#i do have some points of improvement for his pitch

[immortalsins]

got an internship meeting in an hour i’m so scared 😭😭 my tutor is running a project and has sought me out to help because of my autism ... yay? but it still feels like i’m going to have to prove myself on microsoft teams

[russellsppttemplates]

I'm right here! (Oscar Piastri)

People seem to forget you're dating Oscar

Note: english is not my first language. Another Oscar piece 🫶

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: jealous themes

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Do you think this will translate as well on the track though?", Phil, the head of the engineering department, asked as you showed him the latest set of data.

"Even with the interval we've set for changes, these numbers show it could improve performance, especially in race pace", you pointed to the calculations on the side.

"We would only have it for Miami, though", he reasoned, "we don't have enough time to get this done for Shanghai and I don't think it would be wise to test this in a track we haven't raced in five years", Amelia argued as you nodded in agreement, "but it looks promising - good job, Y/N", she patted your back.

"Would you feel comfortable talking about it in the meeting with Zak, Andrea and the mechanics? You have been the one working the most with this, makes sense for you to be the one taking point. Lando and Oscar should join you as well - I think they're doing something on the Sim", William mused.

"Absolutely! Yes, Oscar said he was driving a new set up and strategy Tom also wants to discuss in the meeting", you offered with a smile.

"Having insider information makes this easier - I don't have to check every single e-mail and wonder about things, especially Oscar's schedule", Amelia chuckled, rubbing your shoulder before she got up.

As everyone gathered in the meeting room, you set your laptop up so the latest data would be seen by everyone as you spoke about the changes, "we don't think nor expect this will be ready for China, but we're hoping to have the new package in Miami already - gives us enough time to work on it and the track there is ideal for us to have an idea of how this could play out for the rest of the season", you concluded.

"I agree - I think China will be damage control racing and we're accepting it as it goes", Andrea stated.

"We just need to get going with these then and also get the guys to try it out on the- Oh! Speaking of the devil", Zak chuckled as Oscar and Lando stepped inside the meeting room.

"So that's that, I think - thank you for all your work and let's hope we can bring some points next weekend", the British driver said before everyone scattered out.

Closing your laptop and getting your tablet, you held them against your torso so you could go and set them back to your station before lunch. You didn't make it very far as Oscar stood just outside the room, his hand snaking up your back carefully as he didn't want to startle you.

"Good morning, love", he smiled, kissing your cheek and walking with you.

"Morning, Osc", you kissed his cheek back, "how was training?", you wondered.

"Same old - went for a run this time, though, it was nice enough outside", your boyfriend offered as you reached your desk, tidying it a little bit before leaving to get some lunch, walking hand in hand.

You didn't expect to fall for a driver, especially after the relationship you had with Lando. You behaved like siblings, often pranking eachother, and it had helped you grow more confident around him and the senior staff when you felt you were all but a small intern. Over the years, you grew more comfortable as your ideas and pitches would get considered and tested, finally feeling like your place was well earned and that at the right time, the development would come to bring McLaren to the top where it belonged.

When Oscar joined the team, however, you didn't expect to feel the way you felt about the Australian driver. He was handsome, very shy and very kind and thoughtful as he sat all through the meetings as you explained the changes. Jeopardising your career was something you didn't want to do, but after some not so careful touches and glances, the team assured you it wouldn't be an issue in case you and Oscar were to pursue a relationship together.

"Here's my favourite team-mate! And she brought Oscar with her!", Lando joked as you sat at the same table as him.

Swatting his neck playfully, you sat down next to him so you could face Oscar as he put his tray down, "I will revoke new updates package from you and you'll be stuck in the midfield", you taunted before you started eating.

"Do you want to spend the night at my place? I need to sort a few things out still this afternoon, but I'm hoping I can leave on time today", you squinted your eyes.

"What do you mean on time?", Lando quirked an eyebrow.

"Yesterday, she got so caught up in the calculations, I barely got a text out of her when I asked her if she wanted to have dinner with me", Oscar chuckled as you held hands on top of the table, playing with his fingers, "what was it you texted me? 'I'm having a breakthrough' I think it was", your boyfriend offered.

"I did, though! Amelia checked it over and we might be onto something - I have to go to Race Base this afternoon so they can check them out", you shrugged your shoulders."We're spending the whole afternoon in the sim", Oscar checked with you, "when you get off, then we can leave together - how does that sound?".

Coming back to your place after you stopped by the supermarket, you set the bag on the counter and pulled out all of the ingredients you bought to make sure the dinner would be suitable and appropriate to Oscar's plan.

"I haven't had a proper cuddle today", Oscar pulled you to him, beggining to litter kisses on your forehead all the way to your cheeks and jaw, "I can't ever do this at the center", he mumbled against your neck, tickling you.

"We could, just where there are no other team members", you giggled before cupping his cheeks, "which happens to be nowhere most of the time", before you kissed his lips.

"I'm going to start working on the chicken", Oscar said after you stole a few kisses, "are you going to be in the Center for the race?".

"No, I'm travelling with the team", you smiled as you took the fresh pasta out of the bag, "which means we can spend more time together - and people will actually see us together", you mumbled the last part.

"People know we're together, love", he smiled, cutting up the last bit of garlic and tossing it in the pan.

"Sometimes it doesn't seem like it - they didn't see me in Jeddah and the rumours flew out of control", you wiped your hands on the kitchen towell before hugging Oscar's back, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

"You know how the media works - they see the smallest hint to something they want to see and then they're there", he offered, taking one of his hands to squeeze your hip, "you're the one here, aren't you?", he tsked.

.

"Where are you going?", Oscar asked as he saw you grab a tablet and push the chair back under the table, "I thought we could have some time together now".

"The stewards picked out eight cars at random to get checked over a few components - Mike and Barry are waiting for me", you offered, pecking his lips quickly, "hopefully they're just not messing around with our schedule because everything is supposed to be how it is!", you smiled before you started to walk out.

"I'll go with you, then", your boyfriend assured, "can't have you go to the wolves on your own when you can have company, beautiful".

Oscar walked up to the building with you, kissing your temple before you stepped inside, "I left some data from the sprint for you to look at, and tell Lando I also left a file for him with his tire deg - I told Will to do it, but he might forget!", you alerted before letting him go.

Knowing how long it would take, he went back to the McLaren garage, stopping whenever fans snapped a couple of pictures or autographs.

By the time you were back in the hotel room after the sprint and qualifying, Oscar went to the bathroom so he could have a shower, leaving you to lay on the bed and scroll through social media.

You looked at the photos the media team had posted, along with the stories where you could spot yourself in the background and spotted a few comments as you flicked through the carrousel of pictures, the comments under it weren't something you hadn't seen before.

Hear me out, Oscar and Elaine are the perfect match

I know, right? 😭 honestly, they need to get together! They would be so cute together

She's so polite and put together, but I get rhe vibe that she's really shy too, they would be perfect for eachother

Are we forgetting Y/N? aka Oscar's girlfriend

I still can't believe the people at the top have let their engineer date a driver

Y/N's way too out there, I call PR relationship

She couldn't even build a great car, I'm not sure why you would defend her

She was literally the reason the car and the turnaround last year and we started getting podiums?

These have been the best 12 months in terms of development, what are you on about? Just because she's with Oscar, you can't dig at her like that

The last few comments don't come up too often, but you had to admit it was nice when they did even if they did nothing to the way you felt.

The green eyed monster took over more times that you'd like. You work with numbers, probabilities and direct correlations, so it was hard to miss the reason behind how you were feeling.

"Why are you looking at your phone like that? You promised you wouldn't work once we got back to the room", Oscar warned, using the towell to dry his hair before he looked at you again.

"I'm not working", you mumbled, locking the phone and setting it on your stomach, pondering whether or not you should talk to Oscar about this.

"That long silence tells me that there is something bothering you", Oscar began, "I'm not saying you have to talk about it right now - I won't force you to -, but I'm here for you when you want to do it", he offered earnestly.

"I'm jealous of you and Elaine", you stated, earning a quirked eyebrow from your boyfriend.

"Me and Elaine? The communications' intern?", he looked for some clarification.

"Yes!", you answered loudly.

"We don't - I don't even spend that much time with her, what do you mean?", Oscar asked.

"I know you don't, but people online seem to think you should! First, it was that actress that McLaren invited for Abu Dhabi - the weekend where Natalie and Naomi kept approaching us because they wanted to chat and there was actual visual proof we were together after all the rumours -, now they're saying how you should go out with Elaine!", you admitted, "they're all saying you really should have someone and that she should be the one to go, that she has all the qualities you should look for and I-", you took a big breath in, "I'm literally over there, every single day of the races - in the garage, sometimes in the pitwall!", you stated, "I barely do any races from the Center anymore, so it's not like people forgot that I exist!".

"Love, I'd never do that to you - you're the only person I care about like that", Oscar replied instantly.

"I know you don't, but it hurts to see", you admitted, "comments people make about my boyfriend and how he really should start dating someone when our relationship is public - I'm there, I see them, they see me!", you let a tear fall down your cheek, "there's only so much I can do to make it obvious, Osc!".

Oscar sat down next to you on the bed, throwing the towell on the floor for the moment so he could pull you to face him.

"Y/N, I didn't know it was bothering you so much, I don't even notice all of that", your boyfriend craddled your face in his hands, thumbs wiping the tears that continued to fall and looking into your eyes.

"I never told you and I know you don't read all of the comments", you reasoned, "I just thought it would stop at some point! Everyone keeps saying that you should have someone and I want them to think I'm that someone - because I am!", you said bitterly.

"Is there something you'd like me to do? That would make you feel better about it?", Oscar combed your bangs away and behind your ears.

"What can we do anyway? Have you walk around with a t-shirt that says "I have a girlfriend - Y/N, the engineer"?", you scoffed.

"I will do that if you think it will help - throw in a headband with "Y/N's boyfriend" too if it helps!", he tried to pry a smile out of you.

"Don't be silly", you playfully shoved his chest before holding his hands in yours, "I honestly have no idea what to do, but I know I want it to stop without putting our jobs on the line", you pouted.

"Maybe an Instagram post from us then? Something chilled but serious enough so anyone can get the hint - and I wouldn't mind arriving into the paddock with you in the morning", your boyfriend suggested.

"Oscar, I have to be there way earlier than you need to", you argued.

"Then I'll be there earlier, I'll have breakfast there with you and we'll spend more time together in front of everyone - as much as you feel comfortable with", Oscar offered you an assuring smile, "I don't want anyone else the way I want you, I don't love anyone the way I love you, Y/N".

Smiling at the honesty and safety he was transmitting you, you kissed his lips, starting with small pecks before one last long kiss, letting your foreheads touch as you pulled away, "thank you, Osc, I love you".

The next morning, reporters were surprised when they saw the McLaren driver show up in the paddock so early, his hand laced in yours as they asked a couple of questions.

"My girlfriend had to come in earlier, so I thought I'd join her and see a little bit of the preparations", Oscar replied before you continued to walk to the McLaren hospitality.

"Is it bring your boyfriend to work day?", Anna asked after her usual morning greeting.

"He's always with me at work though", you squinted before giggling, "but I really need people to know he's mine and that I'm here!", you half joked.

[ofjunemoment]

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters? 

 OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills. 

 pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader 

 genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn 

 wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst,  idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

 a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports. 

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport  — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face? 

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand. 

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,”  You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg. 

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?” You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield. 

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times. 

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful. 

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class. 

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin. 

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t. 

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from. 

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped. 

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket. 

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.” 

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow. 

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves. 

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following. 

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly. 

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple. 

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green. 

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both. 

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night. 

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes. 

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break. 

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name. 

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class. 

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,” 

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving. 

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist. 

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath. 

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag. 

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead. 

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag. 

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process. 

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot? 

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently. 

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more. 

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.” 

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit. 

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?” 

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side. 

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation. 

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton. 

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . .  a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation. 

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead. 

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time. 

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue. 

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack. 

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face. 

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie. 

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you. 

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?” 

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit. 

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date? 

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm. 

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness. 

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups. 

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment. 

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play. 

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here. 

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place. 

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?” 

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead. 

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?” 

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner. 

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left. 

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time 

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me 

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey 

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh! 

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps. 

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure. 

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea. 

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement. 

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.” 

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench. 

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.” 

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer. 

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors. 

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy;  but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water. 

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek. 

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream. 

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair. 

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.” 

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him. 

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee. 

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more. 

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,”  His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress,  for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more. 

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength. 

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso. 

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you. 

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again. 

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills. 

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you. 

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.” 

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!” 

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time. 

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly. 

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows. 

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

[jinxificada]

something to relax

dealer!jinx x fem!reader

summary: you deserve a rest, so you turn to the infamous jinx for help.

notes: nsfw, modern au, wc 4k !! inaccurate drug dealing.

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

"i'm telling you, you're insanely overworking yourself. i don't even understand where'd you get all the time to do everything you do." your friend scolds you jokingly, though you can tell she's honestly worried for you.

"nonsense." you roll your eyes in denial, "i'm alright, we take the same classes."

"i'm not in any club doing extracurricular stuff, nor am i tutoring any dumb kid." she discusses, walking with you through the crowded hallway towards your next class.

"well i don't really have a choice, it's for the-"

"the scholarship, i know." she sighs, finally arriving. "just... please take a moment to relax."

you both take your seats almost in the middle of the classroom, by the windows. she always sat in front of you, so she would turn around and chat whenever she wanted without you being able to ignore her.

"what about we go to that party on saturday?" she proposes and you already bite your lip with an hesitant expression, "please! we don't have to stay the whole time, just an hour or two."

"i don't know... i don't have a car and it’ll be too late to take the bus." you poorly excuse, not wanting to fully reject her.

"i can drive you! or you can just stay at mine." she happily resolves and you just nod with a sigh.

it's not that you didn't like hanging out with your friend, nor she's always so insistent. she usually is very understanding and gives you space. but the exams were getting close and you needed to higher your grades in a couple of classes, so you've been paying extra attention in classes, speaking with a couple of teachers on how to improve your grades and busying yourself with the usual assignments, the extra assignments, and tutoring this one kid below your year for some extra money.

unlike most of the students here, your family isn't able to properly pay for your education. you've done your previous years in the public school your small town, your teachers were so amazed with your capabilities that they recommended your parents to send you somewhere... better. they all collaborated on writing a recommendation letter for your acceptance. and you got the full scholarship! congrats, now you have to work harder than your classmates in order to keep it.

it wasn't fair, and your friend knew it. she felt so bad that she couldn't help you with money or your studies, but she can help you to ease your mind a bit.

so, you could only frown while making a mental list of all the valuable things you could be doing instead of this, standing in a big kitchen full of intoxicated teenagers. your friend was trying to talk with you while mixing alcohol in disposable cups for each one of you.

"and tomy was sticking his tongue inside of mary's mouth in front of her father, ew! you should've seen their faces when they realized, her father was burning red, i don't know if from embarrasment or anger." she rambled with a loud laugh.

you chuckle, mostly because her laugh was contagious. "who was tomy, again?"

"shh, he's coming." she suddenly leans in to whisper before pulling back wearing her social smile, "tomyy!"

a rather scrawny tall boy comes from behind you saying your friend's name in the same way, "fancy seeing you here!" ah, he had a high pitched voice.

"i didn't want you to miss me!" she quickly jokes, "nice party!"

