#i kept forgetting to do this but its done now!

[gullwrites]

a bar called safe house

summary: Maybe asking a friend to help you with your work isn't always a good idea, especially if a guy who secretly hates your friend shows up. Now, after asking her new associate she had gained through work to help hide something that happened, including her friend Tobias and this coworker deemed as 'knows too much', Klara is told to go to a specific bar with her still-a-bit-shocked friend to wait for the associates' people to be done at the apartment.

a conversation of a specific event in their early relationship/friendship i've been thinking of abt lately. idk. happens twenty years before cynosure events btw.

warnings: mentions of killing someone in self-defence, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of blood, mentions of murder

"I think my mom took me here a couple of times..."

Klara turned to look at it quickly, surprised at it suddenly saying something after a silent walk here. Not like she was completely surprised about its silence, it's not every day someone like Tobias could experience something like... that.

They were in a dim-lit cafe-bar thing called Safe House, making Klara wonder how literal the name was. She was told to take it here, while the people who worked for Birch took care of the... problem.

1:56 AM, barely anyone outside and no one in the cafe. Except for them. Only some people knew it was open at this time, those who were allowed to know, and the owners didn't seem to be keen on telling that to anyone they see on the street, either. One of them sat behind the counter, reading a book - Klara couldn't tell what, exactly.

"At a normal time, I hope?" She asked.

"Haha, no. Insomnia runs in the family, it seems," it replied, staring at the menu, "At 2 at night, I think. Maybe a bit earlier once. She knew someone who knew someone who was friends with the lover of the owner."

Klara wondered what kind of people its mother knew to know about this place. "God, didn't you live at, like, Medford or something?" She said, imagining how long it would take to get here from there. They must've had a car. "Gonna order the same thing now, too?"

"Oh, no no no, no, I've had enough of lemon iced tea in Miami. Never again." Tobias stepped closer to the counter and leaned on it. "Pomegranate spritz, non-alcoholic, please."

"Anything else?" The voice behind the counter asked, and it glanced at her, awaiting for her order.

"Oh, um, hang on, I haven't checked the menu myself yet," Klara said and stepped closer, cursing the dim light and small font in her head - and forgetting her glasses. "I'll pay, you go find a cool table to sit at," she said to Tobias, who stood still by the counter.

It looked around, then walked closer to her, clearly not wanting to be alone. After a moment of Klara squinting at the menu, it said, "You're an iced coffee enjoyer, why not order that? They had cold brew, too."

"Hmm... Yeah, I'll take that," she walked to the counter to pay, but the owner didn't seem to notice her as they just kept working on the drinks. "Where's the reader?"

"The payment was taken care of already by the person who told you to come here," they said, and motioned them to go and pick a table.

--

They picked the table by the window, by the wall. Klara watched Tobias slowly sit down, and how it took off its leather jacket to place it near the wall, like a makeshift pillow. She thought about sitting next to it for a moment, to maybe try and offer some comfort, or to just be close, but ended up sitting on the opposite side of the table instead. Maybe that would help her with less thoughts about 'being close'. Maybe. "You okay?"

"Hm, fun question," it said quietly, leaning on the table, "Maybe? I don't know. I guess you could say yes in a 'I'm alive' way. But everything else, a big question mark. Although, I do feel awful about what I did, you know? Or, maybe not awful, just- uh, I don't know, sorry."

"Nothing to apologize about, it's very normal."

It glanced at her, a frown on its lips. "What's normal about this situation..."

"Your reaction's normal. I mean, that must have been shocking, so of course it makes you feel weird."

"I wouldn't use 'shocking' to describe killing someone, but yeah, I guess," it sighed and covered its face with its hands, mumbling, "Oh my, what have I done..."

The owner brought their drinks, not paying any attention to what was happening. Klara wondered if they just didn't care, or if there have been weirder things happening here before.

Klara watched them leave, and then looked at it. "May I remind you that it was in self-defence. We already talked about this before." She hoped that its bathroom was soundproof enough.

Tobias opened its mouth to answer, but closed it quickly, reaching for its drink instead. To hold it, twirl it around slightly, not to drink - something idle to do while lost in thoughts. Klara watched the dark red liquid move in the glass, wondering what it could see in it. Looked at its fingers around the glass, still noticing some blood under its fingernails. Thought about the two big wounds she had taken care of on its left side, sitting on the floor in its bathroom, its smooth skin warm under her hands - she stopped herself for a moment, wondering if it's normal to think of something like that. At that moment it seemed to only care more about what body cream it could use after a shower. It ended up choosing vanilla, and Klara could feel its faint scent across the small coffee table, finding it interesting how much it seemed to care about something like skincare.

Maybe it was just thinking of something that wouldn't let it think of what was happening outside the bathroom, Klara thought, Not every day some people who work for a guy you don't know come help clean things up.

Suddenly, Klara realized she's been staring at its face the whole time as she was lost in her thoughts. She leaned back and picked up her glass of cold brew, hoping the paper straw hasn't melted yet.

Tobias didn't seem to be fully here, either. Its dark brown eyes, almost black in the cafe's poor light, seemed unfocused, and it seemed to barely move. Its hand was still holding the cocktail, thoigh it didn't twirl it around anymore. She fought the urge to place her hand on its. Didn't want to bother it.

"I think, um... I think I learned something. About myself. Or, well, um, I don't know," it finally said, its voice trailing off at the end, as it placed the glass down and leaned on the table.

Klara sighed, readying herself for it to call itself an awful person for what it had done, once again, or whatever it could've thought of. And thought of what to say to it about that, again. Maybe something like 'if you were, you wouldn't feel bad about it'... like some of her coworkers. "And what would that be?" She asked.

"I, um. This might sound weird, I guess, but. I don't think I would've acted like this before," it paused, as if looking for right words, "I mean, um. I think I would just, uh, give him what he wanted. Wouldn't care about him killing me. Maybe I'd even be okay with it. Or...something more positive, even? Anyway. Would've done that half a year ago. But now? I... I think I realized that, well, there are things for me to live for. Things to work towards, people to talk to, helping others... People to live for," it said, glancing at her for a moment as it said the last sentence. Klara thought if it was an accident, or just a reflex, or something. Surely it didn't mean anything by that. Did it?

Before she could reply, it continued, "I'm not trying to say what I did is right. It isn't. And I'll live with that my whole life. But, at that moment, fighting for myself seemed like a good thing..."

"And it was," she said, "said it yourself, many times, you didn't mean to. It was literally the first thing you said when I arrived."

It shrugged, looking down again. "I don't know, I- Ugh. I feel sick about it... but also, uh, free? In some way? Is it wrong?"

"No."

"Pfft. It feels like you're saying that only so I would feel better."

"Didn't you call me straightforward person?"

It smirked slightly, looking at her with its soft, brown eyes. "As a compliment. Um. I mean... It's a good trait to have. Along with all the other good traits you have, and, uh," it picked up its drink and took a sip, as if to stop itself from saying more.

"Then you know I'm being honest," she said and leaned closer. "Nothing wrong with defending yourself. Besides, guy was a complete asshole. And, well, a murderer. Imagine how many people he had killed before, both for work and for whatever he was doing on the side."

"Hmm," it looked at the glass again, its shoulders seeming less tense. "I hope none of my, uh, whining sounds weird or offensive to you, by the way. As in-"

"As in me being a corporate agent and doing all the shit that role brings with itself? No, don't worry about it. That's the hole I digged for myself."

"Should get you out of there and have you sipping iced coffee while looking at gulls on the beach."

"Hah. That would be fun, yeah... Though, only if you're there doing random commentary about things happening around us," she chuckled, thinking of the 'research trip' two days ago. How its laugh and stories seemed to fill her memories of that day.

"Oh, gladly," it said. "I, um. Thank you, Klara, for being here. And for all the help back at the apartment, too. For everything. It's helping... a lot. Means a lot."

She froze for a moment, thinking what to say. "I mean, technically it's my fault you got into that situation... If I didn't ask you to help me out with work, Pierce wouldn't have even know you're here."

"I'm sure he'd found a way to try and kill me in one way or another. Probably dreamed of it since the end of the project. Don't blame yourself."

"Only if you won't blame yourself for what happened, either."

It didn't say anything, staring at the drink its glass, yet she did notice it smiling more widely. Good, that's good, she thought, though failing to explain to herself why it was good.

She leaned back and looked out of the window. "I should ask if they're done with your apartment. You need to sleep, maybe write that you'll take a few days off as 'sick leave', calm doen before going back to your courses and work... and your thesis..."

"Yeah, uh. Oh, fuck, the thesis... Uh. Just remembered that Pierce destroyed all my data drives and my laptop while trying to get rid of all the information I had for your work."

"You don't have any copies left? Of your thesis, I mean, not the stupid work files. Fuck them."

It shrugged. "I, uh, fucking hell. Um-" it paused, finished its drink, and sighed. "You know what, I'll figure it out later. You're right, maybe I meed a break."

"Hm, you sure do," Klara thought about taking a few days off herself. Just to keep an eye on it, make sure it's feeling alright, she thought to herself.

She opened her phone and noticed a message from one of Birch's people, saying that the apartment is free now and that they'll contact her later about the next steps and updates. "You can go home now, it seems," she said to it.

"Did they, uh, clean up everything there. Where that happened, that is."

"Yep. Based on what I've seen before, they do a good job, so don't worry about it. It will all look completely normal." Except that you won't be able to forget about it, she almost added, wondering if it could move out despite the year-long agreement it had.

Tobias nodded. "Uh-huh. Um. How much do I owe this guy, by the way. Surely nothing he does is for free..."

"Actually, about that. Weird thing, but when I mentioned your name, he said it'd be for free. No, don't ask why. I don't know either."

"Huh. Um. Okay." It stood up and put its leather jacket on. "Weird question, but can you stay over? I, um, I know nothing's going to happen anymore, but-"

"Being alone doesn't feel right, huh? Understandable. Of course I'll stay with you."

"...Thank you."

[leynaeithnea]

Just finished your beautiful beautiful very yummy and very angsty analysis of love in paradise ( maybe I shed a little tear here and there, maybe I didn't, you can't know that ) so I thought this would be right moment to leave you an ask for a gods game analysis maybe?? *stares at you with big brown eyes*

Last one of this saga!!!! Yayyy

Praying ill remember all the musical parts ive heard about but im sure theres so much hidden i forgot/didnt hear about yet

30. God Games

We open with a choir of course, because...gods! Athena decides to do something (finially)

“Father, God King” (athena asks daddy for help SIJGSEIG)

“Rarely do I ask for favors” being the good favorite daughter

“Now, I’m knocking on your door, with hopes to save a friendship with one who’s a prisoner far from home....Odysseus” I LOVE the melody of this part somehow??? especially how the drop before “odysseus”, ALSO SHE CALLS IT A FRIENDSHIP INFRONT OF ZEUS TOO

“Divine intervention, is that what you seek?” ........yes, bruh. Zeus dont fuck this up, u are decent enough in Homers Odyssey

“To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?” okay i had to google “apprehentions, and apperently it both means “arrest” and “concern/fear”...........to untie the arrest on Ody, and at the same time the concerns of Odysseus THATS GENIUS, Ive heard Homer does a lot of these double meanings of words in his Epics and IM SO HERE FOR IT, also “that Greek”, come on, dont use it as a slur >:)

“You are playing with thunder for a man full of shame”..................NOW WHO PUT THIS SHAME ON HIM YOU MF, YOU WHAT KIND OF SICK GAME IS THIS-

“But if he’s worth the risk of going under, why not make it a game?” Lukes vocal performance in this part is something else, like dude??? hello? youre a tenor SIEJGSEIGJ, its good, also WDYM GOING UNDER??? HUH??? ....yeah of course you make it a game, because everything is a game to you, because really, theres nothing and noone who poses a thread to you

“Convince each of them that he ought to be released, and I’ll release him” the slight echo effect in that voice.......fascinatinggg, wish i knew if the melody in this part had any meaning, gotta look it up

“Who’s them?” Athena god of wisdom asking about details before agreeing to deals *cough* Odysseus, learn from your friend

“Apollo” APPOLO MY GUY ehehehehee

“Hephaestus” okay, fair

“Aphrodite” the wWAY HE PROUNCES HER NAME?? OMG

“Ares”, yea yea imposing yada yada

“Hera” cant exclude his wife

“Or me” OR me, so its ALL of them, or him? bruh

“What do you say?” WHAT IS SHE SUPPOSED TO SAY

“Great” ehehehehe apollo <3

“Very well” just doing it because

“Eh” shes so excited

“Alright” he IS excited

“Groovy”....ok? um...imma move on

“Bring it” of course she would choose all of them over Zeus, its Zeus, he just WANTS you to loose, bc hes the god king

“Apollo!” parrot

“You all know I’m a fan of catchy songs” god of music yada yada HIS VOICE

“so with so many sirens gone, I think Ody’s in the wrong”.........there are so many reasons to dislike Odysseus and you pick the SIRENS? .......did you just join for the fun and had no real reasons or did u get dragged there or-....but its ok, your voice is amazing, also IIRC it should be the melody of suffering??? of different beast??? i forgorrrr norrrr also Lyreeee in the background! ehehehe

“They were trying to do him worse, All he did was reimburse them Now they’ll tread with caution first To live another day and sing another verse” maybe the melody was in this part. also, yeah tell him athena, what kind of argument is that, they tried to kill him he just did what he had to--------admittely he was VERY cruel about it, but athena doesnt have to mention that, and well Ody probably protected even more sailors in the future through his actions

ALSO DONT COME AT ME WITH “but all the sirens are dead” THERE ARE MORE, theyre obviously not talking about the sirens Ody killed, its about all other Sirens out at see that woudlve seen the others dying after being brutally cut down by a human, they WILL be more cautious in the future

“If that’s true, release him”, yeah u really had nothing to argue against, he just shrugs it off LMAO

“Hephaestus!” Hefefuf ehehehe ALSO JORGES DAD YAY adorable, tho when first listened i rly thought it was Jorge with voice changer again THEY SOUND SO SIMILIAR

“Trust is not given, it’s forged”...true, valid argument, Also Scylla melody??? I THink?

“Why should I give him my support? He sacrificed his own cohort”......well....um.....he didnt rly have much of a CHOICE ....but its a more valid concern, the sounds that sound like a hammers in a forge sound cool btw

“Did you forget they failed to listen?”.........yeah literally

“He was betrayed and then imprisoned” IMPRISONED AH ODY, but yeah EXACTLY, the WIND BAG, THE MUTINY AH

“But if you make the right decision He can still build a future with those who miss him” AND BUILD TRUST WITH THEM AGAIN AHHHHHHH yes. Hefefuf choose right.

“Fine, release him” good.

the music making it sound like steps in a game as you level up....fine, it sounds nice

“Aphrodite” seductive, i like it

“Your little high and mighty Odysseus” SHeS pissed, and does not like Ody you can hear the “high and mighty” in her voice :”) ouch

“Claims to love his mother But let her die of a broken heart” LIKE HE HAD A CHOICE IN THE MATTER HE TRIED TO GET HOME SHE DIDNT HAVE TO JUMP

“He was busy fighting”, yeaaah

“More like busy spiting the cyclops”.........yeah okay we can get behin that this was stupid decision but it wasnt a rational decision either he just lost his best friend, THATS LOVE TOO; GIVE HIM SOME SLACK

“Let him feel the pain that his mother felt and rot” WHY U BE SO COLD HEARTED , i love the melody/music in this tho

“Wait, please reconsider this”, athena using quick thought on a goddess, intriguing! also shes begging her :tear: aw man

“Really Athena? These old tricks?” annoyed older brother breaking into quick thought to the rescuse of his lover, makes him likeable somehow, i love the delivery of this line

“Ares!” yeah shes pissed

“What kind of sick coward Holds back his power While his friends get devoured? He didn’t even fight Scylla Didn’t even try to kill her Hides inside a wooden horse to get the job done Never handles things upfront” sorry that he didnt want to DIE dude??? i get your concern with straight forward, open combat but???? is dying on the battle field rly that much worse than wanting to come home COME ON, he wins, he is EFFECTIVE, are you jealous of his stragedies? HE GOT MENTORED BY ATHENA; OFC HE WILL CHOOSE THE SMART WAY OUT NOT THE QUICKEST-WAY-TO-DIE WAY OUT smh

“Pathetic and weak like his son” thats a low blow what is your issue with telemachus bro, the drums for ares makes sense

“Hold your tongue now His son’s my friend” awwww shes calling him a frienddddddd

“And tell your lover that a broken heart can mend” AHAHAH “tell your lover”, true true

“You want more bloodshed? Then set him free To get back to his homestead, he’ll make everybody bleed” SEUHGSOUEGESH “if you let him back he’ll kill everyone” Ares: :D thats what i like to hear, Athenas piano playing again, as she fights Ares is fun too

“Ugh, release him”, what made them change their mind? Esp Aphrodite? was it Athenas concern for Telemachus? and for Ares athenas promise of bloodshed? maybe who knows

“Hey baby”.....okay, flirty? from Hera? alright, lets interpret it as motherly flirting

“Hera” how to hit those high notes

“So many heroes So many tales Give me one good reason why yours should prevail” NOW THAT is intersting, everyone else so far gave a reason NOT to release him, but now Hera asks her to give her one reason WHY he deserves to be released “dont tell me of all the sins he didnt commit, tell me of the virtue he holds” typa thing

“He’s got the mind of a genius”, fair, but there would be others

“Try harder”, encouraging, she doesnt rly want her to loose does she? she support it, she just wants to see if Athena is worth it, i do like this characterization (as long as i ignore the disco animatic, i know its Jorges creative freedom but my brain tries to refuse ANYTHING that would be a reference to modernity, let me live in the bliss of ignorance to pretend its a movie set in ancient greece x)

“He’s pretty skilled with words”, hes a lair, i love him for it

“You can do better than that”, ...yeah

“He’s kind of funny?” running out of reasons athena, also YOU THINK HES FUNNY? LMAO ur right, the odyssey is quite the commedy for anyone but odysseus (and a few others but yk)

“Eh” doesnt sound convinced heh

“Never once has he cheated on his wife” HA HA HAHAHAHAHA HA right thing to say to Hera

[also the whole debate about “did odysseus cheat or not” no. idc what anyone says. if anyone argues he INITALLY consented to Calypso: fine, its blurry in the narrative, anyone can choose how to interpret that as they wish, but Circe was bestowed upon him by Hermes (in the myth at least, in Epic there ofc very clearly refuses her, and she accepts him (hear that calypso? HEAR THAT CALYPSO)) and Calypso, at the very least later on turned VERY unconsensual. FOR SEVEN YEARS., but the “he liked her no more” could also mean she didnt like her as a person anymore after she saved him. its not 100% clear how the relationship started out, we just know how it ends rly, but given the historic context too, it might very well be that it wouldntve been considered as cheating, even if it was consensual, would hera consider it cheating bc she does so with Zeus? maybe, idk, i think the idea of Ody being (one of) the only greek hero(es) that doesnt cheat is one i like, he gets praised enough by homer for all his skills he might as well have the skill of being true to his wife, in EPIC we know that Ody refuses her from the beginning so whatever did or did not remain unnamed in Epic, would NOT be cheating,.........and anyone who mentions Odys proof for cheating being the telegony or any other later versions where suddenly children show up, and he offs penelope for cheating and telemachus marries circe, can kindly, do some more reading into the history of the text and how later authors added their own twists, we dont know if the odyssey from homer was the most well known version, i think, but its the one we consider canon now, and i rly refuse to believe that Ody coming home only to get a new wife]

“Release him” the side glace Zeus mustve gotten LMAO

...ok angry zeus choir again, rly?

“I’ve played your game and won”, she did, fair and square

“Release him” you better

“You dare to defy me?”, what happend to your voice zeus? also....are you pissed that she called you out on cheating? bro, ur just pissed that she choose everyone else over you, grow up zeus

“To make me feel shame?” shame about loosing the game or shame for the humiliation about cheating, mhh

“No one beats me, no one wins my game!”, sounds like my 3rd brother, but hes at least cute when hes throwing a fit about a game having rules

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer Show her I’m the judgement call The one who makes her kingdom fall! ”.your voice is getting worse btw, but...are we talking about pride still? Athenas pride? or is “her” just Athena now? mhhhh, Odysseus DID call her “selfish, prideful and vain”, so maybe it does refer to her pride, she DID Have a character arc tho >:) unlike zeus, hes just an ass, also he gets a choir background for this? intersting,

NOW HE THROWS LIGHTING AT HER??? thats intense, i was gasping when i saw, night sound design

“Is she dead?”, he does sound concerned, is it bc big brother energy or bc athena was zeus favorite child? or do they know how Zeus fucked up just now? hah..ha

the flashes you can hear in the music....aaaah

NOW THIS INSTRUMETAL PART

IS SO BEAUTIFUL ITS SO GOOD THE WAY “WARRIOR OF THE MIND” AND TELEMACHUS LULLABY AND LEGENDARY BLEND TOGETHER AND BECOME “ATHENAS FINIAL STAND” (as its supposedly called) ITS SO GOOD i ah i like this part the most of the song, together with apollos voice aseghsegij Aphrodite is fine too :) and "rly athena; these old tricks"

AlSO her having a flashback to Ody giving her Telemachus to hold after his birth, PLS??? Thats so vulnerableeeeee aaaaaaaaah yeah, yea that was good

“Let him go, please, Let him go”, she reaches out to Zeus, as her light dims and she begs him to let Ody go, nothing left of the selfish and prideful goddess, she was selfless- sacrifcing herself and ler go of her pride to beg to Zeus to let him go, who stops as he grabs to throw another lighting, in shocked realization of what he has done.

The song fades out. And we are left to wonder if Athena is ded or not

now initially i rly thought Jorge killed a goddess

by now im more hopeful that she isnt dead (im hoping for that, mostly for the fun of sticking to the source material of Athenas help in the last chapter(s) of the story)

but

im still doubting a bit. the chance is there that she is, infact, dead, but i dont know how that would impact the narrative-,...i suppose we’ll see, either in the vengence saga, or at the lastest in the ithica saga x)

[synthshenanigans]

Really dumb set of messy doodles of Whole meeting Darrell for the first time & being very confused as to why there's a chicken in his head

more context/the idea I had:

[subsequentibis]

there's something really, really interesting to me about an omnipotent character or to a lesser extent a character with heightened senses transformed in some way into a human and being keenly, horribly aware of the Lack. no longer being able to sense or know thing, no longer being able to see or feel or hear, being frustrated or scared by the dulling of their senses. it's really fascinating to me.

[gyuswhore]

Cherry Picker [1]

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

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

Part 1: 19k | Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CAN I HELP YOU?”

“I’m sorry,” you gravel out. 

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

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

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

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

“Illegal truck, I guess.” 

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

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

“Fine. Change.” 

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

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

She has also mastered the art of impeccable dressing downs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, did you—”

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

“And that means…?”

“We have the rink reserved.”

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

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

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

“That means—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t afford getting rusty.” 

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

“What?”

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

“Lorry!”

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

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

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

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

“Lorelai!” 

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

“You’re impossible.”

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

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

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

“Why would I try pleasing that woman?”

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

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

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

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

“Carroll is not that bad!”

“God, you become more like Marina everyday.”

You frown, “What does that mean?”

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

“Ew.”

Lorelai smirks. “Bite me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. Really.” 

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

“Only a few months.”

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

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

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

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

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

Why did you bring me here? 

Six weeks. 

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

Six weeks. 

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

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

Six weeks. 

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

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

Six weeks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?” 

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

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

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

“…you realise Hansol has security cameras right?”

