#glad i made you smile broo
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Crowning you today 🥰👑👸
Babes. I felt so many emotions when I looked at this image omg like—
1) is that PicsArt?
2) BABY KAII HOLDING A TROPHY FOR ME WITH MY LITERAL NAME ON IT IS THE DEATH OF ME FHAGAKAAUJA BURY ME 6 FEET DEEP AND I SHALL REVIVE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PLANET AS A GREEK GODDESS I AM
JSYAGSIAHSUAJAIAKWGIAHWYSWKVSUA BE UK SFWJGSJWJSGSKW CT AKWNGZLAVSJAGSIWKSKAVSHAKSVAUKAFSJWVSI— *gets run over by a tractor so when it's tires poops me out I become as flat as A4 computer paper and then stands back up so I can pop back into my 3d form and start dancing to happy fools except idk the choreo so I'm just shyly twerking in the middle of the road*
3) THAT PENGUIN PLUSHIE THING FHKAGAKAGAK *INSERTS THE EXACT SAME REACTION PIC PT3*
4) BANANA CHACHA MONKEH HYUKA 👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹 *INSERTS THE EXACT SAME REACTION PIC PT4*
5) EMO HYUKA IN A HEART *INSERTS— *GETS RUN OVER BY A SECOND TRACTOR**
6) that shade of pink is so wholesome 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊 thank you for crowning me I didn't know it was my coronation day wow I feel so many things.
#yerin!#glad i made you smile broo#there are sincerely multiple times i actually do get anxious and go like 'oml did i say smth wrong? will this person slowly ghost me again?'#but then this ask cleared all my doubts so tysm yerin you dk how much this means to me 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹#hyukassubi.goofy#hyukassubi.asks
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MOOT APPRECIATION!!!!/ PEEPS IVE MET ON TUMBLR!!!!!!!
you guessed it....it's time to say thank ylu to my moots I've made...hashtag love you guys!
@rankballs76
Jo.....jo....I could NEVER ever THANK YKY ENOUGH, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH even if we talk less and less, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED IN MY HEART BECAUSE YOUR JO THE JONAH I still owe you a drawing trust I'll do it one day I'm lazy imsorry(and LOVE YOUR ART I SWEAR THATS WHAT I WANT TO HAVE IT AS FUCK!!!), BUT JONAH LOVE YOU IM GLAD YOU ARE MY SON BE YOU BE A TRUE DIVA (ps I want tk talk but I feel SO BAD THAY YIUARE ANNOYED AT ME osrry) anyways LOVE HOW SWEET YOU ARE AND YOU ARE VERY COOL
@robo-boy
H-hey ehtan robo-boy SHOT DEAD IN THE BRONX LAST NIGHT, I was just bothering you...but YOU ARE COOL AS WELL, love talking to you and having silly moments with yku thankyog ehtnan and remember...and I LOVE YOUR DRAWINGS EVEN IF YOU THINN THEY ARE BAD and yiur writing hashtag #writeyourheartoutETHAN
@dendrob1um
zera...oh zera...I don't where tk start....at first I was scared at you, yoy asking for the art trade...and I was haoog ans so SCARED. and nkw...we know eachother even mkre...I could NEVER have wanted anyone else in yourplace LOVE talking to you everyday watch out me and joe are coming soon
@iamthedisappearingboy
Ohhh Mr Mikey meaty micheal...I am proud of mmyoy and Mr meaty micheal wedding...I loved seeing the honeymoon photos 📸 I could never have been happier to have been your mother In law...I hope you and meaty micheal are happy
@andre-and-cal
Last but not least..hi TAY hi hello ❤️ I KNOW WE DONT TALK A LOT LIKE AT ALL BUT I LOVENYOU SILLY POOKSTAHH MAKE ME HAPPY AND YOUR SO SILLY down right GOOFY TO THE LIMIT /pos bruhh someone get this TAY out of here broo my ass is on the floor SMILING AND DUIJG OF LAUGHTER!!
#ETHAN ROBOBOY#TAYPOOKSTAH#hi robin#ROBIN MORE LIKE whats good..winks DYOP#ROBIN HELLO#JONAHHIJO#MR MIKEY MEATY MICHEAL#ZERAZERA!#pups nonsense#pup stnt#MY OOFMS!! hello 💜
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hi. i made sure to clear my schedule for this drop. 😀 LMAO took a shower, cleaned my glasses, made myself a hot cup of tea, warm apple crumble - like i was going on a date with this fic. 🏒🫦 waiting for this post to go online like it was presale and i wanted front-row seats.
if there's one thing i can take away from the now two ✌️ big oneshots you've written so far, is that they always make me miss something. i've never really watched or played hockey but that feeling of being on the ice, skating and just building up speed, the chills and the cold breath. 😮💨 every winter i tell myself to skate again and maybe this upcoming one i might just pick it up again, thanks to you.
anyways, miss "i'm never writing another fic this long ever again" only two months ago and now we're here with a similarly long fic. i'm very glad you decided to write it afterall LMAO 🫵 it took some time for things to fluff and warm up and that's what we love in a slow-burn. let it singe and crackle like the wood in a fireplace and sparks will eventually fly in the still of night.
[spoilers ahead]
“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.” MINGI KSNKN I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING 🙂↕️
your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. oh is that why his ankle was hurting ealier, noo my babywoo
he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” something about coach cho being this father figure and knowing the real reason behind reader's reason. then basically going 'i see you in them, and i am entrusting them to you, you both matter to me. there's no-one better for each other' :'((
hongjoong renting half the rink even if just for 2 hours and their equipment being shabby, all they really need is each other 😫
yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. they're so awkward but so damn cute omg i'm gonna eat them
“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?” BHAHBAAHAHhahah, it's the thought that counts, right? 😭😭
OOoooOoh are they gonna play different from what reader told them to?? OOooOoh are they gonna hear an earfull after the game!?!?
“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts. oh, how very real but oh my jjongbaby 😞😞
..it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you. the fact that reader even gives them the benefit of the doubt here at first. like things can happen? they're not the one on the ice so they'll just have to think of the next move but somehow their strategies continue to be absolutely ignored and 😠 like work WITH me puhleasee!
"..i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you." like take a look at the mirror mister captain!! get him for me again!! 😤
hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?” ITS NOT ABOUT SIDES BROO WE JUST TRYNNA WINN!! 😩😩 YOU HAVE A WHOLE SONG ABOUT IT
“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?” san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” I KNEW IT 🥹 reader noticed he was favoring one leg over the other. probably overheard san and woo talking about him not having any tape left and snuck behind the scenes to provide without anything in return. it was never about being recognized, but about caring despite. 🥺
yeosang sits a little straighter.., having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. stop, this made me so sad. he just wants them close. ☹️ he wants them to know there is still a place just for them ☹️ but also, this is a nice portray of reader's boundaries. like they need to cool down, they need to sit with themselves if they want to sit next to the boys again. but they have to figure that out for themselves first. 😢
it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity. ughh 😣❤️🩹
you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens? shared joy is double the joy, shared sorrow is only half the sorrow. 🫂
papa cho is so :C <33
they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life. AND THE Y FINALLY GET THAT SHE WORRIES FOR THEM OMGMG
yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.” MY YUNWOO IN THIS FIC LMAOO
..coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.” COACH CHOOOooOOOooo 🫶💢🫶💢🫶 but also wooyoung ends up hating himself regardless just for different reasons :c
and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him.., then do they really need him at all? to choose wooyoung of all people to suffer with these feelings is so so evil. gods, he loves them so so much but he also can't deny his own feelings and his fears of being replaced, cast aside, abandoned as if there was a deed he has to perform and succeed in to be allowed in that space with them. 🥺🥺
but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. oof, i saw this coming the second they huddled up around mingi's laptop and their walls fell. were they going to bring up the fact that they researched reader? how will they react to the look on ateez faces? is it going to be a traumatic trigger to them, something that crushes the seedling of their coach-team relationship?
you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now. my heart breaks for them :///
wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help. “i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly. “then let us share the hurt with you.” 😭😭😭
“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle. GET OUT OF MY ROOM RIGHT NOW🫵😭 the way i was holding back tears and then chortled at the comment before i kept reading.
THEYRE ALL SO PROUD OF JONGHO IM CRYYYY 😭😭😭
starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!” he holds it up and open above him AND THEN TRYING TO CLIMB YUNHO LIKE A TREE LKSMFKLD I GET IT THOUGH 🤪🌴
jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”.. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career. this means so much more than any of them can even imagine 🥺 sure, he's still trying to impress his family but also this is so important for his self-confidence. like it really starts here, the validation from someone who doesn't even know him that well to go 'i see you, i believe in you. keep going'. 🫶🥺
wooyoung being caught lying but also paying attention to and caring about reader's shoulder ��� guess who gives a fuck afterall
the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.” AND THEN YUNHO JUMPING IN TO PLAY INTO WOO'S EGO SKMLKDM AND EVERYONE JOINS THEM 😭😭😭
the way my face dropped what do you mean they're fucking things up in the literal sense wtff 🫥
just something about hongjoong intently watching reader organize their thoughts and prep new strategies for the rest of the game and him only answering seonghwa that he's okay after locking eyes and a smile with reader, just. 🫠🫠 like he's the anchor of the team (as the captain), maybe reader is his anchor? or he finally realized that for this to work, for them to work, they'd have to stand equal, shoulder to shoulder to have everyone's best interest in mind.
LETS FUCKGIN GOOOOOOO TOPAZ GOALL 👹👹👹
the way you got me fevering for a fictionally written sports scene is actually kind of hilarious. like this is vivid!!
wooyoung wallowing in the depths of his mind because he thinks he's not going to play again because he made a mistake when really it's because reader refuses to injure him any further 🙁 and him spiralling down the same feelings he had once before of messing things up for everyone.
"..what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.” reader also brings up the importance of acknowledging their own mistakes and getting out of that self-loathing slump to actually LEARN from them and DO BETTER. ☝️🤓 which is what wooyoung had not done up until now.
“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.. “..it gets easier to be okay.. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.” *lays on the floor contemplating life*
this moment between these two and their entire dynamic and growth through this fic is one of my favorite things.
reader who's had a similar experience to wooyoung but is further ahead in their journey to heal and wooyoung who knows he can find understanding in his feelings with them and deciding to trust reader with the sides he hates about himself, the uglyness and jealousy inside of him
and i love that reader took their own hurt and instead of letting it swallow them, they use it to help others who might be going through something similar. not to invalidate others or tell them how to live their life as atheletes with hindering injuries but to give them a positive outlook, an optimistic chance at their career.
not wanting to get too personal about my own experience but i really do hold this so so dear to my heart 🥹 the frustration of having to adjust to an injury that changes your entire day to day schedule, forced to re-consider your passions and goals in life. feeling dumb, angry at oneself, envious of others who aren't going through the same things as yourself but also never ever wishing these feelings upon anyone else because they are oh so shameful to acknowledge and difficult to digest. the bittersweetness of it all.
the showcase of vulnerability and re-wiring of emotions in this fic is so so beautiful
"your team was alive today.. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again." YOU HEAR THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT 😭😭 WE'RE INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOUU
"..you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.” wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response. I KNEW IT WAS COMING BKJMKLJNKNM 🥹🥹🥹
“i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement.. but reader keeping their distance from wooyoung and his boys to have their vulnerable conversation :( there's nothing left unsaid, they could have stayed but they don't know where they stand with all of them yet.
FINALLY HOLDING HANDS WITH YEOSANG ON THE BUS. REBLOG. 💚🐬🌸💫💦
except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced. the 'fall' as in the autumn season but also a 'fall' from a higher point, the fall of adrenaline, from being at the top of the list of stars 🤕
NOT THE RIDEABLE SUITCASE CAMEO 💀💀💀
wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.” the amount of yunwoo in this 😩😩 i'm being fed sooo well, laawd. but this is also very very sweet to see them put so much effort in acting casual and including reader on their holiday 🥹 making sure they don't feel left out of their friend group.
living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. oh heavens, i know exactly what this means. it feels oddly intimate and so so domestic sharing a space with people you're not that close with yet for 24 hours a day and just being there living in each other's life. breathing the same air.
more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into. THIS IS THE DREAAAM ME WHEN?!!?"=?"? 🤲🤲
(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.) 🥰🥰🥰
something about hongjoong counting the cups of coffee, seonghwa just watching him and reassuring him that he too thinks off reader. how both of them don't only count 8 of units anymore but 9, how reader has unbeknownst to them infiltrated their routines, their life 🥹🥹 they see reader in all they do and want to have.
jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction. “oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.” seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.” oh gods, oh heavens. they're all so so past goooone kjskjkjn who put all this sugar in my coffee, this is too sweeeeeet
so so wooyoung to bicker and complain but move in to protect and find solutions to still keep you around like ugh
the (notes) are gonna kill me please. i can imagine both reader and san with fluttering hearts but being so shameless and wanting to enjoy the moment. just imagine the fucking grin on wooyoung's face watching it all unfold. but reader still wondering what their affection means to them
HALLI GALLI MENTION!!! 🤡🫳🔔 COUNT ME IN, I'LL SHOW YOU A RED DEVILLL 👹👹👹
fuck his mom, dude :( for a split second i gave her the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe she knew because she secretly started watching the championship in support after the last phone call but no :(( draining as ever
“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person. EXACTLY 😟😟😟 TELL HER BABYBOY
jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.. although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.” 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂
he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now. if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.” as one of theirs.. “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?” the conversation around labels got me all like 🥹🥹 it's not that he denies wanting to have something he can call official but there is such care for reader to be comfortable with them and to just give them the permission, the consent to care for them in their own ways, with their own feelings without reader feeling pressured to return their efforts. 🥹 the boys have so much love and gratitude towards reader, the need to let it out of their system and they would try their best to do so without losing their professional composure if their career and distance is what reader prefers. 🥹🥹🥹 my boys
also this entire hongjoong excerpt ("..let us love you as one of ours.") and wooyoung's earlier excerpt ("..let us share the hurt with you") 😣 man, i love small parallels (?) like this
hongjoong being one of the last boys to trust reader fully and now being the one to present the offer to reader because he's been watching them and how they take care of his boys, how much care and kindness they extend towards their team. 🤗
“hi, girlfriend.” HI MY BOYFRIENDOS 🚶➡️🏃➡️🤸🚀
he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates. “i can do it myself,” you start. “i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.” SHIKJNDKJDVNKM DOMESTIC SEONGHWA MY WEAKNESS
playing green light, red light against THE devil on skates on top of a frozen lake against all ateez members is a death wish 💀💀
“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules. “life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers uhm, i'm going to go ahead and read waaay too much into this, okay. because i am emotional and thinking about reader's growth and 😀 just something about reader being able to say this when they're enjoying life and happy with their 8 boys. and just imagining that when they got their injury and stepped away from playing the sports for a while might have been thinking and saying the same thing. life is unfair. why them? why now? what did they do to deserve this? but the past is beyond the present and it's true that life might be unfair, yes, but it's theirs to do with it and live it to their desires. yeah. 😓
MAKE WAAAAY FOR THE WAHH WHATT NOW?"?"?"
remember when reader admitted that even though they haven't let go of their anger and they still have bad days, they get to play hockey THROUGH ateez now.. but in this moment they are actually playing hockey together WITH them for the first time in years 🥹💞🥹 not on the bench, not on the sideline.
the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.” they even put the label on it and used the singular form and the reporter just skips over it like bitch 😤
my face dropped for the second time, omg. loren. why do you make us suffer. wdym theyre playing against their old coach
yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”.. “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.” Y U N W O O 😍🤪😩 I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT YOUUuuUUUu
“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions. yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”, “and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion. MINGI I COULD KISS YOU RIGHT NOW. I LOVE YOU BAD MWAH
hongjoong thanking the reader for becoming their coach, knowing how difficult it was for him to trust them and not always take the reigns and wooyoung thanking reader for loving them when they couldn't find the strength to when he was the one treating himself so so terribly stfu 😭😭😭
“let’s go international.” EVERYBODY JUMPS IN THE AIR WITH THEIR HANDS UP. ❄️ FREEZE FRAME. 🏒 CHERRY BLOSSOMS FLYING ACROSS THE SCREEN. 🌸 CREDITS ROLLING. 🎬 I JUST WANNA BE PART OF YOUR SYMPHONYYyyyYyYYY~ 🎤🌈🐬💫💗
our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom
genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst
length: 37.6k
c/w: sweaty and athletic ateez (warning well deserved), explicit profanity, themes of corruption and rocky family relationships, trauma, hurt/comfort, injuries, kissing, boys are in an established relationship, m x m interactions
synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.
a/n: it has made me incredibly touched to see so many of my readers from the essence of youth come back to support this new oneshot. thank you from the bottom of my heart �� and as always, this fic would not have been possible without @sorryimananti-romantic and her undying support
if someone were to ask yunho–or anybody on the team–when he feels the most alive, his answer would be the same every single time: when he is on the ice, just like he is right now.
the air of the rink is already chilly, but with the added cold of emerging autumn, each rugged lungful he takes fills his chest with vigour. only his own heavy breathing can be heard as the rest of the players’ shouts become muffled into the background outside of his helmet. he tightens his grip on his stick, muscles locked and engaged with adrenaline. his vision narrows, an opening suddenly clearing itself through the tangle of sticks and jungle of skates–a golden opportunity for him to take.
“san!” he yells.
their usual goaltender glances upwards as he handles the puck rebounding off the boards. his jaw tightens and with a practised flick of his wrist, san chips the puck over an incoming stick’s attempt to block the pass. there’s a burst of explosive power as yunho speeds up along the opposite boards to receive the landing puck, hoping to break away from the opposing team’s offensive players before he passes it off.
the flash of a blue jersey appears in yunho’s vision with alarming momentum. they lower and widen their stance, shoulder positioned in front ready to knock him directly into the boards in an attempt to steal the puck, leaving yunho with no choice but to mirror their actions. he braces himself as the opponent rams into him with more force than a usual play, and in combination with their own towering height, yunho finds himself being pushed into the plexiglass panels as he loses possession of the puck.
involuntarily, he lets out a threatening growl of vexation. there is a teasing chuckle from the other player that still has him pinned against the wall despite the continuing game, which clearly tells him that the excessive body check was deliberate. yunho has half a mind to flip their positions, knowing he could easily overpower the other. but before he can adjust his stick out of the way to make good use of his hands, the opponent playfully knocks their helmets together.
“you’re hot when you get all competitive and riled up.”
all of the tension escapes yunho’s body, because he will never not find mingi’s attempts to flirt mid-game–with his mouthguard and resultant bumbling pronunciation–to be amusing. he endearingly rolls his eyes and sighs, “have you not heard of, ‘don’t poke the bear’?”
“you’re not a bear, though,” mingi squirms cheekily on the spot, still up in yunho’s personal space because he knows the older will never be truly annoyed by his antics. “you’re just a cute, harmless puppy.”
before mingi can blink, yunho grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. yunho smirks, “and they also say, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”
wooyoung tongues his cheek with mischief at the sight of the two, nice and cosy against the walls of the rink. he hands his stick off to seonghwa, who is starting to remove his helmet, and skates in their direction, ignoring the dull throb in his left ankle. wooyoung only bothers to slow himself down slightly, instead letting his trajectory be cushioned by something else.
mingi lets out a pathetic noise as the air is squeezed out of his chest from the impact of wooyoung and yunho’s added weight. the latter grunts out, a little breathless, “woo, please, you’re going to knock somebody out like this one day.”
it goes in one ear and out the other as wooyoung grins up at him to state, “seonghwa scored so we lost ‘cause you were too busy making out with mister mingles here.”
yunho pushes off the wall to free himself from the sandwich of bodies and pivots on his skates to jab wooyoung’s padded chest. “you and san were doing the exact same thing just five minutes ago.”
“we’re on the same team,” wooyoung shrugs, “whereas mingi is not, so you’re fraternising with the enemy. now come on losers, captain’s wrapping up practice.”
the three of them glide along the ice to rejoin the rest of the team, where they are stepping out of the rink to sit on the benches. they remove their helmets and start unlacing their skates as hongjoong gathers the attention of the team.
“great work from everybody today, especially you, jongho. your backhand wrist shots are improving–keep it up. now just a reminder to everyone that our regular games start next week so i want you all to make sure you are stretching and cooling down properly,” he emphasises. he pointedly looks at yeosang, who has already begun to wander his way off to the changerooms, at the same time that seonghwa scruffs him by the back of his jersey and gently tugs him back to the team.
jongho peels off his blue practice jersey as he scans the arena and absentmindedly asks, “is coach still not here? it’s already the end of practice.”
“he said he had something to sort out today, but would come round if everything went well,” seonghwa answers, also craning his neck to look for signs of their coach.
from where you and coach cho are watching from the designated scouting area in the arena, the team is unable to spot you two. you had come from the final negotiations of your contract with coach cho and had watched their team, the red devils, play the last period of their game. despite it only being a friendly match amongst the team’s players, you have already grasped a sense of their playing style–it is heavy on the offensive at the expense of defence, just like how you used to play. it is fast-paced, aggressive and…prone to injury.
“let’s go meet the team,” coach cho voices, making his way out of the viewing area as you follow beside him. all the players look up from their skates that they are still unlacing or from their stretches on the floor when you two near the arrangement of benches surrounding the rink. they greet coach cho enthusiastically and you can see why from the way the older man smiles at them like they are his own sons.
“y/n, this is the team, the red devils–my pride and joy. boys, this is y/n,” he introduces. “i had to miss practice to meet up with y/n and make sure she was happy to sign on as part of the red devils.”
said team gives you disinterested glances, a complete change from the receptivity with which they respond to coach cho. one of the red-jerseyed boys, who you recognise as wooyoung, utters sarcastically, “cute, but we don’t need a mascot or cheerleader.”
coach cho chuckles lightly, “she’s your new coach.”
“hold on, you were serious about–” “–are you coaching a different team–” “–you don’t want us anymore?”
some of the boys erupt into a barrage of questions, trying to make sense of the sudden announcement, whereas the others stay quiet, flickers of flashbacks stirring up from within the depths of their memories. their coach raises his hands to settle them as he apologises, “i didn’t want to say anything before i was one hundred percent sure that things would go ahead, and i wasn’t sure whether y/n would accept the offer.”
“is it because your wife is due soon?” san interrupts.
coach cho nods, “with twins, and i want to be present to help–as a husband and a father. but that just isn’t feasible as your coach, as much as i love you boys.”
training as professional athletes takes incredible perseverance, discipline and commitment. there are early mornings, late nights, weekends and public holidays. it takes sacrifices in the form of time and relationships, especially when they must travel away from home for up to weeks on end to compete in matches. and with the start of the regular season, the intensity is only going to ramp up. as hard as the athletes train, the coach works twice as hard to make it all possible.
the team needs somebody to be there for them to ensure they make it into the playoffs, and it just won’t be fair for anybody–the players and his own family–if coach cho were to keep his position. and the team gets it, they really do, but–
“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”
“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.
“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.
mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”
hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.
the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”
you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”
“how come?”
the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.
your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.
“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”
at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”
the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”
san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”
you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”
“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”
you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”
“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”
“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”
he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”
you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”
some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”
they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”
as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.
“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete, and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”
you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.
autumn, 2018: pre-season
hongjoong believes all coaches are to be respected. it does not matter what kind of team they coach, how many years of experience they have, or whether they have built up a reputation for themselves. to hongjoong, respect for coaches is not something earned nor negotiable–it is something well-deserved and expected, as is for anybody in a position that is higher in the chain of command.
he may be the captain of their unofficial team, but hongjoong knows that the way a team can place their blind trust in the coach is irreplaceable, regardless of how much the other players rely on him too.
hongjoong watches as his boys carry out the practice drill he has set up for them. yeosang handles the puck around the cones before passing it to wooyoung, primed offensively near the goal to make a quick shot, who groans when his shot rebounds off the post. as he retrieves the disc, yeosang takes over wooyoung’s position near the goal ready to receive yunho’s pass as he starts to work his way through the cones next.
they are limited in the type of drills they can practise because hongjoong was only able to rent half of the community rink for a measly two hours. the boys are not even in proper uniform, wearing only their shin guards under their sweatpants and gloves on their hands to prevent any injuries when the centre had stated very firmly they would not be allowed in with their bulky equipment.
and yet, none of this has dampened the boys’ spirits. san teasingly brags that it is his chance to show off his skills other than goaltending, and jongho thanks hongjoong quietly for renting the rink in the first place. their understanding nods and comforting hugs make hongjoong’s heart clench, even more so as the team eagerly and diligently practise the drills in mediocre conditions but with fiery determination to prove their worth as newly-signed athletes under the kq blue birds.
this is exactly why hongjoong is driven to find them a coach–any coach: to give his boys a solid pillar they can rely on, because he himself lacks the resources and strings to pull in order to fulfil their shared dreams. he needs to keep his boys as one team, instead of scattered into other teams as extra players like a gracious opportunity for the leftovers, since kq does not yet have a coach available for the eight of them.
“captain!”
the excitement in seonghwa’s voice startles hongjoong more than the speed at which the alternate captain skates towards him. seonghwa digs his skates into the ice at the last second, stopping himself just shy of knocking the other over as he exclaims, “he emailed back!”
“the coach you reached out to?” hongjoong clarifies, eyes growing wide.
having caught wind of his signed contract as a professional athlete, an acquaintance of seonghwa’s had reached out offering to pass on the contact of their acquaintance, who apparently knew somebody with coaching experience. it was rare for a coach to take on a rookie team unless there were incredible benefits, so he and hongjoong had drafted and sent an email with little to no expectations for a reply. but seonghwa’s furious nodding is telling otherwise, and his eyes sparkle as he shoves his phone in hongjoong’s face to show him the email.
dear mr park, thank you for your interest and for reaching out with your proposal. i have looked at your athlete profiles and it appears that you all have big dreams and extremely promising futures. it would be my utmost pleasure to help you all reach your true potential by coaching your team. if you would like to arrange a meeting in person to discuss expectations and conditions regarding training, competitions and future championships prior to finalising the contracts with your company, please let me know what times and dates best suit yourself and your team captain, mr kim. i look forward to working with you all. kind regards, coach yeon
“holy shit,” hongjoong steadies seonghwa’s giddy hand to read the email again. when he reaches the last line, he starts once more from the beginning to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. then he breathes out with finality, “holy shit. am i reading this right?”
“yeah, joong. you’re reading it right.”
hongjoong is not often one to be affectionate with the others, but yanking seonghwa into a bone-crushing hug as he repeats holy shit like a mantra is the only response he is able to muster. the older laughs wetly, throat constricting with overwhelming joy and he holds onto his captain until the other pulls back.
“you tell them, okay?” seonghwa does not wait for a response before he is raising his voice to gather the others, “boys! hongjoong has good news for us!”
like puppies responding to the call of food, their heads immediately perk up and they abandon the puck and the drill to speed towards their two captains. there is a clamour of questions as they enthusiastically predict what is going to be said.
“are they letting us use the rink for longer?”
wooyoung squeezes himself in between yunho and mingi to ask, “are we getting the whole rink?!”
“no way,” san gasps, “or did our practice jerseys arrive?”
hongjoong’s eyes soften at their guesses. his boys demand so little from him when he wants to give them everything they could never even think of asking for. he glances at seonghwa, who looks just about ready to burst from his own excitement, then reveals, “we’ve found a coach willing to take on our team.”
dead silence. yeosang blinks and wooyoung’s jaw drops. jongho, who had been lazily circling around the group, comically slows to a stop, joining the rest of the boys in frozen stupor. it is only broken when yunho dares to confirm, “does this mean we won’t be rostered as extras for other teams?”
everyone’s hopeful eyes look at hongjoong. he nods, “we’re staying together and playing as our own team.”
it is obvious the moment the information registers in their minds and the implications of what it means for the team’s future starts to sink in. they explode into a flurry of movement and hongjoong and seonghwa find themselves swept up into the middle of a clumsy group huddle as shouts are exchanged, uncaring of who is listening or talking.
“are we finally playing in championships with the big dogs?”
“we’re going to play interstate?”
“oh my god, what if we get into nationals?”
“nah, fuck that boys, let’s go international! we’re going to represent korea one day and become the best team in the world.”
the amount of voices overlapping one another are overwhelming, but it is overwhelming in the way that it makes hongjoong soar up into the clouds, wings stretched to their full span and carried by the hollers and cheers surrounding him in every direction. his cheeks hurt from smiling because these are the boys that he knows and loves.
they may only be a small team of eight, but they have dreams that are big enough to fill the entire universe.
“what’s the coaches name–” “–know if they’re a good coach–” “–teams have they coached before–”
seonghwa chuckles as the boys hound them with question after question and hongjoong appeases their curiosity dotingly, “we’ll find out when we meet him–coach yeon.”
but it does not matter what qualifications coach yeon has or does not have, and it does not matter what teams he has coached or has not coached before. what matters is that he is a coach and he is willing to be their coach, because it means that hongjoong and his boys are finally taking the next step towards their big dreams.
and most importantly, they will be in this together…as the red devils.
autumn, present: regular season
“again.”
hongjoong grits his teeth, taking up his position as centre again in the marked circle for the practice drill. even during defensive faceoff plays, he and the team are accustomed to taking on an aggressive approach. when he wins possession of the puck, the wingers–usually yeosang and wooyoung, or jongho when substituted on–quickly breakaway and move forward with him into the offensive zone.
obviously, they have other strategic plays too to switch up the predictability of their tactics, such as moving the puck towards the board whilst yeosang covers him, or by passing the puck back to the mingi in defence. but overall, their team is capable of rapidly flipping from defensive to offensive play using the aggressive setup.
the practice drill you are currently running emphasises heavily on the defence–the reverse setup play. hongjoong is to pass backwards but in the direction of the boards whilst yeosang supports and wooyoung covers the area directly between the circle and san. mingi moves towards the boards to receive the puck, and their other defenceman, yunho, assists with covering the goal.
hongjoong does admit that this play is much safer and stabler, but it is also much slower and…cowardly. his team is called the red devils for a reason and their reputation as demons on ice is not something that he is going to throw away–not following years of blood, sweat and tears to stand back up after falling during their rookie year.
when he assumes his stance once again inside the faceoff circle opposite seonghwa, who is playing the centre position as the mock opponent, you drop the puck onto the centre dot. the moment it hits the ice, hongjoong clears it with his stick towards the right boards. it doesn’t go back far enough for mingi to receive though, so yeosang makes the split decision to burst sideways to retrieve the puck, all three forwards moving aggressively in synchronisation to advance offensively once he gains possession.
you stop them, shaking your head. “again.”
it has been a week since your first meeting with the team, and with the start of the regular season, training has focused on refining their strategies. the red devils are playing in the korean ice hockey league for the second time, an annual national championship with a singular men’s division.
teams from all over korea gather in seoul to compete in regular-season games at the gangneung ice arena against the other teams in rotation. depending on the number of participants, the red devils will need to play an average of three games a week for the next five to six months. then based on the outcome of the games, if your team scores within the top thirty two, they will be able to enter the playoffs.
last year, the red devils were only able to make it to the quarterfinals before they were knocked out. but considering it was their first time competing in a proper championship–as opposed to the rookie leagues and interstate competitions they competed in during the first four years of their career–making it into the top eight teams out of over a hundred or so teams was already impressive enough.
your team’s first regular-season game starts tomorrow, so it does not matter that this is the sixth time in a row that you have stopped them during this drill. you will make them restart until they perfect the play. with that in mind, you release the puck onto the centre dot of the circle once more, but this time seonghwa wins the faceoff, clearing it to the side where jongho is waiting as his left wing. seonghwa looks at you guiltily and anticipates the word that will come out of your mouth.
you bite your tongue, having sensed the rising tension amongst the team an hour ago, but now they are almost at their boiling point. closing your eyes briefly, you try reminding yourself to think about the situation from your players’ perspectives.
their career progression rides on this championship, and with their grit and determination, they will not settle for simply beating their own record in ranking. no, they vie for first place. only the top team secures a position in the international ice hockey league, the most coveted opportunity to represent korea in the championship between the world’s best teams.
and it is during this vital time–when the stress levels and stakes are as high as they can get–that the boys have suddenly had to change coaches. not only have they lost their most trusted support and guide, they have only had one week to adjust to their new one–you. in the grand scheme of things, one week is nowhere near enough time to develop any sort of meaningful relationship where they are able to listen to and rely on you.
taking a breath, you explain, “being so focused on offence leaves your team vulnerable if the opposing team also has aggressive forwards that you can’t break through. the faceoff play needs to be adjusted for those situations, otherwise it’ll be too difficult to control the puck and it will more than likely end up in chaos. it won’t be a game of professional skill anymore, but a circus of dirty play.”
your defence-focused coaching style has worked well for all the past teams you have taught, both men’s and women’s teams. you know that the boys play an offence-focused style; you are reminded too closely of your past self every time they rush head-on into every situation. and it is exactly because of that–because you know the dangers that come with their aggressive style–that you are making them adjust their play. their career comes first and if they suffer an injury, there may not be a career left.
so you will play the bad cop if you have to. they will come to understand you one day.
san bites down on his mouthguard as he listens from his position in the goal. he is able to see each and every play unfold, better than any other of his teammates, so he knows where you are coming from. whilst he has become used to the pressures that come with goaltending, no amount of training or competitions will ever fully eliminate the sudden spike in fear and anticipation the moment the opposing team’s forwards break past yunho and mingi.
san is the team’s last line of defence and the best outcome is that a game never comes down to just him, the opponent’s stick, and his goal. it is true that his team needs to work on their defensive plays, so when the others huff in defiance and reluctantly reset their positions, san simply lowers his centre of gravity in wait for your cue to restart the drill.
“again.”
outside the arena, the echo of sticks and scraping of skates sound faintly as the first leaf of autumn begins to fall to the ground. as time passes, the rest of the leaves will also succumb to a similar fate, only differing in how. some will fall in a slow and graceful descent, whilst others…
…a rapid and spiralling whirlwind downwards.
counting the heads and finding all eight of your players seated in the bus, you nod to the driver to close the door and start driving. most of the boys have chosen to sit on a two-seater by themselves, only yunho and mingi choosing to sit together. they share a set of wired earphones, eyebrows furrowed in concentration at one of their phones, likely monitoring one of their own matches or one of another team’s.
the rest of the boys sit alone, faces grim and tight as they stare out the window. they look exactly like you used to and it hits you with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia.
the ride to the competition venue–much less for the very first game of the season–is always the quietest, air strung tight with nerves as everyone prepares themselves psychologically for the inevitable pressures that the game will bring. being able to compose and centre one’s mindset is already half the battle won, and whilst nobody says it out loud, you all know that today’s results, despite it only being day one, will set the tone for the next four to five months as they fight to qualify for the playoffs.
as you make one final sweep from the back of the bus to the front whilst it pulls away from the curb, you accidentally make eye contact with yeosang. you give him a polite smile and he opens his mouth, closes it on second thought, then decides to ask anyway, “do you want to sit here?”
it is a lie to say that you are not surprised by the question, so you stumble over your response as you stammer, “oh, okay. thanks.”
yeosang reciprocates your noise of disorientation and when he fumbles to move his bag aside that had been occupying the space beside him, you belatedly realise he was only asking out of courtesy. but backtracking now and rejecting his offer would be a million times worse and you can only try to hide the flaming heat behind your cheeks as best as you can as you sit down in the seat.
he fiddles with the straps of his bag and you can feel his discomfort reeking off his hands. in an attempt to break the ice, you glance at him, “are you nervous for the game?”
he nods, “don’t think it gets any less nerve-wracking no matter how many games you play.”
“well this is a pretty big championship. you have every reason to feel nervous,” you hum.
yeosang levels you with a look. “are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”
you do not know him well enough to be able to discern whether he is joking with you or not. opting to clear your throat instead, you point out, “you have your teammates who you can trust.”
“yeah…teammates.”
and you have me, too, as your coach, you want to say.
the hopeful glimpse in the dark of your eyes is enough for yeosang to pick up on your thoughts. he swallows uncomfortably and looks away.
we don’t know that yet.
you bite the inside of your cheek, trying once more to extend the conversation after a pregnant pause. “did you guys have a coach before cho?” either you have a shitty sense of appropriate conversation starters or yeosang wants absolutely nothing to do with you (it is likely both, but one can be optimistic), because his shoulders tense almost immediately.
