#and she said she thought that was “a lot to ask”

[chipped-chimera]

Okay psych nerd here who is not going to bloat this with a tag explanation and instead just write the thing:

The answer is two things -

Dehumanization / Distancing from Humanity

Moral Psychology

Here's an example in action. So I'm sure everyone knows about the Trolley Problem - you are standing near a train track at the track switch, an out of control train barrelling down the rails. On one of the tracks, are a group of men working on the rails (or tied to the rails if you prefer the image version). If you do nothing, it will collide with the group of people and kill them. On the other hand, if you use the switch and change the track, it'll instead kill just one person. This one people can reasonably complete, the usual choice being kill one to save five or whatever.

But here is another version. The Fat Man Trolley Problem (not my wording). In this version of the Trolley Problem, you are standing on a bridge overpass of a traintrack. Next to you is a very large man. Below you, are the five workmen. The train is out of control, but you realise if you push the fat man off the bridge and onto the track, his mass will be enough to stop the train and save the five people on the track. What do you do?

Naturally, this one prompted visceral reactions from people it was pitched to in studies - which begs the question, how is this version different from the switch problem? In both problems, you have the choice to sacrifice one to save many, but the mere thought of having to physically push another person onto the tracks crosses a line.

That's because a switch distances you from the situation, in a sense, you are removed from the humanity in the decision making and it's pure logic. Harm is a side-effect of flicking the switch, in a way you are less involved. Having to push the man, however, is forcing you to confront the human-ness of the situation, to look someone in the face and make that decision.

A lot of the problems in the world, and their respective government entities who are supposed to be fixing them, often have zero experience in the very thing they're supposed to be solving. They're sitting in an office, far, far away looking at a bunch of numbers spat out by a consulting agency while there are homeless in the streets. The switch they pull is so far away they can't even see the people their decisions affect. And if they think less of the people they are making decisions over, like the very, very, very obviously misplaced idea that homelessness is somehow caused by moral failing - that will distance them from the humanity of the situation even further.

I think back to an article I read about someone who had lost their husband to suicide after many, many, many years struggling, went to a conference regarding mental health. The participants of this conference would be the ones making major decisions that would affect the health and outcomes of other people. She confronts one of them, and asks them - have you ever been affected by depression? have you ever had someone in your family been affected?

He seemed shocked and startled. But he answered no.

That should say everything. Anyway this is why I think it should be mandatory for anyone forming country-wide, dramatically-impactful policies in government, especially regarding minorities and poverty - should have a MANDATORY amount of hours they have to spend per year with said people who will be affected by their decisions. And none of this distanced hand shaking for the cameras, I mean living that experience as closely as possible.

It's not that humanity is dead. It's not that we get up with the intention of causing harm every day. It's just a fact of psychological distancing that causes us to lose our connection with it. This can be unintentional, but sometimes it is intentional. It's often a tactic in war propaganda, to cast the enemy in such an evil light that the idea of killing many to protect or save your people - even if it's women and children, and disabled and elderly people, and civilians - is somehow justified.

So the next time you vote or support a cause or whatever in your life that may end up influencing the situation of people, outside of your known experience - stop for a moment, and have a think about what it is like for those individuals. If you had to physically go to them, and look them in the eyes - would you make the same decisions?

Also vote for people with lived experience into those positions to make the decisions when you can!

It confuses me how normalized it is to be so anti human. The fact that two countries voted no to food being a human right. The fact so many people are against universal healthcare. The fact that it’s normal to believe some people don’t deserve housing because they’re poor, addicts, mentally ill, or any combination of the above. I find it so hard to comprehend that humans who have experienced hunger, thirst, cold, and illness would wish these things upon others, or at the very least not care. It frustrates me beyond belief.

These are the exact values we’re taught as children, to believe all humans are equal in worth and needs, and yet at some point you’re expected to grow out of that illusion. You’re expected to accept that this is what life’s like, that the world is unfair, and attempting to fix it makes you weak and childish.

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 11)

A/N: oh my god guys I finally wrote the next part! Please like it lol. I did see this as the end of the story but I purposely kept it open so if I ever did want to write more I could

Special shoutout to @lunargrrrl because without you saying that you loved this story I probably wouldn't have even touched it for at least another month (I love your writing so much I would do anything for you)

Word count:

Warnings: oral sex, scissoring, little bit of angst?

Taglist: 3440

@stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi@ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet@polaris-likethestar@ahintofchaos @dorabledewdroop @toomanylesbiancouples @accidentally-made-a-sideblog @chiar4anna @lonelyhalfwitch @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna (sorry if I forgot you or if I put you twice, I just copied and pasted the taglist from the part 10 and then whoever said they wanted to be on it recently)

“Hey!” You call after your step-mom as she struts through the parking lot back to her car, never breaking a stride, leaving you to chase after. “Agatha, wait!” 

She doesn’t even turn around, just unlocks the door and slides in, and she’s turning on the car when you finally make it into the passenger seat. 

You’re a little out of breath, so you take a moment to compose yourself. Agatha is staring forward, hands gripped on the steering wheel. “What was that?” You’re finally able to ask. 

Her knuckles turn white but she doesn’t answer. She shifts into drive and pulls forward and you can see how tightly her jaw is clenched. 

“Agatha, will you please talk to me?” You’re begging at this point, you don’t know what else to do, because something is wrong. That wasn’t her plan. 

Although, neither was fucking you in the bathroom. 

Your body betrays you and the concern you’re supposed to be feeling right now and heats up at the memory. You can still feel her thrusting inside you, your hips hitting the cold sink top, her hand wound in your hair making you watch yourself get absolutely railed by her. 

Stop. 

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, to get your mind out of the gutter, and Agatha finally pulls into the driveway of her house. 

It’s a good sign she didn’t take you back to your mom’s house, you suppose. She slams the car door after she gets out and storms into the house, you following hot on her heels. 

Agatha goes right to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of wine. She takes a long sip and a deep inhale, and pinches the bridge of her nose. When she opens her eyes, she finally looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. 

“I’m sorry I did that with you there,” she says and you almost laugh. Is that what she was upset about? 

You shake your head and steal the glass from her, taking a gulp and wincing at the bitter taste. Agatha raises an eyebrow at your blatant underage drinking in front of her, but says nothing. You swallow the wine hard and make a face. “Don’t be. It was kind of hot,” you admit, and she chuckles humorlessly. And then a thought dawns on you. “Wait, do you think he’s going to think something happened in the bathroom? Cause we both went, and then you came out and said you wanted a divorce.” 

There’s a glint in Agatha’s eye. “You really think he’s going to assume that I fucked my stepdaughter against the sink in a restaurant bathroom and then decided to break things off?” 

“Well…” You trail off, the leap to that conclusion seeming a bit implausible, especially for him. Your dad has a hard time focusing on things that aren’t himself. “Seems like we’re in the clear, at least.” 

Agatha snorts and drains the rest of the wine. There’s still something off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, your voice softening. “I mean, are we okay? I know we said earlier that we didn’t know what this would mean for us –” 

She cuts you off by slamming the glass down on the countertop so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t break and then closes her eyes to take a deep breath. You freeze. “I’m sorry,” Agatha says eventually, but it’s unclear if she’s apologizing for the reaction or for something else. Maybe for the whole thing between you? 

There’s an uneasy feeling that starts to grow in your stomach. Is she going to break things off with you too? 

Not that there’s anything to break off, is there? It hasn’t even been that long since this thing started, but it’s been intense. More intense than anything you’ve ever felt. 

You know that it might kill you if she walks away now. 

“Do you not want this?” Your question is like a stab to your gut, you’ve never sounded smaller in your life, and your heart pounds heavily in your chest while you wait for an answer. You need to know.

Agatha’s hands fidget on the counter, it looks like she wants to pour herself another glass of wine, but she refrains. “We can talk about what happens next later,” she says levelly and walks away without another word. 

The pit in your stomach only grows. How did you go from being fucked by Agatha’s strap not even an hour ago to this cold distance between you? She had been so possessive, so inflamed by the thought that you would even entertain another woman. 

The sound of her footsteps recedes up the stairs. What does she expect you to do? She picked you up from your mom’s house, and you can’t exactly call her to come get you. 

So you go upstairs and find Agatha in her bedroom, swiping at her face while she’s throwing clothes into a suitcase. You momentarily lose your train of thought when she slides open a drawer and you see about a dozen sets of lacy lingerie. 

Agatha clears it out and dumps it into the suitcase. 

And then your brows furrow in confusion. “Wait, you’re moving out? Why not make my dad?” 

She looks at you like she didn’t even realize you had come in. “It’s easier this way. I’ll get an apartment closer to my job. Your dad can do whatever he wants with this place, he’s the one that wanted it in the first place.” 

“Oh. Okay,” you say, a little dumbfounded. Everything is happening so fast, completely spinning out of control, and you don’t know what to make of it. She spares you another glance before standing up and moving to clear out her nightstand. 

She takes out a vibrator and the rope she tied you up with just yesterday and places them on top of the lingerie. 

“At least we don’t have to worry about my dad catching us anymore, right?” You try to joke, but definitely not the time or place.

Agatha stiffens. “Honey,” she starts, and you know you’re not going to like this. 

“No,” you interrupt. “You’re getting divorced. We don’t have to sneak around anymore, or at least not as much. I like you, Agatha, and I don’t know how you feel about me–” 

“I’m leaving your father because of you,” she snaps and it’s like you’ve been slapped in the face. A thick silence settles over the two of you and you can see how hard she’s clenching her jaw. 

“What?” You whisper. “He’s having an affair, I feel like that should be your main priority.” But your heart is beating fast and you feel like you’re getting close to getting something real from her. 

She rolls her eyes and faces you directly. “Obviously. But I was thinking about it before. He’s not the only one who’s been having an affair here.” Was she leaving him because it’s the right thing to do? Or–

“So…” The pieces are scrambling to connect in your mind. “You want to be with me?” 

Agatha scoffs like the idea is ridiculous. “Be with the eighteen year old about to go off to college and find plenty of girls her own age to fuck?” 

She’s insecure? You can tell Agatha doesn’t completely understand how she’s feeling either, you can see the storm brewing in her eyes. She’s conflicted, torn between her own feelings. 

You walk over to where she’s standing and put your hands on her shoulders. Agatha doesn’t even meet your eyes. But then you slide your hands down her arms, onto her hips, and sink down to your knees. 

Now she looks at you and swallows hard. You can see the effect you’re having on her, her blown out pupils, and it only spurs you on. 

Your fingers fiddle with the zipper on your pants, carefully watching her face for any sign of hesitation. You drag the zipper down slowly and she helps you take off her pants and steps out of them like she’s in a trance. She’s still wearing the strap-on, it still smells like you – fuck, don’t get distracted. 

You loosen the harness and slide that down her legs too before leaning in and nipping at her thigh. 

“Let me show you how much I don’t want someone my own age?” You offer, gazing at her through your eyelashes. 

Her hand tangles in your hair and you let out a quiet gasp. “Go ahead, babygirl,” she says in a low voice, the voice that always gets you going, and pushes your head in-between her legs. 

It’s a bit of an awkward position, with her standing above you, stance slightly widened with you on the ground in front of her, but you make it work. 

You flatten your tongue and lick through her folds, collecting her wetness and moaning at the taste. It’s something you’ll never get tired of. You think you could easily spend hours eating Agatha out, and that’s something you’d like to try if she lets you. 

When your tongue flicks against her clit, her hand tightens in your hair and she lets out a moan and you do it again, desperate to please, desperate to hear more sounds fall from her lips. She lets out a little gasp when you suck on her clit, and you do it harder. Agatha’s hips jerk and she tugs on your hair, causing you to moan against her pussy. 

“God, honey, right there,” she says hoarsely and you double-down on your efforts, rubbing your tongue up and down over her clit while maintaining eye contact. Her groan is deep and she keeps brushing away the hair that falls over your face so she can see you. 

Your hands trace her thighs, the front and the back, and you dig your nails into the skin, leaving crescent indentations. The muscles in her legs tighten and she tries to roll her hips against your face but the position you two are in makes that challenging. 

So she steps back, your tongue still moving instinctively even though her pussy is gone, and you whine her name. 

She smirks and runs a hand through her hair, collecting herself for a second. “Don’t worry, baby. Mommy just wants to move to the bed.” 

Agatha walks to her bed, sits and leans back, spreading her legs for you. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of her dripping cunt that was on your face not a minute earlier and you move to stand up, but she stops you. 

“Stay on your knees,” she orders and you clench around nothing. The carpet is rough on your skin, but you can feel yourself getting wetter from her intense but appreciative gaze as you practically crawl across the room for her. 

You finally get to her and you push open her legs even more, first deciding to kiss up the length of each inner thigh. She shakes beneath you, especially when you get close to the heat between them, and she gasps when you nip at the pale skin. And then you dive back into her pussy, thrusting your tongue inside her, and she’s able to grind much more on your face without fear of falling over when she’s sitting like this. 

Your stepmom rides your face and all you have to do is open your mouth and stick out your tongue and she does the rest; she drags her pussy all over, small huffs falling out of her mouth at the exertion. Agatha takes what she needs from you until you can feel her clenching and her hips start to falter – she’s getting closer. 

You slide your hands around the backs of her thighs and pull her even closer to you so you can take over, sucking roughly on her clit and then curling your tongue inside her and repeating, all while Agatha moans uncontrollably above you, her hips jerking with each touch to her clit. 

“Fuck, babygirl, right there,” she chokes out, you can feel her throbbing, feel her walls fluttering around your tongue, and you don’t change a thing about what you’re doing, keeping the same pace and speed to gradually build up her orgasm. You can feel her body getting tighter and tenser and you know she’s about to cum. 

You give her one last filthy lick up the length of her pussy and then suck on her clit harshly, and she cums all over your face, getting it absolutely soaked. 

As if you’d ever complain about that. Agatha looks so hot coming apart for you like that, and you can’t believe she’d ever think you’d rather have a college hook-up than her. 

It takes her a moment to recover, but when she tilts your chin up, you beam at her, and you can still see the heat in her eyes. 

And even though she just fucked you hard in the bathroom, you need more too. You surge up off your knees and almost knock her backwards with the force and capture her lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and lips. 

She groans at the taste of herself on you and you straddle her lap, pushing a thigh between hers so you’re both able to grind on each other while you kiss. Her hands hike up the dress you’re still wearing so she can cup your ass and guide you on her leg, pushing you down harder against her, and you have to break away from her mouth to moan. Your underwear is absolutely soaked and clinging to you, almost getting uncomfortable. 

Your fingers fumble with buttons on her silky button-down and eventually you get so exasperated that you just rip it, buttons flying everywhere around the room. Agatha chuckles in amusement and tugs on your underwear, and you reluctantly get off her for a second to take it off. 

But then you climb back on her, your lips finding hers again, and this time when her hands wrap around your waist to pull you closer, she does fall back with how hard you’re grinding and kissing. 

You don’t care. Instead, you get an idea. You’ve never tried it before, but it seems like this would be the perfect time to. 

Sitting back up, you ignore Agatha’s confused look and chew on your lip. She lets you angle one of her legs up and over your hip, while you put your other leg over hers. When your eyes flick back up to Agatha’s, you can see recognition on her face and she looks positively excited. 

And then with a deep breath, you lower yourself down and a gasp escapes your mouth when your cunt touches hers. 

“Fuck, honey,” Agatha says and you have to pause before you become overwhelmed with pleasure. 

You slowly roll your hips and you both moan. “Mommy,” you whimper. “Feels so good.” 

Her hands settle on your waist while you lean forward, bracketing her head with your arms, and she helps you move against her, your wetness mixing with hers and making it easy to slide against each other. 

“Fuck, baby, you have no idea how hot you are,” Agatha murmurs, maybe more to herself than to you, but there’s no denying how much effect those words have on you. Your clit pulses and you keen, your movements becoming sloppy, but Agatha’s hips rise to meet yours and there’s an absolute mess between the two of you in no time. 

