and slapping my thigh HES SO SWEET I CANNOT

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞) - 𝐩𝐬𝐡

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧 / '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦

synopsis: you were never one to take the high road... until you met someone who made your body burn like rubber on asphalt.

street racer! hoon x street racer!maneater! reader

wc: 16.9k holy fuck honestly this hoe might be a 3-parter lowk

a/n: hi sorry i disappeared... but enjoy LOL and happy one year to my blog! i met so many cool people over this past year. reblogs are appreciated and i will astral project into your room and hug you ≽ܫ≼

banner by @karinasbaby i love you this one's for you big dawg. year in the making, let's go

“Didn’t think you were going to grace us with your presence tonight, Miss Probation,” Jaeyun smirks as you get out of your car, swinging both of your legs out closed like a lady so as to not flash anyone with the black miniskirt you’re wearing. He greets you with an air-kiss to your cheek, to which you roll your eyes—although you bask in the way the other girls stare at the two of you. If only they knew how annoying your best friend actually was.

“It’s Jungwonie’s turn to race for us, so who am I to deprive my brother and the team of our good luck charm? We need all the luck we can get tonight,” you reply, taking a seat on the hood of your baby pink Supra. “We’re on a good win streak. Might even take this season’s cup without me.”

The other racers from different teams have started to arrive, many of them making their way over to say hello to you. You give your girls—Jimin, who races for Razor; Aeri, the beloved race girl; and Soyeon, a member of the AZ team—air-kisses from across the parking lot. You aren’t feeling like walking over to the groups they’re mingling with. (And because you don’t feel like being near Hwang Hyunjin right now.)

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, sitting beside you when you pat the spot next to him. “But you know, Wonie is better than you think—”

“Hey, you never let me sit on your car,” Wonbin says, striding over to you with a smirk. You glance up at him, and he looks like he’s expecting you to either push Jaeyun off or scoot over yourself—either way, he wants a turn.

Basically everyone in your little racing scene does, but you think it’s more fun to work them like dogs than to give in to anyone. Especially not after what happened with— “You’re not even in Enigma, Wonbin. Privilege is for teammates only, get lost,” Jaeyun says condescendingly.

He looks at you again, like an expectant puppy—which only works if it’s Jaeyun doing it to you— waiting for you to reach into your purse. You sigh and reach in and feel around for a particular wrapper. “Here. Go away.”

The Australian snickers as Wonbin walks away dejectedly. “The grandma coffee candy, huh?”

“He was too cocky, that's all he deserves tonight. Even if he’s cute. He’s lucky I gave him anything at all.”

“What about me? I’m cuter,” Jaeyun asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his signature cheeky grin, batting his eyelashes at you the way you do to him. You’re used to flirting with him; it’s more of a way to keep both your skills and his sharp than anything romantic or suggestive. After all, you grew up with Jaeyun, and you know all his embarrassing secrets just like he knows yours. One time in high school, the two of you fake-dated for a week to get some girl too obsessed with him for her own good to leave him alone. It’s safe to say she didn’t buy it, not one bit. You and him bickered too much for it to be believable, and you accidentally screamed when he kissed you on the forehead. 

“Hmm…” Playfully, you pretend to be deep in thought, hand digging in your purse again. “Here.”

His face lights up in innocent delight, a huge contrast to his outfit of baggy cargo pants, oversized hoodie, and sneakers, complete with a thick, iced-out Cuban-link chain around his neck. “Ooh, yum! Grape Hi-Chew!”

You roll your eyes. “I only carry that for you, loser. Everyone knows the mango one is the best.”

“You just say that because grape was—”

“Hey, Y/N! Nice wrap,” Riki says, waving his long arms at you like he’s drowning. The tall, newly-turned 21-year-old bounds towards you before tackling you in a hug that sends you almost crashing into the ground, your hands flying to tug the hem of your skirt down lest your protective younger brother scold you about not dressing for the weather. It’s a cold spring night, as proven by Riki who’s in a loose, knitted navy blue sweater and destroyed light wash jeans.

“Jeez, Riki, I just saw you yesterday, no need to suffocate me,” you grumble affectionately, reaching up to muss his black-and-silver hair before sitting back down on the hood of your car. You’ve been fond of the boy since Jungwon brought him over one day, his first new friend since losing his best friend (and one of yours, honestly) in a betrayal that still hurts to speak of to this day. Riki clings onto you like you’re his older sister, too, and you reckon it probably has something to do with missing his own sister back home. “You saw me finish the wrap on the car, too, remember? Jimin and Soyeon were there.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it looks good even at night! Very professional. Maybe you can wrap the GTR next?” he says, to which you side-eye him, and he adds, “I can pay you.”

“You can pay for my meals every time we go out to eat for the next three months and I’ll call it even.”

He laughs. “Okay, deal. You eat less than Jungwon hyung, anyways.”

“Why are you talking shit about me to my sister again, freak?” your younger brother demands, making his way up to the small crowd that’s starting to form around you, Riki, and Jaeyun. He looks taller today, you think to yourself, and when he comes into full view, you see that he’s riding on the back of an unfamiliar person, a tall man with a sharp jawline and a pretty nose, whose bangs droop over his eyes. He’s wearing a white tank top and jeans, with a black and blue leather racing jacket covering his torso from the chilly Seoul air. 

“Well, did I fucking lie?” Riki snaps back, arms crossed. You hide your laugh in the crook of your arm, eyes locking with the man who’s got your brother draped over his broad shoulders like a backpack. He looks at you intensely, in a way that makes you feel like he’s got x-ray vision or something. You feel like your insides are turning into lava. What’s his deal?

“Whatever, cricket legs.” Jungwon jumps off the man’s back, shaking his hair out of his eyes. You notice that he’s yet again stolen one of your oversized hoodies. “Oh, hyung! This is my sister, by the way. Noona, this is Sunghoon hyung. He’s joining Enigma.”

He’s cute, pretty, even, and you like that. You’ve always preferred pretty boys. And up until about five seconds ago, you would have said that—even though your ex-boyfriend is a cheating bastard who deserves nothing but suffering—he was still the prettiest man you’ve come across. 

But this one, this one in front of you right now, this one takes the cake. He’s got full, thick brows that frame dark almond eyes, and his cheekbones flow into his jawline in a way that makes you think his face has probably stopped traffic at least once in his life. Before you stare at him for way too long, you reach into your purse and pull out one of your mango-flavored Hi-Chews (from your personal stash) to give him. 

“Hi, Sunghoon. Nice to meet you. Welcome to Enigma.”

He repeats his own version of your greeting a bit too curtly for your liking, but you don’t care either way, he’ll be under your thumb in no time, just like everyone else, just the way you like. Rolling the wrapped cube in his hand, he asks, “What’s this for?”

To which you reply, “Oh, nothing. I just like candy.”

“I feel like ‘like’ is an understatement,” Riki snorts, sticking his hand in your purse for something he can snack on. You sigh and hand him your purse for him to rummage around more freely. 

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow at that, but turns to you anyways. “Do you race, too? I don’t want to assume or anything.”

You give him a coy smile, translucent bubblegum-pink-manicured fingernails clicking against the hood of your car as you drum your fingers against it. “Yeah, I do. I’m banned from racing right now, though, until the end of the season at least.”

He cocks his head like a curious puppy, blinking slowly at you. Oh, no. He’s cute and probably doesn’t know it, but he’s definitely dressed like he knows he’s hot. “Why’s that?”

Your smile turns into a smug smirk as you answer, “Because I go too fast.”

“Fourth-gen Supra,” he muses, glancing between your bare legs at the titanium Toyota emblem on the hood that you’d had imported from Japan. For some reason, you have to resist the urge to squeeze your thighs together. “Cute.”

“Oh? And what’s your ride?”

“Beamer M8 Comp,” Sunghoon says, an air of nonchalance about the answer like it’s nothing special. It kind of pisses you off. You’re pretty certain he didn’t win that car by racing for the pink slip like you did with your Supra. Before you got that car, Jungwon’s 350Z was yours, and you’d only had it because you salvaged it from a junkyard and rebuilt the whole damn thing yourself when you weren’t working or sleeping.

If there’s one thing you might hate more in this life than cheaters, it’s people who come from money, people who didn’t understand or couldn’t comprehend that they were playing life on easy mode. People who never had to suffer, because, to you, they never learned anything.

Sure, you had a hard life. Sure, your parents kicked you and Jungwon to the curb when the both of you refused to take over the family business. Sure, you worked hundreds or, more likely, thousands of hours just to make ends meet and take care of your brother while the two of you finished school. Sure, you wished you could have enjoyed your youth more instead of having to worry about money.

But instead, you had to pay the price for your freedom. Part of you still wonders if it was all worth it. If you should have stayed in your hometown. If you should have just went along with the arranged marriage your parents were proposing with someone you didn’t even know instead of running away with your ex and dragging Jungwon to hell with you.

Okay, maybe it really pisses you off. 

“Ooh, rich boy,” you deadpan, your long nails preventing you from balling your hands into fists. You deny him the pleasure of seeing you roll your eyes back into your head. “Daddy must have spent a lot on you.”

“That’s not very welcoming to say,” he shoots back, although his voice is just as flat, his eyes narrowed at you.

You pout mockingly at him. “I’m just teasing our newest member—don’t worry, silver spoon. It’ll be over for you sooner if you decide to quit while you’re ahead.”

“You scared you won’t be the best racer on the team anymore or something, princess?”

“Just wait for me to get off probation and I’ll make you eat my brake dust, Daddy’s Money.”

“You’re already calling me daddy, even though we just met? Because it was my money that bought the car, for the record.”

You’re a little embarrassed and also slightly turned on, neither of which you would ever admit to even Jaeyun, and he knows you just about as well as he knows every single Fortnite map. “Tell someone who cares.”

The back-and-forth between the two of you is thankfully cut short as everyone hears the roar of a particular engine, marking the arrival of Enigma’s leader. You could just kiss him for his impeccable timing—if it weren’t for the fact that neither of you saw each other that way. You reckon both of you would rather eat a jean jacket than get more intimate than the platonic skinship that marks your friendship with him and the other Enigma boys.

People move aside as he puts the metallic, slime green Lamborghini Huracan in reverse and backs up into the parking spot next to you. The ostentatious exotic car belonging to Jay was gifted to him by one of his first clients, a filthy rich businessman who respected and admired Jay’s hard work and dedication to his job despite Jay being a corporate grunt in those days. During this period in your lives, Jay never once showed up late to a meeting with Mr. Big—even when his old Mitsubishi Lancer finally gave up on him after years of being pushed to its limit, even if it meant he had to wake up at three in the morning to start walking from his old apartment in Ahyeon-dong to Gangnam to make the scheduled 6 AM meetings—since the subways unfortunately didn’t operate until 5:30.

After Old Moneybags found out about Jay’s struggle, it was safe to say your best friend wasn’t on hard times for very long after that.

“Jay!” you call out, playing up your role as the only girl in Enigma just to assert dominance over the racer groupies in attendance tonight. You haven’t seen him since the last race, on account of the both of you being too busy with your work schedules to hang out properly. You immediately nudge past everyone—including Sunghoon, who you intentionally brush up against, your ass against his leg—to be the first to greet him.

“Hey, sweets, missed you,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, been just fine. You know me, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself,” you assure him with a smile. He pinches your cheek. “What about you?”

“Oh, same shit, different day. Hoping I finally clutch this huge promotion at work. Head of an entire department,” he answers, protective hand on your waist as he guides you back to the rest of the Enigma boys. Along the way, he daps up some of the other racers who say hi to him, before giving Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Riki a dap and that weird side hug that guys who are close friends do. “Have you met Sunghoon yet?”

“Yeah, I have.” Your lips form into a slight pout, even though you know everyone but Riki is immune to your occasional petulance. “No one told me we were getting a new member. I thought we agreed to vote if it ever happened again? And… I thought it was never going to happen again?”

“You weren’t answering your phone when we voted, so Riki and Wonie took your vote,” Jaeyun snickers, shaking Jay’s hand and giving him the one-armed, “definitely not gay, bro” hug. “Think you had the group chat muted again.”

“Well, that was for good reason,” you argue crossly. While you loved your boys, that didn’t stop them from getting on your nerves at least once a day. “I was mad at you guys for not wanting to go get milk tea with me. And then you got it without me, clearly.”

“Didn’t we bring you some that night, though?” Jay retorts, ever the level-headed one when his temper wasn’t getting the best of him.

“Yeah… but I wanted to come! We live in the same building, for fuck’s sake!”

“It was a boys’ night, silly. Are you a boy?” Jaeyun pats your head and you swat his hand away, grumbling under your breath at him to not to touch you and to fuck off. 

Your attention veers to Jungwon as he turns to Sunghoon, who’s standing with his arms crossed, watching you bicker with the boys from a distance. “Don’t mind her, she’s always like this. You ready to race?”

“Always like what, Yang Jungwon?” you ask mirthlessly, hands on your hips.

“A brat!” Jaeyun and Jay answer on his behalf, tugging you away so as to allow the racers on tonight’s card to drive up to the starting line, and everyone else can get behind them.

That’s how your scene’s races have worked since you were tasked with changing the rules two years ago; two drivers from each team participating would race, while the others would drive behind them as pace cars. They would also be ready to distract the police at a moment’s notice and keep the roads clear of civillians. It was as ethical as you could make it, and, honestly, it worked and kept everyone safe.

On this night, you’ve been roped into Jaeyun’s metallic blue Mustang Shelby GT500, with glimmering white racing stripes you added on yourself, huffing and muttering to yourself about how the boys were being “mean” to you in front of Sunghoon to try and impress him. Jay has gone ahead to wait at the finish line. He’d refused—again—to not “put the Huracan anywhere near any of these morons with driver’s licenses,” and so he’s there to note down the order in which the racers arrive, armed with several precisely-calibrated stopwatches. 

You yourself have refused to ride with any other driver even though many of them offered to bring you along as their “passenger princess”. You will only ever ride with one of your boys. Riki is in his blacked out R35 Nissan GT-R, the other seats occupied with the life-sized plastic skeletons that he “borrowed” from his school’s anatomy lab. He’s cruising beside Jungwon, and behind you and Jaeyun; Sunghoon is in his own car beside you two.

“How’d you even meet that guy, anyways?” you groan to your best friend, trying to shield your eyes with the way Riki’s obnoxiously bright, blue underglow on his car is blinding you in your side mirror. Your hand dangles out of the open window, fingertips tapping idly on the outside of the door. “He’s so unfriendly.”

“Actually, he’s pretty cool when you get to know him. Riki and I met him at the gym a few weeks ago. He asked if one of us could spot him on the bench press—for three plates, that’s fucking sick! But, uh, yeah. We started working out together after that.”

You scoff. “Oh, great. Another meathead like you two.”

“Y/N, that’s not nice,” Jaeyun chides, glancing at you with the same affection of an older brother, even though you’re both 24 years old. “You’re not being very nice tonight.”

“Well, neither is he. He’s just some spoiled little rich boy who thinks he’s better than everyone.”

“Um… so am I, honestly… and so is Riki, honestly, but you don’t say anything about that, do you?”

You begin to reply, but you frown as Sunghoon speeds past the two of you in his pearly black BMW M8 Competition, the exhaust pipes screaming bloody murder, heading for the starting line just a hundred feet ahead. “Did he hear me say that about him?”

“Most likely.”

“Fuck.”

Part of you wants to apologize; maybe you’re being a little harsh on him, maybe you’re projecting your feelings towards this guy just because he reminds you of a certain someone, maybe you need to finally come to terms with what you’ve been denying for all these years.

Jaeyun pulls up to his spot behind the racers, right between Riki’s GT-R and Jungwon’s 350Z. You signal to the Nissan Boys, as you affectionately call your little brothers, to put their seatbelts on. They both pretend to sigh begrudgingly as they buckle themselves in.

The race girl is your good friend, Aeri, who every guy in your racing division is also obsessed with. Between the two of you, you think that she’s the truly adored one, because she is still as sweet as the day you met her—and you have an inclination to terrorize anyone of the opposite sex who rubs you the wrong way (due to your past). You can’t help it though, and, surprisingly, none of the boys who fall at your feet fault you for it.

But no one ever seemed to feel the need to prove you wrong, either, and that was your problem with them.

Aeri stands in between the middle two drivers, reaching under her top to unclip her bra. You take this as your cue to pull out the megaphone from where it sits waiting at your feet. Leaning out of the window, you announce, “First one to the base of Namsan Mountain wins! I expect a clean race, no funny business. Take no shit, but do no harm!”

“Isn’t that backwards?” Jaeyun whispers to you. You wave him off. He’s right, but you’re trying to emphasize your point about not dragging any innocent people into the racers’ mess.

You continue.“Tonight’s winner will receive the cash prize from me, personally, at a later time. Are we clear?”

A chorus of revved engines gives you your answer. “Alright. Aeri, count us down?”

She nods, pulling out her bra from her top and holding it up in the air. “‘Kay! You guys will go on 1! Ready? 3… 2… 1!” At the final number, she lets the hot pink satin garment drop to the ground, and everyone guns it, driving off in a flurry of exhaust smoke and burnt rubber.

“How much was the buy-in tonight, sweetie?” Jaeyun asks, using his own form of the sugar-derived nickname for you.

“Five million won apiece,” you answer. You scroll through Yun’s phone and play a song on his obnoxiously overpriced sound system. You’ve been joking to your friends that you’re in your “girl Future” era, citing your borderline toxic behavior towards the other racers who constantly slide in your DMs as proof that you’re literally the female version of the rapper. It doesn’t help that your coworker, Minjeong (who is also your self-appointed “work wife”), encourages you to torment men.

“‘I Serve the Base’? Really?” he snorts, leaning back in his seat. “You’re in a mood tonight, huh?”

“I dunno, it just fits the vibe,” you shrug. “Just quit yapping and drive, please.”

“Like I said, a mood.”

You sigh and physically turn away from him like a petulant girlfriend would—knees pointing towards the door and all—and stare out of the passenger window at the cars in front of you. You watch as Wonbin and Hyunjin duke it out on the road, trying to put each other in last place. The way they’re maneuvering their cars makes you a little uncomfortable, but also annoyed that they clearly didn’t listen to a word you said not two minutes ago. “Yunie, flash your high beams at them.”

“Say please.”

You look at him in confusion. Where’d he learn to say that?

“Sorry, Sunghoon does that to Riki and Jungwonie all the time.”

Yikes. Part of you hopes he doesn’t do it to girls, too… but you wouldn’t mind it if he were to do it to you. It’s high time someone really makes an effort to put you in your place, honestly. You reach behind you, to the back seat and grab the laptop you took from Riki, opening it up and typing furiously.

“What are you doing?”

“Accessing the street cameras,” you answer like it’s obvious. Being nefariously good at using the Internet was a perk that came with hanging out with your brother way too much. “I want to see what’s going on.”

“Well? Give me the rundown, then.”

“Jungwonie is in third place, it looks like. He’s gapped Hyunjin in front of us by at least a kilometer… and he’s approaching San and Wooyoung real quick. But—fuck, wait.” You click through a bunch of tabs, scanning the screen faster than when you’re reading twenty-six text message screenshots that Aeri sent you to dissect. “I can’t find Sunghoon anywhere.”

“What? What do you mean you can’t find him? Did he get pulled over or something?” he asks, lowering the volume of his speakers using the button on his steering wheel, eyes still trained on the road in front of him. He flashes his lights again, this time at just Wonbin to pick up the pace, urging him to pass Riki—who now has his underglow set to a stealthy dark red—up ahead.

“No… just�� wait, give me a sec… oh, holy fuck.” You click through the camera footage, rewinding it and slowing down the playback. “Oh, my God.”

“Jesus Christ, what is it? You can’t just cliffhanger me like that!”

“I can’t see him because his lights are off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think he has a mod on his car—you literally can’t see him unless he drives under a streetlight.”

“Wait, that’s what Riki imported for him?!”

“What the—oh shut the fuck up, it was me who imported that light system! That fucker said it was for a friend when I asked him why he was buying new bulbs, ‘cause I knew he just got those halo LEDs!” You take a deep breath before sticking your hand in the pocket of Jaeyun’s pants.

“Yo! I thought we agreed not to fuck in the car! And especially not while I’m driving—but I guess I shouldn’t turn down some road head…”

“God, shut up, you perv! I need to get your phone and call Sunghoon!” you cry out. “He needs to turn his lights on, what if he gets hit by someone?!”

Jaeyun laughs. He laughs. At your misery, or your panic, or at you. “So you do like him.”

“Shut the fuck up, seriously, Yun, I just don’t want anyone getting hurt. We’re already on thin ice with the cops as it is!”

“Shoutout San, though,” he chuckles, shifting gears so he can close the gap between him and Wonbin, who is starting to approach Hyunjin again. 

Your friend Choi San, also a racer on the AZ team, is from a family of high-ranking Seoul Police Department officials; he’d gotten pretty much everyone off the hook more than once for various traffic violations. You keep a stash of mint chocolates in your purse for whenever he’s around—even if they remind you of your ex-best friend—as your way of thanking him for keeping everyone’s records clean. It also helps that he absolutely loves your attention. 

“You’re so annoying, Sim Jaeyun. Let me call Sunghoon, seriously.”

“Dude, chill, look at the cams again. The gap between everyone is getting smaller.”

You check the laptop screen again, and he’s right. You see Jungwon overtake both San and Wooyoung, and while you’re still holding your breath in worry over your baby brother, another part of your heart soars with pride at how good he’s gotten. You’d like to think that he got his driving skills from you, even though it was your stupid prick of an ex-boyfriend who first put him behind the wheel of a car.

But when you look up, you notice that Jaeyun is distracted trying to change the song playing on his phone. And there’s a sharp turn coming up ahead. You feel sick, adrenaline immediately rushing through your bloodstream.

Instead of screaming nonsense, you slam the laptop shut, tossing it on the floor and practically crawling across the center console to grab the wheel with one hand and the e-brake with the other. You drive your knee into Jaeyun’s leg to floor the accelerator, and at the same time, you deploy the e-brake and turn the steering wheel hard. The car drifts around the turn with ease, thanks to him immediately springing into action, tossing his phone somewhere in the cupholders and countersteering as he shifts gears.

“Pay attention next time,” you mutter in annoyance, as if the two of you almost crashing was a slight inconvenience and nothing more.

“Sorry, Mommy,” he snorts, downshifting back to his cruising speed. You give him the middle finger as you watch the cars change formation in front of you. Hyunjin cuts off Wooyoung at the junction between two roads, and Wooyoung swerves in the opposite direction to avoid hitting San to his left. Wonbin approaches from behind San, flashing his lights, trying to get one of them to move over, but they both downshift, forcing Wonbin to brake, fall back, and move over to try and find another opening.

And then it happens.

You hear a distinct 8-liter engine roaring furiously somewhere in the vicinity, but you see nothing. You think for a second that it could be the sound of a police helicopter overhead, but you doubt it, not if San tipped off his family that there would be a race tonight, and he always does, because you remind him to do it. You think that he pretends to forget just so you’re forced to text him and he’ll have an excuse to talk to you, but you don’t really care because he’s sweet and always earns himself the best of your candy stash—although you’ll reluctantly admit that Sunghoon has been the first to get the candy that you carry for yourself. 

Because you’re not allowed to smoke inside Jaeyun’s car, you unwrap another mango Hi-Chew and wonder if Sunghoon would taste like you if you kissed him. Sure, you don’t like him all that much so far, but he’s hot, so maybe you could just hook up with him and dip—

Oh, who are you kidding? You haven’t slept with anyone since your ex, even though everyone thinks otherwise. You’ve made out with San and Hyunjin a few times, much to the amusement of Jaeyun and Jay, but you never let it get past that. You just go home and use your vibrator to finish the job. Sex is too intimate, feels too much like baring your soul to someone else and you don’t want anyone to get too close like that any time soon.

Too close, too close, too close just like the sound of that engine, and it snaps you out of your thoughts. Sunghoon finally turns his lights on, and reveals his location for everyone to see. He’s at the front, way ahead of even Jungwon, who is currently trying to keep Hyunjin off his tail.

No one but Sunghoon ever had a chance to win.

The race ends before you can truly even register this fact, and everyone parks at the base of Namsan Mountain to congratulate the winner, who seems insanely put-off by all the attention.

“Jay,” you say, approaching the Huracan driver quietly, your shoes crunching the gravel beneath you.

He looks up from his phone at you, jawline illuminated by the screen. The way he slightly tilts his phone away from you signals that he’s texting Aeri. You laugh inwardly; he doesn’t know that you know about them secretly hooking up. “Mm?”

“What was Sunghoon’s time?” you ask. Your bottom lip is tucked under your teeth, and you don’t even realize how hard you’re biting down.

“Eight minutes, twenty three seconds.”

You gulp. Like actually, visibly gulp, as if you’re swallowing a hard-boiled egg whole like some cartoon character. “Oh. That’s—”

“Almost a whole minute faster than your record. He told me he took a detour somewhere at the halfway point.”

“He’s good,” you admit. “Just like—”

Jay interrupts you again, pocketing his phone. “Don’t say his name, sweets. They’re nothing alike.”

You turn to him, eyes searching for answers. He simply puts a hand on your shoulder before pulling you into the hug he knows you need right now. “It’s been two years,” you mutter into the fibers of his cashmere sweater, hoping that the knit is dense enough that it drowns out the sound of your voice. “Why do I still bring him up?”

“He was a big part of your life. And ours, too. It’s okay. You’re going to have to accept that none of it was your fault eventually.”

“And stop taking it out on anyone else that comes after him, huh?”

Jay pats you on the back. “Bingo.”

“Wait, no one ever gave me a real answer, but why do Jaeyun and Riki live together? And Jay and Jungwonie?” Sunghoon asks. He’s sitting across from you in the former pair’s living room, letting your younger brother lean against him as the alcohol takes over Jungwon’s weak tolerance.

You raise your glass like it’s an extension of your hand, leaning against the bottom of Jay’s leather couch where you sit beside him. “That was my idea, when I was moving out of my old apartment. I lived there with my ex, until I kicked him out. When my lease was ending, all of us decided to move to a new building—this one—and I figured that each of the two young ones should have a hyung to look after them. But also, I didn’t want anyone living with me.”

The last part leaves everyone silent, and you laugh, adding, “Why do you guys look surprised? I told you that when we were signing our leases.”

Sunghoon looks at Riki to his right, who is trying to make a soju bomb with more soju and less beer, and then across from Riki at Jaeyun, who is egging him on to just drink straight from the soju bottle, and back at Riki, who listens to the Australian intently, like he’s some sort of genius. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

You wave him off. “Oh, yeah. They’re just off the clock right now. You know, can’t be serious all the time.” Oops, another dig at him.

Your phone chimes with notification after notification, and it’s not just updates from Candy Crush. It’s text messages, and not the good kind from Aeri or Soyeon telling you which racer they’ve gone home with tonight.

Before you can silence your phone, though, Jaeyun, who’s on your other side, picks up your phone, laughing exaggeratedly as he waves your glowing screen in the air. “Guys, look! I told you it was gonna happen!”

“What?” Sunghoon asks, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. You shake your head at him and mouth the words “don’t listen to him”.

But then Jay starts cackling, catching your phone over your head when Jaeyun throws it to him in order to read the messages out loud. You don’t even bother fighting their teasing anymore; in fact, you’re a little excited, because you know your boys are about to go in on whoever’s hitting you up. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here! From Wonbin: ‘it was nice seeing you tonight, do you want to hang out this week?’”

“Ewww, gross,” Jaeyun groans with a mouthful of fries. “He was literally trying to sit on the Supra when Y/N pulled up!”

His revelation is met with a chorus of laughs and jeers as your boys mock Wonbin for his transgression, for being so stupid and arrogant to think that you would have just given him a free pass. After all, that car is your baby. You suffered a lot for it, and not just anyone could come up and touch it. In fact, one time, Jungwon was banned from riding in your car for a month because he got his fingerprints on your side mirrors.