"i'm guessing you're having a good time." he chuckles. at this point he's set himself right next to you and still hadn't acknoledge you. "have you already found jinx?" he asks curiously with a supposedly mischeavous smile.

"damn, she's here already?"

"yeah, just bought from her in the second garden."

'what the hell is a second garden?' you thought with a weirded out glance.

they chat a bit more and you think you know the kitchen from memory after rolling your eyes around as they talked. the boy soon moves to another guest and your friend turns back to you.

"the funniest thing is that they were sent to the principal's office was for sucking their faces off in the middle of class." she continues the conversation she was having with you as if you've never been interrupted, it was a talent of hers.

'is this what she thinks of a relaxing night...?' you mentally complained. you had your friend talk you ear off 5 days a week, but that didn't seem enough for her. at some point you muted her voice from your head and only listened to the loud pop music and different people talking over each other. your eyes were fixed on the next room through the kitchen's door, the flashing lights barely illuminated the crowd. blondes, brunettes and redheads, they all stay in the background when a blue head pushes through them to your way.

you physically react with a quiet sigh when you can see her face. a pretty girl, with the softest features you've ever seen, decorated with a messy dark makeup and intense eyes. curious to see how her full style looked like your gaze lowers on her body, she was wearing a white laced corset gripping her chest for life and low wasted black denim shorts, along with the biggest boots you've ever seen.

the girl who caught your eye walked into the room with loud, confident steps. people quickle recognized her, some greeted, some lowered their eyes to the floor. she only smiled briefly before grabbing two closed bottles of vodka like she owned the place and left.

"who was that?" you breath out, realizing you've been holding it the whole time.

"jinx," your friend shrugged, "local dealer, mental problems and rich daddy." she summarized, fixing her lipstick and soon changing the topic.

the night ended up being a boomer. your friend got a stoner to share his blunt with you both and that, mixed with the alcohol you had been drinking since the night started, made you both pretty tired and sleepy. luckily, your friend's house was about two streets down from the party, allowing you to arrive sound and safe while intoxicated.

you couldn't deny that you slept like a baby.

but the week started again a day after, along with your responsabilities. and it seemed that it's gonna be a shitty one.

for your extracurricular activity, you had the job to take decent pictures for the school's paper. they were all rejected by the president in charge. you scored a negative B in a practically easy test because you were too distracted noticing that the so named jinx was in the same class as you. 'she looks very pretty in the dark blue uniform.' was your constant thought. and the cherry on top, you didn't have your extra money of the week because the parents of your student were late with the payment.

they were showered in wealth, why won't they give you your 50 dollars? now they’ll have to pay $100 next week.

but for now… you had to survive with the remaining money you had left for the rest of the week. and it was only monday.

you thought you could handle this particularly difficult week, but all this tension build up only to blow up on your face. and the face of the teacher who was telling you why you had to rewrite the essay you just submitted.

you were use to cry over stress, you thought it was a healthy way of letting it out. just not in the public eye.

tears and sobs were comming out of you as you walked down the halls, feeling like millions of eyes were judging you. how embarrasing, right? but that was only your mind playing you, the only person who looked at you twice was tomy who recognized you but couldn't recall from where.

it was friday and the classes already ended, the club was about to start in ten minutes but you were debating whether test your luck and see if it can all get shittier or just call it a day and go home.

but a loud yell of your name from behind you interrupted this final decision, your friend throted her way up to you and worriedly wiped your tears.

"are you okay? what happened?"

"i'm fucked up! i'm gonna fail all my exams and get kicked out from this stupid school!" you dramatically cried in the comfort of your friend's arms. you knew she was fighting demons to not roll her eyes and say 'i told you'.

she listened to your whines for a couple more minutes until she had an idea.

"okay stop, shush." you frowned but stayed quiet anyways, "listen, i know jinx stays in club hours to sell, she must be in that shitty bathroom from the second floor. why don't you go buy some weed and relax this weekend?"

your frown deepened and even a light blush appeared on your wet cheeks, "uhm, i don't know... why don't you just stay at my house to hangout, please?"

"oh hun, i would love to but my parents are taking me to visit my grandma." who lived far far away, you nodded. "just, try what i'm telling you, okay?"

"okay..." you hesitantly say, your friend seemed in a rush because just when you were about to ask her how much it would probably cost and how many grams you should buy, she pecked both of your cheeks in goodbye and left you standing in an almost empty hallway.

you were on your own now, hoping the 15 dollars you had left from this long week would be enough, but you doubted it.

you hesitantly pushed the door of the supposedly shitty bathroom (it didn't have a mirror, nor the renovated cubicle doors the other's had, though it was perfectly functional). welcomed by the sight of jinx sitting on top of the counter sink, ciggarette in hand and an amused smile on her face while she talked with another girl.

they quickly shut up at your presence. you purse your lips awkwardly at them, you were about to greet them when this other girl just scoffed as if you ruined something and leaned to whisper in the bluehaired's ear. jinx only chuckled in what you thought was a very flirty manner and the girl left, leaving you alone with her.

it was a good moment to say something, jinx was looking at you expectantly but you were too busy checking her out.

the school uniform itself is rather conservative, but it was usual for students to fix it to their liking as long as it isn't too inappropiate. jinx seemed to be an exception, because you didn't know how was she allowed to move around with the skirt so short. you weren't complaining, not at all. with the way she crossed her legs you could easily appreciate her pale legs, noticing a few marks and bruises which fed your curiosity.

she cleared her throat, "so? you came all the way here to stare at me?"

"no- no, sorry." you quickly apologized and presented yourself, taking a few steps closer, your voices echoing in the bathroom,

"right… what can i offer you?"

though her words were friendly enough, her tone was playful and given that you had a breakdown just minutes ago, you couldn't help but feel like she was mocking you. she probably was.

"i, uh, i was wondering what's your cheapest relaxing item?" you hesitantly ask, seeing the corner of her lips rising the slightest bit in a smirk.

"are you familiar with drugs?"

"no... not really."

"then i have the perfect discount for you!" jinx smiles brightly and you get even more closer, interested. "weed is ideal for begginers, and i can give you 15g for 100 bucks, whatcha say?"

"oh." you instantly gloom. "and... h-how much for 2 or 3g?"

"3 grams? you can barely make a blunt with that." she mocks raising an eyebrow, studying you for a second before smirking again. it was hard to read her, but you could sense she had something in mind as it seemed rather mischeavous. "for 3g... 20 bucks."

you sighed, looking away in embarrasment. you heard that her prices were high, but this... what did she need so much money for, anyways?

"okay, um... i don't have enough money with me right now. thank you." you sheepeshly said, ready to turn around and go back home to keep crying.

"wait!" she suddenly says, decrossing her legs to shift in her spot, "don't give up so easily... we can arrange something..."

"arrange...?" you repeated, confused. jinx motioned with her fingers to approach her and you did, mantaining a respectable distance before she could reach your arm and pull you even closer, caresing the lenght of it along with your hand. you were stunned, feeling your ears and chest warm up. "how come?" you murmured, trying to grasp on the situation.

"i'm feelin' nice..." she hummed, "i can give you 5g... if you give me head."

"e-excuse me?" that was your first reaction, pulling the hand she was holding away and to your chest, "what...? are you serious?"

"oh don't be such a prude!" she chuckles, giving you a knowing look, "d'ya think i'm dumb? i've seen you staring, i know you want me."

her bluntness made you blush, damn, her mere presence made you blush. she was exposing you while offering her body in change of some weed. you've never been in this kind of situation before, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of something to say.

she kept distracting you though, with that pretty smirk of hers. since you didn't instantly ran away, jinx knew her guess was correct. reaching for your hand again and rounding your hips with her long legs to pull you closer, till your body hit the counter she was sitting on.

"i know you want me." she repeated in a low tone, "and i know you need it, toots." you unconsciously lean into her touch as she caress your cheek, right where the dried tears rested on.

"i don't want to t-take advantage of you..." you dumbly say, jinx almost pouted at how adorable you were. you thought it was you who was taking advantage of this?

"you're not, silly!" she giggled raspily, "this is business."

"i'm- i don't.... i'm not sure..." you rambled, and before you could make a point -if you were ever going to make it-, jinx pulled you into her for a kiss. a hungry, intense kiss.

and you instantly melted, your hands traveled to hug her waist as you reciprocated. she tasted like that ciggarette she was smoking a moment ago, mixed with the flavour of some candy.

you thought it was hot.

her body shifted closer, sitting by the edge of the counter to easily push her hips into you. the heated make-out was interrupted by her own heavy breaths.

"see, toots?" she rasped, "you can do it."

"okay." you hummed, leaning in to kiss her again. it was ridiculous really, how easily you gave in. specially after she dodged your attempt with an evil smirk.

"uh-uh." she pushed you by the shoulders, "i asked you to eat me out."

you almost scoffed in complain, before realizing that maybe… this was even better.

"but i have a condition." jinx called for your attention with an amused chuckle. "you have to make me squirt."

"fuck." you sighed, "really...? are you-?"

"i know i can, yeah." she nods, spreading her legs for you, "but it won't be easy..."

you certainly wouldn't mind trying, you weren't exactly up close to her pussy and you could already feel the smell of her arousal, inviting you to taste her. jinx lifted up her skirt to expose her lingerie, a furious pink with a wet spot on her center that watered your mouth.

soon enough you were kneeling down, it was a bit uncomfortable given the height of the sink. hesitantly, you licked your lips and looked up at her, in search of confirmation. in response, jinx flashed you a playful smile, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands.

satisfied, you concentrated on her pussy, carefully pressing down your thumb as if testing the waters. her hips twitched at the contact, moving towards your hand. you let out a hum, 'sensitive?'. experimentally, you sticked your tongue out to lap over her underwear, the wet spot growing as it mixed with your saliva. you were contently taking things slow, against jinx own desires.

she aggresively gripped your hair to push your head into her pussy, "don't tease me, nerd." she husked.

and you couldn't bring yourself to mind, rushing to move her panties to the side to finally taste her. you wanted to impress her, you wanted her to like you, and give her the best head she'd ever have. your lips hugged her clit, quickly working on her pussy, sucking and lapping. you were rewarded with quiet sighs and trembling legs, occasionally a moan. but it seemed that jinx was trying not to crumble, silencing her sounds by pressing her lips together, though it barely did the job. you didn't mind, not when you were making out with her pussy so fervently.

your hands gripped her plushy thighs as you put them on your shoulders, helping her to stay still. her hips twitched towards you every now and then, when you would suck particularly hard on her throbbing clit. and you? you were having the time of your life.

as busy as you always were, it’s been quite long since you had some fun like this.

jinx looked down at you with furrowed eyebrows and flushed cheeks, meowing softly as she felt herself coming undone at your enthusiastic work on her pussy. her hand pulled at your hair and you opened your eyes to meet hers, but her head was thrown back in pleasure. you didn’t stop, instead you moved your hand to furiously rub her center until she looked at you again, biting her lower lip to muffle her moan. she came against your mouth, rocking her hips lazily against you.

you licked her clean a few times before realizing you didn't accomplished your task, she didn't squirt.

"well well, toots," she said accompanied with a breathless and amused chuckle, "i told you it would be- mhm!" her mocking words were interrupted by your actions, you decided that you'll just try harder.

you went back at it, this time focusing more on her unattended hole. when your tongue explored a little more inside, your nose hit her clit sending shivers through her back as she arched. her initial surprise was overpowered with pleasure, she didn't care anymore about not showing how much she was enjoying herself.

after the previous stimulation, this time she reached her limit much quicker. you really wanted to make her squirt, so you put all your effort on your fingers, which you carefully put inside her. jinx cursed above you, letting you do whatever you wanted with your body as everything felt just so good for her.

and the reward came along her relief, her cum fell all over your lower face, though you shamelessly tried to drink all you could.

"mkay, stop-" jinx whined lowly as you kept your mouth attached to her pussy, against her own words her legs squeezed your head tightly.

you pulled back a few seconds later, wiping your chin with the back of your hand only to smudge all her fluids to your cheek, making her giggle. she motioned at you to get closer, opening the flush of water on the sink by her side.

"thanks." you smiled quietly as she cleaned your face with water, "your thighs..." you pointed out at the wet mess on her inner thighs.

"i know."

jinx took a deep breath before making an effort to get down the counter, barely struggling to make her way inside a cubicle. you shyly stayed put, fixing your hair looking to anywhere else to give her some privacy as she cleaned herself up.

"i didn't know you were that stubborn." the bluehaired girl mocked you, suddenly she was by your side again. this time cornering you.

"you- you asked me to do it."

"yeah..."

there was something so mesmerizing in her blushed cheeks, her darkened blue eyes. your breath got caught in your throat when you felt her slim fingers sneaking under your skirt uniform to playfully pull on the edge of your underwear.

you only looked at her with little hesitance before you tried to lean in and kiss her. she dodge your attempt for the second time, not letting you time to react when she forcefully turned you around, pushing her chest on your back.

"i can give you the 15g, if you let me play a little bit." she whispered against your ear, nibbling at the earring you were wearing, "hmm? will ya let me?"

"yeah," you quickly agreed with a pleading voice, hitching up your own skirt and resting your hand on top of hers while pushing your hips, your movements were hurried and desperate, there was a pulsing desiring waiting to be attended. jinx was overly amused, rubbing your center over your underwear. "yes..." you sighed, throwing your head back to her side, leaving you neck exposed for her to keep her lips busy with.

breathless moans left your mouth, relaxing your body against her touch when loud steps startled you. it was impossible for you to ignore them because there was a chance that someone could caught you both. though jinx didn't seem to care, mindlessly biting your skin.

"did you hear that?" you mumbled, your body tensed in anticipation.

"yeah," she giggled in response, capturing your attention by getting her hands under you panties which got a squeak sound out of you. "imagine if they find us here."

"not funny-" you grumbled, unable to push her away but your eyes fixed on the closed door.

"c'mon baby, must be the janitor. he's not allowed to come here." she reassured, her other hand moving your head to her, kissing your lips messily.

you gave in, sighing into her as she pump her fingers in and out of you. you already felt so stimulated that a few minutes later you were already cumming on her hand. she doesn't stops till you ride out of your high.

jinx loudly pecks your cheek, pulling her fingers out and up to her mouth, sucking off your cum.

"god." your voice trembled at the sight.

she only smirked at you, walking to her bag which was laying on the floor. your eyes were closed while you fixed yourself again, anxious to get home and change your dirty underwear as you can uncomfortably feel the stickness.

when you opened them, jinx left on the counter a small ziploc bag.

"a deal is a deal." she shrugs, "enjoy."

you slowly reached to the bag, a bit conflicted by how the situation was ending.

“i- i’m not even sure i needed it now.”

jinx raised her eyebrows at your murmur, you came to her with those desperate and anxious eyes, only for you to not accept it?

but she knew better, with her signature mischievous smirk she approached you once again, puts the bag in your hands and let her fingers linger a bit more on top of them.

“how about this? take ‘em home, use it tonight and touch yourself thinking ‘bout me.”

your eyes open slightly, and you blush like you didn’t just fuck her a couple of minutes ago. either she always caught you out of guard, or you’re simply not used to being… so vulgar.

“so? will you do that f’me?” she stares at you expectantly with those big blue eyes, amused by your reactions.

“y-yeah, yes i’ll do it.”

“cute.” she sighs, leaning to peck your cheek once again before going to grab her bag and walk towards the exit. “i want proof! text me later!” she chuckles loudly by the door and just as loudly smacks it closed.

