#Wave Blue World Scholarship

[eastsidemags]

Artist Spotlight: Ava Schrager

We here at East Side Mags have always wanted to see BIG NAMES come through our doors and we’ve had a BUNCH of those - some you’ve NEVER seen anywhere else except conventions. Names like Greg Hildebrandt, actor Patrick Wilson, Vita Ayala, Amy Reeder, Scott Koblish, Tee Franklin and many more to name. But our heart is always in the up-and-coming; the ones who we’re SURE will aspire to be those big names one day. We love the underground. The place where big names are still growing and thriving and learning to one day shatter records and draw the gaze of the wider public!

One such up-and-comer is coming here on October 14 from 2pm-6pm and we’re SUPER EXCITED to introduce you to her!

Meet commercial artist, 2D animator, colorist/illustrator, and multi-talented artist Ava Schrager! Originally from Cincinnati Ohio, Ava is a 20 year old 2nd year Joe Kubert School student as well as the winner of the Wave Blue World Scholarship! Her art has no limitations, she draws anything from realism to anime.

Ava’s art is spectacular and that’s an understatement! This woman is crazy talented and your chance to meet her one on one and grab an awesome sketch is here!

Join us!

[cleoluvrr]

black magnolias II - rafe cameron x reader

i gave you all my light, and i got nothing to show for it

WARNINGS: mature content; domestic violence, coercion, classism, religious trauma, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, blackmail

masterlist

series masterlist

you’d met rafe before you met anyone else. 

your mom grew up with his father and the two of them were good friends during childhood. she’d told you the stories of their life in the cut, how she looked out for him, and he did the same for her. how she believed in him when nobody else did, taking days off school to work extra shifts just so he could have the money to get everything he needed before he went off to college. 

you were sure that they were much more than friends, but you never questioned her about it too deeply. it was none of you business; both of them were married to other people, anyways. they’d kept in touch over the years and rekindled their friendship when he moved back to kildare.

as you got older, you wondered if he felt guilty for leaving your mom behind. if all the things he did for you and your family was some way to make himself feel better. he paid for your grade school tuition and covered whatever your scholarship didn’t in high school. he got your mom a job working for cameron development–it paid way more than what she made at her old one. you remember going to holiday parties a couple times a year at tannyhill when you were younger; running around with other kids and playing by the water while your mother scolded you not to get too close.

you wondered if your mother fell deeper into religion after his passing, but once again, you never questioned it.

that was when rafe found you. before he became the monster that everyone knows him as, he was just a regular boy. he was sweet and funny. he never looked down his nose at you for being from the cut. corruption and heartbreak had not yet found him, and that was the rafe you knew. the one you loved. the lines of friendship and intimacy had blurred at some point in your time knowing him.

maybe it was his mom leaving that broke him, or his dad taking his grief and anger out on him that changed everything. maybe it was the popularity, the drugs, or understanding the power of money as he grew older. you weren’t sure when things went so wrong.

that was when kiara became your life vest. she was the only one that didn’t judge you for being a pogue. rafe didn’t, but he was turning into something you didn’t like anymore. someone you didn’t recognize.

it was also when you met jj. he was like rafe in a lot of ways; blonde, short-tempered, and impulsive. daddy issues and no mom, lost in the world and using drugs to escape the pain of their reality. another pair of sad, blue eyes that sucked you into their depths. another line blurred.

when you turned to face rafe you nearly gasped, teeth biting down on the soft flesh of your tongue to keep the sound from escaping. his icy blue eyes bore into your wide, nervous ones. the two orbs traveled down the entirety of your body in a way that gave you goosebumps everywhere they landed. 

he looked just as you remembered; tall, handsome, and fear-inducing. your heart was beating against your ribcage violently as you fought to stay still, feet planted firmly into the soft sand beneath you. the man made your skin prickle from being too close but you refused to move.

“oh, rafe, you’re still alive.” you voice barely quivered, unnoticeable to everyone except him. you hated the way he could feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves. it was the one thing he was the best at; reading you. “that’s…gotta be good for somebody, i guess.”

“don’t be like that,” his teeth were the same bright white that they always were, perfect and blinding as they bared down in a sinister smile. while rafe’s tone was light and teasing on the surface, you could clearly sense something beneath it that had you swallowing thickly. “you know you missed me.”

you didn’t dignify that statement with a response.

 looking past him at the brunette girl watching from a distance, you studied her closely. your brow twitched upward reflexively, eyes catching hers as the two of you stared each other down. she didn’t look familiar to you at all, but it was clear that she knew who rafe was if her glaring was any indication. 

she was pretty; her tanned skin glowing under the burning sun and shoulder length waves blowing in the slight breeze. 

the girl looked nothing like you.

“doesn’t seem like you missed me.” you hummed in response.

rafe turned his head, eyes following yours to find the dark-haired girl on the other end of your gaze. 

she tore away from the staredown to meet the steely-blue of the man before you and smiled, her teeth just as perfect as the person she was showing them off to. rafe barely reacted to her display, simply gifting her a slight nod of acknowledgment before turning back to you. 

“nah, she’s just…”he shook his head in denial, tongue escaping his mouth to wet his chapped lips. “we’re just friends. nothing serious.”

you shrugged at him nonchalantly, the sound of your friends clearing their throats behind you serving as a reminder of how uncomfortable they must be with him so close after everything that’s happened. you felt sarah grab your hand, her fingers knitting with yours.

“i don’t care if you’re friends, more than friends–whatever you wanna call it.” your tone was dismissive and slightly cold, a nautical edge to your voice as you bit the words out. “we aren’t together anymore. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

as much as you wish the words that left your mouth were true; they weren’t.

you missed him. as messed up as it was, you missed rafe in ways that you knew you shouldn’t. ways that would get you shunned by your friends if you were to ever confess to them. the man had done the worst things imaginable to all of the pogues, including you. it made no sense to be jealous of some girl that he may, or may not, be dating now, especially given how the two of you ended things.

yet, you could feel your stomach turning at the thought of it.

of course you hated him for what he did to your friends, to you. he showed you what kind of person he was hiding beneath the surface of what he put on display to you. but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think about him late at night; about what could have been had things not gone south the way they did. you standing in front of him and all your friends, telling him that you don’t care who he talks to anymore, was a lie.

but you still do it. you still do it because, what other choice did you have?

“yeah, right. i’m not,” he nodded in agreement with you about not needing to defend his actions. “jus’ didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

“right…” you replied monotonously.

kiara cleared her throat behind you, subtly letting you know that the interaction had been going on for far too long. you don’t stop her and sarah from pulling you away from rafe without any goodbye, the conversation ending as abruptly as it started.

“nice seeing you, y/n.” rafe’s voice was loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the surrounding crowd. he didn’t need to raise his volume, but he did nothing without reason. he knew who was there at the beach and he wanted them to hear, wanted them to know exactly who he was talking to.

the buzzed-blonde was met with silence once again. his gaze was both scorching and chilling, the feeling of his watchful eyes on your back as you retreated to find the rest of your friends. you were sweating, both from your anxiety and the bright sun beating down onto the sand.

cleo was kneeling into the soft ground fiddling with jj’s bike with pope and john b not too far away. you didn’t notice jj had been watching the whole time until your eyes met, his brows furrowed and a look of interrogation behind the pale blue. white knuckles gripped the rim of his helmet–he was angry.

you’d started picking at your nails nervously, already knowing the conversation that was in store.

“what was that?” the shaggy-haired boy immediately confronted you as soon as you were within earshot. you shrugged, avoiding eye contact. jj scoffed at your refusal to answer verbally and set the helmet down on the seat of the old bike. “don’t give me that shit, y/n. what was that?”

the other pogues watched you two closely, the tension thick and salty in the air.

“it was nothing, jj, chill out.” you said defensively.

“it didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me.”

“okay, well,” you scoffed at the boy and finally raised your head to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “that's what it was. so…”

he didn’t seem to appreciate that answer. jj laughed humorously, the dry sound escaping his mouth in a bark of irritation. sensing another verbal brawl on the rise, pope was close behind his friend, body tense as he prepared to pull the boy away before things got out of hand.

“jj, it’s not that serious.” pope said gently into his ear in an effort to calm him down. “just let it go.”

“she’s talking to rafe cameron! that sounds pretty fucking serious to me.”

the brown-skinned boy stumbled back stlight as jj shoved him off his shoulder. cleo stood from her position on the ground at the commotion and kiara tensed beside you.

“jj, back off.” kiara spoke up. underneath the softness of her voice was a warning. you weren’t sure for what, but it was something that made the blond shake his head, clearly frustrated and displeased by the lack of anyone on his side.

not wanting to participate in another standoff with your friend, you let your legs carry you off somewhere safe from the fuming teen. familiar voices reprimanded him for his outburst but became more muffled the farther away you got, lost in the sound of all the commotion of the race.

jj hated rafe cameron. all of the pogues hated the kook prince, it was a given considering all that he had done, but jj despised him. 

before the gold changed everything about your lives, before sarah and cleo, jj had harbored a deep hatred of the eldest cameron child. not because he was entitled and classist; most kooks were like that, it came with the territory. no–it was because he was jealous. 

jj was jealous because no matter what rafe did, no matter how many times he sent you to his doorstep teary-eyed and stuttering, or feverish with a core-deep anger, you wouldn’t leave him. he thought rafe was not good for you, and maybe he was right, but you didn’t care then. you truly believed the boy would come to his senses some day, and you didn’t care how long you had to wait.

you never meant to string jj along, but deep in the back of your mind you knew you were.

it broke him to know that he would always come second as long as rafe was around. eventually he moved on to someone he could love without heartache, and that someone happened to be your best friend. his feelings for you never went away, and everyone knew it, even if they all pretended not to. including you. the guilt consumes you less that way.

the longing stares and lingering touches. the hesitant, curious kisses shared in the chateau’s backyard while everyone else was fast asleep. cleaning him up after bad scuff-ups with luke and letting him stay over at your house. the soft moonlight casting over you as you embraced each other beneath your covers, nimble fingers reaching up to wipe the silent tears that fell from his eyes. all distant memories that you both tried to forget about completely to keep the integrity of your; to salvage whatever remained.

but in that moment of jj confronting you, everyone saw what was beneath all the smoke and mirrors. rafe was stirring up trouble on purpose–he always did.

so it was no surprise that when the racers came back around for their final lap, with jj in the lead and rafe close on his tail, something had to happen to ruin the peace. 

“c’mon jayj!” kiara shouted at the boy speeding down the sand trail. “you got it, baby!”

“let’s go jj…” you whispered to yourself, far too sick to let the words leave your mouth fully. your were gnawing on your manicured fingernails, noting in your mind that they would need to be redone before the weekend ended and you had to be back at work. 

what the hell is rafe doing?

the older one was dangerously close to your friend. the wheels of his bike were nipping at jj’s as he made an effort to overtake his lead. john b wasn’t too far behind, but topper was on him too, the two boys fighting to get the best of each other amongst the rest of the group.

a wave of shock washed over the crowd as rafe rammed into jj, the pair of blonds flying out of their seats and landing harshly in the sand. a hand flew to your mouth to muffle your gasp. there was barely time to react before the large group of bikes not too far behind came full speed towards the finish line, engines roaring just as loud as the throng of people around you. you barely noticed topper crossing the finish line, too busy rushing out to check on the boy writhing in pain.

before you could reach them, jj shoved john b off of him in anger.

your brows furrowed together in concern, the sight of the scuffle both worrying and sending confusion through you. jj made eye contact with you from the distance and threw his helmet down before stalking off, everyone staring after him with a puzzled and disappointed expression.

“get used to it!” your head whipped around to see rafe pushing off the ground, his black racing suit covered in sand. he was clearly in pain, a hand cradling his neck and a slight limp in his stride as he approached the cheering crowd.

“what’d you say?” john b heard him as well, furious eyes searching for rafe’s figure momentarily. he stomped up to him and shoved the taller roughly as he spoke. “hey, what’d you say? huh?”

“john b!” you called out to him as you briskly walked towards the commotion. “john b, no! just leave it alone.”

rafe shoved him in return, the brunette stumbling backwards from the attack. sarah got in between them before it got any further, the blonde pushing the two boys out of the way as she scolded her brother.

“you could have killed each other!” she yelled, teeth bared and face red with rage.

rafe’s face was mostly stoic, eyes rolling just barely at his sister’s words.

“yeah, like you give a shit.”

sarah almost looked offended, but she didn’t respond immediately.

“you gonna kill me, like you killed dad?”

“rafe!” you finally spoke up in defense of your friend, mouth dropping open in disbelief at the words that fell from his lips. “what the fuck is your problem?”

you followed behind him when he kept walking, strides long to keep up with his own. the brunette girl he claimed to be “just friends” with was waiting for him a short distance away and you watched as his arms wrapped around her, celebrating as if he’d won the race. 

your jaw clenched as envy clawed its way up your spine.

“why do you have to do that?” your eyes were hard as you stared him down from your spot on the beach. disgust was etched into your face, hackles raising as the girl leaned into his side with a content look on her. “you haven’t won enough? like…wh-what do you even get out of doing shit like that, rafe? you both could’ve gotten seriously hurt, and for what! winning? again?”

kiara was right behind you the moment she recognized the sound of your yelling piercing her ears, the girl taking no time to back you up. her scent filled your nose as she stood inches away, the smell bringing you some calm as your skin burned hot.

“no,” rafe wore a smug look, lips quirked up in a smirk that only fueled the fire inside you. “no, no. i don’t care about winning; i always win.”

rafe let go of the brunette hanging off him, nose flaring as he took in a deep breath of the fresh ocean air. his eyes were locked on yours, the color reflecting the water crashing against the sand behind you.

kiara backed away, the warmth of her body leaving yours as she took three steps in the other direction. she refused to let him get too close to her, the fear she felt after what he did to her understandable. you didn’t move, though. you stood your ground and let him stand before you. the distance between your bodies was so small you could smell the mint on his breath from his chewing gum and the familiar scent of his cologne flooded your senses.

“i always win, and your pogues always lose.” his voice reverberated deep inside as he smiled down at you, the expression sickeningly sweet.

you swallowed thickly, body tingling from his closeness. god, how you wish he couldn’t make you feel like this anymore.

his breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in further, voice low so that only you could hear.

“you picked the wrong boyfriend, baby…” faux pity coated his words. his lips brushed against the skin of your ear, and you took in a shaky breath, anger quickly dissipated as your body froze in place “could always come back, y’now, when you’re done losing with ‘em.”

rafe pulled back and you looked up at him, eyes glossy and lips slightly agape as you tried to steady your breathing without anyone noticing.

he always did.

“good seeing you, kie.” he never took his eyes off you as he backed away, retreating to the fling waiting for him to return to her grasp. “and i’m serious, y/n.”

[estellan0vella]

Completely Hooked: B.C Bang Chan x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 15.4K

CW: Butthunter Minho, Familial Pressure, Mild Injury, References to intense training, strict coaching methods, and the sacrifices required for high-level figure skating

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The cold air of the rink wraps around you like a familiar blanket as you glide across the ice, the sharp, satisfying scrape of your skates cutting into the surface. The rink is empty, just the way you like it. The faint hum of the lights above and the echo of Hype Boy by NewJeans playing through the speakers you’ve connected to your phone set the perfect atmosphere. You’re in your zone, dressed in your usual skating attire. A white zip-up jacket, black flared leggings, and white gloves. Your hair is tied back in a sleek ponytail, and every movement you make feels smooth and calculated.

You extend your arms, letting yourself flow into a tight spin. The centrifugal force pulls at your body, but it’s a sensation you’ve grown to love. It’s exhilarating. Just as you feel the perfect rhythm, a voice shouts out from the edge of the rink.

“Excuse me!”

The unexpected sound snaps your focus, and for a split second, your spin wobbles. Instinct kicks in, and you manage to catch yourself before you crash, your blades gripping the ice as you slow to a halt.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, breathing heavily as you regain your composure. Slowly, you turn toward the source of the interruption.

A figure stands just off the rink, leaning casually against the barrier. Short blue hair, an undercut just visible beneath the strands, and an athletic build that’s hard to miss even in the casual hoodie and joggers he’s wearing. 

Bang Chan. The captain of the college football team. President of the Alpha Phi fraternity. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” His hands are up in mock surrender, and his voice carries an undeniable lilt of humour. “Didn’t mean to throw you off like that.”

You skate over to the edge, pulling your gloves tighter against your fingers. “Hello... can I help you?”

Up close, he’s even more confident-looking than you expected, his sharp eyes bright with amusement. A grin stretches across his face, revealing a perfect set of teeth.

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asks, leaning on the barrier. His voice is casual, smooth, like he’s already had this conversation a hundred times in his head.

You nod cautiously, unsure where this is going. “Yeah, that’s me. Why?”

“You’re the one here on the skating scholarship, right? The one people are saying might get scouted for the South Korean Olympic team?”

Your face warms at the mention, though you quickly shake your head. “That’s me, I guess, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in those rumours.”

“Great!” he says, clapping his hands together. “I want to learn how to skate. I’ll pay you for your time.”

You blink, stunned. “You what? You want to learn how to skate?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I learned how to run on sand to get faster on the field, and now I want to learn how to be fast on ice. It’ll help me be even quicker for football. Plus,” he gestures to the rink, “if I can become graceful and agile here, I’ll be even better on the field. And I hear you’re the best, so here I am.”

His logic makes sense in a weird, roundabout way, but you’re still processing. “You want me to teach you how to skate?”

Chan nods enthusiastically like this isn’t completely insane. “Exactly! And I’ll pay you, obviously. 71,481 won an hour? That’s fifty bucks in America, right?”

Your jaw drops slightly. “That’s way too much. You don’t need to-”

“Nah, it’s not too much,” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “If you’re good at teaching, and I have no doubt you are, I’ll bump it to 100,000 won an hour.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “Rich frat boy, huh?”

He smirks. “And a football player. I’m a cliché. Sue me.”

The offer is tempting, and you have to admit the idea of helping him is intriguing. “Okay,” you say after a moment.

“Great!” His grin widens, and he claps his hands together again. “So when do we start?”

“Six tomorrow.”

“PM?”

“Nope. AM.”

His smile falters for half a second before he recovers, nodding like it’s no big deal. “Good thing I don’t sleep, then.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You will. Newbies your age, you’re going to be tired. You’re twenty-two, right?”

“Shhh, not so loud,” he jokes, holding a finger to his lips.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Sorry, but seriously, this is going to exhaust you. It’s leaps and bounds beyond football practice or running on sand.”

“I’m ready,” he says, determination flashing in his eyes.

You nod, already mentally planning the basics you’ll need to teach him. “Alright then. See you at six.”

As he walks away, whistling the tune of the song still playing through the speakers, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve just gotten yourself into.

The Alpha Phi frat house smells like a strange combination of burnt popcorn, energy drinks, and the faintest hint of whatever cologne Hyunjin decided to drown himself in that morning. Chan sits sprawled on the oversized couch in the living room, his legs stretched out lazily, one arm thrown over the backrest. 

Near the TV, Jeongin, Seungmin, Felix, and Jisung are huddled together on the floor, controllers gripped tightly in their hands as they play Overcooked. Or rather, as they try to play Overcooked while simultaneously tearing into each other with insults.

“Jisung, what the fuck are you doing?!” Felix screams, his voice cracking slightly. “I said chop the fucking onions, not stand there like a dipshit!”

“Your mom’s a fucking dipshit!” Jisung fires back without missing a beat, mashing buttons like his life depends on it.

Jeongin scowls, jabbing his controller angrily. “Felix, if you fuck this order up, I’m going to throw you into the fucking sun. I swear to God.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jeongin. At least I don’t burn the kitchen down every goddamn level!” Felix retorts, his accent thicker when he’s pissed.

Seungmin snorts, his eyes glued to the screen. “Felix, you’re one to talk. You couldn’t saute a fucking mushroom if your life depended on it.”

“Fuck you, Seungmin!” Felix yells, but his words are drowned out by Jisung’s maniacal laughter.

“Your mom couldn’t saute a mushroom either,” Jisung says with a smug grin, prompting groans from everyone else.

“Shut up about moms, Jisung,” Jeongin snaps. “You’re not fucking funny.”

“I’m fucking hilarious,” Jisung counters, leaning back smugly as Felix glares daggers at him. “Your mom thinks so too.”

“Say ‘your mom’ one more time and I’m going to choke you with this controller,” Seungmin threatens, though there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Minho is on his own mission. He saunters past the group, casually squeezing Felix’s ass like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Nice, firm,” Minho comments, nodding appreciatively.

Felix doesn’t even flinch. “Thanks, I guess?”

Minho moves on, smacking Jeongin’s ass next. “Eh, too scrawny. You need to squat more, Jeongin.”

“Can you not?” Jeongin groans, his focus still on the game.

“Oh, I’m absolutely doing this,” Minho replies, patting Seungmin on the back before grabbing his ass, too. “Now this? Chef’s kiss.”

Seungmin sighs heavily but doesn’t bother fighting back. “You’re a menace, Minho.”

“Yeah, and proud of it,” Minho shoots back, unbothered.

Chan watches the chaos with a faint smirk before speaking up. “I’m going to learn how to ice skate.”

The room falls silent. Well, as silent as it can get with the frantic background music of Overcooked blaring from the TV. Everyone turns to stare at him like he’s just announced he’s joining the circus.

“You?” Seungmin says, raising an eyebrow.

Chan nods. “Yep.”

Hyunjin, lounging on an armchair with one leg draped over the armrest, looks genuinely curious. “Have you ever skated before?”

“Nope,” Chan admits easily. “That’s why I have a teacher.”

Changbin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re gonna eat so much shit, man.”

Hyunjin laughs, tossing his hair over his shoulder dramatically. “He’s gonna break his beautiful face. It’s over for you, Chan.”

Minho claps his hands together. “Let us all say a prayer for Captain Kangaroo.”

As if on cue, everyone folds their hands together mockingly, eyes closed.

“Dear hard-ass ice,” Jisung begins, biting back a grin, “please don’t break Chan’s skull in half when he inevitably falls like a dumbass.”

“Dear blades of death,” Jeongin adds, his voice solemn, “please spare his limbs, but if not, we’ll take donations for the prosthetics.”

“Dear God,” Seungmin says dryly, “please let the headline read ‘Football Captain Dies on Ice’ so we can laugh about it forever.”

Everyone bursts into laughter as Chan flips them both middle fingers.

“Fuck you guys,” Chan says, though his tone is lighthearted.

Minho leans against the back of the couch, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “So, who’s your teacher?”

Chan smirks, leaning back. “Nunya.”

Minho squints at him. “Who’s Nunya?”

“Nunya business,” Chan replies, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Felix snorts so hard he nearly chokes, and Minho retaliates by chucking a piece of popcorn at Chan. It bounces harmlessly off his chest.

“You’re a fucking child,” Minho mutters, shaking his head.

Jisung points at Chan with his controller. “You’re gonna fall so hard your ancestors will feel it. I’m talking fuck yourself up fifty ways to Sunday.”

Seungmin snickers. “Fuck that, he’s gonna snap his neck. ‘Killed by hard water’ is going to be your legacy, bro.”

The group nods solemnly as Chan glares at them, holding up both middle fingers again.

“You’re all assholes,”

At precisely six in the morning, the cold air bites hard enough to seep through even the warmest layers. Chan trudges up to the entrance of the ice rink, his breath puffing out in visible clouds. His black hoodie is pulled snugly over his head, the beanie underneath adding extra warmth, and his scarf is wrapped so tightly around his neck that it’s a miracle he can breathe. His black sweatpants and gloves complete the look. Practical and fully prepared for the icy hell he’s walking into.

Leaning casually against the glass doors is you, bundled in a light pink zip-up jacket and matching gloves, black flared leggings flowing perfectly to your light pink Converse. Your hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, and a tote bag hangs from your shoulder. A steaming cup of coffee rests in your gloved hand, and a second cup sits on the ledge beside you.

When Chan steps closer, you glance up and smile, your voice soft and light. “Good morning. I got you an Americano.”

“God bless,” he groans, gratefully taking the offered cup and blowing on it before taking a tentative sip. “You’re a literal lifesaver. I didn’t think I’d survive this early.”

You giggle quietly. “Well, you showed up. That’s the first step. And you layered up.”

“Hell yeah, I did,” he says, gesturing to his outfit. “I don’t do well with the cold, and I know I’m gonna fall on my ass, so I figured I’d better have something between me and the ice. Honestly, I even considered wrapping myself in bubble wrap.”