“Did San-hyung text noona?” Riki’s nosy ass asks, running up behind the couch and diving onto it to look over Jay’s shoulder. Jay pushes his head away. “Oh, shit, he did!”

Jungwon sighs, slumping further even against Sunghoon. “God, just read it and put me out of my misery. He’s so down bad for her, it’s disgusting.”

Jaeyun giggles, and kicks his sock-covered feet like a schoolgirl. “He’s probably gonna ask her on another date and make her bike along the Han River again.”

This makes you choke on your drink, and it almost comes out of your nose. “Hey, I thought we we agreed not to bring that up.”

“It’s not every day I open my Instagram and see your stupid ass fighting for your life getting hard-launched on his story,” he snorts. “Watching you trying to ride that bike gave me second-hand embarrassment.”

“Yeah, it’s like he didn’t even care that you looked stupid, he was really trying to let everyone know that he was out with you,” Jay adds. “Way to keep it lowkey, or whatever.” Your face burns hot with embarrassment as you realize that Yunie has taken out his own phone to pull up the screen recording of San’s Instagram story to show Sunghoon. Now you actually want to smack the phone out of his hand, but you figure it’s fine, you don’t care if he sees you like that. It shouldn’t matter, he’s just one of the guys now. He could join in the teasing for all you care.

Right?

“Yo, hold the fuck up, Y/N, I thought you and Hyunjin were done?” Jay says, scrolling through your notifications.

Your eyes flick up to Sunghoon, who is currently trying to busy himself with separating the perilla leaves—that no one has so much as breathed in the direction of tonight—as he seems to not pay attention to the video, or to what Jay is saying. Either that, or he really doesn’t find it funny. “Put it away, Yunie,” he says quietly, one hand gently pushing back Jaeyun’s phone towards him. “That’s too much. You’re embarrassing her.”

“I thought so, too,” you sigh at Jay, trying not to acknowledge the fact that Sunghoon may or may not have just stood up for you against your best friend. “He ignored my texts for, like, four days, and you guys know how much I absolutely hate that. I know I lag, too, but never that long. At least I’d tell you that I’m busy or whatever. Fuck’s sake.”

“What did Hyunjin hyung say?” Jungwon mumbles. He’s now using Sunghoon’s lap as a pillow, and the sight makes you feel a little soft. You love your younger brother to bits and pieces, and seeing him like this reminds you of the times he’d come home really tired from school and fall asleep at your dining table while you prepared dinner for the two of you. You often yearn for that period in your life, when things were much simpler and the only thing you were sad about was missing your family.

Now you have a new family, but another part of your heart is broken, and time hasn’t healed it—at least, not completely.

“He’s asking if she’s busy this week,” Riki answers. Part of you wants to drag him by the hair and put him on a one-way flight back to Japan. “Oh, Jay hyung is checking her calendar. Yikes, hyung… You’re still pushing that agenda?”

“What agenda?” Sunghoon pipes up after gulping down the last of his beer, his lips glossy from the liquor.

“Oh, he just thinks they’d be cute together,” the freakishly tall boy rambles, making a gesture out of Jay’s line of sight that signals to Sunghoon that Jay is crazy. The alcohol has made you basically nonverbal at this point, and you just let Riki explain your lore to the hot new member of your racing crew. Hopefully Sunghoon doesn’t remember any of it in the morning.“It’s kind of about time that noona gets a new boyfriend. Personally, though, me and Yunie-hyung are on Team San.”

“Isn’t that up to her though?” Sunghoon muses. “Like, why does it matter if she’s single or dating around?”

“Because she’s not that type of person who actually can do anything casual,” Jaeyun interjects, putting a hand over Riki’s mouth, only to pull away in disgust when Riki licks his palm. He wipes the drool off on Jay’s arm. “She just does it because she doesn’t want to get too close to anyone who isn’t us. So it’s a vicious cycle. She says she’s healing, but she can’t fully heal the part of her that was wounded because she needs to be in a relationship with someone who will be patient with her and prove her wrong. Someone who will help her finally get over… him.”

“I figured, from what you told me before,” Sunghoon says quietly to your supposed best friend. He’s not really being much of a best friend now, you think, even though everything he’s said is both correct and true.

This piques your interest. Your index finger circles around the rim of the open bottle of soju that you’d confiscated from Riki. “What do you know?”

“Ey, Hoon, watch what you say, I don’t want her throwing her drink at me!”

You roll your eyes and look back at Sunghoon. “Don’t listen to him. Tell me what Jaeyunie told you, and I’ll decide if I throw it at him or not.”

“Well—”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Jay says, setting down his now-empty glass of beer with a smug, victorious grin. “Well, actually, I’m not, but I texted Hyunjin back and said you’d meet him at that new fancy Italian restaurant in Gangnam on Wednesday at 7. And before you say anything, yes, you’re free that day. I checked your calendar and your emails.”

You flaked on your date with Hyunjin. To teach him a lesson, of course.

But you do start seeing more and more of Park Sunghoon as the weeks pass, what with him being a full-fledged, initiated member of Enigma now. And you hate to admit it, but he’s starting to grow on you, even though you still think he’s kind of stoic—mostly towards you. You can tell he’s softening a bit, though.

Because, truth be told, you’ve also observed him to be honest and kind and genuine, the latter the rarest thing you see amongst the racers involved in your second life who throw themselves at you like moths to a flame. He’s sincere, but he also doesn’t mince his words, so you have no choice but to take them at face value. You like watching him get along with the other boys in your life, the only ones you truly love, the ones who have done nothing but love you like a family could and couldn’t.

Riki, for one, loves to pester Sunghoon when he’s around and makes you sit and keep score for them while they play table tennis in the game room of your apartment complex. They’re both extremely competitive, and you think to yourself that Sunghoon is such a good sport even when Riki’s elaborate, well-choreographed victory dance gets too annoying even for you to tolerate. You’re pretty sure he adds a new move every single time he does it.

They go to the gym on days where Riki’s done with class early enough to beat rush-hour, and they bring you along for dinner afterwards if you feel like coming. Riki’s now got a debt to pay to you, on account of you wrapping his GT-R in a metallic oil-slick color. You and Sunghoon chose it together, because no one else was replying to you in the group chat. Sunghoon even helped you install it, if helping you meant feeding you dumplings from a takeout container because your hands were full with the heat gun in one and a felt-edge squeegee in the other. 

For an entire weekend, he sat in your garage with you quietly, making idle conversation when the white noise would get too much for even him. He asked you about yourself, and you told him about how you met Jake in third grade, when his family moved to your hometown all the way from Australia, and how you became friends with him only because you were the only one in your class who knew how to speak decent English. (You watched a lot of American TV shows on illegal streaming sites.) In turn, you asked him if he likes his job as an investment banker, and he tells you that he wanted to be an automotive engineer when he was younger, but every man in his family works in finance and expected him to do the same.

This admission prompts you to share that you were supposed to step up and run your family’s successful chain of restaurants, but you refused to do so, choosing instead to run away with your boyfriend at the time and follow him to Seoul for the two of you to go to college. Jungwon even came with you, and you let him. Sunghoon asks you if you regret it. You say no, because, really, you don’t. But you do still have trouble sometimes trying to understand why some of the people you loved the most in this life—your mother, your father, and later on, your boyfriend—did not care if you were happy. 

They only really cared that you did as you were told.

And Jay, much to your amusement, happens to be at the butt of most of Sunghoon’s teasing—whenever he’s in his extroverted mood, that is. They bicker much like Tom and Jerry, but you can tell that they get along just fine deep down. After all, Sunghoon’s been helping Jay decorate his and Jungwon’s apartment, listening (more like tolerating, if anyone were to ask you) to Jay ramble on and on about Herman Miller chairs and Noguchi lamps, and no one else can be in the same room as him when he gets like that, and that’s saying something because your apartment is also decorated in the mid-century modern style. 

Jungwon sometimes tags along with them to furniture showrooms, strictly on the condition that they treat him to a meal afterwards. Sunghoon, not so surprisingly, is always the one who invites you along with them as well, ever since that first night when you complained about the boys getting milk tea without you. You wonder if it’s a pity invite, but you don’t really care much if it is, because he doesn’t seem like the type who does things he doesn’t want to do.

There was this one time two weeks ago that you came along with them to go pick out a new rug—first mistake. Your second mistake was forgetting to eat before leaving your apartment. You sat on a chair clutching your stomach with one hand, scrolling through your phone looking at the drink menus of nearby cafes with the other. Little did you know that Sunghoon, who was standing right beside you, was nosily peeking over your shoulder while also on his phone, typing in the names of whatever menu item you would pause on.

He disappeared for a few minutes after telling you he forgot something in his car. This left you to decompose in your (very cushy) chair while you listened to Jay and Jungwon argue about low-pile versus high-pile rugs. You contemplated how long it would take for them to notice that you’d passed out from hypoglycemia. But then Sunghoon returned, holding a bag from the food delivery app you all like to use. He’d nonchalantly and wordlessly taken out a peach iced tea and a sandwich to hand to you, but you looked up at him like he was God coming down to earth to save you. You thanked him profusely and he actually smiled at you, eyes crinkling up at the corners and turning into pretty crescent moon shapes. 

If you didn’t already know that Jaeyun loves women, you’d think that he has a crush on Sunghoon. You seem to have lost your pet best friend to his new pet rich boy. Jaeyun loves to spend time with Sunghoon, even though he’s not at all very talkative. Regardless, every single time you come over to Yun’s apartment, Sunghoon is either already there or five or ten minutes away, depending on the day of the week and the time at which your best friend invites you over to his and Riki’s apartment. 

Then the three of you, with the occasional addition of any or all of the three other Enigma boys, will inevitably order some takeout delivery and watch a film—”Not a movie,” you insist—until you inevitably start crying at the plot and say you have to go home before the boys really start making fun of you. Sunghoon always walks you to your door, even though you live just down the hall. You always tell him he doesn’t have to, but he always brushes you off and tells you to get your things so you can leave. 

And one time, about a week ago, you heard him scold the other guys for being mean to you, reminding them that even though you’re technically one of the boys, you’re still a girl at heart, and they should make some effort to be nicer to you. You heard him really dig in to Jungwon in particular, and while you kind of felt the urge to come back into the room and defend him, Sunghoon told your brother to show some respect and think about all the things you’d done for him in the past seven years. So you stayed back, still in shock that Sunghoon had spoken up for you so vehemently.

Speaking of your younger brother, your precious baby all grown up, the only family you have left: Jungwon adores Sunghoon, viewing him as the older brother you wished you could have been for him. Yes, Jay and Jaeyun are literally right there, but you can tell that the connection between Jungwon and Sunghoon is different. Jaeyun is good for keeping both Jungwon and Riki out of your hair when you’re busy, and Jay indulges your brother, spoiling him every chance he can get, having no siblings of his own. 

Somehow Sunghoon has gotten through to your brother in terms of his life and his career; after all, he’s close to finishing college soon and doesn’t know what he wants to do just yet. You would kill for a chance to help Jungwon, but you reckon he hasn’t come to you because he doesn't want to add to your stress and you could cry at how considerate he can be when he isn’t teasing you. You promise yourself that one of these days you’ll thank Sunghoon for his help, maybe some time after you finally admit to yourself that you were wrong about him being a prick. And maybe you’ll apologize for making assumptions about him in the first place.

Yes, you’ve been observing the way Sunghoon gets along with everyone, and you’re happy, you really are, but something is gnawing at you. While the arrival of new racers in your scene is nothing new, Enigma itself hasn’t been disrupted since Jungwon met Riki and all of that other shit went down. 

More importantly, you haven't been disrupted for so long. Two years, to be exact. It’s been two years since you got your heart broken twice, and you’ve spent so long holding everyone at arm’s length away from you because you’re not too keen on ever experiencing that again. Sure, you date around, but like Jaeyun said, they don’t mean anything to you. You know what they want and it’s what you refuse to give them. And then this guy, this fucking guy with pretty brown eyes who is soft-spoken and quiet and has the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen in real life… this fucking guy comes in with the audacity to make you feel like he simultaneously likes you and wants nothing to do with you.

Although you think the latter is just a defense mechanism on your part. You’d tried to convince yourself that he only cares about you so that the boys don’t kick him out of Enigma, because if the two of you didn’t get along, there would be no way he could stay on the team. After all, you’re still their best racer, and more importantly, their best friend. But that can’t be all true, because you fight with the boys sometimes, sometimes real petty fights that end in everyone crying, and you’re still an Enigma member through and through. So telling yourself that Sunghoon secretly hates you because of your ways is a lie on your part.

Because right now, about three months after you’ve first met, when you’re at the club with the boys, there’s no way Sunghoon truly doesn’t like you. The rational part of your brain can recognize that; after all, you’ve watched him countless times coldly brush off the advances of random girls in public who see his credit card and try to take advantage of his generosity. 

And you saw with your own two eyes the way he looked at you when you’d asked him if what you were wearing (a white mesh mini dress with baby pink kitten heels) was actually “too much,” and if you should go change like the others had said. You heard with your own two ears when he told you, “It is a bit much, but you look good. If there’s any trouble, don’t worry, I got you.”

It’s a good thing your face was already pink from the makeup you’d dolled yourself up with.

You never have to pay for drinks when you go out. The boys know this. You always tell them to not waste their hard-earned money—or in Jungwon’s case, your hard-earned money—on you when you can get some rich loser to buy you a bottle of Clase Azul if you bat your eyelashes at them and say you want to ring the bell.

Tonight is different, though. Usually you can score some of the top shelf shit without so much as lifting a finger, but because Sunghoon went with you to the bar, you can sense that the men in the club are not willing to put your dirty Shirley Temple on their tab. He doesn’t even have his hand around your waist, but you assume it’s the malevolent energy radiating off him in waves of expensive cologne that have people socially distancing from you like you’ve got the plague.

“Something wrong, Hoon?” you ask him innocently, swapping cocktails with him as you’ve often found yourself doing whenever the two of you are out together. It’s been a running occurrence since you’ve started joining him and the boys on their hangouts. He’ll order whatever you want to try, be it pasta or a coffee, and you can order something else you like. You sip on his Jack and Coke before making a face and taking your tequila sunrise from him.

“Do you want to wear my jacket?” he says, leaning in close so that you can hear him over the thrum of the bass-boosted music. “These creeps are staring at you too hard. It’s freaking me out. Pissing me off, really.”

You shrug. The buzz is starting to really hit you, thanks to your pregaming session at Jaeyun’s before you left for the club. “Doesn’t bother me, I’m used to it. It’s not like any of them have a chance.” You reach over and brush off invisible lint off Sunghoon’s shoulder, lingering a little longer just to feel the hard muscles underneath his clothes. “You do, though.”

He looks at you with his lips pursed in a flat line, a look he often gives Jay when Jay won’t stop pestering him. Then he takes his jacket off and drapes it over you. “Just put this on. I’ll be right back, I have to take a call.” He shows you the glowing screen of his phone, and you can read the contact name. It’s one of his bosses, and you only know this from the time he invited you to have dinner with them (and they’d pestered Sunghoon into bringing a date, since all of them are married).

You nod in understanding and nestle yourself snugly in his leather jacket, the same black-blue-white combination that he’d worn the night you first met. Idly, you sip on your drink, watching the crowd of swaying bodies underneath the colored strobe lights. In the distance, you can spot Jaeyun’s freshly bleached head of wavy hair next to Jay and Wonie, and that’s only thanks to Riki’s freakishly tall frame standing out like a cell phone tower beside them. They’re dancing with a group of girls, and you try not to gag when you see your younger brother let a girl grind up against him.

“Hey, why don’t you take this off? It’s hot enough in here because of you,” someone yells out right beside you, trying to make himself heard over the music. You turn to him, already pissed off because who the fuck says that?

“No thanks,” you say flatly. “I’m good.”

Even if you are feeling a bit hot inside the packed club, there’s something in you that wants to respect Sunghoon’s wishes while he’s gone, because you know behind his cold exterior he means well and it’s his own roundabout way of looking out for you. Either that, or he’s possessive, your delusional brain thinks, catching a whiff of his cologne in the lining of it.

“Well—”

You’re not paying attention to the douchebag beside you. You look back to the crowd and your boys have disappeared, no giant, Oreo-haired Riki to mark where they are. Suddenly, your tequila sunrise threatens to show itself in your throat. You’ve been hit on before, of course, but not like this, not this insistently. You keep your poker face on, trying to figure out how to get away from him but also avoid getting sucked in and trampled on in the giant crowd that just seems to keep doubling in size.

“Is he bothering you, sweetheart?” another voice asks.

You look to your side and he’s there, he’s back, stone-faced and radiating what you would call actual bloodlust. You nod, giving him a look that you hope Sunghoon interprets as get him the fuck away from me.

“You heard her. You’re bothering the lady,” Sunghoon says flatly to the man beside you, in such a manner that leaves no room for argument. “And not just any lady, either. That’s my girl you’re bothering. Get lost.”

You yourself shiver at his tone. You’ve gotten used to seeing the icy but gentle side of him, so this shift startles you, making goosebumps raise on your back in fear and your core clench in need. You decide not to correct Sunghoon, either. The sooner you get out of this bust of a club, the better.

An hour later, you find yourself at one of your favorite restaurants, a little barbecue spot near your apartment building that serves the best marinated galbi you’ve ever had. You’ve taken the boys there countless times, enough for them to make a joke out of it. The place is supposed to be closed right now, on account of it being one-thirty in the morning but when you were in the taxi with Jay and Sunghoon, you overheard the latter on the phone, telling the other person on the line that he’d pay triple to have the place opened for three hours past closing time of midnight.

While Jungwon talks animatedly about the girl in his class who was at the club and how he somehow managed to get her number, Sunghoon serves you before everyone else, putting the strips of grilled meat on your plate. The other boys groan at him, telling him not to indulge you too much or you’ll get used to it and always expect it, just like you’ve done to them. They don’t really mean it, because you know them well enough that they—just like Sunghoon—don’t ever really do things they don’t want to do, but deep down you still hope he doesn’t take their words seriously.

“What’s so bad about that? Ladies first,” is all he replies to them, and you feel warm inside and it’s not just the double shot of peach soju making its way through your body.

“Okay, me next,” Jaeyun says. He’s still got sweat dripping down his forehead from chasing  tequila-drunk Riki and Jungwon down and dragging them both by the collars of their shirts into another taxi. 

Sunghoon looks at him before passing the tongs to him. “Do it yourself.”

“Jackass.”

This makes your smile widen, giggling to yourself uncontrollably. You take delight in messing with Jaeyun, and seeing the always-stone-faced Sunghoon take part in it brings a certain joy to you that’s both unfamiliar and welcomed. You catch his eye and he sends you a wink, so fast you wouldn’t have caught it if you didn’t have the habit of staring at him when you think he isn’t paying attention to you.

“Dickhead,” Sunghoon shoots back, bushy brows furrowed so cutely that you have the tipsy urge to kiss the peachy skin between them.

“Oh, well, at least if I liked a girl, I’d tell her, so I think that makes you the dickhead and not me.” Jaeyun rolls his eyes and takes a piece of meat out of your bowl, popping it into his mouth and seemingly swallowing it whole.

You frown. “What? Sunghoon likes someone? Is it Jimin? It’s Jimin, isn’t it?”

Jungwon and Riki groan. “Great, another idiot.”

Jay points his chopsticks at your younger brothers. “Shut up and eat your food already.”

“Yes, mother,” they say in unison, digging into their bowls of kimchi fried rice. You look down at your own plate, suddenly losing your appetite. You even consider going outside for a smoke break, but that’s how the boys disappeared at the club a while ago, and it’s too late for you to be going outside alone—at least, that’s what you’re very well aware that they’d argue. Your stomach hurts at the thought of Sunghoon liking another girl, and because you’re you, because you’re almost so self-aware to the point that it could put your therapist out of a job, you know it’s because you want him to like you, and only you.

And it’s not even because you want the same control over him that you have over the likes of San and Hyunjin and Wonbin and whoever else claims to be on your sad excuse of a “roster”. It’s because you like him, and it’s to the point that the only other being who knows this for a fact is your pet cat, because only she wouldn’t accidentally tell him the truth. She’s a cat, for fuck’s sake, a cat you unfortunately named after the girl you think Sunghoon might like.

Maybe the boys have noticed. But you doubt it, because if they did, they would have teased you so mercilessly about it that it would be considered bullying that could be punishable under law. It would be so severe that you’d have no choice but to leave the country if they knew.

What they actually do though, that you’ve picked up on in recent weeks, is their new nasty habit of dropping hints about how you should be with a guy who’s cold to everyone but you. Someone who’s both pragmatic yet thoughtful, someone who always tells the truth but can do so in a way that will spare your feelings because he makes an honest effort to not sound so harsh. Someone who can both protect you and yet also be able to get you to stop when you become… “irrational” was how they put it. Someone you’re attracted to, not just physically, but emotionally, as well.

You’re not stupid, no matter how often you think you are. You know they’re talking about Sunghoon. You know Jungwon and Riki will make plans with you and him and then flake at the last minute so that you two are forced to go out together, alone. They’ve done it enough times that you know it’s bullshit that they have a school assignment due at some random time in the evening. You know Jaeyun will loudly ask Sunghoon what he thinks of a certain girl when he knows you’re within earshot. It pleases you every time Sunghoon flatly replies “What about her? I don’t know her like that.” 

And you most definitely know Jay let Sunghoon take you on out to the racetrack to drive his Lamborghini for a few laps, under the guise that you’ve always wanted to go and Jay finally managed to get a slot booked on a day that he “isn’t able to make it” because of a “meeting”. Who the fuck even works on a Sunday? 

You fixate on this memory for a while. You can truthfully say it was one of the happiest days of your life.

“You’re telling me you’ve never used paddle shifters before?” Sunghoon asked with a lopsided grin, pulling into the paddock of the race track. Your leg bounces in your seat, not out of anxiety like usual, but out of impatience and excitement.

“I drive stick, why the hell would I use paddle shifters? Sorry not all of us drive M Comps,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “V8 bi-turbo headass. Can’t believe you run an automatic transmission.”

“I’m ignoring that. I’ll track it first.”

“What? No way, I’ve known Jay longer!”

“You’re going to drive it like it’s a city bus. I’m going to drive it like I stole it. You can sit there and look pretty first, then you can have a turn.”

“Sunghoon, if you’re just going to stare at me, you’re going to crash us into a wall.”

“Nah, my peripheral vision’s pretty good. Why, you don’t trust me?”

You sighed. You do trust him, that’s what bothers you.

Ultimately, the idea of Sunghoon liking another girl makes you a little… irritated. That’s actually a gross understatement, if you’re being honest. You can feel the dragon’s head of your jealous streak rise up from the ashes where it had once laid dormant, asleep. It wants to breathe fire. It wants to get a rise out of him. It wants to see his reaction.

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on whose side you’re on, your best friend knows you too well.

“Y/N, can you pass the salt?” Jaeyun, who is sitting to your left, asks. The salt pot is right next to Riki, who is sitting to your right.

Taking this as your opportunity, you look at him, tilting your head before you say the exact line that, by now, everyone knows that Sunghoon likes to use. “Say please.”

Jaeyun is too intoxicated to fight back, but he knows you well enough even in his inebriated state that he knows exactly what you’re doing. “Please?”

“Okay,” you answer, reaching across Riki’s plate to grab the salt. When you hand it to Jaeyun, his fingers linger on yours way too long to be respectable. There’s nothing there, of course. It just feels normal, no spark, no giddy, lovesick warmth. He’s just being outright obvious.

Picking up on your scheme, Jay chimes in, a malicious glint in his eye that only comes out after you can smell the alcohol on his breath. You see him elbow Jungwon at the end of the table—quite subtly, to his credit. “Ew, what are you two doing? That’s gross, get a room.”

Jaeyun rolls his eyes, giving Jay the middle finger. Oh, he’s playing up the dramatics of your ploy to see if Sunghoon cares or not. This is what being friends with him for pretty much your entire life is all about. “Can’t a guy and a girl be best friends? Chill, bro.”

“Guys and girls can’t just be best friends,” Jungwon adds, his mouth full of rice and barbecue. “That’s such a lie. You don’t see me with a girl best friend, because if I had one, I’d be fu—”

Sunghoon’s knee hits the bottom of the table, causing everyone to jump back in surprise. “Sorry, guys.” He looks at you, staring at him wide-eyed. “And lady. Leg cramp.” He gets up from the table and excuses himself to go pay the bill, talking with the older woman who runs the restaurant and who you know is madly in love with him (much to everyone’s amusement).

“Alright, what’s going on here?” Jay asks in a hushed tone, dropping his smirk and leaning forward. “What are we doing to him?”

“Forcing Sunghoon to confess,” Jaeyun answers back, switching to English so only the three of you can understand. 

You look at him quizzically, but you speak to him and Jay in English anyways. “Wait, what? I just wanted to make him jealous, what are you talking about—”

“Alright!” Sunghoon says loudly from behind you. “Time to go.”

Exchanging looks with your best friends, you collect your things from where they rest on the worn leather seats of the booth. “I’m gonna take a walk first,” you say. “Anyone wanna join?”

“Nah,” Jaeyun answers. “I’m beat. Gonna take the little ones home.”

“Whoooo the fuck are y-you… callin’ little,” Riki slurs, slumped over a sleepy Jungwon’s shoulder. You know your brother is in a food-and-alcohol-induced coma, since he says nothing about the drool Riki’s getting all over his unbuttoned shirt. “Fuckin’ Oompa Loompa.”

“Riks,” you sigh, getting up on your tip-toes to push his sweat-soaked hair from his face. “Be nice to your Yunie hyung.”

“S-sorry noona,” he hiccups, putting more of his weight on Jungwon, who yelps. “I’ll be nice.”

You shoot Jaeyun a warning look, telling him not to egg on the poor boy who looks like he might throw up in his sleep later. “You guys gonna be okay going home?”

“Yeah, bro, it’s only like a block away,” Jay interjects, prying Riki off of Jungwon and hoisting him onto his own back. Jaeyun takes your brother in his hold, grimacing at the skin-to-skin contact of Jungwon’s bare chest on his fingers. “Go take your little walk. Text us when you’re back.”

“Yes, mother, I promise.” You can feel Sunghoon looming over you like a skyscraper. Without turning to him, you ask, “Are you coming with me?”

“Well,” he answers, his huffed breath blowing over your head in cigarette smoke. “Obviously. I’m not letting you go alone.”

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter with the same tone, shivering to yourself. The air is surprisingly cold for the beginning of June, and you’re dejectedly starting to regret your outfit.

And of course, like clockwork, Park Sunghoon notices your discomfort and quietly puts his jacket over you for the second time that night.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out in a whisper. He acknowledges you with a soft hum, matching your stride as you cross the empty road to the little park nestled behind the flowering trees.

You continue to walk, trying to think, but it’s difficult to burn off the rest of the alcohol and gain some clarity when the man you’re thinking about is right beside you. You would kill to read his mind. You could just ask him, straight up. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? What’s the worst thing he could say? That he doesn’t have feelings for you? That he sees you as a sister? That he actually does like Jimin like that?

Fuck.

You finally admit to yourself that you do like him. You do like him, you do want him, you do feel those things genuinely and not out of greed, not out of wanting to make him one of your trained dogs, not out of wanting to punish your ex through him. 

You… you fucking like him, and it pisses you off. Him, of all people. Liking Jaeyun seems less complicated than this. You know for a fact that Sunghoon is quite possibly the king of hard-to-get. Kazuha and Yunjin, the race girls from AZ, both made a move on him and ended up fighting over him for nothing (which your own girlfriends clowned on them mercilessly for, while you sat back and watched rather smugly). He didn’t even give them the time of day, let alone his phone number. 

Minjeong, your beloved work wife, wanted to test that theory and when you’d left them during dinner one time to go use the restroom, she tried to flirt with him. She ended up meeting you in the restroom with a smirk, telling you that he’s impossible to break. She’d even asked you if you considered the fact that maybe he likes men.