“we did…just one,” he starts off carefully. you think that that is going to be the end of it, but then he adds on, “we don’t really talk about him though.”
and there it is–the end of the conversation. it is his nice way of telling you that there is no more to be said, so you sit the rest of the ride in silence next to yeosang, pretending not to let the sheer awkwardness suffocate you.
when the bus arrives at the gangneung ice arena, you hurry to alight and only then do you feel like you are able to breathe again. you plaster on a smile and notify the boys, “your first game is in two hours against the panthers. you’ve been allocated locker room 3B.”
they make their way into the centre and you trail behind in wait as they find their designated space. warm-ups will be first so they will not be needing their full gear just yet, which means it should not take long for them to change.
inside the locker room, the red devils shrug off their bulky duffle bags and change into their game jerseys, lacing and relacing their skates to ensure the snuggest fits. hongjoong alerts, “boys, time to go out and start warming up,” receiving a chorus of acknowledgement as everyone grabs the rest of the gear that they need.
before jongho places his phone into his assigned locker, he habitually taps on the screen one last time to check for any notifications and finds a single text from his younger brother, jonghyuk. he knows he should not read it, much less right before his first game, but the smaller part inside him that yearns for his family’s recognition dares to hope for something. dragging the preview down to avoid opening it, jongho reads the text.
are you just going to keep pretending you haven’t read our messages?
jongho clenches his jaw and swipes the notification away as if that will also erase it from his mind. tossing his phone into the locker, he shuts it with a harsh swing, resting his forehead against the cool metal as he closes his eyes and breathes out shakily. this game–this championship–jongho has to win; he cannot afford to lose.
“captain.”
hongjoong turns around to see jongho striding up towards him, brows furrowed and voice troubled as he questions, “are we really not going to tell coach what our game plan is? shouldn’t we work together with her?”
“jongho,” the captain sighs, “we got lucky with coach cho, but we know better than anyone else that not all coaches are like him.”
from where he has been listening in on the conversation at the doors leading out of the locker room, seonghwa’s shoulders stiffen. there is a moment of silence; the rest of the team have already made their way to the ice rink.
“what if we lose?”
it is the way that his voice grows small and timid that hongjoong realises it is not his captain that jongho needs right now. hongjoong’s gaze softens as he searches the younger’s eyes, “did your family say something again?”
he receives no answer but it tells him more than enough. “you trust me?”
jongho’s almost imperceptible nod does not escape hongjoong’s observations, so he continues to reassure, “we’ll win. my boys are the best players, you included, and we already have experience playing in this competition.” he ducks down slightly to meet jongho’s gaze, “and even if we do lose? we lose because of our own skills–not because of anybody else.”
his words tug a small smile out of the corner of the youngest’s lips, and hongjoong returns it with a relieved smile. with a nudge, he sends jongho in the direction of the door, where seonghwa pretends to ruffle his hair affectionately knowing that it will be dodged. seonghwa chuckles lightly and watches him walk off, unbeknownst to his captain watching him.
“hey,” hongjoong calls out gently, “i know what you’re thinking, but that wasn’t what i meant.”
seonghwa looks back and winces, “i can’t help it.”
“and that’s why i will keep telling you no matter how many times you need to hear it. it is not your fault–never was, and never will be,” hongjoong cocks his head playfully as he raises an eyebrow.
“same goes to you then, captain,” seonghwa returns the banter, shoulders relaxing and head shaking, “not your fault either.”
“you’re right, so let’s get the fuck out there and smash our game, yeah?” hongjoong slings his arm around the other and leads them both out of the locker room to join the rest of the boys.
what he does not say, though, is that seonghwa is wrong. seonghwa may have been the one to reach out to coach yeon, but hongjoong was the one who made the executive decision to accept and trust coach yeon.
he is not going to make the same mistake twice this time, because it is not just about protecting his dreams, his career, or those of his teammates–it is about protecting the people he loves.
hongjoong will not let them fall…not again.
winter, 2018: regular season
jongho twirls his phone in his hand, intermittently turning the screen on and off. he sits in the corner of the locker room, away from the rest of the boys as they wait for coach yeon to return from checking in and filling out their required paperwork. only several competitions later will they realise that their locker room is small, cramped and dim, but to their fresh, bright-eyed excitement at competing in a professional league for the first time, they hardly have time to critique the assigned space.
the phone comes to a stop. making up his mind, jongho taps on the screen and navigates to the keypad. dialling his mother’s number, he brings the phone up to his ear and waits with bated breath as it is left to ring.
“what do you want,” comes her curt response when she finally picks up.
jongho’s words falter, “oh, nothing…i just wanted to tell you that we’re playing our first game today.”
“game? your little team doesn’t even have a coach,” his mother patronises.
shoulders curling in on themselves, jongho hesitantly voices, “i told you last month that we got a coach.”
“i forgot,” she brushes him off, “and it must not be a very important competition then, seeing as it isn’t worth remembering.”
“there’s prize money,” he reveals. maybe if he can bring some of it home for his parents, they will recognise his efforts.
she sceptically probes, “is it national? international?”
“no…regionals.”
“is it ranked at least?”
“it’s just an entry-level competition for rookie teams,” jongho trails off, discouraged and confidence in shambles.
his mother scoffs at his answers, none of which are the ones she wants to hear. “you have no excuse not to win this competition, then. this is child’s play. just look at jonghyuk. he’s two years younger than you, yet already has his eyes on the olympics. if you lose, i don’t want to hear about it–don’t bring shame to our family.”
“okay,” jongho mumbles, but his answer is only heard by the beeping dial of the ended call…and the rest of the boys it seems, if not apparent by the sombre hush that has settled over the room and the worried lips that he sees when he looks up.
yeosang’s mouth parts, the younger’s name on the tip of his tongue, but then coach yeon enters the locker room and calls for their attention. jongho gives them a reassuring smile before setting his phone beside him on the bench and directing his gaze to their coach, grateful for the distraction. it leaves yeosang and the others with no choice but to drop it for now.
coach yeon erases the old scribbles on the room’s whiteboard and replaces it with rough markings of the hockey rink. he drags the magnets into the different zones, each one representative of a player, as he goes over the final lineup and their respective positions based on the opposing team they have been pooled against.
“stay strong on the offensive and maintain a 2-1-2 formation where possible–yeosang, i want you up there with hongjoong and put pressure on the other team. if they gain puck possession, both of you fall back to where wooyoung is and maintain 3-2.”
the three forwards nod and coach yeon touches one of the magnets positioned on the player’s bench. “jongho, you’ll come on for your shift during the second period. whoever you replace will come back in later to sub the other wing. yeosang and wooyoung, you should both be playing again during the third period.”
“yes, coach,” jongho acknowledges.
coach yeon continues on to review their game plan and hongjoong steps up to assist with detailing their different strategic plays. to jongho though, their words sound like he is listening from underwater as his mind involuntary drifts off. it is a small saving grace that his parents do not care for his match, because it means that they will not see that he is not part of the starting lineup.
for seven of the people in the locker room, winning the competition is an aspiration, but for one of them it is an expectation. and for the remaining individual, the competition in itself is an opportunity, but for an entirely different reason.
winter, present: regular season
inevitably, you find out. when discrepancies start to occur between training, pre-game meetings and the actual games, it is only a matter of time before you start to notice them.
it starts off with the uncommon plays that are simply a response to the game situation–ones that are dire and not often brought up prior to them actually occurring. during their fourth regular game of the season, the red devils are behind by two goals. the last period is almost over when they miraculously gain the power advantage after two of the opposing players are sent to the penalty box in quick succession.
before you realise what is happening, hongjoong gives his team a signal and both yunho and mingi on defence and san in the goal all rush forward to attack with the wings. you can only watch with wide eyes as they risk an empty net in the hopes of scoring two much-needed goals to even the playing field.
wooyoung manages to score one with a quick shot, but with the release of the opponents from the penalty box, their advantage is put to an end and they ultimately finish the match with a loss. you do not dwell too much on their sudden change in tactics despite the lack of communication with you, because you understand that every single game requires a different approach. sometimes, there is no time to strategise, only time to act.
but one occurrence turns into two, and two turns into several. and when, during one of their matches the week prior, jongho and wooyoung swap positions on the left and right sides of the rink as soon as the youngest replaces yeosang’s shift, it becomes quite conclusive that they are deliberately withholding information from you.
the boys are not brainless. it is not a coincidence for you and the team to discuss one game plan in the locker room only for it to completely change the moment they step onto the hockey rink.
you silently watch as the boys prepare for a faceoff in their defensive zone. they are currently playing against the incheon bears and the timing of the penalty puts you all on edge; the score is currently tied four to four and only twelve seconds are left on the clock. you had requested a time-out right as the referee made the call in hopes of stopping the momentum of the opposing team and to tell the boys to play defensively for this faceoff.
“play it safe. stall for the last twelve seconds and drag the game into overtime,” you had ordered.
the incheon bears have made a shift change with their player number four coming on for the faceoff, their right wing who has low stamina but terrifyingly accurate shots. he is responsible for most of his team’s goals and several other scoring attempts that san had only just managed to block. you are also almost certain that they will be aggressively body checking your players to make this faceoff count for them. your forwards have to play safely–not just for the sake of the game’s score.
at your defensive suggestion, san had nodded in agreement with you, “forwards need to make passes with sure lanes–nothing that can risk getting intercepted. go for the reverse setup play if you guys can.”
“we don’t need to take this into overtime,” hongjoong had started to argue, “other than number four, the rest of their offence is weak. as long as we break past him, we have an opportunity to score.”
“captain–”
the whistle blows before mingi can give his two cents, the mere thirty seconds for the time-out far too short, and the boys hurry to enter the rink again. hongjoong leans in quickly to say something to them before they disperse into their positions and mingi glances at you, almost guiltily.
you do not have the confidence that your team will listen. san may have seen the advantages in favouring a defensive play, but he is not the one who will decide which direction the puck will go when the referee drops it onto the ice. hongjoong is.
the hand of the referee raises to signal the start of the faceoff and both team’s centre forwards lower their stance. then the puck hits the ice. hongjoong’s nimble reflexes help him to snap his wrist and twist the puck away from the incheon bear’s player, wooyoung already surging ahead with explosive strides towards the other end of the rink. but just as you fear, the opponent’s left wing thunders at hongjoong with horrifying speed, intention solely to bowl him over onto the ice–not to steal the puck.
“fuck, captain!” you yell, heart leaping up into your throat as it cuts off your breath.
hongjoong’s eyes snap upwards and darken, jaws aching from the force with which he grinds his teeth together despite his mouthguard. he suddenly pivots on the edges of his skates and shifts his weight to only just narrowly miss the body check, then flicks the puck away before another player can knock him down.
he does not need to look before passing to where he knows wooyoung will be, years of synergy allowing their plays to connect seamlessly. except incheon bear’s number four has predicted their exact play, having been watching from the benches and noting your forwards’ preference for aggressive attacks.
“shit,” yunho curses under his breath, ice shaving under his skates from the accelerating force of his strides towards the puck. he is not going to make it in time. “mingi!”
seonghwa jolts up to his feet from the player’s bench, chest mid-inhale with apprehension at the captain’s pass. the puck is intercepted within the blink of an eye and with a well-timed punch turn around yunho’s attempt to regain possession, the rival team’s number four makes a shot for the goal.
it is too fast for mingi’s stick to block–arm still stretching out with desperation–and although san drops down to his knees in hopes of barricading the goal with his leg pads, the trajectory of the puck arcs higher than he had predicted.
as the puck soars past san and hits the netting of the goal, the buzzer sounds in tandem with the eruption of cheers around the rink. all around, the incheon bears swarm towards their number four in joyous celebration. mingi leans over to rest his hands on his knees from both exhaustion and defeat, and the other boys stand in similar stances as the outcome of the game registers in their tired minds.
in an attempt to cheer them up despite his own disappointment, seonghwa half-heartedly smiles at his boys as they slowly start to trudge their way off the rink. “we played well, boys. it was unlucky that our pass got intercepted, but we can do better next time.”
“good thing it isn’t the playoffs yet,” yunho tries to joke, “so we’re still in the competition.”
nobody cracks a smile and wooyoung’s face is dark, hand grabbing the walls in support to favour his left foot whilst lifting his skates over the slight ledge of the bench door. noting his slight limp, san quietly murmurs in worry, “did you tape your ankle?”
wooyoung shakes his head. “i ran out. forgot to buy some yesterday.”
“make sure you ice it tonight then, okay?” san gently supports him by the elbow to the benches so they can loosen the laces of their skates and grab their things before heading to the locker room.
you look away to flip through the notebook in your hand instead, trying to calm the shaking of your hands. ice hockey is a contact sport and you cannot protect the players from every single collision, but that last body check that hongjoong had been unprepared for still has acid pooling into your mouth. you scratch the score ‘4-5’ onto a page filled with their scores from this season thus far. a quick calculation tells you that the red devils have just as many losses as they have wins, which in all honesty, is not looking good.
this…conflict needs to be cleared with the team–with hongjoong. you cannot let this concealment of tactics and blatant changing of strategies right in your face continue any longer, because at the rate they are going, they may not even make it into the playoffs. and as you make eye contact with san, who has been staring despondently at the puck that still lies in his goal, you know that you must clear the air for the team, too. the last thing you need is for their own teamwork to fall apart because their differing opinions on your coaching starts to drive a wedge between them.
san stills when you break your gaze and glance away to pivot on your heels in the direction of the changerooms. from the way your mouth thins and neck becomes rigid, he is quite certain you are not happy—and rightfully so, san must admit. he stalls time by slipping off his bulky gloves and freeing his hands up to remove his helmet and mouthguard too.
noting that the other boys have grabbed most of their belongings, san heads off first to meet you, knowing that they will follow him soon after. he walks down the corridor easily balancing on his skates and rounds the corner to their locker room. except the sight that greets him has his feet halting and taking a step back behind the doorway.
your hand is deep in one of their bags. san is unsure whose bag it is, but the brief glimpse of the black canvas bag he caught is enough to tell him that it is one of theirs. although he is not making any accusations, he also cannot think of a reason as to why you would be rummaging through their bags.
“why are you just standing there?”
jongho’s voice startles him and he mumbles, “nothing,” before stepping through the door with the rest of his team. you are sitting on a bench in front of an empty locker now and if he did not know better, san would think that he had imagined the last minute. he glances discreetly at the bag you had been poking through and recognises it as wooyoung’s.
gingerly seating himself in front of his own locker, san waits on edge as mingi also grasps the atmosphere and sits too. gradually, the boys read the room with tactful glances and linger on their feet or on the benches. all except for one.
“what was that?” you cut through the silence with a directed question at hongjoong.
the captain continues to toss his gloves into his unzipped bag at the bottom of his locker before proceeding to unlace his skates, not once turning to look at you.
“what was what?”
you know fully well that he is aware of what you are talking about but you decide to humour him as you elaborate, “that last faceoff. i clearly told you to play defensively, but you went against it to try for a goal. and let me guess, you told the others to ignore what i said.”
“and so what if i did?” hongjoong challenges. yeosang’s wide eyes dart from side to side and yunho watches on uneasily as his captain finally turns to glare at you. “in that moment–as a player on the rink–i saw the opportunity and took it. if there is a chance to attack, then my team takes it. we don’t run away like cowards.”
the successive jabs at your athletic retirement cause a lick of phantom heat to wrap around your shoulder. your jaw grinds as you hold yourself back from biting the bait. “then i’m curious as to what opportunity you saw every time you decided to withhold game tactics from me, or every time you changed the strategy the moment you and your team stepped foot onto the rink.”
“maybe we would respect and listen to your coaching if it actually suited the playing style of our team. heavy defence may have worked for the grey eagles, but i think you need to reevaluate your abilities as a coach because it seems like you are forgetting that we are not them. forcing us to play defensively like your past team is not going to work for shit, coach,” hongjoong mocks.
you scoff to the side, questioning your own ears. it borders on a laugh, because that is his reason? you have been adjusting their playing style not only based on the situation that arises each game, but in general for their own good. earning his respect be damned, you will not stand for this.
you return the same scornful tone, “well then, captain, considering you just lost the fucking match because you were too arrogant to defend for twelve fucking seconds, i think you should also reevaluate yourself. are you acting in the best interest of your team, or are you acting in the way that best strokes your own ego? and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you.
“if you do not have the decency to at least tell me what you have discussed with the boys so that i can adjust the plays accordingly, then i think the shit results of your games so far speak for themselves. teams have a coach for a reason whether you like it or not…or maybe i should say, whether you trust them or not,” you snap.
running your stressed fingers through your hair, you tear your eyes away from hongjoong’s defiant eyes. the two youngest avoid your gaze, whereas yunho and yeosang simply stare at you with their jaws slack at a loss for words. the fire within you almost quenches when your eyes skim over san, mingi and even seonghwa, who are fiddling with their jerseys with guilt.
the room suddenly feels too small and too stuffy. “change. the bus will be waiting outside,” you mumble, then you leave without a further word.
nobody in the room moves in the wake of the argument, not even hongjoong, who continues to bore holes in the doorway that you have just disappeared through. yunho’s eyes awkwardly dart back and forth between hongjoong and the other boys before they land on the bench you had been sitting on.
the notebook you are always holding is still there, left behind in your haste to leave. he stands up to grab it, turning on his heels to chase after you when the open pages catch his eye. “woah,” yunho breathes out, double-taking and bringing the notebook closer towards him to read the contents. “this is insane.”
you have marked down not only their score for every single game they have played this season, but you have also tracked the statistics of who has scored, assisted, or successfully defended a shot. yunho flips back through the pages as the other boys come to crowd around him. there are logs of their major games from the past five years, diagrams of their faceoff plays and formations, analyses of their strengths in games won and similarly, analyses of their weaknesses in games they have lost.
“oh, fuck,” mingi curses when yunho flips to the more recent pages and they see that you have compiled the same details and information, only more concisely, for every single opponent team the red devils have played against this season. there is no way of seeing this–hours upon hours of hard work–and still questioning your intentions as their coach. “i think we owe coach a huge fuckin’ apology.”
hongjoong immediately furrows his eyebrows with displeasure. “are you taking her side, mingi?”
“captain,” mingi deliberately calls. it is at times like this where being the only logical thinker in the team has its merits. it may be harsh, but mingi must draw the line between their professional and personal life. this dispute must stay strictly within the bounds of their career without blurring the lines over into their romantic involvement with one another, otherwise things could get messy real fast.
mingi stares at the captain as he reasons, “this isn’t about taking sides. from a solely rational point of view, i think it may have been better for us to play safe and defend like coach had suggested.”
from beside him, san nods in agreement. mingi continues, “and i’m not just talking about today–there were a lot of times when coach’s plays might have worked out better than bulldozing ahead with offence. yeah, we’ve won a few games but we’ve also lost just as many. how many of those could we have won if we had trusted coach?”
yunho backs him up whilst gesturing vaguely between the both of them and san, “it’s easier for the three of us to see from defence, but their forwards were already close to intercepting our faceoffs quite a few times that game.”
hongjoong’s immediate thought is to defend himself, because he is their captain and their centre forward; the one who leads them into opportunities to score and win. he knows that every single time he chooses an aggressive play, it is at the risk of weaker defence. the odds have never deterred him, though, because he has always been confident in his abilities–in his team’s abilities.
but if, even now with the palpable experience of losing because of his own decision, it still does not deter him from taking risks in a situation where offence may be his downfall, then is he confident…or overconfident?
it is quiet for a moment. hongjoong swallows the urge to justify against their opinions–against your opinions–instead looking around at his team. he meets jongho’s round eyes and he remembers one of the very reasons why he is so committed to leading the red devils to the gold trophy. why, if he is becoming a hurdle instead to their victory, then he needs to change. “what does everybody else think? seonghwa?”
“we’ve been wary of y/n all this time, but the more games we play and especially after…” the alternate captain vaguely gestures in the air, “...today, we should really work with her instead of relying on ourselves. we’ve seen her notebook, too, and i think that’s more than enough for us to see that the effort and resolve she places in our team is genuine. we need to acknowledge that and apologise.”
“not even coach cho went to these lengths, and most definitely not coach yeon,” yeosang shrugs as he offhandedly comments.
spurred on by everybody else, san carefully voices the thought that has been lingering on his mind, “i think it’s time to tell her the truth. we owe her that much.”
the truth. the wounds that not even coach cho knows of.
hongjoong’s distrust in you may have initially been true to his desire to protect his boys from something like that from happening again. but he is now realising that you may have seen right through him. perhaps at some point in time, it became unwillingness to trust you, blinded by his prideful title as the demon king of the ice rink but at the expense of his team under the guise of wanting to safeguard them.
exhaling shakily, voice thick with regret, hongjoong accepts, “i’ve let you all down, haven’t i?”
“no,” yunho gently rebukes. “letting us down would be refusing to listen to us. we trust you for a reason, hongjoong.”
not just as a captain, but as everything else too.
seonghwa wraps an arm comfortingly around him. with hongjoong’s demonic presence on the ice once he is in the zone, it is easy to forget that he actually has a shorter stature than all of them. “that’s right, we trust you,” seonghwa affirms. “the next step is for us to trust our coach as well. we’re a team, but it isn’t complete without our coach.”
“and this apology isn’t yours alone to bear,” yunho reminds. “like seonghwa said, we’re a team and we all have fault in our behaviour towards y/n. if i’m honest, i had a shitty attitude and gave her a hard time at the start too,” he admits, wincing at the memory.
yunho is not the only one who grimaces as they reflect on their own actions–whether they happened when you were first introduced to the team, during your first training together, or even up until today’s game. but wooyoung, who has been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, still has a niggling doubt: one that is most personal to him in comparison to the rest of the team.
wooyoung reveals his thoughts, “but what about her choice to stop playing? i still can’t think of a good reason that i can respect her for having retired.”
“then we ask her,” mingi proposes.
jongho nods, also curious to know whether there is more to your decision than you have let on. “today, though? we don’t really want to come off as accusatory or anything. it might be good to give her some space today.”
“what’s our schedule looking like tomorrow? training?”
everyone looks at seonghwa, the most likely person to know their schedule off by heart. he does, and he scratches his head as he recalls, “no, recovery day. low-intensity cardio in the morning and…a team meeting with coach in the afternoon.”
“tomorrow it is, then,” hongjoong concludes. there are hums of agreement and the decision appears to appease wooyoung enough for the boys to start dispersing, heading to their lockers to finally start changing out of their gear.
wooyoung tosses his helmet and gloves onto the bench in front of his locker before sitting with a sharp but discreet inhale. he carefully loosens the laces on his skates, easing the left one off his foot slowly. the relief is immediate and his fingertips gingerly touch the throbbing area around his ankle. it is not too swollen, but he will need to ice it when they get back to their apartment and he will definitely need to buy more tape.
he sheds off the rest of his gear and uniform, leaving them on the bench too to air out while he takes a quick shower. as he roughly towels his wet hair afterwards, he drags his kit bag further out to make it easier to toss everything in.
“huh?” wooyoung makes a noise of confusion when he unzips the bag, hand immediately reaching in to grab the item that has caught his eye. it is partially covered by his hoodie but he would be able to recognise the packaging anywhere.
“what’s wrong?” san asks, glancing over.
the younger brandishes the brand new roll of strapping tape he has found in his bag, the frown etched across his face slowly relaxing into amused exasperation as he reasons, “i must not have seen this in my bag all along.”
san is about to snort and make fun of his inattentiveness, but a sudden thought stuns the smile off his face. it was not that wooyoung had managed to miss the spare roll in his bag. it was–
“y/n,” he quietly exhales with realisation.
at wooyoung’s questioning what?, san looks at him with upturned eyebrows. “the tape–coach was the one who put it in your bag, right before we all walked in here.”
“this…she gave it to me?” wooyoung’s face drops, remorse evident in the thickness of his voice. “but why?”
san gently squeezes his shoulder with a smile, simply answering, “because she’s our coach.” he turns to zip up his own kit bag and leaves wooyoung to digest the revelation. the boy is quiet for the rest of the time, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek as he stares ahead and absentmindedly follows the rest of his team out of the locker room.
when they exit the ice arena, they do not expect to see you. and yet, there you stand beside their bus waiting stonily with your jacket zipped up and hands in your pockets. you mentally count them off without acknowledging them as they start to store their kit bags under the bus and board. yeosang gets on first, taking a seat near the front of the bus as usual. he watches from the window as you wait for the rest of the boys.
you follow jongho up the stairs, the last to load his kit bag, and tell the driver that you are all good to leave. yeosang sits a little straighter as he tucks his small backpack further under the seat in front of him with his feet, having left the seat beside him empty. but before he can open his mouth with an offer of a seat, you have already sat right behind the driver. yeosang leans back into the cushions of his seat, unfamiliar with the sense of disappointment he feels.
the ride back from the competition venue–much less after a lost game–is always quiet, players both physically and mentally exhausted from the strain. this time, though, it is strikingly silent, but you appreciate it–need it.
you stare out of the window as the trees flicker past like a repetitive motion film. most of their leaves have already fallen off, littering the ground in a blur of tragic glory. and with the beginning of winter, the trees will soon become completely bare, bringing about the period of time when there is nothing but bleak emptiness.
winter, 2019: regular season
‘2019 ice hockey rookie stars tournament: team standings’
hongjoong stares at the printed piece of paper with seonghwa at his side, where the results of all the team’s round-robin games have been taped up onto the walls of the stadium. hongjoong does not even bother reading from the top, eyes going straight down to the bottom of the page instead.
the red devils are dead last, having lost every single one of their matches. even the korean penguins, who had nil wins either, had managed to beat them earlier today, ranking them at the lowest of all teams. it is fucking humiliating and hongjoong hates that the sport that had brought him and his boys all together, that they had immeasurable love for, is now one that fills them with shame and indignity.
nobody else but the two captains of the team have decided to look at the rankings. they had all already known towards the end of the regular season that they would not stand a chance at making it into the playoffs. and yet, hongjoong and seonghwa need to see the results for themselves. it is almost masochistic, forcing themselves to look at the fruitless results of their hard work in their first competition that has so devastatingly crushed their morality.
seonghwa picks at his cuticles fretfully and wonders whether he made the wrong decision to give up his education in pursuit of becoming an athlete. he thinks of his parents, who had encouraged him with supportive smiles and offers of financial support the moment he brought up the idea–was it all in vain?
“are you two done looking?”
both of the boys turn at the question to find a captain with his team waiting to look at the standings.
“yeah, sorry,” hongjoong mumbles before stepping aside to yield his spot. the players swarm forwards and he is pushed further back away from the list like a physical representation of his distance from the playoffs.
somebody from the other team yells, “we made it! we’re in the playoffs!” and they simultaneously break out into cries and cheers as they celebrate together.
hongjoong watches on bitterly, wishing with every cell in his body that that was him and his boys. how is he going to walk back into the locker room as their captain when all of his boys have eyes that are rimmed red and cheeks that are blotchy from despair–when there are captains like that who have successfully led their team to at least a chance at winning the competition.
the feeling of a pinky slowly hooking around his own draws hongjoong out of his pain. “let’s go back,” seonghwa murmurs, tugging him away from the still-celebrating team. together, both of them start to walk back through the hallways to their locker room.
“aren’t we down here?” seonghwa questions, standing at the t-intersection that hongjoong has absentmindedly walked straight past.
“oh, yeah. sorry,” hongjoong apologises and begins to backtrack. his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a voice. “wait, doesn’t that sound like coach?”
before seonghwa can respond, hongjoong has turned around yet again towards the voice in search of their coach. seonghwa hurries to catch up and that is when he hears it too.
“have you transferred the money?”
“yes, i wired you the remaining amount the moment we won,” a deeper, unrecognisable voice reassures.
hongjoong’s footsteps falter, brows knitting together and head cocking to one side. he gestures for seonghwa to slow down, pressing a finger on his other hand to his lips. both of them creep forward silently.
the unfamiliar voice probes, “your team–you’re sure they don’t suspect anything?”
hongjoong and seonghwa do not need to see him to confirm their suspicions when they hear the unmistakable laughter of coach yeon. through the gravelly sound, he mocks, “they have no fucking clue even though they’ve lost every single one of their games. they’re dumber than fucking sheep. their captain tells me everything about their plays and strategies and they never question it when i change things around.”
seonghwa clutches the back of hongjoong’s jersey with a death grip, knowing that without it, his captain will punch coach yeon’s face into a bloody mess. but as much as their coach deserves it, it is not worth the disciplinary action that will inevitably follow, likely suspension, because–
“plus, even if they do somehow find out, what can they do about it? bullshit, that’s what. they have no evidence and they’re not going to risk blowing this up and ruining their own careers instead,” coach yeon boasts smugly. “losing like that as a rookie group in their first year out is completely normal. no one will believe them, and no coach is going to want their team after that because of their ‘shitty sportsmanship’ or out of fear of being accused in the same way if they lose again.”
at coach yeon’s words, seonghwa scrambles to put them into context with his dread-riddled mind. the echoing pounding in his ears tells him that he has just heard something that was never meant to be known. he does not even notice that the voices start to grow distant as the two men begin to walk off, but hongjoong does.
the trembling grip that is still on the back of his jersey grounds hongjoong enough not to throw everything away and sprint up to coach yeon with vile words and heated fists, but he also cannot do nothing. hongjoong peers around the corner before seonghwa can counteract his movement, desperate to identify who exactly coach yeon is talking to. except the revelation has him reeling, hands white from how hard his fingers dig into his palm–a stark contrast to the deep scarlet of flames that leap forth from his murderous eyes.
because the person who is walking beside coach yeon is the coach of the korean penguins. hongjoong and his boys have not been losing because of their skills they believed to be fucking shit–coach yeon has been fucking ensuring they lose.
for money.
winter, present: regular season
you stand on the balcony of your apartment. the sliding glass doors are shut behind you to keep the heat trapped inside, but for now you welcome the refreshing cold of the winter chill as you simply observe.
below on the streets, the miniature specks of people and cars mill around as if you are watching a game simulation. it is strangely humbling to think that each and every one of the people you see are living their own lives, completely distinct to yours with different yet very real problems of their own, but in the grand scheme of the cosmos, you are all insignificant.
you wonder what concern the people holding their coffee are plagued with right now; what problem the people crossing the street are facing. you wonder, if you were to tell them of your worries and they were to tell you of theirs, would you curse or thank the heavens?
the phone in your hand buzzes. you look to see if it is from coach cho and manage a small smile of relief when the notification is indeed from him.
apologies y/n, i was busy earlier. i can call now if you still need me?
you send an affirmative reply, then slide to answer the call that comes through. “hi coach, sorry to bother you.”
“no, you’re alright. is everything okay?”
you hesitate before revealing, “...i messed things up with the boys.”
“the team?” his voice goes gentle, fatherly nature extending to you too. “what happened?”
“hongjoong and i had an argument today after the game because he keeps changing the team’s plays without letting me know, or even after we’ve agreed on something else. it was only meant to be a talk, but then things escalated and we ended up fighting. i just–i don’t know what you saw in me, coach, because i don’t think i’m fit for the boys,” you ramble. “they’re not listening to me, they probably don’t even like me, and we’re going terribly with the season.”
you take a breath as you timidly admit, “i don’t think we’re going to make it into the playoffs and it’s going to be my fault.”
“hey,” coach cho grounds you, “making the playoffs would be great, yes, but the reality is that most teams don’t. and you’re still very young yourself–this is your, what…fifth year of coaching?”
throat too sticky to formulate a response, you simply hum.
“when i first started coaching, i was older than you and it was still a steep learning curve during my first ten years. i believed that coaches deserved the utmost respect and that my opinion was final. they’re my players, so of course i should be the one laying down the laws,” he chuckles. “but growing up was realising that whilst the respect is still there, it needs to be mutual. coaching a team is not a hierarchy of ‘i command, you listen’, but a show of leadership with the captain at the front of the team–not on top of them.”
his words strike a chord within you. coaching the boys was frustrating because they were not listening to you. but it should never have been a case of who listens to who–it should always have been a reciprocated relationship of everyone listening to one other.
as if he can physically feel the guilt that is starting to settle in the pit of your stomach, coach cho draws your attention to something else. “remember what i told you when we met the team for the first time? why i chose you specifically?”
“because of our similar playing styles?” you recall.
“exactly,” he confirms, “you know best the strategies and plays that work, and what their strengths and weaknesses are, because they were also your own. you need to be a coach to their playing style, not the other way around–they shouldn’t be a player to your coaching style.”
you cannot help but worry, “what if they get injured?”
“y/n, this is where your similarities can either be your biggest flaw or your greatest asset as a coach. no matter how safely they play, there will always be a risk of injury. that is just how the sport works and you know that the best. you can teach them to assess the risk and pull back if they really need to, but ultimately, there is no way of eliminating the risk completely.” coach cho pauses, then asks, “if you could meet your younger self, would you make yourself change your playing style?”
would you? as you imagine what you would tell your past self if you had the chance to, you find that you do not have an answer. perhaps for the sake of a prolonged career, you would. but then would it be your passion and skills that are playing the game, or your fears and worries?
if you cannot come to a decision even for yourself, then it is completely unfair for you to restrain the boys within the cages of what you view as safety for their own good. harnessing the defensive skills may have been functional for the grey eagles, but like hongjoong said, you are coaching the red devils now and it is not working for them. you must come to terms that you cannot protect the boys at every opportunity–consciously or unconsciously–you need to be a coach to them.
coach cho, aware that you have come to a conclusion, asks you one final question, “have you told the boys why you retired?”
“no, not yet,” you shake your head. you already have an idea of what he is going to say to you next.
“i think it’s time for you to tell them,” he advises. “remember, y/n, sometimes you need to be vulnerable with them first before you can make things right.”
after coach cho ends the call, you do not make a move to go back inside the apartment. you stay standing on your balcony, arms folded as you lean against the handrail listening to the faint rumble of traffic and hustle of busy activity. life goes on, and so will yours; you just have to make it count.
the trees on the streets may be stripped bare and lonely throughout winter, but eventually you learn to appreciate its nothingness. it is a necessity in order to start afresh.
mingi stares at the blinking cursor that sits in the open search bar. it has been empty for the last twenty minutes since he started up his laptop, wondering whether it would be an invasion of privacy for him to look you up on the internet.
he makes up his mind. he knows that he was the one to tell wooyoung only mere hours ago that they would ask you about your decision to retire tomorrow at the meeting, but mingi supposes it would not hurt to simply see what sort of athlete you were like before.
typing your full name into the search engine, mingi hits ‘enter’ and waits for the results to appear. he combs through the first several links quickly. they all have the same information; ice hockey databases and websites that detail your age, nationality, physical stats and position, but the sections that usually list your team and agency are now blank.
mingi is surprised to learn you were also a centre forward. he scrolls down to your game logs and match statistics that span from 2014 to 2019. you have won an impressive number of championships, most notably the under-18 and under-21 women’s ice hockey league. they are both international competitions and mingi is not sure how your reputation has flown under all of their radars.
frowning, he goes back to the search engine and clicks on the next page in an attempt to find more information. it is not until he clicks yet again to the next page that he finds a low-reputed news article from almost eight years ago where you are the main subject.
‘y/n l/n, youngest player of ‘black cats’, wins ice hockey championship at the age of sixteen’ the headline reads. there is not much to the article, but it outlines your admirable achievement at your young age as a rising prodigy in the ice hockey scene. mingi agrees, since he knows that you also go on to win another international competition a few years after that. just as he is about to close the tab, there is a recommended link that catches his eye.
he hovers his cursor over it. the hyperlinked headline does not explicitly say your name, but the phrasing really only alludes to one athlete considering it is a recommended link on your article. mingi does not know whether he wants to click on it, though, because he is afraid of confirming it is you.
and if it is…then the others will also need to see this too.
“hongjoong, guys, come look at this,” mingi calls out, balancing his laptop on his forearm as he walks out into the open living room. the others look up from where they are sitting or emerge from out of their rooms at his summon.
