#i think i'm going to work at that and i think it's gonna be hard

[not-so-superheroine]

a lot of chatter in the comments about not owing people anything.

a. yes you do. the world is falling apart right now in part because of this attitude. you owe your fellow human consideration.

babies can't help but to scream. but most adults can and therefore shouldn't be screaming in the grocery store just because they're angry.

you can buy headphones or wait til you are alone. headphones are easier.

b. i confront people who blast things in public enclosed spaces. i can't stand it, so i do what i can about it. i often carry spare headphones to lend out so i can ask in a "nice" way. i'm gonna start bringing cheaper earbuds with an adapter now that i've been inspired.

people don't like confrontation and generally turn it down/off and refuse the offered headphones.

i'm not above moving next to them and blasting something more annoying if it doesn't click.

don't be inconsiderate and contribute to making the environment we share worse than it is out of selfishness.

you will eventually run into a me. and you can either adjust then or make a huge ass of yourself in front of a bunch of other people likely agree with me/them. i/they will publicly shame you by causing you to publically shame yourself. it seems humiliating as they often look admonished/abashed. very few people like feeling or looking like an asshole.

i'm not extremely confrontational, but this is a pet peeve. i can't handle the stimulation and YES i am already wearing expensive noise canceling headphones pretty much at all times. even to sleep.

if you think it is safe enough, confront the person doing it. i suggest being kind about it.

"could you please turn off the sound? i'm autistic and have a hard time with that. i am wearing noise canceling headphones but it's still pretty loud."

"that's pretty loud. do you have headphones? would you like to borrow my spare headphones?"

that don't work. (to the extent you are willing to go) get more drastic. make them uncomfortable as you are.

people who do this make me so mad, y'all. and they back down damn near every time after the kind approach.

dangerous in the usa ig bc people have guns and trigger fingers, but i take the risk in public spaces.

to clarify, I'm not talking about on the street, at parks, or at the metro station even. buskers gotta play to make cash.

but in an enclosed space? a library? a plane? doctors office? come on.

i'm literally begging people to relearn how to use earbuds and headphones. i don't wanna hear your fucking tiktok while im waiting for my flight.

[iamthatonefangirl]

it's @nevereclipse (anon cause sideblog)

but Bucky Barnes and dumbification? w a hint of degredation?

I like the way you think bae…

~~~

the noise of the TV is long forgotten, just white noise you no longer have any interest in. he's got you trapped under his body weight, pinning you to the couch, ready to have his way with you, captivating every ounce of your attention.

your limbs are sprawled everywhere. an arm draped over the armrest behind your head, a hand on his shoulder, a leg falling off the side of the couch. it's all you can do to hold on and look into his beautiful blue eyes as they stare down at you greedily.

he's already shed you of all your clothing, hating the barrier between you. all the while he's still hiding his beautiful body from you with his damn henley and those yummy grey sweatpants...

“daddy, please,” you whine stupidly as he rubs his thumb over your clit. it’s so good, but it’s not enough. you need him.

“please what, baby? tell me what you want,” he mocks.

“need you…” you say. you sound absolutely wrecked and ridiculous begging for him like this, but you can’t help it. your brain and body are all malfunctioning, craving that stinging feeling of him stretching you open.

“you’re just my dumb little girl, who needs something to cum on, don’t you, baby?”

you just groan, trying to nod your head yes in response.

“say it, babydoll,” he orders.

“need something to cum on…” you whine, trying to roll your hips up against his hand for more, whatever you can get from him as long he plans to keep teasing you like this.

he chuckles.

"my pretty little doll, all for me. I know what you need... so stop crying and wait until I give it to you," he says, voice turning colder, pinching your clit and making you wail.

"come on, quiet down. you don't know what you need. your little brain is too stupid for that. do as daddy says."

your whines quiet down, and you can't help but sniffle a little bit. you can't help it...

"wow, is my doll gonna cry? you know your tears won't work on me," he mocks, removing his hand from between your legs entirely. you can't stop it when a tear falls from your eye, so you shut them tight, trying not to disappoint him.

"aww, sweetie," he says, wiping the tear from your face, "look at daddy."

another sniffle. you open your eyes.

he pets your hair with one hand and brushes your tears away with another.

"of course your tears work on me. you know I hate to see my doll cry," he says sweetly. "I think you've been good enough, I'm gonna fuck you open nice and sweet now."

you try to speak, but your words come out as a mumble.

"speak up, sweetie," he prompts, "try really hard for daddy."

"wanna be more than just good enough," you whisper, finally audible. he chuckles once more.

"oh doll, you know you're so much more than just good enough. you're my favorite little toy, my pretty doll. you know that, don't you, sweetie?"

you nod.

"so don't worry, sweetheart. just let me do all your thinking from now on."

you hear the shuffling of fabric, and don't put two and two together until you feel him rubbing the tip of his cock up and down, teasing you from your clit to your weeping hole.

you begin to squirm, your limbs feeling like lead as you try to move, until his hands touch your skin and stop you.

"shh, babydoll..." he soothes, and you finally feel him pushing in, and there is that beautiful sting you've been waiting for.

he moves so slowly, running his hands up and down your sides as he takes his time stretching you out, oh so perfectly.

"there we go, is that better?" he taunts when he's fully sheathed inside of you, bringing a hand to your face. you look all fucked out and desperate, just the way he wants.

his fingers return to your clit, but he makes no indication that he's going to move anytime soon.

"gave you exactly what you needed, babydoll, just something to cum on."

you want to protest. you want him to fuck you, he said he was going to, please–

"you're gonna give me as many as I want, just like this, and then maybe I'll think about fucking you.”

~~~

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[softsunnyy]

Its criminal that I'm not cuddling Luke rn (esp after the devils loss :( )

What I wouldnt give to just lay on his chest and listen to his heart while some mindless movie plays in the back

-🐥

no bc it took me way too long to finish writing this, but i really feel like it healed a part of my soul.

jesus, what i wouldn't give to see my sweet boy and tell him how well he did and how proud i am while i play with his curls. *Sigh*

anyway, those thoughts got me distracted while i was writing this, so if it doesn't make much sense, I'M SORRY.

your heart aches so much. It hurts to see Luke so stressed, trying to contain his frustration so he wouldn't take it out on you.

you still remember how you stopped breathing when you saw his body inside the net. It's like the world had stopped moving. Your ears were blocked, you couldn't even blink. You watched him get up, skate, leave, and come back, but your mind kept thinking about his pained expression, different from when the puck hit him, and different from the time he thought he'd injured his wrist. It's like he knows this is different. More serious.

and you wanted to run to see him, but your friends by your side stopped you, hugged you, tried to comfort you, to calm you, but their arms felt cold. Not like Luke's. So they didn't succeed, and you had to hold back your desire to go to him.

now you're living the results of that day, with Luke unable to play, having to watch games from home or going to the arena. And it's hard—it's so hard—because you can see on his face how much he wants to be there, helping his team and trying to make a difference.

you see him run a hand through his hair every five minutes, then slap his thigh when a play isn't going his way. His leg bounces up and down in anxiety, and you see him nervously bite his lip; a habit he'd lost a while ago with your help.

and you wanna help him, to do more than just rub his back or rest your head on his good shoulder. You wanna give him the world, heal his body, give him back the ability to play an entire game without tearing his shoulder apart, but you can't, and it makes you feel so frustrated and useless.

and Jack tries to help you, god, even Quinn. You know they've talked to him, trying to guide him through these days where things feel so heavy, where everyone feels guilt and frustration. But nothing works, you can see it. You see it in his tense shoulders, his clenched jaw, and his white knuckles. You see it even when he sleeps, having constant nightmares, tensing his body so much that the next day it hurts even more.

and so the days go by, and with them, the games too, until game 5 arrives, in Carolina, which means you two will have to watch it from home.

that day, your hands are shaking; you're nervous, so anxious. You want the team to succeed, not only because you know them and all the effort they've put in to get where they are, but also for Luke's sake. Because you know a loss will break him completely, and you don't think you can handle that.

when the game starts, the mood is excellent and the lead makes Luke smile, proud. But as it continues and the lead is lost, your sweet boyfriend returns to his serious, worried expression. And he's so attentive, analyzing every play, thinking about everything he would do differently, and all the mistakes they're making.

this time, he's too quiet, too tense. He doesn't even complain quietly when a penalty isn't called, and that makes you play with your fingers, unsure.

when the game extends to the first OT, you feel like you're gonna die, like you're gonna have a heart attack. And during the intermission, neither of you gets up from the couch. You don't even speak, both staring at the tv, trying to make the seconds pass faster.

it's in the second OT that things get more serious. And you wanna bite your nails, stretch your legs, anything, but instead you just stay still, staring at your boyfriend's back, who hasn't moved.

when that penalty is called, you feel a pain in your stomach, a hole in your chest. You have a bad feeling and you hope it doesn't happen. But when Aho scores the goal, the one that gives Carolina the win, you know that's what you felt.

the air became more tense, heavier. There's a loud silence, and you can see his eyes fill with tears in seconds. Tears that soon begin to slide down his cheeks as his hands try to dry them. And you see how he trembles, how he can't stop, so you decide to hug him.

Luke, who's usually so big, strong, confident. Who's usually the one who wraps his arms around you to make you feel safe. Who's always there to pick up your broken pieces and put them back together. That Luke threw himself into your arms, crying, his shoulders shaking with his small sobs.

you've never seen him like this, with his face buried in your chest, trying to hold onto your shirt. He's desperate, and you can only hold him in your arms, trying to give him the same warmth he always gives you.

and you try not to burst into tears when you hear him, when you see him reach his breaking point, finally exploding and letting out all the frustration he's been bottling up for so long.

you've seen his struggle, you've listened to him talk for hours about strategies and plans; about things he learned in practice or advice he's received from other professionals. You've seen his eyes light up differently when he thought about making the playoffs, and how everyone talked about him for a moment, about the Hughes who could be a hero this time.

you've been there every day, and you've seen him through both good times and bad, but you've never seen him like this, so hopeless, guilty, frustrated. Thousands of things are running through his head, thousands of images of moments that could have been different.

Luke has spent day and night wishing he'd moved in a different direction, at a different speed. God, wishing he'd been more careful.

he's spent days avoiding the media, the people who want to ask him about his health. He knows they'll ask him about that moment, and that they'll make him replay it, relive it in his head, and he can't do that, not again, not now.

so when Carolina wins, it was like a stab in Luke's chest, right where his guilt had been growing, making him suddenly feel like the world is about to end. Even though he knows it isn't. Even though he knows he'll be calmer in a few hours.

and you both know he has the right to feel bad now, after a cursed season, filled with injuries, effort, and people doubting them. Luke Hughes has the right to feel bad for once.

so you give him his space. You don't even know how many minutes have passed, but you can feel his breathing calming slightly, and his sobs slowly stopping, until finally his body stops being so tense and he decides to lift his head to look at you.

his red, swollen, and irritated eyes; his red nose; his bitten lips; and a look of pure and complete sadness. That's what you see in him at first. But you can also see the exhaustion, the guilt, and a little relief that at least this torture is over.

“you wanna go to bed, Lu? you don’t have to stay and watch the rest,” you reassured him, and though he seemed to hesitate for a moment, he finally nodded, silently moving away from your body so you could get up, turn off the tv, and extend a hand to help him up.

together, you walk to the bedroom, your steps slow and heavy, heavy with emotion. When you reach the bed, you think about lying down first, but he beats you to it, and you know that for today he needs to feel covered by you, by your warmth, to feel safe. So you lie down, your head on his chest and his arms immediately around you.

there was a moment of silence, where you both tried to gather your thoughts, not knowing what to say to each other, what to do, until you finally decided to speak.

"you know, this isn't your fault, Lu," you began, in a low, gentle tone, one of your hands caressing his chest. He sighs, staring up at the ceiling. "I know everything is so frustrating right now, but this wasn't your fault, Lu, and you don't have to take all the blame."

he knows you're right, and he knows that if he has to open up to someone, it's better if it's you, so he started talking for the first time in a while.

“i know, it’s just…” he sighed, “all i can think about is the things i would have done differently. What i would have done to be able to be there, to help in any way i could. We worked so hard…” his voice broke a little at that point, so he cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a moment to hold back the tears. “We tried so hard, when they stopped taking us seriously, when they thought that without Jack, we were lost…” he frowned at that thought, and you could feel his body tense, so you placed a couple of silent kisses on his chest, bringing him back to reality, making him relax a little. “We worked and worked to be better, to not repeat the mistakes from last time, but we kept coming back to the same thing, and it feels like everyone was right, and it’s so fucking unfair.”

you know that, of course you do. You spent days and days raging at the people in the media, at the commentators who kept showing the video of Jack's injury, talking about how essential he is to the team, and implying that without him it would be incredibly difficult for them to make it. Because of course, you know how important your boyfriend's brother is, but you couldn't understand why they were comparing them too. Why, when they talked about Luke, they had to compare him to Jack, or attribute his incredible talent and performance to his brother's absence. You couldn't understand it, and even though you tried to keep your anger at bay, now you know it also reached your sweet boy, and of course it got trapped in his mind.

it frustrates you so much to know that he thinks about it, maybe even constantly, and to know that right now it torments him, so you lift your head slightly, making him look at you, straight in the eyes, with a small pout on his lips.

“Luke, they’ll never be right,” you started, and your boyfriend could only listen, feeling how determined you were in your tone of voice. “It was a rough season, but the injuries and the struggles... hell, none of that is anything you guys could really control, and yet you pushed through, and you battled, and you dared to give it your all in these playoffs, even if it meant stretching this last game to two overtimes. You had everyone wondering what was going to happen because no one put up a bigger fight than you guys. And it sucks that you couldn’t be there now, but no one can ever question all the hard work you’ve put in because you’ve been the best for this team,” you said, sounding more and more annoyed, not at him, but at thinking about everything you’ve seen and heard.

and Luke listens. For the first time in these last few days, he really listens to you, feeling some warmth in his heart at how you defend him, even when no one's looking, and how you still feel proud despite the things that have happened. He feels grateful, even more in love, knowing that you're not judging him or making him feel worse, but that you're supporting him, lifting him up now when he needs it.

he looks at you with a very small smile, and when you realize it, you stop talking, realizing you'd started to vent, which made you blush a little, embarrassed.

"i´m sorry, but really, Lu, you were amazing, and even though you can't see it right now, you were so good, and you did so well. I need you to know that," you told him, this time in a calmer tone.

he feels things getting softer, and his head stops aching, his hands unconsciously beginning to caress you. You're calming him down, as you always do, with what he calls a superpower, but which is actually your ability to talk and say a thousand positive things about him without having to think about it too much.

he still feels frustrated and sad, but he listens to you talk about him, about his team, and it makes him feel calmer, accompanied. With you, he feels in a safe space, where he can vent and receive honest feedback. And although he knows his brothers tried too, with you it's different; this feels much better, much deeper, and then he understands that this is what he needed so much: to listen to you. To ask for your help.

so he lets you talk, to caress him, until after a while you both decide to rest and forget about tonight for a moment.

you let him choose a movie, and you see him put on one of his comforting choices, one of those he's seen a thousand times, but that always make him feel like he's in a safe and normal environment. And you know he won't pay any real attention, but the sound will keep him distracted for a while.

you rest your head on his chest again, and unlike before, you can feel his heartbeat much more relaxed, as it should be. His hand caresses your back, and then you allow yourself to sigh.

Luke isn't crying, and although his face still shows that he did, you know he feels better now. And these are going to be difficult days, you know it, but you also know that he's much more willing to talk about it with you, to stop being the tough Luke Hughes for a moment and be your sweet boy who sometimes also needs comfort and reassurance.

tomorrow he'll have time to continue worrying, to meet with the team, with the management, but now? he only needs you, so he clings to your body.

and he knows he can count on you, and that's why he feels like the luckiest person in the world. In your arms, he knows everything will be okay, so for tonight, he'll allow himself to forget everything.

thanks for being his safe space, is what he thinks before falling asleep

[seat-safety-switch]

At the university where I work, there's all kinds of amazing research projects going on. As part of the public service requirement of my extensively-negotiated parole, I am forced to help with whoever needs it. I've rounded up test monkeys, convinced sobbing grad students not to abandon their field of study, and made coffee for a bunch of MBAs theorizing about how to create even bigger layoffs than their grandfathers could ever have dreamt of. And also there's some nerds with computers.

Robots, while not as cool as they once were, are still being developed every day. We've forgotten how to make all kinds of shit, but we can still follow the instruction manual to make the robots that remember how to make that shit. Which is good, because otherwise we wouldn't have any cars, or refrigerators, or the small island nation of New Zealand. Computer scientists are busy figuring out how to make those robots walk up and down stairs, which is a problem that has evaded them since the beginning of time.

You might not think it's particularly useful to be able to go up and down stairs. I certainly didn't, but it turns out that some important things are available on other floors of a building. The nerds were having a lot of trouble making the robot do it, until I pointed out that the building is equipped with an elevator. Much forehead-slapping ensued, and we went out and got completely sloshed at the campus bar, relieved to finally have solved one of the remaining hard problems of computer science. Unfortunately, in our rush to imbibe, we left the robot turned on. When we got back, it was gone.

What I'm trying to tell you is that if you live in a regular house, you're gonna want to sleep on the second floor. Or in the basement. Anywhere except for the ground floor. We don't think the robot can really harm anybody, that's an awful stereotype of runaway robots, but we do suspect it's running a bit low on charge and will do whatever it takes to suck up some of that sweet, sweet juice. So if you look out your window this morning, and see that someone has spontaneously assembled most of the macrostructure of New Zealand on your front lawn, call us right away, and also hide all of those cheap AliExpress chargers that look like USB-C but won't charge your laptop. Those'll just make it angry.

[redwine-1-zz]

On Bloods shit is really fucked up on Bloods I tell you yeah My peeps I feel the same way as everybody else those Ones no on Bloods who the fuck they are a nigga ain't gotta say a Motherfucking that's on Piru 151 that is why when where whatever the Blood but on Bloods I'll just have to not let any mother fucker so they know on Blood what it do to make your good vibes will go away then it's almost impossible to get it back that's really niggas because I felt all the emotionly distract and nothing seen too works it starts to take me some where you've never been before it's seen as a weird unamiliar place that was placespiritually, psychologically mythological, anyway so can't what I went through it doesn't matter what I say whoever because they believe only way they believe in so on Bloods that's what I'm about Piru 151 is my gang and that's what I believe in you feel on Bloods I'll be just fine my dude that's why I really don't fuck with outsiders and we ani't never gonna see I to I whatever on Bloods I'm going keep doing me do you understand the words that's going out of my mouth but on Bloods believe me if you want to I'm a real stand up dude on Bloods I lie still get over on whoever I'm always on point always willing to help too whatever too keep me from fucking up I really got real niggas on my side on Bloods My name in the street is so good they don't know nothing about me even my first name there is nobody in Las Vegas that knows anything about me do you here's me gonna whatever so anyway that's on Bloods everything is gonna fixed whatever needs to be fixed it is God I really understand that only forget you is when you forgive the ones that fucked over when all the fucking chaos came profusely uncontrollable it was all fucked up but now you should be able to comprehend mind body soul spirit now ask yourself have you ever died spiritually and if so you gotta come with an understanding of what you no about how to control it and it'll start to alouder it's self too giving it to you without no knowledge of even technique it's just One of those things you can't make sense of what has taken away from you even knowing anything about it fuck it Blood there's a lot of things you'll see that don't make any damn sense fuck it on Bloods let if pass don't fuck with it some things are not too be disrespectful to any living soul let everything life stay in your lines never step on what you believe because you'll turn into too a losted Soul just trip you won't have any feelings what so ever you'll feel like you got bipolar on Bloods if it ever got like that it might take you over 39' years to come out of this dilemma can you please understand you'll go through that for 30 years are you listening to what the fuck I'm trying differently to fixed whatever whenever I fall out on a psychological reason it became a very difficult thing to deal with it was none detectable all I felt was Pain and more Pain I couldn't understand why it was so hard to detect what it was that took over everything that makes me up as China Ru 151 Wan Gary all them names so if I fuck with you you'll be around in so don't trip On Bloods anything that ani't taking over self so do whatever do but do it from your heart and don't contradict anything that you believe in on Bloods gang Woop Woop p-funk ?

This punk ass pretty little slut that she really is on Bloods she can't cum over and tried to psychological try to mind fuck a week nigga over he'll go for some weenie ass nigga yeah but a real we can detect that feeling anymore you no shit Will get though life without too much complications it just fall into place let it do it's thing all you gotta do stay out of too way that any got a none unexpected fuck it Blood that's on a motherfucker that thinks they know every thing in the world and don't nobody nothing words mean anything but you no what to do right anyway I'm gonna get on my own understanding Woop Woop p-funk. 1zz

Blackpaper: Tumblr is my diary ``𓍯 ִֶָ. ִֶָ.

