#and how that relates to what kind of training / coaching they need

[jamiesfootball]

Blue rose pastries! (Not tentacle monsters.)

These are so mesmerizing. Have a snippet!

“Sam looks like he can handle things on the fly because he trains so much, but he doesn’t do well with surprises. If something unexpected happens, he freezes up. If I’ve gotta move the ball on the fly, it’s going to Dani. He likes a little spontaneity.” Roy made another note- “Put Sam in more situations.”

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes��� home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[meazalykov]

the younger morgan

alex morgan x morgan!USWNT!reader

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five / part six

Growing up in the Morgan household, I was always known as my own individual person. Y/n Morgan. I am described by my peers as someone who’s kind, sensitive, and humble. However, to some of the public and people who barely know of me, I am known as  "Alex Morgan's little sister." 

It wasn't a title I despised while growing up. Being born 14 years after her, I was adopted by the Morgans at birth. My sister and parents have been my family for my entire life, even if we aren’t blood. They’ve surrounded me in a blanket of love while supporting my athletic, famous sister at the same time.

Alex won her first World Cup in 2015 when I was eleven. I remember sitting in the stadium, the air electric with cheers and chants, watching her lift that trophy high. Having my sister as my idol while growing up was a blessing that most girls would dream of.

The pride I felt was immense, but it was always mixed with a yearning.

I played as a striker while growing up, just like Alex. My feet scored goals in every match i’ve had minutes in. By the time I was old enough to transition into taking soccer seriously, it was clear I had inherited the Morgan soccer genes, even if I wasn’t blood-related. 

With the best coaches in the country guiding me, I quickly became one of the best U21 strikers in the world, just like Alex. Success in high school championships, the USYNT national team (before my senior team call up in November 2022), and in my first year of college landed me a spot on the San Diego Wave alongside my sister. I forfeited my college eligibility so I can jump into taking soccer seriously, which I did.

Yet, I hide the fact that the inevitable comparisons to Alex bothered me. Anytime I made a mistake, I had people on social media saying that “Alex at your age would’ve never made that mistake!” and more that were way harsher and mean. I felt a hollowness inside me because I had to accept that San Diego wasn’t the club for me. Something I didn’t realize until half-way into the season.

This wasn't about the love or support I received from my family or the fans. It was about forging my path, I wanted to be my own person away from Alex. I love her so much, but I wanted people to see me for who I really am. I needed a moment which would give me the reassurance that my career was truly mine.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling training session, I collapsed onto my soft beige colored couch for a nap. I knew I had plans with Jaedyn, Naomi, and Maria later— but I knew I could fit in a good three hour nap before I had to get ready for the night. However the ring of my phone jolted me awake after an hour into my nap. My eyebrows knitted at the sight of my agent's name, Maggie, flashing on the screen.

Usually, Maggie never calls unless we are discussing deals or contract negotiations. However, I asked her two weeks ago if she could contact SD Wave about putting me on the transfer market. Maggie said that wasn’t needed since there was something else that would excite me– but she didn’t explain what. 

"Y/n, I have some exciting news!!!" Maggie began without giving me the chance to say hi, her voice brimming with enthusiasm as I clicked on the speaker option. I rubbed my tired eyes trying to pay attention to what she’s gonna say.

“What happened?” I ask, sitting up from my laid down position and sitting criss-crossed on my couch.

"You know how you asked about a possible transfer? Well I already had a few offers coming in for you before you asked—'' Maggie started as I heard a few clicks on her side of the call, I’m assuming she's clicking stuff on her computer while on the phone with me. 

“So– *click*--- *click* — okay! There are a lot of NWSL clubs that have put in an offer for you. Houston, Gotham, Orlando, Kansas, and Washington have sent in their offers— but I understand that you wanted to go to Europe, is that correct?” Maggie says as I bite the skin around my nail beds. Growing up, I’ve always admired European clubs and the different cultures  Europe has. Playing in Europe would expose me to a better challenge that I’ve wanted in my career. A good chance to (hopefully) play in the Champion’s League too, another thing my sister won in 2017.

“Yes, that is correct.” I say, trying to sound as normal as possible. I am nervous, knowing that this call could change my life. 

“Okay- well that's amazing because several European clubs are interested in you. You have many clubs to choose from— Chelsea, Manchester City, Arsenal, Tottenham, Real Madrid, Madrid CFF, PSG, Wolfsburg— those clubs in particular all offered you a contract. Barcelona showed interest too but you’re not a free agent and due to their financial struggles, they cannot sign you unless you were free. However—- Bayern Munich in Germany offered you a very great deal– a four year contract with add ons—the salary they’re offering along with the add-ons is way better than all of the others. I feel like you would love this club." Maggie commented. Outside of work, Maggie and I had a somewhat good relationship for people who try to remain professional. Maggie had a good intuition and can read people, which means that she knows how I work and how my personality is in detail. 

Hearing about the clubs– my heart pounded in my chest at Bayern Munich. The name alone sent a feeling inside of my body that I couldn’t explain. I placed my hands on my forehead as I felt overwhelmed from the amount of clubs I could choose from. However, my curiosity and intuition wanted to look more into the Bayern Munich offer. 

“Maggie— I can’t lie—Bayern Munich is sticking to me right now.” I say, dragging out my last words as my voice breaks into a yawn. Training was intense today. 

“Okay! Okay! Here’s what we can do— I can come over now and drop off the documents to you— you can look over them and we can have an in-person meeting on your day off from training next Thursday at lunch, deal?” Maggie said. I can sense her smile through the phone call as I felt relieved from having to make such a quick decision. It's Friday so I have six days to make a final decision. 

"Deal," I said, barely able to handle the fact that my nervousness turned into small excitement. I couldn’t tell anybody about this but that was okay with me.

Thursday came and I chose to move to Munich in June. I can spend the season, before the olympics, with San Diego then i’ll move to play for Bayern on the four-year contract afterwards. I couldn’t tell anybody the news until I got the green-light to do so from Maggie. 

Keeping this news from Alex and my friends was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Alex was not just my sister but also my mentor and my rock. But I knew I had to wait until everything was finalized before telling her. She should understand that part. Meanwhile, rumors swirled online, speculating about my potential move to Europe in the month afterwards.

One evening as I played with Charlie, in Alex's living room, I could feel the weight of my secret growing heavier. I look at my niece with a light smile as she colored in a fairytale themed coloring book I got her last christmas. I am going to miss seeing her every-week when I move to Germany.

Eventually, Alex finished what she had to do in her kitchen and picked up Charlie. The little girl complained before her mother explained that it was late and it was time for bed. Its 8:30 which wasn’t late in my eyes but Charlie is a child so— 

After Alex put Charlie to bed, and after I cleaned up after Charlies crayon mess, she joined me in the living room and sat beside me on the couch, her expression serious.

"Y/n— we have to talk.” Alex said. My nerves were on fire hearing Alex say that. I knew she was going to mention Bayern— I can’t hide it anymore. The rumors on social media are increasing and everyone knows my move to Munich is inevitable, even if I haven’t addressed it yet. 

“I know.” I respond, my right leg is crossed over my left one as I cross my arms together.

“Are the rumors online true? You know I don’t like to search the media for answers, but the rumors are increasing and everyone is positive that they’re correct on their suspicions— Are you leaving here to play for Bayern?" Alex asked, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. I couldn’t lie to her "Yes, Alex, they're true. I'm going to play Bayern Munich in June."

After saying this, I thought Alex would be happy for me right away. 

However, her concern was palpable. "But why, Y/n? Why are you moving so far away? We have everything here."

"That's why, Alex," I replied, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I need to do this for myself. I want a new challenge and seeking something new has been my goal for since the off-season. I need to know if I can make it—-- without always being compared to you." I struggled to say the last part.

The argument that followed was heated but subdued, mindful of Charlie sleeping nearby. Alex didn't understand my need to step away, to find my own path. 

“Everyone knows you’re a great player, you have a higher record than me this season!! You don’t need to leave the country.” Alex argued. 

“Well you played for Lyon and Spurs at one point, which is outside of America—- the NWSL isn’t the only league in the world and I need to grow. If your concern is about safety, I promise i’ll be able to take care of myself. I need this Alex— You know I am a responsible person!” I stood up from the couch. Alex followed and looked at me with concern.

“You are– I’m not saying you’re not responsible– but you’re going to leave everything behind!” 

“No I am not? I will always come back during International breaks!” I argue. 

“Okay– but you shouldn’t “need” to move to Germany. You’re going to leave your friends behind too Y/n!” Alex continued to argue. My blood boiled at her words. 

"You know, Why can’t you just be supportive!!?? I can’t do this anymore–” I say as I ran to put on my shoes by the door, grabbing my tote bag with all of my items inside. 

“I'm glad I'm moving away Alex. Maybe they'll respect me as a good player and my own person– and not just Alex Morgan's sister!" I stormed out of her apartment, the rift between us widening.

We didn't speak after that night. Even at training with the San Diego Wave, we maintained a professional distance, our conversations limited to the bare necessities or anything related to Charlie. The silence was deafening, but I was resolute. This was my decision to play for Bayern, she needs to respect it.

When the SheBelieves Cup came around, Alex and I both made the roster, as usual. This was my last international break as a San Diego player. Since i’ll be living in Germany by the time the Korea friendlies happen in June. 

On the national team, I found solace in my closest friends Jaedyn, Sophia, Trinity, and Mallory. Jaedyn plays at San Diego with me so she has a better understanding about the situation. I told her that I am moving to Munich and we had a bittersweet moment, at least she was supportive of my decision. All of the other girls sensed something was wrong but respected my need for space, assuming that they shouldn’t come in-between family business. Especially if one of their captains is involved. 

On the pitch against Japan for the first she-believes game, my performance was excellent on the pitch. In my mind, I knew I wanted to do good so Bayern fans would be excited about my transfer to their club. 

After scoring twice against Japan, we were now in a penalty shootout with Canada. This is the second-time we’ve gon into penalties this year together. Once in the gold-cup a few months back. 

Emily Fox made the penalty against the Canadian goalkeeper, and the next Canadian kicker’s shot was blocked by Alyssa (Secretary of Defense). Everyone looked in my direction as the ball was passed into my hands. If I make this shot, I win the shebelieves cup for the United States.

My hearts pounded like a drum in my cheat as I looked ahead at Kailen, my San Diego teammate and friend who plays for Canada. She knows how I kick, and I know how she blocks shots coming her way. 

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside of me. I had practiced penalty shots countless times throughout my time in soccer, but this was different. This was the final. This was for the win.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling it was time for me to shoot. My body stepped forward, and my mind was clear. As I closed in on the ball, I locked eyes with Kailen, who was poised and ready, her eyes fierce with determination.

My foot struck the ball cleanly, sending it soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow as the ball arced towards the goal, the world holding its breath. Kailen dove to her right, stretching out in a desperate bid to stop the shot.

But it was too late. The ball sailed past her outstretched fingers and hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud. The crowd erupted in a roar of triumph, the sound crashing over me like a wave. I scored the winning goal!

Before getting a chance to process what had happened, my teammates rushed towards me. All of their faces showed joy and relief. They enveloped me in a jubilant embrace, lifting me off her feet as we celebrated the victory together. I looked around, taking in the ecstatic faces of my friends, the adoring fans, and the sparkling lights of the stadium. I looked to my right and saw my sister’s bright smile looking towards me, this made my heart warm up a little bit. 

After everyone broke away from me, before the trophy celebration and the part where I’ll be rewarded as SheBelieves MVP, Alex approached me. Her expression was softer than the last time i’ve talked to her at her apartment. Her eyes reflected a mix of hope, sadness and understanding.

"Y/n, can we talk?"

I nodded, and we found a quiet spot away from the rest of the team on the pitch.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I was selfish. I was thinking about how much Charlie and I would miss you, not about what you need."

Her words broke the dam of emotions I'd been holding back. "I know. But Alex— I just want to be seen for who I am, Alex. Not just as your little sister."

She pulled me into a hug, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace. "You will be, Y/n. You'll be amazing, and I am so proud of you and that gorgeous penalty kick." Alex squeezed me and I laughed at her gesture. 

“Thank you, Thank you! I have the best sister who showed me what good penalty kicks are.” I smile. 

As the middle of June approached, after the Korea friendlies, I prepared for my move to Germany with a mix of excitement and nerves. Alex and I grew closer again, our bond strengthened by the fact that this new routine will give us a chance to miss eachother. 

The day I boarded the plane to Munich, with three suitcases and one carry on bag with everything I need for my apartment I found while spending a week in Munich last month—  Alex was there, cheering me on. 

“I’ll miss you sweetheart.” Alex hugged me. I hugged her back before hugging my smaller niece who stood beside us. "I will miss you both the most." I respond.

Later as the plane took off, I looked out the window, my heart full of hope. This was my chance to prove myself to the world and to the fans that I am more than just my sister. 

-----

part two here

<3

[maarrgarr]

The Unexpected Move

Itoshi Sae x Suzuki Azumi (fem reader, y/n, as you like)

Synopsis: You and Sae were a couple a few years ago and as a result of that great love you had your son, but Sae decided to leave you just before you realized it, and you decided not to tell him.

Warnings: mentions of sex, English is not my first language, swearing, Sae being a jerk to you.

Azumi and Sae met in Madrid, Spain. She was Japanese like him and was there to study marketing and public relations. While he had already been living there for a few years, chasing his dream of becoming the best soccer player in the world by playing for Real Madrid.

Azumi was 18 and he was about to turn 19, they were both neighbors. At first, Sae was surprised because she was the only Japanese person in the building, but after that, he didn't pay much attention to her. Azumi, on the other hand, was happy to have a neighbor who spoke the same language as her, but that happiness faded when, after trying to start a conversation with him several times, he only responded with what was necessary.

The situation changed when Sae was very sick one night and left his apartment on the verge of fainting, and being who he is, he didn't want to ask anyone for help. Luckily for him, Azumi was also leaving her apartment to get something to eat and found him in such a weak situation.

She helped him, told him to go back to his apartment, went out to buy medicine, and also made him a very typical soup in Japan to cure colds.

That was the beginning of their relationship.

They started spending more time together to get to know each other better. Sae stopped being so cold to her and started opening up more.

Although they were nothing alike, they managed to complement each other. Azumi had the grace and kindness that Sae lacked. And Sae had the common sense and selfishness that Azumi lacked.

Sae put aside his typical coldness, and let out a side that only his little brother knew. He asked her out on dates, he started noticing the smallest things that Azumi liked, he started inviting her to come watch him play, he started giving her things, and one night he told her to stay and sleep.

With him.

The stolen kisses began to be more frequent, the caresses, the hugs. Until the night came when both of them got to know each other's bodies in depth.

They began to live together on a daily basis. Their faces were what they saw when they woke up and when they went to sleep.

Sae would take her to college and he would go to training. Azumi would usually come back early and make them lunch, they would eat together while they both talked about how their day had gone.

Everything was perfect.

They lasted two years until Sae started to feel like he wasn't concentrating on his game. He was in a match and he was always looking to see if Azumi was in the stands and how she was doing. At first it wasn't that big of a problem, until his coach noticed.

""Itoshi, come here, we need to talk," his coach told him one day during a training session after a match, in which Sae had not done very well.

Sae entered the office with his usual cold expression, guessing what this talk was about.

"I'll be blunt. What's going on with you lately? Your level has dropped, and it's not because of a lack of skill, but rather a lack of concentration. I notice you're distracted." said the coach looking at him seriously.

"It's okay, I'm just training as usual," Sae replied, not wanting to admit the real reason.

The coach sighed, "Don't give me excuses. I've been in this sport longer than you've been playing football. I know exactly when a player is distracted by something off the field. And in your case, it's not hard to guess."

Sae raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" he asked.

"That girl. Your girlfriend, or whatever she is to you. Look, I'm not going to get into your personal life, but I'll make one thing clear: Women, for a footballer, are a hobby, not a priority. You're not here to fall in love, Itoshi. Are you here to be the best in the world, aren't you?.If you really want to be one, you have to let go of whatever takes you out of focus. And if you can't do that, I'll do it for you." The coach spoke in a serious tone.

Sae looked at the coach angrily, "What are you trying to tell me? Are you going to stop me from playing?"

"I'm saying that you have to decide what's more important to you. Football or a girlfriend who can be temporary. "Think about this, Sae: sacrifices are inevitable if you want to be the best. You decide which ones you're willing to make." The coach ended the talk.

Meanwhile, Sae stayed on the court longer than usual, thinking about what to do. He loved you, maybe he didn't say it often because it wasn't typical of him, but he liked to show it to you. And he knew that you loved him, he knew that with that decision he was going to hurt you, but he was in Spain for one goal, and he could not allow himself to deviate from that goal.

That night, Sae came home later than usual. His face was as impassive as ever, but with a weight on his heart that he had never felt before. He found Azumi preparing dinner, As always with a warm smile on his face, although lately he had noticed that his girlfriend had a new sparkle in her eyes, but he had not paid much attention to it.

He was going to miss her. He was going to miss that smile that, although he didn't admit it much, had given him peace in the last few years, he was going to miss her kisses, the warmth of her body, the pleasure that only the two of them could make each other feel.

However, his mind was already made up. He couldn't allow himself any distractions, even if it hurt.

Azumi didn't hear when Sae arrived, so she was surprised to find him standing there looking at her seriously. "You're here! Why didn't you say anything, love?" She approached to greet him with her usual kiss, but he moved his face away from her, which left her confused. "Sae, what's wrong? Is everything okay?" I asked a little worried.

Sae took an imperceptible breath before speaking, "This isn't going to work anymore, Azumi. We have to end it."

The redhead stopped suddenly, taken by surprise. "What are you saying? Why?" She thought it was probably a joke in bad taste, but it was Itoshi Sae, he didn't make jokes.

"Because I don't have time for this, Azumi. My goal was always clear and you're becoming a distraction." Sae spoke to her coldly, while avoiding her gaze.

His words managed to hurt her. "A distraction? Sae, do you really think that? I've never tried to take away your dream, I just want to be by your side. Is that a problem?"

Itoshi clenched his fists, trying his best not to let out any emotion. "You don't understand, football is everything to me, there's no room for anything else. Since we've been together, I can't concentrate. On the pitch, in training... I'm failing because I'm thinking about you."

Tears were already forming in Azumi's eyes, but she didn't want to give up just yet. 'Sae, you're so obsessed with being the best, that you forget about more important things, you're going to be left alone.'

He finally decided to look at her and Azumi noticed that Sae's eyes did not show the hardness that her voice wanted to appear, they showed sadness. "Yes, I prefer to be alone. Football is unforgiving, if I don't give my all, someone else will and surpass me. I don't plan on risking that, even if it hurts me, even if... I love you. I can't let that stop me."

"If you love me, then why are you doing this? Sae, we can find some way..." she tried to reach out and grab his hand, but he pulled away.

"There's no way. Loving isn't enough. I have to be the best, and that means sacrificing a lot of things, including you." Sae's mind was already made up, and Azumi decided to give in and accept it.

She looked at him with tears streaming down her face. While Sae tried her best to stand firm, even though internally she felt like she was breaking into pieces.

"If that's what you want, then I'm not going to stop you" She told him

Azumi wiped away her tears and began to gather all her things, which were a lot. She still had her apartment, she just practically lived with Sae. She tidied and packed as quickly as possible, He tried to help her but she didn't let him.

When she was leaving, she passed by him, looked at him and tried not to break down in front of him. "I hope you achieve what you want so much and be the best, Sae"

And so, just as one day she came in with a heart full of love, she left with a completely broken heart.

Azumi wasn't going to force him to stay with her. He was free to decide what he thought was best for his life, and if he thought he was better off without her. She wasn't going to beg him to stay with her.

A month passed when Azumi decided to move to another apartment complex. In that month she had done everything she could to not run into Sae and luckily she succeeded.

Three months later, when she was living in another apartment, she started to feel strange. She was hungry all the time, she was vomiting, her sleeping schedule had changed and she felt tired all the time.

A not so crazy idea began to emerge in her mind.

Sae and Azumi were quite the fiery couple. They were very active in that regard and as far as Azumi could remember, they hadn't been so careful the last few times. And considering that she was almost four months late, the idea of being pregnant began to become increasingly certain.

When she took the pregnancy test and it came out positive, she cried a lot. She was still studying, she didn't have anyone in that country apart from some friends she had made at university. The father of her child had decided that she was a nuisance to his career and he was surely going to consider her child a problem as well. On top of that, she didn't have a job and lived off the monthly payments her family sent her, and while she lived comfortably with that, having a child was a much bigger expense.

She didn't know what to do.

She decided to talk to her parents, she didn't know what to do and they were the ones who always advised her in difficult situations. At first, they didn't take it well, "Azumi, you were supposed to go to Spain to study, not to get involved with someone and get pregnant" her mother told her. But her father, who had always supported her, told her to stay calm. They would support her in whatever she decided and if they had to send her more money for the baby, they would do it. But the only rule was that she should not drop out of school.

The thought of abortion was on her mind more than she liked to admit. She knew it was going to be difficult to have the baby alone, but this baby had been made with the love she and Sae had for each other, It was the only thing left of her great love.

The months went by, and she found out that she was expecting a boy. Her belly wasn't that big, but she liked taking pictures.

Sometimes she would come across a Sae game on TV, Apparently he was doing very well, he was always a starter, and in the football news there was always talk about how Real Madrid won matches thanks to some goal from Sae.

Apparently he was right, she was just a distraction in his life. He was better off without her.

The thought of telling him never crossed her mind. He had been clear about his goals and she was sure that having children was not part of them.

The birth was natural, it was not easy. But when she held her little son in her arms, all the pain disappeared.

She named him Suzuki Souta, and as soon as he opened his eyes, he showed those blue-green eyes and long eyelashes, he looked just like Sae. He had also inherited her ex-boyfriend's reddish-brown hair color.

As he grew up, he showed that the only thing he had inherited from Azumi were her dimples. Other than that, including his personality, he was Sae in the mini version.

Azumi built her life around her son, Souta. She got a part-time job in marketing while continuing her studies. Her days were exhausting, balancing work, college and the demands of a young child, but every time Souta smiled or called her "Mom," she felt all the effort was worth it.

Souta, now six years old, was an energetic boy with an undeniable resemblance to his father. His striking blue-green eyes used to catch the attention of strangers, and his natural talent for sports began to show when he started playing soccer for a local club. Azumi couldn't help but see Sae in every shot at the ball, in every determined look on Souta's face when he was focused on scoring a goal.

One afternoon, as Azumi was walking home with Souta after soccer practice, they passed an electronics store. A live interview with Sae Itoshi, fresh off another spectacular victory with the Japan national team, was being broadcast on the big screen in the window.

"Mom, look!" Souta pointed excitedly toward the screen. "It's the poster boy my coach has in his office! He's super cool!"

Azumi froze, feeling her chest tighten. She didn't want Souta to acknowledge Sae, at least not yet. She knew that would only raise questions she didn't have answers for yet.