Your head drops down so you can pepper kisses against her chest and sternum, mouthing at her breasts through her lacy, gray bra. Agatha jerks beneath you, her clit stroking against yours and you pant hotly against her skin. 

“Mommy,” you whisper, your head starting to spin with how good it feels. Her wetness, being able to feel all of her so intimately, her ragged breathing, the slight sheen of sweat on her chest. You drag your tongue over the skin at her bra line and her back arches off the bed.

Your limbs are entangled and the movements become short ruts against each other, hands flying from cheeks to hips to breasts to thighs and you can feel the tension building in your stomach. Agatha is getting closer, too, she’s breathing into your open mouth and the only sounds in the room are the two of you moaning and the slickness of your wetness. 

“Fuck, right there,” Agatha says tightly, your clit finding hers, and the two of you grind just like that, the stimulation almost too good. “God, sweetheart, you feel so good.” 

Your hips stammer and she pulls you in for a kiss, strokes her tongue into your mouth, and you cum all over her pussy, the dam inside you exploding. Pleasure races through your veins and you think your mind goes blank for a second, absolutely no thoughts except for Agatha. 

She follows shortly after, her body twitching under yours and you can feel her orgasm as she rides it out against you. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever felt, and the embers of the heat inside your stomach flicker. 

You stay on top of her for a minute or two, just soaking in the feeling of her against you like that. 

And then Agatha stiffens. “I don’t know if your dad is coming home tonight, but we should probably get cleaned up.” You groan at her mentioning your dad right now, right after possibly the best sex you’ve had in your life, but she has a point. 

You get off her and find your underwear, sliding it back on and fixing your appearance in the mirror. Agatha gives you a wolfish grin and a low whistle at your reflection and you roll your eyes playfully. 

She pulls on an entirely new outfit, her pants strewn on the floor somewhere and her shirt completely ripped open, and then she washes off the strap in the sink and puts that in her suitcase, too. 

It’s as you’re following her downstairs, carrying the other suitcase she quickly packed in your hands, when your dad opens the front door, looking flustered. 

“Agatha, please, talk to me,” he begs when he sees the two of you, eyes darting in confusion between you, probably wondering what you’re doing. Your stepmom walks right past him, and you awkwardly follow. “Sweet pea,” he says, this time referring to you. “What is going on?” 

“I know you’ve been cheating,” Agatha says, pausing when she gets to the door to whirl back around to face him. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach and you almost laugh. “I’m getting a hotel tonight, and then I’ll look for an apartment. You can have everything in this house. I’ll be talking to my lawyer tomorrow.” 

It’s the quickest settlement you’ve ever seen. When your parents got divorced, they had gone back and forth for months, bickering over the smallest things like blankets and game boards. You couldn’t be more relieved that Agatha just wants a clean break and no hassle. 

She opens the door and walks out of it, you only two steps behind, and you close it after you’re both outside, ignoring your dad’s calls for you to come back. 

You both wordlessly walk to her car and she opens the trunk to put her suitcases in. She didn’t pack all of her stuff, she will still need to come back and get the rest of her clothes and whatnot, but it’s a good start. You’re more than willing to come back by yourself and get the rest of her belongings, too. 

Agatha gets into the driver’s seat and you slide into the passenger’s. It doesn’t seem to be a question that you’re coming with her. 

“I know you don’t really want to talk about what happens next for us,” you say quietly, needing to get some things off your chest. “We don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But just know that I’m not going to do what he did, or throw you away like that. I really like you, Agatha. And if it’s just like this for however long this lasts, I’m okay with that. I just want you.” 

Her eyes stay on the road and her lips purse, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she won’t. 

But then her hand slips down across the center console and interlocks her fingers with yours and she squeezes. You can see the hint of a smile ghosting her face. 

You squeeze back. That’s all the answer you need. 

[exocaliii]

❦︎ Is That What You Want? (It's You)

| Se-mi / Player 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: In the worst possible place, you reunite with someone you never thought you would see again. Fortunately for you, the looming threat of death unveils many long lost feelings you both tried (and failed) to let go.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: mention of suicide, death, violence, hurt/comfort, occasional use of Y/N even tho I do try to avoid it, lots of YEARNING, kind of a childhood friends to lovers typa scenario, kissing (but it's only in like one paragraph at the very end sorry freaksters....)

A/N: SEMI FIC HERE TO MAKE UP FOR HER FUMBLE IN THE LAST ONE!!!! this one is also extremely plot heavy as u can see from the word count LOL but I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY!! tried to show her softer side in this as well as her playfulness! this is for the people asking for a se-mi fic in my inbox sorry I made the post before I could click "respond to ask" and now im afraid I might actually delete everything so... this is for u whoever u are <3 I didn't read it over this time y'all so praying for no typos... ENJOY

—

When Se-mi first spots you, you’re crouched down in front of a table and surrounded by four other women as you throw the gonggi pieces into the air. For a solid minute, she thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her - that or this person that bears a striking resemblance to her first real friend wasn’t you at all. However, when your team rapidly advances around the bloodied track, she’s allowed a closer look at you; your hair has grown longer and you’re just a bit taller than the last time she saw you, but your eyes are still the same and that’s what confirms it for her. 

She doesn’t cheer when you win - her throat feels strangely tight and her heart is heavy in her chest even with your victory - but she does feel an overwhelming sense of relief as she watches you bound past the finish line. Seeing you smile and laugh once again stirs something inside of her, an emotion she hasn’t felt for years. 

Before you completely disappear behind the doors of the field, she swears she sees you turn around and look directly at her, vague recognition clear on your face. 

—

“Hey, where are you running off to so fast?”

Laughter rings out behind you as you pick up your pace, clutching your bag tight to your chest. Multiple footsteps fall in behind you, and with a short glance over your shoulder at the agitated faces of the girls trailing you, you realize today might not just end with a bit of teasing. It’s New Year’s Eve though and the sun is mostly set, so maybe they won’t knock you out cold so you can make it home on time to welcome the new year with your family.

“C’mon, aren’t you gonna pay us back?” For what, you want to shout, but before you even get the chance to respond, the footsteps behind you suddenly speed up. You’re practically thrown to the ground with a single hard shove on your back, arms flailing as your bag scuttles across the concrete. “My dad said your family owes us some money, you know, and I don’t mind getting it from you.”

Your head is spinning and your nose feels oddly hot, but you hear her words loud and clear and they send a deep feeling of shame through your entire body. A hand tangles itself in your hair as your head is pulled back, causing yet another fit of laughter to ring throughout the alley. “Fuck, her nose is bleeding so much! Did you break it?”

The one holding you by the hair reassures her group that you’d be fine, they could just say you fell because currently, it was your word against five other students. A part of you begins to wonder if anyone would even come help if you screamed right then - the alley was right next to the school, someone was bound to hear you. 

As the other four begin to sift through your bag for any valuables, you find your mouth sealed shut, afraid that even a whimper of pain would turn the attention of this pack of wolves back towards you. You didn’t have much in your wallet these days, and what you did have was pocket change for emergencies. They would go home disappointed either way, but whatever kept you from getting beaten the worst would be preferred. 

“What the hell, she’s only got like 5000 won in here.” The tallest girl turns to you with both confusion and disdain evident on her face. “Are you really that fucking poor? Where’s the rest of it?”

She stands right back up and so does the other three, all slowly advancing on you as you were held down by the fifth. You don’t even struggle against her loose grip on your hair, slowly coming to accept the fact that you might just have to take a beating for today, because there is no ‘the rest of it.’ 

Perhaps, if you’re lucky, they’ll get bored fast at your lack of reaction to anything they do and you’ll only go home with a bloody nose and a couple easily hidden bruises. 

You can accept that fate, you can accept your place in this world. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” 

Everyone’s heads, even yours, turn towards the lone girl standing at the entrance of the alleyway. With the setting sun behind her, her face is mostly casted in shadows. You think you recognize her as one of the troublemakers in your math class, constantly getting sent outside to stand in the hallway and ‘think about what she’s done.’ Even after being in the same class for two years, you still haven’t quite learned anything about her beyond her antics. The reason for why she’s butting in though, is also lost on you.

“Mind your business, Se-mi.” So that’s her name. It fits her. “We’re just teaching this one a nice lesson in karma.” 

How ironic. Five girls beating on a younger classmate would definitely bring them amazing luck for the New Year.

Se-mi’s eyes trail down towards the ground, towards you, and her eyes take in your bloody nose and the deep-blue bruise already forming on your cheek. For a second, you think she might just leave you here like anyone else would, but after some obvious inner contemplation, she speaks up once again.

“She looks like she understands it just fine now,” she says mockingly, beginning to walk closer towards you all. Her eyes are sharp, leaving no room for argument, and you only wish you could be half as strong to stand up to these girls. “Maybe you guys should just head home.” It sounds less like a suggestion than it does a threat, and your attackers respond in kind. 

“What, you got a problem with us?” It’s obviously not a real question, but a chance for Se-mi to back out now before things get serious. She doesn’t.

“Yeah, I do, so what’re we gonna do about it?” 

Inwardly, you curse yourself for inadvertently placing this stranger at risk to get beat up right alongside you for a problem that definitely had nothing to do with her. 

For a second, the girls are silent, but you can practically feel their anger growing as the one on top of you lets go of your hair. Se-mi stands her ground, expression just as cold as always as they try (and fail) to intimidate her with their glares. You’re frozen in awe of this idiot for both her courage and her poor decision-making skills.

It’s no surprise to you when the tall one lunges forward to try and land the first punch in the inevitable fight, but Se-mi is quick to dodge it and redirect her momentum right into the side of a trash can. All hell breaks loose after that, and for a second, you think your savior might just win the fight with pure skill and experience alone, but reality catches up to you both. 

With pure numbers, they bring Se-mi to the ground, and even though you scramble to your feet and try to fight them as well, you’re humbled even faster with your already pre-existing injuries and lack of knowledge on any forms of fighting. The tall one is the angriest, screaming curses at you both as you’re kicked and punched on the ground. Se-mi’s attempt to get back on her feet is thwarted by a solid hit on her face, and your lack of an attempt is rewarded with a fist right to the center of your ribcage, knocking all the air out from your lungs. 

As you’re beginning to think they might really want to kill you both, sirens in the distance interrupt the bombardment of pain on your sore body. 

“Shit, is that the police? Have we been spotted?” Their voices are now twinged with a hint of anxiety at being caught, and fortunately for the two of you, that’s all it takes to end the assault. “Let’s just leave.”

With a final kick to your back, the girls quickly grab their backpacks and run for it, long forgetting your own bag and the 5000 won that started this beatdown in the first place. 

—

As you look around the giant room for a place to eat, you find yourself unconsciously scanning the crowd for a familiar face as well. 

A part of you is sure that it was her that you walked right by in the middle of the last game, but you were so focused on facing forward to make sure you wouldn’t trip that you weren’t able to get a clear look at her face. Even after you won, you were given little to no time to do anything on the field before being ushered back to the main room. Now, you’re beginning to think that the looming threat of death is making you cling even harder to long lost dreams, but you hope that isn’t enough to make you hallucinate people you used to know. 

Sitting down on one of the unoccupied steps, you open your container and begin digging in, forcing yourself to forget the foolish dream that’s been occupying your mind for hours now. Even during the vote, you found your hand drifting towards the bright red X just in case she really was here and at risk of imminent death (just like everyone else). In the end, the blue patch on your chest is unchanging, and no imaginary companion will change that.

“Y/N?”

Your neck almost snaps clean in half with the way your head shoots up to see the person who just called your name, a name you are 100% sure you didn’t give to anyone here. Yet, when you see who it is, you’re somehow even more surprised than you would’ve been if it was some stranger. 

Se-mi casually stands right in front of you after what felt like a lifetime without her. She smiles - no, smirks at the recognition evident on your face and plops herself down right next to you.

“Long time no see, 399,” she says, her voice teetering on the edge of teasing and what might be genuine happiness to see you again. Of course, she has to ruin the moment by reminding you of the situation you had to reunite in, and you glance down at the number on her chest as well.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you again, 380.” You add as much sass to your voice as you can manage in the moment, but it comes out just as soft as you meant it in your heart because it is good to see her again. 

For a moment, the two of you can only stare at each other, picking up the differences in each person’s appearance since the last time you met. It’s the kind of peaceful silence that you haven’t been afforded for far too long, and now that it’s given to you, you can’t bring yourself to be the one that breaks it. Luckily for you, it seems like Se-mi can’t either, because all she does is stare at you with an indecipherable look in her eyes. If you had to describe it, you might say that it’s the unspoken equivalence of the softness in your voice from earlier (by now, you understand full well that the most genuine emotion you’ll get out of her might just have to come from carefully reading every one of her expressions). 

For a long time, the two of you simply eat in silence, basking in each other’s company. Your legs occasionally brush with how close she sat to you, but it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest; if anything, it’s comforting, reminding you of your youth together before the real world caught up. 

“So, you know what I’m gonna ask you.” As always, it’s her that breaks the silence between you two, and you can’t blame her for being curious. Afterall, this was a horrible place to meet someone you know.

“My father’s business finally completely collapsed, and now we’re getting chased around the country by loan sharks,” you say, laughing a bit at your own situation. It didn’t take long for you to decide that Se-mi deserved to know the truth, but you knew she would be the last person to judge you for such circumstances. “I didn’t have any other options besides this.”

She doesn’t look at you with pity for your answer. It’s one of the traits you appreciated most from her back then. 

“What about you? How’d you end up in this shithole?” 

Your question earns you a laugh that as always, never fails to make you smile right back at her.

“I mean, I can’t say I’m getting chased around, but I’ve got a bit of debt I need to handle.” She almost decides to cut her story off there, but you’re looking at her with such genuine interest in your eyes that she can’t bring herself to hide the rest from you. How long has it been since someone cared so much about what she had to say? “College was… too expensive. I didn’t have anyone that could help out, so I’ve just been working random jobs here and there.”

Unfortunately, her answer seems completely honest. You wish you could’ve been there by her side, but your own family was dealing with a lot then too. 

“Why didn’t you just… continue to try to make it work out there?” You’re praying that your question doesn’t come off as insensitive, but she seems to find it amusing if anything. “Why would you risk losing everything like this?”

That last phrase earns you a scoff this time, and she turns away with a strained expression, clearly struggling to keep her ever cocky smirk on her face.

“I don’t have anything left to lose. This place is my chance to get a headstart or just…” The rest remains unsaid, and even though she’s speaking so casually, your heart drops at the insinuation. “...I haven’t left a mark on the world at all, Y/N. What happens here really won’t matter much to anyone out there.”

For a second, you’re stumped as to how to answer her. There’s some twisted truth to her reasoning, and you’re sure that if most of the people in this room died tomorrow, their deaths would be passed off as mere victims to loan sharks or suicide. That, or their disappearances wouldn’t be noticed at all. But no. It isn’t the same for Se-mi, and you desperately want her to know that.

“It would matter a lot to me.” You try to make it sound casual so she doesn’t tuck tail and run like she usually does, but you know it left an impact on her with the way her eyes drift to the ground and her brows furrow just slightly. “You left a pretty big impact on my life, you know that?”

As you turn back towards your food, Se-mi glances at you from the corner of her eye. There isn’t a hint of deception or even sarcasm in your face, in your voice, in any part of you. It’s a level of honesty she’s only ever experienced from you, and after being apart for so long, she had forgotten how soothing it was to be on the receiving end of such genuine kindness. 

For years now, she had found herself searching for you in every face she came across, in every friend and partner she had, in every short moment of peace she was allowed in her rocky life. Now that she’s finally found you though, she’s not sure what to do with herself. 