“Are you planning on robbing my laptop?”

“No. Although it does have nice specs.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just play the track,” you grumble. 

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

“Lorry!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impossibly, your blood runs cold. 

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

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

“Lorelai!” she yells it for no reason. 

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

“I’m worse,” she states. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said 4:30. It is not 4:30 yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“8 point 5! Nice!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I ask for your autograph?”

“He’s not special.”

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

“Why are you so hellbent on liking him?” 

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

“He was wearing the same stupid jacket—”

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

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

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

“Good for him.”

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

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

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

“They’re hogging my rink!”

“It is not your rink.”

“It’s as good as!”

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

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

Lorelai jumps. “What?”

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

“It’s still hurting, isn’t it?”

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

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

You snort, “Why would I do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that have to come from me too?” 

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She leaves before you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol saunters into the hallway, leading the pack. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The hockey team’s done. It’s two.”

“I wanna book a slot.”

“The rink’s empty you don’t—”

“Let me book the slot, Hansol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ice is booked.” 

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything stops. 

!HOT TOPIC! 

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

!HOT TOPIC! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lorry,” you sigh. 

“Listen, I wanna win too but—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Too late.”

“Lorry! Lorelai!”

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

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

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

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

“She only meant it as a reminder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only came third.”

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

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

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

Seungcheol leaves without a response from his friend. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choi, stop fucking fighting. 

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

A plea deal, perhaps?

Choi, what is it going to take?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They wanna drop you.”

“What?”

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

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

“You’re temperament—”

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

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

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

“In most cases.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

conditional. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan would’ve gotten away with it anyway. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

!HOT TOPIC! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wound too tight?! I’ve seen her thrice just today and every single time she looks like she wants to skin my fucking hide!”

Jeonghan only snorts. “Thing two isn’t any better. She’s cute though.”

Seungcheol whips around. “Who gets that territorial over a sound booth?!”

“Down, boy,” Jeonghan soothes, half in jest. “Surprised she isn’t here today either.”

“Yeah, you’d like to see her.”

“I would, actually, yes. What was her name?”

“Something to do with a train or a bus or something—”

“Lorry! Right,” Jeonghan furrows his brows. “I don’t think that’s her real name.”

Seungcheol throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he motions he’s done. “I don’t think anyone who actually loves their child would name them after a bus.”

Jeonghan halts in his steps. “My dead dog’s name was Lorry.”

Seungcheol is extra nice for the rest of the way home. 

SEUNGCHEOL CAN'T SLEEP.

His dreams are full of voices, of every single teammate he’s ever had. The junior league, his high school team, up to his college team, and finally, his team right now. 

They’re all murmuring like they were paid to do it, uttering the same things, over and over. He doesn’t belong here, they don’t want him here, he doesn’t deserve what he has. 

And with the way his heart is racing when he jolts awake, cold sweat and all, he realises he’s kicked his blanket off of him sometime during the night. He looks over to his alarm clock that glares bright in the dark of his room; 5:08 AM.

He doesn’t need to be up, but it seems his own subconscious has given him a good enough scare to make sure every last essence of sleep escapes him. He lays on his back, catching his breath like he just ran a marathon. 

Seungcheol hasn’t woken up from a nightmare like this since middle school, one that knocks the breath from his lungs and fills his head with all the horrible things in the world. With every moment that passes after that conversation with Coach Mason, his ordeal becomes increasingly real. 

In that moment, laying in his bedroom, staring blankly at the dark ceiling above, he wonders if he’s made the right choice to come this far. 

With all the confidence he’s exuded, the thought is downright terrifying. 

Seungcheol was a difficult child. Too much energy, too much to say, too much to do. His parents didn’t know the first thing about hockey, just that it involved enough hitting and running and practice to let their son let out all that pent up energy, so maybe, just maybe, he’d sit still and do his homework. While they attempted to sign him up at the local rink, he was already zooming out towards the benches to see the fabled giant block of ice his parents told him about. 

And there it was, just like in the movies, a giant expanse of ice that made him shiver even in his thick Winnie The Pooh puffer vest. There’s sounds, loud ones, of deep clacks that echo across the rink. It seems to be coming from the dozens of people skating on the rink, decked out in red gear. 

SVT, he reads on their jerseys. 

His mother chides him for straying when they finally find him near the gate, watching the team practice. The rink manager is there as well, showing his parents around. 

“The SVT’s practice here and have a junior league too, but I’m afraid it’s full. But our coach is great too, I’m sure he’ll do well.”

Seungcheol’s parents didn’t mind, but he wanted those jerseys, wanted his name in red splashed across his back as he glided across the ice. 

It didn’t take long for his coach and his parents to realise that putting him in a helmet was a good idea. He was smoking the rest of the kids from day one, his balance on the ice better than any other his age, his hold on a hockey stick like second nature, his aim as he hit his first puck, dazzling. 

As he got older, entering his preteen and teen years, he had another realisation. That he was as horrible at school as he was good at hockey. 

“Perhaps you should take a break from hockey,” his high school guidance counsellor had said. His grades were displayed in front of her like a case study, the hopeless clear in her intermittent sighs and the occasional purse of her lips. “Utilise that time to fix at least one of your grades. Pour all your eggs in one basket.”

The thought was absurd. No, he would not be dropping hockey when it was the only thing that pushed him to wake up in the morning. 

He’d felt the tremble of irritation rise in himself, sitting there in that office. It angered him, made him feel like his success was measured by a criteria not made for him. He had said nothing as he slipped out of chair and left the room. 

The day before his graduation, sweat dripping onto the ice as he sent free pucks into the net, he was missing more than he was getting in. It was making him more mad than it should, hands shaking with fury as he berated himself for not being able to succeed in something so simple.

His last puck was before him, and he swung his stick harder than ever and watched as it flew directly into the net. The sound is louder than usual, resonating across the rink. Seungcheol looked down at the detached pieces in his hand and quickly realised that he’d effectively broken his hockey stick.

It wasn’t expensive, so the quality wasn’t nearly what it should be, wasn’t nearly as durable. But this was new to him. He’d never broken a stick before. 

Anger. Perhaps that was what he'd forgone, perhaps that was what he needed. To get on his knees from his back, to get on his feet from his knees. 

When he graduated the next day, Seungcheol knew what he was going to do with his life. Finally had an answer for the infinite questions about his future. 

Hockey. Seungcheol was going to play hockey for the rest of his life. He was going to get into SVT, he was going to become the best player they’ve ever had. He was going to make more money than what he would have as a doctor or a lawyer or whatever else the entire world wanted him to do instead. 

Seungcheol was going to be on the ice wearing red if it’s the last thing he does. 

That’s what pushes him out of bed at 8:45 in the morning, his dream that was once in his hands now flitting through the gaps of his fingers. 

The anger that pushed him here, was now pushing him out. 

He packs his things and leaves the house, welcoming the cold of the outdoors. 

There’s the distinct sound of blade cutting through ice when he gets nearer to the rink itself, a shout of a shrill voice he can’t decipher. Official practice doesn’t start for another couple hours, and he doesn’t remember Coach Mason cutting the pitch in his voice for anything ever. There’s only one other person that could possibly be gracing the rink.

Seungcheol finds three people on the rink. The bright red curly mop of hair catches his eye first, her arms folded over her green puffer jacket, apprehension in her entire posture. He assumes this is your coach. 

There’s a blonde one breathing heavily as she straightens out of a spin, listening to the coach as she shakes her head violently as she speaks. 

Seungcheol finds you a little ways away from the pair, practising jumps. 

He doesn’t emerge into the benches, remaining in the shadows where he wouldn’t be so blaringly obvious. There’s no reason for him to hide, but he doesn’t think of this as hiding. 

Seungcheol watches for the next few minutes, watches you make most of your jumps, fall for some. Your coach shouts for particular names for jumps, something about axels and lutz’ that he can’t tell the difference from when put into action. At least he thinks that’s what you’re doing. 

And then he hears it as your coach moves closer to the barriers. “What’s gotten into you? Keep acting this stupid and I’ll excuse myself from the job, I have better people to coach.”

Her tone, her words, the sharp edge of her tongue, it’s all triggering a very specific part of Seunghceol’s brain. 

“Is it your ankle? Because if it is, then I’m here to tell you to get out of your own head. Your ankle is fine, you wouldn’t be able to get on the ice at all if it wasn’t.” 

There it comes. Those words aren’t directed towards Seungcheol, nor could they apply to him in any capacity. But the way this coach is speaking is making him irrationally angry. 

“Are you gonna keep pretending you have a handicap? Because if you are then I have no work here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

For whatever reason, the sound of you apologising makes the fire rage doubly. It’s enough to blur his vision, enough to make him question what on earth this coach could have on you to let her speak to you in that way. 

The choice words are already in his head as he claps back in his own head, like he was the one at the receiving end. 

He doesn’t stay, disappearing even further into the tunnel to where the locker rooms are. He doesn’t understand why he’s huffing and puffing as much as he is. All that occupies him is what possible reasons you could have to just take it lying down. 

Seungcheol’s phone vibrates in his pocket, slipping it out to realise it’s Jeonghan. 

He picks up, and barely has time to say hello before his voice perks up from the other line. “Where are you?” He sounds like he just woke up. 

“I’m at the rink.”

“Why is your angry voice on?”

“My angry voice is not—” he begins to grit, seething, but closes his eyes and takes a moment. “I’m not mad.”

“Do I need to sing?”

“No, you do not have to sing—”

“Everything is honey—”

“Jeonghan, stop!”

“—everywhere I see—”

Seungcheol hangs up before he can go on. To his utmost irritation, he feels significantly calmer. 

The rink is devoid of your red headed coach when Seungcheol makes his way there after a few minutes. The blonde one is nowhere to be seen, leaving you alone in the rink as you skated across the expanse. He only watches as you land the couple attempts at jumps, the ice breaking ground in a spray every time you put pressure on your blades. 

Seungcheol is just standing there, blank faced with an empty head. His mind was quiet for the first time since he’d woken up that morning. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there, standing idle as he follows your figure around the rink like a fixation point. 

The sound is more consistent, less of the loud jabs of hockey sticks meeting the ice, more constant lines of scraping as you migrate across the rink. The speakers boom no sound, but the musicality in the noise of the ice is enough to imagine a rhythm. 

No part of him desires getting on the ice to oust you out, no part of him wants to touch his hockey stick that sits in the locker room. He doesn’t need extra practice, not with hockey at least. 

And when you notice him, unmoving in the benches, he watches as something hard overcomes your expression. You skate over, and he keeps his gaze fixated on the ice.

Skating up to the gate, he sees in his peripheral vision as you slip on your skate guards, stepping out into the real world. 

“You don’t have the rink booked, I checked,” you huff, moving to find your things on the other set of benches. 

Seungcheol’s jaw tenses. “I don’t want the rink right now.”

“And yet the ghost loiters.”

“I’m here to tell you to start filling in the stupid craters your skates make in the ice. The guys keep tripping.” 

“You big hockey thugs getting defeated by a toe pick?” 

Seungcheol turns to finally look at you, and you look nothing as graceful as you did on the ice. He wants to scoff. 

You continue, “I have to deal with your stupid barriers fucking up my sound system. I think your guys can deal with a couple digs in the ice.” 

“Great, we’ll just lose a couple teeth, who really gives a fuck.” 

“If this is about giving fucks,” you get up from your water break, leaving the bench. “Do me a favour and forget your mouth guard next time. Let the puck punch you in the mouth if I can't."

Seungcheol’s entire being is ablaze. He reshuffles his footing. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” you repeat, voice moving a pitch higher. “My fucking problem is that you and your overgrown posse of baboons drop in here out of the blue and then act like you own the damn place!”

“Right, because it’s your name on the fucking lease. Excuse us for trespassing on public property!”

You’re yelling. Seungcheol is yelling. It’s either that or the hollow of the rink is now carrying your voices farther out. 

“I’ve had enough of you acting like you don’t take up this entire fucking space!” Your arms wave wildly, gesturing to the large area of the rink. “You’re everywhere, all the fucking time, it’s sickening!”

“Everywhere, huh?” He takes a step closer to you. And then another. He revels in the sight of your face turning a splotchy red. “Thought I was only a bother on the ice? Where else have I been plaguing you in mystic hallucinations?”

Seungcheol’s eyes give away nothing but provocation. He knows he didn’t start this, but in the true essence of who he is, he would be the one to end it. 

It’s clear you’re taken aback. At this moment, he’s the closest he’s ever been to you. But it’s for nothing if it isn’t to press on you further, to tower over you and your outburst. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, you brute.”

“Then is it not me taking up all your space?” he asks. “Because there’s three feet of air between us, and yet the least in our very short time together.”

He watches as you take a small step back.

“So where else have I been any closer, so consistently, if it wasn’t part of your imagination?”

There’s a certain kind of venom in your stare, in the sneer that lifts your mouth, enough to ensure that it’d render him six feet deep. But he lives in reality, so he deems it safe to take another step closer. 

“You’re a screw up,” you almost whisper. Appalled and scandalised. 

“So I’ve been told,” Seungcheol breathed. “But something tells me we’re not so different in that department.”

“You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that I’m all you can think about,” he says, eyebrows raised. “That feels like a lot. You’d agree, because everywhere, all the fucking time is a lot.” 

Seungcheol has hardly finished his sentence before he feels the light breeze of you gathering your few things, shouldering him hard and walking away from him. Into the tunnel, into the locker rooms, into hell, wherever it was that you ended up by the close of the day. 

He isn’t afraid to admit that he stumbled.

LORELAI HAD MADE IT quite clear that any figure skating talk was off the table, and talk surrounding Marina even more so. You tried not to point out the obvious predicament, but the fact that you lived with Marina did not affect her demand. 

Miraculously, not talking about skating or Marina was the most free you’d felt in ages. It was mildly embarrassing in the beginning, when on a run with Lorealai who was also helping out at the dog shelter, because you realised all you talked about was, maybe not Marina, but definitely a lot of skating. 

You slow down a little to give Kkuma a couple minutes to breathe, but Lorealai is still running at her pace with her significantly more energetic husky, Bennie. 

“Stay there, I’ll catch up!” she yells over her shoulder as she takes the left around the block to circle back. 

You oblige, moving to a walking pace as Lorelai appears from behind you after a couple minutes. She slows to a jog and loiters around you for a minute, you increase your speed to match hers. 

“Jeonghan…” she pauses to take a breath. But your interest is piqued, especially if she was talking about the same Jeonghan you were thinking about. “Jeonghan invited me to the game this weekend.”

Hold. 

“What?” you snap.

“Game. This weekend,” she huffs, still breathing heavily. 

“Like, a hockey game?” you ask, brows furrowed. 

“No, for disney on ice,” she announces. “They’re doing beauty and the beast, Jeonghan’s the beauty, Seungcheol is the beast. It’s a whole production, really. Real good stuff.”

You can only roll your eyes at the elaborate sarcasm. She continues, “Of course, it's a hockey game! What else do they do at that rink all day?”

“Gosh, sorry,” you frown. “Since when do you talk to Jeonghan?”

She looks over, wicked smile on her face. “Since I found him on Instagram.”

“You followed him?”

“No, why would I do that? Bumped into him at the gym a while ago, and we went out for coffee afterwards.”

Nothing of the ordeal is making sense, your brows still knit together and your mouth downturned in confusion. 

“Catch you in a minute!” she yelps as she takes off into a run again, Bennie right next to her as she circles round again. 

The few minutes that it’s just you and tiny Kkuma are flooded with questions. How did she just bump into Jeonghan? Lorelai hardly goes to the gym. Asking her to come to the hockey game? 

And then worst of all. 

Are they dating? 

By the time Lorelai is back, she’s out of breath again, and fully unequipped to answer all of the questions you shoot at her like rapid fire. 

“Why were you at the gym? He’s a junior league coach, he’s not even gonna be playing!”

“God!” she groans, heaving. “Slow…down.”

“Fine!” You stop in your tracks entirely, to which Lorelai is happy to oblige as she crouches with her hand on her knees. Bennie tugs at her leash, the big bounding ball of fluff ready to race the winds again. 

You count to ten, hands on your hips as Kkuma lets out a small, confused yip now that you’re completely idle on the track. 

“Talk.” 

With an all too dramatic flip of her short hair, she pulls herself up and into an explanation. “I couldn’t tell you because we weren’t talking when it all happened.”

It’s true, it did take a while for you to go back to normal after that run in with Marina in your bedroom. You suppose it won’t be happening again with the new no-Marina-talk rule, since she seemed to be quite the common factor in many of your rifts over the years. 

“I went to the gym to blow off some steam—don’t look like that, I’m being serious!” 

You make an attempt at fixing your face as she continues. 

“He saw me first and came up to say hi. Went our separate ways but once we finished up he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee since we were both done working out.” 

“And you said yes?”

“I said yes. Because he is cute, and I had been stalking his very public Instagram and it was just the perfect opportunity!” 

“So you’re dating?” you ask sharply. 

“I don’t know.”

“He asked you to the game?” you point out. 

“Well, yes, but he hasn’t asked me asked me.” Somewhere in her voice there’s the tiniest hint of disappointment. “Besides, he said to bring you as well.”

“Fuck no.”

“Come ooon! Jeonghan’s gonna be in the benches and I don’t know anyone else there!” she whines. 

“Hey, we should switch dogs!” you announce as you yank Bennie’s leash out of Lorelai’s hands, stuffing  Kkuma’s leash into her free hand. 

You take off into a sprint, and Bennie is happy to keep up with you as you quite literally run away from the situation. Lorelai is yelling your name, her annoyance abundant. 

Ignoring her is easy. Just the thought of walking into one of those games is enough to force a scoff, to watch your rink inhabited with like minded buffoonery as they ruin the bleachers and the ice. 

By the time you make it back, the hilarity of the situation hasn’t left you. And it seems neither has Lorelai, who remains standing with Kkuma at her feet, waiting to trap you. 

It’s the easiest thing to do, to turn right back around and circle the other way. 

“You can’t run away from me forever!” she shouts behind you as you disappear again. 

Maybe you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You can’t run away from Seungcheol forever! Quit pretending like you aren’t dying to fall into those giant arms!” Lorelai has a very specific talent of injecting all the drama in the world in the tone of her voice. She’s sure to utilize that skill as she hollers after you. 

That seems to do it for you, slowing down, half ready to whip around and holler a profanity or two right back. 

You’re more triggered than usual, but mostly because all the jab does is remind you of the last time you saw him. The arrogance in his demeanor, the way he belittled you with just his eyes, the shadow of his towering frame, caging you like a lost animal. 

You hated it. Despised it. Despised him. His disgusting innuendos, the all so misleading innocence on his face as he cornered you with both his body and his words. 

Lorelai could deal you whatever card there was tied up her sleeve, but getting you anywhere near the rink for the game this weekend was going to require more than just dessert bribes and sweet talking. Dragging you by the ankles could be a possibility, but all for naught when you dig your nails in anyway. 

It was impossible. Not doable. Non-existent in the cards of your destiny. A repelling force. 

So why, would one ask, were you decked out in the most  heinous red scarf with the letters SVT stitched on like a warning, sitting in the bleachers and looking down at the same rink you practice your spins and jumps in everyday? 

Neither you or Lorelai could answer that question, both your stories as blurry as fog as to how either of you managed to get you in that fabled seat. 

You could see the exact place you and Seungcheol had your last showdown, the opposing team in black now occupying that side of the benches. The thought puts you in an impossibly sour mood. It’s not like Lorelai could say anything about it, half because she knows you’re one snide remark away from jumping into the merch table, and half because she was too busy making heart eyes at Jeonghan who’s just spotted her in her seat. 

“I’ll be back,” she informs haphazardly as she positively bounds down the steps to the end of the bleachers, where Jeonghan waits for her. The people in their seats shuffle, annoyed at the overenthusiastic fan who practically slides down in front of their legs towards the railing. But Lorelai couldn’t care less, not with what stood beyond that very railing. 

Tearing your eyes away from the lovebirds, you take in the hustle and bustle of the pregame happenings, most of the bleachers in disarray as they humour the merch stands and the food stalls. The rink smells different because of it, both the added number of food trucks and drink stands, but also with the amount of people that occupy the expanse. 

The only times you see the rink this packed is when you’re too wracked with nerves to notice anything other than your own two feet. Hands wringing and head spinning, the chaos of the world is nothing against the pandemonium in your mind. You’re usually wearing a sparkly dress that glitters even from the very last row of bleachers, hair taut and makeup caked on like a layer of icing. 

Taking your time, you let your eyes flit over all that you forgo the other times. The stands are a mix of red and black, and so are the benches and ice that are occupied by men in full hockey gear. 

You’re too high up to make out the names on the back of all those jerseys, let alone a face underneath the already concealing helmets. The problem is forgotten when you feel the weight of two hands slam against your folded arms, tugging you out of your seat like it was stolen property. 

“Jeonghan said we could sit closer to the benches downstairs!” Lorelai is frantic, like this wasn’t a matter of reserved seats but the last plane to leave hell itself. 

“Lor—” Finishing a sentence when she’s in this state is a luxury you learn quickly to live without, because all that concerns her right now is getting closer to the man that seems to have enraptured her like never before. 

It’s disgusting. But you follow her anyway, down the steps that you nearly eat shit on, gracefully of course, because what figure skater doesn’t fall with an epic crash worthy of an Expendables cameo. You stabilise yourself enough to get to the seats Lorelai is talking about, and sure enough, Jeonghan would barely have to get on his tiptoes to hoist himself into the bleachers altogether. You question the safety of the context but decide that it wasn’t your problem if someone decided to pounce on one of the players. 

Besides, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t revel in the absolute scene of Seungcheol getting jumped by an over-passionate fan. You’re suddenly very grateful for the front row seats. 

There’s a bucket of chicken tenders and fries in your lap out of nowhere, matching the one in Lorelai’s hands. “Also Jeonghan?” you hum as you inspect the sauce options. 

“Mhm, he’s friends with the vendor outside,” she grins. 

You narrow your eyes at the revelation, finding it utmost strange how close he seems to be with nearly everyone. “Why is he on the benches, again?” you ask. 

“Because—” she draws before you cut her off. 

“Friends with the coach?”

“How’d you know?!” she exclaims. Her attention is diverted as the speakers suddenly boom with something other than generic pop music. So is yours, when you hear a deep baritone of a commentator’s voice carries throughout the rink. 

The shuffle around you is suddenly doubling in speed, everyone getting into their seats. You look over in front of you, where the benches are in an equally panicked shuffle. You spot Jeonghan easily, mostly because he’s one of the few in the vicinity without a helmet or what looks like a giant space suit. The next thing you note is the person he’s talking to, his back turned to you, but familiar all the same. 

CHOI, 95, reads his jersey. Automatically, your jaw clenches.  “Don’t look over there!” Lorelai chides, grabbing your jaw and moving it to force you to rip your eyes away from him. 

“Lorelai, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but unlike your boy toy, he’s actually gonna be on the ice,” you verbalise through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t look at the ice,” she blurts. 

Rolling your eyes, you only listen as she realises what she’s said. “Okay, um, look at Jeon instead! Or Kim, or Boo, just. For god’s sake, there’s fifty other players on the ice, just don’t let one of them ruin your night!” 

“I’m fine,” you grumble, sinking into your seat. 

It isn’t long before your eyes trail over anyway, and Seungcheol still doesn’t have his helmet on. You can see his face now, and he looks like he’s mad at Jeonghan about something. 

Inevitably, your mind wanders to the fated article that somehow made its way into your recommended, the certainty it put in you that Seungcheol didn’t stand a chance in his team anymore. It seemed true enough, his anger, that he continues to display, seemed to be his default emotional setting. 