"Yes, it is," she said quickly, tugging on Souta's hand before he could say anything else. "But we're already late, let's go home."

As they continued walking, Azumi couldn't help but look back, seeing Sae's figure on the screen. Although her face was as cold as ever, her success and confidence were undeniable. Her heart shrank at the thought that Souta might grow up not knowing who his father was.

"Maybe someday," she murmured to herself, holding Souta's small hand tightly, "but not today."

However, fate had other plans.

[jooniperbonsai]

Penalty Shot (pjm) | Part 1

Pairing: professionalhockeyplayer!jimin x minorleagueplayer!reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 22,512

Release Date: December 24, 2024

Genre: Smut, holiday romance fluff, angst, hockeyau, holidayau, comedy, slight rivals to lovers

Summary: He's the worst hockey player on the worst team in the national league, with an awful attitude to go with it. You're the best player in the local chapter, but turned down your chance to go pro. After a scandal benches him for part of the season, he recruits your help to get him ice ready by the New Year.

Warnings: mentions of threesome, Jimin is bi, probably inaccurate ideas about hockey, Jimin is an asshole, swearing, misogyny in sports, slightly homophobic comments, hometown trauma, arranged marriage, corny Christmas references, holiday party stress, mentioned death of minor characters, teen pregnancy, abortion and discussions of abortion processes, emotions, and characteristics of shame angst, misunderstandings, Y/N is a self sacrificial person, fighting and threatening violence, alcohol, sexual innuendos, omg look it's Shinee's Minho as the role of bff, mention of random kpop artists on y/ns team, groping, oral (f receiving), hand jobs, unprotected sex, creampie, rivals but not, friends but not? Who knows, Christmas is all around and the cheer is in the air idk

a/n: It's here! I mean, kind of! Here's part 1 of what has become a monster of a fanfic. I just have 1. Learned so much about hockey it's ridiculous, and I feel like I need more time with these characters. To all who celebrate, Merry Christmas. I hope everyone enjoys this fic. Be easy on me with the proofing errors. I rushed the proof a bit to get it out on time.

“That’s it, babygirl; Cum on my cock. That’s it. Fuckkk.”

“No no no, what did I say? Did I say you could ride me? No. On your knees. Mouth open. Just your mouth, not your hands. Be a good boy or you won’t get my cum. There we go. Open. I said open. Do you want my cock or not? There we go. Ah-ah, swallow. That’s a good boy.”

“Fuck, Jimin, my turn, please please please.” 

“What did I say about begging? There’s plenty to go around.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Close the damn laptop. I’ve seen enough.” 

The sharp, wet slapping sounds and deep, guttural moans echoing through the conference room cuts off as the laptop is snapped shut. As if rehearsed, all bodies in the room turn toward the subject of the scandal, expectedly awaiting a very different response from the one they’re given.

“What? Everyone has sex, it’s not new,”  Jimin says. 

“Yes, everyone has sex. But not everyone is filming a sex tape, much less an orgy, and putting it out onto the internet,” Sophia, the public relations manager says. 

“I didn’t put it on the internet. I’m not that stupid. And, it was a threesome, not an orgy.”

“Well, clearly you are stupid, if you thought attending, much less filming, your not-so-private sexual exploits wouldn’t come back to haunt you. And yet, shocker, they have, and we are swiftly becoming the top headline in every tabloid magazine on the planet. You seriously thought none of these participants would want to brag about how they bedded the bad boy of the UHL?” 

“Park, you finished off last season being one of the most famous people in the Universal Hockey League, and not in a good way. Need I remind you that we just spent the whole summer trying to implement a marketing campaign to improve sales of your jerseys since manufacturers don’t even want to make them? That after ‘Park the Park’ became a trending hashtag on every social media site, you suddenly caught attention as the ‘Hottest But Worst Player in Professional Sports’?” Coach sighs heavily into his hands, clenching his fists as if he needs to punch something. 

It’s very much the Coach way. It’s not unheard of for him to be taking swings at the punching bag during gym training days. Clearly this is how he releases steam. 

Only the problem is, the steam is channeled directly at Jimin. 

“I thought any press is considered good press.” 

Sophia snorts and rolls her eyes. “That is a load of bullshit that PR reps say to make shitheads like you feel better. But I’m not here to soothe your ego. I think it’s been stroked enough, based on what we all just saw.” She clears her throat, shaking her head. “The point is, JImin, you’ve cost this team a lot, and at this point, I can’t advise the staff enough to let you go. You’ve caused fights on the ice that almost turned lethal, you have the worst stats, and the highest lien we’ve had to take out after you damaged the rink in LA and caused them to end their season early. In any other job, you’d be fired by now.” 

Sophia scoops her laptop up off the table and places it in her bag. She stands, hastily collecting her other things. Her assistant-slash-lackey, some nameless, anxious young woman, follows suit, clattering her impressive collection of color-coded pens across the conference table. She bows in apology, shakily attempting to collect her things. No one, including Sophia, moves to help. 

“I have to go, because I need to figure out some way to spin this story now that we are receiving hundreds of requests for interviews, quotes, and extra footage.” She fake gags, as if Jimin and the debauching act on the screen is repulsive to her. “Stay off social media. Do not make a single claim unless advised by your lawyers. We are petitioning the website to take the video down. I know it’s out there forever, but I think if we act fast we can reduce views and hopefully end its virality quickly. Once I hear back from the firm I’ll send you an update.” 

The door shuts behind them slowly, but once the final click ensures that no one outside can hear what’s being discussed, Jimin turns to see the deep set frown of Coach and Assistant Coach Jay sharply aimed toward him. 

“Do you. Have. Any fucking idea. How bad this looks?” Coach’s voice is clipped, fury piercing through his staccatoed breath. Gone is the negotiator, the collected cool that he’d worn while Sophia was here. Instead is the same anger and resentment that Jimin has gotten used to experiencing in the locker room before and after every game, as well as his many meetings as of late. 

“It only looks bad because people take shit way too seriously. If this was a threesome with two women, I’m sure it wouldn’t be blowing up right now. But add a man into the mix and all the homophobes come with their torches and pitchforks. This’ll all blow over in a few weeks, or days even depending on what new scandal the tabloids decide will get the most clicks. Really, Coach, it’ll be okay.” 

A vein protrudes from Coach’s neck, and he huffs a heavy sigh. “You’re missing the point, Park. It’s bad because it’s gay or bisexual or pansexual or whatever the hell your generation is calling things now. But that’s only part of it. All those celebrity gossip pages have been reporting on you for months as is, detailing your explicit sexual appetite and partying with celebrities. You’ve built a reputation for yourself as a playboy, and they’re eating that shit up. And maybe that would all be fine and fun and you could be the next Travis Kelce of the world toting around your celebrity fuck buddies, but there’s one thing Kelce’s got that you don’t.” 

“…Taylor Swift? Whiteness? A mustache?” 

“No you dumbass, talent. Travis Kelce is good at his sport, Jimin, and you fucking suck at yours.” Jay interjects. He reaches into his padfolio, pulling out a complex spreadsheet. “We’ve pulled the totals of all the stats. In the Universal Hockey League, you have the lowest stats out of every active player. Minor players are doing better than you. A hell of a lot better.” 

Jimin reaches out and takes the page, scanning it, brows furrowed. “Okay, so I need to clean up my game a little bit. I don’t see how those two things are connected.” 

“Then let me explain it to you, son.” Coach leans back in his chair, revealing the lower portion of his suit coat, stained from the bit of pasta sauce that dribbled down during his lunch. Jimin finds himself staring at it for so long that it takes Coach three tries before his attempts at calling Jimin’s attention actually works. 

“Focus, Park.” 

“Sorry,” he responds reflexively. 

“Basically, what Sophia said in the meeting is true. I have been advised by her as the official Public Relations Director to fire you. You’ve caused significant risk in various ways. And what I didn’t tell her is that the manager of the Bells and team owner both called me this morning worrying about the integrity of the team. Your little bullshit behaviors have been adding up. Not only are you impossible to market to Bells fans, you’re untradeable and undesirable to any other team. No one wants the Scarlet A you’ve tainted the team with.” 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. He didn’t know Coach was so familiar with classic literature.

“The point is, investors are backing out. Brand deals are falling through. The capital gains of our team are dwindling because we have a shitty player with an even shittier attitude.” 

It feels like a brick has been launched at Jimin’s chest. A hot, crumpling feeling washes over him, and the very cool and collected nature he’s kept fresh this whole meeting has now taken the backseat. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, Park, but you weren’t always this way. When I scouted you and signed you onto the Bells, you were just this young kid with a dream. You loved the game more than you loved the fame. I miss that guy. That’s the one who I wanted. I wanted the fresh energy of early morning practices led by a player with eagerness and potential. And you were that for a while. 

“But all I’ve seen in the last two seasons is someone who cares about hair gel and being an A-lister for afterparties. When you’re supposed to be driving the net, you’re getting flanked. You can’t control your mouth so you start chirpin’ and hand every opposing team at least one power play, usually in the third period and leaving your team to handle the mess you created as you sit in the box.”

Heat floods Jimin’s cheeks. “Am I supposed to just let all those guys walk all over me? I’m one of the shorter players in the league, and they love to talk shit.” 

“Of course they love to talk shit when you’re such an easy target! It's a practical strategy! If you target the hothead, they’ll take themselves out of the game! They don’t even need to be good to do that!” 

“Isn’t that allegedly your strategy anyway?” Jay says, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like a very good one.” 

“Shut up, Jay,” Jimin retorts, blowing air sharply out of his nose. 

“Don’t you two get started on me now,” Coach says, snapping his fingers. Jimin refocuses his gaze. 

“So, what does that mean for me then? Am I fired? Just like that?” He folds his arms over his chest defensively.

Coach rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, son. It depends on what you want from this.”

This shocks Jimin. Is he seriously being asked if he wants to be fired? Isn’t the answer obvious? He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by Coach. 

“What I mean, is that now is a good time to think about your goals. Do you just want to be a celebrity or do you want to be a player? A good one, one who makes his team proud.” 

His chest twists with sadness. For nearly ten years, Jimin has been with the Bells. He’d been scouted by Coach himself at the age of 19, having just completed high school and graduating from his own league. During the try-out period, he’d been one of the best, and after a summer of ups and downs, he was offered a contract to be the rookie starter of the season.

 “I want to play. You know that. You know how much this means to me!” His voice trembles as the pain in his chest spring tears into his eyes. 

Coach gives him a sympathetic smile, nodding. “I do. At least, I used to. But now, I need you to prove it to me. To all of us. Which is why I think this break will be good for you to do so.” 

He knits his eyebrows, counting how many days of break he’ll have over the holidays. Then he nods. “Sure. It’s not much, I know, since we have a game between Christmas and the New Year, and one next week, but I’ll come to the arena every day, morning ‘til night. I’ll do explosion drills and I’ll rework my stickhandling. Shit, I’ll even do one better. I know we’ve been struggling to get the puck out of our zone, so I’ll focus on drills that shift us into neutral position. I know Zelensky was complaining about that last game and–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down kid. I’m glad to hear you’re taking this matter seriously, but it’s not going to correct itself in a matter of days. It’s going to have to be a change in attitude. You need to learn how to not let every little thing trigger you on and off the ice. That’s going to take some time. Therapy, maybe.” 

“I’ll get a therapist. Right after this, I’ll call my friend Yoongi who can recommend me to someone and…” But already they’ve moved on, Jimin’s promise hanging in the air. 

Coach opens the folder he has in front of him before digging into the pocket of his jacket to fish around for something. He produces a glasses case, and then pulls out his reading glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “Let’s see here. What are you thinking, Jay?” 

Jay careens his body to glance over at the schedule Coach has unfolded and laid before them. “Well, you already know what I think.” 

Jimin and Jay haven’t always had such a sour relationship. They were friends once, before Jay was hired as the Assistant Coach. Before there was a significant power imbalance between them. Most days, they can get by without making snarky remarks. Some days, Jimin even likes the guy still. Jay is a good AC. He looks at problems with a square eye, knows usually before anyone else what strategy the opposing team is laying out. He protects and vouches for all his players in press meetings, including Jimin. But when he doesn’t have to be doing his job, Jay is ready to cut down anyone and everyone who gets in his way of going home early. 

Jimin sighs, looking around the conference room. A framed poster from the 2000 season Choice Cup championship stares back at him. It’s faded, but he can see the beaming face of his favorite player: Lee Wonhyuk. 

Wonhyuk is seen as a hockey legend, having more hat tricks than anyone in Bells’ history. Always a balanced player, he led his team to the 2000 Choice Cup Playoffs. Jimin was just a kid then, but that was what started his love for hockey. 

“Hmm, well, then I think this is going to be the only option. Park, you’re suspended until late January.”

Jimin freezes. “What?”

“Suspension. I don’t want to see you on the bench in your jersey until the 23rd.” Coach marks the calendar with a thick black marker and nods. “That’ll give you enough time to start getting your shit together and maybe we will have cleared the air from this scandal long enough to recover some of our team’s reputation.”

Coach stands, gathering his folder and heading toward the door. 

“B-but I said I was going to fix this! Did you not hear me promise I’d get a therapist?” 

“We heard you, Jimin. That doesn’t suddenly erase everything you’ve done. How can we even be sure you’ll take it seriously? It doesn’t seem like you’ve taken much of your career seriously for a while now. You’re just lucky you’re not being fired,” Jay knocks his knuckles on the table, almost like a gavel from a judge. 

“Don’t take this thing too much to heart, kid. A suspension is kind of like a break. A vacation even! Go enjoy Christmas with your folks and enjoy some eggnog. Watch one of those ridiculous Hallmark movies about the magic of Christmas making some uptight lawyer into a farm girl because of the hot ranch hand or whatever it is. Take a crash course in anger management, I don’t know. Either way, stay away from the team or else you might not be part of it for much longer.” Coach idles in the open doorway, wafting his hand for Jimin to leave. “Either way, let’s go, we need to go. Our time is up with the conference room and I gotta get home to the Mrs. to help make enough cookies to feed an army.” 

Jimin deflates, grabbing his bag and shuffling out of the building and into the mild winter air swirling around him. 

Christmas with his folks sounds like a nightmare. He hasn’t talked to them since the scandal leaked, despite the worried calls from his mother and the less-than-enthused follow-ups from his father who began calling on behalf of his mother. 

He wasn’t planning on going home for the holidays. The excuse of his work schedule would keep him away another year, and he also suspects that the invite to attend Christmas is one that has no real urgency behind it. He hasn’t been home since his first year going pro. He was just a kid then, trying to balance this new life with the one he left and heal a broken heart. He had hopped on a plane home, only to have to turn around just after the Christmas dinner was finished. The entire flight he was nauseated from overeating. 

The idea of coming home now, while being the biggest loser in the UHL just sounds like another way to rub salt in his wounds. 

He drives home, calling Yoongi and getting a number for a therapist, only to realize that they would be closed until the new year. Of course they will. He turns the key to his apartment, he can’t help but feel like the place looks completely different even though it’s exactly as he left it a handful of hours ago: blinds drawn, warm-lit sconces on his display shelves in his living room giving everything a soft glow. Everything is pristine. Jimin values tidiness and control of his home. Of his life.

Which is why standing here with nothing to guide him for the next 30 days suddenly feels paralyzing. How is he supposed to become another person in a month? He’s not allowed at the arena for practice, and god, he knows everyone will recognize him at the next closest community one, though who knows if he’ll even be allowed in after how “inappropriate” his type of fame now is. 

And it’s too warm here to skate outdoors. He checks the weather app on his phone. No snow is forecasted for the next two weeks. It’s looking to be a warm Christmas this year. Meanwhile, he knows from the location settings that his hometown he’s saved into his favorites is reporting frigid temperatures and at least a foot of snow by the end of the week. Which means the pond he spent so many winters on with his father learning the rules of hockey and practicing on will be frozen solid. A safe place to anonymously practice. 

“Fuck.” He knows what he has to do. And as the phone rings one full time before an answer, Jimin tries not to feel the heat that floods to his cheeks in humiliation. “Hi, Mom. It’s me.” 

“Okay, now drive through! Tighter, tighter! That’s it Y/N! Go! Go! GO!” 

You weave through the blur of jerseys, somehow avoiding a tripping maneuver that would have had you crashing head-first into the wall. Well, barely. Maybe you’d be easier to trip if you hadn’t calculated their positioning early enough in the quarter. 

You drive forward, just as you’re told, scanning. Where’s the weakest link in the defensive lineup? Ah, there he is. Number 55. The taller one who has already spent half of the game tailing you as if he’s an offensive player. The one that said shit on socials about your pussy being so tight because of how much you enjoyed being anal. 

As if that made any sense. Encountering an entitled, hot-headed loser in the minor leagues is about as unique as a tiny, crusty white dog being named Bella. They exist in abundance. Lucky for you, these are always the worst players on the team, and it became immediately obvious to you who was going to be your target for the rest of the game. 

As you redirect your position toward his direction, 55 seems to have plenty to say. 

“Hey Baby, why don’t you leave the big game to the big boys?” he coos, clumsily regripping his stick as he glides toward you. 

“Mm, if this is a game for the big boys, then why are you here?” you say with a smile, cutting the puck around his right skate before tapping your stick against his. It clatters to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch!” he yells, but you’re already well past him, leaving just the rookie goalie between you and the goal. 

He tightens up when he sees you barreling toward him, the puck guarded tightly behind your stick as you weave it, turning slightly to your side to make it seem like you’re going in for a slapshot on the left side of the goal post. 

Naturally, the goalie floats to the left, creating a huge gap on the right side. 

Suddenly, you pivot, shooting the puck to the right, where your teammate, Minho, has stationed himself perfectly to receive and slide the puck neatly into the net. 

Easy. As the buzzer sounds at the end of the game, you high five Minho, solidifying the hottest win streak the Griffins have had to date. The teams line up, a slur of “good games” parroting from the mouths of each team member as you go down the line tapping sticks. That is until you reach 55, whose expression has soured significantly. 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he mutters under his breath. You pause, turning to him. 

“But I thought my pussy was so tight since I’m so anal? Now I’m a slut? Wow, I really got around fast,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Leave it to the worst player on the team to have the most unoriginal, misogynistic insults. Maybe if you practiced holding your stick properly instead of trying to craft an insult, you would have one less thing to suck at. I’m sure not knowing how to handle your stick isn’t just a problem on the ice either. Yikes.” 

You feel a nudge on your back, knowing your team captain, Christopher, is bringing up the rear. 

“Easy there, Y/N, don’t make the guy pop a blood vessel when the season’s barely started,” he says and you chuckle. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t tolerate the sexist machismo you’re carting around. You’re lucky you didn’t lose some teeth this game. If I hear you chirping more bullshit on the ice next time, I’ll personally make sure you have a dentist on speed dial, we clear?” 

Christopher smiles with shiny white teeth, making his threat all the more menacing despite his usual golden retriever energy. 

55 deflates, giving you one more loathsome glare before spinning on the ice and skating away. 

“Bang, Y/N, hustle! We have a party to get to!” Your coach, Bee, curls one gloved finger in, her impatience apparent on her face as she waits at the end of the rink. 

You and Christopher shrug at each other before racing across the ice, the high of the victory still swirling in your head. 

“Oh, bullshit! You know for a fact that if given the chance he would rather be cameoing in some D list movie in LA than getting his shit together. I get that he was your idol, Chris, but times have changed.” 

Jihyo takes a swig of her beer, jabbing a tipsy finger in Christopher’s direction. 

“So he’s gotten a little big-headed with his team. It happens to the best of us. Jimin still remains a hometown hero and we should be grateful he put us on the map!” 

“What map? No one has come here to scout talent since Y/N was being considered for the UHL. I still don’t get why you turned that down. Fucking moron.” Wonpil scoffs as he bites down into his pizza, effectively silencing Christopher, and well, the rest of the room. 

“Ah yes, the awkward silence about me missing out on my once chance,” you snort, glancing around the room as the remaining members of your team devour the last of the team holiday dinner. Bee left not long after the party started, getting some phone call that appeared urgent. Slowly, your families and friends made their way home, leaving only a handful of you behind in the old bar. 

Taeyon, one of the servers you’ve known forever, smirks at you as you gather some plates together to make cleanup easier. 

“Why did you turn it down?” Soobin, the youngest and shyest member of the team asks. 

Everyone in the room turns to you. Everyone in the room besides Soobin knows why. 

“Uh, well, a lot was going on in my life at the time. I had a scholarship to go to college, but then I’d heard that some coaches were coming to scout for the UHL during the summer so I deferred the fall semester, just in case. I was up for consideration and offered a spot with the Bells, but um…I was…sick. And he only had room for one person on his team. While he’d told me I was his first pick, I don’t know, I was…sick, and the other player deserved it. He had a future in it, a need to get out of this place more than I can say I had. So I declined the offer and made plans to use my scholarship and go to school.” 

“I didn’t know you went to college,” Soobin says, eyes wide. 

“She didn’t. Finish the story, Y/N.” Minho says before shoving a tree shaped cookie into his mouth. 

You click your tongue. “Honestly. It was no big deal. It turns out my deferment voided my scholarship, so I didn’t go.” 

“So you gave up on both the major leagues and college? Who’s the other player?” 

You wince at the question, knowing the storm that Soobin has just unknowingly unleashed. 

“What do you mean who’s the other player? Who do you think? She’s talking about Park Jimin, dumbass. He’s the only pro hockey player from here.” Christopher says, delivering a light punch to the maknae. 

“Oh, right,” Soobin says, blushing in embarrassment. 

“And look at what he did. He’s fucking up his chance in this after everything Y/N went through. He knows how to rub it in.” Wonpil downs the rest of his beer. “Honestly, Y/N. If I were you, I’d want to beat that guy to a pulp for being such a loser when you were the one who was rooting for him the most, it seems. Bastard. Good thing he doesn’t come around here much.” 

“Yeah, ha, well. He’s probably off somewhere warm and sunny and not thinking about anyone but himself anyway. It’s for the best, probably.” 

“I never knew you were sick,” Minho says later that evening as you two gather the empty bottles of soju and beer and place them on the counter for the barkeeper to collect. “Bummer that was aligning at the same time that you were about to make it big.” 

“Yeah, it was. Um, hey, my mom wants to know if you’re going to the caroling party,” you say, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, uh, no sorry I can’t make it. I have a date.” 

“A victory and a hot date? Well, Minho, look at you! Looks like you’re growing up.” 

He rolls his eyes, chucking a wadded up napkin at you. “Shut up. She’s nice. We are going to that Thai place downtown.” 

“Well, it sounds like we need to get you out of here so you can get your ass downtown. Are you even going to be hungry? You ate like, a half a package of those cookies by yourself.” 

“I’m a growing boy! I need my calories! And yes, I’ll be fine, Mom. And I’ll remember to wear my coat and hat too.” 

