#a decent amount of taylor swift

[ghost-proofbaby]

in honor of spotify wrapped day and wanting to feel human again maybe, let's do something i did back when i first joined writing on tumblr.

send me a number between 1-100, and a character (eddie munson, steve harrington, robin buckley, astarion, shadowheart, gale, etc.), and i'll write a little something-something.

[helpimstuckinafandom]

I'M FUCKING CRYING LMAOOO

[youareinlove]

also, if we are talking about the kendrick album, gloria is such a good depiction of what it's like to be a writer and the relationship between a writer and their craft. perfect song, and the perfect album closer imo

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Record Store Day 2025 was a success!!

[ladyohdeath]

good morning im alive! about to make lunch and do some laundry then ill hop on and do some meme replies

[piss-wizard-ao3]

dndads s2ep45 spoilers

re: that one quote that absolutely emotionally obliterated a decent chunk of the fandom

alright fuckin bear with me i have some Thoughts and Feelings about particularly how the Close-Foster-Swifts deal with a) parenting and b) intergenerational trauma Anthony: 'As you're saying this, without even wanting it to, tears are rolling down your cheeks. And in that moment, you, and Taylor, and Nick all realise... That there is no fixing this. That this is as good as it's going to get. That you are stuck with each other in the forms that you are now.' this fucking DESTROYED ME and, from what i can tell, a lot of other people in the fandom also. i think this brings up some really important points that resonate w/ me personally about intergenerational trauma, and that are super important to talk about like with the wilsons and the oaks, they manage to (in varying degrees) realise what they did wrong, or what they could do better, and actively try to do better. they actively try to go out of their way to fix things, which is great! breaking that cycle is important, and it takes a while, but they're trying. with the stamplers (+ marlowes), specifically ron and terry jr, they do the 'acknowledging i havent been good enough' to 'trying my best to be what you deserve' pipeline and its Beautiful. and we get a little of that with terry jr and scary too, with terry jr just trying to do his best and scary slowly coming around to realise that she does, actually, care about her stepdad. and its so wholesome and good. it really pays homage to the ron and terry jr relationship i feel, where they end up before he died (F). BUT THE CLOSE/FOSTER/SWIFT FAMILY. i fucking. it hurts. but its the one that hits the closest to home. 'This is as good as it's going to get' fucking resonated with me. im sure it resonated with a lot of people. intergenerational trauma and the effects it has on people is such a core theme of dndads, and the way its handled so differently through each family line is honestly artful. but an important part of the story of intergenerational trauma is when it's not something that you can fix, or go back and apologise for, or something that you can become better from. sometimes trauma just is. sometimes you can't recover from it. families will break up, lineages will die out, stories and lives will be forgotten. and as tragic as that is, as much as it hurts, it's so real. in a way, its a double-edged sword that they all still talk to each-other, that they still cling to what they have, what they wanted to have. especially in the case of Taylor, who does spend a lot of the series with questions about his dad but ultimately thinking he's pretty neat, to then break down to wishing there was time travel so Nicky could be there for him, so they could re-do childhood. i just. screams. thats such a pivotal moment for him. to finally come to terms with and admit the fact that no, things aren't okay, this isn't what he wanted, and if given the chance he would go back and fix them himself. that his father, and his father's father, have failed to do it, and now it falls upon his shoulders. (this also resonates very well with the whole 'our parents unleashed the doodler and both our grandparents and parents failed to fix it so now that's our burden to bear') i wonder if we'll ever get to know if the teens from this series go on to have families. if Lincoln ever introduces his children to grandpa Grant, or if Normal ever feels, well. normal enough to even consider the possibility of raising kids. if Scary ever takes her children to visit Terry Jr's grave, or tells them about his exploits, or recounts to them the things he did for her before she grew to appreciate him. i wonder if Taylor will ever even consider the concept of having a family, upon looking back like this at his own, upon knowing first-hand the stakes if he gets it wrong. would he think that he can break the cycle? that he could be better? or is it, truly, as good as it's going to get?

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[fireheartpages]

never planned on | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader chapter one series masterlist summary: you never planned on being a rider, and you certainly hadn’t planned on the grinning boy from tail section that weaseled his way into your day to day. word count: 2.9k notes: second person pov, reader uses she/her pronouns, has a nickname (i love dirty dancing) and a last name bc i want this to be readable. mentions of (reader’s) death, canon typical violence, you’re kinda mean to bodhi but it’s justified. i wasn’t really planning on writing any more of this tbh, but then i was listening to mastermind by taylor swift and i was like “oh this is so baby and bodhi” and then i was like okay yeah im writing more bc i literally could not stop thinking about them. i really wanted to end it where i had in the last chapter though, but i had so many ideas it felt unjust to leave them hanging, so i decided this is gonna be a sort of multi part series. this can be read as its own series, but i recommend reading the other part for development purposes :)

There were moments that were mean to test you, and moments that were meant to break you.

Your life, so far, had been full of these moments.

You had never planned to be a rider. Never really saw yourself on the back of a dragon, flying and jumping and falling like it was second nature. Never saw yourself handling things like the parapet or the Gauntlet with ease. You sought information, sought knowledge. Truthfully, you’d never really seen yourself going to Basgiath in the first place.

But when your father had run to the outskirts of the Tyrrendor province and left your mother to fend for herself during a historic rebellion, you had made a vow never to be as cowardice as he was.

Basgiath didn’t charge tuition, but not everyone had the means to pack up and travel hundreds of miles away from home to go study to be a glorified librarian. So, when the opportunity presented itself, you accepted the funds to be sent to the college with one condition and one goal.

The condition: Navarre would send you from the little town on the edge of the cliff side on Tyrrendor’s southernmost coastline to Basgiath if you would join the riders quadrant. The war effort needed fighters, and the Tyrrish had the most to prove. Or to apologize for.

The goal: to find out if your mother’s name was on the death roll.

So, fine. You were quick on your feet, could throw a decent punch, and weren’t terrible with a bow or a dagger. You could, with the right training, and an insane amount of luck, make your way through your education.

You never planned on being a rider, but you would do it if it meant you could get away from your dad. Prove yourself as something more than he ever could be. And find out if your mother was alive or dead.

You were at Basgiath three days before you read the death roll, your finger finding her name, your heart crawling its way up your throat as you stared at the parchment.

You hadn’t heard of separatists’ kids before going to Basgiath, and you were surprised to see the winding black swirls of the relics that marred each of them. It was a surprise, to say the least, and you were more than a bit concerned as to why you didn’t have one. Your mother had been executed for being a part of the rebellion, and yet you were a spared the horrors of everything the other kids had gone through. But it didn’t feel like a relief. It felt like that one word you had been running from: coward.

You toed the line of cowardice, unsure of who you could admit your history to. You hadn’t told anyone in your squad, not yet. You were certain anyone who wasn’t Tyrrish wouldn’t understand, and anyone who wore the rebellion relic would see you for what you are, or just resent you for it.

Suddenly, the saving grace of the riders quadrant turned into your doom.

You never planned on being a rider, and you certainly hadn’t planned on the grinning boy from Tail section that weaseled his way into your day to day.

He was all smiles and eagerness to help, laced with quick thinking and brutal efficiency. He was kind, too kind. Bringing you a balm to soothe the aching skin of your hands in a cold you’d never experienced in Tyrrendor. The cracking and bleeding on your hands was sure to be your downfall, until Bodhi Durran had offed you an olive branch, and practically gotten you through the latter half of your first year at Basgiath.

The sight of his rebellion relic had twisted your stomach in a knot. And then you got to know him. Started to fall for him. Found out that he was observant, and overly kind, and willing to put himself on the line if it meant helping someone else. Found that his skin was really soft, and that he could turn the knots in your stomach into butterflies when you watched one side of his mouth curve before the other, as if being pulled by an invisible string. Found you really, really wanted to know what ran through his mind when he looked at you like that. Found you couldn’t help yourself from running your thumbs along the lips that shaped that smile just for you.

Maybe it was a bad idea to open up the way you found yourself wanting to. Maybe Bodhi Durran was a bad idea. But also, maybe for a moment, maybe for more than a moment, Basgiath War College had become more than the death sentence you had assumed it would be. Maybe it had become a second chance.

And then you developed your signet.

Suddenly, more than your education and training was a death sentence. It was every teacher, every student, every secret that was meant to be your doom.

You hadn’t even considered it. Being an inntinnsic. It didn’t even seem in the realm of possibility. If you had to wager a guess, you’d have thought you would have a physical signet. Maybe a fire wielder, or maybe you could have a signet that made you remember everything you read. If that was a thing. Retrocognition would have been cool. Or illusions.

But then you heard it. Dain Aetos’ voice in your head as if he had spoken out loud, and it had taken all of your willpower, and counselling from your dragon to stay calm. Shocair had diffused the tension in you and gotten you somewhere safe, but even she couldn’t save you from an execution.

Every waking moment seemed to bring more stress and panic.

You weren't safe anymore. Every conversation, every look from someone had you convinced you were going to be found out. Every breath you took might be your last. You'd spent quite a few nights in the flight field, curled around a meager fire under Shocair's wing, just to have a moment of quiet. Of peace inside your own mind.

It was noise all the time. Every class, every conversation,

You would have given anything at this point to go back in time and change something—yourself, your mind, anything—to change the outcome of your signet.

You considered just turning yourself in a handful of times. Just walking up to Professor Carr and confessing. He probably wouldn’t even give you a warning before you were dead. It sounded peaceful. Shocair was adamantly against this.

Everything is exhausting now. Classes, training, all of it. If you knew how to use the signet, how to read the thoughts you hear as predictions instead of distracting clatter, you might be good at sparring. But all it does is serve as a block, a sledgehammer in your brain until you yield during challenges without putting up much of a fight. Everyone was going to figure it out, they had to. It was obvious something had shifted with you. You were just good enough at hiding this particular secret so that no one knew what.

It was all exhausting. All of it. From waking up and mentally preparing yourself to face the day, to dodging questions about why you were heading out to the flight field after dark. You were playing mental gymnastics just to get yourself from point A to point Z, and it was taking a toll.

There was one relief. Shocair was there to walk you from waking to sleep, through anxiety and panic attacks and interruptions and interactions. You were fairly certain that the only reason you got any sleep at night was because she was there.

You had never wanted to be a rider. Never pictured it for yourself. But you didn’t see another option anymore. You couldn’t imagine a you without Shocair. There was no going back, just through. You didn’t know what the other side of this looked like, but you were facing it. You hadn’t stepped towards it yet, but you were going to. Eventually. If you could stay alive.

It was the dead of night, and you were freezing, and the fire you had next to you was doing little to thwart the cold. It was one of those nights when other people’s thoughts were plaguing you, making it impossible for you to sleep, let alone take a full breath. No one ever thinks to shield in the safety of their room. Not that most first years were very adept at shielding.

But the flight field is quiet. You weren’t sure if Shocair was just really good at keeping her shields up after the development, or if your signet ability just didn’t extend to dragons, but either way, being tucked under her wing with a meager fire is peaceful, even if you’re still very, very cold.

You were just dozing off then a low rumble shook you awake. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought it was an earthquake, but it was just—

Shocair. And if she’s growling, she’s growling at something. Or someone.

You shoot up, shaking any lingering sleep from your brain as you make to leave the confines of her wing, but she doesn’t allow it. Doesn’t lift the protection to let you assess the situation.

“Shield,” Shocair says into your mind. “Now.”

There are voices, low, male, angry. And you’re panicking.

But there are no thoughts. Not until—

Daggers with weird makings, a mountainous region you were unfamiliar with, and two faces you did recognize.

Xaden Riorson, and Garrick Tavis.

You hear it.

“Is that—what the hell? We have to—”

Hear is a bad word for what your abilities show you, but you lack the proper understanding to explain it. Not that anyone is asking, and not that you’ll ever gain the understanding. You make do with what you have.

Another flash—gryphons and fliers. You suck in a breath.

“Fuck, if she finds out about the rebellion—”

“Put your shields up,” someone hisses, Xaden, you’re pretty sure.

“What?” someone else asks, and—oh, you recognize that voice—and the noise inside your mind quiets.

“Shocair! Let me out!”

“I will not put you in danger.”

“You need to trust me to handle myself.” You almost stomp your foot, frustration boiling to the surface as a last line of defense, simply the tip of the iceberg that is everything in your brain at present, but you weren’t about to take it out on Shocair. Not when you couldn’t have survived a day without her.

You felt the hesitation down the bond as she begrudgingly lifted her wing, revealing you and your measly fire. You’re faced with three men—Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi as your heart attempts to take flight out of your chest.

“Baby?” Bodhi asks, all of his attention trained on you, sans that smile you loved so much.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Xaden asks—demands—using the wingleader voice. Shocair lowers her head, a low growl escaping from her as she bares her teeth in a snarl. Xaden is unfazed, but Bodhi and Garrick have the good sense to at least glance at her with reverence.

“Do not answer that. You are not his to command,” Shocair tells you.

“He’s my wingleader,” you respond to her, then to Xaden, “I’m not—”

But another growl, angrier with a puff of steam this time, crawls out of Shocair. You wince.

“Tell him.”

“Shocair would prefer I didn’t answer that,” you say.

Xaden sighs, and glances up to Shocair, who is still snarling at him, then back to you. “Anything I need to be concerned about?” He sounds tired, and a little wrung out, and you really can’t blame him.

The way he looks at you makes a shiver run down your spine. And not in a fun way.

“No,” you say. “Nothing. I just sleep out here some nights.” Another growl, and you clamp down on the urge to roll your eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Xaden narrows his eyes at you, but it’s more in a that’s-the-weirdest-thing-I’ve-ever-heard way, and not in a you’re-hiding-something way. Relief is a palpable thing.

“Get to bed,” he says with an assessing gaze. “Or, whatever it is you’re doing. At least make it back to dorms in the morning and pretend like you slept there. I’ve heard your wingleader can be strict about curfew.”

You roll your eyes, but smile despite yourself. “Yes, sir,” you toss out.

Xaden motions to Garrick and Bodhi behind him, and Garrick makes to leave, following him. Bodhi loiters behind, casting you an assessing glance.

“I’ll catch up with you guys.”

“Bodhi—”

“Go.” He turns his full attention to you, but there’s no hint of your favorite smile. Only curiosity, and a bit of apprehension.

“You sleep out here?” he asks.

You nod. “It’s peaceful. Safe.”

His brow furrows, concern lacing through his features. “You don’t feel safe in your dorm? Did something happen?”

“No,” you answer quickly. “Just, you know. Unbonded cadets. Stuff like that.”

Bodhi nods slowly, but it’s obvious he doesn’t believe the flimsy lie. “You’ve been…” he begins, and it’s obvious he’s choosing his words carefully, “distant. Lately. I feel like I haven’t seen you much.”

Well, if that doesn’t hit you like an anvil to the chest. “I don’t mean to be,” you say. Even though you do. You wish you weren’t. You have to be.

“How are your hands?” Bodhi asks, glancing down to where they are balled at your side. You had been wearing your gloves more often, since riding and the colder winter months had you going through the little tins of balm too often. You couldn’t ask Bodhi for more.

“Okay,” you say. It’s a lie. They are so, so painful. Every day is a cacophony of physical and mental pain, and with the cold weather, the joint pain had settled in.

“Do you need more of the balm?” he asks.

You had expected Shocair to butt in by now, but when you chance a glance behind you, she’s settled her head back into the grass, golden eyes half shut.

“No, it’s okay. You really don’t have to go through the trouble—”

“I don’t mind,” Bodhi says quickly. “I want to.”

“Okay,” you say. You can’t help the smile that wiggles out of where you were suppressing it. “I guess I can’t say no to you.”

The statement was meant as a joke, a light and airy tension diffuser. It doesn’t come out like that though. There’s more truth in it than you would care to admit. It settles between you, the admission pulled taught like a rope tied to each of your ribs, bringing you into one another’s gravity.

“Let me walk you back to the dorm.”

Oh, maybe you can say no to him. But it might break your heart in two.

“I’m gonna stay out here tonight,” you say, then, as if your tongue had a mind of its own, “I’m sorry.”

“How often do you sleep out here?” he asks, and it’s real, genuine concern in every fold and crease of him. Your pulse picks up.

“Sometimes,” you answer noncommittally.

He steps closer to you, and now you’re in each other’s space as if that rope had dragged you in. He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. You stare at his mouth, because, holy shit, you want to know what his lips taste like so bad.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His gaze is on where he’s turning your hand over so it’s palm up and resting in his own.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

Bodhi screws up his nose, and it’s an adorable gesture that just about stops your heart for all the wrong reasons.

“You’ve just been so—” He sighs. “You’re so reclusive, and you’re pushing everyone away.” He goes to the buckle of your gloves, as if to pull them off and test your lies for himself, and suddenly it’s all too much. “I’m worried about you.”

You snatch your hand away. “You don’t know me well enough to be worried about me.”

You regret the words as soon as they’re in the air between you. The expression on his face—the confusion, the hurt— is enough to make you want to fall to your knees and beg forgiveness.

“And whose fault is that?” he asks. There’s no malice in his voice. It’s a real, genuine question.

You don’t answer.

“Have a good night, Baby,” he says, and he turns to walk away. This time, he didn’t say your name the way he usually did. It was a brand now. Not the affectionate honorific it usually came out as.

Your face is screwed up as you drop to the ground, your knees finding purchase in the grass and dirt as your breathe saws out of you. You can’t get enough air, and finally, your vision goes dark.

Not your vision, just the stars. Shocair’s wing is around you again, blocking out the world around you. She’s silent as you try to weather the panic, but there’s no use. It’s consuming you.

“Breathe,” she says, her voice a comforting presence in your mind. “You must breathe.”

“I’m trying,” you send back to her, unable to form the words verbally.

There’s some light let in, and then her giant nose is at your chest. You hear her inhale, and feel her exhale. She does it again.

You match your own breath to hers.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

[blushsturns]

₊˚⊹ there was one thing missing and that was the moment i knew

title: the moment i knew

word count: 1417

warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak, all the sad stuff

And what do you do when the one

Who means the most to you

Is the one who didn't show?

Today was finally the day–your birthday. It only comes once a year, so it should be a special day full of exciting fun and surprises. It was a day that was all about you without the feeling of selfishness. For your birthday, you wanted to have dinner with all of your loved ones–including your boyfriend, Matt.

Things have been rocky between the two of you. You weren’t sure if it was miscommunication, or the fact that he was simply losing feelings for you. You didn’t like to overthink anything, but it was hard not to when the last month all you two have been doing is bickering back and forth so much you weren’t even sure what you were fighting about anymore.

It was almost like he was fighting against you and not for you, and your relationship anymore. You’ve been trying to do everything you possibly could to keep the relationship alive, but nothing seemed to be working. 

He wasn’t coming home as often as usual. You two shared an apartment in the city and when you first moved in, it felt like home. Now? You dreaded going home, feeling the emptiness without Matt there and when he was there, things felt different like you were walking on eggshells in your own home.

Matt was really busy, working on his own project and filming a lot with his brothers and would end up crashing at his brother’s place rather than coming home to you. When he was home, the bickering would ensue and he’d slam the door, leaving you standing there in the middle of the floor with tears spilling down your cheeks. You didn’t get an apology, any effort to fix anything. He’d take the easy way out, by leaving you in the middle of an argument. Sometimes, he’d come back the next day and apologize and act like nothing ever happened, but the wounds you had were still opened and hurt you to the core. 

But to keep him around? You swallowed your pain like you were a brave solider fighting for battle and had no choice but to keep fighting. For yourself, or for your relationship, you weren’t sure at this point.

The week before your birthday, he was out working on his solo project separate from his brothers’ when you asked him if he wanted to come to your birthday party. You felt silly asking–he was your boyfriend. Shouldn’t he already be expected to come considering you should be special to him?

“I’ll be there.” Matt said on the other end of the phone, rustling sounds in the background. “Don’t worry.”

You had let out a soft sigh on the other end, unsure if he could hear it, but didn’t really care whether he did or not. “Matt, are you absolutely sure? It’s just going to be a party with some of our friends and family. I’d love for you to be there.”

“‘I’ll be there.” Matt said on the other end of the phone. “I’ll make sure of it.”

All you could do was take his word for it and believe him. In all honesty, you hadn’t spent much time with him the last couple weeks. He’d come home and pass out on the couch, obviously exhausted from all the work he was putting on himself, but maybe part of it was avoiding you and the issues of the relationship as well.

Here you are now, at your birthday party with all of your loved ones, besides the one who meant the most to you. Christmas lights twinkled around you, music playing throughout the speakers. Quite a decent amount of people were all scattered around the room mingling together in conversation and laughter. 

It was your birthday–your special day, so why didn’t you feel very special? Your loved ones came up to you, pulling you into a hug and making small talk to catch up, but you weren’t too invested in the conversation. Your eyes kept darting back to the front door, hoping to see Matt walk into the party, but each time someone else walked into the door, you were left with utter disappointment.