[jjjjisun]

can you write a fic where gyubin is the reader's younger sister, he's helping her with a new song, one day she's feeling stressed and he offers to give her a massage, one thing leads to another

—

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—

Gyubin's wrecked. She's not just wound up, she's a goddamn overwound guitar string, one pluck away from snapping. I can hear it in her voice and feel it in every goddamn tense muscle of her body. She's been throwing herself into this new single like it's a lifeboat in a stormy sea, and it's taking its toll.

We're holed up in the recording studio, the air thick with an electric hum that's got nothing to do with the equipment buzzing around us. Her hands dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a raw and emotive melody, a desperate plea for something. I don't know what, exactly. A distraction, maybe an escape. Perhaps she doesn't even know herself.

"You're killing it, Gyubin," I murmur, leaning against the soundboard, arms crossed. Her fingers stutter momentarily, the music hiccupping under the weight of my compliment. She glances at me, and I see the stress etched into her face, the dark circles under her eyes. She looks... vulnerable. Exhausted.

"You think so?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, afraid to hope. It fucking guts me. My little sister, the one who used to dance around the living roomstadium, is now reduced to doubting her goddamn genius.

I push off the soundboard, stepping closer to her. "I know so," I say, my voice steady, reassuring. "But you're wound up tight, Bubs. You need to take a step back."

She rolls her eyes, but there's no heat behind it. "You sound like Mom," she says, putting the guitar down with a sigh.

"No, I sound like a concerned brother who doesn't want his baby sister to burn out." I run a hand through my hair, looking for the right words. "Look, why don't you let me give you a massage?"

Her eyes widen, surprise warring with apprehension. "A... a massage?" She swallows hard, her throat working. "You know how to give a massage?"

A grin tugs at my lips. "I've picked up a few things," I say, winking. It's not a lie. I've given enough massages to know my way around a body. And right now, her body needs me.

The studio grows warmer as I lead her out, the tension between us shifting, growing heavier. We're alone in my place, Mom and Dad off on some cruise, and the house feels too big, too empty with just the two of us in it.

I guide her to my bedroom, where the king-size bed dominates the space. She sits down, her back to me, and I can see the nervous tension in her shoulders, the way she's coiled like a spring ready to snap. I nod to myself, determination setting in. I'm going to fix this for her.

I reach out, trailing my fingers along her spine, and she shivers. "Jesus, Gyubin," I murmur, "you're like a rigid fucking plank of wood." She lets out a shaky laugh, and I smile, my hands already working, kneading the tight muscles, coaxing out the tension.

She lets out a moan, low and soft, and I feel it like a physical touch, a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. Fuck. This is gonna be harder than I thought.

Her skin is like velvet under my hands, soft as dreaming. I start at her shoulders, kneading the tight knots like I'm working out a groove on a bass. She lets out this low hum, like she's purring, and I feel it in my chest, a vibration that's got me rattling like a fucking amplifier turned up too high.

"Mmm, that feels... that feels good, Oppa," she murmurs, her voice all honeyed and slow, like she's drunk on the feel of my hands. I can't help but grin, my thumbs diggin' a little deeper, working my way down her back, tracing the line of her spine like I'm followin' a melody.

Her shirt's in the way, this thin-as-fuck silk thing, and I can see the lace of her bra through it, the way it cups her. Fuck. I'm supposed to be helpin' her relax, not gettin' a goddamn hard-on, but my body's not listenin' to my brain right now. It's like there's this electric current runnin' between us, and my hands are just followin' the path it lays down.

I trace the line of her shoulder blade, dip down to the curve of her waist, and feel her breath hitch when I graze the side of her breast. Her body's a damn symphony, each touch, each caress playin' a note, buildin' a rhythm that's got us swayin' in time. I can't help but wonder if she feels it too, this pulse that's pounding under her skin, matchin' mine beat for fuckin' beat.

She turns her head, her cheek resting on her shoulder, looking at me with those big, brown eyes. They're soft, dreamy, and there's this little crease between her eyebrows, like she's puzzling something out. She licks her lips, and my stomach drops, like I'm falling from a great height. Fuck, could she be any more irresistible?

"Can... can we swap positions?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to... I want to touch you, too." Her cheeks flushed, this pretty pink got me thinking about forbidden fruit and breaking rules. Fuck, she's killin' me here.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak and help her stand, and then I'm sitting where she was, my back to her. I can feel her fingertips trailing down my back, light as feathers, and I tense, waiting for her touch to deepen, to get rough like mine was with her. But she doesn't. Instead, she explores me, her touch soft and gentle, like she's learning my body by heart.

She finds the knots in my back, the tension always there, just under the surface. She works at them like they're a puzzle she's determined to solve, her thumbs digging in, her fingers tracing the lines of my muscles. I can feel her body pressin' against mine, her breath on my neck, and fuck, it's too much. It's not enough.

I turn around, my hands cupping her face, and she looks at me, her eyes wide and uncertain and so fuckin' vulnerable. I lean in, slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. And then my lips are on hers, and she's kissin' me back, her mouth open, her tongue dancin' with mine. She tastes like exotic sweets and old memories, like home in a way I never knew I needed.

Her hands clench my shirt, her body arching into mine. I pull her closer, my arms wrapin' around her, my hand sliding down her back to cup her ass. She gasps into my mouth, and I slide my hand under the hem of her shirt, my palm flat against her belly, her skin hot and smooth.

She pulls away, her breaths coming in pants, her eyes dilated. "Oppa," she whispers, a plea on her lips, and I know I'm lost. I'm fuckin' lost. And for the first time, I can't find it in me to care.

Fuck, Gyubin's lips on mine is like striking the perfect chord, a symphony of sensation that erupts through me, tunneling down to my groin. I'm hard, and she can feel it, her hips grinding against me, seeking friction. Jesus, I could take her right here, right now, but I want to savor this, every goddamn inch of her.

She moans into my mouth, her hands tugging at my shirt, her nails raking across my abs. I break away, my breath coming in ragged pants, my hands shaking as I reach for the hem of her shirt. She lifts her arms, and I pull it off, my eyes feasting on her, her lush curves, her ripe tits straining against her bra. Fuck, she's a masterpiece, a goddamn song written in flesh and bone.

"Oppa," she whispers, looking up at me with those big, brown eyes, full of trust and desire. I lean down, my lips finding the pulse at her neck, nipping, suckling. She gasps, her head falling back, granting me access, and I take it, my hands roaming, exploring.

Her bra's in my way, so I unhook it, her tits spilling out, free. I palm them, my thumbs tracing circles around her nipples, feeling them pebble under my touch. She arches into my hands, her breaths coming in soft mewls, and fuck, it's the most beautiful music I've ever heard.

I'm on my knees before I know it, my hands on her hips, popping open the button of her jeans, tugging down the zipper. She kicks off her shoes and helps me push her jeans down, stepping out of them, now clad only in a scrap of lace hiding her from me.

I rest my forehead against her belly, breathing her in. I feel her hands in my hair, her fingers tangling and tugging. I hook my fingers under the lace and look up at her, waiting for her consent. She bites her lip, her cheeks flushed, but she nods, her eyes locked onto mine.

I slide her panties down, my breath catching at the sight of her, bare, slick, ready. I lean in, my tongue finding her clit, and she cries out, her hands fisting in my hair, pulling me closer. I look up at her, watch her as I lick and suck and fuck her with my mouth, feeling her body tense, her orgasm building. She's a song, a symphony, and I'm the conductor, bringing her to a crescendo.

"Oppa," she cries out, her body shaking, her orgasm crashing over her. I stand, wipe my mouth, my hands going to my jeans, shoving them down, my cock springing free. I'm sheathed in a condom in record time, my hands back on her, lifting her, her legs wrapping around my waist.

I line myself up, look into her eyes, and thrust in, her virginity giving way, her lips parting on a gasp of pain. I still let her adjust, my forehead resting against hers. "Fuck, Gyubin," I groan, "you feel... fuck, you feel amazing." She nods, her breath coming in short pants, her eyes watering.

I move, slow at first, giving her time, letting her body stretch to accommodate me. She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rolling, her body tightening around me. I lose myself in her, her feel, the music we're creating, our bodies entwined in passion.

I breed her, my body slamming into hers, my fingers digging into her hips, her name on my lips like a prayer. She matched me stroke for stroke, her body tense, her breath coming in short pants. She comes again, her body convulsing, her orgasm triggering mine, and I empty myself into her, my body shaking, my vision blanking out.

We stand there, still connected, our bodies heaving, our hearts pounding in sync. I lean in, kiss her, slow and sweet, our bodies still moving, still entwined. I pull away, look into her eyes, and I know, I just fucking know, that this is the beginning of something, something big, something dangerous, something fucking beautiful.

"Oppa," she says, her voice soft, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "What do we do now?"

I grin, my hands squeezing her ass, pressing her closer. "We don't do anything, Bubs. We keep this our little secret and fuck like rabbits every chance we get."

She laughs, a sound that's like music to my ears. "Every chance we get, huh?"

"Every goddamn chance," I say, my hands roaming, my body already hardening, ready for round two. She smiles, her eyes sparkling, and I know, I fucking know, that I'm not just composing our future, I'm writing a masterpiece. With her, I always will be.

[beomiracles]

SQUEE I'M SO SAT FOR THIS ONE,, especially since you've mentioned that the mc is based a lot off of me >.<

First of all, the introduction scene omg. It captures both characters so beautifully, and it creates such a stark contrast between the two!! His gloomy, angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it theme runs so strong. The way he describes mc with such resentment, but but but also a smidge of hidden adoration… You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. Well excuse you then? you’re not slick. 

You draw this picture of them being sun and moon, which I really really love — but I can already tell they’re also going to be so similar. They both give off such stubborn vibes. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.”  She doesn’t care for his insults and still flashes him a smile, and he, despite immature hatred (cough) stays because he refuses to give up the rink. 

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. Aimed. But, whatever… (I love you) 

The way she tries to be optimistic even when he’s being a jerk is crazy,, STAND ON BUSINESS GIRL. “He’s just hurt”, no no no we don’t do this around here… (we do). I can’t even be mad at her, I need to just hug her tight I think. 

Hello the second scene of them skating together?? It paints his anger and frustration so perfectly, especially the way he reacts to Ruka’s compliments — and the mc, not quite jealous but also not quite okay, like a small small cloud brushing past her shining sun. And when she goes to offer him help?? I love her straightforwardness, and the fact that his cold demeanour literally does nothing to deter her. She knows she’s right and she’s not afraid to let him know either, nor is she afraid of his answer. 

I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. — god she’s so me what if I just shrivel up into nothing and disappear. No like her consistent rambling… sister I get you, I never know when to shut up and I’m horrible at reading people and realise when they want me to shut up. 

TOLD YOU THEY WAS BOTH STUBBORN UHUH. Her pushing him to let her help, and him hating it but refusing to give up. 

Ruka what… I actually had hope for her. “She’s actually really depressing.” What if my fist connects with your jaw, then what? That’d be depressing. Sorry I’m get in my feelings over this, but the way she chased him down? Nu-huh. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” THIS LINE IS HARD SO SO HARD. Because how worth it is even success if it leaves you with nothing?? And you worded it so perfectly, I was stuck rereading it a couple of times before moving on I’m so serious. 

“Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” OH BUT YOU DIDN’T OH BUT YOU DID NOTTTTTTTT. Liar liar pants on fire!! She thought uh-huh, her ahh really thought but no no no. and the way mc just accepts it, doesn’t burst her bubble — it’s like being edged but in the most satisfactory way possible, like I just know this climax is gonna be so good. 

The kiss caught me so off guard holy hell— I had to do a double take to make sure I even read it right. But it fits the moment so well! He’s finally gotten to where they have been working toward for so long, and his smile squeee >_< the way her breath catches at the sight, like girl mine would too, and then she just leans in to kiss him. I LOVE WHEN THE WOMAN TAKES INITIATIVE. — but omh, then he doesn’t kiss her back?? My heart dropped again and I literally held my breath for a good thirty seconds until I read that he did in fact kiss her, but their kisses were so different, and so perfect. Then the fact that they just go back to skating like nothing happened? But we all know it’s on both of their minds… THE TENSION it’s actually killing me what the hell. 

Sunghoon defending her. I’m floored. eff that effing bitch who showed up at his house, and even more so for trying to spread lies and poison all over sunghoon and mc. 

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. — this is the moment he finds himself again idc idc idc I can feel it in my toes. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” Take that back. Right now. 

Ruka gots to have a sixth sense or something, or she’s just a stalker because why is she there when shit goes down?? Always ready to twist and turn every single word and action and grind it into poison to feed others. 

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart. Okay pause, this entire montage is so so so important I feel. Because it really highlights the mc as something we haven’t seen before in the fic. She’s always been portrayed as bubbly yet indifferent when it comes to critique and negative comments/things that should offend her. But this scene really highlights her actual feelings, the hurt and most importantly the anger that she’s always kept buried. It really shows more, if not all of her and it deepens her character immensely imo, and I love her for always being so kind and forgiving, but it’s about time she clapped back, even to Sunghoon. 

Communication is so key, I love their honest and open conversation toward the very end. It’s mature but it’s also so raw because he’s really giving himself completely to her. It ties the story perfectly together and it really shows just how much she’s influenced him to believe in things he never thought to be possible before, and I’m talking both his hockey playing and love. 

So my final thoughts — and I have many, because I, too, can never shut up. Ruka is honestly a much more complex character than what I think a lot of people might say. We don’t know much about her when you really think about it, which is why I really want to highlight the scene where she stands outside the rink and witnesses their kiss. It’s the only time we actually get a glimpse into her mind and honestly, it’s quite sad. You can practically feel her longing and her desperation, she’s been pining after a man who’s not once glanced her way. She knows so much about Sunghoon, she’s taken time to study him and to learn him and yet he has no idea who she even is. Then mc just swoops in, loud and in many ways so much more confident than Ruka is. Of course it hurts to see someone so easily outshine you, and it feels unfair when they get the very thing you’ve been craving for so long. In the beginning she admits to having a crush on Sunghoon and mc replies “well that makes one of us” implying that she held no feelings for sunghoon (which back then was true), but to then see mc kissing him only weeks later… I can imagine that must feel horrible. Does it excuse her actions in any way? HELL NO. she’s a lying and manipulating character but also so important to keep the plot going forward, still I think she’s perfectly written, especially since we as a reader develop such hatred for her. As for Sunghoon he’s like a literal ice block. But as the story progresses his character is the one that undergoes the most changes, much like ice melting under sun (in the case the reader) the metaphors are so spot on and it makes the fic come to life completely. He’s just as stubborn as the mc is, which makes their push and pull dynamic work so perfectly, and his character also highlights important struggles people face daily, especially in sport. I can recognise myself in his character that way because my own sport has made me feel like complete shit more than once, and injures are one of the biggest setbacks not to mention confidence knocks. So I think his growth as a person, not only in the way he is with mc but his passion for his own sport, is so important and well done her. Lastly the mc… she’s my baby idc. I feel like I’m actually her. I know you said you’ve already taken a lot of inspiration when creating her bubbly and constantly-talking-without-taking-a-second-to-catch-her-breath persona, but I still really felt like I could connect and relate to her as I was reading. The whole background with her falling at a big competition (excuse me but I’ve already forgotten the proper name of it) is such an important detail because it adds so much depth to a character that could otherwise be brushed off and categorised as “loud” or “bubbly”.  But her past shows that she’s went through so much, yet she stands to this day and doesn’t fault herself nor the world for the misfortunes she’s experienced. It makes her not only a great character, but someone compatible to sunghoon since she’s experienced something similar to what he is going through right now. 

In all the fic is so perfectly paced and written, from the metaphors to the feelings unraveling between the main characters, nothing felt out of place and the world felt alive and moving with each scene. It didn’t feel like 25k and I was genuinely confused when I got to the end because I thought I had at least another 5k to go. A lot of things took me by surprise but they also all made sense in the end PLUS they kept me on my toes as I was reading. Ugh rain u’re so talented when will it ever end??? 

FROSTBITE p.sh

synopsis ⤑ Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

pairings ⤑ hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader word count ⤑ 25k

warnings ⤑ smut, mentions of injury, grumpy x sunshine, ft. Ruka from baby monster, angst, probably more I'm missing...reader is heavily inspired by my yapping baby @beomiracles (serene).

crossing the line masterlist here.

Prologue. 

Sunghoon walked into the rink like a fallen prince returning to a ruined kingdom.

The cold welcomed him. Not with open arms, but with teeth. It bit through the seams of his hoodie, gnawed at the edges of his breath, and curled around the ache in his knee like a reminder. The air here was always sharp, always clean, always brimming with the promise of speed and sweat and glory. But tonight, it only felt hollow. Like an echo of the past, stretched thin over the bones of now. His blades scraped against the ice with a sound that used to thrill him. Now it felt surgical, sterile, like a scalpel carving open the truth he couldn’t avoid. 

He wasn’t on the team. Not really. Not anymore. Not while he recovered. And to Sunghoon, that meant the end of the world. Not playing hockey was his apocalypse. Jay said he needed time. Coach Bennett had nodded, voice clipped and clinical, masking the decision behind phrases like “risk mitigation” and “long-term recovery.” But Sunghoon knew what it meant: they didn’t trust his body, and maybe just maybe they didn’t trust him. What a load of bullshit. Sunghoon could play through the pain. He’s done it before. He wasn’t one to shy away from a little leg injury. Who cares, he’d push through. That’s what real pros did and Sunghoon would be a real pro one day. 

He clenched his jaw as the thought burned through him. His knee twinged again, and he tried not to limp, tried to walk like it didn’t hurt, tried to be the player he used to be. Every movement felt like a performance for an audience that had already left the theater. And then he heard it. A laugh. Light and lilted, drifting through the rink like glitter in a snow globe. He didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to.

The figure skaters were still here. Of course they were. Sunghoon let out a groan, loud enough to be heard, sharp enough to cut. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. She was the worst of them. Not in talent, but in spirit. Always smiling, always talking like life was some golden sunrise just waiting to be kissed. She had that annoying, relentless optimism, the kind that made Sunghoon’s blood itch. It wasn't just naive — it was offensive. Especially to someone like him, whose world had cracked open and swallowed him whole. How can someone look at the world and life and all that it offers and be happy about that? Life chewed you up and spit you out like old gum whenever it had the chance. 

She was all light. He was the void that light avoided. Still, she twirled like the world had never wronged her. Every glide, every spin, every leap across the ice was effortless. She was a poem written in motion. And somehow, her presence made the silence of his isolation scream louder. He dragged a puck across the rink, his stick slicing through the quiet like a blade. The sound was dull, defeated. She didn’t leave. Of course not. She was too kind or too stubborn or too oblivious to understand that he didn’t want to share this place. Not with anyone. Especially not her. She skated past, the breeze of her motion catching his hoodie, lifting it for a fraction of a second. She left behind a sentence as light as her blades: “Pretty night, huh? Ice looks good.” 

Sunghoon didn’t respond. 

Not because he hadn’t heard, but because he had. Her voice sank beneath his skin like snowmelt — cold, but oddly soft. He hated that about her. Hated how she turned everything into beauty. How she made it look easy. But figure skaters didn’t know what it was to fall and stay broken. They didn’t know what it was to wake every day and feel your identity splinter under your ribs. They didn’t know how it felt to sit in the stands while your teammates practiced without you. Laughed without you. Moved on without you.  

He looked at her then, really looked. And for a moment, he thought of frostbite. 

Not because she was cold, but because she was warm — the kind of warm you feel right before the skin goes numb. Right before the blood stops moving. Right before the damage sets in. She had felt like that from the start. Quick. Unexpected. Beautiful. 

And by the time he noticed her, by the time he realized she was changing something in him, it was already too late. 

After. 

Sunghoon didn’t look at you again. Not when you moved like a falling star tracing soft-burning arcs in a frozen sky. Not when your laughter spilled into the rafters, bright as windchimes caught in a spring storm. Not even when you passed close enough for your perfume, warm citrus and something he couldn’t name to slip beneath his guard and settle in his lungs like memory. He focused instead on his own rhythm. On fury and fire, on the merciless repetition of sprints. Forward, brake. Backward, pivot. Turn. Drive. His blades carved the ice with the same fury that burned behind his eyes, every motion a prayer to reclaim what he’d lost. 