“Well, good. It’s supposed to be sub zero tonight. Not the night to be outside without the proper gear.” 

You grab your purse, doing one last run of the room before you shove Minho out the door to prepare for his date.

“Fuck, I thought you said it wasn’t too cold, Mom!” Jimin climbs into the passenger seat of his mother’s car, his luggage practically owning the backseat. 

“It isn’t! It’s just a cold snap! I thought you’d be used to it from spending so much time in the cold.” She clicks the turn signal, pulling them away from the curb while Jimin fidgets with the heat settings. A thin stream of hot air puffs out of the ancient sedan. 

“I usually have tons of padding on me and am moving so much I’m sweating. That’s different from whatever tundra this is.” The heat finally kicks in. “Where’s the Kia I got you for Christmas last year? Don’t tell me you traded it in for the cash or something.” 

His mother scoffs, merging into the freeway. “No, we didn’t trade it in. It’s in the driveway. You can drive it while you’re here.” 

“Why aren’t you driving it?” Her annoyance is annoying him. 

“Because it’s too complicated. Touch screen and Bluetooth and heated seats and cameras. I don’t need that. I just need to go from one place to another place!” 

The old car roars as if it is in agreement. Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You could have told me you wanted something simpler. I would have at least gotten you a car from this decade. This piece of junk’s falling apart.” 

“It does what I need it to. It’s fine. I didn’t ask for a car anyway.” The lights of the bigger city begin to fade. With a metropolitan city so close to where he grew up, it’s shocking how much Jimin’s mother is clinging to the outdated ideas of small town life.

The strained conversation dies out as his mother turns up the volume of the radio. As the final commercial clears the airwaves, the car is flooded with Christmas carols. 

“It’s good to have you home, my little star.” 

Jimin’s chest wrenches with guilt as he hears the term of endearment. His mother always called him that when he was a child. For a long time, he really lived up to it. Lately though…

I’m more like a fallen star. A star on its way to burning out. 

He lets the music do the talking for the remainder of the drive, and as his hometown comes into view, he’s surprised by how little has changed in the time he’s been gone. Everything is just more worn, older than it used to look. The faded sign of the main grocery store still has the same design. 

The bar where Jimin drank his first beer is still open, and he watches as two people leave through the door, a tall, handsome guy who is laughing and smiling while a woman with her hood up hits him with her purse, also laughing. 

For some reason, his stomach churns at the sight. God, what a miserable place to be stuck in. How can anyone still want to live here? How can anyone smile about the idea of being outside in that frigid air? 

He grumbles to himself and folds his arms, hoping to trap some of the heat back in his body while his mother drives confidently to the sounds of jingling bells. 

In the near decade since Jimin has last been home (he doesn’t count the quick stop-ins during longer layovers at the airport or his grandfather’s funeral), his childhood home has gone through enough renovations to disorient him but still create the same pang of nostalgia.

He goes to hang his coat up in the front hall closet and finds that there no longer is one. Instead, it’s an inset wall with a set of drawers tucked away. His parents have a new dog, Bada, who isn’t even all that new. He’s five now, a full fledged member of the family. Bada growls when Jimin walks through the door, but barely lifts his head off the couch cushion to do so before falling back asleep. 

“Are you hungry?” his mother asks as Jimin pads into the kitchen. 

“I ate on the plane,” he replies. His mother turns to him, her face twisted in disgust. 

“Ugh, that’s not food they serve on those things. It’s cardboard! Here, come sit down; I have some rice and mackerel from lunch leftover. And soup. You’re so skinny. It’s time we plump you up.” 

“I’m not skinny. I have a very specific diet and exercise regimen in order to stay light and fast on my feet while on the ice.” 

But his mother has already left to duck into the kitchen, the sounds of the rice cooker turning on making Jimin wonder if she really had leftovers at all. 

When she reappears about twenty minutes later, she comes with an entire filet of hot fish, black beans, radish kimchi, a mountain of rice, some clear broth soup, and cut up pears. 

“Eat! Eat my son!” she orders, and Jimin obeys, his full stomach betraying him over the promise of home cooked food. 

He is about to ask his mother where his father is when he hears the door open, his father bundled up tight with a dusting of snow on his coat. 

“Storm blew in earlier than I thought.” 

“Oh, honey. Come sit. Give me your coat, I'll hang it to dry.” 

With a grunt from his father, he settles next to where his mother was sitting before, casting his eyes across the table. 

“So you finally made it home to see your parents, huh? When’s the last time we saw you in person again?” 

“Uh, I think last summer. When you guys came to visit.” 

A year and a half. That was the last time they’d been partially together as a family. His brother comes home much more frequently, though this Christmas he’s in Hawaii with his girlfriend. 

Lucky bastard. 

“Well, it’s good to see you. How was the flight?” 

“Fine,” Jimin responds awkwardly. 

He and his father haven’t been close since he moved, and he’s gotten used to vague and scripted questions his father often asks. 

His father nods, slurping his soup from his bowl. 

“So did they fire you for being a porn star or is something else bringing you home.” 

His cheeks flood with heat. Of course his father would bring this up. 

“Um no, just suspended for a bit. And I'm not a porn star.” 

His father shrugs and continues eating. “Hey if it’s what you want to do I’m not here to judge. Just wondering what brought you back home after years of trying to convince you. Your mother was so happy to hear from you that she deep cleaned the house.”

A heavy weight of guilt settles in Jimin’s gut. He’s been gone for so long. And while he knows his parents will never wish for anything to be different for him and his career—well, up to this point— the fact still remains that Jimin has been distant and detached since he moved away. He looks over to the curio cabinet that has been filled with his sports memorabilia. A photo of Jimin when he was on his first team, the bulldogs, sits in the back, Jimin’s two front teeth missing as he gives a gummy smile to the camera. 

“It looks great, Eomma,” Jimin says to his mother when she returns, not even blinking an eye to the fact that his father took her spot. 

“Well, thank you. Now eat up, before it gets cold.” 

As the dinner carries on, Jimin learns that his mother has agreed to go to some neighborhood caroling event tonight. 

“Do you even know who is hosting it?” he asks when his mother fails to name anyone associated with the event besides her friend. 

“I’m sure she told me her name but I’ve forgotten. Names are hard to remember when your friend of a friend invites you. Even harder to say no.” 

“But isn’t there a storm happening?” He glances out the window, confirming the heavier sheet of snow blowing around outside. 

“Sure, but that’s no problem. It’ll make it more festive. Walking in a winter wonderland and all that.” 

“We’re already in one. There’s like, a foot of snow out there.” 

Jimin looks to his father, who has since abandoned the conversation for a sudoku puzzle. 

“Well, I need the exercise. If you’re so concerned, you can always come.” 

No. Absolutely not. The idea of caroling in a blizzard sounds like the bottom of the list of his favorite things. That’s just above dying. 

But as he watches his mother bundle up for the snow and move to grab the keys to her dying sedan, something prompts him to snag the keys for the Kia off the hook, and after a few minutes of painfully shoving his body into his former winter wear his mother kept all those years, he walks out into the snow, insisting to his mother that he drive. 

“Hot chocolate has arrived!” you sing, carrying a large steaming carton to the drove of community members who have shown up to bring “Christmas cheer to all”, as your mother has claimed. 

It’s freezing. You have heat packs shoved into just about every nook and cranny of your body. Even as you pour the warm, sweet liquid into cups to be passed around, you have to fight the urge to shiver. 

“Don’t worry, everyone! Once we get our bodies singing and moving, we’ll be warm in no time!” 

“I thought you said there would be a heat shelter we can go to!” someone says among the crowd. 

“Well, not exactly. It’ll be my house! I have my husband getting the snacks prepared now. And a warm, crackling fireplace. So let’s get this carolfest started!” Your mother beams, unfazed by the sour mood that has fallen upon the group.

With a deflated woo, the carolers set off on foot from the parking lot. 

You have been specifically instructed to wait ten minutes past start time in case anyone else shows up. But given how fast the clouds have rolled in to dump more snow on you, you don’t foresee anyone else coming. 

Still, you abide by your mother’s wishes, pulling your hood over your hat and rewrapping your scarf over your nose, hoping that will encourage less heat to escape. 

Just as your timer buzzes for you to ditch the greeter position and catch up to the crowd, you see a Kia pull into the parking lot, two people shuffling out toward you. 

“Did I miss it? Is it over?!” the woman says, panicked. 

“No, no, they just got started. They’re just down here.” You pull out your mother’s hand-drawn map she passed out to all participants at the start, and point to the one block your mother marked with a star for newcomers. “We will be able to catch up to them easily.” 

“Ah, thank you! Thank you! My son is visiting from out of town, so I was a little late.” 

“It’s no issue, really, this is a volunteer activity. I’m just glad you made it in this snowstorm. Would either of you like some hot cocoa? Or hand warmers? I have some extra.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet. Nothing for me, really, but maybe my son would like some.” The woman pivots her body toward her son, who is still idling by the car, bundled up from head to toe and appears to be staring at you. “Jimin! Come here!” 

The second you hear the name, you freeze. 

No. There’s no way he’s here. Because he never comes home for Christmas. He’s always playing hockey around the holidays. But then you remember. He’s suspended. So where would he be able to hide and wait for his scandal to blow over. Where else could he hide but here?

Slowly, the bundle moves, shuffling his way toward you. You’re prepared for an awkward conversation, for some unenthused hey to leave his lips, but instead he says nothing, just looks at his mother. 

“What?” he asks. His voice is velvety and soft, just like you remember. Even annoyed, it’s a powerless annoyance, one without much heft to sting. 

“Hand warmers. Hot cocoa.” His mother gestures, forcing his gaze to follow her hands and over to you. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly. When his eyes meet yours, they’re empty, and something about how impersonal it is sours your stomach.

Jimin’s mother sighs before turning to you and smiling. “Is this the way we go?” she asks. You cock your head, confused. 

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, Jimin interjects. “Yes, Eomma, it’s this way. Come on. Let’s get this holiday bullshit over with.” 

His mother trudges forward and for a moment you’re too shocked to move. You stand there as the snow continues to float down onto your coat and bare hands, until Jimin speaks again. 

“Uh, hey. You comin’ or…?” 

You blink up at him, still seeing no recognition in his face, no anger, nothing. 

“Oh, uh yeah,” you say, quickly depositing the leftover hot z cocoa and maps into your car and matching your pace to Jimin’s. “So, um, how have you been?” 

You don’t risk looking at him, insteading focusing on placing your feet carefully into the snow. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he says, not quite answering your question. 

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” You pull a heat warmer out of your pocket. “Here, take this.” 

He eyes it for a moment, then relents, taking the heat pack from your warm palm. “Thanks.” 

The crunch of snow under you sounds loud, an occasional crack as you step on a patch of ice fills the silence. 

“So, you’re home for the holidays?” you ask lightly. 

He snorts. “Something like that. Although you’ve probably heard everything on the news already.” 

“Something like that,” you parrot, turning the corner of the parking lot to head down the side street you know the carolers will be on. Mrs. Park has outpaced the both of you, already joining the cluster of people on the far end of the block. 

“Are you home for the holidays too?” he asks and you frown, clearing your throat. 

“Oh, um, not really. I live here. Well not here, here, but in town.” 

“Right. Hm. Well…cool. And you grew up here?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, turning toward him. 

“What?” he asks, facing you. His plump lips look even more rosy in the cold, and his nose has gotten red to match. 

“Don’t do this. Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” 

His eyes flick across your face and he furrows his brow. “Why?.” 

“What do you mean why? You know damn well why.” 

He kicks at the snow under his foot. “Well, I mean we were good at pretending we didn’t know each other for so long, Y/N,” he says sharply. “So you’ll have to forgive me if that’s an old habit.”

Your heart sinks, and you shove your tongue into your cheek. “Right. Forget the fact that you were the one who initiated it. But the truth is that I do know you, Jimin. Your mom seems nice, by the way.” 

His head snaps up and he glares at you. “Are we just going to pick up on the same argument from a decade ago? I might have initiated but you’re the one who shut me out and never let me know what was going on. I think then, maybe it makes sense to say I don’t know you. And you may have read everything the tabloids have said about me, but let’s make one thing clear. You don’t know me, anymore, Y/N. You know nothing about me at all. So don’t start acting like you do.” 

His voice is cold, this time a true seething annoyance and anger leaking out of his words. 

You blow air through your lips. “Wow, yeah I guess I don’t. The Jimin I used to know wouldn’t jump down my throat the second that I ask him if he’s home for the holidays. Some hot headed macho temper you’ve got there.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Y/N.” 

He begins to stomp off toward the crowd, but clearly thinks better of it as he waits for you to catch up. 

“Temper tantrum over?” you say sarcastically, and he grumbles under his breath. “What was that?” 

“I said it wasn’t a temper tantrum. You’d be pissed too if your hockey career was pulled away from you because someone couldn’t keep shit to themselves.” 

Your mouth drops open, and while your stomach churns, all you can do is laugh, your laughter forcing you to misstep in the snow and land right on your ass, which only leads to more laughter. 

“What is wrong with you?” Jimin says, his eyes cast down on you judgingly. 

“Oof, man, I haven’t had a laugh like that in forever. A good joke coming from you of all people.” 

You pull yourself up from the snow, ignoring his outstretched hand in front of you. 

“I don’t think it’s all that funny.” 

“Yeah, well, you really should learn to lighten up,” you say, dusting the clods of snow from your legs. ”And work on that temper of yours.” 

“You sound like my coach,” he says, lifting his eyebrow. “Did he send you to watch me?” 

You squint your eyes at him. “Huh?”

“Forget it. Let’s get this shit over with so I can go dethaw in the comfort of my own home.” 

“Oh yes, heaven forbid Mr. Heatmeiser is out in the snow for any longer.”

Jimin is pretty sure that he’s a lost cause when it comes to redeeming himself as a somewhat decent person. 

He’s not sure what compelled him to lie and pretend he didn’t know you. Maybe it’s because when he stepped out of the Kia and he realized it was you, his throat dried up. Over the last decade, he’s distracted himself from thoughts about you and what happened when he left home. How much it destroyed him when you stood in front of him during one of the last days of warm weather and called it all off. 

He was so in love with you. So in love even though you were his biggest competition. Someone who had just as much of a chance at going pro as him. Maybe even more so. And while your town was too big to know everyone, but too small to not recognize people, Jimin had always known you. Had watched you on the rink practicing for your figure lessons while he waited for junior hockey practice. And how slowly your movements became less dainty and more powerful, less whimsical and more fierce as you dashed around the ice to be faster than everyone else. 

One day you were tossed into hockey with him, but as you both grew older and your bodies shaped themselves around different figures of puberty, it led to the eventual discontinuation of co-eds. 

His mother wouldn’t remember you. Because Jimin never told his strict parents that he was breaking the rules and went to your home games when his schedule allowed it in high school. That in the spring of his senior year, he finally got the guts to ask you out after he heard you’d broken up with your shitty boyfriend. That nearly every night after the first date he spent sneaking in through your bedroom window or driving you around in his car with the windows down. 

When he said he was going to practice, you always were in the parking lot waiting for him, your skates and gear ready for you two to practice drills and place bets on who could win in a shoot-out, only for him to buy you a blue raspberry slushie an hour later as you glowed from your victory, poking your stained tongue out at him to tease him. 

He loved that flavor when he tasted it on you. How many of those sweet kisses had turned hot and filthy, leading to your little whimpers and cute little sighs as he thrust into you in his back seat when everyone had left for the night? 

You told him you hadn’t told anyone you were together either. Not because your family wouldn’t understand, but because if word got out in this town, the chances of someone telling Jimin’s parents would mean the end of your relationship. It was easy, you said, to let things be private and just for you. 

Which is why the breakup felt like an unexpected death sentence when it happened. You’d both been scouted by Coach, and Jimin was certain you were going to be the one signed to the Bells. 

But then you’d both gone to a grad party for a classmate in August. And much like every other social event, you’d agreed to not be too friendly together, to not rock the boat of parental expectations or be a part of the town gossip. So you went to the party with your separate friend groups, danced around each other but never with each other. When one of the girls drunkenly stuck her tongue down Jimin’s throat, you watched without jealousy. And when Jimin begged on the walk to his car for you to forgive him, you’d laughed and said easily that there was nothing to forgive because he didn’t consent to the kiss.

But after that night, after you showered him with plenty of kisses in many places he did consent to and closed the door to his car, everything shifted. 

Suddenly, you were absent from try-outs and had texted Jimin saying you were sick. When he offered to come over, you replied that he needed to stay away for a bit. He’d tried to talk to you, but you often left his texts on read. After two weeks of pseudo ghosting, he had finally had enough.  

This wasn’t what you did. Something was clearly wrong. And after hearing that day that he’d officially been selected to contract with the Bells, he needed answers. He drove over to your house and snuck into your bedroom when your light was on. 

You were sitting on your bed, hair neat and dressed comfortably, with no signs of ailment despite what you’d said before. 

“So you’re feeling better I see. You don’t look very sick,” he said, bewildered at how normal you seemed. 

“It wasn’t that kind of sickness,” you’d replied, teeth gritted as you turned down the volume of your TV. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?” His anger had started building, lifting the volume of his voice to above the whisper-level policy that you’d both implemented. 

“Shhh, my parents will hear you.” 

“Fuck it! Let them hear me! It’s stupid to keep this shit a secret anymore!” 

Your jaw had dropped. You had looked at him with venom. “I was only keeping it a secret for you!” 

“Why? Why then was that a secret you could keep between us but you couldn’t even tell me what’s been going on! Are you mad about the party? About that kiss?” 

By that point, both of you were talking loudly, and Jimin had heard your parents call up to ask you who was in your room. 

“Don’t worry about it!” you called back, returning to your argument. “I can’t believe you think I’m mad about that when I told you it was fine!” 

“What do you expect me to think when that’s the last time I saw you? The last time things were normal between us, Y/N?” 

“Nothing between us has ever been normal, Jimin.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re rivals. Competition for each other. You really think that this would hold up if either of us went pro? How would that work? The sore loser just carts themselves behind the other and sits on the sidelines despite their dream being crushed?”

“What? Baby, that’s crazy. Is that how you would feel if I was signed?” 

“Maybe, but maybe you’d feel that way.” 

“Y/N, I wouldn’t. I would be so happy for you. And maybe I would still have my chance too. To get signed for another team or–” 

“And then be on opposite schedules in different places? Really? You think that would work out?”

“It could! Why are you being this way? Did you fake being sick because you’ve been rotting in here thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet?” 

You shook your head. “No, I was sick but it’s whatever now. Anyway, I know you were signed today. Coach called me.” 

An early fall breeze blew through the open window, settling the heat between you. 

“I haven’t signed yet,” he said quietly.

“You will.” 

“Maybe I won’t!” 

“Oh be serious for one fucking second, Jimin. All summer you’ve talked about this. This is your dream. This has always been your dream.” 

“Yeah well that was before you! Before this.” 

“What is this?” 

“Love! I’m in love with you. I want to spend every day of my life with you, don’t you know that? Since we were kids on the ice, when you were a failed ice skater because you were too gruff. Don’t you love me?” 

Tears had welled up in your eyes, but you didn’t move from your bed. 

“You can’t give up on hockey Jimin.” 

“I’m not going to, Y/N. Now tell me, do you love me, too?” 

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking over at you sadly. He wanted so badly to hold you, to wipe away your tears, but he knew if he moved any closer, you’d be sure to kick him out. He sat anxiously as you silently looked at him, more tears spilling forward. 

“You need to leave.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me. If you say that, I’ll climb through that window and I promise I will never bother you again.” 

“Stop it. Please, just go home.” 

“What is wrong? What happened? I don’t understand. We were fine. Please, tell me.” 

The desperation in Jimin’s voice cracked him open, tears falling down his face too. 

“It’s over, Jimin. I’m breaking up with you.” You didn’t look him in the eye as you said it. Instead your eyes were fixed on your shelf above your dresser, decorated with trophies, team photos, and medals from your years of hockey. Noticeably gone from that shelf was the stuffed purple whale he’d gotten you from an arcade that summer. 

When he looked around, that’s when he noticed every trace of him was gone from your bedroom. The little things you’d put there as symbols of your relationship like postcards he’d written love letters to you on the back of, a small picture you kept by your bedside of your reflections in the water, and the dried flowers from the field off the highway he’d picked for you the day his car stalled on your way into the city. Almost like every trace of him was gone.

“Y/N? I’m coming in.” The sound of your father opening your door pulled Jimin off your bed, wiping his tears as he turned toward the window. 

When your father saw him –and as Jimin assumed, you– he cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for you to go, son.” 

With one glance back, Jimin looked at you, pleading for you to return his gaze. And as he for the first and last time walked out of your bedroom door, you looked up at him. Your eyes were filled with an agonizing sadness. One that answered every question he asked that night. You loved him. But that somehow, didn’t mean anything. 

Now, as he stands in the deep snow looking out across the frozen pond in his parents’ backyard, Jimin can taste the memory on his tongue. Not just of you, even though since he’s gotten home from caroling with his mother he’s been obsessively replaying the memories he thought he put to rest. But he also is remembering his first time skating on the pond. 

Back then, it felt like it stretched on for miles, but back then Jimin was also about half his height and terrified the ice was too thin. Over time, he’s learned how to get a better idea of the ice’s thickness and safety, but even if he fell in, the water in the pond is only 4 feet deep. 

Carefully, he takes the shovel to the surface, trying to scrape away at the layer of snow that has caked over the ice. He knows by tomorrow the snow will just be another layer of thicker ice to reinforce itself, but he can’t wait. 

After shoveling, he returns to the bank and props himself on the old log bench his father put on the edge of the water, replacing his boots with his skates. It feels so natural and right to lace himself back into them, though the missing bulk and weight of his padding feels out of balance. Still, he pulls himself up, shuffling over to the pond and shifting his weight forward to feel it out. 

It takes a moment to get used to the rougher ice. It reminds him of the time the zamboni driver was on paternity leave and the roughed up edges from practice after practice made it harder to glide across. Yet this is the pond he first learned to skate on. He knows its bends, how to steady himself among it. And once he feels the ice glide easier under him, it feels like a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

“Do you think they’ll want wreath cookies or tea cakes? Or those ones with the snowmen cutouts! Ooh, we should get those while we’re here, too, just in case.” 

Your mother has been leading you down aisle after aisle of the grocery store, nervously questioning every decision she’s made for her Christmas party. After the lackluster turnout post- caroling, she decided she wanted to try again, and for some reason has decided that the selection of cookies was the reason for low turnout, not the record-breaking snowstorm occurring during it. 

Unlike yesterday, when you were forced to carol alone, you managed to lie to Minho about needing to get a few things from the store and wanting to hear about his date, waiting until he got in the car to inform him that you would be meeting your mother at the store. 

You sigh as you turn the heavy cart around, back in the direction of the dairy section from where you just came. “They’ll be back here. I’ll go get them.” 

But her attention is focused more on the list in front of her, so you wheel the heavy load through the masses of shoppers, Minho grumbling behind you about how much he hates you. 