You laugh, the sound delicate but genuine. “Bubble wrap would’ve been a bold choice. Could’ve started a new trend.”

“Exactly!” he says with a smirk, taking another sip of his coffee.

You push off the door and nod toward the entrance. “Come on. We’ve got the rink to ourselves for now.”

Once inside, the rink's chill feels sharper than the cold outside, and Chan pulls his scarf tighter. You stop near the benches, set your tote bag down, and pull out your pristine white skates.

“Grab your size in skates,” you tell him, motioning toward the wall of rentals.

Chan heads over, scanning the sizes until he finds a pair that looks right. He picks them up and returns to the bench, dropping down beside you. While you expertly lace up your skates, Chan fumbles with his.

When he’s finally done, you glance over and immediately frown. “They’re too loose. You’ll sprain your ankle like that.”

“What?” he asks, confused, looking down at the skates. “They feel fine.”

You shake your head, already crouching in front of him. “Trust me, they’re not. Hold still.”

Chan watches, bemused, as you loosen the laces and start retying them with practised precision. “You’re really doing this for me, huh?” he asks, grinning down at you.

“Of course,” you say, focused on the skates. “Can’t have you breaking an ankle on day one.”

When you finish one skate, you sit back. “Okay, try and move your ankle.”

Chan twists his foot slightly, nodding. “I can’t roll it.”

“Good. That means you won’t snap it,” you say with a small smile, moving to tighten his other skate. “Gotta save your football captain-ship, after all.”

“Angel in skates, saving my ankles,” he murmurs, and you let out a soft giggle.

Once his skates are secure, you sit back on your heels and reach into your tote bag. “I got you something.”

Chan raises an eyebrow as you pull out a helmet, a bright blue one adorned with Frozen stickers featuring Elsa and Olaf.

“Oh no,” he groans, already knowing where this is going.

“Oh yes,” you reply, giggling as you hold it up.

“You’re mean,” he grumbles, but he leans down slightly, letting you place the helmet on his head.

“Safety first,” you say sweetly, buckling the strap under his chin as he mutters something about hating his life.

Once the helmet is secure, you knock it lightly with your knuckles. “Okay, now knock it three times. It’s good luck.”

“Seriously?” he asks, exasperated.

“Yup. And maybe say a prayer, too. It can’t hurt,” you tease, your voice playful.

With a sigh that borders on dramatic, Chan knocks the helmet three times, muttering, “Please don’t let me die.”

You laugh, the sound soft but warm. “Perfect. Now you’re ready.”

As he follows you toward the rink, Chan can’t help but wonder how someone so soft-spoken and reserved could also be so damn witty. He’s definitely in for a ride. 

The rink hums with the familiar opening beats of Sherlock by SHINee as you adjust your phone on the small speaker dock near the bench. The music blasts out, echoing across the empty space. Chan, standing awkwardly by the edge of the rink, perks up almost immediately.

“Oh, I love this song!” he exclaims, tapping his gloved fingers against his thigh in rhythm. “I actually sampled part of it for my music production assignment last year.”

You look over at him, surprised but impressed. “Good taste. You’re officially approved.”

He smirks, running a hand over the top of his helmet. “So, what else do you have on this playlist? Because this is already fire.”

You finish setting up and slip your phone into your tote bag. “It’s a blend of everything. SHINee, Blackpink, Bruno Mars, Disney songs. Anything you can think of, you’ll probably hear at some point.”

Chan tilts his head thoughtfully. “Eminem?”

“Obviously,” you reply with a small laugh, already pulling on your gloves more securely. “The adrenaline spike Eminem gives you is perfect for fast skating. You’ll see.”

He nods, visibly excited despite his nerves. “Alright, alright. This is gonna be good.”

You step onto the ice with ease, your skates gliding effortlessly over the surface as you turn back to watch him. “Okay, your turn,” you say, motioning for him to follow.

Chan hesitates for a moment before placing one skate on the ice. His brows furrow in concentration as he steps forward. Only for his legs to immediately slide out from under him.

“Shit!” he yells, flailing wildly.

Reacting quickly, you skate forward and grab his arm, steadying him before he faceplants onto the ice. His weight leans heavily on you for a moment, and you grimace but hold him up. “Gotcha,” you say, helping him straighten.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, gripping your arm for dear life. “That’s terrifying.”

You laugh softly, stepping back just enough to keep your balance while still supporting him. “It’s slippery, in case you didn’t notice.”

“No shit,” he grumbles, gripping your hands as you position yourself in front of him.

Skating backwards, you guide him slowly, your hands gripping his firmly. “Okay, try to find your balance. Just stand upright and let your legs adjust.”

“I’m trying,” he groans, his knees wobbling dangerously. “It’s like the ice hates me.”

“You’re doing fine,” you assure him, though you can’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips as his feet slide again. “Just relax. Trust me.”

“It’s all the helmet’s fault,” Chan says after a particularly ungraceful stumble.

You raise an eyebrow. “Then take it off.”

Without hesitation, he yanks the helmet off and tosses it to the side. “Much better.”

The relief lasts all of three seconds before his legs betray him again, and he slips, only barely catching himself by gripping your arms.

You suppress a laugh, though it’s hard. “Aish, this is going to take a long time.”

He shrugs, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I’m paying you, so it’s fine. You can laugh at my misery if it makes the time go faster.”

Shaking your head, you steady him once more. “Alright, forget moving your feet right now. We’re just focusing on balance. I’ll skate backwards and pull you, okay? You don’t move your feet at all. Just focus on staying upright and get used to the feeling.”

He nods determinedly. “Got it. No moving, just balance. I can do that.”

You grin, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. “Good. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mutters.

You start skating backwards again, pulling him gently along. His legs wobble like a newborn deer’s, but he stays upright. Barely.

“See? Not so bad,” you say, watching him carefully.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbles, though there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “But I’m alive, so that’s a win.”

“It’s only day one,” you remind him, your voice soft but encouraging. “You’ll get there. Baby steps.”

Chan exhales heavily but nods. “Thanks for not letting me die.”

You giggle quietly, your skates slicing gracefully through the ice as you pull him along. It’s going to be a long morning, but you can’t help but enjoy the challenge he’s already proving to be.

Chan leans against the kitchen counter, a bowl of steaming ramen in hand, slurping the noodles like it’s the best meal he’s had all week. The kitchen is dimly lit, the midday sunlight filtering through the window over the sink. Minho strolls in, a bag of chips tucked under his arm, his casual confidence filling the room before he even says a word.

“So,” Minho starts, dropping the chips onto the counter with a crunch of the bag. “How are the lessons going? First one was earlier, right?”

Chan groans, dragging his free hand down his face. “It’s so fucking hard, dude. Like, I looked like fucking Bambi out there.”

Minho snickers, hopping onto the counter and ripping open the bag of chips. “Did you eat shit?”

Chan shakes his head, shoving another mouthful of ramen into his mouth before answering. “Nah, surprisingly, I didn’t fall. I held my teacher’s hands, and she just skated backwards, towing me along like some kind of ice-skating goddess. She made me wear a helmet, though.”

Minho cackles, pointing at him. “A helmet? Oh, that’s gold. Bet you looked like a total dweeb.”

“Didn’t last long,” Chan says, shrugging. “I ripped that shit off after a few minutes.”

Minho grins, popping a chip into his mouth. “So, tell me. Is she hot?”

Chan rolls his eyes, already anticipating where this is going. “Can you not?”

“Well?” Minho persists, raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you currently rocking a boner for Jisung?” Chan counters, smirking as he slurps his ramen.

Minho doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m a bisexual man, thank you very much. But yes, Jisung is currently the object of my desires and my homosexual adoration.”

Chan nearly chokes on his noodles, laughing as he shakes his head. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Minho shrugs dramatically. “What can I say? Love is love, my dude. Anyway, do you think your teacher is cute? Is that why you’re not telling us who she is? Do you have a little crush?”

Chan sets his bowl down on the counter with a sigh. “I barely know her.”

“Fine,” Minho says, tilting his head with a mischievous grin. “Lust at first sight, then?”

Chan hesitates for a moment before throwing his hands up. “Okay, objectively, yeah, she’s very good-looking. Like, straight out of a fucking Disney movie pretty. I’m genuinely surprised there aren’t birds circling her or some shit. And objectively-” He pauses, gesturing vaguely, “-her flared leggings make her ass look really nice. Like, really nice.”

Minho’s eyes light up with interest. “Now I have to meet her. You know I’m an ass man.”

Before Chan can protest, Minho hops off the counter and immediately grabs a handful of Chan’s ass, squeezing firmly.

Chan doesn’t even flinch, too busy slurping his ramen. “You know if you ever meet my skating teacher, you can’t touch her ass, right?”

Minho gasps in mock offence, placing a hand over his chest. “I’m not a fucking pervert, Chan. I only squeeze my bros’ asses, not random women. I’m not a predator. I just have so much love for you guys, so I fondle your asses.”

Chan snorts, setting his bowl aside. “Go grope Jisung’s ass, then. We all know you’ve got a crush on him.”

“That may be true,” Minho says with a shrug, “but your ass is a whole different kind of cake. Stunning. Flawless. Absolute perfection in an ass.”

Chan shakes his head, muttering something about Minho being insane as he resumes eating. Minho, meanwhile, continues his assault, squeezing and pinching with what can only be described as expert precision before slapping Chan’s ass hard enough to echo in the kitchen.

Chan doesn’t even blink, calmly slurping his ramen as if nothing happened.

“It’s so firm,” Minho marvels, resuming his fondling like it’s an Olympic sport.

Chan sighs, finally looking over his shoulder. “You gonna tell Jisung you’ve got a crush on him, or are you just gonna keep groping me like this?”

Minho hums thoughtfully, still squeezing. “Maybe. You think I should?”

“Yeah,” Chan says, deadpan, taking another bite of ramen as if this is the most normal conversation in the world.

Minho squeezes harder for good measure. “Alright. Maybe I will.”

Chan doesn’t bother responding, letting Minho continue his nonsense. It’s just another day in the Alpha Phi frat house.

The cold morning air stings Chan’s face as he pulls his scarf tighter, trudging toward the rink with his skates slung over one shoulder. His breath forms little puffs in the air, and he’s already dreading the moment he has to step onto the ice again. Still, he’s been at this for a week now, and he’s determined to improve, even if his legs still feel like jelly every time he steps on the rink.

As he approaches the doors, the unmistakable beat of “Bang Bang Bang” by BIGBANG echoes out into the crisp air. The heavy bass and rapid-fire lyrics reverberate through the building, and Chan finds himself smirking. Whoever’s playlist this is, they’ve got taste.

Inside, he spots you gliding effortlessly across the ice. You’re wearing a light blue zip-up jacket that matches your skates and gloves, your black flared leggings hugging your form perfectly. Your hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and you move like you’re one with the ice, every glide smooth and controlled.

When you catch sight of him, you wave, a bright smile lighting up your face. Chan waves back, shaking his head with a small laugh as he heads toward the wall of skates.

“You’re early,” you call out over the music, your voice barely audible over the pounding bass.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, grabbing a pair of skates in his size and plopping down on the bench to lace them up. “Don’t act so surprised.”

You chuckle softly, skating over to the edge of the rink to wait for him. “I’m just impressed you’re still showing up. Most people quit after day two.”

Chan snorts as he pulls his scarf off and stuffs it into his bag. “What can I say? I’m built different.”

“Sure you are,” you tease, leaning against the barrier.

Once his skates are laced tightly, Chan stands, wobbling slightly as he walks toward the rink. The moment his blades touch the ice, he feels the familiar rush of nerves. But before he can chicken out, you’re already there, reaching for his hands.

“Ready?” you ask, your tone gentle but playful.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mutters, taking your hands as you step backwards, pulling him onto the ice.

“Confidence is key,” you say, smirking as you skate backwards with practised ease.

Chan clings to your hands like they’re a lifeline, his legs shaking slightly as he tries to find his balance. “Confidence is fucking useless when your feet hate you,” he grumbles.

You laugh, your grip steady as you guide him forward. “Relax. You’re not gonna fall if you just listen to me.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” he says, his tone dripping with scepticism. But he doesn’t let go, letting you tow him along as the music shifts to another upbeat track.

You skate backwards effortlessly, your movements fluid and unhurried as you watch him carefully. “Okay, focus on keeping your core steady. Don’t lock your knees, but don’t let them go completely loose either. Feel the ice, don’t fight it.”

“Feel the ice,” Chan repeats with a scoff. “The ice doesn’t like me.”

“It doesn’t like anyone at first,” you reply with a small smile. “But it’ll warm up to you if you’re patient.”

Chan groans but tries to adjust his posture, his knees wobbling less as he gets used to the sensation of sliding forward. “Why does this look so fucking easy when you do it?”

“Because I’ve been doing it my whole life,” you say simply. “It’s like walking for me.”

“Well, I’ve been walking for 22 years, and I still almost trip on flat ground, so...” He trails off, his grin betraying his self-deprecating tone.

You laugh softly, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. “You’re doing better than you think. Just keep breathing and don’t overthink it.”

“Not overthinking is impossible,” he mutters but continues moving as you guide him.

The song changes again, the familiar opening beats of a Disney classic filling the air. Chan raises an eyebrow as the music swells. “Is that... Under the Sea?”

You nod, grinning. “Told you, my playlist has everything.”

He lets out a laugh, finally relaxing a little. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Your playlist slaps.”

You smile, continuing to pull him along. “See? You’re already having fun.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” he jokes, but the tension in his voice is gone, replaced by a quiet determination.

As the song plays on, Chan starts to find a rhythm, his steps steadier, his balance improving ever so slightly. You notice the subtle shift and feel a small surge of pride. He’s rough around the edges, sure, but he’s trying, and that’s more than most people.

“Good,” you say softly, your voice encouraging. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

You come to a stop, standing steady on the ice while Chan grips your hands tightly. His face is a mix of concentration and sheer terror as you give him an encouraging nod. “Okay,” you say gently, your tone light but firm, “now start moving your feet. One in front of the other. You’ve got this. Just keep holding my hands.”

Chan exhales sharply, visibly steeling himself before he shifts his weight. He tentatively moves one foot forward, the blade wobbling slightly as it meets the ice. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on your hands.

“You’re fine,” you reassure him, steadying him. “Just keep going, nice and slow. One foot-”

The moment his second foot moves, everything goes to shit. His balance shifts completely out of his control, and before you can react, he’s falling forward. His momentum carries him directly into you, his shoulder slamming hard into your sternum as the both of you crash onto the ice. The impact knocks the breath out of you, and you groan, your back hitting the cold surface as Chan sprawls half on top of you.

“Fuck,” you wheeze, lying there for a moment as you process what just happened.

Chan quickly rolls off you, his face a mixture of panic and guilt as he scrambles to sit up. “Holy shit, are you okay? I didn’t mean to- Fuck, sorry-”

Still lying flat, you rub your chest where his shoulder rammed into you. “You’re heavy,” you groan, wincing as the ache spreads.

Chan looks both mortified and defensive. “I’m pure muscle!”

“Muscle is still heavy,” you reply, your voice weak but laced with humour. “I feel like I just got bulldozed.”

Chan snorts despite himself, running a hand through his hair. “Pretty fucking effective for a football player, huh?”

You nod, still lying down. “Yep. I’ll give you that. You’re like a human wrecking ball.”

He reaches out a hand to help you sit up, and you groan again as you prop yourself up, your face scrunching in discomfort. “Oh god,” you mutter dramatically. “I think I can taste spinal fluid.”

That’s all it takes for Chan to lose it. He lets out a loud, unrestrained laugh, shaking his head as he tries to compose himself. “Jesus Christ, you’re ridiculous.”

You flop back down, your arms spread wide on the ice. “You killed me. I went out fighting, though. Pretty fucking heroic, right?”

Chan’s laughter echoes through the empty rink, his broad shoulders shaking as he leans back. “Heroic as fuck,” he agrees, his grin wide and boyish.

Your giggles join his, the pain in your chest momentarily forgotten as the absurdity of the situation settles in. You’re both lying there, sprawled out on the cold ice, laughing like idiots.

After a moment, you sigh dramatically, rubbing your ribs. “I’m definitely gonna be bruised. I feel sorry for the guys you ram into on the field.”

Chan leans on his elbow, smirking. “Yeah, and with them, I’m running at full force.”

You turn your head to look at him, mock-serious. “You should say a prayer for them. Poor guys never stood a chance.”

He chuckles, nodding. “True. Maybe I’ll light a candle for them or something.”

Your giggles turn into a full laugh, and Chan can’t help but laugh with you, his voice rich and warm in the chilly air.

It takes a few minutes for either of you to make an effort to move, the laughter slowly subsiding into soft chuckles. For a moment, the ice doesn’t feel so cold, and the ache in your chest is almost worth it.

Chan pushes open the door to the Alpha Phi frat house, his bag slung over his shoulder, exhaustion settling into his bones after a long day of lectures and the chaotic morning lesson at the rink. The familiar sound of muffled laughter and shuffling feet greets him as he steps into the kitchen.

Inside, Minho is leaning against the counter, casually snacking on a granola bar with one hand while his other hand is firmly planted on Jisung’s ass. Jisung is up on a step stool, rummaging through the top cupboards in search of snacks, completely unbothered by Minho’s shameless groping.

“How did it go?” Minho asks, his voice light with curiosity as he kneads Jisung’s ass like it’s a stress ball.

Chan sighs, setting his bag on the counter. “I nearly broke her back.”

Minho snorts, the granola bar almost falling from his mouth. “What?”

“I tried to move my feet,” Chan says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Forward I went, straight into her. Took her out completely. Fucking human pancaked the poor girl.”

Jisung, still bent over the cupboard, pauses to snicker before hopping down from the stool with a bag of Doritos in hand. “I’m surprised she got back up. I’ve been knocked down by you in practice before, and I swear to God, I saw the pearly gates.”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. “She didn’t get back up right away. She was sort of... plastered to the ice. I had to peel her off of it. Then she said she could taste spinal fluid.”

Minho bursts out laughing, doubling over as he clutches his stomach. Jisung joins in, cackling so hard he nearly drops the Doritos.

“Holy shit!” Jisung wheezes, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “That’s so fucked up.”

Minho wipes his eyes, his laughter dying down into a smug grin. “You’re a menace, Chan. You’re out here turning figure skaters into roadkill.”

Chan rolls his eyes, unfazed by their teasing. “I didn’t do it on purpose, obviously. Besides, she was laughing about it five minutes later.”

“That poor girl,” Minho says dramatically, taking another bite of his granola bar. “She’s probably icing her ribs as we speak.”

Jisung, still grinning, nudges Chan with his elbow. “You really peeled her off the ice? Like a cartoon character?”

“Pretty much,” Chan admits with a shrug. “It wasn’t exactly my finest moment, but she’s fine. I checked, like, a hundred times.”

“Dude,” Minho says, shaking his head with mock pity. “You’re out here breaking spines and shit, and she’s still willing to teach you? She’s either a saint or she’s got a death wish.”

Chan smirks, crossing his arms. “She’s a professional. She knows what she’s doing.”

Minho hums thoughtfully, reaching out to give Jisung’s ass another firm squeeze. Jisung barely reacts, popping a Dorito into his mouth like this is just another Tuesday.

“You know what I think?” Minho says, his tone conspiratorial.

“What?” Chan asks, arching an eyebrow.

“I think she’s secretly into you,” Minho declares, grinning wickedly. “Why else would she keep putting up with you smashing her into the ice?”

Chan rolls his eyes again, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter. “She’s my skating teacher, not my therapist. She’s just doing her job.”

Minho and Jisung exchange a look before both of them burst out laughing again.

Chan shakes his head, muttering, “You guys are fucking idiots,” as he takes a long sip of water.

Without warning, Minho rears his hand back and slaps Jisung’s ass with a resounding CRACK that echoes through the kitchen like a firework.

“FUCK!” Jisung yells, dropping the Doritos as he collapses to the floor, clutching his ass with both hands.

Chan doubles over in laughter, nearly choking on his water as he points at Jisung. “Holy shit, Minho, what the fuck was that?!”

Minho is laughing too, casually brushing crumbs off his hoodie. “That,” he says, grinning, “was justice. For what? I don’t fucking know. But it felt necessary.”

Jisung lies on the kitchen floor, writhing like a fish out of water, his face scrunched up in exaggerated pain. “You- You absolute dickhead! You just clapped my cheek into my fucking shoulder blades!”

Chan howls with laughter, leaning against the counter for support as Jisung flops around like he’s been mortally wounded.

“You’re such a drama queen,” Minho says, rolling his eyes, though his grin hasn’t budged.

Jisung props himself up on one elbow, glaring at Minho. “Drama queen? DRAMA QUEEN? You assaulted me, you ass-hungry psycho! Dishonour! Dishonour on you! Dishonour on your family! DISHONOR ON YOUR COW!”

Minho bursts out laughing, clapping his hands. “Really? You’re quoting Mulan right now?”

“Damn fucking right, I am!” Jisung yells, flopping onto his back before immediately rolling onto his stomach, his hands still clutching his ass. “Because this is a betrayal of epic proportions! Fucking treason!”

“Betrayal?” Minho snorts, his tone teasing. “That’s rich coming from the guy who ate the last slice of my pizza last week.”

“Fuck your pizza!” Jisung yells, though it’s muffled as he presses his forehead to the floor. “And fuck you, too! You’re a sadistic, ass-slapping son of a bitch with no regard for personal boundaries!”

Chan is practically crying with laughter at this point, struggling to keep himself upright. “Jisung, you’re such a fucking baby.”

Jisung glares at him from the floor. “Don’t fucking start with me, Captain Wrecking Ball. You’ve already got blood on your hands from your skating teacher or whatever the fuck.”

“Fair point,” Chan says with a grin, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Minho crouches down next to Jisung, patting his back. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re in pain. Want me to make it better?”

Jisung lifts his head just enough to shoot Minho a suspicious look. “What, are you gonna slap the other cheek so they’re even? Fuck off.”

“No, dumbass,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll give you a massage. Calm your tits.”

“This better be a top-tier massage, or I’m suing your ass.”

Minho chuckles, sitting cross-legged beside him. “You’re already obsessed with my ass, so you wouldn’t dare sue it.”

“Shut the fuck up and start massaging,” Jisung grumbles, burying his face in his folded arms.

As Minho begins kneading Jisung’s lower back and hips with what can only be described as alarming precision, Chan watches, shaking his head in disbelief. “You guys are so fucking weird,” he says, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“Welcome to Alpha Phi,” Minho quips, flashing Chan a cheeky grin before turning his attention back to Jisung. “How’s that, drama queen? Feel better now?”

Jisung groans, his voice muffled. “I hate to admit it, but yeah. Your hands are like fucking magic. It’s pissing me off how good this is.”

Minho smirks, his fingers working expertly. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Chan just shakes his head again, muttering, “What the fuck is wrong with you two?” before walking out of the kitchen, leaving the chaos behind.

The morning is crisp, and the chill bites at your cheeks as you step off the bus, the city slowly waking around you. Your tote bag rests on your shoulder, filled with your skates and the usual odds and ends, while your lavender jacket offers some warmth against the cold. You pull your gloves tighter, tucking your fingers into fists as you glance toward the rink.

Chan is already there, standing by the entrance with two coffees in hand. His breath puffs out in little clouds as he bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, trying to keep warm. He spots you immediately, raising one of the cups in greeting.

“Apology coffee,” he says as you approach, his voice warm and light. “For flattening you last week.”

You can’t help but smile as you take the latte from his outstretched hand. “Thank you,” you say softly, the warmth of the cup already soothing against your cold fingers.

“Least I could do,” he says with a shrug, his black hoodie and scarf pulled tight against the morning chill. “Figured I owed you after using you as a crash pad.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”

Together, you head inside, the familiar cold of the rink hitting your faces as the door swings shut behind you. Chan moves to a bench, setting his coffee down as he pulls out his skates. You do the same, slipping your shoes off and pulling out your pristine white skates from your tote bag.

As you lace up your skates with ease, Chan fumbles with his, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he fights with the laces. You suppress a giggle, standing up and grabbing your phone from your bag. A few taps later, music fills the rink. “Okay,” you say, stepping onto the ice with a smooth glide. “I had a thought.”

Chan glances up, one skate still half-laced. “A thought?”

“Yep,” you reply, skating over to one corner of the rink. You stop by a small gate and swing it open, disappearing briefly before emerging with a brightly coloured kiddy support penguin.

Chan freezes, staring at the penguin like it just insulted his mother. “You have got to be shitting me.”