Jay said he wasn’t ready. Coach Bennett nodded like a verdict had been passed, and just like that, his kingdom of ice and glory had crumbled beneath him. Now, he ran drills alone in the shadow-hours, a ghost trying to resurrect himself one sharp breath at a time. This was supposed to be penance. Precision. Control. But then there was you. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. Not really. Not like that. Not with your reckless grace and your endless optimism. You spun where he sprinted. You leapt where he lunged. And you smiled like life hadn’t carved a hole in your chest and left you breathless in the wreckage. You were a contradiction. Light in a place he’d turned dark on purpose. 

Still, he moved around you. Like a storm steering around a cathedral. Like a soldier tiptoeing through a garden he didn’t believe in. Until you skated into his path. He didn’t see you at first, he was locked in the repetition, the heartbeat-thunder of his blades slicing the world into before and after. But then, there you were, gliding in without hesitation, your body all poetry and provocation.  

Sunghoon veered, instinct sharp and immediate. His edge caught. Balance tipped. His world lurched and for one heart-clenching second, he was weightless and helpless and human. He caught himself on the boards with a sharp breath, pain flashing down his leg like a warning flare. Behind him, your voice rose, bright, amused, infuriating.  

“That was a triple lutz of fury. You okay, Mr. Thundercloud?” He turned slowly, every muscle tight with the effort not to snap. 

“This is a hockey rink,” he bit out, eyes dark, voice heavy with disdain. “Not a ballerina recital.” 

You just grinned, like you hadn’t heard the venom — or worse, didn’t care. “It’s called figure skating,” you replied, the words wrapped in sunlight and sarcasm. “But I’ll let the insult slide… this time.” He stared at you for a beat too long. You were smiling. Like you’d won something. Like this was a game and he was your opponent. And for the briefest, strangest moment, he forgot how to breathe. 

Then he scoffed under his breath, muttered something bitter and small, and pushed off again away from your voice, your grin, your golden defiance. But your laughter followed him across the ice, light as snowfall, impossible to ignore. He skated harder. Faster. Angry at the sound. Angrier at the way it stayed. You were the flame he never meant to touch. But you’d already left blisters behind. 

The house loomed before him, golden-lit and quiet in the blue hush of evening. Sunghoon stepped across the threshold like a soldier returning from war, though the battlefield had only been frozen water and a girl who laughed like she belonged to the light. He limped. Not dramatically he would never allow that but enough that each step sent sparks of fire through his knee. His leg was screaming, a symphony of torn sinew and stubborn pride. He didn’t slow. Wouldn’t. Not for pain. Not for anyone. 

The frat house was unusually still for a Friday night. No bass shaking the walls. No shouted dares or the sound of someone racing through the halls with a fire extinguisher again. Just a soft, echoing quiet that pressed against the walls like an old quilt — threadbare, familiar. Heeseung was probably with his girlfriend, tangled up in the kind of love that softened even his sharpest sarcasm. And Jake, well, Jake had been quieter lately too. Ever since his girlfriend’s due date began casting long shadows across his smile. The house had learned to tiptoe around anticipation, around the hush of something sacred arriving. 

Sometimes Jay played his guitar in the evenings, those bittersweet chords bleeding down the stairs like spilled wine. But tonight, there was no music. Only the faint crackle of something cooking and the rhythmic clink of a wooden spoon against a pot. Sunghoon followed the scent to the kitchen, where Jay stood at the stove in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed to his elbows, stirring something that smelled warm and nostalgic, tomato sauce, maybe. Garlic. Something close to comfort. 

Jay glanced up, eyes flicking to the limp before Sunghoon could hide it. “You okay?” he asked, brow creasing. “You’re pushing too hard again. You need to slow down.” 

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched. The words hit like cold water, shocking, unwelcome. He dropped his stick against the wall with a dull thunk, the sound far too final. “I don’t need your concern,” he snapped, voice low, bitter. “And I sure as hell don’t need advice from the guy who kicked me off the team.” 

Jay’s stirring paused. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath. “You weren’t kicked off,” Jay said carefully, like choosing the wrong word might light a fuse. “It’s a recovery period. You know that. It’s just protocol—” 

“Protocol?” Sunghoon echoed, a scoff splitting the word in two. “You think I care what the official term is? You benched me, Jay. You and Coach. And now you want to play big brother?” Jay turned fully now, eyes steady but tired. “It’s not about playing anything. I care, Sunghoon. That’s why we’re doing this. You’re not ready yet.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” 

“Someone has to.” 

There it was. The truth, bare and blunt. And it cracked something in Sunghoon, something already splintered beneath the surface. He stepped back, breath short, throat tight with all the things he didn’t want to admit: that the rink didn’t feel the same, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever skate like he used to, that you haunted the corners of his mind like a flame that refused to go out. He turned on his heel, ignoring the flare of pain that shot up his leg. “Whatever. Just—keep your advice to yourself.” 

And then he was out of the kitchen, storming up the stairs two at a time like he could leave the conversation behind if he moved fast enough. The pain chased him anyway. At the top of the landing, he paused, one hand on the railing, the other clenched into a fist. The house was silent again. Jay hadn’t followed. The scent of sauce still lingered, but it no longer smelled like comfort. It smelled like a life that was continuing without him. 

He exhaled shakily. And behind his eyes, he saw the rink. Saw you. Spinning like the world was made of light. Smiling like you’d never been broken. He hated that it stayed with him. Hated it more that he wanted it to. 

Your dorm room was warm in the way a lived-in space should be. Golden light pooled against the far wall like honey, slanting through the blinds in stripes, soft and sleepy. The hum of a quiet Friday night filtered in through the window, distant laughter, footsteps echoing down the hall, the occasional door creak or hallway chatter swallowed by plaster walls. 

Ruka was where she always was at this hour, curled up at her desk like a monk in silent study, her headphones draped loosely around her neck, textbooks spread like sacred offerings across the surface. She barely glanced up when you opened the door, nose buried in something with a terrifying title, highlighter held like a dagger mid-stroke. You didn’t mind. 

The two of you weren’t close, not in the way girls braided hair and whispered secrets into pillows at three in the morning. But there was a quiet kind of companionship in coexisting. She listened. You filled the air. She was younger than you, ran with a different crowd. 

As always, you started talking. Words spilled from your mouth like marbles from an upturned jar, clattering over every thought you hadn’t had time to process. You flopped onto your bed and kicked off your shoes, legs hanging over the side like punctuation. “I swear the rink was cursed today. I could feel it in the air — like the ghosts of last season were judging me. And someone — won’t name names — almost ran me over. Again. Do I have a sign on my back that says ‘human speed bump’? Honestly, it’s impressive how fast he moves for someone with a busted knee. Like, hello? Take a nap, eat a granola bar, embrace mortality or something—” 

You paused to take a breath, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Anyway,” you continued, flopping dramatically onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers. “I survived. Mostly. Though Park Sunghoon nearly gave me frostbite with just a look. I swear, I’ve never seen someone skate like they’re mad at God.” That was when Ruka looked up. 

It was subtle — a tilt of the head, a flicker of curiosity beneath her steady gaze. But you caught it. The way her highlighter froze mid-air. The way one perfectly arched brow quirked in delicate, deliberate motion. “Wait,” she said slowly, voice soft but edged with intrigue. “Park Sunghoon?” 

You blinked, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Yeah?” 

“The hockey player?” 

You nodded, slower this time, as if each motion unlocked some hidden meaning. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, so rare and quiet it felt like catching a butterfly mid-flight. “He’s really cute,” she said simply. “I kind of have a crush on him.” And just like that, the air shifted. 

Not drastically, no thunderclap, no sudden gust, but in the way a still lake ripples when someone tosses a stone. The world tilted a few degrees. You stared at her. Not out of disbelief, but in the strange, dissonant surprise that came from hearing someone else say his name with softness instead of frustration. Because you had only ever spoken of Sunghoon with fire in your voice. Sharp-edged. Wry. Annoyed, mostly. 

But Ruka’s words were wrapped in ribbon. Gentle. Blushing. You laughed, more to yourself than at her. “Well, that makes one of us.” 

She looked at you then, really looked, head tilted, eyes curious. “You don’t think he’s cute?” You hesitated. The thing was… you didn’t know. Not really. He was all sharp lines and silent storms, the kind of boy who walked like he didn’t belong to the earth. Beautiful, maybe, but in the way wolves were, wild, cold, untouchable. 

“I think,” you said finally, drawing each word like a thread between your fingers, “he’s complicated.” 

Ruka smiled again, turning back to her textbook with a knowing kind of grace. “Those usually are.” And just like that, the moment passed. She was back to her quiet, and you were left staring at the ceiling again, wondering when his name had started tasting different in your mouth. Like something that might linger. Like something that might matter. 

Monday morning clung to the world like a yawn that never quite finished. The sky was that dreamy kind of blue, the color of notebook margins and sleepy eyes, and you were already two sips into your iced coffee, pretending it had magical properties. Your lecture hall buzzed softly with life, pages flipping, keyboards clacking, the distant groan of someone remembering they had a quiz. You sank into your seat and opened your laptop, but your fingers hovered above the keys like dancers unsure of the next step. Your mind? Miles away. Lost somewhere between calculus and chaos. 

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, drawing shapes in the condensation on your cup. “Finals are coming. Sure. Death approaches in a syllabus-shaped cloak. But we’re gonna be fine. We’ve survived worse. Like that chem lab last semester. Or the time you accidentally locked yourself in the practice rink because you thought the red button opened the door. That was fun.” You laughed a little to yourself, a soft musical thing, then added quietly, “Sharing a rink with Park Sunghoon? Pfft. Easy. He’s just one very grumpy man with a stick. It’s basically like living with a thunderstorm. Moody, loud, and occasionally electric — but you bring an umbrella and move on.” 

You told yourself this because optimism was your armor. Because the world was already heavy enough, and if you didn’t keep spinning, you feared you’d sink. And besides, you liked spinning. You liked believing that everything, in its own way, would bloom eventually. Your fingers tapped absent-mindedly on your notebook. You were mid-thought — something about figuring out a study schedule, maybe, with your chin resting in your hand, your eyes soft and unfocused, when the air in the room shifted. 

Louder voices broke through the usual murmur like a crack of thunder across calm skies. You blinked, sat up straighter. At the back of the lecture hall, four silhouettes gathered in a tight circle. You recognized them instantly. Jay’s dark hair, Jake’s easy posture, Heeseung’s lazy slouch. And Sunghoon, standing like a blade half-drawn from its sheath, tension coiled in every muscle. Their voices weren’t loud loud, but they carried. 

“I told you, I’m fine,” Sunghoon bit out, arms crossed like a shield. “You’re treating me like I’ve lost a leg.” Jay said something quieter — calmer — but you couldn’t make out the words. Sunghoon shook his head, jaw clenched. 

“I’m not some kid who needs babysitting. I could be out there with you. But instead? I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” The words hit like a slap. No warning. No mercy. You blinked once. Twice. You looked down at your notebook, at the spirals you’d been doodling that suddenly looked like a fall. Like something unraveling. 

You weren’t surprised, not really. Not when you’d seen the anger in his shoulders, the way he moved like something had been carved out of him. Grief in motion. Frustration dressed in skates and scowls. Still, hearing it out loud… hurt. Just a little. Like biting into something sweet and finding the bitter underneath.

You forced a smile. Told yourself, He’s just mad. Just hurting. And people in pain say things they don’t mean. You knew that. You’d always known that. So you tucked the ache somewhere deep, beneath the layers of warmth you wrapped around your heart every day. You held your chin a little higher. Kept the sunshine burning in your chest even when the clouds gathered. 

Because that’s what you did. You stayed soft. You stayed bright. Even when the world gave you every reason not to. You glanced back at them one more time, just long enough to catch the storm still brewing in his eyes. Then you turned away. And smiled again. Even though this one didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

The late afternoon folded over the campus like a well-worn quilt, stitched in gold and quiet. Shadows stretched long and slow across the sidewalks, and the sky blushed softly, unsure whether it wanted to be day or night. You walked back to your dorm with your headphones on but no music playing, just the hush of your own thoughts echoing in the space between footsteps and fading sunlight. 

The building was its usual self: scuffed floors, sleepy corridors, the scent of someone's attempt at instant noodles clinging to the stairwell air. You climbed the steps like you always did, counting them beneath your breath like charms. 

One, two, three, four—everything will be fine.

Five, six, seven—you're stronger than this.

Eight, nine—just lace your skates and keep moving. 

Your key clicked into the lock, the door creaked open, and — Silence. Stillness, not unfamiliar, but… different. Ruka’s side of the room sat in its usual state of meticulous calm. Bed made like a hotel sheet ad, her books aligned like soldiers on her desk. But the chair was empty. Her headphones were gone. Her little desk lamp, usually the only star in your shared little galaxy was off. Your brows furrowed. She wasn’t the type to vanish without a trace. She was quiet, sure. Steady as a heartbeat. But dependable as gravity. On Saturdays, she studied. With her color-coded notes and an herbal tea steaming gently beside her elbow. A ritual. A rhythm.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and stood for a moment, frozen between thoughts. The silence was thick, pressing at your ears like water, and you almost called out her name, just to hear a sound bounce back. But you didn’t. You let it go. People have lives. Maybe she went out. Maybe someone swept her into a spontaneous adventure, a brief rebellion against her usual constellations. Maybe she just needed to breathe outside these four walls. You told yourself all of this, gently, while pulling open your bottom drawer.

Inside, your skates gleamed dully in the late-day light, blades catching the edge of dusk. You ran your fingers over the laces, the leather warm from where your dreams lived inside them. Then you pulled out your duffel, began packing with practiced hands, pads, gloves, that ridiculous fleece-lined jacket you never actually wore but always brought just in case. Each item folded like a promise. Each zipper, a punctuation mark. Each movement, a ritual. This is how we prepare. This is how we carry on. 

You glanced again at Ruka’s desk as you slung the bag over your shoulder, something quiet fluttering in your chest. Not quite worry, not quite longing. Just the awareness that something familiar had gone just a little bit strange.

You left the dorm with that feeling trailing behind you like a thread, caught in the breeze of your footsteps. Outside, the sky was starting to darken. Time to skate. Time to shine.

Even if someone else’s words still echoed like bruises in the back of your mind. 

The rink was a cathedral of echoes when you arrived, cold light spilling from the overheads like moonlight dragged down to earth. You stepped through the side door with your duffel swinging low and your breath fogging in the air, a silent offering to the frozen gods of routine. The chill kissed your cheeks the moment you entered, familiar and unbothered by your presence. The ice welcomed you without question unlike the boy skating circles at the far end of the rink, cutting lines through frost like he was angry at the surface itself. 

Park Sunghoon. 

You saw him the moment you stepped through the arch of metal and fluorescent glow. Sharp lines of movement, precise but edged with frustration, like a dancer trying to turn fury into choreography. He didn’t look up. Of course, he didn’t. You might as well have been a ghost to him, a passing flicker in his periphery. And still… his words from this morning clung to you like fog to a mirror. “I’m stuck skating in circles with the goddamn figure skaters.” 

You could’ve held onto that. Let it curdle in your chest. But you didn’t. You’d already chosen to let it melt like frost under sunlight. Because that was how you survived people like him, people with cold hearts and stormy eyes. You stayed warm. You stayed soft. Gooey, like a cookie. Even if his silence sliced like wind over bare skin. 

You moved toward the bench in the corner, began lacing your skates with steady fingers. A familiar rhythm. Loop. Pull. Loop. Pull. You took a deep breath. Told yourself that the ice was still yours. That joy could still be found here. And then you stepped onto it. The rink hummed beneath your blades. You skated a gentle warm-up, smooth glides and soft turns, tracing patterns in silence like a painter laying down the first strokes of something that might become beautiful. You didn’t look at him. Not really. But you felt him, like a shadow trailing just out of view. 

He kept his distance. Good. Let him.

You spun into your routine, finding the quiet joy in motion again. Practicing your turns, letting momentum carry you like a whispered secret. And then, a voice loud and shrill broke the icy silence between you two. “WOO! GO, SUNGHOON!” Your skate caught slightly on the edge of your turn, not enough to fall, but enough to blink you out of your trance. You slowed to a glide, turning toward the source. 

There, in the bleachers near the glass, waving like she was at a concert and not a cold, half-empty rink, was none other than Ruka. Your brows lifted before you could stop them. She had swapped her usual hoodie-and-headphones look for something more casual-cute. Perched on the edge of the seat like a cat in a sunbeam. And her eyes? They were locked onto Sunghoon like he was something out of a dream she’d once dared to whisper aloud. 

“Come on, you look great out there!” she called, clapping. “That last sprint? Totally NHL-worthy!” You blinked. Slowly. Sunghoon, mid-stride, skidded slightly, his jaw ticking as he looked over at her. Not a smile. Not a nod. Just the sharp exhale of a man who’d rather be anywhere else. His annoyance was visible in the set of his shoulders, the way he stared past her like she was fog on the glass, there but inconvenient. 

Your heart tilted sideways in your chest. Not because of the awkwardness. Not because Ruka was cheering for the very boy who had called your world a joke in a voice laced with disdain. But because you saw him. You saw how he stiffened under her praise, how his skates moved sharper, faster, like he was trying to outskate her words. Like kindness grated on him more than silence. Like admiration was a language he didn’t know how to read. 

You stayed still for a moment, one hand on your hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from your eyes. You watched the way he avoided your gaze with deliberate precision. Like even eye contact might unravel him. Then you took a breath. Pushed off. Returned to your own practice. 

Because the ice didn’t belong to him. And your light didn’t need permission to shine.

Still, as you skated, you felt something settle into your bones. Not quite sadness. Not quite jealousy. Just… the sharp awareness that everyone wore masks. Even the ones who scowled at sunshine and rolled their eyes at laughter. Especially them. 

The hours unfurled like ribbons across the ice, silver and slow. You and Sunghoon spun your separate galaxies across the same frozen sky, orbiting each other in careful silence. His skates tore into the rink with force, blades slicing like twin swords, while yours curved and dipped with the grace of moonlight slipping through branches. He was precision and thunder. You were rhythm and light. 

You didn’t speak. Not once. But you felt him. And somehow, that was worse. Every time he passed, your chest tightened just a little, remembering the way his voice had clipped those words this morning, how he’d tossed your world aside with a single breath. But the cold has a way of preserving more than just bruises; it clears the mind, too. By the time practice wound to a close, your hurt had melted into determination, soft and fierce. 

The locker room door creaked as you stepped off the ice. And there he was, Sunghoon, perched on the bench like a statue carved from winter itself. He sat hunched over his skates, fingers tugging sharply at the laces, his jaw tight, sweat painting constellations at his temple. You watched him for a beat. The way his leg trembled slightly. The sharp inhale when he shifted. Pain. Not just ghost pain, not the phantom ache of healing. Real. Present.

Your eyes narrowed, and the words came out before you could swallow them. “You’re doing it wrong,” you said, stepping forward, breath curling in the cold. 

Sunghoon didn’t look up. “Doing what wrong?” 

“Your stride,” you said, matter-of-fact but warm, like you were offering a cup of tea to a frostbitten soul. “That’s why your leg still hurts so bad. Your form’s all off.” 

He finally glanced at you, those glacier eyes narrowing, irritation flickering just behind them like lightning beneath snowclouds. “I’m what?” 

“You’re playing wrong,” you repeated, standing tall despite your worn skates, your cheeks pink from the chill and adrenaline. “You’re putting too much pressure on the outer part of your knee when you push off. You’re compensating for the pain, which is making it worse.” 

He scoffed. “And you’re what, a doctor now?” 

“Nope.” You smiled, brightly, undeterred. “Just someone who’s fallen on her ass about a thousand times. Figure skaters crash constantly, but we know how to angle our bodies so the impact spreads. It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance. Control.” He looked back down at his skates, tugging harder now, the muscle in his forearm twitching. 

“I can help you, if you want,” you offered, genuine, hopeful, stubborn. “Just with the angles. Not to overstep. Just to help you skate without pain.” He didn’t answer right away. For a heartbeat, you thought maybe — just maybe — he was considering it. That something in his storm-cloud gaze might soften. Then he snorted. “No thanks, Sunshine.”

The nickname was sharp, but not cruel. More like a brush-off wrapped in thin sarcasm, tossed over his shoulder like a towel. He stood, grabbed his jacket, and limped toward the exit, each step radiating quiet fury. You watched him go, your hands still resting on your hips, heart stung but not shattered. Because here’s the thing about sunshine. It doesn’t need permission to rise. It just does.

So you exhaled. Smiled again, just for yourself. And whispered under your breath like a promise: “Tomorrow, then.” Because you weren’t done. Not even close. The ice hadn’t melted between you yet.