Intrigued, you’d “innocently” asked Jaeyun and Riki, of all people, to get you the answer. Eager to please, and glad that they had some new bullshit to do, they came back to you after three hours of pestering Sunghoon at the gym during their workout. They’d reported that they annoyed him so bad he left them at the gym, forcing them to take the train back home.

That night, he texted the group chat “Not gay. Waiting for my wife” and nothing else.

A big shock to the rest of you, to say the least. The boys were busy laughing at the first sentence, while you were fixated on the latter half of his text. His wife. What a strong choice of words, you’d thought. But it was a good thing, too, that he knows what he wants. At least one of you does. A wife. That’s more definite than just wishing to feel safe and secure around other people.

“Did you eat well?” Sunghoon pipes up, finally breaking the chilly silence between the two of you.

“I did,” you reply curtly, now doing your best to match his pace. It’s hard. His legs are so long, with equally long strides, but you push yourself in your heels anyways. “Did you?”

“Yeah. Why do you always flirt back?” Sunghoon asks. He sounds like he’s been holding that in for a while.

“What? Are you talking about Jaeyunie?”

He grimaces. “No. I know that was just him being him. I’m talking about the others. That Wonbin guy. San hyung. Hyunjin hyung. Whoever the fuck. Them.”

You stop walking, and so does he. He turns around to face you as you incredulously ask, “So suddenly? Why? Does it matter?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes at you. That’s the first time you’ve ever elicited that reaction from him, and it hurts a little. “Yeah, it does. You’re making them think they have a chance with you.”

“Okay, so what?” you say harshly. Really, why does it matter to him? He likes Jimin, doesn’t he? Why is what you do any of his business?

“Well, do they?”

“No!” you snap, hands on your hips. The sound of your voice, echoing through the deserted metal playground, startles the both of you. “None of it is ever serious with them! Men are dogs, anyways!”

“Meow.”

You look at the tall man in disbelief. Under the glow of the lampposts, he looks both sinful and heavenly. Even if he’s pissing you off like never before. Blinking—too shocked to laugh—you ask, “Did you just meow at me, Park Sunghoon?”

“Yeah. Because I’m not a dog, and I’ll prove it to you,” he answers, thick arms crossed over his broad, sturdy chest.

“Why bother doing that? Why does my opinion of you matter to you? It’s none of your business what I think. So why?”

He scoffs. But he can’t seem to meet your eyes. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”

Oh, you’re so annoyed. Why now, of all times, can he not be direct with you? Or is this how he actually is? Has he been pretending to be genuine this whole time? No, that can’t be. People usually can’t keep a facade up for that long without slipping up in between, unless they're sociopaths, serial killers, or both. “No, tell me why. I want to hear it from you. You and your stupid… your stupid… stupid, pretty mouth.”

“Did you just call my mouth pretty?”

“Answer the question, Park Sunghoon!”

He glares at you, but it’s not menacing. After what seems like hours, he sighs, turning away. Then he quietly says, “I love the way you love.”

You realize now that the entire time you’ve been watching Sunghoon, he’s been watching you, too.

“What… what do you mean?”

“The way you care about them. The others… The way you look out for them. For Jungwonie and Riki, always making sure they’ve eaten and they rest enough for school, and that they’re on top of their studies. Jay, you always scold him for working too much. And Jaeyunie, you get worried when he’s not home by a certain time… I realize now that you might not have space in your heart for me. And I should accept that no matter what I do, I’ll always just be another one of your dogs.”

“Sunghoon, what—”

He shakes his head, which hangs low in something you think must be shame. His bangs cover his eyes, so you can’t get a read on him unless you brush them out of his face. And with what he’s just said, you don’t think that now is the best time to touch him. “No. We’re not going to talk about this tonight. Or ever again. I can promise you that. Now come on. I’ll walk you home and we can pretend like this never happened.”

Back in your apartment, you lay in bed, wishing that there was still enough alcohol in your system to put your restless mind to sleep. But there isn’t, not after you walked it all off with an awkwardly silent Sunghoon escorting you back to your apartment. You’d offered your couch for him to sleep on—not out of pity, you’d told him. Out of worry. The trains had stopped running and there were no taxis coming to your side of town anytime soon.

He looked like he really wanted to stay. But for whatever reason, he shook his head at you again, told you it was okay, and said he’d walk home.

You’d texted him to keep you updated on where he was. He didn’t reply. You just got a single notification that “Park Sunghoon has started sharing locations with you,” and that was that. No actual message from him. You share yours right back, telling yourself that it’s fine, all the other Enigma boys had your location, too. But you know the truth.

Sitting up, you reach for your phone and your purse, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, both of which you’d stolen from Jaeyun. He would steal them back from you very soon, anyways, what with him sharing one singular, pitiful peach blueberry ice-flavored vape between himself, Jungwon, and Riki.

Your cat follows you curiously as you walk into the living room and slide the glass door to the balcony open. She curls up in your lap when you sit down on the rocking chair, just as she always does when you come out to smoke.

“You know this is bad for you, right?” you joke quietly, scratching her head with the hand not holding a cigarette. “You should be inside, breathing the purified air I pay good money for.”

Mrrow.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I should stop. But you should be proud of me. I don’t even do it that often.” That’s actually the truth. You and the boys all say that drunk cigarettes don’t count, and you can’t call yourself a smoker if you only go through one pack every two weeks at the very least. By Seoul nightlife standards, your lungs are healthy. “You can hiss about it to your Jaeyunie-oppa.”

Meow.

“Okay, Jiji. Whatever you say.” You take a long drag before pulling away, flicking the ash onto the ceramic tray that Riki brought back for you as a souvenir the last time he went home to Japan. “Fuck, I really do like him. Sunghoon. Not Yunie, ew.”

Mah?

“Because… because… I just do. He’s so… he’s so not like… you know. Heeseung.”

Your cat stiffens on your lap at the mention of your ex’s name. You laugh to yourself, knowing that there’s no one in this world she despises more than him.

“He’s not… he actually cares about me. He doesn’t have to tell me; I don’t even have to ask him if he does. I see it now. And it’s different from how he cares about the boys. I know it’s not just because I’m the only girl. I’ve seen the way he treats other girls. So… he probably doesn’t like Jimin, huh?”

Jiji perks up at the mention of her full government name, but then looks at you as if to say, are you fucking stupid?

“Yeah, I am, haven’t you noticed? I talk to you all the fucking time.”

Aaow.

“No, I don’t just like him because I get preferential treatment. I just—he never does anything to stress me out. I know he considers my feelings, I mean, fuck, he always tells Jaeyunie and Jungwonie to stop making fun of me when we’re hanging out, and, like, he’s always doing shit for me without me having to ask him or even hint at it. He just… he does it because he wants to? And being around him makes me calm. And he’s strong. And he’s kind, and he doesn’t brag about all the nice fucking things he does for everyone, for me… And… and…”

You lose your momentum as your face begins to sting, tears welling up in your eyes. You can hear the pain in Sunghoon’s voice when he said he’d “always just be one of your dogs” echoing in your head. 

“And he doesn’t lie.”

Lying is something you’ve always had a hard time stomaching. As a child, you were taught that it was better to tell the truth and be punished once than to get caught in a lie and get punished twice. You don’t feel good when you lie. Not even when they’re little white lies, like the one you told Hyunjin about Jungwon being sick when you’d flaked on your date with him.

So when you’d found out that Kim Sunoo, Jungwon’s best friend since literal birth, had been helping Heeseung hide his secret relationship with Sunoo’s own cousin, Chaewon—and had been accepting money from Heeseung to help him keep that secret—you lost your fucking mind.

You’d been through everything with your boyfriend. You abandoned your family for him. You moved to a new city with him. You slept on the floor of a shitty apartment for months with him, while Jungwon was stuck in the dorms of his university with three other roommates. You took home leftovers from the restaurant you worked at all throughout college to feed yourself and your brother.

All of that which you endured, just to find out that everything was a lie.

Heeseung didn’t love you as much as he said he did. Because if he did, he would never have gone behind your back with someone else for months and had the nerve to kiss you with the same mouth he used to lie to you.

Sunghoon doesn’t lie, you tell yourself.

He’s not him, he’s not him, he’s not him.

And it’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing.

Sunghoon, for as long as you’ve known him, always keeps his promises. But you also hope that he breaks that last promise he made to you.

You don’t make any appearance at the next race, which is a week later. You purposefully ignore the group chat when they ask you where you are, if you’re coming to watch Riki beat Shotaro and get his revenge for the last time they’d raced against each other.

They get the message—or lack thereof—loud and clear, and leave you alone. You’re grateful that they don’t pry, although Jaeyun texts you separately to scold you about “making Hoonie sad”. You reply to him with the middle finger emoji, even though you know he’s right. For once, at least.

You get texts from Jimin, Soyeon, and Aeri in the racer girls’ group chat, all of them pouting about how you’re not going to see Jimin and Soyeon race against each other in their newly-modified cars. You apologize and wire Aeri a million Won, telling her to place a bet on your behalf for Riki to win in his race. You stop replying when Jimin and Soyeon get on your ass for not being able to choose between who between the two of them would win.

Minjeong had said something to you at work a couple days ago that made your stomach not be able to stop hurting since. Because she’s the most neutral-territory friend you have, you told her exactly what happened between you and Sunghoon, not sparing any detail—not even the thing he’d said to you that made you feel like a monster.

“You can’t build a new house with the bricks from the last one and expect it to be different.”

She’d said it so casually, like she’d read it off the subject line off the first email in her inbox, but it struck you so hard, hammering in what Jay told you the first night you met Sunghoon. To stop taking out your pain on every man that tried to come your way after Heeseung.

In your defense, again, it wasn’t like they were truly serious about you, anyways. Except Sunghoon, who refused to play your games and refused to flirt back with you whenever you’d try to make a pass at him.

It was your automatic distrust of him that brought you here, sulking at home, feeling helpless beyond your control. What made it worse was that Sunghoon definitely knew why you are the way you are, what with Jaeyun’s big fat ginormous mouth being unable to stop itself from spilling all the gory details of your past to him before you two had even met.

There’s a knock at your door. You find that odd; everyone should be out on the road right about now. You check your friends’ locations on your phone to see who could possibly be in your building right now.

You see Sunghoon’s contact photo right above the glowing blue dot that signifies where you are.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“Y/N?” he calls out, muffled by the thick wood of your front door. You turn to Jji, who is looking at you curiously.

“Go, bedroom.”

Obediently, your cat runs to your room, and you can tell she uses her back legs to kick it shut behind her by the way it closes softly. It’s a trick that Jungwon and Riki spent an entire week of their summer vacation last year teaching her to do, and this is the first time it’s ever been useful.

You check yourself in the mirror in the entryway to make sure you look at least somewhat presentable. You’re wearing Aeri’s light pink sweatpants and a massive white t-shirt you’re pretty sure Riki left in your car once and completely forgot about. You shrug. It’ll have to do.

You open the door. Your voice comes out harsher than you intend it to. “What are you doing here, Sunghoon?”

The man flinches almost imperceptably, but the glimpse of it still has your heart twisting in your chest. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s not a question of if I hurt you or not with what I said, because I know I did.”

You purse your lips, trying to process the fact that he’s apologizing to you without you having to prompt him for it. “Oh…”

He continues shakily. “I realized that I didn’t tell you the truth. The full truth. I like you, I really do. Like, not just as a friend, you know. I like you like… that. Fuck, sorry, I’ve never had to do this before.”

You smile at him softly, looking up at him. The light in the hallway illuminates the crown of his head like a halo, making him look more ethereal than he usually is. “Never?”

“Yeah, never. It’s usually the other way around, but I caved this time.” He sighs. “You’re a special girl. You don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

You shrug. “Oh, I think I have some idea.”

“Meaning?”

“I thawed you out, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you really did. So—”

“Just come in,” you say, stepping aside to make room for him. “Sorry, I don’t have anything to offer you besides water or strawberry milk, but we can go raid Jay’s fridge. I have a key.”

He laughs. “That’s okay. I can order takeout for us.”

“What’s behind your back?”

He holds up a bundle wrapped in clean white paper. “I brought these for you. They’re not, um… they’re not really ‘I’m sorry’ flowers so much as they are ‘will you go out on a date with me?’ flowers.”

“Roses,” you muse, taking the bouquet from him. The arrangement is simple yet stunning, with various shades of muted pink that you realize are quite similar to the color of your Supra. “How original.” You pause, your voice softening. “But thank you, though, really. They’re beautiful.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “I wanted to get you lilies, but I learned that they’re toxic to cats.”

You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded. He’s so considerate, he even thought of that. Is there anything that he doesn’t think about? Is this what he does when he zones out? “Who told you that I have a cat?”

“You mentioned it a few times,” he answers softly, like he’s reminding you to breathe. “Like that one time Riki made us take him to the arcade and spent too much money trying to win the stuffed… whatever that was from the claw machine.”

“Hm. I did, huh?”

“Yeah... So can I see it?”

“My cat? That’s a little forward, don’t you think? Aren’t we moving too fast?”

“Your pet cat, you brat.” His grin is wide, though, as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“Oh! Oh, yeah, duh.” You take your phone out and swipe through your camera roll until you come across a picture of your white ragdoll cat, her pretty blue eyes staring at you much in the same manner that Sunghoon is right now. “This is her. Her name’s Jimin… erm, yeah, like the one we know… but I call her Jiji.”

“She’s cute… she kinda looks like you, hm? Is she not here right now?” he asks, scanning your living room. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, I sent her to my room before I answered the door—she doesn’t really like guys except for Wonie and Riki but I think it’s because she thinks they’re her servants. And, uh, also, I don't know if you're okay with cats.”

“Ah. I like cats, don’t worry. I’d love to meet her if that’s okay with you.”

“She might scratch you, though. Just a warning.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. You’d bandage me up, though, right?” When he smiles at you reassuringly, your heart thrums. You don't hear any innuendo in his voice, nothing that suggests that he expects something more from you. Turning away to hide your blushing face, you mumble a “yes” and make a beeline to your room to retrieve Jiji.

You get to the door and open it. She’s standing right in front of you, looking at you expectantly, as if she's asking you where Sunghoon is. 

“In the living room,” you answer. You’re talking to your fucking cat. What’s new? Jiji struts right past you, her tail flicking against your ankles, and trots to the living room. 

You follow her from a distance and watch as she pauses in front of Sunghoon, who extends a hand down for her to sniff at. 

“Hello, Jiji,” he says softly. “Nice to meet you.”

The cat chirps at him, and your eyes widen. Usually, she greets males (mostly your ex and his friend) other than your boys with something akin to a hiss that sounds like slicing someone’s tires open. Sometimes she swats at them, claws out and everything. But she hesitates for a second before butting her little head into Sunghoon’s palm, eyes closed and purring up a storm much like the way she does when she wants you to give her a treat. 

“Wow,” you remark. “She likes you. A lot.”

Sunghoon hums in agreement before saying, “Yeah. Wonder what her mommy thinks of me, though. And if she’ll go on a date with me.”

You blush yet again. He’s certainly dialing up the charm tonight. Mustering up the courage to flirt back, you reply, “I think… yeah, her mommy likes you too. And I think she will go out with you.”

“Mm.” He pets Jiji’s head, scratching between her ears which prompts your cat to roll over and expose her soft belly to him for him to rub. Whore, you think to yourself, as if you wouldn’t have done the same thing. “That’s good. I’m glad. Actually—scratch that. I’m relieved.”

By now you’re very well-acquainted to the way he speaks, straight to the point without very much embellishing in his sentences. At least it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking. He doesn’t talk with the intent to deceive or play games, and, quite frankly, you adore that about him.

“I don’t just want you to care about me. I want you to let me care about you,” he says suddenly, looking up at you with round, sparkling eyes. He’s being forthcoming and earnest. Enthusiasm suits him well, you think. It makes his face look younger, softer, happier. “I want to earn your trust. I want you to feel safe with me.”

“I already do, though,” you reply, voice quiet as if you don’t want to jinx it somehow.

He gives you a nod of acknowledgement. “I know. But I want to be the one you come to for everything. For anything at all.”

“But—”

“You’d never be a burden to me,” he adds. “You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

There’s still enough time for you to go watch the final event of tonight’s race, the showdown between Riki and Shotaro. You hurriedly fix your hair and throw on a jacket, not caring about how your outfit looks because, frankly, you’re not interested in showing off tonight. You know for certain now that the only person whose attention you’ve wanted has been yours all along.

When you arrive, you can see that the Enigma boys are all circled around what you assume is Riki’s GT-R, only because you can see the underglow bouncing off everyone’s shoes. Leave it to your youngest to be annoying as usual.

You get out of Sunghoon’s car and head over to them, him following closely behind you. You pinch Jaeyun’s forearm and he immediately steps to the side to let you through so you can see what’s going on.

The engine hood is up, and you can see someone’s legs sticking out from under the car.

“What’s going on?” you ask no one in particular.

“Well… Riki fucking forgot to change his oil today, and the jack broke halfway, so none of us can fit under there… except Ning,” Jungwon answers.

“Ning?” you repeat.

“Yeah. The girl I’ve been seeing…” he mumbles. “You know, the one from school.”

Your heart drops at the idea that you’ve been so caught up in your own angst that you haven’t bothered to keep up with anyone else’s life, especially your own brother’s. “Oh. I see. She knows cars, huh?”

“Well,” Riki shrugs. “I guess. Jungwonie-hyung gave her the worst instructions on how to change this shitbox’s oil, and she’s doing it just fine, so she must be smart.”

Before Jungwon can even reach Riki, Sunghoon grabs him by the collar of his shirt, holding him back. “Chill out, bro.”

Jungwon glares at the taller man. “Hey, just because my sister thinks you’re hot doesn’t mean—”

“Good lord,” Jay groans. “Can we please have five minutes of peace so I can start this race? I want to go home already. I can feel my bed calling me.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon snickers. “It’s calling you to wash the damn sheets, you slob.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. Shaking your head, you approach Ning, who’s just rolled out from underneath the GT-R.

“Surprised you didn’t go blind in there,” you say, helping her up. “Riki’s lights are no joke.”

She smiles at you, shaking her head. “Actually, it helped, I could barely see anything down there, it was all covered in brake dust.”

This makes everyone burst out into laughter, mocking Riki for poorly maintaining his car. You roll your eyes, taking the wrench from Ning. You turn to Sunghoon.

“Hoon, can you help me with this? I think we’re gonna need more than an oil change to win tonight.”

“Hey!” Riki exclaims. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Language, young man,” you snap back at him before looking at Sunghoon. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Headlight air intake?” he asks, a smile forming on his plush lips.

You grin. “Headlight air intake.”

“Oh, you guys are officially fucking crazy,” Jay whistles, admiring your handiwork when you’re done. With Sunghoon’s help, you’d removed one of Riki’s precious LED headlights to allow more airflow into the engine, enabling him to push the car harder without fear of overheating. “Poor Taro isn’t gonna know what hit him.”

“This is legitimately worse than the time Y/N Viper-swapped her Supra,” Jaeyun giggles, clapping his hands together in glee. “Ooh, everyone’s so fucked. They’re lucky she doesn’t drive with a missing headlight, too.”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” Sunghoon jokes. “She can barely see at night as it is.”

“Oh,” you flirt back, “Is that why I think you’re more handsome in the daytime?”

Riki and Jungwon fake gagging noises behind you, but you smile.

“We’re making it out of the hood tonight, boys!” Riki hollers from his position at the finish line. Jungwon is beside him, at the wheel of his 350z. To Jungwon’s other side is Shotaro, looking annoyed. You can see him glare a hole into the back of Riki’s head as he walks behind your brother and his friend.

“Since when was Itaewon considered the hood?” you call back at him. Everyone laughs.

You see Jaeyun whisper something into Jimin’s ear, and she giggles. Meanwhile, Jay, awkward as he can be sometimes, plants a kiss on Aeri’s forehead. “Is it fucking cuffing season or something?” you mutter under your breath, thinking it was low enough that no one hears your annoyance.

“Us next,” Sunghoon responds cooly from behind you, draping an arm over your shoulder. “How’s that sound?”

“Holy shit,” Riki gasps, dramatically putting a hand over his mouth. “Sunghoon-hyung’s—”

“Got some serious rizz,” Jungwon finishes. “And if it weren’t directed towards noona, I’d cheer him on.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Won, you act like you haven’t wanted them together since you first met him.”

Jungwon pouts cutely and shrugs. “Yeah, yeah. It’s more fun to pretend to be an opp, though.”

You glare at your brother. “Wanna see a real opp? I’ll tell Ning that you like to—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He turns to Sunghoon. “Hyung, did you know that noona sometimes drools in her sleep?”

“I do.”

“WHAT?” the boys chorus like they’re in a cartoon.

Sunghoon looks at them with pure curiosity. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I know? She fell asleep and drooled all over my arm when we watched Interstellar for the fifth time.”

“Sunghoon!” you squeal. “You’re not supposed to tell them that happened!”

“Wait, fifth?” Jaeyun asks, hands sassily placed on his hips. “We’ve only watched it four times.”

You and Sunghoon exchange a look, your face heating up. “Well, uh…”

“Nevermind that,” Jay interrupts, his arm around Aeri’s waist. “We know you two hang out without us. Jaeyunie’s just fucking with you.”

“Yeah,” Riki agrees. “In fact, we want you guys to hang out without us.”

You look at Ning, rolling your eyes. “See what you’re getting into?”

She gives you a warm smile. “I don’t mind.”

park sunghoon: We’re still on for our date tonight, yes?

you: yeah! what are we doing?? i can pick a spot if you don’t have anything in mind

park sunghoon: None of that from you, princess. Just be ready by 7, I’ll pick you up. Our reservation is at 7:30. I already made sure you’d like the restaurant and you can wear that black dress you bought last week.

… Princess?

you: how…?

park sunghoon: Well, I know what food you like because we’ve gone out to eat so many times. And also, I saw you post the dress on your story when you tried it on in the fitting room, so I figured you got it. 

park sunghoon: Before you get upset thinking I’m controlling what you wear, I’m not. I know you have a hard time choosing your outfits (even though they’re all very nice) and the dress looked lovely on you.

He’s trying to make your life easier. You smile to yourself, face going hot. You bite your knuckles to keep yourself from screaming at your desk.

you: oh… okay!

you: i’ll see you later hoon :)

park sunghoon: Can’t wait. Have a great day at work, beautiful.

God, you want to throw your phone across the office with how giddy you are. You finish work early by skipping your lunch break, and you go home at 2:30 in the afternoon, thanks to Minjeong excitedly whisper-yelling at you that she’ll cover for you and to “Go get some dick, girl!” and smacking your ass as you scurried to the elevator. When you arrive home, you immediately run to your bathroom and turn on the shower. You’ve got music blasting from your speaker while you wash your hair and shave and scrub down your entire body. You’re smiling at yourself in the mirror while you dry your hair and do your skincare routine, and you’ve still got a good four hours to get all dressed up for your first real, official date in years.

taglist: @enha-stars @karinasbaby @venomhee @lilifiedeans @sngleehee @hoonfr @seuomo @en-verse @starfallia @eloelooo @lhspeachie @idkdykilr @seochannnn @moon368 @capri-cuntz @p-d1ddy @xxbluestrifexx @p4ranormaluv @laurradoesloveu

[leah-lover]

Entangled desires. Leah Williamson x Alexia putellas x reader.

Part 1

“ Fuck me!” You semi yelled at your TV.

“Only if you beg me for it.” Said your girlfriend with a smirk on her face. You were both laying on the couch. She was laying on your lap reading a book, while you were watching the Arsenal vs Chelsea game. Chelsea have just broke through the backline and scored a goal. In their defense the goal was pretty incredible, but you hated that your team got scored against.

“ I would love for you to fuck me amor but not now, I am too busy “ you joked. “You have been stressed for about 50 minutes now. I think you need a release.” She said sarcastically, The book is now laying on her chest. “ Mi Reina, this game is so important for my sanity right now.” you respond. She didn't talk after that, she just turned on her side, her head still on your lap. She put the book aside and focused on the game.

The rest of the match was pretty exciting. There were some missed shots from both teams, a goal from Arsenal, some decent shot blocks from the Arsenal defense, and just overall a lot of tension. Alexia stood up from your lap by the time the final whistle blew. She was alert and satisfied. You were more than happy with Chelsea's defeat since you were a die hard Arsenal supporter. As a result, in celebration, you kissed your girlfriend. The kiss was soft and filled with passion. You then pushed Alexia on her back, straddled her lap and kissed her hard. You didn't want any space between you two. You were hungry for her, needy for her, all you wanted was her touch. The adrenaline from the game took over your body. Suddenly, it all went away and was replaced by tiredness. “ It's okay baby it happens.” She confronted you because you pulled out of the kiss and sighed loudly.

“ I am so sorry.” You apologized. “ Let's go cook dinner instead. Then we can finish later.” She added, a small smile on her face.

At the dinner table you sat opposite each other. You were both comfortable in the silence.

“ That arsenal defense was really good today.” She said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, most of them are lionesses, so they are pretty good.” You answer.

“ Leah Williamson, the center back, is the captain of England right?”

“ She is the captain, she also captained the team today. She is pretty good.”

“ She was excellent today, made some pretty good deflections.”

“ And?”

“ What do you mean?.”

“ Mi Reina, tell me what you think.”

“ Well she is kind of attractive I guess. If you tell this to someone you won't like your punishment.”

“ Baby relax,I won't. I promise. Now let's go finish what we started after the game.”

“ What do you think about her?”

“ Leah ? Well I agree with you she is hot.”

—----------------

Tonight was one of the best nights of the year. The fifa best awards. This night was special because you were being awarded the best female player in the world which made you very proud of yourself. You were also proud of your girlfriend who made it into the best starting 11 in the world along with you and a few legends of the game.

You and Alexia got ready in the same room. You decided on an emerald green corseted dress that highlighted your chest and your brown hair. Alexia decided on an all black 3 piece suit paired with a red lip and her hair down.

The day leading to the ceremony had nothing out of the ordinary. You did your media duties, got ready, and left for the red carpet.

You and Alexia looked like a power couple, all the cameras were on you two, two of the most awarded and talented footballers. The ceremony was no different either. Kelley Smith presented you with your award and you thanked the most important people in your life in your speech. You talked to a few people but that was it. All the fun started at the after party.

While you were at the bar getting drinks your girlfriend was far from you talking to some people.

“Can I get two vodka sodas please?” You asked the bartender.

“Can you please make that tree?” Said a British voice from behind you. You turned around to find that the voice was Leah's.

“ Vodka soda is the athlete's best choice of drink right? ?“ she asked.

“ I guess so.” you respond.

“ I am Leah Williamson.” She added.

“ I know who you are. You are pretty recognizable.”

“ Not as much as the woman of the hour. Congrats on your award by the way. Spanish football is lucky to have you.”

You blushed at her words, that's when your drinks were ready. You wanted to talk to her more.

“ Why don't you join me and Alexia at our table?.” You asked hoping to get a yes

“Only for a little while I have my own people to tend to.” She responded.

You proceeded to guid Leah to your table. On your way there you passed alexia who said goodbye to the people she was with to join you too.

“ Ale this is Leah williamson. Leah, this is my lovely girlfriend Alexia.” you introduced the girls.

“ It's very nice to meet you alexia. We should have met a long time ago.” said Leah

“ I am glad we met too. How are you finding the night.” said Alexia. You knew your girlfriend well to know when she is nervous and right now she was clearly nervous, other people wouldn't spot it very well.

“ it's pretty boring actually. This is the most exciting thing that happened tonight.” responded Leah.