You were glad your loved ones made it to the party, but Matt still didn’t show. You had sent him several text messages in the last couple hours and hadn’t heard anything back. 

A soft sigh emitted from your lips as you look down at the pretty party dress you bought yourself and the heels to match that complimented your legs. Despite how shitty you felt inside, you never looked better on the outside. Your red lipstick looked amazing, and you got so many compliments on how beautiful you looked. As nice as the compliments were, there was only one person you wanted to impress and so far, they hadn’t shown.

Time is ticking. Before you know it, everyone will be gathered around to sing happy birthday, and you didn’t want to have to do that without Matt. You kept telling yourself there was still time. There was still a possibility that he could walk right into those doors any minute.

As each minute passed, it felt like hours. People came up to you to ask how you were and how things have been. Of course, you put on your best smile and smiled through your lies–you were fine, things were great, everything was going well. All of it was a lie. You weren’t fine, things weren’t great, and nothing was going right.

They asked about Matt–how he was, what he’s been up to, where he was. You didn’t know what to say besides smile through all of the lies you were telling them. 

The speakers began playing one of Matt’s favorite songs and that’s when you felt yourself begin to fall apart. Your eyes began to fill with tears, your body started to tremble, and you could barely even find the right breathing pattern. Your chest ached as you stared at those same doors–hoping he’d show up. 

Your friends noticed you weren’t okay–immediately coming to your side when the tears became visible. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you blinked them away, looking over at your friends and the concerned look on their faces. You tried so hard to keep it inside, to not let those emotions show on the outside. You were always the one with a smile on your face, your personality so bubbly and infectious, but this was affecting you greatly–how could it not? You were always so strong, but you could feel yourself falling apart.

They follow you down the hall to the bathroom and once you step inside, you fall apart. You stand there, tears spilling down your cheeks as you watch your friends try to console you, hugging you and asking you what’s wrong.

After several minutes of choked sobs and your body trembling you were finally able to speak. “He said he’d be here.” You cried out your words, your makeup practically smeared against your cheeks.

Your friends told you things you knew they would like “You deserve better”, “He’s an asshole”, and “I’m so sorry”, but unfortunately nothing they said could take away the aching pain in your chest. It was the first time you actually felt your heart breaking into pieces. 

When you walked back to the party, he still wasn’t there. It was time to sing happy birthday to you and honestly, you weren’t up for it, but everyone else showed up for you, so you had to hold it together for now.

You were the center of attention, the beautiful, towered cake in front of you with candles in it as everyone around you sang happy birthday, but you weren’t smiling, you weren’t happy–far from it.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you blew out the candles. Of course, you wished for something you knew wouldn’t come true, but you did it anyway.

He should’ve been there. It would’ve made you so damn happy.

The phone call comes in later that night when you’re home alone lying in bed, your heart aching in your chest. You didn’t even bother to take off your dress as you laid there, your makeup smeared all over your cheeks. 

“Matt.” Was all you said as you answered the call.

“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t make it. I-” 

You cut him off immediately, shaking your head in disbelief even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I’m sorry too.”

And that was the moment you knew. 

You two were over, for good.

notes: i know this was a sad one. i wanted to write some angst and heard this song recently and got inspired. if you have any ideas for me, please send them my way! love you guys. -n

taglist: @strangelife122 @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rcameronlova1 @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @il0vey0um0st @violetstxrniolo777 @bigbeefybitch @courta13 @sofieeeeex @tylerthecreatorsglazr @kittyyyyykats @sturniszn @estellesdoll @freshsturnzx @ivyyyyyysposts @sturnberries @harls-sturn @whore4chris @slvtf0rchr1s @tits4matt @ikyoudreamofme @sophsturns

[mmkclarkey]

We have a spare room- Part 3

When all goes wrong, moving in with three guys will solve it?

It had been three months since you moved in with three random men, all of which having their own weird affect on you. Chris had quickly become the person you went to when you wanted to talk about Taylor swift or Chappell Roan or anything of the sort, he loved the fact that you didn’t judge him for his feminine side. And you loved the fact that he allowed you to rant about anything to him, always giving the best rants back.

This however meant that you had to judge him for something else, now if there’s one thing you learnt about Chris, it’s that he’ll test his luck, he had the tendency to be a dick to his friends. Arthurtv told you about that one time in school when Chris told the girl Arthur liked that they were in a gay relationship, much to the girl’s dismay.

The way to combat this you may ask? Chris does something wrong, he has to put £1 in the jar, they stole the idea, some show called new girl apparently?

Besides Chris, Arthur was the best person to go to if you wanted something interesting, he had this amazing ability to be able to make you laugh at the most random times. Like the time last week where you were all arguing over the shared bathroom, having the biggest shower you tended to argue over who was going to use it when you go out. Arthur fully started to strip off naked, making you all leave as he shouted that he’d flash you all if you didn’t let him use the shower. In the end, you George and Chris sat on the floor outside the bathroom laughing for nearly an hour.

And then there’s George. George was the classic, blast music and go to parties and drink kind of guy. Somehow you found yourself roped into going to yet another influencer party at least once a week, however, you can’t exactly say that you didn’t like it. Aswell as this, he was absolutely amazing at giving advice, about anything, you had problems with filming? George knew what to do. you had no idea what to wear? he did. It was shocking how good the man was at just daily advice, it made you really appreciate the fact that you have him as a friend now.

~

You had uploaded a video three days ago where you were playing a horror game on Roblox, which you didn’t see an issue with and as usual got the views you were used to. But today? Today it peaked, around 9000 more people liked it in just the one day.

Then came the comments. and that’s where you realised your mistake. At one point you scream particularly loud and George (being the only other person in the flat at the time) shouts in from his room asking if everything was okay, to which you laugh and shout through that you are making a video and you’re okay. And this would be absolutely no issue if it wasn’t for the fact that your editor left it in, and your viewers, and just people people in general, did not know that you had moved out of your old flat let alone moved in with another man.

This caused a shocking amount of people to guess that you must have broken up with your boyfriend, and got with George almost straight away, and that’s why he’s in your house, concerned whether you’re okay. It didn’t take long for George to be knocking at your door, asking if you were decent so he could come in.

“I’m decent George, come in”

“So… I saw your comments” he says while sitting down on the bed, a bit of a red look on his face, clearly just back from being outside.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise my editor left it in, i’m making a tiktok literally in a minute to tell people that we aren’t together, it just means explaining why I’m here” you say back in an apologetic tone, aware of how overwhelming the fans can be sometimes.

“It’s fine, I promise, do you think we should get us all in the vid just to prove it a bit?” he asks with a curious tone.

You make the decision to do so, making everyone group together on the sofa as you set up your phone, pressing record.

“So… hey guys, i’m making a quick short video to address some things i guess? for reference, I made a video last week that was released three days ago, and in it, George here asked me if i was okay, which is lovely, but we are just friends.”

Arthur giggles and says “We’re all just friends, she just wanted to hide from you guys that she moved out of her old place”

Chris chimes in “Yeah, so if anyone, preferably three girls and a guy want to come wife up this flat feel free”

“Chris shut the fuck up” All three of you say in response, yet all laughing too.

“So yeah, I moved in with Chris, George and Arthur and I guess that’s where I am now, hope this clears things up and I love you all”

You post the video and the comments come in immediately:

this quad is literally iconic

we all know why she moved in with three guys

chris is so Schmidt coded argue with the wall

i’m so glad to see you living your best life baby omg!!

they are such iconic friends we need more videos together

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N i am so incredibly sorry, i’ve been completely procrastinating this, i hope we like it!! also can we notice the fourth wall break xx

taglist: @loveheart-123 @ooostarwarsfandom501st @rougetv @le-le-lea @onlinesuzie @44-ilton @chilwellsancho @pretendyoucantseeme @theresglittleronthefloor @raekensluver @viagracex @neivivenaj @authortelevision

[pisstintedglasses]

Lessons of Letting Go

Fem! Reader x P.SH

warnings: MDNI, "i can fix him" syndrome backfires, consensual underage sex, somnophilia, mentions of underage drinking, cheating, a quite heinous amount of fluff. 

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ

word count: 23.3k 

Playlist for whilst you read:

A Thousand Years - Christina Perri'

You are The Reason - Callum Scott

Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

Claire de Lune - Claude Debussy

Don't Stop Me Now - Queen

"Get You" – Daniel Caesar ft. Kali Uchis

"Earned It" – The Weeknd

"Ribs" – Lorde

“Tangerine” – Glass Animals

"From the Dining Table" – Harry Styles

Chapter 1 of; Lessons Learned

The announcer's mic-amplified voice reverberated throughout the stadium as he revealed the scores of your opponent. Whilst she celebrated her relatively high score, clutching her fan-given plushie as she cheered with her coach, you fiddled with your fingers in an attempt to calm your anxious nerves. You were the last one to perform (thanks to your lucky hand when you pulled for the order of who performs), and all those before you exceeded each other's score each time, setting the standard higher and higher. And you were afraid you couldn't even just reach that same peak.

Your coach, Ivan saw your obvious discomfort, lending a firm and on your shoulder and shaking the bloody nerves off of you. "Calm down, will you? You've done months of training, just as much and maybe even more than your opps did. You'll put up a fight."

Ivan was a 29-year-old, Russian, ballet coach. He and your sister were classmates in college, and she just so happened to tell Ivan about your new little profound passion about ballet. You were only 9 at the time, but when Ivan saw that youthful spark of passion flare from your rusty arabesques, he jumped at the opportunity to shape your ember. Shape your talent into skill. And that, he did.

He streamlined your passion and made you into a decent dancer. Decent enough to win a couple regional-level competitions. Trophies of gold, silver, bronze from said competitions adorned your glass-encased achievement shelf. (Which your mom insisted to have built). Your parents were quite content with all your milestones, be it big or small. But you weren't. It pissed you off to no end that you couldn't go beyond the regionals.

One not-so-faithful day, on your last competition as a pre-junior, thoughts about how you have to win this consumed your better judgment. You couldn't focus at all. You kept throughout your entire routine, and it frustrated you to no end. And on the last Fouette that was supposed to be the cherry on top of your performance, your feet hit one another and leave you to come undone in a clumsy, crying mess.

With your heart feeling like it's caught up in your throat, you covered your tear-stained face and ran off stage right as your song ended. And so did your career. That competition had 9 finalists, and you ranked LAST. You couldn't even bare attending the awarding ceremony. You publicly embarrassed yourself out there, and especially now at your ripe pre-pubescent years, you knew your peers would be whispering among themselves about how dramatic you acted or how shitty your performance was. It was horrific. And just like that, what was once the spark that lit your dreary Mondays turned into to one of the most socially, emotionally, and mentally traumatic events of your life. So, in an attempt to cope with it, you pushed it away.

Anything related to dance, your old friends, Ivan. You wanted nothing to do with it anymore. You were already unraveling thread by thread, your fervent spark of ambition was being pulled away by the seemingly unreachable pinnacle, that is, the Nationals. Childish, or perhaps as arrogant as it may sound, you knew you had what it takes to get there, but your just somehow can't. And you don't know what's stopping you. You've blamed Ivan, for not teaching you enough, but you knew deep inside you wouldn't have gotten to the level you were at without him.

After coming to a consensus with your parents, they let you quit the team, and sent you to the studio to pick up your things while they handled the resignation letters. You were grateful they never pushed you to do anything. They saw that ballet became toxic for you and they didn't even hesitate to let you leave when you saw fit. Anyway, they drove into the studio's parking lot and headed for your head manager's office, in order to deal with the paperwork. It was nighttime now, so you presumed all of the others would have gone home.

So, you didn't expect to find him here. Ivan.

The studio was supposed to be empty. Late enough for the lights to be dimmed, the floor to be cold beneath your feet, the mirrors to stop echoing back the dancer you used to be. But there he was-Ivan-leaning against the far wall, arms crossed like he hadn't been waiting, but you both knew better.

You hesitated at the door, one foot still out in the hallway, as if you could still change your mind. As if walking away now would hurt less than what you were about to do.

"I'm done," you said.

Your voice didn't shake. It wasn't a declaration. It was just... a fact. Like gravity. Like something that had always been true, you just hadn't said it out loud yet.

Ivan didn't move. Not at first.

You didn't mean to say it like that.

But the words came out anyway, sharp and final.

"I'm done."

Your voice cracked a little, but you tried not to care. You didn't look at Ivan. You couldn't. If you did, you'd probably back down. You'd probably see that look on his face-that mix of confusion and disappointment-and swallow the words, like always. So you stared at the floor instead, at your busted old slippers with the frayed ribbons and the tiny bloodstain near the toe. You hated those shoes. And you loved them. And you hated that you loved them.

"You're quitting?" Ivan asked. His voice wasn't loud or angry-it was just quiet. Tired, maybe. Like he already knew.

You nodded, even though your hands were shaking.

"I can't do it anymore," you muttered. "I just... I don't want to."

That wasn't the truth. Not really. You did want to dance. You wanted it so bad your chest hurt. You wanted Nationals. You wanted the stage, the lights, the moment. But lately, it felt like the more you wanted it, the further it slipped from your hands.

Ivan didn't say anything at first, and that made it worse.

"I've been trying," you blurted. "I've been trying so hard. But it's like I'm stuck. Everyone's getting better and I'm just... here. Still making the same stupid mistakes. Still forgetting the same stupid counts. Still losing balance like a baby."

Your throat burned.

"I'm supposed to be good, right? That's what everyone says. 'You've got talent, you're a natural, you'll make it someday.' But what if they're wrong? What if I'm not enough?"

You finally looked at him. His arms were crossed, his jaw tight-but his eyes were soft. Too soft. You hated that.

"I thought you'd help me get there," you said, barely above a whisper. "I really did. But maybe you didn't teach me enough. Or maybe you thought I could figure it out on my own. But I couldn't. I can't."

Ivan stepped closer, but you took a step back.

"I'm twelve, Ivan," you said. "Twelve. I'm not supposed to feel like a failure already."

There was a silence after that-heavy, like the walls were pressing in. You wiped your nose on your sleeve, trying to be tough. Trying to not cry like a little kid. But everything was just... too much.

You thought he'd yell. Or say you were being dramatic. Or lecture you about dedication and drive and how quitting now would ruin everything.

But instead, he just looked at you, like he saw through all of it.

"You're not a failure," he said quietly.

You didn't answer. You didn't believe him.

Because right now? You didn't feel like a dancer. You just felt... small. And tired. And really, really lost.

He stood closer now, arms cautiously extended to his sides to offer a much-needed hug, which you've gladly accepted. You let yourself soak his leotard as you clung to him. "You've accomplished so many things-"

"Well I didn't accomplish enough! And I never will! Now that I blew my last pre-junior performance, I don't think people will take me seriously as a junior!"

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your shaking shoulders. "Would it be too soon for me to suggest figure skating?"

❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎

Now, stood you in one of the biggest ice skating competitions of your time, regionals, once again. The nationals are just at arms-length, so you knew deep within yourself you couldn't afford to pass this up. You dare not waste the 3 years Ivan has spent building you back up, this time, on the ice. You've done well in the short program, all you had to worry about now was the free skate. No longer clad in those painful pointe shoes, those itchy tutus, no. You sported a fresh, tight yet comfy, baby blue leotard that helped in boosting you confidence, paired with your favorite pair of blades-gifted to you by your sister.

The familiar vowels of your name ware called, summoning you to the spotlight, and claim the stage (rink) as your own. Breathing in the mint-scented air deeply one more time, you stepped onto the ice and glided along the sides, plastering a genuine smile and greeting those who cheered for you. The deafening clamor of the crowd's applause breeched your ears, you almost missed the first few notes of your song. The audience definitely did, though, as it seemed their hoorahs only grew louder at the sound of your performance starting.

You began to dance your prepared choreography upon hearing the calming voice of your designated piece for today-Christina Perri's "A Thousand Years." A sweet song whose melody harmoniously matched your performance. Innocent, almost fragile, your jumps were on beat with the cadence of the guitar, cello, and piano instrumental.

It wasn't just the soft melody that resonated with your performance; it was the lyrics as well. The words, "I have died every day waiting for you," seemed to echo in your heart as your body glided effortlessly across the ice. It was as if each movement was a reflection of the years of dedication, the countless hours of practice, and the quiet, unspoken devotion to your craft. Every jump, every spin, felt like a pledge of love to the art of figure skating itself-timeless and unyielding.

As the song built into the chorus, "I will love you for a thousand more," you could almost feel the embrace of the ice beneath you. It reminded you of the unspoken bond between skater and ice-an eternal connection that exists beyond the fleeting moments of each performance. The melody wrapped itself around you like a gentle, yet powerful force, urging you to give everything, to pour your soul into every movement, just as the song's lyrics spoke of eternal love.

You've always loved this part of figure skating, the cold air and ice beneath you enveloping your body and soul in this tranquil trance that helped keep your mind at ease. It was never like this with ballet. All you could feel in ballet was the sweat that would always pool at your back at the tremendous pressure of the spotlight and stares that settled on you on that non air-conditioned stage. The fans were usually directed at the judges as if they were the ones breaking their bones just to properly execute a Cambre. You never felt like that with your new love.

Figure skating, much like love, is about vulnerability-about trusting your body to carry you through difficult lifts, delicate landings, and dizzying spins, even when the odds seem insurmountable. The lyrics of "A Thousand Years" aligned with the very essence of what you felt skating on the ice: a love that transcends time, a passion that refuses to be extinguished. It was not just a performance; it was a love letter to the sport, an expression of devotion and commitment. "I will love you for a thousand more," you whispered to yourself, feeling the music fill every corner of your soul.

With each passing note, you were no longer just performing; you were telling a story of love, loss, and hope-of pushing through adversity and continuing to glide forward, no matter the challenges. Every movement you made felt like a promise-just as the song promised eternal love, you promised to keep dancing, no matter how many years it took.

And with the instruments slowing down to halt, so did your performance, as you struck your final pose. You finally let out the breath you didn't even realize was being held in and opened your eyes. The flashes of the lights overhead flickered your gaze, making you squint a bit before bowing at the judges who bared the look of satisfaction, impressed expressions. White roses and Frolass plushies were littered across the ice, which the staff has helped with gathering them all. You strode over to one of said plushies and hugged it close to your chest, giving the audience one final wave and bow if gratitude before you made your way off the ice.

Once your blades came in contact with the floor, you couldn't even get the chance to put your guards on them since Ivan sprung up to you and gave you one of the most genuine hugs he's ever given. "I told you you'd do amazing." You reciprocated the hug and pulled back, "You think the judges liked it?" Ivan scoffed, "Are you kidding? They looked entranced the entire time you were up there." The both of you couldn't help the proud smiles from spreading on your faces.

He guided you back to your designated seat where they filmed your reaction upon hearing your score, and he gave you a bottle of water, wrapping a jacket around you when he saw you shiver. You didn't notice it when you were still performing, but your hands were shaking from the cold. Well, you thought it was shaking just from nervousness. Not too long after, your family approached with proud smiles plastered on their familiar faces, already congratulating you with strings of praises regarding your performance.

A little girl passed by you, not too old-probably about five years younger than you. She was cheerful, skipping a little with each step as she clutched the hand of who you presumed was her grandmother. A middle-aged couple trailed behind, and next to them, a boy just slightly older than the girl, dressed in a striking figure skating outfit, clearly waiting for his turn on the ice.

Your heart warmed at the sight-there was something so pure about the quiet excitement of a supportive family. But then your gaze caught something else: a small red stain spreading across the girl's light shorts. You immediately recognized it. The judges take a while tocalculate the scores, so you decided to act on it.

You didn't think twice. You grabbed a pad from your bag, hid it under your jacket, and hurried towards her. Approaching gently, you quickly wrapped your jacket around her waist, discreetly slipping the pad into her pocket. Startled, the little girl stumbled back slightly, and her family froze, giving you confused, wary looks. You offered a small, apologetic smile, speaking in a hushed whisper, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... she seems to have bled through."

The mother gasped softly, lifting the jacket to check-and sure enough, the growing stain was there. "Oh, dear," she murmured, her face melting into maternal concern. You gestured subtly to the pocket. "I slipped a pad in there... in case you need it." The mother quickly mouthed a "thank you" before hurrying the girl toward the restroom, the father and the boy following right after. You smiled to yourself, relieved to have helped, and turned to make your way back to the seating area where your parents were waiting-your performance long done, the adrenaline still buzzing faintly in your veins.

But a voice stopped you. "My, my," the grandmother called out warmly, making her way over. "You're not just a pretty girl-you've got a beautiful heart too!" You flushed, laughing shyly. "It was really nothing, ma'am. I know how embarrassing it can feel..." The grandmother nodded sagely, folding her arms over her chest. "Takes one who's been through it to understand. Kindness like that is rare, you know."