You slipped through the dorm door with your skates still swinging from your shoulder, the scent of cold clinging to your hair like snowflakes that refused to melt. The hallway was dim, the kind of golden hush that only existed in the sliver of hours between late afternoon and true evening, and the air in your room felt just a degree warmer than the rink, barely but enough to sting your fingers with returning blood. And there she was.

Ruka. Curled cross-legged on her bed, laptop open, notebooks spread like wings around her. Her hair was tucked into a low bun, earbuds in, and she was scribbling something down with a pencil that had been chewed nearly to death. For a moment, you paused in the doorway. Something felt…off. Not visibly. Not loudly. But you knew people the way skaters knew their balance points — by instinct. You could feel when someone had shifted, even if they looked the same. She didn’t look up when you came in. 

Still, you offered a bright little sigh, a soft smile breaking across your face like morning light spilling across your pillow. “Hey, you disappeared before I left the rink.” You tossed your bag gently onto the floor and began tugging off your coat, the fabric whispering across your skin. “Didn’t even hear you leave. Were you skating again?” You played dumb, of course. 

Ruka blinked at her notebook, then slowly pulled an earbud free. Her eyes met yours. cool, calm, unreadable. “I wasn’t skating,” she said simply. 

You tilted your head, fingers pausing mid-zip on your hoodie. “Oh. So… what were you doing there?” 

it was a harmless question. Light as air. But her answer landed like a stone. “Just watching.” She turned back to her notes like punctuation, and you blinked. Something in her voice had been dipped in frost. Not biting, but distant. Measured. Not her usual soft-spoken stillness, the kind that let you chatter through silences without ever feeling unwelcome. No���this was different. This was cold. You stood there for a beat, hoodie half unzipped, heart tilting a little sideways. 

“Right,” you said, voice laced in artificial warmth. “That’s cool. I didn’t know you were a fan of the rink.” Ruka didn’t reply.

You let out a little laugh, quiet, the kind that fills a space just to prove you still can. And then, still smiling, you crossed the room and sat on your bed, your bones aching from practice, your mind unraveling in quiet questions. You didn’t press. You didn’t pry. That wasn’t your way.

But you thought about the way she had cheered earlier, about how her voice had filled the cold air with warmth meant for someone else. You thought about Sunghoon, skating like he could outrun something, and the way her gaze had followed him like he was the sun she’d never dared look at before. You lay back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. Sometimes, things shift before you see them coming. And sometimes, people surprise you in the quietest ways.

But still, you stayed kind. Stayed bright. Because even if the room was colder than you remembered, you refused to stop being the warmth. 

The night had softened by the time Sunghoon made it back to the house, the sky bruised with the fading violet of dusk, and the air bit at his skin like it resented his stubbornness. His leg burned. Not the sharp, immediate pain of an old injury flaring, but the deep, heavy ache of something being pushed past its breaking point. Again. 

The front door creaked open under his weight, and the warmth of the frat house spilled over him like syrup. thick and too sweet. Familiar voices tangled together just past the hallway. Laughter. The clink of plates. The low strum of Jay’s voice. He almost turned around. But pride is a chain wrapped around the ribs. And his wouldn’t let go. He stepped inside.

The living room glowed gold, lit by the low hum of lamplight and the occasional flicker of the muted TV. Jay was leaned back on the couch, an open water bottle in hand, while Jake sat beside his very pregnant girlfriend, who had her feet propped up on a pillow. Her belly rose like a gentle tide beneath her sweater, and her eyes shone with that ever-glowing light. soft, observant, and infinitely kind. Three heads turned as Sunghoon limped through the door, his hoodie half-zipped and damp with leftover sweat from practice. 

“You’re limping worse than yesterday,” Jay said, always the captain, always the voice of reason. 

Jake chimed in a beat later, his brows drawn in concern. “Why won’t you just rest, man? You’re not gonna heal if you keep pushing like this.” Sunghoon dropped his gear by the door with a heavy thud, his jaw tight, the pain crawling up his leg like a storm trying to find a place to land. 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, not looking at them. “I don’t need a lecture.” 

Jay sighed, the sound edged with exhaustion. “It’s not a lecture, Hoon. It’s basic logic. You’re tearing yourself up out there. You think Coach Bennett’ll let you back in if you break yourself completely?” 

Sunghoon turned, irritation flashing sharp and raw in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be ‘breaking’ if you hadn’t pulled me off the ice in the first place.” 

“You’re not off the team,” Jay replied calmly, setting his bottle down. “You’re on a required recovery period.” 

“The same thing,” Sunghoon snapped. “Don’t split hairs.” 

A quiet cough cut through the tension, and Jake’s girlfriend — sweet as spring rain — shifted a little on the couch. “I think what they’re trying to say is… maybe listening to your body isn’t the worst idea,” she said gently, her voice like a balm. “I mean, sometimes we think we’re fine just because we want to be.” 

It should’ve landed like comfort. But it struck like a match. “Mind your business,” Sunghoon said sharply, the words out before he could call them back. The room froze.

Jake’s head snapped around, his eyes flaring. “Hey. Don’t talk to my girl like that.” The silence that followed was molten. Sunghoon’s anger flickered, dimmed, and died out in a single breath. He stared at the floor, guilt pooling heavy in his chest like sleet. 

“I didn’t mean…” His voice cracked, quieter now. “Sorry. That was—stupid. I’m sorry.” Jake’s girlfriend gave him a small, understanding smile. She always forgave too easily. That only made it worse. 

Sunghoon grabbed his water bottle and turned away, shoulders stiff, shame clinging to him like another layer of sweat-soaked fabric. He climbed the stairs slowly, every step a needle driven into the muscle behind his knee. When he reached his room, he shut the door softly almost tenderly and stood there in the quiet, staring at nothing for a long moment. The pain was still there, pulsing like a second heartbeat. But deeper than that — beneath the bruised ego and the battered pride was something else. 

Your voice, bright and persistent, kept echoing in his mind.

“You’re playing wrong.”“It’s all physics. Leverage. Balance.”“I can help you.”

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling just a little. It had sounded ridiculous earlier. But now, with the pain sharp and unrelenting, and the silence of the room pressing in like a judgment, your offer didn’t seem so foolish. Maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe it wasn’t an insult. Maybe you actually knew what you were talking about.

He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed, leg stretched out in front of him like a broken line. The ice, the skates, the ache, the quiet praise you gave him even when he hadn’t earned it… it all blurred together. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t try to push the pain away. He let it sit beside him like a mirror. Maybe see you again tomorrow. And maybe… he’d listen this time. 

The sky was the color of wet pearls as you made your way to the rink, the kind of soft gray that promised rain but never delivered. Your skates were slung over your shoulder, biting at your hip with every step, and your breath came out in visible puffs that floated like little ghosts of determination. You were a girl on a mission, fueled by blind optimism and an unyielding belief that even the most frozen things could melt if you were warm enough, loud enough, kind enough. And Sunghoon? He was a glacier. But even glaciers cracked under time and pressure.

The door to the rink groaned open and welcomed you with that familiar chill, that bite of air laced with the perfume of ice and steel. You stepped in like it was a cathedral, reverent in your own way, eyes scanning the space that had become your evening altar. He was there. Already. Park Sunghoon. Laced in shadow and silence. 

He sat on the bench near the boards, bent over his skates, fingers threading laces with a quiet intensity, jaw set like it was carved from marble. His hair was damp at the edges, the kind of mess that spoke of someone who didn’t care enough to fix it but hadn’t quite let go of vanity either. The light caught on the sharp curve of his cheekbone, and for a moment you paused just a moment because something about him looked… different. He looked Less angry. Or maybe just tired of being angry. You couldn’t figure out which was which. 

You marched up anyway, smile already blooming like a sunflower on your face, warmth radiating off of you in a way the ice couldn’t fight. “Okay,” you said, breathless not from the cold but from the flurry of thoughts bursting behind your eyes. “Hear me out. I’ve been thinking and don’t roll your eyes, this is important I’ve been thinking that maybe, just maybe, you need me.” He didn’t look up. You didn’t let it stop you. “Your form is off. I’m not just saying that to be annoying. I mean, I am annoying, but not this time. You’re straining the wrong muscle groups and you’re compensating for your knee in a way that’s going to make it worse. You’re going to tear something again and then you really won’t be able to play. And I know, I know I’m just a figure skater and you think I don’t get it, but we fall for a living. Literally. And we fall well. We learn to twist midair so the ice kisses us instead of cracking us open, and I could show you, I could help you—” 

“Okay.”

You blinked.

“What?”

Sunghoon finally looked up. His eyes met yours, dark and steady, but not cruel. Not cold. Just quiet. “I said okay,” he repeated, voice low but clear. “Meet me here. Every weekday. 6:30 p.m. sharp.” 

You stared at him, stunned into something dangerously close to speechless. “Wait. Wait, did you — did you say yes?”

“I did.”

“Well don’t deny me — wait. What.” A ghost of a smirk, barely there, almost imaginary curved at the corner of his mouth. “Meet me here on time, Sunshine.” 

You laughed, half in disbelief, half in relief, the sound tumbling out of you like birds startled into flight. “Sunshine, huh? You really can’t help yourself with the nicknames.” He stood then, tall and limping slightly, but not so much that you missed the way his frame shifted lighter. Like saying yes had peeled off a layer of armor. Like hope, when it finally arrived, it didn't have to announce itself loudly; it just had to be there. “6:30,” he repeated. “Don’t be late.”

You saluted with mock seriousness, grinning wide. “Sir, yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes and skated toward the ice, but this time… this time he didn’t avoid you. Not entirely. And just like that, a crack had opened in the glacier. Small. Fragile. But real. And you, all sun and stubbornness, were ready to shine straight through it. 

The next day dawned with a sky stretched in pale watercolor, as if the heavens themselves were yawning awake. And you moved with purpose, energy stitched into your limbs like golden thread, skipping down the hallway with your skates in one hand and a banana in the other, mid-bite, mid-monologue about how today was going to be the day Sunghoon learned the art of surrender. Not to defeat — oh no but to gravity. To momentum. To pain that teaches rather than punishes. 

The rink was quieter than usual when you arrived, its emptiness echoing with the soft hum of the refrigeration system beneath the ice. The air was its usual crisp kiss, sharp enough to sting but not to bruise. Sunghoon was already there, of course, punctual and pouting. He sat on the bench with his skate half-laced and his hoodie still on, like a knight begrudgingly preparing for a battle he didn’t believe in. You practically twirled in, dropping your bag with theatrical flair. ��Alright, Captain Crankypants,” you called out, voice bright and bell-clear, “today we begin with the basics. Lesson one: how to fall like a pro.” 

He groaned, long and low, as if your very presence was the headache he couldn’t shake. “You want me to fall? On purpose?” His eyes flicked up at you, unimpressed. “Yeah, that sounds super smart.” You beamed at him, entirely unbothered. “Not just fall. Fall well. There’s an art to it, you know. A science. A rhythm. You can’t just slam into the ground like a dropped dumbbell, you’ll wreck yourself that way.” 

He scoffed, standing slowly, testing his weight on that healing leg with guarded precision. “Pretty sure falling’s the last thing I should be doing if I want to get back on the ice with my team.” 

“But that’s exactly why you should,” you replied, tilting your head, as if the answer was written in the frost forming along the glass. “Because falling isn’t the problem, Sunghoon. It’s how you fall. We don’t learn to stop gravity. We learn to meet it, roll with it, get back up without it stealing anything more than our breath.” His eyes narrowed, a storm cloud gathering, quiet but looming. “That’s figure skating stuff.” 

“Exactly,” you chirped. “Which is why you’re lucky you’ve got me.” 

He looked at you like you were speaking in tongues. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, laughing as you tugged on your gloves. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” With slow reluctance, like a stubborn mountain giving in to time, Sunghoon followed you onto the ice. His strides were careful, a ghost of his former fluidity trailing behind each push. You watched him move with a softness in your gaze, knowing he was fighting something far deeper than physical injury. He was mourning a version of himself that had been left behind in the locker room that day, when his knee gave out and the world fell with it. You stopped near center rink and turned to face him. “Okay. Watch me.” 

You let yourself fall, dramatically and deliberately. A gentle twist of the hips, a tuck of the arms, a controlled slide that kissed the ice instead of collided with it. You rose just as quickly, nimble and unbothered. “See? Easy peasy, gravity is greedy but we’re smarter.” 

He muttered something under his breath, something about this being ridiculous, but you caught the way his lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. Just… conflict. And curiosity. “Try it,” you said, your voice dipped in sugar and sunshine. “Don’t think. Just fall. Trust that I’ll teach you how to land softer.” 

He hesitated, eyes flickering across the rink like it might mock him, like it might remember how once, not long ago, it had hurt him. But finally, with a sigh that could have been mistaken for wind, he crouched a little, awkward and stiff, and let himself go. It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. He landed with a thud and a grunt, half-turned and slightly off balance. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t wince. And he didn’t stay down. You clapped, delighted. “Not bad! You’ve got the makings of a Bambi-on-ice!” 

He rolled his eyes, but he was sitting up now, flexing his leg, and something in his face had shifted. A flicker of belief. A spark of possibility.

You offered your hand. He didn’t take it. But he stood on his own. And that, in your eyes, was progress painted in frost and stubborn hope. Practice ended in a flurry of silence and exhale, the kind that leaves your lungs aching and your limbs trembling from exhaustion masked as endurance. The rink had settled into a sleepy hush, the overhead lights casting silver puddles onto the ice like pools of moonlight spilled from a weary sky. Sunghoon had spent most of the hour gliding just beyond your reach, stoic and brooding, a storm cloud in a jersey, orbiting your sunshine in quiet, reluctant circles. But progress had been made. Not in leaps or bounds, but in small things: the twitch of a smile that he didn’t quite manage to kill, the way he didn’t protest when you told him his weight distribution was off. Tiny steps, quiet victories. 

You both sat now on the bench that bordered the rink, his skates half-untied, yours dangling from your fingers as you caught your breath. His hoodie clung to him in damp creases, his hair plastered to his forehead, and yet he still managed to look like he’d stepped out of some tragic poem. A sonnet of scraped ice and stubbornness. “So…” you began, voice light as lace, “about Ruka.” 

He didn’t look at you, only furrowed his brows deeper into the shadows of his lashes. “Who?” 

You turned slightly, lacing one skate in slow loops as you stole a glance at his profile. “The girl who was here the other day. Cheering for you like it was the Olympics.” Realization flickered across his face like lightning fast, dismissive. “Oh. The cheerleader.” 

You laughed, not unkindly. “She’s not a cheerleader, she’s my roommate. And she might have a tiny little crush on you.” Sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as if the ceiling above might offer him divine rescue. “Great. Just what I need.” 

“What, adoration?” you teased, nudging his knee with yours. “Must be so hard.” He didn’t answer right away, his jaw working through something he didn’t say aloud. Finally, he muttered, “I don’t date.” 

You raised a brow. “Really?” 

“Hockey’s the love of my life,” he said, eyes sharp like ice shards, like truth he’d carved out long ago. “That’s enough for me.” You tilted your head, letting your hair fall like a curtain of gold and starlight across your cheek. “That’s a sad way to live,” you said gently, not accusing, just… observing. “Everyone deserves to love. To be loved.” 

He looked at you then, a long, lingering look, as if trying to decide whether your optimism was a costume or a calling. “I do love,” he said, softer this time. “I love the game. That’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

“But maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet,” you offered, voice barely more than a breath. He let out a short laugh — dry, not cruel. “Sounds like something out of one of those cheesy rom-coms you’d make me watch.” 

You smiled, undeterred, pulling your coat tighter around you as the cold began to kiss at your skin. “You’d be surprised what stories can teach you.” 

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He stood, the worn laces of his skates now untied completely, his posture tight, shoulders stiff with the ache he wouldn’t admit. He slung his bag over one arm and glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the dull glow of the rink’s overhead light.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, voice low.

“At 6:30,” you replied, standing too.

He nodded, already walking away, and you watched him disappear into the tunnel that led out of the rink, his shadow swallowed by silence. Still, even as the chill pressed into your bones and your breath misted in the air, you smiled. Because he hadn’t said no. And sometimes, that was the first word in a yes.

The frat house was pulsing, alive with sound and sweat and lights that flickered like epileptic stars. The bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, the kind that didn’t come from within you but pressed on your ribs from the outside, trying to break in. It was the kind of night made for forgetting, flashing cups, flushed cheeks, dizzy laughter. But Sunghoon had nothing he wanted to forget, only things he was trying to survive. His body was a map of ache, his knee a smoldering ember, his back tensed and twisted, his temples drumming a painful rhythm. He should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve wrapped himself in the quiet and left the world to burn without him. 

Instead, he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the limbs that bumped against his shoulders, the haze of perfume and cologne, the drunk declarations and loud, sloppy choruses of songs everyone pretended to know. The lights made everything look fake — skin too bright, eyes too glassy. He moved like a ghost among the living. The kitchen was a marginally calmer pocket of air, though even it buzzed with tension. Soobin stood near the counter, arms crossed, stoic in a way that looked practiced. Yunjin stood in front of him, animated, eyebrows tight and lips moving too fast, too sharp. Sunghoon didn’t catch the words, but the emotion slapped against the tile floor like broken glass. Love turned into a battlefield over cheap beer and pride. 

Heeseung leaned against the fridge, sipping something bright and unholy from a red plastic cup, and Jay stood beside him, eyes flicking from Soobin and Yunjin to Sunghoon with a practiced detachment. “Rough night?” Heeseung asked, his tone too casual to be innocent. 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He glanced at the tension in the room, the cracked silence in Soobin’s stance, the hurt in Yunjin’s voice. “What’s their deal?” he asked, jerking his chin in their direction. Jay shrugged, reaching for a half-empty bag of chips. “Who knows. Been like that all week.” 

“We try not to get involved,” Heeseung added, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Sunghoon gave a noncommittal grunt and moved to grab a water bottle from the counter. The cold plastic stung his palm, grounded him for a second. The kitchen smelled like too many people and too many drinks, but it was better than the noise outside. 

Jay leaned in slightly. “Hey, by the way — a girl was walking around asking for you earlier.”  

At that, something in Sunghoon stuttered some quiet spark of thought, unspoken and unacknowledged. His mind flicked to you, impossibly bright and smiling, always halfway through a sentence, your words cotton candy and conviction. It was a fleeting hope, gone before he could even name it. Then Jay nodded toward the hallway, where Ruka stood, wearing confidence like perfume and eyeing the room like she owned it. 

Sunghoon’s mouth twisted. The little spark of hope snuffed out before it could catch flame. “Of course,” he muttered. He didn’t wait for her to notice him. He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, weaving back through the crowd, avoiding her gaze like it might pierce him. He wasn’t in the mood for polite smiles or coy compliments, not in the mood to be someone else’s fantasy when he couldn’t even bear being himself right now. 

He was almost free, fingers brushing the door to his room, sanctuary just a heartbeat away when her voice cut through the noise behind him. “Sunghoon, wait.” 

He froze. Not in obedience, but in dread the way a predator might freeze in the moment it realizes it’s been cornered. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, because if he didn’t look at her, maybe she’d vanish into the static of the party behind them. But Ruka didn’t vanish. She chased. Her heels clicked across the floor like punctuation in a sentence he didn’t want to read. Then her hand was on his arm — cloying, too warm, too familiar. He yanked away from her grasp like her touch burned. And maybe it did. Maybe everything burned lately. 

She flinched at his reaction, then softened her voice into something apologetic and breathy, practiced like a song she’d sung too many times. “I’m sorry, okay? I just— I wanted to say something.” He said nothing, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the stairwell. “She’s not who you think she is,” Ruka said then, her voice low but sharp, like a knife being slipped between the ribs. “That girl you’ve been skating with. All that sunshine and sparkle? It’s a show. She’s not that happy. She's actually really depressing.” 

The words echoed strangely in the space between them, bouncing off the noise of the house and falling like lead at his feet. Sunghoon turned then, slowly, like something ancient and brimming with wrath. His face was calm, but his eyes — his eyes held storms. Not the kind that pass, but the kind that drown entire cities. “Mind your business,” he said, his voice cold enough to crack glass. 

Ruka blinked, taken aback. Maybe she’d expected amusement. Maybe she thought he’d nod in agreement or laugh, or at the very least, care. But he didn’t laugh. And he did care and that infuriated him even more. He didn’t wait for her response. He turned and stormed back down the stairs, shoving past strangers with empty smiles and red plastic cups. The house felt suffocating, bloated with sound and people and things he didn’t have the patience for. His skin felt tight, his heart loud, his thoughts louder. 

Why did it bother him? Why did her words sink under his skin like a splinter?