“Listen, now that we’re away from my mother, you can give me all the juicy details. How was the Thai food? How was downtown? Did you kiss?”

“I don’t think you deserve to know,” he pouts, pretending to stall at the discounted advent calendars.

“Look, I have stuff to tell you too, so let this be an equal exchange of tea.” 

“Y/N, I don’t want to hear about whatever some loser said to you on a dating app about hat trick record holders.” 

You arrive at the section with the pre-cut cookie dough. Minho snags two boxes and holds them up, trying to make you pick between the Rudolphs and the Christmas trees. After a second deliberating, he puts both in the cart, knowing your mother will be pleased with his decision making. 

“It’s not about dating apps. It’s about Park Ji-”

“Hi!” A bright voice chirps close by, and you jump, focusing on the source. You whirl around to see Mrs. Park waving with a tree shaped butter mold in her hands. Standing behind her at the handle of the cart is Jimin. 

“Oh, hi Mrs.Park,” you say, your voice strained. “How are you?”

Mrs. Park smiles at the question. “Good! Please tell your mom I had a fun time yesterday. Lots of good singing! Especially you. Are you a professional?” 

Minho snorts behind you, causing you to elbow him in the stomach. 

“No no. I’m really not good. I’m not a professional by any means.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, what do you do for work then? Is this your husband? He’s very handsome.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realize she’s talking about Minho. 

You try not to look at Jimin, but you do, and he still wears the same blank expression from yesterday, only his jaw is set and the tips of his ears are red. He looks back and forth between you and Minho, almost like he’s trying to imagine you two together. 

“Oh, you’re really sweet, but, no. I’m not her husband. Neither of us are married.” Minho pipes up, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back. Somehow, you know he has pieced what you were about to say together, and the comfort of his touch makes you feel a little less like running at full speed out of the store. 

Jimin’s blank expression has turned into a glare. 

You clear your throat, not only drawing his gaze up to you but also his mother’s. 

“I, um, I own the ice arena. So I am usually there, sorting out bills and repairs. Or driving the zamboni. When I have downtime I play offense in our hockey league.” 

This seems to draw Jimin’s attention. “You own the arena?” 

“Yeah, the Lee family who owned it? Both of them passed away a few years ago. None of their children wanted it, so I bought it from them about two years ago.” 

Jimin frowned. “Oh no, that’s so sad. They always gave me extra time to practice and always had those licorice laces at the food counter. Remember the time we–”

His mouth snaps shut as he realizes his mistake. His eyes flash to his mother, who is looking between the two of you. “Oh! Then you must know each other!” she says ecstatically. 

You raise your eyebrows at Jimin expectantly. What narrative is he going to choose?

“Yes, Eomma. Y/N and I went to high school together. And we saw each other a lot.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you say, quietly challenging him even now to say the whole truth. He responds with a shake of his head. His mother doesn’t notice. 

“Oh, how nice! Such a shame my son never mentioned knowing you before. He could be the one shopping with you now if he had gotten you sooner instead of your husband! But, my son was always so focused on sports. Do you know the UHL? He’s on a team there!” 

Something twinges in you at the mention of the truth. You know Jimin never mentioned you, as that was part of your arrangement. But the thing his mother says about getting you sooner really throws you. 

“She knows, Eomma. She of all people will know about the UHL. She had tried out during the same trials as me.” 

“Is that so? Well, a pity that he beat you then. He’s always been so talented. I guess fate really made things work out for both of you then.” 

You find yourself folding your lips into a thin line, trying to avoid spilling the details about her son’s talent. But just as you wrap your hands around the cart rails until your knuckles pop, you feel MInho reach over you, loosening the cart from your grasp. 

“Hey, uh, you know, your mom is probably looking for us,” he says, introducing the bait that you can take to escape the increasingly painful conversation. 

As if summoned, your mother appears, rambling on about how long it has taken before she recognizes who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, well hello there! It’s great to see you again. Thank you for attending yesterday, it was wonderful having you. Too bad you missed the post-caroling cookies!” 

You sigh, knowing that your mother is sounding passive aggressive to anyone within earshot. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t attend. My son had just flown in earlier in the day, so we went home after so he could rest.” 

Your mother’s smile falls a little, no doubt from the guilt. 

“Of course! Well, no harm done. In fact, I’m having a soirée on Christmas Eve, and you should attend! Bring the whole family!” 

You glance back at Minho, whose mouth is pursed to hold back a laugh, much like yours. A soirée. Sure.

“I don’t know Eomma, we still have–” 

“It sounds amazing!” Mrs. Park interrupts, shooting a harsh look at her son. “We would love to attend, thank you.” 

“Perfect, I’ll email you the details then. Well, we should get going. These cookies won’t bake themselves!” 

As you peel yourself away from the Parks, you take a deep breath. 

“Well,” Minho says, “I don’t think I need to hear your story anymore.” 

“Well, there’s something more I need to tell you, but not here.” 

When you first met Jimin, you were seven, though you don’t remember him. While he once claimed he’s known you for forever, it wasn’t until you were both teenagers before you actually remembered him. 

In high school, you’d laid low, avoiding just about every social event that you possibly could. Your focus was on academics and the ice, with 5am wake times to get to the arena to practice, and late nights doing extra cram school sessions to keep your grades in shape despite your busy schedule. You had friends, but they were ones who lived in different cities, most of them commuting to your traveling team. Because co-ed hockey wasn’t an option and your high school had only invested in boys’ leagues, Park Jimin wasn’t someone on your radar. 

Until you’d learned that you were on his. 

It started in the early spring. Rumor had it that major league coaches were scouting for new recruits. Of all genders. There was a special trial process, and the trials would happen during the summer, with a potential for newly contracted players to begin their rookie season as soon as the fall. 

You’d tried not to get too excited. With an early decision college acceptance under your belt, your future was already looking bright. There was even an athletic scholarship attached. You could play on the women's team. But the potential of playing for the UHL, to be scouted and live out your dream to play hockey professionally was still filling your stomach with butterflies. 

So you kept yourself chill until the rumor became official, and marched into the arena you knew so well with your head high, ready to take on the other recruits. 

It was then that you and Jimin officially met. 

He was a bit scrawny looking then, his mop of black hair almost shadowing his face. It was hard to believe that this kid was the one you knew to be the MVP of the boy’s hockey team at your school. 

But once you saw him move, you understood why. Jimin had the form and movement almost of a dancer, with his build keeping him strong but light on his feet to race forward and snake around even the most complex of defense measures. He instinctively knew how to bend his body and stick away from a targeted maneuver, and cut swiftly enough to throw off the goalie and score. He would have made a great figure skater. 

You, however, were different. From the start, the grace of figure skating wasn’t with you, with your skates sloppily digging into the ice so you could chase after the object of your affection. A little brutish, you were also cunning, and the strategy of hockey and the game board that laid before you made it all the more satisfying. Your patience and ability to unfold a game play before it fully manifested often led to your team’s win. 

It also made playing against Jimin all the more intriguing. 

Because during each scrimmage, shoot-out, and obstacle you faced for the try-outs, Jimin was often neck-in-neck with you, somehow knowing your own plan of attack, and sliding the puck out of your hold as if he was plucking a feather from a pillow. It appeared so effortless, like he’d studied you for so long and knew your every movement. When he would shrug and give you an angelic smile during his wins over you, it made you all the more angry. 

One day after a scrimmage, you were stressed and hormonal and pissed. Some of the other players had gotten under your skin, shit-talking you for being the only woman on the team. 

“You sure you aren’t on some steroids or some shit? Performance enhancement can happen to everyone.” 

“I’m sure your daddy taught you quite a bit when you played on your little ponds, sweetheart. But this is the big leagues. There’s guys out there three times your size who will ruin that pretty little face.” 

“Are you sure you’re cut out for this? The position of Puck Bunny is open. If you want to experience hockey with the pros, might as well be safely bouncing on my cock to do so.” 

The sexism was rampant in hockey, and you knew it. But that was a day where it was too much. With graduation on the near horizon, just breaking up with your boyfriend, and the scouting day schedule being released soon, your nerves were as tired as your body. 

When Jimin found you crying in your car outside of the arena, he’d gently knocked on your window, a light smile warming his face as he held up a protein shake and a Kit Kat. 

You’d let him in, and from there, your whole world shifted. 

The days grew longer, the sun warming parts of your life you’d forgotten winter took away. Jimin was there to listen, to sit and strategize plays with you, to eat Subway sandwiches after practice and walk you to your car after school. 

“Hey, so, there’s this movie coming out. It’s a documentary, actually, about my favorite player, Lee Wonhyuk? Would you, uh, like to see it with me?” 

You knew that was his favorite player. He mentioned Wonhyuk nearly every day, and wore his jersey when he wasn’t in his own padding. You also had learned other things about Jimin during this time, like how the tips of his ears would turn red when he was embarrassed, and that his parents had a no dating policy because he was supposed to have an arranged marriage some day. He dreamed of leaving the town you both grew up in, wanting more for himself and hoping the distance from his family would allow for him to be more himself than simply fulfilling the dreams of his parents. 

He wanted it so badly he repeated it like a mantra to you often, it sometimes sounding like a plea to the heavens as tears fell from his eyes. 

He had a tooth that was a little crooked, and sometimes when he was tired, his voice would lisp a little. When he laughed, it was often with his full body, a cute giggle that scrunched up his face and folded him nearly in half with joy. He was allergic to cats but loved them. He had a brother. He learned to skate on the pond in his backyard. 

But he never bragged. Never let his anger get him on the ice. Was respectful to you and held open doors or carried your equipment bag when your shoulder hurt. 

So of course you said yes to the date. Of course you let him tuck your hair behind your ear and kiss you in the warm night, his breathy finally he sighed when your lips broke apart ensuring you’d made the right call about him. 

“So you were seeing each other in secret,” Minho says, drinking his Americano smoothly, like it isn’t a pile of caffeinated sludge. 

“Yes,” you respond, the cinnamon on top of your gingerbread latte making you cough slightly. 

The café’s window is foggy, but you can still make out the figures of bustling shoppers. For the sake of discretion, you agreed to Minho’s suggestion to go into the big city for “decent coffee and the ability to be strangers in a larger public”. 

He was right. Everyone is either deep in their own discussions or blocking out the world with headphones as they work on their laptops. The soft jazz Christmas music makes it feel safer to speak your secrets into the air. 

“Well, then what happened? What led to you breaking up? It sounds like you two were in love.” 

“We were…I think” you say, correcting yourself immediately after. 

“You think?” 

“Can you be in love when you’re nineteen?” 

“Uh, yes? Nineteen is young, but have you seen the teens these days? I think they have emotional maturity.” 

“Well, I didn’t, I guess. Because that summer was so intense. We graduated, but we were already together. And then we were hanging out with our own friend groups and trying to balance things. But we saw each other just about every day. And then it was almost like an obsession. We were unable to go a singular day without each other. He would sneak into my room to be with me at night and then leave before either of us had to get up to go to practice. We didn’t want to get caught, so we would makeout behind the movie theater in his car or drive to a more secluded part of the woods so we could…you know.” 

“Have sex? Come on, Y/N, don’t get all shy on me now when I know you were eating up the details about me taking my date the other night and eating her out while she–” 

“Shh!” You look around, but if anything, your shushing is the thing that drew attention. 

“You’re such a prude,” Minho laughs. “Anyway, go on. So you would sneak around, make love, and spend every hour with each other possible. Sounds like you were being nineteen.” 

“Well, it was intense. And once the coaches came it was rigorous and terrifying. Jimin was getting better and stronger, but I was constantly getting slower and I felt weaker. At first I thought I was just tired, like I’d overworked myself, but then I was getting more anxious and nauseous. So I just assumed that it was nerves. But I was playing pretty good and I was drawing attention from the coaches in a great way. Well, one in particular. The coach for the Bells. He was the only one who seemed to be interested in signing a woman.” 

“Well, yeah, because we live in a hellish and misogynistic society and you kick ass!” Minho says enthusiastically, pounding his hand onto the table. 

A woman carrying her tiny Pomerainian in her purse whips her head over. “Do you mind? Snowball is trying to get her beauty sleep.” 

“Sorry,” you both say in unison. 

“Anyway, yeah, I was so excited about the opportunity. And so was Jimin. He kept going on and on about playing on the same team as his idol. But Coach approached me one day after practice and told me that despite there being another three weeks in the trial period, he’d already made his decision. He wanted to sign me on for the fall season. And he would see through the process to be fair, but he had already contacted the legal team to begin drawing up my contract.

“And I had to keep it a secret. While it’s kind of known that coaches do this, they usually keep it to themselves. But Coach said that he hadn’t seen the strategy his team needed in their play execution for quite some time and I would be a huge asset to the team. I’d asked about Jimin, too, out of curiosity but he kind of skirted around the details, saying that there would only be one recruit for the team from this area.” 

“Oh my god, that’s incredible! So why didn’t you go through with it? What did Jimin say when you told him?” 

“I didn’t,” you shake your head, fiddling with the cupsleeve of your latte. “I couldn’t. Not only was I sworn to secrecy basically, but how was I supposed to tell the person who adored the Bells that he wasn’t going to play for them? How could I crush his dreams like that? He needed this. Not only because he wanted it, but he was good at it. As much as I hated to admit my shitty opponents were right, I physically was going to be one third of the size of my competitors sometimes and there is a danger in hockey.” 

“Okay, but it’s not like Jimin is some massive dude.” 

“No, but you’ve seen how graceful he is. He slips out of the hold of the other team fairly easily. I’ve only seen him get body checked recently, when he got whatever that temper is he now is known for. He wasn’t like that at all when we were younger.” 

“Did he find out? Is that how things ended?” 

You shook your head. “I never told Jimin about this meeting. Maybe he knows now and that’s why he’s always pissed whenever he sees me, I don’t know. But there’s multiple reasons why I didn’t sign on, and yes there’s that part I just told you about, but there was more to it than that.” 

Minho sips his coffee, gesturing for you to continue. 

“So, as the week went on, my stomach was hurting more and more. And with all the stress and nerves but all the crazy workouts, I’d been skipping my period for a few months. Jimin and I had been safe for the most part, but not always. Sometimes we were too hot and heavy and we’d do the pull-out method instead. But I didn’t ever make the connection. A lot of the time, female athletes who are super physically conditioned have lighter or missed periods. It had happened before, but that was before I was sexually active. Stress, too, can sometimes make you miss periods. So one night Jimin and I went out to this party. Nothing really important happened but some girl threw herself at Jimin and he was worried I’d be upset. I wasn’t, but all-too conveniently I was super sick the next day. I missed practice. And that’s when I started putting the dots together and bought a test that was clearly positive.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N. What?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a deeper sip of your drink. “Pregnant. And for a little while actually. When I got into the clinic and they took the blood tests and ultrasound, they suspected I was about 8 weeks along. Which means I had been drinking, getting body checked, and all sorts of shit during that time. But, they said it was still viable.” 

“Did you want it to be viable? I mean, how did you feel? Scared, I can imagine.” 

Your lips curve into a soft smile. “I don’t think I really gave myself much time to decide how I felt besides that I was terrified and that this was happening at the worst possible time. I asked for an abortion right then and there. So they sent me home with the pills, and I just waited. It takes a few days, and god, honestly it was awful to experience alone. I didn’t tell anyone, because if I told my parents I was afraid they would ask whose it was, and I didn’t want that to get back to Jimin’s parents. So, I just spent about a week at home, saying I had a really heavy period this time, experiencing heavy cramps and crying and letting it pass. The following week I had to go back in and make sure it worked, but in that time I just laid low and didn’t talk to anyone. 

“My parents didn’t suspect much, but Jimin was freaking out, thinking I had some infectious disease and threatening to come over every five minutes with soup or a Hazmat suit. I didn’t want him to be there, though. If he knew I was pregnant, I knew it would throw him off. He’d be worried about me even more and start thinking about us having babies together and getting old and staying in this town.” 

“I can understand why you didn’t tell him, I do. But I do wonder what’s so wrong about letting him think about those things too.” Minho reaches his hand out gently, stroking his fingers on the back of your hand. “I’m not saying what you did is wrong in any way, Y/N. It’s your body and always your choice matters the most. But based on how you described him to me before, do you think he would have thrown it all away or tried to make you keep the baby? Do you think that your decision and his wouldn’t be aligned in that way?” 

You think for a minute. “No, I think he would have been on my side. He was really adamant on letting me be independent and pursuing what was best for myself. I just couldn't give him the option at the time. I was too focused on making sure things went right for him.” 

Minho smiles softly and nods. “I just hate that you went through that alone.” 

“I do too. But I’m glad I can finally talk about it. I did end up telling my parents, about a year or so later, that I had an abortion. I didn’t say whose it was, but my mom cried for like three days because she was so sad for me that I went through it alone.” 

“Is that why you turned down the offer, then? Were you okay after?” Minho furrows his brow with concern. 

“Oh, I was fine after about two weeks. I felt completely back to normal. And it wasn’t really that reason that I turned the offer down. I mean, it was a part of it, obviously, but mostly when I was having the abortion and was alone at home I was thinking about how fucked up life is. I was a normal teenager and then shit I was pregnant. I was in love with someone but oh god we were almost parents. We were breaking rules despite being adults. We were living in secret and baby or no baby, life was going to change for us and soon. If I was signed to the Bells, I would be leaving home, but what about Jimin? Would he come with me, stay back? Would he get other offers and we’d play on opposing teams? If I said no and he said yes, would he seriously be okay coming back and seeing me or trying to figure things out while I was away at school? 

“Keep in mind, at that time, I didn’t realize my deferment was me rescinding my scholarship. I just suddenly felt like the world was so, so big and the tiny, romantic solitude we’d coveted was not going to work out. So I made up my mind. I turned down the offer for the Bells. I told Coach the world wasn’t ready for a woman in professional hockey and told him about Jimin and his drive and passion and dreams. I told him to sign him instead. Or at least I hoped I told him. I was really laying it on thick,” you laugh. 

“And then you broke things off with Jimin,” Minho finishes. You frown softly. 

“Yeah. And it was awful. He begged me not to. He didn’t know where all this was coming from. He told me he’d only leave if I told him I didn’t love him, but I couldn’t do that. Eventually my dad busted into my room and sent him away. And that was it. That was the last time we talked or saw each other.” 

“Until now.” 

“Until now,” you confirm. 

‘Well fuck, Y/N, that’s one hell of a story.”

“I’ll say.” 

Your head pivots to the Pomeranian lady, who is turned toward you and Minho, sipping her coffee indulgently. 

“You were eavesdropping that entire time?” you ask. 

“Well, it’s not like you were being discreet. Either way, honey, these kinds of places absorb everyone’s biggest secrets. That’s what makes the coffee so good.” 

When Minho dropped you off at your house, you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your chest. After years of holding onto something that wasn’t necessarily shameful but still heavy, someone else knowing the full story was relieving. 

However, one question he asked before leaving has been popping around in your head, taking up a residence that you weren’t quite expecting, even as you unlock the doors to the ice arena the next morning.

“Are you going to tell him?” 

Had Jimin not been only mere miles away from you at this very moment, you would say no. There’s no point in bringing up the past if it’s never around to haunt you. But it seems like Jimin is determined to make your small town feel even smaller. 

When he walks through the doors behind Bee, you can’t help but feel like you manifested him. 

“So, Y/N, here’s the deal.” Bee always tells you news this way. A deal, a situation. This is her way of telling you she’s made a decision and you’re probably not going to like it.

“I got a call the other day from the Head Coach of the Bells. I don’t know how, probably Jay gave it to him since he’s the AC but whatever.” Bee suddenly admitting that her long distance boyfriend, Jay–the Jay she has baby talked to multiple times after a game loss– is the Assistant Coach for the Bells is shocking. But not as shocking as what next comes out of her mouth. “He wants us to rehab Park. Drill him, get him back to his roots and all that shit. He’s hoping some time on a familiar rink will help him shape up. So starting today, he’s going to be training with you.” 

You blink silently at Bee, wishing you could communicate “I want to strangle you” through the pattern. 

“What?” Jimin says incredulously. “I thought I was just going to be training with the space, not with her specifically.” 

Bee cocks her head at Jimin. “You got a problem training with women, Park? Because if so, I would be happy to call Jay and let him know you’re not complying.” She smiles viciously. 

Jimin sighs in resignation. “No, ma’am.” 

“Bee,” you say. “That’s not fair. If he doesn’t want to train with us, he doesn’t have to. I have some opening slots since the junior teams and figure skating lessons are on hold until after the new year. He can just come do drills during those times if he wants to.” 

Bee flicks her gaze between you and Jimin, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with you, Y/N? You’ve never disagreed with my plans before. Are you guys ex lovers or something?” 

You suck in a breath, ready to deny the accusation, but Jimin beats you to it. 

“Yeah, actually. We dated in high school.” He says it calmly, with no malice or venom. It actually shocks you a bit. 

“Oh. Well...do you think you two can make it through the holidays without killing each other?” 

Jimin laughs lightly. “I don’t know, you’ve seen her slapshots. I think you know how lethal she can be.” 

Bee smirks, nodding. “Fair.” 

You knit your brows together. Jimin making light jokes to Bee? What reality do you live in? 

“So, Y/N? Can you not enact Kill Jimin at this time?” 

Despite yourself, you find yourself smiling, allowing a light laugh to fall from your lips. 

“Yes, I promise I won’t kill Jimin.” 

Practicing with you feels like a weird dream Jimin is walking through. Familiar because the arena looks about the exact same as it did back when you were teenagers. Only now, you are both older, and when Jimin gets a good look at you without a giant winter parka over your body, he can’t help but notice how good you look. 

Your body has filled in, with wider hips and strong legs that lunge forward with ease, carrying you as you slam the puck into the goal post, chiming in the air before it pivots in. Your ass has gotten bigger, too, and it looks perfect in your leggings you’ve chosen to wear for practice. He can’t see much of your arms due to the bulky hoodie you’ve chosen, but he can tell by the way you bodycheck one of your teammates that they are far from weak. 

It’s almost enough to get him hard. Until he hears you laugh, and then he remembers how long it’s been since he’s experienced your laughter, and the empty ache of his past drags his sulky mood back up. 

Being home sucks. Seeing his parents is great, but he’s been coddled since he got here, being sent off with homemade lunches from his mother and warnings from his father not to stay out too late. He’s almost thirty and he feels sixteen. This morning his mother woke up even before him just so she could corner him in the kitchen and ask if he’d reviewed any of the potential matches she sent him so he can also go on a date while he’s home. 

He’d said not yet, but what he wanted to say was “No, Eomma, because marriage couldn’t be the furthest thing from my mind right now when my career is dying in front of me.” 

Now, witnessing you be still so much of yourself after nearly ten years, Jimin can’t help but feel even worse about himself. 