You grin, pushing the penguin toward him. “I shit you not.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face as he finishes tying his skate. “My reputation is going to be in tatters. If anyone sees this...”

“Who would I tell?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He narrows his eyes at you, scepticism written all over his face. “You’re serious about this?”

“Our secret,” you say, offering him a playful smile.

Chan sighs, getting to his feet and wobbling slightly as he steps onto the ice. “Fine. But only because I trust you.”

You chuckle, pushing the penguin closer to him. “Good choice. Now grab the handles. It’ll help with your balance while you get the hang of moving your feet.”

“This is humiliating,” he mutters, gripping the penguin reluctantly.

“Not if no one knows,” you tease, skating backwards to give him space. “Besides, it’s either this or flattening me again. Pick your poison.”

Chan snorts, rolling his eyes but giving in. “Alright, Mr. Penguin. Let’s do this.”

The cold air bites at Chan’s face as he leans heavily on the penguin, his legs wobbling with every hesitant step. You skate alongside him effortlessly, your strides smooth and fluid as you keep an eye on his movements. He’s panicking, you can see it in the way his shoulders are tensed and his grip on the penguin is borderline strangling the poor plastic.

“You’re panicking,” you say, your tone calm but firm. “Don’t panic.”

Chan nods quickly, his breathing uneven. “Not panicking,” he mutters through gritted teeth, which only makes it clearer that he absolutely is.

“Breathe,” you say gently, gliding closer to him. “Don’t fight the ice. It’ll always win. You can’t fight nature.”

“This isn’t natural ice,” he quips without thinking, his voice tinged with frustration.

You click your tongue, shooting him a pointed look. “Sorry, sorry,” he amends quickly, adjusting his grip on the penguin. “I won’t fight the unnatural ice. Where did you learn that, anyway?”

Chan doesn’t notice as he instinctively loosens his hold on the penguin, his legs growing steadier without the added crutch. You don’t comment, letting him focus on the conversation instead.

“My first coach,” you say, your voice softer now. “He was harsh. I’d fall, and he’d make me get back up. No excuses. When I was nine, I broke my collarbone in practice. He still made me skate. I’ve been my family’s meal ticket since I started competing.”

Chan slows slightly, glancing at you. “Wait, seriously? That’s—shit, that’s a lot.”

You shrug, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got two younger siblings. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, right? Someone has to pave the way. The Olympics are the only way I can keep my family fed and make sure my siblings have a shot too.”

Chan’s face softens, and he nods. “I get that. I’ve got two younger siblings too. They’re everything to me.”

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You also let go of the penguin a minute and a half ago and are still upright.”

His eyes widen, and he immediately glances down at his hands. Realizing they’re empty, his face lights up with pure delight. “Holy shit, I did!”

He throws his hands up in triumph. “I’m skating! I’m fucking skating!”

The celebration lasts about three seconds before his balance wobbles, and his legs betray him.

“Shit—!” he yells as he teeters dangerously.

You lunge forward instinctively, grabbing his arm to steady him, but the force of his weight pulling against you is too much. The both of you topple, crashing onto the ice in a tangle of limbs. Chan, reacting quickly, twists mid-fall so that you land on top of him instead of the other way around.

“Oof,” you exhale as you hit his chest, your hands braced against his hoodie.

Chan groans softly beneath you but quickly breaks into a grin. “Well, isn’t this cosy?”

“You’re a hazard,” you mutter, still catching your breath as you push yourself up slightly.

“And yet, here we are,” he replies, smirking.

You shake your head, exasperated but amused, as you stay perched on top of him for a moment. “So, is the Olympics your dream?” he asks, his tone curious.

You pause, your gaze flicking away from his for a moment. “No. My dream got shot down pretty quick. I wanted to do Disney on Ice.”

Chan blinks, caught off guard. “Wait, seriously? Disney on Ice?”

You nod, the hint of a wistful smile on your face. “Yeah. I wanted to be Silvermist. She was cool.”

He chuckles softly, his chest vibrating beneath you. “Silvermist? The fairy from Tinker Bell?”

“She’s awesome,” you say defensively, your voice firm but playful. “Don’t judge.”

“No judgment here,” he replies, his grin widening. “You’d make a great Silvermist.”

You laugh softly, the sound light and genuine as you finally push yourself up. “Alright, enough lying around. Back to skating.”

Chan groans dramatically but lets you help him up, ready to tackle the ice again, penguin or not.

Chan bursts through the front door of the Alpha Phi frat house, his energy spilling into the room like a tidal wave. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, a grin so wide it threatens to split his face in two. The rest of the guys are scattered around the living room. Hyunjin is sprawled on the couch sketching in his notebook, Minho and Jisung are half-wrestling over the last bag of chips, Felix is tinkering with his camera, and the others are strewn across various chairs and beanbags.

“I did it!” Chan announces loudly, throwing his arms in the air like he’s just won an Olympic medal. “I stayed upright without holding anyone’s hands! I used the penguin for, like, five minutes, and then I fucking did it!”

Minho lets go of Jisung, who immediately shoves the chip bag under his shirt and retreats to a safe corner. Minho doesn’t care; he’s focused on Chan now. “And?” he asks, his tone teasing as he leans back against the couch.

“And we had a nice talk, and then we fell, and I saved her like a fucking Disney prince!” Chan says, still riding the high of his accomplishment.

Felix perks up, his camera momentarily forgotten. “Do you like her?” he asks, his voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

“Why does everyone think that?!” Chan exclaims, throwing his hands up. “I’m just learning to skate! Can’t a guy learn something new without everyone assuming shit?”

Hyunjin doesn’t even look up from his sketchbook, his pencil moving fluidly across the page. “Your dopey Disney dream smile is a dead giveaway,” he says dryly.

“What fucking smile?” Chan retorts, frowning.

“That one,” Hyunjin says, finally glancing up to smirk at Chan. “The one you’ve had since you walked in here, grinning like you’re starring in Cinderella.”

The room erupts in laughter, and Chan scowls, crossing his arms. “You guys are fucking insufferable.”

Changbin grins, leaning forward in his chair. “We should meet this girl. If she’s teaching you how to skate, she’s gotta be a saint.”

“NO!” Chan yells, his voice almost cracking as he steps back like the suggestion physically hurt him. “No! I have a good thing going! A good thing that’s mine. Far, far removed from you fucking idiots. You’re not meeting her.”

Jeongin raises an eyebrow, lounging lazily in an armchair. “He likes her,” he says simply, popping a handful of trail mix into his mouth.

“What?” Chan snaps, his tone defensive and a little too quick. “Pfft. No! I don’t-” He stops himself, stumbling over his words. “That’s not- It’s not like that!”

Jisung, still clutching the chip bag protectively, snickers. “Bro, you’re literally glowing. Like, if she isn’t your crush, I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“She’s my teacher,” Chan argues, glaring at them. “I’m learning how to skate. That’s it. End of story.”

“Sure, Captain Kangaroo,” Minho says with a smirk. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Chan flops onto the couch and the guys are settling back into their usual chaos, but something lingers in his mind, tugging at his curiosity. He sits up a little straighter, his brow furrowing slightly. “Quick question,” he starts, glancing around the room. “Who is Silvermist? I know she’s from Tinker Bell, but who is she exactly?”

Felix’s head snaps up from his camera, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh my God, yes! Let me educate you, my friend,” he says, practically vibrating with excitement as he sets his camera down and leans forward.

“Silvermist,” Felix begins, his tone reverent, “is one of Tinker Bell’s best friends. She’s a water fairy, which means she has the ability to manipulate water—super cool, right? She’s calm and serene, like, all the time, even when everyone else is losing their shit. And- Oh! She’s voiced by Lucy Liu in the movies. Like, how fucking iconic is that? Lucy Liu as a fairy? Genius casting!”

Chan blinks, but he nods, genuinely intrigued. “Okay, that’s actually pretty cool.”

Felix isn’t done. He’s on a roll now, his hands waving animatedly as he continues. “She’s also super graceful, like, she makes everything look effortless, and her outfits are always on point. She’s got this whole ethereal, elegant vibe going on, but she’s not boring. She’s low-key hilarious when she wants to be. Honestly, if I had to pick a fairy squad, she’d be my number one draft.”

Chan leans back against the couch, a small smile tugging at his lips as he listens to Felix gush. “Damn,” he says, impressed. “I didn’t realize the Tinker Bell movies went that hard.”

“They do,” Felix says firmly, nodding. “Silvermist is a fucking legend. You should watch them. They’re underrated as hell.”

Before Chan can respond, Seungmin, who’s been quietly scrolling on his phone in the corner, pipes up. “So,” he says dryly, not even looking up, “why the sudden interest in Disney fairies?”

Chan freezes for a split second before recovering, his expression carefully neutral. “No reason,” he says casually, waving a hand.

“No reason?” Seungmin echoes, raising an eyebrow. “You, a grown-ass man, are randomly asking about a Tinker Bell character for ‘no reason.’ Seems legit.”

“Yep,” Chan says quickly, picking up a nearby throw pillow and tossing it at Seungmin to end the conversation. “Totally legit.”

Seungmin catches the pillow with one hand, his smirk growing. “Alright, whatever you say, Captain Fairy Squad.”

The rest of the guys snicker, but Felix, ever the enthusiast, is still buzzing. “Seriously, though, Chan, if you ever want a full Tinker Bell marathon, I’m your guy. I’ll even make snacks.”

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “Noted. Thanks, Felix.”

As the conversation shifts back to the usual chaos, Chan can’t help but tuck away everything he’s just learned about Silvermist. It’s silly, maybe even ridiculous, but he can’t stop himself from thinking about how your face lit up when you mentioned wanting to play her in Disney on Ice.

And for reasons he’s definitely not ready to admit, the thought makes him smile. 

The moment Chan steps into the skating rink, he’s greeted by the booming beats of Fantastic Baby by BIGBANG blaring through the speaker system. The heavy bass reverberates through the air, and the rink feels alive with energy. Chan stops just inside the doorway, letting the cold air wrap around him as he adjusts his scarf. His eyes immediately find you on the ice.

You’re a blur of movement, gliding effortlessly across the rink in your pastel green zip-up jacket, black flared leggings, and white skates. Your gloves match your jacket, and your hair is pulled back in its usual ponytail, strands bouncing slightly as you move. The light catches on the ice beneath your blades, creating a mesmerizing shimmer with every sharp turn and glide.

Chan doesn’t call out to you. Instead, he stays quiet, leaning casually against the wall as he watches. There’s something hypnotic about the way you move, graceful and controlled, yet with an undeniable power that keeps his attention locked on you.

As the music builds, you take a deep breath, your posture shifting as you prepare for something bigger. Chan straightens slightly, his curiosity piqued. You skate backwards with increasing speed, your movements precise and deliberate. Then, with a sudden burst of power, you jump, flipping backwards in the air.

“Holy shit,” Chan whispers under his breath, his heart skipping a beat.

You land on one leg, the blade of your skate cutting into the ice with perfect precision. Your arms extend outward as you continue gliding backwards, the momentum carrying you effortlessly across the rink. The fluidity of the motion is breathtaking, and for a moment, Chan forgets to breathe.

The song hits its chorus, the lyrics echoing loudly around the empty space as you slow slightly, your breathing visible in the cold air. You don’t try another stunt, simply transitioning into a series of smooth turns and spirals. It’s only then that Chan feels confident enough to make his presence known.

He brings his hands together, clapping loudly, the sound echoing through the rink. “Fucking incredible!” he calls out, his voice carrying over the music.

You pause mid-glide, turning toward the sound. A smile spreads across your face as you spot him near the entrance. Without missing a beat, you twirl once, your movement light and playful, before skating toward him.

“Good morning,” you say, your voice warm as you come to a stop near the edge of the rink.

“Good morning?” Chan echoes, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s all you’ve got to say after that? What the hell was that? You’re out here defying gravity like it’s no big deal!”

You laugh softly, pulling your gloves tighter. “It’s just part of the routine. Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” he repeats, his tone incredulous. “You flipped backwards on ice. That’s insane.”

You shrug, your smile shy but genuine. “I’ve been practising that one for a while. It’s one of my favourites.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. “You’re a fucking superhero on ice, you know that?”

You giggle, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Thanks, but you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” he insists, grabbing his skates from his bag. “Now I feel like even more of a dumbass with my little penguin training wheels.”

“Progress is progress,” you reply, your voice soft but encouraging. “You’ll get there. Everyone starts somewhere.”

Chan sits down on the bench, lacing up his skates with determination. He tugs the laces tight, double-knotting them before standing up. The chill of the rink hits him, but he doesn’t mind, it’s familiar now. He steps onto the ice cautiously, his first glide tentative as he adjusts to the slippery surface beneath him. It takes a few moments, but he finds his balance, pushing forward with steady, careful strides.

“Not bad,” you call out, gliding past him effortlessly.

He grins, his confidence growing as he watches you skate. “Not bad? That’s all I get? Come on, give me some credit here!”

You laugh softly, circling back toward him. “Alright, you’re doing better than before. Happy now?”

“Much,” he replies smugly, focusing on his movements.

Suddenly, you swoop in closer, your movements light and quick. Before Chan can react, you reach into his hoodie pocket and snatch his phone.

“Hey!” he yells, nearly stumbling as he reaches for you, but you’re already skating backwards, holding the phone up with a mischievous grin.

“You want it back?” you tease, your tone light but challenging. “Catch me without falling.”

Chan groans, already knowing this is going to be a disaster. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, pushing off the ice to follow you.

You take off, your strides long and smooth as you gain speed. Chan follows, his movements clumsy compared to your grace, but he doesn’t stop. His determination is written all over his face as he tries to close the gap between you.

“You’re too slow, Captain,” you call over your shoulder, your laughter echoing in the empty rink.

“Give me a fucking second!” he shouts, gritting his teeth as he pushes harder.

Despite the obvious difference in skill, Chan starts improving with each minute. His strides become more confident, his balance steadier. He keeps his eyes locked on you, watching how you move, mimicking your technique as best as he can.

“Not bad,” you say again, glancing back at him.

He smirks, his hand reaching out. “Gotcha”

Before he can grab you, you drop into a crouch, gliding low across the ice and darting out of his reach.

“Are you serious?!” he yells, nearly losing his balance as he stumbles to a stop.

You laugh, standing upright again and twirling playfully. “Too slow!”

Chan groans but doesn’t give up. He takes a deep breath, refocusing his efforts. His strides grow more powerful, and though you’re still faster, he’s closing the distance little by little.

“You’re getting better,” you call out, your voice filled with genuine encouragement.

“Damn right, I am,” he mutters, determination burning in his eyes.

The chase continues, your speed and agility always keeping you just out of reach. But Chan doesn’t stop trying, his confidence growing with every stride. For the first time, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s not completely hopeless on the ice. And the way you laugh, light and carefree, makes the struggle almost worth it.

The familiar chaos of the frat house hits Chan the moment he opens the door. The sound of shouting echoes from the living room, accompanied by frantic button mashing and occasional thuds that could only mean someone’s losing spectacularly. Chan walks in, exhausted but smiling faintly, and flops onto the couch, throwing his arms over his head.

On the floor, Minho, Hyunjin, Jisung, and Felix are locked in a heated battle over Overcooked. Minho is half-sitting, half-lying on Jisung, who’s struggling to keep his controller steady as Felix and Hyunjin scream at each other over who’s responsible for the virtual kitchen burning to the ground.

“WHY are there NO fucking tomatoes on this plate?!” Hyunjin yells, his face red with frustration as his character runs in circles on the screen.

“Because YOU didn’t chop them, you useless fuck!” Felix shouts back, jabbing his controller aggressively.

Minho cackles, clearly enjoying the chaos, while Jisung huffs, “If someone doesn’t plate that fucking soup, I’m going to scream.”

“You’re already screaming, dumbass,” Minho points out, squeezing Jisung’s ass just for the hell of it.

“Get OFF me!” Jisung yells, elbowing him but not moving away.

On the other side of the room, Seungmin, Changbin, and Jeongin are watching the train wreck unfold, sharing a large bag of popcorn like it’s the most entertaining movie they’ve ever seen.

Chan sighs loudly, hoping to grab their attention. When that doesn’t work, he clears his throat dramatically.

“I like my skating teacher,” he says, cutting through the noise.

The chaos screeches to a halt. Minho pauses mid-ass squeeze, Hyunjin and Felix stop yelling, and Jisung looks up from the floor with wide eyes. Even the three spectators glance over, their expressions a mix of surprise and smugness.

“Congrats,” Minho says casually, finally letting go of Jisung’s ass and sitting up properly. “We knew a week ago.”

Chan glares at him, his face flushing. “What the fuck? How?”

“Bro,” Felix says, turning to face him from his spot on the floor. “You asked about Silvermist. That wasn’t for you. We all figured it out.”

Hyunjin nods, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ve got ‘dopey in love’ written all over you.”

Minho grins wickedly. “You’ve been walking around like a Disney prince ever since you started lessons. It’s painfully obvious.”

Chan groans, running a hand through his hair. “You’re all fucking annoying.”

“So, what’s the next step?” Minho asks, leaning back on his hands. “We meet her?”

“No,” Chan says quickly, sitting up straight. “Next step, you losers help me figure out how to ask her on a date.”

That’s all it takes for the room to descend into chaos again.

“I’ve got it,” Minho says immediately, holding up a hand like he’s about to deliver divine wisdom. “You fake an injury, she nurses you back to health, and boom—romantic tension.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Jisung says, throwing a Dorito at him. “You should just skate up to her and do, like, a knee slide on the ice. Chicks love that shit.”

Hyunjin snorts. “Yeah, no. You should write her a song. Serenade her on the ice. Get some lights going. Make it a whole thing.”

“Too complicated,” Changbin says, shaking his head. “Just show up with a boombox and blast Careless Whisper. Trust me, it’ll work.”

Felix looks thoughtful for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Bake her a cake. Everyone loves cake. Put, like, ‘Be Mine’ on it in frosting.”

Seungmin scoffs. “Cake’s messy. You should get a shirt that says, ‘I’m your biggest fan,’ and wear it to your next lesson. Subtlety is overrated.”

Jeongin grins, clearly enjoying the ridiculous suggestions. “Buy her a penguin plushie. Say it’s in honour of your training.”

Chan looks around at the group, his face blank with disbelief. “How the fuck are none of you virgins?”

Minho bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Because we’re irresistible, obviously.”

Chan sighs, leaning back against the couch. “I’m doomed.”

Hyunjin suddenly holds up his phone, his face lighting up like he’s just solved the world’s biggest mystery. “Chan,” he says dramatically, his eyes locked on his screen. “You’re about to kiss me.”

Chan, who’s been rubbing his temples in frustration, glances up with a deadpan expression. “Doubtful.”

Hyunjin smirks, turning his phone around to show the screen to the room. “Disney on Ice is in Seoul right now. Perfect date idea. You’re welcome. She wanted to be Silvermist, didn’t she? Sounds like her thing to me.”

Chan leans back against the couch, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to do something she’s already into. I want it to be new for both of us. Something different.”

Felix perks up, his eyes widening with excitement. “Oh, I’ve got it! Go to that adult play centre. You know, the one with the giant ball pits and slides, but it’s for adults. And they serve booze!”

The room collectively pauses, taking in Felix’s suggestion.

Chan tilts his head, intrigued. “Now that is kiss-worthy.”

Felix grins, puckering his lips dramatically. “Bring it in, Captain Kangaroo.”

Chan rolls his eyes, shoving Felix playfully. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Jisung snorts, tossing a Dorito at Felix. “Honestly, though, that’s not a bad idea. Booze and ball pits? It’s the dream.”

Seungmin shrugs, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least it’s not another terrible suggestion. You should actually consider it.”

Minho crosses his arms, smirking. “You might be onto something, Felix. Even I’d say yes to that date.”

Chan looks around at the group, his mind turning over the idea. “Alright,” he says finally. “I think I’ve got a plan.”

The room erupts into cheers and more chaotic banter, but Chan just leans back with a small smile, his confidence slowly building. This might actually work.

The doors to the ice rink creak open, and Minho, Jisung, Felix, and Hyunjin step inside, immediately greeted by the chilly air and the unmistakable thumping bass of Liquor Store Blues by Bruno Mars blasting through the speakers. The soulful, reggae-infused beat echoes around the empty rink, and Felix nods in appreciation.

“Banger,” he says simply, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Damn right it is,” Jisung replies, humming along as they walk further inside, their footsteps echoing softly against the cold, polished floors.

Their eyes are drawn to the figure on the ice. You’re dressed in a pastel blue zip-up jacket and matching gloves, your black flared leggings hugging your form as you glide effortlessly across the rink. Your white skates shimmer slightly under the fluorescent lights, and your ponytail bounces behind you with every graceful movement.

“Is that her?” Hyunjin asks, narrowing his eyes as he leans forward slightly, trying to get a better look.

Before anyone can answer, you push off into a burst of speed, skating as fast as you can across the rink. The music crescendos as you prepare for your next move. With a deep breath, you plant one blade firmly on the ice, spinning with controlled precision. Your other leg lifts straight up behind you into the needle position, the movement flawless as you spin faster and faster, your form perfectly balanced.

“Holy shit,” Jisung mutters, his jaw slightly slack. “That’s the needle position.”

Minho turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Jisung shrugs, not taking his eyes off you. “I watch TikTok.”

Felix snickers, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”

You finish your spin with a smooth transition into a glide, your breathing steady as you circle back toward the centre of the rink. You’re completely unaware of the four sets of eyes watching you from the entrance.

“Think this is her?” Felix asks, tilting his head as he studies you.

Minho pulls out his phone, scrolling for a moment before holding it up. “I’ve got Chan on Life360. This is where he goes every Tuesday morning at six a.m.”

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, glancing at Minho. “So, here we are on a Wednesday at six a.m. to avoid him knowing we were ever here?”

“Exactly,” Minho replies with a smirk, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “We’re fucking geniuses.”

Jisung crosses his arms, his gaze still fixed on you. “If this is her, she’s... damn. No wonder Chan’s got that stupid dreamy look all the time.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully. “I mean, I get it. She’s insane on the ice.”

“Yeah,” Felix agrees, nodding as you prepare for another series of spins. “This is definitely her. No fucking doubt.”

Minho and the others step up to the edge of the rink, their faces full of mischief as they lean casually against the barrier. Minho, of course, is the first to speak, his tone far too cheerful.

“Hi!” he calls out, his voice carrying easily over the music.

You whip around mid-glide, startled by the unfamiliar voice. Your eyes land on four guys standing at the edge of the rink, all waving at you like they’ve just stumbled across an old friend. You slow to a stop, cautiously skating toward them.

Felix is the first to break the awkward silence. “You’re the girl who teaches Chan, right?”

You blink, slightly taken aback. “Yeah, that’s me,” you reply, your voice soft but steady.

Felix grins, his boyish charm on full display. “I’m Felix, by the way. This is Minho, Jisung, and Hyunjin,” he says, pointing to each of them in turn. “We’re his, uh... friends.”

Hyunjin steps forward slightly, his expression serious. “Do not tell Chan we were here,” he says, his voice low and almost conspiratorial.

Before you can respond, your eyes flick to a spot just behind them, widening slightly when you see Chan standing a few feet away. He’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

Minho stiffens immediately, his back straightening as if he can sense the tension. “Hyunjin,” he says slowly, not taking his eyes off you. “You look.”

Hyunjin shakes his head quickly. “Nope. Felix is Chan’s favourite. He can look.”

Felix hesitates, glancing at the others. “Seriously?” he whispers harshly before turning his head. The moment he spots Chan, his entire demeanour shifts. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters under his breath. Then, louder, “Let us pray. And scatter!”

Without another word, Felix takes off at a dead sprint, his feet pounding against the floor as he bolts for the exit. Minho follows immediately, his long strides eating up the distance as he disappears behind Felix.

This leaves Jisung and Hyunjin standing awkwardly at the rink’s edge, both frozen like deer caught in headlights.

“Well,” Chan says, stepping forward with deliberate slowness, his voice calm but laced with menace. “What to do with you two?”

Jisung’s lip trembles as he raises his hands to his face, covering his eyes in the most melodramatic way possible. “I’m so sorry!” he wails, peeking through his fingers to see if Chan is buying it. When it’s clear Chan isn’t impressed, Jisung drops his hands with a nervous laugh. “Well, I’m out!” he says, darting off after Felix and Minho.

Chan sighs heavily, turning his attention to Hyunjin, who is still standing there, unmoving. “Why are you still here?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hyunjin shrugs, his voice deadpan. “That is a valid question.”