Your relationship with Alexia was common knowledge. However, Leah was flirting with the both of you for the better part of the hour and a half that Leah stayed with you. Throughout this time you talked about everything from football to your childhood. Several compliments and flirtatious attempts were made by all 3 of you. Leah’s phone was ringing for most of the time but she didn't answer. She then got a text saying that her teammates left and that she should go to the hotel because the party venue was almost empty. You didn't realise the time that passed, you were too immersed in the fun all of you were having. You were sitting on a couch, Alexia’s hand on your thighs occasionally caressing them, and Leah sat opposite you on a chair.

“ I can't believe they left without me.” she complained.

“ Well they did call you several times but you blew them off.” you responded.

“ but still how am i supposed to talk to them and miss out a second with you two.”

“ You can come with us. We are staying at the same hotel right?” suggested Alexia.

“ yeah but I don't want to intrude.”

“ nonsense, consider it an extension of this lovely night.” you added.

You then got out of the venue. You held Alexia’s hand while Leah walked to your other side.

The car ride was quiet. “ I would kill for a burger right now.” you whispered in your girlfriend’s ear because you were nuzzled in her neck. She then ushered for the driver to change direction to the nearest fast food chain.

“ one quick stop before we release you.” you apologized to leah running you hand on her thigh quickly.

“ No, not at all. I really want this to go on forever.” she responded.

The car stopped, you got your order, Leah and Alexia got a meal too after you provoked your puppy eyes.

You were now blissful on the hotel floor, and eating your burger with Leah Williamson and Alexia putellas. You were focused more on leah than on your burger.

“ shit i dont have my key card. I left it with Keira. God i am such a fucking idiot. ” she said after she finished.

“ Don't ever say that about yourself.” said Alexia who was quieter than usual.

“ what she means is it's fine you can stay here. it's too late to wake her up.” you corrected.

“ No, I can't do that .” she said frantically.

“ Yes you can and you will. It's too late to do anything. Plus we can hang out more. And we can put it to a vote and we both want you here.” said alexia before taking the last bite of her burger.

“ Alexia I can't. There is something. I just can't.” she said before heading towards the door.

Alexia got up and stopped her by her wrist. “ Look, it's alright, stay. Please. “ she said softly.

“ alexia almost never says please.” you added.

“ There is this unresolved tension in me. I can't hide it anymore.” she added, now looking at the floor.

Alexia lifted her head up by her chin, and at that moment we were all nervous. We all shared a look with each other, then looked at the floor, then at each other again. The silence was deafening. We all were thinking the same thing. It was just the matter of who starts.

[jade4956]

Chaos, Brilliance & Legacy

Chelsea Youth & England U15s Era

(2011-2016)

Interviewer: “ you spoke earlier about Tahlia being one of the more extroverted girls in the youth teams, can you give us a rundown what she was like at youth camp”

Georgia Stanway: (laughing) “Oh, from day one that girl was the more extroverted one. She had this way of making everything into a competition. We could be jogging to warm up, and she’d turn to me like, ‘Race you to the cone?’ And, I’d say no, but she’d just take off anyway and be like, ‘Winner!’”

Ella Toone: “oh my gosh yes! There was this one time at an England youth camp where she convinced half the squad that we had to do a secret handshake with the coaches before we could get picked for the starting XI. Poor Ellie actually practiced one.”

Georgia Stanway: “oh and I’m pretty sure Lotte has a video of her in youth camp scoring a goal in training but then slipping in a puddle when she was celebrating”

UCLA Era (2017-2020)

Interviewer: “ Now you’ve talked about a lot of your teammates accept one and that Tahlia bliss now from what we’ve seen and heard is she’s a fantastic player what is Tahlia like as a teammate?”

UCLA Captain (2019): “Oh yeah she’s one hell of a player, I mean she came in back in 2017, she had a Professional contract under her belt and she was being looked at for the England senior team so it was great that she was coming on our team but in training I can tell you now she was the type of player you wanted on your team but hated playing against. She’d nutmeg you, make eye contact, and then jog off like nothing happened. I still have trust issues.”

[UCLA Team Q&A Video]

Host: “Who would you say is the most dramatic on the team?”

(Entire team immediately points at Tahlia.)

Tahlia: (offended gasp) “I’m just expressive.”

Teammate: “You slid to your knees in the rain after missing a shot in training.”

Tahlia: “And? Sometimes you have to let the moment consume you.”

Chelsea & England Senior Team Era (2020-Present)

Interviewer: “alright now for your next question, What is your favorite Tahlia Bliss moment?”

Lauren James: (grinning) “There’s too many, but once in training, she nutmegged Millie in training and then just… left the ball. She didn’t even chase after it. Just turned around and walked off like her work was done.”

Millie Bright: “I’ve never been so disrespected in my life.”

Niamh Charles: “I don’t even know how she nutmegs people so easily like I swear I couldn’t have legs and she’d find away to do it

[Keira Walsh & Tahlia Bliss England TikTok – “Who’s Most Likely To?”]

Host: “okay Who’s most likely to get booked for arguing with the ref?

Keira didn’t hesitate to lift up Tahlia’s name in her whiteboard almost immediately

Tahlia: “That’s outrageous.”

Keira Walsh: “You told a ref he needed a ‘moment of self-reflection’ last week.”

Tahlia: “And I stand by it.”

Younger Players Looking Up to Her

Interviewer: “another girl on the team who started young was Tahlia so could you tell us why maybe you think Tahlia has inspired so many young players. And what do you think makes her so special?”

Alex Greenwood: “She’s fearless. On and off the pitch. She plays with this confidence that makes you believe she can do anything, and she makes the people around her believe they can too and with all that skill and talent is this girl who is so nice and although we joke about her and that she truly is one of the girls that I know will continue to play and as she does she’ll inspire so many more young girls

[Young Chelsea Academy Player group interview)

Camera Man: “Who’s your biggest inspiration?”

Academy Player Tessa Bricks: “Oh Tahlia Bliss 100% She’s unreal on the pitch but also so nice. She trained with us once, and I was too nervous to say hi. She came over and went, ‘Right, you’ve got 10 seconds to ask me anything. Go.’ And now she remembers my name, her and Millie are girls that often will come like 6 times a season and will run training sessions with our coaches and it’s so much fun and to here there advice it’s really nice to know that our senior players are looking out for us academy players”

————————————————————————

This was a request and I fear I did not execute it well so if you are reading this I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you wanted but anyways I hope you enjoyed reading this fic and make sure to send requests and asks

[discokicks]

WHISKEY, TANGO, FOXTROT - ROY KENT.

PART FOUR OF ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: it's your first game of the season at chelsea and rebecca’s got some press for you to do. however, thanks to rupert, the reporters will have some questions you’re not exactly ready for. the same could be said for 2012 roy kent, who’s abusing his new avoidance power to the fullest extent. but, as the two of you continue to work and get closer, you realize that there might just be something else there.

word count & rating: 15.4k (holy fuck this is why it took 6 months), R (language per usual) chapter warnings: swearing, references to sex, minor allusions to sexual harassment, mentions of alcohol, the beginnings of sexual tension (slow and steady wins the race), rupert is a dick, roy kent has got around and everyone knows it, keeley and rebecca are wine drinking pr besties, men are trash (but we know this) author's note: long time no see and happy olympics season! it felt fitting to post this now, so I got motivated to get my ass into gear and write. there's A LOT to this one, so buckle up. and make sure you stay until the end bc baby we're cooking with gas now. this took a lot out of me, so i hope you enjoy! love u tons! -mags

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You’re up 1-0 when you retreat into the locker room at halftime during your third game of the Olympic Tournament against North Korea.

Despite the fact that you’re winning, it was a terrible showing from each of you, except for Mel, who’d been your lone scorer of the night. She’d had a breakaway and had managed to single-handedly beat three defenders for a pretty impressive goal. You’d practically jumped into her arms during the celebration, glad that someone was able to break the sleepy curse that had seemed to be placed on your team.

Your captain Katie O’Connor stands tall at the front of the room, ready to rip you guys a new one. She was the more… passionate of your three captains, potentially coming off as abrasive when things weren’t going your way or if she felt that things could be better. It was only because she cared so much. You all did.

“We should be beating them by four at this point,” she says, pointing out the door. A mumbling of agreements goes through your team, knowing that it’s the truth. “We’re playing like it’s fucking high school out there. It’s the fucking Olympics, act like we belong here, for fuck’s sake.”

The amount of ‘fucks’ that Katie drops instantly has you thinking of someone else. God damn it, he was probably watching, wasn’t he? You could only imagine the things he was thinking, or saying, for that matter. 

You know you shouldn’t care as much as you do, but… as much as you hate to admit it, you want to impress him. Or at least make it look like these training sessions have been worth it. There was something about him that made you want to prove yourself. It wasn’t that he demanded you to do so or that he’d value you less if you didn’t, but you wanted to. Unfortunately, you cared about his opinion. How tragic was that?

Curiosity gets the best of you. Before your coach can come into the locker room, you fish through your bag and take a peek at your phone, just to see if he, or anyone else, has said anything.

Sure enough, you see that you’ve got two texts from Roy Kent that were sent five minutes ago, right when you finished the half.

What a fucking atrocious half. I fucking dare you to hit the post one more time.

A scowl pulls at your lips, but you know it’s true. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already thought yourself. He had an extraordinary talent for knowing how to be exactly the brand of jackass that pissed you off, though. It only became more apparent as you read the next message.

You could learn a thing or two about footwork from Rivera.

You scoff, glancing over at Mel, who, while she sat next to you, was staring blankly at the wall, undoubtedly in her own little world. Before she notices you looking, you’ve turned back to your phone and to his messages. “Asshole,” you mutter, but type out your response.

maybe i’ll get her to coach me then. she isn’t as much of a dick to me.

The response comes before you can put away your phone. Not your coach, he says, then sends another message. Relax out there. You’re somehow playing nervous and stiff at the same time. You’re a fucking anomaly. But before you can frown too hard at that, he says, You know how to see the field. So take a breath and fucking see it.

You throw your phone back in your bag with a huff, mind reeling as you attempt to think back to what the field looked like before the half. The last three possessions had you following Mel as she took the ball up the field. The defense had started favoring her side due to her dominance throughout the game, leaving… 

…Katie on the left side. And while they hadn’t left her open—

“Did you call me an asshole a second ago?” Mel asks from beside you, having broken out of her own trance. You flinch at the sound of her voice, instinctively flipping your phone over and against the bench you’re sitting on. 

She courteously spares you the weird look you know she’s holding back. “No,” you reply. You motion to your phone. “Roy’s texting me.”

Mel nods in understanding. “Gotcha. What’s Coach Kent have to say?”

“He’s being an asshole,” you repeat. “He says we’re ‘atrocious.’ Making fun of how much I’m hitting the post.” You turn to her. “He’s got good things to say about your footwork, though.”

Mel grins. “I knew I liked him.”

You scowl again at that. “He’s also telling me I need to see the field better.” Mel raises her brows at the look on your face, cueing you to go on. “I think Katie’s been open-ish for the last three possessions. They’re favoring your side.”

The two of you look back to your teammate once more as you consider this. “We could keep trying to draw the defense out,” Mel offers. “We scare them a little bit, hit her when she’s coming up.”

“She can beat that fullback in a heartbeat,” you agree.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says. “We can’t play any shittier than we already are.”

You nod at Mel with faux enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit.”

And that’s exactly what you decide. Mel jumps to her feet and explains your plan to Katie and the team, drawing up the X’s and O’s on the locker room whiteboard. You glance around the room cautiously, forcing yourself not to read into your teammates' expressions too deeply. 

But it’s hard. Especially when you’re an overthinker.

It’s a title you’ve resigned yourself to, much to Roy’s pleasure. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, it was the truth. And while you were still working to get out of that lifelong mindset, it didn't seem to be getting any easier. 

But your over-analyzing leads you to a result you like: all of your teammates seem to be on board with your ideas. You can’t deny that that feels good.

You especially can’t deny it when your coach walks into the locker room to see Mel’s play on the baker and says, “Well, you ladies are way ahead of me.” Because that’s exactly what she was going to draw up.

That feeling has you giddily awaiting the moment you can grab your phone before you head back out to the field to send a text to your newfound trainer. 

i’ll have a shot on net in the first ten minutes, you type to him, confidence radiating through the text. and it’s not gonna hit the post this time.

Your message reaches Roy when he returns to his phone at the beginning of the second half. He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him as he settles back into his couch, shaking his head when he glances up at the massive TV in his sitting room, the broadcast showing a close-up of you with a new sort of fire in your eyes. It’s a look that illuminates his dim and quiet flat, one that he can’t seem to part with until they cut away from you.

Within four minutes and fifty-five seconds, you draw the defense over to you and Mel, who wails the ball over to Katie’s side of the field. Katie has possession of it for five seconds before she catches her defender off-guard and sends it in between her legs to you. 

Five minutes in, you live up to your promise and send the ball into the corner of the net, the crowd roaring as Katie shakes you back and forth in excitement and Mel jumps on your back. One of the cameramen runs up to you to catch your celebration, and you stare down the lens with a satisfied smile and point in a way that tells Roy that you’re looking directly at him. 

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning even if he wanted to. With yet another shake of his head, Roy reaches out for the phone he’d thrown onto the couch cushion next to him.

I told you. Fucking anomaly you are, you stupid fucking Yank, he writes. Stay pissed off. It’s a good look on you, Fourteen.

When Roy sends that text, he keeps his phone closer to him this time, and somehow, his dim and quiet flat feels just a bit lighter, even if for a brief moment.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Before you can leave the Richmond facilities post-Saturday afternoon practice, you’re suddenly called into Rebecca Walton’s office.

It’s a day before your first game of the season and after your rather animated talk with Roy in the Boot Room yesterday, you’re feeling a bit lighter. You slept better last night (though you don’t see yourself hitting REM any time soon) and don’t feel like you’re being dragged down by the massive weight of… well, everything. It’s a feeling you’re taking in stride and one you’re welcoming with open arms. 

Practices before game days were typically a bit easier-going, and you and your fellow coaches had decided to make sure the team was up to date and understood the best plays to run against Chelsea tomorrow. They knew who to stop, what defenses to watch out for, and what trick plays to expect. While you hadn’t lent your voice to the conversation as much as you probably should have, especially after being yelled at for it yesterday, you spoke more than usual. While that still wasn’t a lot, it was enough. And that made you feel good, above all else.

That feeling goes away the second you walk into your boss’s office to see her and an incredibly familiar face staring at you from the couch area. Your lips part the second you see her, hand unsubtly slamming against the doorframe, not just to stabilize yourself, but to keep you from dramatically heel-turning out of the room, to never return.

By the way that Keeley Jones is looking at you, you can tell she’s just about on the same page. You suppose she’s got the better end of this deal, simply because your arrival doesn’t seem to be a surprise for her. At least she had a warning about the foreboding awkwardness of this situation. Your boss didn’t exactly grant you that luxury.

Then again, you figure Rebecca had no real way of knowing just how strange this might be for you. She didn’t know the extent of your history with Roy, and the only person who may was sitting right next to her, probably having shared more of that history than either of you cared to admit.

However, what you’re not expecting from Keeley, is the way she gapes at you, then turns to Rebecca to whisper, “Fucking hell, you didn’t say she was hotter in person.”

The shock and confusion flowing through your body makes you blink slowly at them to readjust, and you lean back on your back foot. You manage to stammer out, “I-I’m sorry to interrupt, I can come back--”

“No, no,” Rebecca says, beckoning you in after she finishes rolling her eyes at Keeley, “come on in and join us! We just opened a bottle.”

Join them? You glance at the open bottle of wine on the coffee table, then back to them. Is this why you were called here? To indulge in some post-work girl talk with your boss and Roy’s first real, and only public girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend, you remembered, but still.

You’re sure the discomfort you feel is broadcasted on your face, and that becomes especially apparent when Keeley offers you a small, kind smile. However, the action is sweet and it makes your over-anxious mind ease slightly. If she’s not going to be weird about it, you certainly aren’t either.

Besides, you have no idea what she actually knows about you and Roy. He would be the type to tell her nothing. He was the type to tell her nothing.

However, something about Keeley’s demeanor tells you that’s probably not the case.

When you realize that you’ve been standing like a freak in the doorway for just a moment too long, you snap out of your haze and return the smile, nodding gratefully as you enter Rebecca’s office.

“We were just discussing the game tomorrow,” Rebecca tells you as she reaches for the spare wine glass on the table. She eyes you with a wry grin. “I’d ask if you drank, but that bar cart I saw in your apartment gave you away.”

A surprised laugh escapes you at the rather forward comment, but it helps you relax slightly as you make your way to them. “Yeah, well. It was probably looking pretty sparse when you saw it.” You reach your hand out to Keeley, continuing to smile softly as you introduce yourself.

“Keeley Jones,” she says to you, though there’s a mutual understanding that this is just a formality. You both know who the other is. “Bad week, yeah?” she asks.

You reach for the wine glass Rebecca offers you and send a look of confirmation to Keeley. “You have no idea.” Your smile stretches as you look over at Rebecca and sit down. “These last couple of days have made up for it, though.”

Rebecca returns it. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“I can imagine it’s been a little different than West Ham,” Keeley says. “We know what Rupert likes to pull. All that shit he’s been saying about you leaving?” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how people aren’t seeing through him.”

The smile you wear falters slightly. “I, uh… haven’t really been keeping up with any of that,” you tell her. “Figured it wouldn’t be great to hear anything that anybody’s saying about me, y’know?”

“Totally get that,” she replies kindly. However, she hesitates. “...But you… haven’t seen anything that’s been going around?”

“Um…” you trail off, shifting in your chair. “No? Why? Is it really that bad?”

Rebecca and Keeley exchange a look. “It’s just—” Rebecca cuts herself off, looking back at you. “Remember how I said you wouldn’t have to do any press if you didn’t want to?”

Any remnants of the demeanor you had when you sat down completely drain from your expression. “Oh, my God. It is that bad, isn’t it?”

Keeley shakes her head, holding out her hands. “No, no, it’s really not. It could be so much worse,” she assures. “I mean, it is that bad with those weird little shits online who always have a problem with successful women in sports, but what else is new—”

“This is the worst of it,” Rebecca interjects, putting a hand on her friend's arm. She passes you a tablet as Keeley goes quiet and you take it cautiously. 

It’s a video of Rupert at a press conference, one you presume was taken this morning. The season kicked off tomorrow and Ted, Rebecca, and the rest of the team had been stuck doing interviews all day, something of which you weren’t sad to have missed out on.

You press the play button in the center of the screen to watch Rupert point at someone off-camera. “Yes,” he says. “Daniel, what have you got?”

Daniel, presumably, asks, “I was just curious how the team’s feeling with that coaching shake-up so close to Opening Day?” You hear a murmur go through the audience of reporters. “Losing someone like that and then watching her get picked up by Richmond must be tough on you guys, no?”

Rupert seems to take this in and sit with it, nodding slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Daniel,” he says after a moment. “I wasn’t happy with the note that we ended on. She had concerns toward the end of her tenure about her role on the team and with certain aspects of AFC culture. She knows just how talented I think she is, and how excited we were to have her working with us. And we had a wonderful couple of months working with her. But, unfortunately…” He shakes his head scornfully, like all of this was genuinely upsetting him. “...there were just some differences we couldn’t get past. The team was remarkably sad to see her go, but I don’t believe it’ll affect our performance this season.” 

He lets his answer hang there for a moment, but tragically, he’s not done. “Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps their values align more with what she wanted out of her AFC career.” And then, with a nonchalant shrug, he adds, “Perhaps she just wanted to coach with her old friend Roy Kent.” Your lips part at that, brow furrowing in disbelief as the reporters chuckle. “Who knows? I wish her the best and I wish Richmond good luck. I hope they’re a better fit for her.”

The clip cuts off there and you glance up at Rebecca and Keeley who are both bracing for impact. “What the fuck?” 

If either of them find your words unprofessional, they do nothing to indicate it. However, there’s something about them that tells you they’re more than comfortable with that kind of language in the workplace. “Yeah,” Keeley says. “So, like I said. It could be so much worse.”

“He was the one who was unhappy with how it ended?” you quote. “He’s upset about the differences we couldn’t work past? How about you address my concerns with AFC culture and get upset with your—”

You cut yourself off before you can say too much, focusing your attention on the plant in the corner of Rebecca’s office to stabilize yourself. What a fucking asshole. What a self-serving, lying, fucking asshole. He’s not worth the tears. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

You understand why you were called in now, why Rebecca prefaced the video with that question. You’d neglected to personally get ahead of Rupert and make a real statement on your choice to part with West Ham and sign with Richmond. Now you were paying that price— the price of being afraid.

“What—” Your voice cracks as you attempt to speak, and you clear your throat. “What type of press do I have to do?”

Rebecca’s sigh is empathetic. “We think it’d be smart to send you out with Ted tomorrow after the game. Make a statement, answer a few questions,” she says. “That is, if you’re open to it.”

Your brow raises skeptically. “I can say no to that?”

Rebecca chuckles. “You can say no to anything,” she tells you. “Roy refuses to do any sort of press and he’s managed to be completely fine. Labeled as a bitter, old recluse, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Typical. But then, she adds, “We do think it’s your best move, though.”

You know it’s your best move. You know it’s what you should have done at the beginning of all of this. You know that there’s nothing that you want to do less. But somehow, having that small, offhanded-out Rebecca offered makes it all sit a bit easier with you.

“I think so too,” you finally agree, sighing shakily. Rebecca and Keeley grin at you encouragingly, watching as you reach out to take a hearty sip of your wine. “So, what’s the plan?” You look over at Keeley. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

Keeley’s face lights up. “Exactly why I’m here,” she replies. “We’re gonna PR this shit so fucking hard nobody is going to know what hit them.”

Her enthusiasm makes the corners of your mouth rise despite everything else. “Can’t say I’m great in front of a crowd,” you warn.

“It’s rare to find people who are,” Keeley responds easily, flicking her hand like she’s brushing off your comment. “That’s why we’re going to make this as simple as possible.”

You nod. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Okay, three things you’re going to want to address,” she begins, tapping on her fingers. “The first is clarifying the ‘note that you ended on’ and those differences with the team. You don’t need to get into specifics if you don’t want to—”

“I really do not,” you tell her.

“Got it,” she says, and the look on her face tells you she really does get it. “Don’t get into specifics. Just say that you’re also upset things didn’t work out, but that it was nothing personal. Truly just leadership differences, like was first said. Even if it wasn’t.”

Your eyes narrow in question. “So, just lie?”

“Welcome to PR, babe,” she replies, and her grin gets more genuine when she sees you chuckle. “Alright, second; we’ve gotta say something about why you chose Richmond. Something that goes beyond our stale press release statement.”

“I didn’t think it was stale,” you offer.

“Aw, thank you!” The smile drops from her face. “But it was. All press releases are. They’re just words on a page, which is so fucking boring. And they get no feeling across. Which is what we need from you,” she says with a point. “You just need to actually say what we’ve already said.”

Once again, you nod. “So, you need it once more, with feeling?”

Keeley blinks back at you, then glances at Rebecca. “My god, I fucking love her.”

The smile that pulls at your lips is involuntary and smaller than the encouraging one that appears on Rebecca’s. “I told you that you would,” she says softly to her, but it’s just loud enough for you to hear. She then turns to you once more. “He brought up AFC culture and our values, but don’t even touch that.”

“'Values' is a loaded word,” Keeley says. “He used it for a reason, but if we’re looking to ignore all this, we shouldn’t be using those types of words.”

“Right,” continues Rebecca. “We’re not looking for a fight here. You don’t want to engage, we don’t want to engage. I think we can all agree we’re looking for this to be over and done with and forgotten about, yes?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“So, just agree with his comments. Leave it neutral. Non-confrontational,” Rebecca says. “Make it easy. Even if you’re not disappointed to have left the club, say that you are. If you want to touch on ‘culture’ reference AFC culture as a whole. The culture shock of transitioning from womens to mens sports.”

Neutral, you think. Non-confrontational. Easy. You can do that.

After a moment, you nod in confirmation at Rebecca. Then, you refocus on Keeley. “What’s the third thing we need to address?”

Keeley folds her hands awkwardly. “That would be… uh, your friendship with Roy.”

Your face goes hot almost instantaneously. “Oh,” you say softly. You scratch the inside of your wrist, finding it increasingly hard to keep Keeley’s gaze, especially as she continues to sit in that tension with you. “Do I have to? Address that, I mean? We were just friends. A ton of people in the football world are friends with each other. I don’t…” The lie sours your tongue and you glance over at Rebecca, hoping for her to throw some kind of life preserver to you over here. “I didn’t think anyone knew about that. It wasn’t like we were Matt Damon and Ben Affleck or whatever. Our friendship wasn’t mainstream news.”

“Some intern at The Sun found some photos of you two after the 2012 Olympics at a club,” Rebecca explains. Your entire body flushes as you remember that night. “They resurfaced and became relevant after your move to Richmond.”

“Okay, but, if it’s the night I think they’re referring to, we were out with our teams,” you attempt to reason. “There’s no reason other than media speculation that people would think we were… what was implied.”

Keeley points at you. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to say if you’re asked about it.” Then, with a good-humored shrug, she says, “If you want to be petty, you can talk about how this speculation wouldn’t be happening if you were a man.”

Rebecca looks at her friend. “That’s actually not bad. Because it wouldn’t be.”

“None of this would be,” you say to the two women in front of you. The tone you’ve taken is scornful, and while they may not know all the reasons why… they get it.

Keeley reaches forward to grab the bottle of wine at in the center of the coffee table and tilts it to offer it to you. You nod almost immediately, mustering up a small smile as she pours. “So, our plan is to send you in with Ted after tomorrow’s game. They’ll probably, mainly, have questions for you because that’s the drama right now, so I’ve written up something that we can practice and workshop.”

“Ted’s won the press over and is practically on a first-name basis with all of them,” Rebecca continues. “So, he’ll be a lifeline if you need him at any time.”

Keeley nods at the glass she just poured for you. “So, drink up. Because we’re going to run through this shit and roleplay.” She pauses for a moment, catching herself. “The press conference, I mean. Not the sexy kind.”

“Probably better for HR reasons,” you reply.

As that joke slips out of your mouth, you can feel your comfort level with them rising. Something about them is just so… welcoming. You’re in a room with your boss and Roy’s ex-girlfriend. You should be guarded. You should be censoring yourself. But as you continue to sit here, you can’t see yourself doing so.

Perhaps Richmond was willing to offer her some things that we weren’t able to. Perhaps you were right, you fucking prick.

Keeley snorts softly and nods in agreement and you notice the smile that grows on Rebecca’s face. “I’ve heard the HR is rather easily swayed, so we might be able to get away with it,” Keeley responds, grinning as she sees you laugh.

Rebecca claps her hands together. “So. Non-sexy press conference roleplay?”

They both turn to you, and after a hearty gulp of your wine, you sigh. “Let’s get to it.”

LONDON OLYMPICS, LATE JULY, 2012.

You finish the game against North Korea with another win under your belt and return to utter chaos when you get back to the dorms.

While you were the only scorer of the last half, everyone stepped up their game in the ways that they had to. Things still weren’t perfect and there was plenty for all of you to work on going forward, but you were proud of the way your team had turned things around. 

When you return, it’s just past midnight, and all you want to do is go to bed. The game had drained you completely dry, and there was nothing more appealing than the idea of tucking into your horrendously uncomfortable dorm bed. Luckily, unlike last time, Mel’s on the same page as you.

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder on the bus ride back for about an hour and spent the other three complaining that you weren’t paying attention to her. And why weren’t you paying attention?

Because Roy fucking Kent wouldn’t stop texting you. After you’d read over the text he’d sent to you during the second half (and ignored the weird feeling in your stomach and heat on your cheeks at him calling you an anomaly, God, why did that word land with you so well?), you’d returned to gloat. Hit the post again, he’d said. You hadn’t.