“what’s this?” hongjoong reaches out to receive the laptop and places it on the table. his eyes skim the screen, trying to make sense of what mingi is showing them.
mingi points to the hyperlink he had been mulling over. “i think we need to look at this.”
solemnity washes over the boys as their curious gazes dull and darken, realisation of what exactly they are reading dawning upon them. all at once, their hearts clench in solidarity. hongjoong clicks on the link. the only sound that permeates the silence is the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. nobody talks. nobody moves.
ice hockey star announces retirement following shoulder injury june 18, 2019 star player y/n l/n, centre forward of the ‘black cats’, has announced her retirement from professional ice hockey today. her decision follows lingering issues after suffering from a rotator cuff tear during the grand finals of this year’s under-21 women’s ice hockey league. l/n has been under the ice hockey spotlight ever since her win in the under-18’s league as the youngest player on her team. she is well-known for her offensive threat to the opponents, bold playing style and unparalleled skill breaking through the lines of defence. during the grand finals in april, l/n was body checked from the side by ‘polar bears’’ kim hyejin. although full-body checking is illegal in women’s hockey, it is not uncommon during the heat of competitions. l/n suffered a severe right rotator cuff tear and is reported to have received open surgery last month. l/n did not provide further details about her recovery, however stated that she plans to focus on her physical rehabilitation in the meantime.
the glare of the screen stares back at the boys as they finally understand exactly why you had retired and why you had come back as a coach–you were unable to fully step away from the sport you so loved with your entire life.
“coach wasn’t telling us to play defensively at all the crucial times just for the sake of the game strategy…” seonghwa grasps.
“...but because she didn’t want the same thing to happen to us,” hongjoong finishes. one of your heated remarks during your argument with him suddenly resounds in his mind: and let me remind you–if you suffer an injury, your whole team suffers with you. you had been reliving your own demons every single time hongjoong and his boys were playing aggressively on the ice. “fuck,” he mutters.
mingi leans down a little. “wait, see if there are any other articles about this.”
fingers dancing across the keyboard, hongjoong opens up a new tab. another quick search of your name with the keywords ‘injury’ and ‘retirement’ yields no further articles. mingi is certain you would have had more media coverage considering you had suffered an injury at the rising peak of your prodigious career, so he finds it strange that there is close to no information about this.
“it almost looks as if somebody had the articles purged from the internet,” mingi observes.
jongho nods with furrowed brows, “maybe y/n? but why would she go to the length to remove them?”
“i mean, wooyoung didn’t exactly go around flaunting off his injury to the media. maybe she didn’t want the attention anymore,” yeosang guesses.
yunho nudges wooyoung playfully as he comments, “no offence to you, but none of us are exactly famous enough for the media to take interest in our injuries.”
“i think the real question is why coach didn’t tell us that her injury was the reason why she stopped playing,” seonghwa wonders, “it was never really a choice like she made it out to be.”
none of them know the answer. hongjoong slowly closes the laptop, exhaling deeply, “we’ve got a lot of things to clear up tomorrow…and a lot of apologising. i’m going to sleep early. you all should too.”
with that, he gets out of his seat and disappears into his bedroom. hongjoong’s mind is heavy and crowded and he knows he is going to be awake for a while.
nobody sleeps well that night. especially wooyoung.
spring, 2023: playoffs
“what do you mean i can’t compete in the playoffs?”
“you have a fractured ankle, wooyoung. the playoffs are honestly the least of your concerns and if you keep straining yourself like this, it won’t just be the playoffs that you can’t compete in–it’ll be the rest of your life,” coach cho admonishes.
“but this is our first proper championship, coach,” wooyoung begs, “you have to let me play.”
coach cho hates that he has to say no and if he could swap ankles with his player, he would do so in a heartbeat. “this isn’t a choice. you physically cannot play. what are you going to do out there on the ice? crawl?”
“fuck, coach, you don’t understand. it was so hard for us to get to this point. this means everything to me, fuck, please,” wooyoung pleads between heaving breaths.
“i’m sorry, wooyoung,” coach cho apologises, leaving no further room for argument as the other boys divert their gazes to the floor.
hongjoong gently squeezes wooyoung’s shoulder. “the doctor said that your cast can come off in about eight weeks and if it’s looking good, you can gradually join in on any light training when it’s off-season.”
wooyoung does not care because in eight week’s time the playoffs will already be over. he knows he is being unreasonable and that there is no chance he will be able to set foot in an ice rink within the next two months. but his heart and mind are operating separately and the only thing his heart can see is the opportunity of playing in the championships slipping right out of his grasp.
he is already angry at himself for getting injured in the first place but it is not enough to quell wooyoung’s raging inferno. so he does the only thing he can think of in the moment–he spits out his anger with a venomous, “i hate you all.”
it hurts the boys more to see wooyoung hurting and coach cho speaks up on their behalf, “i would rather you hate us now than for you to hate yourself in the future because you traded decades of your career for this one playoff.”
wooyoung jerks his head away defiantly, but they know he is only trying to hide his tears. unable to watch any longer, san moves in closer and pulls the younger into his arms.
“fuck off, san. i don’t need you.”
san swallows the hurt in his chest because he knows there is no truth behind wooyoung’s words. “i know you don’t,” he offers, “but i need you. so just let me stay.”
wooyoung’s body sags as all of the fight slips out of him in the form of shuddering sobs. san embraces him tightly, as if he has picked up all the pieces of the other and only a hug can make him whole again.
“i’m sorry,” wooyoung chokes out.
san shakes his head with reassuring hushes, “don’t be. you focus on recovering and we’ll take it from here.”
like that, wooyoung’s anger is quenched and the team goes on to compete in the playoffs without him. but in the absence of anger comes other emotions, jealousy and insecurity the ugliest of them all. wooyoung despises the bitter taste in his mouth as he sits on the player’s bench outside of the rink each game, only able to helplessly watch his team advance further in the playoffs without him.
and as much as wooyoung wants them to win, he also does not want them to win, because if they can win the championships without him playing as their left wing, then do they really need him at all? he never gets to find out the answer though. they lose in the quarter finals.
wooyoung does not tell anybody about the ill relief he feels…and he vows to take that secret with him to the grave.
winter, present: regular season
the moment you walk into kq’s meeting room, a rehearsed apology for the team on the tip of your tongue, you realise that something is off. not necessarily wrong, per se; just off.
all the boys are sitting around the table as usual, though the overhead projector that is routinely already set up with video footage of their recent games has been put on standby mode. but the thing that unconsciously makes your hackles rise is the expression they all nurse on their faces, strangely familiar yet foreign at the same time. it is familiar in the sense that people have looked at you this way in the past, but it is foreign in the sense that it has never come from the boys before.
“hi, coach,” hongjoong clears his throat awkwardly, opting to look at the wall behind you instead of your eyes as if even he knows this is the first time he has ever addressed you as such. “we had a…talk last night and thought we should probably clear up a few things before we discuss the actual games.”
although you share the same sentiment as they do, hongjoong’s words put you on guard. gingerly, you lower yourself into an empty seat across from him. “i also have a couple of things to say, but you guys start,” you cue.
hongjoong glances at seonghwa beside him, who in turn gives him a miniscule shrug. neither of them know how to bring it up with you as they are afraid of saying the wrong thing. thankfully, mingi steps in, not one to beat around the bush.
“why didn’t you tell us about your injury?” he asks directly.
with mingi’s question, you are suddenly able to place their expression. the boys look at you warily as if you are a wounded animal they are afraid will run away. you loathed the expression years ago when it was from your coach, your teammates and your family–the constant treading on eggshells around you with pitying eyes–and you still loathe it just as much as you do now.
your prickles emerge and your instinctive reaction is to deny it. you have kept your injury a secret up until now for a reason and the unexpected confrontation has all of your sirens blaring to keep it a secret. but then you remember coach cho’s advice–you remember the apology you had mulled over all night–and you force your prickles to retract.
you take a breath. coach cho would not have told them about your injury, so there is only one way the boys could have found out about it. “you read the articles, didn’t you?”
mingi at least has the decency to look sheepish as he admits, “one…but there weren’t any others.”
“i thought as much,” you mumble to yourself, smiling tightly. you choose not to think about how they came across the article. “i wanted them all removed and my agency managed to pull enough connections to sweep the articles under the rug, but i should have known that in this day and age it would be impossible to get rid of any media completely.”
the question remains as to why you have chosen to keep this hidden and also–
“why did you want them removed, though?” hongjoong furrows his brows.
you have faced countless demons in the last six years. the injury itself, the abrupt end to your golden days, and the forced reconciliation with the fact that you will never be able to play again. and yet, the demon that continues to haunt you to this day is the media spotlight that chases after you as if you are a circus animal.
you are unable to look at any of them in the eye as you finally bare yourself open to the boys. “the articles felt belittling and shameful–they still do. they made me feel less as an athlete then and they make me feel less as a coach now. i worked my heart and soul to get to where i was with the skills that i had, but you don’t understand just how crippling it is for all of that to be overshadowed by an injury. it was no longer a celebration of my achievements, simply because nobody cared anymore. it just became a fucking broken record of, ‘how does it feel to have fallen at the peak of your career?’
“then when i became a coach, it didn’t matter how well my team performed or how hard they worked to win the championships. the question became, ‘how does it feel to coach after being forced to retire because of your injury?’ no matter how hard i tried, i just could not escape the hellhole of my injury.”
guilt settles in the pit of mingi’s stomach as it also does for the others. they may not have written the article, but by consuming it and searching for more, they had unknowingly joined the faceless masses of those who had hurt you.
you dig your thumbs into the flesh of your thighs to stop your voice from shaking as you continue, “the media will not care for the achievements that myself or my players accomplish when there is something even better–a sob story. but i do not need that kind of pity. not from athletes, not from other coaches, and most definitely not from strangers silently pitying my life from behind their newspaper or screen when i did not ask for any of it. i made people forget and i kept this all hidden because my career, be it as a coach or a former athlete, does not deserve to be reduced to that kind of shit.”
the raw honesty behind your words strikes the boys silent. what they thought they had started to understand about you, they are now realising was barely the tip of the iceberg. seonghwa wonders for just how long you have left this wound bleeding and untreated. he calls out for you sadly, “coach, you should’ve told us.”
when you look up, you are surprised to find wetness brimming his eyes. you feel the hot rush of emotions build up behind your own eyes but from anger, because why is he upset? what reason does he have to cry when you are the one who has suffered all this time?
your voice is biting when you respond, “and have you look down on me like everybody else? i just said, i do not need your pity–”
“it’s not pity,” a voice interrupts firmly. of all people, you least expected it to come from wooyoung. his tone stays unyielding as he holds your gaze. “we’re athletes too, y/n.”
the way he includes you in the collective–as an athlete–has your glare softening immediately, replaced by the dangerous quivering of your bottom lip while he elaborates, albeit voice gentler now, “we are hurting for you–with you. it is not pity; it is standing by your side in hopes that we can help you up if you ever fall again.”
because it is okay to fall, and you will fall; wooyoung knows that the best.
you tilt your head upwards as you desperately blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill. the swell of emotions that had churned in your chest had not been anger but fatigue, you realise. wooyoung’s words give you sudden clarity that you are tired–of suffering alone and in silence. you want help.
“i’m tired of hurting,” you confess quietly.
“then let us share the hurt with you.”
the dam breaks and your tears fall freely down your cheeks. it starts off with a nod so miniscule that the boys think they have imagined it, but then slowly and surely, your head moves up and down with more conviction. “okay,” you whisper.
you had always thought that you had come to terms with your injury and the end of your career, but perhaps you are still mourning your loss…and perhaps that is okay. like looking into a time-warped mirror, wooyoung sees the fight slip out of your body with a sob as you apologise, “i’m sorry.”
san wants to cross the room and wrap his arms around you if it can take away even just a fraction of your hurt. but he knows that he cannot cross the boundaries of professionalism despite the intimate nature of the conversation right now, especially when you and the team are only just starting to patch things up. so instead, he opts to rub his thumb over the knuckles of wooyoung’s hand from under the table, which has slipped into his, hoping that one day he will be able to do the same for you.
“we understand,” hongjoong answers on their behalf, “you were doing what you needed to do in order to protect yourself.”
and if you do not realise that he says those words for himself and his team to hear too, then you will by the end of the conversation as you walk away with a newfound understanding of them.
“no, not just for that,” you shake your head, roughly swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “it ended up negatively influencing the way i coached you guys, even if it was subconscious. i let my own trauma dictate how i wanted you to play: defensively all the time whether it was needed or not. hongjoong, you were right about me not coaching your team as your team.”
you try your damned hardest to keep your voice steady so that you can look at them properly to apologise, “i’m sorry i made it so hard to trust me as your coach.”
“okay, let me stop you right there,” yunho smiles gently, sliding a tissue box in your direction. “we were pricks too, so half the apology is ours.”
“don’t call her a prick,” seonghwa whispers. his horrified expression relaxes when you break out into a wet chuckle.
hongjoong is glad that you are able to find something to laugh about even with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, and he finds his mouth curling into a bittersweet smile. you have been honest and vulnerable with them and now it is their turn.
“we have something to tell you about our past coach,” he starts, drawing your gaze to him. “not coach cho–our very first coach. we’re not trying to justify that what we did as a result was okay, but…”
“but hopefully i can understand,” you finish when hongjoong hesitates. he nods and you mirror his action with a reassuring smile to encourage him to talk.
but irregardless of what they tell you, you already know that you want to understand them, because understanding is the first step to forgiving, and you want that too.
so with intermittent comments from the other boys, hongjoong reveals to you the hidden wounds they have been nursing. and as they tell you about coach yeon, how their trust in him had been misplaced, how he had betrayed it for money at the expense of their championship, and how they had then let that become mistrust in you and your reason for retiring, wooyoung finds himself quiet so that he can steal glances at you.
he can see it now. the untameable beast within you of passion for ice hockey that has been forcibly chained down to the ground with the weight of the earth. the devastating torment that must incessantly surge through you in the most debilitating waves, tenfold any anguish he felt when he was unable to compete in the playoffs. the blemished canvas of dark and ghastly emotions that you do not let see the light of day, yet continue to coexist in hidden silence.
it is there and then that wooyoung realises you and him may be more similar than he thought–that you may actually understand him better than any of his seven boys.
you stop the drill.
yeosang gracefully turns in an arc whilst keeping the puck close to his stick as hongjoong and seonghwa dig their skates into the ice to brake before their momentum takes out the younger.
“let’s have jongho try using the perimeter of the rink instead of passing to yeosang this time. start the faceoff again,” you instruct.
the chorus of responses that you receive are zealous, even slightly teasing as the boys lower their voices with a, “yes, coach!” and give you small salutes with their gloved hands. you cannot help but snort and shake your head, waving at them to retake their positions.
practice is short today, since your team has a game tomorrow. the first half an hour consisted of running through offensive formations for power plays and you are now focusing on defensive penalty kills. your two captains and wooyoung are playing as the mock opponents, preparing your remaining wings and defenseman for a situation where they are down a player.
hongjoong seems to mull over a thought as he looks at the formation of his boys. “you mentioned the team we’re playing against has a tendency to position their forwards higher up, didn’t you?” he asks and when you nod, he suggests, “what do you think about trying the diamond formation instead? might help close some of their shooting lanes.”
with the captain’s input, you reposition yeosang further up to form the tip of the diamond, and yunho too to cover the right point whilst jongho covers the left. mingi moves in a little closer to the goal to cover the bottom of the diamond and you make sure to point out the importance of his position.
“if the opportunity arises, we can transition into a counterattack instead with 3-1. but we’ll need to make sure we still cover the goal in case they turn it back over again–mingi, this will probably be you. support whoever has the puck from behind, but make sure you don’t go too far forward.”
mingi answers with an affirmative and yeosang passes the puck to hongjoong for him to commence the penalty kill. at your whistle, the rink explodes into action. wooyoung and seonghwa immediately split down the perimeters to open up shooting lanes for their captain, who passes the puck off to wooyoung the moment he has cleared half the rink. with a brief adjustment of the puck’s angle, he attempts a cross-ice pass to where seonghwa is free on the other side.
with astonishing speed, jongho intercepts the puck and yells, “3-1!” he continues to barrel forward with the momentum of his explosive acceleration towards the goal as yeosang anticipates a pass and yunho joins the counterattack rush to his right. the three of your players charge forwards with adrenaline as mingi covers them from behind. jongho chips the puck over hongjoong’s stick, which is immediately taken up by yeosang. without a goaltender, he finishes it off with an easy shot into the net.
the tempo and execution of the rush surprises not just you, but the boys themselves too, who are tapping their sticks together with elated excitement at the success of the play. it may only be a simulated practice drill, but you still share in the same pride and contentment that hongjoong’s face glows at you with.
he cocks his head to the side with a paired smile and you return the same nonverbal acknowledgement. corners of your lips still lifted up, you gather the boys, “let’s have a drink break.”
as the boys make their way over to the benches, removing their gloves and helmets, you eye the water bottles and make sure you have enough–five in the cooler and three on the bench beside it. san bounds up to you after grabbing one from the cooler, bragging, “coach! did you see the way jongho intercepted that puck?”
from beside him, wooyoung reenacts the moment with wild flails of his limbs and airy whooshes from his mouth, jongho watching with bashful giggles. you indulge in their animated recount and listen intently. “he was amazingly fast,” you agree.
yeosang passes an opened bottle to wooyoung before untwisting the lid to his own, commenting, “the ankle weights on top of all the training must be working.”
the boys are not currently wearing any, but you had slowly implemented the use of vests, ankle or wrist weights during specific drills. now that they have taken them off and are playing without the burden of the additional mass, you are all starting to see the gains of their hard work.
you smirk with satisfaction, “of course. if my players are going to bulldoze across the ice, may as well make them fast enough to avoid all the opponents.”
“don’t encourage her,” wooyoung elbows yeosang scandalously. “she’s going to make us wear heavier weights next practice.”
“you don’t get to complain if you don’t even wear the weights,” you quip.
he knows his injury means that he cannot wear the weights in case it places stress on his ankle, so he curses at you with no real heat just for the sake of cursing, “fuck you.”
you wink, “love you too.”
wooyoung shuts his mouth and scrunches the bridge of his nose with faux displeasure, and jongho laughs at his inability to faze you. you glance down and open your notebook to mention, “on that note, though, how do we feel about going up a few hundred grams next week?”
“i’m fine with that,” yeosang says at the same time jongho confirms, “sounds good.” most of the other boys also nod that they are fine with increasing their weights, save for seonghwa who notifies you that he is still adjusting so he will keep his as it is for now.
you jot down ticks and crosses next to their names corresponding to their answers whilst suggesting, “yunho and mingi, you can both probably try half a kilogram since your body masses are higher.”
said boys peer over your shoulder to see what their new weights would be, then yunho makes a noise of intriguement. “coach, did you write these?”
you look to where his finger is pointing to–sticky notes upon sticky notes of unorganised observations and reminders to yourself. starting to feel self-conscious, you deny, “...no,” only for yunho to swipe the notebook from out of your grasp. “hey!”
he holds it up and open above him, voice gleeful as he reads one out, “‘jongho, wooyoung and yeosang prefer water at room temperature when training–take bottles out of cooler!’”
“aw, coach,” wooyoung coos, “did you deliberately leave three bottles in room temperature for us on the bench?”
feeling your ears heat up from being exposed, you swipe at the notebook. your skates give you added height, but so do yunho’s skates, so your attempts to jump for it are futile.
“‘boys want to eat abura soba after their win’,” he continues to read, pausing to let out a dramatic gasp, “are you going to treat us, coach?” his question is met with enthusiasm.
when another wild swipe sends a sharp sting down your shoulder from the movement, reminding you of the pain that had flared up a few days ago, you decide to change tactics. you grab the back and front of his jersey with your hands, completely ready to commit to scaling him like a literal tree. but then a different set of hands easily takes the notebook out of yunho’s and of course it would be mingi. you insult, “give it back, you tall buffoon!”
mingi is hardly fazed as you switch targets to him, your fingertips nowhere near reaching the notebook as he snickers and reads, “‘trial jongho as starting forward–wait.” he lowers his hands with sobriety and you are finally able to snatch the notebook back, shutting it before they can read any more of your sticky notes. it is not like there is anything they cannot know, but it is sort of embarrassing for them to see how much attention you pay to them.
“you want jongho on the starting lineup?” mingi confirms that he has not read it wrong, eyes as wide as all the other boys as they look at you.
jongho is almost certain that you must have meant somebody else, or something else, because there is no way that he would be given the opportunity to start for the team–not when they have yeosang and wooyoung as their wings, and the choice of hongjoong or seonghwa as their centres. he is used to being the player who momentarily relieves others of their shift on the ice, or as his parents so like to remind him, option b.
“why do you all look so surprised?” you frown. beckoning at jongho with your chin, you ask, “you’ve been practising hard to make your right hand just as good as your left hand, haven’t you? so let’s take advantage of your versatility and unpredictability on ice and throw the opponents off. what do you think?”
jongho’s mouth opens and shuts, struggling to formulate an answer through his wide beam other than, “i–of course, if you’d let me–if everyone else is happy.”
the pleased smile on hongjoong’s face is enough to make his cheeks sore and he wraps his arm around the youngest’s shoulders. he praises, “look at you, our wild card and our hidden ace,” as seonghwa declares, “i know he’ll do us so proud.”
both yeosang and wooyoung simultaneously offer their positions in the starting lineup and the rest of the boys watch on with fond expressions. they are grateful that you have recognised the talents and hard work of their youngest. although you are not aware, this opportunity holds significance not just in regards to his career.
you conclude, “we’ve been on a good streak with our games. let’s ride the momentum and show the other teams what jongho is capable of–what we’re all capable of.”
“yes, coach!” they shout, the loud echo of their voices reverberating and filling the rink with buzzing energy for the remainder of the training session.
spirits still high by the time you call it a wrap, you let them change as you grab your own belongings. there is a team meeting in the afternoon so you and the boys will be going back to kq to eat at the cafeteria and use the booked room. you pause when you see wooyoung loitering by your bag. he still has not changed out of his practice clothes.
“i’m not letting you on the bus if you’re planning on staying in those clothes,” you joke.
“i’m going to change!” he scowls indignantly, then avoids eye contact as he thrusts something out in your direction. he mumbles, “had some spares. didn’t want them. just dumping them with you so you can stash them or use them or whatever, i don’t care.”
you grab the small bag, brows creased with confusion, but wooyoung dashes away to change before you can ask what it is. you peer inside and to your pleasant surprise, there are two packs of pain relief patches. your shoulder protests at the lack of attention you have given it in the last few days. the pain is chronic and never really goes away, but it has been bothering you more than usual recently, so it is all in good timing that you now have some patches.
you make a mental note to stick one on when you get to the company and grab your bag after ensuring your notebook is stored inside. as you head towards the change rooms to wait for the boys, you spot a piece of paper on the floor. it looks like rubbish that you must have missed on your way in earlier so you pick it up to throw away. but when your fingertips touch the familiar sheen of the wax-like paper, you realise wooyoung must have dropped it.
it is confirmed when you unfold it to read the text and see that it is from yesterday evening, at the pharmacy that is just across the street from the company; in your hands you hold wooyoung’s receipt for two packs of pain relief patches.
spring marks the start of the playoffs. in synchronisation with the burst of life that blooms with the season, your boys, too, flourish in the league.
the unpredictability of your team’s strategies that entail a mix of both yours and hongjoong’s prowess helps to secure wins over the remainder of the regular season. despite the unsteady start to the season, it allows your team to scrape into the round of sixteen near the bottom of the standings.
the red devils are seeded against the team that is third in the rankings, and then against the sixth-standing team in the quarterfinals. in upsets that knock out two of the most anticipated teams in the league, your boys advance into the semifinals, their reputation as the demons of the ice rink that had laid low now rapidly spreading.
where none of the other competitors had paid you and your players any mind before, barely even noticing your presence, the opponents now glance and watch your team walk past with an air of confidence through the arena. their tense jaws and hard gazes size up your athletes–formidable rivals who have suddenly barrelled up the ranks from out of nowhere and now pose perhaps the biggest threat as a team that has somehow slipped under their radars.
you know; your team may be small in numbers. but with yunho and mingi flanking the sides of the boys, and even with hongjoong’s charismatic aura alone leading the front, which extends around him like a dark cloud of terror and envelops the rest of the group too, your team is a pack of predators at the tip of the apex.
other players part to make a path for your boys, whose heads are held high and eyes are set only on their captain and you, their coach, as you all walk to your assigned changeroom. the nerves have long dissipated because the ice rink is your territory and the other teams are your prey.
the moment you shut the door behind the last of them into the room though, the icy stare in wooyoung’s eyes melt and he exclaims, “holy shit, did you see the way everybody was looking at us? we must have looked so fucking hot, i wish i could ask for my own signature.”
from their glowing faces alone, you can tell that they are all basking in the feeling of finally being recognised and reckoned with. yunho bats his eyelids and pinches his voice higher into a falsetto, “oh wooyoung! you’re so handsome and cool, could i please have your signature?”
mingi imitates him and pounces on wooyoung, begging for a photo together as he clings onto his elbow. it sets off the rest of the boys to crowd around like mock fans with faux exhilaration. you snort at their antics, leaving wooyoung to sign imaginary sheets of paper with his imaginary pen in favour of ensuring all of their backup equipment and gear is correctly located outside or in the storage area.
you allow the boys adequate time to change into their full gear for their warm-up prior to the actual semifinal game before you walk back into the locker room. your ears perk up when you catch the end of san’s question, “that’s good for us, isn’t it?”
“what is?” you ask out of curiosity, flipping open the provided cooler and adding several sports drinks into the ice.
“i overheard someone on the white tigers team say that their head coach happened to fall sick, so they have their assistant coach today,” jongho mentions.
the surge of brazen smiles and reassured glints in their eyes at the reveal of information makes you falter to a degree. you lightly chastise, “don’t let that get to your heads and start being cocky–play as you usually do and do not underestimate them just because their head coach is off.”
you pull your notebook out of your bag, the familiar cover and weight of the book providing you with a sense of security as you remind the boys, “the white tigers have a very similar playing style as us. we may have worked hard on our defensive strategies, but with similar strengths and weaknesses overall, it won’t hurt for us to still be cautious.”
“yes, coach,” they chorus.
hongjoong nods, “let’s go warm up, then finalise our starting lineup for the game.”
your team’s allocated time on the rink passes by quickly and it is followed by the last adjustments to the discussed strategies and game plan, thorough checks of their gear, and the remaining boys who are still wearing their practice jerseys change out of the blue into their red game uniform. in full gear, there your boys stand, presence intimidating and demoniac. the boys do not live up to their team name; their team name lives up to them.
they stride through the hallway for their semifinal game against the white tigers. right at the end before it leads to the ice rink, yunho yells, “pep talk, captain!”
hongjoong groans, rolling his eyes, but places the blade of his stick onto the rubber flooring nonetheless. the rest of the boys huddle around, their sticks meeting in the centre of the circle and standing close together so that their helmets and shoulders knock against one another. you are also swept into the circle with yeosang and san by your sides.
“boys…and girl,” hongjoong snickers to himself before recollecting his very inspirational train of thought, “we’ve fought hard to make it this far–this is the first time we’ve made it into the semis, so let’s keep running until the very end, yeah?”
to the team’s increasingly loud cheers, hongjoong yells, “let’s fuck it up out there!”
their sticks hit the ground in unison and despite the muted sound of the cushioned flooring, their shouts of fighting resolve and unwavering determination drown out everything else. together, you emerge from the hallway and your starting players take their positions on the ice, ready to fuck it up.
only, it happens literally.
the moment the puck hits the ice and the white tigers’ centre forward, byun, wrestles it away with his blade, hongjoong immediately knows it is going to be one of those games. the ones where his competitive grit is fueling his mind ablaze but his body is leaden-footed as if he is wading through quicksand; where his body is just unable to keep up and move the way he wants it to. it is one of those days where his condition is just inexplicably off and there is nothing he can do about it except hope that his years of training and sheer aptitude for the sport will be enough.
“fuck,” you curse under your breath at hongjoong’s slip as jongho and yeosang rush to fall back and support those in defence. “he wasn’t like that during the warm-ups.”
byun is not only agile and swift, but is almost an identical reflection of hongjoong’s own bold and assertive offence. the centre forward powers through with evasive turns around yunho’s attempt to body check him, unafraid and confident. passing the blue line into your team’s defensive zone, byun flicks the puck at the goal.
the point shot is an unexceptional attempt to score, nothing that san’s reflexive goaltending cannot take care of. he extends his left foot and blocks the low shot with his leg pad, where the puck then slides in yunho’s direction. you did not doubt for a moment that san would not be able to save the shot, but it is still a close call that is far too early in the game to be a good sign.
your team’s greatest strength is their unspoken synergy and seamless unity, but it is also their greatest weakness. when one player stumbles, particularly when it is their captain–the very roots of the team–their bond runs so deeply that it throws their teamwork out of harmony and ultimately impacts the entire team.
with san’s save, yunho regains possession and handles the puck around the back of their net to shake off the pressure that the white tigers’ forwards are placing on him, as well as to buy his own team some time to reassemble in their formation.
you know that this is not going to work for long; you have to change the momentum of the game, and fast. “seonghwa, get ready,” you alert. “you’re going on for hongjoong.”
the alternate captain stands, alarmed at the unexpected line change so early into the game. he grips his stick with white knuckles and watches his team as he waits for your cue. yunho hits the puck against the boards where yeosang successfully receives the rebound.
“breakout!” yeosang yells and rushes forward with the chasing skates of the opponents nipping at his heels. jongho clears the centre line into the offensive zone at the same time hongjoong screens and blocks the view of the white tigers’ goaltender, setting up for an opportunity to score.
when the opponent’s left defence and wing advance on yeosang rapidly, he fakes a deceptive pass towards the boards before twisting the blade of his stick and flicking the puck between their skates instead in hongjoong’s direction. but like an eagle honing in on a small rodent, byun swoops in to snatch the puck, flipping the possession again.
the tides turn and all the athletes on the rink race towards your team’s net, a cutthroat competition between triumph and desperation to chase the puck. byun passes to the player on his left as they both dash closer, the left forward immediately returning the puck the moment he receives it to break past mingi’s defence.
you are able to see the white tigers’ right wing following closely behind ready for a drop pass, but in your team’s frenzied minds, they are unable to read the play. yunho approaches byun, who is expecting the defence and leaves the puck behind whilst skating on, knowing that it will be received by his trailing teammate. with the momentary confusion that is enough to disrupt both yunho and san’s gaze on the puck, the opponent’s right wing winds his stick back just enough to build power without sacrificing speed, then slaps the puck into the corner of the goal–
–and scores. within the first three minutes of the game.
“seonghwa,” you call out again with urgency as the whistle blows. you turn to look at him, “you’re up. you have to break the flow of the team. not just the white tigers, but ours too–the boys are panicking and you need to help anchor them.”
he nods, steadying his hand on the board in preparation to hop over it, and you yell out for the captain, “change!”
hongjoong sees the gesture of your hand pointing at the bench, and although his chest tightens with frustration at himself, he speeds towards the edge of the rink to change. once the captain is close enough, seonghwa pushes his skate off the benches to launch himself over the top of the boards onto the ice then propels himself forward to take the centre faceoff.
the captain sits down heavily on the bench, defeat already broiling off of his slumped body in smothering swells. you really cannot afford to take your eyes off the game; it waits for nobody and the whistle has already blown, the rink erupting into commotion. but whilst you need to watch the game unfold, you need hongjoong just as much, and his team needs him.
you turn him slightly to face you so that he can see your face of resolution. “you are the captain, so be the captain–for the team…and for yourself,” you invigorate, voice raised so that he can hear you over the noise of the stadium.
you give his shoulder a hard squeeze, certain he will not be able to even feel it from under the pads of his uniform. regardless, he understands your intentions and nods grimly, the fog in his eyes clearing. wooyoung taps the back of his helmet in a show of encouragement and hongjoong returns the gesture with appreciation.
a particularly loud thump draws the attention of all three of you back to the game. from the grimace on yeosang’s face and his hand steadying himself on the boards, it is obvious he has just been body checked into the wall. seonghwa pursues the puck with graceful yet powerful speed before he digs both skates perpendicular into the ice to suddenly change direction. pushing off, he accelerates back towards the white tigers’ defensive zone when mingi manages to disrupt the opponent’s stickhandling enough for yunho to sweep the puck and skate it up the perimeter of the rink away from their net.
wooyoung also goes on for yeosang but as the left wing, so jongho switches position to play as the right forward. he skates past the benches when an opportunity arises and he hands off his stick whilst grabbing his right-handed stick from you with practised ease.
with the line change of forwards and with seonghwa on as your centre, your team stabilises to an extent. the red devils are no longer being pushed back but they are also unable to push forward. the game is at a stalemate, although the tides remain in favour of the white tigers with both their positional and psychological advantage of the first goal.
you can see the pressure weighing down on your boys; passes that yunho and mingi would be capable of executing blindfolded are miscalculated; predictable manoeuvres still mislead wooyoung in the wrong direction; seonghwa and jongho fail to notice the opportunities for clear passing and shooting lanes; and the openings appear far too wide and innumerable for san to cover the goal from. the relentless offensive pressure that the white tigers places on your team, strikingly similar to how the boys played when you first started coaching them, does not give any breathing room either.
so that is how the first period comes to an end–losing zero to one with none of your players performing at their best condition. their steps are heavy and burdened as they walk back to the locker room for the intermission, helmets removed the moment they come off the ice to reveal hardened expressions. in the privacy of your assigned room, most of the boys adjust the pads in their gear and yunho peels off his shin guards to let them air out.
you pass around their iced bottles and as exhausted as they are, they make sure to voice their gratitude. san grabs wooyoung’s bottle for him, since the younger is bent over loosening the laces of his left skate. “here,” san murmurs, twisting open the cap and passing it to wooyoung once he straightens his back.
similarly, seonghwa hands over an opened bottle to yeosang before taking a swig of his own. “you’re okay?” he checks, the particularly rough body check that yeosang had copped earlier in the game still at the forefront of his mind.
yeosang gives the alternate captain a reassuring smile, “i’m okay.”
appeased by the answer, seonghwa turns to look at hongjoong, who is re-taping the blade of his stick. “what about you?” seonghwa softly asks, “you’re feeling okay?”
hongjoong glances up briefly at the back of your figure. you are busy shifting the red magnets around on the whiteboard and erasing the markings you had made prior to the start of the semifinals. when you turn around to gather their attention, you accidentally make eye contact with him and break out into a small smile.
“yeah,” hongjoong replies, “i’m feeling okay.”
“alright, listen up boys, that was just the first period. we’re not even halfway into this game and we’ve started to even up the playing field now that we’ve found our footing,” you encourage. “we just have to make sure we keep our heads cool and read their plays instead of simply reacting to their movements.”
you look at each of them as you direct, “their centre forward, byun, has been on for almost all of first period, so there’s probably going to be a shift change, if not a complete line change of forwards. they have the leniency to swap out their top players since they’re in the lead, which means if we want to break their momentum, we need to break it then.”
shifting yourself slightly out of the way, the boys are able to see the new arrangement of positions you have marked out on the whiteboard. “we’re starting the second period by sharpening our offence in the 2-2-1 formation,” you explain. you beckon your head at the captain, “hongjoong, you’re back on. you and wooyoung are to position yourselves up high between the neutral and offensive zones–try to screen their goaltender when our boys have possession. yunho, i want you to move up to our blue line with jongho and open up as many passing lanes as you two can. mingi will stay in defence and help cover the goal with san in case the white tigers makes a counterattack.
“use this opportunity to make as many scoring chances as you can. if there isn’t a clear shot but there’s a chance it can be continued on by another one of us, then go for it anyway–any sort of pressure we can put on their team is better than none.”
your forwards nod with understanding, so you continue to the most important point, “but the moment byun and the wings–kim and song, i think they are–come back on, we’re reversing the formation.” you reposition half of the magnets into a 1-2-2 formation. “only hongjoong will stay up high; wooyoung will fall back and join jongho in the neutral zone; put pressure on their forwards from there. yunho and mingi, you’ll play left and right defence as usual.”
san listens intently when you start moving the black magnets that represent the opposing players and call out to him directly. you warn, “san, be careful of their drop passes. kim and song have been skating forward but leaving the puck behind for byun to score multiple times throughout the first period. they have you primed to predict it now, so they’re probably going to change their tactic and pass directly in front of the goal instead.”
“yes, coach,” san acknowledges.
a glance at the screen on the wall of the locker room tells you that there are only a few minutes left of the intermission. “gear up and get ready to go back on,” you instruct the boys.
they make final adjustments to their pads and yunho tapes his shin guards back into place under his socks. you make sure they all have their helmets and sticks when they start to file out of the locker room once they are ready and you grab wooyoung’s gloves for him while he ties the laces of his skates again.
“thanks,” he reaches out for them as he stands up. except he stumbles slightly when he puts weight on his left ankle and your hand instinctively grabs his to steady him.
your eyes grow wide with concern. you know that wooyoung is the type to keep quiet about his pain, even if you ask, “does your ankle hurt?”