[tarjapearce]

Lips anon! I'm learning from friends and duolingo lol but I still have a long way to go! Oooh imagine Miguel being furious another parent of another kid on Gabi's team shitalking about her in spanish. About how she's bossy for a girl and that she needs to pipe down and know her place. Mama tries to calm him down but fighting words commence lol

That's a good way to start. Best of lucks ✨

"C'mon Gabi!! Get it baby!!!" You couldn't help but cheer her on as she kicked the ball in between her rival's feet, the ball passing between the kid and Gabi kept on leading with the ball.

A trick you had seen her practicing in the porch with Miguel. Your chest swelled with pride as Gabi passed the ball to another teammate, and they earned a score.

Miguel clapped and cheered her on, mid-time beeped and Gabi's team was called for feedback, some changes and tactic discussion.

Miguel walked towards the team, bottle of water in hand along a towel. Gabi's voice clear as she discussed with her team.

"No, no, pass the ball to Reuben, he is faster and you are injured remember? You are good with passes."

The kid only nodded sheepishly as he held his ankle softly.

Miguel's eyes softened upon hearing her lead, and exchange strategies with her team. She then turned to him and hugged him.

"Esa es mi niña." (That's my girl)

"Pappa, can we go to get some pizza later?"

"Of course." He offered the towel for her, which she used to dry her sweat, and the high pitch whistle rang, announcing the second time of the game.

He was making his way back when a voice made him stop in his tracks.

"¿Esa niña otra vez? ¿Porqué no le dan chance a Víctor?" (That kid again? Why Victor isn't getting a chance instead?)

If he could remember, the man was a parent he often saw at the games, always trash talking other kids in spanish, just because his kid was taking separate training and was doing an improvement on the team. Or so he had said.

He never paid attention to him really, or any other parents except you and of course Gabriela. Who had just been pulled a yellow card as a warning for playing a bit too rough.

"¿Ves? Esa niña es demasiado mandona y agresiva. Tiene que relajarse o si no terminará golpeando a todo el equipo contrario." (See? That girl is too bossy and aggressive. She needs to be tamed down or else she'll end up hitting the whole rival team)

That made his eye twitch in anger.

How dared he speaking about his daughter like this? A blatant disrespect he couldn't allow. He turned on his back and made his way towards the father.

Eyes hardened and fixed on the man that caught his presence a little too late as Miguel loomed over him.

"¿Qué dijiste de mi hija, cabrón?" (What did you just said about my daughter, fucker?)

Even though his tone was calm, each word he spilled were almost biting.

"That she needs to be tamed down." Despite the man's apparent bravado Miguel could hint the crack in his voice.

"¿Porqué no me repites lo que dijiste en mi cara, eh?" (Why don't you repeat what you just said to my face?)

At this point the cheerings had stopped to focus on the exchange between Miguel and the other kid's dad. Your heart leaped to your throat as you saw Miguel almost bearing his teeth at the man as his lips moved angrily.

"Fuck." You approached

"¿Te crees muy chingón para andar insultando a los hijos de los demás, sólo porque crees que nadie te entiende?" (You think you're brave to insult other's kids just cause you think none understands you?)

"Necesitas relajarte, amigo" (You need to relax, man)

The man seemed to hold a hand, creating space between them, the kids had stopped playing as they also focused on what was going on.

You held his hand and tried to pull him away.

"Let's go" You mumbled but his angered self ignored you.

"No soy tu amigo, pendejo. Y escúchame bien, cabrón. Si vuelvo a oir que le estás faltando el respeto a mi hija o a los otros niños te voy a partir la madre." (I'm not your fucking friend. And listen to me very well, you fucker. If I hear you disrespecting my kid or the others, I'll fuck you up.)

The whistle of the referee and other parents had to create more space in between, the tension between the both was palpable enough, you felt his hand gripping yours tighter.

The referee whistled again, resuming the game, cheerings and clapping slowly returned as the kids played.

"What happened?!"

"He was speaking shit of Gabriela. Hopefully he'll know now that I can understand him pretty fucking well. Talvez así se calla el hocico." (Maybe that way he can shut the fuck up)

You sighed and rubbed his arm, trying to comfort him. He threw glances at the man that only recoiled to his own self whenever he caught Miguel staring at him.

[mothlady-garden]

So hear me out (this is all a big maybe): Plant-Song as a way to communicate, that manifests in their bodies

A Chladni figure these are created when a vibrating surface (usually a metal plate) is covered with sand and excited by different frequencies. The sand accumulates at the nodal points where there is no movement.

Now for comparison the Plant pattern we see in the Anime Opening:

And now as a comparison, the Plant markings in the manga, which display kinda similar characteristics, further reinforce this connection: (Manga spoiler)

If we analyze the pattern, in Stampede it could correspond to a higher frequency or a complex superposition of different vibrations. However, it is difficult to determine an exact frequency or a specific tone based solely on the pattern. Such shapes typically arise at certain harmonics, and if they are symmetrical, regular shapes, they usually correspond to sounds like sine tones. The shape could indicate a sound between 500 Hz and 2 kHz, which would fall into the range of high-pitched tones (e.g., violin or flute).

There is also a scene in TriMax Vol 5, Chapter 03: Loss where Knives says to Vash who is currently opend his gate for the first time "... resonate with me" what would also fit into this theory

In the *Trigun Stampede* soundtrack, there is a song titled "Plant Song on Erhu" that would fit well within these frequencies.

In general, Plants can communicate through primitive sounds accessible to us, but they only do so in moments of extreme emotion, such as in Trigun Vol. 2 Ch. 9.

Additionally, communication through vibrations and frequencies would be far more efficient than the human linguistic. Let’s assume that the singing of their sisters falls below 20 Hz, into the infrasound range. In this case, they could communicate over thousands of kilometers without humans perceiving it.

The audible spectrum for humans covers less than 1% of all possible frequencies.

My theory is that the Plants use the dimension available to them as a kind of resonating body, and a shadow of their song is reflected into the lower dimensions through these intertwined vibrations. On top of that, other beings (especially those who have been enhanced) may possess the ability to sense the aura and emotions of the twins.

This would also explain why Vash can "feel" his twin. The terror WW repeatedly experiences could be linked to the idea that the experiments have improved him enough to partially perceive these frequencies, and/or that his instincts as Homo erectus are awakening, urging him to flee from the "predator" before it’s too late.

Additionally, the *Song of Humanity* mentioned in the manga would thematically fit very well with this idea.

Edit: This could also explain why Vash and Legato can communicate throu some kind of "telepathy". Maybe the blue mother fucker can also recieve/send out something similar to Plant-Song

They are angel-like beings that communicate through song, shaping their bodies with their tunes. I find that a very beautiful concept.

I know the theory has MANY holes, but I still thought it was worth writing about. Sorry when this theory is old.😅

Thank you for taking the time to listen.

[thefreakandthehair]

we feel a little warmer now.

rating: teen & up | wc: 1.1k | tags: canon-typical injuries, pre-relationship, getting together, fluff, light hurt/comfort | prompt: love is a fire that never goes out @steddielovemonth & a happy birthday gift for @henderdads! title from the woods, by hollow coves.

February in Indiana is still the dead of winter— cornfields are barren, trees sway in the wind without their leaves, and the sky seems to have a sheer layer of grey even on the cloudless days.

Eddie’s always loved winter. The shorter days followed by longer nights, snowy Sundays, watching the smoke from a joint or cigarette dance in the freezing air, and excuses to do donuts in the local abandoned grocery store parking lot. He’s always loved winter, or at least he did until his world shattered at his feet, leaving him with injuries that take ages to heal and scars that leave him perpetually cold.

It’s been difficult to explain, even to the people who’d lived it with him. He can’t fully enjoy winter anymore because the cold seeps into his bones, maybe through the scars, maybe just because of the nerve damage. He’ll never know for sure because Hawkins General doesn’t exactly have a Demobat Specialist on staff so he just keeps it to himself.

Well, mostly. Steve knows.

Hiding anything from Steve has proven impossible. His constant chill, his frustration with the new but still-improving limp, the grief, the guilt, the confusing simultaneous euphoria of survival. The only secret he’s managed to keep is the big fat crush he’s harbored, probably since Steve helped find him in the woods.

Maybe earlier. Maybe since high school. He tries not to think about it too much.

The point is, Steve knows and even if Eddie hasn’t said that it breaks his heart to lose the quiet winter nights smoking on the porch or the hood of his van, Steve figures that out, too.

He must, because Eddie nearly jumps out of his freezing skin when knuckles rap on the front door of his and Wayne’s new trailer. There’s a system these days: check the peep hole, crack the door with the chain still attached to confirm, and only then does Eddie open the door completely. An unfortunate system, but he’s far from the town hero that Steve’s been hailed as, albeit against his will.

Speaking of, through the peep hole, he sees Steve standing on his porch wrapped in what looks like a thick hoodie and winter coat.

“Who goes there?” Eddie asks, cracking the door and peering out with one eye.

“It’s me, you ass. Let me in, I have a surprise.”

The door chain unhooks with a metallic click and Steve enters the trailer like he belongs there.

Because he does, Eddie thinks.

“A surprise? For me? Oh, do tell.”

Steve stands in the living room, a live wire if Eddie’s ever seen one. His hair is a little messy, as though he’s been raking his fingers through it. His nose is pink, complemented by his frosty cheeks, and his eyes are wide and wild.

“If it’s overstepping or whatever, we can pretend I never mentioned it but I know how much you miss winter nights. And I uh, I built a fire pit at my house?” His voice pitches up, as though it’s a question.

“You built a fire pit? Today?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be honestly, time consuming but, yeah. I built a fire pit. And I was thinking that maybe with the fire and some blankets and a good jacket— a real winter coat, not just your leather jacket— you might be able to get some of that back.”

Eddie tries his best not to think about Steve lugging brick pavers and forcing them into place, thinking about Eddie and his stupid broken internal thermostat. Wanting to give him back something the Upside Down took. Worrying Eddie would somehow see this as overstepping.

It’s a quick Yes and even quicker drive to Loch Nora, a drive that Eddie’s always found hilarious. How can two neighborhoods exist so close together but feel like different worlds?

The whole way there, Eddie keeps Steve talking. If Steve’s talking, there’s less room for Eddie to spill yet another truth inadvertently, the only one left to spill. Instead, he asks questions about work, and Robin, and if he’s heard from his parents.

(“It sucks,” “she’s great,” “nope”. In that order.)

Pulling into the driveway, Eddie hops out of the car as best he can in one of Wayne’s old winter coats and follows Steve to the backyard. His jaw drops when he sees exactly what Steve’s done. More than a simple circle of bricks, there’s a pit made of concrete blocks in the center of a larger circle filled with wood chips and grey pavers marking the perimeter. Wood logs are already split in a pile off to the side next to two lawn chairs and dear God, Eddie really hopes that Steve bought that already split. He’s still not over him swinging on demobats with his bare hands, and the image of him with an axe is enough to put him down for good.

“C’mon, I’ll get it started,” Steve nudges their shoulders together and walks through the pit to the stack of logs.

Steve gets a roaring fire going, the kind that cracks and burns both red and blue, and passes Eddie an extra blanket. Flames dance beneath the clear sky, speckled with stars that do little to distract him from how unbearably warm he is for the first time in months.

People don’t just do things like this for him, not without expectation or out of obligation. So much of Eddie’s life has felt like a spectrum spanning from pity to transactional with very few exceptions in between.

Then again, Steve feels like an exception to a lot of things.

“Why?” Eddie eventually asks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke like a kid seeing his breath.

Steve shrugs and tosses the butt of his own cigarette into the flames. “You lost enough down there, and I know how that feels. If there’s something easy enough to fix, I want to. You deserve that.”

Eddie turns and sees Steve smiling, just a soft upturn of his lips as he looks up at the sky. His face is flushed and Eddie wants to think it’s not from the flames.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Eddie says, scooting his chair over close enough for the arms of their chairs to nearly touch.

Steve looks back from the sky to Eddie, long lashes and the scar on his neck on full display.

“That a good thing?”

Eddie nods. “Oh yeah, definitely. Maybe the best thing.”

They sit outside for hours, eventually sharing a blanket draped around their shoulders and a first kiss that lights him up from the inside.

Eddie’s warm long after the fire burns out.

[uhhlifeig]

Slasher - October 15 - word count: 659 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but somehow, they’d all ended up sitting on the worn, sagging couch in Sirius’s flat, a questionable horror movie blaring from the TV. 

James was halfway through explaining his newest strategy for the next international Quidditch match to Lily (who, to her credit, looked like she was trying to care).

On the other end of the couch, Regulus was squished between Barty and Evan, who were bickering over whether or not cheap Slasher-esque movies were an acceptable form of cinema.

“They’re all just mindless gore,” Evan argued, leaning over Regulus, who looked like he regretted his life choices. “There’s no substance, no actual plot.”

“There’s a plot! You’re just not cultured enough to understand the subtle nuances,” Barty shot back.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Subtle nuances? Of what? A masked guy running around with a chainsaw?”

“Exactly,” Barty said.

“Right. Because nothing screams ‘nuance’ like blood splatters and screaming teenagers.”

“You just don’t get it, Moony,” Sirius chimed in, smirking. “The horror genre is a refined art form, perfectly balancing suspense, tension, and, of course, a healthy dose of irrational decision-making.”

Remus gave him a deadpan look. “Right. Because when I think of the word ‘refined,’ I definitely think of chainsaws and hockey masks.”

Sirius grinned. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“Really?” Regulus muttered a beat later, glaring at the screen. “Of all the directions she could’ve gone, she chooses to run toward the guy with a chainsaw?”

“Darwinism at its finest,” Remus said dryly.

“Just once,” James piped up, “I’d like to see someone in one of these movies actually do something smart. You know, like, not investigate the creepy noise in the basement?”

Lily nodded. “Or, you know, call the police? Why is that never an option?”

“Because,” the dog animagus said, “where’s the fun in that? It’s more entertaining to watch them make terrible decisions.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You would think that.”

The movie continued to spiral into absurdity, with the remaining characters making one terrible decision after another. 

Evan, at some point, had fallen asleep on Regulus’s shoulder, and Barty looked about three seconds away from jumping into the screen to show the villain how to kill people properly.

And then the power went out.

The TV screen went dark, and the room was plunged into pitch blackness. Remus felt Sirius tense beside him.

“Oh, great,” James said. “I can’t wait for the part where we all die horribly in our own horror film. I’d, uh, get jumped and forget my wand somewhere- the couch, maybe- speaking of, where are our wands? And, um, Sirius would fall out of an open window because he ran into it and the curtains were down, and, er, Regulus, you’d drown, because you still can’t swim-”

“Potter, shut up,” Regulus grumbled. “No one’s dying.”

“Not yet,” Barty added helpfully.

“Can you not?”

Sirius shifted beside Remus, and even in the dark, Remus could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. 

“Y’know, Moons, this is exactly how those movies start.”

“You are not the final person, Sirius. Don’t even try.”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “How dare you!”

Lily snorted. “Sirius, no offense, but you’d be the first one dead.”

“Excuse me? I’d like to think I have at least enough survival skills to outlast James.”

“True, true. He’d be the first one dead.”

“Oi! I have excellent survival instincts, Lils!”

“Like the time you tried to sneak into Snape’s room and ended up falling into a pit of garbage?” Remus asked innocently.

“That was one time!”

“And the time you set the kitchen on fire while boiling water?”

James crossed his arms, pouting. “I’ve improved since then.”