“Park, you’re up.” Coach Bee whistles for Jimin to begin his drill, handling the puck quicking between a set of cones. It’s a familiar drill he’s done hundreds of times with the UHL, but this time there’s a twist: he must avoid the agitator, a player who will skate behind him tightly, not only trying to intercept the puck, but also piss him off. 

Naturally, you’re the agitator. 

“Before we do this, no low blows,” he says as you glide up to him. “Treat me with the same knowledge any other player would have. Nothing too personal.” 

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t going to, but sure,” you say softly. 

When Coach Bee blows her whistle, he begins, curving his body along the cones, with you right behind him. 

“Pussy,” you say, which catches Jimin off guard immediately, throwing him into a laughing fit and knocking a bunch of cones down.” 

Coach blows her whistle. “Reset! Come on Park, Y/N, be serious.” 

“I am being serious!” you shout back, but Jimin is still laughing hard. 

“Oh come on! Pussy? You’re kidding me!” Jimin wheezes. Your lips twitch. 

“Okay, fine, I haven’t gone into my zone yet. Give me a break.” 

“I know you can be mean,” he says. Your face falls. 

“I don’t want to be mean.” 

“Well that’s your job right now isn’t it? To agitate me? So just suck it up and do it. Or are you a pussy?” He raises an eyebrow. You clench your jaw. 

This is how he knows he’s got you. All it ever used to take was a little bit of a challenge to rile you up. And Jimin knows just what buttons to push. 

“Reset your shit and let’s go,” you say. 

He smirks. 

This time when Coach Bee blows her whistle, you’re practically on top of Jimin, careening your body so your stick is just millimeters away from his. 

“You know, you used to be hard to crack. What’s wrong? All that fame get to your head? Or was it the fake orgasms you gave that girl in your little sex tape?” 

“Oh, baby, you of all people should know those orgasms were real.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. You were going awfully hard on the poor girl with your needle dicking. Does being shitty at hockey now amount to being shitty at sex these days?” You smack his hockey stick, causing it to rattle uneasily in Jimin’s grasp. 

He chokes up on the handle, reshaping the curve of his arm so the puck tucks behind the stick when you go in for another slap. 

“Aw you’re asking about sex? Has no one fucked you since me or are you just having awful sex?” he retorts. You scoff. With a twist, Jimin begins the second set of cones, this time with a more fluid movement that feels natural to his body. 

“So interested in my pussy, aren’t you. If you were maybe more attentive to the other people you fuck, you wouldn’t be the worst player in the major league.” 

“As opposed to what? The best player in the minor league? I’m not the one stuck at home.” 

He feels your skate sliding between his legs, the force of your body checking, almost knocking him to the ground. He steadies, glaring at you as you coast behind him gracefully. 

“Oops, sorry. Did I almost trip you?” 

“You always played dirty,” he spits. “Come on, babygirl, give me your worst.” 

You roll your eyes and fall into position as he passes the puck back and forth between his stick. 

“Being awfully quiet back there. What’s wrong, big boys got your ego down?” 

“Hardly. I think you’ve got enough ego for the whole fucking town.” 

“And how did I get it, hmm? It didn’t come from sucking, Y/N, it came from talent. Something you didn’t try hard enough for.” 

“And you did? I’m sure Coach really loves to tell you all about your talent.” 

“He does, he said I had drive and passion and that’s why I needed to come back here. To show how far I’ve come from this shithole. How skilled I am and how much I deserve to be there instead of here.” 

“Well lucky for you to have been the top contender.” Your voice drips with anger, and Jimin peers back to see your eyes piercing through him. You drop your stick, shifting to Coach Bee. 

“Bee, I’m done. Send in someone else to agitate.” You skate off the ice, whispering angrily to her as you jab your finger in Jimin’s direction. She nods, blowing her whistle. 

“Alright, reset! Let’s get this show on the road. Wonpil, you’re with Jimin. Minho, go take goalie position. Hustle! It’s Christmas Eve, we all want to get home!” 

Everyone resets, and the player named Wonpil pulls up behind Jimin. As the fellow players begin their drills, Wonpil immediately jumps in where you left off. 

“God, I can’t believe they let an asshole like you in here,” he says, leering over Jimin’s shoulder. 

Jimin snorts, focusing on his positioning. 

“Seriously, you’re the scum of the entire UHL and you really think you’re the shit? Embarrassing.” 

“Well, at least I have a contract. How's a dinky rink going for you, bud?” 

“You know you only have that contract because Y/N turned it down, right?” 

Jimin grips his stick harder. “Nice lie, you almost got me with it.”

Wonpil laughs, empty and cruel. “Oh you don’t know do you? Your coach scouted her for the Bells. She only turned it down because she was sick and felt bad for you.” 

“You’re lying,” Jimin said, teeth gritting. 

“Sure I am. Keep telling yourself that. But facts are facts, Jimin. You playing like a piece of shit is a disgrace to not just yourself, but everything she built for you too.” 

“Stop. Lying.” Heat flares through Jimin’s body, and he pivots on the ice, slamming his body into Wonpil. 

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Wonpil says, teeth sharp as he smiles at Jimin. “Someone really needs to put you in your place, and I’m more than happy to do it.” 

Jimin grabs Wonpil’s shoulders, jerking him into the barrier. “Go for it, bud. Show me how cool you think you are.” 

Wonpil jerks his arm up to bring his elbow down onto Jimin's face, but something stops him. A hand squeezes his forearm, and as Jimin follows the limb, he sees you.

“Stop it, Wonpil. That’s enough.” Your voice is soft but ragged, and Jimin realizes you’ve been crying.

Somewhere in the background, the whistle is screaming through the arena, and the entire team of the Griffins are streaming forward to break up the fight. But it’s your touch, your voice that seems to break Jimin from his fury. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, but the question confuses you, and you stand there staring at him, your body only looped through one arm of the hoodie, your skates untied. 

You don’t answer, instead skating back off the rink, grabbing your equipment bag and disappearing behind a door marked for employees. 

Jimin doesn’t see you until closing time. While practice ended hours ago, he stayed, doing drills, eating a hot dog from concessions, and most of all, waiting for you. 

Your hair is messy, eyes puffy and red, but when your eyes land on Jimin, you don’t look fazed by his presence. 

“I saw you on the security camera,” you say softly. 

“Ah,” he responds. Your arms are crossed, the long sleeves of your shirt confirming the muscle definition he suspected before. 

“I assume you wanted to talk to me?” you ask. 

Jimin clears his throat, nodding awkwardly. “Um, yeah. Your teammate, Wonpil. What’s his deal?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Does he have it out for me or something?” 

You shrug. “I’m not sure what you mean. Besides you trying to beat the shit out of him. Did something happen?” 

“Well, I didn’t try to beat the shit out of him for nothing. The guy has a screw loose or something. He was saying all sorts of shit.” 

“Didn’t you tell me that this is what the agitator does? Of course he’s going to say shit. Come on, follow me. I need to lock up.” You lead him through the various lobbies and areas around the arena, checking bathrooms and corners for anyone who might be loitering. Jimin saw the last people leave about an hour ago, but he doesn’t say so. 

“Yeah, but this was crazy stuff.” You duck your head into the women’s bathroom. 

“Mhm.” 

“He said that the only reason I’m contracted with the Bells is because you turned it down. Isn’t that nuts?” 

You freeze, your hand on the key that turns off the lights to the south side of the arena. 

“Oh.”

Jimin watches you. Your voice sounds shaken, and when you turn to him, you don’t meet his gaze. 

“Y/N,” Jimin says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Look at me.” You obey. “Is that true? Did you get a contract for the Bells?” 

“I did,” you say. 

Jimin’s chest clenches but he forces a deep breath through it anyway. 

“And did you turn it down so I could go?” 

“Yes,” you say. Tears well up in your eyes. Jimin blinks in disbelief. 

“Why? Why the fuck would you do that? It was your dream and you just threw it away!” Anger pulses through him again, making him flushed and hot. “Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck, Y/N?” 

“You wanted it more than I did, Jimin! You needed it more than me. What was I supposed to do? Leave you behind?”

“You were supposed to tell me! You were supposed to be honest so I could figure things out for myself! If I wasn’t the first pick, I deserved to know! Now I know I was the pity pick? All this time I was thinking I was chosen because I was wanted, but I wasn’t even good enough for that?” 

He rubs his eyes with his hands, trying to stamp out the burning he feels in them. Despite himself, his throat tightens, and the hot lick of tears begins to fall in mirror to your face. 

“Of course you were good enough! Why else would you have been contracted! He saw in you what I saw!” you yell, a ragged cry leaving your chest. 

“So that’s why you dumped me all those years ago? Was it guilt for what you did?”

“No! No, it was because I couldn’t be the one dragging you down, Jimin. You spent that whole summer telling me how badly you needed to escape. You talked about your dreams, everything. If I went and played for the Bells, would you have been happy for me? Would you have been okay with letting your dream go?” 

“Of course I wouldn’t Y/N! Because you were my dream. You never seemed to get that! All along you were playing with my future like I was your puppet on strings. Did I live up to your expectations? Hm? Is watching me fuck strangers in a threesome that has since ruined my life been a dream for you? Has watching me become the loser that I am been satisfying for your sick idea of reality?” 

“No, it isn’t. It’s been sad, Jimin. It has been absolutely awful to watch! And keep in mind, there’s no way for me to be a puppeteer if I’m not around to pull the strings. You became who you are now by your own hand. Not mine. Yeah, it was wrong of me not to tell you, I know that now. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you. But I’m not responsible for your career failing. That’s all you.” 

You turn the key to the set of lights, shutting the arena down into darkness. 

“Now, excuse me. I have a Christmas Eve party to get to.”

You manage to get the swelling of your eyelids to go down with some cold spoons your mother shoves into the freezer when she sees you arrive at the party. 

You know you’ll have to face Jimin again tonight, but some resolve has washed over you in the time since you left the arena earlier this afternoon. You’ve had time for a shower, and thrown on some makeup so no one can ask you why you’ve been crying. 

With Minho here, things are feeling a little less stifling, as he instinctively knows how to assemble a killer charcuterie board while also wearing a dashing smile on his face when your aunts ask him if he’s single. He’s good for the distraction, giving you more time to mentally prepare for when Jimin walks through the door with his parents, wearing a white button-up shirt and open suitcoat. 

He looks good. Put together, unlike earlier when he and you were crying and screaming at each other. Composed in only the way a celebrity with PR training could. 

“Oh, hello Y/N!” his mother says as you greet them at the door, taking her pea coat into your hands. 

“Hello, thank you for coming. My mom will be happy you’re here.” 

“Thank you, dear. It’s our pleasure to be here. Jimin, help Y/N with our coats while we go put the tapenade on the table.” 

Mechanically, he obliges, taking his and his father’s snow-dusted coats and following you to the spare bedroom down the hall that has become the coat room. 

“You look nice,” he says, nodding in your direction. You chose to wear a sparkly black dress with shooting stars on it. It was one of the few things in your closet you could deem festive enough without being tacky. The only downside is that it’s shrunk in the wash, making your breasts spill over and your ass practically falls out the back when it rides up. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying not to notice too much that his eyes are glued to your chest. You feel a light jolt of warmth in your stomach. “You do too.” 

Jimin flushes, looking down shyly. “Thanks.” 

Without much effort, you turn toward the door, falling back into the warmth of the party. Your mother clinks her glass, drawing the attention of others. 

“Thank you all for attending this party at the last minute,” your mother beams, clearly pleased with the turnout. 

“That being said, we have lots of games at the ready, song sheets with lyrics, and plenty of eggnog and mistletoe to help you feel some holiday cheer.” She looks at you and winks. “So, enjoy! And cheers!” 

The partygoers cheer, and some swingy, festive rendition of “Deck the Halls” kicks on. You retreat to the designated bar table, where Minho is pouring a heavy glass of something. 

“What’s ailing you?” he asks. 

“Jimin,” you scoff, gesturing for him to pour you a shot of vodka. He goes to top it with cranberry juice, but you shake your head. 

“You sure you want to get wasted?” 

“Absolutely. I can’t imagine getting through any of this sober,” you grimace. Minho laughs. 

“Fair point. Cheers.” 

You clink your shot glasses, downing the alcohol quickly. The burn pulls down through your chest, warming you instantly. 

For the next two hours, you and Minho take turns pouring each other drinks before jumping into games like Christmas Pictionary, where your father draws the worst reindeer you’ve ever seen in your life, looking more like a group of sausages on a grill. 

Jimin hovers around, refusing to partake in the fun, and his Grinchy attitude is still weighing on you too. 

When your mother passes out her caroling sheets and your father shoves someone over to the piano, you find yourself stuffed into the corner with him. 

“Having fun yet?” you ask, the alcohol giving you the guts to feel daring enough to speak to him. 

“Is this supposed to be?”

You frown. “God, you’re such a grump. You better be careful, or you’ll be visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future tonight.” 

“I’d say that I’m already experiencing it,” he says, gesturing toward you. “You get to be all three it would seem.” 

You roll your eyes, putting some distance between the two of you. 

At some point, you’re stuck together again. This time near the snack table and you try to pad your stomach with something other than alcohol. As you load your plate with salami roses and lots of different cheeses and vegetables, Jimin reaches over you, grabbing the bag of potato chips and depositing some of his plate. 

“Here,” he says, when he sees you struggle to balance your stash, and he carries it into the kitchen so you can eat against the counter in peace. 

“Um, thank you,” you say, and pop a tomato into your mouth. 

“About earlier,” he says. Something in his voice sounds less tense than before, and it prompts you to look at him, taking in the softness of his face. 

“Yeah?”

“I was being an asshole,” he finishes. “I’m sorry. I just…it was a shock is all. And a bit disappointing.” 

“It’s okay to be upset,” you say, dusting your hands off on a napkin. “And I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t right of me. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was really young at the time and I was scared.” 

“I was scared too,” Jimin says, lifting his eyes to look at you. “God, leaving here was terrifying.” 

The room is warm from all the crockpots still heating the various delights your parents have encouraged others to serve. Jimin’s face is rosy, and he looks almost like a teenager again.

You nod. “I can only imagine. A new place to start from scratch. Trying to get a hang of everything and be independent. You were practically a kid.” 

“I was,” he smirks. “We both were.” 

“Yeah,” you smile. 

“I do have another question, if that’s okay,” he says quietly. 

“Sure.” You bite down on a piece of cheese, chewing softly.

“When you broke up with me, you said something about how if you got the contract you were worried that I would be miserable. Was that why you did it? Didn’t take it.” 

You sigh. “It was more complicated than that.” 

“How so?” 

In the living room someone whoops as the partygoers sing along to “Jingle Bell Rock”. 

“Not here, let’s go somewhere more private.” 

He follows you into the guest room where you left your coats earlier. The room feels colder than the rest of the house, since the door has been closed despite the groups of people warming the living room. 

You sit. Jimin sits, too, though on the far side of the bed. 

“Well, I guess that me worrying about you was part of it. But I think looking back, I was also worried about myself. We had such a hot and heavy summer and this contract felt like a huge question mark over both of our futures. And we’d never talked about it. While I was at home, I just kept twirling the idea of how things would work out over and over in my head.” 

“Did you skip trials because of it? I had no idea you were so anxious. When I saw you and you didn’t look sick, I thought you’d lied. I never considered that you would have made yourself sick with all of that.” 

“Um, well that wasn’t fully it.” His composure takes you by surprise. “The week of the party. The one you assumed I got mad at you for? I was kept after practice by your coach. He said that while the try-outs weren’t done, he had made his choice. He picked me. And I had to keep it a secret from everyone. Including you.” 

Jimin folds his lips into a line. “Ah, I see.” 

“But, I also had been feeling really shitty. Nausea, heightened anxiety, stress related stuff. Missing periods and stuff, which I know I told you some about. But the day after the party, I felt really bad. And then I finally realized what was wrong. Um…I was pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes flare wide. “What?” 

“Yeah. Turns out a lot of my symptoms were signs of pregnancy. And you and I weren’t exactly careful a lot of the time.” 

Heat floods to Jimin’s face, and you watch as his ears turn pink. “No, we weren’t.” 

“I knew I couldn’t have a baby. I wasn’t really thinking what you would want in that but–” 

“What I would have wanted doesn’t matter.” 

You smile, some warmth spreading to your chest over your instinct being right. “Well, thanks. I got an abortion. And then I turned down the contract. I was going to go to school but I guess my deferment resulted in me losing my scholarship.” 

Jimin stares at you, unmoving. 

“You okay? I’m not shocking you too much?” 

“It’s not that it’s just. Holy shit, Y/N.”

“People keep saying that,” you chuckle. 

“Because it’s a holy shit situation. Were you okay? Did your parents take you?” 

“No, I just did it alone.” 

“Fuck, god. And I was just off dicking around on a rink while you were going through that”

“Which is what I wanted you to be doing, Jimin. I didn’t want you worrying about me. You had to focus!” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “God, you are ridiculous. You were all alone having an abortion by yourself, going through that pain by yourself. Something of which I caused and you were still thinking about me instead of yourself?” 

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. You never thought of it like that. 

“I’m not mad you didn’t tell me, just so you know. I don’t think I really have a right to be mad because it’s not my body that had to go through it. I just…I would have wanted to be there for you through it. More than anything. You were my world, Y/N.” 

“But I couldn’t be. I needed you to be your own world. I needed you to go make something of yourself that wasn’t just because of me.” 

He snorts. “But it was because of you that I made something of myself. I got contracted because of you. I played hard to not think about you. I kept myself busy for nearly a decade with my career so I could forget about you.” 

“Well, did you get close?” you ask carefully. The alcohol has made your head feel a little fuzzy, but the conversation has sobered you up. 

He picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at you. You laugh. “No, of course I didn’t. It’s you, for fuck’s sake. You were my every wet dream of my teenage years, do you think I would just forget you like that?”

“Well, you tried to pretend you didn’t remember me.” 

“God,” he runs a hand over his face. “I think I was just shocked, honestly. I thought you would have left here. Gone away to college and got your sports physiology degree and I would run into you one day in LA after a bad injury and I could convince you to fall in love with me again.” 

You scoff. “Oh is that the dream?” 

“Well it was. I really didn’t think I’d see you ever again, actually.” 

“I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment.” 

“Well, we’ll see…it wasn’t because you were pregnant that you broke up with me, was it?”

“Oh my god, no. You’re obsessed with this like there’s a singular reason but there wasn’t. It was a culmination of everything. Besides, I’d had the abortion during the time I was home. When you showed up, I had just gotten clearance from my doctor that it was a success.” 

Jimin frowns. “Were you sad about it? The abortion? Not that you had to be.” 

“I was sad that I was alone. I was sad that I felt like I couldn’t tell you. I was worried that if I did, I would be the reason for you not getting contracted. It was a lot of worrying for you. But also for myself. I worried I wouldn’t be okay. And I worried I would regret it somehow, that I would wake up one day wondering what could have been.” 

“Did you?”

You look down at your hands. “No, I mean, not really. I have since, I guess, but it’s less wondering what life would have been like without an abortion and more what life would have been like if I didn’t call everything off. That decision hurt me. And it never felt completely right. But my fear of things ending kind of ruled over me. I was so in love with you that I couldn’t imagine a lifetime where things would work out. Not when you had an arranged marriage you’d someday have to fulfill, or one of us would go pro and have to figure out how to make both our dreams work.” 

Jimin nods. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad you made the decision that was best for you at the time. It gives me some closure.” He scoots closer to you before reaching over and squeezing your hand. “And I hope that if you ever go through something like that again, you have someone by your side so you feel less alone.” 

“Thank you,” you say. 

The warmth of his hand comforts you both as you sit in the room. Your mother squeals in the other room, shouting at your father for allegedly grabbing her ass. 

“Come on, babe! It’s Christmas!” he replies. 

You and Jimin burst into laughter. 

“You know,” Jimin says behind gasps of air. “I don’t think I hate being here as much as I thought I would. Sure, it sucks being under my parents’ roof again, but god, the sound of a holiday party is a welcome change from a bunch of locker room groans.” 

“You smell better too,” you add. You sniff the air between you too. “I always liked that cologne on you.” 

He smirks. “Remember when I ran out and you drove your car, broken A/C and all, into the city to get me a replacement?” 

You groan. “God, my car was truly an oven that day. When I finally got home I thought I was melting like an ice cream cone.”

“I remember that.” 

“I have a question for you now,” you say. Jimin blinks a bit, taken aback by your abruptness. 

“Oh, sure.” 

“Why are you home? Why didn’t you stay at your place and just see your celebrity friends? Why come back here which is clearly full of bad memories and feelings and experience all of this?” You gesture around you. 

He takes a sharp breath. “Well, it felt like something that I had to do. First of all, I’ve been instructed by our PR team not to be seen out with any of my celebrity friends. I’m not supposed to be seen anywhere near Bells Arena, so practicing locally was out. And with it being too warm there to skate on a natural body of water, it seemed like home was the only option.”

“That sucks,” you blurt. “I mean–”

Jimin laughs. “Yeah, it does suck. But home isn’t the worst place to be, and I feel like there hasn’t been a lot tying me to anything lately. The last few years have been rough. Threesome notwithstanding, but my life hasn’t been exactly private for a while. And I guess that kind of presses you to become someone else.” 

“Like a prick?” 

“Am I really that much of an asshole?”

“Uh, yeah. You lost your drive because you’re too busy chirping on the ice and not focusing on the game.” 

“You’re sounding like Coach again.” 

“Well, he had a good point. Do you have your gear with you by chance?”

“It’s in the car, why?”

“Go grab it and meet me out back.” 

“Why?”

“Just do it,” you roll your eyes and stand up, smoothing your dress. When you turn to face Jimin, his gaze moves from your ass. 

You pretend not to notice. 

“You have a rink in your backyard?”

“Yep, Dad built it back when we were trying out for the pros, thinking that during my break times I could come home and practice.”

Now knowing the truth, Jimin can’t help but feel an ache in his chest for you and the dream you left behind. 

“It’s incredible. But are you sure that you’re not too drunk to skate?” 

You balk at the question, laughing. “You think I haven’t skated absolutely wasted? Come on now.” Fair point. “Besides,” you add, “I feel fine now. The fresh air is nice.” 

You’ve traded your tiny little dress he was admiring in the bedroom for a more sensible outfit. “Now, lace up your skates, Park. Let’s get to drills.” 

An hour later, Jimin is sweating through his button down. He didn’t have an extra outfit with him in the Kia, just his skates, so he’s been sweltering in the stiff button down. A little perspiration is beading your forehead, but you still have a healthy glow to you, and are not nearly as out of breath as he is.

“You’ve gotten sloppy with your passing,” you say nonchalantly. 

A lick of heat prompts Jimin to argue, but he shoves it down. He’s supposed to be working on that, after all. 

“Just a tiny bit,” he says. 

“You’ve got a long way to go if you’re going to be ready to hit the ice in less than a month.”

He pouts a bit, despite himself. 

“Oh come on, you used to love the challenge of beating me on the rink. Did time change that much?” 