Chan’s lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. “If you’re still in my sight in two seconds, suicide runs all day tomorrow.”

The words barely leave Chan’s mouth before Hyunjin bolts, his long legs carrying him out of the rink faster than anyone expected.

Chan shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry about that,” he says, his voice softer now, his expression sheepish. “I have no idea how they found this place.”

You offer a small smile, hiding your amusement as you shake your head. “It’s fine. I guess I should’ve expected this eventually.”

Chan groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I’ll make sure they don’t pull this shit again.”

You nod, your smile widening slightly. “Good. Because you’ve still got a lot of skating to learn.”

You skate over to where Chan is leaning against the barrier, his arms crossed and a faint flush creeping up his neck. Though whether it’s from the cold or the chaos his friends just caused, you’re not sure. You come to a stop in front of him, tilting your head slightly.

“So,” you say softly, your voice tinged with curiosity. “You okay?”

Chan raises an eyebrow, his confidence slipping back into place as he smirks at you. “Why would I not be okay?”

You shrug, slipping your gloved hands into your pockets. “I mean, your lessons are every Tuesday. It’s a Wednesday.”

“Oh, right!” Chan straightens up, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he laughs a little awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. About that. I have something to ask you.”

You blink, curious now. “Okay?”

“There’s this, uh, adult play centre,” he starts, his confidence returning as he leans casually against the barrier again. “You get to drink and just fuck around, like a giant playground for adults. I thought maybe we could go. If not, it’s cool. I’ll just take Felix.”

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “You’d take Felix instead of me?”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re my first choice.”

Your lips curve into a soft smile. “I’d love to go.”

“Just to clarify,” Chan says, his tone steady and direct now. “I’m asking you on a date.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile growing. “Unless you ask a lot of girls out, let them think it’s a date, and then shoot them down just for fun.”

Chan freezes, his confident demeanour crumbling in an instant. “What? I- No! I don’t do that! That’s not- Why would you even think-?”

You bite your lip, struggling to hold back your laughter as Chan starts to stumble over his words, his hands gesturing wildly.

“I would never do that!” he continues, his voice rising slightly. “That’s insane! Who even does that? Oh my God, do people think I do that? Wait- Do you think I do that? Because- ”

Your soft giggle cuts him off, and Chan stares at you, blinking as the realization dawns.

“You’re messing with me,” he says flatly, his tone laced with disbelief.

“Maybe a little.”

Chan groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re secretly mean. I knew it. You look all sweet and innocent, but you’re a menace.”

“Am not,” you reply, still giggling as you cross your arms. “You’re just easy to mess with.”

He shakes his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

You glance at him, still smiling. “So, when are we going?”

“Saturday?” he offers, his voice still teasing but with an undertone of hope.

“Saturday works,” you say softly, your eyes meeting his.

Chan smiles, a little softer this time. “Cool. It’s a date, then.”

As you skate back onto the ice, Chan leans against the barrier, watching you with a mixture of amusement and admiration. If he wasn’t sure before, he is now, you’re absolutely worth panicking over.

Chan’s room is a disaster zone. His once neatly organized closet is now a warzone of clothes being rifled through by Felix, Minho, Jisung, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jeongin, while Seungmin lounges lazily on Chan’s bed, scrolling on his phone like he has no part in the chaos.

Minho dramatically holds up a plain black hoodie. “Do you not own any colour, Chan? Are you allergic to it or something?”

“Minimalism is a lifestyle,” Chan protests from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Hyunjin tosses a black bomber jacket onto the growing pile of rejected options. “It’s fine. We can make it work. We just need to elevate it a bit. You know, make you look like you have a personality.”

“Thanks, Hyunjin,” Chan deadpans.

Jisung pulls a white jacket from the back of the closet, holding it up like it’s a trophy. “What about this? It’s crisp, it’s clean, and it has cool detailing.”

“It’s a start,” Changbin says, grabbing it from Jisung and pairing it with a classic collared shirt and a skinny black tie. He tosses the ensemble to Hyunjin, who inspects it critically.

“For the bottom,” Hyunjin muses, rummaging through the jeans section. “Something edgy. Distressed denim?”

“Distressed as in heavily fucked up, yes,” Jisung chimes in, pulling out a pair of heavily ripped blue jeans.

“And a baseball cap,” Hyunjin adds, grabbing a black one from the top shelf. “To balance it out.”

“Try it,” Changbin orders, tossing the items at Chan.

Chan rolls his eyes but heads into the bathroom to change. When he steps back out, the room goes quiet for a moment as everyone assesses the look. The white jacket fits well, the tie adds a touch of formality, and the distressed jeans bring the edge. But something feels off.

“It’s a look,” Minho says finally, tilting his head. “If you’re performing a concert or attending a school dance. But for an adult play centre? Not so much.”

Felix snorts. “Yeah, it’s giving I’m here for the photo shoot, not the fun.”

Chan groans, throwing his hands in the air. “Why is this so fucking hard?”

“Relax,” Jeongin says, pulling Chan back toward the closet. “Let’s go for something sleeker. Edgy, but not like you’re trying too hard.”

Felix pulls out a form-fitting black long-sleeve compression top with mesh sleeves, holding it up triumphantly. “This. Simple, but sexy.”

“Pair it with these,” Minho says, grabbing black cargo pants adorned with intricate silver chains.

Hyunjin adds a sleek silver belt, while Jeongin picks out a pair of black chunky boots from the shoe rack. Felix tops it off by handing Chan some stackable silver chains.

“Go. Now,” Minho commands, pushing Chan toward the bathroom again.

When Chan reemerges, the room collectively lets out a low whistle. The compression top hugs his torso perfectly, the mesh sleeves adding just the right amount of flair, while the chains and boots tie the look together effortlessly.

“Now that’s a look,” Felix says, nodding approvingly.

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. “Your ass looks great, by the way. You’re welcome.”

Chan rolls his eyes, grabbing his phone. “Alright, I think this works.”

Felix glances at the clock and his eyes widen. “Aren’t you picking her up in ten minutes?”

Chan freezes, checking the time on his phone. “Shit! Bye!” he yells, bolting out of the room and down the stairs.

“You forgot your car keys!” Minho shouts after him, holding up the keys with a smirk.

The sound of Chan’s footsteps stopping, followed by a loud groan, echoes from the stairwell before he comes back to grab the keys. “You guys suck,” he mutters before dashing out again, leaving the group in fits of laughter.

“Good luck, lover boy!” Jisung shouts, but Chan is already gone.

“That man is a disaster,” Seungmin says flatly, going back to scrolling.

“Yeah,” Felix says, grinning. “But at least he looks good doing it.”

Chan pulls his car to a smooth stop outside your apartment building, checking the time on his dashboard. He glances at the entrance, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. When the door swings open, his breath catches for a moment as you step out.

You’re not wearing your usual skating gear. No leggings, no zip-up jacket, no gloves. Instead, you’re rocking dark blue denim flares that hug your figure in all the right places and a matching denim waistcoat. The black lace bralette peeking out underneath adds an edge of elegance to the ensemble, and the dark blue Converse tie everything together with effortless cool. Your hair is styled in a half-up, half-down look, with two strands framing your face perfectly, and your makeup is flawless, a soft yet striking touch that only enhances your natural beauty.

Chan stares for a few seconds, his brain short-circuiting as he processes how you’ve somehow taken a retro 1970s ABBA-inspired outfit and made it look undeniably hot.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

It takes him another moment to snap out of it. Realizing he’s just sitting there like a dumbass, he scrambles to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out of the car. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he hurries around to the passenger side, reaching the door just as you step up to the curb.

“Hey,” you greet him softly, your voice warm and calm.

Chan freezes for half a second, his brain still catching up. “Hey,” he says back, clearing his throat as he opens the door for you. “You, uh, you look incredible.”

A small smile plays on your lips, and you tilt your head slightly, your voice teasing but kind. “Thanks. You’re looking pretty good yourself.”

Chan tries to play it cool, but the faint flush creeping up his neck gives him away. “Yeah, well, I had help,” he admits, scratching the back of his head as you slide into the seat.

He closes the door carefully before walking around to the driver’s side, silently taking a deep breath to steady himself. Once inside, he glances at you, his grin a little more confident now.

“You ready?” he asks, starting the car.

“Ready,” you reply with a nod, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

As he pulls away from the curb, Chan can’t help but steal another glance at you, the thought running through his head unbidden: This might be the best idea I’ve ever had.

The neon glow of the building reflects off the pavement as Chan parks the car, glancing over at you with a grin. “You ready?”

You turn to him, your eyes lighting up as you take in the bright colours and playful atmosphere already visible through the windows. “Yeah,” you reply, your excitement bubbling under the surface.

He leads the way, holding the door open for you as you both step inside. The air is filled with a mixture of upbeat music, the sound of laughter, and the occasional thud from the massive ball pit or climbing structures. It’s like stepping into a childhood memory, except everything is scaled up for adults and there’s a fully stocked bar glowing in the corner.

“Holy shit,” you say softly, your gaze sweeping over the massive slides, foam pits, and obstacle courses. “This is insane.”

Chan grins, nodding toward the bar. “Let’s grab a drink before we dive in.”

The two of you make your way over, weaving through groups of people already enjoying the space. Chan leans casually against the bar, scanning the menu for a moment before ordering. “One tequila sunrise for me,” he tells the bartender, then glances at you. “What would you like?”

You consider it for a moment, then smile. “A pina colada, heavy on the rum, please.”

Chan nods appreciatively. “Good choice.”

The bartender works quickly, and soon you’re both holding your drinks. The tequila sunrise in Chan’s hand looks vibrant, with its gradient of oranges and reds, while your pina colada is creamy and topped with a little umbrella. You take a sip, humming in approval.

“Good?” Chan asks, watching you with a smile.

“Perfect,” you reply, taking another sip.

With your drinks in hand, you head toward the cubby area near the entrance to the play structures. Both of you slip off your shoes, and you’re just about to step onto the foam mats when you catch sight of Chan’s socks.

You freeze, staring at the black fabric adorned with cartoonish renditions of two very familiar faces: Minho and Jisung, their expressions exaggerated for comedic effect.

“Wait,” you say, pointing at his feet as a giggle escapes you. “What the fuck are those?”

Chan looks down, realizing too late what’s caught your attention. His ears flush as he quickly tries to explain. “Okay, listen. Our washing machine eats socks. Like, a lot. So, I don’t have many pairs left, and these-” He gestures to his feet, grimacing. “These were a Christmas gift from Minho and Jisung.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth as your shoulders shake. “They got you socks with their faces on them?”

“Yes,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Because they’re assholes. And now they’re the only socks I had left because I haven't gotten round to doing my laundry.”

You double over, laughing harder, your voice muffled behind your hands. “I can’t- I can’t take you seriously right now.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Chan mutters, though there’s a small smile tugging at his lips despite his embarrassment.

You keep pointing at his feet, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath. “I’m sorry- I just- It’s so ridiculous!”

Chan chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Alright, laugh it up. Get it out of your system.”

Eventually, your giggles subside, and you straighten up, still grinning. “Okay, okay. I’m good now. Let’s go.”

“Finally,” Chan teases, motioning for you to lead the way.

The sound of laughter and music fills the air as you and Chan make your way toward the towering drop slides, your drinks left safely behind. The structure looms above you, a straight vertical drop leading directly into a massive ball pit below. Adults of all ages are scattered around, laughing, climbing, and diving into foam pits or racing each other on obstacle courses. The energy in the place is infectious, and you find yourself giggling as Chan nudges you playfully.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his grin wide and mischievous as you both start climbing the cushioned steps to the top.

“I was born ready,” you shoot back, shoving him lightly to get ahead.

“Cheater,” he mutters, chasing after you as the two of you race to the top. You keep bumping into each other, laughter spilling out with every step as you scramble to reach the slide.

When you finally make it to the top, you peer down the drop and let out a low whistle. “That’s steeper than it looked from the ground.”

Chan leans over your shoulder, his voice full of mock confidence. “Scared?”

You glance at him with a smirk. “Not even a little.”

To prove your point, you step up to the edge and sit down, crossing your arms over your chest and your legs at the ankles, just as the staff member standing nearby instructs. You glance back at Chan, winking. “See you at the bottom.”

Before he can respond, you push off, and gravity takes over. The drop is exhilarating, your stomach flipping as you plummet down the slide. The world blurs for a moment before you hit the ball pit at the bottom with a soft whump, bright plastic balls flying everywhere as you land.

Chan’s laugh echoes down from above, and you look up to see him sitting at the top of the slide. “Alright, my turn.”

“Come on, big guy!” you call out, your voice teasing as you make yourself comfortable in the sea of balls.

Chan crosses his arms and legs, mimicking your earlier posture, and pushes off. His shout of excitement bounces around the room as he hurtles down the slide, his laughter turning into a loud “Oh shit!” just before he crashes into the ball pit. The impact sends another wave of balls flying, a few smacking into you in the process.

“Fucking nailed it,” Chan says, grinning as he pushes himself up from the brightly coloured chaos.

“You’re a natural,” you say, still laughing as you toss a ball at his chest. “Truly Olympic-level sliding skills.”

Chan scoffs, grabbing a handful of balls and tossing them at you in retaliation. “Keep talking, Disney princess.”

The two of you devolve into giggles, shoving each other lightly as you try to climb out of the ball pit. Around you, the place is alive with energy, adults are climbing through jungle gyms, racing down ziplines, and challenging each other to foam sword battles on balance beams. The air is thick with laughter and playful banter, everyone fully embracing the chaos of the night.

As you finally clamber out of the pit, Chan grabs your hand to help steady you, his smile as warm as ever. “Where to next?”

You glance around, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “Let’s go find the ziplines.”

He nods, his grip on your hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he lets go. The two of you weave through the crowd, the night still young and full of possibilities.

The obstacle course looms ahead, a tangled maze of foam-covered beams, rope swings, and balance platforms. The alcohol humming in both your veins makes everything a little brighter, a little funnier, and a lot harder to navigate. You glance at Chan, who’s swaying slightly but still grinning like he owns the world.

“You’re going down, Captain,” you say, your tone light and teasing.

Chan snorts, adjusting the hem of his compression top as he sizes up the course. “Bold words for someone who’s about to eat my dust.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you step onto the first balance beam with the kind of ease that only comes from years of practice. The course seems like it was made for you—your natural grace and agility carrying you smoothly over the wobbly platforms and swinging ropes. Chan, on the other hand, is stumbling and nearly toppling over with every step.

“This is bullshit,” he mutters as he clings to a rope, glaring at the wobbly platform in front of him. “You’ve got an unfair advantage.”

“Excuses, excuses,” you call back, already halfway across the next section. You pause to look over your shoulder, your giggles spilling out as you watch him attempt to regain his balance. “Come on, Captain. You’re supposed to be leading the charge.”

Chan grumbles something under his breath before pushing himself forward, his movements clumsy but determined. “I’m not giving up,” he declares, pointing at you with exaggerated drama. “You’re not winning this.”

“Too late!” you sing, leaping onto the next section with effortless precision.

As you near the final stretch, you glance back to find Chan closing the gap. His competitive streak is shining through, but it’s clear he’s not going to win this on skill. So he does what any self-respecting frat leader would do in his position. 

He cheats.

Before you can reach the finish line, Chan lunges forward, tackling you onto the foam-padded surface. You let out a surprised squeal as he takes you down, his arms wrapping around you to keep the fall soft. You both land with a loud oof, laughter spilling out as you try to catch your breath.

“You asshole!” you giggle, swatting at his chest as he hovers over you, his grin wide and unapologetic. “You couldn’t let me have this, could you?”

“Nope,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “If I can’t win, neither can you.”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks warm from the alcohol and the proximity. “Real mature.”

Chan leans down slightly, his face just a few inches from yours, his grin softening into something quieter. His eyes lock onto yours, the playfulness in them shifting to something deeper.

“Are you going to kiss me, Captain?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, the words laced with a mixture of teasing and anticipation.

“Yeah,” Chan says simply, his tone steady and sure. “I am.”

And then he does.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s both soft and electrifying, the laughter and chaos of the night fading into the background. His hand rests gently against your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, every movement unhurried but deliberate.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing heavily as the moment lingers between you.

“Still think I’m an asshole?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

“Absolutely,” you reply with a grin, though your tone is far from convincing.

Chan chuckles, leaning back slightly to help you sit up. “Good. Keeps things interesting.”

The cab ride back to the Alpha Phi frat house is a blur of laughter, slurred jokes, and a slightly tipsy rendition of a Bruno Mars song that neither of you can remember the lyrics to. By the time the cab pulls up, you and Chan are leaning on each other for support, the alcohol buzzing warmly through your veins.

Chan fumbles with his keys as you both stumble through the door, giggling as the sound of it echoes through the quiet house or so you think.

The moment you step inside, a voice rings out. “What time do you call this, Christopher?!” Minho is standing in the doorway to the living room, his hands on his hips and his tone dripping with exaggerated indignation. “And you bring home company without appropriate warning? Shame on you!”

“Shit,” Chan mutters, his grin lopsided as he leans against you for balance. “I thought they’d be asleep.” He turns to you, his expression half apologetic, half amused. “Well, guess this is it. Prepare to officially meet Alpha Phi.”

You just giggle quietly, the booze making everything seem ten times funnier. Chan leads you further inside, both of you stumbling slightly as you pass Minho, who looks entirely unimpressed.

The living room is alive with energy despite the late hour. Seungmin, Jeongin, and Changbin are sprawled on the couches, clearly in the middle of some conversation, but they all stop the moment you and Chan walk in.

The three of them take one look at you and, in perfect unison, say, “Damn.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, feeling a mix of shyness and amusement at their reaction. Chan rolls his eyes, his arm still draped around your shoulders for support. “Alright, calm down, you idiots.”

Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-empty bag of chips, grins and points dramatically at you. “Seungmin, Binnie, Innie, meet Y/N, Chan’s skating teacher.”

Changbin blinks, his brow furrowing. “Wait, when did you four meet her?”

Minho smirks, leaning casually against the wall. “We took initiative and went to the ice rink.”

You hiccup suddenly, the sound breaking the moment and making everyone laugh. Chan looks down at you, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you say softly, though your giggles betray your words.

Minho steps forward, wagging a finger at Chan like an overly dramatic parent. “Jesus, Chan, you should’ve gotten her some water. She’s a mess.”

Felix pipes up from his spot on the couch, grinning as he points a chip at Chan. “So is he.”

“Hey!” Chan protests, though his grin gives him away. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure you are,” Jeongin says, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he grabs a water bottle from the coffee table and tosses it to Chan. “Hydrate your girl, Captain Responsible.”

Chan catches the bottle easily, twisting off the cap and handing it to you. “Here, drink this before they give me more shit.”

You take the bottle with a small smile, sipping it obediently. The room is filled with the sound of laughter and teasing as the frat boys make themselves at home in your presence, their dynamic chaotic but oddly welcoming.

Despite the noise, Chan leans in closer, his voice soft as he murmurs near your ear. “You okay with all this?”

You nod, your smile widening. “Yeah. They’re... fun.”

Chan chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “That’s one way to describe them.”

Minho claps his hands loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, drunken kiddos, it’s bedtime. Go hydrate, pass out, and don’t make me come up there because I will,” he warns, fixing Chan with a pointed look. “And if I hear any sex noises? I will not be fucking happy with you.”

Chan snorts, trying and failing to stifle his laughter. You let out a giggle, leaning into him for support as you sway slightly. Minho rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop grinning as he shoos the two of you toward the stairs.

“Go. Sleep. And remember, you’re under my roof,” Minho calls after you as you both head upstairs, his voice dripping with mock authority.

Chan mutters under his breath, “Under your roof? Last time I checked, it’s all of ours.”

“Don’t test me, Christopher!” Minho shouts, making you laugh harder.

When you finally make it to Chan’s room, you flop onto his bed with a loud sigh, your body sinking into the plush mattress. “Shit,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the soft duvet. “This is comfy.”

Chan kicks off his shoes and sits down on the edge of the bed, watching you with a small smile. “I bought a new mattress when I moved in. Memory foam. And the covers? Egyptian cotton. 1,000 thread count.”

You hum in approval, rolling onto your back to look up at him. “Fancy.”

“Only the best,” he says with a grin before lying down next to you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight.

You turn your head to look at him, your gaze soft and a little hazy from the alcohol. “I hope you know,” you start, your tone teasing but firm, “you’re still paying for your lessons.”

Chan raises an eyebrow, leaning on one elbow to face you. “I wouldn’t dream of not paying,” he says, his voice low as a smirk tugs at his lips.

Before you can respond, he leans down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, his hand resting gently against your cheek. The kiss is warm and unhurried, like he’s savouring every second of it. When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.

“Do I have to pay if I’m your boyfriend?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the playful lilt in his tone making your cheeks flush.

You smile, pretending to think it over. “Hmm... you might get it discounted.”

Chan grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Good enough for me.”

He kisses you again, this time deeper, his free hand gently tangling in your hair as he tilts your head slightly to deepen the connection. The world outside his room fades away, leaving just the two of you, tangled up in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When he pulls back again, his thumb brushes softly against your cheek. “You’re kind of dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, his tone affectionate.

You laugh softly, your fingers brushing against his arm. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah,” he says, his smile soft. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

Your laughter fades into a quiet, contented hum as you both settle into the bed, the warmth of the night wrapping around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels exactly right.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou

Bang Chan Taglist: @0haerireah0

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

[navstuffs]

Secret Admirer

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GNLibrarian!Reader

Summary: It is fall, and Leon Kennedy has a secret admirer.

Warning tags:  ROOTH TOOTING FLUFF, college au, leon wears glasses, shy!reader&leon, leon self depreciates a bit

Author's Notes: hiii. though where i live fall doesn’t exist (i swear, we are all being cooked alive at this point), im happy to write something to welcome fall! dedicated to @sarahs-secrets2 whose birthday is tomorrow! happy birthday, my friend!! thank you for being such an amazing friend to me, you are the best!! also i won't lie, i might be working on a small drabble for a smutty second part (flannel shirts, all im saying). dividers by @firefly-graphics. images found on pinterest and edited on faceapp.

leon's masterlist

It all starts right at the beginning of fall.

Leon Kennedy never considered himself the type of guy someone could deeply fall in love with. In his own opinion, he has always been an average kind of guy. A little shy, with a pair of black glasses in front of his eyes since he couldn't see long or short distances.

Since entering college and breaking up with his first (and only) girlfriend, romance wasn't clearly in his plans. He had to focus on his studies to become a lawyer and pass the bar exam. Unlike his colleagues, who partied every Friday, Leon was busy with his head inside books—most of the time.

There is also another weighting factor: Leon had a merit-based scholarship. It is not something he would tell someone, but it meant he had worked his ass off to get there, prove himself to stay there every semester. He couldn't waste his time with anything, especially with romance.

Leon enters the already chilly Friday, his scarf close to his face. For some reason, fall had arrived earlier, and he couldn't be more grateful. The library is almost empty, except for a few students here and there. He goes to his usual spot, between two tall bookshelves, a seat at the very end, hidden from the rest of the world. Before he can get there, a smiling familiar face carrying a few books in their arms appears in his path: you, who worked in the library and was always ready to help students whenever needed.

"Back already?" You joke, whispering. Leon feels his blush spread, smiling back.

"You know me, can't stay away too long."

You giggle, seeming equally flustered. There is a moment of silence where you two stare at each other, saying nothing else. Then, you handle Leon one of the books from your arms.

"Here. This just arrived today. I hope it can be helpful."

Before Leon can answer, you leave, waving, without looking directly at his face. Leon walks to his usual spot, removes his jacket, and hangs on the chair before placing the book on the table. He sits, opens the first page, and finds a yellow post-it with something written on it. Leon then takes his glass case out of his backpack, changing his distance ones to the reading ones. Yeah, he was one of those blessed ones who couldn't see far away or close. There it was, written in blue ink:

"Hi! I hope I don't scare you by writing this, but I just wanted to let you know you are adorable!" 

Leon's eyebrows raise as he looks around. Most students in there have their heads on their books. You had given this book to him earlier, so maybe? No, Leon realizes. So many other students have probably read it before. Wait, but didn't you say the book just arrived today? Well, it could have been a donation, and someone left it there.

Without making much noise, Leon gets up to look for you behind your front desk. You seem focused but promptly raise your head when you see Leon coming.

"Hey. Something wrong?" Your face is blurred, and Leon suddenly realizes he didn't change into his long-distance glasses.