“no, my legs just fell asleep on me from sitting,” he reassures, conscious of your hand that still holds his. he smiles through his lie and hopes that you are unable to pick up on it. the buzzer sounds before you can, though, warning you both that there is only one minute remaining until the game resumes.
hurriedly you tell him, “let me know if you need to come off.”
somebody yells out your names, forcing you both to rush off to join the rest of the team in the hallway. wooyoung knows that he should admit to you right there and then that his ankle does hurt, but he will not–he cannot…because he owes it to his team.
they do not know and they will never know, but there is not a day that goes past where wooyoung does not feel guilty for having desired for their loss last year. he has to play and win this championship for his team because only then can he start to forgive himself. but until he wins, he deserves to suffer.
those in the lineup rapidly glide across the ice to take their positions, wooyoung included. a short buzzer sounds, the puck is dropped, and the second period starts. immediately you can see that your boys have the advantage. the white tigers had not expected you to take such an aggressive approach of offence considering that you are losing.
and sure enough, just as you had predicted, their coach has changed their entire line of forwards. the players are still undeniably skilled, but they visibly struggle to match the pace at which hongjoong and wooyoung are now leading your team to attack.
the rink is under the boys’ control; the neutral zone has become a stronghold with the resistance of both jongho and yunho’s combined strength and mingi’s reinforcement from behind. wooyoung weaves through the players with polished agility as he creates passing opportunities around the offensive zone, whilst hongjoong makes his own path with imposing might, his devilish wings spread. and even if the white tigers somehow manage to gain possession of the puck and break past your defence, san looks impossibly larger than the goal itself, leaving no openings for their forwards to score.
it is well into the second period when the perfect play sets itself up. with mingi blocking any possible rebounds off the boards, yunho’s attempt to body check the white tigers’ right wing forces the player to pass the puck across the ice. before their centre forward is able to receive it, jongho has already intercepted and is thundering ahead with his stick controlling the puck.
“high!” he shouts, ploughing through the neutral zone as wooyoung and hongjoong immediately respond to his call and skate up towards the goal.
jongho deliberately looks at his captain but flicks the puck with a forehand pass in the other direction, too fast for the defenders to react to. wooyoung easily receives the anticipated pass, thighs burning and his left ankle stinging as he rushes towards the goal from the left with powerful acceleration. the white tigers’ goaltender immediately lowers his stance and raises his arms in preparation to block his shot.
in the corner of his eye, wooyoung sees hongjoong matching his lightning pace on his right, the captain’s eyes narrowed with concentration and body weight tilted forward as he hurtles past the defenders. wooyoung pretends to wind up his stick for a slap shot into the net, only to twist the angle of his arms at the last second to send the puck skittering across the ice directly parallel to the goal. the goaltender drops down to his knees, having anticipated a scoring attempt, except the puck is now nearing hongjoong.
hongjoong sees it clearly–the trajectory that the puck is taking and the perfect point where it needs to meet his stick. without breaking its momentum, his arms contract to swing his stick and the blade collides with the puck with forceful precision, sending it hurtling through the air. the goaltender desperately scrabbles back onto his skates to defend the other side of the goal, but it is too late.
the puck flies past the posts and hits the netting.
the horn blares and echoing cheers erupt throughout the stadium as the lights flick on to shine across the net and your forward players. hongjoong yells with fierce triumph, stick raised into the air as wooyoung excitedly collides into him. the duo disappear amongst the bodies of your boys as they swarm around them feverish exuberance.
“that’s our fucking captain–” “–woo’s assist was insane!”
hongjoong cannot even tell who is who as he is jostled around in overjoyed laughter and beaming smiles, numerous hands reaching out to tap his and wooyoung’s helmets and shoulders. from outside the rink, you, seonghwa and yeosang have long stopped sitting on the benches, bodies too strung tight with hopeful tension to stay seated, so you are immediately swept up into a hug as the three of you celebrate the goal with identical exhilaration.
the game is still far from over but the morale has just skyrocketed through the roof as if the red devils have scored the winning goal. combined with the team’s fans electrifying the atmosphere of the stadium, it definitely feels like it, and you are starting to see hope that the ones advancing to the finals after today will be your boys.
“line change!” you faintly hear, so you still to watch all three of the white tigers’ forwards skate towards the boards. byun, kim and song jump onto the rink, back on offence in the wake of your goal.
hongjoong makes eye contact with you when you search for him amongst the team huddle and in unison, you both nod, pride and determination unspoken in your gazes–the real game is about to start now. the boys start to disperse and take up their positions around the marked circle for the centre faceoff, and hongjoong and byun meet head-to-head once again in the middle of the rink.
the white tigers’ centre forward smirks condescendingly, “cute goal.”
hongjoong’s face thunders over but he will not let himself resort to dirty sportsmanship. he bites his tongue and lowers his stance, focusing his attention on the game instead.
“ready,” the referee signals, then the puck is released.
byun manages to steal it and sends it backwards to his defensemen to open up more passing lanes, but as discussed, your boys mutually move into the 1-2-2 formation to fortify against their offensive plays. despite the pressure of the white tigers’ top forwards back in play, your team is riding on the momentum of your goal; although you had been treading to keep your heads above the water during the first period, there is now an air of confidence that permeates the ambience of the rink in favour of your boys.
an angled pass from their defence rebounds off the boards and kim receives it high in the neutral zone. he attempts an immediate pass across the ice to song, except the safety net of your player’s defensive formation allows mingi to thrust out with his stick to intercept the pass. he signals, “breakout!” before deflecting it to wooyoung.
the turnover of possession immediately triggers a switch in defence to offence as wooyoung handles the puck back the other way. his wrists twist the stick with measured coordination, controlling the blade and puck as an extension of his own hands while approaching the offensive zone. wooyoung sees the white tigers’ defensemen racing towards him so he abruptly pivots towards the left to drag the black disc around their extended sticks.
suddenly, a sharp pain engulfs his ankle that has his legs crumbling as he staggers off balance. wooyoung manages to stay upright, using his stick to steady himself, but the momentary stumble is more than enough of an opening for byun to steal possession from behind him.
the rival centre forward swerves around jongho then stays close to the perimeter to avoid mingi’s resistant defence. behind mingi, san splays his legs out as he prepares to block the left side of the goal, but byun continues blazing on and wraps around the back of the net. san follows his movement and swiftly shifts over to the right instead while byun cradles the puck with his blade to lift it into the air the moment he approaches.
yunho cannot risk a penalty by raising his own stick to block its trajectory, so he shifts his body in hopes of deflecting the shot before it reaches san. but byun’s wrists snap and tuck the airborne puck at a sharp angle right past the red goalpost…and the horn blows to mark the scoring of a goal.
your jaw plummets at the same time that your heart does. not even your lungs work, your body frozen stock-still. once more, the white tigers are back in the lead only mere minutes after the score had been painstakingly tied by your team.
“fuck!” wooyoung curses and slams his gloved fist against the ice, having dropped to his knees in enraged denial.
seonghwa looks on with despondence from beside you as hongjoong drags wooyoung back up to his feet. the captain’s jaws are clenched in frustration but only because of the score itself–never because of his boys. when mingi and yunho try to comfort san with firm squeezes and uttered reassurances, he can only return a tight smile, all three of their breaths heavy and irregular from exertion and dismay.
for the boys to have climbed so arduously and persistently to even the scores, only to be knocked off and their momentum obliterated so mercilessly soon, it is even more demoralising than the white tigers’ first goal. after all, the higher the climb, the harder the fall.
through the deep ache in your heart, you mutedly say to yeosang, “go on for wooyoung, and tell jongho to change sticks and play as left wing.”
“yes, coach,” he replies, voice delicate. yeosang waits as you gesture for wooyoung to come off before he hops over the boards and skates in jongho’s direction.
“woo,” you murmur as your left wing makes his way back to the benches, but he avoids your gaze and keeps his head down. you bite your lips and decide not to push it for now. instead, you press an opened bottle into his gloved hand.
wooyoung is thankful that the bottle is half empty, because his hand unconsciously clenches around it with quivering shame and he would have spilled the water were it full. he makes no move to bring the bottle up to his lips; he doubts the water would go down his constricted throat anyway. the penetrative guilt of his tears hurts immeasurably more than the piercing throb of his ankle because he may have just cost his team the win…again.
even when the buzzer signals the end of the second period, wooyoung dares not to look up. the score is one to two and it is his fault. the intermission passes by in a haze of dissociation, his body robotically moving on autopilot into the locker room and back to the ice rink. wooyoung does not even know whether there are line changes to the positions or whether the game strategy has been altered.
but it does not matter because it does not concern him–as if any coach would put him on after his grave mistake. what wooyoung fails to notice though is the glances of worry in his direction, and they do not come solely from his boys.
the stakes run at their highest in the third and final period. tension suffocates the entire stadium, invisible hands that snake around your throats with a hangman’s loose and make you break out into cold sweats. all the players on the ice rink put everything that they have on the line because by the end of the next twenty minutes, only one team will be advancing to the finals.
from the moment the puck is dropped into play and the timer resumes, the rink is a torrential battlefield of contesting skates and grappling sticks. dramatic passes and unforeseen interceptions lead to rapid turnovers that force both teams to hastily switch back and forth between offence and defence.
but everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. for every scoring attempt that the red devils make, the white tigers make three, steadily and gradually pushing your boys back in the final stretch of the game. and while most of your forwards’ goals are blocked in the nick of time, most of theirs are not.
as a last resort in the face of the crisis, you calculate the risks then add seonghwa onto the field. “yunho, change!” you yell, pulling him off defence.
“behind you,” byun alerts song as seonghwa powers across the ice right into the cutthroat action, before cursing when the white tigers nearly lose possession of the puck.
your two captains unrelentingly pursue the black disc at the forefront of your team, their complementary synergy and unity a whirlwind of prowess to be reckoned with as they try not to let the burden of scoring weigh them down. despite the overwhelming pressure as the team’s last line of defence, even more so now that you have sacrificed stability to capitalise on having two centre forwards, san’s cat-like eyes do not cloud over, only intensely scanning the field and the opponent’s plays.
you glance at the clock. there are only two minutes left and even the combined efforts of your forwards is not working. you never thought that you would ever have to do this as a coach, but now you are afraid there is no choice. “yunho,” you urge.
his head turns to you and you see the ashen pallor of your own face reflected on his as the very probable outcome of the game dawns across your minds. you make your decision. “you’re going back on. for san.”
yunho’s eyes widen. “for san? i can’t play as goaltender–”
“no,” you shake your head, “we’re playing without a goaltender.”
sixty seconds.
save for wooyoung, all of your defenders, wings and centre forwards make a last-minute spurt to attack, not letting their bodies recover for even a split second as they strain their burning legs and gasping lungs.
thirty seconds.
they desperately break past the physical boundaries of their own stamina into their last reserves of pure grit and will, draining every last drop that their mental resilience has to offer.
ten seconds.
they do not give up. they try again and again to score. but against all of your prayers, all of your tears and sweat and against all of your hopes, the gap does not close. the final buzzer blares throughout the entire stadium, marking the red devil’s loss.
two to six.
your players stand motionless, ghosts of denial and despair amongst the crazed jumps and bounds of celebration as the white tigers flock across the rink towards one another. hongjoong tilts his head upwards to stop the rush of tears from falling down his face, both yunho and seonghwa mirrors of his pain as sweat and tears drip down in salty trails. san grasps the edge of the board in front of him, his head hung low and shoulders quaking from how hard he tries to stifle his sobs so that wooyoung does not hear him.
not one of your boys are able to accept the results of the match. not even you can bring yourself to utter a single word of consolation, be it for yourself or for them. and as you watch the wretched image of your heartbroken boys, choking back tears of your own that you are unaware still manage to escape the corners of your eyes, the only sounds in your ears their stricken cries, you are reminded that the path of an athlete and coach is nothing like its portrayal in movies and stories; where hard work triumphs and leads to sure success.
the harsh reality is that there is no dramatic comeback. there is no underdog victory. there is no miracle and there is no final to advance to. you and your boys lose by triple the amount of your own goals and just like that, the journey has come to an end at the semifinals.
it is an anticlimactic defeat, the gap so far that your team could not even see the light at the end of the tunnel. and somehow…that feels far worse than losing by just a marginal difference.
the locker room is mostly quiet, the silence punctuated only by the closing of zippers and rustling of canvas as the boys who have finished showering and changing pack the rest of their gear for the final time. there are no more intermittent sniffles, leaving behind a miserable hush of emptiness instead. even the dying flicker of the light in the far corner of the ceiling thrums with more energy than the boys combined.
you sit on one of the benches and absentmindedly thumb through your notebook. seonghwa sits to your right, his kit bag already long organised and tidied to preoccupy his mind. the warmth from the close proximity of your thighs and elbows is a gracious comfort to the both of you. it no longer makes your backs straighten with uptightness, conscious of the boundaries between coach and athlete–not after your hearts and bodies melded together in hugs of solace after the final buzzer of the semifinals and melted away those lines.
seonghwa places his hand soothingly on your knee and murmurs, “stop looking at that. we’ll think about it later all together.”
none of the words or diagrams had been registering in your head, but you nod and close your notebook anyway. he probably does not want to see it either. you rest your head back against the wall behind you with a small exhale, blankly watching your team instead until your eyes travel around the room.
you count, then count again, before calling out, “captain, is wooyoung still showering?”
hongjoong cranes his neck around at the same time that everybody else does as well. “don’t think so,” he frowns, “i’m pretty sure he was one of the first ones out.”
wooyoung’s kit bag is still unpacked in his locker, so he is definitely not already waiting for the bus outside. before his absence can raise any alarms–the last thing the boys need on their plate right now–you stand and announce, “i’ll go find him. he probably just lost track of time.”
“do you need me to come with you?” yeosang rises to his feet.
you shake your head and reassure, “keep packing your bag.” then you turn to make your way out of the locker room when somebody calls out for you.
“coach, wait.”
it’s san, who skitters in front of you to press something into your hands. “give this to him when you see him?”
the item crinkles and a glance downwards reveals that it is an instant ice pack. you smile softly, stuffing it into the pocket of your jacket and hoping that nobody notices the ice pack that is already in there. “of course,” you gently touch his forearm. “i’ll be back.”
this time you make it out to the corridor but you do not get further than four steps before another voice stops you.
“coach!”
when you turn around, hongjoong emerges from the doorway. he slows down as he catches up to stand in front of you. “i…” his voice falters. “i’m sorry.”
i’m sorry i didn’t realise wooyoung was gone. i’m sorry i didn’t do my job as captain…and i’m sorry for losing.
“no,” you shake your head. “don’t be.” because you tried your best…and you did not give up. beckoning in the direction of the locker room, you tell him, “take care of the boys, okay? i’ll be back with wooyoung.”
the rigidity in hongjoong’s shoulders dissipates. “thank you…y/n.”
you smile, “anytime, hongjoong.” you wait for him to walk back inside before you finally turn to find wooyoung.
the arena is massive but apart from the locker room–which you already know wooyoung is not in–there are limited places that offer privacy from the multitude of people who mill around, be it other athletes, staff or spectators. you know from personal experience, so you head to the one place that is usually guaranteed to be somewhat out of the public eye.
“oh, fuck me,” wooyoung startles when you sit yourself down heavily on the same step as him, his curse echoing around the both of you. “how the fuck did you know i would be here?”
you snort, bumping his shoulder with yours. “i hate to burst your bubble, but this isn’t exactly an original experience. i’m pretty sure every athlete has hidden here to cry at one point in their career.”
the slight spark of light that had ignited within wooyoung at your appearance suddenly flickers out, reminded of why exactly he is hiding in the emergency stairwell in the first place. shame tears his eyes away from you, unable to meet your gaze any longer.
“i want to be left alone,” he murmurs.
although you respect his request, that is the opposite of what he needs. left to his own thoughts and devices, you know that wooyoung will spiral dangerously in guilt and self-reproach, even if the red devil’s loss is not his fault–is not anybody’s fault.
the two of you sit in silence, wooyoung intermittently swiping at a lone tear that threatens to drip off his chin, and you mulling over the words that you hold close to your heart. eventually, you break the quietude with a soft chuckle.
“the first game i ever played i was actually on left defence. our team was losing by two goals and i suddenly had the puck. i still remember seeing an opening in the goal and feeling the surge of confidence that i did when i hit the puck…but you know what?”
wooyoung does not answer, does not look up from where he is picking at his cuticles, but you can feel his curiosity so you continue, “it was an own goal. i scored into my own team’s net and it wasn’t until i scored another goal before i finally realised which way i was meant to go. obviously, my team wasn’t very happy with me, but then i ended up winning the game for them anyway and that’s how i started playing as centre forward.
“there was also a time during internationals where i argued against the ref’s call and got myself put into the penalty box. it cost our team a goal–the tiebreaker, too. i learnt my lesson and never did that again. and then there was the first couple of years i started to coached. i thought i had enough experience as a player to be a perfect coach. it wasn’t until one of my teams told me to pull my head out of my ass that i realised i was anything but.”
that gets a small snicker from out of him. you deliberate, “i’d like to think that we make the best team now, though.”
he scowls disgruntledly, “we’re your only team.”
“and my favourite team, too,” you laugh softly, gauging his expression. “my point is, wooyoung, we all make mistakes. but the reason why we make them in the first place is because we love playing. we do what our heart wants to in the moment and we play for ourselves because otherwise, there would be nothing left of us without ice hockey. what matters is that we stand up again and learn from the experience.”
wooyoung feels the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest because they are only half true to him. his passion and love for the sport indeed burns eternally as a blazing inferno inside of him, but his persistence to play today was due to ulterior motives. to acknowledge that aloud is a different story, though.
your voice takes on a lighter tone, “although i guess in this case, you should be sitting down with that ankle of yours. you know you should not be gambling with your injuries.”
he finally looks at you; a former athlete who did not even have the luxury to gamble your injury. it suddenly scares him to imagine just an ounce of the conflicting anguish that must course through you at his continuous decisions to endanger his own career–the anguish that you have made sure to never show, lest it affect them.
“do you ever feel angry?” wooyoung abruptly asks, voice laced with hesitation.
it is your turn to look away. you know that the question is not directed at himself but your entire career. with a bittersweet chuckle, you allow yourself to admit, “every day. i still get angry and i still get upset. i wake up in the morning wondering why it had to be me and i go to bed at night wondering why i didn’t deserve a second chance.
“but i’m okay; it gets easier to be okay. coaching means that i still get to go on the ice, i still get to experience the adrenaline of games and i still get to play through you guys. and most of all…i still have a team. i don’t know if i will ever stop feeling angry, but it’s better than it used to be.”
at your admission, wooyoung is reminded of how you are possibly the only one who would be able to truly understand him. he musters his courage and confesses, “i wanted us to lose last year…and we did end up losing.”
it catches you off guard, the direction of the conversation not what you had expected, but you neutralise your expression and tone so as to not make him feel defensive. “how come?”
he swallows. “my ankle–i fractured it last year just before we made it into the playoffs, so i wasn’t able to compete. i had been so angry at first; angry at myself for getting injured, angry at my coach for not letting me play, angry at my team because they could play. then when it became clear that i wasn’t going to be able to compete regardless of how angry i was, i became jealous, insecure and…afraid. jongho and i share the same position, and i mean, look at him now–he’s able to play both left and right wing. if they had won the playoffs without me, then would the team really need me?
“they did end up losing, just like i had wanted them to, but that made me feel so much worse–made me realise just how terrible i am of a person. the guilt eats me alive every single day and i tell myself that i will make it up to them this time, that i will risk everything to win for them…” wooyoung scoffs pathetically at himself, “only for me to fuck things up because of my fucking ankle again.”
you get it. the slow gnawing of yourself from the endless feelings that you ‘should not have’ until you become no more than an empty husk. ever since your own injury, you have spent nights on end trying to reconcile with your emotions in your own confusing and formidable journey, but for the first time ever, you are grateful that you did–because you can keep wooyoung company on his.
you carefully voice, “i think it was okay for you to have felt the way that you did. they’re your feelings and nobody can invalidate them nor your experience. what i came to realise was that all of those ‘ugly’ feelings do not make us ugly for having them–they simply make us human. it is only a problem when those feelings end up hurting other people, but i think the person you hurt the most…was yourself, wooyoung.”
at your words, he looks at you with wide eyes, a fresh swell of wetness gathering in them. wooyoung is kind and loving to everybody, yet has never once thought about deserving that kindness and love for himself. you smile gently, trying to hide the slight quiver in your own lips as your heart clenches with a desire to be loved in his stead.
“you know, woo, i’ve watched basically all of your past games including the quarterfinals from last year. but if i were to compare it to today’s game, it was as if two completely different teams were playing. your team was alive today–a truly united team where every member is the driving force behind each other’s passion for the game. i am pretty confident when i say that a huge part of it was because you were playing with them–because the team was finally whole again.
“yes, the trophy and the championship title is coveted but it is not what truly matters to them and neither to you. it wasn’t the actual win itself that you wanted today, but being able to win for them. and if your boys were to pick between winning without you and losing with you, i’m pretty sure you know better than i do what their immediate choice would be.”
should the other boys be here right now, they would instantly berate your ears off for even suggesting the first option. the thought flickers through wooyoung’s mind too and the corners of his lips tug upwards slightly.
still, he apprehensively confirms, “...no one is angry at me?”
“no,” you reply, voice soft, “not at all. but we are worried.”
you are reminded of the weight in the pocket of your jacket. pulling it out, you present the ice pack to wooyoung. “look, san told me to give this to you.”
his fingertips brush against your palm when he reaches out, hand hovering over the ice pack as if he does not dare to touch it. “san did?” he whispers.
when you nod, the final confirmation that he needs that nobody–you included–harbours ill feelings for him and his actions, he allows himself to take the ice pack. allows himself to love himself.
“you need to take care of your body,” you fondly chastise, lightening the atmosphere. “did coach cho not drill into you that as an athlete, your body is your most valuable asset? if you thought he was bad, he’s going to seem like an angel when i’m through with you. you won’t just be banned from playing, i’ll tie you to the bed to make sure you don’t walk on that ankle.”
wooyoung laughs through the few tears that are left, mood lifted enough to suggestively lift his eyebrows and quip, “kinky.” his laughter grows when you punch his arm in response.
no longer does he have to carry this burden alone because you are there for him now. but you know that you are not the only one who can be there for wooyoung. the dynamic between the boys runs past mere teammates and from what you have noticed, quite possibly even friends.
tentatively, you suggest, “maybe this is something you should tell the others about. that way you can truly let things go.”
his gaze wavers at the idea as he looks at you. yet, the miniscule smile and encouraging nod you give him fills him with tranquillity. perhaps it is time to let go, but the only way he can truly do that is if he is honest to the boys about his feelings–if he is honest to himself.
“okay,” he breathes out softly.
you grace him with another beat of silence before you stand up, extending your hand out to him. “let’s go.”
wooyoung takes your offered hand and lets you pull him up to his feet. he does not know if it is intentional, but the slight squeeze you give him right before your hand lets go of his fills him with warmth. the feeling stays with him even when he activates the ice pack as you two walk back to the locker room.
right at the doorway where the rest of the team is behind, you stop. you place your hand on wooyoung’s back, whose brows are starting to furrow in confusion. “i’ll be waiting out here. take your time,” you tell him.
“thank you, coach,” wooyoung returns your soft smile.
before you can think better of it, you reply, “i wasn’t talking to you as your coach…but as your friend.” then you nudge him towards the doorway with tender encouragement, waiting for him to walk through the threshold before you close the door behind him.
the first few months you had coached the red devils, mistrust had been in the shape of private conversations that deliberately excluded you. but now, trust is in the conversations that you know you do not need to be a part of. so you simply lean against the wall and wait.
and when they emerge from the locker room half an hour later, you know you have made the right decision upon seeing their eased expressions and relaxed shoulders. the air is still sombre, their defeat in the semifinals still fresh at the forefront of everybody’s minds, but what matters now is that they will face the loss together–the eight of them and you.
“here you go.”
hongjoong hands you your bag so that you do not have to go back in to grab it. you take it graciously from him, then with him by your side, you two lead the group through the arena–past the gazes and whispers that follow your group–and out to the team’s bus.
first to load his kit bag, yeosang takes his usual seat towards the front and waits. he has long developed the habit of placing his backpack under the seat in front of him instead of beside him. as the bus starts to pull away once all the bags are properly stored, you wordlessly take the seat next to him. your knees intermittently brush up against each other with the slight sway of the bus, but neither one of you make a move to shift your legs away.
you and yeosang watch the outside world whirl by the window, just like you always do. except the flowers that have bloomed among the trees–that had been bursts of positivity and vibrancy only just this morning–are now bittersweet reminders of the fall that you and the boys have just experienced.
a brief movement below your line of vision causes you to glance down. it is yeosang’s hand, palm upturned with a silent invitation of solace. you slide your fingers into his, an extension of the comfort you wish to give to them, and them to you.
what you and the boys do not realise, though, is that your flowers have simply bloomed elsewhere.
your jaw drops in sync with the last of the heavy suitcases that seonghwa rests on the floor outside their apartment complex. the amount of his luggage is easily equivalent to at least half the team’s.
“these are all yours?” you confirm.
seonghwa looks at you strangely, “of course. why?”
you look at him strangely. “are you planning on moving? why did you pack enough for a trip around the world?”
“well somebody didn’t want to tell us where we were going, so i had to make sure i was prepared for wherever our destination would be.”
“it’s called a surprise for a reason,” you shake your head, “and i did tell you to pack for cold weather, didn’t i?”
seonghwa fakes offence, scoffing, “can i remind you that it is still spring here, so my apologies for assuming that it might potentially mean we are travelling overseas.”
“you’re such a worrywart, you old fart,” wooyoung teases, circling around the older on his rideable suitcase.
seonghwa yelps when the wheels nearly run over his toes and he threatens, “next time you wet through your entire pack of underwear, don’t come crawling and begging for my spares.”
the suitcase halts indignantly to a stop with its rider. “that was one time,” wooyoung complains, “and it wasn’t even my fault!”
“it wasn’t even my fault,” seonghwa mocks. “i told you not to put your shampoo in a ziplock bag but no, you said that it would be fine.”
wooyoung sticks his index finger up. “correction, hongjoong said that it would be fine.”
“what the fuck, wooyoung,” hongjoong blanches at the sudden disclosure.
“and that’s exactly where you are at fault,” seonghwa cocks his eyebrow at wooyoung. “why would you listen to him?”
“what the fuck, seonghwa. i’m your captain,” hongjoong scowls.
“only during games.”
when you make eye contact with san, the two of you can only sigh with amused resignation. the rest of the boys shake their heads and proceed to load their luggage onto the bus, leaving the trio to feud it out in the background.
as mingi stacks his luggage beside yunho’s, he turns to ask, “are you sure we don’t need our kits?”
“you all brought your skates and sticks with you?” you question in return. when mingi and yunho nod, you reassure them, “then that’s all you need.”
jongho pipes up from beside you, “but what about training?”
“mental training,” you simply grin before hopping up the stairs to sit beside yeosang.
the boys gradually take their seats, even wooyoung and the two oldest despite their continued bickering. somebody yells out over the commotion, “coach! are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”
you peer backwards over the top of your seat to find everyone’s eager eyes on you. “nope,” you snicker, “you’ll find out when we get there. we are going on a holiday though, i’ll tell you that much.”
there is a surge of excitement at your confirmation and a similar fluttering eagerness flits through you, except yours is because you cannot wait to see their reactions. you really hope that the next two weeks will help to reset the team’s morale and give them a much-needed break.
“kq let us go on holiday?” yeosang asks with an impressed look as you settle back in your seat.
you give him a proud smirk. “i’m pretty convincing when i want to be. plus, we just had playoffs and we would all benefit from the rest. what better time to do that than at the start of the off-season?”
“there is no better time.”
“exactly.”
and so the bus starts the four-hour drive towards what the boys will soon come to realise is a team retreat. mingi connects his phone to the bluetooth, in charge of shuffling the music that blasts through the speakers, turning the atmosphere of the bus into a lively concert once it becomes obvious that it is going to be a long trip.
you have to yell over their deafening singing–which you have to admit actually sounds quite impressive–numerous times for them to sit their asses down, their enthusiasm uncontainable by the seat belts and law regulations. but they look their age, free and untroubled; just a group of boys up to their silly antics with one another, so you cannot bring yourself to truly regulate them.
the bus drives on, making a rest stop at one of the service areas along the highway so that you can stretch your legs in fresh air, use the restrooms and most importantly–
“food!”
their hollers resound before the doors of the bus even open. the second that the gap is large enough to fit one of them through, most of the boys go sprinting off like a stampede of toddlers in the direction of the food court.
wooyoung stays back and slips his arm through the crook of your elbow when you step off the bus too. he grins mischievously, “i’m sticking with you so you can pay for my food.”
“oh, stop it,” yunho tugs him away, pulling even harder when it only serves to make wooyoung’s grasp tighten around your arm. “i’ll pay for your food. leave her wallet alone.”
you laugh brightly as you are jostled around and you pull a card out of your back pocket, holding it up like a golden ticket. you waggle your brows playfully, “it’s on the company card.”
both wooyoung and yunho freeze. their eyes instantaneously start to glimmer, faces radiating when they slowly look at each other. then before you can react, they pounce on you, linking their arm through yours on either side of you and dragging you along to catch up with the rest of the team.
“buy whatever you want!” wooyoung brags and waves the card that he has seized off of you, “it’s on me!”
the service area itself is a field trip as the eight boys cause carnage throughout, except the destruction is in the number of times they swipe the company card. their hands quickly fill with rice cakes and fish skewers, corn dogs and grilled squid, more bags of walnut pastries and roasted potatoes tucked safely under their elbows. they demolish the snacks at the same rate it takes for the next ones to be prepared and the card is tossed around to keep up with their purchases.
they do not forget about the drinks either, getting iced americanos and barley tea to go along with their snacks, and banana milk and soda for the next leg of the trip. whatever catches their eyes–basically everything they lay their eyes upon–they buy. you do have to draw the line at daytime drinking though, narrowing your eyes at the cases of beer jongho and yunho try to pick up until they sheepishly put them back.
(you also end up having to purchase motion sickness tablets because seonghwa and mingi gorge themselves so full on snacks that they are queasy before they even make it back on the bus. kq’s president sends you a text too, asking just what exactly you and the boys have bought to rack up almost forty consecutive purchases at a service area. but the subsequent message asking if they are enjoying themselves tells you that his question is all in good fun.)
their energy mellows out during the last hour of the trip, both from tiring themselves out and from the gradual change in the scenery outside the windows. no longer can you see an endless mirage of highway road and open fields.
as the miles build up the further you travel, it leads deeper into a mountainous woodland with the trees growing denser and thicker around you. the narrower road winds around the base of hills and the bus driver carefully navigates the undisturbed peace of the forest. it starts to get colder and when the branches of the trees gradually dress themselves in dappled layers of snow, more of you shoulder on the thick coats and puffer jackets you had told them to bring.
the bus eventually arrives at a clearing amongst the pine trees, revealing a large but welcoming cottage pension. its wooden exterior and sloped roof gives it a distinctly cosy and rustic look, with large glass doors spanning the entire height of the walls that will let you admire the surrounding mountainous beauty from inside. off to the side of the cottage, there is a sizeable lake that has frozen over and immediately, you know that this was the perfect place to choose.
the boys press their faces against the window to get a better look as the bus pulls up beside the accommodation. “woah,” they breathe out, their exhales fogging up the glass.
they follow you off the bus in a trance, mouths open and unable to peel their eyes away lest they waste even a second to drink up the sight before them. here, in the heart of the taebaek mountains, it is still a winter wonderland despite the spring blossoms that cover the rest of seoul.
you turn to face them, walking backwards slowly and spreading your arms out with fond tenderness. “welcome to your home for the next two weeks, boys.”
even though it is simply an illusion created by taebaek’s geographical location and mountainous terrain, this time you find yourself appreciating the coldness and bareness of the winter-like ambience that cocoons you and your boys. it is as if time has stopped and there are no worries…only time to heal and start afresh.
living together, even if just for a holiday, is different.
you are used to only seeing the team in their training clothes, practice jerseys or bulked up in their padded gear and uniform. but here, the boys wear lounging sweatpants and worn hoodies, hair soft and poking into their eyes, bodies and expressions unguarded as they laze around. and where you are used to only seeing them at training, meetings and games, all rigorously scheduled and planned, there are no expectations to follow and no limits as to when you see them here.
the boys have their own organised chaoticness to their daily routines, having been living together for almost seven years now, and it seamlessly integrates into the space of the cottage too. but what truly surprises you and them is how you naturally blend into it.
when you rented the pension, you had ensured there were at least three bathrooms to accommodate all nine of you. however, you quickly discover that numbers mean nothing because the boys are incapable of staggering their morning and nightly bathroom routines one by one like you had assumed they would. you also realise that it is not that they are incapable, but that they like and want to do everything together.
space within a room holds no meaning to them and they are perfectly content to stand pressed up against each other’s sides, expertly dodging elbows and leaning over one another to reach for their toothbrushes or skincare. after that first night, you wake up in the morning and patter off in search for the least cramped bathroom to wriggle yourself into, up to three of you sharing the large sink and mirror that now looks comparatively tiny as you brush your teeth together.
more often than not, you find yourself sandwiched between yunho and mingi. it is moreso a matter of neither boy letting you escape from their clutches if you happen to peer into whichever bathroom they have crammed themselves into.
“we make the perfect ratio as the two tallest plus you as the shortest,” mingi likes to rationalise, “so it averages out perfectly with three boys in each of the other bathrooms.”
“but san’s shoulders are basically the equivalent of two grown men, so your point is invalid no matter how we divide ourselves up,” you like to argue back.
except they refuse to see reason. instead, yunho raises the volume of the speaker he has set on the sink’s counter that blasts out music to playfully drown you out. you relent every time and it turns into goofy dancing from the three of you as you pull silly expressions at one another in the mirror. when you rinse your mouth, mingi will start a gargling competition without fail, but none of you have lasted for more than three seconds before you begin to choke with laughter.
(when you are with people you like, everything is funny.)
seonghwa shakes his head whenever he passes the bathroom, insisting, “the only thing you guys are missing is a disco ball.” he is definitely not jealous of the fun you three are having. not at all.
the eldest has his own routine though, visible in the way he prepares everybody’s cups of coffee in the morning. they are all made differently according to individual preferences; no sugar, double shots, a dash of milk, brown sugar, matcha powder or decaf. and despite the fact that yeosang is usually up the earliest, seonghwa does not allow him to make his own coffee.
seonghwa claims it is because nobody knows how to properly use the drip brewer, but yeosang sits next to you and murmurs into your ear, “he just won’t admit that he likes to make them for us.” it must be the chill of the morning, but yeosang’s warm, whispery voice always sends goosebumps over your arms.
by the second morning, seonghwa finds himself naturally grabbing an extra cup and the hot surprise greets you with one and a half teaspoons of sugar in it, just how you like it. hongjoong emerges from the bathroom moments later to grab his cup and as he takes a careful sip, his eyes flit over the remaining cups on the table. seonghwa can practically hear the numbers ticking up in his head.
“y/n already took hers,” he verbalises, beckoning with his chin.
hongjoong turns around in the same direction to see you curled up on the sofa next to jongho and yeosang, your feet tucked comfortably underneath you as you lean forward out of curiosity to take a sip of jongho’s americano. when your expression scrunches up from the shock of bitterness, jongho giggles brightly and steadies your hand that is holding your own cup of sweetened coffee. his eyes melt at your reaction.
“oh, i know that expression,” hongjoong chortles. “he’s a goner.”
seonghwa sees the honey in hongjoong’s own eyes and he smiles knowingly, “i don’t think he’s the only one.”
hongjoong does not peel his gaze away from the three of you all cosied up on the couch. “you’re right, they’re both goners,” he hums absentmindedly, not at all registering who exactly it is who is being referred to.