Your hockey knowledge was subpar at best, but one thing you did know was the aggression factor of the sport. Of all the things that could cut his career clean down the middle, this was the last of your guesses.  

Even now, as you watch him absentmindedly point and jerk like his supposed friend had managed to bring him something that was personally offensive, it’s all connecting too well. 

But when you snap into reality, you realise very quickly that he was pointing…at you. 

Seungcheol is mad that Jeonghan (effectively) brought you to the match. 

A chortle of disbelief is quick to make itself known, wanting to yell across the throng that you were every bit as upset that he was in your vicinity too. It also brings you satisfaction, a pure grain of hope, that maybe this would be enough for him to completely fuck up on the ice today. 

You say a quick amen before the baritone of the commentator makes itself known again. The echo is too much for you to decipher what’s going on, but you have your answer when you watch the reds and the blacks form what looks like a line across the width of the rink, right in the center. 

You don’t register when the puck landed, or if it was always there, just that the loud clacks and bangs are in tandem with the cheer from the crowds. The puck is an impossible commodity to keep up with, even with just your eyes. It appears for a moment before it’s lost again, shooting around in your peripheral vision like a pesky fly you can never get a hold of. 

“What is happening?” you whisper to yourself. 

Lorelai answers anyway, snorting, “Fuck if I know.”

The numbers on the lit screens are doing nothing to help out your predicament, too much happening for you to even begin to deconstruct. You choose to lay back and enjoy your chicken tenders and fries, complimenting the sauce choices to Lorelai along the way, who continues to calibrate her attention on the man that remains in the benches. Jeonghan looks over periodically to send her a wave and a blinding smile. 

You’ve made a good enough dent in your chicken and fries bucket by the time it’s intermission, about ready for a drink by now. Lorelai makes herself useful and runs down to get you both something, mostly because Jeonghan was now more focused on the team that’s huddled around one another, another man you assume is their coach huddled right with them. 

The scores are 2-2, as provided by the person behind you who was apparently sick of your placid obliviousness. It did feel slightly awkward to be the only person not as excited to be front and center, so you remind yourself to thank him profusely. 

Your attention drifts back to the benches, inevitably as you’ve been so unfortunately placed to be able to breathe down the player’s necks. They’ve dispersed from their huddle, but are not yet on the ice. They’re sitting down, catching their breaths, drinking from water bottles. On the other side, the opposing team, a sea of black and white flooding their own end of the benches. It’s a sinking colour, not an ounce of depth in the shade. It’s taking over the benches. 

Except it’s the players that are moving, like they’re diffusing into the scarlet territory. 

You watch, as one player in black moves his mouth, speaking, upturned and eyebrows cocked. It’s clear he’s gone well past enemy lines, the front lines suddenly at attention. There’s not much you can make out, nothing much besides the very haughty expression on the player’s face. His eyes are covered by the sweaty mop on his head, but you don’t need to see them to find the malice that infiltrates his entire stance.

The scene, where both sides seem to be closing in on each other, has you automatically sitting up straighter. The air is going static, especially as you realise the player's mouth is moving faster as he jabs at — Seungcheol. 

They’re fighting, only verbally for now, but it’s undeniable the way the heat grows by the second. All you can see is the back of Seugncheol’s jersey as he begins to step back from the ordeal, like he was fighting the urge to take a step forward instead. 

Jeonghan’s hand is on Seungcheol’s elbow, and one glance at the rest of the players on this side shows every last one on edge. Their coach is nowhere to be seen. 

But he doesn’t stop talking, still standing in their territory. He yells something loud enough to hear the pitch of his voice, but not nearly enough to understand what he’s saying. 

You could see it on the player’s face. Hook, line and sinker. 

It happens so suddenly. Seungcheol surges forward like a dart, something flies out and hits the player square in the face. 

Seungcheol had spat his mouth guard into his face. 

You gasp out loud as you register what’s happening. The player removes his hand from his face, and for some reason, emerges grinning. 

Seungcheol swings first, his fist rising and coming down on his cheek with a sound you can hear. You feel nauseous. 

It’s pandemonium. You can see Jeonghan practically on top of Seungcheol, a number of other players attempting to get him off the man he continues to grab and shake up like a fugitive. The other player is throwing his own punches.

For one, horrifying moment, the force of the punch pushes Seungcheol’s face towards the stands enough to let you get an eyeful. All you see is red, beyond just his jersey. His mouth is full of blood, the front of his jersey dripped with it, his knuckles clustered with it. 

The hand clasped around your mouth is your own, eyes blown in horror. 

All around you, the world has their phones out like it was some show meant just for them, like this was exactly what they came here for. 

It’s sickening. Sickening. 

You brave another look, and they’ve been yanked off of one another. Seungcheol is being pushed down the tunnel and away from sight. Jeonghan has his hands clutched around Seungcheol like he’s nearly ready for another outbreak, his face grim. 

Your eyes keep away from Seungcheol’s face on purpose.  “Goodness, what is going on, I could barely get through the crowd,” Lorelai’s irritated voice infiltrates your ears, and you’re immediately brought back down to earth. 

Arms full of more snacks and drinks, it only takes her one look at your rattled self to know. 

“What happened?”

“I…they were…fighting. I don’t know, it just—Seungcheol was throwing punches and there was…blood, so much blood.”

She’s gotten a grip on your hand, her fingers warm under your cold, shivering ones. “Do you wanna leave?” she asks slowly. 

One look over her shoulder is enough to tell you it’d be impossible. Everyone was too excited to care to cater to two people going in the opposite direction of the action. So you tell her there was no point, and you attempt to calm your racing heart as she sits next to you. 

Snagging one of the packs from her mountain of snacks, you rip it open and let the sickly sweet smell infiltrate your nostrils. Popping one of the confections in your mouth, it’s hard to not make a face. It’s the sourest thing you could’ve picked, the tartness enough to distract you from the outside world. Eyes scrunched closed, you swallow the rush of saliva to ask Lorelai what the fuck she brought.

You chortle, and it has Lorelai looking over. “Whoops! That one’s mine.”

She snags the bag from your loosened grip, replacing it with a tamer bag of original flavoured potato chips. The chips are trying, but there’s not much you can do besides wait for the residues of the godawful candy to subside. 

The ordeal seems to have calmed you the slightest bit, finally able to turn back to the ice. The rink is back to being occupied, players from both ends pouring onto the ice. You note a minor shoulder shove at the gate, but look away like it’d stop the calamity from intensifying. 

The game ensues as normal, but you note the blatant absence of CHOI in the sea of red and white jerseys. You don’t mention it, and neither does Lorelai. 

You’re about to burst by the time the finals moments are upon the game, the overtime minutes beginning to tick as the crowd grows restless by the second. With the little you’ve managed to grasp, you’re sure that SVT is only one goal away from the overtake. It’s making you nervous, like you’re waiting for your own score to be announced after a free skate. 

The puck is a mere percentage easier to navigate after a couple hours of keeping after it; it skips between players you’re beginning to recognise from the back of their jersey. Kim, Boo, Wen, Kim, Lee. The opposing team intercepts for a moment, and you find yourself letting out an irritated shake of the shoulders. Back to Kim, Lee, Lee, and then, right into the net. 

The jittering crowd suddenly went so silent you could hear a pin drop. 

And then the world around you erupts. It’s impossible to classify the sound as cheers when racketeers off your entire being like an unearthly sound, the stands on their feet hollering and screaming and yelling at their players that are fighting to keep their new overtake in the final seconds before the game officially ends. 

And when it does, you’re sure you need to get your ears checked out. 

Looking over, you catch Lorelai’s eye, and you can’t help but laugh. A delightful laugh that releases itself in the midst of the chaos of red, scarlet and cherry. Somebody’s thrown a red blanket over you, another has begun to hand out congratulatory cherry lollipops (you pass, but Lorealai would be damned if she did), people are hugging each other so tight and you get the inkling they’ve only met each other today. 

The ice is one giant dogpile, red on red as they suffocate one another in celebration. 

Perhaps you didn’t realise how important the game actually was, or maybe every game is like this, loud, proud and exultant. You find yourself imagining how they feel. 

The lost feeling of bouquets and flowers whisked in your direction, stuffed animals and hundreds of other things that scream adoration as your performance comes to a close. It’s a physical manifestation of an adoring crowd, as though making it tangible makes it a little more real. 

The rush, you can feel it resonate off of the scarlet side of the benches, and it’s enough for you to realise that yes, this was an important match. For them anyway. 

The way out of the rink is reasonably packed, but you manage to squeeze through the doors and towards where Lorelai had parked with fewer than expected obstruction. “Thought you might wait to see Jeonghan before we leave,” you hum as you walk to the parking spot. 

“I was going to, but he’s probably dealing with what happened,” she utters slowly. A flash of red at the mention, gone as soon as it came. Lorelai adds with a little extra pep to her voice, “It’s okay! I’ll send him a text, we were planning on dinner tomorrow anyway.”

The side eye you send is met with a light shove. “This one seems serious. Dragging me here for his sake and now dinner with him?”

Lorelai was infamous for taking it excruciatingly slow, the time between the talking stage and the first date stretching for months. She claims it’s to make sure she's not roping herself into something she’d regret, which you’ll admit has seemed to work out in her favour. Her last relationship lasted years before Josh had to move away. 

Jeonghan seems to have her under some warped spell, because Lorelai was hurtling into this relationship like a too compressed cannon ball. There was nothing you knew about Jeonghan other than his friendship with Seungcheol, his position as junior league coach and his habit of loitering on the ice; which means there wasn’t much opinion to be had on the whole conquest. Regardless, you decide to caution her some other day, when she’s not glowing and over the moon like a robust teenager. 

Slipping into the passenger seat, you slump like never before, already dreaming about the bedrotting session you’re about to have; glorious enough for the books. 

“Do you wanna grab food and rot on the couch?” she asks. 

“You’re still hungry after all that?” you huff, your mouth still flavoured with artificial sweetness paired with the savoury of the chicken and fries. You pull out your phone for the first time in nearly three hours, the home screen alarming full of missed notifications. Text messages, mentions and phone calls. For whatever reason, you swipe right past and open your browser. 

“It’ll take about an hour till we’re settled, should be hungry enough by then,” she comments, a gentle growl coming from beneath you as the engine comes to life. 

Somewhere between the lines of the seatbelt sign pinging, and the radio blaring itself into the space, you’ve read a headline that’s enough to halt your world. 

“There’s this new Chinese place that opened nearby here. Or this Persian restaurant but it’s like 20 minutes in the other direction. Or do we just do soup—”

“Lorelai.”

She turns to look at you in the passenger seat, seatbelt alarm still dinging as you remain with your seatbelt off as she pulls out of the parking space, like the official soundtrack to your doom. She brakes, hard. Lorelai is always Lorry with you, her full name only ever when you’re feigning irritation. 

There’s nothing irritating about the situation, but everything is wrong with it. 

It’s like you were in the benches, taking punches while simultaneously throwing a few yourself. You’re out of breath still seated, your skin tingles like a million arachnids crawling under your skin under your layers. You’re in the eddy of a horrifying whirlpool, that’s pulling you down, down, down, down, down, down—

!HOT TOPIC!

FIGURE SKATER OR FIGURINE? NOTHING GRACEFUL ABOUT Y/N L/N’S FALL FROM THE PINNACLE OF THE SKATING WORLD. Read from the Source!

From a pocket princess, to a rising star. From a rising star to the top of the world. From the top of the world to… a bottomless hell? How did Y/N L/N end up here? 

It’s nothing new that L/N’s presence was notable during the flashy ISU Grand Prix held in Beijing last year, the podium notably shuffled as a result. The skater’s ankle injury was never awarded a career ending title, but with the way her comeback remains as foggy as it did since the initial announcement, one must begin to wonder if we’ll ever see L/N on the competitive ice again. 

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her spark? 

Trusted sources report that L/N’s sponsors are growing weary of her extended vacation, and are just about ready to pull the rug! In addition, sources also report her floundering lack of consistency in practice sessions on the ice, her condition beyond someone as onerous as even Isabella Carroll to manoeuvre into success. Talk about futile! 

Now, we’re all hoping that our glittering gold medalist is only a victim of mindless chatter, however, we must concede, neither we nor our sources are holding on to too much hope. 

Keep on the lookout for more updates from us on our fallen (?) star!

[a/n]: hehehehehe remember to reblog and tell me your thoughts

[yeosatinyngz]

(rules anon) I was just wondering if you could do something similar to your forgot your bday ask u got? but they forgot your anniversary bc they were hanging out with the Mc? hurt and comfort or hurt and no comfort whatever you decide (but u totes don't have to do this tho if it makes you uncomfortable!)

I apologize for the delay, I was bombarded with school work and studying but I’m finally done with the semester and have the time to write your request, hope you like it! <3

THEY FORGET YOUR ANNIVERSARY

↳Fem! Non MC Reader | Angst w/ comfort | NOT PROOFREAD

Lies were the very thing you were feeding yourself with when you heard no response from your partner, cause surely there was no way he had forgotten the anniversary of when you both got together.

You sent out your usual good morning text to him but many hours have passed by to the point where the sun was currently setting. You had your message chat with him opened, staring at it hoping it will somehow lead to him miraculously messaging you back. But to no avail, your text remained unanswered.

You release a deep sigh and close your phone. You needed to distract your mind off of your current situation so you decided to go outside for a walk to clear your head. You were enjoying the breeze until you heard a familiar laugh, the laugh that belonged to your beloved. 

You turned around to see him walking alongside his colleague, mc. They looked so happy and perfect together, as if they were destined to be together. Oh, you thought to yourself while your heart shattered into a million pieces. You couldn’t bear to witness the scene before you anymore so you quickly left.

You made it back home and slammed the door shut. That’s when everything you held back in you just came falling apart. Your body trembled as your legs gave out on you, you landed on the floor with a thud as the tears started to roll down your eyes. You don’t even know how long you were crying until the door opened with the very man you were despairing over. 

“Honey I’m home-” That’s when he realized the current state you were in, he quickly rushed over to check up on you, “What’s wrong my love?” He asks so softly while his hand reaches out to attempt to wipe away your tears. You were quick to smack his hand away and turned your head away from him. 

Shakily letting out a breath of air, you turn back to look him straight into his eyes with fury, firmly declaring, “Let’s break up.” His eyes immediately widened as he frantically grabbed your hands. “Please don’t say that, at least tell me why.” He looked at you with those dangerous puppy dog eyes of his that were brimming with tears.

You scoffed and yanked your hands away from his, “Isn’t forgetting our anniversary and hanging out with another girl reason enough?” He goes quiet and you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, “You got your reason, now leave.” 

You couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore and you were ready to get up but he pulled you down towards him, tightly wrapping you into his embrace. “Hey! What are you doing?! Let go of me!” You protest as you squirm in his arms. “Please,” He lets out weakly, “Just listen to me.” 

Seeing that you weren’t protesting anymore, Xavier continued on, “While I have no excuse for forgetting our anniversary, I was only with mc because we were assigned a mission together and were just catching up afterwards.” “You looked a little too happy, you were giggling with her and all”  you huffed. “She was teasing me about you and saying how cute we were together. You should know that I have eyes on no one else but you.”

“And yet you forgot our anniversary.” “...There’s no arguing that, I’m sorry.” He truly looked so sad and his signature puppy dog eyes were back and working its magic on you, “Please let me make it up to you.” You sigh, giving in to his pouty state, “Alright” He immediately brightened from this word alone “But you will have to do your best because you are still not forgiven.” “I promise!”

He kept his promise as he surprised you the very next day with a beautiful arrangement of flowers (that he harassed Jeremiah to help him with over night, poor dude does not get paid enough), spoiling you with all of your favorite food (he wanted to cook and bake everything himself but we all know why he decided to order delivery instead), gifting you a matching set of necklace (His had your initial while yours had an X), and of course caring to all your needs.

You decided to go visit Rafayel instead of just waiting around for a response that you won’t be getting anytime soon. However, once you got to his studio you came to realize that he wasn’t home either. Strange, you thought to yourself. Where could he be at this time? 

The only person that could possibly know your boyfriend’s whereabouts was Thomas so you went ahead and gave him a call. To your luck, he was quick to pick up, “Sorry to bother you Thomas but do you happen to know where Rafayel is?” “I’m not exactly sure where he is right now but I remember mc saying she was going to pick him up.” “Oh…thanks for letting me know.” “Yeah no problem.” He says while you quickly say bye to him and hang up the call.

It took everything in you to not lose your mind right now. The grip you had on your phone was so intense it probably wasn’t far from being broken into pieces. You tried calming yourself down and decided to settle on his couch for the meanwhile. You were going to wait until he came back.

It felt like an eternity waiting for Rafayel to come back, your mind kept spiraling the more the seconds passed by and you just needed him to hurry up so you could confront him and get it over with. 

As if your prayers were heard, the door to the studio door opened and in walked your beautiful boyfriend, well soon to be ex boyfriend accompanied with his bodyguard. His eyes were quick to find your figure sitting on your coach and he jumped back in surprise, “Oh you scared me, what are you doing here cutie?” 

That’s when he noticed the nasty glare you were giving him and your arms crossed over each other. He mentally panics, Uh oh, I fucked up. “Oh you should be scared, Rafayel.” He felt chills go down his spine from your cold words. That’s when mc awkwardly coughs and speaks up, “Uh I think I’ll excuse myself” before she quickly dashed out the door leaving you two in awkward silence. 

Rafayel was quick to rush to your side, dramatically dropping down to his knees and planting his face into your lap. He lifts his chin up and looks up at you while begging for forgiveness, “Please forgive me cutie, you can do whatever you want with me just please don’t be mad anymore.” 

His eyes were filled with despair as he waited anxiously for your response, his pout deepening the longer you delayed your response. “I’ll let you guess what you did wrong.” His brain freezes as he tries to come up with all the possibilities. You grabbed his chin to force him to look into your eyes, “You forgot our anniversary and chose to go out with that bodyguard of yours.” 

He mentally curses himself, “I’m sorry cutie, I’ve been working on this piece for the past week nonstop and got the dates mixed up, I swear it wasn’t on purpose. The reason I was out with Miss bodyguard is because I was getting some materials to finish up my piece.” 

Without even waiting for your response he got up and dragged you along with him to unveil the canvas that was hidden underneath a cloth. You could tell that it was unfinished but it was no doubt that what he painted was you. You unconsciously let out a gasp because you couldn’t believe what your eyes were witnessing.

Rafayel has painted you in a way where no one else in this world can ever come close to replicating, he drew your likeness in such an ethereal way that it left you speechless. “I- Is this how you see me?” He nods, “I’m ashamed to show you the unfinished product but this piece doesn’t even come close to showcasing your beauty, you continue to inspire me everyday cutie so I hope you can forgive me.” You threw yourself at him and crushed him into a hug. “You are more than forgiven, I love you so much Raf.” He plants a kiss on your temple, “I love you so much you don’t even know.”

Sighing, you went along with your last resort, calling Greyson. You dislike wasting their precious time when they’re on the clock but you’re sure Greyson can spare you maybe a minute or two compared to Zayne. Your heart drums even faster as the seconds prolonged from him picking up the phone.

Finally you hear Greyson’s voice fill your ear, “What’s up?” “Sorry to bother you Greyson but I just wanted to know how Zayne was doing.” “It’s no bother really, he actually left a while ago.” “Oh is that so?” “Yeah, his last patient today was mc and they left together about maybe forty five minutes ago.” You remained silent as your mind started coming up with different scenarios, you were quickly pulled out of your thoughts by Greyson calling out to you. “Sorry about that, thanks for telling me, have a good night.” “You too.”

Then the call ends, leaving you alone with all your doubtful thoughts. You sat at the couch waiting there for Zayne to come back but as the hours passed you were hopeless. 

You don’t even know what time it was or when you even fell asleep but you awoke to keys jingling and the front door opening. You slowly got up and walked up to him, “How come you’re home so late?” “Sorry about that, mc invited me over for dinner since grandma Josephine wanted to see me.” 

“Well you could’ve told me ahead of time, I wouldn’t have made dinner and waited on your return then” your words came out a little harsher than you wanted and Zayne took notice. You walked over to the dining table to clear out all the food and he followed after you to also help.

That’s when he freezes, in the middle of the table sat a cake with the words ‘Happy Anniversary’ in your handwriting. He looks up at you but you pay him no attention. “You made this cake?” You look back at him with cold eyes, “Yeah but it doesn’t matter anymore, you can toss it out since there’s nothing to celebrate.” You were done putting everything in the fridge and you walked out of the kitchen. “I’ll be heading to bed first, I’m taking the guest bedroom.” 

Before you could take another step Zayne reaches out and grabs your hand, you were too tired for this. You turned around and looked him in his eyes while you pried his hand off yours, “Can we not do this right now? I’m exhausted and don’t want to deal with this.” “Please”, his hazel eyes were swimming with regret as they pleaded with you to listen. You manage to grumble out a “You have five minutes.”

“It was not my intention to forget our special day, I’ve been overwhelmed recently with work and it all messed with my head. I'm truly so sorry and I know empty words won’t do anything for you at this moment but I will make it my duty to make it up to you just please don’t leave me, you’re the only person in this world I can’t bear to lose.” 

You reached up and cupped his face with both of your hands, “I’m not going to leave you, you dummy. I just want you to rely on me and communicate with me more when you’re tired. A relationship consists of two people, let us both carry the same amount of weight. But don’t think you’re off the hook about forgetting our anniversary though, you’re still on thin ice mister.” He lets out a small laugh, “Duly noted.”

You checked in with the twins about Sylus’s schedule in advance and they confirmed that he would be out during the afternoon today. You set out to the N109 Zone, specifically his place so that you could plan out surprising him for your anniversary.

It took you lots of time and effort with putting up all the decorations and manually blowing up the balloons. After everything was done you rested on the couch for a while.

You still have plenty of time till his return so you were currently helping his chef prepare his favorite dishes. You put extra care into making the food since it was a special occasion. You couldn’t wait to surprise Sylus.

It was about time Sylus should be returning so you closed all the lights, hiding behind the couch, itching for the right moment to jump out and surprise the love of your life.

Suddenly, you heard the door open. This was the moment, prepare yourself. The lights turn on and you hear footsteps coming closer to you. You jumped out yelling surprise ready to pop the confetti until you came face to face with Kieran, with Luke behind him.

“Huh, where’s Sylus?” Kieran speaks up, “Boss had another unexpected business meeting so he’ll be back a little later.” “Oh” You sigh dejectedly. They try to cheer you up but you just slumped back onto the couch.

An hour has passed and still no trace of Sylus. At this point you looked so sad that Luke offered to call Sylus to see where he was at. Luke puts his phone on speaker so that you could also hear.

Soon you heard the deep silky voice that belonged to your partner, “What is it?” “I was just wondering when you’ll be home.” “I still haven’t wrapped things up with Miss Hunter yet so it’ll still take a while.” “Oh ok, please try to get home as soon as you can.” “I’ll try.”

Luke nervously looks at you after he ends the call. You laughed and a chill ran down both the twin’s back. “Miss, are you ok?” Kieran asks. Catching your breath after you laughed you responded, “How can I be ok after finding out the man I love forgot our anniversary and is out with this girl he frequently has business meetings with.”

You abruptly got up and went to gather your things with you. “W- where are you going?” Luke shakily asks. “I’m going home and neither of you guys are stopping me.” “Please reconsider!” Kieran pleaded, you threw him a death glare and walked towards the door, proceeding to open it and slam it on your way out. You felt bad for getting angry at the twins but your emotions got the better of you.