For the rest of night, right up until lights-out, the two of you bask in the silence once again. In your own separate ways, you both sit there and think about each other. You consider what you lost when you were separated from her. She considers the fact that she might’ve just regained something she can now lose if her own life is lost, and the thought of it terrifies her. 

When it’s time to sleep, it’s Se-mi that gets up first, albeit with a great deal of hesitance. The two of you part ways, and before you can get too far, you hear a faint whisper from behind you.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

It makes you crack a smile, turning around to see her still looking at you. Her smile is still strained, but now, there’s a hint of happiness there.

“Yeah, you too, and goodnight, Se-mi.” 

Even now, the sound of your soft voice calling her name makes her heart skip a beat.

—

“What the fuck was that…” 

You finally begin to stir awake at the groans and curses coming from beside, and all your body feels is pain.

God, they really did a number on you didn’t they?

“Fucking cops didn’t even stop for us,” the voice groans again, now paired with a faint shuffling as you watch her attempt to get back on her feet through your incredibly blurry eyes. All you can manage is to roll onto your back, looking up to see the pitch black sky.

Wait, black?! 

How long have you been out?!

“Uff!” A loud clatter of boxes graces your ears as you glance over to see her - Se-mi, was it? - right back on the ground. From the looks of it, her legs were also feeling extremely uncooperative. You already feel like shit, but she took a majority of the beating so she probably feels even worse. Guilt courses through you as she groans in pain, rolling onto her back to mimic your position. 

For a couple minutes, you both lay there in silence, staring up at the empty night sky. In the far distance, cars zoom past on the main road, likely salarymen rushing to get home to their families in time to celebrate New Years.

By now, you've come to the realization that you'll probably would have to celebrate yours alone on the ground this time, considering the fact that your body was not letting you get back up. For now, at least, maybe you can get to know your savior (or rather, attempted savior).

“...I’m sorry about this,” you whisper, sighing heavily into the cold December air.

“Did you get a few hits in on me too?” She’s clearly mocking you, but you can’t even be mad right now. 

“Still… sorry.”

“It’s whatever.” A beat of silence follows. “I never liked those bitches anyways.” 

The second part is almost whispered as if it were a secret between the two of you, and you let out a small chuckle, cutting yourself off before it becomes a laugh as pain shoots up your torso at that small movement. 

In the tranquility that follows, Se-mi begins to fully question why she was laying there on the cold concrete in extreme discomfort for a stranger - well, not really a stranger, but she doesn’t even know your name. Then she thinks back to the ugly feeling she had in her gut watching you get cornered by those stuck-up rich kids, unwilling to even fight back, and she thinks she might’ve done the right thing despite how meaningless this encounter might become. 

She looks over at your bruised face thinking about how similar you looked to a kicked puppy at that instance, and she can’t help but push your buttons even more. 

“Aren’t you glad we were able to save your 5000 won?” 

The absurdity of her statement distracts you from the pain you feel, and after a scoff and a slight shake of your head, you find yourself genuinely laughing for the first time in a long time. It doesn’t take long for her to follow, and after a couple moments, you both find yourselves giggling like children at the shitty situation.

You enjoy this rare moment of companionship for only a couple seconds before you begin hearing loud shouts in the distance.

They’re counting down, but you’re nowhere near home and neither is she.

“5!”

“Hey, what’s your name?” 

“4!”

You turn your head and answer her, and she smiles at you.

“3!”

“I’m Se-mi.” 

“2!”

It’s different hearing her name from her own mouth, spoken without any of the hatred that your attackers infused into the word.

“1!”

You both look up just in time to see fireworks lighting up the once dark sky, red, yellow, and green hues reflecting in your eyes as you force yourself to relax and take in the moment. 

In this moment, with Se-mi by your side, you don’t feel as lonely as you expected yourself to be. It’s a feeling of comfort you’re rarely given, but you openly bask in it as you think about the confidence and bravery it must’ve taken to stand up against five people like that. In another life, perhaps, you could be someone like her, protecting people like you. 

Like a knight in shining armor.

“Happy New Year, Y/N. I’m going to sleep now.” Your head snaps over in her direction as she folds her hands behind her head and closes her eyes, getting way too comfortable on the ground of a shady alleyway.

“What?” No response. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re not sleeping here!”

She bluntly ignores you and her breaths get heavier, but it’s obvious that she’s just pretending to be asleep. The thought of getting up and leaving by yourself crosses your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to part with this girl just yet.

With a resigned sigh, you roll onto your side with a pained groan and close your eyes as well, praying that no mysterious van comes to kidnap you two in this moment.

“Happy New Year, Se-mi.” Silence. “And thank you.”

You’re already facing her so when you peak open your eyes, you see her lips twitch upwards at your choice to stay, and that solidifies the deal.

When morning comes the next day, you don’t even bother going home first before walking alongside her to school. You sit next to her in class for the first time, and you share the lunch you bought with her under the guise of ‘not being able to finish it.’ She’s resistant at first, but eventually, she indulges you. 

This routine continues for the next two years. It’s only interrupted when you break the news to her that your father is forcing the family to flee because of his growing debts. 

That night, you both walk back to the alley and lay there together under the stars.

You think you might’ve seen her eyes water once or twice, but you say nothing, unwilling to break the sacred silence between the two of you. It’s the last one you share for years, until you inevitably see her again in the worst possible place.

—

As everyone begins filing out to head to the next game, Se-mi feels an uncontrollable urge to break away from her current group to go find you once again. She can already see you in the distance, but even though the two of you make eye contact for a brief moment, you look away upon seeing her already large group. 

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she begins to turn away from the rambling of Thanos and Nam-gyu behind her, but a meek voice calls out her name and stops her.

“Where are you going?” 

It’s Min-su, and he’s looking at her like a lost animal terrified of losing its protector. A wave of guilt crashes into her at the thought of leaving this poor boy to the sharks, and even though your face is still the only thing on her mind, she wonders if it’s worth it to betray her new group. 

If she left now, she might not make it through this next game. 

If she dies now, she won’t get a second chance at life (and a second chance to live by your side again, but she pushes that thought to the side for now). 

“Nowhere, let’s go.”

That’s all it takes to appease him, and with one last glance over to where she saw you last, she reintegrates herself back into the group and moves forward. 

—

Even though the first two rounds pass by without a hitch, you think this game might be the most dangerous one yet. You’ve got your own little group from the Six-Legged Race, but as the announcer called for rooms of four, you watch the youngest girl of your team get shoved out of your group by two others (sisters, if you remembered correctly). It’s heartbreaking to hear her cry out as you all ran away, but you can’t save her and save yourself at the same time. 

You’ve made it this far, and you’d be damned if you were sent home an empty handed corpse now. 

As the platform begins to spin again, you pat the shoulder of the woman standing next to you - 047. She was closer to the younger one than you were, and her death obviously shook the poor lady up. Her reaction makes you realize how distant you’ve been to everyone since you arrived (with one notable exception, of course), and you find your own heart beating hard against your chest at the thought of being abandoned as well. 

“3 players.”

Of course.

For a second, the four of you freeze. The sisters are holding onto each other’s hands with a death grip, and you know now that it’s between you and 047. A part of you thinks about shoving her down so you could run away with the other two, but something behind her catches your eye before you can do anything.

It’s Se-mi. 

She’s standing completely alone, hand held out towards nobody, and not a single other person from that group you saw her with earlier by her side. 

Like it’s muscle memory, you shove past 047 and run the fastest you’ve ever ran right at her. You hear a faint yell of gratitude from behind you as you wrap your arms around Se-mi and pull her forward towards one of the empty rooms in the distance. The impact seems to wake her out of her stupor, changing your awkward position so that now, you’re running side by side with her hand in yours. Along the way, you grab a stray girl up from the ground by the back of her sweater and pull her along to complete the three. 

As you all clamber into the room, Se-mi slams the door shut behind you, barely missing the time-out buzzer. The lock clicks shut, and you hear gunfire outside, but she ignores all of it to turn around to look at you. This is the most emotional she’s looked since you’ve reunited, eyes downturned with sadness and a hint of fear at how close she was to death. 

Ignoring the girl repeatedly thanking you to your right, you walk up to Se-mi and pull her into a tight hug, relishing in the warmth of her body. 

“I’m glad I made it in time, 380.”

You feel her arms beginning to wrap around you before the lock clicks open, forcing you to pull apart to exit the room. Your hand doesn’t leave hers, and it’s a clear signal that you’ll be sticking by her side for the rest of this game.

Se-mi doesn’t even find herself searching the arena for Min-su and the others as you walk with her back to the platform, completely distracted by the tingling sensation in her hand as you interlace your fingers together. It’s a feeling that’s new to her, being chosen by someone in a manner like this; of course, she’s been desired before, maybe even loved (despite her inability to return the other person’s feelings), but this is different somehow. In this scenario, it’s you, not some random girl she met at a bar. It’s you choosing to risk your life to make sure she continues living, and in the wake of this realization, the feelings that she’s been shoving down for countless years come rushing back to her. 

As the next rounds pass by, you remain unchanging by her side. Even as the announcer calls for 2 players, you don’t even hesitate to pull her with you, leaving behind everyone you joined up with in the last couple rounds. 

Even after you run over the blood of countless others, you never let go of her hand, and she never lets go of yours.

—

“You really saved my ass back there.”

Here, back in the comfort of this familiar room, Se-mi has regained her usual joking nature, smirking at you as you nod, very clearly proud of yourself.

“Yes, I did. Maybe you should give me your share of the prize money for that,” you say, holding out your hand to her. She laughs and wraps her arm around your shoulder, walking you back over to the steps where you had your first conversation. 

“Maybe I will, or maybe I’ll pay for a couple meals together instead.” The innuendo isn’t lost on you, and your face goes red as she gets even cockier. “It’s time I pay for you for all those lunches, but dinner wouldn’t be so bad either.”

Your face is still turned away from her in embarrassment, but she can still see the blush on your cheeks, revelling in her own ability to make you fold. You mumble something under your breath, but she’s too focused on her victory to hear you. 

“What was that?”

“I said, you’ve already saved me plenty of times before, more times than you can count, so I should treat you first.” 

The warmth in her chest returns full force, and now, it’s her fighting to keep a blush off her face, lest you start embarrassing her about that too. She wonders, what would it be like to take you out on a proper date? She imagines you all dressed up, and in that moment, she decides what she wants to spend her prize money on first when you all leave this place. 

She wants to buy you flowers. She wants to take you to a nice, luxurious restaurant and show you off, then under the stars, she’ll ask you to be hers.

“Whatever you say, pretty lady.”

That earns her a smack on the arm and a scoff as your face starts burning once again (to Se-mi’s absolute delight). 

The moment is unfortunately interrupted by the main doors sliding open, and you watch as the pink guards file in. At the front table, two giant buttons lay waiting for the remaining contestants. Everyone around you begins to speak in hushed tones, obviously discussing their plans for the next vote. 

“Are you going to change your vote?” As you spin around to face her again, Se-mi gestures down at the blue patch on your chest. 

During your entire walk back, you had been contemplating your unchanging choice to stay and risk your life. For the majority of the first two days, you lived life believing there would be no consequences to your death. You wouldn’t lose anything - your life was already in immense danger outside this place, so your family wouldn’t be too surprised if you turned up dead either. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain, and so, O was the easy choice.

Then Se-mi walks back into your life and complicates the hell out of it. 

Now, you realize that if you vote to stay, you’re also voting for her to stay and risk her life. If either of you died here, you would be wasting this chance cast upon you to experience the world by her side.

“Yes, this should be enough money for my family to be able to live normally again.” 

She nods, and even though it looks like she’s still contemplating her decision, Se-mi made her choice as soon as you took her hand in the last game.

“Even if there were less money in the pig right now, I think I’d still pick to leave.” You smile softly at her and look her directly in the eye as you continue. “Being wealthy is a faraway dream, but for now, I just want to live in the company of those I love.” You squeeze her hand and hold your gaze, and this time, Se-mi isn’t able to hold back the blush that rushes onto her face.

If these games don’t take her out, you’ll really be the death of her.

—

As you silently eat what is hopefully your last meal in this place together, two groups of men clamber out of the bathroom. They’re bloodied and there’s a horrifying look of pure bloodlust on many of their faces, and you feel your heart drop. 

Would there be a fight tonight? Is that allowed?

Se-mi sees the fear on your face and gently rubs her thumb on the back of her hand. Despite her best efforts though, your concerns are not assuaged and you realize that getting shot by the pink guards might not be the only way you can die in this place. 

These people are hungry and hopeless, and you fully understand the lengths many would go through for a second chance.

“Se-mi, sleep with me tonight.” 

Her eyebrows raise and she smirks, but even this attempt to lighten the air with her usual humor doesn’t work, but still, she agrees immediately and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You’re sure that no matter what happens, you won’t find sleep tonight, but that pales in comparison to your desire to protect Se-mi at all costs. 

You won’t leave this place without her. 

—

As the strobe lights turn on and off, your eyes bounce around the room as you search for somewhere, anywhere that might be free of the insane violence. Every way you look, there’s some sort of fight happening - that or you’ve just watched someone get brutally murdered in their own bed. For a second, you consider that you might be safe if you and her just stand still in your little corner, but a man rounds the corner and you feel yourself freeze up.

“Come here, you fucking traitor bitch!” It’s 124, and he looks like a rabid animal with red painted across his face and a bloody fork in his hand. In the back of your mind, you slap yourself for not keeping the utensil for self defense. 

Se-mi attempts to shove you further behind her as he begins charging at you two, but before you can even make a move, a glass bottle shatters at his feet. You all look up to see a young man that you don’t recognize, but from the rage on 124’s face, you figure he might’ve been one of his old teammates. 

In their distracted states, you rush forward, grabbing a shard of glass from the floor and swinging it right at the man’s head. Unfortunately for you, you still have absolutely no skills when it comes to fighting and he easily dodges the hit. It doesn’t feel like some slow motion action movie when you see his fork flying at your neck at full speed, but somehow, you’re fast enough to lift your hand so that it punctures right through your palm instead. You scream, and behind you, Se-mi calls your name as well. 

In an extremely painful rush of adrenaline, you maneuver his and your body to switch places, trusting Se-mi to take care of the rest. In the few flashes of light that you’re granted, you see her rush forward with her own shard of glass in hand, unforgivingly jabbing it right into the side of 124’s neck. 

“Fuck! Fucking bitch!” His scream pierces your ears as he finally lets you go, and you don’t waste the moment you get. Pulling his fork out of your hand, you slam it down into the side of his head with all your strength. 

A beat passes, then he falls to the ground unmoving. 

“Are you okay?! Let me see!” Se-mi rushes forward and takes you in her arms, dragging both of you backwards towards the wall as she inspected your injuries. In the rush that followed watching someone die by your own hands, you can barely feel the pain at all. All you can focus on is the woman in front of you and how afraid you were when 124 charged at her. 

“Se-mi - Se-mi, listen to me,” you choke you, using your bloody hands to gently hold her face. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and you can see how much the encounter shook her to her core. “When we leave this place, promise me you’ll stay by my side.”

Your voice is desperate and you can feel your own tears rising, vision getting blurry as you struggle to wipe them off with the sleeve of your sweater. It looks like Se-mi barely heard your request with the way she was still scanning your body for any serious injuries. 

“What?! What are you-”

“Promise me! Please!” You’re openly sobbing now, holding onto the one thing keeping you moving in this world, and finally, she focuses her gaze back on your face. With a quiet voice, she finally responds to you with a shaky smile.

“How could I ever leave you?”

Her eyes are the most expressive they’ve been, filled with concern and what looks like love, the same love that you’ve held for her ever since you were 16. 

With trembling hands, she holds your face just as you hold hers and leans in, pressing her lips against yours. It’s not gentle - it’s more desperate if anything, but you feel like flying in that moment. As your legs slowly give out, she holds you carefully in her arms and lowers the both of you to the floor. 