You smiled at her, a little bashful, but grateful too. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer, her lips quirking mischievously. Then, leaning a little closer, she asked in a whisper, "Tell me, sweetheart... you're single, aren't you?" You blinked, caught completely off guard. "Um... y-yeah, I am." "Perfect!" she chirped, clapping her hands once with delight. She shuffled aside with a flourish-and only then did you notice that someone had been standing awkwardly right beside you this whole time.

The boy from earlier, the one in the figure skating costume. You had noticed him earlier when the men were called to warm up. His costume was a somewhat baggy blouse that faded from clear white into a very vivid and deep blue. It was a bit similar to yours, though much darker, it had the same ombre effect.

His head snapped up to meet your gaze at the same time you looked at him, both of you freezing like deer caught in headlights. "This here's my grandson," the grandma said proudly, patting Sunghoon's shoulder. "He's about to perform, actually. Talented, polite, good-looking-what more could you ask for, huh?" You stared, the realization hitting you a second too late. Sunghoon was stunning up close, even more so than you'd noticed before. His cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink as he gave you a tiny, sheepish smile.

"I-uh, I'm Sunghoon," he said, voice soft but clear. He gave a small, polite bow despite the obvious embarrassment pooling around him. You managed to smile back, flustered but charmed, as you introduced yourself. "I, uh, already performed. You're up next, right?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Kinda hard to focus after that whole thing, but... thanks for helping my sister." His voice was earnest, sincere, and you felt the knot of nerves slowly unspool in your chest. "It was nothing," you said, laughing lightly. "Good luck out there." The grandmother beamed between the two of you, her matchmaking spirit practically radiating. "Maybe you can stay and watch him perform?" she suggested sweetly, not even trying to hide her intentions.

You met Sunghoon's shy, hopeful gaze-and found yourself nodding before you could even think twice. "I'd love to. Is he up next?" The grandmother shook her head, "Only two more boys and then it's his turn. Won't you stay until then?" You were about to nod when you heard your dad call out your name, calling you over to them since you score was about to be announced. In a haste, you excused yourself with the promise of coming back.

Your heart thrummed violently in your chest, Sunghoon long forgotten as your mind was swallowed whole by endless insecurities and what-ifs. What if it wasn't enough? What if you fell short again? Your hands trembled as your family wrapped you into a tight, protective hug, excitement buzzing around you like static in the air.

The announcer's voice finally crackled over the speakers, slicing cleanly through the tension. "For our final competitor in the Junior Women's division-"The world seemed to slow to a crawl. "A free skate score of 117.48 points! You felt your breath catch, stuck halfway between a gasp and a prayer. "Added to her short program score of 72.36, that brings her total to 189.84 points-" A heartbeat. Another. "-securing first place!"

Your family's cheers burst into the air around you, your sister practically shaking you in her arms. You stood frozen for a second, as if the words hadn't quite registered, before the realization slammed into you all at once.

You had won.

You had won.

Cheers erupted around you, and you felt your heart soar, your dad lifted you in the air. The moment felt so surreal. Years of hard work and you've finally got what you wanted. All in an instant, it felt like a fever dream. One second you were being introduced to some cute guy, and you were a winner in the next. It's all happening so fast you couldn't believe it. It only took one look at Ivan's tear-stained face to have you let the waterworks loose too. Adrenaline and bliss thrummed throughout your veins as he spun you around. Amidst all the chaos, your eyes met Sunghoon's, who was looking at you with genuine astonishment.

Somewhere in the stands, you could faintly make out Sunghoon's family cheering too, his little sister jumping and pointing excitedly.

But right now, it was just you and the thundering beat of your heart, drowning in a tide of relief, disbelief, and a wild, soaring kind of joy you hadn't felt in years.

When he noticed your gaze on him, he hastily looked away. His mom and sister were back though, and they were looking over your noisy, still celebrating huddle as well. His mom looked over to the grandma for an explanation, which she gave. After being hauled around by your family taking pictures of you, you finally sought the chance to excuse yourself and do good on your promise to watch Sunghoon's performance earlier. Of course, your sister didn't miss the chance to tease you about it. And neither did your dad.

"Ooh, meeting boys already? Our little champion's all grown up," your dad teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow.You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "It's not like that," you mumbled, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. Your sister gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Not yet like that, you mean." Your mom chuckled from behind the camera she was still holding. "Let her be. She's earned a little attention after today."

Ivan, who had been listening nearby, chimed in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Just don't forget about us once you're famous and running off with handsome boys." That sent your whole family into another fit of laughter, and you swatted at the air in front of you, trying to escape. "I'm just going to watch his performance!" you insisted, voice climbing with exasperation. "Like I promised!" "Right, right," your dad said, exaggeratedly wiping a fake tear from his eye. "First it's watching performances... next thing you know, wedding invitations!"

"Dad!" you whined, your face burning hotter than ever. Your sister winked at you, clearly enjoying every second. "Go get 'em, champ." You shook your head, laughing despite yourself as you turned away, feeling their teasing gazes follow you all the way across the gym. Sunghoon's family beamed as they congratulated you on your win

"I knew your performance was something special. Sunghoon-oppa here couldn't take his eyes off you earlier-" Yeji, the girl you helped earlier, said brightly, but she barely got the words out before Sunghoon clamped a hand over her mouth, face turning an adorable shade of red. "Yeji!" he hissed in a hushed yell, his voice dripping with embarrassment. His nervous chuckle made their parents laugh, the sound light and teasing.

Sunghoon's mom smiled warmly at you, a fondness in her eyes as she looked between you and her son. "I hope Sunghoon gets into the nationals too," she said, voice gentle. "It'd be nice if the both of you won, right?" "It'd be the perfect excuse for a date," his grandma added mischievously, her tone playful enough to make Sunghoon visibly shrink into himself. "Halmeoni!" he groaned, dragging his hand down his face. You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you, nerves and flattery mixing into something light and giddy.

"It's okay," you said, smiling shyly at them all. "I think... just competing together would already be really special." Sunghoon peeked at you through his fingers, and when he caught your eye, he smiled too - small, genuine, a little shy around the edges. Yeji, now free from his hand, beamed. "You have to teach me how to be that cool when I compete!" Sunghoon's dad chuckled and asked, "How long have you been skating, if you don't mind me asking?"

You shifted your weight, thinking back. "Um... technically, not that long," you admitted. "I used to do ballet, actually, until about three years ago." "Really?" Sunghoon's mom perked up with interest. "Yeah," you nodded, a little sheepishly. "I kept trying to qualify for the ballet regionals, but... I never really made it past the preliminaries. I guess after a few years of that, I just felt like maybe my heart wasn't in it anymore. Skating kind of... gave me a second chance at something I really loved."

"You must have worked really hard," Sunghoon's dad said, sounding genuinely impressed. "I still have a long way to go," you said quickly, laughing a little. "But it feels different this time. Like... even when I lose sometimes, I want to keep trying." Sunghoon, quiet until now, spoke up, his voice softer, thoughtful. "That's really cool. I mean it." You looked over and found him smiling at you again - properly this time, without hiding - and the way his eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners made your heart skip.

"You're already amazing," Yeji chimed in enthusiastically, tugging at your sleeve like you were an old friend. "I'm gonna cheer for you both at nationals!" Sunghoon's grandma patted your shoulder warmly. "You're part of the family cheering squad now too, dear. You better get used to it." Everyone laughed, including you, and for a moment, standing there with them, you felt something settle in your chest - a sense of belonging, easy and bright.

A few minutes later, Sunghoon was finally called down for his performance.

(Refer to this performance of hoonie if you want any visual aid lmao. for the sake of the plot, however, we are gonna ignore his actual rank in the video--- p.s. he did amazing here in this performance. ANOTHER P.S., this fanfic isn't too accurate on the times of hoonie's performances but alas, I am too lazy to redo it)

You hadn't expected to find yourself sitting here, bundled up among strangers who somehow already felt like family. After helping Sunghoon's little sister earlier, his family had insisted-no, insisted-you join them to watch his free skate. And you, still a little flustered and embarrassed, had agreed. Now here you were, heart thudding in your chest, watching the boy you'd only just met take the ice.

The lights dimmed slightly, and the familiar opening notes of the music drifted through the rink. It was a bright, soaring melody, full of lightness and energy-and somehow, it fit him perfectly. You leaned forward without meaning to, your breath catching as Sunghoon pushed off into his first glide.

Each movement was smooth, effortless, like water finding its path. His blades cut clean lines across the ice, turning with a precision that could only come from endless hours of practice, yet he made it look so natural, so easy. You couldn't tear your eyes away. His jumps were light, airy, as though gravity itself hesitated to pull him back down.

He was-

Beautiful.

Beside you, Sunghoon's little sister tugged your sleeve excitedly.

"Isn't he cool?" she whispered, her voice bubbling with pride.

You nodded quickly, a small, breathless laugh escaping. "He's amazing. He moves like... like the music was made just for him."

You turned your gaze back to the ice just in time to catch Sunghoon launching into a jump-a perfect triple. He landed so cleanly you barely heard the blade hit the ice. The melody picked up, playful and bright, and Sunghoon matched it effortlessly, his movements light and joyful without ever losing the grace that came so naturally to him.

His mom smiled at that, her eyes warm.

"He's always been good at feeling the music," she said softly. "Even when he was just a little boy. We'd put on anything, and he'd just start skating around the living room, pretending it was a rink."

"He makes it look easy," you murmured without thinking.

You ducked your head quickly, face burning, but couldn't help smiling.

Sunghoon's dad chuckled warmly.

"That's the trick. He's spent years making it look that way."

His grandma leaned in closer, her voice teasing.

"Maybe he's showing off a little more today, hm? After all... there's someone new in the crowd."

The music swelled into its chorus, and Sunghoon moved with it as if his body had been designed to echo the sound. Every turn, every extension of his arms felt right, like he wasn't just skating to the melody, but was the melody. You could feel his energy even from here-the quiet determination, the bursts of joy, the fierce concentration beneath it all.

The music softened into its final notes, and you turned back just in time to see Sunghoon finish with a quiet flourish, one knee touching the ice, head bowed. For a moment, the rink was silent except for the soft scrape of his blades slowing to a stop. Then applause erupted-and you were on your feet before you even realized it, clapping hard enough that your palms stung. Around you, his family cheered and whooped, but your eyes stayed locked on him.

Sunghoon straightened slowly, lifting his gaze toward the stands-and for a brief, dizzying second, it felt like he looked straight at you. Your heart somersaulted, your hands still clapping even as you forgot how to breathe. It was the kind of performance that made you fall in love with skating all over again. And maybe-just maybe-with the boy who made it look like flying.

He finally glided off the ice, going to the same seat where you were earlier. The 2 other boys who went before him gained a relatively high score, but you knew from the masterpiece you were just blessed with, he had a huge chance to win. Actually, you were praying on it. If he really did get to win, the two of you would get to go to the nationals together. You watched from afar as he heaved. All those jumps must have rendered him exhausted.

His family began to head to him, so they can check in, with you in tow. Though, it was still going to be a while before his score gets announced so you knew you had time. You passed by your family and quickly introduced them to one another first, just to get them acquainted and to let them know who you were walking with. Of course, praises for Sunghoon erupted from them as well. You've just come to terms with your attraction for the boy but it seems like he's already won the favor of your immediate family. Including Ivan.

Your seats were near the "hot seat" as you would call it, so you opted to just have the Parks sit next to your family, that way they'd be close to Sunghoon without having to stand the entire waiting time while the judges evaluated. After what felt like an eternity, the commentators finally revealed his score.

The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers, snapping you out of your daze. Everyone around you leaned forward instinctively, waiting for the numbers to flash onto the giant screen. You found yourself holding your breath without even meaning to.

"And now, Park Sunghoon's score for the free skate..."

The screen flickered, and then the numbers appeared in bold, glowing print.

"He receives 154.26 points for his free skate-"

There was a small gasp around you-his family clutching each other's arms in excitement, his little sister nearly bouncing out of her seat.

"...for a combined total of 233.75 points!"

Your hands flew up to your mouth, hiding the huge grin breaking across your face.

"Oh my god," you whispered, half laughing, half breathless.

"He did it!" his sister squealed, grabbing your sleeve and shaking it.

Sunghoon's dad let out a booming laugh, clapping his hands together.

"That's our boy!" he said proudly, his voice thick with emotion.

You could hardly take your eyes off Sunghoon, who was smiling on the monitor, bowing politely before flashing a quick, bashful grin at the camera. He looked overwhelmed, relieved, proud-and somehow still so humble despite the incredible score. Leaning closer, Sunghoon's grandma teased in a low whisper, "Better start practicing how to answer interview questions. They're gonna be calling him a national treasure soon."

His mom brushed away a tear with a soft chuckle.

"He worked so hard for this. He deserves every point."

And somewhere deep inside, a small, secret wish stirred:

You laughed, heart thudding with pride that felt far too big for someone you had only just met. But somehow, it didn't feel strange at all. Watching him stand there, practically glowing under the spotlight-you were just... happy. And honored.

Happy to have witnessed it.

Honored to be part of it, even in this tiny way.

Maybe this wasn't the last time you'd be cheering for Park Sunghoon.

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The trip to another country was nice. New, but nice. Especially when a really cute guy (who is your boyfriend now) is sat next to you the entire plane ride with his head perched on your shoulder. To say you felt excited was a total understatement. You were fucking estatic. You bagged first place AND a total cutie? Honestly, the plane could have crashed but you still would have had a smile on your face.

Anyway, it's been 4 months since the regionals, during that time, Ivan and Sunghoon's coach arranged multiple joint training sessions among the two of you, the rationale being that both of you were representing the country anyway, so might as well see and know each other's routines. Maybe even help each other out and develop into partners.

And that's exactly what happened.

Every few days when your parents came to pick you up from the rink, his family would invite yours to their house to have dinner and vice versa. Everyone got acquainted quickly, and so did you and Sunghoon. Two months into practice, he told you to dismiss your parents from picking you up that day. Reason why? He wanted to walk you home. You still remember every detail from that walk so vividly.

The air was crisp, and the leaves were a cool shade of orange, since it was already fall. You're beginning to get the impression that Sunghoon had a very particular reason why he seemed hellbent on taking you home today. At first, you thought it was just because he was tired of being constantly teased and pressured both his parents and yours to get together with you, but the more you observed him that day, the more you realized he looked like he had something he wanted to say. His mouth kept opening and sharply sucking in a breath, as if he were preparing to give a speech, but alas, no words came out of his mouth.

It was a habit of his. A shy, timid boy who only gets loud with his sister. He was a man of a few words. Always twiddling with his thumbs, back slouched. Clearly not too confident in himself. You noticed this from the very first time you met, all the way back at the regionals' free skate. Whilst all the other participants flaunted even during just their warm-up with the stance and expression of confidence, he prepared meekly.

You always wondered why he was like this. To you, he has every right to parade himself, albeit you're glad he doesn't. He has the looks and talent, yet he seems to be so insecure. Opting to let someone else do the talking for him, in fear of being judged for something he'd say wrong. You wanted to change that. Help him get out of his shell and realize that he's fucking beautiful. That he has nothing to be afraid of.

You've only over seen him at ease sporadically; when he's with Yeji, when he's alone, and when he's on the ice. If only he could come to grasp how ethereal he looks when he's in his element. When he's not constantly thinking about what others have to say about him. You thought this way too, back when you were still in ballet, and it was NOT a healthy mindset. You learned that letting go of other peoples' hearsay was the key to living a happy life, ESPECIALLY as a teenager. As the saying goes; Ignorance is bliss.

As you finally got your spatial awareness back, you noticed you were already in your neighborhood. And you must admit, your curiosity of what Sunghoon wants to say was gnawing at you, since your time together for the was already close to being cut short. Looking over to the boy, he met your eyes, since he's been looking at you the entire walk, looking for a good opening to start his spiel. His head immediately turned upon being caught staring, stammering a small "sorry" as his ears flushed a nice hue of pink.

You stopped in your tracks, your gaze fixed on him with a hint of curiosity and suspicion. His flustered expression, the way he kept stealing glances at you-was it possible? Could he actually like you, too? Your thoughts began to race, but before you could process anything further, Sunghoon froze, his eyes widening slightly as he realized you weren't walking beside him anymore.

He slowly turned around, face now a deep shade of pink, and stammered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" He trailed off, his voice faltering as he tried to form an excuse.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms loosely in front of your chest, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Sunghoon," you started, your voice playful yet laced with an edge of curiosity. "We've been walking for so long now. And I know you want to say something. So... just say it already."

Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering to the ground before he let out a nervous laugh. "I-uh," he began, trailing off again. The usual habit of his, always hesitant, always careful with his words, was in full force. You could see the way his fingers fidgeted at his sides, like he was gathering the courage to speak but wasn't quite sure how.

You took a step closer to him, giving him a reassuring smile. "Sunghoon, you don't have to be nervous around me. Just tell me what's on your mind."

For a moment, he looked at you, as if weighing the decision, before his mouth opened again. This time, the words came out in a rush, his voice barely above a whisper. "I-" He hesitated, then met your gaze directly, his eyes serious now, "I've been thinking about this... about you, actually." He took another breath, his voice trembling slightly, "I think... I think I might like you."

Your heart skipped a beat. The words hit you like a wave, pulling you under before you could take another breath. Sunghoon. Sunghoon was telling you that he liked you. Of all the things you thought might happen on this walk, that was the last thing on your mind.

You blinked in surprise, struggling to catch up to the moment. He... he liked you? You had always thought he was special, that there was something about him that set him apart from everyone else. But the thought that he might see you the same way? That was something else entirely.

"Really?" You managed, your voice softer now, as if you were trying to wrap your head around it. "You... like me?"

Sunghoon's face turned an even deeper shade of pink, his hands fumbling nervously with the straps of his backpack. "Yeah," he whispered, looking away, almost as if he were trying to make himself smaller, hiding behind the words that now seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. "I know it sounds sudden, and I-I didn't want to say anything at first. But... every time I see you, every time we talk, it just feels like I'm supposed to tell you. Like... like it's the right thing to do."

Your heart was racing, but you could feel your own body relaxing in response to his words. Something about the rawness in his voice made everything around you seem quieter, softer. For the first time, you realized that Sunghoon wasn't just the shy, awkward guy you always saw in practice-he was someone who, despite his quiet demeanor, felt things deeply. And he was letting you in.

You took a few steps closer to him, so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his nervous energy. "You don't have to apologize, Sunghoon," you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "It's not sudden. And it's not wrong to feel this way. But I-" You hesitated, suddenly unsure of how to say what was on your mind, "I'm glad you're telling me."

Sunghoon looked at you now, his eyes wide, like he couldn't believe what he had just confessed. You smiled at him, a soft, comforting smile, letting him know you weren't judging him. "You don't have to hide anymore," you continued, your voice calm and steady, "You've got nothing to be afraid of."

His gaze dropped again, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "I'm just... not good at this kind of thing," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I've never been good at expressing myself. I guess I was always worried about saying the wrong thing, or not being enough." He paused, biting his lip. "But when I'm with you, it's different. I don't feel like I have to hide. Even if I mess up, you're just... you're just there, listening. And I've never felt that before."

You couldn't help but soften at his words, feeling a warmth spread through you. It was clear now-Sunghoon wasn't just shy because he was uncertain about his feelings for you. He was shy because, deep down, he didn't believe he deserved someone who saw him the way you did.

You moved even closer, until you were standing right in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch him. Your voice dropped to a whisper, as if you were sharing something deeply personal. "Sunghoon, you don't need to worry about not being enough. You are enough. You're more than enough. And you deserve someone who sees you for exactly who you are, without any fear of being judged. I like you. I've liked you for a while now, actually."

Sunghoon's eyes widened, his lips parting in shock, as if he couldn't believe what you were saying. His hands dropped to his sides, his shoulders relaxing in a way that was almost imperceptible, but to you, it felt like he was finally letting go of a burden he'd been carrying for so long. "You... like me?" he repeated, his voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his arm gently. "Yeah," you said, "I like you. And I think you're incredible just the way you are. You don't need to be anything else. You've got everything it takes to be amazing, Sunghoon."

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the only sound being the soft rustling of the fall leaves in the wind. Sunghoon's face softened as he looked at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked like he had just heard the most beautiful thing in the world, something he had been longing to hear for a long time.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for seeing me. I-I've always been so scared of what others might think, but with you... with you, it's different." He took a step closer to you, his voice barely above a breath. "You make me feel... okay. Like I'm not broken. Like I'm not something to hide."

You reached out, your fingers brushing his in a quiet, intimate gesture. "You're not broken, Sunghoon. You never were."

The moment stretched on, and for the first time, you could feel the weight that had been pressing on both of you begin to lift. The air between you felt lighter now, warmer. And in that quiet, fall evening, surrounded by the golden leaves, you realized something: this wasn't just a confession-it was the beginning of something new. Something both of you were ready for.