(the true answer is that there are more than three of them.)
you discover that wooyoung is usually in charge of cooking, but in return, everybody else gets up to clear and wash the dishes the moment the last pair of chopsticks is placed down on the table. that is the only time they are allowed into the kitchen because they are apparently all walking hazards.
but when wooyoung realises you can actually handle a knife without giving him grey hairs from watching, the two of you easily divide the roles and tasks between yourselves. like a waltzing dance, you move together in the kitchen to prepare the meals. he passes you the spices in the overhead cabinets before you ask and you close the fridge when he takes out a pack of meat or vegetables.
cooking with wooyoung is never without bickering. he does not let you hear the end of the time you bump your head on the edge of the counter when you try to grab a saucepan from underneath, or the time you squeal after the oil starts to splatter from the onions. but if that is the reason why he starts to subtly move his hand to cushion the edges of the counters when you bend down to find something, or why he chooses to do the stirring and frying while you slice, then he pretends it is merely coincidence.
san never strays far away from the kitchen whenever you and wooyoung are cooking. you have noticed that they do not really ever stray apart–none of the boys do, though. wooyoung talks as you and san listen and the latter does not stop smiling as he watches wooyoung multitask. what you do not realise is the countless times you have forgotten to keep cooking because you are watching him too with the same expression that san wears.
(the rest of the boys realise and they also see the way san and wooyoung will pause to gaze at you.)
when you two have mostly finished cooking and it is simply a matter of waiting for the sauce to simmer or the soup to boil, you find that wooyoung will take his seat next to san on the barstools at the island, knees and thighs touching as he continues the conversation. you gravitate towards them the first time before catching yourself, cautious that you may be intruding, but then san gives you a dimpled smile and beckons for you to come and sit by his other side.
san likes to keep a gentle hand resting on wooyoung’s knee as he talks. when he does the same thing to you without even looking, your lungs stop working for a minute. the only thought that consumes your mind is the warm sensation of san’s thumb soothingly running back and forth across your skin. you do not want him to stop, so you stay still in hopes that he continues. you are pretty sure san does not even consciously realise he is doing it.
(san does, and he is glad you do not move away.)
in the hours after dinner and before you all head off to sleep, you pile the thick blankets into the open living room and squish yourselves on the least number of couches as possible. again, space holds no meaning when you are with the boys and you find the press of yeosang and hongjoong’s skin against your own more natural there than not.
sometimes you watch movies together, other times talking with low voices as the hours tick by, and other times where you are all doing your own things but in the presence of one another. regardless, the nine of you stay cuddled in front of the fireplace with the warm glow of the fire and the light dreamy flutter of snow outside the windows.
yeosang tenderly tucks the blankets up around mingi’s shoulders when he falls asleep before turning to you on his other side. “are you warm enough?” he softly asks. and even though you say you are, he still tucks the edges of your blanket under your chin, nestling you safely within the blanket, hongjoong’s side and his own body.
the boys are naturally affectionate with one another and seeing the close dynamic of their…friendship so intimately in the environment of the retreat reminds you once more of the possibility that their relationship may run deeper than they let on.
(but when that affection extends to you, you wonder what exactly that may mean for your own relationship with the boys.)
and so living together, even if just for a holiday, is different. it is different when they are the first sight to greet you when you wake up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and voice still husky from fatigue as they murmur good mornings to you, and your cheeks start to glow with rosiness.
it is different when the decisions you make together are not about a change in formation or a defensive power play, but what to make for dinner and what movie you want to watch afterwards, and it makes you begin to wonder what other mundane decisions you want to make with them. it is different when they wrap you in their embrace–eight consecutive hugs–to bid you goodnight, and it takes you longer to fall asleep because you toss restlessly in your bed as their smiles replay in your head.
being on the retreat together is strangely domestic and homelike. but it has been almost nine months since you have started coaching the boys and thus seeing them every day for countless hours on end. so really, this trip should not change anything.
and yet, it feels like everything is changing.
jongho pays no mind to the conversation that is happening around him. last he heard, half of you are wanting to go out to skate on the lake before the sun sets and the other half are wanting to finish the halli galli championship you had started the night prior.
he is happy to do either but his mind is distracted by something else. as the screen of his phone lights up, jongho’s eyes flicker down and he puts his hand over the glowing display before anybody can see the caller id. you glance at him when you catch the movement in the corner of your peripheral vision, only to look away when yunho calls out your name to see which of the two options you would prefer.
the screen goes black as the call goes unanswered. seconds later, it lights up briefly with a notification.
pick up.
then the caller id shows up again. jongho grabs his phone and mumbles to nobody in particular, “going to grab something from my room.”
closing the door to the room that he is sharing with hongjoong in the pension, jongho sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, phone clutched tightly in his hand. whilst he has no qualms ignoring their messages now, he still finds it difficult to do the same to their phone calls. he finds his resolve weakening as he watches his phone ring for the third time within minutes.
so jongho picks up. “mother,” he greets stiffly.
she scoffs scathingly, “you finally decided to pick up.”
“i’ve been busy with the playoffs.” a half lie.
“busy? busy losing, you mean,” his mother ridicules. jongho is taken aback by the fact that she is aware, since he did not tell his family. it makes sense when she berates, “do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out from your aunt? she told me to congratulate you for making it into the semifinals–the semifinals, jongho.”
he feels a heat of shame at what she is insinuating. jongho defends, “that’s still the top four out of seventy six teams.”
“nobody cares,” she turns her nose up. “it does not matter if you came fourth, second or last–unless you win first place, the result is not worth anything. our entire family has a legacy of achievements and your younger brother even has an olympic gold medal now. but what have you done? this is a mere national competition and yet you are incapable of making it into the finals.”
“jong–” his name dies on the tip of your tongue and your hand stops before you can knock on the door when you hear jongho’s muffled voice.
the boys had finally decided to grab their skates so you had come to get jongho to join everybody outside. realising he is talking to somebody, you are about to turn away and give him some privacy, but the words you hear make you freeze.
it is not the conversation itself that you overhear; it is the wounded tone of jongho’s voice that makes it impossible for you to walk away. your feet stay rooted to the spot, in fact, wanting to enter the room. you have not heard jongho in such great affliction before, not even when he was consoling the boys with tears in his own eyes after their crushing defeat in the playoffs.
“when are you going to celebrate my achievements for what they are, instead of telling me to do better?” jongho appeals.
he has lived his entire life being told that he is not good enough–constantly compared to the accomplishments of his family, particularly those of his younger brother. what he does not understand is why he cannot just be recognised for the athlete that he is, void of any other person.
his mother is silent and for a brief moment, jongho thinks that she may finally see some sense in his words…only for her to unfeelingly state, “when they are worth celebrating.” with a simple, “do better,” she hangs up on him.
jongho’s hand falls limply into his lap, phone slipping out of his lax fingers with a dull thud to the ground. he wants to swear. he wants to cry. he wants to throw his phone against the wall until the screen shatters. but jongho simply leans forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, the crushing weight of dejection forcing his lungs to exhale shakily.
there is a faint, timid knock on the door. he knows who it is immediately–only one person would knock so softly. “come in,” he answers listlessly, because he could never bring himself to ignore you no matter his own feelings.
the door cracks open to reveal your tentative figure and you slip through the opening. from the way your lips are pulled down, eyes rounded with concern, jongho knows that you have connected enough dots to understand the context of the phone call.
you approach the bed and try to ignore how small the boy in front of you looks with his shoulders hunched inwards on themselves. jongho has always appeared as the most collected and composed, even more so than the captain, and it makes your chest tight to realise he has simply been hiding this whole time.
jongho is not a man of many words so you do the next best thing that feels right in the moment. you simply open your arms. when his hands slowly come up in silent acceptance, you step forward to engulf him in your embrace.
he presses his face into the soft warmth of your stomach. the darkness welcomes him with safety and comfort and he lets out a stuttering breath that racks his entire body. you wrap one arm around his shoulders and cradle the back of his head with your other, your fingers tenderly caressing his hair in soothing motions.
although silence is what he needs, you allow yourself to say one thing to him. you murmur, “i’m proud of you, jongho…so, so proud of you.”
and they are the words he has been wanting to hear his entire life. unable to keep it together any longer, jongho breaks down in your arms with tearful sobs and allows himself to grieve for the acknowledgement he has yearned his entire life and never received. however, it will only be for tonight because he has realised that it is futile to chase after recognition from a person who refuses to see his worth, even if that person is his own family.
there will always be other people who can see his actual worth; the same people who will still love him even if he does not have a gold trophy to call his. for him, those people are his seven boys and you.
so he stays in your arms with you wrapped around him, time lost to the two of you. he cries until he has no tears left and you tilt your head upwards to stop the flow of your own tears before they can drip down onto the crown of his head. and outside the bedroom, hongjoong quietly eases the door shut to give you both some privacy.
you do not know how much time has passed when you finally step out. jongho has fallen asleep after you tucked him under his covers, exhausted. heading towards your room to change out of your shirt, you are startled by the sight of hongjoong lingering near the door.
“you didn’t go out with the boys?
he shakes his head, then conscious of where you two are standing, he gestures inside your room and follows you in. “is jongho okay?” hongjoong asks.
“i think so…he’s sleeping now but probably just needs a bit more time,” you sigh, “i just wish i could do more for him.”
hongjoong reassures, “you are already doing so much more than you realise.”
for jongho. for wooyoung. for all of them. comfort has never been about the words or actions, but the person who is by their side, and for the boys, having you there is already enough.
“really?” you worry.
“yes, really.”
before he realises what he is doing, hongjoong reaches out to gingerly cup the side of your face to thumb away the worry in your brows. “y/n, you take care of us all the time…but who takes care of you?” he whispers.
“i’m your coach, of course i–”
“no,” he interrupts. “you aren’t just our coach and from what i have seen, you aren’t just our friend either. unless…” hongjoong hesitates, “unless i’ve been reading everything wrong, then in which case, tell me and i’ll move away.”
you do not reply. your eyes flicker back and forth between his, your heart racing and mind blank. it is true–they are not just your players and they are not just your friends either, but you are unsure about taking such a huge leap of faith and acting upon the feelings you have only just started to understand.
hongjoong takes your silence as encouragement to step even closer until he is right in front of you. he keeps his hand on your cheek, his other coming up to delicately cradle your waist. you are standing intimately enough for his warm breath to span across your cheeks as he tenderly pleads, “let us take care of you as more than what we are right now.
“if you do not want to put a label on it then that’s fine, we won’t. we’ll still be your team and you’ll still be our coach. but please, let us take care of you when you are hurt, when you’re upset or angry, and when you are happy, too. let us love you as one of ours.”
as one of theirs.
you swallow and confirm, “are you all together?”
“yes, we’re dating each other,” hongjoong nods.
“but then why…” your voice trials off. why me, too?
hongjoong taps the tip of your nose and jokes lightly, “is there a capped limit as to how many people we are allowed to love?”
it pulls a giggle out of you and he smiles fondly as he reiterates, “we don’t need to put a label on this and we can go entirely at your pace. just let us into your heart, please?”
for a moment you wonder what will happen to your professional relationship with the boys–what will happen if things do not work out or worse, if other people find out and report you all for it. but when you really think about it, you realise that the professionalism between you and the boys has long since blurred.
you do not know if you can go back to seoul after this retreat and act like you do not want to continue living with them. most importantly, you do not want to know if you can. so you take the leap of faith and nod–you want to be theirs.
when you first met the red devils in autumn last year, you were resolved to win over them. never would you have expected that you would win them over in more ways than one…and be won over yourself.
“hi, girlfriend.”
seonghwa smacks the back of wooyoung’s head. “stop pressuring her,” he hisses as the younger cackles delightfully and strides away through the snow impressively fast considering he is wearing his skates.
“ignore him,” seonghwa turns to you, where you are sitting on the porch steps to the cottage. he squats down and takes the laces out of your hands to start doing up your own skates.
“i can do it myself,” you start.
“i know you can,” seonghwa hums, gazing up lovingly, “but i want to do it for you.”
you press your lips together in an attempt to hide the shy smile that blooms across your face and when that fails, you duck your head down instead. ever since your talk with hongjoong the other day, the boys have been significantly more obvious and proactive with their displays of affection for you. however, you are pretty sure they had their own conversation when you were asleep or in the shower, because not one of them pressures you into something you are not ready for, even if that includes making your relationship official.
“there you go. is it too tight? too loose?” seonghwa taps your skates and you tell him they are perfect. taking his offered hand with an appreciative smile, he pulls you up to your feet and you go to join the rest of the boys on the frozen lake.
you are sure it feels the same for every single one of your boys–nothing can compare to that moment when you first step onto the ice. it is where you become a completely different person; a fish back in water, in control and at home.
it had been a gamble renting the cottage pension as you were unable to know whether the lake would be frozen over enough to allow for skating. but it is as if the heavens know not to separate you and your boys from the love and passion that your entire lives revolve around, because you are blessed to see them scrambling out to play on the frozen lake almost every single day, just like they are right now.
san spots you and seonghwa and beckons for you two to join. “hongjoong’s the tagger,” he calls out.
the captain stands at the other end of the lake, back facing everybody as he drawls, “green light…”
before hongjoong even starts to enunciate the first word, yunho, wooyoung and jongho have already pushed off their skates to advance. it sets off an immediate chorus of indignant shouts and desperate acceleration amongst everybody else to catch up. you laugh and seonghwa drags you along with him urgently, unable to stand your apparent nonchalance and uncompetitiveness.
but oh, how wrong he is. very quickly, you join the majority of the boys in a game of who can be the most sneaky with dirty play. wooyoung and mingi tussle with one another right as hongjoong turns around with his yell of ‘red light!’, trying to topple the other over so they get caught. jongho yanks on the back of seonghwa’s jacket whilst yeosang giggles and joins in to yank on jongho’s, effectively preventing all three of them from advancing forward.
“let go of me, you brats!” seonghwa flails forward against the combined weight of the two boys but to no avail.
you use yunho’s height to your advantage and hide behind him, steadily creeping forward even when hongjoong has turned around to face you all. yunho quickly catches on and extends his hands backwards for you to latch onto. you are more than happy to let him do all the hard work skating you both towards the captain and you grin cheekily at the trio–still caught up in their self-induced tug-of-war–as you overtake them easily.
“y/n’s cheating!” san hollers, the only one who is actually playing by the rules.
“life’s not fair!” you holler back gleefully at the same time that hongjoong sniggers, “san, you moved your mouth! go back.”
san gives an indignant cry, “favouritism, i say!” but, bless his heart, moves back to the starting line regardless.
when yunho is almost towering over hongjoong, he cues you to get ready to escape by letting go of your hands. you pivot around and without waiting for anything else, you start to run away.
“gree–”
yunho tags hongjoong’s right shoulder before pushing off to the left so that he escapes the other’s immediate line of vision. except it means that the first person that hongjoong sees when he turns around is you.
an involuntary squeal escapes you when you hear the terrifying crispness of skates on ice right behind you followed by the captain’s arms snaking around your waist. “caught you, babe” he beams. hongjoong lifts you up with shit-eating smugness at your reaction–both at his close proximity and the pet name–spins you around for good measure, then sets you back down to chase after the others.
wooyoung skates in a wide arc to dodge the captain’s frenzied rampage, only to suddenly appear right beside you with the most telling glint in his sparkling eyes that he is up to mischief. he grins.
“wooyoung, no,” you warn.
he grabs you by the waist. “wooyoung, yes.”
wooyoung pushes off his skates with you in front of him at breakneck speed across the ice, bellowing at the top of his voice, “make way for the cripples!”
you scream the entire way to the end of the lake, hands clutching onto his like a lifeline as a colourful string of words flies out of your mouth. you think you black out for a second because when you open your eyes again, you are in a heaving tangle of arms and legs on the cushiony surface of powdery snow.
“oh, shit,” hongjoong winces.
the boys speed towards you and wooyoung, and yunho peers down at you on the ground with panicked concern in his eyes. “are you two okay?” he asks but when he sees that you are laughing, unrestrained and radiating joy, yunho relaxes and joins in with relief.
they–mainly seonghwa–fuss over you both enough to reassure themselves that there is not so much as a scratch or bruise, before mingi suggests playing a casual hockey game of five versus four. there are to be no goaltenders and san fashions makeshift goalposts by poking sticks into the snow on either ends of the lake.
the team splits into their usual arrangement when they are required to be in two groups; hongjoong, yunho, san and wooyoung; seonghwa, yeosang, mingi and jongho. normally, you would offer to be the honorary referee…but the boys have never been rough with you and you have confidence that you will not get hurt. so for the first time in years, you play.
it is far from a proper league game and it will never be enough to quench your thirst as a former athlete, but for now, gripping your stick on the ice in tandem with the others, you are content–you are alive.
like red light, green light, the game starts off fair and proper for a grand total of two minutes. then it becomes a circus of foul plays and increasingly creative methods of cheating as all sense of order is tossed out the window. yunho and san stand in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to handle the puck, whilst hongjoong and wooyoung flank your sides and use their sticks to block any attempts to steal the puck. as a shielded group of five, you all move up towards the goalposts like a formidable army tank.
in retaliation, jongho physically manhandles hongjoong out of the way, hugging him from behind with a vice grip that he swears not to let go. seonghwa, mingi and yeosang imitate him with similar displays of strength, turning the entire match into a childish scuffle of chaos and hysterics.
there are no proper rules, no proper gear and no proper stadium–only the bare minimum, yourselves and uncontainable laughter. it feels like you are kids again, little souls harbouring colossal dreams, running around on the fields with long branches and a pine cone you had found when you could not afford to go to a real rink.
it is like you have gone back in time to when all you knew about ice hockey from watching it on your television screen was that you had to get the puck into the goal. you and the boys are fresh, blank slates without a care in the world for the countless strategies and tactical plays that you have learned over the length of your careers.
without the pressures and routines of strict training regimes, you all reignite the very roots of your ardour and fervour for ice hockey. no longer is it about the scores and making it into the playoffs. no longer is it about winning the championships to gain the acknowledgement of other people. no longer is it about the trauma of betrayal, injury and defeat you have experienced.
playing is simply the thrill of skating liberally with no burdens across the ice. it is the feeling of thriving when your blade connects with the puck and sends vibrations up your arms. it is the rush of adrenaline as everyone moves in tandem with the same singular thought in your hearts–that you love ice hockey with your entire lives. and that in itself is already more than enough, even without a gold trophy and championship title to prove it to yourselves.
for the last five years, the boys have had the leaves of their trees forcibly plucked and removed–by family, by coaches, and by injuries…but now?
it is time for their flowers to bloom.
spring, 2025: playoffs
standing off to the side, you watch your boys listening attentively to the reporter who is conducting an interview with them. you have continued to stay out of the media spotlight where possible, not yet entirely comfortable standing in front of the cameras again, but your boys have quickly grown accustomed to media coverage ever since their popularity gained traction thanks to their undefeated streak in the regular season.
the interviewer glances down at her prompt card before asking, “so tell me, what has been a major contribution to your success this season? your team has made a name for yourselves as the undefeated champions so far–quite a contrast to how you started off last season.”
seonghwa laughs cordially with her. “we were getting used to a lot of changes last year so our teamwork and mentality wasn’t the best,” he admits. “our agency gave us some time off to recalibrate, which really helped us to focus on building ourselves–as individuals and as a team. i think we learnt to place our unconditional trust in one another and our coach. we still play with a dominantly offensive approach, but we’ve been adopting different playing styles and experimenting with them, so this relies heavily on believing in each other.”
yunho nods, gesturing for the microphone to add, “as cliche as it may sound, a huge part of our growth was also learning how to accept loss. this wasn’t just in the context of being defeated in the semifinals but in the wider lens of our past mistakes, relationships, and even situations that we could not change.
“it has been a tough journey for a lot of us over the last year, but we were lucky enough to have each other’s support,” yunho’s nostalgic smile reflects your own as you realise just how far both you and all of your boys have come. “once we were able to let go, it meant that we could enjoy our career for what it truly is–playing the sport of our dreams together, every day.”
the reporter’s ears perk up in interest at the segway to probe and she jumps on the opportunity to ask, “i am sure many of your fans have been curious for a long time. is there a special somebody who has supported you–or any of you–throughout your journey?”
yunho passes the microphone to the hand that has extended out to reach for it. it’s san this time, who has a charmingly confident persona that he takes on whenever he answers questions during interviews. good thing too, because their fans are going to need something to distract them from understanding the confession he is about to make.
“there is. we all do, actually,” his deep voice rolls off his tongue like butter. the way he smoothly talks with a flirtatious smirk never fails to make you swoon. “funnily enough, we all met our girlfriend at about the same time.”
off to the side, wooyoung sends a wink in your direction and you have to muffle a snort with your hand and divert your glance away. the structural framework of the stadium ceiling suddenly looks very interesting. san stands there incredibly smug at his joke that he knows nobody but you and the boys will pick up on.
by the time you tune back into the conversation, the reporter has moved onto the next question. “last year, you lost to the white tigers in the semifinals. how do you feel about facing them again later today?”
due to a spike in popularity, the korean ice hockey league had to divide its teams into two separate groups for the regular season matches this year. both the red devils and the white tigers had been placed in different groups and by some twist of fate, had ranked at the top and then seeded accordingly on either ends of the tournament brackets. now, your team faces theirs in the very last game of the season.
the finals.
“we’re quite excited, actually,” jongho responds. “we have been wanting to play against the white tigers again some day and i don’t think it gets any more fitting than meeting them in the finals. they have some incredible players but like seonghwa mentioned before, we’ve been working hard to adjust our playing style to suit the situation. our coach has put in a lot of effort to hone in on our strengths and weaknesses, so no matter what today’s outcome is, we’re confident that it won’t be an easy win for either team.”
“i am sure the finals is going to be a thrilling match. now, speaking of coaches,” the interviewer starts and you can see hongjoong’s hand twitching subtly at his side, ready to step in and deflect the question need be should it pertain to you.
she continues, “how does it feel to play against your former coach?”
yeosang and mingi frown, unable to neutralise the confusion on their faces. hongjoong smiles calmly, ultimately taking over the microphone as he apologises, “sorry, could you please elaborate your question?”
it is the interviewer’s turn to fluster slightly but she nods quickly, “you must not be aware, then.”
your eyes dart back and forth as you try to recall whether there is a crucial piece of information you have somehow missed or forgotten to tell the boys. the tone of her voice foreshadows something that makes the pit of your stomach churn.
“last year, the white tigers had a stand-in coach, so you probably did not know.” she says her next words carefully and despite the bustling movement that fills the entire stadium, you can hear the exact moment all of your hearts drop.
“the coach of the white tigers is coach yeon, your team’s former coach in 2018…and he’s here today.”
you are the first to rush back into their locker room. frantically, you grab the official guide that had been given to you by the ice hockey league prior to the start of the regular season from out of your bag. you flip through it, team profiles upon team profiles blending into a hazy blur of faces as you find the one you are trying to look for.
“y/n,” somebody gently murmurs from behind you but you do not register their call. you continue to flick through the pages and when you find the profile for the white tigers, you scan the top of the page for a certain name with a shaky finger.
head coach: yeon ha joon
“oh my god,” you breathe out, hands lowering to your sides and gaze wavering. how the fuck had you managed to miss it this entire time?
you are not the only one affected by the revelation. the change room is pervaded by unease and restlessness, and wooyoung paces back and forth despite hongjoong’s attempts to get him to sit down. hongjoong himself cannot even remember how he answered the question about coach yeon, only that he had somehow excused themselves not long after to cut the interview short.
“how is he still a coach?” seonghwa furrows his brows.
wooyoung stops pacing and your eyes are drawn to him when he suddenly blanches, “what if coach yeon is doing the opposite now and paying other teams to let his own team win?”
“no way–” “–i wouldn’t put it past him–” “–surely not?” the boys’ voices overlap at the speculation.
it is a valid speculation based on what they have told you in the past about coach yeon. however, you stay quiet, suddenly aware of the fact that it is not something that would favour you should it be true. you gnaw the inside of your cheek because as much as you know that your boys would not suspect you, you still worry that doubt may cross their minds at one point, even if only briefly.
“unless the money he offered every single time was equivalent to the prize money, it’s highly unlikely the teams would have all accepted, right?” jongho points out.
yunho shrugs nonchalantly, “but even if they did, we all know that coach yeon would never be able to bribe our girl.”
the way everybody immediately agrees expels some of the anxiety within you, filling you with reassurance and security that starts to relax your chest instead. wooyoung chooses that moment to finally sit down on the bench beside you. he adds, “we’re too whipped for you, so even if you were bribed, we would probably ask whether the money was enough and if you wanted more.”
san chucks a water bottle at him. despite yourself, you laugh and admit, “that is…strangely comforting.”
“see,” wooyoung triumphantly boots the bottle back at the older. “she gets it.”
seonghwa intercepts the pitiful bottle before it becomes weaponised and sets it down next to him. “she wouldn’t accept the money in the first place.”
“exactly, so why does any of this matter?” mingi suddenly questions.
yeosang knits his brows together as he states the obvious, “it’s coach yeon.”
“and?” mingi mirrors his expression with genuine confusion.
it is quiet in the locker room. the coach of the white tigers is indeed coach yeon…and so what? what exactly about the revelation has pushed you all to the edge of the cliff?
mingi cocks his head. “what i’m trying to say is, does it make any difference whether he is their coach or not? think about it–regardless of how he got his team to the finals, he has no unfair advantage over us. there’s no way that he has bribed a fixed win in the finals, and he has no access to any insider knowledge that could jeopardise our tactics and plays.
“the only leverage that he ‘has’ is a psychological advantage–if we can even call it that. but we’re not the same boys who were too naive and powerless to do anything about it six years ago. if anything, we can easily turn this to work in our favour because i don’t know about you guys, but i’m ready to drag his ass through the mud. what we said earlier about not caring for today’s outcome? nah, fuck that. we’re going to fuck him up and show him that he messed with the wrong people.”
he takes everybody’s silence as misunderstanding of his last statement and he hurriedly clarifies there is no violent intent, “by winning. fairly.”
“damn,” jongho whistles. “you’re onto something for once.”
mingi clambers over seonghwa’s legs to grab the forgotten bottle and it goes flying across the room with violent intent. “dude, what the fuck,” mingi grouses.
the dull thud that resounds when jongho holds san’s leg pad up to block the projectile is enough to shift the mood in the room entirely. you finally relax into hongjoong’s side and he moulds you closer to him with the arm that he snakes around your waist as you both watch the locker room erupt into familiar pre-game mayhem.
yunho immediately scoops up the bottle and pitches it again. san stands to the side worrying over his poor leg pads as jongho uses them to bat the makeshift ball. his impressive accuracy makes you wonder whether they would have made it just as big as they are now had they formed a baseball team instead, but then yeosang narrowly dodges the bottle before it gives him a black eye, wooyoung cackles in the background, and you think better of it.
seonghwa joins you both on the bench and amongst all of the mischievous chaos and raucous laughter, you feel at peace, your hands clasped tenderly in the hands of your two captains–in unity, trust and love. you affectionately squeeze their hands with unspoken conviction.
you know your boys are going to play well; you just have a good feeling.
the energy in the room spikes exponentially as you huddle together one final time before you walk out of the locker room, through the hallways and to the arena–one final time before you step out to the ice rink as the red devils, playing in the final match.
you and your boys stand in a circle as close as it is physically possible with their bulky pads and game jerseys that they wear so proudly. it is indiscernible where one of you starts and where another ends from how intimately you all press together. your huddle is a woven nexus of arms and your hearts pound as one entity.
everyone learns of the juxtapositions of the world early on in life. there is no light without dark, there is no happiness without sadness, there is no spring without autumn…and there is no victory without defeat. not a single one of your boys has made it this far without falling at least once, and the conscious thought makes your heart swell and your throat constrict with overwhelming emotion.
somehow, you manage to choke out, “i am so, so proud of all of you.”
yunho and seonghwa’s own eyes start to heat up with wetness. from your side, san kisses your temple with feather-like tenderness, “and we’re so proud of you. y/n, you have grown just as much as we have.”
“thank you for being our coach,” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from your other side, the tip of his nose softly nuzzling you.
wooyoung reaches out to thumb the round of your cheek, “and thank you for loving us when we found it difficult to love ourselves.”
you had always viewed your injury and career with anger, bitterness and anguish…but you have finally come to terms with it. in the process of healing, you have learnt to love yourself, love eight other people, and to be loved. you have had your golden days as an athlete and you are now living your golden days as a coach–
–the very coach of the red devils, your team of boys who are living through their golden days as athletes, and you are going to lead them to victory in the finals.
swiping at a tear that slips down your cheeks, you grin. “boys, let’s win this match and then,” you pause as you meet their determined gazes, their smiles wide with uncontainable excitement, the tension in the room electrifying and palpable.
“let’s go international.”
you may have all fallen before–as athletes, as coaches, as a team–but you will always stand back up together, because at the end of the day your dream is theirs and their dream is yours. and like autumn, the leaves fall for a reason; they must fall before the spring flowers can bloom to their full beauty.
and bloom your flowers have.
#★ ┆ chroncom#ateez fanfic#ot8 fanfic#author:#eightmakesonebraincell#-☁️🌻#afternote:#why scream at yumi LMAOO#secondhand embarrasment#woowoo grouphug#YUNGI SANDWISH#chron reading too much into things#what's new#JUST WANNA BE PART OF YOUR SYMPHONYNYYy~#🫶💢🫶💢🫶💢🫶💢#me: i wanna yap but in a pretty way#*spends 4 hours editing the reblog*#suddenly it's 3 am#my bells: loren ⭐️
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broo i have this request that i think i’d do cute OK so the reader goes to build a bear it makes a build a bear and like put one of those heart recordings with her voice saying like I love you or something!! and she sprays her perfume and stuff on it and gives its to jack to bring to him while he’s on tour😭😭 i thought of this idea and i think it’s so cute like him playing it and bringing it everywhere 
a piece of home
(jack harlow x reader)
bloo's notes: omggg i love this. i wanna go do this with someone lol. anyway, enjoy y'all!!! currently writing this with my build a bear next to me.
tag list: @creme-delacreme @harlowcomehome @wittyjasontodd @sealpuptrash @moody4world @thinkingaboutjharlow
jack was leaving for tour in a few days and it would be the first time that you wouldn't be joining him. you had your own things to attend to but you assured jack that you would fly out to some of his shows. he was taking it pretty hard, he didn't want to be apart from you for so long. and that's when a genius idea popped into your head. you decided to go to build a bear and make him a bear with your voice inside of it.
jack had told you he would be out for most of the day, having a meeting with his team about the upcoming tour. you decided it was the perfect opportunity for you to go down to build a bear and build jack a bear. you walked into the store and picked a skin out, a simple brown bear. you then made your way to the stuffing section where you picked out a heart and recorded your voice saying "i love you jack and i am so proud of you baby". the bear was stuffed and whenever you pressed the right paw your message would start playing. next, you made your way over to the fun part, picking out an outfit. you picked out a shirt that said 'emotional support bear'. you giggled to yourself as you put it onto the bear. then you picked out some pants, after some deciding, you landed on some blue jeans. as you made your way to check out your eyes landed on a microphone that would attach to the bear. you just hand to get it. you finally paid and made your way back home. you were so excited to give this to jack.
you were happy to see that jack was already home by the time you pulled into the drive way. you grabbed the bear out of the box and sprayed some of your perfume that you had packed in your purse. you hopped out of the car and grabbed the box that held the bear. you unlocked the door and made your way inside, "baby, i'm home! where are you?" you questioned. "i'm in the kitchen" jack yelled back. you walked into the kitchen and said "i have a little surprise for you bubs". " a surprise for me?" jack questioned and his eyes immediately landed on the large build a bear box. he had a confused look on his face. you shoved the box toward him so he could see what was inside. "what is this baby?" he laughed as he opened the the box and pulled out the bear. "i just wanted to give you something to take on tour, a piece of home" you said. "press the right paw" and so he did. your voice filled the quiet room, "i love you jack and i am so proud of you baby". jack pressed it again. "wow baby, i love it, thank you so much" he said as he wiped a tear away from his eyes and he pulled you into a kiss. "i'm glad you like it baby" you said with a smile on your face, content with his reaction.
the day jack left for tour was a bitter sweet moment. you were happy to see him pursue his dream but sad that you wouldn't wake up next to him every morning. a few days had gone by and you still weren't used to jack's absence. your world had become so quiet, not even urban was here to bother you, and neelam wasn't here to gossip with. but you all kept in touch regularly and as much as you could.
jack on the other hand was extremely homesick. and every time he felt homesick he would squeeze that little paw and he would start feeling better again. he took that bear everywhere. he made sure it was in good hands at all times. sometimes that meant neelam would be sitting there with a bear that said "emotional support bear" across it's chest. jack was attached to that bear. he held it when he slept and would press the paw right before he went to bed and right as he woke. he loved nuzzling up to it, the scent of the bear bringing him so much comfort. who knew such a small bear could calm down such a large man.
#jack harlow#jack harlow fluff#jack harlow concepts#jack harlow fic#jack harlow x reader#jack harlow x you#jack harlow imagine#jack harlow fanfic
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Could you do a lookism gun x reader where he’s sweet to them kinda like Mira and Zack 🥺
“You really don’t have to do that…”
The way your voice wavered betrayed your discomfited, guilt-ridden heart. You weren’t normally sheepish. Despite your weak-mannered protest, he continued to tie and knot the laces of your shoe below you. A low hum reverberated in his throat, and there was a gap in the conversation before he finished tying the laces into a bow, straightening his back but not necessarily standing yet.
“It’s fine. If I didn’t notice, you might’ve tripped.” The corners of his lips didn’t lift or falter, yet his countenance was still sunny and bright. Internally, you swooned, your mouth falling into an uncertain line. It’s not that you didn’t like him, no. You just felt unnecessarily rueful for being the receiver of his kindness. It’s not that tying someone’s shoes was such a grandiose act, but when done by him, it was like a leap upwards from his usual nature.
With him not having that many acquaintances or friends outside of work, you were somewhat his exposure to everything else, including anything non-business related. It felt odd for you to be this connection to the world outside of his, because you felt ill-suited for the job.
It felt like you were anchoring him down, and that his likeliness was only infatuation formed from you making yourself unattainable. You wondered if that was the case, and if you ever reciprocated the action in full, if he’d end up leaving…
The only way you could receive an answer was through actual application of this wonder in real life. Maybe, some distance would actually do the two of you good…
He stood to full height by the time you’d finished the thought process of your internal plan, and stood idly, as if awaiting your instruction. You were always deciding what you two would do, or where you’d go, and you felt even more like an anchor; a deep, heavy one, weighing him done.
With a nervous glance around the park, you gulped. “Uhm…” fiddling with your fingers, you mustered it out. “I think we should have some space in between us for a while…”
Your gaze was downcast, and with the silence engulfing the both of you, you wondered what he was emoting. Anger? Frustration? Wonder? Sadness?
“Space?”
“Yeah.”
“Space, like space? Or space, like distance?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Space is when we don’t really see each other. If you ask for space, I’d take it you want to cut contact and refrain from seeing each other for a while. Distance is when I simply distance myself from you.”
The words he’d used had a hard time processing, and you chose the option with the plainer explanation. “O-oh, Uh, distance, then.”
He gazed upwards in thought, with a ‘hm’, before looking at you quizzically, like you were asking for some alien request. “...Why?”
“I just - I need some distance to breathe for a while...” That was a lie. You saw him nod as it registered in his head.
“Okay.”
“I’m so- oh, okay?” Your visage snapped up to him in awe. That wasn’t the reaction you’d anticipated.
He nodded, grabbing your fingers with his and lifting them up and down with his. “Okay. I’ll give you some distance. That’s no problem.” His tone was chivalrous, but his face was still idle.
“Yeah, uhm-“ you weren’t sure where you were going to go with that sentence, which is why you were glad he’d began to walk away before he’d heard you utter it out. While he walked, his retreating form wasn’t slumped over, and there were no hints to him being upset over this.
“...” Well, looked like the date was over now. It rubbed you the wrong way somewhat when he didn’t express any sorrow, or even annoyance, to the two of you separating. You guessed it was for the better.
You lifted your foot to turn heel and begin to leave, when you saw Gun suddenly stop and turn to face you from a distance. Lips parting curiously, you waited for him to maybe shout something, or maybe send you one last glare or smile before walking away, but… no. He just stood there. You two engaged in eye contact from meters away, him indifferent, you bewildered.
With a twinkle, he winked and sent you a thumbs up, conveying nonchalance and a prideful, elated look at the same time.
It dawned on you. ‘By space he thinks I mean literal distance! Like, a few feet away distance!’ Your arms flailed around you in confusion. ‘What? Why would I even request that?!’
Meanwhile, across the park, Gun stared at you. He had a hard time catching on to why you needed distance, but if you needed some air - and him being so near you was disrupting that, he has no objections. Plus, he was glad this was what you’d wanted; if it was space, he didn’t know what he would’ve done.