Things had gotten carried away from there. What had started as a slightly antagonistic and taunting back and forth had devolved into a conversation about the sleeping accommodations in the dorms (big-time footballer in his posh london flat doesn’t even have the decency to drop off a mattress topper and some extra pillows? you’d complained to him), then to about which countries you wanted to visit (Australia. For no other reason than to meet a quokka, he’d told you), then to what the fuck a quokka is and why he knew about them (that’s the stupidest looking animal i’ve seen in my life. i want 10 of them, you’d said), to whatever you’d landed on next.

You’d put your phone in your pocket the second you’d pulled back into the Village, helping the team unload everyone’s stuff. Everyone seemed completely dead, something of which you celebrated, simply because it meant there was no team bonding preventing you from going to sleep as soon as possible. The only thing that was doing that for you was Mel’s incessant questions about Roy.

“I really think you’re lying to me about this being a weird sex thing,” she says, readjusting her grip on the bag slung over her shoulder. “Because there’s no other reason that you two should be talking as much as you are.”

You make a face at her. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” you say for what feels like the seventeenth time that night. “We’re just friends. Or, you know, whatever the closest thing to a friend Roy has is.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mel replies. Her voice echoes through the quiet night air surrounding the dorm’s courtyard. “Roy doesn’t do friends. He hasn’t for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t. And I say that’s because he won’t let me get to know him. Because he doesn’t do friends.” She shrugs. “I mean, ask Jack or anyone who’s played with him. They’ll say the same.”

When you approach the doors of your dorm building, you make a teasingly innocent face at Mel. “Maybe I’m just different.”

“Right,” she says dryly. “Or he wants to fuck you.”

“Why are you trying to ruin this for me?” you whine as you open the door. “I’m actually, like, kind of having fun with him and this training thing we’re doing. He’s a good guy.” 

Mel shoots you a blank-faced stare. “You were calling him an asshole less than six hours ago.”

“Because he is. But he’s a good guy too,” you respond. “He’s like… I don’t know. Like Ron Swanson or Harrison Ford. Total curmudgeon but in a fun way.”

Mel’s lips purse. “Well, now I can’t stop picturing him with the Ron Swanson mustache.”

You grin, sidestepping fellow Olympians who hang around in the lobby of the dorm. “Have fun sleeping tonight.”

A heavy, exaggerated, long sigh leaves her as you approach the elevator. “Just be careful,” she says, putting her hands up in surrender as you look at her incredulously. “Even if you are just friends. And even if you’re not. As your actual friend, I have to tell you to be careful. All men suck, but athletes tend to suck ten times more.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply in a sing-song fashion. The elevator doors open and you and Mel step in. “I appreciate you, though.”

“You better,” Mel scoffs. “I’m getting gray hairs thinking you’re doing weird sex shit with Chelsea’s Finest on a random pitch in the middle of London.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, my God, can these things close any slow--”

“Hold the door!” shouts a voice from the lobby. On instinct, you reach out to stop the doors that were finally closing, feeling Mel’s elbow in your side. The voice gets louder as it gets closer. “Thank you. Did not feel like waiting for this thing again.”

Into the elevator walks (quite possibly) the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the quintessential surfer look to him, but in a way that works. He’s blonde (while you’re definitely more into dark hair, you can’t deny just how good he looks), at least six-three, and is built like a lean brick house. His curls fall into his eyes that squint into a smile as he looks at you and Mel.

“Oh,” he says as he walks in. “Congratulations on the win today.”

You and Mel stare at him in awe, snapping out of it as you realize that you’re gawking. “Thank you,” you manage to get out. You try to place his accent and what sport he could possibly specialize in, but your brain malfunctions. “I would say the same to you but I’m… uh--”

Luckily, he seems to catch on and saves you from your misery. “I’m Luca,” he says, holding out his hand for you and Mel to shake. “France. Swim team.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Mel says, finally recovering from her trance. “You have any events today?”

“We did,” he says, though he seems to be talking more to you than to Mel. “Placed silver, so we can’t complain.” When you two congratulate him, he nearly brushes you off. “I have heard your team is looking like you’re going to go all the way this year. It is fun to watch.”

“We’re having a good run,” you respond, and he nods at you with that same breathtaking smile. “We’ll see what happens though.”

“Yeah, you are good.” Luca pauses for a moment, then shrugs coyly. “You’re American, so you are not as good as France, but you are up there.”

You see Mel’s head tilt out of the corner of your eye. “Easy now,” she warns with a light-hearted smile. “We beat them by two in our first match.”

Luca throws his hands up, grin turning teasing. “Just telling the truth. I must support my own.”

“Well,” you say, brow furrowed. “We’ll see when we get to the finals.”

“Oui. I believe that we will,” he responds. You notice that he’s leaned in closer than you had previously anticipated and the realization makes your face heat. “We should put a wager on it.”

“You want me to bet on my own team?” you ask rather bluntly, hearing Mel cough to cover a laugh.

“I suppose, yes,” Luca answers. The elevator stops at his floor and his eyes flick to the number on the small screen. “If France wins in your little tournament, you must purchase me a drink when these games are over. But if you win…” He trails off with a shrug as the doors open. “I’ll buy you one. It is only fair, no?”

You blink at him, trying to make sense of this entire situation. Is he flirting with you? Setting a friendly bet to get a drink? Just trying to be a jerk by referring to your Olympic Games as a ‘little tournament’? Then again, he was French, so many that’s just the way he spoke.

Yet another nudge from Mel finally has you answering. “I’m the one playing,” you say slowly, cautiously trying to read him. “I feel like I should have a better prize for winning.”

Luca seems to consider this but shrugs once more. “Those are my terms. Even I cannot make exceptions for beautiful women. Do you accept?”

Okay, so maybe he is flirting with you. This beautiful, French, god of a man is potentially flirting with you. You wish he’d upped the stakes by asking you to dinner or something to offer something more direct, but this is what you’re getting. As he exits the elevator, he puts a hand on the door while he awaits your answer. 

But, you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, you don’t know if you’ll want him as a prize if you win, or as a consolation if you lose. But, you figure, it’s just fun. And he’s hot. So why not.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, mirroring that grin of his.

Luca nods at you, motioning to the hallway behind him. “The deal expires soon. And now you know where to find me.” The smile returns. “So find me if you’re interested.”

And with that, your movie-star-looking, strange Frenchman saunters off down the hall, leaving you with a million questions and an American soccer player who’s gaping at you.

“That was the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” Mel says, staring at the now-closed doors. “I’m not even into that and… And he… And you said you’d consider getting a drink with him?”

“He made a bet with me,” you argue. “He didn’t ask me out. And even if he did, I didn’t say no.”

Mel looks at you like you’re both insane and the dumbest person alive. “I think we need to get you checked for a fucking concussion, because… what?”

“He didn’t!” you insist, suddenly doubting your own instincts. “Did he?”

The elevator stops and Mel makes a break for the doors. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

You watch helplessly as Mel walks toward your dorm, muttering things about you under her breath that you can barely hear. The second you step off the elevator to follow, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. 

Get some sleep, Fourteen. You’ve earned it. I’ll see you on Wednesday.

You find yourself smiling down at your phone, and for a moment, all thoughts of missed signs and Mel’s words go quiet. you too, you reply. big game tomorrow. and you know i’ll be harassing you like you did to me, so you better bring your a-game.

Before you can open your door to tuck in for the night, you get a response. I’m counting on it.

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

Returning to Chelsea is like having one foot stuck in a dream and the other in a nightmare.

On one hand, it’s nostalgic. It’s loud and boisterous and you can’t escape the blue even if you tried. The field’s in the same pristine condition as you remember and the liveliness of it all engulfs you completely. It makes you think about everything that happened here and how easy it used to be.

But, on the other hand… it makes you think about everything. Those aforementioned easier times were a precursor to your downfall, and it all started here. It was the catalyst. Somehow, this place that had been in your life for an inordinately short period of time still had the same effect on you as it did eight years ago. And when you stare out at the field, you can't help but wonder what if.

As those memories start to creep into your head, you suddenly begin to feel very hot and incredibly overwhelmed. The tunnel you’re standing in is quickly going from something familiar to something more liminal. You swear it’s getting smaller too.

But on a day like today, you know you really can’t be panicking about the past. Your team’s on the field and your coaches are waiting for you to join them. There were more pressing things that were worthy of a panic attack.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and turn to the light emanating from the field at the end of the tunnel. You’d never talked yourself out of a panic attack at the prospect of more important panic, but at this point, you’d take what you could get. Focus on the clamminess of your hands. Focus on how bright the field is and how much it’s hurting your eyes. Focus on running through the new plays you now know like the back of your hand. 

As you walk down the tunnel and go through your maniacal little sense check, you decide to focus on something that you hear. And what you hear snaps you out of whatever state you’re in and makes it all quiet down a little bit. Because as you realize what it is you’re hearing, a very different feeling of… something takes over. 

“—HERE! HE’S THERE! HE’S EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, ROY KENT! ROY KENT! HE’S—”

It’s nostalgia. It’s dread. It’s pride. It’s irritation. It’s… so many fucking things all at once and you can’t possibly stop yourself from smiling at it. The twinge you feel pulling in your stomach stays with you as you suppress that urge. Damn it.

Despite his final years being spent at Richmond and despite his new coaching status, they still adore him. You’d jokingly called him a “Chelsea Legend” more times than you could count, but it was true. It’s what he was. Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

By the time you make it to the field, Roy’s standing up from the coaches’ bench to show his thanks to the stadium. The cheer is resounding, the song continuing amongst it and you swear under your breath as that feeling lingers. 

It doesn’t go away as he turns to sit back down and meets your gaze instead. And, in typical Roy fashion, while he refused to show any emotion when thanking the city that supported him for years, a fraction of a smile makes its way onto his face when he sees you. 

(God, you hate yourself for noticing.) 

Looking away, you take another steadying breath and make your way to him and the rest of your team. The Richmond pullover you’re sporting rubs against your neck uncomfortably, but before you can fix it, you realize something: the cheers are getting louder. Confused, you look up at the jumbotron, knowing that that type of volume couldn’t possibly be for you. 

Lo and behold, it’s so not for you. It’s for Zava in the owner’s box, who’s staring at the camera like a professional wrestler, egging the crowd on. Right. Of course. Fucking Zava. You take a seat next to Roy as you stare up at the screen. 

“You think we have a chance?” you ask him, and you see him turn to you from the corner of your eye. “I’ve heard Rupert’s been putting in work there.”

Roy huffs. “Fucking twat puts in work everywhere but the things that matter,” he mutters, looking back to Zava. Your brows shoot up in agreement. “Let’s hope Zava’s not stupid enough to fucking fall for it.”

“Rupert knows how to stroke an ego,” you reply, glancing over to Jamie, who was warming up on the field, unsubtly making a very conscious effort to not look up at the screen. “He knows how to get what he wants. Speaking from experience.”

Roy scowls, and it’s a bit deeper than you were expecting. But, before you can dwell on that, he’s moving on. “You alright?” he asks. 

You know it’s meant to be casual on his part, but there’s an undertone of concern that you try to ignore. “Yeah,” you say through a sigh, hesitantly meeting his stare as you feel it boring into your cheek. You sigh again. “I’m good.” There’s a bit more conviction behind your voice this time, and it seems to satisfy him enough. “I’m nervous, but y’know. It’s a game. I’m always nervous before games.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’ve been waiting for you to throw up.”

It’s your turn to scowl now. “I only do that for big games. This is basically summer league.”

(While your sarcasm was flat, it didn’t go unnoticed. This was, in fact, a big game. Perhaps one of the biggest of your life. You’d thrown up twice today. But he didn’t need to know that.)

Roy looks unconvinced, but you’re thankful when he doesn’t press you further. “You know what to do today,” he tells you, and the assurance in his voice is palpable. 

You do know what to do today. You’ve got to prove why you were hired. Be the coach you know you can be. Get over that crippling anxiety that’s eating you alive. But instead of getting back into that, you say, “I know.”

“Fucking shook on it, too. Means you have to do it.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes and slump back into your chair. “Yeah, Roy, I know. I made that rule up. I got it.” With another sigh, you say quietly, “Just let me get there.”

His eyes remain on you. You think he’s going to say something else, but before he can, Ted whistles, calling everyone to attention. As the team rounds up, you and Roy stand.

Instead of saying whatever he was about to, he offers you a nod. 

You got this, he tells you silently. 

And despite the weird, horrendous, painful nether space your relationship currently exists in, the action does make you breathe a little easier. 

You send him one back in thanks.

What doesn’t make you breathe easier, however, is the score at the end of the half. What makes it even worse, is the unprofessional, pedantic Kent Rule that Roy has placed on the team that doesn’t allow anyone to speak in front of Trent Crimm.

Roy’s arms cross over his chest as soon as the writer enters the room, your players quieting down in suit. Your head tips back in annoyance, bracing for whatever’s about to come.

But nothing happens. The team remains quiet and wildly awkward and Trent aptly reads the room. Before he can leave, however, Ted’s calling for him to stay and is asking for Roy to chat.

Roy sends you a glance, then follows his head coach to the back of the room. While the players continue their talks in hushed tones, Beard inches over to where you stand. 

“Did I see a playbook in your bag earlier?” he asks quietly, making you flinch in surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were listening in to their conversation.”

You shoot Beard a look. “I was not,” you say, even though you so totally were. “And yeah? I, uh, take that with me everywhere.”

Beard nods. “Are they your plays?”

“Most of them,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably. You hadn’t talked about that book with anyone since you coached your college girls, and anyone you had shown it to over at West Ham hadn’t given it the time of day. “Why?”

“I want to see them,” he says, shrugging at your surprised expression. “If you want to show them to someone, that is.”

A small smile pulls at your parted lips, and you nod back at him. “That’d be—”

“CRIMM!”

Roy’s voice startles you again, and this time, it gets Beard too. You both turn to see Roy walking back toward the showers, Trent hesitantly following in tow. Ted offers a small smile to both you and Beard as he returns.

“That’d be great,” you whisper to Beard, finishing your sentence. “Thank you.”

The next few minutes are just as awkward as the previous ones. No one knows exactly what to do, or how the conversation behind you is going to play out. You know how hard it is for Roy to let go of things. Forgiveness was never something he excelled at, especially when it came to more personal topics. Not that you were any better at it.

You look around the locker room, watching each of your players whisper animatedly amongst each other. You were down by one and there were no signs of giving up. Each of them knew they were still in this. Even more so, you hadn’t heard any unkind or unsupportive words spoken since you got into the room. 

Your mind takes you back to the second summer scrimmage you coached at West Ham. You were also down by one at the half, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more different. Blame was being shoved down everyone’s throat, clinging wherever it would stick. Nathan Shelley had reprimanded three players within a minute and all of this was for a scrimmage. Nothing about that game mattered or counted. This, of course, was remedied the second you started winning, and the locker room was a wildly different place when you ended up winning by three.

While West Ham seemed to like each other, there was no sense of camaraderie there. It was nice, but nothing was kind. Richmond seemed like a family. You were starting to see that now. 

It wasn’t something you were able to embrace right now, but there was a growing piece of you that was… hopeful that you’d be able to at some point.

At that realization, you feel your body relax for a moment. Only for it to tense back up again as you’re scared for a third time, by Roy and Trent coming back to the group. As soon as he gives the green light to the team that Trent’s safe, the locker room erupts into relieved chaos.

Jamie starts shouting about the passing lanes. Sam yells out something about Chelsea’s lack of defense. More and more voices begin to speak up to offer their insight, and while they’re all on the right path, nobody’s said the right thing yet.

You can feel the words rising in your throat. Your mind continues to spin. Every thought you’d held on to, every tip you wanted to say, every nerve you had about saying the wrong thing was bubbling within you and you could feel yourself about to burst. 

No more being quiet. No more being afraid. No more being passive.

I know that you know them on the field. But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.

You can feel your hands begin to shake back and forth in anticipation of whatever it is you’re about to say. However, you don’t realize that someone’s been watching you until they step beside you.

“C’mon,” they chide, making you jump, “Fucking say it.”

You don’t have to look to know that it’s Roy, but you still turn your head. His eyes fall from yours, to your hands, then back to your face. He’s familiar enough with your tells to know what’s going on. One part of you is grateful to have that. The other part wants to kill him.

The expression you wear reads hesitance, and you’ve only got about three minutes before the team needs to head back out.

As he continues to stare at you, you can hear his voice in your head. This is your job. You signed up for this. You’re a coach. So fucking coach. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath and ball up your fists to stop the shaking. Fucking say it.

So, amidst the noise and the yelling and the bickering, you do.

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The silence that takes over the locker room is immediate and deafening. Every single person stares at you in shock, jaws agape and eyes wide as if they couldn’t imagine looking anywhere else. 

Every person but one. And if you were to turn and shake the sudden anxiety of having all attention on you, you’d see him smiling softly to himself, something like pride gracing his typically stoic expression.

It takes a moment before you realize they’re all waiting for you to say something. You glance over at Ted, who, while still a bit taken aback, nods at you encouragingly. 

You’ve got the floor, Coach. Let’s do it.

“You’re all right,” you begin, motioning to each of them as you speak. “Yes, Jamie, they’re blocking the passing lanes. It’s a straight-up wall once you get into the midfield. And yeah, Sam they’re not marking you guys. Because they don’t have to. You’re all just…” You search for the word, throwing a hand up when you land on, “...running around aimlessly out there because you’re trying to see what’s going to work. But you know what will?” 

They all just continue to stare at you. Whether or not it’s because nobody has an answer or because they can’t believe you’re actually talking like this, you don’t care. Because you answer for them. “You make them mark you. Force them to break down that wall. Draw them out, and then pass through the cracks,” you tell them, offering a small grin as you continue. “I know you guys. And I know it hasn’t seemed like it because I’ve been… quieter. But I know the type of team you are, and each of you are so, incredibly good at what you do. You’re way better than what you’re doing out there. Like, way better.”

Your team remains quiet, but you know they’ve snapped out of their surprised trance because they’re smiling at you. And they look on board. Your grin grows as you notice. “So, let’s go out there and start this season off right, huh?”

That gets them up and out of their seats. The boys erupt in a cheer, clapping as they gather around in a circle, each of them putting their hands in the middle. Dani’s voice echoes through the locker room as he yells, “For Coach’s first game!”

Another round of cheers follows before Ted looks over at you. “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” he tells you, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. “Alright. I second everything she said. Now get out there and show them what you’re made of. Okay, four on three!”

Hands go up after their chant, and the team runs out of the room with a type of energy that you’re not sure you’ve seen before. You hang back for a moment to take a breath.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you turn to see Ted smiling at you. “Nice to hear your voice, Ace,” he says, squeezing it softly. “I hope we’ll hear it some more.”

You send him a thankful smile, nodding in affirmation. “You will.”

Ted squeezes your shoulder once more, heading out behind the team. Beard nods in your direction, looking vaguely impressed in the way that only he can, before following suit. 

That leaves you and Roy in the locker room, and somehow, for the first time, you feel like you can completely relax. A shuddering breath leaves your lips, chest heaving down as you do so. You hear Roy huff when he moves to stand next to you. 

“Well,” he says. “That was one fucking way to do it.”

“I have no idea what I said,” you tell him. “I blacked out after I yelled at everyone to shut up.”

You get a huff of a laugh out of Roy for that one. “You did fine.” He doesn’t miss your dubious look. “I’m serious. You did well.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

Roy nods, expression turning a bit more earnest. “Yeah, Fourteen. You did well.”

The nickname makes a lump form in your throat, and it takes everything in you to ignore it. It’d been a while since you’d heard that one like this. It settles like cement in your stomach and you wish you could shake the feeling. He keeps his gaze on yours until you blink away, focusing on anything but him.

“Thanks,” you manage. Again, because he’s being nice, you suppose you can be too. “And, uh… thanks for pushing me. To do that, I mean.”

Roy nods, albeit a bit uncomfortably. “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” you say again. You hold his stare for one more second before returning his nod, the tension in the air easing within the moment. “Let’s go win a game, Coach.”

You don’t see the way Roy hides a smile as you turn to exit, the reflexive words of ‘not your coach’ on his tongue. But, he bites them back because, well… he is a coach. And so are you.

And as strange as all of this has been for the last week, it hasn't actually felt real to him until now. You’re here. You’re here and working with him and you’re not going anywhere.

The idea of it doesn’t make Roy panic as much as he thought it would.

(Though, unfortunately, that idea is what gets Roy to freak out. But he figures he’s got a bit of time to work that one out.)

LONDON OLYMPICS, EARLY AUGUST, 2012.

“You ever date a swimmer?”

It’s a question you pose to Roy seemingly out of the blue in the middle of one of your many footwork drills of the night. It was all he’d wanted to focus on for tonight’s training session, especially with your quarter-final game against New Zealand on Friday. While the idea of practicing again tomorrow was still up in the air, Roy had insisted on this practice being solely about fixing up what he viewed as your one weakness.

Roy looks up from your feet in confusion. “What?”

“Have you ever dated a swimmer?” you repeat, enunciating your words in a mildly obnoxious manner. “Perhaps a French person? But any swimmer will do.”

He’s still staring at you like you have three heads. “The fuck are you on about?”

You throw your hands up in a shrug. “I’m just asking. I find it hard to believe that amongst the slew of hook-ups I’ve read about, you haven’t slept with a swimmer.”

Those furrowed brows raise in interest at your statement. “Oh, you’ve read about those?”

Your eyes roll. “So not the point of what I was saying. Answer my question.”

“Foxtrot,” he says, watching you look at him in surprise. “Now shut the fuck up and finish your drills.”

“You really want to use our newly-established one Foxtrot of the hour on a simple topic like this?” you question.

Apparently, he doesn’t. “No, I haven’t dated a swimmer,” he finally tells you, exasperated. He glances down at your feet. “Stay on your toes. That fucking left foot of yours is always fucking flat.” Still staring at your feet and ignoring the way you roll your eyes, he inquires, “Why the fuck are you asking? And why do they have to be French?”

“I think I got asked out by one yesterday,” you say. Roy’s gaze meets yours with a speed that nearly makes you stumble in the middle of your drill. “But I can’t tell if he was being a weird little jerk or if he’s just French.”

While his lips twitch up at the last part of your statement, he seems more stuck on the first. “You think you were asked out?”

“Okay, it was strange,” you reply, sounding a tad defensive and slightly breathless. “He was kind of like, negging me? Which, you know, I’m now used to because I started hanging out with you.” Roy shoots you a look, but you carry on anyway. “But he was all, ‘oh yeah, you’re good. But not as good as the French team.’ And then he was like, ‘how about this, if France beats you guys, you have to buy me a drink. But if you win, I’ll buy you one.’ So, I’m kind of confused.” You stop your footwork as Roy’s stopwatch goes off and you take a moment to catch your breath. “And I’m honest enough to admit that I was only entertaining it because he was hot, but I truly can’t tell if he’s flirting with me and asking me out because he thinks we’ll win, or if he’s trying to get free drinks out of me because he thinks we’ll lose.”

“He was asking you out,” Roy says bluntly, continuing to look unimpressed. “He did a fucking horrendous job of it, but yeah. He’s interested.”

You nod, absorbing this for a second before throwing your hands up. “Why do guys do that?” 

“Do what?” he asks. “Ask girls out?”

Your expression quickly matches his. “Yes, exactly. I’d love for you to explain what happens when a man loves a woman, Roy,” you deadpan, biting back a smile as you see one grow on his lips. “No, dickhead. Why do guys think that… that’s the way to ask someone out? Like, I love a little banter as much as the next girl, but you gotta be good at it. And if you’re not good at it…” You shrug. “I don’t know. If you’re bad at flirting, you’re bad at flirting. That’s okay. That just means you’ve just gotta be direct with how you’re feeling.”

There’s a brief moment where Roy seems to consider this, but shakes his head soon after. “Some don’t know how.”

“Well, they should take classes from you or something,” you reply. “Because you’re the most direct guy I know.”

Roy’s scowl deepens. “Thanks.”

“That’s a compliment,” you say, pointing at him. His expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious. I appreciate it. You’re never afraid to tell me shit. It’s admirable.” A wry grin spreads across your face. “Flirting with you must be a three-sentence interaction.”

He casts his eyes up to the night sky. “Fuck’s sake, you’re on one tonight.”

“No, I’m curious. How do you do it?” you press with raised brows. “You told me when we met that if you were trying to ‘chat me up,’ I’d know it. So, c’mon. How does the magic happen?”

Though you were sure that it was impossible, Roy somehow looks even less impressed. “Foxtrot,” he all but snaps at you, making a low noise at the way you crush your lips together to hold back a laugh. “And I’m fucking serious about it this time. Using my one for the hour, or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine, fine,” you say, honoring your established rule with a surrender. “You don’t want to waste your succinct flirting charms on me, I get it. I won’t push you.”

Roy scoffs under his breath, fidgeting with his stopwatch. “They wouldn’t be.”

The words make you pause. “What?”

The stopwatch in his hand beeps as he finishes fiddling with the buttons. “You said they’d be wasted on you.” His eyes flick up to catch yours. “I can guarantee it wouldn’t be a waste.”

He speaks so casually that you almost don’t know what to do. You can’t tell what he means. Would his efforts not be a waste because he… likes you? That he wouldn’t even try if he wasn’t interested? Or is he just so confident in his abilities that he thinks he could get you that easily? That he could turn it on within minutes and make you rethink your entire, weird little friendship that you’ve started over this week? Because, to your knowledge, Roy hasn’t shown any sort of sign that he’s interested in you.

Or has he? Was Mel right again? Have you been reading this situation wrong? Was his bickering and negging his strange way of trying to flirt with you? Getting in your ear during drills? Texting you during games? Calling you an anomaly?

You nearly shake the thought out of your head. He’s Roy Kent. He’s quite literally known for being stoic, for his confrontational personality, and for his hotheaded tendencies. You’ve seen all of those traits since you started training together and nothing’s tipped you off that it could be anything more than friendly. Or whatever his version of friendly is.

You’ve also seen the kinds of women he dates. They’re actresses, singers, models, heiresses-- rich London elite. The shitty little one-bedroom you’ve got back home cries out in shame in the back of your mind. The Team USA Nike campaign that you were barely a part of for the World Cup taunts you. Actress, singer, model, and heiress you were not.

You’re not sure if he sees the look of confusion on your face, but you turn away before you can confirm anything. “Right,” you say, drawing the word out slightly. You kick the ball you’d almost forgotten about toward him. “Anyway. I’m bored of these drills. I need to do something else or I’ll go insane.”

Roy receives your pass, placing his foot on top of the ball with a quirked brow. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he attempts to gauge your reaction, momentarily throwing you off. “When have you ever had a say about what goes on in these sessions?”

“Well, never. But I think that says more about your coaching style than it does about anything else, despot.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night. He’s found that it’s something he tends to do frequently when you’re around. “I told you that footwork’s the only thing we’re working on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m bored,” you repeat. “Don’t you have like… I don’t know. Games we can play?”

“Games?” he parrots. He almost sounds offended. “What, are you five years old?”

You completely ignore his comment and gasp, pointing at him. “Let’s play knockout.”

“Again, I ask, are you fucking five years old?”

You look at him, pouting as you slouch over. “C’mon,” you practically whine. “It’s totally a footwork drill. But it’s fun. And it’s better than you just standing there menacingly with a stopwatch like you’re Frankie Dunn.”

Roy looks at you, then hesitates. “You’re a terrible fucking negotiator.”

That moment of hesitation lets you know that you’ve almost got him. While you may be a terrible negotiator, you’re something else: observant. The thing you’ve learned about Roy is that he physically can’t back down from a challenge. You know that there’s something ironic in that, but you figure that’s why you two have worked together so well so far.

So, your eyes narrow and you allow yourself to step forward to do just that; challenge him. “And you’ve got South Korea in a couple days. From what I saw last night, you need the practice.”

Roy’s head tilts, the beginnings of a dangerous smile twisting the corners of his lips. “Is that right?”