"Yeah. Someone left this note in the book. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh." Leon handles the book for you, and he can't quite figure out your expression due to the lack of proper glasses. "I guess it came with the donation."

"Yeah. Probably." You whisper back in a strange tone. Leon gives you a slight nod before returning to his usual spot. Well, that was odd, but he didn't have time to think much about it. He needed to remain focused anyway.

Next Friday comes, and the temperatures slowly start dropping, which comes with a relief to Leon. He hates the heat, despises how the Earth is warming up, and nobody seems to give a damn about it. The view to the campus Library looks so pretty now: straight out from a book, orange leaves on the floor, crunching as Leon walks over them. It was one of his favorite Autumn activities when he was a kid—that and carving pumpkins. The only problem with the sudden chilly weather was his glasses getting fogged, but hey, it seemed like a fair trade.

He arrives near the library's building, finding you outside. You are wearing a deep green sweater with some trees drawn on it. On the top of your head, a cute black hat protects your ears. Leon can't help but smile when he notices you rub your hands and arms.

"It is not even that cold yet." Leon teases as he gets close. You look back at him, startled but happy to see him.

"Says the one with the heavy jacket and a scarf!"

"Hey!" Leon complains, pretending to be insulted. "At least this is better than the heat we had before, right?"

"Yeah."

Before Leon can walk in and leave you alone, he asks, his curiosity peaking.

"Hey, so what about that note from last week? Discovered where it was from?"

"Oh." You seem taken aback by his question before shrugging, "I don't know. I threw it away anyway. Nothing important."

Leon nods before waving and walking into the warmth of the library. It is as empty as last week, which Leon prefers. He goes to his usual spot, noticing the yellow post-it on top of his table. Leon rushes to grab it and read. It is written in the same blue ink as before.

"Just wanted to wish you a good week. I admire you from afar, hoping you achieve all your goals!"

Leon's first reaction is to look for you, show you the new note, and believe again this is a mistake. But then he ponders, his curiosity speaking louder. No, he isn't interested in romance, nor does he have time for it. But, if those notes are really, really meant for him, why? He isn't that special or someone who should have secret admirers. Leon has always been curious, so he places the note in his pocket.

In the weeks following, he ends up receiving more and more notes. They are on top of his desk, under the desk, near the wall, always visible so he can find them. And since the first two ones, they have started to come signed with "Your Secret Admirer." It can't just be a coincidence at this point.

"You are doing amazing, and I hope you continue to do so! - Your secret admirer."

"I wish I could say how much I admire you to your adorable face! - Your secret admirer."

"It makes me so happy to see you pursuing your dream; it gives me the courage to pursue mine! - Your secret admirer."

"One of these days, I will gather the courage to invite you out, but until then, I keep thinking about you as I look at the stars."

Leon's suspicions are towards someone inside the library, of course. His first thought is you, but it simply can't be. You are too bright, too cute, too funny for him. Deep down, Leon wishes it was you; he might have harbored a tiny crush on you since the first time you helped him, but he knows it can't be. His other suspicions are the other people in the library, but he barely knows them, except for an eventual nod or "hello" here and there.

It is finally time for the first week of exams, and the library is getting crowded. Leon arrives earlier that Friday and, for a miracle, can find his spot empty and, sadly, no note this time. He tries not to concentrate on his disappointment, focusing on his studies when, in the corner of his eyes, he comes into the corridor. You look dressed for a freezing winter, rushing toward Leon with something in your hands. When you see him, you stop in your tracks, your eyes slightly going wide. Then you turn around, leaving in the other direction. 

Much later that night, Leon walks to the front desk. You look busy but still manage to give him a tired smile.

"Getting crazy over here, huh."

"Yeah. It is time for the tests, so people can go a little crazy." You explain, shrugging. You look anxious, but Leon presumes it relates to the agitated week. "Hey, do you mhm like pumpkin chocolate brownies?"

"Sure?" Leon's stomach grumbles as you pull out something from your drawer. He hadn't had something to eat since he came to the library three hours ago. Two small pumpkin chocolate brownies, probably from the candy shop near the campus. "Thanks, I haven't eaten anything today."

"Just don't eat here, okay?" You wink, smiling.

Leon holds them, staring at your table as you return your attention to your work. A pile of books is nearby and more on the other side of the table. His attention is drawn to a small yellow paper folded so many times. He gathers his courage and opens his mouth to finally ask you what he has been dying to ask you this whole time.

"Hey, is it you my—?"

"Excuse me, can you help me find this book?" A female student calls your attention, interrupting Leon. You didn't seem to have heard anything, Leon asked, excusing yourself to help the stressed lady. 

Leon watches his surroundings. He shouldn't think about that, but his body works faster than his mind. Leon grabs the yellow folded paper and runs away without looking back, his whole face red. Did he just steal something? 

When he is out of the library range, he stops near a street light and frantically opens the post-it, his hands shaking, not due to the cold. Could it be you? Could it be really you? Leon reads it once. Then twice.

"Hey, I know you have been studying so hard. Here, have some pumpkin chocolate brownies to sweeten your night and give you some luck for the tests!- Your Secret Admirer."

So, it is you. Leon re-reads the sentence over and over again, thinking of different possibilities. It could have been an accident, right? Someone else could have brownies for him, some other secret admirer. But so specific like that?

"Stop. You are overreacting." Leon whispers to himself, placing the note in his jacket pocket. He looks back towards the library, half of him demanding for him to go back in there and face you. Wasn't Leon that wanted to have been you this whole time? Keeping all the notes even though they might not be for him? Wasn't he even considering opening an exception for this rule just because of you?

Leon will make a decision. Not tonight, no. Tonight, he will enjoy the feeling of knowing you are his secret admirer. 

Two weeks pass, and you don't see Leon. You wonder where he is since the last time he almost caught you placing the brownies and the note on his desk. You should have known he would arrive earlier since Leon has been so responsible about his studies (something you admired about him). Not coming for two weeks? You wonder if he was sick. Or maybe Leon chose to study in his dorm since the library had been so crowded lately.

After helping an agitated first-year who couldn't find a Math book, you walk back to your table and find a Pumpkin bookmark there. You turn it around, finding a sentence in beautiful handwriting: "Some say Autumn isn't the season of love, but I disagree when I have Fallen for you. - Your Not-So-Secret-Admirer?"

You feel your cheeks heating up, immediately thinking about Leon and finding him right before you, his entire face red as a tomato. You open your mouth and close it, unsure what to say.

"Sorry. I hope that didn't scare you."

"N-no! You didn't!" You reply loud enough to get some "sshhh." You shut your mouth, looking apologetic towards Leon, who smiles.

"Would you like to go out with me? There is a harvest fair nearby, and I was wondering if we could..."

"I would love to." You rush to answer, whispering. "If I don't disturb your studies, of course."

"Nope, not a problem."

Some might say nothing grows during Autumn. The leaves fall as the plants prepare for another winter until spring gives them life again, and the cycle repeats. Well, some things can bloom during Autumn, as Leon Kennedy's smile to you is enough proof of that.

[bl00dyfaiiry]

"Beneath the London skies" | tok rev.

pairings: Rindou H. Ran. x Reader

warnings: none, yet..

You sit by the plane window, the cold glass pressed against your cheek as you gaze out at the sprawling urban landscape of London, feeling the weight of your decision.

The engines' roar dulls to a low hum as the aircraft descends, and the city's lights twinkle like distant stars.

You've left your home country behind, the familiar comfort of your grandparents' warm embrace now a fading memory.

A mix of excitement and trepidation coils in your stomach as you clutch the small art portfolio to your chest, filled with your dreams of becoming a renowned artist.

The aircraft shudders as it kisses the tarmac, and you're jolted back to reality.

You're here to start a new life, a chance to escape the shackles of your past. As the plane taxis to the gate, you watch the bustle of the airport, people rushing to greet their loved ones, luggage carts whizzing by, and the occasional flight attendant with a forced smile.

The air is thick with anticipation and exhaustion, a scent that seems to cling to every traveler.

The intercom crackles to life, announcing your arrival in a crisp British accent, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your chest.

Welcome to London, your new home.

As the plane doors open, the cool, damp air of London greets you, a stark contrast to the stale recycled air you've been breathing for hours.

You take a deep breath, the scent of rain and diesel fumes mingling with the faint hint of fish and chips wafting from somewhere outside the terminal.

The cacophony of unfamiliar voices and the clack of suitcases fills your ears as you make your way through the airport, the thrill of your new adventure slowly giving way to a pang of homesickness.

You miss the comforting warmth of your grandparents' house, the smell of your grandmother's cooking, and the gentle hum of your grandfather's snore as he dozed off watching old movies with you.

Your heart aches for the simplicity of those moments, for the safety net they provided. Yet, you know you had to leave, to follow the path they always hoped you would, to pursue your dreams and escape the shadow that had been cast over your family's name.

The art scholarship to the prestigious Westbridge University was your ticket to freedom, and now, as you navigate the crowded airport, the reality of your new life begins to set in.

With the luggage claim in sight, you quicken your pace, eager to begin the next chapter of your life. The floor underfoot is slick from the rain outside, and before you know it, your heel catches on an unseen stone, sending you hurtling to the ground.

The portfolio flies from your grasp, the contents scattering like a flock of startled birds. You land with a thud, pain shooting through your knees and palms as they absorb the impact. The bustling crowd seems to part around you, as if afraid to touch the girl who'd just fallen from the sky.

A shadow falls over you, blocking the harsh artificial light. You look up, blinking back tears of pain and embarrassment, and find yourself staring into the warmest pair of eyes you've ever seen.

They belong to a young man, tall and lean, with a gentle smile that seems to apologize for the world's cruelty. He's dressed casually, but there's an air of authority about him that you can't quite place.

He reaches out a hand to help you up, and as you grasp it, a jolt of something electric passes between you.

He has purple hair, a unique blend of deep plum with a hint of blue that falls in medium-length waves around his face.

The first thing that truly captures your attention, however, are his eyes—a soft, ethereal lavender that seems to hold a universe of secrets. They're the kind of eyes you could get lost in, and for a moment, you do.

They bore into yours with a gentle intensity that feels both comforting and disarming. He's the first person you've met in London, and yet, somehow, he seems familiar—like a character you've painted a hundred times in your art, but never quite managed to get right.

Shaking off the haze, you realize that your art supplies are scattered across the floor.

Your heart sinks as you see the crumpled pages and broken pencils, a visual representation of your shattered dignity.

You hastily begin to gather your things, feeling the sting of your scraped palms and the ache in your knees with each movement.

The young man with the purple hair kneels beside you, his long fingers deftly picking up your sketches and placing them back into the portfolio with surprising care.

His touch is feather-light, almost reverent, as if he understands the depth of emotion that goes into each stroke.

As you both stand, your eyes lock again, and you feel a strange pull towards him, a magnetic force that you can't explain.

His smile widens slightly, revealing a hint of mischief that sends a shiver down your spine. "I'm Rindou" he says, his voice a smooth blend of kindness and strength. "Welcome to London. I hope your stay here isn't as rough as your arrival." He holds out the portfolio, his eyes never leaving yours. You take it with trembling hands, feeling the weight of his gaze.

"Thank you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

You notice the crumpled paper in your hand—your scholarship to Westbridge University.

The name of the institution is bold and proud, a symbol of the hope you've clung to for so long. As Rindou takes it from you to smooth it out, he pauses for a brief second, his eyes widening just a fraction.

"Ah, Westbridge," he says casually, but there's a tone in his voice that suggests he's anything but indifferent. "good luck on that," he adds chuckling, handing it back to you with a knowing smile.

like he's familiar of it, couldn't it be-

Before you can ask him about his connection to the university, he checks his wristwatch, the silver band glinting under the fluorescent lights.

"I'm afraid I'll be late if I don't hurry," he says with a hint of apology, his eyes still lingering on your artwork.

You want to ask for his number... to thank him properly and perhaps even show him your art in a more intimate setting, but the words get stuck in your throat.

The moment stretches out, thick with unspoken questions and the throb of the pulsing airport around you.

With a final smile, Rindou turns and strides away, leaving you standing there, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

You can't help but crack a smile at the absurdity of it all—blushing over someone you've just met, in the middle of a crowded airport, no less.

But something about his gentle touch and knowing gaze had stirred something deep within you, a feeling you haven't felt in a long time.

You shake your head, chiding yourself for being so easily distracted. You have a scholarship to claim and a new life to start.

Collecting your composure, you head towards the baggage claim, the throb of the airport's heartbeat pulsating around you.

The conveyor belt groans into life, and suitcases of all shapes and sizes begin their lazy dance. You spot your own luggage, a small, battered piece of your past making its way towards you, and you grab it with a sense of determination.

The weight feels heavier now, not just because of the flight's toll but because of the promise it holds—a future filled with potential and the chance to redefine your destiny.

second chapter:|full ver:

[thehelltingvilleclub]

Matt Montgomery - Closet Geek & Closet Freak

An Adult in Eltingville that actually acts like an adult???? WHAT???

Matthieu "Matt" / "Mattie" Thomas Montgomery [02/16/1978] Not Affiliated with TEC - Known Tournament winner amongst Jerry's MTG players. Cosplayer and College student in Manhattan. AOL / Online Users: [MTM_cosplay] | [GoblinHoarder] Theme Songs: Talk talk - Charli xcx | Move Along - All American Rejects | Somebody Told Me - The Killers

Favorite Shit: Trading Cards, Puzzles, Sports cards, Cosplays, X-Men, Monsters, Kaiju, Robots/Mecha, Dr. Who, Rubicks Cubes, Hard Cover books, YAPPERS, Movie Marathons, Beast, Wolverine, MTG, D&D, Cosplay Contests

I don't know how tf to describe this man other than tired and done with everybody's shit and he hasn't been awake more than an hour. He's three years into his bachelor's degree, essentially has 3 full time jobs between cosplay, tournaments, and all of his school work PLUS TUTORING, homie barely has enough time to breathe let alone deal with the TEC. However, that doesn't mean he won't find a way to weasel himself in-- even if its.... by unconventional or rather... *unexpected* means.

Guys I have like no art of him SORRY

Mattie generally only gets introduced very sparingly during 1999-2005, essentially in passing by Jerry or Josh, but he's still present and alive during this time, obviously. Him being friends with Jerry is what gets him to recognize Josh later.

Matt is studying for a Bachelors in English Comp, specializing in Journalism.

Speaking of, Josh and Matt work together at the editors office for the Comic Book News site in the epilogue. It's how they find each other again after Matt graduates and moves back home.

Matt is from northern Vermont, around the Canadian border, and has a bit of a Canadian accent because of it.

Everyone picks on him about it except for May and Jerry, (yes, even Josh, but it eventually becomes endearing to Matt.)

MATT. LIKES. YAPPERS. He doesn't talk much, he doesn't have much to talk about. Books and papers and trying to explain gymnastics routines isn't exactly the most interesting thing in the world, y'know.

He also doesn't have the time to really subject himself to the extreme absorption that Josh and Bill can get with their comics and shows, so.. Tell him about them!

He didn't get access to a lot of the more nerdy, pop culture side of things because of his parents. They had a significantly stronger iron grip on what he and his sister were exposed to, so he never really...

well, he didn't get to express his love for the more geek-y side of life until he moved to NY for college.

He became a professional cosplayer via his roommate forcing him to post, invited to events and photoshoots for his live floor routines he'll do in character, though he almost always wears a full-face mask or enough make up that you can barely tell who he is.

he can't have his sister finding out he dresses up as a blue demon freak in his spare time, yknow? (god she'd bully the shit out of him if she did--)

He's been in gymnastics since he was in middle school, and he's actually quite good; he's on a scholarship at his university, for pete's sake.

unfortunately a bad fall broke his clavicle and made it so he can't do vault anymore, but he enjoys his time doing floor routines and fucking around on the pommel horse from time to time.

Matt also.. is weirdly envious of TEC's... closeness? The fact they barely get along and yet they're all still together, they all still try and see each other or keep in touch..

He's never had that, and it makes him horrifically jealous, but he keeps it to himself-- smile and wave, swallow it down like normal, hm?

please subject him to a movie marathon. Infodump on him everything about whatever you're fixated on. He likes listening to people's voices, so please, just do it. It doesn't bother him at all.

This man has a TEMPER. His mother and his sister have this too, and it is BAD. Matt, however, learned ways to keep his temper at bay and calm down. to an extent. Bill, however, always manages to get his blood to boil by just the mention of him, so maybe... don't

Also, Matt and Pete absolutely bicker. A lot. Matt is constantly showing off that even though he's only an inch taller, he's able to do soOOSOooo much more! and Pete is convinced that Matt isn't actually gay and is trying to steal May away (guys Pete is such a fucking jealous goober I hate him)

Meanwhile literally the only person Matt wants is Josh. Pete should open his eyes maybe but like it's fine.

HOLY SHIT GYUSY

Okay UHM Hi Matt probably won't be talked about much but if you see me Vermont Honey posting it's because I need my comfort ship back okay THanks Also the NSFW cut is coming guys It's gonna have em all And I'll draw Jane and Matt's little sister soon, as they go to school together (Jane absolutely hates her guts OOPS unfortunately she's a bitchy cheerleader so you bet Jane has a voodoo doll of her somewhere in her room).

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem

Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship. 

Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!

Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.

Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself. 

He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.

To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement. 

The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight. 

“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone. 

“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”

“Got your phone on you?”

Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers. 

“Got it.”

“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”

Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him. 

Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell. 

“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor. 

A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance. 

Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm. 

Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death. 

Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.

“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.

He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.

Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are. 

Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack. 

“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”

Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets. 

It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by. 

They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger. 

The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk. 

Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.

The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.

“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall. 

The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.

He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost. 

And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse. 

The teens behind him scream and Danny winces. 

Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.

Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”

The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.

Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street. 

“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.

“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”

“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”

“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”

Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”

“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”

“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.” 

Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away. 

Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?

There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.

Well.

It’s a problem for later.

For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.

He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.

“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”

Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life. 

Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.

He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed. 

When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes. 

Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”

He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.

Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.

He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either. 

Something cold lodges itself in his chest. 

“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up. 

There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.

Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window. 

Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.

Nothing’s there.

Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal. 

He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him. 

His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.

But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.

He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder. 

The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor. 

“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Where were you?”

Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”

Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”

“Nope!”

“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”

“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”

Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”

“Oh, do we? Good to know.”

There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero. 

“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”

Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”

He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.

“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”

“Depends on what you’re asking about?”

“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”

Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”

“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”

“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen. 

“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”

“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.

“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”

“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”

He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”

Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.

Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”

“A car?”

“A car?!”

Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”

“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”

“Playing nurse for me now?”

“If I have to.”

“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.

Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”

Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge. 

“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”

“Danny, you’re killing me here.”

“Better me than a car.”

Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”

“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner. 

Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.

He just needs to keep a secret. 

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

[alchemistc]

goon | bucktommy | chapter six

check out the hockey glossary here (updated through chapter six)

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

read Chapter Six on ao3

Tommy nearly hadn’t made it here.

Not in terms of mortality — four years ago, he’d blocked a shot with his skate, and felt the twinge of it for the rest of the game, but it wasn’t until he’d taken his skate off and seen his foot swell to three times it’s normal size that the adrenaline had worn off.

The force of the puck had broken his foot in three places.

He’d spent almost a year rehabbing that injury, and there’d been a month or so there when the numbness of the pain meds they’d prescribed him had been preferable to thinking about the trajectory of his career — getting into junior leagues far too old to really make waves, paying for travel teams off the pity of his aunt; the scholarship that had barely covered his tuition as he worked his way through a degree, sleeping three hours a night and housing enough coffee to keep a South American country’s economy alive, mornings and evenings devoted to a hockey team that hadn’t made a D1 playoff appearance in years and days spent reading and rereading his lecture notes like if he somehow stayed a good student, the scholarship might cover his meals by the time he was a senior; drafted by Toronto in the fifth round sort of as a throwaway, and spending the next two years bouncing from AHL to ECHL teams without even a glimpse of a shot at the show; a trade to an on-the-rise Pittsburg and an injured Penguin who no one else on the farm team had enough knowledge of both defensive and forward positions to fill his spot; a year and a half riding the bench with the brightest fucking star this league had seen since Gretzky, and realizing that for all that he and Sidney Crosby had had incredibly different life experiences, at the end of the day they were cut from the same cloth; ten more years of bouncing from team to team, mentoring every mentally ill first round draft pick that latched on to him day one, learning half the leagues dirty laundry without ever once airing his own.

The day he’d rolled out of bed and popped three oxy before he’d been awake enough to assess his pain levels, he’d spent six hours researching therapists and flushed the rest of the pills down the drain.

Therapy had taught him plenty. About himself, about the world at large, about how to manage every Big Feeling he’d ever repressed just to make it through the next few hours.

He wouldn’t call himself a paragon of mental health. He’s still never said the words aloud to Harold, even though they’ve danced around that issue as much as they possibly can. He’s subsisted on hookups and beards for most of his life, and he’s never let himself imagine a world where the things he desires most want him back.

It’s a lonely way to live, according to Harold, and sometimes he wonders if the people in his life who know pity him for it.

Buck brushes past him into his hotel room, and Tommy takes five steadying breaths, presses his heels into the floor, and turns to stare at the back of Buck’s head while he stares around the room like he’s not set up in a carbon copy of it, six doors down.

Tommy shuts the door, and doesn’t let himself think about who might have been poking their head out at just the right time to see Tommy let him in.

(It’s a ridiculous thought. They’re friends. They play on the same team together. Maybe Buck is just here to lay into him the way Bobby hadn’t about how fucking stupid a risk it was to get himself thrown in the box with ten minutes left in a game.)

Buck makes a move towards the bed, then seems to second guess it. There is a painting on the wall that is likely an exact match for the one in every room on this floor, three uneven black lines splashed across a background of ocean-blue. A television taking up the entire length of the chest of drawers, a desk with an ergonomic chair tucked into a little alcove, and two uncomfortable looking chairs around a tiny table, cast in the orange glow of the city below them, framed by curtains Tommy hasn’t even been here long enough to close.

No distractions. No trinkets, nothing to draw the eye that Buck hasn’t seen a million times before, unless Buck is suddenly extremely interested in the airport bodice ripper cracked open and balanced on the pillow next to where Tommy had been lounging, before the knock.

Buck eyes it for a moment, shockingly blank faced, before he turns to Tommy and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Tommy doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“I need to apologize,” Buck begins, once the air in his lungs has been blown back out, and Tommy’s eyes snap to his. Pockets. He has pockets.

Christ, he’s in the most threadbare sweatpants he owns, the pockets were a bad idea.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Buck.” Not to him, anyway.

“Evan,” Buck interrupts, and time stills. He feels like they’re threading a needle, frayed edges that refuse to line up, but if they just snip off the ends... “When we met, I told you to call me Evan, but you never did.”

His smile is wry, and he wrings his hands, nerves on full display as he takes yet another weighted breath. In contrast, Tommy feels like a marionette who’s master has pulled all his strings tight and wandered off to parts unknown.

“I do need to apologize,” he continues. “I’ve been — I haven’t been fair to you, or Eddie, but right now I’m... I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick, and it’s not your fault.”

“Everyone has bad days.” And why is Tommy crossing his arms, now? What astronomically horrible thing is Buck about to say to him that he feels the need to guard himself from it? Sorry, I hope we can be friends.

“It’s been, like, weeks, man, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. Not my proudest moment. Series, of moments.”

Something loosens, in his core, a slow unravelling as Buck stares at him imploringly, and Tommy feels one side of his mouth tilting up. Buck’s gaze follows the little twitch, head tilting (always the fucking head tilt, with him) his own serious expression melting, just a little. “Noted.”

“Did I ever tell you my sister used to take me to Bears games, every year?”

The non sequitur throws him for a loop. Tommy rolls his lips in, bites at the flesh of his lower one and raises a brow, not bothering to pretend he has any idea where this is going.

“Travel leagues always made it difficult, but — every year we’d find a way to make it to the the teddy bear toss. We’d go with, like, ten stuffed animals a piece, and she’d always get the good seats — close enough to the glass that during that first toss, we’d get buried under all the ones that didn’t get thrown far enough to make it to the ice, so I’d spend twenty minutes getting all mine over the glass, and then all the ones that didn’t make it.”

Tommy remembers his time in Hershey fondly. He’d been down with the flu, for the first charity game, and halfway out the door for the second, but when that goal buzzer sounded and the stuffed animals rained down, he’d done the same thing as every other player on the ice, a time honored tradition of diving at the piles of them like kids jumping into freshly raked leaves.

“The last time she took me, I was fifteen. Too cool for school, by then, and I spent the whole game kind of hating her for making me go.”