She didn’t know you. Not really. Not the way he’d started to. Not in the way you spoke about falling like it was an art form, not in the way you tried to fix him like he was something worth mending.  He shoved out the front door, the cold air biting at his skin like it, too, had something to prove. His breath left in bursts of fog, pain pulsing behind his kneecap as if to remind him of every bruise he carried, every truth he refused to name. 

He walked towards the diner that nearly everyone frequented on campus. Hoping and praying for some sense of solace. 

The booth by the window smelled of syrup and coffee and the kind of late-night grease that clung to the bones of a day too long lived. The diner was warm in the way a memory is warm, buzzing neon lights humming above like lullabies, and the soft clink of forks on ceramic drifting through the air like wind chimes in a storm's lull. You sat alone, chin propped up in your palm, tracing swirls in the condensation of your water glass, legs still sore from practice but your spirit untouched, untouched the way a flame dances even after the wax is nearly gone. Your plate was half full, pancakes cut into clumsy quarters, syrup pooling in the valleys. You were halfway through recounting your own day in your head out loud, of course, because silence had never been your companion when the bell above the door rang. 

You looked up. The words on your tongue stuttered into stillness. Sunghoon. It was Sunghoon. 

Still dressed in the hoodie he’d been wearing at the rink, his hair damp with sweat or melted frost, eyes dark with something that stormed just beneath the surface. He paused when he saw you, shoulders sinking with theatrical dread. Of course, he thought. Of course you’d be here, light personified, smile too wide for the hour and heart too open for someone who’d barely gotten a thank you out of him. 

“Sunghoon!” you beamed, like the sky had cracked open just to drop this moment into your lap. Your voice, effervescent as soda fizz, bounced toward him like a pebble skipping across water. He groaned. It was low, dramatic, and pulled from somewhere that wanted desperately to be annoyed, but didn’t quite make it. “Of course you’re here.” 

“Where else would I be?” you grinned, motioning to the seat across from you like you’d always meant it for him. “So… what brings you to this fine establishment at such a glamorous hour?” 

“I was hungry,” he deadpanned, walking over with the kind of gait that whispered of pain. He didn’t explain the limp, didn’t bother to soften his tone. “Why else would someone come to a diner?” Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“Touché,” you said, then leaned in with a twinkle in your eye. “Want to sit with me?” 

He opened his mouth, likely to decline with something sarcastic and sharp-edged, but the words caught on the way out. Maybe it was your smile, or the glow of the booth light painting soft halos in your hair, or maybe — though he’d never admit it —i t was just that being near you quieted something in him, something he didn’t know needed quieting. “Sure,” he muttered. 

He slid into the seat across from you, his movements slow, like each inch of space between pain and stillness had to be negotiated. You didn’t mention the way he winced as he sat. You just smiled again, folding your hands in front of you like this was a normal thing, the two of you, alone together in a corner of the night that didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Sunghoon didn’t tell you what Ruka had said. He didn’t tell you how it sat on his chest like a stone, how her voice echoed in his skull like wind through a cracked window. Because it wasn’t his to say. And because, deep down, he already knew it wasn’t true. 

He saw you fall on the ice and rise again like it was a song your body knew by heart. He heard the way your laughter curved around your words and the way your voice filled silence with life, not noise. No — whatever Ruka thought she knew of you, it was only a fraction, and not the kind he cared to carry. Instead, he stared down at your plate, brows raised. 

“Pancakes at midnight?” he asked. 

You shrugged, delighted. “Midnight pancakes fix all problems. Haven’t you heard?” 

He smirked then, small, fleeting. Like sunrise just peeking over frostbitten windows. “Heeseung says that all the time.” 

“Well he sounds like a pretty smart guy.” You quirked, picking at your pancakes leisurely. 

Sunghoon huffed a laugh — small but still there. “Sure.” For a while, the two of you sat in something not quite silence, not quite conversation, but alive and breathing all the same. And in the quiet hum of syrup-sticky booths and flickering neon signs, something invisible began to shift. The hiss of the coffee machine behind the counter had become a kind of lullaby, murmuring softly beneath the quiet chatter of the few remaining night owls nestled into booths and barstools. Across from you, Sunghoon picked at the edge of a sugar packet, his fingers deft and idle, not quite meeting your eyes, but listening in that particular way he always did, like he was preparing to argue but got caught up in your melody instead. 

You sat across from him, legs tucked under you like a child curling into a story, your face glowing with the heat of possibility rather than the diner’s neon haze. And he watched you, not that he’d admit it. Not that he knew what to do with someone like you. “I’m going to make the podium this year,” you said, sudden and certain, stabbing a lone pancake piece with your fork like it was fate itself. “I don’t care what place. Bronze, silver, first runner-up to the crowd favorite. I just want to stand there, see the crowd, and know I didn’t fall flat.” 

Sunghoon blinked at you. “Figure skating finals?” 

You nodded, then grinned. “The big ones. My coach calls it the crown jewel. The end of the season, the whole year in a single performance. I tanked last time. fell on my opening jump and never recovered. My blade caught the edge, and it all spiraled. Couldn’t hear the music over the panic. I was supposed to shine and instead I… dulled.” 

The words weren’t bitter, just honest. You spoke of failure with a sort of reverent gentleness, as if it were a bruise you had long since accepted. It surprised him how freely you gave that part of yourself away. No dramatics. No self-pity. Just truth. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “And you’re trying again?” 

“Of course.” Your voice was light, but sure. “I owe it to the version of me that cried backstage and promised to do better. I owe it to the dream that didn’t die just because I messed up once. Besides, we fall all the time in figure skating on ice, off ice. You just get up and do it again.” Something in him shifted at that. The ice in his chest cracked a little more, as if the warmth in your voice could thaw even the places he'd long buried under frost and fury. 

You caught the flicker in his eyes and smiled, like sunshine breaking through cloud cover. “Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head. You’re the one always brooding like the main character in a sports anime.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge was gone. He stared at the last of his fries, then slowly pushed the plate aside. “You’re weird,” he muttered, almost like it was a compliment. 

You beamed, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.” And just like that, between the flicker of fluorescent lights and the taste of melted syrup, the world felt a little less heavy. He didn’t tell you about Ruka. He didn’t mention the ache in his knee or the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he hadn’t felt like lashing out or retreating. He just sat there, listening to you talk about your music selection and how you were planning to bedazzle your new competition costume yourself  “with enough rhinestones to blind the front row” and something quiet inside him settled.

He didn’t believe in miracles. But maybe… maybe he could believe in second chances. Especially the ones that came in the shape of bright eyes, chipped diner mugs, and a voice that refused to give up. Even on him. 

The night air was a velvet hush wrapped around the world, stitched with distant traffic and the occasional hum of streetlamp flicker. The diner door swung shut behind you both with a bell's chime like the last note of a lullaby. Outside, the cold kissed your cheeks and painted your exhales into fleeting ghosts, trailing behind you like forgotten sentences. You walked beside him, your boots crunching gently over old salt and fractured pavement, the glow of the diner still soft behind you. He walked with his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as if he were always prepared for winter — even in spring. 

But you, you carried warmth like it bloomed from your chest. You talked, because silence begged to be filled and your thoughts were too colorful to keep caged. "I always liked walking at night," you began, voice barely louder than the rustle of your jacket. "When I was little, my dad used to say the stars came out just to eavesdrop on our dreams. I used to whisper to them before bed. Tell them everything I was too scared to say out loud." Sunghoon said nothing, only shifted slightly, head tilted as though your words trailed behind his ears like music on low volume. His footsteps matched yours, deliberate, steady. Listening. Always listening. 

You glanced up at the sky, where stars flickered shyly through the sprawl of city haze. “Some nights, when I’m scared before a competition, I still talk to them. Like, ‘Hey, I know I biffed the last triple loop but if you could just not let me crash this time, that’d be amazing.’” You laughed lightly. “They’re probably tired of hearing about my spiral sequences.” He almost smiled. Almost. You kept going, because silence in his company no longer felt daunting, only deep. A pool that welcomed your words, let them sink in, soak through. He didn’t need to speak. He just needed to be there, and somehow, he was. 

“I don’t think people realize how lonely it is to try to be great,” you mused. “Everyone sees the sparkle, the applause, the medals. But they don’t see the bruised knees. The missed meals. The days where you cry on the cold rink floor because you can’t land a stupid jump you’ve done a thousand times. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just chasing a spotlight that’ll burn me up before I ever reach it.” Still, no answer. Just his steady breath beside you, vapor blooming and vanishing. But his eyes had that quiet fire, the kind that flickered only for the things that mattered. 

“I think… that’s why I don’t let myself stay down. Because even when it hurts, I still want it. Not the spotlight. Just the chance. To be better. To feel like I’m flying again, even if only for four minutes.” The street turned quieter, the neighborhood dipping into darker corners, sleepy houses pressing close together like secrets being kept warm. You stole a glance at him then, expecting — what? A laugh? A scoff? 

But Sunghoon’s gaze was forward, brows drawn in thought. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t walk faster, either. He stayed at your side like a shadow that had chosen you. And then, after a silence long enough to count heartbeats, he said, low and rough, “What’s your program this year?” 

You blinked, surprised by the breach in his usual barricade. “It’s set to Clair de Lune,” you said quietly, suddenly shy. “I wanted something soft this time. Something like… falling in love with the sky.” He nodded once. Just once. And somehow, it felt like the biggest applause. You didn’t need him to say more. You didn’t need him to match your sunshine with light. He was the stillness where your words could echo and not be lost. And for that, you walked beside him in silence the rest of the way, the night folding around you both like a promise waiting to be made. 

The night had mellowed into something hushed and golden, a quiet that settled over your shared footsteps like falling petals. The city exhaled slowly, as if sighing into sleep, and still you walked beside him, two shadows drawn in parallel ink, aligned but never touching. Then, out of the hush, his voice rose like a single note plucked from a cello string, low and sudden. “What’s your deal with Ruka?” 

You blinked, startled by the sound, by the question, by the way his words cut through your stardust-thoughts like a falling star slicing the sky. You turned to him with raised brows, lips parted with a breath that hadn’t yet become a word. “Ruka?” you echoed, the name tasting foreign when it came from your mouth. 

He didn’t look at you, just kept walking, hands still in his pockets, his jaw set like stone worn smooth by time. It didn’t sound like idle curiosity. But then again, nothing about Park Sunghoon ever felt idle. You wrapped your arms around yourself, not because of the cold, but because something inside you had curled up, uncertain. 

“Oh, um. We’re not really close,” you said, the words spilling like marbles rolling across a hardwood floor — easy, but a little scattered. “She’s my roommate this year, just this year. My last roommate, Sakura, graduated early. We were kind of inseparable.” You smiled faintly at the memory, soft and aching. “She used to help me with my hair before competitions. Always had a bobby pin in her pocket, even if we were just going to the store. I miss her.” 

He said nothing, just nodded once. The moonlight caught his profile and painted it silver. “She’s really smart, Ruka,” you went on, feeling the silence ask for more even if he didn’t. “Always has her headphones in. Always studying. We talk sometimes, but mostly she just… lets me ramble. Which, you know, I tend to do.” You gave a light laugh, hoping the sound would cut the tension, soften the edges. 

But he didn’t laugh with you. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded again, like your words were being filed away in some hidden drawer inside him. And for a moment — brief and bitter and fleeting you felt a twinge. A single pulse of something dark and unfamiliar. It settled beneath your ribs like a secret. Jealousy. You didn’t want to call it that. You didn’t want to name the way your throat tightened when he asked about her, or the way your heart gave a suspicious little stutter at the thought of her name brushing his interest. 

Did he like her? The thought was ridiculous. Maybe. Maybe not. But it lodged in your chest like a thorn. And what surprised you most wasn’t the question. It was how much it mattered. You shook the feeling off with a practiced smile, the kind you wore in the mirror before competition, the one that told the world everything was okay, even if your knees were shaking. 

“She’s alright,” you said, voice light, breezy, so casual it almost disguised the knot in your gut. “But I think she prefers silence. I talk too much for her taste.” Still, he said nothing.

And you wondered, as the two of you drifted past sleeping houses and rustling trees, if you could ever stop wanting to know what was running behind his quiet eyes. Maybe he’d never say it. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself. But tonight, walking beside him through the tender hours of the dark, you wished he’d turn and say something that would loosen the twinge in your chest. Instead, he walked on. Still and silent. And you matched his pace, wondering if maybe that was enough. At least for now. 

The dorm room welcomed you with the kind of stillness that felt staged, like a scene waiting for the actors to step into place. The air was warm, tinged faintly with lavender and printer ink, the signature scent of shared space and sleepless study. You slipped inside quietly, the door closing behind you with a hush instead of a click. For once, your voice didn’t follow you in. 

You didn’t start with a story or a sigh, didn’t fill the silence with your usual cascade of chatter about a late-night craving or a skater’s cramp or how the moon had looked like a sugar cookie on the walk back. No, tonight you simply moved through the space like a ghost of yourself soft-footed, uncharacteristically quiet. Ruka was there, as always, hunched over her desk like a cathedral of discipline, shoulders drawn tight under the glow of her desk lamp. Her highlighter moved like a slow metronome across the page, precise and deliberate. But when you entered without a word, she paused. 

You didn’t notice at first. You were too focused on your routine kicking off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door, tucking your food container into the small fridge like you were sealing away the last hour of your night. The remnants of warm laughter and cool night air still clung to your skin, even as the fluorescent light washed everything colorless. It was only when she turned, slow and deliberate that you met her gaze. “I went to see Sunghoon tonight,” she said, her voice smooth but wrapped in something slippery. Something rehearsed. 

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Oh?” 

She nodded, looking back at her notes for a second like they might give her the courage to lie again. “Yeah. We talked for hours at his party. I just left from seeing him.” The words hung there like wet clothes on a line, dripping, sagging under the weight of their own fabrication. And you knew. You knew in the marrow of your bones, in the quiet thrum of your heartbeat still synced to the rhythm of footsteps beside Sunghoon’s. You knew because you had just walked home with him, the ache of his silence still pressed like thumbprints into your thoughts. But you said nothing.

You didn’t call her out or laugh or ask her why she thought you wouldn’t notice the lie curling like smoke between her syllables. You didn’t say, “Actually, I just walked home with him,” or, “That’s strange, he didn’t mention you.” No. Instead, you sat down at your desk, unzipping your jacket, fingers steady as you untied your shoes. You offered her a smile — small, polite, hollow in the middle and said, “That’s nice.” 

Ruka turned back to her notes, and you turned to face the wall, blinking slowly as if you could paint over the moment with enough quiet. And though you didn’t say it out loud, a strange new feeling began to settle beneath your ribs, something like suspicion, something like sadness. Not because of the lie itself, but because you couldn’t understand why she’d told it. What purpose it served. What it meant. But more than that, what unsettled you the most was how your heart gave the tiniest tug at the idea that she wanted Sunghoon to herself. That maybe, just maybe, she knew you were starting to want him too. And you hated how that made you feel.

By the time Sunghoon returned to the frat house, the storm of music and voices had softened into something gentler like rain losing its temper. The halls no longer throbbed with bass, just pulsed quietly with leftover laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shriek from the living room where someone was trying to revive a dying game of beer pong. The air smelled like stale cologne, cheap beer, and exhaustion.  

He pushed through the front door, body aching in ways he didn’t dare name, shoulders stiff with memory. The walk home had helped, a little. The diner even more so. Or maybe it wasn’t the diner, it was you. That smile. That damn voice of yours, all melody and motion, coloring every dull corner of his night until it looked like morning. He hadn’t even meant to go out. He just couldn’t stay there, not after the lies that curled out of Ruka’s mouth like perfume. 

Heeseung was sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips, half-asleep and still wearing his shoes. Jay sat nearby, nursing a water bottle like it was whiskey, his guitar leaning against the side table, untouched. They looked up when Sunghoon walked in, both of them clocking the shift in him, the unbrushed hair, the frown lines that had softened just barely, like something had tried to loosen their hold. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Diner,” Sunghoon muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. His muscles cried out as he moved, his knee barking like it wanted to collapse. “You missed the show,” Heeseung said through a yawn. “Your little fangirl was here. Again.” 

Jay snorted. “Ruka. She was asking around for you. Whole place thought she’d get a kiss out of you before midnight.” Then came the question, as casual as it was crude, tossed out like a beer can into a bonfire. 

“So?” Jay leaned back, grinning. “You tap that?” 

The words hung in the room like fog, heavy and misplaced. Sunghoon didn’t even look up from the sink as he filled his glass. He stood still for a breath. Then another. “Hell no,” he said flatly. “I just went to the diner.” 

it wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t even irritated. It was simply true delivered with the sharp edge of certainty. A line drawn clean in the dirt. Jay let out a low whistle. Heeseung chuckled under his breath. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” 

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just sipped his water, jaw tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the counter like he was trying to smooth it out with sheer will.

Because what he didn’t say not to Jay, not to Heeseung, not even to himself was that he didn’t want Ruka. Had never wanted her. Not with her lipsticked lies and her eyes that always seemed to be searching for attention like it was currency. And yet, somehow, your voice kept echoing in his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget. “Falling is inevitable unless you can stop gravity.” He couldn’t stop gravity. Not on the ice. Not in his chest. And it was starting to terrify him. 

Monday came with the bite of wind and the soft shiver of pre-dawn blue, the kind of chill that kissed your skin and whispered promises of something new. The rink sat like a cathedral of silence, your shared sanctuary of sweat and bruised ego, laughter and aching limbs. The boards were cold. The air was colder. But you… you were warm, incandescent, still grinning as you laced your skates with hope braided into every loop. 

Sunghoon was already there, stretching his legs like the world had done him a personal disservice. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, but his eyes those, wintry things, found you easily, like a compass that refused to point anywhere else. His movements were stiff, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t complain as you chirped about your new routine, about your bruised knee from the spin you biffed on Saturday, about how this week felt like the start of something. He didn’t say much. He rarely did. But he skated. And fell. A lot.

You counted at least thirteen crashes before you stopped keeping score—some clumsy, some oddly graceful, all equally frustrating for him. Each time, he’d scowl, curse under his breath, and brush himself off like he was made of pride stitched too tight. But you never stopped encouraging him, your words a steady stream of sunlight spilling through his clouds.

“Better!”

“That fall was cleaner!”

“You angled your shoulder perfectly!”

He looked at you like you were ridiculous. Which, maybe, you were. But you were ridiculously happy to be here. With him. By the time the clock curled toward the last stretch of practice, he’d finally done it. Not a fall, but a landing. A descent that didn’t jar his bones, one where his body absorbed the impact like water receiving rain, smooth, natural, right. You gasped and your joy exploded out of you, bright and loud and uncontainable.

“You did it!” you cheered, skates clattering against the ice as you skidded over to him. “You actually did it, Sunghoon!”

He looked up from where he was still crouched slightly, his breath misting the air, eyes wide. And for the first time, the very first time, he smiled. It wasn’t a smirk. It wasn’t that half-tilted, cynical curl he used when he was being sarcastic or amused. It was real. Unburdened. And somehow, it made him look like a boy again, soft-edged, bright-eyed, touched by something other than pain or pressure. The moment lingered. Too long. 

His smile stayed, your breath caught in your throat like a fluttering thing. The distance between you thinned until there was only the sound of the ice humming beneath your skates, and then,  Then you kissed him. You didn’t think. You didn’t plan it. You just leaned forward, heart drumming in your chest like a war cry and a lullaby all at once, and kissed him — soft and sure, like the ice beneath your feet had whispered that you wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t kiss you back. 

You pulled away instantly, horror creeping into your chest like cold water. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—I mean I wasn’t trying to—ugh—Sunghoon, I just got caught up in the—” And then he was kissing you. Fast. Sure. No warning, no wind-up, just his lips on yours like punctuation, like a sentence he’d been writing in his head for days but didn’t know how to say out loud. You blinked when he pulled back. He looked stunned, maybe a little dazed. You were definitely breathless. And then, as if nothing had happened, you both went back to skating. Circling each other like stars in orbit silent, spinning, on fire. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. But neither of you forgot it. 

Outside the glow of the floodlights, just beyond the fragile safety of the rink’s boards, a shadow lingered silent and still like frost waiting to bloom. Ruka stood there, tucked in the hollow between concrete and glass, her presence cloaked by the buzz of overhead lamps and the trance of celebration that unfolded before her. She hadn’t meant to come. She had only wanted to stop by, to catch another glimpse of him, of Sunghoon in that candid, breathless space where his armor sometimes slipped. Maybe she would pretend it was a coincidence again. Maybe she’d bring him something warm, an excuse wrapped in a paper cup and a shy smile. But what she saw was not Sunghoon alone. 