Sylus just got back and as soon as he opened the door he was welcomed with the sight of the twins panicking and shouting at him. “Boss, why didn’t you pick up your phone? We were calling you for so long, this is an emergency!!” “My phone died.” “You’re in big trouble boss.” “Huh?” Obviously confused by the commotion the twins pushed him to the living room.

He took in the sight and noticed the ‘Happy Anniversary’ banner. That’s when his heart drops, oh he messed up real bad. He wanted to beat himself but there were more pressing matters. “Either one of you give me your phone.” Once a phone was handed to him he quickly went to find your contact and called you.

However, it’s been the tenth time he’s calling you and you still haven’t picked up. As he was giving up you finally picked up, “Ugh would you quit spam calling me Kieran?” “Sweetie, I'm so sorry.” “Oh it’s you, I’m hanging up.” you said coldly. “Wait-” You wasted no time in ending the call. You were also quick to block Sylus and the twin’s numbers.

You were tired after everything that happened today so you drifted off to sleep. You don’t know how long you were sleeping but you woke up to a loud crash, jolting you up in your bed. You looked around to check the source of the noise and noticed that your balcony door was broken, the glass pieces shattered around your floor.

Then you feel a gush of wind as a familiar black and dark red mist surrounds you tightening you into a hold. You looked up and found yourself staring into a pair of shining scarlet eyes. “Let me go you psycho!” “Not until you listen to me.” You roll your eyes, “Not like you gave me any other option.”

He chuckles while walking towards you. Stopping when he’s directly in front of you. “I’m here to beg you for forgiveness, I’m sorry for neglecting you on our special day. I’ll do anything for your forgiveness, hell I’ll even grovel.” The gleam in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed. Needless to say, Sylus did his part and earned your forgiveness.

[m0llygunn]

a job well done (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: long-term admirer, recent tutor — you find out eddie's failing gym. in an ode to help him, your expertise expands beyond just textbooks — to your fortune, he teaches you something you've been dying to learn too

contents: 18+, smut!!!, porn with plot, lots of ball action <3, oral (m receiving, mentions of f receiving), pet names and praise (baby, good girl), somewhat-inexperienced!eddie, tutor!reader an: i made an $8k mistake irl so heres 8k words that i wrote to forget about it (just kidding (not abt the mistake, that's very real) i started writing this in july 2023 but recently rewrote most of it to make it into a big ol' one shot-ish thing) wc: 8.5k

“You’re failing gym?” you gasp, jaw dropping as your eyes scan over his report.

“No!” he replies, trying to steal the envelope and its contents from your hands. You turn your body just in time for him to grasp at nothing but air. 

You started tutoring Eddie about a month into the semester. He’s been a willing participant for the most part and that’s why when he kept coming up with excuse after excuse for why he didn’t have his midterm report you knew something was up. 

You took it upon yourself to do some investigating. Nothing invasive, just when you got to his place for a regular tutoring session, you decided to look through his bag while he was in the bathroom. On his bedroom floor, filing through the bags endless messy contents, you eventually came across the familiarly coloured yellow envelope and helped yourself to a peek at what he was keeping a secret from you. 

Mere moments later, he was back. He immediately noticed what you had in your hands and crashed to the floor trying to get it away from you. Evidently, a failed attempt. 

“You have a — oh god, not just a D, a D minus, Eddie.” 

“That’s not failing,” he mumbles under his breath. You wave him off before dropping his report to the floor in front of you. He grabs it, crumples it into a ball, and petulantly tosses it to the other side of his room. 

“You never even told me you were taking gym.”

“Cause how’re you supposed to help with gym?”

“The tests! There’s a whole health portion, I could’ve been helping you with that,” you say, getting worked up over it. Eddie’s been doing so well, this was truly blindsiding.

“Yeah… cause I really want help from you with the health portion,” he grumbles sarcastically. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like it means,” he shrugs. 

If you weren’t paying attention, you might think he was angry — maybe even being mean. Luckily, you’re always paying attention to Eddie Munson, and you see the way his face flushes to a bright, crimson red. His annoyance is actually just embarrassment — which is good — at least he has some level of remorse for his failing grade. You can work with that. You take a breath, exhaling it slowly, forcing yourself to calm down. 

“Show me what you’re working on.”

“No,” he shakes his head, reaching into his bag, shuffling around some papers before tossing a heavy textbook your way. “Let’s just do math.”

“No, you have a B minus in math now, that doesn’t need help. You need help in gym.” you reply, tossing the textbook back at him. 

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you do.”

Sitting up to your knees, you reach into his bag once more, taking out his binder and dropping it to the floor in a pointed thump. He mumbles some kind of disagreement, spine going stiff with his hesitancy to let you go through his stuff some more, but he doesn’t make any attempts to physically stop you. 

You flip through the disorganization that you’ve told him countless times to organize until you come across a diagram of a penis and a vagina. Bingo.

“Told you,” he mumbles, scoffing to himself. 

“Told me what?”

“Why would you want to help me study that?” 

“Uh— cause it’s part of your class and I don’t want you to fail,” you say matter of factly. “Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.” 

Bright red continues to flourish across his skin, affecting the apples of his cheeks all the way down to his throat. He turns bashful, eyes locking down on the carpet. 

Eddie’s shy — not often, but he is. You wouldn’t think so from the way he acts at school and in most public atmospheres, but get him in a room, one-on-one, and he’s all blushed cheeks and shy touches. It’s sweet and it’s one of your favourite things about him — but you don’t have time for sweet shyness right now. He’s failing gym for christ sake — gym.

“So, how do you want to do this?” you ask, slapping your hands to your thighs. Eddie startles, jolting before his wide eyes find yours. 

“Do what?”

“Study this,” you motion to the diagram on the floor separating the two of you.

“I— I’m not… we’re not—“

His eye contact goes rogue again, diverting anywhere else — everywhere else that isn’t you. Shy, shy, shy. Too shy. More shy than normal. And you have an inkling that it has to do with the subject of the conversation at hand. 

“Oh my god, Eddie. This is basic human anatomy. I think we’re grown up enough to handle a little penis and vagina,” you state, tacking on a laugh. 

You get a hint of Eddie's true personality beyond his shyness — it emerges through a quirk of his lip, the corner of it tweaking upwards into the hint of a smirk. 

“A little penis?” He parrots, his smirk fully emerging now. This boy.

“Cue cards? Should we do cue cards?”

He groans, body deflating. “You know I hate cue cards.”

“Okay, so let’s just go over the parts for now, then we can move on and do something else.”

You clear out a bigger area on the floor, making space for your study session. Eddie helps by kicking back stray articles of clothing and then picking out what looks like spilled weed from the carpet and collecting it in the palm of his hand. You’re a touch more productive, taping little pieces of paper over the diagram labels. When you’re done, you sit up admiring your work. Eddie stands, dropping his little handful of greenery onto his desk before sitting down on his bed. 

“Do you want to do it up there or down here?” You ask. 

The slight double entendre isn’t lost on you, you heard it before you even said it. Now knowing how shy Eddie is about this stuff, you couldn’t help but push your luck, and the blush that spreads across his cheeks makes it entirely worth it, especially while you deadpan and pretend you have no clue. 

“I’ll come down there—“ He says and you watch him physically recoil as his words set in. You resist your laughter. 

“Come, Eddie. Faster,” you tease, laughter starting to bubble up. A smile breaks through his embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You like seeing me suffer?”

“Me? Teasing you on purpose? Never.”

With a shake of his head, he joins you on the floor, leaving a large gap between the two of you. “Can we not do this, I already know this stuff.”

“Oh yeah? Eddie Munson is well versed in human anatomy?”

“I’m — I’m not going to answer that,” he crosses his arms. 

With a clap of your hands, you ignore his pouty demeanor. “Okay! Let’s just do this, the quicker you memorize everything the quicker we can not do this.”

With both of the diagrams set up, you give him the option of starting with the penis or vagina first. He chooses the easy answer, opting to go with the penis. 

One by one you point out each part of the penis, asking him for the anatomically correct name. You quickly understand why he’s failing. 

“Okay, and this one is…?”

“The head,” he states. 

“I mean… sure,” you nod hesitantly — “but the little arrow is pointing there — the glans. This one?”

You continue going through the chart, teaching Eddie the proper names for everything. When you finally graduate to the diagram of the vagina, Eddie is physically squirming in his spot. 

“Eddie, relax. Seriously. We’ve all seen a vagina before.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here, are you hot?” He groans, standing up and tripping his way to the window, slamming it open with a grunt. 

He’s barely made his way back before you have a thought.

“You’ve seen a vagina before, right?” 

He freezes — just for a moment, but you catch it. On his way to return to his spot on the floor he pauses, then continues moving as if you haven’t asked him a question. When he sits, you quirk a brow. 

“Yeah!” He answers. His voice tunes so high, it begs to crack.

You nod skeptically. You wouldn’t say he’s lying per se, but something seems off. Something that you’re interested in getting to the bottom of. 

“Let’s take a break, okay?” You offer.

“Yeah, a break’s, uh — good.” He exhales, letting out a breath of relief. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, fanning it in and out, getting some air flow on his skin. It’s very suspicious and you have to assume —

“So, you’ve never seen a vagina,” you say.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I have! I’m not a virgin.”

“You’re squirming like one.”

“I’m not!”

“There’s nothing wrong —”

“I’m not!” He says much louder, cutting you off. 

You believe him, seeing the full depth of sincerity in his amusedly large, and overly serious eyes. 

“Okay,” you nod.

“I’m not,” he insists once more, tone leaning towards stern. 

“I believe you, Eddie.”

The two of you sit quietly in your respective spots. You could busy yourself with getting some more studying stuff ready, but somehow — even though there was some verbal finality — this conversation doesn’t seem over. 

And with an inhale from Eddie, it’s not.

“I’ve just never been like…” he pauses, thinking, “I’ve just never been all up in there.” He makes a crude motion with his hands, both palms splayed out flat in your direction, moving outwards like he’s spreading something out. 

“You’ve never eaten a girl out before?”

“What are we doing?” He says, dropping his head into his hands, scrubbing at his cheeks with both palms. 

“You don’t have to answer. Seriously, if I’m really making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. Swear.”

His chest inflates with a deep breath, then his head pops up. “I have but only for like a minute, in the dark, parked outside of the hideout after a gig,” he confesses. You raise your brows, surprised.

“You work quickly. A minute, that’s impressive.”

“No… Jesus, no,” he winces. “I fucking wish. We got interrupted and… yeah she never wanted to hang out after.”

“Oh,” you hum. “That sucks.” You tilt your head at him, frowning apologetically. 

“Yeah. She, uh, I’m pretty sure she had a boyfriend but I didn’t know when we… yeah.” He concludes his confession with a shrug before sitting back to lean against the side of his bed. 

“That really sucks. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, tacking on a laugh. It’s not a nervous laugh. It’s genuine and you take his lack of nervousness as permission to continue the conversation. 

“So… Do you have a tactic?”

“Tactic?”

“Yeah. Like, most guys use the alphabet on the clit thing, which is awful by the way, don’t do that.”

“I think…” he raises his brows. “I think, maybe, just being overzealous is my thing. I don’t really know — I haven't done it enough to have a tactic.”

“Overzealous is good…” you nod, “as long as it’s strategic.”

Eddie meets your gaze. He’s intrigued — “Elaborate?” he asks. 

“Like, sure if you want to go to town and eat the pussy, go for it, but the only place it really counts is the clit — of course everything else is nice too, but the clit is definitely where it matters,” you nod to yourself, punctuating your statement. “And—” you add on, raising your hand, bringing together two of your fingers to mime the curling motions of getting fingered. “I like when they use their fingers too. It's a lot better like that.”

Eddie goes silent. He looks like he’s thinking, maybe even committing your words to memory— but it’s an odd look he has on his face. One you’ve never seen before from him.

“Sorry, did I say too much?” You laugh, trying to diffuse. Eddie looks at you, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

“Why the fuck are you tutoring me in going down on a girl right now?” He laughs. 

You smile, appreciating his amusement. Tilting your head boastfully, you accept his comment like a compliment. “Just a natural born teacher, I guess,” you tease. 

He nods, humming agreeingly. He doesn’t say anything more but you’ve got a handful of curiosities burning through your back pocket, and when in rome…

“Are we done with this conversation,” you ask, “or can we keep going ‘cause I might have a few questions for you?”

“Hasn't this whole conversation already been an interrogation of my experiences?”

“But this might be your only opportunity to teach me something, Edward.” You jet out your lower lip, pouting it, rounding your eyes at him — trying your best to keep this going. 

He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“Are you about to ask me if I can move my dick without my hands, because the answer is yes but it’s not full control.”

“That’s not what I was gonna ask, but very cool.”

“Sorry. That’s usually what girls ask.”

That has been a curiosity but your questions… your questions are much more… sophisticated? 

“So can I?” you ask. 

“Can you?”

“Ask you questions?”

He bites his lip, pointedly making you sweat it out. With a dramatic sigh, he gives in. “Go for it.”

You sit up straighter, very pleased with his answer. 

“Balls,” you state. Eddie’s eyes widen immediately — you ignore the regret that flashes across his face. “Do you like them being touched? Every time I’ve done anything with them, the guy kind of, like, recoils and it feels like I did something wrong.” 

“Jesus…” he clears his throat with an awkward laugh. “You’re really going for the big questions, huh?” 

“The big questions?” You raise your eyebrows suggestively. 

“No, Jesus I’m not implying my balls are — holy shit. My balls are normal sized, that’s not what I meant.” He continues to laugh through his embarrassment, cheeks heating right back up to that very cute, bright, red colour. 

“I’m just teasing you, Eddie. I’m sure your balls are lovely and perfectly normal sized.”

He hums appreciatively but it gets stuck in his throat, coming out as a high pitched croak. He clears his voice, nodding as he raises a hand to the back of his neck, wringing it nervously.

“You don’t have to answer, but I would appreciate knowing,” you say, softly, sympathetic — leaning into apologetic. He nods again, and you can tell the gears are spinning in his head as he thinks over his answer. 

“They’re just… sensitive,” he swallows. “But… I do like them being played with, or sucked, or licked… or whatever.” 

His eyes focus on the far wall, not out of nervousness or shyness this time, but more like he’s giving his words some real thought. You appreciate it and wait patiently for him to continue. 

“I guess I would have to say that it’s personal preference, so ask?” he continues unsurely, eyes still focusing elsewhere. “I mean, no guy is ever gonna be mad if you ask to put their balls in your mouth — or… whatever you want to do with them.” He looks at you with wide eyes as he suddenly gets nervous again. You wave him off, letting him silently know that ‘balls in your mouth’ is not an offense to you.

“Could you cum from someone playing with your balls?”

“Holy shit,” he gasps, laughing. His hand that was wringing his neck drops to his lap in a heavy thud. At the same time, he brings up both knees, hugging them halfways to his chest as he mulls over his answer. “Um? Maybe? But, I think a big part of it is a visual thing — like, it adds to the hotness when they’re into the balls?” He finishes, adding an unsure inflection to the end of his remark. You nod, narrowing your eyes into a squint as you absorb what he’s saying. 

“So it doesn’t feel good?”

“It does,” he quickly corrects, “just anything on the head feels way better.” 

“Okay… good to know.” You nod, moving on. “And dirty talk. You really like that? Like, when the girl’s going on and on about your ‘big cock in her tight little pussy’, is it not weird?”

“Jesus, you really aren’t holding back with these questions.” He smiles through the blotchy redness growing down his neck all the way to the collar of his shirt.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you promise, dipping your face lower to catch Eddie’s gaze. He holds it for a second, before letting his eyes roam the room. 

“Dirty talk is hot, obviously, but… it’s not when it’s rehearsed shit like that. It makes it feel like they’re performing — and maybe I’m just doing a piss poor job and they are performing — I don’t know, but I’d rather hear about what you actually like that I’m doing. Even if you’re telling me to go faster or harder or whatever. That’s fucking hot.”

“Alright, so be genuine. Cool,” you nod. 

“You done with questions?” He meets your gaze with raised brows for a fraction of a brave second before quickly looking away. 

The thing is, you’re not done. 

“So, hypothetically, if someone you didn’t like played with only your balls, and it wasn’t hot— like nothing about it was hot, would you still cum?”

He doesn’t give you the same surprised initial shock as he did with all the other questions. This time he just lets out a long, evenly staggered breath through puffed out cheeks. 

“I think…” He hugs his knees closer to his chest, rubbing both his palms along his shins quickly, filling the silence with the sounds of skin on denim. 

You can see the edge of his words in his expression, like he wants to say something but is holding it back. Whatever it is, you wait patiently — you do sit up a little straighter though, eagerly leaning inwards, listening with baited breath to his quiet, pensive hum.

His lips twitch, mouth opening then closing. With a loud exhale, he lets go of his shins, letting his knees drop from their upright position, and with that, his resolve breaks.  

“Fuck it” he curses — “Probably. Sometimes I think that the wind blowing the wrong way could make me cum. Like, I’m fighting for my fucking life to not get hard right now.”

He ends his speed-run confession with a pant, chest shallowly heaving with each breath. Excited wings beat inside your chest, dipping down to your belly as you absorb what he's just said to you. 

“Really?” you ask, blinking wide eyes at him. His breathing evens out, and he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he shrugs shyly — cutely.

“You know I like you, right?” 

His face falls. “What?” His brows press together, furrowing with confusion and you really don’t know how you could have been clearer about this whole ordeal.

“Eddie,” you smile. “I’ve told you like a million times that I like you — like earlier, I told you barely an hour ago before we got started.”

You said it quite plainly too; ‘Believe it or not, Eddie, I like you, and your success translates to my happiness.’ 

“Yeah, but I thought you meant as a… a person? Or a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh — not at him… well, a little bit at him, but this is just so ridiculous, how could he be so clueless. 

“I love my friends but I don’t think I would fill all my free time teaching them math and all the anatomical correct names of the different parts of the penis.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, they’re good people but that’s not exactly my idea of fun,” you tease. “Of course I’m serious, Eddie. So if you wanted to make a move… I wouldn’t be opposed.” 

At this point, after a confession as straightforward as that, you’d hope for movement — anything — even him getting closer to you, moving in for a kiss at the very least… but he stays sat in his opposite spot, his binder with the vagina diagram laid out flat, separating the both of you. 

Maybe you read this wrong — backpedal. 

“Did I just make this weird? Should I have not said that? I like tutoring you too, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting something from you just because I’ve been helping you.” You ramble apologetically, shrinking into yourself as you feel your whole body start to flush with icky embarrassment.

Eddie’s spine goes rigid as he sits up pin-straight, shaking his head emphatically.

“No! I like you too,” he interjects, leaning towards you, putting a hand on your knee. “Even before you started tutoring me.” 

“You do?” You sigh a breath of relief. Meeting his eyes, you smile sweetly, ignoring the whiplash that still has your stomach pinched in a half knot.

His voice gets soft with his confession — “Why do you think I didn’t want to sit around looking at penises and vaginas with you?” he laughs quietly,  “I was terrified of getting hard and scaring you away.”

The mention of him getting hard has your eyes flickering downwards for a split second. You can’t tell, but you tease him anyway — “And how’s that working out for you?”

“If you’re asking if I’m hard…” He trails off, smiling nervously, leaving you with a confirmed suspicion. 

“Should I make a move?” 

“Well, I’m not opposed.” He says it like it’s a joke — you know he’s being funny, breaking tension or whatever, but you don’t laugh. You perk up, tummy filling with fluttery feelings because that’s permission.

Permission to crawl the short distance between the two of you.

Permission to help yourself to his lap — pulling your skirt up high enough to straddle his upper thighs.

Permission to let your hands feel from his shoulders, down to his pecks. 

Permission to be this close to him — close enough that you can see every shy detail, every cute freckle, every nervous flutter of his lashes. 

Best of all — it’s permission for an intimacy you’ve been waiting for — longing for.

You sink yourself against him and — “Oh,” you gasp, “you weren’t kidding.” 

Through the thin cotton of your underwear, you feel the hard curve behind the zip of his jeans. It has you biting your lip, holding back your grin. 

His eyes coast your features, narrowing in on the tweaked up corners of your lips. He ghosts a quiet ‘yeah’, dipping his face downwards, hiding his own coy smile. 

You just won’t have that — you bring your hands to his cheeks, tilting his chin upwards, encouraging him to look at you. He lets you guide him, lets you wash your gaze over his features — lets you rake your eyes over every detail, even when his skin grows pink and you know he wants you to be looking anywhere else.

But you can’t help it. The rosy tint to his cheeks looks too warm, too inviting. His lips are just too pink, too bitten. And most of all, his eyes have become too deep, too capturing, especially when the usual gold in his brown has resolved to being just the thinnest ring, glinting and shimmering around absorbing black orbs.

“Your eyes are really dark right now,” you observe aloud. 

“Yeah?” He asks and you nod your head. You watch him as he lets his own gaze search your face. He swallows, coming to his own conclusion. “You just looked amused.”

You smile. You are amused but — “I’m not just amused.”

“No?” 

“I’m also really turned on.” You feel it in your belly, multitudes of warm winged flutters, sitting low, radiating heat throughout your whole body. You lean in closer, watching intently as his brows rise, moving to hide beneath his bangs as he processes your second confession of the evening.

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

He swallows thickly, and that golden ring in his eyes gets the faintest bit thinner.

“I do.”

You sit more comfortably, bringing your hands back to his chest and letting your bum press fully to his thighs. He lets out a near silent groan as your front sinks to his and when you adjust your hips, his hands dart to your sides, holding you tightly. 

“First,” you smile, batting your lashes at him. “I’m thinking about kissing you.” A soft swoon washes over Eddie's face, eyes turning soft for you. His eyes blink down to your lips, but you have more to say. “I’m also thinking about your balls in my mouth.”

The softness steps back, shock taking over. “Jesus christ,” he curses yet again, drawing out each syllable in a low groan. 

“And since I’ve been sitting here, I can’t help but think about how your cock would feel inside of me.”

“Fuck.” He meets your gaze, eyes rounding, jaw going slack. His chest begins to rise more rapidly, his breathing growing heavier. 

The feeling of him between your legs is undeniable now — he’s hard, very hard, uncomfortably hard. You let your hands slide up his chest, to his shoulders, letting your fingertips graze along the warm skin of his neck. He blinks heavily, eyelids growing weighted, swarming with evident lust. It makes you excited, makes you want more. 

You lower your voice to a breathy whisper, leaning in closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear.  “How’s the dirty talk, Eddie? Am I doing good?” You purr. His fingers pinch into the flesh at your sides as you shift once again, rolling your hips just enough to feel that hint of pleasure between your thighs. 

Eddie stifles his moan. “S– so good. You’re doing so g-good,” he stutters. His breath hitches as you press a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and then another, moving downwards to his neck. 

“What are you thinking about?” You pull away, looking at him through your lashes. You barely have a second to react before his hands are on your jaw, tugging you into him. 

It catches you off guard at first as his lips mash to yours. It’s entirely overzealous, bidding his earlier statement true by multiple definitions. It’s not terrible, but it is desperate. 

Flattening a heeding palm to his chest, you pull away just the slightest bit, letting your lips faintly graze his. 

“Slowly, Eddie.” you whisper. 

His interrupted desperation manifests as a quiet huff against your lips. Regardless of how hard he is beneath you, and how badly he wants to mash his mouth to yours, he nods, noses bumping together as he does.