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The plane touches down in Hong Kong with a gentle jolt, and the air shifts in an instant. After four hours in the sky, you finally step foot on the ground of this bustling city. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding your veins. The competition is finally here, and you're about to face it head-on, but the thought of being here, so far from home, feels surreal.

Sunghoon is right there beside you as the plane's doors open, both of you standing in the crowded terminal. He's been with you this entire time, and the fact that he's not just here as your boyfriend but also as a competitor, somehow makes everything easier. The initial shock of being in a new city fades when you look at him, his familiar warmth grounding you.

He notices the way your eyes are scanning the chaos of the airport, and he nudges you gently with his elbow. "Hey, are you okay?" His voice is soft, concern lacing each word, and you give him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine," you reply, trying to mask the flutter in your stomach. "Just... this is a lot."

"I know," he says, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, a gentle touch that makes your heart skip. "But you've got this. I'm right here." You nod, grateful for his support. The nerves don't completely disappear, but they're definitely easier to manage with him here. As you both make your way through the airport, Sunghoon's hand slips into yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in that comfortable, familiar way that makes you feel like you can face anything. The anxiety that's been gnawing at you slowly starts to lift with each step.

Then, from behind you, Ivan's voice cuts through the moment. "Oh, look at that," he teases, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "A couple of lovebirds, huh? Are we in Hong Kong for the competition or just here for a vacation?" His grin is all teasing, but there's a warmth in his eyes that tells you he's genuinely happy for you both.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes but grins nonetheless. "We're here to compete, Ivan, not go on a honeymoon." You grinned at his snide, lately, he's been able to joke and talk a lot more freely. It enlightened you, seeing him slowly breaking free of his laid-back inhibitions. Ivan raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "Sure, sure. Whatever helps you focus. You two are the definition of 'couple goals.'"

You glance over at Sunghoon, who's already laughing, the lighthearted moment easing the tension even more. It's good to know that even though Ivan likes to tease, he's just as invested in you both succeeding here. But what catches your attention is Sunghoon's coach, who has been silently observing from the sidelines. He quietly chuckles to himself, shaking his head as if amused by the light banter between you and Ivan, but he doesn't speak. His quiet laughter is a soft reassurance, like he's acknowledging the bond you share with Sunghoon without saying a word.

As Ivan continues his teasing, you lean into Sunghoon, your heart a little lighter. "You know," you start, voice playful, "if you keep getting teased like this, you'll never focus on the competition." "Don't worry," Sunghoon says, his voice filled with warmth. "I'm always focused when you're around." He gives you that smile-the one that always makes your heart race-and you can't help but grin back.

"Let's just focus on winning this competition first, then we can talk about being 'couple goals' after, yeah?" you say with a wink, nudging him back. He chuckles, pulling you closer, his arm casually resting around your shoulders as you walk out of the airport. "Deal. But, for the record, I'll be cheering the loudest for you." And just like that, the nervousness fades completely. With Sunghoon by your side, there's nothing you can't handle.

The competition isn't until tomorrow afternoon, because Ivan wanted to get here early, for the sole purpose of having time to explore around first. So, after the four of you went and left your luggage at the hotel you were accommodated to, the coaches let you two roam around the city (whereas they stayed behind the two of you just a few meters distant).

The narrow streets of Hong Kong bustled around you, neon signs glowing overhead as a soft drizzle misted the air. You clutched your umbrella tighter while Sunghoon adjusted the strap of his backpack, glancing over his shoulder to make sure your coaches weren't too close behind. "They're literally stalking us," he whispered, flashing you an exaggerated look of horror.

You stifled a laugh. "They're just... protective," you said, watching your coaches pretend to examine a street vendor's wares while clearly keeping one eye on you both. Sunghoon leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Protective is checking in by text. This? This is tactical surveillance." You bit your lip to hold in a laugh. "At least they're letting us walk alone," you teased. "For now." He nudged you playfully with his shoulder. "Race you to the next corner before they put us on a leash."

"You're on," you grinned, and with a sudden burst, you darted forward. Sunghoon chased after you, laughing, both of you slipping between the crowds with your coaches shouting "Be careful!" somewhere behind. When you stopped, breathless and grinning under the flickering lights of a side street, he caught your hand without thinking. "You're crazy," he said, eyes sparkling. "You love it," you teased back.

He opened his mouth like he was going to deny it, but then just shook his head, smiling. "Yeah. I do." His fingers squeezed yours. For a second, the noise of the city faded. It was just you, him, and the thundering of your heart before tomorrow's big day. "You ready?" he asked softly. "For tomorrow?" You hesitated, but his gaze was steady, grounding you.

"I think... with you here, I am," you said. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking a little bashful even as he did it. "Win or lose, you're already everything I admire." Before you could say anything, Ivan's voice rang out, startling you both. "Sunghoon! Five-minute break's over! Stretch time!"

You groaned, and Sunghoon laughed helplessly. "See? Tactical." As you made your way back toward the watchful eyes of your coaches, he whispered, "After you win, real date. No chaperones. Promise." You squeezed his hand once before letting go, feeling the silent vow linger between you. You would win tomorrow.

And Sunghoon would be waiting at the finish line.

After checking out this homey little restaurant, the 4 of you went back to your joint hotel room. The place you guys opted for was a bit expensive and fancy, so your coaches decided to just share the deluxe family room. It was beautiful there. 4 single beds, an adorable dining set just a few feet away from the beds, a fridge filled with complimentary snacks, a big ass bathroom, and a cute balcony that gave you a good view of the city.

"Whew, I am drained! You two shouldn't have run around earlier, you better not get sore right before the competition!" Ivan scolded, dramatically jumping into his bed with an exasperated groan. "Geez, we aren't old, Ivan, we don't get cramps as easily as you do." Sunghoon snickered as his coach feigned offense. Ivan could only roll his eyes at your mock, "Okay, okay. But on a serious note, you kids should rest up. Tomorrow's the big day."

You dismissed him with a nod, peering into the fridge and investigating it's contents. Oh! "Sunghoon-ah! There are some tiramisu bites here!" His eyes lit up upon the mention of his favorite dessert, "Really? No way!" He was already sticking his head into the fridge, hands already grabbing a piece, making you giggle at his eagerness. "You really like that stuff huh?" You say as you grab a piece of your own and some cheese flavored chips you bought from the convenience store earlier.

Oddly enough, the air-conditioner was positioned on the floor, right below his bed. He sat down right in front of it to refrain from sweating too much, after all, the weather here in Hong Kong is more humid than what you were used to in Korea. You settled down next to him, tearing both packets of the tiramisu and the chips, switching bites from the two snacks to avoid getting sick of the other one immediately.

The night had fallen silent, the usual hum of the city lost to the thick walls of the hotel room. The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated both of you as you sat on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed beneath you, staring at the floor. Sunghoon was quiet, his hands resting in his lap, fingers occasionally fidgeting with the fabric of his pants. The weight of his silence seemed to hang in the air, and it wasn't the usual comfortable quiet between the two of you. No, this was different.

You could feel his thoughts racing, the burden of something he was holding back. It wasn't like Sunghoon to be so closed off. Usually, he was the one who could make light of any situation, flashing that radiant smile that made everything feel easier. But tonight, he was distant. Something about the pressure of the competition seemed to have cracked open a part of him that he hadn't shared with anyone.

Finally, after a long pause, his voice broke the silence. It was softer than usual, quieter, almost as if the words themselves were hesitant to leave his mouth.

"You know," he started, his eyes focused on the floor as if searching for the right words. "When I first started skating, I was one of the only boys who joined. The rink was mostly filled with older girls. They were so... well, they were so different from me." He paused, his hand slowly brushing over his face, as if trying to erase the memories that were starting to resurface. "I was just a kid, and they... they never included me in their conversations. I'd watch them huddle in groups, laughing and talking about things I didn't understand. And I just... I stood there, feeling so out of place. I guess I just wasn't one of them."

There was a certain vulnerability in his voice that you hadn't heard before, a crack in his usual confidence. He didn't seem like the Sunghoon you knew, the one who walked through life with an easy smile and a confidence that could light up the room. This was something deeper. You could feel his pain in the quiet between his words.

"It wasn't just the silence," he continued, his voice growing even quieter. "They would snicker, and I could hear them whispering when I wasn't looking. 'What's he doing here?' 'He'll never make it.' I think... I think that's why I started closing myself off. I just didn't want to be the odd one out anymore. I didn't want to feel that way ever again."

You could see the sadness in his eyes now, something raw and unspoken that he was only just revealing to you. Sunghoon had always been a bit of a mystery when it came to his past, but this moment, this quiet honesty, was unlike anything you'd expected. He had always been strong, but this was his vulnerability - the part of him that had been shaped by those years of feeling alone.

For a brief moment, the room was still. You could feel your heart tugging for him, understanding more than ever why he had become so introverted over the years. The isolation, the judgment, the teasing - it was all still there, lurking in the back of his mind. But he wasn't just the shy, quiet boy anymore. He was Sunghoon - strong, talented, and capable of so much more than he realized.

"You know," you began, your voice steady, but your gaze filled with empathy, "none of that matters anymore. Fuck those girls, Sunghoon." Your words were sharp, but they were laced with all the conviction you could muster. "Don't mind what anyone has to say about you. They didn't know you. They didn't see the real you."

You shifted closer to him, placing a hand gently on his arm, meeting his gaze with nothing but honesty. "You're perfect just the way you are. You're more than enough. And if they couldn't see that, then that's on them. It has nothing to do with you. You're here, you've worked so hard to get here, and you're going to keep getting better. Don't let their judgment stick with you."

For a long moment, Sunghoon remained still, absorbing your words. His gaze softened as he looked at you, a quiet breath escaping his lips as though the weight of his past had been momentarily lifted.

"You're right," he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. "It's just hard to forget sometimes. You know, when you've been carrying something like that for so long..." You gave him a gentle smile, squeezing his arm reassuringly. "I get it. But you're not carrying it alone anymore. Not with me. You never have to carry it alone."

Sunghoon's lips curled into a small, appreciative smile, his eyes glistening a bit, though he quickly blinked it away. The distance between you two had closed in that moment, a bond forged not just through words but through understanding. He may have been scarred by his past, but he was no longer alone in facing it.

And for the first time in a long while, Sunghoon allowed himself to believe it. To believe in the people who truly saw him - not as the shy, isolated kid on the ice, but as the incredible person he had become. The person who deserved every bit of happiness and success that was waiting for him.

There, the both of you collapsed into laughter as you shared embarrassing stories with one another, wiping some of the tiramisu's cream on each other's noses and cheeks, and basically just cuddling with one another. You didn't even notice that your hands were intertwined with one another, but when you did, your eyes snapped to his. He was looking at you once again, this time with that beautiful smile of his etched onto his face.

The hum of the air-conditioner filled the small hotel room, a low, steady noise that somehow made everything feel even quieter between you two. You sat side by side on the floor, your knees brushing lightly now and then, switching bites between the tiramisu and the chips, laughter still lingering from earlier. Every so often, you'd catch Sunghoon sneaking glances at you - not the playful, teasing ones he usually threw your way, but something softer, something that made your heart stutter in your chest.

A smear of cream clung stubbornly to the corner of his mouth. "Hold still," you murmured, leaning closer without thinking. You wiped it away with your thumb, only realizing how near you were when you felt his breath against your skin, warm despite the cool blast of the air-con. His hand instinctively found yours again, your fingers tangling together without hesitation this time. Your laughter died down into a tender, stretched-out silence. The humid air wrapped around you both, and it was almost too easy - too natural - when you both started leaning in.

At first, it was tentative, the space between you narrowing second by second. You caught the way his eyelashes fluttered shut just as your noses brushed. A soft, uncertain breath escaped your lips - and then you closed the last bit of space. The kiss was featherlight, like the both of you were scared to press too hard, scared to shatter the fragile, perfect thing that was happening. He pulled back just slightly, enough to search your eyes, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Finally," he whispered, voice low and a little shaky. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giddy, your forehead resting lightly against his. And for that moment - no coaches, no competition, no pressure - it was just you and him, and the sweet, dizzying feeling of falling into something you both had been tiptoeing around for far too long.

Your moment stopped when you heard the click of a camera. Your heads turned to Ivan, who had his phone out, mischievously grinning at his screen. "Ooh, I'm gonna send this to your sister." He taunted, earning a scoff from you, "You wouldn't" you challenged, now glaring daggers at the man whose fingers dangerously hovered over your sister's instagram icon.

"Hate to ruin your moment there, but you two should get ready for bed already." Sunghoon's coach tittered a laugh, nudging towards the darkening night sky that was visible from the balcony. Reluctantly, the both of you pulled away from each other as you silently agreed on who gets bathroom privileges first. It was you.

So, after quickly grabbing your hygiene kit and some pajamas from your bag, you headed into the bathroom and immediately switched on the tap and the shower, trying to make much noise as possible to cover the squeal you were about to make. OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT WAS MY FIRST KISS. The realization has just dawned you. You just kissed Park fucking Sunghoon. Of course, you're a new couple, so it took you 2 whole months to finally get a kiss in.

You were jumping around the bathroom as you watched your reflection from the corner of your eye. Your face was flushed, grin unable to be wiped off. You felt more mature then. You felt like a woman. "We can hear you, you know!" Ivan's voice rang from outside, making you sigh out in frustration. "Let me celebrate my first kiss in peace, dammit!"

Little did you know, Sunghoon was just as happy as you were, if not more. As you hurried into the bathroom, he leaned back on the bed, his eyes half-closed as the rhythm of his racing heartbeat filled his ears. Every thud felt like a drumbeat in his chest, strong and urgent, echoing the excitement that had taken root inside him since you'd stepped into his life. It wasn't just the rush of competition - it wasn't even the thrill of winning or the anxiety about tomorrow's big event. It was you.

He couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips, no matter how hard he tried to keep it in check. The joy you exuded, the little sounds you made as you moved around the bathroom, all of it made him feel like he was floating. It was a feeling he hadn't anticipated, something deep and powerful that surged up from the depths of his chest.

And then, just as he thought his heart couldn't possibly beat any faster, he heard it: your excited peals of laughter, muffled but still clear through the thin walls of the hotel room. Your happiness, your genuine, unfiltered joy - it was contagious. It hit him like a tidal wave. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself, staring at the ceiling as if trying to gather his thoughts in the midst of this overwhelming feeling.

He felt on top of the fucking world. Like nothing could bring him down, no obstacle too large, no competition too difficult to face, because you were here. You were in his life. And right now, that was all that mattered.

For a fleeting moment, his thoughts turned inward, a small but growing realization settling in his chest like a weight he couldn't ignore. Maybe it was too early to say it out loud, but the truth was undeniable. He was already in love with you.

He felt it - deep in his thrumming heart, that undeniable, warm certainty. The way his thoughts always returned to you, the way he caught himself smiling at the thought of you even in the most mundane moments. The way your laughter still rang in his ears, even now, and how it filled the empty spaces inside of him in a way nothing else ever had.

His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the blanket, but his mind was a million miles away, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that were only growing louder. It had only been a short time, but with you, everything just felt... right. More than right. Perfect. But when was the perfect time? He didn't want to rush it, didn't want to ruin this delicate, almost fragile moment between you two. It had to be special, the way everything with you felt.

As the minutes passed, and you continued your happy noises from the bathroom, he found himself lost in his own reverie, a soft smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. What was he even waiting for? Was there a perfect time, or was this it - now, in this moment, when everything felt right and the air between you two was thick with the unsaid but deeply understood feelings that had started to bloom between you?

Maybe it was the excitement and buzz for the upcoming competition, maybe it was the strange, charged atmosphere of the hotel room - but something inside him told him to hold onto this. To savor the joy, the uncertainty, the possibilities that lay ahead.

For now, he would wait. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't keep it to himself any longer. He would find the perfect time. And when he did, he wouldn't hesitate. He had to be confident in saying it.

❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎

The bustling sounds of the city faded as you and Sunghoon stepped out of the cab and approached the entrance of Mega Ice, the indoor rink located in MegaBox. The nerves in the air were almost palpable as the crowd gathered around the venue, the buzz of anticipation rising with every passing minute. Today's event was just the short program for junior men and women, while tomorrow was the free skate. Two days of hell where you'll have to show all that you've got to the judges, the audience, and the cameras who were broadcasting everything to the world.

Sunghoon's eyes flickered to the sea of people, his shoulders tense under the weight of the situation. You could see it in the slight quiver of his hands as he adjusted the strap of his bag, his gaze lost in the magnitude of the crowd. He had always been calm in the face of competition, but today, something felt different. You could feel it in the way he moved, in the tightness around his eyes. The enormity of the event was sinking in, and his usual composure seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

You slowed your pace and walked alongside him, offering him a reassuring smile. You knew exactly what to do. "Hey, just remember... we've been preparing for this," you began, your voice steady, trying to match his unease with confidence. "You've worked so hard for this moment. All that training, all the hours on the ice, it's brought you here. And no one can take that away from you."

He sighed, his eyes still locked on the crowd, his breath coming a little faster now. "I know, but... I don't know. It's just... it's different today. The crowd is huge, and I can feel the pressure." He shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable in the midst of the noise and chaos. "What if I mess up?"

You stopped walking for a moment and turned to face him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at you, his expression a mixture of doubt and exhaustion. "You won't," you assured him, your voice firm yet gentle. "You're not the type to mess up. You've got this." You smiled, giving him a playful nudge. "Look at you-you're practically made for this."

He let out a shaky laugh, but the tension was still there. "You make it sound easy."

"Well, it is," you said, meeting his eyes with a look of complete sincerity. "You've been skating for years. You've trained with the best. You're ready for this. And you've got me with you every step of the way."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. "And if you fall flat on your face, what then?"

You grinned, a playful gleam in your eyes. "I'll just make sure you catch me when I do."

The tension between you two slowly dissolved as he chuckled softly, the corners of his lips lifting. You could see the edges of his nerves softening, just a little. The thought of facing the crowd wasn't as overwhelming now. You stood there for a moment, both of you looking at the massive crowd in front of you, and then you turned to face him with more assurance.

"You won't fall, Sunghoon," you said, your tone lighter now, but filled with conviction. "But even if you do, I'll be there to pull you up. And I know you'll do the same for me."

He seemed to breathe a little easier at that, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thanks. You always know what to say to make me feel better."

You winked, giving him a thumbs-up. "Of course. But remember, you're not alone in this. No matter how big that crowd is, out there on the ice, it's just you. And you're going to crush it. I believe in you."

For the first time that day, he smiled fully, the smile that reached his eyes. It was a quiet moment, but in it, you both understood - the crowd, the competition, the nerves - none of it mattered. What mattered was the trust between you, the belief that you'd both give your best. And that was enough to settle both your hearts.

The men were called to perform first, ladies' second, so you stayed near the entrance to the rink so you could watch him up close, Ivan and his coach on either side of you, almost biting their nails in anticipation. Sunghoon was already called on the ice for their warm-up. Shrieks erupted from the audience when he took his jacket off in this cool ass mannner, and you couldn't help it, the action swooned you too.

Your heart raced-not for yourself, but for him. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he adjusted his suit one too many times. You knew what was coming, yet the nerves gnawed at you both. The atmosphere was electric and thick with anticipation.

After the boys were done warming up, Sunghoon and the rest left as one participant you recognized from videos you saw online centered, in front of the judges. The stage lights flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the entire venue. The hum of excitement from the crowd filled the air, creating a buzz that seemed to vibrate through the floor. You stood in the audience, watching Sunghoon as he prepped for his turn.

You had always admired how Sunghoon could stay composed under pressure, but tonight, something felt different. His usual calm was overshadowed by a quiet unease, the kind that was hard to mask, even for him. You wanted to reassure him, to tell him everything would be fine, but you could see the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. His breath was steady, but there was a flicker in his eyes that betrayed his nerves. You could almost feel the tension in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you.

"Sunghoon," you said softly, as you approached him, "You've got this." You weren't sure if he heard you, but his gaze briefly met yours, and for a second, you could see a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. His opponent was already done, and he was already up next. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, his movements graceful but deliberate. He was going first, and you knew that meant he had to set the tone for everything that followed.

The moment the music began, you held your breath. The stage was his, the spotlight an extension of his confidence. He moved with purpose, his body flowing through the choreography, his expression focused. But even as he performed with precision, you could feel the nervous energy radiating off him-like an electric current you couldn't escape. His every move was calculated, but there was an undercurrent of doubt, something beneath the surface that wasn't quite in sync with the rest of him.

You couldn't help but feel that rush of empathy for him. You knew what it was like to stand before a crowd, vulnerable and exposed. You had seen him go through countless rehearsals, pushing himself to the limit, always trying to perfect every move. Now, it was his time to shine, and yet, you could see the hesitation in his eyes. A split second of doubt-a fraction of a moment-but you felt it too.