Through the gleaming haze of the ice, through the rhythm of blades carving truth into frozen ground, she saw you. Beaming. Radiant in your joy. And she saw Sunghoon — grinning back. Not his usual strained grimace or practiced smirk. No, this smile was something else. Real. Unearthed. Unearned, in her eyes. And then, the kiss. Her breath caught like a gasp in winter wind. She pressed her palm flat against the glass as if to steady herself, as if to break through the divide between her and what she saw, a moment that didn’t belong to her but felt like it should have. That soft, charged touch of lips in the heart of the rink burned like a betrayal, even if no promises had ever been made to her. It was a kiss that seemed to split the ice beneath her feet. And she hated how gentle it was, how true. 

The rage came slowly, like an icicle forming drip by bitter drip. A seethe in her gut. A fire in her lungs. She had spent so much time watching, studying, calculating, positioning herself at just the right angle to catch his eye. She knew the timing of his strides, the way his brows furrowed when he was lost in thought. She had noticed him long before you had ever touched the same ice. And yet it was you — scatterbrained, sunny, ever-yapping you — that he kissed.

She backed away, breath coming out in little bursts of fog, eyes trained on the scene unfolding before her like a play she hadn’t auditioned for but still wanted a lead in. She didn’t care that he pulled away quickly. She didn’t care that you stammered your apology. All she could see was the connection, the tether stretching invisible and unbreakable between your smile and his rare, reluctant joy. She could feel the bitterness pool in her chest like ink in water, spreading fast and without mercy. You hadn’t seen her. Neither had he. You never noticed the fracture blooming quietly in the corner of the world you shared. But she did. And it stung, not because it was love lost, but because it never even had the chance to begin. 

The walk back to the dorm felt like treading on the edge of a dream, your feet barely touching the ground, your breath catching on the remnants of laughter that still lingered like glitter in your chest. The night air was cool, brushing your cheeks like a secret, the kind that only stars overhead seemed to know. You tucked your hands into your coat pockets, smiled like a secret was blossoming behind your lips, and tilted your face skyward, as if asking the moon to keep your moment safe. You had kissed him. Or maybe the moment kissed you, soft and strange and suspended in time, like a snowflake caught mid-fall. It didn’t matter who leaned in first, or that he hesitated, or that nothing had been said after. What mattered was the way the world tilted after. The way his eyes had widened before he kissed you back like something inside him had cracked open. Like he’d been waiting all along but just didn’t know it. Something had changed, undeniably and irreversibly, and it made your limbs feel like cotton, your thoughts like honey. 

There was a shift now. Subtle but seismic. You could feel it humming in the soles of your feet, echoing in the memory of the moment. You didn’t know what it meant yet, not exactly but something had softened between you two, and in that softness, you found a kind of quiet joy. When you reached your building, you entered with the reverence of someone carrying something precious. The hallway lights buzzed faintly, and your steps echoed gently down the corridor, a rhythm almost musical in its contentment. You reached your door and turned the knob, half-expecting to see Ruka with her usual mess of notebooks and headphones, wrapped in her silent storm of thoughts and solitude. But the room was empty. 

The lights were off save for the sliver of streetlamp that painted silver lines through the blinds. The air was still, undisturbed. Ruka’s bed was neatly made, her chair tucked in, her world untouched. And for once, you were grateful. You slipped inside and let the door close behind you with a soft click, as if trying not to disturb the fragile bubble that wrapped around your joy. There was something beautiful in the quiet, something that gave you space to breathe, to process, to smile without anyone asking why. You moved slowly, deliberately, putting away your things, peeling off layers like petals until only your giddy little heart remained.

And then, standing there in the low light, you allowed yourself to relive the glide of your skates, the crispness of the air, the look on his face just before he closed the distance. You pressed your fingers gently to your lips, almost to confirm they still tingled. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t spoken about it. Not yet. It mattered that it happened. It mattered that, for the first time in a long time, your heart felt like it had been seen. And for that, you let yourself float just a little longer on the dream of it all. 

The walk home was quiet, but for once, it didn’t feel heavy. Sunghoon’s limbs ached as usual, the kind of ache that seeped into marrow and muscle and made itself at home but tonight, it was quieter. Like even the pain had decided to take a breath, loosen its grip on his body and allow him a moment of peace. There was a strange calm moving through him, something light and unfamiliar. His mind replayed that kiss, not obsessively, but gently, like turning over a smooth stone in his pocket. The softness of your lips. The way you smiled before it happened. The burst of something warm and startling that bloomed in his chest when you leaned in, and even more so when he kissed you back. Like an ember flickering to life in a long-cold hearth. He didn’t want to overthink it, and yet, it sat with him now — steady, glowing, undeniable. But as the frat house came into view, that flickering warmth began to dim. She was there.

Perched like a stormcloud on the stone steps, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, face streaked with tears that glistened under the porch light. Ruka. Her presence felt like a sudden cold front, a sharp drop in temperature, a wind that bit instead of kissed. Sunghoon paused at the edge of the sidewalk, every instinct screaming at him to turn around and disappear into the dark. But she looked up. And she saw him. 

He kept walking. Slow, steady, bracing himself. The steps creaked beneath his weight as he stopped in front of her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and laced with quiet exhaustion. 

Ruka sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her too-expensive cardigan. “I saw you,” she said, voice breaking on the edge of accusation. “I saw you guys… kissing.” 

Sunghoon blinked at her, unimpressed. “Okay?” he answered flatly, as if that alone should be the end of it. But of course, it wasn’t. “She’s a fraud,” Ruka spat, sitting up straighter now, her voice rising with that familiar, jealous tension. “That whole sunshine act? It’s fake. She’s just pretending to be all sweet and happy. But it’s all a show. She’s actually, she’s miserable. She’s depressing. She’s not what you think she is.”  

He stared at her for a long moment. The wind rustled the trees, and somewhere in the distance, someone laughed a sound so far removed from the bitter drama at his feet. Sunghoon exhaled, slow and sharp like a blade pulled from a sheath. “You know what?” he said, voice like ice over steel. “Maybe you could stand to be a little more like her.” Ruka’s mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t give her time to respond. 

“She’s kind,” he went on. “She shows up for people. She cares even when she doesn’t have to. She’s loud and ridiculous and warm, and yeah, maybe that annoys the shit out of me sometimes, but at least she’s not hiding behind fake tears and whispering poison about other people to make herself feel better.” Her expression crumpled, her mouth trembling. 

“You don’t know her,” she whispered. “Neither do you,” he snapped. “You don’t get to decide who she is because she threatens your tiny little world.” 

Ruka’s hands curled into fists on her knees. “If you really want to know who she is, look her up,” she hissed, the venom returning. “Look up last year’s figure skating finals. Her name. Go ahead. See it for yourself.” He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. 

“Fuck off, Ruka,” Sunghoon said, and his voice was calm. Steady. Done. He pushed past her without another glance, the door slamming shut behind him like the end of a chapter. The warmth inside him didn’t dim this time. Not completely. In fact, it burned brighter now not in spite of her words, but because of the fact that he’d chosen to ignore them. That he’d defended you, and meant every syllable. He didn’t need to search your name. He didn’t care about the past you carried like quiet luggage. Because when he looked at you, all he saw was someone who got back up. Again and again. And that, more than anything, was real. 

Upstairs, behind the closed door of his room where the noise of the party below had faded to a dull, insignificant hum, Sunghoon sat on the edge of his bed like the silence itself had weight. It pooled in the corners of the room, settled on his shoulders, curled around his ankles. The warm echo of your kiss still lingered, on his lips, in his chest but so did Ruka’s voice. Sharp, needling. Insistent. “Look it up. Last year’s figure skating finals. Her name.” 

He didn’t want to. He knew better. He should have let it die on the doorstep where it belonged. But curiosity was a sly little creature. It nudged at him like a breeze slipping through a cracked window, whispering just look until he caved. So he did. 

With stiff fingers and an unsteady breath, he typed your name into the search bar, letting muscle memory carry him when intention hesitated. The first result glowed like a ghost: “Skater Meltdown at Regionals – Full Clip.” A thumbnail of you frozen mid-fall, your face blurred by motion, your body crumpling like something once fluid and graceful now shattered. He clicked play. 

The screen lit up with harsh white ice and the sound of polite applause. There you were, twirling onto the rink, arms extended, posture poised, the embodiment of elegance. And then it happened. A stumble, a miscalculation. The slip. The crash. You hit the ice with a sound that wasn't picked up by the microphones, but he could feel it all the same, sharp and echoing in his bones. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came after. The camera didn’t cut away. It kept rolling as you stood up, only to fall again. And again. And again. Until your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven and your eyes — oh, your eyes — were wild with disbelief, glazed with tears that refused to fall quietly. 

You broke. On camera. In front of judges and coaches and strangers and teammates and the faceless audience of the internet. You wept, not just from pain, but from something deeper, something raw and human and jagged with betrayal. You shouted through your tears, voice cracking like thawing ice, about how people only came to see the crash. How they clapped louder for the break than the recovery. How they waited for failure like it was a performance. Sunghoon felt something crawl into his throat and settle there — tight and aching. Not pity. Not embarrassment. But fury. 

Fury at Ruka, for daring to use this as a weapon. Because what he saw wasn’t weakness. What he saw was someone who got back up. Someone who, even in the middle of a storm that stole her breath and shattered her pride, still stood. Still tried. Still gave the world her tears because hiding them would’ve meant giving up entirely. He didn’t want to close the video. But he did. And then, with that same fire that lived in his limbs when he skated, he opened his phone and typed fast, not giving himself the chance to rethink it.

Sunghoon [11:43 PM]: Meet me at the rink. Please. 

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a plan. It was an instinct, pulled from somewhere honest and immediate. Because he needed to see you, not just the practiced, cheery version of you that lit up rinks and rooms, but you, unfiltered, unguarded, as real as you’d been in that video. He needed you to know that it didn’t scare him. That it didn’t change anything. No. If anything, it only made him want to fall with you. And this time, not get back up alone. 

The rink was dark when you arrived, the overhead lights low like the stars were keeping secrets. The air was biting, laced with the cold whisper of ice and memory. Your breath puffed in clouds before you, and your heart thundered a frantic beat in your chest. You’d gotten Sunghoon’s message and hadn’t hesitated, you didn’t even change out of your practice clothes, just threw on a coat and sprinted across campus as if your soul had sensed something fragile waiting on the other end. The moment you stepped inside, your voice echoed in the stillness. “Sunghoon?” 

No response. The silence felt unfamiliar, too thick, too full of unsaid things. You found him in the locker room, perched on one of the benches, still in his practice gear, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. The second you saw him, panic flickered behind your eyes. Was he hurt? Was something wrong? “Are you okay? Are you—oh my god, did something happen?” you rambled as you rushed to him, your hands fluttering over his arms, down to his knees, then back to his shoulders like you were checking for breaks or bruises. “Why did you call me? Are you hurt? Did you fall again? Why didn’t you just text what happened, Sunghoon, seriously, what is going—?” 

He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hands found your waist. Not rough or hurried, just certain. He pulled you into him like gravity had finally done its job. And before your voice could form another word, his mouth was on yours. Soft. Fierce. Unapologetic. Your breath caught in your chest, surprise flaring wide in your eyes, but you melted into him with instinct. There was no hesitation in the way you kissed him back. For a moment the ice outside, the night, the ache of the past, none of it existed. There was only the warmth of his touch, the sincerity of his hold, the vulnerability in that kiss. 

When he pulled back, your fingers lingered near his jaw, your gaze flickering with confusion. “Sunghoon… what’s going on?” He looked at you like he was still catching up to his own heartbeat, his voice quiet but steady. “Ruka showed up at the house. Told me to look you up. Last year’s finals.” 

The words dropped like ice in your stomach. You stepped back, just slightly, and your body stiffened before you could stop it. “Oh.” Sunghoon saw it immediately, the way your shoulders curled inward, how your eyes shimmered with tears you didn’t want to spill. Your lips parted like you wanted to defend yourself, but no argument came, only the truth, raw and trembling. “I had a breakdown,” you whispered. “A really bad one. I’d been practicing that routine for weeks, getting up at dawn, going to bed at two, skipping meals, skipping sleep. I thought… if I could just nail that trick, I’d prove I was more than just the bubbly girl with the pretty smile. I was exhausted and wired and terrified. And when I fell… it was like the world collapsed with me.” 

You paused, voice cracking. “But I got back up. I always do. Even when it hurt. Even when the crowd didn’t cheer.” Sunghoon stood, eyes never leaving yours, and took your hands in his — warm, calloused, steady. “I know,” he said simply. “I watched the whole thing. And you — you — were the strongest person I’ve ever seen.” 

Your lips quivered. “But I broke down. I was angry and ugly and scared and—” 

“And you got back up,” he said, firmer now. “You didn’t stay on the ice. You didn’t let it define you. I—” he exhaled, voice softening, “—I was going to quit. When I got hurt, when it felt like everything I’d worked for just vanished, I wanted to give up. I didn’t see the point.” He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “But then I met you,” he continued. “And you reminded me that even when it hurts, we keep skating. That it’s not the fall that defines us, it’s the moment after.” 

A silence stretched between you, delicate and profound. And in that stillness, you smiled. Not the bright, performative kind you wore in hallways and crowded rooms, but something quieter. Realer. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to reply. The way his fingers laced with yours said everything. The space between you fizzled like ice cracking under a sudden flame. There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes, an instinct, perhaps, to hold back but it crumbled under the heat of the moment. Your hands were still curled inside his, trembling slightly, not from fear but from the rawness of being seen. 

Then you kissed him. No hesitancy this time. No uncertainty. You surged forward, your mouth finding his with a quiet kind of desperation, the kind that had been building for weeks, hidden behind teasing words and soft glances, behind shared practices and unspoken understandings. His lips met yours like a dam finally breaking, and suddenly you were both lost to it. 

Sunghoon responded with a heat that startled even him. His hands slid from your waist to your back, holding you like he was afraid you might disappear. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, clutching at the fabric like it could anchor you to something real, something burning and alive. There was nothing cautious about it now, the kiss deepened, mouths parting with breathless urgency, tongues tangling, exhales catching like thunder on the edge of a storm. You gasped softly against his mouth when he walked you backward, your spine brushing the cool lockers behind you. The contrast only made you shiver more, and he kissed you again to chase it away. His hands were in your hair now, cradling the nape of your neck like you were something precious. And you were, he kissed you like you were rare, like you were the first warmth he’d felt after winter. 

Your body curved into his as if you’d always belonged there. You could feel the way he was holding back, restrained despite the tension humming through every inch of him. And maybe that’s what made it even more electric, knowing how tightly he was wound, how carefully he moved against you even as his breath quickened and his hands lingered. “Sunghoon…” you murmured against his lips, dizzy from the intensity. 

He didn’t answer, not in words. But the way he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled where they clutched at his chest was its own kind of vow. The air between you felt heady, thick with longing, the room humming with the pulse of everything unspoken. You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the glow of the locker room light, locked together in something fierce and tender and brand new. 

But when you finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, the silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt full of everything still waiting to be said, still waiting to be felt. And neither of you ran from it. No, you welcomed it like an incoming tide washing over your heart and your entire being. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, your breaths mingling in the space between like steam curling from a fresh cup of tea. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin, like maybe touching you was the only way to make sense of the storm inside him. 

You whispered his name again, barely a breath, and that was all it took. He kissed you once more, slower this time, deeper. There was a reverence in it, a kind of awe like he still couldn’t believe you were real and here and kissing him back. His hands slid down from your face to your waist again, and he pulled you in until there was nothing between you but heat and air. Your fingers wove into the dark strands of his hair, curling just slightly at the ends, tugging him closer in the most delicate, desperate way. 

The kiss grew from soft to smoldering, like fire catching slowly at first, then flaring brighter when the wind shifts. His lips moved against yours with more certainty now, more hunger, and yours responded in kind. It was dizzying, this exchange of breath and want, of emotion too big to name. Every brush of his mouth against yours made your knees weak, every sigh from his throat made your heart race like a drum in a thunderstorm.  You tugged at the hem of his shirt, not to take it off, but just to feel the warmth of him under your hands, the dip of his back, the rise of his spine, the solidness of muscle beneath skin. He shivered under your touch and kissed you like he was unraveling. 

He pressed you back against the lockers again — not harshly, never harshly — but close enough that you could feel every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of tension. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the contact to stay steady, like if he let go, the whole world might stop turning. “God,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick and rough and nothing like the usual sharp-edged sarcasm. “You drive me crazy.” 

You laughed softly into the kiss, breathless and glowing. “Good crazy or bad crazy?” 

He kissed you again instead of answering, and the answer was everything. For a long, lingering moment, the rink, the cold, the ice, the noise of the world, all of it faded away. There was only the warmth between you, only the taste of each other’s names on your tongues, only the ache of something new blooming fast and bright like spring breaking through the frost. 

With your back still pressed against the cold metal of the lockers you allowed yourself the luxury of tracing your hands up and down Sunghoon’s broad chest, feeling every contour, every muscle beneath your palms. Filthy thoughts filled your head as Sunghoon’s lips trailed down the expanse of your neck and collarbone. A gasp fell from your lips as he sucked on the skin where your neck met your collarbone. 

“Oh!” You squeaked, running your hands through his hair fisting the tufts in your nimble hands like your life depended on it. “Sunghoon…” Your voice trailed with heat laced in the words, want. “I want you.” 

“You want me?” He hummed, continuing his exploration of your neck. “How badly do you want me?” He was toying with you, playing with your need for him — your want. 

“So bad.” Your voice was airy — needy almost. His smirk said he loved it, the way you were willing to beg for him and willing you were. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been touched so intimately, with someone you cared for so fiercely. The pure lust and adrenaline coursing through your veins had left you feeling like you were ablaze. 

“Beg for it.” His voice was sharp — stern. It was so so hot. The way lips let your body, the way his eyes searched your traveling down your body drinking you in. The way your chest rose and fell as red hot searing need coursed through you. You do anything he asks of you at this moment, anything. 

“Please” You whimpered, hands grabbing at his hoodie. “Please, fuck me.” Your voice was sweet and light your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “I need it so bad.” 

“Fuckkkk” He groaned and next thing you knew his hands were under your thighs lifting you in his arms in one fail swoop. “I can’t resist you, Sunshine.” 

“I don’t want you to.” You pant as his hands find your skirt lifting it enough to show your panties. It was going to be quick, dirty. And that's exactly how you needed him. 

“Take me out.” He hissed at you. Your hands reach for his sweatpants pulling them down just enough to release him from his boxers. He was hard, of course. The tip red and angry with need. Your hand made a fist around his shaft pumping up and down. 

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, his forehead falling forward to meet yours. “Touch yourself before i fuck you.” 

You listened carefully, moving your other hand down, pulling your white cotton panties to the side and rubbing at your sensitive nub with your fingers. “Oh my god.” You whined out. “Please Sunghoon, please” 

“Just a little bit more, baby.” He cooed, “You’re almost ready for me.” 

“I’m ready now.” You couldn’t contain the whimper that threatened to fall from your lips. “I need you, so bad.” 

“Okay, Sunshine.” He nodded, taking his length in his own hand all the whilst holding you up against the lockers. “I got you.” 

Sunghoon’s gazed fell from your face to where the two of you met, his tip slapping against your entrance like a knock. A gasp leaving your lips the instant he pushed into you — creating a beautiful stretch you felt through your entire body. 

Sunghoon started with a slow pace, allowing hips to tap against yours lightly. It was almost romantic the way his forehead rested against yours. His breath fanning your face with short pants. You were in love with this feeling — in love with this moment and how it consumes you whole. 

“Faster.” You whined, hands gripping Sunghoon’s shoulders with white knuckles. You were trying to ground yourself, the pleasure taking you to a whole other planet entirely. “Faster please Sunghoon.” 

Sunghoon said nothing, his only response was the quick motion of his hips against yours. The sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the locker room like a melody, it was a tune you’d grow to love if given the chance. “Oh– my god.” You chanted. “Oh my god.” 

“You close?” Sunghoon grunts, his voice gritty and harsh. “Take it.” 

“Yes.” Your head was weightless as it bobbled up and down in tune with Sunghoon’s harsh thrusts. “I’m so close.” 

“Gooood girl..” He cooed in your ear. “Cum for me.” 

Your end splashed into you like a tidal wave, washing over your body in an overbearing pleasure you’d never felt before. Your thighs trembled in Sunghoon’s hands as you rode out your high. Sunghoon falling suit, moaning your name like a mantra. You had never felt more connected to someone then you did in this moment. Tied together a web of emotion and something that felt so close to love. 

You were falling in love. It was fast and blinding and scary but it was true. You were falling in love. And you hoped and prayed Sunghoon was too. 