“Well, there was a pretty good incentive for winning. Like seeing you naked.” 

“Is not being kicked off your dream team not enough incentive?”

“I mean I’m a guy, Y/N. Of course my career is important, but I’m just saying, sex was always my best motivator. And if I remember correctly, yours too.”

You look away from him for a moment, thinking. 

“Well, then, fine, let’s give you an incentive then. If you beat me in a shootout, I’ll let you see my ass.” 

Jimin stalls. “What?” 

“I know you’ve been checking me out like, all day. It’s obvious. So, you beat me in a shootout, I’ll show it to you.” 

Jimin chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Y/N, I’ve seen your ass. And while I’m absolutely sure it’s even better than I imagined, I hardly consider that a motivator.”

“Fine, then what do you propose? What is it that you would like to do?”

Heat pools into his stomach. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Jimin can’t ignore the intense attraction he still has for you. It’s like 10 years hasn’t changed much about his body chemistry. 

He skates up to you, putting his hand on your waist, testing the limits of what in his desires he truly is allowed to ask for. As his hand works up your side toward your breast, you let out a small gasp. And that’s when he sees it in your eyes: arousal. Unmistakable, just as easy for him to spot as it was all those years ago.

“Do you remember that time we went to the beach? And you got vanilla ice cream all over your bikini because it melted before you could even eat it?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Yeah?”

“And so I licked every inch of you? That’s what I want.” 

“Jimin!” you gasp, but as his other hand loops around your back, you don’t fight his touch.

“You tasted so sweet,” he whispers, his mouth hovering over your neck. 

“Stop.” But it’s a weak gesture, mechanical. 

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” 

Your heart beats a little faster. “I did.” 

“What else did you like, hm? When I fucked you that summer.” 

Jimin’s voice lowers, a deeper, seductive tone replacing his usual, cheerful one. It’s the same one he used to use on you, and the pressure building in your core tells you that it’s having the same effect. A hand finds its way to the curve of your ass, and you melt into his body.

“Jimin,” you rasp. 

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck.” 

“Tell me,” he whispers. “What used to make you come so hard that I had you screaming?” 

“God.” 

“Do you think about that as much as I do? Do you think about the little whimpers you made when you came all over my lap that day? Do you think about how hard my cock was for you? How desperate you were for it after I told you you’d have to wait?” 

“You’re such an asshole,” you heave. 

“I know. But if I win, I want you under me again. I want to lick every inch of you until all you can think about is me.” 

He pulls away, ignoring the hardening of his cock, rasping a deep breath. You blink at him, confused, before taking in his form as he sails the puck into the net. 

“That’s one, babygirl. Now show me what you’re made of.” 

Sex, it turns out, is Jimin’s greatest motivator. Which is why after he wins in the shootout up to ten, you end up naked in the guest bedroom. 

“Your nipples are so hard,” he says, sucking one into your mouth. “That’s how I always knew how needy you were. How badly you needed to be fucked.” 

A moan escapes you. He squeezes your thigh again, his other hand roaming up your side. 

“You were always so sensitive there. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

Your hands lurch forward, digging into the open ends of his jacket, pulling him closer. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you good, Y/N?” he asks, and your brain searches through your list of ex lovers, turning up empty handed 

“I don’t know,” you groan, hissing when you feel his other hand land on your breast. 

He clicks his tongue. “You poor thing. Tell me, what do you need, hmm?” 

“I don’t know,” you say again. Your thoughts are jumbled, how you got here, stripped naked while he still hovers over you fully clothed, your focus faltering as you clench your thighs. Jimin pulls away, grinning down at you. . 

“I bet you’re just as sweet as I remember,” he says. “I bet you still get so wet that when you get fucked the nastiest little sounds come out of you.” 

“Fuck, Jimin, god.” 

“I told you I would like every inch of you. Do you think I was joking?” 

“We can’t,” you say, your eyes flitting to the door. 

“Does the door lock?” he asks. 

“Yes, but–”

“Then lock the fucking door and come sit on my face.” 

Heaven. Jimin has died and gone to heaven. As he laps at your clit again, he can’t believe this is really happening. 

“Fuck, harder,” you order, and he finds himself grinning, sucking your bud into his mouth hard. Your legs immediately squeeze around his face, and he reaches up, forcing your thighs down harder, pressing himself deeper into you. 

You really shouldn’t be doing this. He has no idea how long you’ve both been away, but all he knows is that they’ve finished singing the entire “12 Days of Christmas” and someone has been getting your friend Minho to do a rendition of “Santa Baby” that hopefully everyone is too drunk to remember. But he can’t help himself. Couldn’t help the electric feeling when he squeezed your hand, couldn’t ignore how your tits spilling out of your dress had him rock hard the second you gave him a knowing look. 

And now, knowing what Jimin knows about you, about your past and why things ended, he can’t be mad. While yes, he’s frustrated by your positioning of him as the priority in your life, even seemingly now, he isn’t mad. And whatever happens after tonight, he hopes you’ll both be able to talk about it so you can reframe the future. 

Until then, he really, really wants you to come on his face. 

His fingers leave your thighs. You lift off of his face, gasping as you look down at him. 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“Yes, now smother me with your pussy.” 

You roll your eyes, lowering yourself back down onto him. He laps at you again, this time flicking your clit with his fingers before rubbing them through your slick folds. “Fucking missed this pussy. Do you know how many times I think about this? How much cum have I spilled thinking about this?” 

“God, you’re such a perv,” you say. But he can hear the lightness in your voice, knowing that despite the slight embarrassment, you’re also flattered. 

“How tight is it, hmm? Do you ever fuck your toys thinking about me?” 

“Not often,” you tease before you wail as he bites your ass. 

“Liar.” 

“Ugh, fine. I think about your cock a lot, okay?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, now are you going to make me come or not?” 

“You know, I could, but now I can’t stop thinking about you thinking about my cock and fuck, I’m so hard.” 

Jimin feels you leaning forward, your hand roving down his toned chest until you reach the tent in his pants. 

“Please, babygirl, don’t tease me too much,” he warns and you chuckle, tugging at the zipper and clasp and reaching into his pants. 

Your hand dips into his briefs, tugging the elastic and pants down his hips to free his throbbing cock. 

“Fuck,” you say, sliding your hand up and down his leaking shaft. “Were you always this big?” 

Jimin groans, sliding a finger into you. You moan. “Shit.” 

“You used to take this cock like such a good girl,” he says, sliding a second finger in. “Though I’m not sure how with such a tight little cunt you have. I think I need to fuck it open.” 

“Oh.” 

“You like that, baby? My fingers fucking you open so you can take my cock? You’re so wet, god, listen to you.” 

The room fills with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you, his tongue returning to your clit and sucking hard. 

“Shit, shit, we need to change positions or I’m going to collapse on your face.” 

He obliges, pulling his fingers out so you can lie on your back. You watch as he sucks your juices from his fingers, your mouth slightly parting as he moans. 

“So sweet.” 

“Fuck,” you say suddenly, your eyes once more turning toward the door. “We gotta hurry. Once we get to the cookie shots, it’s only a matter of time before my dad makes us do round two of competitive games, and they’ll be looking for me.” 

 “Aw, but I was just getting started,” he whines.

You roll your eyes. “You can fulfill your fantasy later. Skip the foreplay and fuck me already.” 

“I don’t know if you’re warmed up enough for that–”

“Jimin, I promise you the second I feel your cock slide into me, I will be ten seconds from cumming because of how good it feels. Now you can take your time with me later, but if you don’t fuck me right now, I might lose my goddamn mind.”

He feels precum dribble from the tip, and he looks at you. “Shit, okay. Well, um, I don’t have a condom.” 

“IUD. I’m clean. Please,” Your voice cants into a whine, which makes Jimin feel delirious. 

“Okay, lie back down baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Despite your desperation, he moves slowly, sucking your nipples back his mouth, giving a little bite to one that makes you whimper. 

“Please, Jimin,” you beg again. He reaches down, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing it through your slick entrance. As the head of his cock dips in, your eyes meet his, and a sigh leaves your throat. 

“Yes,” you say when he seats himself to the hilt. You pulse around him, and Jimin hisses at the tightness. 

“Shit, watch it babygirl or I’ll come right now.” 

“Just feels, so good, fuck,” you pant, your body convulsing around him once more. 

He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, his cock tapping your cervix. Your whole body quakes and you moan loudly. 

“Shh, do you want to get caught?” 

“Kiss me, then,” you say and Jimin being the fool that he is, he does. 

Your lips meet, and you taste like a peppermint candy cane. He licks along your lip, trying to get more of the taste in his mouth. Your lips part, welcoming in, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrusts fully into you. 

You moan into his mouth, silencing yourself as his pace increases, sharp snaps of his hips making you curl and clench around him, your wetness coating his pelvis and balls as it drips down your thighs. 

On a particularly hard thrust, you come, your body shivering and pussy spasming around him. Your nails dig into his back as you seat him deeper into you, riding out the aftershocks. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper. 

“Mm, feel good baby?” 

“Yes. You’re so big; It feels so good.” 

He kisses your nose.”Well, I want to make you come one more time before I do, so hold on.”

He rolls you over, propping you up on your knees. 

“When I saw you earlier at practice in those leggings, I was imagining this moment. My cock deep in you while I watch your ass bounce on me. Do you think you can show me that, Y/N?”

You moan a yes, thrusting yourself back onto him as he pounds into you. The flesh of your ass bounces against him, and Jimin is hypnotized by it, his hands repeatedly slapping to spank your cheeks as you fuck yourself on him. With each slap, you clench harder, and as he places his hands firmly on your hips and bucks into you with speed and precision, it’s only a matter of time before you’re face down in the pile of coats, moaning freely as he thrusts into you. With one final gasp, you come, legs shaking violently as you succumb to your orgasm. Jimin follows behind, is cock pumping a heavy load of cum into you. You sigh satisfied, holding your hand under yourself to catch it while Jimin watches it leak out. 

“Jesus, Y/N. That’s so hot.” 

“Well, hot and practical. I’m not spilling your cum onto all my guests’ clothes. Now go get tissue from that bathroom over there. I need to clean up.” 

Despite Jimin fucking you within an inch of your life, you manage to make your reappearance with your guests fairly easy, a glass of some concoction your mother has named Jingle Juice in hand. 

“So,” Minho whispers after your father divides up the room into teams. “Are you creaming of a white Christmas with Jimin?” 

“Ew, Minho! No! That’s disgusting!” You slap him on the arm. “How did you know?” 

“Well, first I saw you two go out back and grope each other on the ice. And then you practically ran into the guest bedroom. After about thirty minutes of not seeing you, I figured I’d come check. But then I heard you and that confirmed my suspicions.” 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Were we loud? Oh god, does everyone know?” 

“I think everyone was too busy drinking or eating or singing to notice. But to answer your question, my god, Y/N, you’re so loud. He should put a muzzle on your or something.” 

“Shut up. Besides, this is no big deal. A little Christmas stress relief. A one time thing.” 

“Sure it is. Well may Santa bring you more stress relief very soon because you’re glowing from the orgasm he gave you.” 

“Two.”  

“Huh?” 

“Two orgasms. With the promise of a third later if I meet up with him."

Minho looks at you uneasy. “I want to be happy for you, but I’m honestly not sure what to think. I thought you hated him. Or at least wouldn’t fuck him at your parents’ house.” 

Heat floods your cheeks as the reality of your decision begins to set in. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know.”

Minho takes a final sip of his drink, grimacing as he sets it down. “Well Merry Christmas to you, Y/N. Maybe you can fuck him into a better attitude while you’re at it. Because you’ve only got a few weeks before his suspension ends and if he isn’t ready by then, he can kiss his professional career goodbye.” 

“I think he can do it. We have plenty of time.”

“I hope you’re right. Not to ruin your post-fuck glow, but be careful. People don’t change overnight. While I’m glad you two had a fun little reunion romp, there’s still a lot of work to be done with Park Jimin.” 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[erina-writes-headcanons]

Hiii love <3 can I request hcs of Aomine, Kiyoshi and Imayoshi with a s/o that's terrible at sports? Like how would they feel about how unathletic their s/o are 😭 thank you for this :))

❤️Aomine Daiki, Kiyoshi Teppei, and Imayoshi Shoichi Having S/O Who Are Terrible At Sports❤️

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A/N: YO MY FRIEND! Thank you so much for requesting me this headcanon. I feel like I am also Unathletic so this would be quite relatable for me and some of the readers. There might be some fluff scenes or some jokes. I hope you like the final result!

Warning: None

Gender: Neutral

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Aomine Daiki -Touou Academy

Darling, I'm not saying that Aomine is heartless but you know he can be an insensitive prick and the reason I am saying this is because Aomine would make fun of you.

But he's not a monster so he is only going to bully you lovingly when you fail to shoot your basketball. Yes; I said it. He is going to bully you when you fail to shoot your ball.

"Lol, is that how do you shoot the ball? Let me show you how babe. I'll show you how I do it," while messing up your hair and turning your hair into a bird's nest because he just loves messing with your hair.

I don't think he minds that he has a S/O that is horrible at sports but he does acquire to have a S/O that likes to have fun while playing sports. You don't have to be a good player, you just need to have fun.

If you are bad at sports as his S/O, he would make fun of you, especially your height if you are a short gremlin. However, he would be kind enough to teach you how to play basketball.

I'm sorry babe I know I said that he wants a S/O that does enjoy sports because he's the type that likes to invite people to have fun so if you hate basketball. There's a chance he's going to break up with you or he would keep forcing you to play with him.

If you are not good at blocking. HE IS DEFINITELY GOING TO STEAL YOUR BALL OFTEN! TOO OFTEN THAT YOU WOULD GET ANNOYED BY HIM! I'm sorry babe. I'm just saying how he is.

But don't worry, he would still love you even though you are not athletic enough. But that just means he will be more jerk because he's not going to stop to tease you.

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It was in the afternoon and the gym was surprisingly empty because it's usually filled with basketball team members training. There's a chance that they are going to train a little bit late because even the coach is not in the place or maybe the training would be tomorrow so it's very peaceful. There are no sounds of basketball balls hitting the board or the sound of the basketball team screaming.

(Y/N) which are you, find this kind of odd but you didn't really mind about it because it's better to be like this. You hate the idea of your face getting hit by those things. Those things are hard, harder than volleyballs to no joke. There are many cases of your classmates getting hit on the face until they were unconscious.

However, it spikes your curiosity and you want to know what it feels like to play basketball. You saw your boyfriend playing basketball before and he was an amazing player. No one ever has beaten him on the court each time you watch him playing basketball and defeating the enemy.

As a result of your own curiosity, the (H/C) haired and (S/C) skinned woman/man/nonbinary starts to get up from the sit before walking into one of the carts that were filled by the balls. Taking one of them and trodding closer to one of the basketball hoops. You do notice it would be very difficult for short people to play because this kind of thing is tall.

But this did not stop you at all. Instead, this makes you determined to get at least one of the balls inside of the ring as you start to dribble the ball. As your hand catch the dribbling ball, you took a deep breath and closed your (E/C) eyes before opening them to see the rings across from you, standing like a giant.

"BAM!"

Well, it sure disappoint (Y/N) a lot because it did not get inside of the hoop and (Y/N) can hear the horrible familiar loud laughter from far away. Your eyes immediately wide in shock, turning around to see your boyfriend, Aomine Daiki. Laughing at you for failing at your shoot as he wipes the fake tears from the corner of his eyes.

"Is that what you call a shoot?" he steps up inside the gym with a smirk on his face. "Let me show you how it's done, shortie-" he puts his arms in the pocket of his basketball shorts as he stands in front of you.

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Kiyoshi Teppei - Seirin High School

A gentleman and one of the hottest angels in Seirin. Also, the one who would most likely not judge you if you are horrible in sports and not athletic. So he is less much of a jerk than Aomine.

Kiyoshi definitely still loves you even if you never make a shoot in your life or if you are horrible in any sport because I believe his kind of type of person he crushes on is someone who is strong-hearted (we can conclude he likes the types who are resilient, brave or courageous people).

Kiyoshi definitely going to teach you how to play basketball, even the basics and you know he has amazing patience so he could even teach you the most basic things.

He might find it funny when you failed many shoots but he also feels slightly bad because he knows that you tried really hard so he would give you many chances.

Also, he would point out your mistakes and the reason why you fail the sport but in a polite way instead of blatantly saying it. he would just sugarcoat his words a little bit because he does not want to hurt you.

He would still be supportive if you are still interested in sport despite your lacking many skills or if you aren't interested in it. He's not a horrible teacher.

If you get sad because you feel not athletic like your boyfriend, Kiyoshi Tepeo. Don't be, expect some encouraging words from him as he said that you are perfect the way you are.

Also expect some hugs and pats in the back, he hates to see you get insecure or sad just because you feel you are not athletic and you're not a good match for him.

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As the manager from Seirin, (Y/N) (L/N) would always help Riko, the coach from Seirin by preparing some drinks, and meals and helping with the team training regiment to increase their skills by talking with her and taking important notes of each member and watching them play basketball.

However, it piques your curiosity whenever you saw them playing because they were working very hard to beat the other team's rivals. You heard the group had beaten Shutoku as well as Kaijou before but looses after playing against Touou. You saw your boyfriend's amazing skill in basketball and it made you interested in basketball despite not knowing how to play basketball.

As the rest of the team members surrounded your classmate, Riko who also happened to be your closest friend. You were sitting there and writing down other team members' important points by writing down their weaknesses and their strengths so Riko could make a better training regimen.

Nevertheless, it did not stop you as (Y/N) put down the paper on top of the bench. Taking one of the balls inside of the cart in the corner of the gym room before starting to dribble the ball in (Y/N)'s hand. Going forward into one of the basketball rings, see how tall the post is and if you are able to put the ball inside of the ring.

No one paid attention except the familiar pairs of warm brown eyes that watch your every movement. He could not help but feel happy that his S/O are trying to play his favourite basketball despite she/he/they aren't athletic as the rest of the other basketball team members.

Despite Kiyoshi hides his laughter when he sees you failing to shoot the basketball. Kiyoshi also feels bad, knowing that you are trying your best to even get just one goal and this gives him a quick idea before standing up from the bench and walking up to (Y/N). Getting closer and closer until he was standing behind you.

The (H/C) haired women/men/nonbinary felt a presence behind you until your turned around to see your boyfriend standing behind you with a smile on your face. "Ah, (Y/N)-san. It seems you had a little bit of troubleshooting the balls into the rings. If you don't mind, I would be glad to teach you how to play," Kiyoshi offers, placing his hand on top of your shoulder.

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Imayoshi Shoichi - Touou Academy

I am contemplating writing Imayoshi because I could see he has his annoying and insensitive moments but I could see him also as a supportive boyfriend even if you are not athletic.

The reason I am saying this is because there would be a time he does makes fun of you. You shoot the balls into the net or into the basketball ring and miss? He would tease the hell out of you.

However, it depends because if you are unathletic because of your injury. he won't make fun of you but if you are just basically lazy and hates sports? He makes fun of you but is not as insensitive as Aomine.

"Oh? Is that how do you shoot your ball? That is interesting, I never see a player plays like that" and proceed to get hit by you after you hear his little comment and he chuckles at your reaction.

However, I do not believe that his type of partner must have the same athletic skill as him as we can see in Kuroko's character bible. He likes a kikubari (a considerate person).

If you are interested in sport but you are not athletic enough. He's not a horrible teacher either, he would teach you even from the basic things.

Also if you had an injury and you are not athletic but you are interested in it. He would be very understanding and I can see him as someone who has enormous patience when teaching you.

So in conclusion, he is in a between. He would be mean to you slightly, making fun of you but in a joking way, like Aomine does. But he would be understanding too, a little bit like Kiyoshi but in his own way.

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It has been such a long time since you haven't played any sports after the incident that happens to you for a long time. The injury was severe that the doctor told (Y/N) to stop participating in heavy sports such as basketball, soccer, Volleyball, and other sports that could potentially be worsening the injuries on your knees.

This used to make you upset a lot, especially when you notice the way people stare at you with pity, it does frustrate poor (Y/N) as your skill in sports decreases and the only thing you could do is becoming Touou's manager just like your classmate, Momoi. She was your classmate that sometimes helps you out by taking notes on the rival's weaknesses before giving them to you.

Watching the other play basketball freely like a bird spread its wings, but those things made (Y/N) jealous and an idea popped into your mind. 'There's nothing wrong, right? If I'm playing as the others are resting? Maybe I should try' (Y/N) silently think to themselves/herself/himself as you take one of the balls that were rolling next to your feet.

A pair of slanted eyes sees you taking one of the basketballs, a little bit confused about why are you holding one of the balls until his confusion was replaced by a smirk. Watching your every movement from the start by starting to dribble on your hand, walking slowly before it turns into jogging and full-on sprinting until you were underneath the basketball ring and shooting the ball.

BAM!

It did not go inside at all, (Y/N) cheeks reddened, embarrassed that the ball doesn't go inside at all. Instead, it was thrown away and almost hit other players. "Oh? Is that how do you shoot your ball? That is interesting, I never see a player plays like that" A familiar yet annoying voice spoke up. Turning around, you could see your boyfriend with his usual annoying smirk, making fun of you after failing to get a point after throwing the basketball into the ring.

"Yeah, keep making fun of me until I smack that face of yours with the ball," you roll your eyes at him. "Ah, it's alright. (Y/N)-san. It's okay if you cannot play basketball. Here, let me help you. Follow my instruction on how to shoot," his smirk replaced with his genuine smile.