Your heart clenched when he stumbled, just a slight misstep in his footwork. It wasn't major, but it was enough to make you hold your breath. The crowd didn't notice, but you did. His face shifted, just for a moment, as if wondering whether he should keep going. You wanted to shout out, to tell him that it was okay, that everyone stumbled sometimes. But instead, you kept silent, your fingers pressing together as if in silent prayer for him.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the doubt disappeared. Sunghoon steadied himself, his eyes narrowing with renewed determination. His movements regained their fluidity, his form sharpening with precision. You could see the change, the way he refocused, pushed through the nerves, and turned what had been a potential mistake into a strength. It was like watching someone transform before your very eyes, finding their center in the midst of chaos.

As the final note echoed through the arena, you let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Sunghoon stood tall, his posture straight, his expression a mixture of relief and satisfaction. His shoulders were no longer tense, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself a small smile. The crowd erupted into applause, but you knew that it wasn't just the performance they were cheering for-it was his perseverance, his resilience. You couldn't help but feel proud, not just for the flawless performance, but for the man he was becoming.

Various stuffed toys rained from the audience, some bouquet of flowers as well for him. Another thing you loved about figure-skating was how adorable and thoughtful the crowd usually is after a performance, giving these cute gifts to those they were rooting for. Sunghoon beamed at the audience, picking up those they have offered him with sincere gratitude. 

You made your way to him as he stepped off the stage, his breath coming in steady waves, his eyes reflecting a quiet pride. Without thinking, you reached out, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder. "You were amazing," you said, your voice full of sincerity. Sunghoon turned to face you, his usual stoic expression softened by the warmth of your words. There was a brief pause before he replied, his voice almost a whisper, "Thanks."

In that moment, you realized that it wasn't just the applause or the recognition that mattered-it was the small moments between the chaos, the understanding, and the connection you shared. No matter how many performances, how many challenges, you would always be there, cheering him on. The journey was just as important as the destination, and together, you were walking it side by side.

As Sunghoon caught his breath, you stood by him, offering the comfort of your presence. The night had been a reminder of just how much he had grown, not just as a performer, but as a person. There was so much more ahead of him, so many more stages to conquer. But for tonight, you would celebrate the victory of this moment-the one where he pushed past his fears and rose above them.

And as you both stood there, amidst the echoes of the crowd's cheers, you knew that this was just the beginning. Whatever came next, you would face it together. 

He gave you one final nod of encouragement as his coach dragged him away to the hot seat. The scores were still being calculated as the 3rd competitor made his entrance, the music already garnering the audience's attention. Ivan lightly tugged on your jacket and silently checked if you were anxious or anything, but his tense shoulders relaxed when he saw you didn't look pained in any way whatsoever. I mean, how could you be alarmed when Sunghoon just inspired the living shit out of you. If anything, you felt amped up. You were certain his performance would make it into the top three, so you had to make yours would be just as good. 

Minutes feel like hours whenever you're waiting for something to happen. It definitely applies to when you're squirming in your seat as you worry about your score in a prestigious competition since you're representing your fucking country. That's what Sunghoon was undergoing right now. There, in the hotseat with labored breaths, a sweaty ass and a white sheep plushie squished by his clammy hands. 

The chill of the rink seeps through your jacket as you wait near the boards, skate guards clutched tightly in your hands. Your heart hammers against your ribs, the steady beat louder than the buzz of the commentators overhead. You can't take your eyes off the screen, your breathing shallow and uneven.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," one of the commentators announces, voice slicing through the tense air, "the score for Park Sunghoon in the Short Program—"

You hold your breath.

Sunghoon's performance replays behind your eyes — the sharp precision of his spins, the fluid grace of every transition, the sheer command he had over the ice. It had been the kind of skate that pulled people to the edge of their seats, left them hanging on every movement. You know he deserves a spot in the top three. Still, anticipation claws at your gut, as if some unseen hand could still tip the outcome.

"Park Sunghoon, ladies and gentlemen, delivered a truly remarkable performance today," the second commentator chimes in, a note of awe in their voice. "A seamless blend of strength and elegance, especially in those final jumps. His precision is unrivaled, and it's no surprise that he's managed to capture the judges' attention with such a commanding presence."

Your pulse quickens at the praise. You can practically feel the energy in the rink shift as Sunghoon's score flashes on the screen. "Park Sunghoon scores 56.61 points, placing him currently in second place!" The crowd erupts into a wave of cheers and applause. You feel a rush of pride swelling inside you — he made it into second place. Just like you'd hoped. Just like he deserved. His performance had earned every bit of that ranking, and you can't help but beam. You're so proud of him. But as the excitement simmers, another feeling quickly rushes in to take its place: urgency.

You glance at the running order. Two more skaters, then it's the women's turn. Your turn. Watching Sunghoon climb the leaderboard doesn't just fill you with pride — it ignites something hotter, sharper inside you. I have to match that brilliance, you think to yourself. I have to step onto that ice and make it my own.

You think of the countless hours spent alone in empty rinks, the falls, the frustration, the quiet victories no one ever clapped for. The sharp sting of sore muscles after a long practice, the lonely moments when all you had was the sound of your skates carving through the ice. Every moment has led to this — a chance to show the world what you're made of. A chance to be seen. A chance to be remembered.

As the next skater finishes their performance, the nerves in your stomach twist even tighter. You want to be calm. You want to be composed. But the adrenaline is overwhelming, your breath shallow as you mentally prepare to step into the spotlight.

Sunghoon and his coach happily march back to you and Ivan, exchanging hugs and congratulations with to them. Such a sappy moment, yet it felt nice to tangle into the sticky sweetness before stepping into the cold abyss, that is finally performing for what you've aimed for since day one. Sunghoon's hand caressed your cold ones. Which is ironic since his hand was just as cold, but it helped warm you up nonetheless. 

It was finally your turn. This is your moment.

Tonight, you promise yourself, you'll leave your own mark deep in its surface.

The familiar coldness of the rink nipped at your skin, but it wasn't the chill that had your heart hammering in your throat. It was the weight of everything you had worked for, everything that had brought you to this exact moment. The crowd's energy buzzed in the air, but you shut it out, focusing only on the steady glide of your skates across the ice as you made your way to the center.

Your body moved without hesitation, instinct guiding you as you struck your starting pose. The judges' eyes were locked on you — you could feel their gaze, but it wasn't fear that tightened your chest. It was something else. You were ready. You had to be. The music began, the unmistakable opening chords of "Don't Stop Me Now" blasting through the speakers, the energy of Freddie Mercury's voice filling the arena. "Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time..."

For a second, everything else faded. The sound of your skates cutting the ice, the way the rink seemed to pulse with life — it all aligned. The song itself was a rush, a perfect match for the moment you had waited for. The kind of song that didn't just ask for you to perform but demanded that you pour every ounce of your being into it. You had no choice but to give everything you had.

Your costume caught the light as you moved — a sleek, form-fitting design that shimmered under the spotlights. The fabric was dark and mysterious, a deep, glimmering black with accents of gold that rippled as you spun. It reflected the tempo of the song, each motion sharp and confident, each movement drawing the audience in as if the performance itself was alive.

You moved across the ice with purpose, each glide more determined than the last. You remembered Sunghoon — not just the boy who had changed you, but the boy who had shared in your dreams. Together, you had promised to be winners. Together, you had built a future that seemed so possible, so real. The weight of those memories drove you forward. He had taught you how to fight for what you loved, even if he wasn't there with you now.

The music was building, your energy rising to match it. "I'm having a ball, I'm having a good time..." You could feel the audience, the judges — everything — pulling you in, urging you to give more, to push further. This was your moment. You weren't just performing for yourself anymore; you were performing for every memory, every person who had ever believed in you, every time you had doubted your worth. And yes, for Sunghoon too, in a way.

You spun, soaring through the air with a controlled grace, your body aligned with the beat of the song, the rhythm of the ice. Every jump felt lighter than air, every movement a declaration of everything you had fought for. And when you landed, the music hit its peak. You struck the final pose, chest heaving, your heart pounding not in fear, but in triumph. You had done it. You had given everything you had.

The arena erupted in applause. You couldn't help the grin that spread across your face as you skated a slow circle, the sound of your supporters cheering louder than anything else in the world. You looked up, catching sight of your friends in the crowd — and, of course, they were there, as always, holding a mountain of Pokémon plushies. Some were even tossing them onto the ice as they cheered for you, their excited shouts a joyful chorus. You scooped up one of the plushies, laughing softly, knowing that despite everything — the struggles, the pain, the growth — this was exactly where you were meant to be.

It felt liberating having to perform with all your might, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. Excitedly, you sped right through the eyes and straight at Sunghoon, jumping into his outstretched arms, sending both of you tumbling to the floor, the plushies you both were holding following suit. It's so cliche, but he made you feel all too giddy to the point where you don't care. Or maybe the adrenaline from the performance really got to you. 

Your coaches cracked up at your antics, pulling you up and off Sunghoon by the arms. You just came to notice the random burst of screams that came from the crowd since you jumped into his arms, confused at the sudden sound, your eyes scouted the arena for an answer. Perhaps there was an intermission number or something that stirred the crowd awake. Your questions were answered when you heard the commentators laugh out, ""It looks like our performer's got some extra energy after that routine! What an adorable moment, everyone! Looks like we've got a little unexpected performance happening here as well!"

You blinked in surprise, your face flushing a deep shade of red. It hit you then — the crowd hadn't been screaming because of some random intermission number. They were cheering for you. For the way you had jumped into Sunghoon's arms like you were the lead in some cheesy rom-com. The realization made you both embarrassed and oddly elated at the same time.

Sunghoon chuckled softly, holding you close for a moment longer before he helped you back on your feet. His grip was steady, and the glint of amusement in his eyes only made your heart race faster. "Guess we're the show now, huh?" he teased, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. You gave a playful shove, still trying to gather yourself. "Shut up," you muttered, but there was no malice in it. You were laughing, your pulse still pounding with adrenaline. You had just given it your all, and despite the sudden awkwardness, you didn't regret a single second of it.

The applause didn't stop. In fact, it seemed to grow louder, a mix of appreciation and laughter from the crowd as they witnessed the fun, carefree moment you'd shared with Sunghoon. But you could hardly focus on that now — your eyes were still darting around the rink, scanning for your friends, your supporters, the ones who had always been there.

It was cliche, yet, but sometimes cliche felt the most real. And in that moment, with all the noise around you and the lights shining down, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. With your heart still racing, you held onto that moment — and the plushies — for as long as you could.

Ivan eventually snatched you to the hot seat, your knees jerking as you hugged yourself in suspense. Why'd the judges always take so long in giving out ratings? It always just gives your stomach extra time to churn in and shrink itself. Your grip on Ivan's hand (which he offered for you to hold) steeled when the announcer's long awaited voice rang through the arena's massive speakers. 

"And there you have it, folks, what a spectacular display of skill and grace! Let's see how the judges scored this remarkable performance." The first commentator's voice rings out, his tone full of admiration. You can feel the tension building as the second commentator chimes in."Indeed, an impressive show of precision and artistry. Now, let's get the official score. After a routine like that, it's anyone's guess where she'll land, but there's no denying the level of talent she's bringing to the ice."

Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, it feels like everything around you fades as the numbers flash on the screen. You can't tear your eyes away from the display, holding your breath in the brief silence. "And the score is in!" The first commentator exclaims. "With a total score of  57.63, she secures the second-place spot in this highly competitive short program!"

A rush of emotion sweeps over you. Relief, joy, pride. You've made it. Your hard work, all the hours spent on the ice, and the moments of doubt — it all feels worth it. The applause from the crowd fills your ears, but it's the commentators' voices that hold your attention now. "Second place, folks, an outstanding achievement, especially in a field as competitive as this! It's clear that she's earned her place at the top. With the free program still ahead, anything can happen, but with a performance like that, she's definitely one to watch."

You can feel the warm glow of satisfaction spreading through you as your supporters cheer, their enthusiasm washing over you like a wave. You glance up at them, noticing the familiar faces, their smiles of pride and encouragement. But it's not just for them — this is for you too. You've pushed yourself further than you ever thought possible. The commentators' voices continue to echo in the background, but you're too lost in the moment to focus on anything else. You've made it this far, and you're determined to finish strong.

In the end, the two of you happily walked hand in hand, wearing matching grins and silver medals dangling from your proud chests. You've already told your parents about the win, and of course they were estatic. They actually already knew, since they were glued to the tv as to support from home. Your dad was crying when he picked up the phone, drawling about how proud the family is. As expected, your sister brought up the hug, but it was overshadowed by the good news. 

That night, your coaches spoiled the two of you rotten by treating you to this really fancy restaurant as a reward, buying some soju and urging the both of you to take a sip or two. "Come on, you know you want to. I won't tell you parents, so don't worry about them finding out" Ivan urged an already open bottle to both yours an Sunghoon's glass. Giving one another a look of uncertainty, the two of you internally debated whether or not to do it.

But the moment Sunghoon cracked a smile, you did too, already grabbing the battle from Ivan and pouring nearly equal amounts into your glasses, clinking it together and downing the bitter, clear liquid that was so strong, you were gagging the rest of the night while Sunghoon asked for a couple more sips. This night was the start. Sunghoon's turning point. 

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Years passed by in a blur, and now, you were 17, lounging in Sunghoon's bedroom as a random movie played on his laptop. The two of you has long gotten more and more comfortable with one another as you tried and experience more new things together. He bought you your first pet, you both went to your first unsupervised party together, and a lot more risque stuff. Both of you wanted to lead up to the actual thing with baby steps first instead of diving in headfirst and accidentally hurting each other in the process due to inexperience. So, you planned it. 

Today, you were going through another first. Your first blowjob as a couple. 

It began with a hand straying from his shoulder all the way to his thigh from beneath the blanket. Gentle caresses littered across his body until you saw a tent form. He was embarrassed from it, and tried to push you away, stammering a half-assed excuse to get you to stop, "D-don't look!" His demeanor only made you coo in his ear, "You don't want to, Hoonie?" 

Your hand halted, waiting for him to push you away. One last chance to walk away, but when he didn't move, your hand flew right to his crotch. Pointer finger poking at the clothed peak of the bulge. He bit his lips, hands grabbing at the laptop to raise its volume to drown out the sinful noises he knew he was going to make. "The door is locked, right?" You asked, worried his mom might barge in on you two.

Was he able to process your question? No. Did he nod nonetheless? Yes. 

Oh well, who were you to deny him of his pleasure when he obviously wants it, if his jerking hips were anything to go by. You continued palming at his erection, mouthing kisses all over his neck. Your bodies felt so hot, as if you were veiled by the warmth of your horniness, leaving you too feeling like your brains melted into a puddle of sinful desires. There was already a damp spot in his shorts, and he bagan to feel impatient.

Slipping a finger around the seam of his shorts and underwear, he pulled it off just enough to let his cock spring free. It slapped against your hand, making you retract it from the sudden feeling of touching a dick for the first time and him; sigh out in relief of feeling another hand touch his dick, even just for a split second. Your pussy fluttered when your hand made contact with the foreign...object?

Gathering enough courage, you reached for it again, feeling it twitch at your grasp, Sunghoon's already letting out silent moans. "What do I do..?" You ask eyes fully open yet not really looking at him. You were staring into nothingness as you imagined how your hand as his cock looked like under these sheets. "J-just wrap your hand around it and move it up and down.." He instructed, wrapping his hand around yours and guiding its movements.

You couldn't help but moan at the feeling of just his dick against your hand. His chest heaved as the pace of your hands quickened, "Baby, please-please.. talk.. I want to hear your voice." He breathed out. "W-what do you want me to say?" Twitch. "Anything, oh god, say anything, baby."

His voice was strained against his throat, head thrown back into the pillow. The muscles of his next were flexing, it looked so damn enticing. "Mm.. you look so hot right now Hoonie.." You say before you traced your tongue along the veins and Adam's apple on his neck. Whispering profanities, Sunghoon announced he was close. "Count for me..."

And so you did, counting down from three to one. And like some magic trick, he came on your command, cum spurting and wetting the blanket as he spasmed. His back arched, brows furrowed, mouth slacked. It felt like a blessing to get to see him orgasm. Because of your hand, not to mention. 

Your lips crashed into his with a messy urgency, tasting your shared breath as your tongues slid against each other in a sloppy, desperate kiss. Every flick, every suck, felt like a continuation of what had just happened—raw and reckless. Your hand, still slick from the way you'd been stroking him moments ago, trailed off his spent cock, his cum clinging to your fingers. Instead of wiping it away, you reached for his hand, lacing your sticky fingers with his, letting the mess smear between your joined palms. Filthy, intimate, and perfect.

"How was it, baby?" you murmured against his kiss-swollen lips, voice dipped in smug satisfaction as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. They were glassy, half-lidded, the pupils blown wide with lingering pleasure.

He whimpered, actually whimpered, too fucked-out to form a real sentence. "It was... fuck, amazing..." His voice cracked, wrecked from moaning your name like a prayer.

You hummed softly, the sound low and pleased, vibrating from your chest. With a slow, languid movement, you nestled closer, laying your head over his heart, its thudding beats still racing beneath the surface of his chest. The rise and fall of his breathing began to sync with yours as your eyelashes fluttered closed. Wrapped in the sticky heat and the quiet aftermath, you allowed your body to melt into his, eyelids growing heavy, ready to drift off to sleep cradled in the comfort of his embrace.

You sighed, eyelids fluttering shut as his arm instinctively wrapped around you, cum drying on your tangled hands like a dirty little promise. The room was silent except for the soft sound of your breathing, still in sync, and the occasional satisfied exhale escaping his lips.

If you slept like this, stuck together and still covered in the aftermath, you didn't mind one bit.

"You definitely have to let me make you feel good too."

A smile found its way on your lips again, "Some other day, Hoonie."

And with that, the two of you slipped into dreamland, tangled against each other's limbs, movie long forgotten. The credit scenes were already showing at this point, when his door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Park. Had she walked in ten minutes earlier, she would've kicked you out immediately. Turns out the door wasn't really locked. 

Fortunately, the sight that met her eyes was just her son and his girlfriend fast asleep as they innocently cuddled. She sighed, feeling her maternal senses take over her once again, turning the movie off and folding the laptop shut, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her so as to not wake you two up. Completely unaware that his son's dick laid flaccid, caged in your warm hands, hidden beneath the warmth of her freshly laundered sheets. 

❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎

 The soft hum of the air conditioner was the only sound filling your room, aside from the subtle rustling of your sheets. The house was quiet—eerily so—but you weren't complaining. Your parents and sister were away for the night, some conference meeting they couldn't drag you to, and it had left the house blissfully empty. Yours. Yours and his.

Sunghoon sat on the edge of your bed, fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of his hoodie as he looked at you with that unsure, boyish glance he always gave you right before crossing a line. You knew that look. You welcomed it. "You sure?" he asked, voice just above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile air between you. "That I can... try?"

You leaned back against your pillows, legs stretched out and bare, your shirt slightly oversized—his, actually—and hanging just low enough to be teasing. You tilted your head, smirking softly. "I told you, Hoon... my body's yours to figure out." His breath caught.

You could practically see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. He wanted to touch you—badly. Not just to get you off, but to learn. To explore. To study every sigh, every shiver, every sound he could pull from your lips. His fingers twitched where they rested on his lap. "You can experiment," you said again, a little slower this time, the weight of the words sinking into his skin. "Touch me. See what makes me feel good. What makes me melt. What makes me beg."

Sunghoon swallowed hard, and the shift in his posture was subtle—but telling. His hand finally moved, hesitantly brushing against your thigh, testing the waters. Warmth bloomed where he touched you, tentative but thrilling. "I wanna learn you," he murmured, his fingers splaying out slightly, stroking over your skin like it was sacred. "I wanna be good for you."

You reached for his hand and guided it further up, heart thudding in anticipation. "Then learn, Hoon," you whispered, breath ghosting across his cheek. "Use me." His cheeks flushed, and his hand trembled just a bit—but it didn't stop. It traveled. Down, in. Testing. Tasting. Exploring you with reverence and heat. And with the house so empty, with no one around to hear the sounds he'd draw out of you, Sunghoon let himself indulge

His fingers traced the hem of your underwear with a kind of focused awe, like he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you like this—soft, slow, exploring, not rushing anything. You parted your legs for him without a word, giving him silent permission, and his breath hitched at the sight of you—barely dressed, spread out just for him, waiting.

“Tell me if I’m doing it right,” he whispered, voice hoarse, but his fingers were already moving. He slipped beneath the fabric, his touch featherlight as he finally cupped you fully, his fingers grazing your folds like you were the most delicate thing he’d ever handled. You bit your lip and let out a soft moan, hips twitching into his touch. “Keep going… You’ll know when you are.”