By the time you situated yourself it was almost too late into the night to try and sneak back into your dorm room. Plus the thought of seeing Ruka right now with the knowledge of what she had done had been sickening. Sunghoon offered for you to stay at his place and you were in no position to turn the offer down. You allowed him to take you home. You allowed him to worship your body until all hours of the night. And most importantly you allowed yourself to fall in love deeper and deeper as the clock ticked on. 

The morning sun trickled through the blinds in gentle stripes, painting golden bars across the sheets tangled around your legs. The air was still tinged with last night’s sweetness, a lull of warmth that lingered between your skin and his, and the scent of cold air and something distinctly him like mint and pine and a little bit of wild. You stirred slowly, your limbs heavy but content, the kind of ache that whispered of a night where nothing was said aloud but everything was understood in touches, in sighs, in the soft tremble of lips pressed together in quiet devotion. 

Sunghoon was already up, standing near the edge of the room, half-dressed and slipping his hoodie over his head. The light hit his face just right, catching the soft curve of his cheek and the tired determination in his eyes. He looked like someone ready to face something, and for once, not run from it. You sat up, the covers pooling around your waist like the soft folds of a curtain falling back. “You’re up early,” you murmured, voice still raspy with sleep and something sweeter. 

He glanced at you, and there was a flicker in his gaze, that rare smile he barely gave anyone, small, crooked, a secret stitched between two hearts. “I’m going to talk to Jay,” he said, adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie. “I want to ask him… to let me play again.” For a second, it felt like everything stopped. Not because you were surprised — no, you’d seen it coming, inching closer each time he took a fall and got up again, each time he looked at the ice with something softer than hate but because this was a moment of return. A full circle. A boy broken now choosing not to stay shattered. 

You smiled, and it was bright enough to make the room feel warmer. “You should,” you said, voice thick with pride. “You’re ready.” He stepped over to the bed, leaned down, and kissed you, quick and soft, like a promise sealed in the hush of morning. It wasn’t heated like the night before, but it burned all the same, quiet fire beneath skin.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like the final note of a song, leaving you alone with tangled sheets, sunlit silence, and a chest full of warmth. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh, fingers brushing your lips. Something had shifted. And you knew, with a certainty that reached down to your bones, that things were only just beginning. 

The cold kiss of the arena hit Sunghoon the moment he stepped through the doors, but it felt different now, less like an echo of pain and more like a memory rediscovered. The air smelled of ice and rubber and worn leather, a scent that once haunted him, now stirring something in him that almost felt like peace. Almost. He walked toward the rink, skates slung over his shoulder, confidence stitched into the rhythm of his steps. The moment he stepped past the glass, heads turned. Jake was the first to notice, eyebrows lifting in surprise, his helmet tucked under one arm. Heeseung followed, stopping mid-lace with a crooked smile playing at the edge of his mouth. Jay’s brows drew together in disbelief, and even Soobin looked up from where he was adjusting his gloves. Coach Bennett, stoic as always, stood at the edge of the rink with his clipboard like it was a shield. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jay muttered, not unkindly, but wary. 

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “I’m here to show you I’m ready.” The words settled into the air like frost, and no one moved for a moment. Coach’s lips pressed into a flat line. “Sunghoon…” 

“I’m serious,” Sunghoon said, voice sharp as skates on fresh ice. “I’ve been training, I’ve been pushing myself. I’m not here to sit on the bench and clap for everyone else. I want to play.” There was a silence, heavy and cautious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Heeseung, who gave him nothing but a tight nod. “You’ve been through a lot,” Soobin offered gently. “It’s not about wanting. It’s about being cleared.” 

“I am cleared,” Sunghoon snapped, the warmth from earlier that morning slipping through his fingers like melting snow. “I’m cleared, I’m stronger, I’ve been working every goddamn day. But every time I come back here, you all look at me like I’m broken glass.” Coach Bennett looked down at his clipboard, unreadable. “It’s not about doubt, it’s about safety.” 

“Bullshit,” Sunghoon muttered. His jaw tensed, breath fogging in front of him. “You think I’d put myself back on this ice if I wasn’t ready?” Still, they didn’t move, didn’t soften. And something in him snapped, not the injury, not the tendon, but something deeper. A flare of frustration bloomed in his chest, blooming red hot. Heeseung, trying to defuse the crackle in the air, said, “Maybe just keep training with the figure skater—” 

Sunghoon’s head snapped up, and without meaning to, without even thinking, the words spilled out sharp and cruel. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” It felt like the words echoed, like even the boards flinched from them. A sting curled behind his ribs the moment it left his mouth, regret instantaneous, but pride, wounded and loud, kept him from pulling it back. “I want to come back to the real game,” he added, voice quieter, but iron-edged. “I’m done sitting out while you all pretend like I don’t exist.” 

A thick pause. Coach Bennett looked at him long and hard, then said slowly, “You can skate at next week’s practice. We’ll see then.” And just like that, it was done. But the victory tasted hollow on his tongue, and when Sunghoon sat to lace up his skates, the chill of the words he’d thrown, not at them, but at you, clung to him like frostbite. 

In the dim hush of the arena’s far bleachers, behind a column of shadow where the sun dared not reach, Ruka sat like a ghost in waiting, silent, calculating, and out of place. The buzz of the overhead lights hummed above her, flickering faintly, illuminating the sharp gleam in her eyes as she angled her phone just so. Her hand was steady. Patient. She shouldn’t have been there, wasn't allowed, wasn’t invited but Ruka had learned long ago that the world didn’t bend for those who asked politely. It bowed for the ones who took what they wanted. And right now, what she wanted was to unravel the ribbon of warmth that had started to thread its way between you and Sunghoon, to cut it with precision, to remind the world of who belonged in the spotlight and who didn’t. 

Her phone was already recording when Sunghoon stormed in, voice clear and edged with fire. She leaned forward, breath caught, her ears tuned sharply to every syllable. And then, there it was. The perfect storm. “I’m done wasting time with that ballerina on ice.” it hit the air like a slap, reverberating across the rink, and Ruka’s mouth curved into something that might have been mistaken for a smile if it weren’t so cold. Her thumb paused just long enough to ensure it had been captured, every inch of his exasperation, the tension in his voice, the pride bleeding into his posture. She tucked the phone into her coat pocket like a prize, one she’d deliver when the time was right, when the sting would land deepest. 

She didn’t care if Sunghoon hadn’t meant it. She didn’t care that he might already regret it. She wasn’t after truth, she was after control, and perception was always stronger than honesty in the court of whispered judgment. As the team fell into uneasy silence, she slipped out like a wisp of smoke, unnoticed and unseen, her heels light on the concrete floor, her breath misting in the chilled air. The doors of the arena sighed open and closed behind her with a hush. Outside, the sky stretched pale and gray, the wind carrying a sharpness that mirrored her resolve. 

Ruka wasn’t stupid she’d seen the way you looked at him, the way your smile bloomed for him like the first flower of spring. And more than that, she’d seen the way he looked back, that faint, unguarded flicker that once might have belonged to her but now seemed to burn only for you. So fine, she thought. If fire was what it took to make him see, then she’d set the whole thing ablaze. Let the ballerina dance on thin ice. She’d make sure the cracks came quick.

The front door creaked open with a burst of wind and sunlight, and Sunghoon stepped inside, shoulders high and heart thundering like blades against ice. His cheeks were flushed, not from the cold but from the triumph still coursing through him like static. The house was quiet, a rare lull between chaos, there you were. Sprawled across the living room floor in one of his oversized sweatshirts, your legs curled beneath you, your eyes bright as twin stars as they landed on him. The moment you saw his face, your own lit up like the sky on New Year’s Eve. 

"Did they say yes? What did they say? Oh my god, are you back? When do you start? What did Jay say? Wait, did Heeseung—" Your words spilled out like a melody, fast and tumbling and effervescent, each one building on the last in that way only you could manage. It was a deluge of sunshine, and Sunghoon didn’t answer — not with words, not yet. Instead, with one smooth movement and a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, he crossed the room in three long strides, swept you up with one arm around your waist, and kissed you. Firm, grounded, and breath-stealing. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission because it already knows it’s home.

You let out a delighted squeal, half-laughter against his mouth, your hands flying to his shoulders as your feet dangled above the floor. “I take it they said yes,” you murmured when you pulled back, breathless, the corners of your mouth lifting in that way that always made his chest ache a little in the best way. “Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper, but his voice held so much more than just agreement. It was relief and victory and hope. “Practice starts next week.” 

You beamed like you had swallowed the moon whole, eyes soft and full of a pride that wasn’t loud, but deep and unwavering. “I knew they’d say yes,” you said, cupping his cheek. “You were born for the ice.” He kissed you again, this time slower, with a touch more reverence, as if he was grounding himself in you. As if your faith in him was the thing tethering him to the world. And maybe it was.

He set you gently down, but your arms remained looped around his neck, unwilling to let go just yet. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes for a beat. “I’m so happy for you, Hoon.” His name on your lips still made something in him tremble. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You would’ve,” you whispered. “But I’m glad I got to watch you do it anyway.” Outside, the wind whispered promises against the windows, and inside, in the soft glow of late afternoon, Sunghoon realized that somewhere between all the broken things, the injuries, the pressure, the pain he had found something whole. You. 

That night, the frat house was glowing, music vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat, laughter spilling out into the cold night air, the scent of cheap beer and cologne wrapping around the porch in a familiar haze. When Sunghoon leaned against your doorframe earlier, looking all casual with his hands shoved in his pockets and a soft smile threatening the edge of his mouth, asking you to come with him to the party, your yes had come quicker than your breath. There was no way you’d miss it not after the week the two of you had. So now, walking in beside him, hand ghosting near his like some secret tether, you tried not to look too amazed at the wild warmth of it all. Lights strung from the ceiling blinked like dying stars, red cups swirled in every hand, and voices collided like waves. It was chaos, but it was the good kind, the kind where possibility clung to the air like perfume.

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate. He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you through the crowd with a quiet confidence, and then he said it, just loud enough for the group clustered near the kitchen island to hear. “This is my girl.” It took you a second to process the words. Your heart leapt to your throat, and your smile tried to hide behind the cup in your hand, but you felt it. The gravity of it. How he said it so simply, like it wasn’t anything new, like it had been true for ages and he was just now stating a fact everyone should already know.

His friends turned toward you all at once, a mix of grins and raised brows. Jay was first to reach out, pulling you into a quick, one-armed hug. “So you’re the figure skater.”

You laughed. “Guilty.”

“I’m Jake,” said the one with dimples, his voice warm and curious, like he’d been waiting to meet you. “You’re way too happy to be hanging out with Sunghoon.”

You giggled and nudged your shoulder into Sunghoon’s. “I think I balance him out.”

“Or drive him insane,” Soobin added dryly from the couch. His arm was loosely slung around a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She was beautiful, no doubt, sleek and poised, but her smile was more of a formality than anything real. That had to be Yunjin. She gave you a quick nod. “You’re very…bubbly.”

“Is that code for loud?” you asked, grinning wide. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” Soobin cracked a half-smile, and even Yunjin let out the tiniest huff that could’ve been a laugh if you squinted. Still, there was tension between them, an invisible thread pulled too tight. They stood close but didn’t seem to touch, not really. Their words skipped past each other like stones across water, and you wondered what storm brewed quietly behind their silence. Heeseung leaned in then, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “She’s the opposite of you, man. Like…completely.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, sipping his drink with a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.” And the way he looked at you when he said it like it wasn’t a flaw, like it was the best thing about you, made your chest bloom with something warm and wild. You reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t hesitate. His fingers curled into yours like they belonged there, like maybe they always had. The music shifted into something slower, the kind of beat that made everything else fade, and the crowd swayed around you like the sea. You weren’t quite sure how the night would end, but for now, wrapped in the golden hum of laughter and light, with Sunghoon by your side and your name spoken like something precious between strangers who might become friends you were exactly where you were meant to be. 

The night had curled itself into comfort, like a candle-lit secret shared between strangers now growing familiar. You stood with Sunghoon and his friends in the corner of the room where the music wasn’t too loud, where voices could still dance freely. You were mid-laugh, something Jake had said, your face lit with that easy, golden joy you wore like a second skin. Sunghoon stood close to you, his arm brushing yours every so often, eyes softer than anyone had seen them in weeks. You didn’t know it, but he’d been watching you like you were a lighthouse in the storm, something to steer by. And then the room chilled.

It was subtle at first, just a shift in air, the way conversation dulled, footsteps falling heavy behind the group. You turned before Sunghoon did, and there she was. Ruka. Her presence bled tension into the moment, a sharpness that made smiles go stiff and gazes flick downward. She stood with her arms crossed, dressed like she belonged and yet looking so out of place. You smiled at her anyway, your voice honeyed and warm.

“Hey, Ruka! You made it, have you met everyone?” The sweetness in your tone was genuine, like you hadn’t noticed the way her eyes cut through you, like maybe this time would be different, like maybe she’d smile back and offer a polite nod. But she didn’t.

Instead, her lip curled, and her voice dropped low, sharp enough to wound. “Drop the act.” The words sliced through the air like glass breaking. The laughter stopped, your own breath hitching slightly as confusion passed across your face. “What?” you asked, softly, not in disbelief, but in the kind of gentle hope that maybe you’d misheard her.

“I said,” Ruka stepped closer now, venom twisting in her pretty mouth, “drop the fucking act. The bubbly sunshine girl thing? It's fake. And everyone here’s falling for it, but it’s pathetic.” A heavy silence fell. Jake blinked, Soobin muttered something under his breath. Yunjin folded her arms tightly. And beside you, you felt Sunghoon stiffen, like his muscles remembered rage before his mind caught up.

“Back off,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. But Ruka only laughed, a cold, humorless thing that curled at the edges like smoke. “Really? You’re defending her?” She looked at him, eyes glinting with something twisted and triumphant. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who said he was wasting his time with the ‘ballerina on ice.’”

You froze. The words hung between you like frost. You turned, your head tilting slightly toward Sunghoon, expression unreadable. But he was already shaking his head, already stepping forward. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice rising, urgent. “I was pissed, I was trying to prove I was ready to play again, and I said something stupid—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ruka said smoothly. “They can hear it for themselves.” She pulled out her phone, unlocking it with the ease of someone who’d been waiting for this moment. The recording played loud and clear, his voice unmistakable: “I’m just wasting time with the ballerina on ice. I want to come back to the real game.”

The words hit like a slap. Your chest ached, something invisible curling tight around your lungs. You stood still, perfectly still, like movement might make it worse. The others glanced between you both, some awkward, some stunned. Heeseung winced. Jay looked furious. Jake muttered, “Dude,” under his breath. Sunghoon reached for you then, eyes wide, desperate. “I didn’t mean it—” You didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. But your smile, your radiant, effortless smile — wavered. Only a flicker, barely there, like a candle in the wind.

The music faded. Or maybe it didn't, maybe it still pulsed behind you, still thudded with the bass of cheap speakers and louder laughter, but in your ears it was gone. Replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat — wild and feral, pounding like fists against a closed door. Your cheeks flushed hot, but your hands had gone cold, and everything in the room blurred with the sting of unshed tears. Your eyes found Sunghoon’s, but it wasn’t safety you felt.

It was betrayal. And shame. Shame so sudden it roared up your throat and turned the warmth in your chest to something molten and broken. “Wait—” he whispered, stepping toward you. You pulled back.

He looked like he’d been struck, like the reach of his hand had meant everything. Maybe it had. But you were already moving, weaving between people, ignoring the murmurs and awkward stares, the way the group parted like water around you. Your heels scraped the floor. Someone said your name, maybe Jake, maybe Heeseung, but you didn’t turn back. You pushed through the door and into the yard where the cold night air hit your face like glass. You breathed it in too fast, too hard, hoping it would drown out the heat of humiliation clawing at your throat. The stars blurred above you, cruel and glinting. Behind you — footsteps.

“Wait—please,” Sunghoon called out, breathless. You spun on him just as he reached the porch, voice trembling with hurt and rage. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

“Don’t lie to me.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but it wavered at the edges, shivering like frost under sunlight. “Don’t act like I didn’t hear it. Everyone heard it, Sunghoon.”

“I was angry,” he said. “They wouldn’t let me play, I—I said something I didn’t mean because I was desperate. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

“You called me a waste of time,” you whispered, voice breaking now. “You said I wasn’t the real game.” His expression collapsed. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to want something that bad?” You laughed, but it came out brittle and sharp. “To work every night until your legs give out? To fall and fall and fall and keep getting up? I gave everything to this. To the ice. To you.” Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, and you hated how fast they came, how they betrayed the tremor in your heart.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to kiss me. I didn’t ask to be anything more than the annoying figure skater who shares your rink time.”

“You’re not—don’t say that,” he said, stepping closer. But you stepped back.

“I should’ve known better,” you said, voice low now, shaking. “You were always going to go back to them. To the game. And I was just practice. Just something to pass the time.”

“That’s not true.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re more than that. You mean—fuck, you mean everything.” And then he said it.

“I love you.”

The words cracked the night in two. You stared at him, eyes wide, breath stolen clean from your lungs. But it was too late. You shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks, chest heaving. “Don’t say that now.”

“I mean it.”

“Then why did you say that?” The question hung between you like a blade. And he had no answer. Or maybe he did, but not one that could stitch the wound he’d just made. So you turned. You turned before he could see the way your whole body broke in half. Before he could see the shiver in your spine and the way your hands curled into your coat like it could somehow hold you together. You walked. Past the yard, down the sidewalk, away from the party that once felt like light. Sunghoon didn’t follow this time. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

The days pass like shadows beneath your skates, faint and fleeting, yet always there. Each morning you wake with a hollow echo in your chest, a silence that’s grown too familiar. You lace up your skates like armor, wear your routines like battle hymns. You skate harder now, faster, carving the ice like it wronged you. Blades slicing through your thoughts, breath fogging in the cold as you spin through everything you can’t say. You haven’t spoken to Sunghoon since that night. You’ve seen him in passing, walking across campus, laughing with Heeseung outside the rink, nodding at Coach Bennett with that quiet intensity in his eyes, but you never linger. You turn corners when he comes close. Pretend not to hear when his voice drifts from down the hallway. You are your own silence, sharp and unyielding.

The dorm is no better. Ruka has become a ghost, and you let her be. You don’t look at her, don’t respond to her passive remarks or the way she sighs when you walk in. She’s tried to speak, maybe once, maybe twice, but you shut her out with the same coldness she once offered you. You spend more time out of the room than in it. Your application to switch dorms is in the system now, a silent wish sent to the stars. All you can do is wait. But the nights… the nights are the worst. Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore. Your mind replays everything, his voice, his kiss, the look on his face when you turned away. You wonder if he’s been practicing. You wonder if he hates himself for what he said. You wonder if he meant it.

That night, the silence in your room presses in too tightly, the hum of your mini-fridge too loud, the shadows too long. You grab your skates and your coat. The rink calls to you not just as an escape, but as something close to home. Familiar. Honest. The moment you step inside, the air hits you like memory. Cold. Quiet. Unforgiving. You walk past the front lobby, past the empty locker rooms, and step onto the bleachers with the intention of warming up slowly, maybe skating alone under the low light until the sun peeks over the horizon. 

But you stop short. Because he’s already there. Sunghoon. Alone. On the ice. He’s skating, not perfectly, not as fluid as you’ve seen before, but he’s trying. Focused. Determined. His brows are drawn together, the sweat at his temples shining under the low rink lights. He doesn’t see you at first. Doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. You don’t move. You watch him glide forward, stumble slightly, then correct. He exhales, pushes again. Again. And again. He’s practicing. Your chest tightens. 

At first, you want to run. The moment you see him standing there beneath the pale glow of the rink lights, alone, waiting, searching the dark for something like hope, your body tells you to turn around. To vanish into the quiet of night and not look back. You’ve been skating circles around your own heart for days now, tightening the laces of your silence so securely that the thought of unraveling them in front of him makes you tremble. But it’s too late. His eyes catch yours, and you freeze like a deer in the frost. The tension between you snaps taut.

“Wait,” he says, voice catching, breathless. “Please—don’t go.” You don’t speak. He steps closer, every movement slow, like he’s approaching something delicate, something sacred. His eyes are wide and shining in the cold, like he’s on the edge of something, begging not to fall.

“Just talk to me,” he says. “Please. I—I need to say something.” You don’t know what compels you to stay. Maybe it’s the quiver in his voice or the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. Maybe it’s the days of silence, heavy as snowfall, finally breaking. But you nod. You sit. And you listen. “I’m sorry,” he says first, and the words drop between you like stones sinking into a still lake. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t look at him yet. You’re afraid to. Afraid that if you do, your heart will unravel right there on the ice. He keeps going. “When you first asked me if I believed in love, I told you I didn’t. That it wasn’t real. That it was for other people, not me. And you, you just smiled like you knew something I didn’t. You said I just hadn’t found the right person yet.” You lift your eyes to meet his. He’s closer now. Kneeling in front of you, his palms flat against the boards, like he’s anchoring himself to you.