Tommy blinks, doing the math while Buck’s smile goes a little wide.

“There was this player, though, that I hadn’t seen the year before. I was so scrawny, back then, and just, like, obsessed with goons. Just the idea of them. Big tough guys, whose only real job was to make sure if someone messed with their teammates they’d pay for it.”

Tommy’d played that game with three bruised ribs he’d re-injured jumping into a pile of kids toys.

Buck’s head tilts from one side to the other. “When that first goal got scored, and everyone started throwing bears, I was — I was up almost up against the glass, pouting about it, arguing with Maddie, trying to hand her all the ones she’d brought for me to throw. And this guy — this guy I’d nearly lost my voice cheering for every time he laid a filthy hit, right? He skated right up to the glass and started giving me shit for not helping my neighbors clear out all the stuffed animals stuck on the wrong side of the boards.”

Tommy doesn’t know when he’d let his arms fall loose at his sides again, or when they’d started to drift closer, but he’s close enough to smell the pomade in Buck’s hair when the memory surfaces.

“I had to barter my fucking stick to get you to start throwing bears.”

Buck’s laugh is quiet, soft and bright while his cheeks dance up. “I still have it,” he admits, eyes dipping to the floor, like he’s nervous. “Your rookie card, too. I mean, I have, like, hundreds of rookie cards, but when I found out we were trading for you I had Maddie pull that box out of storage, and for three months now I’ve been trying to figure out why.”

Tommy swallows, shifts his weight. Harold is gonna have a fucking field day, trying to help Tommy unpack all of this. Buck is smiling, wide, eyes catching the light as he chases Tommy’s gaze.

“My sister says there are better ways to get someone’s attention than maiming my best friend about it.”

Tommy has spent twenty years being overly cautious. The first and only time he’d attempted to hold down a relationship, the guy had decided to surprise him by buying tickets behind the bench for an away game three thousand miles away, and rather than enjoy the win and whisk him off to his hotel room before the rest of the team realized he’d left dinner early, he’d refused to look beyond the glass all game, and sent him a confirmation for a return flight, hiding in the bathroom between the second and the third.

Tommy wants to kiss him.

Say fuck it to the last twenty years, throw it down the drain, ignore every precaution he’s ever taken for the silver-blue shine in Evan Buckley’s eyes as he says too much and not enough at the same time.

He has great fucking lips. Pink and plump with a nasty habit of going a little pouty, when he’s at rest, and Tommy doesn’t need to look down at them to confirm, but he does anyway, and follows the line of his jaw, the stretch of tendons in his neck as he swallows. He can just make out the silvery line of the scar tucked next to the bunched up fabric of the hoodie he’s wearing.

“I don’t have your rookie card,” Tommy admits between breaths, and Buck’s laugh catches and falters just before he leans in and captures Tommy’s lips between his own.

It’s quiet, at first.

Tommy’s hand, with a mind of it’s own, slides up, two fingers pressing to the meaty underside of Buck’s jaw to improve the angle. Lips against lips, and the quiet breath that escapes Buck when Tommy is satisfied with the tilt of Buck’s head and drops his hand to Buck’s waist, fingers just ghosting over the fabric there before he presses his palm in.

Buck takes that for a green fucking light, surging in with a tilt of his head, nose pressed to Tommy’s cheek as his tongue slides along the seam of Tommy’s lips, half a step closer as one hand comes up to cradle Tommy’s jaw, the other smoothing over the fabric at Tommy’s shoulder, fingers digging in to the meat of his muscle for the span of a moment before he slides the hand down to cup his elbow.

Tommy gasps into his mouth, and Buck just dives right in.

When Tommy was twelve, one of the kids on the cul de sac, Terry Waters, had spent an hour complaining about his mom while they all practiced The Michigan, oblivious to Tommy seething in silence, barely keeping a lid on the urge to remind them all that at least they had moms. The only one of them who’d gotten close to nailing it was an eight year old girl on her pastel-pink roller skates, and Tommy can still remember the way she’d looked, for all of a moment, with the whiffle ball tucked against the blade of a stick half-a-foot too tall for her, right before Terry Waters had knocked a knee against her stick and dislodged the ball.

Two years later, he’d kissed Terry Waters under the bleachers in the gym of their high school, and when they’d broken apart Terry had wiped his whole forearm across the lower half of his face and threatened to tell Tommy’s dad if he ever told another soul what they’d just done.

Buck’s thumb slides across his jaw, tucks itself neatly into his cleft and presses down, just enough pressure to force Tommy’s mouth a little wider.

Tommy needs a minute. They both need a minute.

They both need to get a fucking grip, is what they need to do.

Tommy exerts some forward momentum on the hand that is currently fisted in the fabric of Buck’s hoodie, bunching it at the waist, and Buck whines, high and reedy, lips twisting up against Tommy’s, and though his torso follows the direction of Tommy’s hand, his head and neck don’t move.

“Buck,” Tommy murmurs across his lips, and doesn’t fight the feeling of Buck’s hand curling around the side of his neck, or the way Buck uses the fulcrum of his gentle shove to swing his hips and press his weight right back into Tommy, and — fuck, they need to think about this, they need to talk about this, they need to get further away from the bed that is right behind Buck.

Buck nips at Tommy’s lower lip and Tommy groans, desperately searching his mind for anything that could derail this without sending Buck running out the door.

“Evan,” Tommy says, and Buck stills against him, breath coming in heavy pants as he pulls just far enough away to catch Tommy’s eye. There’s a rosy tint to his cheeks, and a heavy look in his eye, mouth still open and an obscene little curl to his lower lip. Buck blinks, gaze taking a leisurely little stroll from holding Tommy’s gaze, down over the slope of his nose, right back to Tommy’s lips, and when he sways back in Tommy lets him, for just a moment.

Unfurling his fingers from the fabric of Buck’s shirt, he straightens his palm and tucks it up against Buck’s ribs, which earns him a breathy sigh and a squeeze at his elbow, followed closely by a groan of protest when Tommy presses, gently pushing him back half a step.

He blinks, again, a second before the grin begins to overtake his expression once more. “Tommy,” he intones, slightly mocking, and Tommy can’t quite hide the twitch of his lips as he tries desperately to keep a straight face. “Say it again.”

They need to talk about this. Tommy still has an apology of his own, fully scripted with contingencies for whatever reactions he’d anticipated Buck having. This hadn’t factored in to a single one of his scenarios. Tommy takes a moment to straighten out the bunched fabric of his hoody. “It,” he quips, shifting just his eyes up, staring through his lashes as Buck purses his lips in faux-irritation. Buck shifts his weight back, and Tommy nearly loses his balance without Buck’s hand to steady him. “Evan.”

He laughs, bright and happy in this sensibly decorated hotel room, with the lights of Boston casting the side of his face in an orange glow that makes the shadows of his laugh lines stand out starkly against his skin. “Yeah, I know why I introduced myself like that, now.”

Tommy would like to point out the utter insanity of the last ten minutes. Maybe see what he remembers of the Microsoft Office suite, set up a PowerPoint presentation with clipart and horrible transitions for each slide. Write a paper on how fucking batshit this is.

Buck slides his hand around Tommy’s hip, thumb rolling neatly and eagerly under the hem of Tommy’s shirt to shift against bare skin, and he looks a little smug when Tommy’s breath catches. Tommy attempts a stern expression, but he’s pretty sure all he manages is fond. “I am not sleeping with you tonight, Evan Buckley.”

“Presumptuous,” Buck murmurs, sliding back into Tommy’s space, two fingers in the pocket of Tommy’s sweats and the meat of his cheek sucked between his teeth. “I am gonna kiss you again, though,” he warns, and Tommy decides they’ll have plenty of time to talk, later.

---

Buck hitches a leg up over Tommy’s thigh, as the sun tips out over the horizon.

Somewhere between frantic make-outs number three and four, they’d stumbled their way over to the bed, and despite the hundreds of sirens and bells and gongs going off in his head, he’d let himself be tugged down over Buck, tongue sliding to the roof of his mouth while Buck snuck a grab at handfuls of his ass.

But he hadn’t pushed it any further.

It was only when their jaws had started to ache that he’d wheedled an invitation to stay out of Tommy, puppy-eyed pleading out in full force as he rolled his head against a pillow, glowering at the paperback in his way (how they hadn’t disturbed it, Tommy has no fucking clue) before tucking the thumb he’d had in Tommy’s mouth five minutes earlier in between the pages to hold his place while he scrambled up on his stupid long legs to grab a spare piece of paper from the notepad on the desk to use as a bookmark.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself and everything,” he’d promised, which had been a flagrant lie.

But he hadn’t pushed — fingers tracing the hills and valleys of Tommy’s abs while he admitted he’d had himself a nice long fit over how much Sidney Crosby seemed to know about him, lips ghosting over the arm of Tommy’s t-shirt as he told him about the enlightening conversation he’d had with Maddie, two days earlier, palm a steady weight against Tommy’s ribcage as he confessed to wanting to slew-foot his best friend for monopolizing all of Tommy’s attention, the last few weeks.

Buck’s half-hard, against the seam of Tommy’s sweats, but even as he readjusts the angle of the leg he’s thrown over Tommy’s, there’s no effort to ramp things back up. He’s been yawning between rambles for a good hour, now, and Tommy’s been too caught up in trying to memorize the exact color and shape of his birthmark to call him out on it. But his words have begun to slow, his eyelashes shifting against Tommy’s shoulder as he keeps trying to blink himself awake, and despite no longer having any plans for this morning, they’re both going to regret staying up so late when they have a game in a day and a half. “We should sleep,” Tommy says, and Buck digs his nose into Tommy’s shoulder in protest, shaking his head while he yawns into the meat of Tommy’s bicep.

“I’m — not even —.” His breath blows out hot against Tommy’s arm. “Not even tired,” he promises, fingers stretching out over Tommy’s ribcage.

Tommy’s hand makes a pass through the close-cropped hair on the back of Buck’s head and his lashes flutter closed. “Well, as you so deftly pointed out earlier, I’ve got almost a decade on you. Old man bones need rest.”

Buck snorts into Tommy’s armpit. “Thought we weren’t talking about your old man bone, tonight.”

There’s something achy and warm blooming beneath Tommy’s ribs that he absolutely refuses to acknowledge until they’ve both slept on this. He grabs the spare pillow from behind his head and whacks Buck’s thigh, instead. “Weak, three out of ten, I know you can do better.”

“Guess I need to rest and recuperate my flirting skills.”

Tommy hums, and lets his eyes tip closed as Buck fluffs up pillows and rearranges his limbs. He’s asleep before Buck’s even fully settled.

---

Tommy scrambles out of bed at the knock on his door, blinking sleep out of his eyes as his hand slides across the opposite side of the bed, which is rumpled and cool.

He takes a beat to wonder exactly how much of the previous night he’s going to regret, when a cursory glance around the room reveals no signs of Buck.

The knocking starts up again, and Tommy runs a hand over his face, checks the time.

9:45

Four hours of sleep, and still the latest he’s slept in in about ten years.

A third round of knocking interrupts his muddy thoughts, and he levers himself up out of bed with a groan, fully prepared to slam the door back in whoever’s face once he’s given them a cursory greeting and the stink eye, but when he swings the door open he’s met with the smiling face of Eddie, who is holding up a take-out bag with a raised brow.

Christ.

He hadn’t even looked in the mirror before he’d opened the door. He wonders how likely it is that Eddie will believe him if he plays off the hickey he knows Buck had been aiming to mark into the side of his neck as a bruise from Johnston’s chokehold, yesterday afternoon.

“Hey,” he says, and freezes a moment later when the toilet flushes in the bathroom.

Eddie tips his head from side to side. “So I guess you and Buck made up, too.”

(Teeth sliding along his lower lip, a hand around the back of his neck, Buck smiling bashfully against Tommy’s lips as he told him he’d apologized to Eddie before knocking on Tommy’s door.)

“Mm, yeah. We talked.”

Eddie squints at him. “Clearly.”

Tommy has no idea what the fuck that means, and he’s terrified to ask. They hadn’t talked about shit last night. (They’d talked about a million things, actually, the same shit they did with walls between them and phones tucked to their ears, but not this. Not exactly what either one of them were willing to let anyone else know.)

He’s saved the burden of responding by the bathroom door swinging open. Buck’s in the same jeans he’d worn the previous night, but he’s wearing one of Tommy’s t-shirts, and Tommy spends thirty seconds waffling between full-blown panic and a steady thrum of lust.

Buck snags the bag from Eddie’s outstretched fingers, and Eddie reels back, a practiced look of offense on his face.

Tommy is suddenly remembering the rumpled sheets and the indent on the pillow that is fully visible to Eddie from his position in the doorway. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy staring at the bag Buck has cradled carefully to his chest. “What’s up?”

“Josh asked me to tell Tommy to, and I quote, ‘answer his goddamn texts and stop pretending to be a dinosaur, I know he knows how to use his phone’. End quote.”

“Well, you’ve told him.” Buck nods, and Eddie’s lips purse.

“Are you punishing me right now?”

“No.”

“Because it feels like you’ve made up with Tommy and now you’re trying to even out the time I spent with him solo by sharing our favorite food in this city with only Tommy.”

Which explains exactly why he’d been completely unsurprised to see Buck wandering out of Tommy’s bathroom at a completely reasonable hour of the day to find a teammate in another teammates room.

“If I give you half my sandwich, will you go back to running errands for Josh and leave me alone?”

Eddie rolls his tongue over his teeth, and tips his head side to side. “I want a full sandwich. I know you ordered an extra one.”

They have an intense little staring contest, right there in the doorway. Buck gives in with a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“And a pickle, just for the implication that I do anything for Russo of my own free will.”

Buck’s already tearing into the bag, reaching in to grab what Tommy assumes is the aforementioned sandwich, wrapped up in crisp white paper, which he slaps into Eddie’s hands before digging back in, in search of the pickles, most likely.

Tommy just stands there, head spinning, hyper aware of every muscle in his body while Buck piles more paper-wrapped items on top of the sandwich.

“Go away, now,” Buck says, shooing Eddie back away from the door, out into the hallway. “Let Tommy enjoy his apology sandwich in peace.”

“With you in the room? What sort of peace is he gonna get that way?”

“Goodbye.”

Tommy gets a last good look of Eddie’s bemused expression, right before Buck slams the door in his face.

A beat of silence. Then another, as Tommy listens to Eddie’s footsteps drift off down the hallway.

“Hi,” Buck says, and leans in for a kiss.

Tommy catches his jaw before it lands, and tries desperately to calm the swirling thoughts and not get distracted by the gleam in Buck’s eyes, or the subtle roll of his lower lip as it begins to jut out, pre-pout.

“I’m not out,” is the first thing Tommy can think to say, and Buck’s expression softens.

“Okay.”

“That — with Eddie —.”

“Tommy,” Buck says, voice low, the hand not holding the food curling over Tommy’s forearm. Tommy breathes, and wonders if this is how it’s always going to be. First sign of something good, and Tommy’s booking a one way ticket to the other side of the country. “Okay. That’s fine. I haven’t said anything. I - I wouldn’t.”

Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets and aims a glance at the bag. He’s fine. He can bury it. Let this all settle, and figure it out from there.

He should have sent Buck back to his room, last night, the moment he’d said his name.

“I’m — do you — should I go?”

You seem to do fine with relationships, right up until they feel real to you, Harold had told him, eight months in, after Tommy admitted he preferred it when Harold was a bit of an asshole getting his point across. Lets explore that.

Buck, who’d just spent two weeks quietly seething that his best friend was taking up all of Tommy’s time, looks back at Tommy with nothing but vague concern in his eyes, and Tommy spends a long, long moment reminding himself that he’d spent a good fucking year working his way up to admitting that he’d internalized a lifetime of keeping his feelings to himself and wrapped that up in a romanticized little bow he first time he’d watched Andrew Lincoln scramble to stop Keira Knightley from seeing her wedding film.

It’s self-preservation, he’d quoted to Harold, while Harold jotted something down in his notebook. Tommy liked to think he just kept a running list of all the stupid movie quotes he heard in their sessions.

“I don’t want you to go, Evan,” Tommy admits, and for once in his fucking life just lets himself enjoy the wide smile that brims across Buck’s face a moment before he leans in to press his lips to Tommy’s.

[what-have-i-unleashed]

once again dropping this bomb on @toffeebrew

previously on high school au z...

"nightmare..." one person of the trio breathes out

"hello dream," nightmare greets back with a malicious smile.

"oh hi, night-kun!" ink, the resident artist who is on track to study aboard, waves with a beaming face, while blue facepalms next to him.

"ink, he's our enemy. remember?" the other member of the disciplinary committee says in a resigned tone.

"oh right!" ink exclaims, then makes a heroic pose. "nightmare, what are you doing here?"

"i had a feeling you buffoons will try to break into killer's house, so here i am, preventing you from doing so."

"what do you want to do with color-san?" dream, the head of the disciplinary committee, asks.

"my plan stays the same, dear otouto. with his innate powers, i can rid the world of you and control it," nightmare declares with a chuckle.

"not if i have any say in this!" dream exclaims. he pulls a device out of his bag and a light engulfs the surrounding area. when it dies down, it reveals dream, blue, and ink in different color-coordinated outfits and cutesy-looking weapons: dream with a bow-covered bow and arrows, blue with a hobbyhorse hammer, and ink with an oversized brush. they are the secret magical squad, the heroes of the town, the star sanses!

nightmare drops his schoolbag and also transforms. a pool of black goop covers his body from the feet up, and his eye turns from purple to turquoise. his back sprouts tentacles like writhing tapeworms.

"you're gonna die today, starlights..." nightmare grins, and summons his shadowy servant figures to attack.

the star sanses attack back with their magical powers and weapons, the onslaught of minions do not deter them any slightest as they are used to this. after a while, when the empty streets are near destroyed, ink's phone rings.

"uh, wait guys!" ink calls out while batting a minion away then creating a shield so they can duck and read the messages on their phone. "i got a call from dad-1!"

(a/n: everyone is fatherless except for ink and color)

"hurry up then!" blue shouts back, in the middle of a ten-on-one battle himself.

ink shouts back again, "i think i have to go now! i have a cram school session that i can't miss again! or chichi will get real disappointed!" to nightmare he says, "can we have a rain-check on this, night-kun?"

nightmare thinks for a moment before recalling his shadow minions. with a haughty voice, he says, "very well. for ink's scholarship, i will stop here today. but we will continue this this weekend."

with that, he slowly disappears into a black pool in the ground. dream shouts after him, "onii-san, wait!" but too late, nightmare has blipped away, leaving the star trio behind on the destroyed streets.

"uh..." blue says after a somber silence, "so are we still breaking into killer-kun's apartment or...?"

"you guys can do that," ink says. "i have to go to cram school now."

"me and blue-kun can do that. thanks, ink-chan," dream replies with a tired smile on his face, no doubt troubled by his brother's homicidal tendencies again for the ninth time this week.

"no problem!" with that, ink runs away as quick as possible. dream and blue look at each other, then at the building where they will commit their first illegal act together.

meanwhile... at the cooking baking contest (i hope you guys don't forget about this)

"fufu, actually," vamp giggles from her panel, "there will be a fourth judge with us today."

dust and cross look at each other, with both their plates of cookies presented to the judges.

did you rig this with a fourth judge, cross scowls at dust silently.

no, you're the one who did this, dust scowls back, equally silent.

well, even with the fourth judge, you cannot get out of this one, cross sticks his tongue out mockingly.

just you wait, you snotty brat, dust burns a hole in cross with his intense glare.

the mysterious fourth judge comes in, and everyone gasps.

it's epic-senpai himself!

"hi there, bruh!" epic says. "i heard there are free cookies!"

"what," delta utters from the sidelines, absolutely done with this. "is this why you haven't responded to my texts the entire time, epic?!"

mortified, dust whips his head to where killer is in the audience and makes the sign frantically. killer, upon seeing the sign, sends a text to his secret agent standing just near the fire alarm.

emergency time :3, he sends.

seconds later, the fire alarm rings, much to shock and fear of the students in the room.

"what?!" "where's the fire?!" "everyone calm down!"

the sprinklers activate and spray water everywhere. suddenly, multiple hisses and booms occur around the room, freaking everyone else more. everyone runs out of the room, fearing for the lives as the small fireworks occur. killer grins to himself, even as horror suddenly grabs him and whispers aggressively.

"what the fuck, killer?!!" horror darts his eye to delta, who is escorting everyone out, then back at killer. "did you seriously put potassium in the fucking flour?! are you crazy?!"

"it's dust-chan's idea," killer shoots back.

"oh my stars, you guys are insane..." horror bemoans. "i don't know why i even hang out with you..."

"aww, horror-chan~" killer pats horror on his head. "don't worry, next time you can do the terrorizing instead."

[long-manic-nights]

October 3rd: Webcam

Nebumibu

Everything Reo does is beautiful and well-planned. Front the way he shoots three-pointers to the precision he has while putting on eyelines in moving cars; everything has a method, a ritual to follow, an excessive amount of care Nebuya can’t help but to admire. Even knowing how much effort his boyfriend puts in everything, he didn’t expect what he saw the moment he answered the videocall that night:

The image of an angel, he would say. A living mythological creature with the most wonderful eyes and charming little smile. Low, warm light around him, the absolute softness of it all falling on the bed like a wave; there, sitting on the edge, looking back at him from what it seemed to be a very planned setting, was his boyfriend, wearing a short tight dress and pale blue knee socks. In private, Reo loves making a big show out of himself, and Eikichi simply can’t take his eyes off him.

Reo, spreading his legs little by little, passed his slender fingers softly between his thighs, arching his back; the dress sliding up showing everything yet never enough. White, silky skin right there for him to see but too far for him to discover and conquer like he always did. Sweet, tempting voice, echoing on his headphones, whispering his name.

“I miss you”, the shooter moaned, placing himself better so his boyfriend could see his entire body. “I miss you so, so much”.

“I miss you too, angel”, he answered back. “God, I miss you. You look beautiful”.

“Mmmh, really?”, he wasn’t wearing underwear, he realized once the dress rolled up his hip. Talented hands around his own cock, stroking it slowly.

“Yeah, baby. So fucking beautiful. Can you put the camara a little closer for me?”, and he must have sounded desperate, because Reo laughed, amused, passing one hand from his thigh all the way to his chest. “Come on, princess. Let me take a better look”.

“I always give you an excellent look”, the shooter giggled again, getting closer to the camara, legs open again showing everything but not enough, never fucking enough. If he can’t touch him, it’s not enough. “I always put a good show for you, don’t I?”

“Yeah, princess”, he murmured, his hand travelled by itself under his joggers, grabbing his cock. No one in the world make him get hard that fast. “You always do”.

Hayaizu

It was a mistake, really. He was meant to call a dude from Tokyo he has been talking to for a while now, and he pressed the wrong name, too horny to even noticed he did until Izuki’s confused eyes fell on him.

He’s naked, hand already jerking his half hard cock, and his cheeks are burning with shame.

“I’m so fucking sorry”, Kotarou finds himself yelling, throwing the phone down, letting the camara point at the ceiling of his bedroom. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m not a creep, I swear. I dial the wrong number”, he explains, nervously, grabbing the phone again. “Like…I was kinda too horny to notice, but it was an accident”.

Izuki’s blushing, in complete silence, with his eyes wide open and biting his fingernail, having no idea of what to say. Because Hayama Kotarou is hot as fuck and looks even better with his hand around his cock and his pretty, turn-on expression. He can hear it rambling about how it was a mistake and this random dude he met god knows where, and he can’t care less about who the guy is or how hot he looked with his skateboard; the only thing in his head is that he’s dying to suck Kotarou off or bite his lips while he jerks off.

He has no idea when he decided it was a great idea to take off his shirt too and give the enemy a half flirty smile.

“I don’t mind”, he offers.

“Oh”, Hayama exclaims, and puts the phone in a better angle. “Me neither”.

Kagakuro

Kagami being away is a big hit on Kuroko. A destroying one. Dating him was a new thing when the scholarship arrived on his light’s life, and he has never been one to interfere with other people’s dreams       ; he’s happy, of course, this is a huge opportunity and a gigantic jump on his career, but he misses him so bad.

He misses him so bad and proves it all the time. They call all the time, text even more, send each other cute cat videos and the Miracles reunion’s photos. Kuroko also videocalls every now and then, with no context, doing exactly what he’s doing now.

“Fuck, Kuroko, I’m at practice”, Kagami’s fighting to keep his breathing on a normal rhythm, and to convince himself that he can hang up without breaking into tears for losing the opportunity of seeing this wonder of a boy bouncing on his new toy. “Don’t do this to me, baby”.