His jaw clenched, a flicker of pride flickering in his eyes. One finger dragged through your slick slowly, his eyes glued to your expression like it was his manual. He circled your clit once, uncertainly, then again with more purpose. Your breath hitched. “There,” you gasped, voice strained, and he immediately focused on it, his finger pressing just a little firmer, learning your rhythm, watching every reaction. “F-Feels good when you do that…”

Sunghoon licked his lips, completely entranced. “You’re so wet… fuck,” he muttered under his breath, a flush creeping down his neck. “Is that all from me?” You nodded, pulling him down into a kiss as he continued working his fingers in slow, exploratory movements. “All yours, Hoon. All because of you.” He groaned into your mouth, encouraged. Emboldened. He slid a finger into you carefully, eyes darting between your parted lips and the subtle arch of your back. Then another. Your walls clenched around him, needy and warm, and he swore softly again.

“God, you feel… amazing,” he whispered, curling his fingers ever so slightly, testing, watching. You gasped and gripped his wrist. “There. Just like that. Again—”. He obeyed immediately, curling again, hitting that spot that made you tremble. You moaned freely now, the sound echoing off your bedroom walls, shameless and hot.

He was getting better by the second—more confident, more curious. Your thighs trembled around his hand as he leaned in, voice low against your neck. “I wanna make you cum with my fingers,” he murmured, breath tickling your skin. “Let me? Please?” “Do it,” you whispered, dizzy with heat. “Make me yours.”

And that he did. Quickening the pace of his fingers as your hands desperately clawed on the sheets of your pillow. The pads of his fingertips reaching the all the good crevices in you, you swore you saw stars cloud your vision when you hit your peak. Sunghoon stood watch, keeping his hand in place, peering at the way you arch and spasm all because of him. He thought you looked so damn beautiful, with your sweat-stained face and neglected nipples perking through your shirt. 

Without much of a thought, he leaned in and popped your clothed bud into his mouth, nipping and prodding at it with his tongue. His act made your cunt flutter and pulse, so he kept doing it. All you could do was mewl and tangle your fingers into his soft, black locks. You rode out your high, and when you finally completely got off, the feeling of immense drowsiness took over you once again. And it seems like it had Sunghoon in a chokehold too, as he collapsed onto you and tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

Your body was still humming, nerves frayed in the best way, as if every inch of your skin had been kissed with static. You lay there—limp, warm, sticky, and so unbelievably satisfied—while Sunghoon draped himself over you like a blanket, his breath fanning gently against your neck. His lips pressed a lazy kiss to your skin, then another, like he just couldn’t stop touching you, even if he was too exhausted to do more.

You chuckled softly, the sound barely more than a breath. “You good?” you murmured, fingers lazily carding through his hair, still a little damp with sweat. “I think I died for a second,” he mumbled against your skin, voice low and hoarse, but laced with a teasing kind of affection. “If that’s what death feels like, I don’t even wanna come back.”

You laughed, cheeks warm, your heart fluttering from more than just the aftermath. “Dramatic much?” “Dead serious,” he grinned, finally shifting to look at you, his cheek pressed against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded, sleepy and content. “You sounded so pretty… like you were made for me.”

Your stomach flipped at the honesty in his tone. You turned to face him fully, your noses almost touching now, the air thick with warmth and something deeper than lust. “Mm… You’ve got good hands,” you murmured, fingers brushing down his jaw. “I think they’re my favorite now.” “Oh yeah?” he asked, smirking faintly, thumb tracing slow circles on your hip under the blanket. “Wanna let me try more things next time? Take notes?”

You raised a brow, pretending to be serious. “You’re taking this science experiment thing very seriously.” “I’m a thorough learner,” he whispered, kissing your collarbone softly. “And I wanna know everything… like what kind of kisses make you melt, what kind of touches make you gasp—” “What words make me beg,” you added cheekily, and he chuckled, low and fond.

“Exactly,” he breathed. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled only with the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft creaking of the sheets as you both shifted to get closer. His leg tangled with yours. His fingers intertwined with your hand under the blanket—sticky, warm, and so gentle. “I like this,” you murmured, your voice growing sleepier. “Not just the… y’know, mind-blowing stuff. I mean this. You. Here.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, barely audible but full of something unspoken. “Me too.” And then nothing else needed to be said. Because in that dimly lit room, beneath tangled sheets and the ghost of each other’s touch, everything already felt like a promise.

You didn’t know how long you’d been lying there—tangled up, limbs heavy, breath slowing—but neither of you made any move to separate. Sunghoon stayed draped over you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go, his leg slung lazily over yours, his face still nuzzled in the crook of your neck. You shifted a little under him, chuckling weakly. “If you keep breathing on my neck like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to wind me up again.”

He groaned softly, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “Too tired to do anything right now… but if you wake me up in, like, an hour…” You laughed, real and low and warm. “Oh? Setting a cooldown timer now?” “Call it recovery time,” he mumbled, his fingers tracing idle shapes on your side. “You wore me out, babe.”

“Please,” you snorted, twirling a strand of his hair around your finger. “You were moaning like you were the one being touched.” “That’s because I was losing my mind,” he admitted shamelessly, lifting his head just enough to meet your eyes. “You’re dangerous.” You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Dangerous, huh?”

“Mmhm. But like… the ‘ruin me in the best way’ kind.” You rolled your eyes fondly. “So dramatic.” “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheek, “but only for you.” Your cheeks warmed, but you were too relaxed to hide it. You let out a soft sigh, your hand sliding up his back, palm warm against his bare skin. The silence that followed was comforting, filled only by your breathing and the faint creak of the bed as he settled in even closer.

“Hey,” he murmured a minute later, sleep tugging at his voice. “Mm?” “When I wake up…” he paused, tracing your lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “Can I try using my mouth next time?” Your breath hitched, your thighs instinctively pressing together. “Hoon.” “What?” he smirked, already smug. “You said I could experiment.” You narrowed your eyes at him, lips twitching. “Yeah, and now I’m gonna experiment with suffocating you with this pillow.” He laughed into your neck, the sound sleepy but genuine. “Worth it.”

And with that, he tucked himself in against you again, holding you a little tighter as both of you finally began to drift, your bodies messy and close, your hearts stupidly full. "Seriously speaking, though, I'll let you." 

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So that’s how he woke you up— Not with a kiss to the cheek, not with whispered words or lazy cuddles. No. It was the wet, deliberate slide of his tongue, dragging between your thighs, starting at the crook of your knees and working its sinful way upward.

At first, you thought you were dreaming. The warm, slick sensation felt too good, too filthy for reality. But then you blinked open your bleary eyes, only to be met with the sight of Sunghoon sprawled out between your legs, his hair messy from sleep, his eyes dark and half-lidded with hunger.

Your legs instinctively clamped together, embarrassed by how easily your body responded to him even after everything last night. But he didn’t force them apart. He didn’t rush. He simply nestled himself deeper into the space you allowed, his large palms smoothing up the outsides of your thighs in slow, lazy strokes, coaxing you to relax without a single word.

Of fucking course he was.

And all the while, his tongue continued its maddening path—

Long, wet drags along your lips, broad and languid, never breaching further, never grazing your sensitive clit. He was taking his time, savoring you, tasting you like he had all the patience in the world. You let out a soft, frustrated whimper, threading your fingers into the sheets. He was teasing you.

Every slow pass of his tongue, every deliberate avoidance of your most sensitive spot had you trembling, your hips twitching in silent desperation. But Sunghoon just chuckled low against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through your core. “You’re so warm down here,” he murmured, voice thick and gravelly from sleep, the tip of his nose nudging gently against your folds as he spoke. “So sweet.”

You squirmed, a soft, needy sound falling from your lips, but he only pressed a kiss against your mound—tender, almost reverent—and resumed his unhurried pace. “Relax, baby,” he whispered, teasing another slow lick along your slit, making your thighs tremble against his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And God, the way he said it—low, certain, promising—made your entire body feel like it was melting into the mattress.

You gasped. Your hips jerked. Your fingers flew to his hair on instinct, clutching at the soft strands as your back arched clean off the mattress. “Shit—Sunghoon—” you breathed out, voice already trembling. He moaned low against you like he’d been starving, like the taste of you was all he needed to survive. His arms looped under your thighs, locking you in place, and then he really got to work—flattening his tongue against your clit, then flicking, then circling, relentless and rhythmic.

Sunghoon was going to ruin you again.

And you were going to let him.\But you didn’t expect how quickly he’d shift gears—how the moment he felt your thighs twitch with impatience, he gave in. His lips parted, and with one firm, messy lick, he finally dragged his tongue over your clit.

There was no more teasing. No more testing. Just full, unfiltered hunger. The slick, obscene sounds of his mouth on you filled the room, and you were already unraveling, moans spilling out freely as he sucked gently, then harder, drawing more of you into his mouth like he couldn’t get close enough. You looked down through bleary eyes, and the sight of him nearly broke you—his dark hair messy between your thighs, eyes fluttered shut like he was praying with his mouth, a single muscle ticking in his jaw every time you whimpered his name.

You came hard, with a gasp and a shudder, your body curling into itself as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. He held you steady the whole time, lapping you through it, not stopping even as your thighs trembled violently around his head. When it was over, when your body had fully gone boneless and your breath came in shallow, spent little whimpers, he finally pulled back—his lips glossy, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy with pride. He pressed a gentle kiss to your thigh. “Good morning, baby.”

He lifted his eyes then, locking them with yours, and fuck—

That look. It was so full of need. Of devotion. “Come on, baby,” he rasped, breath hot against your core as he licked you again. “Let go for me. I wanna feel you fall apart.” And with how he mouthed at your clit—sucking slow, then fast, then slow again—you did.

And just like that, you took his first time giving head. And you'll be damned if you don't steal his first time receiving either. Instantly, after you regained your strength, you flipped him over, so now, you were mounted on to him, crotches dangerously close to one another. Your breathing was ragged. If you scooched your ass just enough, you knew this would immediately lead to something else. But it's too early for that. 

So, before he could even get a word in, you were already moving—sliding down the sheets with slow, deliberate grace, eyes locked onto the outline of him beneath his shorts. He was already hard. Straining. Practically twitching from how badly he wanted you, and yet still trying to keep it together.

You looked up through your lashes, lips parted just slightly, playing it innocent when the intent behind your gaze was anything but. "Can I?" you asked, voice soft—sweet like honey, sticky like sin. He looked down at you like he was caught between heaven and hell, his knuckles turning white where they fisted the blanket beneath him. You could see it all over him—the way his throat bobbed, the way his abs tightened, the way his eyes searched yours for permission and fear all at once.

You hovered just above his lap, face so close your breath ghosted over the fabric. And then—

You pressed your cheek against the bulge. That single, teasing nudge had him sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. His hips bucked, just barely, like he couldn’t help himself. Like your skin on him, even through the layers, was enough to short-circuit his restraint.

“Baby…” he whispered, voice strained, “what if I hurt you?” You blinked slowly, your expression still soft but oh so certain. “Then take it slow. Learn me.” Your fingers toyed with the hem of his waistband, eyes still never leaving his. “I trust you.” And that broke him. Something behind his eyes snapped—need, love, desperation all crashing together. He exhaled shakily, letting his head fall back for a second before locking eyes with you again, gaze wild now. Hungry.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, almost like a prayer. Almost like a promise. And then, his hips lifted slightly in silent surrender—offering himself to you, placing every ounce of his control in your hands. You smiled. Because now, it was your turn to ruin him.

Lowering his shorts, you peeled them down slowly, watching every inch of skin reveal itself like it was sacred. And the moment the waistband cleared his hips, his cock sprang free—flushed, heavy, leaking at the tip. But what caught your attention more than anything else… was the huge, damp patch darkening his gray boxers.

Your brows lifted, lips parting with a small, breathy chuckle. “Hoonie…” you murmured, tracing a finger just along the edge of the wet fabric. “Did you come while you were fingering me earlier?” His jaw tensed. His eyes fluttered shut, like even the memory of it was too much. A deep flush crept down his neck. “I—” He let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to. You were just… you looked so pretty falling apart. I couldn’t—fuck, I tried to hold it.”

You smiled, eyes softening as you looked up at him. There was something heartbreakingly sweet about it—about how much he wanted to please you, how deeply your pleasure affected him. “That hot, huh?” you whispered, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to the slick tip of his cock. He twitched under the touch, breath catching.

“You have no idea,” he rasped, voice low and wrecked. You hummed, lips brushing against him again, deliberately slow. “Guess I’ll have to return the favor… make you feel it all over again.” And this time, you weren’t playing innocent. You were in control—eager, unhurried, and fully aware of the way he fell apart beneath your touch. His hands gripped the sheets again, but this time he didn’t speak. He just watched. Watched you like you were something unreal—something he’d only ever dreamt of touching, let alone being touched by. And you—You were just getting started.

You took your time, savoring the moment—the way his chest heaved with every breath, the way his hands gripped the sheets like he was trying to hold onto his control. You knew what you were doing to him, and it made you want to tease him more.

With a slow, calculated motion, you leaned in again, this time pressing your lips gently to the tip of his cock, letting your breath flutter across him. His body stiffened immediately. You could feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his eyes clenched shut in frustration.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. “You’re killing me.”

You smiled, a soft, knowing curve of your lips as you slid your hand up his shaft, your thumb swiping at the precum leaking at the tip. His hips jerked slightly, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at how desperate he already was.

“Patience, baby,” you teased, your voice a little too sweet. You swirled your thumb over him one more time before you let your tongue flick out, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his body shaking as you moved up and down, slow and deliberate.

“Just like that… fuck,” he groaned, head falling back against the pillow, his lips parted as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

You hummed in response, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were dark with lust, lips trembling, and you could see how hard it was for him to keep it together.

“You like that, Hoonie?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “You like how I’m taking my time?”

“God, yes…” he moaned, his hips moving involuntarily. His fingers tightened around the sheets, knuckles going white. “You have no idea how bad I need you.”

You chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it—just a wicked thrill, the kind that made everything feel so much more intense. You slid your mouth down his cock slowly, inch by inch, taking him deeper. The feeling of him on your tongue made your own body ache with desire, but you were focused—completely focused on him and how he was unraveling under your touch.

When you finally took him all the way in, his body stiffened, and a loud, desperate moan escaped him. His fingers threaded into your hair, pulling you even closer, but you pulled back, lips teasing the tip once more.

“Can’t have you coming too soon, Hoonie,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but your words were laced with authority. “I want to make this last.”

He groaned, eyes shut tight as if just hearing you say it was enough to drive him mad. “You’re fucking killing me,” he breathed, voice trembling. “But god, please… don’t stop. I can’t—fuck, I can’t wait.”

And you didn’t. You kept going, taking him deeper, sucking him slowly, teasing the edges of his control with every movement. Your hands cupped his balls, massaging gently, making him gasp, pulling every inch of pleasure from him as he squirmed beneath you.

He was losing it, and you could feel it—how his body was shaking with the effort of holding himself back, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Please,” he whispered, voice strained and desperate. “I need you to finish me.”

But you were far from done. With one final, long, slow draw of your mouth over him, you pulled away, leaving him gasping, eyes wild and wanting. The air between you both was thick with anticipation, the kind of tension that left you both breathless. Sunghoon’s hands were trembling slightly as he touched you, fingers skimming over your body as if he was mapping every inch of you. His lips brushed over your neck, gentle but desperate, his warm breath mingling with your skin.

"Are you sure?" His voice was low, just above a whisper, but you could hear the doubt, the fear that you might say no, even though he was aching to go further.

You nodded slowly, running your fingers through his hair, holding his face close to yours. “I’m sure, Hoonie. I want this. I want you. But I need you to take care of me.”

A flicker of concern passed through his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something stronger. Something primal. "I’ll take care of you, I swear," he breathed, his hands moving to lift your legs gently, positioning you just the way he wanted you.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His eyes were locked onto yours, searching, seeking permission. He needed to know you were truly ready, even though his body betrayed him—his cock was throbbing, aching, desperate to be inside you.

You held his gaze, offering a soft smile, your voice a whisper of reassurance. “It’s just you and me, Hoonie. Let go.”

His lips crashed to yours in an almost desperate kiss, as if the act of kissing you could drown out the flood of emotions swirling inside him. Slowly, he shifted between your legs, his breath uneven as he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours, his body trembling slightly as he fought the urge to just push inside. He was trying to be patient, trying to give you time, but the need inside him was overwhelming.

“You’re mine now,” he muttered against your lips, as he slowly pushed the tip inside, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll stop.”

You nodded, breathing deeply, your body slowly adjusting to the sensation of him inside you. It was a mix of pain and pleasure, but you knew it would be worth it. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with need. “Just… take it slow.”

Sunghoon’s face twisted in concentration, the effort to control himself evident in the way his jaw clenched. He didn’t want to rush it. He wanted to savor every second of this moment—your first time together.

He pushed deeper, inch by inch, his breath coming faster as he filled you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back as you adjusted to the fullness of him. It wasn’t easy—there was still that stinging burn, that feeling of being stretched, but you could tell by the way Sunghoon’s eyes widened that it was just as intense for him.

"God, you feel so tight," he muttered, his voice barely audible, strained with both pleasure and restraint. “So fucking perfect.”

You moaned softly, your body slowly adjusting as he began to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first, as if he was waiting for you to tell him it was okay to go faster.

“Move, Hoonie,” you whispered, your voice thick with need. “Make me feel good.”

And with that, he let go. The restraint he’d been holding onto shattered as he started to thrust deeper, harder. His body moved with yours, a rhythm built on desire and the desperate need to feel more of each other. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, your body quickly heating up from the friction, the connection.

He kissed you again, more urgently this time, his hands gripping your hips to pull you closer, driving deeper into you with every thrust. You could feel the tension building, the way your body started to coil tighter, your moans escaping uncontrollably as he made love to you with a passion that left you breathless.

“Oh God, Hoonie,” you gasped, your hands grasping at him as you clung to him for support. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he grunted, his voice raw, desperate. “Not until you come for me.”

He was relentless now, his thrusts speeding up as your bodies collided with a force that made your head spin. The pleasure began to mount, and before you knew it, you were on the edge—teetering on the brink of ecstasy, every nerve in your body screaming for release.

With one final thrust, you exploded, your body shaking violently as the orgasm ripped through you, pulling a broken gasp from your lips. Sunghoon followed soon after, his name falling from your lips in a breathless, needy cry as he came inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both panting, your chests rising and falling in sync as you lay there, tangled in each other, letting the aftershocks of pleasure subside.

And you knew it. You loved it. Every second of it. He did too. And he sure as hell wasn’t afraid to voice it out.

Before he could think it through, the words spilled out of his mouth, and he just couldn’t hit the brakes. His body trembled beneath yours, eyes wide, filled with a mixture of desperation and raw adoration. The room felt thick with the tension, his voice strained as he struggled to hold it all together.

"Fuck... I love you," he gasped, the words slipping out like a confession he didn’t even know he was ready to make.

The moment hung in the air between you two, heavy and electric. His gaze locked with yours, wide and vulnerable, as if he’d just said something he couldn’t take back—but he didn’t want to. Not anymore.

His chest heaved as he breathed heavily, his fingers gently caressing your hair, as if afraid to break the fragile moment that just passed. “I love you, I love you so much, I—” He cut himself off with a groan, hands finding purchase on your hips as if grounding himself. “God, I don’t know what the hell I’m saying, but I know I mean it.”

You froze for a moment, feeling a wild rush of heat fill you—not just from the way he was touching you, but from the sheer vulnerability in his voice, the way his eyes begged for you to believe him. To feel it with him.

And it hit you.

It hit you harder than any of the touches or moans, deeper than any of the teasing and slow build-ups. He wasn’t just desperate for you physically anymore. Sunghoon was in love with you.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, letting the weight of the moment settle over both of you. His hands were trembling now, brushing over your skin like he was still in awe of the connection between you two.

"Sunghoon..." you whispered, voice shaky but full of the same raw emotion.

His lips hovered just above yours, his breath mingling with yours as he let out another desperate sigh, this time filled with a quiet ache. "I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, his voice cracking slightly, making your heart race. "I didn’t want to say it like this... but I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you."

Your heart beat wildly, and for a moment, neither of you moved, both suspended in the fragile vulnerability of the moment, both knowing this wasn’t just about the physical anymore—it was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.

And before you could even answer, he kissed you—a slow, tender kiss that conveyed everything he’d just said. The love, the urgency, the wanting.

This wasn’t a tease anymore. This was real.

And you knew, then, you were both in this together.

"I love you too."

❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎⋆｡˚𓂃｡˚☃︎˚｡⋆❄︎

Reminiscing all your sweet moments, your firsts, the six years of your life you spent with him. Within those six years, you'd fixed his insecurities, helped his growth as a person, supported him through all his decisions—and he did the same for you. There was a time when it felt like the world revolved around just the two of you. You saw each other not as perfect, but as irreplaceable. Eventually, the two of you moved in together in a homey little apartment near your university. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a one-bedroom with creaky floorboards and slightly chipped kitchen tiles, but it felt like yours. It was yours. A space that smelled like his cologne and your favorite candle, always a little cluttered but always filled with laughter.