This time you lean in. You guide the kiss, moving slowly, tenderly, and he follows your lead, moving gently, catching on quickly. Your upper lip presses between both of his and it's so delicate, so earnest, that it makes your heart thrum. It's exactly what you needed, and you reward Eddie with a quiet hum, letting your hands wrap behind his neck, pressing your chests together. 

His breath fans over your skin as he hums back, letting his hands glide to your lower back, hugging you closer. His lips massage yours, slowly, and he takes his time, letting you melt into him entirely. 

When you feel the pressure of his tongue licking across your lower lip your anticipation really sets in. You open your mouth, rolling your hips upwards as you move in closer to him. With a huffed, eager grunt, and with fingers kneading bruises into your skin, he licks into your mouth completely contradictory to it all, still giving you softness in the kiss. You’re elated by it all, swept up, enraptured by him being so sweet to you.

You sigh breathily as you have to pull away. 

“That was really good,” you fawn, dropping your head to rest against his shoulder. You let out another sigh, smiling contently to yourself. You’ve been wanting to do that for a long time — really too long, if you’re being honest. 

Eddie hums an agreement. You intend to go further than just a kiss, but you give yourself a moment to bask in it all. Just a moment, that’s all you need. 

And in the next moment, with your wits gathered, you wiggle your hips. Eddie’s palms press tightly against your back and he lets out a sharp gasp that melds into a whimper. You giggle a quiet apology. 

“Too much for you?” you tease.

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, his warm cheek pressing to yours. “M’just really hard right now.”

He is — you can feel it, and you can feel the mess growing between your own thighs. 

A simple solution; you hint at rolling your hips another time. It’s hardly any friction, just testing the waters. You’re surprised when Eddie pulls you inwards, guiding your hips, encouraging you to move. He lets out a low groan as the squish of your thighs pass over his length, one that you hardly register over your own gasp as you get your first real hint of pleasure.

With his help, you build a slow rhythm, grinding to the curve in his denim, one that has your eyes fluttering shut and Eddie tensing, letting out meak whimpers and low moans. It's nice, it really is, but as nice as it feels for you, you weave a hand between the two of you, suggestively placing it on the buckle of his belt.  

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Yes,” his voice comes out as a heaved breath. Very eager to continue.

“After you cum, how long does it take for you to get hard again?”

“Sh-shit — it depends. Sometimes —” he swallows thickly and you hear the gulp in his throat — “sometimes it’s barely a few minutes.”

“I want to try out what you taught me, but I want you to fuck me too.”

“We can — yeah we can do that.” His voice wavers as he bites back his excitement, trying to play it cool. Despite that, you feel the overzealousness in his pants, twitching with enthusiasm. 

You press a chaste kiss to his lips before scooting back on his legs, weaving your hands between the two of you to pop open his belt. Just as you unweave the leather and toss the heavy buckle to the side, holding the button under your thumb, Eddie’s hand meets your waist — not stopping you, just getting your attention. 

“Can I…” he starts. You look up at him, pausing your movement. He continues, “can I try what you told me too?” His eyes barely meet yours, growing bashful all over again. 

“Of course you can,” you say sincerely. You finish unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down while leaning in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t gotta be shy, Eddie. I like you already, a lot.” 

He nods, but you can still see a hint of cautiousness in his expression. 

“I’m serious, Eddie. I want you to be comfortable with me. Anything you need, anything you want, you can tell me.” 

He nods. His mouth mulls for a moment, but he nods a second time, assumedly coming to a conclusion. “Can we move up to the bed?” he asks. 

“I’d like that,” you smile and he smiles back.

Just as you lift your leg to get off him, you let out a surprised yelp as he does the bravest thing he’s done yet, both hands grabbing firmly at your bottom, tugging you into him and up as he pushes himself off the floor. He moves the both of you up to the edge of the bed with one strong flex of his legs and your stomach swirls with the rush of it all. 

From there, it's a giggling tussle of limbs, him pulling you up the bed, you pulling his pants off. Eventually, you both settle, him pantless, sitting with his back to the wall where his headboard should be, and you, by his side, knees pressing to his thigh. Your fingers wiggle with excitement as you take the thin cotton of his boxers, lacing them just under the waistband. 

You shimmy in your spot, shaking your hips, letting out a happy hum as you begin to pull them down. Your belly fills with good nerves, butterflies, and your mouth salivates. When you get them down as far as you can without his help, he silently chimes in, lifting his hips, hooking his own thumbs into the material. With a quiet humph, the fabric passes his length, freeing it to bob against his shirt-covered belly. 

Tempestuously red. Furiously flushed. Severely erect. Poor Eddie. Happy you. His tip is blushed to a deep crimson, glistening with the pearlescent sheen of precum. It has your body flushing hot everywhere — from your cheeks all the way south to where you grind yourself down onto the backs of your heels just to feel a pinch of salvation. 

Somewhere between where your ogling started and where you had to physically swallow the gathering saliva in your mouth, his boxers got discarded entirely, your own shirt disappearing along with them — because it is just so hot all of a sudden.  

If you weren’t completely blinded by your impeding tunnel vision, you would have seen the way Eddie gawked at your newly revealed skin, absorbing every inch, taking in every feature to your body. You would have seen the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and the fresh cherry red blush spread to his cheeks. You would have seen the way he had to forcefully peel his eyes away from your chest when he felt your fingers press into his bare thighs as you situated yourself between his legs. But you didn’t have a chance to notice all of those details, not when you felt the thrilling thrum of anticipation bubbling up in your bloodstream. 

“You ready, Eddie?” You ask, grinning at him. He blinks slowly at you, no answer, making your smile falter.

“You look pretty,” he blurts out, much to your delight. “Really pretty. All the time — not just now because you're about to — you’re just beautiful, s’what I want to say.”

“Thank you,” you say, pleasantly surprised. Eddie on the other hand, cringes at his own rambling, face scrunching in defeat. You like him even more for it — “I think you’re beautiful too, Eddie,” you smile. “And not just because I have your pretty cock in front of me.” 

Eddie huffs a soft laugh and you gleam, pleased with yourself. 

With actual consent, you take him in your hand. Gentle at first, easing him into your touch. Just barely grazing your thumb over the tip, you smear the slick precum around, before sinking your fist to his base. He lets out a tensed moan, exhaling — exhilarating. That quiet, throaty noise has you lighting up, already feening for more.

Leaning down further, arching your back, you gather your saliva in your mouth before letting it spill out in a single string over the tip of his needy head, falling down just to be caught by the upwards rise of your fist. This time he sucks in a sharp breath and you live for it. 

Closing the distance between your mouth and his cock, you lick the tip gently, pressing your tongue to the river of precum that sits in the curves of his slit, relishing in the saltiness that makes your mouth water effortlessly. You hum, feeling the pulse between your legs grow deeper, more intense. You push your hips back, angling them, searching for any sort of relief. 

While it doesn’t satiate the need between your thighs, Eddie notices your squirm, and brings a splayed palm to your side, letting it curve to your skin. It settles in, warming you, encouraging you to distract yourself in such a beautiful way by taking him into your mouth. 

You let your tongue swirl. Flick. Caress. Your lips graze before closing, and you suck. Cheeks hardly hollowing, the noise he lets out makes you want to keep being gentle — draw this out, make this last. 

But like a devil on your shoulder, you want to skip forward. You want his balls in your mouth, that’s the guise of this whole encounter, isn’t it? To practice what he’s taught you.

Jumping right to the chase, abandoning his desperately swollen cock, doesn’t strike you as the way to go about this, so you continue to be gentle. Pulling off the tip, kissing him up and down his length. Pressing your lips where needed and drawing circles and lovey hearts across his skin with the pointed angle of your tongue.

It's not fruitless. Every noise, every groan, every heavy breath, pleading whimper, fills you up. It fills you up until it has you leaning your body into his hand on your rib cage, needing to feel him wherever you can, while taking him fully into your mouth. Swallowing him down, deeply hollowing your cheeks, gliding your lips and flattening your tongue until your nose presses to the wispy patch of coarse hair at his base. 

“Fuck— fuck.” Eddie groans through a strangled breath. 

His hand leaves your ribs and you whimper at the loss, only to be reunited with the physical contact as he takes hold of your head with both of his hands, pulling you up. You whine, chest collapsing with defeat. You pout as soon as his cock leaves your mouth. Looking up at him, he looks worked up and frayed — all a shivered mess — but eyes sincerely apologetic as he catches your disappointment. 

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that.” He pants heavily, catching his breath while you catch your own. Your pout lessens, and instead, your pride sets in. You did that to him. 

Wiping your gathered tears, you place a tentative hand on his length, watching him for any protests. His head knocks back into the hard wall, but he never loses sight of you, now looking down the angular slope of his nose, watching with amorous, lusting eyes. 

You dip down, reapproach, but this time you give into your own desire, indulging yourself.

Lifting his cock, you nose down his length. His eyes turn wide, but still, no protests.

“Can I put your balls in my mouth?” You ask, doing just as he told you to do, embellishing your simple sentence with pleading, fluttery lashes and persuasive, pinched together brows. 

His lips press into a purse as he swallows, and then they part with approval. “Yes,” he says. You watch as his tongue swipes along his plump bottom lip, and you can’t help but smile up at him. 

Appreciation sits on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it, you show it. Bowing your face low, you lick up the centre of his sack, flattening your slow moving tongue with an oath of sincerity — this makes you burn. For a moment, you believe that you’d be content if this was for you and you only, but then you meet his gaze, and you see the way he burns too.

His eyes devour you — your hand wrapped around his cock, thumb barely touching index, your chin settled deep between his thighs. You burn identically and it makes the swirl of butterflies in your stomach rise high, beating heavily in your chest. You get lost for a moment, but a thumb on your cheek, sweetly swiping softly against your skin, brings you right back.

“Pretty girl,” he hums. 

You tilt your head, nuzzling into his grip, humming a tender thank you. His thumb swipes again, just under your eye before settling behind your ear, sitting there with no intention but to be tethered to you.

It’s sweet, and you return the gesture, pressing two kisses, one to each side. You shift your focus, returning back to the moment.

Head still partially in the clouds, you do something daring without thinking, and you suck one of his balls into your mouth. Eddie lunges forward, bending at the waist, nearly folding in half as his stomach tenses harshly. He whimpers, and you pull back immediately.

“Sorry!” You shift, looking at his contorted expression. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

He quickly relaxes himself, patting your cheek as he settles, unclenching his thighs that had tightened at your sides.

“No — no.” He shakes his head, catching his breath “Do it again.” He gently guides you back down. “I was just distracted, caught me off guard,” he explains.

Distracted like you were. You understand, and you let him guide your face back down. 

This time you’re careful. With his eyes on you, you start again, licking, feeling the silky skin with your tongue as you gauge his reaction, peering up at him through your lashes. He nods, and you carefully take him into your mouth, letting your tongue roll cautiously along the velvet skin. 

You’re careful not to do too much, but you grow more confident when you see the way his mouth falls open with his own appreciation. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. “Just like that. Good girl,” he praises, groaning as you suckle delicately. His cock jumps in your loose fist, reminding you just how long it's been since you’ve paid it any attention. Tightening your grip, you run your fist up, then down languidly, multitasking in a way that has Eddie gaping, jaw slack, mouth parted wide, eyes owlish and filled to the brim with heated astonishment. 

With your mouth, you switch to his other side, doing the same, rolling your tongue exploringly, seeing what has his stomach tensing and noises pulling from his lungs. 

As you let your thumb run over his leaking head, he lets out a throaty groan. His thighs tense around you once more, but instead of backing away, you lean into it, embracing the new-found way to make him squirm. 

His breathing quickly becomes rapid as you take more of him into your mouth, sucking more confidently, and pulling away every now and again to press deserved kisses. Your fist moves quicker, focusing on the tip — purposeful, as you remember what he taught you. 

You suck, and glide your hand in smooth strokes, over and over, showing him just how much you like him. If he didn’t believe you before, he has to now. 

With a strong, devoted rhythm built, the skin against your tongue eventually begins to pull taut. He throbs in your hand. You know before he says anything, even before his hand can flex its grip on your cheek. You pull away, letting him fall from your mouth with a quiet pop. He lets out a worn sigh of relief as you sever the threads of spit from your mouth to his balls and shift, moving back to his wired-up cock, twitching at just the sensation of your breath on his over-flushed tip.

Rearranging yourself, you sink your fist, moving it low to his base, and then you adjust, moving your hand to cradle his balls in your palm. His stomach flexes and he lets out a pitiful whimper — he's so close, even while you're barely touching him.

“Please,” he rasps through a strained breath. 

You have nothing but appreciation for the man in front of you, reduced to pleading. You want nothing more than to satisfy him.

Gentle, a thing of the past. You take his cock in your mouth deeply. Swallowing his thickness down, taking him as far as he fits, pressing him to the very back of your throat. Your eyes water, and you breathe heavily through your nose, never once forgetting to massage him in your hand.

His chest heaves, and his fingers weave their way into the hairs at the base of your neck, tugging — communicating. His helpless moans draw out, getting longer and deeper, drawing out each and every flutter in your belly, adding to your fire. 

You can’t believe you’ve been sitting around, tutoring him, teaching him math when you could have been doing this. This is much better — much, much more fulfilling. 

You rise and fall, bobbing quickly, and he encourages you, helping you find the pace that brings him to his edge. He swells in your mouth, and draws upwards in your hand. You hum, encouraging him to let go.

“I’m gonna —” he tries to speak, but a rogue whine cuts him off. He sucks in a sharp breath — “I’m cumming, I’m —” Panic invades his voice as his grip in your hair turns harsh, pulling, stinging your scalp. You hum again, and then you feel the spill. 

The warmth of his cum invades the back of your throat, loading your senses with the distinctly musky taste and a bitter-flavoured swell of sweetness in your chest. Pleased, you swallow it down, and ask for more with the purse of your lips on his overworked tip. His hips buck up into you as you happily swallow everything you can, lapping it up with your appeasing tongue. 

His body relaxes until you don’t stop. Then he’s flexing again, sucking in harsh, gasp-like breaths, using his hands in your hair to guide you away from his over-sensitive cock. 

Both his palms cup your cheeks and you rise, straightening out your spine, walking your knees up the mattress to be closer to him. His hand falls to your knee, encouraging a bend, welcoming you back into his lap. You happily take a careful seat on his thighs. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie gushes unapologetically. 

His body slouches into the mattress, but he continues to beakon you forward. You follow his weak, weary pull and he guides you to his lips, attaching his mouth to yours in a lazy kiss. His beholden tongue greets yours, unaffected by the lingering flavour of his seed that coats your lips and mixes with your spit. He devours it gratefully. 

“That was —” he starts, pulling away just to peck your lips again — “So, so— I don’t even have words.” His hand slides loosely across the expanse of your bare waist as he presses a frenzy of chaste kisses to your lips, making you giggle.

“I did good? I thought I hurt you for a minute.”

“No— shit, you did so good, baby.” Eddie hums, fondly pressing his cheek to yours as he hugs you closer.

You feel his praises blaze at something inside of you, thrumming through your bloodstream, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t highlight your own neediness, the one left abandoned between your thighs. 

Despite the restlessness that grows in your twitching hips, you try to relax, focusing on the sentimental feeling of the rise and fall of his chest, letting your body slink into his, fitting seamlessly against him until his breathing returns to a steady rate. You patiently wait for him to make the next move — especially after him letting you lead most of this evening. 

Just as you’ve let your eyes flutter shut, resting them for a peaceful moment, a kiss to your shoulder has your excitement kicking up in your lower belly, waking up those warm, winged creatures once again. He presses another kiss, and then another, following the slope of your shoulder. Down the curve, to your collarbone, high on your chest, kiss after kiss until his lips meet the plumpness of your breast that spills over the cups of your bra.

The swell of your breast, across, to the centre, his lips find your sternum, and you keen into it, unafraid of coming off as desperate. 

It’s barely anything, just innocent pecks, but it has you impatient, tilting your head back, curving your body to offer up more skin to him. He hums a warm tone, affectionately following the path of your sternum, nosing his way down your cleavage, sighing a deep, warm breath against your skin, adding a few extra heated degrees to your body temperature — you thank him with a breathy moan.

His hands move to your sides, tickling along your flesh, leaving goosebumped skin in their path as he traces along the band of your bra, fingertips gliding until they meet the clasp.

“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip as he finger paints small swirls along your spine. You push yourself closer, needing more.

And he gives you more. The band tightens around your ribs as he finds the edge, and you hold your breath.

One clip comes undone easily, granting you a hint of relief. Two follows, leaving just the third hook stuck standing between you and the promise of pleasure.

Then he stops — worse actually — he doesn’t just stop, he completely abandons the clasp on your bra as his head pops up, nearly clipping the edge of your jaw. He pulls you flush to his chest, tucking your head to his shoulder.

It surprises you, making your heart pound for an entirely different reason.

“What—” you begin, but his heedful palm spreads across the plain of your upper back, halting your question, making you pause. Unsure and curious, you turn your face, pushing against his grip on you, trying to see what’s wrong.

His face is contorted into a flat, focused look as his eyes fixate on the closed door of his room. You’re totally confused by what has pulled his attention, but then you hear a clatter from the living room of his trailer. You turn to look at Eddie. 

His eyes pinch shut with disappointment. “No,” he groans, dropping his head to your shoulder in defeat. 

“Is that —”

“My fucking uncle,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Oh,” you say quietly, trying to fight the unresolved neediness of your body from turning you into a slouching ball of disappointment.

“He's not supposed to be home yet,” he groans, and it comes out huffed, like he's annoyed, but you know it's not directed at you. Part of you is relieved to hear that upset edge in his voice, because you know how easy it would be for most boys to shrug it off when they already got what they needed.

His palm swipes across your back, rubbing it in a soothing way before he pulls away, finding your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. 

You shrug, it's not like this is his fault. “It’s okay,” you promise. 

“It’s not.”

You smile. “It is,” you say, delighted by his sincerity. “This just means we’ll have to pick up where we left off another day.”

“But you didn’t get to cum.”

True but — “I still had fun.”

He dips his face, chin bowing downward, bitten lips jetting out with his generous empathy. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and you giggle at his niceness. He might be more upset than you are, and you love it.

“Eddie, you know me,” you grin. “You said I did a good job, and there’s nothing better than the satisfaction of a job well done,” you beam, and you’re very pleased when you get a good chuckle from Eddie.

“Next time?” He proposes with a raised brow.

“Next time,” you agree.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

merci buckets hope you liked if you did make sure to hit! that subscribe button and leave a like down below (aka comment and reblog <33333)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[eccentricwritingbaby]

baby finn series, reminiscing

lando norris x wife!mom!reader

series masterlist

summary - adjusting to life with a newborn and toddler, you and your husband reminisce on the easier, more fun, and even hotter times.  

masterlist 

-

you softly stroked the light hair on top of baby lola’s head as she laid in your arms, the quiet hum of your tv in the background, and the distant domestic sounds of lando in your en suite readying himself for bed casting a sweet lullaby onto your peaceful state. you were sitting tucked into your bed, rocking lola gently back to sleep after she’d eaten, preparing to transfer her into the bassinet that stood next to you. you didn’t move her just yet, knowing her father would want a few baby cuddles before you both called it a night. 

finn had gone down easy tonight, something that shifted since eleanor was born as he never enjoyed bedtime, but your husband and you joked that he was just as exhausted by her as you two were. and even though the tiredness flooded the house, the adoration and appreciation of your new addition was even stronger. 

finn absolutely loved being a big brother, excitedly shouting out to anyone he could that his baby sister was the best baby in the world. you and lando took that as a parenting win, definitely easing your doubts that he wouldn’t enjoy the shared attention, yet you were raising a patient and well-mannered boy. you were constantly giving him gentle reminders of sharing and kindness, something that he for sure carried with him. 

“she’s not down yet?” lando whispers to you, leaving the bathroom and clicking the light off as he softly climbs into the bed.

“she is,” you respond, “just thought you’d want some lola love before i put her down,” you giggle.

“you know me too well, baby, it’s almost scary,” he replies, reaching over to take the one month old from your hold. 

“me? scary?” you whisper to him in mock offense, “i could never,”

“hmm, what about when i came home that one night so drunk i could barely stand?”

“well i was seven months pregnant with finn and at an emotional high so don’t blame me, blame the hormones,”

“your hormones are off the charts when you’re pregnant,” he chuckles with a light, playful jab to your side. 

“well you act like you’ve got pregnancy hormones when you’re not happy after a race,” you joke back in playful banter. 

“touche, my love, touche,”

“it was a different time when i was pregnant with finn, wasn’t it?” you slowly admit, now leaning on your husband next to you, head tucked onto his shoulder.

“it really was, far different than with lola,” he agrees, leaning down to place a kiss to the top of your head, “quieter for sure,”

“much,” you laugh, “i feel like we were just so young back then,”

“that’s because we were,” he laughs with you, “we were twenty-two and only six months married,”

“and everyone had already told us we were too young to have been married-”

“then we popped out a kid barely a year in,” he swiftly finished your thought with another giggle. 

“i wouldn’t change it for the world,” you sigh, bringing your hand up to caress eleanor’s soft cheek.

“neither would i,” lando sighs, “but i do miss the constant sex,”

“lando!” you quietly scold, gesturing towards the sleeping baby in his arms.

“what? she’s asleep! and i do miss it!” he bites back in defense.

“yeah i guess i do too,” you chuckle, “we used to be like bunnies while we were dating and before finn,”

“do you remember that time at the hotel in brazil? we were freshly engaged and i had done well in quali?”

“how could i forget?”

-

your back was up against the outside of your hotel door, lando assaulting your neck with his lips as his hands kept attempting to retrieve his key.

“baby, just use mine,” you let out in a breathy moan, gesturing to the purse on your shoulder.

“n-no, i’ve got it here somewhere,” he grunts out, letting you go and taking a closer look through his wallet, “ah, here it is,” he holds it up as if its a trophy of its own, swiping it over the lock and pushing you both through.

your lips meet his feverishly, as if they were what you needed to survive, and his own were taking dominance quickly. you both were love drunk on each other, hands repeatedly roaming one another, constantly moving to bring each other closer.

a small but quick tap to your ass signals you to jump, lando catching you with ease as he walks the both of you over to the bed. he lays you down gently, crawling over you with purpose as his lips land back onto your neck.

“fuck, lan,” you let out, wrapping your legs around his waist, eagerly pulling him closer.

“someone’s needy,” he teases, yet complies, rocking his clothed hips over your own in order to settle you just a bit. 

“always for you,” you sigh, causing him to groan and grasp at the bottom of your shirt.

“take this off,” he grunts out in his husky, strong voice, the voice reserved for moments like these. you do as he says, whipping off your shirt in one swift motion, and allowing him to unclasp your bra quickly. 

“your turn,” you tut, pulling on the hem of his own shirt, aiding him in the removal of it. his hands cascade down your body, knowing every crook and crevice like the back of his own hand. he kneads, pushes, and massages each part of your delicate frame, always knowing exactly what makes you tick. 

“fuck, baby,”  you sigh, pushing your chest up into his own.

“ya like that, y/n? like when i touch you like that, baby?”

“fuck, yes, lan,”

-

“that was a night for sure,” lando sighs at the memory, “i had you wrapped around my finger,”

“you did,” you hum, “you still do,” 

“i know i do,”

“don’t let your head get too big baby, remember that night after mclaren’s christmas party?”

“well how could i forget that?” 

-

“shit- y/n, feels so good baby,” lando squeaks out, his hands holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail as your entire throat closed around his dick. he was sitting on the edge of your bed, you on your knees right in front of him, “don’t stop baby- please, i-i’m close,”

with that you popped your mouth off of him, hearing his whimper at the loss of contact. 