Lily patted his shoulder. “Sure you have, dear.”

The lights flickered back on, revealing Peter holding a whole lot of wands. 

“Why’d you guys all leave your wands in the kitchen? Idiots. Oh, and Remus, how you you use the spinny-wavey thingy?”

[sassy-stupid]

Sky High

Pairing

partydrugdealer!Sero x f!reader

18+ only please

Smut

Word count

3.1k

Content warnings

drugs (mostly weed but theres a mention of unnamed party drugs), dubcon (reader is under influence of drugs (weed)), fingering, oral (f receiving), vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampies

Everyone is this fic is 18+

Summary

You've never done drugs before and none other slimefest's very own dealer offers to show you the ropes.

This is my entry to the slimeball summer collab! I got the prompt "festivals"!! I'm super excited about this since it's my first collab but I'm also very nervous haha. @bastardblvd

"C'mon! It'll be fun!" Your friend's voice was loud and yet you could barely hear it over the murmur of the crowd.

You and your little group of friends had gotten to the first annual edition of slimetown's very own slimeball summerfest early. The original reasoning had been to get a nice place to pitch the tent. The "new and improved" reasoning, according to your friends, was to buy party drugs before their regular dealer started running low.

You'd assumed that was because the price would go up at that point but festival drug dealing wasn't exactly your area of expertise.

"Fine, but you guys gotta watch me okay? I don't want to be the person waking up in a hospital without any memories of their so called 'fun time'," you conceded, letting yourself be pulled along to a neat looking tent.

"This is the drug tent?" you voice your doubt as one of your friends tries to knock on the tent entrance.

She scoffs at you. "Yes it is, why don't you shout it out a little louder. I'm not sure every security guard here heard," she sneers and you hope the drugs will put her into a better mood. "See this?" your other friend taps on the "s" taped on the tent door. "That's our guy's business card."

You snort, the guy didn't even use ductape and the flimsy cellophane tape was already peeling off the tent fabric before the festival had even properly started. Before you can point any of that out to your friends though, the little zipper opens and out comes a lanky looking man who seems about the same age as you.

"As much as I appreciate my clientele ladies, can you either keep it down or come in?" he speaks, moving aside and gesturing you into his tent. The grin on his face friendly and inviting.

You attempt to follow your friends through the small opening but he stops you once you're in front of him. "Haven't seen your face before," he says, and you admit to yourself that his attention on you isn't unwelcome. He's attractive, lean muscles, tan skin and the sluttiest little waist you'd ever seen.

"Yeah, this is not usually my scene, I'm just here for them." You gesture towards your friends as you try to follow them once more. He lets you this time, the inviting grin having slipped into more of an amused smirk.

"I knew it, would've recognized a face like yours," he speaks. Both your friends shoot you looks, one distinctly more annoyed than the other. "And don't you worry. My customer's comfort is of utmost importance to me, I'll help you enjoy yourself." He shoots you a wink and your face heats up, your mind can't help but wander to the possible implications of his words.

"Sero, we didn't come here for you to flirt with (y/n)," your annoyed friend spoke up. She was waving around some cash and the man in front of you took the bait.

"Always so impatient," he says, getting up to rummage through his wares "I've got some new stuff you two may like, wouldn't recommend it for your friend though." He pulls out a bag with what, out of context, would've looked just like candy. Your friend hands him the wad of cash.

"Pleasure doing business with you two, as always, now why don't you two wait outside for a second while I'll teach your friend here the ropes," he requests, you're about to protest but he continues before you can, "awfully crowded in this little tent."

You beg your friends to stay through facial expressions but the fuckers just up and leave, your favourite of the two quickly adding on that they'll wait for you outside.

"So, how much of a first timer are you really?" You know he's talking about drugs but the way he suggestively wiggles his eyebrows implies something else and you realize he's teasing you. Your eyebrows furrow and you're about to give him a piece of your mind when he bursts out laughing. "Sorry, sorry. I always like to joke around to get the edge off a little," he explains. "Though, I have other stuff for that as well." He pulls out a bag of something, it's clearly not the same stuff he just sold your friends but you had no clue what it could be.

He inspects the look on your face and whistles. "Damn, that much of a first timer huh? No worries, I'll talk you through it all" his voice was incredibly smooth and it brought the heat back to your face, you hope he mistakes it for embarrassment.

"Do you always flirt this much? Is that why my friend was shooting me nasty looks?" you ask, trying to deflect. It only causes him to laugh more.

"It's a sales tactic I'm familiar with," he says shooting you another wink. "And not much of a friend, that one. If she's that upset over a flirty comment from her dealer? I can't even imagine the level of jealousy."

"But, you didn't enter my little paradise here to gossip. Let me let you in on how things work around here," he starts, and he does. He tells you all about the drug he's about to sell you, some type of weed called wedding cake? You liked the name if anything. How much it'll cost you and how to smoke it, even offers to show you.

"Can't have my cute little customer bumbling about, not even knowing how to use the stuff I sold her," he explains, nodding in approval as you hold the freshly rolled blunt. "Now let's light it up and I'll show you exactly how to do it." He moves real close to you now, and true to his word he teaches you. The proximity flusters you beyond belief and you think whatever you're smoking right now isn't exactly keeping you clear headed either. You catch yourself looking at his lips more than once and you might not realize it but he catches you too, it makes him chuckle.

"All right, that's enough for now, trust me on that," he tells you. Somewhere deep down you're happy he's doing all of this for you though, makes you giggle. His hand ruffles your hair in response and he speaks again, "let's get you back out to your friends, unless you wanna keep me company?" You're not sure if it's an actual offer or a joke but you laugh either way, already turning towards the exit to find your friends.

You leave the tent to find no one waiting for you, except for a small piece of paper stuck to Sero's tape on the tent entrance. "Hot guy, be back later. Stay safe," it read. Tears well in your eyes. They promised they'd look after you, that's why you agreed to all this in the first place. Now you were all alone, high off your ass, on festival grounds in what is known as the sleaziest town around.

"Aw, come now baby, don't cry." Sero's voice startles you out of your little moment, you'd forgotten he was right behind you. "I'd never leave a cute little customer like you in need," he promises, though you're not entirely sure what the promise entails. He gestures for you to follow him.

Maybe the weed is clouding your mind but you do find yourself following the relative stranger without further questioning, though luckily he comes out with an answer to the question in your mind.

"I'm taking you to my private tent, it's roomier," he explains, his arm around the small of your back now. You lean into it, his warmth feeling nice against your skin.

The crowd had grown since you guys had entered the tent and now there were people everywhere, you were starting to get anxious despite the high you were experiencing. Luckily for you, your ever vigilant dealer noticed.

"Baby, I'm here. You're okay," he says as his thumb strokes your cheek. You think about how normally you'd never let anyone this close but everything about him is just so nice and warm. You lean into his touch entirely and a deep chuckle escapes him. "Want me to really take care of you?" He asks, eyes flitting down to your lips and back up. Yours do the same, except you struggle to pull them back up. You nod nonetheless and he's on you instantly.

You'd kissed plenty of people before but Sero felt different, you wanted to consider that it might be the weed but all you could think of right now was him. The way his lips molded to yours. The way one of his hands dragged up your back and into your hair while the other moved down towards your ass. The way his tongue slipped past your lips and played with yours.

You couldn't suppress the moan that leaves you and and he groans. "Oh aren't you just the cutest, come on, we aren't far." He's pulling you along again before you can complain and you find yourself staring at his ass as he pulls you through a final part of the crowd.

You reach his tent, it does look bigger than the one you just came from but it's placed right in between a few more tents and there's people everywhere. In a moment of clarity you ask him, "but won't people hear?"

The laugh it pulls out of him is attractive but does nothing to ease your worry, and his words certainly don't either. "Sweetness, trust me, that is gonna be the last thing on your mind in a couple of minutes." As he speaks his guiding hand on your lower back slips slightly lower again but you can't find it in you to worry about it anymore, in fact it all feels kind of fun.

So instead you giggle.

The inside of sero's tent is nice, you didn't peg him as the type of guy to decorate his festival tent but apparently business has been good for him. You fawn at one of the cute pillows adorning his mattress. It was a bright yellow and you nearly squealed in excitement as you felt how fuzzy the outside of it was.

"You liking the place?" He asked, the hand that was guiding you from the small of your back had moved to you shoulder and was now pushing you to sit on his mattress. You turn around to face him, looking up at him from your place near the ground  and nod enthusiastically. "Good, I pride myself on my sense for interior design."

He's sinking down next to you on the mattress and only now do you realize it's an air mattress, his weight propping the side you're sitting on up. You stop yourself from giggling once more.

"C'mere pretty girl, I know you're just itching to get touched." His voice dropped into a seductive tone and you notice he's right, ever since he'd kissed you you'd wanted more.

You're nodding along as he reaches out to your face, pulling you into another kiss that feels like the centre of your universe. Though that universe expands the second Sero's hand slips into your pants.

Every place he'd touched you had felt hot so far but the sensation of his hand on your pussy nearly drove you wild.

"S-sero," you managed between frantic kissing. In response he just hummed, not letting your lips stray far as his fingers started playing with you.

"What is it pretty girl? Enjoying yourself? I knew you'd look even prettier like this," he says, his hand picking up speed. Your hands are clutching both his hair and his shirt, he's making you feel like you're floating and you're desperately holding on to something.

"Sero I can't-" you interrupt yourself with a moan, you can't keep yourself quiet. His touch feels divine, silencing yourself would be blasphemy and yet his unoccupied hand hands you the same pillow you'd been admiring before.

"Bite it princess, you wouldn't want everyone to hear now would you?" His words feel like they're meant to tease you but right now, you'd agree with anything he told you. And so you bite down, the fabric feels weird between your teeth. As you do so, he picks up the pace, fingers dancing around inside you as if they're as desperate to please as you are.

And please they do, in Sero's eyes you're practically begging him to let you cum. He's never been one to deny a pretty girl.

Before you know it your pants are off and you underwear is pushed to the side. You hardly even registered him moving you onto your back. You certainly did register his breath on your cunt though.

His tongue made quick work of sucking on your clit and his fingers never did light up on the pace from before so you're screaming into the pillow as you cum on his face in no time at all.

His fingers keep thrusting as he speaks into your pussy, "oh yeah baby, give me all of it." Though he lets up as soon as you start whining in overstimulation.

He chuckles as you start fumbling around with the buttons on his pants. Even though you just came you had to feel if his cock could send you into outer space as well. "Damn (y/n), you want it that bad, huh? Maybe I let you smoke too much," he says, petting your hair as you finally get his pants off. Your hands are teasing his rock hard dick through his boxers. Once both of you manage to get out of the last of your clothes, you lean down attempting to return the favor. He stops you, "Baby, no, I'm taking care of you, remember?" He explains, urging you to lay down on your stomach.

He props a different pillow from the one you're holding up under your hips. Facing away from him is a double edged sword, you couldn't see him, but every touch he laid on you was felt tenfold. You shiver as he drags a finger up you spine, other hand firmly holding your hips in place.

"You ready for this pretty girl? Remember your surprise tool for keeping quiet." He's referring to the pillow but all though leaves your mind as soon as the thick head of his cock drags through your folds. You bite down on the pillow and hug it to your chest tightly. 

He holds his cock up to your entrance and he finally pushes in. He moans quietly as he slips all the way into you, the sound would drive you mad if the feeling of him filling you entirely hadn't already. You'd had sex before but just as your kiss with Sero had been different, this was too.

He's only just pushed in and you already felt on the verge of climax. "Damn baby, you liking it that much? You're like a fucking vice," he tells you, both his hands coming up to your hips, pushing you down into the mattress so he could fuck into you.

You're making what you hope are small noises of approval and he seems to take it as a sign to really start fucking you, or taking care of you as he'd call it.

You hadn't been wrong, his cock was taking you to outer space if the stars you were seeing were any indication. You don't know how long he's pushing into you like that but you do know that before long he's pumping his cum into you with a deep groan, but not quite stopping before he feels you cum all over his dick again.

"See? Took real good care of you right?" He praises himself as he gets up. You're about to whine about him leaving when he comes back with a couple of napkins. "Sorry about this pretty girl, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this today," he apologizes. "I'd have at least brought wet wipes." He cleans you up as good as he can and the next hour or so is spent cuddling and snacking on whatever Sero puts into your hands. Before you know it you're dozing off.

You blink the sleep out of your eyes as you roll around on the air mattress, hands finding paper instead of a warm body next to you. You groggily get up, patting the bed until you found the note again.

Sleep leaves you quickly when you see the money taped to the note. You snort at what you read.

"Dear (y/n), my favorite customer.

Pussy too good to charge. Gotta go back to my small business now, keep the pillow you liked so much as a reminder.

And whenever you want more than just a reminder, call me.

xxx-xxx-xx"

You snort again at his antics before pulling yourself together and climbing out of his tent. You'd decided that it was for the best if you went back to your own tent for the night. Hopefully you'd find your friends there too.

You weaved through the crowd effortlessly now that you'd slept off whatever that stuff did to you. The walk over was giving you time to consider your night. It wasn't like you'd had a bad time, you bite your lip remembering it, quite the opposite actually. The only part that bothered you was the way you'd been ditched by your friends and left with a guy whose clear intent was to fuck you.

Your friends have quite something to make up to you, is the conclusion you come to as your arrive at your shared tent. You hear the commotion before you can even enter.

"How was I supposed to know that was THE slimetown freeloader?" your annoying friend called out. She had her hands buried in her face and she looked like she'd been crying.

"How about you just don't let random men BLINDFOLD you in our tent next time? That way they can't run off with our pillows!" Your other friend replied, obviously pissed off at the loss of the fluffy item.

The two of you take a bit to notice you but they gawk the second they see you hug the furry yellow pillow closer to your chest. "Where'd you get that pillow?" The question sounds more like an accusation coming from the pillowless girls but you're the one with a reason to be upset here so you just shrug and say, "Sero gave it to me, along with a refund and his number."

[thefoxtherapist]

Inexperience

Scar found a new interest to obsess over, one who hasn't yet run away.

tags: gn!reader, some mild nudity is mentioned, 16+ type fic, a bit suggestive. scar is trans if you squint.

He couldn't help his needy obsessive behaviour. Part of him wished he could, another part of himself convinced the first part that he was just like this and others had to respect that. But it had chased away his fair share of interests. Too much. He'd been told. He didn't personally think so, but then, he considered those that left to be weak. Not worth his time after all.

But you were different, at least he hoped you were different. His latest obsession. He wanted to be close to you at all times, rarely leaving your side. Even when you went places he couldn't follow, he just made himself less visible. You'd given him the time of day and now he had to trail you like a puppy.

A lost little lamb following a pretty shepherd. Though he'd never admit that.

“Can I come over tonight?”

“You've been over every night since two weeks ago.”

Scar raised a white brow, he didn't get the correlation. “I want to be with you!” His body was pressed against your arm, he rarely left your side, constantly invading your personal space bubble. Mismatched eyes looked down at you, his smile soft, expression pleading. You could almost forget what group he belonged to.

Almost.

“Fine..”

And his face lit up, his chuckle was pitched, slightly manic. But you were used to his strange behaviour. His chest was pressed against your arm, but he brought a gloved hand up to take your hand, intertwining his clawed fingers with yours. He always made a point to cling to you, you couldn't leave his side if he held onto you.