Finally, as you begin to drown out the surrounding chaos, the world around you falls silent as well. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re back in that alleyway, finally at peace with the person you love the most.

When you open your eyes again, she’s still right there in front of you, and you’re the happiest you’ve been since the day you met.

—

A/N: PLOT MONSTER STRIKES AGAIN!!! anyways this was inspired by a cherry waves edit I saw of her on TikTok where she told min-su "I thought you wouldn't deceive me" so I had to give her a girl that she KNOWS would never deceive her... okay guys hope y'all enjoy and as always plz PLZ LMK WHAT U THINK!! I love interacting with y'all im serious... and for the no eul lovers I see u and I hear u... but its gonna be a bit till that one comes out cuz im about to start second semester college... hashtag NOT FUNNY ANYMORE

also im still playing around with the layout of my posts so if I keep doing different sht and it throws u off im so sorry LOL

[bluem1lls]

Hii :3 I also miss se-mi a lot and I really want to see more content about her. Could I ask for sub!se-mi maybe? Besides being curious, I'm also quite upset by the little content about sub!squid game and i miss my wife se-mi so pleaseee 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

✧₊⁺ a little help

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: your girlfriend is having a hard time studying.. all you wanna do is help her.

content: minors dni, dom!reader x sub!se-mi, fingering/oral (se-mi!receiving), vibrator

authors note: hiii! i've never wrote any of my fave characters as sub so i hope u like this?? thank u for your request!

"fuck it" se-mi said, frustrated.

"baby.. you're doing so good, keep going"

"i can't princess i want to but i really can't"

"se-mi.. you need to study" i rolled my eyes, laughing, as she rested the papers on her face, reclining against her chair.

"i'm done. i need a break" she said as she stood up, placing the papers on the desk. she grabs my face to kiss me.

i shock my head no as she kisses my entire face, making me laugh as i softly pushed her off.

"baby no. i'm serious. you know you can pass this test and we had plenty of breaks" i said staring at the mcdonald's bags resting on the floor.

oh. wait.

i'm a genius.

"sit" i ordered as she raised one brow.

she chuckles.

"sit dumbass, i'm serious" i said, pushing her to the chair as she stared at me, confused.

i kneel in front of her as i grab the flashcards. i get in between her legs, my chin resting on her inner thighs.

"okay so, when does a substance generates heat?"

"um..l-liquid to solid?"

"yes! good baby!" i smirked. my hands going to her black jeans, undoing the zipper and pulling them until they're out. she stares at me doe eyed, the outline of her pussy in display through her boxers. i can see a wet patch starting to form.

"already getting wet baby?" i smirked as she turned her gaze, embarrassed. "we haven't even started"

i smirk as she rolls her eyes and i give a slap to her thigh.

"focus, so ummm.. which element has exactly five electrons in the highest principal energy level?" i say, reading the flashcard as i stare into her eyes.

"the..um-i-i cant think when you're betw-"

"focus baby. which element?" i repeat the question.

"P.. it's P" she says.

"such a smart girl"

i open her legs, my mouth softly tracing kisses on her inner thigh until it reaches that wet spot.

i deposit open-mouthed kisses to her clothed covered clit, as she sighs, her hand rushes to pull my hair.

my tongue gives kitten licks over her boxers, creating a bigger wet patch as she quietly moans. she pulls me closer. i'm sure that if i pull her boxers down, they have her arousal all over. i smirk at the thought.

"ple-plea-"

"so.. let's keep going" i say, leaning backwards, going back to resting in between her inner thighs as she groans.

"baby-"

"for a chemical reaction it is usually found that the reaction rate is faster at higher temperature. the rate increases because?"

"what do i get if i answer correctly?"

"focus" i softly slap her cheek. "we're studying. remember?"

she bites her lip.

"more reactants collide with.."

i hum.

"um with... energy equal to or greater than the activation energy?"

"good" my hands pull the elastic band of her boxers, she excitedly pushes them down to her ankles.

i laugh at her desperation. my fingertips trace over her wet folds, as she bucks her hips into my hand. a moans leaves her pouty lips.

"say please baby" i whisper.

"please" she begs.

"beg once more?"

"please please please" she cries, moaning as my tongue attacks her clit.

up and down, in circles i move over her clit, her moans are all i hear in the room.

as i pull away, my fingers slide through her salivated cunt, spreading the wetness, slowly going to her aching hole.

she cups my face, kissing me as i introduce two fingers in her. she whines against my mouth.

"such a good girl. you're my girl am i right?" she quickly nods.

my fingers thrust again and again, scissoring moves inside of her as her moans go louder and louder. she's such a needy girl.

kneeling down, my mouth on her. my face buried in her pussy.

"f-fuck im-"she huffs.

my tongue moves on her clit as my fingers curl inside of her, touching that spongy spot that makes her whimper.

"please-yeah just like that" her eyes roll backwards as i slammed into her.

i can hear the squelching noises her cunt makes, becoming wetter as she rides my fingers. my mouth in her clit, kissing it, licking it.

"i'm so close, i'm so close" she says, her hands pull my hair tighter.

"nu-huh." i pull away. leaving her confused. she stares at me as she stutters.

"what?..."

she throws her head back, her eyes shut close from the pleasure, her mouth hangs open.

moans keep slipping out as i press the bullet vibrator on her clit.

"my needy girl" i grin as she grinds her hips against my hand.

"i'm so close, please let me cum, let me cum" she cries as her hands grip the armrest.

as i set it higher, she whimpers over and over until i plunge two fingers into her, making her release a loud moan.

i feel her pulsating cunt clench on my fingers as she cums. tears stream down her cheeks, her body twitches as she gasps. her thighs trap my hand in between her legs as she rides my fingers again, to make her orgasm last even longer.

i remove my fingers as she whines, feeling the lost of them inside her.

i quickly open her legs, putting aside the vibrator as my mouth licks her clean. she tries to close them as my hands prohibit. i taste her in my mouth, hearing her whimpers.

once i'm done, i place my fingers on my mouth, cleaning them with my tongue as she stares with her hooded eyes. she's panting, her cheeks are flushed and her mouth is open.

her lips leave a soft sigh escape her mouth as i kiss her forehead. her hair sticking to it from sweat.

"my sweet girl" i murmur.

"i can't study now. i need a break... and cuddles" she says, making me chuckle.

"okay, we study later?" i say as she smirks.

"like we just did? yes. please"

[abouttocommitarson]

The villan heard the laughter before it abruptly stopped. She glanced up and saw... hero? The villan had never thought she would see hero again. Ok okokokokokokkokokok try not to panic, just act normal the villan told herself. The hero while this was happening had stopped dead in her track and was staring at the villan mouth agape. The rest of the gaggle of 20-somethings around her were glancing at the hero trying to figure out who she was staring at. villan told herself ok um just ignore hero surely she'll think she's seeing things or something, I look a lot different since we last fought. Besides I'm supposed to be dead. One of heros friends shook a hand in front of her face,

"Hello? Hero? Anyone in there?" He said knocking on heros forehead

"Huh? Oh yeah I'm fine," hero said with a nervous laugh, and tried to wrench their gaze away from the woman at the bar she seemed so familiar but hero couldn't place her face "just, y'know"

"Because you're not telling me I really don't know but ok" responded heros friendwith a smirk.

Throughout the night hero kept glancing at villan and her friends kept nudging her and whispering at her villan had noticed. Her plan was to get drunk so she would forget this had happened and then call a cab to get home. She had avoided this for so long! She had faked her own death-quite convincingly she thought, moved to a different city, made a new identity, and cut contact with anyone from her past life and STILL the hero had found her, the villan scolded herself. What comes next? Police banging on her door? Going to court? Prison? She supposed she signed up for this when she chose the life of crime but she had grown since then! She'd changed! She was no longer a bloodthirsty criminal trying to destroy a city she had a nice apartment a working car and a cat life was going well. Well, she laughed to herself good things never last forever.

"What'cha laughing about?" Came a voice from next to her, villan glanced up and had it not been for her already very pale complexion she would have gone white as a ghost. Hero had sat down next to her and was trying to make small talk.

"So uh how's your week been? Whats your name?" Hero was shitty at small talk and she knew it but was she this bad? The woman she sat next to was only a few years older then her at most and was staring at her like she just said that she liked homework, a mix of horror, confusion and fear. "Aaaaaaare you gonna respond or just stare at me like I'm a zoo exhibit?"

"Um sorry I just... do we know eachother?" Villan blurted, she didn't mean to, but she desperately needed to know if hero could recognise her. It sounded quite rude after she said it, but too late now she guessed.

I've lost motivation for this a bit, might come back later. If you guys like it. Please be nice I haven't written any storys since last February. Feedback and ideas welcome! Thanks

Edit: for those who were asking to be tagged in any and all stroys based of this prompt: @axxolotlqueen @lillysys @randomness20117

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 9

Series Summary: In order to save money for law school, you accept a job working as a maid for high end clients. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in more than just your curiosity peaks.  Word Count: 5k CW: see small red lettering below the cut AN: I'm going to miss them!! I'm absolutely heartbroken that I'm done, but so fucking proud of myself for what I've created. Thank you to @lotusbxtch for being my beta from pretty much the very beginning. I am so grateful to you and so honoured (yes, with a u because I'm Canadian lol) to call you my friend. Also little shoutouts to @for-a-longlongtime, @alltheirdamn, @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for listening to me go on about them for 80% of 2024. As always, graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: unprotected p in v, one spank, multiple orgasms and Overstim hinted at, pining, heartbreak

Eight Months Later

Joel

“I got yelled at by a feisty brunette last night at that gala,” Tommy says as the two of them sip whiskey at the bar of the club. 

“Probably deserved it.” Joel deadpans and closes the folder of invoices he’s looking over.

He should be doing this in his fancy, and newly renovated, office across the street. He was in the large office for all of three minutes the day after you left when he could only see the ghost of you. From the chair you sat in when you first asked him to teach you how to be a sub, to the door he pinned you against and confessed how out of his mind he was over you, everything was you, and it had to go if he had any chance of following what you needed from him. Joel hasn’t even been in his room at the club out of the fear of what it would do to him. Would I still be able to smell the lavender of her shampoo in there? Still be able to hear her beautiful cries of pleasure and pain bouncing off the walls?

“She thought I was you,” Tommy says, glancing over at his brother and interrupting Joel’s impending spiral.

Joel sighs, slipping his reading glasses from his face before taking a long pull of the amber liquor from his crystal glass. Tommy looks straight ahead as he continues.

“She’s doing great, by the way. Or at least that’s what her friend said when she was scolding me.”

 Joel winces at his words, “Of course she is, Tommy.” Even though it's been almost a year since you left, just the mention of you rips his barely-mended heart back in half. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, he still feels like he did in his kitchen. 

The very fibers of his being ache just as hard for you now as they did then. He longs to see you and touch you, to feel your warm, soft skin under his hands again. Anyone before you was always, ‘Yes, Mister Miller,’ even when they weren’t in a scene; but not you. You weren’t afraid to be curious and unapologetically yourself. He hasn’t laughed as hard with anyone, including Tiffany, as he did with you. But the part that he misses the most is the way you look at him the first time you see him. Your eyes soften, velvety pink lips parting slightly before they curl into a smile that makes his heart hammer behind his ribs. Then, he watches your shoulders relax and it makes him feel like he hung the moon and stars for you, and if he could have, he would have.  

He clears his throat and then rasps, “She’s too smart to not be doing well.”

Tommy stands, bringing his hands to rub at Joel's shoulders. He squeezes his tense deltoid muscles and with a hint of mischief in his voice he says, “Lots of pretty girls here tonight if you feel like moving on.”

Joel shakes his head and pulls away from Tommy’s grasp with a grunt. “Never gonna happen. Get outta here before you get yelled at two nights in a row.”

“Just too bad for me that you aren’t a hot brunette,” Tommy says with a laugh.

“I have brown hair,” Joel replies defensively, running his fingers through the grown out curls. 

“Not to kick you when you’re down, but it’s mostly grey at this point.”

Joel holds up a single finger at Tommy over his shoulder as he laughs and walks away. 

Two and a half years later

You

You’ve been up to your eyeballs in studying as you prepare for your finals. These last few years in California have been the hardest yet most fulfilling time of your life. Two nights in a row now, you’ve fallen asleep in the library, only waking when your Spotify would switch from the white noise playlist you use to help you focus, to your “getting ready” playlist. After dragging yourself to your dorm room in the dead of the night, you’d get a few restless hours of sleep before heading right back to your favourite studying spot. You can’t believe that in just a few short weeks you’ll be graduating and stepping into the life you’ve always envisioned for yourself.

The unmistakable FaceTime jingle fills your AirPods. Jamie’s name is splayed across the screen of your phone, along with a photo of the two of you at Albany Beach when she visited this past Christmas break. You put your highlighter down and slide the answer toggle over. 

“Hey!” She says, her warm smile shining up at you. You squint, trying to place where she is. You don’t often let yourself think of Joel, but the cracks across your screen make FaceTiming difficult, and the selfish side of you always wishes you had grabbed that new phone before you left. Your head cocks to the side; broken screen or not, you don’t recognize the background.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m good, thanks. How are you?” She jests with a mocking eye roll.  “I’m at a cabin.”

“What cabin?” You say, glaring at her jokingly. A deep laugh comes from the otherside of the phone and your eyes widen. “Who’s that?”

The man's voice comes from offscreen, “I can’t believe you thought she wouldn’t ask where you were. She’s going to be a lawyer, for god's sake.”

“Jamie, who is that? What is going on here? Blink twice if you need rescuing!” You joke. 

Jamie blushes, looking over the phone at whoever that voice is coming from. “I just wanted to call to see how the studying is going, and to let you know that I got the graduation tickets.”

A glass of white wine appears in front of Jamie and she smiles before puckering her lips in a kissing motion towards the man in the room with her. “Ok, seriously, who the fuck is that and where are you?”

“I was also calling to let you know that Laren can’t make it anymore and Odette is in New York,” she takes a small sip of her wine.

“Oh, well that’s ok,” you say, trying to squash the disappointment and hoping it doesn’t show in your voice or face. You wished that at least two of your three best friends would be there for you. “It can just be me and you, baby!” 

“Well…I’m wondering if I could maybe bring my boyfriend? Might be a good opportunity for you two to meet.”

“What? What boyfriend?” You say, officially abandoning all study materials until you get some answers. Jamie raises a perfectly manicured finger and calls the mystery man over. 

You swallow hard as Tommy Miller appears beside her. 

Jamie glances up at him, her bright green eyes full of admiration, his mirroring hers. The starry look in their eyes tells you everything you need to know; they’re so far gone for that even a search and rescue team wouldn’t be able to save them. She looks back at you. “Meet again, I guess.”

You try to push for answers, but either of them give in, claiming you need to focus on finals. Before you hang up, Jamie promises to tell you the entire story when you see each other next. You’re happy for your friend, especially seeing the way Tommy looked back at her. Even through your cracked screen you could see the love, but as you try to go back to studying you have a hollow feeling in your stomach.

Graduation Day

You

The late afternoon sun fills your dorm room, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around you. After walking the stage tonight, you are going out to dinner with Jamie and Tommy, and then he has paid for a hotel suite so the two of you can have a girls’ night. You can’t wait to hear how Tommy went from, in Jamie’s previous words, “my dad’s new asshole friend” to her boyfriend. 

You step in front of your floor length mirror, zipping up the black graduation gown over your knee length, form fitting, deep emerald velvet dress. The California sun has been good to you, your tanned legs and sunkissed nose and cheeks are glowing. You place your blue and yellow Berkeley Law stole over your head and then grab your cap, ensuring the ‘Class of ‘28’ tassel is secure. You fluff your curls one last time as a light knock comes from your door. 