“y/n, baby i was-”

“so close, i know,” you finish for him, climbing up his body, your legs land on either side of his as you bring your dress up to your hips and push your panties to the side, “but tonight, you finish inside of my pussy, not my mouth,” you whisper into his ear.

“fuck, y/n, you’re going to be the death of me,” he swallows deeply and lets out a guttural moan as you begin to push your entrance down onto the tip of his cock. 

“shh, lan,” you kiss his lips, “i’m in control here, remember?”

“yes, baby,” he whimpers out as you continue your journey to the base, reaching around behind you, your fingers find his balls, giving them gentle squeezes as he tries his best not to make a sound. 

“good job, lan,” you whisper, kissing his neck as you watch him squeeze his eyes shut, “nuh uh,” you tsk, “eyes on me, baby,” his eyes open swiftly, bloodshot and hungry as he watches you bounce, his release coming quickly.

“i-i’m gonna cum,”

“not yet, lan, you can hold it for me,”

“i-i c-can’t,”

“you can, baby, you can,”

-

“shit, that was amazing, y/n,” lando laughed as you both recounted the night.

“it was,” you laughed with him, reaching over to take lola out of his arms and place her into the bassinet, “we’ve had plenty of fantastic nights like that,”

“such as making this one,” lando nods over to little eleanor, as you crawl back into his embrace, “now that was a good night,” he emphasizes as his hands roam down to your hips, pulling you into him tighter as you both get comfortable in bed.

“that was an unforgettable night,”

-

“thanks, mate, again for letting him sleepover tonight,” lando says to max fewtrell, nodding down to little finn and his suitcase - who was jumping with excitement to spend a night with his godfather.

“of course, mate, y’know i love the little guy,” he laughs, “plus you and y/n need some time together, you’ve been too uptight recently,”

“oh shut it,” lando laughs off, heading back a few steps to his and yours apartment, across the hall from max’s.

“just don’t be too loud making a second, your first is only a wall away,” he jokes and lando just sticks his tongue out and shuts your apartment door. 

“baby?” lando calls out to you throughout the now quiet home, “finn’s all set over at max’s”

“in here!” you call back to your husband. 

the two of you had planned a special night in, opting for a quiet dinner at your place in order to avoid paparazzi and enjoy the ability to act on the drowning desire you had for each other. as lando stepped into the kitchen, his eyes raked over your body shamelessly, watching you finish plating up the food, “here you are, lan,” you sigh, handing him his fixed plate and nodding towards the table, “fancy a seat?”

“would prefer you on my lap as we eat, my love,” he chuckles out, “you look amazing,” 

you had decided to still dress up, wanting to wear something other than the travel clothes or work clothes that had been adorning your body the past few weeks - needing your own boost of self-confidence in your best dress. 

“thank you, baby,” you waltz over to him, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, “you don’t look too bad yourself,” lando was in an easy white button up and dark trousers, taking your breath away regardless of what he wore - and he felt the same about you. 

“mm, thank you,” his hold was firm on your hips, the one hand that held his plate now had discarded it onto the counter before him and traded it for your waist as he furthered the kiss, “i can’t wait to have you all to myself tonight,” he whispered into your lips, your fingers lacing themselves around his neck.

“maybe we should just skip the dinner,” you hum, continuing to softly kiss your husband, “take ourselves to the bedroom,” lando groans at the thought, but quickly tenses up.

“but, love, you spent all this time on the food-”

“fuck the food,” you cut him off, lips now traveling to his neck, “i want something else for dinner,”

“fuck baby,” he grunts, not a second later you are hoisted up into his hold, the both of you heading back into your bedroom. he lays you onto the bed, fast to remove his shirt as your dress followed a close second on your bedroom floor, “ya make me crazy, y/n,” lando speaks into your neck as he trails his kisses lower, “absolutely mad,”

your moan is the only response able to muster out as his kisses reach the waistband of your panties, his fingers already beginning their dance along your clothed slit.

“already so wet for me, baby,” you feel his hot breath along your body at his words and your back begins to arch off the bed. 

“please, lan,” you whimper out as he continues to stroke and kiss your already squirming body.

“mm, please what baby?” he chooses to tease in return, your panties now off and his lips begin their track down to your sensitive bud.

“please do something, lando,” with that direction from you, his lips are connected to your heat in a split second, your hands grasping at the bedsheets to find some sort of stability, “need you inside me baby,” you whimper out, bucking your hips up into his mouth. 

“but i’m just getting started, love,” lando breathes out before venturing back to your pussy.

“we have all night, lan,” you remind him, softly grabbing at his head as a glistening smirk appears on your husband's face, “all night,” you emphasize, bringing his lips down to your own as his hands work to remove his pants. 

“mm, i love you so much, y/n,” he speaks into your lips, his pants and briefs now flown across the room as his rock hard member is pushing against your inner thigh.

“i love you too, lando, so much,” your breathe out, a hand of yours coming down to stroke him a few times before he aids you in lining up to your entrance.

“ready, love?” he asks gently, hovering over your body as his left hand comes to push some strands of hair away from your face.

“always, baby,” you reply, letting out a deep moan as he pushes into your soft folds and through your entrance. lando moans with you, one of his hands holding himself up while the other reaches to wrap around your neck.

“‘s beautiful,” he grunts out as his pace quickens and he watches your face of pleasure under him. 

“‘s good,” you reply, your hands wrapping around his broad back in an attempt to pull him closer and deeper than he already is. 

“fuck, y/n, ‘m not gonna last long,” he whines out, feeling your own release coming as your walls continue to clench around his cock. 

“me neither,” you moan, your lower tummy getting hot as you try your best to hold on, “we’ve got all night, remember?”

“all night, baby,” lando replies, “ya gonna cum with me, hmm?”

“fuck, lan, ‘m gonna cum soon,” you pant, your nails now beginning to scrape down his back at your need.

“f-fuck, cum with me, y/n,” his pace gets sloppier and his face contorts, letting you know you can let go. you’re a writhing mess underneath him as he grunts in your ear, feeling his seed begin it’s warm travel into your body as your own coats his dick. his body collapses on top of you and you feel his sweet kisses on your neck as you both nurse your comedown. 

-

“i can’t believe max was right about that night,” lando chuckles at the memory and realization.

you laugh with him before replying, “how did he even find out?”

“oh, he did the math,” 

“only fewtrell,” you giggle with your husband, bodies tangled together and beautiful memories replaying in both of your minds. if anyone doubted your love, even after two little pieces of evidence had crawled their way out of your body, you would tell them about these nights. the nights where everything and everyone was quiet - except you two. tangled in cozy sheets, making each other relentlessly laugh, and soft kisses proving your adoration for the other. 

“how about a recreation of that night, baby?” lando nudges his nose against your face, silently asking for a kiss, and you comply with ease. your lips mold together as they were made for each other - and part of you believes they were - as his hands trail down and around your body. 

your own hands begin to make their way up his neck and to his hair, soft tugs to indicate just how good he always made you feel. his own gentle squeezes to your ass are his own indication and praise to your work. just as lando rolls to be on top of you, a quick pitter patter of tiny feet down the hall and towards your door alert the both of you that company would be arriving.

your husband drops one last kiss down to your lips with a small eye roll and a quiet, “i really miss the constant sex,” before he makes his way over to the door, opening it to find finn at his feet, “and what are you doing here, mister?”

“can’t sweep, dada,” finn says with a yawn, while rubbing his eyes as he looks up at his father.

“c’mere,” lando sighs, picking up the small boy and bringing him over to you, “just for tonight, bubs,”

“you said that last night,” you remind your husband with a giggle, pulling finn into your hold under the blankets as he proceeds to get comfortable. 

“whatever,” lando lets out in a playful groan, wrapping his arms around you and finn. 

even though you both did miss the constant sex, you wouldn’t trade this for the world. going to sleep on a peaceful night, with your two babies snug right in your arms.

-

[recklesssezon]

𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗶

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | alessia russo x mma!fighter

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | alessia and ella find themselves in chaos of trouble and you have to go save them.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 | blood, violence, slurs, misogyny, i suck at warnings

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 | just gonna silently drop this here and dip. thank you to the anon that requested this!

“I knew I shoulda drove. Now look at what you've done. You gotten us lost.” 

Alessia sighed, turning the wheel down an unknown neighborhood. “The map said turn left, Less!” she groaned, dropping her head on the steering wheel, halting the car in the middle of the road. That was the second wrong turn she had took, they’ve only been down three blocks. 

Ella made the absolute mistake of letting Alessia drive. She should have manned up and drove with her tweaked ankle that surely would have gotten them to dinner faster. 

“I swear it said turn right!” Alessia exclaimed, peering around the neighborhood for some familiarity. Ella gasped in disbelief, snatching the phone out its holder, shoving it right into Alessia’s face. 

“Left! It said left!”

Alessia grinned sheepishly, the clear displayment of a left turn route proved Ella’s point. “We’ve all mistaken our left for our right.” Alessia flinched back when Ella reached over the console, threatening to strangle her. Alessia released her foot off the petal backing herself far from Ella as much as she could. Momentarily forgetting to put the car in park. 

The car rolled forward, the two girls were far too busy fighting to notice the sudden movement. They jerked, Ella frozed mid-climb, Alessia had stopped screaming. Blue eyes staring into one another as stunned as they can be. Both too scared to look at the situation they found themselves in. 

“What did we just do?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you look?.”

“Why don’t you?” 

“You’re the driver.”

“You’re the idiot that attacked the driver!”

“Okay. Let’s both look on the count of three.” Alessia nod, she grabbed Ella’s hands interlacing them for the worst to come. One…Two…Thr-” 

“Hey!” Their heads snapped to the booming voice, a man furiously marching towards them. Hurling slander at the top of his lungs. Terror surged, and Ella repeatedly slapped Alessia to take action. “Drive! Drive!” 

Alessia stammered, fumbling the gear between reverse and drive, “I can’t! The road’s too fucking small!” The attempt to make an escape was useless, giving up, Alessia scrambled out the car. “Sir! Sir, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-” She stumbled back startled by the closing proximity as he continued his march, no sign of stopping. 

“You think I care what you mean! You hit my fucking car!” He screamed, inches away from Alessia’s face. She turned her head, shielding herself from the strong aggression. Ella instantly went to Alessia’s side, yanking her back. “I paid pounds for it! Only for some two stupid girls to wreck it!” 

Ella scrunched her nose in disgust, spit flying everywhere from his yellow jagged teeth. Smart mouth as ever, Ella said, “Technically, we didn’t wreck it. A little bump to the side is more like it. So don’t go get your teeth in a twist.” His face grew beet red by the second, Alessia pushed her best friend behind her. There was no way they were going to get out of this alive if Ella kept talking. 

“I understand you’re angry but we’ll pay for the damages.” Alessia pleads, hoping that by taking responsibility they’ll be good to go. “We?!” Ella cried, wincing when Alessia stomped on her foot. She threw a stern look, silently warning Ella to shut her mouth. “Yes, we. We’ll take full responsibility and pay for all expenses needed.” Alessia forced a smile, praying that what she said was enough to settle the tension.

He chuckled, “You think I’m going to trust two whores to have that kind of money?! Do you take me for a fool?! This is a vintage Rolls Royce, your family's generational wealth couldn’t pay for this!” He slammed his fist onto the hood of Alessia’s car, pointing a threatening finger at her. “I’m going to call the police, don’t go anywhere!” 

Alessia gulped, her stomach tightened as storms of emotions winded her. She felt stupid for being distracted, stupid for not putting the car in park. She wishes that things will be handled privately, no need for the media or you to hear about this, especially you. But, while Alessia was preoccupied, Ella had made a call. 

“Hello, mate? I think it’s best you get down here, Alessia’s a bit in a situation…Yeah, we’re nearing that pond you threw Lucy in last month. Alright, see ya. “ 

Ella tucked her phone in her pocket, just catching the man walking away. “Don’t stress too much, I’ve got it handled.” Alessia looked at her with red eyes, hot tears brimming slightly over the edge. Ella pulled Alessia to her side, wrapping an arm around while they waited. It didn’t take long for you to arrive, two minutes after the call to be exact. It’s a good thing they didn’t make it far with Alessia’s poor driving skills. 

Her eyes grew large at the sight of you racing over, she didn’t expect you to be here. She zeroed in on Ella, knowing she had something to do with your sudden appearance. You had become the team’s go to person whenever they were in trouble, especially if Alessia was an unwilling participant. Then, certainly you’d show up.

“Alessia! Are you okay, love?” 

You engulfed her in your arms, looking over her shoulder, Ella nodded assuring that she was unharmed. Alessia released a breath, the security of your arms brought her comfort more than she could imagine. “I’m okay. But what are you doing here? You can’t be here.” Alessia’s words tremble with worry. You were still under investigation after last year’s incident. Headlines that followed hours later spread like wildfire. 

You became the center focus, your name and photos plastered on every media outlet there is. Your team did some damage control and ceased the fire but that wasn’t enough to call off the rumors and speculation circulating you. 

In terms of Alessia, her name was out of the limelight. Your team along with hers worked overtime to ensure that her and her friend’s association with you wouldn’t be put to questioning. The possibility of your career tanking was on everybody’s mind, the last thing you wanted was for Alessia and her mates to get mixed up in it all. 

You furrowed your brows, assessing your surroundings. Your eyes wandered over Alessia’s car, “I came as soon as Ella called. Said that you were in trouble, and it looks like she wasn't lying. What the hell happened?” 

“Alessia hit another car and then this grumpy old man came out of nowhere and started yelling! He called us stupid and whores! I’m not a whore!” 

Ella kicked the rubble on the road, more comfortable to express her anger now that you were here to ensure that she wouldn’t get hit for talking her smack. You looked for Alessia for confirmation, rest assured, she nodded. You sighed, pressing a kiss to Alessia’s forehead. “It’s alright, Less. I'll go have a little chat, rough him up a bit and then we can go.” 

There was no point in stopping you, she had learned the hard way. You cupped her jaw, the heat radiating from her red cheeks soothed your cold hands. “Stay with Ella until I’m done. I mean it.” Alessia searched for anything else other than the love and determination, you always held. You didn’t let go until she said what you wanted to hear. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay with her until you’re done.” 

You softly smiled, understanding that she didn’t want you fighting her battles for her. Ever since your public outburst, Alessia’s been walking on eggshells with whom she interacted and how she interacted, becoming more reserved to avoid another mishap. “Don’t worry your pretty head. It’ll be quick.” You kissed her lips, smiling when she refused to pull away. You gave her a parting peck. 

“Ella, you mind pointing him out?” Ella pointed an accusatory finger to the flat behind you, confident that you’d be kicking some ass today, and maybe she could jump in, earn some street credits to her name.

Alessia stared at her friend in betrayal, Ella shrugged, “What? If she ends up in prison, at least you know she’ll get your name tattooed on her neck.” Alessia rolled her eyes. Though you assured her multiple times that prison wasn’t in your future, it didn’t stop the possibility from potentially becoming a reality. “Maybe she could be the next Mike Tyson.”

The door opened, revealing a woman in her thirties, a wash cloth in hand. “Hello, darling. What can I do for you?” You gave a charming smile, not expecting a woman to be on the other end. Did the man that just called your girlfriend and friend a whore have a wife? “Um, I’m looking for your husband I presume. I wanted to speak about some problems we've made along the way.”  She smiled politely, seemingly unsuprised that her husband got caught in a web of trouble. 

“Oh, I’ll go get him for you.” 

You gave thanks, rocking on your heels as you waited. A man appeared with a beer in hand, a phone in the other. “What do you want?” His voice gruffed, your nose twitched at the stench of alcohol, body odor and family disappointment. 

"An apology. You see the two girls behind me. Well one of them is my girlfriend and the other is her best friend. And I don't know about you, but I don't take anyone disrespecting my girl lightly." 

He scoffed, the audacity to scoff in your face had your self-control hanging by a thread. He stepped out the door threshold, guzzling his beer before throwing it down on the pavement. Shards flew up a few inches, yet you stood your ground.  

"Yeah? What the hell are you going to do about it, bitch?" 

Instantly, you grabbed him by the collar, throwing him down the small steps to his freshly cut lawn. Groans escaped his mouth, his body curled up withering in pain from the blow to his back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You skipped the steps, kicking his ankle when he tried to stand. “Many things but none that are worth discussing. What’s your name? Because I don’t think hillbilly bob is it.” He pushed himself up to his knee, this time you let him. He glared up at you, grumbling his name. 

“Paul. The name’s Paul.” 

You motioned for Alessia and Ella to walk over, “Girls, I know you already met, but this man here name is Paul. Now, Paul, we're going to try this again. Give the girls the apology they deserve.” You tapped your foot, unfazed by the lasers he shot at you. You’ve dealt with the worst people, all who're skilled in kicking your ass. Baseless men like Paul failed to install fear in you. You were the BloodHouse for crying out loud. You weren’t so easily shaken.

“She hit my car. I'm not apologizing for shit." 

You huffed, your team thought it’d be best for you to lay off matches for a while, you haven’t stepped foot in the cage with another fighter for months. Your body was itching for a fight, a real one, and it looks like you found one. “I really wish you didn't say that.” You pulled your fist back, striking him across the jaw. 

He fell back, and white flash of pain surged from his back to his jaw. Blood flooded his mouth. He gathered up the little strength he had to spit on you. You inspected at the red blob on your shoe, your heart pounding in your ears. Your fingers twitched, feeling the uncontrollable urge to pummel Paul black and blue.

You rushed forward, grabbing Paul by the ear, forcing him up before you tore it off. You inched closer, dropping down to a whisper. “You're lucky that she’s here. If it was just you and me, I would’ve beaten you until you’re tube fed. Now, say you're sorry.” 

Fear striked through him, his doe eyes looking at you like some kind of monster. He turned to the girls, reluctant but nonetheless muttered what you were looking for. You purse your lips, unsatisfied. Grabbing his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back. "Louder and make it sincere.”

You weren't a very patient person, never have been, never will be. A trait you honorably gotten from your father, you pushed Paul's arm further as he took his sweet time. 

“Sorry, girls. Seems like he lost his voice, no worries I’ll get your apology.” 

“Babe, I don’t think-”

“Come on, mate. Say it. It’ll be done and over with before you know it.” Alessia threw a look over her shoulder, silently blaming Ella for dragging you into this mess. Ella raised her hands in surrender. She was partially to blame for this she'll admit.

He visibly clenched his jaw, no matter how hard he tried to conjure up his strength he was no match for you. Your stance established the power imbalance between you two. Him barely holding himself up while you stood firm. Ella smiled in triumph, Alessia winced as the man croaked out an apology, a fearful one, but one nevertheless. 

You smiled at Alessia who stood weary behind you, she was still getting used to the extent violence could go, slowly she became immune but time could only tell. "What do you say, love? Do you think he's being genuine?" 

Alessia glanced at you and then to the man down on the ground, her chest filled with a pride. “Yeah, I think he’s fine.” You patted Paul on the shoulder, feeling a hint of glee when he hissed. 

“Told you were lucky.” 

Though you weren’t done as they thought. You dragged Paul, not minding the dead weight as he tried to stop you. You flipped open the bin, readjusting your grip on the back of his shirt before tossing him in. You closed the lid, kicking it to the ground. Smirking when a shout came from the fall. You turned to Alessia, looking for a job well done.

Ella applauds, entertained by the show you provided, disbelieving that this is what she’s been missing. “Can we go now? I’m getting hungry.”

“Gladly. Wait before I forget.” You pulled out a wad of pounds from your pocket, throwing it beside the bin, “For your car!” You gave it an extra nudge, slinging your arm around Alessia as Ella took your spot and continously kicked the bin. 

“Take that you arse!”

[squishyo-o]

.+*𝓜𝓸𝓶𝓶𝔂, 𝓱𝓾𝓱?*+. ❤️‍🔥

• IDOL!Seonghwa x FEM!Reader

• CW!: Needy/Desperate reader (in the beginning), Mentions of Nudes (?? Idk. Again, only the beginning) Seonghwa being thirty for that 🐱, body worshiping done by seonghwa and his tongue, Somnophilia, overstimulation, Seonghwa in a black tank top (yes this needs its own warning), pet names (angel, pretty, baby, good/pretty girl, probably more that I put in this thing), smut smut smut with a small little plot, I’m probably forgetting stuff

This was a recommendation by @bbdeongi (sorry if you don’t appreciate tags 😓 I didn’t know how to notify you I made this LMAO) after I made that one post a while ago! I hope you enjoy it <3 (This is basically the prompt: post prompt)

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Why did he have to be gone for so long..

So.. agonizingly long…

You and your idol boyfriend, Seonghwa, have been together for roughly a year and a half now. He unfortunately had been super busy since the day of the comeback announcement and you guys hadn’t had been able to spend too much time together. Granted, you’d also get busy at times, but usually the two of you would find a day, or at least a period of time that you guys would be free to go out with each other or relax at home and cuddle together. Even then, sex wasn’t a question with the two of you. Most of the time he’s pretty soft but the days where the group stressed him out, you’ll be in for a lovely ride.

This time you were pent up at home

Since the day of the comeback announcement, he had been busy with recording the new songs for the album and practicing the choreography for their title track. These were the times you kind of hated the most about his job since the amount of time the two of you would spend time together was very little. You were sat in bed with your legs spread and embarrassingly fingering yourself. You knew Seonghwa was way better than you were. Because then he uses his mouth and just makes you fall apart again. Soft helpless sobs came from your lips as you were desperately trying to get yourself to cum somehow. You were hearing Seonghwa’s voice in your head which just turned you on more, but it wasn’t the same.

Every time you got there, you couldn’t seem to get yourself to finish. You eventually got fed up and was too tired to try again. But you decided to show Seonghwa what he was missing out on. You grabbed your phone on the beside table and snapped a picture of your unfinished pussy. Aching and left over. You sent it to him with a caption of 'please hurry home.. miss you.. ❤️' and put the phone down back on the nightstand to go clean yourself up. Even walking to the bathroom just to clean yourself up made you shake and wobble. Seonghwa, who got the message notification, was on a water break when he saw the text.

Fuck..

Seeing you like that, and he wasn’t able to do anything about it right now? Way turned him on. He kept staring at that wetness between your legs in the picture. He silently cursed to himself. Why couldn’t practice just be done already? He wanted so badly to just hurry home and fuck you with his mouth. It didn’t help that your moans were ringing in his ears. Such a beautiful symphony; it makes his cock twitch. He had to cross his legs and play it off as him getting comfortable. "God.. practice can’t go by any faster.." he mumbled under his breath taking a sip of his water, still staring at the picture you sent. He reacted to the picture with a heart and even replied:

"I’m so sorry my angel. Wait for me pretty, and I promise my tongue will give you paradise 💞"

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Roughly about 3 hours later, and Seonghwa was finally on his way home, Really was just about to step into the house. Fuck he has never been so hungry for you. The entire way back home was just him thinking about you. You and your cunt. You and your wet, throbbing, and needy cunt. Even thinking about it now made his cock jump. He needed to be inbetween your legs. Now. He unlocked the front door and let himself in, taking his shoes off. A warm feeling hugged his arms walking in like it always did, knowing that you were here. Here, home, and horny as shit. Seonghwa went upstairs to your guys’s shared room and opened the door.

"Angel? Oh.."