Your arms dropped to your sides in fists, and you wondered what to do. Should you just continue the hang out…? You wondered how he’d misinterpreted it considering he was usually scarily able to catch on to everything. ‘Crap, I shouldn’t have used the word in between! This is my fault!’
At one point, he’d waved across to you from afar, but you were too engrossed in your thoughts to catch on. He sulked.
You were going to go and clear this up, when you felt a hand on your shoulder from behind you, and turned to face three strangers - all dudes, one scrawny, the other two burly.
“Hey,” the middle one said, nodding over in the direction of Gun. “Is that guy your boyfriend?” They inspected him from over here.
You felt a wave of heat rush to your face. Your hands came up to cup your cheeks, flustered. “Oh, no… it’s not like that!” You exclaimed.
The three seemed to nod amongst themselves, and you realized why they were probably here.
‘Oh, do they want to be friends with him-?!’ You beamed. ‘This is great! I was just thinking about how he’d probably like more friends outside of work!’
You grinned mischievously, happily ready to introduce them. ‘Cant let them know he’s kind of scary, I was off out by that when I first met him… I’ll make him seem super sweet!’ You glanced over at Gun over your shoulder with a glitter in your eyes. ‘I won’t ruin this for you!’
“Well then, is he your friend?”
You nodded vigorously. “Yep! Friend! He’s a great friend. If anyone else happened to want to be friends with him, they’d be in for a great time!” You said, conspicuous.
The three guys seemed pleased by your answers so far, and you felt like you were rocking it. “Hmm,” a sudden dark air surrounded you and the three guys, and finally a crooked smile curved his lips. “And this friend of yours - you guys close?”
“Hm, I’d say so.” This time, they didn’t seem too happy at your answer. You found it odd how the three men kept glancing from you to your pocket, avoiding remaining eye contact for prolonged periods of time and seemingly more invested in your pocket than you… but you brushed it off.
“Does this guy brawl? Does he have a good fighting ability?”
‘Don’t scare them off, (y/n)! If they know he fights, they might run away! Tell them he isn’t, and throw in a lie in there that paints him in a good light! Maybe say he has a book collection? That kind of stuff doesn’t make anyone seem off putting.’
Your fists came to your chest as you excitedly ranted about him in a positive light, the three guys waiting on the balls of their feet for your answer. His eyes briefly darted to your pocket again, and you asked yourself why - it was just your wallet in there.
“No, he doesn’t have a good fighting capability at all! In fact, he’s really bad at it! He’d never get into a fight! But he does have-“
Rob. They were going to rob you. Why you finally realized it mid-sentence was beyond you, but the entire conversation recited itself in your head as well as their weird mannerisms, and you realized you were about to get mugged.
You leaned down and tried to emit an aura as threatening as you possibly could, changing the course of your sentence suddenly. “-skills. A very particular set of skills. Skills that make him a-“
“Hahaha! So you figured it out, huh? Don’t think we’re so easily fooled, you already answered us!” The ringleader of the group, you assumed, chuckled, the pick in his mouth sticking up. “Too late to change your answer now. Doesn’t matter how much that guy likes you,” he pressed his hand against your shoulder and pushed you back, “there’s not a thing he can do now. Cough it up.” He made a come hither motion with his hand, meaning your wallet, and you pointed over your shoulder to Gun as a last resort.
“You don’t wanna mess with that guy.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m serious - he kills people.”
You whipped your head over your shoulder, turning to Gun with eyes screaming for help. He must’ve seen this all go down, right?! And he knew what the gait of someone looking to mug you was like, right?!
‘Cmon, show them the expression of someone ruthless, Gun!’
You waved at him, expression full of panic and terror. When his expression became dark thanks to the natural resting bitch face he had, and he waved back, surely they’d see it was true. Right?
Meanwhile, across the park, Gun saw you pause your chatting with the three faceless people around you (albeit he was only fixated on you), just to wave at him. He raised his arm, and with an expression which screamed he was content and happy, he waved back. Earlier when he’d done it, you hadn’t reciprocated, so this made him giddy. He wondered what you were talking about... didn’t you need distance?
And you watched, horrified, when the curve of his lips titled skyward slightly.
‘He smiles?! Now he smiles?! If only I hadn’t asked for distance, this would’ve be happening…!’ A dark shadow swept across your expression. You were screwed.
You cupped your mouth with your hands. “Gun! Heeeeellppp!”
Gun merely blinked.
It seemed the distance you created between the two of you was far too great, for he couldn’t hear you. The robber behind you curled his fingers over your shoulder blade darkly, with a low chortle.
You began to wonder if you could make it if you bolted to him, but didn’t think you had the speed in you.
Eyes closed in a deep brooding, you weighed your options. You could break into a sprint, but if you didn’t make it in time you didn’t wanna take the chance. Even if you weren’t badly injured - being tackled mid-run because you were too slow... that’d just be way too embarrassing.
Well, if you started running, surely he’d see and come help you out, right?
But was he fast enough?
Your thoughts were interfered with a swift kick to your ankle, not enough to knock you over, but it certainly snapped your eyes back to the trio towering over you.
“Well? You gonna give or what?”
“We aren’t gonna wait all day.”
“Cmon, just give us your wallet and we can go! Hurry!” The last of the three seemed hasty, like he was wary for police officers or bystanders.
You wished you’d had more time to think, but the pressure put on you felt dire. Like you had to come to a conclusion fast...
Acting out on impulse, your hands defensively went to your pocket and clutched your wallet through the fabric. You narrowed your gaze. “No!”
‘He gave my like half that money! Like hell I’m giving it.’
The one in the middle chortled dryly, and nodded his head. “Alright, alright - what’s your name, kiddo?”
“Why?”
“Just spit it out, yeesh.” He scratched the back of his head in indignation.
“... (Y/n).”
“Okay, (y/n),” the lousy, crooked grin he’d placed on his lips fell suddenly, and he leaned towards you threateningly. “You think being stingy is cute? I’m gonna pluck your fucking eyes out.” His eyes were wide, and instilled terror. Your stance grew weaker, and you’d thought it was an exaggeration when people described someone being scared as “their legs shook,” but you were proven false when yours began to tremble beneath you.
He grabbed the pick between his teeth and pulled it out, holding it with his index and middle finger and pointing it at you warningly. He spared his surroundings a glance, seeing if there was anyone around to witness besides your weak-willed (from your description), book-loving friend.
Not a single soul was present otherwise.
You could hear the wind whistle in your head from the absolute silence and lack of people in the park, and at your lack of response (mostly due to fear,) he reiterated, placing one hand on your wavering shoulder, the other gliding his hand through the air towards you, the pick so close to you it confused your vision. You recoiled.
“Can you hear me?! I said I’d pluck your fucking eyes out-!”
A black blur obstructed your vision of the pick, originating from the side, and the situation progressed too quickly for you it to resonate with you.
The pick held by your eye went flying, and with the absolute silence erupting in the atmosphere, you could hear it land on the ground beneath you. The leg Gun had used to kick it out of his hand was still lingering in the air, and the mugger grunted.
“Yeah, I hear you all right. Loud and clear. Pluck their eyes out? (Y/n)?” He pointed to you with his thumb, “you wanna pluck their eyes out?”
Gun grabbed the hand he had on your shoulder, and plucked it off with unnecessary strength, a fear tactic.
The three were silent for a second, before the middle guy straightened up. “I’ve heard all about you, book-reader boyfriend. I’m not scared.”
Gun’s brow crinkled with his grin - this time, lifted by a sadistic pleasure. “What a coincidence,” he bumped foreheads with him, “neither am I. I’ll fucking kill you.”
The guy laughed in his face, and you saw him cringe at his breath in his face. “What are youuuuu gonna d-“
THUD
It was a rough collision when the robber fell into the ground, arms splashed out on either side of him, and by now your hands had thrown over your mouth in shock at the turn of events at least thrice.
The bottom of Gun’s heel dug into the gaps between his ribs, and the guy wrapped his hand around his ankle fruitlessly. “You’re gonna get dirt on my shirt.”
“You’re pretty unfazed.” He chimed. “You think I was kidding? Were you kidding when you said you were gonna pluck (y/n)’s eyes out? Huh? Huh?”
Now face to face with Gun, who was previously GREATLY distanced, he noticed his black sclera, and scrutinizing gaze, and the scar which tore apart the skin around his brow. And upon seeing eyes which wanted to kill him, the guy below him shuddered.
Gun’s foot lifted up, and then, a series of kicks were sent to his ribcage; and you saw him wheeze. He leaned down tauntingly, not pausing the flurry of attacks, with a large smile baring his teeth. “You wanna pluck their eyes out, huh?! I’d kill everyone in fucking Gangnam if you’d even tried!” He kept going, this time with more fervor in his kicks, and he began to press into the guys’ abdomen; and you winced behind him.
“H-hey, it’s fine now...” you said, reaching a hand out to Gun from behind, but your words fell upon deaf ears. Eventually you decided it was your responsibility to intervene, seeing the other two robbers cower and the middle guy begin to lose consciousness with lack of oxygen.
You threw your hands into Gun’s shoulders, and pulled him back. “Hey, it’s okay! If you keep going, you’re gonna kill them! You can’t have a criminal record, can you?”
Gun turned to you, expression not shifting in the slightest upon seeing your face. “... I can cover it up. I have the money and resources.” He said with disdain directed to the three.
“Well-“
“They were going to hurt you, weren’t they? Why are you interfering?”
You huffed. “I just don’t want that for you.”
The other two watched fearfully when Gun turned to face you, the air around him still dark. And if their own leader couldn’t handle that guy, what would happen to you? Interrupting him in the middle of fighting? Pulling back that monster?
It doesn’t matter how much a guy like that likes you, when they’re doing what they take joy in - shedding blood, it never ended well.
They winced in preparation for whatever would happen next, expecting to see you go flying like their leader had. They shuddered, after that they’d be next... right?
“... Okay. Let’s go.”
“WH-WHAAA?!” Their jaws dropped in unison when Gun pivoted on his heel, and began to walk, expecting you to follow behind him. However as soon as his foot stepped out, he faltered.
“Ah. Ow.” He said with a dead voice.
Your brow furrowed concernedly. “Are you okay?”
Now by his side, you saw him glance at his ankle. “Yeah.” He cursed under his breath. “I think I twisted my ankle doing that... ah, shit.” He plainly groaned, no real hint to him being in any pain in his voice.
“Are you gonna be alright? Oh, no.” You said, and he looked at you with a blank expression.
“Yeah. You’re gonna have to help me, now...”
You nodded. “Of course!” Frantically trying to hurry, you threw his arm under your shoulder and held onto it once successful, supporting his weight with your own and unaware of the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
The two watched shocked as him and you retreated so... casually, straitening their eyes at Gun. That bastard, the two thought in sync, his leg wasn’t injured at all.
Whilst the two of you walked away - him limping, he apologized. “Sorry for coming so late.”
Your eyes darted the opposite way of him, sheepish. “It’s fine... how did you not notice? I was clearly being mugged...”
“I was only focused on you. Of course I’m gonna smile if you wave at me... who do you think I am?”
You felt hot in the face, and internally swooned, but externally huffed. “Oh... okay. W-well, that explains it, then. It’s fine. How did you end up finding out, then?”
“Ah,” he said. “The keywords.”
“Keywords?”
He nodded. “Yeah. If I hear your name and a threat in the same sentence, of course I’m gonna notice. ‘I’m gonna pluck your eyes out, (y/n).’ (Y/n). Pluck your eyes out.” He looked up casually. “Of course I’m gonna come if I hear something like that.”
You guffawed. “Wha- I screamed your name and you didn’t hear shit!”
“It’s different when it’s your name.” When you sent him a glare, he shrugged. “I don’t know.”
You signed. “... Thanks.”
He blinked at you, before chuckling with a half smile. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t ask for space to breathe anymore. When you’re away from me, bad things could happen.”
“U-Uh, yeah...” you scratched your cheek with your free hand. “I won’t anymore. Especially after today.”
There was a natural lull in the conversation as you helped him home, until he simpered evilly. “Sooo... ‘book-reading boyfriend?’ Boyfriend?”
From behind, like a happy dog with his tail wagging, even from the distance the two robbers could sense the elated feeling emanating from Gun.
This was very fun to write nd I tried rlly hard to make their dynamic like zach’s and mira’s but can’t tell if I could. I rlly hope u liked it!! Thanks for the request 💘
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Bad - Rex x Reader x Wolffe
Warnings: Smut, dirty Talk, phone sex, double penetration, unprotected sex.
Tags: @littlevodika @hxldmxdxwn @maulieber i promised, babies.
Words: 4680 (BROO)
Requests are open
Please, reblog c:
.....................
It was late. An insane hour for you to be awake and thinking the thoughts that were wedged into your brain. But there you were, laying in bed, willing away the scandalous thoughts of the things you would do to your boyfriend if he were home with you. As luck would have it, he was away on a mission, lone wolfing it and leaving Rex and Wolffe to look after you while the others were working on their own separate jobs. You assured him that you'd be fine and didn't need 'looking after'.
"You never know when you might need something, Y/N." He warned you. So instead of dragging it out and making a big deal out of nothing, you let it roll off of your back.
You hated when Fives made you stay home instead of assisting him on cases. He undermined your abilities and babied you. Even though you knew his intentions were good, it still irked you. But above all, what you hated most was the agreement that he constructed.
"Tell it to me one more time, baby doll." He requested. You rolled your eyes and sighed before reciting the one rule you couldn't bend or break.
"No touching myself while you're gone." Fives smiled, clearly satisfied with your reply. He bent down to kiss you on the forehead and stroke your hair.
"These two weeks will be over before you know it. Be good."
The sound of your holocommunicator buzzing on your nightstand shook you from the memory.
Speak of the Devil.
"Hey there, stranger."
You heard him chuckle softly on the other end of the call. "Hey, sweetheart. How's my girl holding up?"
You played with hem of your t-shirt and sighed. "Bored. Horny. Missing my boyfriend. All in all, I could be better."
The smile Fives wore was heard though the words that he spoke, "That's a dangerous combo you got going there. Have you been good, Y/N?"
His presumptuous tone made you roll your eyes. "Yes, Fiv. I'm fighting with every bone in my body, but I've been a good girl."
"I know it's hard, doll. But I promise, you'll get a reward for following the rules so well." You could hear the shuffling on the other end and you knew Fives was back in his quarters and undressing for the night. You pictured him loosening his belt and unbuttoning his pants before removing his shirt. The image of your half naked boyfriend made you ache.
"Fives, baby, please tell me you're coming home soon. I'm dying over here." You didn't care how desperate and pathetic you sounded.
The bed creaked under Fives weight and you knew he was laying down now. "Mmm, my girl just wants to cum so bad, doesn't she?" Good god, he was just toying with you now. You groaned and closed your eyes, replaying the last time you and Fives had sex - just before he left. You could still hear the slapping of his skin against yours echoing through your ears. "You want my cock buried so deep inside of your tight little pussy, don't you, Y/N? Want me hitting that sweet spot so hard and fast, huh?"
You gripped the sheets in your hands and twisted your legs to alleviate some of the pressure between them. "Fives," You warned.
"Or do you want me in your mouth? You know how I love looking into those gorgeous eyes while I have my hand caught in your hair and watching my dick disappear past those pretty lips." His breath was becoming ragged and you could hear the faint lather from the lotion he squeezed into his hand. Fuck.
"Goddammit, Fives, you're killing me," You whined into the receiver. It would be so easy to just snake your hand between your thighs. He wouldn't even know-
"Don't even think about it, Y/N. You won't get your reward if you do that." What, did he have surveillance set up in your room or something? "Come on, be a good girl and help me out..."
He was torturing you already, and now he wanted assistance while jacking himself off. Phone sex isn't the most fun when only one person is able to please themselves, but you knew better than to go against his wishes. If he wants a cock tease, then you were gonna give him hell. He deserved it.
"Mmm, yes, daddy. I want you in my mouth so bad. It's so warm and wet and ready for you." You rolled your tongue around in your mouth and licked your lips. You were only teasing yourself more.
"That's more like it. Tell me more, Y/N." He urged you on in a gruff voice.
"I wanna feel your cum fill my mouth and slide down my throat. Wanna suck you off until you're all nice and clean again." Using your finger, you made a popping sound with your mouth for emphasis. "Then I wanna kiss back up your body, graze my teeth against your nipples just the way you like, making my way to that spot just below your ear, you know, the one that makes you go crazy."
Grunts and groans were your only replies besides whispered curses under Fives's breath. You could picture him perfectly. Naked. Skin glistening with sweat, glowing under the dim lighting. Muscles tense as he pumped himself into his slick hand. But still, you continued with your torment. "Then I wanna feel your hands all over me. Pulling my hair and gripping my skin. Mmm, I want you to slowly reach down between my thighs and play with my clit." You smiled upon hearing Fives whimper at the thought.
"Y/N, I'm close baby, just a little—ah—more," He could barely speak above a whisper at the pace he was going.
"I wanna throw you on the bed and have my way with you. Wanna ride you for everything you're worth. Feel that big cock stretching me. Grind against you while you rub my tits. Come on baby, cum for me." You moaned, begging for his release so you could end your own torture. A strangled groan and shortened breaths signaled that his orgasm struck. Your mouth watered at the thought of his chest and stomach painted with the white stickiness.
Fives took a minute to compose himself and slow his heart rate, clearing his throat before speaking again. "Fuck, darlin'. I love it when you talk dirty like that." He was smirking. You could tell.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." Whining usually wasn't your thing, but you craved the relief you had just granted for him.
"Don't worry. I promise, I'll make it up to you. Get some rest, I'll call in again tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Y/N." And with that, he hung up.
Tossing your phone aside, you slid down the headboard and laid on your back with an unfulfilled groan. But you did as told, letting sleep take over your deprived body until morning came.
You had slept in a little later than usual due to your late night antics. The smell of coffee had awakened your senses and it called out to you. Stretching your limbs as you walked down the halls and into the kitchen, you offered Rex a sleepy smile when he handed you a steaming mug.
He laughed softly and matted your hair down a bit. "Looks like you had a rough night, huh kid?"
You rolled your eyes at the memory and sipped your drink. "Your best friend is an asshole." You spoke from behind the cup.
Rex wore a smirk that you couldn't quite read. The look in his eyes made a chill run down your spine and his stare was lasting longer than usual. "Come on, Y/N, he's not all that bad. In fact, sometimes he can be pretty damn great."
Okay, now that was weird. Rex rarely ever shows appreciation towards Fives like this. You didn't get to think too hard on his strange behavior before he spoke again. "Just let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, okay, Y/N?" He walked behind you to exit the room. What surprised you was that he spanked your ass softly before leaving.
What the hell?
"What the hell do you mean you're not leaving until tomorrow, Fives?" There you go whining again. He was supposed to have been almost home by now.
"Turns out I didn't finish the job as well as I thought. I'm pretty sure I just made this thing angrier than before." The speeder's engine shut off and you heard the footprints on the ground.
"I told you to let one of us go with you, but God forbid you listen to me." The irritation in your voice was evident.
"Doll, I'll be fine. I'm actually meeting up with Echo for reinforcement. We'll kill this son of a bitch and I'll race my ass back home to you, okay?"
Sighing, you ran your hand through your hair and shrugged. "Okay, Fives. Be careful. I love you."
"I love you, too, Y/N. I'll call after the job is done. Be good." He gave his usual warning before ending the call.
Tossing your phone on the bed, you left your room in search of a distraction.
Great. Now I'm boyfriendless and horny beyond belief. Stupid fucking rule. Hey, maybe if I sit on the washing machine naked, it won't count against me because I'm not technically touching myself...
Your thoughts were interrupted by hushed voices talking in the living room. The only ones here besides you were Rex and Wolffe. They were obviously talking about something serious, and you didn't want to disturb their conversation, so you did the only thing you could do. Hide behind the wall and eavesdrop.
"Yeah, he called me last night and told me the same thing." You heard Rex say.
"Do you think we should take him up on his offer?" Wolffe asked.
Rex chuckled. "I mean, have you looked at Y/N? We'd be crazy not to at least ask her."
Your brows furrowed at the sound of your name. What the hell were they talking about?
"And we have his consent..." Wolffe lingered on that statement. "You're right, this is too good of a proposal to let go to waste. Let's go talk to Lady Y/N."
Rounding the corner as if you hadn't been standing there for the entire conversation, you walked down the steps and repeated Wolffe. "Talk to Lady Y/N about what?"
When their eyes met yours, it sent a chill down your spine. They shared a look of curiosity trying to disguise itself as something else. Lust. You'd know the look of lust anywhere. But why it was directed at you from someone other than Fives, you didn't have a clue. Wolffe licked his lips and stepped closer to you, extending his hand for you take and follow him over to where Rex was leaning casually against the back of the couch.
"You seem so tense, Y/N." Rex spoke softly from behind you as his hands started to rub the knots out of your neck. Instantly, you relaxed into his touch. You didn't know if it was his warmth, or that you were craving contact, but you let your eyes fall shut as he continued his decent to your shoulders.
Without having to open your eyes, you felt Wolffe's presence close the space between your bodies. His breath fanned over your face as he pushed your hair behind your ear and out of your face. "Why are you so tense, Y/N?" His voice was no higher than a gruff whisper.
"Tell us, littlu'n." Rex urged from behind you, his fingers now sliding down your arms.
"I haven't had sex in over two weeks. Fives doesn't let me touch myself when he's away." You don't know why you confessed as easily as you did. Rex and Wolffe were some of your best friends, and you talked about everything under the sun. But you all usually kept your sex lives under wraps. "All I want is to be touched. I want release so bad and I can't have it."
Rex's warm breath hitting the back of your neck made you shiver as Wolffe glided his fingers across the hem of your shirt. "You know, we would be more than happy to help you, Y/N. Give you what you crave most." Wolffe said as his knuckles lightly brushed against your hipbones.
"Honored." Rex corrected him.
At this admittance, your eyes shot open. You didn't know who too look at. Both Wolffe and Rex shared the same calm look that didn't show any sign of joking. Before you could start bombarding them with questions and accusations, you were silenced.
"Fives told us to assist you while he's on his mission. He said to do whatever you asked of us." Wolffe informed you.
"Said it was your reward for being such a good little girl." Rex continued.
That's when you knew it had to be true. Only Fives would say something like that to you. Although, it sounded wonderful coming from his best friend's mouth. You were already getting off on how close they were to you. Like they said, you'd be crazy not to take him up on his offer. So you let yourself relax back into Rex's chest, bringing one of your arms up to rest on Wolffe's shoulder while the other snaked around the back of Rex's neck.
"So, how is this gonna work boys?" You asked, looking from one man to the other.
Wolffe and Rex looked up at each other, silently asking each other if you had really just agreed to this. After letting the realization set in, they couldn't help the grin that played on their lips. "How ever you want it to work, Y/N. You call the shots." Wolffe slowly dragged his lips up your arm, grazing his teeth along your shoulder. "We've been instructed to do whatever you like, my lady. Your wish, is our command."
Both of them coaxing you from each end was stimulating your senses. Your body was already on fire and they had hardly even done anything yet. And it dawned on you that you didn't have to be Fives's good little girl for the night. Being good all of the time was exhausting. You wanted to rebel. You wanted to be bad. The beast inside of you was awakening at the thought of all the possibilities.
You reached for both of their hands and smirked at them, leading them to your bedroom. Once inside, you closed the door and rested your back against it. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips slowly, drawing their attention to your mouth. They closed the space between your bodies when you beckoned them over. One of your hands slid up and down Wolffe's chest, while the other mimicked the same action to Rex. "Did Fives give you any rules that you have to abide by?"
They both shook their heads no. "He said anything you want, goes." Rex breathed out.
You smiled and pulled him closer by his collar, bringing his mouth to yours. Your lips ghosted over his gently. "Good." Pulling Wolffe closer as well, you tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. "Because I wanna feel, taste, every inch of the two of you." Your words earned a moan from both men. "So get comfortable boys," You squeezed past them, peeling your shirt off as you sauntered over to your bed. "It's gonna be a long night."
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Kneeling on your mattress, you silently used your finger to beckon them over to you. They sat at each side, Rex to your right and Wolffe to your left, eagerly awaiting your next move. You crawled behind Wolffe and slid your hands down his chest, latching your mouth to the back of his ear and sucking a soft bruise there while you gathered the hem of his shirt and pulled it off of his frame. He tilted his head to the side and exhaled slowly, shuddering when your fingers trailed over his pectorals and left goosebumps in their wake. Then, you moved over to Rex, pulling his t-shirt over his head and discarding it with the rest of the clothes.
"Kneel." You motioned for Rex to mirror your stance on the bed. He did as told, kneeling behind you. Wolffe watched and waited for you to give him an order.
"Come here, Wolffe." Relishing in the way you said his name, he shivered, his eyes slowly hazing over as he too came to a kneeling position in front of you.
The two men sandwiched you between them, giving you little to no space to move. You backed your ass into Rex's crotch, grinding slowly. His jeans grew tighter as he grunted and rested his hands on your hips. Your hands slid up and down Wolffe's toned chest, enjoying the feeling of his abs underneath your fingertips. When your eyes met, you smirked and leaned into him, crashing your lips against his. Wolffe cupped your face in his hands, deepening the kiss. His lips parted just enough for you to slip your tongue past them, making him groan at the feeling of your tongue massaging his. Your hips never stopped moving against Rex's as you occupied Wolffe with your mouth. When you pulled away from Wolffe, one of your arms slipped around the back of Rex's neck, tugging on the ends of his hair until his head was forced back to give you access to his neck. You sucked on his pulse point until your name fell from his lips.
Wolffe watched in amazement for a moment until he noticed your half bare chest being unattended to. He palmed your breasts through your bra roughly, to which your responded with a moan against Rex's skin. Rex's hands gripped you tighter as the vibrations from your mouth beat against his throat..
"You know, Fives always handles me like I'm made of glass. Always so gentle with me. Calls me his good little girl," You tilted your head up so that your mouth brushed against Rex's fervently as you arched into Wolffe's touch. Wolffe leaned down to your chest and nipped at your skin, sucking over the marks he made with his teeth. One of Rex's hands pushed into the back of your shorts, squeezing your ass harshly. "But not you." You breathed out, leaning your head on Rex's chest. "You take me for what I really am."
Wolffe glided his hands up your sides and looked up at you from where his face was buried between your breasts. "And what are you really, Y/N?"
A slap to the back of your thigh stopped you from answering. Instead, you moaned through a bitten lip. "A bad girl." Rex replied for you. You could hear the grin on his lips without having to look at him. "Mmm, I bet you're a naughty little thing in bed, aren't you, littlu'n?" His voice was beautifully gruff. All you could do was nod.
"I bet you like it nice and rough, don't you, Y/N?" Wolffe mumbled into the crook of your neck as he kissed his way upward. Again, you nodded. "Tell us. Let us know what you like. We want to pleasure you to the fullest of our abilities, my lady."
Just thinking of all the possibilities that the two of them could do to your body was enough to surrender you useless. But you weren't about to roll over and play the good little girl role again. They were going to do what you wanted, alright.
Taking the wrist of each man, you led their hands to each side of your ass. "I like to be spanked."
Rex and Wolffe shared a look and smiled before drawing back and slapping your skin. You knew your ass was blushed from the sting without having to look back at it. The men kneaded your flesh in the palms of their hands to soothe the sweet ache.
"Go on, cyare." Rex nuzzled his nose against the shell of your ear as he pushed your shorts down your legs. Wolffe held you while Rex pulled them the rest of the way off.
Your breath was shaky as you sighed. "Bitten. I like to be bitten. Clawed at. I want bruises in the form of your fingertips scattered all over my body." Your chest was heaving and you had to choke down a moan at the thought of it all.
The smirk that was plastered on Wolffe's lips sent a shiver down your spine. He trailed his fingers down your sides, his nails digging into your skin and leaving marks that led to your panties. You sighed contently, resting your head on Rex's shoulder as he unhooked your bra and discarded it. Wolffe hunched over on his knees, propping himself up on his elbows as his fingers massaged your thighs harshly. His thumb slowly brushed against your clothed clit, making you whimper.
Rex wrapped your hair around his hand and tugged your head back to look at him. Your bottom lip was held captive by your teeth as another moan escaped the back of your throat from his aggressiveness. His free hand traveled down your neck, to your chest, and finally to your ample breast. He took your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and teasing the bud.
"Look at me." Rex's demand was met. Your mouth was gaped and your eyes clouded with lust. Rex's tongue traced your bottom lip as Wolffe peppered kisses along your inner thigh.
Although you loved the attention being paid to you, you felt as if you were losing control. You carded your fingers though Wolffe's hair and pulled until he was at eye level with you. "Lay. Now." He obliged, laying back on the pillows and watching for your next order. You peeled off your panties, tossing them away carelessly. "Bare down, fellas. We've got work to do."
They did as instructed, stripping down and waiting for your next command. After telling Rex to wait at the foot of the bed, you crawled over to Wolffe, leaving open mouthed kisses up the path of his body until you reached his lips. His throbbing hard on brushed against your leg, emitting a hiss from the Maker beneath you. "You know, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that," You whispered softly into his ear. He groaned in response. "But only if you return the favor."
Before he could speak, you pecked his lips and moved up to straddle his face. You faced Rex, grinning at the sight of his slack jaw as he watched Wolffe tease your already soaked folds. You never took your eyes off of him as you leaned down and took Wolffe's cock into your hand. When your grip tightened around Wolffe's tip, he licked a long, hard strip along your cunt. A strangled groan sounded from deep inside of your throat and you licked your lips, looking back and forth between Rex's eyes and his unattended to length. He got the hint and made his way over to you.
Rex pumped himself in his hand a few times while you retrieved the lube from your bedside table and squirted some into your palm, slicking Wolffe's dick with it. You smiled at Rex and crashed your lips to his passionately before showering his skin with kisses, trailing down his stomach. Your tongue licked along his shaft before you sucked him into your mouth. His hand tangled into your hair, guiding your head back and forth on him.
"Harder." Your command was muffled due to your full mouth, but obliged. Rex tightened his grasp and pulled your head back, thrusting his hips in sync with you.
Your motions never let up on Wolffe. You continued to pump him tight in your clutch, twisting your wrist and rubbing your thumb along the vein under his tip. When he began to suck on your clit, it was the beginning of your downfall. He snaked his arms around your thighs as you rode his mouth for all it was worth until you came. Moans and straggled breaths were the only sounds echoing around the room as he helped you ride it out.
You knew it was only a matter of time before they followed suit. With a flick of the wrist and hollowed cheeks, you got what you wanted. Rex's load filled your mouth as Wolffe's spewed over your chest and stomach.
After swallowing Rex's cum, you licked up Wolffe's until he was clean of the sticky substance. You fell to your back and smiled to yourself, still in bliss from what had just happened. Rex kissed your temple and Wolffe moved the hair away from your face. You let your eyes fall shut and hummed softly.
"Anything else we can do for you, cyary'ika?" Wolffe asked.
"Anything at all?" Rex pressed.
You could lie, you were already warn out. A certain amount of time without sexual exertion can feel like running a marathon once you finally get back in the game. But it had been too long, and the craving for it only grew stronger. There was no chance in hell that this opportunity was going to happen again, so why not take full advantage of it?
Rex and Wolffe were laying on their sides, waiting for your answer. They knew from your grin that you weren't finished with them. Their calm gentleness was replaced with dominate roughness as they each took a leg and spread you open. Rex's teeth nipped at your throat while Wolffe clawed his way up your thigh. They each took a nipple into their mouths, taunting and teasing in such a delicious fashion that you felt the room spin.
You ran your hands through their hair and pulled them up to look at you. "Enough teasing. Fuck me already." You half pleaded, half commanded.
Both men helped you up and positioned you between them, Rex in front of you and Wolffe behind. You ground your hips into Rex's and pulled Wolffe in for a bruising kiss. Both of them were hesitant, not wanting to hurt you in any way, but you quickly assured them.
"I'm fine, I can take it. Just please, I can't wait any more. I need you, please, I need both of you." You didn't care how pathetic you sounded. All the teasing had you more turned on than ever and you longed to be filled to the highest extent.
Wolffe slowly eased himself into you after coating himself with the lubricant. You sighed and rested your head in the crook of his neck as he rubbed circles into your hips to soothe you.
"Come on, Cap. Can't get this party started without you." Despite your approval, Rex was still timid. You stroked his cheek and pulled him close until your lips brushed against his. "Please, Rex. You don't know how bad I need this. How bad I need you. " You whispered against his mouth.
He whimpered, nodding and readying himself before sliding into you with ease. Groans and sighs emitted from each of you as they allowed you time to adjust to their lengths. After signaling that it was okay to move, they rocked their hips back and forth, switching speeds and going in and out of sync with each other.
There wasn't much you could do besides help spring them on. Your hands caressed every inch of Rex while your mouth took care of Wolffe. You felt Wolffe twitch inside of you, which in turn made your walls tense around him and Rex. They were trying their damnedest to hold back until you came first. Sloppy thrusts and hot mouths all deemed you to your end.
You came hard, feeling your slickness slide down your thighs as Rex and Wolffe continued until their orgasms hit. You were filled to the hilt. Their actions slowed to a complete stop and they slowly pulled out of you, laying you down gently.
You all were still fighting to regulate your breathing as you lay tangled up in one another. Rex rolled over to his side and nuzzled his face into your neck. "Fives is one lucky motherfucker."
You laughed softly and pushed his hair out of his face. Rex's communicator rang from the back of his jean pocket. As he got up to answer it, Wolffe pulled you closer and kissed your lips sweetly. Rex's voice was muffled for the most part, but he turned around to look at you and Wolffe as he spoke.
"Yeah, Fives. She was a very good girl."
(masterlist)
#clone troopers#clone trooper rex#clone trooper fives#clone trooper smut#captain rex smut#captain rex#commander wolffe smut#commander wolffe#arc trooper fives#arc trooper echo
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Just thought of this cuz of tiktok. Tom meets one of his famous look a likes and comes up with an idea to prank reader into thinking the look alike is him, only problem is reader doesn’t fall for it at all cuz she knows all his little things that make Tom...well, Tom .
Same|t.h.
a/n: as I was writing this I realised how scary actually this is. i mean can you imagine having someone looking exactly like you?broo😂thank you for your request
warnings: fluff..not really
Bill Jackson: as the lookalike(yes that's what came to my mind nvm)
_
Tom was standing still, his hands on his pockets, big smile on his face looking at the cameras around him, flashing at him capturing every move of his. He didn't try to fake anything, it was just himself at a red carpet.
After a few minutes people with cameras and microphones were all waiting patienly for celebrities to come. All of them asking either really stupid questions or personally ones, trying to take any juicy information they could. He was all giggly answering with confidence, fearless.
" Have you met Bill Jackson yet?"a woman asked.
"No is he here?"he returned the question, full of enthusiasm. The woman in front of him nodded."No way! I want to meet him so badly"
"You look literally the same. How's that even possible?"
"Maybe I have a twin that got lost in the hospital"he raised his shoulders and laughed. The blonde lady thanked me and he got back to his assistant and three of his friends when suddenly a man stood in front of him.
"Oh my God"Tom covered his mouth socked with the person across him. It felt like he was seeing him self through a mirror. Almost every little thing looked the same.
"Finally we met. How are you?" The man hugged Tom. "I am starting to believe that we are actually twins"
"Me too. I mean I could walked down the streets and people be like" Are you Bill?"and I have to admit that sometimes I like to trick them. But when I speak for a long time they're figuring it out and I'm like "Damn" "
"Well I least you tried"Bill interrupted burst out laughing. "But they don't see you with y/n?"
"She is the reason I don't get mistaken when we're out together to be honest"he smiled when your figure came to his mind.
"Isn't she here?"
"Y/n is here, she just left for a moment"he answered, but he couldn't resist to the plan he had for months in his head.
"Could you please do me a favor? I know we just met and I'm really sorry but I kinda want you to listen"he made a silly face that Bill found hilarious.
"Of course I will. Tell me"
"I want to prank my girl. She always says that she would always recognize me but I don't think she would be able to" The man in front of him stopped Tom with his hand. "Right now? Oh she would trust me. I mean the outfit...we're not wearing the same suit"
"Oh no she hasn't see me yet we're fine" Tom looked behind Bill's shoulder, seeing you talking with a man, who was holding a camera with him."Y/n's here. Please can you do this for me? Only for a minute or so, just to prove her wrong"
"Tom I got you" Bill laughed and Tom ran meters away, hiding behind a couple of people, close enough to be able to hear you.