“Ready to graduate, gorgeous?” Ronan smiles at you, eyes trailing down your gown. He’s the type of handsome that’s almost painful to look at, but more importantly - you wouldn’t have made it through these last three years without him. You met the first day - the lock on your door wasn’t working, and he waltzed in on you half naked when he mistook your room as his. 

You smile at him in your doorway now; remembering the way you screamed at him that first time, trying to cover your chest, and him scrambling to close the door. His eyes were clamped shut, and he slammed his finger so hard that you had to take him for stitches. Now, several years later, he fills out his graduation gown perfectly with those wide rugby shoulders, a sight you couldn’t even have imagined back then. Whichever angel made him didn’t make a single mistake - he’s tall and insanely broad, with dark sandy blonde hair, and clover green eyes that in the right light are a golden hazel. He’s easily one of the smartest men you’ve ever met and an incredible athlete. The cherry on top, because of course there’s more: he’s an international student and has a panty-melting Irish accent. 

“Beyond ready. Let's become lawyers, babe.”

He steps aside, one arm out in a ‘ladies first’ gesture. Handsome, charming, and thoughtful - a dangerous trifecta. You slide your hand in the crook of his muscle-lined arm and walk across campus together.

Ronan jerks his head towards the coffee cart. “Remember when you spilled your entire coffee on your new puffer jacket?”

You glare up at him, you saved for weeks to buy that jacket. “No, but I remember you throwing up in that trash can after the Halloween party last year.” 

“Well, if Beach Party Barbie had helped Lifeguard Ken with all those shots we wouldn’t have had that problem, would we?” You laugh as Ronan puffs out his chest, but you both know he was more than willing to take your half of the ‘Best Couples Costume' shots. 

Finally, you reach the courtyard where the law students will be walking across a stage that acts as the symbolic bridge to the rest of their lives. I’m a lawyer, you think to yourself and try to force a smile. The magnitude of the day only really starts to sink into your bones as you see the friends and families of your classmates start to take their seats. The excited feeling you had earlier starts to morph. You’re proud of yourself for what you’ve done these last three years, and this was just the first step. You have so much to look forward to, so why do you feel a sense of dread building in the pit of your stomach? 

Ronan walks you to where you need to line up alphabetically, kissing your cheek and then, after leaning in and placing his large hand on your lower back, he whispers a joke about how you better not trip. You glance around the thick crowd for Jamie and Tommy. After realizing it’s hopeless to try and spot them in a group this large, you slip your cap over your hair and get in the procession line. 

You try to soak in every minute of the day, from the speeches to the birds chirping in the background, but something akin to loss flutters at the base of your spine. You’re just as sad to be leaving Berkely as you are excited to carve out your future. Leaving here isn’t what’s causing you to feel this way, however. You try to tell yourself that maybe it’s just nerves; even with all the job offers coming in from your internships, it’s normal to be nervous about what comes next. 

As the student union president gives his toast to the family and friends, you look down at your lap, pushing back the cuticle on your left thumb. Maybe it’s leaving Ronan. He’s been an anchor for you, grounding you almost every day of the last three years and you don’t know how you let yourself become this dependent on anyone, especially a man, again.  

You shake your head at yourself and try to move your focus to the cuticle on your other thumb. Seeing the skin clean from the nail bed eases the tension slightly for you. ‘I’m allowed to be nervous when leaning on people, but not everyone will leave me,’ you recite almost automatically in your mind, the mantra you’ve had these past few years whenever you feel yourself getting this anxious. Just as you finish the thought, a car revs in the distance and the realization of what - or who - you’re actually missing slams through you so hard that you almost feel winded. Your lungs ache, tears pushing behind your eyes as his name rings loudly through your mind.  

Joel.

You kept yourself busy since the minute you left Austin. The busier you were, the less time you had to focus on the void in your heart. During the school year, you didn’t have to find things to stay busy with; law school nearly chewed you up and spit you out. Over the summers, you worked as an intern and visited your friends. There was never a quiet moment, never too much time alone with your thoughts, and it was better this way. You can confidently say that you’d only thought of Joel six times since you walked out of his house that day: when you fell asleep on the beach and were so sunburnt you could barely move for three days; when you failed your first test; when your rusted SUV, that acted as your ticket to freedom at eighteen, died on the freeway in rush hour (from that point on you had to rely on public transportation to get you to the homes you cleaned). When you experienced your first earthquake; when you stayed up for forty-two hours straight after your partner in a group project didn’t have their side of the work done; and, lastly, this past New Year’s Eve when you were in Austin and thought you saw him at a party. 

“Is he here?”, that little box of feelings that you shut away in a vault long ago wonders. “Has anything changed for him in the last three years?” 

The small smile that pulls at your cheeks, and the excited flutter of your heart when you think about the possibility of seeing him again, proves that maybe nothing has changed for you. As the minutes tick by, your mind races with all the possible scenarios for after the ceremony. What if he is here? What will you say? What will he say? How will Ronan react, you know he has strong feelings about what happened between you and Joel. Even worse though, what if he’s not here? But maybe he’s at the hotel where Tommy and Jamie are staying?  

Before you know it, your row is standing and walking single file towards the stage. With each strike of your high-heeled strappy sandals against the concrete, a memory of Joel floods your system. The toast he made you in his kitchen, the kiss in that dimly lit hallway on your birthday, the way he walked you through his club and how calmly he talked about you being in charge before going into the voyeur room. The multitude of orgasms he gave you within the four walls of his private room. Him singing on the small stage of the dive bar you found, followed by him spanking you right there in the bathroom with his hand clamped to your face to keep you quiet. His strong hand grasping your thigh as he drove you to his house. The way he tasted on your tongue. The smell of his skin: all ash and leather, occasionally mixed with whiskey or mint. The feel of his body: hard, broad and hot. His shuddered breaths as he confessed so many things in so few words. 

‘It’s only you, sweet girl.’

‘Just call me Joel.’

‘I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.’

You carefully walk up the stairs, forcing the thoughts of Joel from your mind, just in time to hear your name announced as a graduate of Berkeley Law. You float across the stage, grabbing the piece of paper that acts as your degree until the real one comes, shaking the hand of the Dean who flips your tassel before you walk to the stairs on the other side; the stairs that symbolize the ending of your time here and the beginning of the rest of your life. 

As you reach the top of the steps, you look out into the audience and see Jamie. She pumps her fist in the air and before you can process the empty seat beside her, you feel it; a strong tug from behind your navel. It takes you less than a heartbeat to find him and the sight before you floods your body with a familiar warmth. Standing under a large tree at the edge of the audience, dressed in all black, and holding his Stetson hat to his heart, is Joel. For the first time in years you feel whole again.

 You keep your gaze on him, worried that if you so much as blink that he’ll be gone. You are supposed to follow your classmates, but you veer left, walking towards Joel. The closer you get, the more at ease you feel. He’s real, you think, he’s here. You stop a foot or so in front of him. 

“Hi, Freckles,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes dance around your face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. You can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling exactly how you are.   

“Hi, Sweet Cheeks,” you say, the same tremble in your voice, as you try desperately to hold it together. “You’re here.”

He nods and you give him a tight-lipped smile as your mind races. There’s so much you want to say, but now that he’s standing right there in front of you after three years, you don’t know where to start. 

Joel breaks the silence, jutting his chin in the direction of the other graduates as he says, “I saw you come in with your boyfriend. When I saw you kiss, I was going to leave, but I made you a promise.”

You knit your eyebrows together and take a step closer. “Boyfriend?”

“The man you walked over here with,” Joel says, his black Stetson sliding down the chest you so desperately want to touch as he drops his hands to his sides. He’s left no barriers between the two of you except the heartbreak that’s evident on his face. 

You laugh quietly, “No, he’s - that’s Ronan.”

Joel nods. “Okay.”

“He’s my friend,” you clarify, and when Joel’s face stays the same, you add, “And he’s still as gay as the day we first met!”

Joel lets out a whoosh of a breath and closes the distance between the two of you, his free hand comes to one of your curls, twirling the end of it around his thick fingers. Soft and silky meets rough and calloused. “I’m so proud of you, Freckles.”

You don’t miss how he watches your tongue dart between your lips, “Thank you.”

“So? How does it feel?” He gives you a soft crooked smile, his dimple carving into the short facial hair of his salt and pepper beard. Between that smile, and the way his brown eyes wash over you, you’re overcome with affection. He let you go. He did exactly as you asked him. He didn’t chase you or try to convince you to stay. You told him if he really loved you, then he’d do exactly this; and in turn, he did what he said he would. 

He showed up. 

“I love you,” you state and the air between you turns electric, almost like this moment could either set you both aflame or act as a generator for your future together. Joel gives you that look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. He lets the curled end of your hair slip from his fingers, reaching up towards your graduation cap but hesitating.

“May I?” He rasps and swallows hard.

You nod, and knowing exactly what he’s going for, you take the Stetson from his other hand and place it on your head after he removes your cap. The brim of it blocks out everything but the two of you.

“Say that again, sweet girl,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” it’s barely a whisper this time. “Even after three years apart, you are everything to me. I asked you to let me go so I could accomplish this, and you did. You’ve always done what I asked, what I needed. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, but I am sorry that I missed out on getting to spend the last three years with you looking at me how you are now. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He brings his lips within a breath of yours, and your body practically vibrates with the knowledge that if you leaned just a bit forward, you’d finally have his mouth on you again. You can almost taste the mint on his tongue as the familiar fragrance of ash and leather surround you. “I have dreamed of hearing those three words leave your beautiful lips more times than I can count, baby. You’re it for me. I’ll do anything for you, even if it means breaking my own heart, but I’m always going to be here for you, rooting for you and encouraging you. I’m glad you’re not sorry, because I’m not, I’m so fucking proud of you. I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

Finally, he presses his warm, firm lips against yours while pulling you tight to his body. You wrap an arm around his neck, holding the black cowboy hat against your head with your other hand. It doesn’t matter that the ceremony isn’t done, or that there are hundreds of people to your right. For the first time in three years, everything goes quiet. He hums contentedly and you feel yourself melt against him, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. He parts his lips, letting you take the first swipe of your tongue against his. Need floods your system, and based on the way he grinds into you, he’s feeling the same. 

He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours. “Take me home,” you practically purr.

“Where do you want home to be? I’ll go anywhere,” Joel rasps, running his nose down the bridge of yours. 

“Austin,” you respond, your breath catching as his lips ghost along the side of your mouth.

“I sold my portion of the club to Tommy and Tess. I don’t have anything holding me in Austin anymore, sweet girl. If you have a job offer you really want, that’s where we’ll go.” You pull back to look at him. You can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s serious. 

“I want to go to Austin. I have a job offer there.”

“Good thing I told Tommy not to touch my room at the club then.”

“That’s a very good thing,” you moan and then pull him in to kiss again. The audience behind you erupts into cheers, celebrating the accomplishments of every student in that crowd. 

You’re a lawyer, and suddenly, the future doesn’t seem so scary.

Joel

Taking you home to Austin that night unfortunately wasn’t an option. After finding Jamie in the crowd, and being formally introduced to Ronan, he called the car to pick up the three of you. You all met Tommy at the restaurant, celebrating with all the expensive homemade pasta and overpriced wine that you wanted; even though seeing you in that curve-hugging velvet dress was slowly killing him. Joel had kept at least one hand on you since seeing you again, and he doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. 

He didn’t want to rush you on your big night, so he waited patiently, listening to you tell stories of your last three years, and revelling in the evident joy that you and Jamie share over being together again. When dessert comes around he catches Tommy’s attention and gives him a small smile. It’s fitting that the two brothers, who have been so close their entire lives, would fall in love with best friends. 

Once in his room, he spent two hours stripping you down at an almost painfully slow pace. He kissed every inch of your skin twice over and has pulled five orgasms, and counting, out of you so far. 

Now, Joel is seated in the wide velvet arm chair in the corner of his hotel suite. His cock is buried deep inside of your tight cunt as you straddle him. Your skin feels like butter under his hands as he trails them along your back and the globes of your perfect ass. He’s missed tying you up, but this is what he longed for: the earth shattering intimacy he feels with you in these moments.   

“Please,” you mumble into his neck, desperate to move your hips.

“Not until you answer me,” he demands softly. “How many times was it that you needed me, but were too stubborn to reach out?”

Earlier tonight you told him about the six times you really needed him. He’d kissed you softly after each confession, returning the trust with a time he needed you. After the last one, he’d pulled back to look at you with dark eyes. He’d hated that you needed him and he couldn’t be there. He’d clenched his back molars twice before he said you’d be denied six orgasms the next time you were at the club, but tonight you have permission to come as often as you need to. 

He swats your already reddened ass cheek and your pussy flutters as you cry out. “Mister Miller, stop. Please, just let me move.”

“Do you need to use your safeword?”

“No,” you respond with a pout. 

“How many times?” He says again through gritted teeth, even though already knows the answer. 

“Six,” you sob. 

He tuts and then growls, “That doesn’t sound like my good girl, does it?”

You shake your head against his throat and moan a sound of disagreement.

“Do you want to come for me again?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. Please!”

He trails his fingers up and down your back again, the thin sheen of sweat on your skin makes it easy for him to caress you. He smiles to himself at the shiver that racks through your body at his touch. You react so beautifully to him. “Yeah? You wanna grind your swollen little clit on my piercing, baby girl?”

“Please,” you whine again, stretching out all the vowels in the word.

“Show me. Ride my cock, take what you need.” 

You lift your head from the crook in his neck and pull back slightly, rocking your hips back and forth; a sultry laugh leaves his lips at your eagerness. You look at him with hooded eyes, hair stuck to your forehead. His eyes trail down your neck to the bruises he sucked into your collar bone earlier and then to your breasts; both of which are covered in his marks. He watches the little gold nipple clamps, and the chain that connects them, bounce with each flick of your hips. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. You look like a goddess, my goddess. Who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours, baby,” you say through shallow breaths. He pulls at the chain and you cry out in pain. “S-sorry, Mister Miller.”

“Again, sweet girl. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Oh fuck, y-you, Mist -” his hands come to your face and when he whispers your name the rest of your sentence dies on your tongue.

“Just call me Joel.” The commanding voice of his alter ego is gone as he says it. 

Your hips slow, changing from a frantic back and forth to a sensual swirling motion. “I’m yours, Joel. Forever.”

He kisses you softly, a silent telling of how vulnerable he is at this moment. “Don’t ask me to let you go ever again.”

The smile you give him causes his heart to skip, “I won’t.”

“You might, sweet girl. I won't survive it if you do, so I’m going to remind you of this moment as often as possible for the rest of my life. Remind you how much you’re loved and supported. You’re mine, Freckles.” Your hips swirl and he feels you tighten up around him. “Come for me, my sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, fuck, Joel!” It’s a cry and moan all at once. 

“I’m here, it’s ok, baby.” With that, your body shudders and you fall into him as you shatter. Your pussy clenches and releases rapidly around his length. His cock twitches, and once he can’t hold it anymore he relaxes, letting his orgasm rock through him in time with yours.

“I’m yours, too,” he gasps as he melts into you.

The End

Coming Soon:

Curious how Jamie ended up with her "dads new asshole friend?"

Part 2 of the BDSMaid Trilogy coming mid 2025!

Also, stay tuned for the epilogue for Joel and Sweet Girl.

[gyuswhore]

Cherry Picker [1]

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

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

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out. 

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

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

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

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

“Illegal truck, I guess.” 

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

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

“Fine. Change.” 

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

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

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, did you—”

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

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

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

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

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

“That means—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t afford getting rusty.” 

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

“What?”

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

“Lorry!”

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

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

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

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

“Lorelai!” 

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

“You’re impossible.”

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

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

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

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

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

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

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

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

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

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

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. Really.” 

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

“Only a few months.”

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you bring me here? 

Six weeks. 

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

Six weeks. 