He looked on the bed and saw you. Sleeping. "Fuck I’m sorry angel.. did I take too long..?" He whispered. He looked at your sleeping body, lips in a soft pout in your innocent and peaceful rest. You looked so adorable, but he was hungry for that needy pussy. That picture stirred him up. "Pretty.. I’m home.." he softly spoke, not trying to wake you up too much, but enough to know he was home. "hwa.." you hummed, very sleepy. "I saw what you sent me.. need a little help?" You whined a little, nodding, and starting to fall asleep again. "Aww poor thing.. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.. here.."

Seonghwa climbed over you and your now sleeping figure. "So pretty.." he lifted the blankets and saw that you were only in underwear. Underwear and his t-shirt. "Fuck Angel.. you know how to turn me on and I wasn’t even here.." he said. He looked at your sleeping figure. "Least you’ll wake up to something pleasant, yes?" He carefully slid your panties off and pushed your legs apart to see your pussy. "Poor thing.. can’t believe I left you hanging for so long.." he put in 2 fingers and curled them a couple times, eliciting sleepy whines from you.

"So pretty. Even while you’re sleeping.." He took his fingers away and licked them clean. "Fuck angel.. gotta get a better taste of you.." he said, now dipping his face between those legs and starting to suck and use his tongue, groaning at how good you tasted. He could hear whines coming from you, and could feel you regaining your consciousness. "H-hwa.. Seonghwa.." you moaned. Seonghwa kept lapping up your cunt and slurping up your juices. He was eating you out like it was his last meal. You clamped your thighs around his face, telling him you were close.

You had a grip on his hair because of how well he was doing. Loud and long moans were drawn out of you. "Seonghwa! Seonghwa please I’m close.. I’m close please! Please mommy I’m gonna cum!" Mommy? That’s surely new. And hot. He kept going until the coil in your abdomen finally snapped and you came hard on his tongue. He licked it all up, but didn’t stop. He was still going. "S-seonghwa! T-too much! Too much!" You moaned, but he was still going; his tongue reaching every spot in your clit. Even the ones you didn’t know about.

Your legs were shaking. Thighs squeezing around his face as he kept eating your out. The slurping and groaning sounds that would usually embarrass you, turning you on more. "M-mommy.. mommy I’m gonna cum again.." you moaned as you felt the same familiar pit in your stomach. With one of his hands he put a hand on your thigh and squeezed it which then set you off again and made you moan his name loud as you creamed on his tongue. And he was there to lick it all up.

You staggeringly whined and moaned as you came down from your second high and seonghwa’s pussy eating finally came to a stop. He came back up and looked at you, cocking his eyebrow in amusement. "Mommy, huh?" Your cheeks flushed and you got goosebumps. You looked away before nodding. "Hm.. interesting.." Seonghwa began taking his sweats off. You could see how much he was painfully aching in his boxers. "Need you so bad Angel.. couldn’t wait to get home after I saw the message.. you and that pretty pussy of yours.. fuck.." he groaned.

"Can’t wait to fuck you.." He took off the blankets and began kissing your neck sweetly. "Hwa.." you whined. "Such a pretty girl.." you were still quite tired from the two previous orgasms, but the way Seonghwa was talking, there was no way he was gonna stop now. He was turned on. "Seonghwa.. c-can’t go again.." you whined. Seonghwa was busy worshipping your body and had already taken his shirt off of you while kissing your boobs. "No bra underneath? In my t-shirt? Someone was needy.." you then pouted. "So are you by how you’re kissing me.." Seonghwa chuckled.

"You don’t seem to mind though, right?" He said and went back to your thighs, kissing and biting on them and listening to the sounds of your moans. Seonghwa took off his boxers and alined himself with your hole. "So sorry I kept you waiting my angel.." he said as he entered you, you gasping at the intrusion. "S-seonghwa I-i can’t.. go again.." he began thrusting in you slowly. "Cmon now.. be a good girl for mommy, eh?" You moaned at his words. He went slow for a little bit before going a little faster, hearing your moans get louder. "Oh my fucking god.. Seonghwa.. please more.."

"Ah ah.. that’s not my name, is it angel? Try again.. what’s my name?"

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𝓐𝓝: chat- the delay on this story IM SO SORRY 😭😭😭😭 I GOT IT OUT THOUGH 🥲 Hope you guys enjoy this one!! Lmk in comments or reblogs <3 love you guys and remember to be kind to yourself and drink water ❤️ xoxo

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Could I request part two of "A Well Deserved Grudge" for the remaining OB guys?

Thank you for all you hard work Moss!

A Well Deserved Grudge Pt.2

You hate them after their overblot. Part one.

Characters: Leona, Azul, Idia, Grim

Content Info: Gn! Yuu. Yuu is fucking mean in this. A lot of angst. Azul and Idia self deprecated a lot. Mostly Yuu breaking down and snapping tbh. Grim Hate

Leona

“Wow look at who it is. The king himself. Tell me, what did I do to deserve the honor of being in his majesty's presence?”

Yuu locked eyes with Leona in the hospital mirror, no doubt out of bed against doctors orders. Their damaged face matched their voice that dripped the venom of sarcasm. They were smug, overwhelmingly smug with a slight smirk to match their upturned brows.

“Well…? I'm waiting.” There's no fear in their demeanor at all. There never has been. Even when there should be. Yuu was brave, he'll give them that. They had a right to be angry.

Leona closed his eyes, taking a breath, then opened them again. “I came here to apologize.” He kept it brief. The hatred in their eyes told him that them didn't want him here more than necessary. Not like he'd blame Yuu.

“Oh? But what for your Majesty?” By now Yuu turned around, and Leona could truly see the extent of the damage done to them. Cracks permeated their face, reaching from their cheek to across their nose along with the corners of their eyes. The small smirk on their dry lips twitched for a second and he could see a few more cracks on them that bled. It was like a porcelain doll knocked off its stand

“I mean…” They took a step forward, as if to circle him, maintaining eye contact the whole time. The thin hospital gown swayed with them as they continued. Odd squelches and snaps sounded with each step from damaged feet that shouldn't be stood on.

“You sure showed them, huh? Everyone will know how tough you are now when they hear the tale of how you… valiantly fought and won against a magicless human that dared to threaten your throne…” They continued to circle him for a bit before pausing.

Their smug expression dropped to a cruel glare, turning to fully face him. More pops and snaps sounded from them. Parts of their arms look warped, as if their flesh was made of plastic. Yet the cracks along their arms were nowhere near as clean as the ones on their face, crowded together in craters and showing raw flesh in between them.

There was no way to respond to this in a way that would smooth things over. There was no way to smooth things over. He debates between holding his tongue or speaking, brilliant mind now failing him. He knows for sure that Yuu deserves to curse him out and that they probably need it for their mental health.

“I am here to ensure that you're fully cared for. I arranged for some of the top doctors to visit you and ensure your recovery outside of the hospital as well.” There is no fully recovering from this. They both know it.

Yuu's expression becomes more neutral, then they seem almost impressed. “Wow. How utterly magnanimous of you, your majesty. Why I'm practically kneeling at your feet and singing your praises… At least I would but uh, ah I can't seem to fully bend my knees, hmmm?” Their leering only seemed to get more and more intense.

“Thank you for your kindness, your majesty. I finally learned my place now. I will never forget our first meeting where you threatened to take a tooth from me after a most egregious offense I committed to you. How awful of me to not be able to see everything at once while adjusting to a new environment. I apologize for my shortsightedness. This was a most appropriate response…” Their hospital gown stretched out with their arms, showing off their injuries

A mock pout they wore turned sour. They bitterly looked to the side, theatrics starting to fail. “Well, you did indeed take a few…” Yuu pulled the corner of their mouth, causing more cracks to form along the corners. He could see the raw, irritated gums that once held their molars.

“I'm glad you got what you wanted. Do you feel powerful now? Clap for yourself, I mean really, you do deserve it, I'll also give a round of applause as well…” Their damaged hand made a few slow, sarcastic slaps together that sounded like sandpaper.

“I do wonder… What would the news look like if they heard about this? ‘Beloved Prince Protects NRC From Human!’ or ‘NRC Now Safe From Magicless Maniac!’”

Their eyes searched his, staring deep into his soul. He couldn't tell what they found within them, but it was clear they saw something. “Oh relax, I won't tell. I don't have autonomy here remember? I don't exist, so why would they listen? Not that anyone would have believed me anyways...” The Prefect looked to the side, trailing off.

“...Okay I'm done with this, just get the hell out of here. You won, okay? I'm a weak little herbivore. I don't want to see you ever again. Just leave me alone.” They were disgusted as they backed away from him, watching him the whole time. Leona saw how Yuu carefully shifted their weight, trying not to wince from the pain felt by moving.

He didn't say anything. Yuu didn't want him to speak. They sat down on the bed and stared at him until he turned to leave. It was when he closed the door he heard sobs.

Azul

He was shaking. Shaking as he stood in front of the door of the doctor's office. No matter how much he tried to steel his mind, he couldn't relax. He felt sick. His hand quivered. He didn't have the strength to open the door.

He had to eventually…

A deep breath, and he pushed it open, holding back the urge to throw up from anxiety. From the hospital bed, he didn't fail to notice how Yuu’s expression dropped the second he opened the door.

“Oh. It's you.” The Prefect tried to sit up, just to let out a gag and choke for a second, laying back down. How many ribs did he break when he grabbed them? How much did it hurt?

“Great to see you again.” They snarked, wrinkling their nose in repulsion before relaxing their face again. “So? What's up? Here to visit a friend?”

Azul was silent, watching as Yuu stared straight up at the motivational posters on the ceiling as they wheezed with every breath, not wanting to look at him. They were clearly expecting a response. Now where was it?

“I- erm. Prefect– I mean Yuu—”

“Prefect is perfect.” Yuu spat.

“Ah yes… Prefect…” Azul found his footing. “I am…” He had a script for this. He had a script for this…

“I'm sorry–” he tried not to cry. He tried not to be that stupid crybaby, but he was. He's just a pathetic, stupid, ugly crybaby no matter how hard he pretends not to be. Stupid stupid fat fat stupid.

“Oh my god I don't want to hear your pathetic blubbering. If you're gonna do that, get the hell out of here. I don't want to deal with this shit.” Yuu was exasperated, damn near shaking.

“Choking on sobs while I'm choking just to breathe, are you fucking serious?” He was snotty trying hard to fight against the tears, they were right, they were right—

“Let's ‘make a deal’: take whatever you want, just get the hell out of my life, Azul. Don't talk to me, don't even look at me. Take Ramshackle, I don't care, not like I can go up the stairs to my room now anyways. You don’t even need to handle any medical shit I have. You won.” Yuu was crying now too, shaking in their bed.

“Got it? Just fucking go. And be sure to share my sentiments with Jade and Floyd as well. Spell it out for them: I hate them. I hate all of you. You're all so pathetic, you're not even worthy of being considered shit on this earth. I don't want you here.”

That was all Azul needed to leave. They hate him. You hate him. He feels sick. Filthy. He deserves it. He deserves it. He's just a pathetic little octobaby. It's all he will be.

Idia

Idia was beyond anxious. He was petrified to leave his room and see what he had done. Idia knew he couldn't hide forever. He had to confront Yuu and own up to everything he did eventually. He doesn't want to do this. Why can't he just hide away.

Just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale… Exhale…

Phew… here he goes—

The second he stepped up to that door he could hear it. Faint sobbing. Idia’s feet were cold once again as he stood there.

Should he wait? Should he just go in?

C'mon c'mon c'mon— What does he do here?!

… He can't do this. He can't. He's just going back to his room and will send a bunch of stuff their way with a lengthy, well-thought out written apology…

It won't work. He knows it won't.

Dammit! His parents and Ortho won't let him avoid this forever…

Another breath. He opens the door. He feels he's going to vomit.

Yuu jumps a bit startled. They blink as if to see if this is real, then stare at him with contempt. “... What do you want?” Their leer has Idia damn near shaking. It was even more unnerving with the darkened veins across their face.

“I- I erm– I came to um… ahem. O-Our doctors at STYX will continue to work with you and monitor your condition. We… We're sure with just a few tests we can get you back in p-perfect condition.” His eyes scanned the various burns and deep cuts along their body, most of which were covered in bandages.

“... Are you serious?” Yuu’ voice dropped dangerously low.

“U-um… Yes?”

“No, I mean are you fucking serious?” Yuu snarls at Idia, teeth gritted and eyes wide. “You seriously think I want to be around you sons of bitches any longer after everything that happened?! After you destroyed my dorm?! Took my friends?! Af… After you did this to me?!”

Yuu breathes heavily in and out. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

“E-eep!” Idia yelped, trying to make himself seem small. He wants to go to his room he wants to go— They're crying now, they're crying!!!–

"Unless it's a way home I'm not interested! I thought…” a sniffle, followed by a bitter laugh, “I thought the ‘whole ending up in a different world’ thing was supposed to be fun! Was supposed to be cool! I was… I was supposed to go out and explore and make friends and learn all kinds of magical things about how this whole world works and all that it has been for me is hell!”

They're sobbing into their hands. “I'm no one! I have to do all of this on my own and I have no identity, no nothing! I always have to fix everyone else's messes! I have to learn everything with no help! I'm always left behind, I don't have anyone, I can't… I can't do this anymore…”

They look at Idia, puffy eyes filled with so much anger. “Why couldn't you have just kill me? Why? It would have been the one good thing you've ever done. Now I have to continue living like this! Doing this stupid job! Having to check on everyone— and no doubt when I'm able to walk again Crowley is going to make me check on you!”

Idia was whimpering, backing towards the door he came in from. He knew this was a bad idea. He should have just stayed in his room…

“I hate you! I hate everyone! Nobody here cares about me, no one here ever checks on me, I have to babysit all the time, I never get to rest! I can't rely on anyone– and I have no one.” Idia was shaking, and just like a shark to a drop of blood, Yuu smelt his fear was was going in for the kill.

They're leaning in as far as they can, holding the side of the hospital bed. “What are you cowering over? What, do I scare you that bad? Shouldn't I be the one afraid of you?!”

Yuu is now glaring, the fire inside them turning icy. “You are so pathetic, Idia. I hate you. Hate. You. Just go.”

He was relieved to finally get out of there. Now he can shut himself away and take care of anything he has to from a distance, behind a screen. Away from everyone.

Grim

Something was off.

Yuu wasn't themselves. They haven't been themselves since the whole STYX situation. The second they made it back to campus they didn't seem to be as tearful or relieved as everyone was. They were stiff in the group embrace. It was exhaustion. It had to be. The adrenaline had worn off and they could finally relax.

It didn't explain how Yuu continued to be so distant for the next week. They would always round him up and force him to at least try to study so he could be a great mage, how Yuu would get on his case about every single little thing. His chores, the food budget, their jobs.

It was bliss. Yuu was less strict and he could finally do whatever he wanted. No more holding him back, no more lectures, he was free. Surely the prefect as his henchman learned their place. But then it started to worry him.

Yuu didn't pay attention to him. They no longer helped him with anything. They didn't respond to any of his usual quips. They left whenever he started to instigate something. Yuu just… didn't back him up anymore.

Ace and Deuce noticed it too but when they asked Yuu about it, Yuu just shrugged it off. Seriously, what gives?! He shouldn't be treated like this!

It all came out in homeroom. As one student, he and his henchman were partners per usual. Yuu was careful. They handled everything with precision and care per usual— Proper safety precautions, careful measurements (their arm seemed to shake a bit more, that hasn't happened in the past), perfect stirs.

And, per usual, Grim barely did anything. Aside from messing everything up.

Crash!

Everyone stared at the broken vial on the floor, with Grim right above it. There was tension as Crewel turned to see the damage, looking to see who to punish before his head turned to Grim. “I-It was Yuu! They did it!!” He pointed his stubby paws at them not noticing how their eye seemed to twitch when he did so.

“Don't lie Grim, Yuu didn't do it, you're just blaming them.” a random student came to their defense, leaving Grim high and dry.

“I see. Well then. Grim will have detention after class, and as his caretaker, you will have to join him, Yuu. You need to learn to keep your partner on a tighter leash.”

Yuu seemed to deflate just a bit. “... Understood.” Then they turned away from him as usual. Not even a lecture.

“Geez Yuu, why didn't you pay attention to me? It wouldn't have fallen over if you'd have done your job.”

It looked like Crewel was about to step in to lecture him. But Yuu’s voice cut in front of his, voice cold. “Because I expected you to be able to do basic tasks without coddling after all this time… Besides, you aren't worth it.”

“Wh- What do you mean Yuu?”

“I hate you.” You could hear a pin drop in that room from how loud the silence was. Grim just stared. “Hah?” He then glared at them. “Don't joke like that its not that serious.”

Yuu just shrugged. “Hey! At least answer me!!”

“I meant it, Grim.”

“This isn't funny Yuu.”

“I am not joking.”The Prefect crossed their arms and stared down at him, gaze cold.

“Recently I had an epiphany, a realization more like.” Yuu was speaking in a clinical tone. In this moment they were a researcher sharing their findings in a factual manner.

“I can't remember a clear moment where you have done anything meaningful for me since we first met a year ago. It has just been cleaning up your messes and catering to your selfish whims one after the other. I think what finally made me realize, was this.”

Yuu pulled down the sleeve to their uniform to show off the deep cuts Grim left in them after his freakout. They were jagged and deep and would no doubt leave an ugly scar. Whispers broke out from the crowd, murmurs about the dire beast circulated.

“I struggle to close my hand quite often now,” To demonstrate, they tried to flex their hand. Their fingers didn't extend all the way. Their face contorted into pain as they winced, hand shaking Grim swallowed, guilt washing over him as he tried to look smaller. “It's not like I can get occupational therapy so easily here, so I have to live with this for now.”

They now leaned down to him. Grim's widened and Yuus face seemed to grow more and more snarky, more cruel. “None of this would have happened if you just listened. How many times have I warned you not to consume those waste gems?” Yuu then leaned away, hand under their chin as they continue.

“Anyways, I then thought some more about all the effort I put in just for it not to be reciprocated. This relationship we have is quite one sided. It's more like 90:10 on a good day… and since then, I started to hate you, and everything about you…”

“I am a brilliant mind, you realize that? It's just an objective fact. I can't believe it took me this long to realize just how pathetic you are. After all, I have picked up an otherworldly language and culture and became near the top of my classes with the effort I have put in. I have a better understanding of magic as a magicless student than you.”

The crowd just watched as Yuu paced a bit, sorting out all of their thoughts for all to see. It was different seeing them like this, bit the students seemed to eat it up, taking their side.

“You don't contribute anything to those around you. You don't even contribute anything meaningful to a basic conversation aside from complaining about how tired and hungry you are. You cannot even sit down and review simplified notes I made specially for you.” Grim was shrinking with each word spoken, it felt as though he was being stabbed a thousand times over. It was a betrayal that he should have expected of he had any self awareness.

“You're selfish. You always take from others and don't have any endearing traits to make up for it. I have gone days without meals because you couldn't fathom that I need to eat too. You fail to recognize others as people and use them as scapegoats. The only reason you're passing your classes is because I get straight As... Thank you for turning them into Cs by the way.”

They didn’t seem to care how he felt. They didn't feel bad. How could they? “Surely by now you should be able to take care of yourself, oh great mage? You always told me how overbearing I was. Thankfully, I have good news.” He had a feeling it wouldn't be good news…

“Crowley finally got around to making our grades separate from now on, so you can't rely on me anymore. Which is why I have been collecting and saving all of my graded assignments.” Oh no. That was bad news. It was good for Yuu, yes, but now he's screwed. I mean he doesn't deserve this right? It's not his fault this school is so hard! How is he supposed to pass now?!

“You're welcome. You got what you wanted. You're your own mage from now on. No need for a lowly human to drag you down.” This lowly human was the only reason he got this far.

"I'm sure I could find other students in my classes that will help me with any magic barriers— you are barely able to do it anyways. It doesn't matter if you get held back to me anymore, I can graduate without you. I no longer have to rely on you to exist here, so I can finally say it: I hate you.”

The class seemed shocked, asking each other if Grim really was that awful. Grim was blubbering, panicking. A firm smack of a ruler hitting the inside of a hand interrupted it all. “That's enough, Yuu! Bad dog!” Crewel tapped the ruler in his palm again.

“My apologies professor, I am done. I do hope my potion is up to your standards, seems like Grim hasn't started on his.” They set a delicate bottle on his desk, awaiting review.

He was panicked now. Wait. Fuck. He hasn't been helping. It was Yuus potion! The direbeast merely looked over to Yuu who cleaned up their workstation, not even sparing a glance to him until the very end. They looked over once more at Grim through their goggles.

“I do hope you remember your detention. In any case I am done here, I am going to go help other groups professor.” Just like that, they left him, Grim could only watch as the group they joined adopted them instantly, asking them if they were alright and offering their magic if they needed it. It was no suprise most student liked them. They were always kind. The only looks he got back were from other students that seemed to judge him.

[sofiasworld00]

A Birthday To Remember

Jude Bellingham x reader

Summary: on her birthday he surprises her with the trip of her dreams.

Warnings: fluff, some spice.

Word count: 5k (i think)

The day started with a sigh. Your eyes fluttered open to a pale wash of sunlight spilling into the room, the familiar warmth of the duvet cocooning you. It was your birthday. While the dozens of messages on your phone from friends and family made you smile, the absence of a specific text stung a little.

Jude.

He’d kissed you goodnight the previous evening, mumbling something about an early start for training. But there’d been no hint, no small indication that he’d remembered. You bit your lip, trying not to let disappointment creep in. Jude was busy—his world spun fast, and you were used to its demands. Yet, today of all days, you’d hoped for something.

With a sigh, you got up and began your day. Breakfast was simple, your favorite tea brewed just right, but you ate alone. The silence was punctuated only by the occasional ding of birthday messages, though none were from him. You told yourself you wouldn’t dwell on it. Jude had done so much for you in other ways—this wasn’t worth feeling upset over.

Then, just as you settled on the couch to scroll through Netflix, the front door creaked open.

You froze, heart skipping, as Jude stepped inside. His familiar frame filled the doorway, his dark curls slightly windswept and his cheeks flushed as though he’d been in a hurry. He wasn’t empty-handed—his arms were filled with a bouquet so large it looked like he’d bought out the entire florist. Roses, lilies, and delicate daisies overflowed from the arrangement, their fragrance reaching you even from across the room.

“Happy birthday, love,” he said, his voice warm and steady. A small grin tugged at his lips as he took in your shocked expression.

“Jude…” you breathed, setting your cup aside and standing. “What are you doing here? I thought you had training.”

“Training can wait,” he said, stepping closer. “You can’t.”

Your eyes softened, your lips trembling as you fought back tears. “I thought… I thought you forgot.”

He placed the bouquet gently on the table before cupping your face in his hands. “Forget you? Never,” he whispered, his voice tender. “Now, go pack your bags. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Leaving? Where?” you asked, bewildered.

His grin turned mischievous. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me.”

Less than two hours later, you were boarding a private plane. Jude’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. He was unusually quiet, his excitement evident in the sly glances he kept throwing your way.

The flight itself was an experience. The seats were plush, the service impeccable, and there was a chilled bottle of champagne waiting for you. Jude poured you a glass, toasting to your special day with a wink.

“To the love of my life,” he said, his voice full of affection.

By the time you landed, your curiosity had reached its peak. As you stepped off the plane, the view stole your breath. The island was a paradise—pristine beaches with soft white sand, crystal-clear waters shimmering under the sun, and lush greenery framing the horizon.

“Welcome to your birthday getaway,” Jude said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

The resort was secluded, with its own private villa perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Inside, the space was decorated with balloons, candles, and a birthday cake so intricate it looked almost too good to eat.

“Jude,” you said, your voice trembling. “This is incredible.”