You walked towards the familiar faces, placing your hand to your man's back, showing your bright smile.
"How are you baby?"you asked but looked at Tom's assistant, who was showing you some of your obligations you had to get done. His hand hugged your waist.
"I'm good darling"a deeper voice answered, not the one you waited to. You turned your face immediately to the direction the voice came from. You blinked fast for a moment. It wasn't Tom. It was a man who looked similar to him, but not like him.
No way.
You tried to play it cool. You smiled back at him and returned your attention back to the group around you. They were all acting the same way as before, like nothing had changed. But you were sure that the person next to you wasn't Tom.
"Babe? Can I talk to you for a second?"the mysterious man nodded at you and led you next to an another group, all of them strangers to you. He was holding your hand but that feeling you hoped you would feel, didn't appeared. A sign that proved you right.
You stared at him, clueless for a second. You tried to recall in your memory his name. He looked almost like Tom.
"Are you okay my love?" he seemed concerned, his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly open. My love. That was something that he would say to you, but yet you were convinced that this was not him.
"Yes, well not but I'll be fine" you tried to act, holding your stomach like it was hurting you.
"Are you sure? Do you wanna leave? We can go, you don't have to worry about that" his voice got higher. He was good.
"It's okay sweet. Tell me now how did you do?"
"What?" the curiosity took all over him.
"With the interview part. You said that you were nervous to the phone" your side smile showed up and you crossed your arms to your chest, waiting for his respond.
"It went perfectly fine, you know some of them were a little rude but other than that I was good"his hand rum through his hair, a move he used to do when he was nervous. But there was not a reason to be nervous about. Who was he?
"I'm glad. And I'm sorry for being late but there was so much traffic"your hands got up in the air "I accidentally started yelling at the driver. But before you say anything I apologized to him"
"Y/n why?"
"I just wanted to be here with you Tom" you said making a sad face and lowered your face, just like a puppy would do.
Tom was listening the whole time. He was right behind your back, hardly holding his laughter, knowing you didn't have an idea of what was going on.
A flashback crossed your mind, a conversation the two of you had days ago about his identical twin, a theory that everyone has someone that looks like them. Tom had said a name, but it was blank. You only wanted the name of this person that he was talking right now. Poor man.
"Are you listening y/n?"
"I zoned out. What did you said?"
"Do you want to get back to them? They have been waiting for so long it's not right"his hand pointed their way."We gonna have time after this to talk for as long as you want"
"Well yes but I'm surprised you haven't kissed me yet" you bit your lip seeing a weird expression from the mystery boy. Tom would have kissed you way before.
"Um"he was searching with his eyes for help from anywhere, until he looked back at you"You said that you felt sick and I didn't want to make it even worse"you nodded and walked back to your team. They all greeted you and kept their conversation going. The guy who followed you, stood now next to you and tried to keep up with the others. A few more humans had been added, not familiar at all. You noticed that some of them looked at the mysterious male.
You scanned the area around you, hoping you will find the real Tom but nothing. And then you saw a light at the end of the tunnel.
Bill. Bill Jackson.
He looked like the boy you fell for, but from the way his hand was at your waist to the way he talked to you, the sensation wasn't the same. Less emotion, no butterflies, no warmth.
You giggled quietly and looked at Bill with a smile. You leaned discreetly to him, kissing his cheek and you made your way to his ear.
"I love you" you whispered. His nose didn't cracked and his smile wasn't the one that you'd usually expect from your lover. This time an awkward little smile and a disgust face combined, a hilarious thing to watch. You started laughing loud and he followed after a while.
"Nice try Bill"you said and he huffed disappointed.
"Admit it I got you for a moment"you laughed denying his statement.
"No I know him too well. To be fair I have studied him too well" you didn't feel embarrassed at all. He was your boyfriend you loved too much and cared about. Of course you had noticed every little thing he had done, years now.
"Then he is lucky to have you"you blushed hearing him. You asked where your real boyfriend was. He just shouted his name and Tom appeared looking at you with a smile as he was coming towards you. He hugged and kissed you gently on your lips.
"So?"
"So what?" you asked curious. His shining smile got even bigger.
"Was he convincing?"
"Yes you guys got me"you lied not wanting to ruin his mood. He looked so adorable and cute to destroy it and make him feel like a failure.
"I can believe that this rumor was true though"you admitted scanning the two men next to you. Of course for you wasn't like that, but for the rest of the world they looked exactly the same.
"I told you baby. Somewhere out there is your too" Tom hugged you from behind, your butterflies flying in your stomach. Finally.
"Then be careful" Bill laughed and Tom pretended to be shocked and mad at you but with no success.
The night went by fast, with you having a great time together and actually getting to know better Bill. Yes, he wasn't like Tom.
_____
Sorry for mistakes. ALSO ITS CHRIS'S BIRTHDAYYYY🎉they grow up so fast and I'm stuck helpp
#tomholland#tom holland#tomhollandx#tom holland imagines#tom holland fluff#tom holland imagine#tom holland x#tom holland x reader#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x you#tomhollandxreader#tomhollandxy/n#tom holland au#tom holland one shot#peter parker#peter parker imagine#spiderman#marvel
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oh, my sunlight, chapter two (branjie) - holtzmanns
(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 5060
AN: Chapter two! I love this verse so, so much. Thank you for all the sweet words on the first chapter, I appreciate it endlessly. Thank you writ for betaing and being wonderful <3
“Stupid blazer, so much for being a maternity fit-”
“You good, baby?” Vanessa pops her head out from their en suite bathroom, half dressed in the pantsuit that she’s going to be wearing for the German Chancellor’s state visit.
Brooke huffs. “Can’t get these buttons to close. How am I supposed to look professional if I can’t even button my damn blazer over my belly?”
Vanessa walks over, a soft grin taking over her face before she leans down to kiss Brooke’s stomach, grabbing both sides of her blazer. She fiddles with it, tongue poking out and lets out a whoop when she gets the blazer closed. “I don’t know why you’re so insistent on keeping up the pantsuits. There’s gotta be other clothes that are more-”
“Nope. Still gotta match the rest of the agents.” Brooke doesn’t even see it as an option. She can still keep up with everyone, she’s still the agent in command and she’s not going to be sitting back unless she fully has to.
“You’re seven and a half months pregnant, B. Don’t think that I didn’t hear you grumbling about your back aching earlier.” Vanessa comes up behind her to massage out the knots in her shoulders and Brooke can’t help but sigh into the touch.
“Dunno what you’re talking about, Ness.” Brooke’s good at handling herself. She’s been trying her best throughout the pregnancy to keep up, to not let things change, despite Vanessa’s tutting about it.
Brooke knows that she’s going to have to cut down on the work soon, for Vanessa’s sake more than anything else. Her wife’s been more worried than she has, always willing to let engagements and presidential business slide for any prenatal appointments, or any moments when Brooke hasn’t been feeling the best. Not that Brooke wants Vanessa to worry too much about her.
As little as she wants to admit it, Brooke’s been enjoying the doting. It had irritated her slightly at first, Vanessa being overly worried and willing to push anything aside for her needs. It had reminded Brooke of when she had been recovering from being shot years and years ago - her natural tendency of wanting to fold in on herself and silently carry on not being possible with Vanessa at her side. But she’s learned, over time. To accept help from those who want to give it. Especially her wife.
“I’m gonna give you a full back massage tonight, regardless.” Vanessa places a kiss to Brooke’s shoulder before coming around to face her.
Brooke grins. “A massage, huh?”
“Get your dirty ass mind out of the gutter. Though that can be arranged, too.” Vanessa winks at her. “Do you need help with your pants?”
Brooke huffs. “I’m pregnant, not incapacitated-”
“-Your belly is also starting to block your view of your feet, baby.” Vanessa ignores Brooke’s protests and grabs her pants, holding them out for Brooke to step into.
Brooke scoffs when Vanessa buttons her pants for her (’There, was that so hard?’), but has to admit to herself that Vanessa’s help speeds up her changing process by quite a bit.
Vanessa tugs on her own blazer as Silky barges into their bedroom. “You got approximately twenty minutes before we gotta go down to the first floor and debrief.”
“Ever heard of knocking, Silk?” Vanessa grumbles underneath her breath when Silky is followed by two baby faced interns, jotting down notes as they look around the room. “These ain’t open quarters.”
Brooke forgets, sometimes, that they’re living in the White House. That the high ceilings and ominous portraits that line the walls hold a long, detailed history. That the low hum of noise that’s always present is because their residence holds not only their living quarters, but also government offices and tours for the public.
“But I’m your best friend and also part of your staff, and the one who has to tell you that your ass is going to be late to meet the Chancellor of Germany, and that ain’t a good look for anyone.” Silky turns towards the interns, whispering something to them before they run off.
Vanessa waves a hand airily. “Angela won’t even be mad. Hell, she gave me a hug the last time that we met. We’re cool.”
Silky shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got the nerve to call her ‘Angela’.”
Vanessa shrugs. “That’s her name, ain’t it?”
Brooke has to hold back a smile. She never gets tired of watching Vanessa. It’s refreshing, really, the way her natural charisma tends to lend itself to politics. The way she’s been able to actually accomplish things during her time in office because she can use her likeability to her advantage. It’s an art, one that Vanessa’s truly perfected.
Silky leans back against the bedframe, turning towards Brooke. “Wilson’s looking for you. Something about perimeter mumbo jumbo. Hell if I know.”
Brooke snorts. “So helpful. Thanks though, I’ll contact him.” She pulls out her work phone to call the other agent, talking through the security measures for the Chancellor’s visit.
It bothers Brooke more than she wants to admit, the fact that she can’t physically do the work anymore. Being the one on the front lines, protecting Vanessa. Brooke feels like she should be the one doing it, because how can she trust other people not to make stupid mistakes and put Vanessa in danger?
But she’s been trying. To let go, to relax. To delegate.
To prioritize the fact that she’s growing a small human. Their small human.
She still can’t believe it sometimes, that it’s actually happening.
The one line on the pregnancy test is staring back at her, taunting her, because-
It didn’t work.
Maybe she should take another one. Maybe this first one is lying. Maybe it did work this time. This is their third round of IVF, after all, shouldn’t it have worked by now?
What are they doing wrong?
What is Brooke doing wrong?
“Open up, B. What does it say?”
Vanessa’s fist banging on the door makes Brooke squeeze her eyes shut tight, because no, no, no, Vanessa’s going to be heartbroken because it’s happened again-
“Brooke.” Vanessa’s voice, again. Softer this time. “Can I come in?”
Brooke sniffles (she’s not crying, she’s not crying, when did she start crying?), reaching over from her cross legged position on the ground to unlock the door.
It didn’t work.
Again.
She’s not pregnant.
Again.
“Oh, baby.” Vanessa’s looking at Brooke and scooting onto the floor beside her and her arms are wrapping around her shoulders, squeezing her so tight and for a second the deep pressure is grounding, making everything okay, before their ugly reality rears its head again because the test is still in her hand. Staring up at her. Mocking her. Leering at her.
Brooke’s a failure.
Again.
“I’m sorry, Ness.” The words feel like lead in her mouth, because saying them makes it true - that this cycle of IVF failed. Like the last one, and the one before that. Because the injections, the supplements, the doctor’s visits were all in vain. They made no difference, in the end.
It didn’t work.
“Shhh.” Vanessa’s hand is gentle on her cheek, wiping the tear that’s threatening to fall. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Let’s make that clear.”
“But-”
“We’re doing everything right, baby, okay? It’s not your fault, it’s not my fault. It’s not either of our faults.” Vanessa’s other hand is running through her hair and a small part of Brooke wonders if she even deserves the comfort.
“But it should have happened by now, what if I’m doing something wrong, what if-”
“Brooke-”
“I can’t, I-”
“Shh.” Vanessa’s arms are around Brooke again, squeezing her tight and somehow it cuts through the fog of her thoughts, the beating of her heart that’s getting faster and faster along with the spiralling in her mind. Vanessa’s bringing Brooke back down, keeping the various pieces of her all together that are so prone to shattering from her thoughts and memories.
“We’ll try again. If you want. Or we don’t have to. But we don’t have to talk about it right now.” Vanessa’s whispers are warm in her ear, soft and reassuring and Brooke almost hates it. That Vanessa has to do this. Be the one to keep them from breaking.
Because that’s Brooke’s job.
“…And then the Secretary of Commerce’s office wants to set up a meeting about the tariffs on the lumber exports, we’ll need to do that before the bill goes in front of the legislature.” Blair’s voice squeaks as she speaks, her eyes flitting between Vanessa and the rest of her team.
“Thank you, St. Clair. Call them and set it up for late next week, maybe Friday in the a.m?” A’keria’s voice is all business as she rifles through her agenda. Vanessa’s glad that she’s got A’keria on as her Chief of Staff. Being in charge of overseeing the office’s day to day flow, she’s adept at keeping everyone in line, from the interns like Blair to Vanessa herself.
Vanessa has to admit, she’s more of a headache to A’keria than any of the interns.
A’keria dismisses the rest of the team, letting them leave the Oval Office before closing the door. “Question, while I work on your schedule. You still serious about this whole parental leave thing?”
Vanessa looks at A’keria as if she’s grown two heads. “Obviously. We’re about to have a baby. Do I look like I can focus on running a country?”
“You’re the President, Vanj. That’s your damn job description.”
“Hey, if the New Zealand Prime Minister took maternity leave when she had her kid way back when, so can I.” Vanessa shrugs, leaning back in her desk chair. “Break the glass ceiling here and all that.”
A’keria rubs at her temples. “Okay, so we’ll get the VP to step in as deputy, fine. You’ll still have to consult here and there during the leave, though, or this whole place will fall to shit.”
Vanessa waves a hand. “Everyone will survive. I’m gonna have more important things to focus on.
The thought makes her stomach do flips every single time.
A baby.
Her and Brooke are going to have a baby.
It’s now been eight months since they found out, since their world had flipped on its axis because it finally became real and now it’s happening, really happening.
Vanessa looks up at the clock. 7:35 p.m. She knows about Brooke’s tendencies to overwork herself, which normally she doesn’t want to interfere with. But the pregnancy has turned Vanessa into a mother hen, one that wants to hover around Brooke and make sure she’s safe and okay, even though she knows it’s probably annoying.
She dials Brooke’s number, waiting for it to ring.
“Hey, V.” Brooke’s voice is soft and Vanessa can almost hear the grin in it.
“Hey yourself.” Vanessa’s brow furrows at the rustling noises in the background of the call. “You still working?”
“Finishing up a meeting.”
Vanessa sighs. “Brooke-”
“I know, I know. We’re done, now.”
“Good.” Vanessa’s can hear how soft her own voice is, in relief more than anything else. “Wanna grab dinner together?”
“Just us?” Brooke’s question makes sense - they’re both used to working through meals a lot of the time, having lunchtime meetings or dinnertime conference calls with those in other timezones or others that they haven’t been able to reach during the day.
“Just us. I don’t have anything until nine, a conference call with the U.S Embassy in Japan.” Vanessa smiles. “Well, the three of us.”
“Yeah. The three of us.” Brooke’s voice is full of marvel. The fact that they’re going to have a baby is becoming more and more real as the months pass. As Brooke begins to show more and more, as every prenatal appointment passes and while confirming that their baby is healthy. But the fact that they’ll get to meet their child in a month and a half, the fact that they’ll go from being a duo to a trio-
It feels unbelievable.
Vanessa’s been through so much with Brooke. Experienced so many highs, so many lows. Experienced so much of what life has to offer, and experienced brushes with death, too.
Soon, they’re going to have a chance to add to their team.
Vanessa heads from the Oval Office over to their private wing of the White House, getting stopped along the way approximately four times to sign various papers and answer questions from harried members of staff. The answers roll off of her tongue like second nature, like she was born to do this.
At the beginning of her first term, Vanessa had felt way, way, over her head, as if she had jumped from a small pond to deep into the Atlantic ocean with no life jacket to keep her afloat. It had been a learning curve despite her many years in politics - learning how to stay on top of things, how to manage not only a bigger staff, but an entire country. The voices of her opponents on the campaign trail had begun to sink into her inner monologue, droning on about how she was too young, too inexperienced, too incapable of the job. They’d made her feel like she was faking it, like she wouldn’t be able to get through.
But Vanessa’s learned, over the years. And now, into her second term, she’s gotten more comfortable with using her natural confidence and abilities, because she knows what she’s doing.
There’s no way she could have gotten this job if she didn’t.
Brooke’s already taking out plates for the two of them when Vanessa reaches the dining room, and Vanessa has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss her, leaning over her belly.
“Baby was extra antsy during the meeting today.” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s hand and places it on her stomach, where a small bulge is protruding.
“His little feetsies!” Vanessa practically squeals when she feels it sticking out.
“Or her.” Brooke grins. “We don’t know that yet.”
“And we’re not finding out until they’re born, so may as well use any and all pronouns.” Vanessa presses a kiss to Brooke’s stomach. “Hi, baby. Been good for your mama all day?”
“Pressing on my bladder like mad.” Brooke huffs. “I had to pee practically every five minutes.”
Vanessa tries to hold back a laugh. “Not gonna lie, I’m glad that it’s you who’s carrying first.”
“Oh, just you wait.” Brooke tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m going to have a great time basking it when you have to go through all the pregnancy stuff.”
They grab their food from the trolley that’s been brought up from the White House kitchen. The fact that they don’t have to cook if they don’t want to would be a lot more enjoyable to Vanessa were the two of them not so incredibly busy with work. Though it’s moments like these that Vanessa appreciates not having to grocery shop or wash dishes or work away in the kitchen. She just gets to spend her downtime with Brooke.
“Wanna eat in the den?” Vanessa nudges Brooke’s side. “More comfy.”
“Yeah. My back has been killing me all day, I want to veg out a bit.” Brooke holds up a hand before Vanessa can even open her mouth in concern and say a word. “And yes, you can give me a back massage, and no, I won’t take an easy day tomorrow.”
“Brooke.” Vanessa huffs as they walk over to the den. “You shouldn’t push yourself if you’re-”
“I’m not, V.” Brooke falls down onto the couch with a sigh as she tries to get comfy, shuffling the cushions by her back. “I just want to be active for as long as possible, that’s all.”
Vanessa sticks another cushion behind Brooke for good measure. “Just take care of yourself, okay? You know yourself better than I do, but you also once accidentally cut your finger on a jar and said it was just like a papercut, and then it wouldn’t wouldn’t stop bleeding and then you needed stitches. Stitches!”
Brooke snorts at the memory. “Good times. That was funny. Still got the scar from that. The stitches didn’t even hurt.”
Vanessa’s about to huff, go off again because Brooke is too blasé about her own health sometimes and it worries her, it really does, when Brooke grabs her hand and kisses it. It’s a flimsy tactic, but never fails at making Vanessa absolutely melt.
“I know my limits, Nessa, ‘kay? I’ll be careful, you know that.”
Vanessa sighs. “I do.” It’s just that it makes her nervous, she wants Brooke to be okay, and wants the baby to be okay, and doesn’t want anything to go wrong.
She’s gotten too close to losing Brooke in the past. The sleepless nights Vanessa’s spent in a chair beside a hospital bed, fears that Brooke would never wake up.
Vanessa never wants to experience that ever again.
“Here, watch this.” Brooke puts her now empty plate on the table beside the couch, moving a hand to rub her belly. “I’ve learned exactly how to make him all mad. Discovered it today, during the meeting.”
“Mad?” Vanessa scoots closer, resting a hand on Brooke’s stomach. “And what happened to ‘we don’t know yet?’”
“I know, I know.” Brooke shrugs. “It’s fun to guess, though. Now, watch this. He reacts when I rub the side of my stomach, right here.”
Brooke presses her hand to her side, and Vanessa watches with wonder as her belly moves, their baby active and shifting around. She can’t help but reach out and put her hand beside Brooke’s, letting out a little whoop when she feels their baby kick.
“She’s so active! Or he. Or they. I love them so much already.” Vanessa can’t help the way that she’s already tearing up.
“And here I thought that I was the pregnant, hormonal one.” Brooke’s sniffling too, and Vanessa burrows herself into her side, her heart full and all of the possibilities of the world laid out in front of them.
She’d never thought in her wildest dreams that she would ever get so lucky.
Brooke’s therapist had told her not to bottle things up, stick them in the pretty boxes in her heart, never to be opened again because everything would eventually crumble. The pile of boxes. From all the bad thoughts and thorn laced memories that she didn’t want to think about.
“It’s okay to lean on your wife sometimes,” he had said, “Just like she leans on you.”
They’re in a fancy suite in Boston, because Vanessa is meeting with the state’s senator tomorrow and then has a media blitz day. But Brooke can’t sleep, even though they’re going to have to wake up at 6 a.m. so that Vanessa can look ‘media ready,’ as A’keria puts it.
Brooke tries to distract herself with the plan for tomorrow - how many cars they’re going to take, the way she’s going to distribute the agents for the myriad of events and locations. It normally calms her, soothes her; being a creature of preparedness and having the need for everything being under control. But tonight her stomach is cramping, the pain hollow in her abdomen a reminder of what they’re going through.
The cramping is normal, the doctor had told her. After implantation of the embryos.
But will a pregnancy take?
Will it work?
Or will it be like the last three cycles?
Brooke can’t help but think that maybe it has something to do with her.
She has half a mind to poke Vanessa, wake her from her slumber. Spill all the worries that are building up in her head and threatening to escape at any moment, unless they drive her insane first.
But Vanessa’s fast asleep, her mouth slightly parted as her waves frame her face and for a second she doesn’t even look like the President of the United States. She’s the woman that Brooke fell in love with in a cabin in the woods and nearly died for.
It baffles Brooke every day, the fact that Vanessa loves her. Is married to her. Despite everything, all that’s happened.
Everything that Brooke’s done in her life.
It’s not her, not anymore. But it used to be.
Brooke had murdered people in cold blood, murdered people for money. She had her own fucked up moral code that she used to guide herself in the direction of what was least societally reprehensible, but still.
Doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s extinguished lives. Ended bloodlines, shattered families. No matter if they belonged to douchebags or criminals or whomever. Brooke had still done it. Willingly.
Who is she now to even want to bring a life into this world?
The universe is probably laughing in her face right now, at her absolute audacity to even try again. They’re probably going to find out the same thing a fourth time.
Not pregnant.
It’s not like Brooke deserves to be, anyway, not after what she’s done.
In the past, Brooke had never been one to believe in karma. But the way that her and Vanessa keep trying and trying, the way that they keep seeing friends and coworkers and even people on fucking television announce that they’re pregnant feels like a huge cosmic joke. Like the universe wants to rub it in her face.
Fucked up real bad in the past? Well, she’s going to pay for it now, while bringing Vanessa down with her. Sweet, amazing Vanessa, who deserves better than this. Better than Brooke and all her karmic baggage.
Brooke doesn’t want to wake her. Maybe she’ll talk to her in the morning instead.
Brooke really, really needs watermelon.
Really needs it.
Desperately needs it.
She’d had insane cravings during her second trimester, constantly on the hunt in the White House kitchens for a certain type of ice cream, or her favourite dill pickles. The cravings had died down during the recent weeks, but now they’re back with a vengeance. At nearly nine months pregnant.
Brooke has to get work done for the diplomat visits to the White House over the next few weeks, review the security plans submitted by her agents that are waiting in her email before she officially has to go on leave, but all she can think about is watermelon.
A nice slice of watermelon. The kind that’s super sweet, super juicy, the kind that’s the best in the summer months when it’s hot outside.
She needs some watermelon.
BLH: I need your help.
VVM: What??? Ok coming to your office in 5.
BLH: No wait, just-
Vanessa’s flinging open the door before Brooke can even send her text. It’s convenient, really, that Brooke’s office is so close to the Oval Office. But Vanessa’s looking around the room wildly, looking at her for any signs of distress or pain, and Brooke suddenly feels guilty.
“What’s wrong, baby? Are you hurt? In pain? Do we need to go to the hospital?” Vanessa’s hand is brushing the hair away from her face, her eyes looking her up and down.
“No.” Brooke mumbles because now she’s almost embarrassed. Almost. “I just…”
“You just what?” Vanessa’s crouching beside her desk chair, eyebrows raised. “Spit it out, baby.”
“I want watermelon. I really really want some.” Brooke squeaks out the words, because one of her agents is standing in the doorway, and she’s truly never going to hear the end of the teasing if they catch any of their conversation.
“Watermelon?!” Vanessa’s voice echoes around the room and really, so much for keeping it on the down low. Brooke nearly facepalms. “I ran here in these high ass heels for watermelon?”
“Well, technically I didn’t make you run-”
“Watermelon. Watermelon?”
“In my defense, I really, really need some?” Brooke gives the most angelic smile that she can down to her wife, who’s crouched down on the floor and having a crisis.
“Watermelon.”
“Please?” Brooke pouts and she can see Vanessa’s resolve break, her features immediately melting as she stands back up to press a kiss to her lips.
“Okay, baby. I’ll head down to the kitchen and get you some watermelon.”
Brooke beams, because she really does love her wife. “Thank you.”
Sure, Brooke finds it hard to accept help sometimes. But her pregnancy brain is quite adept at overruling her rational side, something her therapist would be quite impressed with.
Brooke’s happy with the watermelon when Vanessa brings her some, using her stomach like a shelf and resting her bowl on top of it as she types. Her abdomen has been bothering her all day, cramping off and on, though she’s not too worried after their last prenatal visit. Her doctor had said that such cramps were normal towards the end of pregnancy.
Brooke knows to expect it. She’s not going to be a wuss that shows up at the hospital way too early, thinking that she’s having contractions.
Nah, Brooke’s fine. She’s going to keep working. She needs to finish sending these emails, anyway.
Brooke pushes against the armrests of her desk chair to stand up once she hits send on the last email, letting out a grunt as she does. The bathroom’s been calling her name all throughout the work, the baby once again pushing on her bladder with no signs of letting up. She’s ready to waddle over, go to the bathroom for the fourth time today when she feels a slight whoosh.
Her pants are wet.
Brooke lets out a groan, because has she really peed her pants? Does being nearly nine months pregnant make women incontinent?
How embarrassing.
Brooke looks down to assess the state of her clothes, and she’s definitely got a wet spot on her pants, along with one on her chair.
She’s about to grumble and attempt to deal with the mess, except she realizes that she still feels like she needs to pee. So maybe, she hasn’t just peed her pants?
But then…
It doesn’t make sense to Brooke. Her water can’t be broken. She’s still two weeks ahead of her actual due date.
But she’s definitely feeling some sort of leakage, and she still has to pee, and her abdomen is really, really starting to hurt.
“Brooke, baby, I can’t bring you more watermelon, the Chief of Security is in my office right now-”
“Ness, I think my water broke.” Brooke whispers into the phone at her desk, because there are still agents on the other side of her door, and she doesn’t want to cause a stir, really, because maybe it’s not that big of a deal if it’s happened so early-
“WHAT?” Vanessa’s voice blares through the phone and Brooke has to pull the receiver away from her ear, because Vanessa is loud.
“I think so, at least-”
“Forget this meeting, fuck it - whoops, sorry sir - my wife is in labour, I need to go, we can reschedule this, right? A’keria! Reschedule it! Brooke’s in labour!”
Brooke can practically hear Vanessa yelling as she gets closer and closer to her own office, heaving the door open and it’s a good thing Vanessa’s here now, because fuck.
The pains are definitely contractions now.
“Do we need to go? Should I tell one of the interns to call a car? Who should drive? Should I drive?” Vanessa’s pacing in front of her desk and Brooke wants to laugh, really, except she’s having to breathe a little bit harder through the pain.
Not that the pain is that bad. She’s okay, really.
“You’re not going to drive, babe. We’re-” Brooke takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she can feel another contraction start. “We’ll get someone to drive us.”
“Should I ask Kiki? No wait, I can’t ask Kiki, she said once that she’d failed her driving test in the past. What if she crashes now with us in the car? What if-”
“Ness. We have drivers. We have people employed here who are quite literally drivers.” Breathe, she’s going to breathe. The contraction’s ending.
Vanessa pauses. “Oh. Right. Wait, your baby bag, we haven’t packed one!” She spins on her heel, starting to pace again. “What do we do?”
“Get one of the interns to do it.” Brooke grimaces because damn, her abdomen hurts, and it’s still so early, and are they really about to have a baby?
Vanessa barks an order into her phone and comes around Brooke’s desk, pulling her close. Brooke leans her head against Vanessa’s stomach, who’s still standing and running her fingers through Brooke’s hair.
“Okay. Okay. We can do this. Stay calm.” Vanessa’s muttering under her breath and Brooke looks up at her with an amused smile.
“I am calm.” Brooke is. She’s trying to be, at least, because panicking isn’t going to help and she doesn’t want to start to spiral too early. Maybe she’s not even in labour yet and this is a false alarm.
“I was talking to myself.” Vanessa’s voice is sheepish and Brooke lets out a snort, because of course she was.
Brooke feels another wave of pain hit, stronger this time and lets out a whimper because it hurts, more so than before. Vanessa’s suddenly on the floor beside her, and Brooke can hear her talking (‘It’s okay, baby, you’re okay, you’re okay’) and tries her best to focus on her. Though the way she’s gripping the armrests of her chair is certainly going to make them break.
It feels like an eternity before the contraction passes, even though Brooke’s clock tells her that it’s only been forty five seconds.
“Hey. Hey. Kiki brought the driver. You ready?” Vanessa’s looking up at Brooke expectantly, as if she’s asked the easiest question in the world.
Ready? Are they ready for a baby? Will they be able to be parents? Will they be good parents?
Is Brooke ready to push out an entire baby?
“I am, with you.” It’s true. They can do this. Brooke’s been through so much with Vanessa, survived deadly past careers, wayward gunshots, federal campaigns. Protected her physically from the world while Vanessa kept her together on the inside.
Who’s to say they can’t do this too?
“Yeah. We’re ready.”
#rpdr fanfiction#branjie#brooke lynn hytes#vanessa vanjie mateo#lesbian au#game of survival#oh my sunlight#holtzmanns
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TharnType The Series Ep. 9 Review
#TharnTypeEp9 #TharnType #TharnTypeS #TharnTypetheseries #MewGulf
Why it is supposed to be Tharn who got hit? I don't understand, is it because of the promise he made about never forget what they were said last night or what? If that so, it means Type don't believe Tharn yet, meung maeng... (usually in the book there will be any explanation about his emotion, yet I don't read them yet) Type, you saw it clearly that the one who tried to kiss first was P'San, you just got the bite from P'San.
P'San.... He is such a drama king. What do you want? Tharn still defending Type... (Proud of the hubby)
YESSSSS, FINALLY HE SAID IT. YESSS HE IS YOUR. SAID IT SO HE CAN MOVE AWAY... 3 TIMES CLRAFICATION, STILL NOT ENOUGH P'SAN? What? What is this? Tharn... What did you two plan for Type? Bad..... "Yes, I belong to you" Tharn. That smile for something you hide or the smile of satisfaction, Ai Tharn?
Watch TharnType Ep. 9 Engsub
Damn..... A PLOT TWIST. You such a helper.... I'm sorry P'San but your attitude in the previous episode show us bad feeling about you. Phom khot khot na... Yes everything that P'San said was right but he doesn't know Type, right? We understand that Type won't declare his relationship, yet P'San force him to do it, good also bad thing. You played with others' feeling. P'San care so much about Tharn and we knew that Tharn always cover everything for Type. But do you know that P'San actually very satisfy with Type? You can see it when P'San smiles after went out from the room. A thing he found is Type's possessiveness prove his feeling toward Tharn and will never break up with him. And it is added by Type himself when he said anything about what he got from this situation.
"I hate it when he won't just leave you alone." P'Sarn care so much at him na, he is worried for Tharn happiness.
"I hate when he acts as if he knows everything about you." He knew almost everything Type, they already knew each other for years moreover he is his brother best friend, P'Thorn might be explained everything about Tharn to him already.
"Hate that you are his first love." It cannot be changed, and yes it is deeply hurt but no one can change the past.
He such adorable big baby... This scene makes me cry for happiness, proud and love to both of them. Look at Type's madness face and look at Tharn's happiness and satisfy smile. Those are getting cuter...
Now he considers about Tharn's feeling and more concern to declare his relationship. Tharn still doesn't want to force him. Why is Tharn so perfect? Too perfect to be real in a person. Tharn's smiles are really precious to me, you give everyone happiness ja....
I got some fact about P'San from the original subber account JayBL on Twitter. We and Tharn knew that P'Sarn love Tharn so much but it didn't work because Tharn doesn't have any feeling toward P'Sarn since the beginning. The reason why Tharn gave him in was because his curiosity about his sexual interest and to prove it, he agreed to have S with P'Sarn to make sure his feeling toward man. Besides, Tharn said he likes the role between Him and Type which mean as a Top. This is also another reason for Tharn to refuse P'Sarn who is also a Top. Top with Top, may be they only will do a sword fight (?) Sorry....
Another fact, P'Sarn said "Tharn has suffered enough heartbreak, don't make him experience it again". Tharn actually had a lot of ex-es, yet Tharn was the one who never say break up. So yes he suffered enough in relationship. Sacrificing his own feeling to let his lover go. Once again, I'll say we are the same. So glad that you found the one now.
Yes, last time he was crying all night long at the Bar Ai Type. You such a j*rk back then. "Friend who is more just a friend. I just want to let people know that you're mine" Type. I'm proud na Type. Lucky you Ai Tharn.
"BTW, the toilet is pretty empty. You can get busy in there." P'Jeed. LMAO don't read someone's mind P'Jeed. That expression Tharn make. How cute he is...
So, she is the girl who always give Tharn drink after his performance. P'Gea, don't be so aggressive by giving Type your number. Ai Type what's that mean with "is talking all you want to do?". Talking like this at the front of Tharn's face, well better than behind. It is not funny Ai Type to get him Jealous, your game isn't fun at all.
Oh my god, not in public bro... No.... I don't understand this situation. What's the perpose of it, what's the point? Yes, you provoking him Ai Type so what do you want? Ohh my.... It just about cheating. You had talk right? How can one of you do such a thing. If you want to make sure, don't be like this. Just talk again in a good way. WHAT THE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Do you need to kick him like that? He is your bf, do you need to always hurt him? Man.... (Sigh)
Tharn: possesive?
Type: wanna die?
Hahahahahaha...... Both of you are ridiculous. Sad, Champ lose his friendship with those girl. May I blame at you, Type? So innocence, it was one of your fault too. Yes, I hate this kind of person too Champ, someone who never show up in class but can be so smart beside we had tried so hard to be smart. Is Type has B or AB blood type? These people can't be predicted how smart they are. "because right now, that person is already falling head over heels for me" Type, fact is true but surely you full of yourself.
Stop by to switch the car, what is the purpose of it? Can't you just use your regular car? Not acceptable reason. Sawaddi khrap P'Thorn, yes you look intimidating. Lolaen... P'Thorn following Type's IG? How come Type doesn't know? And he is such a real stalker, unbelievable with that look of him. Thanya.... Hahahah you guys can't do talking freely. Yes YOU DID A GOOD JOB! HAHAHA my god she is cute for calling their parents. Such an innocence girl. Welcome trouble, man... Behave. You'll meet your father & mother in laws. No, khun dad, Tharn always comfort him every day and night, regularly please him. Lmao. Yes, family trip to Pang-an so you guys can get married sooner. Lol. Poor P'Thorn, I can feel that pain. Jebb at the feet also at the heart. Wrong target for kicking Ai Type. Hahaha such a supportive big bro, I feel more bad for Thorn. Yes of course khun mom, Type KNEW P'SARN who always play games with P'Thorn and Play other "thing" with Tharn back then. Thanya such a little angel, they can't refuse you na... Type's face always show his emotions, being so much fooled in a day. HAHAHA
Morning kiss, "you said you wanted it" Type. You should ask for morning S, Ai Tharn. You can have his morning b*ner right now. Lol
Chai.... You know him a lot now, Ai Type. Euuu, Techno needs to find any information about you two by himself because you never tell him any small clues. He changed a lot Techno, he care and more care to his hubby. Always be a third-wheel, you will get used to it even I never used to it since the 1st episode. Lol. Ai Lhong, bad impression at the frist meeting. The newbie Nong Song is kind of cute, his way of speaking, those tones, adorable....