“But…mh…I miss you”, Tetsuya moans in a fake shy tone, riding the toy slowly, up and down. Kagami can’t see his face, but he most certainly can see all the important parts. “…mmh, wanna…ride you”, he manages to say, moving his hips a little faster. “want this…to be you”.

“Like that, baby, a little faster”, Taiga breaks faster than he would like to admit, but no one can blame him for it. “A little harder, show me how you like it”.

“Like this?”, the shadow moans again, bouncing again and again, deeper and harder every time. “Like this?”, he asks again, without noticing. “It feels good…”

“I’m gonna make you feel better when I visit, baby, I promise”.

“I know”.

[leakywright]

{ JONATHAN DAVISS, 21, CISMALE, HE/HIM } Is that MALIK ‘LEAKY’ WRIGHT? A SENIOR originally from CLEVELAND, MS, they decided to come to Ogden College to study ENVIRONMENTAL STUDIES on a ATHLETIC SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE TRUSTY SIDEKICK on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

been traveling these wide roads for so long...

NAME: malik ‘leaky’ andre wright NICKNAME: leaky, leaks, wright BIRTHDAY: october 16, 2002 ZODIAC: libra sun, sagittarius moon, virgo rising SEXUALITY: bisexual RELIGION: practicing christian (baptist) THREE POSITIVE TRAITS: generous, adaptable, playful THREE NEGATIVE TRAITS: flaky, scatterbrained, cheap THREE SKILLS: trained mechanic, jazz piano, math ENNEAGRAM: 2w1 MYERS-BRIGGS: istp EXTRACURRICULARS: varsity football team: tight-end. vp of recruitment pike, sports show host for student radio station, undergraduate student council.

AESTHETIC: gold rings, early morning runs, sunsets on the river, front porch sweet-tea, tailgating, kisses from grandma, cheers on top of tables, high fives, cheesy grins for photos, BeReal

CHARACTER INSPO: teddy flood (westworld), peeta mellark (the hunger games), matt seracen (friday night lights), pop tate (riverdale), charlie young (the west wing), sam obisanya (ted lasso), gregory (abbott elementary)

LIKES: making playlist, late night jams, fresh sunday mornings, making people laugh, warm summer sun, the changing of leaves, soft blankets, historical fiction, holidays DISLIKES: the past, winter, unsweetened tea, ripped jeans, cold weather, people talking during movies, doing the dishes

FAVORITE MOVIES/TV: ted lasso, friday night lights, new girl, atlanta, teen wolf, outer banks, nope, knives out, do the right thing, waves, if beale street could talk, abbott elementary FAVORITE BOOKS: the vanishing half, seven days in june, the hunger games, harry potter series, possessing the secret of joy, the fire next time FAVORITE ARTISTS: b.b. king, leon bridges, tank and the bangas, lizzo, zach bryan, lawrence, j. cole, abraham alexander, tierra whack

FAMILY: mother - adelaide wright (naomie harris) father - andre wright (omar sy) younger sister - haven wright (marsai martin) younger brother - amai wright (danny boyd jr)

pinterest here, playlist here

MOMMA’S WORDS REOCCUR TO ME:  

growing up in cleveland mississippi meant that leaky had access to the only grammy museum outside of la. but really it meant that leaky grew up with humble beginnings, in a one story house that was full of love, laughter, and inspiration. andre and adelaide wright had been high school sweethearts, with andre giving up his dreams of being a full-time musician when they found out adelaide was pregnant, to then instead be the town mechanic. she was a nurse, he a mechanic during the days and blues musician at night, and though life was hectic. it was good.

leaky was taught all the necessities by his father, piano, bass, basic mechanic skills. he wanted his son to be well-rounded and thrive in the world. to build him up. and, like every southern town, high school football became the heart of the wright household. and early on they discovered that leaky was talented. he was good, he had promise for the future. and that he had.

so between practices, gardening, picking on his younger siblings, jamming with his father, and everything else in between, leaky looked at the future with hope, with optimism. and it seemed promising.

junior year of high school, leaky committed to alabama for football, full-ride, tight-end. play time wasn’t promised for him as a freshman, but nick saban personally mentioned his name for future championships. and to make everything better, his best friend jackson and girlfriend iona were accepted their senior year. they had plans to make tuscaloosa their home.

SURRENDER TO THE GOOD LORD: (tw death)

his freshman year was exciting, and a bit overwhelming. the golden boy of the town lost his way, getting caught up in the culture of college and partying. jackson, iona, and him were having the time of their life. and sure leaky wasn’t playing as much as he wanted, but it was enough for the time being.

and then tragedy struck, beginning of second semester of his freshman year, the three of them had been out one night, leaky felt he was on top of the world. but soon it fell into darkness, he remembered sliding into the backseat of the car, pressing a sloppy kiss to iona’s neck, and the next thing he was waking up in the hospital receiving the worst news of his life. jackson and iona were dead.

and then things continued downhill, ogden had attempted to recruit leaky as well, and reached out with a new offer. full playing time, full ride, and a fresh start. leaky couldn’t turn it down. it might be kissing his chance of the nfl behind, but he couldn’t turn down the stellar education ogden was offering him.

so after finishing his freshman year, leaky moved to portsmouth, summer training and all, began his life at ogden, this time taking a side role in his life. no longer the big fish in a small pond like his life in mississippi, he found his place easily. but he doesn’t talk about his freshman year, he doesn’t visit home, and though he seems to be a vibrant and stellar young man, he holds his cards close to his chest.

AND HE’LL WIPE YOUR SLATE CLEAN:  

leaky is enjoying ogden, two years in he’s making friends, a star player, doing what he can. and yet there’s a nagging guilt, of not going home when he knows his family misses him, of not visiting iona and jackson’s families, of moving on. but he can’t face it, not yet. maybe one day he’ll be able to return home.

in fact that was the original plan, after his education, to return to cleveland and continue to build up his beloved city. like his father, leaky let’s his passions stay that way, it’s easier to keep the creativity without the pressure of it all. and instead he chose environmental science, something he hopes to be an asset for his community. leaky grew up gardening with his mother, and shares a deep love for the environment, and figures this is the best way to move forward.

GREER:

the two were casual friends. he’d see her at parties, and at school events. it’s hard not to notice the golden girl, especially with how visual leaky is on campus, always involved with an event or being seen in the advertising for the school. they got along fine, having friendships that crossed-over. he never knew her really well, but he respected her enough and enjoyed her presence. whenever she needed help or had a favor, leaky was more than ready to aid a hand. though it never seemed the two got below a surface-level friendship (to those who witnessed them anyway).

THE TRUSTY SIDEKICK:  

you need a wingman? leaky is your guy. he’s charming and pleasant and can talk anyone up. need a favor? leaky is there easily fulfilling it as if it’s nothing to him. the guy is a confidant, a hype-man, a volunteer, he can transform himself into whatever you need and it never seems to bother him. and despite being a gifted football player, and smart guy, and seemingly everywhere on campus, he doesn’t steal the spotlight. he’s not the one you think of when you think of ogden, he lets others take the popularity, the jealous looks, the whispers. despite always being there, you might sometimes overlook him, maybe because he’s always there. but he seems to be a good guy, always offering a kind smile and nod of his head on campus, willing to help tutor you in math, and then lets you have all the glory when you ace the test. it almost seems like leaky is making himself out to be the pedestal that everyone sits on. the support that uplifts the hero, and yet still disappears in the crowd, never seeking glory for himself.

extra:

previous tasks found here

he’s always wearing a jacket because he can’t stand the cold 

he wears a gold chain that was given to him by iona, he never takes it off

junior year recap:

found a note/torn out paper seemingly about greer during the haunted house

got drunk for the first time in years at the new year's party - holds guilt for penny ending up dead

found a bloody glove when looking for firewood

g told him to find penny's file in the dean's office

broke in with link and took a picture of it - haven't told anyone else

g put nova and leaky together before the rave and gave nova hints about leaky

surprisingly didn't sustain any injuries during the fire

logan confronted him afterward about the text she received about him

stayed in town for the summer to work at a farm and garden, left a few times to visit sassa

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

(TW) Homophobia Masterlist

Before It's All Too Much. (ao3) - alxclightwood Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton G, 3k

Summary: "Luke, what's wrong?" he heard, getting quieter as the room began to spin and darkness clouded his vision, his body finally allowing him to succumb to the relief of unconsciousness.

________________________

AKA Luke likes to be dramatic when he's ill.

“You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

'Do You Believe in Miracles?' (ao3) - The_Lady Michael/Luke E, 83k

Summary: Michael Clifford gets things done. When he wants something, he goes after it until he achieves it. With two Frozen Four championships under his belt and a hockey scholarship to one of the best schools in the country, Michael is not used to being beat, but if hockey has taught him anything, it's how to recognize when he's about to get slammed and his public speaking class? That is barring down on him like two-hundred-pound defensemen during a breakaway,, so he may need to swallow his pride.

An opportunity of a lifetime dangles in front of Luke Hemmings – the role of Jack O'Callahan in limited series about hockey's 'Miracle on Ice' – the only problem is that Luke may have exaggerated his own hockey prowess in his initial audition. Now with a callback on the books, he needs to learn to skate and learn fast.

Florecita (ao3) - merlypops Michael/Ashton E, 14k

Summary: Ashton and Michael's love is like the sea - rough at times and calm at others, but always there. Always.

Honeysuckle - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) Luke/Ashton, Ashton/OFC E, 28k

Summary: Ashton realizes fairly soon into touring that remembering names isn’t worth his time.

or, it's the 1970s, Ashton is a homophobic lead singer and Luke is the new gay roadie on tour with his band.

I'll Meet You in the Bathroom (ao3) - 1loulu5 Luke/Calum E, 1k

Summary: “Are you…” he swallowed, Blondie’s eyes watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, “Are you flirting with me?”

A smirk played at the blond’s lips, “And what if I am?”