He pulled you into his arms, his lips pressing softly against your forehead. “Nothing’s too much for you, babe. You deserve all of this and more.”

That evening, Jude had arranged a private dinner on the beach. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a soft glow over the table set for two. The waves crashed gently in the background, the air filled with the faint scent of salt and flowers.

“You really went all out,” you said, your fingers brushing over the chilled stem of your wine glass.

“I wanted this to be perfect,” Jude said, his gaze fixed on you. “You’re perfect.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you averted your eyes with a shy smile. He always had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe. The meal was delicious, each course meticulously prepared, but it wasn’t the food that held your attention—it was him.

After dinner, you walked along the shore hand in hand. The moonlight bathed the world in silver, and the ocean sparkled like liquid diamonds. Jude stopped suddenly, pulling you close.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re everything to me.”

Your heart swelled, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “I love you too, Jude.”

Back at the villa, the atmosphere shifted. As soon as the door closed behind you, Jude’s hands found your waist, pulling you close. His lips brushed against yours, soft at first, then deeper, more insistent.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

His fingers trailed up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You tilted your head back as his lips moved to your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate. His hands slid to your hips, gripping you firmly as he pressed you against the cool glass of the sliding doors. The contrast between the cold glass and the heat of his body was dizzying.

“Jude…” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He smiled against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered, “Say it again.”

“Jude,” you repeated, this time louder, the word carrying a mix of need and affection.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you. His touch was tender but intense, his focus entirely on you. Every kiss, every caress was purposeful, as though he were committing every inch of you to memory.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft laughter. Jude was already by the pool, talking to a group of fans who had somehow spotted him despite the resort’s seclusion.

You watched from the terrace, your heart swelling as he posed for pictures and signed autographs, his humility shining through in every interaction. When he noticed you watching, he excused himself and walked back over, his smile apologetic.

“Sorry, love,” he said, sitting beside you. “I couldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you said, leaning against him. “That’s one of the reasons I love you.”

The rest of the trip was a perfect balance of relaxation and adventure. You spent lazy mornings by the pool, Jude lounging beside you as he read or scrolled through his phone. Afternoons were for exploration—snorkeling in coral reefs, hiking to hidden waterfalls, or wandering through local markets.

Every evening ended the same way: the two of you tangled together on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand as the sun dipped below the horizon.

On your final night, Jude took your hand as you sat by the pool, the water shimmering in the moonlight.

“I want more moments like this,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Just you and me, away from everything. Nothing else matters as long as I have you.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you leaned into him. “You already have me, Jude. Always.”

As the trip came to an end, you couldn’t stop smiling. Jude had gone above and beyond to make your birthday unforgettable, and he’d succeeded in every way. On the flight home, you rested your head on his shoulder, his hand laced with yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything.”

“Anything for you, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And as the plane soared through the clouds, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and adventure.

please let me know if you want more of jude! and please send in requests because i have no imagination. thanks for reading!

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Shameless

Warning ⚠️; internalized homophobia, Homelander is his own warning, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, fluff. 🔞

Pairing; Bottom!Homelander/Top!Male!Reader

Summary; John and you are two opposites. He is a comedian and a liar, you are bluntly honest and direct. He cares about his image, you don't. He is ashamed of your relationship while you are shameless.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the sofa sipping at your drink, eyes staring at John with amusement. Still in his costume, your lover walked in circle while biting his nail. He looked ridiculous in your eyes. All those fake muscles and the cape were too much. He looked always better naked, natural, and not so fake.

- “You are going to get yourself dizzy, my love. Just get out of those ridiculous clothes and come sit with me.” You said, waving your hand to show his costume. “We have so little time together, I would prefer having you by my side than whatever you are doing right now.”

John stared at you, eyes glowing red and you just laughed at him. You weren't scared, never was, because John couldn't kill you. No one could. It was part of your power, your curse, but in a moment like this, it was a blessing. Watching your lover get worked up for nothing was funny.

- “How can you laugh in such a situation?” John asked, voice hissing at you as you rolled your eyes. “Its a disaster! I cannot be seen like… like…”

- “Like the man you truly are?” You finished his sentence, sighing. “John, no one cares about that picture. Everyone will call it fake and those who don't, well who cares? Just discredit them and forget about it.”

John said nothing and looked away, his eyes back to normal. You shook your head as he kept walking around the room, trying to find a solution. You didn't understand him. Why come to you when you couldn't help when you were the source of this situation? Well, you weren't fully responsible. It wasn't you who had decided to kiss on a rooftop where anyone could see, that had been John.

And now there was a picture of you two kissing, your hands squeezing Homelander’s ass, circulating around the internet. It was, for you, hilarious. For John? The end of the world was happening.

- “Can't you stop being overly dramatic for five minutes?” You asked, harsher than you wanted.

You gasped in surprise as the back of your head hit the floor, hard, making you see stars. John had pined you down after knocking over the sofa and sat on you. You shivered, licking your lips as you plunged your gaze into his glowing one.

- “And can't you take it seriously for once? Don't you realize how serious the situation is for me? I am supposed to be perfect with no weaknesses and I can not be seen like that with another man.” John spat, his hand grabbing your chin painfully tight.

- “But you are not perfect John and you'll never be!” You replied with a sneer.

It was the wrong answer because next thing you knew John punched you and pain exploded in your jaw. Blood splashed all over your lover and you as your jaw hit the wall and fell onto the ground. From anger, John expression turned to horror as he realized what he had done. From amused, you became enraged.

You didn't gave John any chance and kicked him in the chest, sending the sup flying against the ceiling. You watched your lover fall loudly on the ground as you got up, spilling blood all over the place. You closed your eyes, pain swallowing you up as nerves, bones and everything else slowly regrew. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you felt like your lower jaw was burning in the fiery pits of Hell.

You heard John begging, swearing he didn't mean to hurt you like that and you didn't care. What mattered was how he still did it.

You opened your eyes staring angrily at the hero still lying on the ground. You walked up to him and saw John tensing and closing on himself before you grabbed the man by the collar. Without a word, you back-slapped like he was a bitch, splitting open his lip before grabbing his jaw like he did to you. You leaned down until your nose brushed his.

- “Listen here you pathetic excuse of a man; you are nothing. You are not a hero, you are not perfect and you are not an inspiration. The only thing you are is a childish man who can't take no for an answer and can't live without the approval of the world.” Your words hit home as you saw tears building up in John’s eyes and you sneered again. “You are pathetic. Truly pathetic. The world loves the fake image of you and would turn on you at the first opportunity. Their love is conditional unlike mine and yet you chose those worms over me. I who had always been here for you no matter what. I who helped you bond with your bastard son and helped you when no one wanted to. I bloodied my hands for you! And after everything that how you thank me?”

Venom filled your words as you stared at your lover. John was silently crying and looked away, not daring to look at you. You felt betrayed, and humiliated. You did so much for that man child and he turned against you so easily. You didn't want to see him anymore, wanted him gone from your sight.

- “Think about it John. Who will take care of you when you are old and your body is betraying you? Who will be there for you when the world cheer for a younger and more attractive hero? Them? Your so-called fans? No. They won't, but I would have.” You said, turning your back to him as you walked away. “Now get out.”

- “I’m sorry! I didn't…” John tried but stopped as you turned your head, eyes filled with anger.

- “GET OUT.” You snarled.

And just like that John was gone. A soft breeze caressed your face after he flew away. Sighing, you cleaned the room and threw away your jaw. The pain still lingered and you massaged your chin before sighing. You hated fighting with John like that, but recently it was every other day. The more time passed the more he became unhinged and impulsive. You could barely recognize the man who sought love and attention, the man who melted under your hands at night seemed gone.

It was late that night when John came back. He didn't call, didn't text. He just showed up. You were in bed reading a book in the light of a candle when you heard your front door opening. Only John had a spare so you knew it was him.

He didn't come up directly and you ignored him. You were still angry at his stunt and, frankly, didn't wish to see him. Not right now, not tomorrow. But there he was, walking into your home as if it was his.

After a few minutes, you heard John walking up the stairs and coming toward your room. You didn't look up when he entered nor when he called your name with a timid and soft voice. Instead you clenched your book harder.

- “I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house, John. What are you doing here?” You asked, voice cold as you turned the page of your book.

Your lover didn't answer. Instead, John approached the bed and put down a mix of things; a gift basket filled with your favorite snacks and drinks and another full of books. Sighing, you closed your book and turned your attention on John.

There he stood in civilian clothes and his head low. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying. Had you not been angry at him you would have hugged John. But you were still pissed off.

- “I am so sorry for what I did and said.” John whispered, looking away as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “I have no excuses and you are right. You've always been there for me and you didn't deserve any of this, but I did.”

You could see tears in his eyes and the sight was almost pitiful. Of course, John couldn't live up with what he did and would regret his actions. You didn't. The brat had deserved your words and hands.

- “I don't want… I can not lose you…” John whispered so low that you barely heard it.

You sighed and leaned back against your pillows, crossing your arms and studying him. John was clearly remorseful and you knew he had his lesson, for now at least. Shaking your head you gently tapped the mattress next to you and John didn't wait to lay down. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face against your chest. You brushed his blond hair with your fingers, heart almost getting softer as you saw how happy he was now.

- “You are losing me, John. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but stop it. I don't have the patience to deal with your childish tantrum just because a picture of us leaked on the internet. We are celebrities, it's going to keep happening.” You said and your lover held you tighter. “Hush now. I forgive you this time, but I might not give you another chance.”

John nodded and didn't let go. You kept brushing his hair and let your fingers down his neck. He was cold, colder than normal and you could feel his heartbeat racing. He was scared and terrified which pleased you. Maybe he wouldn't go against you anymore, maybe he would stop thinking he could do as he wished.

After all, he was your pet, yours to use as you wished and you couldn't have a bad dog by your side. As much as you loved John, you didn't want him if he was to lose his mind and become a liability. But at that moment he looked so small and delicate in your arms, almost broken and you couldn't resist him.

You smiled as you felt his body relax against you as he slowly fell asleep. Maybe you could use his fear and remorse against him. Maybe you could force him to come clean about your relationship. Not now, the fight was still too fresh but soon enough he might give in. And once you were out to the world, John would truly be yours entirely.

[inkedinshadows]

Truth-Teller

Day 26: Knife play — Azriel x f!reader

Warnings: language, shadow play, use of knives (no cutting or blood involved)

Word count: 1.230

A/N: this one is based on this suggestion

Your wrists and ankles were tied to the wooden chair by your mate’s shadows, preventing most of your movements as the tip of his dagger traced a line down your cheek.

When Azriel hadn’t come to bed, you had gotten up and found him brooding in the garden, a haunted look in his eyes. It took you some time, but you eventually got him to open up, and he admitted he felt like a monster who did nothing more than cause harm and hurt people with Truth-Teller. Your heart clenched at seeing him like this, but your reassurances didn’t seem to work. Then, you had a sudden idea.

“Use it on me,” you said.

Azriel seemed confused, so you clarified, “Use Truth-Teller on me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You chuckled. “Not to hurt me, Az. Fuck me with it.”

It was the only way you could think of to make him change his mind. You convinced him to take you to his dungeon so that every time he went down there to fulfill his spymaster’s duties, he would think of this moment, of you.

And now you were naked in one of the cells, the shadows swirling around his wings and along your body.

Azriel placed the tip of Truth-Teller under your chin to tilt your head up. As your eyes met, anticipation and excitement coursed through you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “I’m sure.”

“And you’re not afraid I will hurt you?”

“You could never hurt me, my love.” You offered him a soft smile. “I trust you. You’re my mate.”

Something seemed to shift in his eyes, and the shadows tightened around you. Some tendrils slipped between your parted legs to tease your clit, eliciting a whimper.

“My mate,” he repeated. His voice was a bit rougher than before, void of his usual warmth. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I’m yours.”

He leaned down until he was a few inches from your face. “You’re mine.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded again, holding your breath. His shadows gathered around your thighs, brushing against your slick entrance, and you did your best to keep your eyes on your mate.

Azriel smirked, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. “And you wouldn’t mind me marking you, so you don’t forget it?”

You knew he could get possessive, but you always liked it when he left love bites or small bruises on your body as a reminder. You were his, and he was yours.

“Of course not,” you whispered.

You thought he would bite your neck and give you a hickey, but he pulled back instead. He dragged Truth-Teller down to your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You sucked in a breath as he used the blade to flick your pearled nipple, and then he slid it across your stomach. You winced when he pressed it into your skin, not hard enough to pierce and draw blood but enough to leave a red line.

His shadows swirling around your clit kept your mind occupied, creating an almost overwhelming mix of pleasure and pain as Azriel focused on tracing the dagger over you. He drew line after line, but you couldn’t see what he was doing until he stepped back to admire his work.

You finally looked down, and a sound between a gasp and a laugh escaped you as you realized what he had done. What he had written.

The soft flesh of your belly was now marked by six simple letters. A name.

Azriel.

“That’s… creative,” you chuckled. You had not expected him to come up with something like this, but the idea of having his name carved on your skin, if only for a couple days… the scent of your arousal grew stronger, covering the smell of humidity permeating the cell. “I like it,” you added, warmth spreading through you-

Azriel looked smug, as if he knew you would appreciate it. He knelt between your legs, flipping Truth-Teller in his hand so that he could press the hilt against your clit, drawing a quiet moan from you.

“I thought you might,” he murmured as he kissed your thigh. “You always love it when I leave my sign on you.”

You nodded, and your breathing became a bit shallow as the hilt slid toward your entrance. Your voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “I do…”

Azriel coated the handle of the dagger with your slick arousal. His eyes locked on yours, and he pushed it inside you. You whimpered, hips bucking, but the shadows tightened around your wrists and ankles, and you stilled.

Once the hilt was fully inside you, he began to slowly pump it in and out. Tendrils of darkness slithered up to your breast to swarm around your nipples, and your moans echoed along the stone walls.

“Is this what you wanted, love?” Azriel drawled. His hand rested on your thigh, squeezing gently. “For me to fuck you with the hilt?”

“Yes…” you murmured, the only thing you managed to get out.

You watched the black hilt disappear inside you, glistening with your wetness every time your mate pulled it out. You had suggested it, but you would have never imagined it would feel so good. And seeing his name written on your stomach… you clenched around the knife, fingers gripping the armrests and head falling back.

“So good…” you mumbled, though the words were a bit slurred.

Azriel smirked. “Yeah? You like having my dagger inside you?”

You nodded frantically. He sped up his rhythm right as the shadows swirled faster on your nipples, and you were already panting by the time his thumb joined in and started to draw circles on your clit.

“Fuck, yes…” you blurted. Your eyes fluttered close, and you were struggling against the shadow restraints, hips rocking to try and take the hilt deeper, though Azriel was careful not to hurt you.

You felt his dark chuckle skitter along your skin. “Show me just how good Truth-Teller can be,” he murmured, voice low and sultry. “Come on my blade, love.”

His fingers moved faster over your clit and with the next thrust of his dagger, you came undone. You shuddered, crying out as you tried to close your thighs, but the shadows kept you spread for Azriel to fuck you through your orgasm.

He slowed down once you came down from your high, leaving you panting and trembling. He pulled the hilt out and you opened your eyes to see him turning the knife to this side and that, watching the way your release was smeared over it. Meeting your gaze, he brought it closer to his lips and licked it clean.

The shadows disappeared, finally allowing you to move again. You traced a finger over the red letters on your stomach, then smiled as Azriel sheathed Truth-Teller at his thigh.

“See?” you said cheerfully, hands coming up to cup his face. “You can do good with it too. And now you can think of me every time you're down here.”

He was relaxed now, that haunting anguish completely gone from his eyes as he nodded with a soft smile.

You drew him in for a gentle kiss before resting your forehead against his. “And you can use it on me whenever you need a reminder.”

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

Kinktober taglist: @thyellablackk @p1nkfluffysocks @maddieboo8 @a-courtof-azriel @whataenginerd @loviseamms @chaconnelatte @okaytrashpanda @scarsandallaz @velarisdusk @olive-main @krispypotato @scorpioriesling @fourthwing4ever @asaucecoveredsomething

[atrirose]

꒰ 🍮 ꒱ SHUT UP AND KISS ME ! enhypen

s : kissing them to shut them up ! ᆼᆽᆼ enha x f ! r .. ㅜㅜ warning : kissing duh + FLUFF ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱ seiu : had this for the longest time in draft and now baby is free !! for my srugulla @bywons

— HEESEUNG LEE

“and he kept looking at you so i had to say something” your boyfriend rambled about how this cashier was checking you out infront of him, and as your boyfriend he took an offense to that “hee, calm down babe” you said still dragging him “no this is not for me to calm down like what is wrong with people? i am clearly there and he thought it is the perfect day to be- mmh”

you pulled him by his collar to reach your height, smacking your lips on his as he barely has the chance to register what is happening, he was shocked but he overcame that fast as he pulled you closer by your waist and deepening the kiss “are you calm now?” you questioned letting his collar go, he takes a deep breath basking in your smell “maybe if i can get couple more”

you smacked his shoulder as he smiled, completely forgetting about the cashier, he is so easily distracted when it comes to you it’s cute.

“babe, your chapstick taste good can i borrow it”

— JONGSEONG PARK

“do you not love me anymore?” jay sat right next to you on the couch as you were doing your assignment, its only been 4 hours since you started doing it and you wouldn’t mind taking a break but this assignment is due today and you have to do it no matter what “babe it’s not that, i just to need to finish this okay”

jay pouts as you continue typing on your laptop, if you told how he acted at home with you, all clingy and cuddly, no one would believe you, jay scoots closer to you making you side eye him “just tell me you don’t love me anymore and i will leave, not that hard” he said with wide eyes trying to tempt you “because i can clearly see you don’t care anymore, i have been pacing around for hours and you-mmmph”

you turned towards him, capturing him in a kiss to shut him up, “i promise just 4 more hours and then we can do anything you want okay” you said whispering against his lips as he smiles “okay”

“you’re mean to use my love against me to shut me up”

— JAEYUN SIM

“babe, he didn’t know stop sulking” you said at your evidently upset boyfriend, sitting in the passenger seat “he tried to ask for your number infront me, your boyfriend? that is insane” he kept on pouting and mumbling “only because he didn’t know, and he apologized too” you said driving into your garage “i don’t care? the damage has been done, my whole mood for today is ruined, because of a scum” he huffed

“hey now let’s calm down” you said holding his hand still in the parked car “no but just think about it” before he could ramble on and on you decided it better not to waste your day on some random stranger and kiss your pretty boyfriend’s lips, he relaxed in your kiss, his lips moving against yours as his hands traveled back of your head to bring you closer, deepening the kiss, you did start the kiss but you have no control over it now.

no matter how much you try, jake’s hands wouldn’t let you break the kiss “oh my gosh jake” you said catching your breath, he giggled, pecking your lips, he got out taking the groceries out, and just like that your boyfriend is happy as a dog who got called a good boy, if he had a tail it would be wagging.

“darling are you not coming? i want more kisses”

— SUNGHOON PARK 

“so you want to tell me something” you side eyed sunghoon “about what?” you asked having no idea what he is talking about “about how and let me sit down when i say this” he sat himself so close to you that he could probably see all the atoms making up your body “what are you talking about” you faced him

“jay asked when can he come to help you cook” you looked at him confused “why are you? wait so i dont understand what is wrong with that?” you asked “what’s wrong that is, you could have asked me, we could have cooked together” he said sulking, head on your shoulder like a slumped puppy “last time we cooked together, we burned jake’s pan” you said smoothing his hair as he grumbled incoherent words muffled on your shoulder “but that’s because we were kissing and i didn’t want to let go” as if that was any better to use it as an excuse. he got up from your shoulder “and anyways tell jay no, we can grill, cook, bake and anything on our own like we don’t need him- mmhm” you kissed him and he wined in defeat because you pulled this illegal move and there is no way he would let even a single kiss go.

his lips moved against yours, he smirked in between your kiss as he let his whole body fall on you due to which you fell back on the sofa, you both were sitting on, with him on top of you, you squirmed but he just kept going, slipping his hands onto your waist, holding you down “don’t use my trick on me doll” he said before kissing you again. at the end you had to canceled on jay as sunghoon never let you off the sofa. “your lips are swollen, sorry” he is not sorry he is clearly smiling a stupid grin. such a loser

“you’re like addiction”

— SUNWOO KIM

“so any particular reason why you haven’t responding to me for the past 30 minutes” you opened to let a very cranky sunoo in your apartment, he looked like he ran from his house to yours, “i’m sorry i was sleeping sun” you moved aside for him to enter, he removed his jacket, his white shirt was sticking to his body because of sweat, it is almost see through “im sorry did you run here?” you questioned still eyeing him.

“yes i did because someone said they would call me 30 minutes ago and then went blank” he said arms crossed, stilling breathing heavily “do you want water, im sorry babe it’s just-” before you could finish he already entered his mom mode.

“you have no idea how worried i was, i thought you got kidnapped gosh yn i actually ran so fast, and for your information i have never ran this fast and this much in my entire life” smack, your lips were on his, you tiptoeing to maintain the kiss, he was shocked at this sudden kiss but gave in, bending down and caging you between the wall and him, he picks you up as your legs looped around his torso “you sneaky little” he said eyeing you with a pout.

“you are very sly for this yn” you hugged him still mid air “it’s sticky sunoo” he hummed “bare with it, it’s all your fault im sweaty anyways” he walked over to your living hall, still carrying you.

“it’s insane how much you mean to me, and what i can do for you”

— JUNGWON YANG

“so?” you looked over your composed boyfriend, his legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed “so what yn” you are currently stuck on a ferris wheel which you forced your boyfriend to get on “i thought it would be cute, i didn’t know it would stop” you said dropping your head low “yeah well look what happened? it’s been 35 min since we got stuck up here and”

you didn’t know it would happen, come on you didn’t have magical powers to predict future, so you got up angry “what are you doing yn” jungwon looked at you with a confused look “look stay put, you will fall” before he could continue you leaned in for a kiss, falling in process but jungwon caught you still surprised at your kiss, your lips were still attached to his, as he pulled you in his lap to prevent you from falling, his hands traveled to your thighs to have a stronger grip on you “what are you doing? you are going to break bone falling like that” he said face only few centimeters away from yours “maybe i should keep on kissing you until we go down so you can shut up” he smiled.

“why don’t you try that”

— NISHIMURA RIKI

“so funny ha ha ha” riki said sarcastically as you looked at him “what are talking about” he glared at you “thought it was just you and me so why is this thing here” he eyed your friend who decided to join while you were out with your best friend or was it really just that?

“hey now that’s rude” you said as your friend laughed awkwardly “not like you both are dating so i decided it would be fine but if you both are awkward i can leave” your friend got up to go, before you could stop him riki spoke up “no we are leaving, you stay” he grabbed your hands dragging you out of the cafe “that was rude riki” he stopped “guess what i don’t care, i don’t care if it’s rude or not he was annoyingly close to you, you looked uncomfortable, he tried to get with you, he said we are not dating so it wouldn’t be a problem but guess what”

you shut him up by pulling on his jacket to lower him, you kissed his lips as his tensed body relaxed pulling you closer by the waist “shut up dummy, don’t you know there is a better way to keep boys away from me” you looked at his handsome face still confused “one more?” asked as you giggled and kissed him again “one more” you kissed him again “one more?” you stopped moving few inches away from him “wait yn” he tried to pull you back “no ! your free trial is over now” he pouted “so if i ask you out then?”

“then hmmm, i will see about it” you said as he hugged you, you felt a vibration as he giggled “i sure do hope the trail was only for me”

“will you be mine?”