You wouldn't call Scar a partner, but you were quickly beginning to think that was his end goal. That or recruitment, you weren't sure. White and red locks tickled your cheek as he brought his head close to yours, glaring at somebody you hadn't even noticed was approaching. Before you could say anything he outright growled at them, causing them to clear their throat and quickly hurry away.

“Scar.”

“Yes, little lamb~?” He cooed right in your ear, face unnecessarily close to yours.

You sighed. 

“Nothing, let's head back to my place.” You were done with your shopping anyway. Scar stood straight, grip tightening on your hand. He held his free hand out though, taking one of your grocery bags from you. He could at least pretend to be somewhat considerate.

He didn't even threaten anybody else on the way back! An improvement.

Scar even helped you unload your groceries, but the moment you were done he grabbed you. The Resonator easily picked you up, holding you as he carried you to your living room. You just let him do as he pleased. He had proven himself not to be a threat, to you, at least. 

You let out a small sound as he dropped you on the couch. You didn't have time to reposition before he was on top of you, his legs between yours, arms on either side of you, face buried against your neck. Scar sighed into your neck, rubbing his face against your skin like a dog. 

You brought your hands up, running your fingers through his messy unbrushed hair. Scar made a sound you could almost compare to a purr, seemingly pleased as you touched him back. His need to be wanted shone through as he pressed his body as snugly against yours as he possibly could. 

Scar exhaled softly, layers of fabric still separated him from you. And even after that, there was skin. “I could just crawl inside of you and never leave.” He murmured in a daze, mouth moving before his brain did. But instead of freaking out, you laughed, petting his head.

“You don't have to go that far.”

“No?” He lifted his head slightly, face mere centimeters away from yours. His eyes stared into yours, shiny and desperate. You stared back into his eyes and he ran a tongue over his lips. “How far can I go?” Before I scare you away.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, even his tone was desperate. You knew he didn't date much, so you hadn't expected him to be so… 

He pressed his body harder into yours and your train of thought went off the rails. “You really want to be touched that bad, huh?” You teased but Scar averted his gaze, and for a second, you swore the tacet mark on his throat flickered. You could almost feel the reverberation of the frequencies wafting off of him. His emotions were louder than his mouth.

Scar seemed surprised when you struggled with his clothing, trying to find out how in the world it was supposed to come off. And that was without his outer coat on, the fabric hung up beside the door. 

“Do you need help?”

“How in all of Sol-Three- what are you wearing??”

His laugh was shaky, uncertain. He'd never gotten this far and it didn't take a genius to figure that out. Scar had to get off of the couch, stand to strip his heavy layers of white, red, and grey off his body. You gave him some privacy, respectfully averting your eyes as he got to his lowest layers. 

Another ‘oof’ escaped you as he fell on top of you again. Shirtless but he kept his underwear on. And his socks. Of course he kept his socks on. 

“Your turn.”

“You're on me.” He seemed to realise his mistake with your comment. An annoyed sigh escaped him as he sat up, pitifully staring at you. You carefully stripped as well, thankful the temperature in your apartment was somewhat average. 

As you let your shirt drop to the floor you eyed his chest, unsurprised to see an array of scars. Depths, lengths, types even. Under his chest, over his ribs, a large one like the one on his face visibly came up from his hip. 

“Kind of looks like a cat face.” You commented as you poked the centre of the scars just under his chest. Scar snickered, taking your hand and kissing your fingertips instead.

And with that, he pushed you back down, resuming his position on top of you. Instead of burying his face against your neck though, he instead rubbed his throat against your shoulder. Your arms wrapped around his waist, fingers trailing up his bare scarred back. You brought one leg up between his instead, shifting slightly to be in a more comfortable position.

You listened as Scar's breathing grew heavier and you could only imagine it had something to do with the way he kept rubbing his tacet mark against your bare skin. “Needy..” You muttered, but you weren't particularly annoyed. No it was instead endearing seeing somebody so powerful reduced to a needy sheep.

His hair tickled your skin as he swallowed thickly, soft pants escaping his lips. You were almost certain of your earlier assumption. And when he began to rub himself against your leg between his. You were entirely certain. You dug your fingers into his skin, putting pressure on his flesh as he used your body with clear inexperience. 

Scar was going to learn some experience tonight, though. You were both sure of that.

[justmanu]

purple hearts

Summary: Since you've joined the Strawhats crew, you've had a lot of fun and good time. But your capitain is someone who is a little clumsy. And, sometimes, that clumisiness affects you in ways he can't even imagine.

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Reader.

Warnings: It's a little angst to fluff, but mostly angst. But with fluff. And cursing, ig.

A/n: OMG. I had this idea when I was remembering the funny moments between Luffy and Zoro, and I imagined it. It was one of the best scenarios I've ever imagined. Really loved this one. I'm thinking about doing hcs for the Vinsmoke brothers, would you guys want that? They've rented a triplex on my head and I can't stand it.

Words: 1,540 words.

It was another normal day on the Sunny. Sanji was in the kitchen, preparing drinks and snacks for you, Nami and Robin; Usopp and Franky were drawing new machines and inventions to improve things on the ship; Brook and Chopper were playing cards; Zoro was in the crow's nest doing his daily strength training and Luffy was fishing. All seemed to be going normal, but, of course, things on this ship never stay peaceful for too long.

"I got a big one! Usopp! Chopper! Help me out here!", your captain yells and starts pulling his rod at full force. Usopp and Chopper go and start helping him pull it, and then the fish is out of the water. To help him, Luffy used his devil fruit abilities. You were just walking to the kitchen to ask Sanji about your drink when you felt it. The arm Luffy had stretched came at full speed at your back, throwing you against the wooden ship wall.

The wall you hit on was part of the kitchen, so Sanji had a good fright when he heard the really loud thump on the wall. Everyone outside stopped gasped and stopped everything they were doing. This time, there was no way you didn't get hurt. You've been the main target of Luffy's "stretch back on's" for quite some time now. You've only shown how they affected you to Chopper because he was the doctor and insisted on looking at your wounds. You were always covered in deep purple bruises all over your body.

You begged Chopper not to tell anyone, especially your captain, about them. You didn't want the rest of the crew to be worried about your every step because Luffy might hit you. But this time, there was no way to hide it. You hit face-first. You were going to have a huge black eye for a long time. And, come on! That hurt like a bitch! Time seemed to stop for the Strawhats, all of them worried about the hit you just got. But Luffy couldn't have been more oblivious to the harm he's just caused.

When Sanji came out of the kitchen to see what was happening, his eyes widened at you; sprawled out on the floor. Even Zoro got out of the crow's nest to see what was happening. He heard the bang from up there. "Y/n-swan! What happened?!", Sanji asked, running to help you up. Zoro came running as well, worried and curious as to why you were on the floor. You couldn't stand it anymore. You hadn't said a word, trying your best not to cry in front of the whole crew. "I'm okay.", you said, voice a little high pitched. Was all you could manage to say before running to your room, tears already running down your face.

"Hey! Usopp! Chopper! I asked you guys for help, not to stay there looking at the wind!", Luffy said, a little bit annoyed that his friends were not helping him. That's when Nami lost it. "Luffy, are you fucking serious right now? You didn't see what you just did to Y/n?", she screamed at the boy. Luffy was a little taken aback by the shouting. "What do you mean? Y/n is perfectly fine! She's right the-", he pointed to where you were a few minutes ago, resting. He was confused. Where were you? "Luffy, when you stretched your arm to get that fish, while it was stratching back, it hit Y/n with full force and she hit the ship wall at full, too. You hurt her really bad this time.", Robin explained to him the situation.

"Hold the horses, I hurt her?", Luffy asked, not believing what his ears. "Yes, Luffy. You've been hurting her for quite some time now, actually. She asked me to keep this a secret from you all, but I see no point in hiding it now. She is covered in black bruises all over her body.", Chopper said, hoping it would make things a little clearer. "That's why she's been wearing long sleeves and pants? I thought she was sick because there was no way she was feeling cold in these hot days we're going through.", Usopp said.

Luffy hasn't said anything. He was feeling the worst person on the planet. He's been hurting you over and over and didn't even notice! How could he? He was supposed to protect you. Not harm you. He started walking towards his cabin, head low and totally silent. "Are you alright, captain?", Zoro asked. "Yeah, just need to think about the things I've done. I need to think of a way to redeem myself.", Luffy said and walked away. Nami started walking to your room. She needed to make sure you were okay.

When she arrived, she heard you crying from outside the door. She opened and couldn't believe her eyes. She heard Chopper say you were covered in black bruises, but she didn't think it was like this. How were you even standing? "N-Nami! What are you doing here?", you asked, trying to cover your body. "Don't need to hide it anymore. Chopper told us everything, but I didn't know they were this bad!", she said, worried. You couldn't believe it. Chopper told them?! That little reindeer was gonna pay you back.

You and Nami talked the whole afternoon, and you decided you shouldn't be ashamed of the bruises. So, instead of going to dinner in the long sleeves and pants you were used to, you went with a tank top and shorts. When you arrived at dinner, all the Strawhats were shocked at the amount of bruises you had, but didn't dare say a word, and you were thankful for it. You were feeling better not having to hide them anymore. Dinner rolled around pretty light, everyone laughing and having a good time. But something was missing. Where was your captain?

"Hey, guys. Where's Luffy?", you asked, really worried. He never skipped any meal. But as soon as the words left your mouth, the kitchen door swung open to reveal a blood and bruise covered Luffy. "I'm right here." he said, entering the kitchen in most calm of ways. "What happened to you?!", you yelled, worried. That's when he turned to you and saw your bruises. The guilt was eating him alive. He's done all those bruises on you. How dare he? How dare he be so stupid? So distractive. He dropped to his knees in front of you. Turning to look at you, tears in his black eyes. "Please, forgive me. I never, ever intended to hurt you. You are one of the few people I care about most in the world. I can't believe I've done this to you and not noticed! God, I feel so stupid!", he said, gripping his hair as if trying to rip it off.

You couldn't believe your eyes. How did he get this beaten up? "Me and the stupid marimo did it. He asked us to go at him with everything we got, and he didn't dodge one hit.", Sanji said, you didn't realise you said your thoughts outloud. "He said the only way he could redeem himself for what he did to you. If he suffered all the pain he made you feel.", Zoro said, completing Sanji's speech. You were feeling your eyes get filled with tears and a chuckle scaped you. "Stupid, wreckless captain. Of course I forgive you.", you said, gripping his chin for him to look at you. Luffy looked up and searched for your eyes to see if he could find any doubt. He didn't.

He smiled up at you and hugged you tight, you giving him the same treatment. He got up and started spining around with you in his arms. He was so happy right now. When he stopped spinning, he looked in your eyes. You had feelings for your captain way before this all happened, but never told them to anyone. Not even Nami. So when you sealed your lips on a sweet kiss, you were terrified of what was going to happen. But feelings were already all over the place. What harm could it cause adding one more?

The crew went dead silent and focused closely on what would happen next. Luffy looked at you, astonished. It passed a few seconds, and you thought you ruined everything. But then Luffy opened that usual wide grin of his, letting that laugh of his and kissed you again, spinning you around one more time. The Strawhats started shouting, happy for their captain and their crewmate. "Yohoho, I never expected that y/n would have hidden feelings for our dear captain!", Brook commented happy.

All the joy quieted down a bit, and everyone started eating the delicious dinner Sanji had prepared. Luffy sat beside you, not letting go of your hand for one second. You were going to figure out what you and Luffy were, but for now, you were happy to be more than just a friend. "Okay, now that everyone has solved their problems. Can you please stop hurting yourselves? I'm tired of taking care of beaten up crewmates.", Chopper said, making everyone burst out laughing.

[kat-thepoet]

Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Part 17: Finding my place

A/N: if you are reading this, say hi. Enjoy!

Previous chapters ☞ HERE ☜

5.1k words

After my nap that was very much needed, selene gave me a tour of the place. She led me through the sanctuary, her footsteps light but purposeful as we navigated the maze of pathways and structures that made up this hidden world. The first stop on the tour was the dining hall, a large, open space filled with long wooden tables and benches. The room was simple but functional, with the scent of freshly cooked food lingering in the air. A few mutants were scattered around, eating quietly or talking in low voices, their expressions a mix of weariness and determination.

"This is the dining hall," Selene explained, her tone matter-of-fact. "It's where we all gather for meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served here, and everyone is expected to pitch in when it's their turn."

I nodded, taking in the space. It was different from the sterile, isolated environment I'd been living in at the X-Mansion. This place felt more... lived in. Like a community, albeit one that was built on survival.

Next, we moved on to the kitchen, which was located just off the dining hall. The kitchen was a bustling hub of activity, with several mutants working together to prepare the next meal. Pots and pans clanged, and the air was thick with the smell of cooking food. Selene pointed out the various stations—cooking, prep, cleaning—and explained that everyone rotated through the different roles.

"Everyone here has a job to do," Selene said as we continued the tour. "It's how we keep the sanctuary running smoothly. Some work in the kitchen, others handle gardening, crop picking, and planting. There are also those who focus on cleaning, maintenance, and other essential tasks. You'll be expected to pick something you're good at and contribute."

I listened carefully, absorbing the information. The idea of having a job, something to keep me busy and give me a sense of purpose, was oddly comforting. It was a reminder that even in this strange new environment, there was still structure and routine—things I could hold on to as I navigated this new chapter of my life.

Selene led me down a narrow hallway to a small, sparsely furnished room that she told me would be mine. The room was basic—a bed, a small dresser, and a window that let in a sliver of light. It wasn't much, but it was a place to call my own, a space where I could retreat when I needed to think or rest.

"Here's your room," Selene said, gesturing to the space. "It's not luxurious, but it's private. You can make it your own."

I nodded, grateful for the small bit of privacy. "Thank you," I murmured, already thinking about how I could make the room feel a little more like home.

We continued the tour, stopping by the communal bathroom, where the other residents of the sanctuary took turns cleaning and maintaining the space. It was practical and clean, with everything needed to keep everyone comfortable and healthy.

Finally, Selene led me to the training area, a large, open space that was clearly designed for combat practice and honing mutant abilities. Several mutants were sparring or practicing their powers under the watchful eyes of instructors. The air was charged with energy, and I could see the determination in their faces as they pushed themselves to improve.

"This is where we train," Selene explained, her gaze sweeping over the room. "It's important for everyone here to be ready—to be strong. We never know when we might need to defend ourselves or the sanctuary. You'll be expected to join in the training sessions as well."

I watched the mutants sparring, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity. I knew I had power within me—more than I fully understood—and the thought of learning to control it, to channel it into something useful, was both exciting and terrifying.

As we walked back toward the main area of the sanctuary, Selene turned to me with a thoughtful expression. "You'll need to choose a job, something that suits your skills and interests. It's part of being here—everyone contributes."

I thought about it for a moment, considering my options. I wasn't sure what I was good at anymore, not after everything that had happened. But I knew I needed to do something, to find a place for myself in this new world.

"I'll think about it," I said finally, my voice steady. "I'll find something."

Selene nodded, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Good. Take your time. There's no rush, but don't wait too long. The sooner you find your place here, the better."

With that, the tour was over, and I was left to wander the sanctuary on my own, to explore and begin to find my footing in this strange, new place. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was filled with challenges, but for the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of purpose, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to make a difference—both for myself and for those around me.

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As dinner time approached, the sounds of chatter and clattering dishes filled the dining hall, but I wasn't in the mood to join the crowd. The weight of everything that had happened—everything I had seen—still hung heavy in my mind, and the idea of sitting among a noisy group of mutants felt overwhelming.