“Then I’d tell you I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”

~~~

Calum and a certain blond have some fun in the bathroom.

(love is like) a baseball game (ao3) - no_clue_who Luke/Ashton M, 10k

Summary: Luke had always loved spring training.

When he was a kid, his parents and brothers would take spring break to go down and watch the first, unofficial, games of the season. He got to meet so many excellent players in his time, star-struck by the short-stops that would wave at him or the catchers who would show off their gloves to the crowd. Luke loved spring training and the fun that came with it.

He especially loved it when he was not even twenty and called up to try out for the Phillies team to get a spot in their rotation, no one thought he would get it, not even him. But only a few months later he had made it to the show after a few too many injuries wore them thin. And the rest is, well, history.

This season was different, new, and exciting. The Mets were coming off of an amazing postseason and an even better off-season. Luke had signed a big deal to stay in the orange and blue for another seven years.

love me like you did (i'll give you anything) (ao3) - retromalum Luke/Ashton T, 1k

Summary: Love is stronger than all evil in the world, and they realize that even if cruel mankind rips them apart eventually, they will find each other again. they will go down together, no matter what.

Someone New (ao3) - Honeyedlashton Luke/Ashton E, 4k

Summary: It’s supposed to be the most rigorous Preparatory School in the Northeast, so why does Ashton get away with practically everything? Well, except for the one thing he doesn’t want anyone to know about. As a boy who dreads the summers when he has to go home, he takes solace in his friends and a new kid, Luke. But the decisions made in haste will change his life, but does it have to mean forever?

Subject Line - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) Calum/Ashton E, 20k

Summary: Maybe the sunrise doesn’t matter much after all. Calum can watch the sunrise any day. How many days will he get Ashton like this? Shirtless, sporting bedhead in a hotel room, with just the two of them for a few lazy hours alone?

Soon enough, they’ll be back on the tour bus and Calum won’t be allowed to hold Ashton’s hand anymore.

The Worst Things in Life Come Free to Us (ao3) - mukeftlashton Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton E, 54k

Summary: On the outside, Michael looks like a bitter rebel who doesn’t care about the feelings of others. In reality, he’s a kid who had his heart shattered, and he needs help picking up the pieces.

Luke is a fragile teen who lives with his abusive, alcoholic, homophobic father. He has resorted to not speaking, deciding that it isn’t worth his time; no one cares about what he has to say anyways.

Piece by piece, they help each other rebuild the fragments of their shattered hearts, but it doesn’t happen overnight.

this is everything i didn't say - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) Michael/Luke, Calum/Ashton T, 6k

Summary: Luke's home life has never been great, with an abusive and homophobic father. Calum is the only good consistent thing in his life, with Calum being Luke's best friend. One day, Calum suggests that Luke meets some new people to hang out with. Luke is hesitant, but then he meets a red head named Michael Clifford, and everything changes.

Unexpected Places (ao3) - The_Lady Michael/Luke T, 2k

Summary: The last thing Michael expects to find when heading home from his morning shift at the bakery is a slumped over Luke Hemmings sporting a black eye and split lip. Yet, there Michael’s school-hood rival is, clear as day, sitting on the concrete and leaning against the alley wall. Well, there goes pizza and DnD.

unmute (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) Luke/Ashton, Luke/OC, Michael/Crystal M, 21k

Summary: In 2011, Luke Hemmings met Ashton Irwin for the first time. In 2020, he told the world they’re married. This is the story of everything that happened in between.

The Off-Screen prequel

wanna share? - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) Calum/Ashton, Michael/Luke T, 10k

Summary: Ashton supposes this is what he gets, though, for allowing the school to drop a random roommate in with him but he still expected to see the guy at least a little during the day

or, the one where Calum and Ashton are college roommates who only see each other at night.

Wordsmith (ao3) - ashtonhours (heartandmindxx) Luke/Ashton T, 4k

Summary: Or: 5 times Ashton’s mouth got them into trouble, and only 4 times he could talk them out of it.

[eclipsecrowned]

rio + THE COVEN.

NOVEMBER, 1983. A girl takes a long walk to clear her head before heading home. A girl makes a running leap to escape whatever is hounding her. A girl waits in her car for a hookup that will never come to pass.

This is what brings the lives of Rio, Jane, and Sophie together in the midst of a graveyard. Three girls from wildly different backgrounds and with wildly different temperaments, traumabonding is a hell of a drug. They go from strangers to fairweather allies to fire forged friends, though not without roadbumps.

Dubbed 'The Coven' by locals based on the inclusion of the town goth, they try to solve mysteries around H*wkins with their limited/non main character connections and intuition. Rio might be the brains, but Sophie is the negotiator, and Jane is not afraid to be the muscle.

SOPHIA GLORIA 'SOPHIE' MORGAN / 1968.

Rich girl with a reputation to her name. Rough home life in spite of privilege made her exceptionally tough and standoffish towards her peers, though with a still 'weak' center of sentiment and goodwill. The 'good time girl' who acts out for both peer approval and attention from adults that she lacks at home.

Father is a wealthy businessman and a tyrannical patriarch to his children, mother is an alleged stay at home mom and real life no-longer-functional alcoholic. Sophie is the middle child of five and the oldest child still at home, often taking care of her younger brother and sister. Lives relative to the Harringt0ns and Cunninghams.

The getaway driver, the charisma build, the one the girls want on hand when they need to bullshit. Excels at it, in fact. Smart but much more socially adept than the 'brilliant but rizzless' Rio so she takes the 'face' role of the Coven without complaint.

Wants out of H*wkins bad. Pursues music as her future career and is hoping to get an art school scholarship to New York after graduation and never look back.

Cosmopolitan middle child vs outsider only child means she and Jane are designated enemies who only get along for the sake of 'The Kid.' Elder Sister Energy means she would fight the entire HHS student body including the sports teams if it means keeping Rio safe.

Retooled from a past historical oc fora 80s fandom setting :3

JANET MARIE 'JANE' SMITH / 1968.

Might have been a middle class, middle of the road small town American girl, down to a literal Plain Jane kind of name. But she was drawn in by New Wave and Goth Rock, and decided instead to play life on hard mode as H*wkin's First Goth. Does not give a fuck, will hurt feelings, but bold and maturing fast.

Father is a military vet turned cop under Hop, mom runs the local salon. Both are transplants to H*wkins, her mom having a noticeable Joisey accent. An only child for better and worse. Her vivacious mom's entire world, but has a little too much in common with her stoic father as a person and too wide a gulf in beliefs to see eye to eye at this stage. Family knows the By*rs, but much more cringe: Jane has an all-consuming budding sexuality crisis crush on Eddie.

The lockpick, the one who throws the first punch, the shield between the smaller Sophie and Rio and the big bad world. Slowly builds on this foundation moving forward from S1 and is the willing muscle to the more specialized skills of her new friends.

Wants out of H*wkins just as bad as Sophie and Rio. Doesn't have much of an exit strategy, though. Is good at sewing and makeup, but doesn't see how that translates to 'getting the fuck out of Indiana.'

Can acknowledge that Sophie is rebelling against her culture and standards in a similar but distinct way from herself, but will still roast the rich girl within an inch of her life. Is incredibly awkward but tender with Rio, who she can't help but like despite being too concerned about performance and what other people think.

Will one day be lucky enough to obtain an FC <3 So far all I have is 'goth girl' and 'creepy blue eyes.'

MAUREEN ELIZABETH 'RIO' MUNS0N. / 1968.

The goworl :) White trash trailer skank to much of the world, but a precious Chihuahua-coded teen and straight-A student to those who get to know her.

Dad in jail, mom dead, uncle is legal guardian and only dad she'd care to acknowledge as such, has been trying to look out for her older brother ever since their dad started skipping out on them as kids. Doesn't really have many ties beyond that, being guilty by family association on the measure of 'nicer' folks in town and struggling to join social dynamics due to anxiety.

The brains! She will whip up war crimes fresh from the lab to hit the Upside D0wn where it hurts or logic out meanings and passwords based on patterns or obscure references.

Say it with me: Wants out of H*wkins. Plans to head South with her brother first, visit their mom's hometown in Memphis, but then wants to go to a good school, be someone. Be a clean, upright, moral person with opportunity and a respectable academic job...

Just happy to be included in Sophie and Jane's lives tbh. She's never had friends before. Kids laugh at her and have since she was 5, she'd literally walk into Hell for either of them as willingly as she would for her brother. Sophie and Jane are trying to convince her that while her loyalty is noble it shouldn't be at potential personal risk --

Genuinely just here for a laugh <3

[30minutesescapes]

Soothing waves on a Magical Beach Screensaver for Smart TV 4k

Soothing waves on a Magical Beach Screensaver for Smart TV 4k https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYiVo51_1us Immerse yourself in the ultimate 4K screensaver experience as you stand on the shore, enchanted by the sight of rolling waves and the warmth of the sun. This stunning video captures the essence of a perfect day at the beach, complete with the soothing sounds of the ocean, making it the ideal screensaver for your 4K smart TV. Let the waves wash away the autumn blues, transporting you to a magical seaside retreat. Close your eyes, breathe in the fresh sea air, and let the beach magic take you on a blissful journey—all in the glorious detail of 4K resolution. ✅ Subscribe to The Channel 30 Minutes Escapes and embark on a visual journey that will redefine your perception of the beauty and vastness of nature: https://www.youtube.com/@30minutesescapes ✅ Stay Connected With Us. 👉 Instagram: https://ift.tt/LotmyaQ 👉 Facebook: https://ift.tt/nhPp920 ✅ For Business Inquiries: acerbiluca@gmail.com ============================= ✅ Recommended Playlists: 👉 Zen Water Streams: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D22yaqHO2-0&list=PL90H8GB4rswdkUcVdVv9O9TXfhs6UO_Uw&pp=iAQB 👉 HD & 4K Nature Escapes: Short & Serene Journeys into Earth's Majestic Landscapes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tAyVWxKpY7U&list=PL90H8GB4rswcAAJzrFGlITjKhujUtOViv&pp=iAQB ✅ Other Videos You Might Be Interested In Watching: 👉 4K Nature Escapes: Tranquil Cascades & Pristine Pool – An Hour-long Stillness Journey https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BKXZ4irC34 👉 4K Nature Escapes: 30 Minutes with Seagulls – A Sardinian Marine Symphony https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiF04v0bscg 👉 4K Serenity Escapes: 30 Minutes of Sunrise - Dawn from the Rocks to the Sky https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wo5-junJCv4 👉 4K Alpine Streams: 30 Minutes by the Crystal Mountain Brook - Serenity in the Alps https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQrLiTO5MtE&t=139s ============================= ✅ About 30 Minutes Escapes. Transform your TV into a window on relaxing landscapes! Each video has been meticulously crafted to offer an open window into these magical places, creating an unforgettable visual journey. Our promise is that these unique landscapes will forever linger in your memory, inspiring and nurturing your quest for tranquility and wonder. Subscribe to our channel for regular updates, ensuring a wide array of virtual windows to inspire and relax you. Welcome to a world of extraordinary resolution, a visual experience that will redefine your perception of the beauty and vastness of nature. For Collaboration and Business inquiries, please use the contact information below: 📩 Email: acerbiluca@gmail.com 🔔 Subscribe to The Channel 30 Minutes Escapes and embark on a visual journey that will redefine your perception of the beauty and vastness of nature: https://www.youtube.com/@30minutesescapes ================================= ADD HASHTAG HERE Disclaimer: We do not accept any liability for any loss or damage which is incurred by you acting or not acting as a result of listening to any of our publications. For all videos on my channel: This information is for general & educational purposes only. Always consult with an attorney, CPA, or financial professional for advice based on your specific situation. Copyright Disclaimer: Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational, or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use © 30 Minutes Escapes. via 30 Minutes Escapes https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1o5wbI7ZwIE1UodByxqXEw November 24, 2023 at 08:23PM

[benefits1986]

The Inner Child Chronicles

Weekends are meant for free play in this adult adulterated world, yes?

Another heated maroons and cool-warm blue live game came this Sunday. Was supposed to pen this right after coming home around midnight because... however, I'd like to write it out during early mornings for the vibe and for the heck of it.

I also had debriefs and talked to some people and managed to squeeze in three hours of sleep. What I am realizing is that I'm watching games live because my inner child is finally coming of age. Gone are the days when I would hole up myself over each game I like to watch live but not do so because I don't feel like I earned that spot in Araneta or SM Arena. It's not just about the school spirit and wearing your school color and school pride. It's way bigger than that. All my life, there's no other school I'd like to be part of except UP Diliman or Ateneo. Syempre, doon tayo sa mas mura at makatotohanang choice 'di ba? If you ask me why... eto lang. Sobrang simple na walang need na logical explanation. Diliman because of Ikot. Ateneo because of Patty x Atom + Bianca Gonzalez in Candy and Seventeen PH, and seeing weird OOTDs na puwede sa campus. Diliman because I wanted to take up economics and eventually, try my luck in being a lawyer. Ateneo because I know comm courses are actually worthwhile, as in buttery vibes all over. Diliman's chapel is also a legit vibe. As in parang puwede na akong ikasal doon levels basta -ber months para iwas-hulas. CHZ. Diliman because alam ko mahirap makapasok, lalo na makalabas pero sanay naman akong gumapang sa lusak since birth. Same for Ateneo, could have gone for scholarship kaso sabi ng nanay ko, hindi naman kakayanin 'yung allowance at layo; which make some sense naman din.

'Di ba? Ang babaw. Pero that's how I roll talaga e.

So, every game I watch is me talking to my inner child. Kahit one big binat may be waving right now. Sana 'wag naman. Sana ipanalo ko na 'tong virus na 'to kasi 'di rin siya birong itawid. Nag-OD naman na ako ulit ng supplements, kaya sana tapos na. I really can not afford this fog brain for the race to the finish this Q4. So help me, universe!

Our spot yesterday is probably the most interesting spot to date. Hayaan mo ng hindi patron seats because fucking scalpers are milking the shit out of this game. UGH. Wala pa tayo sa exciting part, sky-high prices na talaga?

Which brings to a funny convo I had before the game started. I called P and asked if nasa area ba siya. I have 1 ticket to spare kasi. LOL. Nag-joke na: Wow! Nanood talaga siya ng live ngayon. Araneta pa. Effort. Me: Wala kasi school ko and wala ring pambili ng tickets noon e. Happy? Bumawi naman siya saying na happy siya legit for me and nood kami live sa bakbakan ng Archers and Maroons. Sabi ko, pagiisipan ko. LOLOLLOL. Che. Pero maganda rin laro ng Archers kahit green na 'di ko trip sila.

Also, blue second dad and maroon kiddo me had a short but ugh debrief. Talon daw ang blues. Akala ko typo, hindi pala. And that swerte lang daw maroons this game kaya next time daw ulit. Syempre, hinding-hindi tayo natatakot kahit kanino so sabi ko: Sabi mo e. Next time it is. Hehe. I don't use "hehe" unless provoked and in the mood of sarcasm. We've been talking the past days and gosh, andaming ganaps. We're sooooo excited.

Honestly, the concept of the inner child scared me, initially. Kasi saks lang naman childhood ko. Hindi naman siya super traumatic and generally, happy naman siya. However, the inner child is a way to connect the dots backwards. Steve Jobs. Pasowkkkk. Going back to our seats for last Sunday's game. Of course, Ateneo side na right beside UP. LOLOLLOLL. 'Yun palang panalo na e. I love being on thin ice. CHZ. Hahahahaha. We were seated beside a boomer dad and his college apo or kid. Both are towering AF. In front of us is a big family of maroons and blues. Mom is an IG mom. I guess dad has work or is an expat. Grade school to college age range. Kaya ang lala ng bangayan. As in. The mom would take videos of each "one for the books" reactions. I think mom is from Ateneo. She wore a striped dress but super giddy niya when the blues shoot that ball and get that ball. Andami niyang kiddos and the interactions are worth the layo and the binat, all the more.

I came with a mindset na: Okay. I need to stay in Manila para magpagaling ng tuluyan; so sige, eto na muna. Have a little fun in Manila muna bago mag hibernate. Okay. Sana naman akong matalo so tataya ako doon sa dark horse.

Yes, the 8-1 standing is something; but to me, it's not just about the numbers. The games are gapang sa lusak games and the plays could have been better to be honest. Ako lang 'to a. Ako lang. Siguro kasi, bias ko sila so mas critical ako sa galaw nila or the lack of thereof. As an example, wala masyadong get-back 'pag may mintis. UGH. True talaga na height is but a convenience. Sana mas masipag and mas focused. Maraming butas. Maraming tiny tweaks na kaya at realistic gawain. In the same manner, oks naman maging maliksi pero naman, alamin mo kung kelan mo ipapasa ang bola kesa mala-agawang buko mo ibira. Please lang. Sana Enya PL nila saka 741Hz para medyo mas tumatagos ang bawat intention. :D Aywawww. Apply mo yan, girl sa buhay mo a. Ayusin mo talaga. LOLOLL.

The real reason why I postponed this thought fart is because of this inner child dogshow. Let it be known here in my tiny space that I know why this had to take a long while. SHEMAY. Eto na po. My soul sister always eggs me and irks me that she saw how I shifted from the blah girl to a bitch-you-can girl when I left nursing. I felt like she was just patronizing me which I fucking hate. 'Yung feeling ko na okay, I "failed" at nursing because I can't care for mom and be a care professional 24/7. But, she keeps at it until the past days. Lagi niya talagang masasabi 'yan with feelings. Last night, I realized that my dark blue meets maroon heart is probably the best heart I can have (and give. shet.) in my 37 years of shit-xistence. Perhaps, it's the universe telling me that I needed to tame my jagged and apologetic edges in Leon Guinto before riding countless Ikot and Toki jeeps dahil may laban na ako para ilaban ang gusto ko. Most importantly, mom truly, madly and deeply believed that I'd go all out and max out in Diliman. As in wild kung wild. Looking back, the chances of this happening is not 100%... 10000000000% to the nth power. I'm not talking about the wild na good ha. Wild na panira ng moral compass levels most likely. 'Yung tawag ni mom doon: parang nakawala sa coral. HAHAHAHAHA. Very apt. Very graphic. It's fantastic.

Last night, I saw an Ateneo LS jacket waving proudly at me. HUHUHUHUHUHUHUHU. Syempre, sabi ko kay second dad, oks na ako dito and that AI is the way, the highway and the skyway to hell for this chapter. Pero, para lang matahimik siya. Hindi pa rin ako sumusuko BUT now, I'd like to proceed with intention and caution. Hindi kasi ito basta-basta unlike other career paths and shifts. Ang KPI dito buhay, dignidad at kinabukasan ng bawat kaso na mapapanalo at matatalo mo. HUY. In a world where truth is relative and where a chair cannot be and can be a chair, ergo, fuck yourself hard... LOL... hindi siya biro. For someone na gustong nanalo because I love the sheer joy it brings and hindi rin takot matalo, na moody shitball, na oddball, should I proceed, your honor, chz... dapat buo ako. Hindi puwedeng half-baked lang. And hindi pa doon natatapos ang lahat. Dahil nga ang totoo ay pwedeng kathang-isip lamang lalo na kung alam mo ang galawang Kotler - 4Ps at iba pa, hindi ba? HAHAHAHHA. Evil laugh.

So, yes po. This is indeed my inner child eras tour. Speaking of Taylor, I'd give her another go... baka naman. Just a curious anti-social experiment. As I said, Reputation is a really good one. Hamunang white supremacy shitshow pa rin siya. And sobrang unfair sa fans sa PH na wala siya PERO I think, she will have a biglaang PH concert sa gitna ng kawalan sa Pinas. Para mas pasavogue and trending. LOL. Malasimbo 5.0. Huy. Cultural exploitation na naman po tayo niyan. LELS.

[captains-simp]

heksbdkshs you’re jock!carol fics give me life, could you do one where jock!carol and the reader have been keeping their relationship a secret and one of those girls that love gossip finds out and like the next day everyone knows ??

You've met soft!jock!Carol. Now it's time for angsty!jock!Carol

4.6k words

Warning: homophobia (plus slurs), bullying, mentions of declining mental health mild violence and some clique high school douchebags (yes that gets a warning)

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You barely looked up when the paper airplane landed swiftly on your desk in front of you. It was only when you caught a glimpse of the red and blue stripe along the side that you spared it a glance. You prodded it with your pen and dragged it across the desk towards you, feeling a pair of eyes watching you eagerly from the back of the class. You unfolded the note carefully until a small sprawl of letters became visible, barely spelling out the word 'purple'.

You bit back a smile at the message and scrunched it up into a tight ball, throwing it in the bin near your desk before going back to writing your notes. You wanted to turn around and meet the eyes you were certain were staring at the back of your head but you knew you couldn't. It had become routine and you swore it was still the hardest part of your day - pretending you didn't notice her.

The bell in the corridor rung loudly and the second it did everyone in the class got up from their seats, ignoring the final reminders from the teacher at the front. Students swarmed into the corridor and amongst the crowd you lost sight of her for a few short moments until the wave of blonde hair appeared ahead of you where she maneuver to the side to be greeted by others in the same blue jacket. You caught her eye for a split second as you went by but it was no more than that. You wished so much that it could have been longer, that you could confidently stroll down those corridors hand in hand with her. A short hug. A brief kiss. A small smile. Anything. You just wished you could have more than fleeting moments with the blonde.

It felt like you could finally breathe properly when you left the suffocating building. The crowd dispersed into smaller groups while you walked out of the school grounds with a slight trot in your step. The further you went the less people you saw until the streets you walked down were near empty. The small corner shop eventually came into sight and you sped up slightly at the sight of your destination, not spying the red car you were always looking out for but knowing she was somewhere close by, she always got there first.

Instead of going into the corner store, you went through the narrow alleyway besides it and around the back of the store. You weren't in a sketchy part of town and even if you were you wouldn't have been afraid of going down the alley, not when you knew who was around the corner waiting for you. You had told her that last time you were there when she had asked you out of sheer curiosity. Apparently she wanted to challenge that truth.

A pair of hands shot out besides your and covered your eyes in an instant, not giving you any chance to stop it. Before you could even give a startled cry, her body pressed firmly against your back and the familiar smell of vanilla surrounded you. Relaxing in her grip, you felt her sway playfully as she leaned forwards to plant soft kisses along your neck. "Guess who?" She mused and you smiled as you tilted your head back for her.

"Hey, Care Bear." Carol groaned against your neck as she pulled her hands away. "I told you not to call me that." She complained, though her smile betrayed her when she spun you around to face her. You instinctively wrapped your arms around her neck as she held your waist softly, kissing you with enough passion to tell you she had been missing you too.

"How'd your test go?" Carol asked between kisses as she guided you backwards to lean against the nearest wall.

"Okay, I passed." You said absentmindedly. "How'd your game go?"

"Okay, I won." She copied and you couldn't help but smile faintly.

"That film you wanted to watch is on tonight, at 11. Wanna go?" The Captain asked as she stopped kissing you to talk properly and kept her hold on you so you stayed close.

"There's show times a lot earlier than 11." You laughed but stilled when Carol scrunched up her nose. "What? You don't want to be seen in public with me?" You teased but there was something very genuine to your question. You felt a familiar pang in your chest when Carol's grip loosened and she looked away.

"Y/n, we've talked about this." Your girlfriend sighed.

"I know, I'm sorry." You muttered as you tried to look as unbothered as possible but knew your face gave away the disappointment you felt so intensely. "You know if I could I would go out at all hours with you, where ever you'd want to go. It's just not that simple." It was hard to truly believe those words when your girlfriend sounded so exasperated, like she was having to explain to a child why they couldn't draw on the walls or have candy for breakfast.

"I know." You said because you really did and you felt guilty for bringing it up.

Carol had told you before you had even started dating her that your relationship would have to be secret. You didn't go to the most gay-friendly school for one thing. There were no openly gay couples there and to be honest you didn't have the nerve to be the first. Carol was content on being popular and you were happy staying under the radar with no intentions to change that. Above all Carol believed it would make securing her scholarship a great deal harder. You were never sure if that was just her fears or if it could really affect it but you respected where she was coming from. That didn't stop it hurting. It didn't stop you envying all the couples that got to openly love their partners. You always reminded yourself that keeping your relationship secret took as much of a toll on Carol as it did on you, she was just far better at hiding it. She was good at hiding a lot.

"Is that a no on the movie?" Carol asked with a strong hint of upset in her voice and unintentionally heart wrenching puppy dog eyes.

"11 right? Sounds like we have a lot of time to kill." You smiled wholly as you glanced at the old blanket fort you had built together months ago, right after you had gotten red and blue slushies that you had spilt on one of the blankets inside and stained purple. That wasn't the only thing that was turned purple that day but was the one that seemed to be permanent.

Carol smiled eagerly and wrapped her arms around you tightly again. "I love you, you know that right?" She asked genuinely and you returned her bright smile.

"Always, and I love you too, Care Bear." Carol rolled her eyes but kissed you softly again, treasuring the feeling of your soft lips against hers and the vague taste of the lunch she had discreetly bought you that day.

*

You swung open your locker door and made to shove as many of your school books inside as you could until you halted at the sight of a small, folded up, piece of paper in the base of your locker. You crammed your books into the tight space and stood as close as you could to it as you unfolded the note, knowing it wasn't for the eyes of the rest of the world. 'East feild field supply shed, lunch' was all it read in the familiarly rushed handwriting. You scrunched the note up and put it in your pocket, locked your locker and made your way down the corridor with a sense of uncertainty in your step. Carol never wanted to meet inside school - it was practically a rule. You would text each other as much as you could and even call if you were lucky, but you were never physically together.

You continued on to the field and walked across as nonchalantly as you could. You only vaguely knew where that specific supply shed was because it was rarely ever used and not to mention half submerged in the woodland bordering part of the field. You glanced around as you neared it and when you were sure no one was near by you dipped behind the back to an awaiting Carol, sat cross legged on the floor and trying to balance a spoon on her nose.

"Hey, are you alright?" You asked hastily as you put your bag down on the floor and stared at your girlfriend in concern.

"Of course I am, you're here." She said simply and held both her hands out to you. You took them with a confused smile as Carol guided you to sit on her lap and cupped your cheek with her hand.

"Are you sure? We don't usually- we never-" Carol pecked your lips to successfully silence you.

"I know, but I missed you too much." She said with a contagious smile. "Really. I just wanted to see you." Your smile grew as you nodded and lent forward slightly to kiss the blonde back.

"I missed you too."

You stayed like that for the rest of your lunch break, enjoying each other's company and embrace as you ignored the rest of the world that wasn't shielded by the old wood around you. It was pretty much perfect. You knew it couldn't become habit so you tried your hardest to just focus on the there and then. Carol seemed to be thinking the same thing, letting her guard down more than she ever had when you had to part days.

The Captain chuckled as she kissed you after backing you into the shed door. You pushed her back lightly with a giggle, feeling giddy from everything happening. "We gotta go." You laughed more when Carol trapped you against the shed, clearly not having any desire to attend her next lesson. "Carol." You scorned, making her pull away only to gaze at you adoringly.

"Okay." She huffed and stepped back to give you space to move. The moment you did she laced your fingers together and held up your hand to her lips, giving the back of it a soft kiss before letting you go. You grinned back at her as you started in opposite directions, your hand still tingling from your girlfriend's soft imprint.

You were both so blissfully unaware of your surroundings you forgot to make a quick check of anyone near by. Neither of you were aware of the eager eyes following both your steps, nor the digital lens that followed with them. However that was something that became very much apparent the next day. The eyes that landed on you as you ventured down the school corridors weren't subtle. They weren't kind either.

You felt like there was a spot light on you everywhere you went and it went on for a while. Some people would look away once you glanced anxiously in their direction while others stared back with a distasteful and all together brutal glare. It was clear that everyone knew something you didn't, something that soon brought your mind to Carol. Where was she?

That was a question you had to wait a while to be answered. Your girlfriend wasn't in any of the few classes you had together, something that wasn't completely unheard of for her but was especially anxiety inducing on that day. It was during lunch break that you finally saw her. You were thrilled and filled with relief when you saw the blonde hair and blue jacketed figure making its way towards you where you sat under a tree on the far edge of the field. However as she got closer and you were able to distinguish the infuriated look upon her face, all the relief drained away. You had seen her angry before. She had been known to have a short fuse and with a team that wasn't the brightest and some games not going the way she would have wanted, you knew what angry Carol entailed. But what you saw that day was something new.

"What the fuck?!" She yelled and you stumbled back a couple of steps in shock.

"W-what?" You fumbled when you realized Carol's new found fury was directed at you.

"What did you do?" She demanded as she advanced to being a short step away from you. Suddenly, having Carol so close didn't hold the comfort it usually did.

"I don't know. I don't know what's going on! Everything was fine until..." you trailed off when the Captain turned her attention to her phone. You glanced between her and the screen, not understanding why she suddenly didn't want to pay you any attention. However, when she showed you her screen your heart dropped. Any other couple wouldn't have minded the picture. They may even have loved it. You and Carol couldn't take a moment to admire the moment that was captured, because you both knew what it meant. You were so close together in the photo, arms tightly around each other as you shared a kiss. You were unbreakable. Were...

"Who... how did they..." You barely managed to speak, feeling far too numb.

"You tell me, y/n." Carol crossed her arms defensively and continued to glare right into your eyes. You thought that hurt more than anything else that had happened that day and honestly ever.

"I didn't do this." You whispered, too shocked to fully comprehend what your girlfriend was accusing you of.

"You wanna rethink that answer? Because this secret has always bothered you a lot more than it has for me." What? You felt sick at hearing her words. You had spent the whole relationship thinking, fooling yourself into believing that it was both sided. How much did she care?

"There was a time you wouldn't fucking shut up about it for two seconds and no matter how many times I explained to you why we couldn't go running around holding hands like goddamn kinder-gardeners you still couldn't get it through your skull that is was the smart decision. Do you not like what's happening today, y/n? Does it upset you?" She gritted in a sickeningly mocking tone that you had never heard before. It was just plain cruel. "Well buckle the fuck up because it's going to get a hell of a lot worse, especially for me. You'll be happy though, won't you? This is what you wanted." Carol finished, chest heaving and eyes ablaze. That was all you could really make it through your teary eyes.

"No this isn't what I wanted." You started to sob as you reached out for Carol's hand but she smacked it away hard. You recoiled in alarm and tried again. "Please Carol, I would never do this. I just wanted what you did." Carol scoffed at your pathetic attempt at explaining yourself, far from believing you in your hysteric state.

"Fuck off." She spat as she gave you one final glare and turned sharply on her heels to leave you were stood. Alone.

"Carol, please!" You begged but the blonde had had enough.

"Stay away from me." She shouted back and you stopped in your tracks, only able to watch her leave.

"No." You whimpered in defeat and dropped to your knees, breaking down in tears as you felt like your world was crumbling around you and there was nothing you could do to fix it. There wasn't even anyone who could help you through it anymore.

*

Carol was right. Things did get a lot worse after that, in a lot of different ways. Your heartbreak was the worse thing. You spent every moment you weren't in school curled up in bed, soaking your sheets and pillows with tears, scolding yourself for everything that had gone wrong. You knew, deep down, that it wasn't you fault, that it was Carol who was entirely in the wrong but you found it impossible to hate her. It would have been so much easier if you had been able to. It might have hurt less.

School was a much worse place to be. You saw Carol every day but a word was never passed between you. Anytime you caught her eye she looked away quicker than you could read her so it was hard to tell if she still hated you. All you knew was you weren't her favourite person. That was one thing, but the bullying was something else. It was relentless, ranging from everything between graffitied slurs on your locker to being shoved into them. Your grades dropped and your mental health declined with it.

"Move, fag." You gave a low 'oof' as you were tripped into the railings along the stairs. You held your stomach and winced at the instant throbbing pain there. You avoided the eyes you knew were on you but when you risked a glance up you saw the blonde you weren't sure if you were avoiding or not. You held her gaze longer than you had since she had broken your heart, your breath catching in your throat when you saw the undeniable pity written across her face. In that moment you found yourself wanting to go up to her. What you would do or say you weren't sure of, maybe it would have come to you got there.

You took a bold step forwards until you were cut off by a junior who gave you the first friendly smile you had seen in a while. You didn't trust it at all, like it was a mask worn by the devil himself to trick you. "Hey." He greeted. You opened your mouth to speak but you had no clue of what to say. "I just wanted to say I thinks it's pretty cool what you did." He said simply.

"What I did?" You asked slowly and he nodded back with the same smile.

"The picture." He clarified. You clenched your jaw and peered over at the blonde who was still watching you cautiously. "I know it wasn't you choice to have it taken or anything." He rushed when he noticed your defensive stance. "And I can't imagine what you're going through right now." He added with a sympathetic look. "But seeing you guys together in a town that isn't exactly the best place for it has given a lot of us a some hope. Most of the world is becoming more acceptant, it's only a matter of time before things change here too, even if you're not here when it does." He shrugged before getting distracted by someone in the corridor. "Plus you guys are a cute couple." Ouch. He smiled at you and waved at his friend as he made to leave.

"I gotta go but I hope I see you around." You nodded slightly as you pondered his words. You glanced at Carol and was surprised to still see her standing by her locker, it felt like some strange stand off and you wondered if she had heard what the junior had said to you. She wasn't that far away by the corridor was beginning to get crowded and loud.

You made to walk towards Carol but the second you did she took off like a startled deer. You sighed as you watched her go. Maybe it was for the best that you stay out of each other's way after all. Despite whatever the hell had just happened, the blonde's last words to you played as clear as ever in your head. They still made your heart ache as much as it did the first time around.

Things didn't change between you and Carol after that. It was hard, near impossible on some days, but you started to try and get over her. You didn't want to forget and you certainly didn't want to regret it because until the end, your relationship with Carol was the best thing that ever happened to you. Knowing that made it so much harder to move on. Not to mention a large part of you didn't even want to. You loved Carol. Making yourself fall out of love with her was just as difficult as when you had tried to stop yourself falling in love her nearly a year prior.

Given the absence of progress between you and the Captain, you honestly thought you were hallucinating when she called your name one day after school. You spun around in every direction to find her, something that wasn't that hard when she came jogging towards you. "Can we go somewhere more private?" She asked as she glanced at the onlookers. You nodded quickly, your mouth and throat feeling far too dry for you to even attempt to speak.

You walked in an extremely awkward silence towards the field. You were waiting for Carol to speak first and you were hoping she wasn't thinking that you would do the same thing given she had approached you. Unless she had done it on a whim, you really hoped not. It was only when you were alone that she piped up.

"I'm sorry." She blurted out. You glanced at her in surprise, an apology was the last thing you were expecting. "I'm so so sorry. I was so stupid- beyond stupid. What I did was something I promised I never would and I hate myself every moment for it." You stared at the blonde blankly as she continued to ramble away. You had never seen her so frantic and you were so taken off guard by it you didn't have a chance to notice the irony of what was happening and how drastically the roles had been reversed.

"I was just so scared and that's not an excuse I'm just trying to explain." She paused to peer at you properly, waiting to see if you really understood that. You gave her another weak nod. "I didn't know what to do. It felt like I couldn't trust anyone and I got defensive to try and protect myself. I didn't mean any of it. Anything. Especially about not finding the secret hard." That was something you had been longing to hear but once you did you couldn't bring it in yourself to believe her. "There were days I had to stop myself screaming in the corridors or in the cafeteria that I was in love with you. It was even harder not being able to hug or kiss you whenever I wanted to." You listened on intently.

"I just wanted what was best for you and I didn't know what that was." She admitted. You had the sudden strong urge to reach out and hug Carol, but you also wanted to walk away. You didn't get much chance to consider your options because a group of Carol's old friends came sauntering around the corner, eyes lighting up at the sight of you and the Captain.

"Don't stop on our account." One of them snickered.

"If you're gonna dyke out you might as well make a show out of it." Another added. Your skin crawled in discomfort and Carol noticed instantly.

"Fuck off." She spat but the group ignored her.

"You know you probably just haven't had the right dick." The first one said as he eyed you up and down. You backed up and found yourself moving closer to Carol. "I'm sure I could make you straight again." He mused sickeningly and made to grab your wrist but the blonde stepped in front of you.

"I said fuck off. No one wants your two inches, Walker." She challenged and got an instant reaction. He went to swing at Carol but she swiftly kneed him in the groin before he got the chance, barely able to stop herself smirking when he doubled over with a groan. The blonde turned to you and jumped forwards when she saw one of the other boys go to grab you.

"You get the fuck away from her." Acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, Carol swung her fist forwards and caught the jock in the jaw with a crunch. The other boys looked between the two injured and Carol, quickly making their call in grabbing their friends to leave.

Carol turned to you swiftly with worry and concern on every inch of her face. "Are you alright?" She asked as her eyes scanned you for any signs of injury. You gave a shaky yes, avoiding Carol's gaze. "Fuck, this is the kind of thing I was always afraid of, above everything else." She said as she ran a hand through her hair. You caught sight of her red fist and without any thought, took ahold of her hand gently. You ran your fingers over the redness softly, not realizing you were crying until a tear dropped down onto Carol's hand. At the sight of it you broke down crying more.

"Oh ba- y/n." The blonde sighed, heart breaking in smaller pieces at the sight of you. It hurt even more to see when she wasn't sure if she could hug you or not. Luckily for her she didn't have to feel useless for long because you reached out for her and clung onto her jacket as you buried your face into her chest, crying harder. "I've got you. It's okay, they're gone." She cooed. "I'll never let anyone hurt you again." You knew she was thinking of herself more than the boys when she said that.

You stood like that for a while, crying against Carol as she rubbed your back and continued to whisper reassurances to you. "Promise." You hiccuped between sniffles.

"I promise." She said instantly. You slowly pulled away to read Carol properly, watching closely for any tell of a lie and finding none. "Could you give me another chance?" The blonde asked, barely above a whisper as she feared your response. She would respect it entirely if you said no, but she really hoped you wouldn't. "There won't be anymore secrets and I'll never be a dick to you ever again."

"I'm scared." You admitted and Carol nodded tightly as she fought back tears herself.

"Me too." She admitted. "We don't have to stay here." You lifted your head up to look at Carol clearly and she continued. "We could leave, go where ever we want. There's only a couple months left of this shithole."

"A couple months." You repeated. Carol nodded encouragingly, desperate to find a bright side and winning point.

"Could you do a couple more months here?" She asked carefully and you nodded after a few seconds.

"Lets do it." You said with a sharp intake of breath.

"Fuck, really?" She laughed lightly and you found yourself doing the same.

"Yeah." You smiled. "I can't stop loving you and I don't want to." Tears started to fall down Carol's cheeks. You cupped her face gently and wiped the tears away with your thumbs. The blonde's own hands held yours as she smiled down at you.

"I love you too." With a sudden, unexpected, burst of confidence, you leaned forwards and kissed Carol longingly. She deepened the kiss instantly and wrapped her arms around your waist to keep you as close as possible, like she never wanted to let you go again.

"Everything's gonna work out." She whispered once she pulled away to rest your foreheads together.

"Of course it is." You smiled softly. "You'll be with me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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