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[batsplat]

casey's story breaks my heart. im reading your post about amatriaín and jorge now as well and i just........ these were only kids :( this isn't to assume that all parents/caregivers/people in their lives are negligent and/or abusive but i always wonder who is protecting child/teen/younger adult riders and drivers esp when they are in the highest levels of their sport at such a young age. it seems like, especially in years gone past, there was just so much scope for these kids to be abused. although i remember a couple years ago that clip of a young rider getting hit by mechanics so that kind of stuff isn't even in the past rly.

yeah not much to say really, I mean honestly it's... I'm not going to say every guardian of a professional athlete is abusive because that'd be a crazy thing to say, but I would say that the process that makes these kids so good at what they are does also in many, many cases not reflect particularly well on the parents. tbh a lot of the safeguarding has to be taken more seriously way before these kids even get to a grand prix paddock, but that also isn't easy to do... I can only speak to my own experiences, but as someone who spent a lot of my teenage years hanging around tennis clubs, it is pretty horrifying how normalised parental abuse is in sports circles. it's just something you see all the time - and this is obviously still only the public stuff, the gossip you hear, where you can read between the lines. though honestly, a lot of the times you really don't need to be reading much between the lines. the most extreme example was when a father of a kid I trained with went so far he had the cops called on him when they were at a tournament, but again. obviously this is only the extreme. even a lot of the public abuse is tacitly accepted, and there's a lot of parental behaviour that might not qualify for the 'abusive' label but sure isn't in line with what I view as acceptable. and that's just the parents - you essentially get a lot of cases of them outsourcing this stuff to the coaches, who often get a carte blanche to do with their kids what they please. obviously I'm only familiar with this stuff personally on the juniors circuit, but unhealthy coaching relationships is also a recurring and troubling talking point on the pro circuit. especially in women's tennis you get some pretty horrifying stories. the whole thing just feels pretty rotten

ideally what you've got to do to at least TRY and stamp this stuff out is having a zero tolerance policy - whether it's in clubs or in paddocks. a system of consequences in place where physical or verbal abuse comes with repercussions... I know the risk is you just take this stuff behind closed doors, but to me the starting point problem is that it's also the culture of juniors sports - where if anything treating your kid like absolute shit is almost celebrated at times. you have to make this stuff more shameful. I have no clue to what extent motorcycling juniors clubs look like what I was accustomed to, but in all honesty I reckon you'd see a lot of the same behaviour from parents/mentors - and that at least you've got to address. but obviously that doesn't just like. fix the problem. with someone like jorge, you very obviously did need someone else to step in... but if you don't have very visible, obvious abuse, then how do you enforce that? talent spotters like amatriain have immense power within the system - jorge's father was practically begging this bloke to take jorge on, jorge wouldn't have thanked you for getting rid of him until towards the very end of their partnership, he very likely wouldn't have the career he did without the guy. and it's one of those jobs that (like sports parent) tends to attract the exact type of person you really don't want to give power over kids. again, I'm not saying they're all like that, I wouldn't know, but so many of these managers just have so many stories that raise an eyebrow... even when it's not actively related to how they're treating children, but the fact that so many of them have a history of being aggressive to reporters? the thing is, if they're being awful to these kids in all likelihood we'll never hear about it - but reporters are obviously way more likely to tell people about it. which means that every time I read one of those stories, my main takeaway is that these managers are blokes who will get aggressive when things don't go their way. also not ideal

and below that is a layer that becomes increasingly impossible to even begin to address. I mean, look at casey. I have no reason to accuse his parents of being abusive towards him. I'm not trying to make it sound like I think they're horrible people. and I do think we do always need to be clear here - like yes, I'm talking about a general concern I have here about the relationship between mentor figures and the kids in their care, but obviously that covers a very wide variety of sins. I am not drawing any equivalences between them. there's 'being a bad mentor' and then there's 'having a restraining order filed against you'. so with that massive caveat in place... I agree with you, anon, that I also feel sad about casey's story, and yeah, it makes me uncomfortable

casey does think his parents pushed their dream onto him and ensured that his future would always lie in motorcycle racing... which, I mean. god. if you read him saying it was always his parents' dream side-by-side with him saying they always put pressure on him to work for his dream, then it's just one of those parental dynamics that read as achingly familiar - kids who have been convinced they're doing this for themselves and are then made to feel guilty when they're not living up to their parents' standards. we've sacrificed everything for you, right, you need to make it worth it... casey was told that this was his dream, and the stakes for success and failure were horrifyingly high. he had his entire family's livelihood on his shoulders from age fourteen... his family invested everything into him, told him it was all for his sake- and ensured that he would feel like he was letting them down every time he didn't perform. by some miracle, he had the talent to make it through the system, but think about how precarious his journey was despite being perhaps the most talented motorcycle racer in the history of the sport. how many turning points in his career easily could have gone the other way. for every casey, there are so many more kids who won't make it, and will somehow have to live with the consequences of that failure. and these dynamics... again, I'm not going to label them outright abusive, but think about the kind of stress they place on the parental relationship. idk. it might be a reality of professional sports... parents do often have to sacrifice a lot for their children's career - and given how early kids need to start out to succeed these days, inevitably quite a bit of that desire and drive will come from the parents. but it isn't a reality that sits comfortably with me

so, what do you do about any of this? well, again, I do think you need to do the bare minimum and not tolerate clearly abusive behaviour in sporting environments. which feels like stating the obvious, but this is a low bar that often just isn't being cleared. and yeah - that recent example within the motogp paddock of a rider being assaulted by a team member... definitely not going to be a one-off. just feels inevitable that this will be happening behind closed doors, especially when you get to the lower rungs where the competitors have less power and are less likely to be willing to risk anything (+ are also generally younger)

there's other safeguarding measures you could put in place, but it probably won't happen because people just don't care enough. first off, you need a riders' union - an organisation that's there solely to listen to riders' problems and act on them, advocate on their behalf etc. a big reason why young riders simply are not going to report any abuse is that this will almost certainly cost them professionally. you are essentially asking them to cut off their already limited support network, often the people providing them direct financial support or even employing them. if you cannot build up trust by having the mechanisms in place to take action against the abusive party (through cooperation with the series organisers), as well as provide support to the rider, then the reality is that basically none of them would ever come forward. secondly, you simply need stronger regulation of the career ladder. there's too many of these big name talent spotters who just coast through the paddock by having accumulated influence over the years, with zero reason to believe they have their charges' best interests at heart... often former riders themselves, but that's not exactly a pedagogical qualification. look, it's tricky to regulate because the exact roles these blokes play in riders' lives is so malleable and comes associated with all kinds of job titles - maybe you're a rider coach or manager or team boss or something else entirely. but ideally you want a system where certain privileges - like even entry to certain areas of the paddock - has to come along with accepting a certain level of regulatory oversight. make these blokes directly accountable and force them to uphold a professional code, in line with what you'd expect of any other professional who hold power over a vulnerable population. make it clear to them that they're being watched. I also don't think it's crazy to suggest that if you let minors race in a grand prix paddock, you should have some sort of system in place where the series organisers directly and regularly check in with the minors in their care. there will be a lot of behaviour that children do not themselves see as abusive - obviously it's very plausible that they just won't tell you the truth, but you have to start somewhere. motorcycle racing does actually have an advantage over many other individual sports in how centralised it is, how everyone is constantly going to the same location. they would have the power to enforce some of these standards

thirdly, and this is even less likely than the others to gain any traction. ... man, you've got to make sure these kids have options. this is becoming worse and worse the more professionalised sports become, the more they all chase their youthful prodigies... but, y'know, think about how early so many of these children drop out of school, how it's increasingly unlikely they've had the time to foster any sort of other interest (another theme of casey's account, "I don’t know if I was allowed to have any other attraction"). how motorcycle racing is the only thing they've ever known, how it's their whole world. you're raising a group of young people to whom leaving that world would basically feel like dying. it makes the stakes of everything so enormous, it twists these parental relationships, and it also ensures that certain figures have so, so much power over these kids. obviously nobody is forcing them at gunpoint to race - but in reality, it feels like they don't even have the option of walking away. again, this is obviously a massive problem to address that no sport has entirely sorted out, and the series organisers can rightly say it's not their responsibility to make kids go to school. honestly, my first step would be to just... do something about these age limits. they're too low! too many of these kids are too young for grand prix racing! a starting point is to try and make it so that kids aren't being actively penalised for attempting to pursue an education. this feels another area where you'd really want to have an actual union - even to just have someone to talk to. and again, as long as the series organisers let children race, then I do think it's actually also some of their responsibility to look out for them. realistically, a lot of these kids don't actually want to walk away from racing - however you get to that point, it is also very much their dream. but anything you can do to lessen the influence of the worst people in their lives, anything you can do to at least remind them they can walk away... idk. it's the right thing to do. especially for the kids who aren't succeeding, help them on their way out

now look, this isn't a detailed manifesto. I do know that some other sports have implemented similar-ish measures to the ones above but I couldn't give you a breakdown without some research. I'm not an expert on preventative measures for child abuse, and I'm sure some of these could come with unintended consequences I'm unaware of. I also know all of these things range from 'desperately unlikely' to 'never going to happen'. and even if you did, it's really only taking a pickaxe to the tip of the iceberg. or something. to reiterate what I said at the top, I don't want to make it sound like I think all parents of athletes are abusive. I also don't think the mentors are either. I do think a lot of them are... and even beyond that - the way sports is structured, the way the ladder to professional sports is structured, you are going to see a lot of unhealthy dynamics involving very young people in vulnerable positions. and I don't think that's in any way easy to address... but y'know. sometimes it'd be nice if somebody were at least trying. the sport is doing less than the bare minimum. and for every story we hear, there's going to be so so many more where we'll remain entirely ignorant

[gutfaced]

okay i’m sorry but yapping in the replies wasn’t enough i need more details

hiiii lily here's the scoop.

haymitch modern headcanons

chaff: born to a working class family & worked long days on their farmhouse. he always dreamed being more and eventually a family member offers to let him move in with their family in the city. he takes up a ton of hobbies, but boxing/fighting of any kind just absolutely stuck. and so he trains for years and years, going up against the greats whilst becoming one himself. his career ends suddenly within his late 20s after he loses his right hand on a vacation, having been bit by a shark. not wanting to give up right away, he agrees to a final fight but however loses. becoming miserable for a small majority of his 30s, he begins to drink heavily. after realizing he needs to get his shit together, he goes into recovery and at some point lands a job at a boxing gym for young kids/teens. retired from boxing professionally, he coaches those younger than him to be the best/be exactly what it is he was unable to be due to circumstance.

haymitch: born to an impoverished family living the city (having migrated from a previously rural home. his parents work themselves to death in order to keep kipley & himself in school, and his father eventually passes away (yet to determine how.) meanwhile his mother is just trying to get them all by. in his late teens, (16-17,) both kipley and his mother die due to a sudden car crash. not long after that haymitch is contacted by his aunt relating to his mother's inheritance & how their father/his grandfather left her a large sum of money which they all didn't have access to up until now. the money goes to haymitch, and with his academic career skyrocketing, he uses it sparingly while also going for a few degrees. skipping past that, he's been in a good couple of jobs (bartender, harm reduction) and then manages to get into a good-paying social work job. he mainly deals with children and working on their cases, and many succumb to misfortune with only few exceptions. he meets chaff during bartending and then again at harm reduction. they purposely have their workplaces close together and move in sometime during their 30s.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Locker Room Conversations III

In which everyone suspects that Roy, Jamie and Keeley are dating. Well, except for Roy.

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“Oi! Roy!”

At Jamie’s call Roy turned from the board he’d been painstakingly filling with his cramped hand to look at the younger man, changed out of his training kit but still lounging carelessly on the bench by his locker.

“What?” The use of ‘Roy’ rather than ‘Coach’ suggested this had nothing to do with the practice they’d just finished or the upcoming game on Sunday.

“You need to check your phone, mate. Keeley wants us to do brunch tomorrow at her place, and she wonders if you can pick up croissants from that little French place near your house.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” 

“Great.” 

Jamie started typing away furiously at his phone, and Roy was about to turn back to the task at hand when he noticed that the dressing room had fallen suspiciously quiet during the quick exchange. 

“What?” Roy demanded. There was something in that silence that had alarm bells going off in his head… When no one answered him, he cocked his head to the side, donning his very best Roy Kent glare. “What?”

Most of the players looked away. Van Damme looked at Colin. Colin looked at Isaac. Isaac looked at Dani. Dani looked at a pair of socks.

Sighing, but seemingly accepting the burden of his captaincy, Isaac spoke up, gesturing vaguely in a circle that encompassed both Roy and Jamie: “Are you… it’s just that we’ve been wondering, yeah… are the three of you… dating?”

Roy stared. What.

“No.” he said slowly, trying to wrap his head around the fact that this had been a question. “We’re not dating.” They’d been hanging out a lot ever since Manchester, sure, but really, what kind of fucking leap was this? 

“Oh.” And somehow that didn’t sound at all like an oh of course what a very stupid thing to ask but very much like an oh are you sure and What. The. Fuck was going on here?” 

Roy glanced at Jamie, hoping that he might jump in and add his refutation to Roy’s so they could lay this whole ridiculous thing to rest.

Only. Jamie wasn’t looking like he thought this was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. He was making a stupid face, sure, but one that Roy recognized as deliberately noncommittal. And he was keeping conspicuously quiet.

Roy blinked. But. What.

“We’re not dating… ?” he said again, but there was a curious twist to the end of the sentence, turning into more of a question than he had planned, or had ever thought he’d need in relation to this particular subject.

All eyes turned to Jamie.

Unfazed, Jamie shrugged. “Eh. Not really. I mean, we’re taking it slow, see how it goes.”

“Oh.” Collective from the rest of the team and to Roy’s consternation this ‘oh’ sounded like oh right we get it that make sense which was insane because it really fucking didn’t.

“We’re what?” he demanded in what he thought was a very calm and reasonable manner.

“Jesus, man, no need to fucking shout,” Jamie said reproachfully. “This is why we’re taking it slow,” he added to the others. “Old people get so worked about new things, yeah? Gotta take it easy or you’ll spook ‘em.” He turned back to Roy, smiling brightly like the absolute little prick that he was. “Anyway. You’ll bring the croissants for brunch, yeah?”

Roy opened his mouth. Closed it again. Tried to think of something – anything – to say. What eventually came out was, ”If I say yes, does that mean I’ve agreed to go on a date with you?”

With Keeley, and with you.

For some reason, the idea didn’t quite make him want to tear his guts out and use them to strangle Jamie.

Jamie shrugged again, keeping his face as neutral as he could manage (which wasn’t very) but his brown eyes were glittering. Roy’s traitorous heart did a weird little thing at that.

”Nah,” Jamie said, and then his stupidly full lips curled into a slight but impossibly smug smirk. “Maybe. So, brunch?”

Closing his eyes, wondering if he was losing his mind or finally coming to his senses, Roy said, ”Yeah, yeah, we’ll do brunch.”

[fffrost]

Please please share ur kenlao headcanons n stuff🙏🙏🙏🙏

AHAHA OH BOY! I didn’t expect my KenLao shit to hit it off so well- but yeah totally. I haven’t had a ton of time to give them much more thought than the surface level stuff. A lot of it relates to the way I personally view the characters so I hope it’s good.

Pre relationship summary:

They both kind of make the first move with each other, the current dynamic (and fic) I’m working on right now has it where gang reunites every so often as a whole group. Kung Lao and Kenshi end up hitting it off at one, and gradually over time while they mature and grow more comfortable with themselves and each other they talk more outside of these meetings.

Kenshi and Lao I think are both confident in a manner that manifests in being very forward with other people- which for them ends well. Kung Lao likes to flirt, and Kenshi isn’t against it, it doesn’t bother him. He warms up to Lao and they end up really enjoying each others presence.

For Head-canons, Particularly Kenshi, because of how I characterize him:

- Kenshi eventually (idk how to word this well) accepts his blindness- and doesn’t often use Sento to see. Partially because I hc it would be pretty jarring to have that weird mindfuck of the souls of your ancestors which live in your sword directly beam visions into your brain- and also because he straight up just can’t have a sword out all the time.

- just adding this: he uses sento while fighting. Of course, so most likely he uses the sight it grants him almost exclusively in combat.

- I haven’t gone super in depth into more head-canons on what sort of aids he would use, because I need to do more research, but I think he uses a cane when walking around, and maybe later he has a service dog.

I want to point out that I’ve seen a lot of people brush off his blindness in favor of just pretending he can see like normal because of sento… which really fails to see the full potential and worth of his blindness in his character arc. I don’t know much about blindness and I am going to do research to be able to characterize and write him correctly!

Anyway moving on since I just talked about Kenshi so much (I love him) here’s some basic hcs for them:

- they alternate who is the big spoon/little spoon often.

- Kung Lao (later in life, when their relationship starts) has tattoos! He also grows his hair out, and gets a few more (bridge piercing cameo) piercings.

- Kenshi obviously has a beard

- Kung Lao can’t grow an epic beard and instead just fawns over Kenshi’s. Kenshi is mildly annoyed by it (he loves it.)

- once they’ve built trust Kung Lao trims and tidies Kenshi’s beard.

- Kenshi likes to tie up Kung Lao’s hair

- Kung Lao picks outfits for Kenshi sometimes, once Kenshi has drilled the importance of cleaning up and looking good into him enough.

- Kenshi steals Kung Lao’s clothes. A lot.

- over time their relationship develops from casual to serious, Kung Lao is the first to realize it. It grows to the point where Kenshi can’t imagine spending his time with anyone else, or trusting anyone else with that side of himself.

- Kung Lao yearns for an active and dramatic life at first, and Kenshi knows how painful it can be, so it worries him.

- over time Kenshi mellows out Kung Lao, and Kung Lao introduces Kenshi to positive excitement.

- ^ Kenshi dislikes large gatherings (such as concerts) and amusement parks.

- Kung Lao loves training with Kenshi, due to the unique techniques Kenshi’s fighting style provides. Kenshi also helps Kung Lao with coaching Shujinko after the first time he biffed it, which was pre relationship.

- takeda comes into the picture also, but I am not sure how I want to fit him into their familial dynamic yet….

[djangodurango]

This goes out to you and Ray! :D

I've been wondering about your TFISSAB folk, how do you handle their aspirations and goals?

As someone who also has a set of museum piece OCs I've found it quite hard to give them something to work towards. A museum pretty much is the epitome of holding up the status quo and there's only so much that a displayed machine can do.

As I've understood it, the trains and their respective coaches seem to be content with entertaining the visitors and serving the higher purpose of education/holding up the memory of their times. But do they sometimes wish to do more than that? Do they think that there should be more to it?

I'm especially wondering how it's for the wartime displays. They have been built for an entirely different purpose than to serve the public - Do they ever get sick of the visitors? How's their outlook on a long, unchanging future in a museum?

I fear we're gonna disappoint, but I'll try and make it up to you.

So engines, as we write them, largely do not have goals or aspirations. It's a rare circumstance that an engine is given something to work towards, as opposed to just work itself. We write them this way because they are machines, but also because when we came into the Thomas the Tank Engine fandom (which is where the idea for The Future is Still Silver and Black is rooted), one of the topics of debate was whether the engines, being sentient, were being mistreated and enslaved by Sir Topham Hatt.

Suffice to say, Ray and I fall on the side of engines not being people and therefore not having the same needs or wants. They are machines; their desire is to work and to be appreciated for it.

If a goal is truly necessarily though... there's another pervasive idea in the fandom that engines in service think preservation is a "fate worse than scrap". It is our opinion though that many engines, once on the other side of preservation, find that they've been given a new job and indeed are being asked to perform beyond their purpose. For many engines, particularly more humble ones, it can be a steep challenge that one must rise to meet.

But like you, we also found ourselves struggling with the problem of what our engines should actually be doing if they are not in revenue service, mostly no longer in motion, and placed in an environment that appears not to change much.

"Appears", being the operative word.

The Illinois Railway Museum literally bills itself as "a museum in motion" because they're always doing something there. There's events being held throughout their operating season, new acquisitions arriving several times a year, repairs and restorations being made. Pilot almost never wants for things to tell Pioneer about (unless the IRM was remiss in their newsletter duties at the time) because even if his own story is not progressing, that of someone or something else at his museum is.

Pioneer's yard is a little more to the tune of what you're talkin' about. There are four guys in it and so it remains for thirty years. The inside of the Museum of Science and Industry though changes quite frequently, so often that Pioneer actually can't report on everything that moves in and out of there. Instead he must prioritize things that are particularly interesting or that he can tie back to the larger theme of his current letter.

Science and industry both change rapidly as we learn and develop more and the MSI also hosts all kinds of other exhibits not directly related to its topic as well. We started writing Pioneer as taking more of an interest in what goes on indoors the museum to sneakily give him things to fill out his letters to Pilot, but this also dovetails nicely with his eventual move indoors himself and with his being the ambassador exhibit to the rest of the museum.

So yeah, we hedge the story a bit by broadening the topic to the history of the museums themselves rather than strictly the trains.

I'll admit, though, we were also lucky that the trains' stories continued to evolve. We're constantly looking upon the history these engines have - especially post preservation - and marveling that somehow we got here first. How these trains' histories are intertwined and how they both have a full "character arc" after becoming museum displays is incredible material. The story basically writes itself, so much so that it would sound contrived if the stuff in it hadn't actually happened.

If I'm remembering right though, your guys live at a military history museum? I could see how that'd give you a lot less material to work with since the topic is more narrow and also stays classified until it's not needed anymore so updates are rarer. I'm assuming they ain't trottin' in Dolley Madison's patchwork squares or props from James Bond movies to keep it fresh.

But I got one more trick in my Barney Bag for you.

Another way that I keep things interesting in Pioneer's yard is by having built out personalities for him and all his yardmates and letting them abrade naturally. This is also a way to give engines we don't actually know much about something to do. Even without as full and documented a history as Pioneer has, every engine has a place where it was built, a place and time period where it worked, a task it was given to do, a company it worked for, and accordant sensibilities as a result of all those things. And when all those circumstances are different from engine to engine, small stakes conflicts occur. Disagreements over weather or vanities or other small opinions.

For instance, 2903 rubs almost everyone wrong from time to time, including 999. Conversely, most engines love Pioneer, but 2903 finds his Burlington charm disingenuous. To give another example, if Pioneer met the Flying Yankee, they'd probably have a bumpy camaraderie despite being brothers, since Flying Yankee's east coast sensibilities would push unpleasantly against Pioneer's Midwestern ones.

As to war machines, most of ours are World War II relics and so have a particular sensibility to them. That is, they are what they are and they do no apologize for that, but they also generally recognize their utility to ideally be temporary. The ultimate goal of war is peace and so they fight to see the day they are obsolesced. There's a whole quote about it on the way out of U-505's exhibit.

Living beyond that? They could take it or leave it. Being scrapped is a perfectly dignified end of service. For U-505, he does resent Captain Gallery's repeated campaigning to keep him around, but he also thinks of that as Gallery's right as victor. He's ambivalent with being an exhibit now; it's an obligation to defeat and he'd have preferred to sink rather than be captured, but he also thinks of it as a fair trade for his crew's lives. Plus, he's got allies here now and he appreciates the great effort and expense the MSI goes to for him. His exhibit also affords him some measure of dignity so even if he is essentially a war trophy, the visitors don't generally treat him that way. The tone of his exhibit means he doesn't really have to "entertain" as much as other engines do.

Stuka is obviously very happy with his lot in life compared to what it could have been, abandoned and rotting away in some African desert. There's worse fates than being eternally pursued by one of the most handsome planes ever designed. He and Spitfire still playfight with each other, but neither they nor U-505 actually miss war itself. They miss the service, but they don't miss the stakes.

There was a Lockheed F-104 Starfighter at the museum for a while, and her sensibility as a Cold War engine may have been a little different in that even when the Cold War ended, she'd have "known" it wasn't really over so much as just got colder. She's probably feeling very smug right now and if she were still at the MSI, she'd be abrading everyone about it.

[tarysande]

Can I ask, how does one go about becoming an editor? Like, where do you apply for jobs?? What kinda training do you do?? Are there companies that hire out editors to writers? Im just so confused about it. Ive always been interested in editing, and am considering doing it as a job

Editing is a weird career.