Instead, I decided to take my meal back to my room. Selene didn't seem surprised when I told her, and she simply nodded, understanding that I needed some time alone. Before I left the dining hall, she handed me a charger for my phone, which had been dead since my arrival. It was a small gesture, but it meant more than I could express. 

Back in my room, I plugged in my phone, watching as the screen flickered to life, showing the familiar charging symbol. I placed it on the small table beside my bed, where my dinner tray was already set up. The food looked good—simple but comforting—but I couldn't muster much of an appetite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the food absentmindedly as my thoughts drifted back to the vision Selene and I had shared earlier. The images of fire, smoke, and the lifeless bodies of the people I cared about flashed through my mind, making it difficult to focus on anything else. The version of myself that had spoken those chilling words haunted me, her voice echoing in my head."This is our future, Violet. And there's no stopping it."

I pushed the plate of food away, unable to eat. The quiet of the room offered some solace, but it also left me alone with my thoughts—thoughts I wasn't sure I was ready to face.

The phone buzzed softly as it finished powering up, and I glanced at it, half-expecting to see messages from Charles, Vanessa, or Wade. But I wasn't ready to deal with that either, not yet. I needed time to process everything, to figure out what my next steps should be.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the sounds of the sanctuary muffled by the walls of my room. I knew I couldn't avoid what I had seen forever, but for tonight, I just needed to be alone—to think, to rest, and to try to make sense of the path I had chosen.

Tomorrow, I would begin to find my place here. Tomorrow, I would confront whatever lay ahead. But tonight, I just needed a moment to breathe.

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It was the middle of the night, and I found myself lying in bed, wide awake, unable to shake the vision from earlier. The darkness around me felt suffocating, closing in like the shadows of my own thoughts. I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but no matter how I shifted, sleep refused to come.

The images of fire, smoke, and death haunted me, playing over and over in my mind like a nightmare I couldn't escape. But it wasn't just the vision that kept me awake—it was what the other version of me had said, the chilling declaration that I was meant to be the Enchanted Witch.

The words echoed in my head, each syllable sending a shiver down my spine. The Enchanted Witch. It sounded like something out of a dark fairy tale, a name whispered in fear and reverence. But the way she had said it, with such cold certainty, made it clear that this wasn't just a story—it was my destiny, a role I was somehow fated to play.

I couldn't accept it. I didn't want to believe that I was meant to become something so powerful and terrifying, something that could bring about the destruction I had seen in the vision. But the other me had been so sure, so confident in the path that lay ahead.

Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I threw the covers off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I couldn't just lie there, trapped in my own thoughts. I needed to do something, anything, to distract myself from the turmoil inside my head.

I stood up and paced the room, my mind racing. What did it mean to be the Enchanted Witch? Was it a title, a curse, or something more? And why did that other version of me seem so willing to embrace it?

The more I thought about it, the more questions piled up, each one more unsettling than the last. I was supposed to be here to find answers, to prevent the future I had seen, but instead, I felt like I was sinking deeper into uncertainty.

I stopped pacing and took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I had pledged my loyalty to Magneto, hoping that he could help me control my powers and prevent the nightmare future from becoming a reality. But now, I wasn't sure if even he could help me with this.

The vision, the other me, the title of Enchanted Witch—it all felt like a puzzle with pieces that didn't quite fit together. And the more I tried to make sense of it, the more lost I felt.

I walked over to the window and looked out at the dark landscape of the sanctuary, the moon casting a pale light over the quiet world outside. The stillness of the night only made the chaos inside me feel more intense, like a pressure building up with no release.

I couldn't stay in that room any longer. I needed air, space to think, to try and clear my mind. Without a second thought, I grabbed my jacket and quietly slipped out of the room, hoping that a walk under the stars might bring some clarity to the confusion that plagued me.

The night was cool and still, the air crisp against my skin as I made my way through the quiet sanctuary. The darkness was comforting, wrapping around me like a blanket, the stars above offering a small measure of peace. I found myself drawn to one of the balconies, a place where I could see the sky and maybe find some solace in its vastness.

As I stepped onto the balcony, I was surprised to see a figure already there. Magneto—or Erik, as I had learned to call him—was sitting at a small table, a mug in his hand. He seemed deep in thought, but as I approached, he looked up and met my gaze. There was something calm and almost inviting in his expression, and without a word, he gestured for me to sit next to him.

I hesitated for only a moment before taking the seat beside him. The night was silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the wind, and for a while, neither of us spoke. Erik sipped from his mug, and I found myself wondering what it was he was drinking. But the question that came to my mind wasn't about his drink.

"Where did you get the name Magneto from?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Erik set down his mug, a small smile playing on his lips as he considered my question. "It was a name given to me," he began, his voice low and reflective. "A name that came to define me and the cause I chose to fight for. In the early days, when I first began to embrace my power, I needed something that would strike fear into the hearts of those who sought to oppress us—something that would remind them of the force they were dealing with."

He paused, looking out at the night sky, his eyes distant as if he were recalling memories from a lifetime ago. "Magneto became more than just a name. It became a symbol of resistance, of the strength we mutants possess. It was a way to remind the world that we are not to be trifled with, that we will not bow to those who seek to destroy us."

I nodded slowly, taking in his words. There was a certain power in the name, an undeniable strength that came with it. But there was also a weight, a burden that Erik carried with him—a burden I could see reflected in his eyes.

"And now?" I asked softly. "Do you still see yourself as Magneto?"

He looked at me then, his gaze intense and thoughtful. "Magneto is a part of me, just as Erik is. But I am more than a name, more than a symbol. I am a man who has seen the horrors of this world and who has chosen to stand against them. And now, I find myself in a position where I must guide others, help them find their own strength, their own path."

His words resonated with me, and for a moment, I understood a little more about the man who sat beside me. 

After a brief silence, Erik turned his gaze back to me, his eyes searching mine with a quiet intensity. "What's your story?" he asked, his voice gentle yet probing.

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, I wasn't sure how to answer. My story—where did I even begin? I took a deep breath, trying to organize my thoughts, and then I started talking.

"It's... complicated," I began, my voice shaky as I tried to piece together the fragments of my life. 

"I got my powers from a gem, something ancient and powerful. It wasn't something I chose—it just happened. Ever since then, I've been hiding, running from a man named Strucker. He's... he's the one who did things to me, who experimented on me, who made me into this."

Erik listened intently, his expression unreadable but his focus unwavering. I continued, feeling the weight of my words grow heavier with each sentence.

"When I moved to New York, I thought I could start over, live a simple life. And for a while, it was—well, as simple as it could be, given everything. But then, out of nowhere, two months of my life just... disappeared. My memories are gone, and my head feels like it's going to explode. I hear voices all the time, and they never stop."

My voice started to waver as the panic that had been simmering beneath the surface began to rise. "And now... now I'm supposedly going to be responsible for the deaths of my friends, of the X-Men. I saw it, Erik—I saw their bodies, their blood everywhere. And it's all because of me."

The words tumbled out faster now, my breathing becoming more erratic as I tried to hold myself together. "My life... it's been an endless cycle of pain ever since I was five. Every person I've ever loved has died or been taken from me. My parents, my friends... it's like I'm cursed, like everything I touch turns to ashes. And now, I'm watching it all happen again, and I don't know how to stop it. I don't even know if I can."

My heart raced, and I could feel the familiar weight of despair closing in, suffocating me. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but before I could completely lose myself to the panic, Erik's voice cut through the storm in my mind.

"Violet," he said firmly, his voice grounding me in the present. He reached out, his hand gently caressing my cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding me in a way that nothing else could."Breathe," he whispered softly, his thumb brushing against my skin, wiping away the tear that had escaped. "You're not alone in this."

I looked up at him, my vision blurred by tears, and saw the steadiness in his gaze. He wasn't overwhelmed by my panic—if anything, he seemed determined to pull me out of it.

"Your life has been filled with pain, yes," he continued, his voice steady and calm. "But that pain has also made you stronger. You've survived what most people could never endure. And that strength, Violet, is what will help you face whatever comes next."

I blinked away the tears, focusing on his words, letting them sink in. His hand on my cheek was a comforting presence, a reminder that I wasn't as lost as I felt.

"You are not responsible for what others have done to you," Erik said, his thumb still gently stroking my cheek. "And you are not alone in this fight. You have people who care about you, who want to help you. And now, you have me."

His words, combined with the softness of his touch, began to chase away the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm me. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, feeling the warmth of his hand against my skin.

"You are stronger than you know," he continued. "And together, we will find a way to ensure that vision does not come to pass. But you must believe in yourself, Violet. You must believe that you have the power to change your fate."

I nodded slowly, the panic in my chest beginning to loosen its grip. Erik's touch, so unexpected and gentle, was a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice trembling but steadier than before.

Erik gave me a small, reassuring smile, his hand lingering on my cheek for a moment longer before he let it fall. "You're not alone in this," he repeated softly. "Remember that."

We sat in silence after that, the cool night air soothing the last of my frayed nerves. I wasn't sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I had a chance to face it head-on. And I knew that, whatever happened, I wouldn't have to face it alone.

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I don't exactly remember going to bed, but I think I slept pretty late. The exhaustion from everything that had happened must have finally caught up with me. When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the faint light streaming in through the small window in my room. It was morning, and the sanctuary was beginning to stir with the sounds of people starting their day.

I reached over to the small table where I had left my phone charging the night before. It was now fully charged, the screen glowing softly as I pressed the power button. As the device came to life, I felt a mixture of anticipation and unease. I hadn't checked my messages since I left, and I knew there would likely be messages waiting for me—some that I might not be ready to face. 

As my phone powered on, the notifications began to appear, each one a reminder of the world I had left behind. My heart clenched as I saw the names—Charles, Vanessa, Wade, and Logan. I hesitated for a moment, then started with Charles's message.

His message was long, filled with words of concern and hope. He urged me to come back, saying that the X-Mansion was my home and that they could help me, that *he* could help me. But the more I read, the more my frustration grew. His relentless optimism, the way he tried to convince me that everything would be okay, felt like it was mocking my reality. We both knew he couldn't fix this, that the answers I needed weren't at the mansion. His well-meaning words started to piss me off, and I had to resist the urge to just delete the message without replying.

Next was Vanessa's message. It was short but sweet, filled with her usual warmth. She told me she missed me and hoped I was okay, that I should take care of myself and that she was here if I needed to talk. Her kindness made my heart clench with guilt, but I didn't give in. I wasn't ready to reach out, not yet. Not until I had more answers.

Then there was Wade's message. True to form, it was a mix of concern and humor, with him trying to make light of the situation. He asked if I was off on some grand adventure and made a joke about how he and Vanessa were holding down the fort. His message brought a small, reluctant smile to my face, but it also reminded me of the chaos I had left behind. Still, there was a part of me that appreciated his attempt to keep things light, even if it was just his way of coping.

And then there was Logan. I stared at his name for a moment, a wave of confusion washing over me. I didn't even remember having his number in the first place. How did he get my number? The message was brief, almost gruff, asking where I was and if I was okay. There was something about the tone that made me pause—like he was trying to care, but didn't quite know how to say it.

I sighed, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. The messages from Charles and Logan irritated me, each for different reasons, while Vanessa's and Wade's made me feel guilty for leaving them in the dark. But I knew that I couldn't go back, not yet. Not until I had some clarity, some control over the chaos that had become my life.

For now, I turned off the phone again, deciding that the world outside could wait. There were bigger things to focus on, and I wasn't ready to face any of them yet.

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After turning off my phone and setting it aside, I decided that staying isolated in my room wouldn't do me any good. I needed to start integrating myself into the sanctuary, find my place here, and that meant stepping out and interacting with the people who were now part of my life.

I made my way to the dining room, which was already bustling with activity as mutants gathered for breakfast. The atmosphere was lively, with the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation filling the air. I grabbed a plate of food and scanned the room, looking for a place to sit.

I spotted Selene sitting at a table with a few others. They seemed friendly enough, so I approached and took a seat next to her. Selene smiled as I joined them and introduced me to the group. They were a mix of personalities—some quiet, others more talkative—but all of them were welcoming and eager to make me feel at home.

As the conversation flowed around me, I couldn't help but feel a little more at ease. It was nice to be around people who understood the complexities of this life, even if I was still struggling to find my footing. They talked about their daily tasks, their powers, and the oddities of living in a place like this. It was almost... normal, in a way that I hadn't expected.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Erik sitting alone at a table across the room. He was drinking from the same blue mug I had seen him with last night, his expression thoughtful as he observed the room. There was something about him that drew me in—a quiet strength, a sense of purpose that I found myself gravitating toward.

Without really thinking about it, I excused myself from Selene's table and made my way over to Erik. He looked up as I approached, and I offered a small smile before taking a seat next to him.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, even though I had already sat down.

Erik gave a slight nod, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Not at all."

We sat in companionable silence for a moment, the noise of the dining room fading into the background. There was something calming about being near him, something that made the chaos in my mind quiet down, even if just for a little while.

"Good morning," I said softly, glancing at the blue mug in his hands. "Same drink as last night?"

Erik looked down at the mug and then back at me, his expression unreadable. "Yes," he replied simply. "A habit of mine."

I nodded, not pushing for more. There was no need to fill the silence with unnecessary words. Instead, I took a bite of my breakfast, feeling a small measure of comfort in the routine of it all.

As we sat together, I couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this place could become something close to a home. I wasn't there yet, but with Erik's quiet presence beside me, it didn't feel so impossible.

☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒☒

After breakfast, Selene approached me, her expression thoughtful. "Have you decided what you'd like to focus your time on here?" she asked, her tone gentle but direct.

I paused, realizing that I hadn't really given much thought to how I would contribute to the sanctuary. Everything had been so overwhelming since I arrived that finding a role here hadn't even crossed my mind. But as I considered her question, a memory surfaced—something from a life that seemed so distant now.

"I used to work at a flower shop," I said, almost to myself. The memory of arranging flowers, tending to plants, and working with my hands felt like a distant echo of something comforting. 

"Maybe I could work in the garden?"

Selene's eyes softened, and she gave me a small nod. "That sounds like a perfect fit," she said. "The garden could always use more hands, and it's a good way to connect with the earth, to find some peace."

I felt a small sense of relief at her words, as if I had finally found something solid to hold onto in the midst of all the uncertainty. Working in the garden—taking care of plants, nurturing life—felt like a step toward finding some semblance of normalcy, even here.

"Thank you," I replied, feeling a bit more grounded now that I had a purpose, something to focus on besides the chaos in my mind. 

"Come with me," Selene said, a hint of warmth in her voice as she led the way. "I'll show you where you'll be working."

Selene led me through the sanctuary, taking a path that wound through the trees and away from the main buildings. As we walked, the noise of the dining hall and the bustle of the sanctuary began to fade, replaced by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. The air here felt fresher, more alive, and I could already feel a small sense of peace beginning to settle over me.

Eventually, we reached a small, weathered shed nestled among the trees. Selene pushed open the door, and I followed her inside. The shed was filled with gardening supplies—tools of every kind, from shovels and spades to pruning shears and watering cans. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with bags of soil, fertilizer, and seed packets, all neatly organized. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of earth and greenery.

"This is where you'll find everything you need," Selene said, gesturing to the various supplies. "The garden is just beyond those trees, and it's yours to take care of. You'll have help, of course, but this will be your space."

I looked around the shed, taking in the sight of the tools and supplies. There was something comforting about the simplicity of it all—working with my hands, nurturing life from the soil. It felt like a small return to normalcy, a piece of the life I had left behind.