Sunghoon had gotten a part-time job at a cute cafe just around the corner. He insisted on it—to help with the expenses, he said—but more than that, he refused to let you stress. He absolutely refused to make you lift a finger if he could help it. “You focus on school, I’ve got the rest,” he used to say with a kiss on your temple and a warm mug in hand. And for a while, that worked. For a while, things were good. You’d wake up tangled in each other’s limbs, argue over what movie to watch, fall asleep in the middle of your shared chaos. You had your own rhythm, your own peace.

But then—around five months into living together—something shifted.

At first, it was subtle. Sunghoon started coming home later and later, offering excuses that felt thin no matter how kindly they were worded. “Extra shift,” “a coworker called in,” “the register was off.” You tried not to be that kind of partner. The clingy, paranoid type. So you gave him space. You didn’t question him much. You trusted him. But days stretched into weeks, and the distance between you only grew.

He was tired all the time, barely present when he was home. Meals were skipped. Conversations were short. Affection faded. What was once his warm hand on your back as you drifted off became cold sheets and an empty side of the bed. You were patient—God, you were so patient. You tried to initiate, to ask him gently if everything was okay. But he brushed it off, each time more dismissively than the last.

Until one morning, it all boiled over. The fight started like most fights do—quiet, subtle, like a crack in glass. You didn’t even mean to start it. Not really. You just asked him if he’d be home in time for dinner.

He barely looked up from tying his shoes, already halfway out the door. “Probably not. Minji asked if I could cover her closing shift again.”

Again. That word tasted bitter on your tongue now. Minji. Again.

You stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You’ve been covering for her a lot lately.”

He looked up briefly, his brows twitching in annoyance. “She’s going through some stuff. It’s just a few extra hours.”

“A few extra hours every night,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “Hoon, I don’t even remember the last time we had dinner together without one of us falling asleep at the table.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, the same hand you used to hold when things got hard. “I’m working, okay? I’m trying to help. We’ve got rent, utilities, your tuition—it’s not like I’m out partying.”

“I didn’t say you were,” you murmured. “But you’re never here anymore. I feel like I live with a ghost." The fight came out fast and harsh—words sharp like broken glass. He was getting ready for another late shift, and you, exhausted and hurt from feeling ignored for weeks, finally snapped. “It’s like you don’t see me anymore,” you cried, your voice cracking. “I didn’t move in just to live alone with someone else’s toothbrush in the bathroom!”

He looked at you, jaw tense, eyes tired—not from lack of sleep, but from detachment. “I’m working so you don’t have to. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he shot back. The words felt like a slap. And before either of you could stop it, it spiraled. It turned into something ugly, something neither of you wanted to say. You didn’t even kiss goodbye when he walked out. He didn’t even look back.

The words struck something in him. He stood straighter, jaw clenched. “So now I’m the bad guy because I’m trying to keep us afloat?”

“No,” you said, a little softer now, trying to rein it back. “You’re not the bad guy. I just… I miss you.”

“We’ll talk later. I’m already late.”

He paused, and for a moment, you thought he might meet you halfway. Say I miss you too. Say Let’s figure it out.

But instead, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Hoon—”

He was already at the door, not even looking back. “We’ll talk later.”

And just like that, the conversation ended with the click of the door closing behind him.

But guilt came fast. And heavy.

Maybe he was stressed. Maybe you’d pushed too hard. You didn’t want him walking into work with that fight weighing him down. So a few hours later, after pacing the apartment, you decided to go to the café. To surprise him. Maybe share a muffin, maybe hug him and say sorry first. Maybe—just maybe—fix things.

You stood there, staring at the silence he left behind. The untouched plates on the table. The half-cut vegetables you were chopping for a meal that wouldn’t be shared.

You didn’t know it then—but you wouldn’t get the chance to talk it out.

Because that night, while you were preparing to apologize, to meet him halfway, to forgive—

On the way, you stopped by a small fruit vendor and bought a small brown paper bag of fresh tangerines—his favorite. He always peeled them for you, careful not to get the juice on your fingers. It felt like a quiet way to say, I’m still here. I still care.

He was in someone else’s arms.

And the conversation would turn into a wound you’d never forget.

The bell chimed when you walked into the café. The place was warm and cozy, as always, but unfamiliar faces were behind the counter. One of the other staff—someone you’d only seen in passing—recognized you. “Oh, you’re Sunghoon’s girlfriend, right? He’s in the back. You can go ahead, he won’t mind.”

You smiled, heart fluttering with nervous hope, gripping the bag of tangerines tighter as you pushed through the swinging door into the back room.

And then your heart stopped.

There he was.

Sunghoon.

His back pressed against a shelf, hands tangled in the hair of a girl pressed flush against him. Her fingers were fisted in his shirt, his mouth locked with hers—hungry, desperate, familiar. You stood frozen, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere in your throat. The bag slipped from your hand. The tangerines hit the floor, rolling lazily across the tiles. They didn’t even notice at first.

It wasn’t until you turned, the door creaking slightly on your way out, that he looked up—eyes meeting yours, going wide with panic. “Wait—wait, no, fuck, baby—” You didn’t stop walking. Not until he grabbed your arm outside, dragging you away from the cafe’s front, his voice frantic and broken. “It wasn’t what it looked like, I swear, please—I messed up, but I—It didn’t mean anything!”

You laughed bitterly. “That’s supposed to make me feel better? That it meant nothing to you?” “I was confused, I was tired—things got hard, and I panicked—please, don’t leave me,” he begged, tears brimming in his eyes. “Let’s talk. Let’s fix it. We can fix this.” But something in you had already snapped. The trust you held so tightly—shattered. You had given him everything. Your love. Your time. Your home. Your soul.

And now you were standing outside the place he kissed someone else, the same place he used to bring you coffee from, the same one where you waited for him in the past—smiling, waving at him through the window like something out of a romance film. But this wasn’t a film. This wasn’t a scene you’d ever wanted to see. Because this—this was real. You were standing under the harsh neon glow of a sign that used to mean warmth and familiarity, and now it felt like it was branding you with betrayal.

The scent of roasted beans and sugar lingered in the air, but it was no longer comforting. Not when it clung to the fabric of your clothes alongside the image of her hands on him. Not when it tangled in your lungs like smoke from a fire he started with his own hands. Your voice came out quieter than expected, barely carrying over the ringing in your ears.

“I'm gonna start packing,” you said, almost to yourself. Sunghoon flinched like the words struck him physically. “No,” he whispered, as if saying it soft enough would erase it. “Please, no. Don’t go.” His hands trembled as he reached for yours, but you stepped back before he could touch you. And that broke him further. His breath hitched, eyes darting across your face like he was trying to memorize it—like he knew this might be the last time he’d get to look at you without shame, without distance, without regret.

“I know I fucked up,” he choked out. “I know I did. But I love you. I’ve always loved you. It didn’t mean anything, I swear—she was just there, and I was stupid, and I—I panicked. We were drifting and I didn’t know how to fix it.” Tears welled in your eyes, and you hated how badly you wanted to believe him. But it wasn’t about just the kiss. It was about everything that led to it. The silence. The absence. The way he started treating you like an afterthought.

“And you thought that kissing someone else would help you fix us?” you asked, voice barely steady. “You thought that would bring me back?” “I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered, almost childlike, like regret had stripped him of the version of himself you knew. “I was scared.” You shook your head slowly. “You weren’t scared. You were careless.”

He staggered back a little, like the words winded him. He opened his mouth, but no apology could fill the gaping hole he'd carved into something that used to be sacred. “I stood by you for six years,” you continued, blinking back tears. “I believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself. I made a home with you. I chose you. Every single day. And you—you didn’t even think twice.”

“I did think. I regret it. I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave. Please,” he pleaded, voice breaking mid-sentence. “You’re all I have.” You exhaled sharply, the pain gnawing in your chest almost unbearable. “Then maybe you should’ve treated me like that before you lost me.” The silence between you stretched. Only the faint sound of traffic and your own heartbeat thrummed in your ears.

You didn’t wait for him to speak again. You turned away, your footsteps heavy against the sidewalk, each step a confirmation of the choice you had to make—for yourself. You weren’t going to beg to be chosen anymore. Not when he had already chosen someone else—even if it was only for a moment. Because that one moment had torn through six years. And some things, no matter how much you want to save them, just don’t survive the wreckage.

You laughed at the absurdity of the situation. With you, he learned to love himself. But you, you learned to let go. It took you 6 years, but you finally graduated from this lesson. You also realized that Sunghoon didn't learn you. He fucking learned to be wild. To be confident in himself. And it hurt more knowing you taught him to. 

Eventually, you finally gathered all your belongings from your former home, opting to move in with your homie for life, Ivan, who accepted you with open arms. He didn't even say a word to your family or the Parks, but they still somehow managed to find out, awestruck and just as heartbroken as you were at the sudden separation. They couldn't blame your for wanting to leave, though. It just gravely affected them too, since you and Sunghoon practically came as a pair in gatherings or even just a normal dinner on a Tuesday night. 

It was gonna be hard filling out the cracks he's left on you and your family, (and vice versa), but you'll have to manage, and you are managing it. Just not in the healthiest way possible.

 - to be continued - 

[snoopyhughes]

And he feels like home (j. hughes)

Happy winter fic exchange! @one-night-story I am so thrilled to be able to have written this for you! I hope I created something that you love that you feel fully represented in and safe to read. 🩷

Demi @wyattjohnston, thank you as always for creating such a wonderful event for our community. Your hard work for these exchanges will never go unnoticed by me, I appreciate you so much.

And thank you to @thomasschabot for proofreading this for me and making sure it was accessible for all to read, I appreciate you so much my friend!

Title was taken from long story short by Taylor Swift. This is 4.7k words, gender neutral reader. It has been double checked by lovely c to ensure that it is safe for all to read <3

new neighbor

You considered yourself to be a very patient person. You were also extremely understanding. You didn't get upset or frustrated by much. You were a good person, sometimes you allowed people to get away with things for their own sake, even if it inconvenienced you in anyway. But at this point, you had had enough.

Since you moved into your apartment in August, you could probably count on one hand the amount of times you had talked to your neighbors. You were in the corner apartment, the last at the end of the hall, your only neighbors being two young men who you presumed to be brothers.

You ran into them a few times in the hallway, the two of them hardly ever separated. You knew they left in the mid afternoon, usually in suits. You assumed it was for work, but you never felt inclined to ask. They usually look rushed, the older one pestering the younger one to "hurry up" as he got out the door.

It was only this week that you had learned their names. A piece of their mail had accidentally been dropped in your box. The name addressed as "Jack Hughes." You contemplated what to do with it, standing at their door with the letter in your hands for a few minutes when the door suddenly burst open, the younger brother opening the door.

"Oh! Hello," he muttered out awkwardly. Neither of you had known the other's name, but you both knew each other as neighbors. "Hi! Are you Jack?" You asked awkwardly, not holding out the card, making your question seem like a random inquiry. "No, I'm Luke, Jack is my brother. Why do you ask? Do you need something?" He asked in an almost bothered tone, as if people frequently came to him asking for unwanted favors.

"Oh! Duh. A piece of Jack's mail got put in my box by accident. I assume it's okay if I drop it with you?" You asked, making you almost instantly face palm. "Yep, that works. Anyway, I'm late to something. Thanks for dropping it off..." He mumbled off at the end, not knowing what to insert for your name. You told him your name, and that was that.

That was earlier this week. This was now Friday. Occasionally, you could tell that they had some small parties. Nothing too outlandish for an apartment building that shared thin walls, but a decent amount of people resulting in a louder volume. You were young yourself, you were never going to complain for a small amount of volume on the occasional Saturday night. This however, had been far too much.

You swear this was the 3rd night in a row of their little parties, and you had dealt with far too much. It was mid April, you were studying for a big exam you had. Part of your move in August was to signal the start of your journey to get your masters degree. You were almost done with the semester, just a few big exams in between, this being one of them. You knew that it seemed a little lame, studying for exams on a Friday night, but part of the move was moving to New Jersey where there was a school that was one of the best in the country for your intended major, not super close to home. With all of your studying and academic work, including working to pay for the apartment and schooling, you didn't have much time to socialize. You had gone to coffee with some people from your classes, but not much beyond that, not enough to warrant Friday night plans towards the end of the semester.

Slamming your textbook, you decided you had officially reached your limit. You paced back and forth a bit, trying to calm down a bit in an attempt to hopefully not absolutely lose it on your neighbor. It wasn't that late, but you had been studying all day with minimal breaks. You couldn't see the end of the studying in sight if your neighbors kept the music at the volume they had. You wondered how the people on the other side of them weren't bothered by the noise, but then again you had probably seen them even less than you had seen Jack and Luke.

You slipped your feet into the pair of shoes closest to the door, banging on the door in an attempt for them to hear it over the blaring music. You took a small step back when a man you didn't recognize answered the door. "Can I help you?" A dark haired man with an accent asked. Before you could open your mouth, a very energetic Jack came bustling towards the door. "Y/N! To what do I owe this pleasure?" He asked with a charming smile, almost causing your reserve to break down. But when your brain came back after the sound of the music blared through your ears, you remembered why you were over here.

"Do you know what time it is?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's only 11. It's a Friday night. But based on your casual attire, I doubt that matters much to you," Jack quipped at your casual pajamas. "For your information, Jack, I'm studying for a big exam. Clearly you don't know much about that." You snapped back.

"For your information, my team just made the playoffs. We have a lot to celebrate." Jack flexed, causing his chest to puff out a bit. "I don't care which of your beer league teams made the playoffs, but I would really like to pass my first year of my masters program and not have to repeat. That is, after all, how I ended up here, as your neighbor." You were starting to lose your patience, and instead of Jack surrendering, he started laughing.

"Beer league, huh. Do you not know?" You rolled your eyes. "If this is your attempt at a 'Do you know who I am?' moment, you're failing severely. Or even better, if it's going to be a 'do you know who my father is?' Just save me the time, I have an exam to study for," you had one foot out the door when Jack grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Relax, I just figured you knew because that seems to be all anyone wants from us who lives in this building. Favors relating to our job. Luke and I play for the New Jersey Devils, the NHL team around here. It's okay that you don't know, however I hope now that you do, you'll choose us to be your favorite team." Jack smirked at you, causing you to giggle, which resulted in you immediately covering your mouth. What was happening to you? You didn't giggle over charming guys.

"Oh, did you guys win or something? Seems like an awfully long time to be celebrating one win," you quipped. "We made it into the playoffs. We are the number one seed. We've been celebrating for a few days because we have a bit of time off. I am sorry, it is probably excessive. We'll turn it down and remind the guys that we aren't the only ones who live here." Jack put his tail between his legs. You did feel a bit bad, but you were glad the noise was going to at least quiet down.

"I hope I didn't come off like a jerk, I just got flustered. I know you didn't know. I shouldn't have come over attacking." You muttered, causing Jack to smile.

"I'll accept your apology on one condition. Do you think you can find some time in your busy finals schedule to come to one of our games? I can get you more details when the playoffs schedule comes out, but I would it if you could come. I think Luke might be a little jealous that I softened you up first, but it just adds for some more bragging rights on the kid."

You couldn't believe your ears. Your cute, albeit a little clueless neighbor, was not only a professional athlete, but he was also asking you on a date if you weren't mistaken.

"Well Jack, I'd love to, but you just better hope I pass this exam." You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Good thing we're gonna turn the volume down."

2. first game

What do you wear to a hockey game that you were invited to by your neighbor who you have only talked to a few times but you think he may have been awkwardly potentially flirting with you when he invited you?

You were digging through your closet, looking for something appropriate to wear for probably one of the most awkward, unique events you have ever been to. You can't say that you had ever been to a professional hockey game. You weren't clueless to the rules and such, you just never had the opportunity to attend one in person.

Not to mention, you were going alone. You only had a few casual friends at school through this point in the year, and it didn't feel appropriate to bring any of them to this... interesting event you were going to. Plus, you were certain that you would be wrapped up in the game. You were nervous enough as is, and you can't imagine if you had to sit there and make awkward small talk with one of your classmates who might be able to say what your last name is.

Sitting in the uber on the way there made you start to question your choice of agreeing to go to the game. You had no idea how this would go other than you knew that Jack had slipped the ticket under your door earlier this morning and written on it was instructions on how to get to the gate. One thing that caused your cheeks to heat was that on the bottom of the post it note, was his phone number.

This made it feel almost official in a way, having his phone number. Before you could dwell on it too much, your uber pulled up to the door that Jack directed you to. You thanked the driver and walked in to the stadium, immediately overwhelmed by everything. For a second you considered turning around and making something up to Jack that you were sick, but when you took a second to look around, you saw so many happy people with Jack's last name plastered across their backs, number 86 standing proudly. You felt a sense of pride for Jack, though you weren't sure how to feel about that.

That sense of pride never went away once the game started. Your eyes were on Jack from the second his feet touched the ice, and the moment he sat on the bench. Your eyes followed him all the way to the bench, wishing the time he wasn't on the ice would go faster. You wondered why you had never been interested on hockey. Jack was so talented, and the game ended with him scoring a goal and getting two assists. You thought for a second that he was looking up at you when he scored, but you shook your head quickly to rid your brain of those thoughts.

As the game ended, it suddenly occurred to you that you weren't sure how this would end. You sat in your seat for a while letting the seats clear out, preparing to walk towards the gate that you entered in, opening the uber app. As soon as your phone unlocked, a message from Jack popped up on your phone.

"Meet me outside," it read. "I'd like to take you to dinner and drive you home. I'll meet you by the gate you entered in."

Your cheeks flushed at his admission, suddenly looking down at your outfit. Was this appropriate for a dinner date? You were not planning on this at all. You checked what you looked like in the front camera of your phone. Before you could decide whether or not you looked appropriate, you heard a familiar laugh. Your chest warmed at the idea that his laugh could be so familiar, so homey despite the fact that the two of you had not spent much time together.

Jack's feet sped up as he caught up to you, just excited to see you after a great win. His smile was contagious when he saw you standing there, staring at your sneakers in an attempt to not be noticed by the rest of the guys who might ask questions.

In the end, it wasn't Jack who spoke up first. It was Luke. "Y/N! I'm so glad you came! I wanted to score for you, but unfortunately this guy beat me to it," he smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You tried to relax into his arms, telling yourself this was a new normal in your life. Casual banter with your neighbors who just so happen to be professional athletes making millions of dollars.

"Hey back off, I invited them. You dropped the ball. Your turn is up, by the way," Jack muttered, causing Luke to give a quizzical look. Taking advantage of Luke's moment of confusion, Jack sneaks around him and puts his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. A noise of surprise comes out of your mouth. Not discomfort, just surprise at his sudden display of physical affection. "That was awesome!" Jack yelled. "Did you have so much fun?" He asked, pulling away to see your face looking up at him.

"Well it would have been more fun if Luke scored for me but I guess I'll settle for your points," you teased. He smiled, his cheeks turning red at your teasing. "Y/N, is Jack blushing? Did you turn him into a shy mess?" Luke teased and Jack groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I just want to impress you," he smiled which caused your entire body to heat up. It never occurred to you that he wanted to impress you. That you were there because he wanted you to be impressed with his game and how he played.

"Well don't worry, I was thoroughly impressed. Would you like to go to dinner now?" You asked. "Am I invited? Is this like a neighborly get together?" Luke was now teasing you both, causing both of you to get bashful. "Dude, clearly this is a date," Jack mumbled, causing your eyebrows to raise. "Clearly? Is that what we're calling it now. I mean I certainly thought it was, but you never asked me." You and Luke were truly just having fun with the teasing now.

"Jack, it's not very gentlemanly to assume it's a date. You really should ask, especially with someone like Y/N. They're a catch!" Jack was glaring daggers into Luke. "Yes, I should. Y/N, I would like tonight to be a date. Will you go out on a date with me?" Jack asked, grabbing your hand in his. You were grinning, nodding your head. "Well then, Luke I think it's past your bedtime. Why don't you go home with Holtzy and I will take Y/N out for dinner?" Luke shook his head, giggling. "Wouldn't you like that," he laughed. "Luke-" "Fine! Fine! I'm done. I'll go. Y/N, it was a pleasure to laugh with you. You kids enjoy yourself."

"I have a feeling we will."

3. first (real) date

Your dinner with Jack was perfect. You finally got the news back that you had passed the exam you were stressing about, and to celebrate, you got your favorite take out and watched Jack's game on the couch with a glass of wine. It was strange, to whole heartedly notice his absence when him and Luke were away for games. Right now, they were on a short West coast road trip, Denver, Arizona, and Seattle, and then heading back home for a few days off before a home game.