“I recall a lost possession toward the end of the first half that easily could have been avoided,” you say, sticking your leg out to kick the ball out from beneath his foot. The faux passive tone you’ve taken on nearly dissolves at the way his eyes darken. “For the amount that Chelsea's Finest goes on and on about footwork, you’d think he’d be better at it.”

Something between you two shifts the second those words leave your mouth. You’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you (or continues to look at you, God, you don’t think he’s blinked yet) or if it’s your new proximity, but things feel completely different from when you started. The stare you’re holding is charged. It’s not just a challenge anymore— there’s something else there. It makes your mind whirl.

Roy’s voice is low when he asks, “What would you have done differently?”

It’s not what you were expecting, but it offers you a reason to look away from his piercing gaze, take a breath, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “Crossed my mark up a little. Probably would have sent it up the field. Your striker was practically begging to be passed to.” You glance back up at him, with a smile that borders on teasing. “Definitely wouldn’t have hit my mark as hard as you did when you lost the ball.”

“He fucking dove,” is his response, sounding only slightly annoyed. But, when he sees you chuckle, he comes back to, “Who was open upfield?”

His question is genuine, like he’s actually interested in hearing your answer. “I don’t know. Didn’t recognize him. I think he’s a rookie,” you reply with yet another shrug. “But if you led him a little bit, he would have been open.” Roy’s brow draws as he hums something affirmative. When you realize he’s actually thinking about the play, considering what you’re saying, you can’t help but throw in, “Plays like that happen when you’re thinking ahead, Coach.”

Your tone has Roy glaring down at you, and you can feel the look sear through you. “And the goal that happened immediately after that was all instinct.”

“Maybe,” you say noncomittally. "But it could have been better if you all had thought ahead."

That tension between you shifts again, but this time, it’s in a way you’re really not expecting. When Roy looks back at you, there’s something disbelieving in his eyes. As if he can’t figure you out. But it’s also something almost… fond. “You really watched the game last night.”

It’s a question that comes out sounding like a statement. You’re not sure why he looks so surprised or why the emotional state of this conversation keeps going back and forth, but you say the only thing you can think to: the truth.

“You watch mine,” you reply as if the answer was obvious. “And believe it or not, I like watching you play.” Roy blinks at you, obviously not expecting that. For good measure, you add, “Being on the field actually gives you a reason to be a dick, so.”

That same searing stare returns, and it fixates on you long enough to make you itch. You don’t break it, but you rock back and forth on your heels, thinking for a second, maybe you said the wrong thing. Maybe it was a little too real, or a little too friendly.

But before you can sweat it too much, Roy dips his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, fine. One round of knockout, you fucking child.”

“Seriously?” you ask, not even trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Yeah. Get the ball. Let’s go.”

You beam at him, running to go grab the ball you’d kicked away from him previously. When you turn back, you find he’s moving to get his own. “If I’d known you’re this easily swayed by flattery, I would have started being way nicer to you earlier.”

“Don’t push it,” he calls out. Despite the fact he’s not facing you, you can picture the look on his face. “And don’t be fucking nice to me. I want to see you pissed.”

“But we’re playing knockout,” you say, as he turns and kicks his football in your direction. “How can I be pissed?”

Roy smirks. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can too. But why do you want me pissed?”

“Because you play better when you’ve got something to prove,” he tells you. Then, he shrugs. “That, and… well, I wasn’t lying.” 

You scrunch your brow. “About what?”

“It’s a good fucking look on you,” he says, meeting your gaze once more. “I might have to piss you off more often.”

Oh. Right, right, right. Totally. Ignoring the way that that makes your cheeks go warm, you reply, “Well, like you said. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

That’s when Roy smiles at you. It’s accompanied by a chuckle and while it’s not a full grin, it’s something warm and mildly sweet. However, for the first time, you’re stuck by how good he looks. You’d always thought he was good-looking, but you’d never been attracted to him. But for some reason, right here, right now, some switch has flipped. 

The realization churns your stomach and makes you physically look away from him. “C’mon, let’s play,” you say, hoping your forced nonchalance hides anything you’re currently feeling. “I like watching you lose.”

Roy huffs, sounding just a bit incredulous. “Whatever you say.”

PRESENT DAY, MID-AUGUST, 2023.

You walk away from the Chelsea pitch with a tie. And frankly, you’ll take it.

You’ve never seen a team more excited about a draw. They’re rowdy as they gather back into the locker room, and you feel a hint of a grin rising as you watch them from the hall. The petty part of your brain again has you comparing what this would have been like if you still worked at West Ham. Shelley would have berated your players (and likely his coaching staff) about how pathetic a draw was. West Ham was the superior team of the league, after all. Their record had to show for it.

It’s then that a sudden realization comes crashing down on you. Fuck. West Ham. PR. You have to do press with Ted.

As if he could hear his name rattling around in your mind, your head coach steps in beside you. He nudges your elbow with his. “You alright there, Ace?”

You nod quickly, like that’ll hide the panic you know is written across your face. “Yeah, Coach. I’m alright.”

When he folds his hands behind his back, you know he isn’t buying what you’re selling. “You still okay to do this with me?” he asks, motioning to the press room down the hall.

“I’ve done press before,” you reply, though your mildly defensive tone tells him that you’re not certain if you’re assuring him or yourself. At the way he dips his head, you sigh in defeat. “I’ve done this before. Just… never at this level. Or for these reasons.”

Ted nods in understanding. “You know you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I know,” you say, because you do.

“And I’ll be there beside you the whole time. I can take over whenever you need me to.” He nudges you again. “I ain’t too bad with all this press stuff. And I’m more than happy to make a fool of myself if it gets too tough. Really give ‘em something to talk about.”

That gets you to look up at him wearily. “I’m scared to know what that means.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t think we’ll get there,” he says, earning a chuckle from you in response. A beat passes before he looks at you again. “You ready?”

A long, sharp sigh exits your body. When you inhale, you turn back to him. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “Let’s go quiet ‘em all down.”

You surprise yourself with an involuntary smile, but it gives you the confidence to follow him.

The press room is abuzz as you approach it and they get even more lively when you enter. You can hear your name being said from every direction and the chaos makes your hands shake. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. You used to be good at these. It’s part of being a coach. You wanted this. You know how to do this.

Ted, who’s been leading the way, steps out to allow you to go up the stairs first. You clasp your hands together as you walk up, praying that this isn’t the moment your feet choose to fail you and make you trip. Luckily, you avoid disaster and make your way to the further of the two chairs on stage.

You look out into the sea of reporters, eye each of the cameras, and continue to play with your fingers as if it’s the answer to calming your nerves. You don’t realize things have gotten started until you hear Ted’s voice.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he greets the room, and you can’t help but envy how easily the words come out. “Afternoon everyone. What have you got for us today?” All hands in the room immediately go up, each reporter’s eyes shifting from you, to Ted, then back to you. Everyone’s got the same question on their minds. Everyone, except the guy that Ted picks, apparently. “Yeah, Alec. What do you got for us?”

Alec The Reporter stands. “How are we feeling about starting the season with a draw, Coach?”

Thank you, Alec, for starting with the easy question. “Well, I mean, I think we both would have liked a win,” Ted replies, looking over at you. You try your best at a smile and nod along. “But we’re proud of our boys. They turned it around after that first half, due mostly to the insight of our new coach over here. So, I think we’re feeling good about this start.” 

Alec sits down, satisfied with the answer. Before Ted calls on the next reporter, he glances at you. You nod once. You’re ready.

Ted points at a blonde woman toward the back of the room. “Sarah, how are we doing?”

Sarah The Reporter stands now. “Very well, thank you.” Her attention is immediately on you. “Coach,” she says, addressing you. “How was your first game with Richmond?”

Easing it into it, are we? You clear your throat and keep that smile plastered on your face. You can practically hear Roy yelling from the locker room for you to loosen up. “Not echo Coach Lasso, but I’m feeling good. Definitely would have liked a win, but it’s not a loss.”

You don’t think you could have given a more generic, neutral answer if you had tried. Maybe simply answering with ‘good’ would have been worse, but you doubt it. Sarah’s not done with you. “I was more referencing the dynamics of the team in your first game. The culture, if you will.”

Then come right out and say that then, don’t be weird and coy. You fight back a scowl and in doing so, your grin cracks slightly. The phrasing isn’t lost on you. Dynamics. Culture. They’re all words Rupert used just days ago. Stick to the script. Talking points. Don’t let them bait you.

“The Richmond culture’s definitely different,” you reply, perhaps putting too much emphasis on the word. To save yourself, you add, “But I think that’s to be expected when coaching Men's sports. Bit of a different world over here.” You offer a shrug, hoping your smile returns to what it was. “I’m very grateful to the Richmond team and staff for welcoming me with open arms into the warm environment they’ve created.”

You hope Rebecca and Keeley are somewhere cheering you on. That was sweet, neutral, and non-confrontational. Everything you wanted to be. Everything you should be in this line of questioning.

Ted nods at Sarah, cueing her to sit down. He points to a reporter in the front. “Marcus, yeah.”

It’s Marcus The Reporter’s turn to stand. And he comes out swinging. “No use in beating around the bush,” he says, eyes on you. “Do you have any response to Rupert Mannion’s comments about you and your tenure at West Ham?”

This is it. You feel Ted’s foot nudge yours encouragingly as you nod at Marcus and take a breath. Just as rehearsed. You got this.

“There’s not much to say that Mr. Mannion hasn’t already,” you answer slowly. “Unfortunately, some things like that just don’t work out. I too was not happy with the note that we ended on and wish it could have worked out our differences. But that’s all it was. Differences. There aren’t any hard feelings or any sort of bad blood between us. West Ham is a great team that I was honored to be a part of for the time that I was allowed. I’m sure they’ll have a fantastic season and can’t wait to meet them in a couple of weeks.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when you finish, thankful that that’s fucking done. The lies don’t sit right on your tongue and feel as though they’re rotting your teeth, but you don’t care. You got it all out, didn’t slip up or trip up, and can hopefully put this to bed.

However, unfortunately for you, Marcus doesn’t seem to be satisfied. Because he’s got a follow-up question you’re not at all prepared for. “And what of Tom MacDonald’s recent comments?”

The world stops. It comes to a complete, emergency-braked fucking halt and you feel as though someone’s punched you in the stomach. You feel like you’ve been ambushed, but you know that if you could have been prepared for this, you would have been. This must have happened today. Perhaps, even moments before this. You can feel Ted’s eyes on the side of your face almost immediately.

He… made comments? He spoke about you?

You can feel your throat constricting, but manage to get a couple words out in a relatively neutral-sounding tone. “I’m not sure what comments you’re referring to.”

“In his post-game interview about a half-hour ago,” Marcus says, glancing down at his notes to read. “He said, quote, ‘My best wishes are to Miss USA and her new Richmond team. I hope she finds her place with them, as I don’t think she ever really found hers here. But, you know, I guess you can’t really know until you really try to get to know the lads in the locker room and in the Coaches' Offices, huh?’”

Your breath’s been stolen from you. You can feel your nose and eyes start to burn as you stare Marcus down, steeling the look on your face. Refusing to show any type of emotion or reaction to that, you gather yourself.

What a fucking prick. What an absolute, horrendously evil, fucking asshole he is. You can imagine the look on his face when he said that. The smarmy fucking smile that accompanied it, the casual nonchalance of which he spewed that last part out with. You want to burn him. You want to destroy his life, his career, everything. The audacity he was to even bring up the locker room and the… 

You feel physically ill. You could throw up on the spot, but there’s something in you that’s keeping you from doing so. As the silence in the room festers, you feel Ted’s foot tap against yours again.

Do you need me to make a fool of myself? His eyes ask as you meet them. 

Quickly, you shake your head. You can do this. You’ve done this before. You used to be good at these. Don’t let him get to you like this. Don’t let either of them win.

You know you won’t come forward with what happened. You can’t. But you weren’t going to sit on your hands anymore. You wouldn’t be neutral anymore. Neutral. That was the word of the day. 

Fuck the word.

You allow another moment of silence to pass before you blink and refocus on Marcus. “I…” you begin, collecting yourself. You can feel the anger rise within you and you know it shows in your eyes. You’ve never been able to hide that. “I do, actually.”

(Somewhere in the Chelsea facilities, Rebecca Walton and Roy Kent are glued to different TVs broadcasting your conference. Rebecca’s unsure if she should be praying that you’ll tear West Ham apart or writhing in fear at the idea of what’s about to come out of your mouth. Roy, however, clocked the look in your eye immediately and can’t remember the last time he’s smiled this big.)

“As I said previously,” you start, straightening your back with a new, harder, more confident tone, “I’m also disappointed with the way that things ended between me and my former team. I also wish things could have been different and that I could have found my place. However, Mr. Mannion was correct when he assumed that I experienced a bit of a culture shock when I joined the club. However, I can’t blame anyone or anything for that but my own expectations for what I assumed AFC Football was going to be.” You offer a smaller, slightly more pleasant grin to the reporters and cameras. “But I can confirm that Richmond has met all of those aforementioned expectations within my first week. I’m excited to continue my journey with them and can’t wait to see where we go this season.”

Hands immediately fly up in response to your answer, follow-up questions galore. You glance over at Ted for a moment (who looks like he’s unsure whether he should be proud of you or sweating this), then suddenly find that a group of people are being ushered into the press room. You eyes lock with the man in the center, and he stares right back at you with an intensity you’re not sure you’ve seen before. Zava.

“And on that note,” you say, quieting everyone down. Relief washes over you now that you have an excuse to leave the room, “I think we’ve run out of time for questions concerning me. We’ve got something much more important to cover.”

When they all see that you’re referring to Zava, the room erupts into even more chaos. You couldn’t possibly be out of your chair faster, ready to make a break for it, and run to the bathroom. Ted’s on your heels as you exit, running in front of you to stop you as you make it to the hall.

“Woah, woah, slow down there,” he says with a soft laugh. “Runnin’ out of there faster than Tom Cruise in— well, any of the Mission Impossible movies, I guess.” You don’t meet his eye, or offer him any sort of pity laugh, something he catches immediately. “You alright, Ace?”

“Yeah,” you say shortly. God, you don’t want to cry in front of your head coach. “I’m good.”

He sees right through you. God, why is everyone at Richmond so fucking in touch with other people’s emotions? “Is there something you want to talk about? Maybe something I should know about—”

“No.” It’s a conversation ender and Ted steps back from you. You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing less than to deal with this right now. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” With a deep breath, you move away from him. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you for your help in there, Coach. And thank you for a wonderful first week.”

You even don’t hear what Ted has to say in response to that before you’re beelining for the bathroom and locking yourself in a stall, finally allowing the tears that had been welling in your eyes to fall.

Zava announces that he'll be joining Richmond and thirty minutes, later you find yourself in a 'Coaches Group Chat' reading a message from Ted.

After you'd collected yourself, you had the full intention of pretending like everything was normal. You refused to let him win or get the better of your emotions, or fucking... whatever. So, the second you received that text, you immediately signed yourself up for whatever Ted wanted you to do. 

Coaches’ Celebration at Crown and Anchor, the text from him reads. Be there or be square.

However, apparently, you’re the only one who’s concerned with being square, because none of your fellow coaches have shown up yet. There’s a group of three guys sitting at a table in the corner, yelling things at the screen every few minutes. You see a couple who are throwing darts at the end of the bar. There’s a lone man with a pint at the hightop by the door, texting away on his phone. But Ted, Beard, and Roy were nowhere to be found.

The bartop’s nearly abandoned, so you choose a seat in the middle, making sure to reserve three extras. When the woman behind the bar turns to serve you, you can tell she immediately recognizes you, and the smile she offers is warm.

“Good showing today,” she tells you. Then, she shrugs. “Would have liked a win.”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “You and me both.”

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the door. “Um, I’m meeting people here. I—”

“Oh. Right. That’s tonight,” she says, with a knowing look in her eye. Your brow scrunches. “When he gets here, call me over. My name’s Mae.”

Before you can question that cryptic fucking sentence or correct her and let her know that you’re meeting people (plural) here, the pub door opens. Roy walks through, nodding once he sees you.

He grabs the stool to your left. “Nice press conference today,” he says in greeting, taking a seat. 

The teasing note in his voice makes you scowl. “Shut up. I was nervous.”

“I liked the part where you called Rupert a lying prick who needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“That’s not even close to what I said.”

Roy chuckles. “You might as well have. That was a media-trained ‘fuck you’ if I’ve ever seen one.”

God, you could really use that drink now. “I wasn’t even trained for that one,” you admit sheepishly. ”I literally don’t know where that came from. I was like, possessed by some bitchy politician or something.”

“She’d have my vote.”

“She shouldn’t. She’d start a global thermonuclear war because someone implied that she was difficult to work with.” You make a face at Roy as he chuckles. “Besides, I don’t think a Roy Kent endorsement would do her any favors.”

“Probably not,” Roy agrees. “Only person I’ve ever endorsed was you, and look where we are.”

You roll your eyes, casting them to the door. “Oh, my God. Okay, where are Ted and Beard?”

“They’re not coming,” a voice says as they round the bar. Mae stands before you once more, wiping her hands on a rag. 

You and Roy stare at her. “What do you mean they’re not coming?” you ask.

“I mean, they’re not coming,” Mae repeats matter-of-factly. Confusion takes over your expression. “They lured you two here and I’ve been given a ridiculous amount of money to keep you here until the two of you…” She glances down at her phone. “Fix your issues and…” Mae squints at the text she’s reading from. “...’Have whatever conversation you’ve been tiptoeing around.’”

By the time Mae looks up, you’re gaping at her and Roy’s already out of his seat. 

“You’re kidding,” you say faintly, praying that she’ll answer yes.

You have no such luck. “I’m not.”

“Fuck this,” Roy mutters. “I’m not getting fucking trapped at a fucking pub with you on a Sunday night because our stupid fucking team doesn’t understand fucking boundaries.”

You throw a thumb over your shoulder in the direction he’s looking to leave. “I second that. No offense, you seem lovely,” you tell Mae, “but I’m not staying here.”

“Unfortunately, you are,” Mae responds, nodding to the man who was sitting alone at the hightop, who stands up to block the door. He’s got to be the tallest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s built. You have no idea where he came from, but the sight of him alone gives you pause.

Roy’s on that same wavelength because he stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “This is fucking insane,” he says, looking back over to Mae.

“I agree,” she says, then nods to the window. “Take it up with them.”

You follow Mae’s line of sight to see Ted and Beard, sharing a pair of binoculars to stare at the two of you When they realize they’ve been spotted, Beard slowly removes the binoculars from his eyes and glares at Roy. Ted at least offers the dignity of a pity wave.

“Whatever they’re paying you,” you begin. “Roy will double it.”

Roy narrows his eyes. “I will?”

“Yes. You will.”

“Why the fuck am I the one paying? We’ve got the same fucking salary now.”

You whip around in your seat to glare at him, exasperation in your voice as you say, “Oh, my God, you played in the AFC for twenty years. I was in women’s sports for thirteen. We’re not even close to the same tax bracket.”

Roy considers this for approximately two seconds, then turns back to Mae. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll fucking double it.”

Mae shrugs, clearly not budging. “I’m a woman of my word, Mr. Kent,” she replies. Then, she motions to the clock on the wall. “I’ve promised to keep you here for at least an hour. What you do after that is none of my business.”

As Mae walks away, you stare at the bartop, truly unable to accept that this is happening in your present reality. There’s no way you’re doing this— no way that Roy’s doing this. This is fucking ridiculous, it’s wildly unprofessional, and—

—And Roy’s sitting down. You slowly raise your head to watch him pull out the barstool, slump into the chair, and put his face in his hands as if he can’t believe he’s actually going through with this. 

He’s giving in. He’s not putting up a fight. He’s obeying the wishes of his friends, he’s resigned to the cause, he’s… he’s putting himself in a position to have the conversation you two have been dreading since you began at Richmond.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is really happening.

You glance back over to the window where Beard stands, and he lowers his binoculars when he sees you looking. He sends you a simple, affirmative nod, raising the device to his eyes once more. 

“I assume you’ll be needing those drinks now,” Mae says from the end of the bar, two pint glasses in her hands.

You don’t think you or Roy have ever said ‘yes’ faster.

TAGLIST: @dark-academia-slut @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington, @jamieolivia27, @seatbacksandtraytables, @luvr-bunnyy

[tracksuitponytail]

These were the fics I read in February 2025. This month, I was once again amazed by this fandom's talent and how stories written years ago can still bring so much joy today.

🩷 feed a fever, starve a heart by @insightfulinsomniac [E, 12k, omegaverse]

When Louis turns twenty-one, he receives a call from the National Secondary Gender Services alerting him to prepare for his first rut. Everyone presents two to three days after their twenty-first birthday, and all heats and ruts require medical supervision just in case one thing goes wrong:

Rut fever.

Louis is certain his first rut will be normal. He hasn’t seen the only person he ever had a crush on in childhood in nearly three years, and besides, they were only ever best friends.

Everything will be fine… right?

🩷 Bijou by @kingsofeverything [E, 6k, friends to lovers]

Being in love with his best friend wouldn't be so awful if Harry didn't have to listen to him constantly complain about how the guys he dates don't measure up.

🩷 Too Young by @jaerie [E, 18k, omegaverse]

Accidentally bonded as 8 and 10 year olds, Louis starts resenting Harry once they were old enough for him to realize what had been taken away from him and now they're roommates who fuck out of obligation,

🩷 Click by @allwaswell16 [E, 5k, college/university AU] via @podfic-pals

When Louis got assigned a roommate, he wasn’t exactly thrilled, but as far as roommates go Marcel was a pretty good one. That was until Marcel started clicking a counter everywhere he went...

🩷 Dear Blue by TheIfInLife / @larryismyotpuniverse [NR, 9k, omegaverse]

Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting to be on the living room table but a stack of papers definitely wasn’t it.

The paper on top was a plain piece of notebook paper, Louis’ scrawl all over it.

‘Some people collect coins or knick knacks or even dolls. Me? I collected Valentine’s Day cards. When I was six years old, I met the love of my life, my mate. The very same day, he wrote me a card. I saved them all and this year, I wrote back.’

🩷 Chaos by @haztobegood [100 words, mature, drabble]

Against the barricade, it’s complete chaos.

🩷 I Trust You by @neondiamond [teen and up, 1.8k, omegaverse, asexuality]

As an asexual Omega, Harry deals with his heats a little differently than most. His Alpha Louis is nothing but supportive.

🩷 incalescent by @eleadore [E, 5k, omegaverse]

The onset of heat is something Louis still hasn’t learned to recognize.

🩷 When you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect? by INnenaHeart / @thechavier [M, 1k, bi awakening]

Louis realizes he's into men because of a long hair, chelsea boots wearing, Harry

Be sure to check the tags if there are any topics or tropes you prefer to avoid, and if you enjoy a fic, consider leaving kudos or a comment to show the author some love 🩷

[anythingforjtk]

Scream for Me

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word count: ~2,500

Warnings: alcohol, cursing, unprotected sex (p in v) (wrap it up!), light choking, fingering, mentions of murder (not seriously), minors DNI!!!

a/n: I wanted to pick a halloween fic topic based off of the list @hearts-hunger created! I picked topic 17 (halloween party) It’s different from the other fic I recently wrote but it was fun to make! enjoy the halloween jake smut 👻

“y/n would you hurry up! The uber will be here in two minutes!” Shouts your best friend Cam from the bottom of the staircase.

The two of you are about to leave for a Halloween party. You decided to go with a classic yet sexy costume, a pirate. You’re wearing an off the shoulder long white dress with a corset around your waist. You are covered in silver jewelry: necklaces, bracelets and earrings. You opted for a dark smokey eye and eyeliner in your waterline. Your finishing touches include fishnet stockings, black boots and a red bandanna over your hair.

“I’m coming Cam!” You reply before throwing your phone and keys into your purse and running down the stairs to meet her at the front door.

“You may have taken forever but I can see it was worth the wait, you look sexy girl. Now let’s go!” Cam pulls your arm and drags you through the front door, guiding you towards to uber.

Once you get inside of the car you finally have time to take in and appreciate her costume.

Not only is she dressed as Pennywise from the movie IT, but she is the sexy version. She’s wearing a white corset top, embellished with red pom-poms, small white shorts, clown makeup and a pretty orange wig.

“I admire your ability to be scary, funny and sexy all at once. You truly have a talent,” you giggle to her.

“Oh what can I say my dear? I’m multifaceted,” Cam says as she jokingly flicks her orange wig behind her shoulder.

The ride to the party is fast, only lasting about fifteen minutes. You both hop out of the car when you arrive and hook arms, walking to the front door together.

The party is hosted by Cams new boyfriend Daniel. You have only met him two times but he seems like a sweet guy.

Cam opens the front door without knocking and you’re immediately transported into a Halloween wonderland. You didn’t expect so many decorations.

The lighting in the house is dim. There are string lights and cob webs hanging from every inch of the ceiling. You see black and red streamers hanging from the walls and candles lit on every table. The kitchen island was filled with spooky treats and alcoholic punch. It is very impressive for a twenty-something year old guy.

“Wow Cam,” you shout over the loud and eerie music. “Daniel really goes all out. This is amazing.” You try to keep your jaw from hitting the floor.

“Isn’t it?!” She doesn’t seem shocked by his effort, only proud.

There are a good amount of people in the house. Not too many but not too little. Just enough for a comfortable party.

“Im going to search for Danny,” Cam shouts over the music into your ear. “Go get some punch and i’ll meet up with you when I find him.”

She runs off and you’re now left to fend for yourself.

You take her suggestion and walk over to the kitchen island to get a drink. You are completely sober currently and in need of something to lighten your anxiety.

Your pour yourself a class of the punch and it’s delicious. It’s strong, but really good. It is the perfect drink to get you drunk fast without feeling the burn of consuming alcohol.

You lean against the counter while sipping your drink and begin to people watch. You love taking in everyone’s costume choices. Some people are opting for a scary approach, some look beautiful and some look funny. It is interesting to see what people choose. As you’re looking at the crowd, you feel a presence beside you.

You look over to see a man wearing black from head to toe. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, black chelsea boots and a black shirt that is holding on by one button.

You think the outfit is rather sexy but you can’t see his face. That is because he’s wearing a Ghostface mask.

He speaks, breaking you from your thoughts. “Hey I haven’t seen you at one of Danny’s parties before. What are you doing standing over here alone?”

His voice is kind and boyish but raspy. It’s very attractive.

“Oh my friend just recently started dating him so this is my first time here. I don’t really know anyone but her and she’s looking for Daniel,” you reply.

He extends his hand out to you, “Well my name is Jake. Now you know someone else.” You can’t see his face but you can almost hear it in his voice that he’s smiling.

You reach out in return, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you Jake. I’m y/n.”

“Well y/n, I must tell you that I was intrigued to come over here and talk to you because you’re dressed as a pirate and if there’s one thing about me, I find pirates to be very intriguing.”

A blush comes across your face. You hope he can’t really see it through the mask he’s wearing.

“I hate to disappoint you Jacob but,” you lean in closer and whisper towards his ear, “I’m not a real pirate. Don’t tell anyone tho.” You shush him by putting your finger over your lips.

He giggles genuinely at your attempt at a lame joke.

Jake speaks up from behind the mask, “Well then you should know that i’m not a real cereal killer.”

“Oh damnit. I was kind of hoping you were,” you reply. Although you weren’t actually hoping that, the idea of a sexy and dangerous man in a mask turned you on.

“I mean, I can be anything you want me to be tonight darling,” Jake says with sex dripping in his voice.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the halloween party or the masked man in front of you but you wanted Jake to take you away from this party immediately.

“If you take me somewhere quiet i’ll show you exactly what I want from you mr. Ghostface. Just as long as you don’t kill me of course.”

Jake grips your wrist firmly and guides you up the stairs and away from the party noise at a fairly quickly pace.

He throws your body into what looks like a guest room, slams the door shut, locks it and pushes your body against the wall.

The room is dark, only lit by the moon in the night sky.