"Thank you," I said, my voice soft but sincere. "This... this is exactly what I need right now."Selene smiled, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "I thought it might be. The garden is a place of peace for many here. I hope it becomes that for you, too."

With that, she left me to explore the shed on my own, giving me the space I needed to get familiar with the tools and supplies. I ran my fingers over the handles of the tools, feeling their sturdy weight, and breathed in the earthy scent that filled the shed. This was a place where I could find some solace, a way to reconnect with something simple and pure.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Two hours of hard work in the garden felt like a kind of therapy, the repetitive motions and the earthy scents grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. But by the time I was done, I was drenched in sweat, dirt streaked across my skin, and I knew I needed a shower—badly.

I walked back to my room, eager to clean up and wash away the grime of the day. Selene had generously given me some body wash and shampoo when I first arrived, and I was looking forward to finally using them. As I grabbed the bottles from the small table by my bed, my phone suddenly started ringing.

I glanced at the screen, and my heart sank when I saw the name: Logan.

I hesitated for a moment, torn between ignoring the call and answering it just to tell him to leave me alone. The frustration I felt toward him, mixed with everything else I was dealing with, bubbled up to the surface. Deciding I wasn't going to let him off easily, I answered the call, ready to yell at him.

But before I could say anything, Logan's voice cut through, sharp and urgent. "We know where you are. We're coming to get you."

And then, just like that, he hung up.

I stared at the phone, the shock of his words sinking in. My heart raced, a mix of anger and panic rising within me. They knew where I was. They were coming here.

The peace I had just begun to find shattered in an instant, replaced by the familiar sense of dread. I had no idea how they had tracked me down or what they intended to do, but one thing was clear—I wasn't ready to face them, not yet.

Part 18: Under pressure

[alwritey-aphrodite]

The Worthwhile Fight

Chapter 6 of There’s Nothing Like This

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem!footballer!reader

Warnings: none :)

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: we’re entering the home stretch now folks - only two more chapters!

After the gala, things seem different, on and off the pitch. While you were winning games before, now that you were truly unified and working together seamlessly as a team, you were practically unbeatable. You’d started spending more and more time with Jamie, and when you weren’t together you found yourself thinking of him, and you rationalized it by telling yourself that you thought about Mackie all the time too.

Deep down, though, you knew it was different.

More often than not, you and Jamie spend your nights together, relaxing in front of the TV and letting yourselves unwind after all the training you do during the day. You’d been trying to be better to yourself, allowing rest days at the gym and icing your body and taking it easy when you need to, but most of the time, you’re continually pushing yourself past the breaking point, and you know everyone around you notices.

Sometimes, when he sees the way you favor your left leg and how you unsuccessfully try to wiggle out the pain in your foot, Jamie will gently take your feet into his lap, kneading and soothingly rubbing at your sore muscles until you feel like you could cry from relief. You can never seem to find the words to thank him, so instead you’ve started keeping his favorite snacks around and letting him choose the movie or show you watch together.

It’s like everyone around you knows something you don’t with the looks and glances you get walking into Nelson Road as you talk with Jamie. Whenever you enter the dressing room, you feel your teammates eyes boring into the back of your head, even as you get dressed and try to ignore the uncomfortable sensation and the heaviness it creates in your chest.

As a team, you continue to do better and better, winning match after match and soaring through the ranks. The team’s very first year in the league, and you’re predicted to finish first, despite what many of the sports columnists have to say. It amazes you, how so many people could continue to say nothing but negative things about your team when you’ve been winning left and right, knocking even Arsenal back to second place.

Thankfully, everyone at Nelson Road has been doing their part in keeping the positivity alive, shouting the praises of your team whenever they’re asked. If given the opportunity, the players on the men’s team would talk about you for an entire interview, doing whatever they could to counteract the never ending criticism.

“They’re all good players, some of them are better than my teammates,” Jan Maas says currently on your TV and you can’t help but to laugh at his typical Dutch bluntness. All of the boys have gone to bat for you, whether it’s on instagram or a TV interview, a quick comment to a fan or an answer to a reporter. Sitting on your couch as you mentally prepare for the day, you’re a little overwhelmed by the love you feel from everyone at Nelson Road.

Keeley, who has been grinding nonstop ever since she came up with the idea for a women’s team, has organized a photo shoot for you and some other women in the league, as a part of a campaign to get more young girls interested in soccer. As much as you coveted these match-free weekends, you’d do anything Keeley asked and anything to hopefully improve the public’s opinion on women’s soccer.

When you arrive at Nelson Road, though, you’re shocked to see a familiar car and a familiar man coming out of the building.

“Last I checked you played on the men’s team,” you quip when you’re close enough not to yell across the parking lot. Jamie jumps, then a smile overtakes his face when he realizes it’s you that’s talking.

“I was trying to do some training, got kicked out when Keeley needed to set up the lights and shit,” he tells you, coming to a stop next to you instead of continuing on his way to his car, “want me to stick around? I can drive ya home when you’re done?” It’s a little shocking, how sweet that offer is, and you’re almost brought to tears by his thoughtfulness.

“Jamie, this could take hours, go enjoy your Saturday,” you reply, despite the strange urge to take him up on the offer.

“Maybe we could grab dinner, when you’re done?”

“That would be nice,” and it’s a little shocking how much you mean that, so he gives you one last dazzling smile before continuing on to his car and you head inside for the photo shoot.

Once inside, you’re bombarded with hair and makeup and jewelry and your Richmond kit, all thrown at you with lightning speed while you try and introduce yourself to the players around you. It’s intimidating, to say the least, being in the same room with players you still idolize, and it’s hard not to feel like an imposter, hard not to feel like you don’t belong. The girls are all very sweet, and by the time the actual photo shoot rolls around, you’re all laughing and joking like you’ve known each other for more than five minutes.

There are individual shots and group shots, shots on the pitch and shots in the dressing room, action shots and posed shots, all with Keeley shouting encouragement from behind the photographer. Even though you all play on different teams, it’s impossible not to feel a sense of comradery with the girls, all of you hyping each other up during solo shots despite the fact that when next weekend rolls around, you’ll all be willing to do whatever it takes to win.

With all the positive energy and the whirlwind of the camera flashes, the afternoon passes quickly and before you know it, you’re being shooed out of the dressing room so the camera crew can take down their equipment. When you make your way out into the parking lot, hair still styled and makeup still near perfect, you’d been so focused on the photo shoot that seeing Jamie’s car waiting for you sends a shock through your body. Before you’re able to doubt yourself, doubt if this is really a good idea or not, you clamor into the passenger's seat, still riding high on the energy of modeling.

“You look nice,” Jamie says as you buckle your seatbelt, stealing a few glances as he pulls out of the parking spot, “how did it go?”

“Really good, I think,” you reply, trying to fly past his compliment and not stray into self deprecation, “everyone was super cool and Keeley seemed happy.”

“Good, good,” he adds before you fall into a comfortable silence and you feel yourself truly relaxing for the first time since you left your house. You’re not sure what it is, but something about just being near Jamie makes you feel calm, makes you feel like nothing could possibly go wrong. It’s very similar to how you feel when you’re with Mackie, but there’s something different that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“I hope this is ok,” Jamie says, breaking the silence as he pulls to a stop outside of a little pub near the Richmond Green. It seems quiet and quaint, and just by looking at the outside you can already tell the food will be your new comfort food while you’re away from home.

“It’s fancier than we normally do,” you reply, even though you’re already reaching to open the car door and already dreaming about the meal you're about to eat, missing the way Jamie’s cheeks and nose and ears tinge pink momentarily.

“Figured we could do something other than takeout, celebrate a weekend off,” he shrugs, acting nonchalant and as if he hadn’t sat awake in his bed planning this moment the night before, planning taking you out to a real restaurant, if only to show you his favorite spots around Richmond. You don’t seem to mind, though, and the second you walk into the pub and can smell the delicious food, you’re sighing in relief and Jamie can’t help the way his heart melts a little.

The pub is busy, but the older woman behind the counter simply nods at Jamie and he directs you to a booth in the back, one that’s more secluded than the rest and you wonder how often he comes here.

“Just let me know when you know what you want, I’ll go up and order and then Mae’ll bring it over,” Jamie says, fiddling with the corner of the plastic menu while you look yours over.

Feeling a little overwhelmed and out of your element, you set your menu down and turn to Jamie, surprised to see him already staring at you with a soft gaze.

“Just get me whatever you think is the best,” you tell him, and with the way he smiles at you, half proud and half embarrassed, you’d let him make every decision for you.

Sliding out of the booth and promising to be right back, Jamie leaves you alone with your thoughts, alone to study the room you’re in. You’re not alone for long, though, before three men approach your table with varying giddy expressions.

“You’re that striker? For Richmond?” The shortest of the three asks, and you ignore the swell of pride in your chest when he doesn’t specify that you’re on the women’s team: you simply play for Richmond. Nodding, you try not to grin as the trio turns to each other in excitement, looking seconds away from bouncing up and down when Jamie approaches the table again.

“Oi, dickheads, get lost,” he tells the group, and they hurry to scramble away, waving goodbye and chattering about meeting both of Richmond’s strikers in one day.

“It’s very refreshing to cheer for a team that wins consistently,” you hear one of the three men say as they disappear back to the bar, and you’re grinning when you look back at Jamie.

Despite all the time you’ve been in Richmond, this was your first encounter with real fans, with people from the community who supported you. It didn’t matter that you played on the women’s team, it mattered that you were a Richmond player, practically a god to the fans in the pub, and it made a little bubble of hope grow in your chest that there were more people like those men out there, who supported you through and through.

Almost as soon as the men leave and Jamie gets settled again, the older woman from behind the bar, who you assume is Mae, is bringing over pints and piles of food, brushing off your thanks with a smile and a wink and you’re already planning your next visit before trying any of the food.

“I might’ve went a little overboard,” Jamie says sheepishly as he surveys the plates that take up most of your table, “I just wanted to make sure there’d be something you like.”

Your heart stutters in a way that’s been happening more and more lately, increasing with the amount of time you spend with Jamie, but you ignore it in favor of digging into the mountain of food in front of you. It’s all wonderful, the perfect comfort food to put you in a good mood to start off your week, but you might enjoy the company more than the food.

After you’re finished and Mar waves away every attempt on your end to pay the bill, Jamie drives you home as you continue your meandering conversations from earlier in the evening, and you find yourself a little sad when he pulls up outside of your door.

“Thank you, for hanging out with me and for the great dinner,” you tell him as you gather your bags, the exhaustion of the day starting to hit you.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime?” It comes out more like a question, even though you’re almost certain Jamie was trying to sound confident and sure of himself, but you nod enthusiastically anyway.

Sending you on your way with a wave and completely ignoring your insistence to pay him for half of the dinner you’d shared, Jamie drives away and leaves you all by yourself for the first time since morning. You feel calmer, though, more open to spending the rest of your Saturday evening with only your thoughts for company, so you let yourself enjoy an extra long shower while you scrub away layers of makeup and hair gel and sweat from the photo shoot.

Stepping out of the shower, you’re met with a series of texts from Keeley, along with a few of the unedited photos from earlier.

I’m not supposed to share these - oops ;)

Smiling, you scroll through the few pictures she’d sent and you almost can’t believe it’s you looking back. You look powerful and strong and badass, like the type of player a little girl could look up to, could aspire to be. It makes you more emotional than you thought, and you sniffle a little as you thank Keeley for sending you the pictures.

It’s in that moment that it hits you that you’re doing so much more than playing soccer, you’re breaking boundaries and becoming a role model and being the person that you’d used to dream about being. The thought was always dormant in the back of your mind, that being a female athlete was always about so much more than sports, but staring at a professional campaign picture of you looking tough and confident, being there for little girls to look up to, solidifies those thoughts.

Feeling a little emotional, you settle on your couch with a fluffy blanket and some snacks, flipping through channels for something comforting to watch when you accidentally land on a channel with Jamie’s face staring down at you. The clip is from yesterday, because you remember the blue hoodie he was wearing, and the reporter must have stopped him as he left training.

You’re about to text him to let him know that apparently you can’t escape him and change the channel when you hear your name and a question that makes all the joy drain from your body.

“… is the female version of you?” The reporter asks from behind the camera, and your heart sinks as you wait for Jamie’s response because as much as you want to, you’re unable to look away.

“Mate, she’s scored more than me, she’s leading in assists this season, I think I’m the man version of her,” Jamie replies before he rushes away, looking beyond irritated and upset.

It shouldn’t surprise you, his response to that question, after all the support he and the other Greyhounds have given your team, but something about that specific question made your stomach drop. Hearing Jamie’s response, though, seeing the anger flash in his eyes on your behalf, elicits a completely different feeling.

Your heart is racing and your head feels fuzzy and it’s getting a little hard to breathe and you can’t think of anything other than Jamie and that’s when it hits you like an unexpected pass, like a tackle from an aggressive defender.

You’re in love with Jamie Tartt.

Tags: @andr0medafallen @whimsical-roasting @sokkigarden @hopefulromances @buckychristwrites @guccilongboard @onceuponaoneshot @presidential-facts @yepyeahuhhuh @allthefandomtherapy @gibby31 @buddyjuststop @ellietartt @cancvr @brianandthemays @sonyume @aiyaiy @captainfrisbee @dalebo3 @theloud-yet-quietone @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @rockchickrebel @legobatmans9thab @curlypeter @lostinwonderland314 @yokolesbianism @jamietarttdodo @fan-goddess @innocentbi-stander @skewedcherries

[lostloveletters]

Still Crazy After All These Years (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: It's a perfect Saturday evening in spring, which means only one thing for the Egans: baseball (specifically their son's Little League game).

Note: Fluffy post-war fic of Holly and Bucky being unhinged Little League parents (but we love them for it🥲) Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: None.

“C’mon ump, that was out!” Bucky shouted from the bleachers. “Foul ball my as—butt,” he muttered to Holly, who had three-year-old Cynthia in her lap, her chestnut hair pulled up in twin ponytails that blew along with the late spring breeze.

The mid-May air was heavy with DC’s summer creeping up on them. The swampy, humid season dragged along until he finally reached fall’s reprieve. Spring was perfect, though, with its early season baseball games and cherry blossom festival. 

“It’s ridiculous.” Holly shook her head, her hand in the bag of pretzels she brought along, having carefully broken some into smaller pieces for Cindy.

“Who’s pitching? Is that the Baker kid?”

She nodded. “Yeah, Terry and Lynn’s youngest boy, Danny. He’s pretty good when he’s focused.”

“I can’t see,” Cindy pouted.

“Come on up, princess,” Bucky said, lifting his daughter and holding her on his hip. “Better?”

She nodded, wrapping her small arms around him as best as she could. 

“You know, when you’re a little older, they have leagues just like this for girls.”

“Honey.”

“I’m just letting Cindy know she has options!”

“Where’s Henry?” Cindy asked.

“You see him, right over there?” Bucky pointed at the boy playing shortstop whose dark, curly hair was barely contained beneath his blue baseball cap, a big orange ‘B’ for Bears embroidered on it. All of the local Little League teams were named after some type of animal, and Henry’s game schedule made him feel like he was in the Wizard of Oz with how many lions and tigers and bears were on the sheet of paper he brought home from his first day of practice.

“Henry! It’s Cindy!” she shouted, waving frantically at her brother.

The boy looked up, waving in the general direction of his family. Bucky and Holly had been in the middle of packing up the Christmas decorations when Henry asked them if he could sign up for the neighborhood Little League team that upcoming spring. Holly nearly dropped a box of glass ornaments in excitement.