Really, I started as a writer. Like, when I was eleven. In jr. high and high school, I was in a writing critique group and I wrote a lot. I graduated from university with a degree in theatre, film, and creative writing. I was often the person my friends came to when they needed help with a paper (or the correct placement of a semicolon). I've been involved in fandom since I was about 17, and I was very fortunate to fall in with a group of excellent writers who were also excellent betas and editors. I learned a TON from them without realizing how much I was learning.

I started editing by accident, really. Sometimes, that's how it happens. I mostly got gigs here and there through friends or word of mouth. About ten years ago, I got more serious about it. I worked for companies that paid horribly. Then I did an editing test for a company that paid less horribly, and they hired me. After a couple of years editing countless academic papers, ESL academic papers, novels, emails, business documents, etc., I decided to branch out on my own (mostly so I could work on more fiction; I was burned out on academic papers).

I joined Editors Canada, started volunteering with them, got a lot more experience, and took a few continuing ed courses to gauge where my skills were at and to determine if I needed to upgrade my education. I decided I didn't need to do that, because I already knew the things I was being taught.

I read a lot of books on editing, writing, and craft. I familiarized myself with the Chicago Manual of Style, APA, MLA, and a couple of other style guides. I learned the differences in spelling, punctuation, and style between US, UK, and Canadian English. I went to webinars, conferences, and courses (all the major editing associations offer these, usually cheaper or free for members; they are a great way to determine what kinds of editing you actually LIKE). I learned the difference between rules and preferences, and when to apply them to a text.

I work freelance, which means I have my own business as a sole proprietor. I'm a contractor with a couple of companies who sometimes send work my way, but most of my clients are individual writers planning to either self-publish or polish their work before seeking traditional publication via the agent/tradpub route.

Freelancing has many perks but is not particularly secure. Especially if you're American and need an employer to provide health insurance, or if you're single and don't have another income to lean on when contracts are scarce. These days, most of my work comes via referrals, my website, or the listing I have in the Editors Canada directory. I follow a couple of editing-related Facebook groups; I've learned a lot there, and I've also picked up the occasional client. A couple of people have found me through LinkedIn. A couple of people have found me through here!

I've never worked in-house for a publisher--mostly because having control over how many hours I work and when I work them is my top priority. In-house is a whole different ballgame; I know a bit about it from my peers, but I don't have firsthand experience to pass on. These jobs are supposedly more secure--and they tend to be salaried, with benefits, etc.

"Editing" is a GIANT umbrella term. There are SO many types of editing out there. People tend to think of book publishing first, but that's only one avenue. There are also different kinds of editors who tackle different types of problems. I've done enough of everything to recognize that I am much happier when I'm working on big picture stuff--coaching, developmental editing, manuscript critique. Others specialize in the nitty gritty mechanical details that make proofreading or copy editing a better fit.

Right now, the bulk of my work life is actually spent ghostwriting. The client's business-materials editor posted that his client was looking for someone to help with characterization in a novel. I ended up winning that contract. He came to me with one monster book. I helped him realize it needed to be at least a trilogy, and now he has plans for a ten-book series--and I'm helping write it. But I got the job because of the work I've done on the development side of editing--and because I've spent SO MUCH TIME learning about characterization (via acting, fandom/writing fanfic, reading, etc.). So. It all feeds into the same place.

The tl;dr is that my experience has been a bizarre mix of being in the right place at the right time, ongoing professional development, and learning the value of volunteering with an association. If I were starting down this career path right now, I'd probably do an editing certificate (there are many out there, depending on country). I'd definitely join an association sooner (even as a student member) and volunteer.

Actually, the ultimate tl;dr is ... this industry IS CONFUSING. So, don't feel bad about being confused. It's actually probably about eight different kinds of job wearing a trench-coat and pretending it's something called "Editing."

[lgchanie]

DATE — 2024년 11월 16일 EVENT —  TEAM UNKNOWN 006 (FINAL MEETING) WORD COUNT — 751

Hanbin walks into the meeting room and breathes in, 'Steady,' he thinks. These last five weeks have flown by, but in that time, he'd poured himself into Team Unknown training and into proving that he was a worthy of being part of Type Zero. Now, sitting across from Coach Jang In-sung, he's ready to share his growth and reflection.

Insung’s gaze met his. "Hanbin, I want you to think back over the past five weeks. What would you say was the hardest part?"

Hanbin thinks for a moment. "The hardest part was pushing past my own doubts," he admitted. "I’ve always put pressure on myself to keep up, especially since everyone here is so talented. There were moments practicing for the evaluations when I wondered if I was enough, if I was doing everything right. I felt the need to stand out but also to keep pace. And... well, balancing that took a toll some days. So, I took time on my own to outside of practice to go over all that I learned, to make those hard steps, moments I can conquer."

Insung nodded, and Hanbin hopes it's a good answer. The coaches knew how every trainee felt. "And what about the easiest part?"

A soft smile creeps onto Hanbin’s face. "Honestly, adapting to everything—the dances, vocals, even the intense schedules. I’ve learned that I’m kind of like a battery, I can charge up and recharge." He chuckled. "It’s easy for me to pick dances up, but I enjoy working on getting better down to the smallest details. When the coaches or fellow members gave me feedback on what to keep doing or not to do, I soaked it all up. I'm like Pikachu for real, there's so much electric energy inside of me. It helps me grow seeing it that way, and I like that feeling. It's a power-up for me."

"So, what have you learned about yourself during this time?"

Hanbin’s expression softens as he thinks about it. "I think I’ve learned that... I have a lot more resilience than I used to give myself credit for. Coming into this, I thought being adaptable would be enough. But I realized I have strength, too, grit and muscles to keep standing back up no matter what. I’ve found that even on my hardest days, I’m determined to keep going. And that’s something new and really special for me and I want to pass that on as an idol."

Insung observed him for a moment before asking, "If you were to debut with the current Type Zero lineup, how would you see yourself fitting in?"

Hanbin brightened at this question, his confidence showing. "I think I’d be the little brother," he says, grinning. "I bring a a lot of youthful energy that could help connect with fans my age. I could be someone younger fans can relate to and look up to and grow up with Type Zero." He paused, feeling a rush of excitement. "And I want to be easy to love—a bit playful, dependable, but still serious about my work, a little boss in my right. I look up to all the members of Type Zero like they're my hyungs already, I know I can become a depabale teammate! Plus, with the way I'm easy to mold, I could bring something fresh and keep the group dynamic lively. I could be that member that everyone feels drawn to fawn over just by my vocals."

The more he talks the more Hanbin feels a surge of motivation. "And going forward, what do you wish to accomplish?"

Hanbin’s gaze turns determined. "I want to be someone who grows so much that no one ever has to question why I’m here. I want to show that I can handle anything, that I’m not just someone who picks things up but someone who masters them. I'll be more than just an idol; I can feature as a model, and do acting gigs. I want to be the kind of idol who's always showing a new side in Type Zero and pushing the industry—a fresh energy, versatility, and someone fans feel like they can’t ignore. From here on, I want to push past every expectation I set for myself and prove that I belong."

With that, Hanbin sits still with his back straight, feeling a mixture of relief and excitement. IThe seal of approval would come in the future, but in that moment, Hanbin felt he proved why his place in Type Zero was a right fit.

[nonbinaryvee]

1. How long have you been into hypnosis?

Over 20 years im 35, aol chat and latch key kid lol

2. Describe your first experience with hypnosis

A child therapist when I was 6 or 7

3. Are there any TV shows/movies/books you liked when you were younger that you think got you into hypnosis?

Multiple - one early memory is of the droopy cartoon and Elvira brainwashes him, also the schooby do ghoul school movie brainwashing bat headphones, the snake in jungle book iant a hard hitting memory.

4. Are you primarily a hypnotist or a subject?

Subject but am adapt as a tist

5. Are you primarily a dom/me or a sub?

Super duper submissive lol like it's embarrassing

6. What do you love about being hypnotised?

The loss of anxiety, my brain being "off", and the submission relates to it.

7. What do you love about hypnotising people?

I actually really enjoy training or coaching, so Im not dominant but love helping someone achieve thier goals. I see it a lot like a service.

8. How do you feel when hypnotised?

When I'm really deep I'm absent like totally disassociation. Like floating in water almost with the reverberation of the water

9. How do you feel when you hypnotise someone else?

Like when I zone out playing a video game, I need to hit the right buttons to win the game. So I get self tranced kinda.

10. Are you a difficult subject?

Yes and no. Im super easy to drop, enjoy, and play with. However my subconscious is pretty wild, and hard to pin down into a focused direction. So long term results may very lol..

11. What’s your ‘signature move’ as a hypnotist?

Doing what the subject wants, staying very in limits, and leaving the subject with a deep enjoyment of water. Actually enjoying the taste of possible...cause it's almost sadistic to make anti hydrating people hydrate lol

12. What’s your favourite kind of hypnotic induction?

Consented to conversational hypnosis that leads into Ericksonian themed guidance.

13. Do you like visual fixation (on spirals, eyes, swinging objects etc.) for hypnosis?

I love it lol. But sometimes it's better for bdsm rp hypnosis and less for getting good results.

14. What are your favourite kinds of hypnosis play?

I really enjoy fetish creation and accidental self help for others. For me...well, I like hard kinks cnc addition, memory play, corruption, if I had irl hypno dom ild be pretty free use..

15. What other kinks do you like to incorporate into your hypno play?

Pet play, equipment, feminization, toilet play,.identity play, all sorts. It could literally make any scene more fun for me. It's my number one kink.

16. For you, is the appeal of hypnosis primarily sexual or not?

It's both relaxing, a hobby, and sexual. It's kinda just my favorite thing lol

17. What are some post-hypnotic suggestions you particularly enjoy (for others or yourself)?

I love simple pleasure triggers. .good girl is so classic, good boy, good pet , those are just the best.

18. Describe your best experience involving hypnosis

My long term enjoyment of Bambi files.

19. Describe a bad experience you had involving hypnosis? Why was it bad? Why did it go wrong?

I worked with a subject over the course of months, experimenting with hypnosis capabilities, we decided to try and have their hair color change through natural causes. What ended up happening was that their subconscious took over, made them go into what.thwy described as "drone mode" even tho that had never been a theme we used. And purchased hair dye, almost got kicked out of their home as they were just 19 and parents hadn't accepted them as fem. It was pretty scary and not meant to ever become unsafe for them, we took a few days to de program her entirely after that. And then she ghosted me. I understand why, even though it was all consented to, I learned a lot about the limits of hypnosis.

20. What’s one tip you have for other hypnotists/subjects?

Every one's sensations are hyper individualistic as a newer subject. The one thing I'd want both sets to know, is that new subjects should not be directed to feel anything like heavy or light or floaty. Just say trance or hypnosis, then identify the feeling they associate to trance. This is the number issue i see, new subjects feel like failures because they're sensations don't line up with the guides suggestions this loosing faith and trust in the trancing process. And for hypnotists it's probably just because of troupes and the average trance script as those things in them.

21. Do you have any tips for how to negotiate hypnosis play?

It has to be consented to before scene starts.period. consent is sexy. Even if it's premising cnc. Communication is key to any relationship, and kinky dynamics are just that personified. Having an understanding of what the subjects long term wants are important with hypnosis play, also it has to be stared that deep real hypnosis is a R.A.C.K practice if done right. If the subject is blanking an entire trance, that's akin to needing a trip nanny while using hallucinating on illicit things. Like asphyxiation play, public humiliation, and a few others hypnosis can have out-of-the-scenes consequences. Hence why knowing your subjects over all goals for interaction is sooo important. Do they want an escape? Or do they want to loose human rights(in a kinky consenting way for 24/7 pets).

22. Do you like your hypnosis to involve power exchange, or not?

I enjoy it when I'm the subject but avoid it as the hypnotist

23. For you, how does hypnosis fit into a relationship? Just in the bedroom, or as part of BDSM relationship?

It can be both. Or one or the other. It's such a dynamic activity I would personally hate to limit it.

24. Are you interested in a 24/7 hypnotic enslavement relationship?

Yes. Way more than a healthy amount lol.

25. Have you ever experienced strong, sudden feelings for a hypnotist/subject? How did you deal with that?

Yes. It's kinda normal for me for anyone who's nice to me, for me to immediately dive deep. I just roll with it when it's not reciprocated as it's the sop at this point lol

26. Are you interested in hypnotising/being hypnotised by people of a gender you are not attracted to?

So as a pansexual... n/a lol. But I do prefer feme people so getting tranced by masq people? Still yes lol

27. What’s your favourite work of hypnosis erotica?

There was a omniscient therapy story that was great lol but don't get to read much

28. What’s your favourite spiral?

The ones in my DMs lol is there a bad one?

29. What’s your favourite hypno-themed image/caption/piece of art?

I really enjoy the indie artists that just randomly have hypno smut plastered online. They all deserve oral for their valiant efforts to keep the masses under hypnotic horny controls

30. What’s your favourite audio file/audio file producer?

Hmmm 🤔 platinum puppets is winning right now .

31. What’s your favourite book/movie/TV show that includes hypnosis?

Hmmm anime lol

32. Describe your biggest fantasy involving hypnosis?

The hole 10 yards honestly, life take over. For me, getting actually kidnapped and changed to their liking

33. Do you have any fantasies about non-consensual hypnosis? Describe them

...yes...waking up to pictures getting taken of me then blanking out again, waking up in a pink room and not being able to.focus, then it starts again. Then getting shown all the porn I've been made into while not in trance. Simple private messages with no description, hypnosis files linked and told to listen with no knowledge of the script. So many ways to give my mind away 🤤

34. What’s one fictional character you’ve fantasised about hypnotising/being hypnotised by?

Poison ivy

35. Do you like intelligence loss/bimbofication hypnosis? Why?

Probably my favorite. I can't stop thinking. About things wildly out of my control. Also choices give me anxiety. You know who doesn't do that? Dumb bimbos

36. Do you like amnesia play? Why?

Yes, it's just an intense rush being unaware of my own actions..a loss of control able to be identified internally. It's like the control is inside me. And it's lovely

37. Do you like freeze triggers? Why?

Yes and no .they just don't really feeze my body.

38. Do you like pleasure triggers? Why?

Mmmmmmmm yeah. For one good girl is a trigger I cant stop. At all. It happens 100%. No choice so it s just fun. But who doesn't want pleasure??? Like obvious

39. Do you like alternate personalities created through hypnosis? Why?

Not really. I don't wish my natural state on any one. It's hard

40. Do you like feminization hypnosis? Why?

Yes. Its such a nice thing for trans fems. And honestly it just a great way to do forced.fem link scenes

41. Have you ever experienced a “hands-free” orgasm as a result of hypnosis?

No, 😔😔😔 but the amount of leaking and throbbing without touching is wild

42. Which famous person do you think has the most hypnotic voice?

Tom Hiddleston

43. If you make hypnosis content, what’s your favourite piece of content you’ve made?

I don't yet but plan on it

44. Have you ever used hypnotic conditioning to help you or someone else with a part of your/their life?

Bambi files helped me accept myself as non binary trans fem. And have helped many people get better healthy lifestyles myself

45. Have you ever been to a hypnosis convention? Did you enjoy it, or not? Why?

I have not..but wow does that sound fun.

46. How has being involved with hypnosis/the hypno community improved your life?

Out of all the communities online, hypnosis is the most accepting of extreme thoughts that don't translate to extreme actions. Being able to express things and explore in a safe community has been life saving for me multiple times over the years.

47. What is one thing about the hypnosis community you think could change for the better?

Hhmmm I wish hypno therapy practicers were more willing to help the hypno kink community be ethical and just ban hammer it so much from open discussion.

48. Who is one person in the hypno community you really admire?

Mind Mistress. Old but gold. And her team in the 2000s was just the best thing ever

49. What is your favourite hypnosis-themed blog on tumblr?

Neural Nets and pretty patterns is solid. I dont know much about the creators. But the content is on point.

[autumnfangirler]

IM FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO THAT CAINE POST WITH HIS RELATIONSHIPS TO THE RANGERS LETS GO

long post so as per usual im throwing this under the cut

Caine & Ortega:

Ortega is caines best friend of years, even after the farm. In fact, caines had a crush on him since their sidestep days, but only realized it in retri lol. He finds his static soothing, its a reprieve from the constant chatter around them, even if it comes with the cost of not being able to read his mind. The problem is that caine is really good at following orders, and during his sidestep days, when they first got all their freedom, he kind of subconciously latched on to ortega as the nearest authority figure because they likened his static to the numbers used at the farm. Even post second escape, they still regard him as an authority(though hes starting to chafe against ortegas influence a little bit more). Part of the reason caine is a no-kill saving step is because, even if they dont realize it, theyre doing what ortega told them to do. if ortega had asked him to kill somebody, hed do it 100%. and if that somebody just so happened to be a near-mythical kingpin ruling over los diablos, well... let's just say theres more than one reason caine agreed to HGs deal unthreaded

Caine & Chen:

Oh, caine has a thing for the marshal and they are throwing a fit about it. This was NOT supposed to happen. Chen was supposed to be the vaguely-tolerable side effect to getting spoon. But then he found out that chens well-shielded mind is actually really nice for the same reasons ortegas mind is, and that he could relate to the feeling of being forced into a role he doesnt want to play. Back in the day, caine was always frustrated that chen didnt trust what he brought to the team, but now that theyre "retired", it doesnt matter and they can relax together as individuals. It was a surprisingly nice development. The two are more similar than they think– nowadays, the main conflict between the two is caine being lycan, because chen is absolutely aware of that fact and caine is just about clear-headed enough to note that thats probably a bad thing. Caine and chen are both very (for lack of better term) career focused, and even if caine doesnt like being villainous, theyre willing to do whatevers needed for the job(over 80% drive babyyy). So yeah, those two are going to butt heads when That conversation finally comes up

Caine & Herald:

Caine is WORKING that 66% strength of mind whenever herald is around. They find him intense, overly curious, and far too forgetful of boundaries, all of which they Do Not appreciate. But he still cant help liking the kid. Hes legitimately proud of how far heralds come along, and hes interested in his potential as a threat since hes shown how perceptive he can be. Currently, theyre trying to round out heralds skills as part of the team, as well as pushing him to analyze and use what he notices against an opponent. Plus, training herald has been more of a lifeline than theyd like to admit(i wrote something about it, but idk if ill post it rip). Its a schedule, hes a good coach, and he just likes fighting for fun lmfao. The whole thing would be great if herald could get some shields for the love of god

Caine & Argent:

Fun fact, caine used to have a small crush on argent between rebirth and retribution. It was a mix of admiration for her skills, the constant attention and the fact that argent is just pretty lol. It faded quick (quickly enough that he panicked in the bridge fight when he realized she was flirting with him lmfao), but they continued to hold a healthy amount of respect for her afterwards, even if they didnt approve of her teamwork. And then the casino happened! Caine had gone through the whole casino infiltration entirely untouched, but when they noticed the fight between argent and shroud, they couldnt help but give into curiosity and see what was happening. That was. a bad decision. He watched shroud attempt and fail to devour argent, and they ended up getting a panic attack and fleeing. He is now scared as shit of her :D! He avoids her like the plague, and whenever hes given an opportunity to escape a room with her in it, hes taking it. They dont know what she is, and they have a bad feeling about finding out

[ittetsuspecs]

My first ukatake drafts in my notes! :D

Written on 23 Sept 2020

Edited 2 Nov 2023

Lips stain (implied sexual things?)

They had been together for a while now.

Their first time having sex was at Takeda's apartment, away from the school and Ukai's parents. It was mild; frotting, fingering, lots of kiss here and there, no penetration but still good.

The first time they did penetration sex, at a hotel a bit further from Miyagi, Takeda can only go for one round. He was exhausted as soon as he came and can't go on anymore that he almost fainted. Ukai cleaned him when he was asleep, tossed the condom in the bin, and joined Takeda to sleep.

Ukai was scared too to be honest, he never done it with a guy. He had one or two experience with girl, but that's it. He never had any serious relationship before. Mostly it's just a highschool crush things, when they needed to focus on exam or anything school related, they'll broke up, usually it's something like that. They probably just want to make memories of their third years.

But this is Takeda Ittetsu.. the one he truly love and cherish; this gentle, kind and supportive man, helping him through and through despite their differences. He wanted to cherished him in every way he could. Helping him coach the Karasuno team is one thing, but Ukai had never been absolute serious in a relationship before.

He never felt a burst of butterfly in his stomach when he sees Takeda's bright smile when he provide him coffee whenever he came across the shop, he never felt so agitated waiting for the man to walk in front of the shop every morning, when he felt a brush of touch on the shoulder when he gets too close in drunken stupor, never felt his cheek flaming when he bent down to pick up the ball, his shirt loosely revealed his lean stomach, after the training was over.

Ukai is helpless.

Takeda is undoubtedly straightforward. He noticed how Ukai is different from the first month he coach the kids; he gradually changes. Sometimes it's fluctuate, but it's still there; the slight change in him.

Takeda asked him if any of the kids ever makes him uncomfortable (even he highly doubted it because they were all good kids, even Tanaka or Nishinoya who acted a bit like thugs but they're not!) Ukai laughed.

“What're you sayin' sensei? The kids are okay. They never dare to cause problem with me. Even if they did, Sawamura will take care of em.” he said.

“Oh,” he said, relieved. “I've probably overreacted,” he laughed along with Ukai.

How domestic, Ukai thought.

Takeda took off his glasses, to sip his served tea. Chapped lips on the brim of the cup, sipping silently, then apart, a breath escaped his now wet lips. He noticed Ukai's stare, yet his vision is a bit blurry. He lifted his glasses, the clinked sound seems to snap Ukai out, he flinched a bit.

“Ukai-kun?”

“W - What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I wasn't.”

Takeda smirked. It's fun teasing Ukai in public. He goes all bashful and red but in private, he'd tease back and ravish him with stupor over a simple wink. Takeda knew. He knew how dangerous yet exciting it is to tease him. He wanted to explore everything. He wanted to see what he will do if Takeda were to stole a kiss in public.

But they both know better; to be caught in a homosexual act in a small town could forever shattered Ukai's name and threatened his position here. Takeda lowered his lashes, somber, reaching for the kettle instead.

“Here,”

He refilled the cup.

“Have a drink.”

The warm cup pushed towards Ukai, subtly shifted where his lips has been directly facing the other man. Ukai knew. That spot where Takeda's lips has been. He brushed the cup briefly, taking it with two hands, a sip; a drip, trailing down his chin; to his nape.

“Shouldn't have drink too fast.” he chuckled lowering his voice.

And his thumb brushed the edge of his lips, down, to his bare nape; tracing the sweet tea; but his eyes never leaving Ittetsu, he dipped his eyes lower, lashes almost brush his cheek. He caught the little shift in Ittetsu: the glint in his eyes; his thigh drawn tighter and the way he bit his lips.

“You must be thirsty, Ukai-kun.”

It is not the tea he craves.

“Very.”

End?