Jake begins to grab the bottom of his mask, getting ready to reveal his face to you but you quickly grab his hands to stop him.

“Keep it on.”

His strong hand then snaps around your neck. You can’t quit see his eyes but you know he’s staring at you like you’re his next meal. He slowly moves his head so his mouth is hovering over your ear.

“I like you sweetheart.”

You slowly begin to smirk, knowing he’s willing to keep it on.

His hand leaves your neck and slowly travels down your body. He lifts your skirt up, revealing your black thong covered in your fishnet tights.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You nod your head quickly in reply.

His hand shoots back around your neck. “Words baby.”

“Y- yes. Yes it’s okay.” You struggle to say through your heavy breathing.

“Good girl,” he says while lowering his hand beneath the band of your thong. His fingers reached your heat and he begins swirling his middle and ring finger in your wetness.

Without much warning he shoves both of his fingers inside of you. You gasp at the sudden contact and grab at his strong forearm to ground yourself.

“How fast do you want it baby?” He questions, wanting to know the proper way to please you.

“Fast and hard,” you moan out to him while leaning your head back against the wall behind you to prepare yourself.

His fingers start plunging in and out of you at a painfully delicious speed. He curls his fingers at just the right angel to hit a spot that makes you nearly scream.

You feel sweat beading on your forehead as he drives his fingers into you. You squeeze around him as you feel yourself starting to unwind.

“Come on pretty girl. You’re about to cum, I can feel it. Be so good for me and cum on my fingers.” he demands.

Hearing his silky voice speak those words to you were enough to have you unraveling on his hand.

“fuuuckkkkkk,” you scream out at a volume too loud considering there are other people in the house.

When you come down from your orgasm he gently pulls his hand away from your core.

“Open up,” he requests.

You follow his order. He places his two fingers onto your tongue. With his other hand he guides your chin to close around his fingers and he slowly pulls them from your mouth as you suck them clean.

You look down at his pants and see how painfully hard he is. You softly trace your fingers over his bulge and he sucks in his breath sharply as if you were hurting him.

“I want all of you. I want to feel you,” you say to him.

He picks you up from under your ass, carries you over to the bed, and slams you down.

While hovering over you with his hands on both sides of your head Jake says, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He removes his jeans and boxers while you remove your corset and dress.

He’s left in nothing but his low buttoned shirt and his mask, while you’re in just your tights and a thong.

You make eye contact with his dick and notice how thick it is. It excites you so much that you notice your wetness pooling beneath you.

“You don’t have to stare honey, it’s all yours tonight,” Jake giggles to you, noticing where your eyes have been lingering.

“Then what are you waiting for Jacob? Give it to me,” you demand from him as if you’ve grown impatient.

He wastes no time and crawls on top on you on the bed and you both move up until you hit the headboard.

He reaches down to your core with one hand and rips your fishnet tights to create a hole.

You feely annoyed that he ripped your clothing for one minute until you realize you were never going to wear them again anyway.

His hands begin to explore your body. He grabs at your breasts, massaging them firmly. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as you let out a heavy breath of ecstasy.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he compliments you.

“I’d say the same for you mystery man but I haven’t seen your face yet,” you wink back at him.

He chuckles in response to you and continues working his hands over your body.

“Please Jake I need you now,” you practically beg him.

“You need me to what darling?” He mockingly asks you, wanting to hear you plead for it.

“I need you to fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you baby? Is that what you need?”

“Yes. Yes. Please,” you almost sound like you’re crying.

“Oh baby… I’ll fuck you so hard someone will think you are getting murdered in here.”

He pushes your thong to the side and lines himself up with your core. He snaps his hips against yours in one quick motion, causing you to shriek. He begins rapidly pounding into you.

He quickly grabs and pillow and puts it under your hips, making the pleasure triple. You grab at his back and dig your nails into him, slowly running them down his back, hoping to leave him with a memory of tonight.

“Fuck- you feel so fucking good around my cock,” he says through his staggered breathing. “Does that feel good baby?”

“Yes Jake you feel so good inside of me I never want you to fucking leave,” you shout back to him.

Your response to him causes him to moan deeply in chest, so much so that it sounds like a growl.

He grabs one of your legs and wrap it around his waist so he can reach a new angel. Between the pillow placement, your position, and his rapid thrusts, your body is experiencing a feeling it never has before.

You can feel his dick brushing past your g-spot causing you to yell out his name and a string of curses.

You start to squeeze around his cock, getting close to your release. You can tell he’s almost there too as you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Cum with me y/n. I want you to soak my dick as I finish inside of you. Come on baby you’re almost there. Be good for me.”

His final praises bring you to the finish line as your body shakes through a mind bending orgasm. You let out a chorus of yeses and grab at his arms with all of your might. As you’re finishing you feel him twitch inside of you.

You both come down and catch your breath before he pulls out of you and falls onto his back on the bed beside you.

You turn your head to look over at him, still wearing the Ghostface mask, “That was fucking amazing.”

“Holy shit, yea it was,” he responds. “Can I take this fucking thing off now,” he laughs referring to the mask on his face.

“Oh please do,” you reply.

You feel nervous watching him begging to situate the mask to lift over his head. You have no idea what he looks like yet but you had been extremely attracted to everything he’s offered so far and there was no denying he is the best sex you’ve ever had.

The mask gets fully yanked off of him to reveal one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

You gasp out loud.

His hair is shoulder legnth and chestnut brown. His eyes are dark and filled with honey. His thick eyebrows and long eyelashes compliment his deep eyes so well. He has a strong and sharp nose and plump pink lips. He smirks slightly at you, revealing his perfectly straight teeth.

“What? Did my face scare you sweetheart?” He asks as a joke.

You press your body into his and brush the sweaty hair sticking to his face behind his ears.

“The only thing that scares me is how attracted I am to you,” you say in full seriousness.

“You’re in luck because I feel the same way about you.” He gives a quick peck to your nose. “Give me your phone. Let me put my number in it.”

You reach down to the floor where your purse was thrown and grab your phone from it.

You hand it over to him and let him type in his contact himself.

When he hands the phone back you look down to see the information he filled out and giggle at the screen.

His number was put in its rightful place and his contact name was labeled as “Ghostface🔪”

[jane-gunson123]

Making History

Your boyfriend, Mason Mount, supports you through the biggest victory of your career so far, winning the Euros as captain of the Lioness. (Social Media AU) 

The reader is also Jordan Henderson little sister, just so there isn’t any confusion.

Main masterlist.

England NT masterlist

Mason Mount Masterlist

Y/NHendo01:

Tagged : lj10, chelseafcw

Liked by lj10, masonmount, KSI, and 132,783 others

Y/NHendo01: Nice 3 points before international break. Ft. A sneaky goal from your favorite duo. ⚽️

view all 62,456 comments

lj10: always on fire 🔥

          ----- Y/NHendo01: 🔥

User084: stargirl ⭐️

Trentarnold66: come to Liverpool

———— Y/NHendo01: Up the toffies 🔵

——— jordanhenderson: stop antagonising my players pls.

——— Y/NHendo01: soz broski 💁‍♀️ (said in a bad Scouse accent)

User09: the banter between Y/N, Jordan and Trent will never not be my favourite 😂

ChelseafcW: Woman of the match 🤩

———— Y/NHendo01: ❤️❤️❤️

Y/NHendo01:

Tagged: Lionesses

Liked by Lionesses, Mbrighty04, Jordanhenderson and 203,482 others

Y/NHendo01: And the hard work begins. 24 days to change our lives. Euro 2022 here we come. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

View all 78,351 other comments

Lionesses: Our skipper 🤩

———— Y/NHendo01: honoured ❤️

User843: How is she that pretty and talented 😍

——— jordanhenderson: she gets it from her brother 🤷‍♂️

Centralcee: the manden be backing u bro.

——— Y/NHendo01: You keep talking road in my comments and I’ll post that video of u.

——— Centralcee: I was just been nice, Y/N and you wouldn’t dare.

——— User823: I need to see this video, pls post it Y/N

——— Y/NHendo01: I would and thank u. U better come and watch me play if we play at Wembley.

User05: Why is central cee in her comments. She’s lit not that famous 😂

——— user88: They have know each other since they were 15 and Y/N signed for Chelsea. They went to school together.

——— User134: Same with her and Trent. They went to the same school when Y/N had to move to Liverpool with Jordan.

Lionesses:

Liked by Y/NHendo01, KSI, Masonmount, leahwilliamsonn99 and 1,598,718 others

Lionesses: semi-final bound. The English are never done. 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

View all 456,782 other comments

Masonmount: that’s my gf 😍

——— User23: He’s so lover boy coded

——— Trentarnold66: He’s whipped that’s what he is.

Y/NHendo01: The English are never done, Howay the lasses.

——— alessiarusso99: Skipper 🫡

JackGrealish: proud to be English. Keep going girls 🩶

User367: They have honestly restored my love of football.

Masonmount:

Tagged: Y/NHendo01

Liked by Y/NHendo01, Jordanhenderson, Centralcee, ChelseafcW and 1,257,286 others

Masonmount: supporting you every step of the way, my girl. We are all unbelievably proud of you. To wear your name on my back is like a feeling comparable with none, but hopefully soon it will be it will be mine you wear. I love you unconditionally ❤️❤️❤️

View all 834,562 other comments

Y/NHendo01: U have made me cry now I can’t leave the room for training. I love you so much and miss u loads can’t wait to see you face to face again 😂❤️❤️❤️

User617: I feel like I’ve just been called single in 627 different languages

——— Trentarnold66: same

Centralcee: I’ll be the DJ at the wedding.

——— Y/NHendo01: No, we want people to actually stay at our wedding, not leave because they heard your music.

——— Centralcee: Don’t lie I watched the interview where Tooney said you were in charge of the music in the dressing room and played my songs so 🖕

Jordanhenderson: your last name is going no where near my sister. Not when u haven’t asked me to marry her.

——— user162: He’s such a protective older brother 😂

——— Y/NHendo01: Can u not pls 😂

Y/NHendo01:

Tagged: Lionesses

Liked by Masonmount, Phil Foden, lucybronze and 567,278 others

Y/NHendo01: 1 step left. Bring on the final and wave the flags. It’s coming home 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

View all 135,167 other comments

Ellatoone: it’s coming home

——— 1MaryEarps: it’s coming home

——— MBrighty04: Footballs coming home

Masonmount: bring on Wembley

User56: let’s go, the lionesses are bringing it home.

Jordanhenderson:

Tagged: Y/NHendo01

Liked by Y/NHendo01, Trentarnold66, Lionesses, and 2,542,682 others

Jordanhenderson: From you begging me to take you to the park so we could kick a ball together at 5 to now at 23 captaining England through a Euros final.

Y/N/N, you are a true inspiration to everyone around you including me. I can’t put into words how proud I am of you. It’s an honour to watch you achieve what you have as your older brother.

You were always my biggest fan growing up, sitting front and center at all my matches now I will be for you. Bring on Wembley wor kid. You got this. Whatever the result I’ll be waiting arms open for you.

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Y/NHendo01: are you trying to make me cry.

——— Jordanhenderson: don’t get emotional on me now 😂

Y/NHendo01: Love u bro, what an honour it’s been to follow in your footsteps. Bring on this final. ❤️

——— Jordanhenderson: Love you unconditionally sis ❤️

User62: To have bond with your siblings like Y/N and Jordan would literally be a dream

——— Trentarnold66: you should see them bicker over who supports the better football team.

——— Y/NHendo01: it’s not my fault Jordan fell and hit his head as a child so support’s Sunderland. Up the mags 🩶🖤

——— Masonmount: not this again.

Liverpoolfc: Come on you Lionesses ❤️

Lionesses:

Liked by, Y/NHendo01, Masonmount, alessiarusso99 and 1,262,267 others

Lionesses: YOUR EUROPEAN CHAMPIONS 😍🏆

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User362: legends 🔥🔥🔥

Jordanhenderson: Come on you lionesses.

PhilFoden: Come on England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Lucybronze: champions 🏆

User267: It was Y/Ns goal that was incredible.

——— user36: yeah then she took her top of as a celebration. Ledgend 🔥

Y/NHendo01: Unbelievable

Masonmount:

Tagged: Y/NHendo01

Liked by, Y/NHendo01, JordanHenderson, CentralCee and 653,278 others

Mason mount: Champions after 55 years of hurt. A beautifully talented captain. A team filled with ambition and resilience. What a night a Wembley and what a goal from my gorgeous girl ❤️❤️❤️

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Phil Foden: come on u lionesses ❤️

JordanHenderson: Proud brother moment

——— Masonmount: Proud Boyfriend moment

——— CentralCee: Proud best friend moment 🙄

Y/NHendo01: I could not ask for better. Love u always my boy ❤️

——— MasonMount: love you forever baby ❤️

——— Ellatoone: Well forever is gunna have to wait cos we are getting smashed tonight. Soz Mason, me and less stole ur girl 😘

User347: what a team they are

[crguang]

Do you think Shalom is also suitable for the violinist AU? I really love Shalom, but I can't imagine the scenario, will dig into that once I have free time. 2 days ago, I was scrolling my twitter and found an acc that posted something interesting regarding Shalom. That account said, as we look into Shalom's chat in the voice pack, she is afraid that we will leave her, but I don't quite understand why. This is potential. Hmm hmmm

-🎹

ran this by the Shalom Interpersonal Affairs council (sev) and we actually came up with a whole college of performing arts AU for ptn….. it’s kind of a rich university and shalom plays the cello in the school’s orchestra, she’s perfect when it comes to technique, memorization, finesse, things like that so she’s always been told her playing was perfect. on a technical standpoint, it is. the university is affiliated with paradeisos, with whom she’s obtained her scholarship from like one of those corporate scholarships. so she very much represents paradeisos and is repeatedly told to act like it. she’s calm, eloquent, a good listener and an overall sweet girl but the people around her don’t know her at all, shes very good at redirection and never shares too much of herself but ppl don’t really notice that she only makes them talk about themselves. she’s pretty studies focused and disinterested by romance, not because she doesn’t want to experience it but it just never happened for her. here comes the fun part hehe— R is a transfer student that gets here during the winter semester. they’re studying to be a conductor and they take that very seriously. people are surprised they were even able to work with the orchestra considering that inscriptions happen during the fall, and they dont look all that special. some of them probably make bets on how long they’ll last. turns out R is FREAKISHLY talented at like. hearing every single part of a harmony which makes them an insane conductor, and they’re not afraid to call out slackers who they think have no place in their orchestra. when shalom witnesses them in action for the first time it’s literally love at first sight— heart racing, fingertips trembling, she’s holding her breath and her eyes are wide kind of visceral reaction… she’s touched in a way nothing has touched her before. absolutely does not know what to do with herself. and when the orchestra performs for the first time with R as a witness, they zero in on her in particular. afterwards, they take her apart and tells her she sounds empty. there’s no soul in her art. it’s irritating. there are no emotions when she plays and they can hear it and they hate it.

im rambling but ughjhgjgjgg theyre so. theyre so good. shalom goes through a lot of firsts with R; first real connection, first fantasies, first person to see her for who she is, etc. it’s just cute… me when a character sees the world in brighter colors in the presence of another character 😵😵😵

for the orchestra members so far we’ve got: ariel on piano, eirene on violin, lamia on double bass, coquelic on viola, hamel on harp but she still dances cause i’d never do this to my baby, cassia clarinet, cabernet oboe… chelsea’s in there somehow but she has no instrument as of yet. and of course shalom on cello hehe. some of them frequently attend the zoya/bai yi/eleven/serpent band’s concerts when they perform in bars

i love this au a lot and its only like 2 weeks old… your asks always spark creativity i really love that 😭

forgot to mention but about the voice line— i would say chief is the only thing that connects shalom to her humanity/emotions, like she was “reborn” (not anew but rather re-became a version of how she was before) because of chief. they’re extremely important to her as the person who’s given her her freedom. she still struggles to see herself as more than a tool with a predestined end, and she also believes that chief’s end is destined in a similar way for what they represent, so she’s attached to them while trying to come to terms with the fact that they’ll die and she wont be able to do anything about it. in a way, outside of paradeisos, shalom has nothing but chief— in her point of view. she didnt expect rahu to stick by her bc she didnt think rahu cared. she probably doesnt expect a thing from christina either. so to me idk, it makes sense for her to want chief to stay by her side

[cheesybaconflatbread]

litg s9: mc

i missed my old mc tags from s3/4 so bringing this back for a bit of fun. template is random questions I came up with if anyone else wants to use it or be inspired by it.

Belle Hughes

FC: Olivia Moore

Age: 28

Occupation: musical theatre performer still

Hometown: Kingston-Upon-Thames

Current Location: Brixton

Which season is she from?: S3 of Love Island UK where she was coupled up with Harry. After things fizzled out with him and she was single for a while, she was invited onto Love Island Australia.

How old was she on her season?: 22 for UK, 25 for AU.

What happened after she left her season of Love Island?: she went on to get a part in Waitress where she understudied Jenna, had a role as Sandy in Grease on the West End and most recently toured with Mamma Mia as Sophie and did a short stint on the West End as Sophie.

How did she leave her season?: for UK, she left with Harry but things turned pretty sour after a boat trip - and she wasn’t going to take his shit anymore so called it off after all that. And AU - self explanatory, left in a friendship couple.

What convinced her to take part in All Stars?: she lowkey thinks she’s been done dirty on her UK and AU season but does love being part of the show. Also she thinks Rohan from S1 is attractive but doesn’t see him around at many events, so in all honesty, she was hoping he’d be on there.

Is there anything she would do differently this season to her previous experience?: yeah, not take anyone’s shit and call people out on it. And if she has to take part in a tent building activity that her LI moans about, she will kick off about it.

Best thing that happened from her season?: meeting her best friend Genevieve in LI UK and quoting H2O with contestants from LI AU.

Worst thing that happened from her season?: Harry forgetting her name in LI UK and probably leaving in a friendship couple in LI AU - she did end up feeling bad over the way Stefan was dumped but didn’t have as strong feelings as he did for her, so was glad she at least got to explore another connection.

Is there anyone she wants on All Stars?: Rohan, she thinks Rocco might deserve a second chance and would love to have Chelsea in the villa.

Is there anyone she wouldn’t want to have on All Stars?: Dylan - self explanatory.

Is she still friends with any of the cast from her season?: Genevieve, Elladine, Nicky, Seb and AJ - they all still keep in regular contact and have catch ups. Genevieve and her were best friends in the villa and remained best friends.

Any hidden talents?: other than her obvious talents from being on the West End, she can do a smashing Gemma Collins impression.

Random facts:

• the public backed her a lot during Love Island UK and she gained a lot of popularity from that which is why producers invited her back for Love Island AU and All Stars.

• she briefly worked with Cherry at a musical theatre charity show.

• there were rumours of her being linked to Lucas from various news articles, but it was all just rumours - he’d simply seen her in a show and was spotted chatting to her afterwards.

• she made a very public threads of tweets about Dylan in S4 and requested producers step in to remove him from the villa.

• she’s met various islanders from different Love Island events and has openly said Oliver is one of the nicest guys you could ever meet.

• she wouldn’t mind appearing on Celebrity Hunted or The Masked Singer as other reality shows.

Current All Stars LI: Jude

Endgame All Star LI: Hamish, probably

[chelseachilly]

king of my heart - pt 12

hold on to the memories they will hold on to you and i will hold on to you

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: it’s euro time baby!!! warnings: some smut at the end :)  word count: 4k

a/n: hi!! this chapter was so fun to write, maybe my favourite so far?? i hope you guys like it, please let me know what you think! there’s only one more left after this <3

-

yourusername via stories

benchilwell

liked by masonmount, jackgrealish and others

benchilwell Back at it! Feeling fit and thrilled to be back in time for the end of the season 💙

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yourusername Looking fit, that’s for sure 😍😍😍

benchilwell Hahah thanks gorgeous 😏

chillyfan1 living for them flirting on insta

-

After a long and arduous journey, the day finally comes that Ben is able to step foot on the pitch at Stamford Bridge again.

It feels like a lifetime since you’ve seen him play, and you couldn’t be more excited. You’re seated in a box with Kai’s girlfriend Sophia, anxiously awaiting kickoff.

You know how hard Ben has trained for this moment and that he’s been cleared by a team of doctors and physios who are at the top of their field, but you can’t help but feel incredibly nervous as you see him emerge from the tunnel with the rest of the team.

“Hey, he’ll be fine,” Sophia says reassuringly, patting your arm. “I know it’s nerve-wracking the first time back, but he’s ready for this.”

You nod, forcing a smile despite the anxiety still lodged in your chest, which you suspect won’t go away until the final whistle is blown.

It’s a tough match against Arsenal today, and only the second last of the season. You know how crucial today’s game is for securing their spot in the top 4, and as a Chelsea fan, you’re incredibly nervous about the outcome.

It’s 1-1 at halftime, and continues to be until late in the second half.

Your fists are clenched tightly as you see the Arsenal striker on the breakaway, sprinting toward the goal. A few of the Chelsea players are trying to catch up to him, but Ben is the fastest, making a successful challenge and passing the ball back to a teammate as the crowd roars.

Your panic begins to dwindle as the game finishes up and Ben continues to play with the level of skill and talent that he possessed before his injury. He’s back - really, truly, finally back to playing the game he loves.

yourusername via stories

-

The week that the England squad is set to be announced for the Euros, you can tell how nervous Ben is.

He’s proven himself to have made a spectacular recovery in the last two Premier League games of the season, but it remains to be seen whether that was soon enough for him to have caught Gareth Southgate’s attention.

You’re incredibly anxious, too, as you wait for any news. This is what he’s been working toward his whole career, his whole life. To play for England on that scale, to finally get the chance to show the world what he is capable of, is everything he’s ever wanted. It’s the reason he’s fought so hard this year, through all the pain and setbacks.

As a result, you’ve both found a fun, helpful way to distract yourselves - having sex in every corner of your house, as often as possible. It began with you “christening” the home after you first officially moved in, which you knew didn’t make a lot of sense as Ben’s lived there the whole time you’ve been dating and you’ve already pretty much had sex in every room.

Then, it became a useful tool when Ben was getting particularly anxious about the call-up, which was becoming more and more often as the day drew closer. You’re also enjoying his return to full fitness for numerous reasons, including the fact that he’s now able to carry you upstairs and have his way with you like he used to, displaying a level of athleticism you had sorely missed.

This particular morning, you were having a lazy cuddle on the sofa watching Sky Sports, which inevitably led to the pundits discussing the possible England lineup and Ben pulling you into his lap to take his mind off it.

You’ve helped each other strip most of your clothes off - you in only your knickers and the t-shirt of Ben’s that you slept in, him in only his boxers - when his phone starts to ring.

“Shit, I’d better-“

“Yes, get it!” you exclaim, tearing yourself off him.

Ben would never normally take a call while you’re in the middle of such activities, but it’s a different scenario when he’s waiting to hear from the manager of the national team.

He scrambles around frantically looking for his phone, eventually finding it between the couch cushions.

“It’s Southgate,” Ben exhales as he looks at the Caller ID, and your eyes go wide.

“Answer it!”

Ben nods and gulps quickly before taking the call.

“Hello?”

Your heart is racing with anticipation and you briefly wish you had asked him to put it on speaker as Ben paces back and forth across the room, saying nothing except the odd “yes, sir,” giving you absolutely nothing to go off.

After a minute or two, Ben ends the call with a “thank you, I won’t let you down,” and your breath hitches. The moment he hangs up, he turns back to look at you with a slightly dazed expression.

“Did you-“ you begin to ask, and he just nods as a massive smile takes over his face.

“I got the call up,” Ben confirms, nodding his head. “I’m in the squad!”

You squeal with delight as you run across the room to him, throwing your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He catches you and holds you just as close, burying his face in your neck.

“You did it, baby,” you sigh with relief, your fingers digging in slightly to his bare shoulders. “Your hard work paid off. I’m so proud of you.”

He pulls back just enough to crash his lips down on yours in one of the most passionate kisses you’ve ever shared, his soft lips parting to slide his tongue into your mouth.

“Good thing we’re already dressed to celebrate,” you murmur teasingly, tightening your legs around him so you press against his hardened cock, making him moan against your mouth.

Within seconds, he has you laid out on the couch, climbing over you and smothering you with kisses as his hands work to remove the remaining clothing you have on.

-

The time leading up to the Euros seems to drag on forever.

You’re so incredibly happy and proud that Ben made the squad, and you wouldn’t have it any other way, but you underestimated how much you would miss him while he’s away at the training camp.

You’d gotten used to him being home all the time while he was injured, so you can’t help but suffer from a bit of separation anxiety while he’s gone, and you find yourself texting and calling him more often than you’re proud to admit.

It gets to the point that when Ben picks up the phone, you hear a chorus of “hi, Y/N!” on the other line before he’s even greeted you. It’s one thing being teased by Mason or James or even Jack, who you consider close friends, but you do feel a bit embarrassed to think of national heroes like Harry Kane or Marcus Rashford knowing you as Ben’s needy girlfriend.

Mostly, though, you’re just so excited to finally get to see Ben play at such a massive level, achieving his childhood dreams.

You obviously can’t miss an entire month of work to relocate to Germany, but you make travel plans and take vacation days to ensure that you see as many as possible. Every time you show up to a game and get to see Ben play his heart out for England, it’s all worth it.

As the weeks go on, England continues to succeed and Ben gets more and more playing time. He’s obviously proven himself as a force to be reckoned with, having come back even stronger from his injury, and it makes your heart swell with pride each time you see him come on - whether you’re watching on TV or in person.

When England makes it to the semi-final against Italy, there’s not a chance in hell that you’re missing it. You make the necessary arrangements at work and book flights for you and Charlotte before letting Ben know that you’ll be there.

You only get to see him for a few minutes when you fly in the morning or the match, as he’s deep in training mode for what may very well be one of the most important games of his career.

“You’re going to be amazing,” you tell him earnestly, cupping his face. “Whether the gaffer subs you on in the 89th minute or you’re on the starting lineup - which you should be - I am so proud of you.”

“Thanks, baby, you have no idea how much it means to have you here,” Ben says quietly, squeezing your waist. “I’ll see you after the game.”

He leaves you in his hotel room as he returns to the training pitch for warmups. You know his hopes aren’t high for much playing time in such an important game, but you’re still optimistic. He’s been just as good or better than the other left-back on the team, and he’s already got two assists and some impressive defensive plays to show for it.

Above all, you know he wants his team to win, however that is achieved. You just - a bit selfishly, maybe - want Ben to play a role in that win.

An hour before kick-off, you and Charlotte change into your Chilwell and Mount England NT shirts, respectively, and head down to the Alilianz Arena, home of Bayern Munich.

It’s definitely one of the most massive and electric sporting events you’ve ever been to, including some impressive games hosted at Wembley. The crowd is full of fans from all across Europe, and both English and Italian flags line the stands.

“Oh my god, did you look at the lineup?” Charlotte asks, glancing at her phone as you take your seats with some of the other girls.

You shake your head and she shoves her phone in your hand. Your eyes immediately scan down the list until you see “CHILWELL” in big bold font.

“Oh my god!” you practically shriek. “Ben’s starting!”

“That’s amazing, babe!” Sasha exclaims from beside you, grabbing your arm.

As kick-off approaches, you see the teams make their way out of the tunnel. Seeing Ben stand on the pitch as the national anthem plays, dressed in his England kit, fills you with unimaginable pride.

The next 90-odd minutes are some of the most intense and exhilarating of your life. You’re on the edge of your seat the entire time, jumping up when anything happens.

Kane scores first, followed by an immediate equalizer from Italy. At the end of the first half, the Italian side gets one more past Pickford, which appears to be offside but is ultimately ruled a goal.

At halftime, the mood in the English supporter section is somewhat grim, but you know they can turn this around. They need two goals to win this, and they have an incredibly strong team here.

You send Ben a quick text as Charlotte and Lauren run to grab you some cocktails to take the edge off.