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

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

Six weeks. 

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

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

Six weeks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?” 

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

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

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

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just play the track,” you grumble. 

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

“Lorry!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impossibly, your blood runs cold. 

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

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

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason. 

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

“I’m worse,” she states. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“8 point 5! Nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

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

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?” 

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

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

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

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

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

“Good for him.”

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

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

“God, you’re so negative,” she huffs. 

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

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

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

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

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

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

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

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

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that have to come from me too?” 

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She leaves before you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ice is booked.” 

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything stops. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

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

!HOT TOPIC! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lorry,” you sigh. 

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

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

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

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

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

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only came third.”

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

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

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

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choi, stop fucking fighting. 

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

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

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

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

“You’re temperament—”

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

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

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

“In most cases.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

conditional. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

!HOT TOPIC! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SVT, he reads on their jerseys. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

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

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watches as you take a small step back.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

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

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

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hold. 

“What?” you snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You followed him?”

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

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

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

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

And then worst of all. 

Are they dating? 

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“And you said yes?”

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

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply. 

“I don’t know.”

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

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

“Fuck no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friends with the coach?”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s sickening. Sickening. 

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lorelai.”

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

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

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

!HOT TOPIC!

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

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

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

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark? 

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

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

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

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

[whateverloomis]

🖤 Dilf!Billy Loomis x Dilf!Stu Macher x AFAB reader (Stepcest)

Here it is cuties, part two (part one) <33 The thirst for dilf!Billy and Stu is intense with this one. Hope y'all enjoy ;)

Important: The image of the dress is only to show what I described in the fic. It's not intended to set a specific body type for the reader.

Tag list: @toxicanonymity @lyl1pad @elmoispookie

Warnings: Stepfather!Billy Loomis, age gap (middle aged Billy and Stu. Reader in their 20s,) AFAB reader (they/them used,) predetermined outfit, cheating, alcohol consumption, weed use, fingering, p in v, oral (both receiving, masturbation, rough sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, lots of teasing, revised: January'25

Word count: 2.1k

After two weeks of nearly getting caught fucking your stepfather on your mothers bed you thought it would serve as a lesson and it totally wasn't.

You hadn’t gotten the chance to have sex with Billy again but that didn’t stop you from brushing your hand over his crotch whenever you walked past him, and it sure didn’t stop him from hugging you from behind and giving your tits a few squeezes while you cooked before your mother walked in the kitchen. Also, why would you waste an opportunity to makeout with him on the couch during movie night while your mother was in the bathroom? You were playing with fire. Getting caught was a stone's throw away but neither of you cared..

The third week after your little adventure you found yourself annoyed as you set up the whole house for a work party your mother was hosting. It was her boss's birthday and since she’s the manager and employee with the biggest house it was basically a default that most activities happened at your place.

That’s also how you met Stu Macher…

It was around the time Billy and your mother started living together. There was a small get together out by the pool and you were inside serving yourself a much needed glass of wine. As you poured the drink Stu walked in to get himself a beer from the mini fridge.

You made brief eye contact with the man and didn’t make much of it until he walked over to the kitchen counter to grab a red solo cup.

“Aren’t you too young to be drinking?” he asked you jokingly, but you could tell it was more than a casual comment.

“I’m legal if that’s what you’re asking” you answered, sassy as ever.

Stu found your little attitude amusing and held the conversation a bit longer than intended.

“You’re a feisty one, huh?” he countered and chuckled.

You couldn’t help but smirk. The dimple that his smile revealed, his natural flirtiness and his goddamn height was a mixture that excited and peaked your interest.

“And that seems to interest you” you continued and he leaned against the counter.

“You caught me there” Stu said and took a swing of his beer.

“Aren’t you supposed to be outside with your work buddies?” you asked before taking a sip of your wine. The cool and tart taste soothed your body.

“To be honest with you, I’d rather be at my house but y’know, gotta pretend that I like these people to keep a good appearance at work” he answered and you nodded.

“Cheers to that” you said and clicked your glass with his beer bottle.

“You wanna get out of here?” Stu asked jokingly and hell, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if he was dead serious about it.

“Why would I leave with a stranger?” you flirted and he smiled wide, those goddamn dimples on full display again.

“It’s Stu. Stu Macher” he said and looked out to the backyard as someone calling him.

“See you around, Stu” you closed the conversation and walked past him towards your room.

The man stared as you walked all the way to the hallway, raking his eyes all over your body. He would’ve taken you right then and there had it been another situation, and you sure as hell would’ve given in without hesitating. You even had a wet dream that same night about him fucking you on top of that kitchen counter…

As you arranged the bottles of liquor on that same counter, you remembered that moment and bit your lip at the memory. You even got wet at the thought and it enhanced as you felt Billy wrap his strong arms around your middle.

“I better not catch you drinking any of that tonight” he whispered in your ear and you pressed your ass against his crotch.

“Why? Am I getting in trouble if I do, Daddy?” you asked innocently and the man hissed.

“You’re getting fucked tonight if you keep teasing me like this” Billy replied while squeezing your waist.

“Can’t wait” you said and pushed your back against his chest, enough to move him and give you space to escape his grasp and walk to the backyard.

•

It was 11pm and everyone was tipsy enough to talk freely and be loud. You would be cooped up in your room having a solo smoking sesh if you didn't have entertainment. Two men to play around with. Billy and Stu, to be exact.

You decided to wear something provocative enough to get both of their attention throughout the night. A silk, olive green dress with thin straps and lower back cut.

You decided to go braless as well, your buds visible in an almost classy way. Underwear was out of the question too, easy access was your fun little secret. Even if you didn't get your way with any of the men of interest, at least you could fuck yourself with your favorite toy without the hassle of taking your clothes off.

Outside, you were leaning against the rail of the porch, just enough for your dress to hike up below your ass cheeks. A glass of wine in one hand and a vape in the other. You had a nice buzz coursing through your body and the cool air felt like a wave washing over you.

“Mind if I join?”

Behind you Stu was standing closer than expected. His button shirt had the sleeves rolled up and you couldn't help but look at his strong arms.

“Not at all” you answered, voice soft and inviting.

The man smirked and stood next to you; “Nicotine?” he asked, pointing at your vape.

You chuckled and shook your head no, “Weed. Want a hit?” you offered, which you rarely did but this was a special occasion.

“Sure,” he answered and took a hit from the device, releasing the smoke slowly.

You bit your lip at the sight, it looked hotter than it should've and you were already starting to grow wet between your legs. His proximity was enough to do so, but that sight really did it for you.

Little did you know, Billy was observing you from inside the house pretending to be involved in a conversation between 3 people. You caught his eyes and thought it would be fun to get him a little jealous and rile him up a bit.

As you made small talk with Stu, you got touchy with him on purpose as well as purposely bubbly and flirty, giggling and laughing loud enough for Billy to hear.

“You have the cutest laugh” Stu pointed out and you blushed, covering your mouth while you gasped, hitting his arm playfully.

“Having a good time?” Billy approached Stu and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing tightly.

Stu glared at him subtly before catching your stare. Both men were scanning your body, looking from head to toe shamelessly.

“A great time now that you joined us,” you said boldly and he chuckled.

Stu took note of your flirtiness, confirming what Billy shared about you two earlier that night…

“Wait, on your wife's bed?” Stu asked, laughing. Definitely interested in the whole situation.

“Yeah, that little cunt is to die for. Nearly ended up knocking them up.” Billy continued, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Damn, I'd do anything to get a piece of that.” Stu said while staring at you from a distance. Billy enjoyed the view as well and he definitely had to fuck you that night or else he'd go insane.

“We could tag team for sure. A little more alcohol and weed will do the trick.” Billy confirmed and the men were both set on fucking your brains out…

Which is exactly what happened.

You don't know how you ended up in your room with your stepfather and his best friend, but there you were, on your bed straddling Billy's lap, making out furiously while he groped your ass.

Stu was sitting on your office chair enjoying the view of your now hiked up dress. Booty on full display for him.

You moaned into Billy's mouth as you started to grind against his clothes cock, desperate to have him inside you.

“Fuck, you look so good for us.” Stu said while unbuttoning his jeans, his hard cock finally being released from being trapped in his pants. Of course he didn't wear underwear.

You shook your ass to tease him and Billy spanked you. A warning from his part.

“You save that little attitude for me” he said and you smirked, loving how possessive your stepdad behaved with you.

“I was just playing around, Daddy” you teased further and he pushed you off his lap, pinning you against the bed, his large hand reaching between your legs.

Billy used his middle and ring finger to rub your clit in circular motions. Ring finger decorated with its rightful marriage ring, of course. A sinful display.

He collected your slick from your entrance, dipping his fingers just enough before sliding them back up to your clit.

You were sensitive at the start of the night, but after the alcohol, weed, the teasing… fuck, you could cum just by Billy rubbing your most sensitive spot between your legs. He was borderline torturing you with his slow, methodical movements between your legs.

You ended up grinding against his fingers, trying to feel them deeper inside you but the man wasn't going to please you. No. He needed you to be desperate for him, and that you were.

Finally breaking, you grabbed Billy's hand and pushed his fingers inside you. The long, pathetic, whiny moan you released made both Billy and Stus cocks twitch. Your cute noises affected them the same way and that did it for the man above you. He turned you around and unbuckled his belt quickly, followed by the zipper. He didn't bother to lower his pants much and released his cock enough to bury himself inside your cunt. You were soaked and the stretch felt incredibly good, especially when he bottomed out.

Thank Gods he positioned you on all fours because Stu was right in front of you. He was pumping his cock at the same speed Billy thrust inside you. He imagined how good your cunt must feel around his 8 incher, and you shared the same thought.

“You're such a slut” Billy grunted and pushed your head against the mattress, “Fucking your stepfather again and letting his friend join?” he continued and this time he pulled your hair back, your head facing forward to meet Stus gaze once again, “Pathetic” Billy finished and you bit your lip before sticking your tongue out for Stu. You needed to feel him inside you too and the man understood your message clearly. He walked towards you, cock in hand and rested the tip on your tongue. You purposely drooled and felt him harden further at the sight. You knew exactly what you were doing and he did too.

In a second Stu slid his cock inside your mouth and thrust in unison with Billy. You were stuffed and it felt incredible from both ends. Your eyes rolled back on their own as you felt your orgasm building. You needed to cum and that night you sure as hell didn't want Billy to pull out, so you made sure you squeezed him good when you came.

Reaching under your pillow, you pulled out the vibrator you were using the night prior and placed it on your clit, hitting the perfect spot and combining both pleasure points. The way you squeezed Billy's cock while you were reaching your high made it impossible for him to hold back.

“Fuck baby, keep that up and I'll fill you up real good,” Billy moaned and you whined around Stus cock. The vibration of your voice nearly pushing him over the edge.

After a few more minutes you came around your stepfather's cock, moaning around Stus cock again as he came inside your mouth. You swallowed as much as you could, the rest dripping all over your bed.

Finally, Billy came and he didn't care about pulling out, much to your liking. He thrust hard enough for the skin on skin contact to echo around the room as he filled you up with his seed, both of you moaning and groaning non stop.

When he pulled out his cum dripped out of your cunt and he spread your thighs to get a good look, chuckling at the sight

•

“You're leaving?” You asked Stu, pouting.

“My wife is waiting for me, don't wanna get home too late.” He said while buckling his belt.

When the man looked up, Billy was crawling between your legs ready to clean his mess with his skilled tongue. Stu chuckled while fixing his hair with his large hands.

“Don't have too much fun without me” he said.

“Get out” Billy said, half serious, half playful before licking a stripe along your slit.

Stu was already getting hard and had to hide his half boner before walking out of your room.

[nanamincreampie]

Omgomgomg hiiiii 🥹🥹🥹🩷🩷🌷🌷🌷🌷 can I request an instance where Sukuna’s pregnant wife visits him at his job and he’s the CEO.

Context:

So like no one in the office knows what his wife looks like. He’s insanely private about his life. (Also cause he’s involved in shady stuff and doesn’t want anyone to know the identity of his wife. He meets with a lot of crooked business men on and off the clock.)

But yea the office only know he’s married because of the ring he wears.

So when his gorgeous, thick and very pregnant wife goes to the reception saying “Hi, is Ryomen busy? I’m his wife. I brought muffins for everyone I ate a couple I hope that’s okay.” in the sweetest voice with the biggest smile, the entire floor is in shock. (They know she’s not lying because of the ginormous light pink rock of a wedding ring that’s on her finger. It’s identical to his hair obvi hehe)

But like yeah! She comes to the office for the first time and all the workers just fall in love with how sweet she is. So they scramble to help her and hold her bag and offer her food from the break room and tell her how pretty she is and maybe Sukuna’s personal assistant even gets pulled away and that’s when he notices that everybody’s nearly gone and he finally finds her surrounded by everyone in the break room and maybe he takes her to his office and his mind is reeling thinking something’s wrong with the baby but it just ended up her being like “I’m sorry I know I could have called but look! The baby’s kicking!” And he falls in love with her all over again.

I think it’d be so cute 😭🩷 he seems like the type of hubby to call his wife “flower” or “petal”. Smut is totally up to you I won’t be opposed to it. But eeee!!! I thought it’d be a cute fluffy little fic

One Sukuna fic with a side of Sunshine and a Pregnant Wife coming right up!!! <3

Sukuna x Black pregnant reader

The bustling office of Sukuna Enterprises was alive with its usual energy phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and hushed conversations about deadlines. Ryomen Sukuna, the enigmatic and ruthlessly efficient CEO, was in the middle of one of his intense back-to-back meetings. His presence cast a long shadow over the entire floor. Everyone knew to tread carefully; Sukuna tolerated no mistakes.

The only personal detail anyone knew about him was that he was married, courtesy of the massive, rose-pink diamond ring he wore on his left hand. But beyond that? Nothing. Sukuna was intensely private, and no one had dared to ask for more. Speculation abounded, but without any concrete details, his wife remained a mystery.

Until today.

The receptionist was the first to spot her: a stunning woman in a flowing maternity dress that hugged her very pregnant belly. Her curls framed her glowing face, and she carried a basket of muffins in one hand and a slightly overstuffed purse in the other.

“Hi there!” she greeted with a bright smile, her voice warm and melodic. “Is Mr. Sukuna in? I’d like to see him, please.”

The receptionist blinked, momentarily thrown off by the casual tone. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her professional instincts kicking in.

“Oh, no, no appointment,” the woman replied with a light laugh. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The receptionist hesitated. No one—no one—saw Sukuna without an appointment. “And you are?”

“Oh, just a friend,” the woman said coyly, her warm smile never faltering. “I brought muffins for everyone, too! I… might have eaten a couple on the way. They smelled so good.”

Her charm was effortless, but the receptionist wasn’t entirely convinced. As she considered what to do, a curious junior associate walked past and froze at the sight of the woman. His gaze flicked between her and the receptionist.

“Who’s she?” he whispered, not quite quietly enough.

“I don’t know,” the receptionist whispered back.

Within minutes, whispers began to spread. A stunning, heavily pregnant woman had walked into Sukuna Enterprises asking for their untouchable boss. No one knew who she was, but the expensive jewelry on her hand, especially the light pink diamond, caught more than a few eyes. The resemblance to Sukuna’s wedding ring sparked theories.

Could it be… her?

The whispers grew louder as more employees found excuses to pass by the reception area, stealing glances at the mysterious woman.

Despite the growing attention, she remained perfectly at ease. When someone offered to carry her purse, she laughed softly and accepted, the basket of muffins still in her other hand.

“Oh, thank you so much! It’s a bit heavier than I thought,” she said, her tone dripping with gratitude.

Soon, the break room became her destination. Chairs were pulled out for her, snacks and drinks were offered, and she was surrounded by employees eager to accommodate her. Her gentle laughter filled the space as she chatted with everyone, thanking them for their kindness and answering their curious but polite questions in a way that revealed little.