Watching a major league game, Yankees or not, paled in comparison to cheering on for his own son. Even strikeouts and missed catches made Bucky overwhelmed with pride, because Henry was out there trying, making mistakes he could improve on in their backyard with Bucky’s encouragement to buoy Henry’s spirits if he felt a little discouraged—or got distracted. He had to give the coach credit. Keeping the attention of a dozen six- and seven-year-old boys long enough to teach them how to play a decent game of baseball couldn’t have been an easy feat.

“Out!” the umpire shouted.

Holly clapped as Henry’s team left the field to line up near home plate. “Now we’re talking.”

The kid batting before Henry hit a pop fly and was out before he could even make it a few feet from home plate. Bucky heard Holly take a deep breath when Henry walked up to bat. First pitch was a strike, but the second was almost perfect, the crack of the bat breaking through the crowd’s murmuring. The ball flew into the outfield, landing just in front of the chain link fence that separated the baseball field from the playground.

“Nice hit, Henry!” Bucky shouted.

Holly jumped up, bag of pretzels spilling across the bleachers. “Way to go, sweetheart!”

Bucky grabbed Holly’s hand as they watched their son pass first and make it to second before the centerfielder could throw the ball back to the infield.

“Kid’s a natural,” Bucky whispered excitedly, as all good parents do, adoration filling his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of Cindy’s head. Holly liked to joke that the day Henry was born, Bucky cried more than their newborn baby did, but their son, and later their daughter, too, were the culmination of every hope and dream he desperately clung to for the better part of two years of just surviving. Because of that, he’d do anything for them.

He watched as the inning continued, his eyes on Henry the whole time. The next batter managed to get to first, but Henry flew past third and made a break for home just as the second baseman caught the ball.

“Go Henry!” Holly shouted. “Go go go!”

“You got this Henry! Come on buddy!”

Bucky was sure his heart was going to explode by the time Henry slid to home plate, barely a second before the ball flew into the catcher’s hand.

“Safe!” the umpire announced, nearly drowned out by Holly’s screaming.

“Attaboy Henry!” Bucky cheered.

“He did it! He fuc—flipping did it!” Holly gave Bucky a celebratory kiss, the two of them hardly able to contain their smiles long enough for their lips to meet for all that long. 

The rest of the game flew by. Nothing could compare to the rush of watching Henry steal home. The Bears won by a run, and Holly and Bucky were equally convinced it was thanks to their son. As soon as they found him after the game was over, Holly engulfed him in a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“You did fantastic, sweetie! What a game!” she exclaimed, almost looking a bit teary-eyed when she took Cindy’s hand in hers.

“Look at you! Stole home like a champ,” Bucky said with a smile, pulling off Henry’s cap to ruffle his hair.

Henry smiled, front tooth missing, the first of his baby teeth to fall out. The tooth fairy had left him a quarter to mark the occasion. “Thanks, dad.”

“I think this calls for ice cream,” Holly said, as if they didn’t go for ice cream after every game Bucky was able to go to.

Bucky nodded. “Definitely. Whatever you kids want.”

——

Scoopland was one of the first places Holly had taken him to when they were stateside and he made the move to DC with her. A neighborhood staple she frequented before the war, she’d been excited to bring him there. The place boasted over 20 different flavors of ice cream, and after trying them all over the course of their first summer together after the war, found he liked their Rocky Road the best. Holly was partial to mint chocolate chip, a newer flavor which he thought tasted like toothpaste. 

Bucky walked up to the counter, tasked with ordering the ice cream while Holly wrangled Henry and Cindy into a nearby booth. She had the most difficulty getting Henry to sit down, since he spotted some friends from his baseball team on the other side of the ice cream shop.

“How’s it going Mr. Egan?” the teenage boy behind the counter asked.

“Can’t complain.”

“The usual for you guys?”

Bucky smiled. The usual. He wasn’t sure he ever figured himself to be the type of guy to have a usual at an ice cream place, but parenthood changed a lot of things. Sometimes, Cindy dealt out tea parties and temper tantrums in the same day. Henry got himself a trip to the emergency room just a few months prior while he was sledding on a snow day with his friends and went straight through a neighbor’s fence. He wasn’t sure how Holly managed on her own when he’d go away for work. At least her parents were nearby and took every opportunity to spoil their grandchildren that was presented to them.

He brought the four cups of ice cream over to the table, two in each hand, and placed the hot fudge sundae in front of Henry and tutti frutti with extra rainbow sprinkles in front of Cindy. He gave Holly a kiss as he handed her the cup of mint chocolate chip and snickered to himself when he sat down next to Cindy and saw Henry’s nose scrunched on the other side of the table.

“Listen champ, if there’s ever a day I don’t kiss your mom, that’s when you should be making that face.”

“‘S gross,” Henry said through a mouthful of ice cream.

“So is talking with your mouth full.”

Cindy stuck out her tongue, a distorted rainbow of ice cream and toppings that made Henry laugh.

“Next time, we’re taking you both to the zoo and leaving you there so the monkeys can raise you,” Holly said.

“We’re going to the zoo?” Henry asked. “When?”

“I wanna see a zebra and a giraffe!” Cindy exclaimed.

“How about next weekend?” Bucky looked to Holly for her approval, which was given in the smile that’d begrudgingly spread across her face.

Everything said and done, they made a damn good team as parents. Maybe he indulged the kids a little more than he should have, but Holly did her fair share of it too, letting Henry skip school to bring him and Cindy to weekday Nationals games for the hell of it. 

“Can I go say ‘hi’ to Danny and Paul?” Henry asked, looking over his shoulder at his friends who were waving at him.

“Fifteen minutes, but we’re heading home soon. It’s past your sister’s bedtime,” Holly said. “Don’t climb over the seat, Henry, that’s—” She sighed as he climbed over the back of the booth anyway, leaving a streak of dirt from his sneakers behind him. “He definitely gets it from you.”

“Me? The first time I met your parents, they made a point to tell me how much of a wild child you were,” Bucky reminded her with a grin.

Her parents were gracious enough to let him stay with them until he and Holly found a place of their own, although he was sure her returning with a ring on her finger made it easier for them to welcome him into their home. Holly must have done a hell of a job talking him up in her letters to them, because none of the awkward tension he’d been expecting was there when he first walked through the door to meet them.

Holly laughed to herself as she wiped off the seat with a napkin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Drawing on your bedroom walls?” he pressed.

“Can I draw on my walls?” Cindy asked.

���No. It wasn’t good when mommy did it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have nice paper we bought for you to draw on, baby,” Holly said.

“It’s not as fun.”

“Sure it is,” Bucky said. “Remember the other day when we drew that castle with the unicorn and the dragon?”

She yawned. “You made the unicorn look funny.”

“Are you sleepy, Cin?” Holly asked.

Despite shaking her head, Cindy rubbed her eyes. She always did whatever she could to push out her bedtime, as if she were afraid she might miss something big if she went to sleep.

“I guess I should’ve asked mom and dad to watch her, huh?” Holly said. “I didn’t think we’d be out this late.”

Cindy mumbled something incomprehensible before dozing off.

Holly laughed softly, “And she’s out.”

“I got her,” Bucky said, picking up Cindy from her seat and placing her in his lap. She immediately curled up against him, and he tried not to think too much about how he wouldn’t know when the last time she’d ever do that would be. Hell, Henry was six and already ditching them to hang out with his friends. He glanced over at his son, face scrunched up in laughter at a joke one of them told him. His smile was like looking in a little mirror. 

Bucky ate a spoonful of ice cream, trying to tamper down the ache in his chest.

“You ever thought this would be how you’d spend your Saturday nights?” Holly asked teasingly.

“No.” Bucky smiled. “This is a lot better.”

[zankydraws]

do you have an oc or persona of any kind?

also, do you have any of your own oc’s w/ lore and stuff?

only asking cus i really wanted to make fanart for you at some point and realised i couldn’t T-T

have a nice day!

I do have a sona but she needs a little redesign. I've been planning on drawing her but I'm not really in the mood for that now.. But idk, maybe I'll get motivated 😔

tbh, most of my OCs need redesigns or at least some new art (I haven't drawn one of my faves since like.. 2018). a lot of the stuff I have is very rusty lol

buuuut, I guess I could share one guy... my biggest fave. I've wanted to share art of him for a long while but for some reason I was never ready to do that lol, ngl I'd love to get fanart of him

(pics and some details about him under read more) ⬇️

this is Dave and he is very stupid 💖 if you're interested in making art of him, here's what he looks like

(shitty ass meme edit lmao)

His actual name is Dawid Szulecki 🇵🇱

He's some sort of a faceless ghost and wears a mask at all times. He can create clones of himself which are emotion based and each has a different mask (there are 7 different masks but I plan on adding one more in the future and maybe improving a few of them lol so you're only gonna see two of them for now). His favorite activities are playing baseball with his clones, slapping his clones on their stupid bald heads and touching nice tiddies. He also enjoys being a nuisance to his friends and pulling pranks on them (his buddies are faceless ghosts too). Generally he's a shitlord

his skin is pitch black and feels cold and slightly velvetty to the touch

he's a pretty big boi, 198cm tall

he loves dinosaurs and has a little collection of dino figurines and also owns dinosaur themed hoodies and onesies (which is a lil fact that I keep forgetting about lol)

+ some older stuff I made 2-3 years ago:

he wears dumb shirts like these unironically

he's my idiot. my dumbass 💜

I need to make more art of him and his friends fr

[broodparasitism]

Everything I've Learned About Querying from Talking to Agents (And Traditionally Published Authors)

Disclaimer: I'm UK based, as was everyone I spoke to. I didn't include any country specific advice, just what I think is applicable regardless of where you live, put it might be useful to know this is from a UK lens.

As part of my course I was able to go to a lot of talks with literary agents (a mixture of literary, genre and nonfiction) and I picked up a lot of useful information - a lot of it not quite so bleak as I feared! - and thought it might be helpful to compile it for anyone looking to query agents in the future, so, here goes, under the readmore:

Querying

Remember that agents want to find and publish new authors. They're not at odds with/out to get aspiring authors. They want to work with us. This is someone you're working with, so don't pick an agent you won't get along with.

Manuscripts should be queried when they are as close to finished you are able to manage. There are a few agents that are open to incomplete manuscripts, yes, but many more that flat-out refuse unfinished work. Manuscripts generally go through about ~15 rounds of edits before landing an agent.

Send query letters in batches - around five or six at a time. There is no limit to how many agents you can contact, but you can't contact more than one agent from the same agency, so make sure you've selected the most suitable one from each.

In most cases you can't submit the same manuscript to the same agent twice - so having it be as finished as possible is all the more vital.

Some of them will take a long time to respond. Some never respond at all. If it's been three months of nothing, it's safe to assume that's a rejection.

One agent said she took on about two new authors a year, which likely isn't true for them all but is probably a reasonable average. For all of them, the amount of queries they get can be in the three digits a week. I can't emphasis enough just how many they get. I take a lot of authors to mean that means it's a 0.001% chance and despair, but that assumes each manuscript has an equal chance, and they don't. Correct spelling and grammar, writing in a genre that appeals to the agent, quality sample chapters and respecting the submission guidelines (more on this later) improve the odds by a significiant amount.

One agent said he rejected about half of his submissions from the first page due to spelling and grammar mistakes and cliches, for perspective.

You'll need to pitch your book. If your book cannot be pitched in three sentences, that's a sign it has too much going on and you'll need to do some pruning.

Please don't panic if you cannot come up with an accurate pitch for your book on the fly - you're not supposed to be able to do that. A pitch takes many edits and drafts just like a manuscript.

Send your first three chapters and a synopsis (this should be a page, or two pages double spaced. It should not include every single plot point though, again, if major things end up not there at all, question if they're necessary for the manuscript).

Three chapters is the standard - as in, if the agent web page doesn't specify how many, that's what to opt for. If they say anything else, for the love of God listen. If there was a single piece of advice that the agents emphasised above all else, it was to just follow each submission requirement to a T.

There needs to be a strong hook in these chapters. If your manuscript is a bit of a slow burn, that's fine, but you can cheat a bit with a 'prologue' that's actually a very hook-y scene from later on.

Read the agent's bio page throughly and make a note of what they like, who they represent, and what they're looking for, and highlight this in the query letter.

Your query letter has to say a little about you. It doesn't have to be really personal information (but say if you're under 40, because that's rare for authors and they like that), and keep it professional but not stiff, they say. If you have any writing credentials, such as awards won or creative writing degrees, include them, as with any real life experiences that pertains to the content of your book. But no one will be rejected on the basis of not having had an interesting enough life.

Apparently one of the biggest mistakes for debut authors tend to be too many filler scenes.

In terms of looking for comparative titles, think about where you want your book to 'sit'. Often literally - go into bookstores and visualise where on the displays you could see it. It's really helpful if you can identify a specific marketing niche. Though you want to choose comparisons that sell well, but going for really obvious choices looks lazy. A TV or film comparison is fine - as long as it genuinely can be compared.

Do not call yourself the next Donna Tartt. Or JK Rowling. They are sick of this.

Don't trust agents who request exclusive submission.

Or any with a fee. Agents take a percentage of your advance/royalties - you never pay them directly.

In terms of trends (crowd booing), there's been a boom in uplifting, optimistic fiction, but more recently dark fiction has been rising in popularity and looks to have its moment. Fantasy and Gothic are both huge right now. Publishers also love what's called upmarket/book club fiction - books that toe the line between genre and literary.

But publishers aren't clairvoyant and writing to trends is a futile effort, so don't let them shape what you want to write. Some writing advice I got that I loved was to not even THINK about marketability until draft three or four.

If any agent requests your full manuscript - this is crucial - email every other agent you're waiting to hear back from and let them know. This will take your manuscript from the slush pile to the top, and you are more likely to get more offers of representation.

The agent that flatters you the most isn't necessarily the best. Be sure to ask them what their plan for the book is, and what publishers they're planning to send it to - you want them to have a precise vision. It might be that their vision misses the mark on what kind of book you wanted to write, and if so, they aren't the right agent for you.

Research like hell! A good place to start is finding out who represents authors you love (the acknowledgements pages are really helpful here). if you can, getting access to The Writer's and Artist's Yearbook is very helpful, as is The Bookseller, the lattr for checking up on specific agents. (I was warned the website search engine is awful, so google "[name] the Bookseller" to see what they've sold. That said, only the huge deals get reported, so it's not indicative of everyone they take on.

I also want to add Juliet Mushen's article on what makes a good query. I owe a lot to it, and I feel like it's a useful template!

Once Agented

Agents send a manuscript to about 18-25 publishers, typically. Most books will end up having more than one publisher interested.

It can be hard to move genres after publishing a debut novel, especially for book two, not only because it means it takes longer for you to establish yourself, but the agent that may be perfect for dealing with manuscripts for book one might not have the skills for book two.

Ask the agency/publisher about their translation rights, their rights to the US market, and film and TV rights. Ask also what time of year the book is going to come out, if being published.

It's less the book agents are interested in than it is you as an author. You will be asked what you're going to write next, so have an answer. Just an answer - you don't need another manuscript ready to go. One author said she flat-out made up a book idea on the spot, and she got away with it - just have an answer. (This is also useful to put on the query letter.)

Caveat that this is, of course, not a foolproof guide to getting a book deal, nor is it in any way unconditional endorsement of how the industry works - I just thought it would be useful to know.