You - 3:52PM Amazing start, babe. You got this second half 💪💕

When the game resumes, the team appears to have been reinvigorated during the break.

England starts strong, retaining possession well and creating some solid chances. You know it’s only a matter of time before they score and level the game.

Then, the most remarkable thing happens.

Ben is running toward the net with the ball, Italy’s defense lagging behind as they attempt to catch up with him. He’s running faster than you’ve ever seen him, obviously looking for an open teammate, and his eyes find Jack from across the pitch. He passes to him with incredible precision, despite the speed he was running at, but Jack doesn’t have a clear shot on goal.

In a split second decision, Jack passes the ball right back to Ben, who volleys it without a second thought.

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you wait for confirmation of the goal, and then the crowd erupts with cheers.

You jump up in your seat, screaming at the top of your lungs along with thousands of other supporters. You’re pretty sure your boyfriend is the most beloved man in England at the moment, but the moment he realizes it’s a goal, he turns to where he knows you’re sitting and points right at you.

“And it appears Ben Chilwell is dedicating this goal, his first in a major international tournament and his first since returning from injury, to someone special in the England supporter section!” the commentator declares, making you blush as you feel so many eyes on you.

The game continues, and you’re unable to take your eyes off Ben as he continues to dominate on the pitch, their defense like an unbreakable barrier for the Italians.

In the final minutes, Saka scores with an assist from Declan, and the crowd goes wild once more. The final whistle blows, and you all jump up and cheer as England takes the win, advancing them to the final.

You feel like you’re buzzing off much more than the couple of drinks you’ve had as the stadium erupts with cheers and chants from the English fans, the players celebrating enthusiastically on the pitch.

You and the girls rush down to meet them in the changing room, and there’s already music blaring and champagne being sprayed everywhere as you enter. They have a week until the final, so they can let loose a bit tonight.

“Y/N!” Reece exclaims, the first person you see when you walk into the room. “We did it!”

“You did it!” you shout back over the noise, pulling him into a tight hug. “Have you seen-“

“He’s over there,” Reece says with a knowing smile, gesturing to the other side of the room, where Ben is posing for photos with Bukayo and Mason.

The moment Ben sees you, his already wide grin grows impossibly bigger. He drops his arms that were around his teammates and holds them open for you.

You don’t think about the many people watching you, or the fact that they’re all currently recording on their phones, or anything other than running into Ben’s arms and hugging him as tightly as possible.

When you reach him, he catches you and spins you around in the centre of the room, making you laugh into his neck as you squeeze him tight.

“That was incredible!” you say, your voice muffled by his skin as you leave a few kisses there. “That goal, Ben, I-you took my breath away. You’re amazing.”

Ben pulls back and cups your face in both hands, kissing you firmly. Your kiss him back just as fervently, trying to convey every emotion of the past two hours into one touch of your lips.

“Thank you,” are the first words out of Ben’s mouth when he pulls back, staring at you as if you had gone out there and scored all three goals yourself. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, babe. Seriously.”

You meet his wide, slightly watery eyes, getting lost in them just like you do for hours on end when you lay in bed together, or for a brief moment each time you meet his gaze from across a crowded room.

There were so many times over the past year that you saw nothing but pain in those beautiful blue eyes of his, and all you wanted was to fast forward to this moment - this perfect, glorious moment - when he would be healed and back to achieving his biggest dreams.

Every time you woke up in the middle of the night to find him in pain, clutching his knee, making your heart shatter in a million pieces; every argument you had over what was best for him; every game that he had to watch from the sidelines.

Every setback, every gruelling physio session, every time he wanted to quit but didn’t.

It all led to this - him making a massive impact, securing his team’s place in the Euro final and giving them the chance to make history.

“Baby, why are you crying?” Ben asks softly, and you snap out of your train of thought to find him caressing your face and wiping away the tears that have started falling from your cheeks.

“I’m just so proud of you,” you choke out, smiling through your tears. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thank you for believing in me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, followed by a few more to your cheeks and lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you breathe, pulling him into another tight hug - partly because you want to feel his warmth all around you again, and partly so you can hide your tears in his shoulder. You’ve had enough of being totally emotionally vulnerable in front of thirty other people for one night.

-

A couple of hours later, you’re still partying with everyone at a club near your hotel, celebrating the win while also ensuring the boys drink enough water and don’t get too out of control. You know Southgate will be thanking you for that tomorrow when they show up to training with hopefully not too much of a hangover.

Ben is definitely feeling a buzz after just a few drinks, though, especially after having not really drank at all since they’ve been in Germany. He’s even touchier than usual, constantly keeping an arm around you or his hand in yours as you walk around chatting with his teammates and their girlfriends.

Eventually, you two end up in the corner of a booth squished between Jack Grealish and James Maddison, watching with amusement as Mason and Declan attempt Wonderwall on karaoke.

Everyone is laughing and documenting it, but Ben is fairly focused on you in his lap, his thumb stroking the exposed skin between your shirt - with his name on the back, which is definitely getting him going - and your jeans.

He’s pressing kisses to your neck every once in a while, sending shivers up your spine and making you wonder how obvious it would be if you two disappeared to the bathroom for a few minutes.

“Oi, look who went viral,” Madders chuckles, sliding his phone over to you and Ben.

You’re not sure who posted it first, but the video of you leaping into Ben’s arms in the changing room seems to have gained millions of views already.

“Oh, god,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Our families are gonna see me making out with you.”

“Worth it,” Ben laughs, kissing your shoulder. “It’s a cute video, to be fair.”

You giggle as Ben begins to trail his kisses up your neck, not hesitating to show you affection even amongst all his teammates. You love seeing him in this great of a mood, riding on the high of his performance today, which earned him his first Player of the Match award for England.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” you murmur in his ear, pressing your lips to his temple.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned it,” Ben jokes, squeezing your thigh - you’ve probably told him about ten times since you left the stadium, not to mention the thousands of times you’ve repeated the words to him throughout his recovery.

“Well, then,” you smirk, shifting your weight on his lap so that you run against his crotch just enough to drive him crazy. “Want me to show you?”

Ben’s eyes darken as they look into yours, seeing just how serious you are. It’s almost comical how quickly he shoves Madders out of the way so the two of you can escape the booth.

“Going to celebrate the win, Chilly?” Jack asks teasingly, slinging his arm around Sasha as he sips his beer.

“Yes, we are,” you say smugly, taking Ben’s hand in yours. “We’ll see you all at breakfast. Maybe.”

The guys all laugh at your unusually brazen comments, but Ben just tugs on your hand like an impatient child, clearly ready to go back to your room.

“Night, boys,” Ben says, already looking toward the door, and you laugh as you’re dragged along with him.

Within fifteen minutes, you’re making out in the elevator on the way up to your room, and within twenty, all of your clothes are off and you’re riding him on the king-sized bed as he moans into your mouth.

“So good,” Ben groans, his fingers digging into your hips as they roll over his. “Fuck, baby, you’re so amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” you sigh, pushing down on his shoulders for leverage as you try to thrust him deeper inside you. “You’re so good, Ben. So strong. You feel so good inside me.”

He grips your hips even tighter and thrusts upward into you, making you cry out in pleasure as he increases the speed and intensity.

You knew it would be good, but this is one of the best times you’ve ever had - and you and Ben have had some great ones. Every touch feels like an electric shock to your system, every kiss is like a drug, and every pump inside you makes you feel like you’re ascending to another plane of existence.

“I love you,” Ben groans, and you can feel him getting close as you approach your own climax.

“I love y-oh!”

You cry out in pleasure as you crumple over him in your release, your body relaxing against his.

Ben holds you close for a moment, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as you ride out the orgasm, still joined together.

“You good, love?” he asks in a breathy whisper.

He waits for your nod of consent before moving you onto your sides carefully and thrusting into you a few more times. He moans into the crook of your neck as he comes, finally collapsing against the mattress.

You lay there, both breathing heavily, for a moment before meeting each other’s eyes. A wide smile spreads across Ben’s face as he looks at you, sheer adoration in his eyes despite the fact that you’re sure you look like a mess right now, your hair tangled and your makeup smudged.

“That was the best thing that happened to me today, and the bar was really fucking high,” Ben laughs, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you closer.

You laugh into his chest, nuzzling your nose against his warm and slightly sweaty skin, pressing a kiss there.

“I need a shower,” you mumble into his skin - after a few hours in a crowded football stadium, then in a locker room full of sweaty men, followed by a night club, you’re definitely in need of one.

“Me too,” Ben smiles, although he showered after the match. “Let’s go.”

Eager for more already, you don’t argue when he follows you into the shower.

Regardless of what happens in the final, he’s your champion, and you’re going to treat him as such.

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yourusername 📍 Germany

yourusername So proud of you @benchilwell 🥹❤️🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 It’s been a dream come true watching you play for England after everything you’ve overcome in the past year. No matter what happens on Saturday, you’ve accomplished something incredible here. You inspire me every day with your strength and your determination. I love you ❤️❤️❤️ #itscominghome

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benchilwell Thanks baby ❤️ couldn’t have done any of this without you. I love you!!!

charlottewright Y’all are too adorable I can’t take it!!! 

kennedyalexa Fav couple 🥹

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tagging: @xjval @majx00 @delicateearthquakellama @lunamelona @kenanlotus0 @madriiid​ @mountstars​ @ttzamara​​

a/n: please excuse my terrible attempts at photoshop at the end there 😭

next (and last!) chapter 💕

[aithusarosekiller]

1 what in the world is going on with that anon??💀 2 i saw an edit on TIKTOK (revolutionary honesty because most of the more out there ships stay off of it and on tumblr) of barty and lily. i need to know your thoughts on the ship because i've never thought about it but it's kinda cute so help me visualize 🙏

1) I have no idea that was wild 💀 they need to get a life fr

2) i think I know the edit you saw...was it to Chelsea dagger? Bc if it was I saw it too! Honestly I haven't thought about them all too much (ik how dare I) BUT I do adore four_saint's art of them and I'm pretty sure one of my fav writers if writing a fic about them right now so I've telescopes a pretty good idea of how they would work in my headddd

I definitely see them as a very competitive set of academic rivals to lovers. They're both the brightest students in the school and they feel the OVERWHELMING need to prove themselves in order to seek validation from staff. Lily because she wants to feel like she belongs in the wizarding world and Barty because it's the only place he can get it. They're always reminded of the other when teachers talk about progress and talent and it pisses them off SO much.

Lily thinks barty is a lucky little shit who doesn't even try but is somehow still parallel to her and Barty thinks Lily is an annoying little swot who wants to take his glory and beat all his skills.

They start of so snippy and hostile towards each other but slowly start to realise how much they have in common and they HATE it. They try to push back at first but the universe just laughs at them and forces them closer together until they suddenly end up letting their instincts take over and 'oh shit I think I just kissed my rival mid-argument'

Further down the line they're definitely a team you don't want to try and compete with. They're both scary geniuses and still manage to compete with each other on everything even while they're calling each other hot

Nobody understands them but they understand them so it doesn't matter

[longeyelashedtragedy]

🧩 ❄️ 🪐! xx

🧩 what will make me click away from a fanfic immediately: really bad quality writing. now please note, i don't mean "someone whose native language isn't english." i've read a lot of amazing fics where maybe the english was not at a native or near-native level, and they've been good and i have so much respect for those authors. i mean like...bad writing. you know! it's universal. and also, suicide, self-harm, if a character is an ooc abuser (of any sort) just for convenience of the plot or to create a tension that just isn't earned. (there's a particular fic i'm thinking of here that offends me greatly but i won't name and shame on my blog)

❄️ i feel like people i interact with here who write are all incredible writers in their own ways, not to give a cop-out answer, but it's true. i would love to see anyone's take on my favorite topics!

i'd love some fics about ivan toney--though i know one is being written ;) fics about Franko at West Ham and his pre-2010 chelsea days...i'm also kind of dying for a Pepling (pep/haaland) because i feel like that could be grotesque and wretched and i love stuff like that!

i will call out @new-berry for the frank senior/christine idea we keep tossing about. what a dream that would be--but i don't know how anyone would write that! @protect-daniel-james's Lampardverses are always the absolute dream. or any @bsaka7 fic about arsenal! but honestly, i'm lucky to talk to so many stupidly talented fic writers.

🪐 three good things going on in my life:

i've kept up some sort of exercise routine (what i do varies by the day, and i don't do it for that long most days) for almost 2 months and i kind of enjoy it?

a friend of mine here in the city asked me if i'd join some community singing group she's in and so i did! i wish it had an audition (i'm a snob...it doesn't) but i haven't been officially in a singing group in so long. it starts in late september!

my life is pretty dull, honestly...the weather has been really nice? that's all i got!

[cant-get-no-worse]

So, I'm a relatively new FCB fan and I've been doing some research about why the club had a downfall. What I understood was that everything went to shit since Neymar left. Plus he didn't even have any legit reason to leave apart from more money being offered by PSG. People say he left because he was in "Messi's shadow" but that's not true. All I saw was love and appreciation for him by the fans and his fellow players. Especially Messi. He treated him with so much love and respect. Even now, after going through so much shit at PSG, Neymar doesn't seem to want to leave that club. In my opinion, he is one reason why Barcelona went downhill. The club spent so much money on his replacements which all ended in failure. I think if he hadn't left at that time, Barcelona would be in a relatively better place right now. Maybe I'm wrong but that's what I interpreted. Please correct me if I'm getting it wrong or if I missed some important thing amidst all of this. I have nothing against Neymar, he's a wonderful player, but I can't help but put a little blame on him.

Hii ! I love ranting about this stuff, so warning: long ass ramble, I'm putting it beneath.

I think it's fairly common for people to assume Neymar's departure in 2017 was the thing that started FCB "downfall" (which is a pretty dramatic term in of itself), because it's such a public move that made everyone talk. It's a transfer whose consequences on the market value of players and the way we appreciate those is still underappreciated; genuinely, that Neymar saga is mad, it changed everything (to me, for the worse). But the decline of FCB, the institution, began way earlier than 2017. 2017 is kind of, the first most visible consequence of every prior stuff.

Everything was a mess by 2006/2008, for the team & institutionally wise. It got better from 2008 - 2012, under Pep Guardiola (coach) & Laporta/Rosell (presidents, although both not v good men) & which is now commonly referred to as the "golden age" of FCB's recent History. Then, from 2012 on, everything kind of started to decline. It's not very visible since we won the treble in 2014-2015 (KING SHIT VISCA BARÇA VISCA CATALUNYA etc. etc.) , but already behind the scenes it was rocky as hell. Political stuff, power struggles within the board, etc. Even that 2014-2015 "golden" season was a mess, what with the breach of the Transfer Regulations (we couldn't sign players until 2016), firing of our sporting director, firing of medical/staff members, lies about state of finances, restriction of said finances, Messi/Enrique/Chelsea conflict, etc. That 2014-2015 team winning the Treble effectively masked to posterity & the general public how fucked up the club's politics were at that time. But on the long run, that bad gestion did end up affecting that team that arguably should've gone on to win way more in 2016 - 2017, what with the bunch of talents we had in hands.

Then there was the Neymar stuff in 2017, Iniesta leaving in 2018. Of course, by then the mess that was the cub began to reflect on our style of play; by 2017/2018 already we weren't playing as good as we had. There were moments of brilliance of course, games to remember, iconic ones, but still. It was already falling, there were ovious issues, weaknesses, boring times, some alarming performances. I think that 2018-2019 UCL campaign symbolizes everything that had changed since that 2015 UCL ; we didn't have a team, we had one guy, surrounded by too unstable performances from players around. As football proves times and times again, you can have the current best player in the world, if he's alone, you'll never win shit. You'll win games, not competitions. That's the beauty of the sport, you need a team, or you'll go nowhere. Ultimately that "downfall" confirmed itself by more harsh and evident results, with the 2019-2022 period being rock bottom. Jesus Christ that period.

As for that Neymar stuff: it's so real complicated. And not as black/white as it appears. As a FCB supporter, when he left, I despised his guts for a bunch of years, genuinely. Many still do, just look at the comments under the rumors of his comeback; large portion of culers don't want him there, because we really saw it as a treason. A guy who left for money and some more fame. I guess you can say the fact that most culers still haven't swallowed that pill six years later is a testament to how much we loved him.

First, let me state that it's fucking tragic, for him as for the club. He left at his prime and, arguably, wasted it at PSG (tell anyone from 2015 that Neymar Jr doesn't have a single Ballon d'Or to his name and they'll rightfully laugh at your face) ; while Barca drowned as well, failing to find a proper replacement (FCB players were upset with the board at that failure), as you said. Had he stayed, as Pep said, and had the club managed itself better (but that in itself prompts the argument of: could they really? After all the decline started in 2014?) we could've won at least one, if not two UCLs. Honestly, now that we can take a few steps back and reflect, it seems none of the parties (except PSG, who propelled itself forward on the European scene) benefited from that move. But in truth, there can be a million reasons he left. We don't know if it was a personnal initiative or one of his family. We don't know how the Remontada and the aftermath really affected this decision. We don't know if he's the one that wanted to step out of « Messi's shadow » or if his father/agent pushed him to. We don't know if it's because Barcelona rendered public some elements of his contract, effectively breaking the trust his side had towards the club. This mess is a mix of money, ego, power, ambition, personnal relationships, psychological stuff in the brain of a 25 years old and his surroundings, Barcelona being Messi's club (whether you want it or not, it has been true since 2009. Barcelona and Messi were (still remain) synonymous, and that in itself paused a problem later on), PR/image manipulation/communication, and background stuff we'll probably never know of/or much later. The guy even pushed to comeback to Barcelona a mere year or two later. The whole Messi part is a theater play in of itself, between a starstruck kid who went on to play with his idol, who became friends and formed the most successfull Trident of the decade with him, who upon each occasion praises him and rambles about their friendship/love for each other, yet leaves. I mean, the guy reportedly told others he was leaving the club on Messi's wedding, without telling Leo - if that doesn't indicates you how fucked up/messy it was in his own head, Jesus. And yet the friendship Neymar had with other FCB players showed through the very summer he left, what with them posting a pic together following the legal actions of FCB against him. So yeah.

I think part of why he stayed at PSG after they retained him from going back to Barcelona is because he's, like every great player, a winner, he wants to get everything, he genuinely wants to give Paris what he came to do, but also cause, in the long run, he's trapped himself there. The more time passed the more it became that kind of need: he wanted/needed his move to mean something, he wanted that UCL so he could feel like he didn't waste so much time and talent and prime there. All in all, it's a bit tragic, I could ramble about it for hours but I'm gonna cut it short now cause that's not your ask lmfao.

Conclusion to the essay: Neymar's transfer to PSG didn't start anything, rather was the consequence and the accelerator of a decline that began years prior in the institution's background. Hope it helped bring some elements to the table, anon! ❤️

[dolfin]

15 questions / 15 mutuals

tagged by @internetbedroom 💕

1. are you named after anyone?

Not that I know of but I was almost named Dylan or Chelsea lol

2. when was the last time you cried?

Uhh a few weeks ago? I don't actually remember

3. do you have have kids?

Nope! I think I want one tho

4. do you use sarcasm a lot?

All the time irl but not so much on the internet because I don't want to accidentally come across as an asshole 😂

5. what's the first thing you notice about someone?

Usually their eyes

6. what's your eye color?

Blue but I think mine are broken because they don't change colors like everyone else's 😔😂

7. scary movies or happy endings?

I love both but scary movies are my favorite

8. any special talents?

I'm a pretty good singer when I want to be

9. where were you born?

The mountains of ny but I moved to nc when I was 3

10. what are your hobbies?

Singing, playing video games, reading, watching shows with Pedro Pascal etc

11. have any pets?

I have a big fluffy black cat named Merlin but I usually call him bubba or fatboy littlehead

12. what sports do you play/ have played?

Dance, gymnastics, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, horseback riding, and tennis

13. how tall are you?

5'4 but if I stand up straight I'm 5'5

14. favorite subject in school?

I loved history and science! And I adored Latin when I took it in hs

15. dream job?

I don't dream of labor lmao I'd love to be a singer that gets regular gigs or maybe a historian 🤷‍♀️

[thisaintascenereviews]

All That Remains – Antifragile

There are a handful of bands that I absolutely cannot stand, and for the longest time, metalcore band All That Remains was on that list. They still kind of are, but truth be told, I’ve kind of forgot about them. Maybe that’s because they haven’t released an album in almost seven years (and that’s because their former lead guitarist passed away), or because vocalist and frontman Phil LaBonte didn’t turn out to be the worst Trump supporter we’ve seen in the rock and metal scenes (Aaron Lewis and Ronnie Radke take that cake by far), but even at their core, they weren’t necessarily “bad.” All That Remains have suffered from being bland and forgettable, especially in terms of a 00s metalcore band. They’re one of those bands that make the album over and over again, but instead of putting small tweaks into their sound that change things from album to album, they stay stagnant and don’t do anything different. Their diehard fans love it, but most casual listeners don’t care.

If they are a band I can’t stand, and they’ve always been a relatively boring and generic band, why am I talking about them now? Well, their new album Antifragile, is their first in seven years, and it’s their first album to feature lead guitarist Jason Richardson. The latter fact is what piqued my interest, because Richardson is one of my favorite guitarists in the metalcore and djent scenes. Whether it’s his work with Chelsea Grin about a decade ago (where he featured on their best album and they were actually interesting for a little while), Born Of Osiris, and his solo work. He’s an incredibly inventive and talented guitarist, so I was curious about what he would bring to All That Remains, of all bands. Honestly, he adds quite a bit, because if there’s one reason to listen to this album, it’s for him. I’ll be damned if the guitarwork isn’t the best thing here. There are tons of tasty guitar riffs and solos here, especially with a 00s melodic metalcore sound. Richardson nails that sound quite well, and even the breakdowns are pretty gnarly a lot of the time.

Even Phil LaBonte isn’t half bad, and that’s surprising for me to say, because he was always kind of bland and uninteresting. He has a decent voice, both whether it’s in terms of his singing or screaming, but he pulls it off okay here. I think another big reason why this album doesn’t irritate me is that LaBonte doesn’t bring his politics into it. I remember he was a full blown Trumper in the 2016 election, but we haven’t heard him spout any bad takes, or say anything bigoted or awful in recent years, so it was almost like they disappeared from the spotlight. I’m sure he still feels that way, as he does lurk in the alt-right sphere, but you wouldn’t be none the wiser if you were discovering this band for the first time, or casually listening to this album. The lyrics on this thing are its weakest part, because they’re pretty bland, uninteresting, and forgettable. They’re your average hard-rock and metalcore lyrics that don’t say anything of importance, but they’re not outright awful or offensive. They’re not Aaron Lewis bad, but they’re just kind of there. This is the kind of album that I listen to for the sound, versus the lyrics, but this is a pretty solid album, only if you look at certain elements. The vocals and lyrics aren’t anything amazing, but the instrumentation kind of makes up for that, for better or worse. This album won’t do much for you if you’re not a fan of these guys already, or you don’t like metalcore, but if you enjoy this you enjoy this type of music, you might get a kick out of this one. It’s a bit disappointing that they don’t take any risks here, considering it’s their first album in seven years, but maybe they’ll do more on their next album. Hopefully they’ll get a more consistent schedule, now that Richardson is in the fold, and they’ll take more risks, instead of keeping it real safe, like they did with this one. I like this album, but it’s a bit too predictable for its own good.

[bebethsas]

@foundtherightwords lol, he did? when??

"such a boy back then" sir that 'closing-the-shutters' moment in the hotel room has been compared to the Mr.-Darcy-hand-flex moment from the Pride and Prejudice movie in its intensity and ability to make people swoon--don't sell yourself short!!

("such a boy--" he was what, 22, 23 when he shot this?? ...also wow I just remembered that Leonard is canonically 20-21 in this, so Joe was actually in a role that was close to his IRL age for once--I know it's not the only role he's played whose age was close to his age when they filmed, but still)

2nd gif's caption: "what d'you want to have me in there for??"

also: man, I think this is my favorite scene in the entire show. I swear, every second is great;

there's Leonard getting upset--and trying very hard to leave--for multiple reasons: -he thought that Helen and her sister invited him to tea b/c... (...b/c I thought that you liked my company? That you were interested in discussing art with me again? That maybe you liked me (as a person)? He doesn't finish the statement, but the look on his face... only 22, only 22 and already so talented, what am I doing with my life...) ...when they actually just invited him over to warn him about his job most likely going belly-up (cough convince him to leave his position b/c they're convinced that they're right, and that their source for this info--(through gritted teeth) Mr. Wilcox--is infallible cough). -(I suspect that he's also upset b/c now he knows that they're on friendly terms with the Wilcoxes--Mr. Wilcox and his daughter dropped by in the previous scene, and Leonard's polite smile dropped with it--and I'm pretty sure that he knows who Mr. Wilcox is) -he feels like they only invite him 'round b/c...I'm struggling with how to describe this. It's like they don't care about him as a person with a brain, they care about him as a human for them to talk at. He feels like he can't discuss art with them, and he feels like they're judging him based on what he wants to talk about, and they unintentionally dismiss the way he interacts with art as well as his emotions about it; their way of viewing art is the only thing that is discussed, and his way isn't encouraged? I'm trying to explain it...It's like...imagine that they're three children, and they've each brought a toy to their gathering; only the Schlegel sisters' toys are allowed to be played with, while Leonard's toy is purposefully ignored since the sisters aren't interested in it. -they're not interested in his interests and don't want to talk about them, and only want to talk about what they want to talk about (gaaaaah and as a person with ASD I felt that line on a spiritual level)

then there's Helen desperately trying to diffuse the situation--all the while not knowing why there is a situation to diffuse in the first place and becoming visibly distressed

and then Tibby pops up out of nowhere and inadvertantly makes things worse with his blunt way of speaking (and being damn funny the entire time too; he literally enters the scene by suddenly leaning out of a doorway and saying "does anyone actually like [Dostoyevsky]...you can't go a single page without someone collapsing on the floor," in response to something his sister had said in her private conversation with Leonard) (note to self, look into reading Dostoyevsky, it sounds like his work would appeal to my ✨Dramatic✨ taste.) Tibby, literally 2 seconds later with zero tact or intended malice: "I say, are you that poor devil of a clerk they have debates over at the Chelsea Women's Political Club?"

and Annie the maid, popping up twice while trying to look for Leonard's hat, and becoming increasingly more stressed and upset from the stressful situation and Helen's rising stress levels (which she is unintentionally taking out on Annie), which puts more unspoken pressure on her to find that hat.

it's a boatload of tension, mainly between Helen and Leonard, with Annie off camera in another room, and with Tibby on the side (looking rather nonplussed and completely unphased by the thick-and-stressful tension in the air--love that for him 😂).

you can tell that Helen feels bad (and confused) that Leonard's upset and wants to make it right (even as their conversation goes farther and farther downhill as they speak), and Leonard is upset and disappointed and just wants to leave (but he can't because he can't find his hat--and no he can't just leave without it, not just b/c it's not The Proper Thing To Do, but because if he left it behind, that means that he would have to come back and fetch it; and he also can't replace it b/c he and Jackie are already struggling to make ends meet as is, so he's literally stuck standing awkwardly in the hallway with Helen as he waits for Annie to locate and return with his hat, while uncomfortably enduring Helen's questions) and it's just...aaaaaaaauuughhhhh!!! It's great :3

It's a very human scene, and I've lived similar situations before, so it feels VERY realistic.

i pray that linking this doesn't lead to yt finding this vid and deleting it:

(yes I backed up a bit b/c the preceding scene is also good, goddammit, it's so subtle but you can see the minute way his face falls when they tell him that the reason they wrote him was b/c they wanted to warn him about his job. I swear, you can see the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes.)

...literally so talented that when Anne Rice (yes, Lestat's mom) watched the miniseries, she noticed it and tweeted about it.

JOSEPH QUINN as LEONARD BAST in Howard's End