Meanwhile, in his corner office, Sukuna noticed something strange. The usual buzz of activity on the floor had dwindled to near silence. His crimson eyes narrowed. Something was off.

Stepping out of his office, Sukuna’s gaze swept over the nearly deserted floor. His jaw tightened. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered under his breath, following the faint sound of laughter.

When he reached the break room, the scene before him made his steps falter.

Her.

His wife.

The woman no one in his office had ever seen, the woman he kept carefully hidden from the chaos of his professional life, sat there, glowing with happiness, her round belly resting comfortably as she laughed with his staff.

“What is going on here?” Sukuna’s deep, commanding voice sliced through the air.

The room went silent instantly. Employees scrambled to make space for him, their faces pale as they realized they’d been caught slacking.

Her head turned, and her smile brightened at the sight of him.

“Ryo!” she said warmly, completely unfazed by his intimidating presence. She gestured for him to come closer. “Come here!”

He crossed the room in two long strides, his crimson eyes scanning her from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quieter but edged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Her expression softened as she reached for his hand and placed it on her belly. “Nope! I just missed you. And look the baby’s kicking!”

For a moment, Sukuna’s icy demeanor cracked. His sharp features softened as he felt the gentle thump beneath his palm.

“You could’ve called, Petal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something uncharacteristically tender.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but then his sharp gaze flicked to the stunned employees still lingering near the door. “Get back to work. Now.”

They scattered like leaves in the wind, murmuring apologies as they fled the room.

Turning back to his wife, Sukuna wrapped a protective arm around her and guided her toward his office. Once inside, he helped her settle onto the plush couch, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re going to cause chaos every time you visit, Flower,” he said, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “But I brought muffins to make up for it.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he sat beside her. Despite the whirlwind she’d caused, Sukuna found himself staring at her, utterly captivated. She always had a way of turning his world upside down in the best possible way.

And the chaos? Oh, it didn’t end there.

For the rest of the week, the entire office buzzed with stories about her surprise visit. Who could’ve imagined that the stoic, intimidating Ryomen Sukuna was married to such a sweet, cheerful woman? The way she smiled, the way she treated everyone with kindness, the way she looked the staff couldn’t stop talking about her.

Rumors swirled, theories were formed, and every detail was analyzed. But one thing was certain: Mrs. Sukuna had left an impression that no one would forget anytime soon.

Divider by : @bernardsbendystraws

[unacknowledgeable]

SK!Reader x Yan!Batfam: Not in the plan

I have thoughts about the batfam going yandere before finding out about Reader being a serial killer.

Because if the fam go yandere before finding out, this gives them time to formulate their own perceptions of the reader, based on their limited knowledge of them and a lot of wistful thinking, so there's now an illusion built that can be shattered. 

It’d definitely be a slower roll into being yanderes, because they view the Reader as a full civilian and obviously don’t want to scare them off. They only really have the media's view of the Reader, and Alfred's view to make assumptions off of, which both are pretty biased tbh.

 They end up forming this version of Reader that is quiet but charming, social but reserved, irritable but kind, meek but shrewd, etc etc.

So they start off slowly, with little things, like Tim bumping into them on the street then offering to buy coffee, running into Steph while buying groceries, Jason waving at them from across a clubs dance floor, Bruce cutting in during their chat with Gordon at a Gala, getting “leftovers” from Barbara whenever she brings her dad lunch at the station, being asked for your math notes by Duke, Cass having Alfred give you tickets to her dance recitals, Damian entering rooms you’re in without making a snide comment, Dick inviting you to family game night–

The list of tiny ways they try to insert themselves is endless and every new acknowledgement from the family leaves the Reader fucking terrified.

Reader stares, bug eyed, at Tim for his offer, falls into a shelf at Steph's excited hello, downs a shot before running to the the club's bathroom to climb out the window when Jason tries to approach your seat at the bar, tripping a waiter to distract Bruce while you ditched the Gala, nearly back handing Barbara because you were listening to music and you didn't hear her come in, asking Duke ‘what math notes?’ ...while studying said notes, saying ‘no, you couldn't make the recital because you had to water a friends dog that day’ before quickly leaving the kitchen, throwing a book at Damian when he moved to close because the only times he’s ever been this quiet around you is when you're inevitably stabbed, or flinching so hard when Dick reaches out a hand to clap your shoulder, he thinks he somehow actually hurt you and the look of fear in your eyes gives off such a startling sense of deja vu, it leaves him despondent for the rest of the week.

 So now the batfam are thinking “Why the fuck are they panicking so much? oh god did we seriously fuck up so badly they're afraid of us?!?!?! DD: Why are they so uneasy??? It can’t just be because they’re estranged from them. Can it??” And now they're getting increasingly desperate to fix this because this wasn't supposed to be so difficult, but now it is and that's making it more intriguing and thus higher on the family’s list of priorities. 

Meanwhile… from the start, the Reader is just-

Because despite outward appearances, Reader is constantly paranoid as fuck. We’re talking Batman levels of paranoia. Hard not to be when he’s literally your dad. You have contingencies for your contingencies, escape routes by the dozen out of the city and out of this mortal plane itself, if needed. You had plans for every conceivable possibility, just not for this. 

You're now met with such a glaringly obvious flaw in how you go about life in general, the way you live and how you operate as a serial killer, it all hinges on the idea of the family never turning their attention your way. It wasn't even an option and now it’s happening and you had no idea how to function because this isn't normal at all. Now you're actually forced to put in more than 25% of brain power to bury any possible leads and dissuade any possible connections to yourself and the silent terror on Gotham, while also trying to figure out what the hell happened.

Safe to say, this cat and mouse game is no longer fun for you.

I'm meltingggg. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, I'm going to bed bleh

X-X

Masterlist

[iwashie]

Sevika, and reader on her period headcanon...

Sevika is in her late 30s and probably doesn't suffer with her period-or do-, but dating a younger woman, at the peak of hormones and period, makes her think about her time and asks herself how she handles you and all your versions during it.

She knows your period is coming by just seeing your breasts swelling, some complaints about your back hurting, and mood changing during the day as you always do but never remember it's that time of the month.

She always has a lot of pads, your favorite food stockpiled, medicine for your various pains, always ready to massage your back, legs and belly, brings you a lot of water and a hot water bottle for cramps.

"Doll, it's normal to have a period. Don't be angry or disgusting for it. I know you don't like having pains, and all that stuff period brings on, but it's normal. And you have me by your side."

Your mood swings are a challenge for her, but she handles somehow. Just like the day you two were walking around Zaun, enjoying a street food you begged her to buy and then she notices you're not by her side, looking back to see you stuck in the place, your eyes on the ground, on your food on the ground. She immediately ran back to you, soothing you as your eyes filled with tears and mumbled that you haven't even bitten. "That's alright, doll. Have mine and everything is fine."

Or the day she made a joke at the wrong time and wrong place, making everyone at the table in Last Drop alternate gaze between you two just to look away when you lashed out on her and left the place without her. Or the day a woman looked at her for too long, and you had to show that woman that your woman was your woman. Or tried to throw punches at every man whistling at you- Ran had to stop you and Sevika at this one.

She thought your period cravings were something else. Why so much sugar?!? It's was possible worse than pregnancy cravings. "Are you on your period, or are you pregnant?

"I'm craving something sweet, like really sweet." You said, searching for something in the cabinets. "Have some sugar." You looked at her with fire on your eyes, and she felt a cold sweat run down her back. "What about some chocolate cake, ice cream, or some food deep-rooted with sugar? I'll buy it, doll."

She can't keep up with your energy, always accepting whatever you want and following behind you everywhere with a scowl, but making sure you're good, safe, and happy. She doesn't understand how you have so much energy left after doing a lot of things during the day to her about your day and plans, just to fall asleep suddenly.

She also handled you crying over everything and making traps for her, like asking her if she'd love you if you were a worm, or her worst nightmare: "Would you love me if I was from topside?" and her long silence was answer enough for you to start weeping. "Doll, it's just a dumb thought. Of course I'd love you and gonna be with you forever. I promise!"

She prefers to handle you when you are calmer, too sore to handle the world on your back, and stays in bed, being doted by her. She always cuddles you, her human hand on your belly to warm it up, whispering sweet nothings or watching a movie with you, both wrapped in the blankets. "I love you too, doll."

Maybe the best thing about your period is the much horniness you have during it. Your wild side is always showing up at this time of the month; always teasing her with dirty whispers, handsy. She loves fucking you, making love to you, making you cum and all. But, damn, you've come three times already, and you're looking at her with those eyes again, and she isn't young anymore, she needs to catch her breath. "Please, Vika. Just one more. You can use your fingers on me this time. Pleaseee."

She loves it when you are horny and take the lead, playing with yourself, teasing her until she does something about it and makes slow, tender, sweaty love to you. "Fuck, doll. Your pussy is so wet and creamy for me, gotta fuck it properly, huh. Do you want this? Want my cock deep inside your pussy? Good girl, doll..."

Your crazy ideas always caught her by surprise. She is sure that these ideas are made up before your period, and you only come with them to blame on the "period hehehe"

"You know what? I really want-" "Please, a normal thing for once." "You to impregnate me." A silence in the room. "Impossible, doll." "What do you mean it's important? DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?!?" "It's biological Impossible to get you pregnant with my babies." "Well. We gotta keep trying, vika!"

Your low self-esteem is the biggest problem, like how she's gonna put inside your head that you are the most beautiful person in Zaun? The prettiest woman she's ever laid eyes on! "Your body is completely fine! Your skin is normal! You're not fat, square, or I don't know! Your clothes are completely fitting, you're fucking beautiful and perfect. The only woman for me, doll!"

At the end of your period, she would be exhausted, needing vacations away from Zaun, but glad to have you surviving another period without trying to kill her and every other Zaun citizen. She would be so glad to have her girl back, not that you're much different but still.

@iwashie 2025, please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[starryylies]

Simon with a small bubbly reader, like total opposite from Si being big and cold. And she wears like all pink and is very girly and the rest of the team can't believe their together

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

Simon Riley wasn’t really a big fan of colours, or people.

You on the other hand were both.

He doesn’t understand how you can always be so pink for every occasion. Like if he didn’t know you he’d probably think you’re advertising the Barbie movie.

When he first met you he thought you were ‘faking’ your nice attitude but he was proven wrong when you stepped up to help him during a rough patch after a difficult deployment, breaking through his walls brick by brick

Thought you were the happiest person until he saw you crumble while you talked about your past relationships and how badly you were treated and hurt.

This lead to him being angered and sending out a few of his men to do a background check up on your exes who soon won’t be seeing light above the ground anymore

Loves how you can be yourself around him and display your femininity without being judged.

Let’s you paint his nails pink and wears them to work next day because he knows it’s your way of claiming him.

Wearing it to work attracts a lot of attention though, a few people snicker in the background about how stupid he’s looking

While the rest are more astonished to know that their lieutenant is actually dating someone because why there is no other explanation to why he’d have his fingernails painted pink with heart nail-art on the middle finger.

Soap is one of the many people who tries his best to get tea from Simon during break time,

“So ya got y’rself a missus and didn’ even tell yr’ best friend ‘bout it?

Simon just laughs it off and ends the conversation.

Johnny being the persistent penguin he is, decides to show up at Simon’s house bringing Gaz and price as leverage

They’re shocked to see a real not imaginary girl open the door, such a pretty girl at that too

Simon hears the chatter outside and walks up to see if everything’s okay, only to see his team standing on his front porch with a biscuit box to gift in johnnys hand.

You invite them in and serve them snacks while they just stare at the bleak contrast between you and Simon.

You’re the definition of sunshine and well, he‘s just simon

Soap and gaz tease simon on how he managed to ‘bag Such a pretty thing”

While Simon just gives them a glare that says “fuck off”

While price asks for your muffin recipe.

After the boys leave, simon cuddles you right that night an mumbles how he’s so lucky to have you and how much he loves you.

(He got affected by what soap and gaz said about you and how you’re out of his league.)

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆ ੈ✩

Header credits to- @anitalenia

[futfemfantasies]

A wedding to remember ~ Steph Catley x reader

Weddings in vineyards are always beautiful but it's something about the venue under the Australian sunset that makes it stand out. With fairy lights decorating the trees and rustic vibes from the wooden tables, Emily and Kat designed it perfectly. You watch the newlyweds have their first dance, a glass of champagne in hand, when you notice a familiar brunette join your other Matilda's teammates across the dance floor.

Steph has been in your life since you were teenagers. Growing closer when on camps together and sharing moments on and off the pitch. Between you both there has always been an unspoken connection that neither person wants to acknowledge. For many years now, there has been one complication for your friendship to progress further - Dean. You told yourself over and over again that there was no chance anything could happen. But Steph got engaged to Dean and you couldn't stand to see it so you move clubs to protect your feelings. Every camp for the national team you'd try to hide your feelings but many of your Matilda's teammates caught on quickly. Every time Steph glances your way, it becomes harder for you to keep those feelings settled.

The sun started to move behind the horizon and more people moved to the dance floor. You decided to stay back and watch, not really in a dancing mood. You heard heels click behind you and you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around and saw the woman taking over your thoughts since you arrived.

“Hey stranger,” She said softly.

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to appear nervous.

Steph smiled small, but warm. “You've been hiding over here all night.”

“Just enjoying the view.” you said, gesturing to the many trees in the vineyard.

Steph nodded, looking at the sunset and dimly lit trees before facing you again. “You've been radio silent lately, is everything okay?”

“Just a lot on my mind I guess.” you hesitated. Steph studied you, her expression unreadable.

“You know you can talk to me about anything?”

“I know.” you whisper before going to see your other Matilda's teammate.

Emily insisted that all the Matilda's are to go on the dance floor at least once during the night. Ellie dragged you on there, declaring you needed to ‘loosen up’. After pushing through the crowd, one of your favorite songs comes on. As you dance around with Ellie, she gives you a slight nod to look behind you. Steph was there with her hand outstretched, silently asking you to dance as the music got slower. You hesitate for a millisecond before taking Steph's hand. Time seemed to slow as Steph guided you to the middle of the dance floor. You placed your hand on her waist, trying to ignore all the feelings inside. Neither of you spoke for a while, just gently swaying with the soft melody, until Steph broke the silence.

“Dean and I broke up.” she said, voice quiet but steady.

You stopped in your tracks, looking Steph in the eyes. “what?”

“It's been coming for a while,” Steph admitted. “We both knew it wasn't working anymore,” Before you could respond she continued.

“I've been thinking a lot about what I want - about what makes me happy,” Her eyes met yours, hands tighten around your waist. “and it's you.”

Your breath hitched, as the weight of her words started to settle in. “Steph…”

“Follow me.”

Steph untangles from you and pushes her way through the crowd. You follow behind like a lost puppy until you get a little bit away from the reception. Steph pulls you in her arms and you search her face for any hint of doubt. There was only honesty and Hope.

“I've wanted to say this for so long,” you admit, as your voice trembled. “but I didn't think I could.”

Steph hold your face in one of her hands as she smiled, “well, now you can.”

With that, the distance between you became non-existent. the music Fading Into the background and all you can focus on is her. you both lean in and the wedding slowly forgotten as you two were caught up in each other.

The kiss under the stars changes everything. For the first time, the barriers between you and Steph crumble. As you pull back, your foreheads resting together, Steph smiles—a real, unforgettable smile that feels like home.

“We can’t keep this just for tonight,” she says softly.

You nod, your heart pounding. “I don’t want to.”

The rest of the wedding fades into a blur. You and Steph spend the next few days together, slipping away from the chaos to steal quiet moments just for yourselves. Long walks along the beach, lazy afternoons in the sun, and late-night conversations filled with laughter and shared memories remind you both of what you’ve always had—and what you could have.