Okay, Tharn, we see your charismatic aura. Yup, such a cool guy playing a drum like that, everyone always fall to people who can play instruments especially in a band. Don't sing by yourself like that Ai Tharn, you give me a goosebump. Euuu that is for Type but you send the effect to us as well. Again, such a perfect man.
They letting No to sleep over? Seriously? I hope there will be nothing happen. I can't imagine if No see something he shouldn't see. Wify.... Okay Tharn.... Texhno is sleep talking, how cute. Lol. "Tharn, I'm curious, your face when you were playing is looked so goddamn sexy" Type, I never thought Type would say such a thing but yup he was hot. "For me music is like sex that gives me a climatic pleasure" Tharn, bro it is kind of deep but still can't imagine the climatic pleasure when playing a music, different point of view, may be I can't understand it because I'm not a musician but sometime when hearing a song I can get the climatic part of the emotions but not the same as the sex you were talking about. "You are my most cherished instrument" Tharn, Type as an instrument what kind of sound he can make? Owhhhh......... I know, don't say that it is "THE SCREAM" hahahahaha they didn't use "moaning", I think it is more sensual so they never use this word. Lol. WOW, I NEVER EXPECT IT WILL COME LIKE THIS AND NEVER THINK THAT TYPE WILL LOOK SO HORNY LIKE THAT. NO... DON'T... I'M NOT READY BROO.... Those moaning give me more goosebumps. NOOOO THEY TAKE OFF THE CLOTHES.... F*CK I FORGET THAT TECHNO IS THERE, BLESS HIS EYES, EARS AND PLEASE STRENGTHEN HIS HEART TO FACE THIS SITUATION (No, do you want to switch? I would like to see them. Lol) Now someone's know how dose the scream sound like. Feel bad for him.
"I can't wake up, I feel like my head is going to explode" Texhno, his brain stop working since last night Ai Type, he tried to refuse anything, any sound, any picture he got, he just tired to his limit. Poor him..... Remember Ai No, this time you will absolutely die if you spill this special tea. Lol.
Why suddenly Tum skip a class to pick up Tar? They are cute together.
Tharn trying to make a permission to tell Long about their relationship. Well, Type more reasonable now. This strange feeling come out from Long. What is this? I already felt it since I saw him at the first time. Those eyes, that look, I feel a mixing emotions. I suspect him that he likes Tharn or something like possessing him. The feeling of disappointed, being untrusted and unbelieving. There are two speculations I have here, first he likes Tharn and thought that he was single all the time so he can clingy at him. Second, he disappointed because as a best friend Tharn never tell him anything recently so he feels like being untrusted. Well, losing strength until he falls the glass, it is kind of strange attitude for hearing the news. That is why I accuse him to like Tharn. (Private property bro, you need to pay for the glass. Lmao) Sorry it's just my speculation. Then he went like he can't accept what he heard before. This guy keeps something.
Nong Song, if you want to have a faen so much, I don't mind to try it since you're cute. lol. Oww they finally meet and Tar missing Tharn, it will be an open case since their story keep untold.
"Hurry up and be my pillow" Type. I need my pillow too. There is a call from the unknown number. What is this? What will happen? Please don't give us more trial. My God. This series always end every episode with something that cannot be waited. (Sigh)
That is the review for TharnType Ep. 9. How is your opinion? There are so much to discuss, start from P'Sarn, change character of Type, Techno, Lhong and so much more. You can leave a comment below. So, see you next time.
#TharnTypeep9#tharntypetheseries#TharnType#mewgulf#mew#gulf#tharn#type#thaiseries#thaidrama#blseries#bldrama
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Happy new year♡
soooo it's currently 1:22am in austria, & because so many made a post about the year 2018 passing, i thought i'd do one as well!
i'm really thankful for all of my mutuals, even for those, who don't really interact with me much. Yes, i notice everyone who likes & reblogs my stuff & i'm really thankful for all those people♡
i want to mention some of my closest mutuals first, because 2018 would've been a lot more shitty if i hadn't got to know them!
@pikachulein bAAbEe i can't wait to marry you. anways, being able to call such an amazing and caring person my friend is the biggest honor for me. You helped me through a lot of stuff in 2018 & made life a little more bearable, and for that i'm very thankful♡♡ you always make me smile and fill my mind with beautiful thoughts even though your own mind is still haunted by dark ones, but i know that we'll both escape them together! maybe not in 2019, maybe not in 2020, but eventually, probably, definitely in the future♡ ily future wifey
@minberryy HOLLYYY happy new year my dear♡ you are one of the sweetest (and prettiest oof) dudes i know :") you're so talanted and whipped for minho #otp i honestly love you so much i dont even know what to sayy :") u always make me smile when you post & i'm more than happy to be able to call you my friend♡
@bbytaechim HAPPY NEW YEAR SHELBY💞 I HOpe you're doing fine & that 2018 hasn't been to rough on you bby! i hope that 2019 gives you all the luck & love you deserve because you truly are the most adorable person i have ever met:") you make me so soft and make me a lot more happier whenever i sea your url pop up in my notifications cuz ur an little angel♡ ilysm
@simplyna i love chatting with you so much even tho i'm literally the dumbest person ever :) I feel so special that you trust me with all your problems & your recommendation of that one hyunjin fic still makes me cry whenever i read it:") ir a really nice & sweet person & im glad that i got to know you in 2018!
@horrorhyuck yOOO brOO ur literally the funniest dude out there lmaooo i always wait for you to message me cuz ur just??? so much fun??? i love how we always have the same opinion on stuff & that we both love our mans™ hyuckie & ur just so cool i swear ily
& now some of my follower babies, i notice all of you btw & i love every single one of you💞
@cleverbabybear @cyanidere @berryseul-gi @dreamyfelix @stray-world @ohmychuwu @neo-43 @emotiadouche @stankpopagain @hyolk @kunt-s @turn-my-mess-into-messages @laloserr @bloommelon @starrynjm @albdajirks @lucasthiccthighs @twaeilmoon @masterninjacow @binnie-binnie @lieatnoom & many many moree but it's now 1:51 am and i'm too tired to continue but i hoPE Y'ALL KNOW I LOVE YOU💞💞
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Found it First
A/N: I was inspired by my love for both Monsta X and Harry Potter to start a mini series of sorts. I’m gonna write short drabble-y pieces for each member, and maybe if they do well I’ll write longer stories:) All of these are pre-battle just for extra info. Moodboard thingy is mine lmao ik it’s really bad, but it’s one of the first ones I’ve ever made so ig it could be worse.
Group: Monsta X
Member: Hufflepuff!Wonho
Genre: Fluff, comedy, Hogwarts!AU
Warnings: none :)
Shining sun, bright sky, light snow falling, today was seemingly perfect. No one had bothered you or annoyed you, your classes had gone exceptionally well, and now that they were over the day couldn’t get any better. You were on your way to the Great Hall to study when two of your friends stopped you.
“Y/N, hey!” said Nessa, walking toward you. Tyrell followed and started jogging over. As they got to where you were standing they both hugged you and started talking about classes and homework. You laughed together at a few jokes Tyrell told and Nessa’s slip up in Divination. After a few minutes you strolled into the Great Hall together.
“Nessa and I were going to Diagon Alley later, wanna come?” Tyrell asked. Taking a sip from your cup you nodded.
“I’ve gotta get a new broom and some ingredients, actually. I was going to go tomorrow, but I’d rather go with you guys anyway.” you said. Tyrell and Nessa nod and you all get back to talking about your days and reading through your notes together.
“Nessa, you jerk, give me back my wand!” Tyrell yells, chasing after your friend. You laugh at their childish behavior and wrap your scarf tighter around you. They stop fooling around and you all walked into Broomstix. The shop was pretty empty, with only a few other witches and wizards looking around. It was pretty quiet too, until Tyrell accidentally knocked some books off a shelf. Nessa shoves his shoulder and calls him a klutz. They act like a couple, you’re genuinely confused about how they aren’t dating.
Looking around you don’t see any brooms that catch your attention. It isn’t really that big of a deal, but you still wanted something that was pleasing to look at. Just as you were about to give up and grab the closest one you spot a beautiful broom near the back of the shop. It’s mounted above a few others-that aren’t as pretty- and you make a beeline for it. The broom is made up of beautiful dark oak wood, black and brown bristles, and gold lining. Perfect. As you go to grab it, another hand grabs the broomstick, next to your own. You huff out an annoyed breath and turn to the person beside you.
“Excuse me, but your hand is on my broo- Wonho?” you say as you lock eyes with the familiar face. Wonho smiles and tightens his grip on the broom. You tighten your grip as well. You both pulled it off the wall where it was mounted, and now you were holding it between your bodies.
“Fancy seeing you here, but I’m gonna need my broom, Y/N.” he says, smirking. You only tighten your grip more and pull the stick toward you. Wonho chuckles.
“It’s not your broom, it’s mine. You can let go now.” you say as he shakes his head. He mouths “not gonna happen.” and you sigh.
“Are you being serious?” You ask, clearly annoyed. You’ve known Wonho since you were both in your second year, but he’s never acted this way before. At least not with you.
“So serious. It’s first come first serve, right?” He asks. You roll your eyes at him.
“It’s a broom shop, Wonho, not a buffet. It’s ‘finders, keepers’ and I found it first.” He smiles at you and pulls the stick back from you, but not hard enough for you to lose your grip.
“I’ll have you know I’ve been here longer than you.” he says, mimicking your tone. You shrug your shoulders and shake your head.
“Doesn’t mean you found it first.” you state stubbornly. Nessa and Tyrell watch you two from the front, snickering. They both know you two have a thing for each other. Pretty much everyone does, except for the two of you.
“Fine. We’ll flip a coin then.” Wonho says, pulling one out of his pocket. You nod, placing your other hand on your hip. He tells you to call it as it flips and you say heads. As the coin falls back down, Wonho catches it his palm and makes a fist. His other hand it still holding the broom. You reach your head out to get a better look at the coin in the boys hand as his fist opens. You hum, satisfied with the results, and Wonho lowers his head, releasing the broom. Nessa and Tyrell have now joined the two of you in the back of the shop.
“You still going to get those ingredients, Y/N?” Nessa asks. You nod and she sighs. She tells you that her and Tyrell can’t make it as she smiles up at him. When you ask why, she tells you it’s because Tyrell asked her out and they’re getting butterbeer together.
“It’s about time.” Wonho says and you laugh. Nessa blushes and says goodbye to Wonho. Her and Tyrell say they’ll see you back in the common room as they leave. You look back at Wonho and start walking to the cash register.
“I’m so glad they’re finally going out.” you say, paying for the broom. Wonho nods and scratches the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I should really follow his lead.” he says. You look over at him.
“Got someone you wanna ask out?” you ask with a tinge of jealousy in your voice. Wonho doesn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, they’ve got a real knack for stealing other people’s brooms. It takes a lot of courage to ask out a criminal.” he says, avoiding your gaze and smiling. You cross your arms as the shop owner wraps up your broom and lean against the counter, chuckling.
“Just ask them. They’d be silly to say no.” you say. Wonho looks up at you grinning as you get your broom. Thanking the owner, you and Wonho walk out of the shop side by side.
“It was my broom from the get-go, by the way.” you say, looking over at him. He laughs, blushing. “You forgot to find another one, though.” you say looking over at him. He scrunches his nose up and shakes his head.
“Ah, forget the broom. I think I’ve got a date.” he laughs, Now you’re blushing. You both make your way back to Hogwarts, laughing and talking. You’re so caught up with Wonho, and excited to tell Nessa and Tyrell about the events following their departure that you completely forget about going to The Apothecary to get the ingredients you need.
#monsta x#wonho#shin wonho#monsta x fluff#monsta x fanfic#monsta x fanfiction#monsta x hogwarts#monsta x au#hogwarts#hogwarts au#kpop fluff#kpop au#kpop fanfic#kpop fanfiction
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Broo, I don't mind those. Really, seeing conditions of the people I followed isn't something i did not not want to see.
But heeyy I could feel that. I too had some family problems and younger me liked to wrote those thoughts on my wp blog. (The trauma I felt when I knew they found out🤡 im okay now and hope ur not the same fate as me). Your problems may be bigger than mine soo, sending you all the love💕💕 and don't forget that we all are here for yah!
Sincerely, your bro.
This was so sweet, thank you!! That's really nice to hear actually, and I'm glad things worked 0ut for you!! JEJEJSK THATS MY WORST NIGHT MARE IM SORRY THAT HAPPENED BRO💔
This made me smile, thank you my bro💕
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Listened to fem fine frøkner on an impulse and nostagia hit like a train wbu
Sis, ksjjdjdjsj good decision though 😌💕 I haven't listened to that for the longest time. They were so cute in that scene though.
Oh, I am all nostalgic, thinking about that scene 😭
Oh me? Just you know.. binge reading evak fics and trying not to miss them as much with the help of those fics. But broo.. evak fics though!!!! *chef's kiss* can't get enough of them 😌💕 so glad there are so many more.
Thank you for sending this though, made me all smile 🤓💕
#This was v random nonnie#but v v coool#no one talk to me about evak hdhdjdjd#like in public lol…#I have this friend… she does though..#she is my ‘evak fic discussion/recommending’ partner#annyywwaayyysss… I hope you are doing goood ♥️#this felt nice hehee#asks ❤
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the timing is all wrong- h.s imagine
“Y/N!”
You chuckled softly and excused yourself from the conversation you were having with one of your friends.
Harry drunkenly plopped his body next to yours, his body almost on top of yours. He buried his face into your neck and smiled.
As if your hands had a mind of their own, they started to rub his back in a soothing matter. “How are you doing, birthday boy?”
Harry hummed and pulled his body back so he could look at you properly. He had a stupid, drunk, smile on his face. “I’m having the time of my life!”
You laughed, heart swelling at your best friend. “Good! You deserve the world.”
Even in Harry’s drunken state, his stomach did backflips hearing your words.
“Harry! Come on, let’s dance!” a female voice shouted from the middle of the dance floor.
You cleared your throat and nodded your head towards her, “Your girlfriend is calling you.”
Harry looked back between Brooklyn and you. He opened his mouth but was interrupted by Brooklyn calling him once again.
You tapped on his cheek, “Go! We’ll talk later!” Harry gave you a peck on your cheek and promised to meet up again later and proceeded to dance with Brooklyn.
You stared as he wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a hard kiss to which she returned, her arms wrapping around his neck. You cleared your throat and looked down at the beer bottle in your hands before taking a long chug from it.
Louis came over and sat next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. He leaned into your ear and whispered, “I saw that.”
You looked at Louis and smirked, “What? Saw Harry acting like a proper drunk idiot?”
Louis shook his head and returned a smirk back to you, “No. Saw you drooling over the drunk idiot.”
You smacked Louis hard on his chest. “I told you that in secrecy!”
Louis rubbed where you hit him and gave you a look, “Oi! I haven’t told anyone!”
You narrowed your eyes at him, “I’m surprised you haven’t with that giant mouth of yours.”
Louis held his hands up in defense, “To be honest with you, I am too.”
You gave him one more look before the two of you burst out into laughter. You shook your head and looked back to Harry and Brooklyn dancing to a slower song, arms wrapped around each other. Still looking at him, you told Louis, “Doesn’t matter. He would never feel the same anyways.”
The next morning, you woke up to a slight headache. Damn it. Should have drank more water last night. You picked up your phone to see several messages from Harry, no doubt he texted it to you when he was drunk; the thought making you smile softly.
Y/N love! Miss you!
We should totally rent a boat.
Promised you a dance! Where r u
Did u leave u dick
LOL you don’t have a dick
Wait do u
Y/N?
Y/N!
ANSWER ME.
You laughed at Harry’s texts, wondering how in the world could he ever get these kind of ideas in his head. You glanced at the time at the top of your phone and figured you should make sure he got home alright.
“Hello?” Harry groggily answered.
“Morning sunshine.” You smiled getting up from your bed, heading over to the kitchen.
“I am anything from being in a sunshine mood this morning” Harry said, eyes closed, snuggling into his covers. “Can you bring me breakfast?”
You shut your fridge door and balanced the phone between your ear and shoulder, twisting a water bottle open, “Pass.”
Harry groaned loudly into the phone, “But it’s my birthday!”
You gulped down your swig of water, “It was last night, idiot!” Harry pouted, “But I’m hungry. And you love me.”
You rolled your eyes and chuckled. Harry whined, “Please Y/N.”
You sighed and smiled, shaking your head. “Fine.”
Harry cheered before wincing from the sudden movement, very hung over. “Maybe bring some aspirin as well.”
You were humming to yourself softly, holding a bag filled with Harry’s favorite breakfast: Avocado toast. Yours: A chocolate croissant.
You walked up to George, Harry’s doorman and dropped a bag in front of him. You smiled, “Hey George.”
George looked up at you and smiled before reaching into the bag. “Morning Miss Y/L/N.”
“I grabbed you a breakfast sandwich this time. George put his hand over his heart, “A woman that knows my heart.”
You laughed and walked away, “See ya, George!”
After taking the elevator to Harry’s apartment, you finally got to his door. You pulled his spare key out of your pocket and unlocked the door. You shut the door quietly, careful not to make too much noise. You placed your purse and bad with food on the counter. You began to walk to Harry’s bedroom but froze instantly. You heard a very loud moan come out of his room. You peeked your head from behind the hallway and were met with a rather disgusting sight. Brooklyn was on her knees in front of Harry. You quickly turned around and walked away, picking up the food and purse on your way out. Once you finally exited his apartment, you leaned against the door and sighed. She must of came over as soon as we hung up. Not wanting to let the food go to waste, you reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone.
Breakfast?
Louis sat at his dining room table, hand on his chin, pouting, “If I knew you were going to give me this, I wouldn’t have answered your text.” You shrugged your shoulders, finishing the rest of your croissant. “Harry loves that.”
Louis crossed his arms and mumbled, “Harry also likes sardines.”
You wiped your mouth before Louis spoke up again, “Why didn’t you just give him this then?”
You picked at the button on the top of your shirt, “I was but decided not to.”
Louis stared at you, “Brooklyn was there wasn’t she?”
You sighed and shook your head yes. It wasn't that you didn’t like Brooklyn. She was a very sweet girl. You tried to look for something small to dislike her but unfortunately, you couldn’t. Brooklyn was lovely. She was someone Harry needed.
Louis bit his lip, a look of sympathy on his face. He didn’t understand how Harry could be so blind. Y/N was perfect in his eyes. She was funny, the right amount of sassy, and beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to have the honor to call her their girlfriend. Wanting to change your mood, he asked, “Let me show you something.”
“Louis! That was awesome!” You shouted. The two of you were sat in Louis’s mini studio inside his apartment. He just played back a song that he was recently working on, planning for it to be his next hit.
Louis pressed the stop button and smiled brightly at you, “You liked it?”
“Loved it! So proud of you!” You smiled, giving him a hug. Louis smiled and hugged you back a little tighter, “I’m glad.”
Harry was sat on the couch in your living room apartment, feet on the coffee table. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.” You came back into the living room, popcorn in your hands. You sat next to him, getting into the same comfortable position as well. You shrugged your shoulders and grabbed the remote, going through the DVR. You clicked on the episode of Game of Thrones you were looking for and nestled into the couch a little more. “Wait, you skipped an episode. We didn’t watch that one yet.” Harry interrupted you.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I watched that episode with Louis the other night” you said, grabbing the remote again. “I’ll watch it again if you’ll like.”
Harry turned his body so it was facing you, “Since when have you and Louis started hanging out?”
You shrugged your shoulders once more, “We’ve always hung out.” Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah..but never alone..”
You gave him a confused look, “What does that have to do with anything?”
Harry sighed, “It doesn’t but I didn’t know you guys were on that friendship level..”
You gave him one more look before laughing, “Louis is great company, what’s the big deal?”
Harry got back into his position and rested his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, a sense of worry going through his body. “I’m being silly, sorry love. Can we watch the episode?”
You were holding your chest, trying to gain your breath back. Louis stood next to you, tapping his foot, hands on his hips. “Y/N-” You held up your finger, still trying to catch your breath.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Y/N it was only a block!”
You and Louis started to grab some takeout. While you guys were walking back to his apartment, it started to rain. Not wanting the food to get ruined, Louis suggested the two of you to run the short distance. Finally, you were able to breathe. You narrowed your eyes at him, “I could have slipped on the rain and died.”
The two of you stepped into the elevator, he smirked at you. “That would be an unfortunate way to die. ‘Girl defeated by rain.’ Now that’s a buzzfeed article I would read.”
Ever since Harry’s birthday party, you and Louis became insanely close. At first you saw Louis as a distraction from your feelings for Harry but eventually you grew to really enjoy his company. Louis always admired you and hanging out with you lately has made his feelings for you grow more.
After the two of you finished the food, you really wanted to hear Louis’s new song again. Louis pretended to be annoyed but his heart warmed at the thought of you loving his song. As Louis played back the song, you began dancing like a mad woman. Louis was watching you, laughing at your horrid dance moves. As you were dancing, your foot caught on one of the wires that was on the floor. Louis quickly grabbed you before you fell to the floor. You placed your hands on his arms and looked up at him. You don’t know who kissed who first but you soon found yourself sitting on Louis’s lap, hands tangled in his hair. The two of you kissing as his song was playing quietly in the background, repeating itself.
You were walking to your door, hand in your hand, smiling at Louis’s latest text to you. You quickly sent him a text, arranging to meet up later. As soon as you opened the door, Harry was on the other side. His hand was up, looking like he was going to knock before you opened the door. “Hey. what are you doing here?” you asked, putting your phone into your back pocket.
“I broke up with Brooklyn.”
part 2?
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles blurb#harry styles preferences#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#one direction#one direction imagine#one direction preferences#one direction blub#one direction fanfiction#one direction fanfic#louis tomlinson#louis tomlinson fanfiction#louis tomlinson imagine
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Surprises (Avengers x FemReader) fluff
(( gif not mine - it scares me slightly wth ))
(A/n): Broo, I have not written for Marvel in so long fuck
Request: A Marvel request, this time: Reader is the youngest of the Avengers and they all see her as a little sister. She has written a fantasy novel and shyly asked Steve to read it. With her birthday approaching, Steve decides to illustrate her story while Tony sets everything in motion to publish it as soon as the Reader gives her Okay. On her birthday, they present her with a beautifully bound and illustrated copy of her novel. Thanks in advance!
Warnings: Fluff bois
_____
(Y/n)’s hair wasn’t made, but it still bugged her that Sam just had to go a ruffle it more.
“Morning, squirt.” the dark man chuckled “Thought of anything you want for your birthday yet?”
She mumbled something in reply, waddling to her spot at the large oval table. It’s dark stained wood easy for morning eyes.
“Sam sit’own, it’s time to eat!” Tony barked.
The avenger complied, forgetting about the girls lack of response, and claimed his chair across from Bucky and next to Steve. The rest of everyone else were already situated in their respective spots.
Eggs and bacon, waffles and orange juice were dished out. Idle words charmed the morning air between bites and swallows.
Something like this was common but never common enough. All of them had contradicting schedules so a sit down of this sort was highly valued. Even if when (Y/n)’s eyes glided across the table and could only see other sets of tired ones to match hers; they would always be paired with genuine, dopey morning smiles as well.
“Anything new with anyone?” Natasha asked generally, sipping her black coffee.
“There’s this publisher-” Tony uttered with his mouth stuffed full of bacon scraps “He’sh a real big fwan of Iron Man. Said if I evar haff any books I wan’ published, to call ‘em.”
“Oh, really?” Steve commented “That’s nice of him.”
“Sure was,” the brunette swallowed and laughed “but I don’t exactly have any raw manuscripts lying around in need of publishing.”
“I think I might actually tell him thanks but no thanks.” Tony finished with a swig of his juice.
“Well, I find it odd to offer a billionaire inventor a publishing job.” Bruce chimed.
He and Steve both stood to clear their plates, taking anyone else’s that asked.
“Umh, Steve?” (Y/n) spoke up. She gently rose herself from her chair, swiping her plate up with her.
“Hmm?” the soldier hummed in response.
He was manning the sink, stringing up a hand as the girl approached him; wanting her plate. Though Steve didn’t take a second to glance her way, the small team member still willingly gave up her plate.
“Do you mind coming up to my dorm after we clean up. Please?” (Y/n) asked.
Though a moment of silence, Steve did eventually agree.
❆ ❆ ❆
Soon after the first meal of the day was cleared, the two team mates met in the arranged location.
(Y/n) opened the door softly to allow Steve in, then just as gently, shut it behind him.
“I only wanted you up here to show you something small I’ve been working on.” she said, shuffling to her bedside table for a moment.
Steve bore confused eyes but had them complimented with a welcoming smile. He watched as (Y/n) took out a bound mess of papers, some splotched with inky dots.
“I ah- well I wrote a small novel. It’s a fantasy of sorts...” the girl trailed off.
Steve held out a hand to take the papers from (Y/n). She seemed hesitant before releasing them.
“You wrote all this?” He asked after flipping across some pages.
Steve saw her nod quaintly.
“I just- Tony was talking about the publisher,”
When (Y/n) began to speak, the soldier started to read some of the paragraphs.
“and that reminded me that I was going to show you this. I was going to do it sooner, but I didn’t want to waste any of your work time so I thought maybe now would be good...”
Her words fell short for a few moments before she finished with “That and.. I was never very confident in this story. I love it dearly but I don’t have much courage for it...”
“How long have you been writing this?” Steve questioned “I’m really impressed. You are seriously talented...”
The girl went silent for several seconds before replying with a small grin.
“You can take it with you to read fully, if you’d like.”
Steve smiled back down at her “Can I really?”
“Of course.”
❆ ❆ ❆
Later on in week, Steve was hauled up in his dorm, reading and re-reading the story. He absolutely loved the creative characters that (Y/n) was able to bring to life just by using words. The story plot itself was hypnotizing to him.
“Hey, hey, capcicle.” Tony called from behind Steve’s closed door “You alive?”
“Yeah, yeah come in.”
The brunette entered soundly and said “What have you been doing. You’ve been in here for like two weeks..?”
Steve looked up to the man at the door, eyes tracing his face briefly. Then it struck him, a small idea.
“Well I’ve been reading... this story that (Y/n) wrote.” He spoke softly.
Tony looked as though he was about to laugh.
“(Y/n) writes?” the billionaire scoffed “Sounds dumb.”
“Hey,” Steve hissed “she’s is actually intensely talented.”
Tony sighed from Steve’s retaliation and fummbled with his words for a few moments, studying at the others face.
His eyes squinted softly.
“What do you want from me?”
Steve grinned, a small glint in his eyes as the gears in his mind worked together.
“I’m glad you asked.”
The blond took away several minutes to explain to Tony what he wanted done. He chose his words cautiously, allowing all his excitement bleed through his statements.
He told the billionaire about how he desired to illustrate her work in full colour and how maybe this would be their chance at a birthday surprise.
After a while of listening to the soldier speak, Tony stopped him with a brisk shake of his palm.
“You want me to take up the deal with the publisher, and have (Y/n)’s novel published without her overall consent?”
Steve stood with square shoulders, slightly taken aback. He chanced his voice “Yep.”
The opposite male didn’t take the opportunity to hide his flashing smirk.
“Well then, you have yourself a deal.”
❆ ❆ ❆
The next half of the month was spent with Steve and Tony slyly avoiding (Y/n). Steve wasn’t himself a good liar, but he was still able to coax the young hero into letting him keep the book for a while longer.
(Y/n) was no doubt happy that someone took extensive interest in her works. But, even now she could tell that Steve was beating around the bush.
As of the current, the girl was trying to find Steve to maybe interrogate him.
“Oh hey, (Y/n)!” a voice pulled at her.
She came face to face with Tony.
“Hey, Tony.” (Y/n) smiled “do you happen to know where Steve is?”
Tony charmed the girl with a smile of his own “I sure do.” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, that’s good. Mind showing m--”
“Right this way, my dear.”
Tony had turned around and started walking down the corridor. (Y/n) abruptly followed him.
It wasn’t long before both their steps sunk through the space with nothing else opposing them.
“Wait, Tony- if you are leading me to a surprise party, it’s a little early.” the girl spoke wearily.
“Pff- I know your birthday is tomorrow. I’m not the stupid one.” Tony answered. He twisted himself into a sudden right turn, entering the lounge.
There stood a solid Captain America, he had a smile manipulating his features.
“Hey Steve!” Tony called in a bright tone “Fancy meeting you here.”
Steve and (Y/n) both chuckled and Tony stepped out of the way of the two.
The girl approached the blond male.
“Steve, do you happen to have my manuscript on you?” She asked, looking his directly in his face “You would probably be done reading it over by now...”
Steve’s smile broadened and Tony snickered soundly.
“Yeah sure, here.”
From behind his back, Steve produced a beautiful leather bound, printed copy of the small girl’s story. It made (Y/n)’s eyes widen in pure shock.
“I..”
(Y/n) read and re-read the title many times before she put together the piece that this was really her book. Her pride and joy in one official copy, just handed to her.
Not missing a beat, her swiped the book from the soldier’s hand and opened it wide. Immediately (Y/n) was clad with bright eyes as she viewed the images corresponding with everything she had put in words.
Two questions crossed her mind, and she gazed up at the two men before her.
“Is this mine?” she asked first.
Tony laughed and Steve did as well. Only briefly before both nodding.
“Is this.. is this published?” she questioned again. Her smiling lips framed her eyes that were hastily growing misty.
“Surprise.”
_____ (A/n): I am glad I got this done gosh diddily darn
#Steve Rogers#steve x reader#steve x you#captain america#captain america imagine#captain america x reader#captain america fanfiction#captain america fluff#Avengers#avenger preferences#avengers cast#avengers imagine#tony stark#tony stark x reader#marvel#marvel fluff#marvel preferences#marvel imagine#marvel fanfiction#fluff#fanfic
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Starshine Ch. 21 Jimmy Page Fan Fiction
Sequel to In The Light It was early September now and only a day left before it was time for Jill to leave for her trip to France. The weather in London had been beautiful lately. Jimmy wanted to hang out in their yard on a blanket since the sun shone so magnificently this day. Jill was happy to join in with him on that. The two were out there lounging on the blanket. Jimmy was seated, his legs stretched way out leaning back on his elbows and Jill’s head rested in his lap, laying down. He had her hair all wrapped around his right hand as he felt it in between his fingers. So silky and shiny with bounce ability, and springiness. Such a beautiful color.
Jim : Babe, I’m gonna do my best but I’m not looking forward to these next few days without you. You knew that. But, I’m gonna be ok I think.
Jill : Of course you will. Just keep really busy. You have lots of friends and people who love you, also your music, the band. You’ll be just fine, my love. Then before you know it, I’ll be back.
Jim : Of course. I do have a few songs I need to work on. Also, I haven’t seen my parents in months. I may go up there for a couple of the days. My mother said she’s missed me, when we last had a phone conversation. And I think I could use a visit with them.
Jill : Yes, so great. That’s not a bad idea. Give them my regards if you go.
After a few quiet minutes, Jill began humming a song, softly. He listened silently for a couple minutes.
Jim : Is that Tangerine you’re humming ?
Jill : Yes. I like it. It’s sweet. And deep thinking. I can’t believe how beautiful you are, to have made that up yourself. It’s so lovely. I’m in awe that you can do that - make up songs.
Jim : Oh my girl, thank you and that’s cool that it impresses you. But, for me, it isn’t that amazing at all. I’m used to working with music, playing around on my guitar. After awhile of doing it, sometimes a melody or a riff emerges from my workings. And by the way, that particular song feels a little sad to me. I don’t want to think about it just now.
Jill : Well, I understand. It is sad. I’m not going to hum it anymore.
He moved away from that position and moved her head off from his lap. They ended up on their sides facing each other. He put his hand behind her head and kissed her mouth gently. It was a long sensitive kiss. His lips were soft and loving and she adored every second of contact with them. She put her hand out and ran her fingers against the flawless skin on his glorious face. And he smiled a soft smile. She said, “Jimmy, your kisses are the most delicious things that exist in nature. I’m going to miss them so much during this next week.”
Jim : Don’t worry, angel. While you’re away, I’ll be sending you all my love. Anytime you think of me, just remember that. And when you get back, you’re going to get the loving of your life. So be ready, it’s gonna last awhile.
Jill : Well, alright then. Now I have something to day dream about while I’m away. And I’ll call you at night time, before bed.
They decided to head indoors and have lunch. This morning, Mrs. K. had been preparing wonderful home cooked dishes for them for the week, well, mostly just for Jimmy.
Earlier in the week, Clare had received a call from Julian.
Clare : Oh hi, Jules. How are you doing ?
Julian : Great, Clare. I wanted to thank you for setting up the idea for Linda and myself. Our date went great, and we’re seeing each other again this evening. I do like her and I’m really glad we met.
Clare : Oh, I’m so glad Julian ! She’s a sweet and wonderful spirit, isn’t she. I had a feeling it might be a good combination.
Julian : Yes. Smart. I really enjoy her, she’s warm, beautiful, easy to talk to. We have lots to discuss. I’m hoping this might become something, who knows.
Clare : Well awesome, my friend. Good luck to you, I hope it’ll continue to flourish !
A few minutes later, Clare got a chance to enjoy her home made smoothie.
John Henry : Hmm. That’s an interesting looking, uhhh, milkshake ? you’ve made there, darling. May I ask what’s in there ?
Clare : sure. You know, the usual stuff. Yogurt, a banana, some shrimp lo mein and a few green olives. The best.
John : Well, suddenly I feel the urge to hurl. Will you please excuse me.
By now it was about nine at night. Jimmy and Jill were laying on their bed, after preparing for Jill to leave tomorrow. It was going to be an early and busy morning. Jim was feeling a little uneasy still about her leaving, and feeling extra hungry for her affection. He was caressing her shoulders and collar bone with his fingertips, then her neck and side of her face. He began kissing her throat and lips, which escalated to him kissing and licking every last inch of her body. He couldn’t help it, he adored her so much. Jill was just tingling from head to toe from his amazing treatment and love toward her.
Jill : I hit the lottery of a lifetime when I met you my love. You are the ultimate sensitive and blazing hot lover, you know.
Jim : Well, It comes naturally when I’m with you. The desire that I have for you is overwhelming. And all I want to do is make love to you and adore you constantly. So if it gets too annoying, babe, just let me know.
Jill : Oh my God, annoying ? Never. Your loving and your affection toward me is the single most thrilling part of my life I’ve ever experienced. You are so precious to me. You have no idea how much I treasure you.
Jim : Darling, I can never get enough of you. So please, I need you in my arms so I can give you the best farewell night that I can manage.
And they spent the next couple hours making the most tender and exciting love that they could think of.
Next Ch. (22) https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/185857984931/starshine-ch-22-jimmy-page
Chapter Index for “Starshine” is located at bottom section of Ch.1 , click here : https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/post/184383708541/starshine-ch-1-jimmy-page-fan
Link to “In The Light” - original fan fic - https://ritacaroline.tumblr.com/Fan%20Fiction
JimJam Mistresses @tremble-and-shake @ledoftherings @gimmeeshelter @adonna1964 @justanotherzosofangirl @starchild0985 @girlofthemoon75 @bonscottintheimpala @12909168 @jullz @cherryfloyd @tenementcrazylittlefruitcake @save-me-from-the-gallows-pole @soy-laprincessa @marauderofworlds @ultrabitchystudentperfectionus @satanspizzadeliveryguy @misspenylane @zi-zidane @catherine0627 @pagingpage-the-original @amythesticon @strangerspassinginthestreet @ thezeppelinbeatles @pour-some-sugar-on-mee @carryfire18 @j-james-thlk @70shoney @strange-broo @page-daddy @nadianad1337 @yerawizardjimmeh @jimmyypagey @magnetacuddles84 @rock6880 @ledxzeppelin @kinkyspice @thelandofnevermore @my-golden-lion @itsblackbetty @magnetacuddles84 @luvejimmy @palenickelsaladparty @jennmarieetn @honeydewgroupie @how-many-more-times-blog @loveinher-eyess @rocknrollababes-blog @princesssofpeace @frauweide @dontyouhearmecallingyou @zozjaa @miniaturewinnerwonderland @http-jinx @chennington @venicebeachx @wanna-be-groupie @where-the-hot-springs-blow @basementmermaid @crying-over-rock-legends @cherrrywitch @rocknrollababes @scarletrossetti @sixpackonthefrontseat @miamorjimmypage @boomervonlouder
#Fan Fiction#submission#jimmy page fan fic#jimmy page fanfiction#jimmy page fan fiction led zeppelin
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