This was their last game being gone, and you found yourself waiting hopefully for Jack to come back. You had been texting a lot on the road trip, Jack even calling you once after he crawled into the empty bed next to Jesper's bed. According to Jack, his friend, teammate, and road roommate Jesper slept like the dead, even going as far as to wearing headphones when he slept, so there was no concern of the call waking him up. That didn't stop you from keeping your voice to a low volume, which Jack of course countered by yelling an obnoxious "What was that?" whenever he couldn't hear you.

After a Devils win, you crawled into bed for the night, finding yourself thinking of Jack, and how you couldn't wait to see him. You were in so deep.

------

As you cleaned up the remnants of your late afternoon lunch, a knock sounded on your door. You had a feeling you knew who it was, but you still checked the peephole to see Jack's face on the other side, nervously rocking back and forth on his feet, holding something in his hand.

Flowers.

"Hi, it's so good to see you!" You smiled, welcoming him inside. "These are for you. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate, but I wanted to ask you something, so I thought these might help. I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go to dinner with me on Friday? We have a game on Thursday night, and I thought a more formal, not after a game greasy pizza joint dinner would be fun. That is, if you are interested? If not, it's okay, I was just," you finally cut him off with a hand on his arm. "Jack! I'd love to. The flowers are beautiful. Thank you for thinking of me. I would love nothing more." You smiled, causing an audible sigh to come from Jack's lips.

"Oh thank God! Sorry, I didn't want to ramble, I just really got nervous. I wanted you to say yes but I didn't want to sound weird or make you uncomfortable." He smiled. Neither of you knew what was going on. Jack was stunned that his neighbor who he had barely talked to but admired from afar had turned him into a nervous, blushing mess. You also couldn't say you were expecting to fall for your neighbor. But when he was gone, you came to that conclusion: you were absolutely falling for Jack. You were falling for him, you couldn't understand how it had happened or why, but you absolutely were.

When it came time for your date to come, you felt more nervous than you did for the game. Jack had let you know that you were going to be going to a nicer restaurant. You picked his brain a bit at what to wear. What you didn't know is that he had preplanned his outfit, mannerisms, conversations, basically his every move for the date with his mom and brothers. Well, mostly Quinn. When Luke saw how nervous he was, he was constantly teasing him. Luke loved to tease him about how you should have fallen for him instead of Jack. Of course it was all jokes, as soon as the two of you started hanging out Luke could immediately see the chemistry between the two of you. He knew that your connection was much deeper than any sort of joke he could make. He was really happy for his older brother, finally seeing him fall for a person who made him truly happy.

When you decided on an outfit that was both appropriate for the occasion and made you feel good about yourself, you started pacing by the front door of your apartment, anxiously waiting for Jack to come. It was about 10 minutes before he said he would arrive. On the other side of the wall, Jack thought about coming a few minutes early, but his mom immediately shut that down. Jack argued that he wanted to seem timely and didn't want to keep you waiting. Ellen shut him down, though.

"How long does it take you to walk 10 steps next door? You never want to rush someone getting ready, especially for a first date." Luke was cackling in the background, of course.

At 6:00 on the dot, Jack was knocking on your door. He was almost more nervous than when he came by a few days before asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him, if that was even possible. When you opened the door, Jack planted his feet in the ground, willing himself to not fall over on his ass and make a complete fool of himself.

You were absolutely stunning. You looked so amazing in Jack's eyes. He felt himself blushing as soon as you opened the door. He was thanking his lucky stars, wondering how he had gotten so lucky as to find someone as special as you.

"Y/N..." he finally breathed out, his heart racing. "What? Do I look okay?" You began to feel nervous under his intense gaze, your hands instinctively picking at your fingernails. "Okay would be an insult. You look incredible. These are for you, by the way," Jack handed you the flowers he forgot he even had. "That's so sweet! You didn't have to bring me flowers. The ones you brought me a few days ago are still going strong. They will look beautiful together, though."

You took a minute to put the flowers in a vase. Jack was watching you from afar, you felt his eyes on you, following you around your small kitchen. Truthfully, he was admiring you. He couldn't help but blush at the sight of you, putting flowers in the vase that he bought for you, getting ready for the date that he was taking you out on. He felt like he won the lottery.

When you turned around, you saw him blushingly admiring you, causing your own cheeks to heat up. "What has you so smiley?" you asked, taking a step closer to him, bravely grabbing his hand in yours. You rubbed your thumb over his hand in an attempt to help him feel calm. Jack was certain no one had ever made him feel this nervous. Certainly not someone he was dating. "I just can't believe how beautiful you are. I feel so lucky that you are going out with me."

Both of you were nervous wrecks at this point. Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you were leaning forward, kissing him on the cheek. As soon as Jack felt your lips on his skin, he knew he had to kiss you. "Can I kiss you? Like, on the lips," he muttered, causing you to giggle. "Yes Jack, you can kiss me, like on the lips." He groaned at your teasing, but before he could throw his head back exasperatedly, you leaned forward, capturing his lips with your own.

Jack felt himself melt, holding onto your waist in an attempt to hold himself up straight. It was official. You had softened Jack into a gushy, pillowy mess. And Jack had never been so happy.

+1. as a couple

6 months later

"Jack, honey, if you keep stomping any louder, the people below us are gonna come complain," you muttered teasingly at him. "You really think they can hear you? Besides, if they came and complained, I would simply explain to them that my amazing partner, whom I care for very much, is meeting my family for the first time, and I think they would understand." He quipped back, causing you to laugh.

Jack's parents were coming in to town for the first time in the new season. Before you met Jack, you had long planned to spend the summer abroad with your closest friend. Jack was thrilled for you, but disappointed you wouldn't be able to spend time together over the summer at his summer house. He did however, jet off to meet you in Italy for a week, which was perfect. Ordinarily, you probably would have met Jack's parents already, but with the chaos of your summer, it was now the Devils home opener, and you had yet to meet your boyfriend's parents.

"If I'm so amazing, why are you so nervous for me to meet them?" Jack groaned, causing you to laugh. Teasing each other was something so common, but it was always done lovingly. It was almost a love language of sorts between the two of you.

"Babe, how many times have I talked to Quinn on FaceTime with you? And Luke is the best friend I have here in Jersey, besides you obviously, so it's just your parents. Who, by the way, we have also Facetimed with a handful of times together."

"I know, but in person it's different. They might get knocked on their ass by your good looks and charm, just like I was. And besides, if you think Luke's teasing and sarcasm is bad, just wait until you meet my dad. Where do you think he gets it from?" Jack continues to ramble. To an outsider, it might look like Jack didn't want you to meet his parents, but you both knew it was the complete opposite. The two of you hadn't been together for that long, but in a way that didn't matter. Jack was close to saying the "l word," and you probably weren't that far behind him. He wanted you to meet his parents because he wanted them to love you as much as he did. You felt the same way.

In an attempt to stop his never ending nerves, you took the few steps across the room towards him, putting your hand on his cheek and pulling him in for a soft kiss. "Jack, I am thrilled to meet your parents. If it makes you feel any better, I am a bit nervous too. I want them to like me. Although, I'm sure you've bored them to tears with stories making me seem like I'm the most amazing person on the Earth." "Because you are," Jack intervened, serious as a heart attack.

You laughed at his genuine tone, he was always buttering you up. "They'll love you, because you're amazing. Besides, Lukey and Quinn already love you. This will be easy work for you. The shock of me being in a serious relationship has already worn off. They're thrilled to meet you," you laughed at his half hearted attempt at a joke.

"Besides, I'm sure they will be so excited to meet the person who has turned you into a sap," you laughed, causing Jack's mouth to open in shock. "I am not a sap!" He tried to quip back, but you both knew he was absolutely lying. He was so soft on you, something none of his loved ones had ever seen. "Jack, yesterday you laid your nice jacket over a puddle in the nasty streets of Jersey for me to walk over because there was no way around it," you stared back at him. "That puddle was huge! Your pant legs would've been soaked, I know you would've hated that." You laughed at his kind hearted attempt at an explanation.

"You are one of a kind Jack Hughes," you started. "I truly love you." As soon as the words came out of your mouth, your hand covered it in shock. Of course you loved Jack, but you were so nervous to tell him. You had never said those words to someone romantically before, and you were both certain he would say it first, even though you hadn't talked about it before.

"You love me?" He asked, his voice quivering. "Of course I love you, did you miss the puddle story? I would be crazy not to have fallen in love with you." At this point, both of your eyes were watery, Jack's grip on your shoulders never wavering. "Oh my God, you love me. Oh my God, wait, I love you! I love you so much! I can't believe I haven't said it back yet! I love you!" Jack was over the moon, causing you to laugh wetly.

You had absolutely softened Jack to his core. But you were nothing but soft for him, the two of you a perfect match for each other. When you pulled each other in for a kiss, the love between the two of you was imminent, the nerves of the upcoming event melting away. Jack couldn't wait to introduce you to his parents as his partner whom he loved so much, and you couldn't wait to love them as much as you loved him.

[forzaferraris]

UH OH ! — cl16. [ series masterlist . part ii . ]

CHAPTER ONE / gorgeous.

❛ you should take it as a compliment, that i got drunk and made fun of the way you talked. ❜

summary : usually, birthday parties are supposed to be a close friend's and family celebration, so why on earth are you being dragged along as your friend's plus one?

warnings : implied references to cheating. food mentions. vomiting mentions but not explicitly written. sexual themes, inuendos. a purposeful choice to refuse to write without capital letters. too many taylor swift references. google translated french. no use of y/n but reader is referred to as soleil by charles and that transfers on through all the fic. charles leclerc's toxic relationship. alcohol consumption, drink responsibly. suddenly charles leclerc is actually decent at flirting. inaccurate storyline of pierre's birthday. 2023's silly season just got sillier. live laugh love kika gomes. word count : 1.7k

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[ caption one: hot girls always do skincare 🧖🏻‍♀️ / caption two: i fear i girlbossed to close to the sun, how did i end up here ⁉️🤨 ]

THE STREETS OF PARIS , were lively enough that you could blend in seamlessly, everyone else dressed essentially to the nines in their finest attire, walking in and out of all the restaurants in the vicinity. you want to cower, wrap the shall around yourself tighter and hide away; you'd never felt more insecure and out of place in the entire month you'd been vacationing in france, until this very moment.

everyone around you exudes the amount of confidence that comes naturally to them that you wished you had, even if you felt genuinely good in the outfit Kika had practically forced you in when you'd briefly mentioned having nothing to wear to the event she'd asked you to tag along to. a part of you wants to remind yourself that you knew better than to expect things to play out differently, it wants to ridicule you for going back on your usual stance of always expecting disappointment to no longer feel disappointed.

you wave off a taxi that pulls beside you, you're already at your destination, and a fleeting wave of nausea makes you want to clench your gut, and hurl what little you'd eaten earlier throughout the day into the hedges beside you; you don't, thankfully. instead, you resort to the safety of your phone, back-and-forth bickering between your best friend and Kika to work up your nerves to get yourself inside the building.

you feel wobbly on your feet, something you will also plan to blame on Kika when you find the courage to get yourself to walk in through the door of the Laperouse, a considerably more elegant spot to eat at than you would have picked, you only dread the fear of looking over the menu and bearing witness to the prices of the food.

the ding of the bell above the door pulls your head out of your phone when you're met with the silhouette of quite possibly the most attractive man you'd ever had blessed your gaze — excluding that one time you'd run into lorenzo zurzolo on a girls trip to madrid and fumbled the whole ordeal so embarrassingly you had to block him on instagram to keep from ever seeing him.

his actions are almost more exaggerated in frustration than you'd plainly described to your friend, his hand is constantly dragging down his face when he pulls the phone away from his ear, promptly allowing you to hear the snippets of french being, basically, screamed through the phone at him. yikes. the phone call seems to drag on and the amount of time you've been staring at this man can be somewhat considered borderline stalking if he wasn't uninterested in the world outside the french screaming match on the phone.

deciding you'd done enough oogling to satiate for the brieft maladaptive day-dreaming you'll experience during mundane errands. with the very little courage you had, you wipe your hands on your dress, pitifully, and tuck your phone into the clutch before making your way inside. you're blissfully unaware of the way the man had turned towards the noise the heels of your shoes had made against the pavement, his attitude doing a complete 180 had him disregarding the remainder of the phone call before finally giving up, a defeated sigh follows the silence of the call being ended.

'i told you so. . .' your brain supplies when you feel even more out of place being inside said restaurant than how you were simply just standing outside of it, you felt both over and under-dressed watching the mass of patrons standing at the front bar along with the glimpses you could get inside the dining room from where you wait at the hostess stand.

"can i help you?" the hostess asks, words sleek with her french accent as she flicks her gaze up towards you before down at the booking book in front of her. you fiddle with your fingers, white-knuckling the black clutch, suddenly unable to find your own words. the woman rolls her eyes, and taps her perfectly manicured finger against the book and you visibly shake.

"elle est avec moi et la réservation Gasly" a voice speaks, standing behind you, close enough to be flush against you, but remaining a finger length away from you, refusing to lift your head, you don't dare look at who's just saved yourself from any more bouts of unwavering embarrassment for the night.

"profite de ta soirée" the hostess grins, it doesn't shine in her eyes and it's clearly a put-on customer service smile, forced to maintain a friendly atmosphere within the restaurant, you're allowing yourself to be lead through towards the private dining room, stepping away from the man, you mumble a simple thank you in your own butchered french pronunciation as you spot kika and find yourself attached to her hip for a majority of the night.

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[ caption one: @yourusername spotted arriving at pierre's birthday party / caption two: @yourusername wearing the monot black maxi cutout ]

now, see if you weren't the type of person to be so easily persuaded into joining in on the drink festivities, you wouldn't have ended up with kika as one of your closest friends. you were never one to turn down alcohol, especially open bar alcohol; which is perhaps why you'd found yourself in a state of being a social butterfly, you'd floated around the room, meals long since eaten and cleared by the wait staff left people standing around and conversing.

mixtures of english, french and portuguese filling the room, bits and pieces of conversations you were picking up, but with your minimal understanding of french you found yourself avoiding anything beyond "hi how are you?" and introducing yourself, aside from that you smile and nodded before politely excusing yourself to float around once more.

"are you purposely ignoring me?" there it is, the sound that would haunt your best dreams and your worst nightmares; the shiver that runs up your spine makes you inadvertently cringe at yourself, how were you this reactive to a voice, you're going to blame the entire thing on the amount of sparkling moscato you'd been drinking by the glass.

"hm? no, no i'm not ignoring you?" you mock his accent, turning around to finally make eye contact with him, lips pursed into a line to keep yourself from giggling, the bubbles in your stomach is either your own nerves, the bubbly alcoholic beverage you'd consumed or a mixture of both — either way you feel content enough to be less than self-aware of the situation.

you can almost see the way he visibly lights up at the interaction, the way can't hold himself back from laughing at your attempt to mock his accent, the way his eyes crinkle and the laughter that follows the expression leaves you virtually speechless, you'd never been in a situation where someone, especially not a man. had ever laughed at you in a way that didn't feel the least bit mocking towards you; his laughter subsides and you feel yourself mourning the noise, head tilting to the side before he's taking a sip from his own glass.

"how do you know pierre?"

"through kika, she's the sole reason i'm here" you explain, gesturing with your hands as you talk, the conversation carries on throughout most of the night, new drinks replacing old ones all whilst the distance between the two of you closing inch by inch and shamelessly, perhaps even a little selfishly you allow it.

you allow more than just close proximity, you allow his knee to knock against your own, the hand to graze your waist as his arm moves around you to put his empty drink on the bar. you allow yourself to meet his gaze, hold it and find yourself lower and lower your own inhibitions. the good, the bad and the ugly of a man who hasn't asked for your name and whose name you hadn't bothered to ask for either.

perhaps, it's the events of the night that led you to here, in this heat of the moment pursuit of pure guiltless drunk happiness, lips against the nap of your neck in the back of a taxi, a hand dragging dangerously up your thigh, closer and closer to a spot you hadn't known longed to be touched until now. you're mutual shouts of laughter are shared through the streets of paris, leading into the hotel room you'd been staying in for the week, you're set to check out the next morning, but realistically, what's one night of parisian fun to end your trip with a bang, literally.

"soleil, fuck, the things you are doing to me right now" his voice comes out like a growl against your ear, his teeth dragging along your ear lobe and further down your neck, never biting, just allowing the feeling to pull the breathless noises out of you. your hand finds its way to nestle into his hair, grip tight and pull him away, the way he looks at you, a gaze you're all far too familiar with, lust.

god, had you wished you knew life wouldn't feel so horribly if you'd felt like this the entire time, the way the man finds himself home between your thighs, even as they clench around his head as soon as his tongue flicks against your abused and overly sensitive clit, fingers working their way in and out of your as you're pushed to complete your third orgasm — your hands griping the pillow behind your head, back arching as you moan out breathlessly, the needy coil in your stomach untangling once more as he pulls the orgasm out of you; your left breathless and shaking as your ride out the orgasm on his fingers.

his face is glistening with your juices; god if you were brave enough to take a picture you would have, he looked effortlessly pretty as he wiped his face with the back of his hand and finally pulled his fingers out of you to lick them clean.

you were royally screwed. even after you woke up in the morning, he was still asleep, but check-out was soon and there really wasn't any need to actively remain in the hotel room bed any longer, even if the man sleeping beside you was dreamy, even asleep, you knew alcohol-influenced one night stands were less than impressive to boast about the next morning. so you do the easiest thing to bypass awkward morning conversations, you leave a note with your number and leave.

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liked by francisca.cgomes, yourbestfriend and 489 others yourusername are you happy to have been in paris? oui! tagged francisca.cgomes

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user girl, what is that on your neck in the second pic?? ⤿ yourusername the question is are you a narc?

francisca.cgomes paris couldn't handle us for longer than a week ⤿yourusername where too next gf x

yourbestfriend i miss you come home ! ⤿yourusername i think i might find a new home ⤿yourbestfriend you're really gonna abandon our kids like that?

user since when have her an kika been friends? ⤿user since like forever, they grew up together

yoursisteruser look at you being a slut pookie, we love to see it ⤿yourusername get out of my comments blocked and reported ⤿yoursisteruser can you answer my facetime now, you got a lot of catching up to do, this is new name lore !!!

authors note : hi oh my god, so i'm absolutely nervous to actually have this be posted, it's not been beta read so i apologise in advance trying to edit this myself was the longest task i've come to find myself tethered to. i really like the plot of this story, the smut a lil dry because my smut writing is dry, we gotta work ourselves up to that, later chapters pookies, later chapters. i would have added more to the story, i'm like super inspired by this, but alas the 30 image limit said, no. so we gotta listen !

add yourself to the taglist here !

taglist : @iluminaya @greenbaby12 @therealcap @marshmummy

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

When will she release physical copies of The Anthology?????

[pyrophantom]

Justin Baldoni's PR team bought a bunch of bots online that are pushing the narrative that Blake Lively was actually in love with Justin Baldoni and when he rejected her she developed a plan to falsely accuse him of sexual harassment so she could take the rights to It Ends With Us. Everyone they worked with who's spoken in support of Blake is being thrown into this theory (i.e Colleen Hoover, Taylor Swift, Ryan Reynolds) that they conspired against poor Justin.

It's rare to see posts from people who support Blake Lively. If these rumors were spreading organically you would see a decent amount of support for Blake. But our feeds are being completely overloaded with anti-Blake Lively posts. This is a paid artificial smear campaign. Blake Lively is right.

His PR team is doing this because they want him to win the court of public opinion before a legal trial ever starts. It is potentially and will probably successfully sway the opinion of a potential jury. Justin Baldoni is playing dirty while Blake Lively is doing the right thing and waiting to be in the court room before she shares all her evidence. Right now Baldoni's propaganda is being pushed to the public with no court to fact check the "evidence".

[darklyndivinely]

Was chatting with a friend about why I really don't like taylor. I said that she is 100% Taylor Swift (The Brand) all the time. That she has cultivated this belief in her fanbase that those who buy all her merch and albums are the true fans. So when she releases seven different versions of the same album all her fans run to buy it. Everything about her is meticulously crafted to bring in more fans and therefore, more money. There's nothing genuine about her.

And they replied that that's fine because at least she's being honest about it. She's just making money, everyone does it, why single her out.

But the thing is, it's not just about her making money. It's about her manipulating her fans to gain more of it. It's about her charging huge amounts of money for her tour film yet not giving the option to buy it, only rent. It's about her publicly dating a misogynistic piece of shit of a man, therefore, elevating and promoting him. It's about her 138 tons of carbon emissions in the past couple of months alone. It's about the nauseating parasocial relationship that her fans have with her. It's their fucked up cult-like mentality that leads them to praise and worship the ground that she walks on while bringing down anyone else who doesn't bow and raise a temple in her name. It's about her utilising and weaponizing feminism for her own selfish personal gain. It's about her absolute inability to accept and digest criticism. It's about her being named the fucking person of the year and still talking shit about her ex while calling her pop album a "goth-punk moment of female rage."

It's about her being a fucking billionaire yet not even being half a decent person.