As the offseason looms, you both return to Europe, reluctant to leave the bubble you’ve created but excited to see what the future holds. Steph heads back to London, while you return to Barcelona, the distance between you feeling more manageable now than ever before.

The transfer window is in full swing, and rumors are flying about player moves. You’ve kept your decision close to your chest, wanting to surprise Steph when the time is right. The deal with Arsenal has been finalised, and the announcement is just days away.

With the help of Caitlin and Katie, you arrange to meet Steph at one of your favorite coffee spots in London. She’s already seated at a corner table when you arrive, her face lighting up the moment she sees you.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she says, standing to hug you.

You grin, nerves bubbling under the surface. “I have a surprise.”

“Oh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as you both sit.

You slide an Arsenal scarf out of your bag and place it on the table between you. Steph stares at it for a moment, her eyes widening as realisation dawns.

“No way,” she says, her voice filled with disbelief and excitement.

“Way,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “The transfer is all finalised. I’m joining Arsenal next season.”

Steph laughs, leaning back in her chair as she takes it all in. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” you say. “Thought it was time for a change—and maybe time to be closer to you.”

Her smile softens, and she reaches across the table to take your hand. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi, would it be possible for you to write something about stephxdanny where danny has an ice core and can only visit steph in the winter season, usually in the other seasons they talk through a laptop that danny made with the help of tucker? or something like that, have a nice day.

Steph has been counting down to the first day of winter. She had worked her ass off to make sure all cases she was assigned were completed.

She spoke to her teachers beforehand, asking for any classwork they would give her. Steph had even informed her mother that she would be on a trip so she would not have to worry about her (or listen to her lectures) for a while.

She had told Bruce she wanted to be benched for a couple of days. He seemed almost relieved by her request, letting her know they would only call upon her in an emergency.

Everything was all set for when Danny would arrive. She will be taking her boyfriend on a winter wonderland tour in Gotham. Each section of the city had little festivals, events, and fun holes in the walls.

Danny will arrive on time this year for the winter arts festival. Disregarding the few booths dedicated to Christmas decorations- as Danny hated that holiday with a burning passion due to years of resentment. He only associated bad members of his parents arguing around that time- there were many things she knows he adored.

Like those natural soaps from Mrs. Miller on Street Nine or the unique winter edition fudges from O'Malley's Bakery.

There is so much excitement coursing through her veins that she has to do the most push-ups until she's so tired she has to go to bed. Otherwise, Steph will never get a wink of sleep and will be too exhausted to enjoy seeing her boyfriend again.

In the morning, Danny will be going through the portal. The thought whispers in her mind and a large grin blooms. Not caring for the sweat pouring down her face or the slight shake in her arms, Steph thinks about it repeatedly.

Pumping her arms up and down, she giggles as butterflies flutter in her belly.

The following day, she gets up earlier than usual to shower, shave, and spend an hour on her hair. Usually, she doesn't bother that much, as her hair isn't too hard to manage. A good comb with a headband was her usual go-to style, but today, she wanted to curl it and braid some snowflakes into it.

Steph had taken ages picking out a good outfit. She usually dressed well, but this would be the first time she would see Danny in nearly a year. Who could blame her for wanting to look good?

She skipped out of her house, going to the oldest cemetery in Gotham. The place where she first met Danny all those years ago, ignoring the stun looks she received on the street. It wasn't often that she did her make-up that wasn't stubble or that she forgo casual wear, but when she did well, she knew she was a knockout.

It's something the Waynes always played up at the galas. There was a danger to being this pretty; she knew that better than most in places like Crime Alley, but Steph knew that if she thought she looked good, why not show it off if she felt good?

There was nothing vain in being comfortable and happy in your own skin. Steph would kick the ass of anyone who said otherwise.

Her strike was long and confident as she slowly entered Old Gotham. The buildings started to look less metal and glass, turning into red bricks and wooden beams. She takes a moment to appreciate the buildings, breathe in the lovely winter air, and take in the sounds of the city slowly coming to life.

There wasn't a lot of foot traffic in Old Gotham, seeing as most of the stuff here was protected for historical tours, some courtrooms, and the occasional little shops and restaurants.

It could have been a good tourist place, but when people came to Gotham, they tended to go further into the city where all the chain stores, newer buildings, and shopping malls were. It was why Steph had run away to her when she was fourteen. She knew that most people who visited Old Gotham were either retired or locals.

Half the time, the streets only had a few people walking them, looking into windows of small businesses or taking pictures of the old buildings. She had figured none of them would care if she ran away from home after her shitty dad got too drunk once.

Steph had been young then, too small to start her Spoiler crusade on her Da, and had chosen life on the streets as better than that hateful place. She had wandered into the cemetery, climbing into a mausoleum to escape the snowstorm that passed through the city, and sitting with he back against the coffin, feeling small and miserable.

She had never been one to fear the cemetery or the dead. She knew that living men were much worse, but even she had screamed when the coffin's lid had suddenly slid off, revealing a bright green light.

The portal inside the coffin would open at winter's first noon, then close on winter's last noon.

She remembers stumbling backward, too frightened to think correctly and run, when a head slowly reached out of the portal, gripping the side of the coffin, and a boy her age heaving himself out of the coffin with a grunt. His snow-white heart sparkled in the portal's glow, his slightly tan skin blemish-free, and his glowing green eyes pinned her to her place.

He was the definition of beauty. If it had been a movie scene, she knew the musical theme for him would have been flutes, harps and singing angles harmonizing as he slowly smiled at her.

She threw the brick she picked up in the alley as hard as she could at his face. Danny's head snapped back, nose breaking, and a gush of green blood oozed from his face as he cried out, "Why!?"

Steph pulled out the gun she had stolen from her father, aiming it at the boy who swearing and cursing up a storm from his little portal. He froze when he saw it aimed at him, the sound of her releasing the safety loud in the small stone room.

Neither mentions the slight shake in her fingers- before Bruce trained the fear out of her- as she glared at him. "Dead things should stay dead."

Then Danny had done what made her fall for him. He made two finer guns at her while narrowing his eyes. "You pull that trigger, and I'll pull mine."

"What? I have a gun!" She snapped only to watch him smirk with enough mischievous glee in his eyes that it felt like a slap. How was something dead able to seem more alive than she was?

"So does most of America. You ain't special." The boy taunted, and for some reason, that made her laugh so hard that she ended up on the floor wheezing. The conversation had been much smoother when she wasn't aiming a weapon at him.

She discovered that he was a being that could only visit her world during winter through the means of an ancient society that long ago vanished from history. He went by the name Danny. He could snap his fingers and shift into a human-looking boy, and the most surprising fact about him was that he genuinely seemed to love how different humans lived in Gotham.

She had gotten so used to how her city was terrible that she had forgotten what was good about it. The sights she saw in everyday mundane life were something Danny had waited a whole year, saving up every penny, to see.

She also found out he had the money and the smarts to get them a nice warm hotel room- separated by a door- and a love for peppermint lattes. He offered her cash to help him explore the city, and the rest, as they say, was history.

Now, three years later, every winter, Steph compiles a list of places to go, things to do, and people to meet, rekindling the love for her city burning brightly in her chest.

She protected this city by stopping her dad and breaking his plans. Her spite and hate for him was the reason.

But Danny had turned into the motivation. Into her heart. That kept her going because he saw this place- and her- as something worth crossing the realms to.

She places the two letters and a warm pastry bag on the ground. She sits down, crosses her legs, and checks her watch again. There are only five more minutes till the clock strikes noon.

Steph leans back, eyes on the lid of the coffin, waiting for a movement that will alert her that her heart has returned for another incredible three months.

Danny can't stay once winter ends; just like the snow-white of his hair, he will melt in the spring. He warned her long ago that if she really wanted to give her heart to him, then it would suffer bruises of their distance. He would care for her and her heart as much as he could, but there were rules to this world that did not allow him to truly become a part of it.

She had told him that no matter how long it would be, she would love him through each season, year, and moment she drew breath. No matter how long it's been, she will always be sitting in this exact spot again and again, every year, for this moment.

The moment winter returned him to her.

The coffin shakes a little as a familiar glow shines through the small cracks.

[eggyrocks]

DRUNK WALK HOME

chapter eight: mistakes

masterlist

“and i was so young when i behaved twenty-five / yet now i find i’ve grown into a tall child” -fist love/late spring by mitski

It’s Wednesday, and Akaashi is reading her essay. 

It’s clear that she actually tried this time, his pen marking up less of it than he normally would. He can tell she’s out of practice, some sentences rusty and awkward, blunt transitions and thoughts that trail off. But he can see her ideas better than before, more fleshed-out, more consistent. 

He keeps looking up at her, stealing a glance between every other sentence or so. She’s slumped in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and staring off ahead, frowning. Akaashi can’t stop himself from thinking about how much she looks like her mother. She doesn’t look back at him. 

“This essay’s a lot better than your last,” Akaashi mumbles, almost like he doesn’t want her to hear him. It makes him blush to say it, and he’s grateful she refuses to look at him. “Looks like you actually tried this time.” 

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t react at all. She just sits there, with her jaw locked and her arms crossed, and does her best to pretend that Akaashi isn’t there. 

He feels guilty. It gnaws away at him, and he has this impulse to apologize, which disgusts him. He doesn’t like that he’s wronged her, and now his sense of moral superiority has slipped. He doesn’t like that he wants to fix the damage he caused. 

He looks up at her again, and sees no change in her posture, in her demeanor. He bounces his knee, and he can’t bring himself to look back down at her essay. Akaashi studies her, for a moment, the lines of her face, her narrowed eyes, the slow, deliberate breaths she takes. 

She doesn’t notice him staring. Or, maybe she does, but is so committed to ignoring him that she chooses not to comment on it. He wants her to. He wants her to snap at him, call him a freak for staring, accuse him of being obsessed, insult him, belittle him, something. 

But she just stares straight on, and Akaashi can feel himself starting to get desperate. 

“How’d your visit with your mom go?” he asks, hoping to provoke her to respond, hoping she’ll say something vile to assuage his guilt. 

“There’s only one more page left in the essay,” is the only response she gives him, though, and Akaashi is stuck. 

He turns his attention back over to her essay, and rushes through the end of it. Akaashi rushes through correcting a run-on sentence or two and then slides the essay back over to her. “There, now you can-” 

She slams her hand down on top of the stack of papers and snatches it away, standing at once. “Great, see you Friday,” she says, ready to leave. 

“Wait,” Akaashi says, standing, “listen, I’m so-”

“I said I’ll see you Friday,” she interjects harshly, finally turning to face Akaashi. He notices the tears that build in her eyes then. He can’t tell if they’re from sadness or anger. 

He’d never seen her cry before. There was a time when he didn’t think she was capable of it. Something in him softens, then, and he thinks that the damage he’s done is the kind that he wouldn’t be able to fix. 

She turns on her heel and leaves, leaving Akaashi to stand there, at their table in the library. 

It seems futile, then, to hate her. To hate someone so hated by their mother. To hate someone who so clearly hates herself. He hopes the feeling passes.

extras->

is akaashi genuinely remorseful for what he did? yes

is he mostly just trying to appease his guilt so he can go back to just plain hating yn? also yes

he sort of knew immediately that he fucked up; he picked up on the dynamics of yn and her mother before he even realized it was her mother

he was feeling defensive when kaori messaged him but it's been eating away at him since then

been quiet on the bokuto front

yn's roommates banded together when they realized her mom was coming to visit bc yn is always a complete mess afterwards and going out and drinking always makes it worse

once yn realized though she figured kaori and yukie were probably in on it and went straight to kuroo

kuroo always has a good time when he goes out with yn so he's always down

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[nickeverdeen]

Blades | Hockey player!Vi x figure skater!fem!reader

Pairings: Vi x reader (mutual crush), Caitlyn x Vi (platonic), reader x Caitlyn (strangers)

Type of fic: Comfort, Light Angst

Warnings: Injury

Summary: Vi tends to go to your skating practices a lot lately, but today when she came it wasn’t just a practice - it was something much more, something that might decide about your future and when you get injured Vi is there to help you.

———————

The ice rink was alive with motion, figure skaters gliding effortlessly across its surface. Vi leaned against the boards, her sharp blue eyes fixed on one skater in particular—you.

She wasn’t even supposed to be here yet. Hockey practice wasn’t for another hour, but for weeks now, she’d made a habit of coming early. Officially, it was to “prepare mentally,” but anyone with eyes could tell it wasn’t the drills or strategy she was thinking about.

No, it was the way you moved. Each jump, spin, and glide seemed effortless, like you belonged to the ice in a way no one else did.

Today, though, the atmosphere felt different. The rink was quieter, more focused. Judges sat at a table by the boards, clipboards in hand.

Vi furrowed her brows and turned to a figure skater resting on the bench. “What’s going on today?”

“They’re deciding who’s going to the country finals,” the skater replied, not looking up from tying their laces.

Vi’s gaze snapped back to you, her heart tightening. She didn’t need to know much about figure skating to understand how important this was.

You were aware of Vi’s presence, as always. She wasn’t exactly subtle, leaning against the boards in her hockey gear, her undercut great and her arms crossed. But you didn’t mind. If anything, the thought of her watching added a little extra spark to your routine.

You took a deep breath and stepped onto the ice, your movements fluid as you began your program. The judges watched closely, their pens scribbling notes as you executed each move with precision.

Then came the moment you’d been preparing for: the Axel.

You’d landed it countless times in practice, but this was different. This was for the judges, for the finals. You pushed off, spinning through the air, and for a second, it was perfect.

But the landing was anything but.

Your skate hit the ice at the wrong angle, and a sickening snap echoed through the rink. Pain shot up your leg, but the adrenaline coursing through you dulled it enough to keep you moving.

Vi’s heart dropped. She knew that sound too well—she’d heard it before on the ice, in games, and it never meant anything good.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed on you.

Despite the injury, you continued, your movements growing shakier as the pain began to seep through the adrenaline. Vi’s jaw clenched. She’d watched enough of your practices to know the next jump you had planned was dangerous even on a good day.

When you began to set up for it, Vi didn’t hesitate.

Grabbing her hockey skates from her bag, she laced them quickly and stepped onto the ice. The trainer yelled something at her, but she ignored it, skating straight toward you.

You barely registered her approach until she was there, gripping your arm gently but firmly. “You’re done,” she said, her voice low but commanding.

“What? No, I can—”

“You can’t,” Vi cut in, her gaze piercing. “You’re hurt. I’m not letting you make it worse.”

The protest died on your lips as the throbbing in your ankle became undeniable. Slowly, you nodded, leaning on her as she helped you off the ice.

In the locker room, Vi helped you sit down on one of the benches, kneeling in front of you. “Alright, let’s see how bad this is,” she muttered, reaching for your skate.

She hesitated for a moment. “This is going to hurt,” she warned.

“Just do it,” you said through gritted teeth.

She carefully removed the skate, revealing your swollen, broken ankle. Her brows furrowed as she inspected it, her rough hands surprisingly gentle.

“How are you not freezing in this outfit?” she asked, glancing at your light skating dress. Without waiting for an answer, she shrugged off her hockey jersey and draped it over your shoulders.

You gave her a small, grateful smile, clutching the warm fabric. “Thanks.”

The locker room started to fill as her teammates trickled in, their curious gazes flicking between the two of you.

“Uh, Vi?” Caitlyn asked, raising an eyebrow.

Vi didn’t look up. “Tell the coach I’ll be late,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The girl nodded, exchanging a knowing look with another teammate before leaving.

Vi turned back to you. “We’re getting you to the hospital. This needs to be looked at properly.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Not a debate,” she said, helping you stand. “Lean on me.”

You sighed, but the warmth in her eyes made it hard to argue. With her arm securely around your waist, you let her lead you out of the rink.

As the hospital doors came into view, you glanced at Vi. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

“Yeah, I did,” she replied, her tone softening. “You’re important.”