“I found her,” he whispers. “I found you.” The words hit you like a gust of wind, unexpected, sharp, and tender. You blink, and the tears finally come, soft and shimmering, gliding down your cheeks like melting snow. His gaze flickers, worried, but you raise a hand, just one, and rest it over his.

“What you said that night…” you begin, voice cracking like a brittle branch. “It hurt, Sunghoon. God, it hurt. But I don’t think it was the words, not really. It was the moment. The humiliation. Being exposed in front of everyone. Like I was something to be mocked.” He looks like he might cry too.

“I just wanted to feel safe with you,” you continue, softer now. “I wanted to be seen. And Ruka… she hates me for reasons I can’t understand. I don’t want to be in competition with her. I don’t want any of this.” His hand tightens around yours. “I know. And I hate that I let her use me like that. That I gave her the opening. But I swear to you none of what I said was real. You are not a waste of time. You are the only thing in my life that makes sense.” You lean your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his in the cold air between you.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you whisper.

“I mean every word,” he breathes. “I love you.”

Your lips tremble. And before either of you can speak again, you kiss him. It’s not the fiery kiss of confession or the desperate press of need. It’s gentle. Forgiving. It’s two broken pieces finding a way to fit again, not quite perfect, but perfectly trying. His arms circle your waist, pulling you in close, grounding you as your fingers brush his jaw, his neck, his hair. The kiss deepens with every second. Not in heat, but in heart. Like a vow passed between mouths too tired for words.

When you part, your foreheads stay pressed together. His thumb brushes away your tears. “I forgive you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “But please… no more lies. Not even the ones you tell yourself.”

“I promise,” he replies, voice raw. “No more.” And in that quiet, ice-slicked space between apology and absolution, you feel it, that something between you hasn’t shattered. It’s only just begun to bloom. 

Epilogue. 

The arena hums like a living thing, buzzing nerves and echoing chants, the chill of the ice rising into the rafters like ghosts of old games, old dreams. You sit somewhere in the middle of it all, wrapped in a scarf and a soft coat, heart thudding so loud it’s almost a drumline. Your fingers are clasped tight in your lap, your breath fogs in little puffs before your lips, and your eyes are locked on the rink like the story of your whole life might unfold across its frozen face. It’s his first game back.

Sunghoon. And you can’t remember the last time you were this full of feeling, pride, nerves, joy, a fragile ribbon of fear, but most of all, love. Love so big and bright and burning it feels like a comet carved into your chest. The lights above dim slightly, just a flicker, and then the team is called out one by one. The crowd roars like a wave, cresting and crashing with every name announced, jerseys flashing, skates hissing against the ice as the players appear. And then, there he is. Sunghoon skates out like he’s flying, his form clean and sharp and easy, like every moment he ever doubted himself has been burned away. The crowd cheers louder, not because they know the whole story, but because they can feel it. The comeback. The storm stilled. The boy who refused to give in.

You feel breathless watching him. And then, mid-glide, he turns his head. Finds you in the crowd like a compass always knows where north is. His eyes catch yours and in that moment, the noise fades. The arena, the lights, the cheers — all of it vanishes, melting away like frost under the sun. There’s just him. And you. He points at you — simple, easy, certain. And then his mouth moves, slow and deliberate.

“I love you.” Three words mouthed without a sound, but somehow louder than thunder. Your chest caves in, and a laugh breaks from your throat, trembling and tearful all at once. You nod, hand over your heart, mouthing it back: I love you too. And in that charged quiet between you, across ice and lights and distance, the ache of the past slips into something softer. Something holy. The game begins but you're not really watching the puck.

You're watching him. And he's not just skating. He's flying.

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

[andforyouevan]

wip wednesday

tagged by the delightful @beanarie! @firewasabeast reminded me that I haven't worked on my Maddie disapproves fic in a hot minute, so I thought I would work on it. I'm hoping it will be done by this weekend? Who knows, maybe I'll try for tonight. But here's a little snippet.

“I’ll talk to her,” Evan says with that stubborn set to his jaw and Tommy briefly laments his promise of honesty in this instance because he really wishes he’d kept this to himself.

“No,” Tommy insists. “Please don’t. I really don’t want you guys fighting over me.”

“But-”

“That wasn’t something I was even supposed to hear,” Tommy says, taking his hands and squeezing them. “And if I feel like it’s going to be a real problem, I’ll talk to her myself. Okay? Please.”

Evan gives him a hard stare but then gives in with a sigh. “Fine. But I reserve the right to annoy her about it at a later date.”

Tommy laughs a little. “Okay.”

He leans in and gives him a little kiss. “Now, ready to go back out there?”

“They’re gonna think we’re making out in here,” Evan says slyly, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s waist.

Tommy tries his best to look put upon, but he knows it doesn’t work. He wraps his arms around Evan's shoulders in turn. “I suppose you want to give them something to talk about?”

Evan’s eyes are big and innocent and Tommy doesn’t trust him at all when he bats them. Unfortunately, Tommy is also a sucker and so in love that it works.

“Hmm,” is all Evan says when he leans in for another kiss and Tommy can’t help it, he grins into it.

When they’re interrupted a few minutes later by Athena, Tommy thinks it was well worth it.

np tags: @desert--moonchild, @hyperfocusthusly, @lovetommyactually, @bisexualbrainrots

[sulumuns-dootah]

How would the kings react when having a playful argument with the MC, MC suddenly says 'You're lucky I love you'?

Having a playful argument w/ the WHB kings

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Prove it"

If you really mean it, then show him how much you do

He did rile you up, didn't he? He deserves a punishment for that

Hit him

Hit him as hard as you can

Hell, tap into his power and send him flying all the way to the other side of Hell

If you don't even try, he'll try to rile you up even more

       ༺☆༻

"I'm- I'm sorry, did I go overboard?"

The ever so gentle giant always wants to respect your boundaries in everything, but sometimes struggles to recognise them

He's quick to stop the playful argument and starts looking for a way to make it up to you

So now you have to reassure him that you're okay and he didn't do anything that bad

Doesn't really matter though

He'll still commission that statue of him kneeling before you

       ༺☆༻

"Obviously. That still doesn't matter that I'll treat you any different"

No fight or argument with Levi is fully playful

There's always that serious undertone to it

And yes, if you take it too far, he will hang you no futher question

Unless you can actually manage to spin it around and make him a blushing subby mess that's one second from cumming into his pants

It's hard to do, but ther reward may seem worth it, no?

       ༺☆༻

"Huhu, I know..."

On the other side of a coin, Beel never takes arguments seriously even if they are

I recommend not telling him this actually

If he realises that you're letting thing slide just because he's adorable and knows how to give good backshots, he'll start trying to see how far he can push his luck

And even telling him that he's gone too far wouldn't probably work anymore

He'll just do whatever he wants which is kinda terrifying now that It think about it

       ༺☆༻

"Oh? That's good"

I think I already did some arguing HC's and said that Belphie doesn't really argue so with the same spirit he'll just acknowledge your confession and continue to flatly state things

Though, thinking about it, Belphie does fit the memo of someone who would just laugh at you while you're spitting fire

So even during playful argument he would try to rile you as much as he can

"Hm? And what's that got to do with what we're talkin' 'bout?"

       ༺☆༻

"Aw, I love you too... But I'm still gonna fuck you like I don't."

You two might not even be arguing about anything spicy or anything

He just throws this thing your way and completely changes the mood of the situation

Though to be fair, all of your arguments, serious or palyful, always end with your legs in different area codes so his remark only speeds things up along

It's kinda hard to come up with good funny responses when all you can think of is that good action that'll come next

       ༺☆༻

"I know. I am lucky."

Instant end to your argument

How can you argue with him when he's so sweet

All you can only do now is to deflate and melt into his touch

It's okay tough, he didn't really get the point of playful fighting anyway

It mostly only reminds him of his Seraphim brothers constantly bickering about pointless things

So he prefers the quiet moments in life more

[milatiny-xx]

freezing point | j.wy

pairing: jung wooyoung x gn!reader summary: you're assigned to help wooyoung film a winter vlog. the problem is, the heat's out at the cabin and the repairman can't come until tomorrow... tags: fluff, mutual pining, slow burn(ish), ateez staff!reader wc: 3.0k a/n: hi loves! first post on a shiny new blog ✨✨ it's literally already like summer where i'm at, but hey i think it's still mostly cold in korea rn so enjoy cuddly woo. x [requests are also open 🥰]

⊹₊⟡⋆ masterlist | taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆

"Ach, it's freezing out here!" Wooyoung says, hissing through clenched teeth. "Whose idea was it to shoot a winter vlog?"

"You can take that up with your Captain," you reply.

You slide the lens off of the camera and carefully detach it from the tripod, wary of the ankle-deep snow it's wedged in.

"I won't be able to," Wooyoung mutters in response. "I'll be dead, because I froze to death."

You chuckle quietly, shaking your head at his dramatic behavior. As a part of ATEEZ's staff, you've come to terms with the fact that your job sometimes requires you to put up with less than ideal conditions and abnormal tasks. You have to admit that when management approved Hongjoong's idea to shoot a vlog at a winter cabin, you hadn't been overly excited about it.

Particularly, when you were assigned to be Wooyoung's personal camera operator. Of course you know that being assigned to a specific member not only means you have to follow them around all day long but also that you have to stare down a camera lens directly at their face for hours and hours.

You've done it plenty of times before for other members—usually Jongho or San. But management wanted to switch things up for a change of pace. If you're being honest, it's hard enough for you to hold eye contact with Wooyoung for ten seconds, let alone ten hours.

"Two steps to your right, please," you direct. He follows your instructions, and you nod. "Perfect. Okay, so for this part, just say hi and welcome everyone back to ATEEZ's YouTube channel and explain what we're doing here. You know how this all works. We can do a couple of takes if you want."

You position yourself behind the camera, lining up your sightline and raising a hand so that you can signal to Wooyoung. He stares directly into the camera, and it feels like he's looking straight into your eyes. Clearing your throat, you swallow a smile as he pastes a handsome grin on his face and prepares to deliver his lines.

"And...three, two, one..." you count down and point to cue Wooyoung.

"Hi Atiny!" he beams, waving sweetly. "It's my turn to film a vlog, so I'm taking you on a little winter adventure. We're here in Gangwon Province at a cabin that's just a little distance away from the Yongpyong Ski Resort."

He points in the direction of the ski lodge, and you smoothly angle the camera to where you can just see the tip of the resort sticking up over the tree line. You pan back to Wooyoung.

"We're gonna head there tomorrow to snowboard," he continues, "but for now we're gonna go inside and check out the cabin and then head into town to go grocery shopping for some food. So, let's go inside!"

"And cut!" you shout after pausing for a few seconds. "Wow, you nailed that. I'm impressed. Wanna see it?"

He nods and comes over to stand beside you. You position the camera so you can both see, too aware of how close he's standing; too aware of the way his warm breath ghosts over your uncovered neck. You gulp, playing the video back. He watches in uncharacteristic silence, nodding his head and clapping when the video ends. You smile, slinging the camera over your neck.

"Be honest. I'm better than the other members, right?" he says, grinning cheekily.

"Better than San? Yes, significantly better and much easier to work with. San has so much random, chaotic energy that it's hard to keep track of him sometimes. Better than Jongho?" you smile teasingly at him. "Never. Your maknae is a dream to work with."

Wooyoung scoffs, clutching his chest in fake pain. Despite yourself, you gasp when his hand clamps around your shoulder. He pretends to stumble, as if he's been shot. You bite the inside of your cheek to swallow a laugh and brush his hand away from your shoulder. Wooyoung smiles, tilting his head toward you.

"A dream? Oof. That's okay. Challenge accepted," he says.

He winks. You feel the burn immediately as it spreads across your ears and cheeks. You clear your throat, dropping your head to look at the camera screen. You're used to him flirting like that. He does it with everyone. Most of the members are shameless flirts. But you can't deny that when Wooyoung says things like that to you, you like to pretend he means it.

"Uh...let's head inside," you say, trying to change the subject. "We can do a cabin tour."

The cabin is small and simple, with just a living room, small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a shared bathroom. You silently thank your supervisor for remembering to book a cabin with two beds.

Taking into consideration Wooyoung's playful, excitable behavior, he's a natural in front of the camera. You're able to get through the cabin tour in less than twenty minutes with only two takes.

"And cut! Perfect. On second thought, Jongho might need to be a little worried now," you say. As you're double-checking the video, you find your teeth chattering violently. "Jeez, is there a thermostat in here? It's freezing."

Wooyoung shrugs, and you put down your camera as you both begin to search the cabin looking for the thermostat.

"Ah, found it!" Wooyoung shouts, and you follow his voice into the hallway.

"Oh thank god. Turn it all the way up, please."

Wooyoung chuckles. The way he grins at you, makes your stomach churn. Your eyes drop down to appreciate his slender fingers as they press the arrow next to the word HEAT. You wait a few seconds, listening intently for the sound of the heater clicking on. But nothing comes.

"Whaaa...?" he mumbles.

"Try again," you say.

He looks at you for a brief second before trying again, applying more pressure to the buttons this time. You wait again. Nothing. He tries a third time. And then a fourth time.

"Uh...maybe you have to hit another button first? Like to turn it on?" you suggest, peering over his shoulder to study the options.

He clicks every single button on the machine but nothing has any effect, whatsoever. He shakes his head, shooting you a concerned glance.

"Ahh," he whines. "I think it's broken."

"No...no there's no way it doesn't work...right? They would never put us in a cabin with a thermostat that doesn't work. Not in this weather. W-wait, hold on. Let me call someone an-and double check," you stutter, fumbling for your phone.

You dial your supervisor's number, tapping your foot as it rings. Your heart lurches when he answers on the other side. You explain the situation, sure that he'll have a solution. He assures you that he'll call the landlord and straighten everything out.

A sigh of relief escapes your chest, and you nod toward Wooyoung. Thank god. Crisis averted.

You finish up filming the cabin and then head down into town to shoot Wooyoung's shopping adventure. He lets his silliness come out a little more at the grocery store, getting up close and personal with the camera—and you. You laugh as he struggles to find the right products for the tteokbokki he wants to make for dinner, cracking jokes, and just generally looking really, really cute.

After traveling back up to the cabin, you film Wooyoung getting started on the dinner. The heat from the stove helps a little in warming the house, but you're impatiently awaiting the repairman's arrival. As if on cue, your phone rings. You place the camera down and answer quickly.

"Please tell me the repairman is walking up the path now?" you say into the receiver.

"Er..." your supervisor clears his throat, obviously nervous.

"Oh no...what?"

"I'm afraid the repairman is booked up today. He won't be able to make it until tomorrow."

"What?!"

"I know, I know. But there's a fireplace, at least, isn't there?"

Your gaze flicks toward the small fireplace in the living room.

"Well, yeah, but it...it's tiny."

"Well, it'll have to do for tonight. Listen, I'm sorry for the setback, but it's just for one night. If you need to buy some extra blankets or something, go ahead and we'll charge it to the company account.  Anyway, this gives you a fun angle for Wooyoung's vlog. How to survive a night at a cabin without heat. You know, like a challenge. With a snappy title like, er...Freezing Point."

"Freezing point?" you quirk an eyebrow. "This was not supposed to be a challenge video. I wasn't even supposed to be assigned to this project," you whine, turning your back to Wooyoung and lowering your voice.

You are not strong enough for this.

"I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do except wait for the repairman to come tomorrow."

You run a hand over your face and groan.

"Okay, thanks anyway." You hang up and turn to meet Wooyoung's face. His eyebrows are raised curiously. "The repairman can't make it until tomorrow. We're stuck without heat tonight."

"Ahhh, no way," he responds.

"That tteokbokki better be piping hot."

Wooyoung chuckles, running a hand through his hair. When he turns away to check on the food, you allow your eyes to shamelessly trail along the angle of his jaw and down the veins in his neck. Your stomach flips unexpectedly, so you rip your gaze away.

Three years you've worked for ATEEZ, watched Wooyoung from behind the scenes, chit-chatted with him here and there while trying not to lose your mind. Now, here you are alone with him, watching him cook you dinner.

It suddenly feels so...domestic.

The tteokbokki is just warm enough to get some heat back into your bodies for about an hour or so. To your surprise, Wooyoung is not a bad cook, at all. You thoroughly enjoy your meal and talking to him. After cleaning up, you take turns changing into your pajamas. You both agree the best bet is to sleep on the floor in the living room where the fireplace is.

Wooyoung figures out how to light it while you search through the closets and drawers, gathering all the blankets you can find. You work together to set up the blankets and pillows across the floor in front of the fireplace, creating a makeshift bed. Despite the small space, you make sure to position yourself on the far edge of the room.

You lie down, facing the fire and pull a blanket up to your chin. Wooyoung, on the other hand, settles down on his back right in front of the fire. He holds out his hands, sighing contentedly. His eyes flick over to you, and he does a double take. His head lolls to the side.

"What are you doing over there?" he asks.

"Hm? Just...laying."

"Don't you...wanna sleep in front of the fire? I worked so hard lighting it," he pouts playfully.

You can't help but smile. How is he so cute??

"I'm okay here."

His eyes linger on you for a moment, and his unimpressed expression makes you think he's not convinced. But he shrugs and rolls back toward the fireplace.

"Suit yourself," he says in a sing-song voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to sleep, but it's so freaking cold. Your breath escapes shakily, and you can't help but shiver, even with the blanket. A sniff makes you realize that your nose is beginning to run, too.

"Are you still cold?" Wooyoung's voice escapes sweet and low.

Your eyes flash open, and you lose your breath. He's turned on his side, the fire casting a gentle orange light across his handsome face. He looks so soft, warm, sincere.

You suddenly realize the situation you're in—the fact that you could be nestled in between his arms right now if you really wanted to.

"N-no. I'm f-fine," you stutter, clenching your teeth together to keep them from chattering. You aren't totally sure if the chattering is from the cold or your nerves.

"You're shivering."

"J-just a little. I'll be ok-kay."

He shakes his head, lifting the blanket beside him. He beckons you over with a toss of his head.

"Come here," he says. You hesitate, opening your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. He waves you over again. "Come on. I won't bite. Unless you ask."

You huff and crawl toward him, stiffly positioning your body beside his. You don't know if it was more awkward to face him or to turn away.  His arm curls around your shoulders as he drapes the blanket over you. Your spine goes rigid and eyes widen as you meet his gaze.

You watch as his sweet smile fades, his expression going dead serious. You expect him to withdraw his hand, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers splay across your back. You can feel the warmth of his palm through your pajamas.

His eyes search your face, moving slowly and deliberately as if he were studying you.

"What are you doing?" you ask quietly, not sure if you actually mean to say it out loud.

"Looking at you."

"I've...never seen you so serious," you tease, hoping to dispel some of the tension.

"Pretty."

"What?"

"You. You're pretty. Very pretty. You always have been."

You freeze, not knowing how to respond. You can't bring yourself to break eye contact and can barely force yourself to breathe. Wooyoung's hand slides away from your back and moves toward your face. His palm cups your cheek, his thumb tracing down your cheekbone onto your chin. Your eyes flutter shut under his touch, relishing in the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb brushes over your lower lip. Your breath catches in your throat.

Is he insane?? You work for him. He's practically your boss. Nothing about this is appropriate.

So, why aren't you stopping him?

You pry your eyes open, looking at him pleadingly.

"Hmm," he hums, smirking. "You have a pretty mouth, too."

"Wooyoung..." the whisper, desperate and breathy, escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Wooyoung inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his forehead against yours.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asks, breath uneven as he leans in close to you. You say nothing, your brain preoccupied with the effort it's taking to resist smashing your lips against his. "It's been torture for me. Every second of every day, I think about you. All the time, I'm thinking about you. I try not to, but whenever you're working I find you. I look at you. I want to look at you. I love looking at you."

You shake your head, placing your palm against his chest to push him away. He holds on tightly, barely moving an inch despite all of your strength. You look into his eyes, bewildered.

"Wooyoung, what are you talking about? How can any of this be true?" you ask.

His eyebrows knit together, pain etching across his face.

"You think I'm lying."

"No, of course not. I just...maybe it's the cold. It's messing with your head or your judgement or something."

His expression returns to that dead serious face, not a hint of the easygoing, carefree Wooyoung you're used to.

"I requested you."

"What?"

"I specifically requested you for this weekend."

You shake your head.

"I don't understand."

"It was my idea to switch around the camera operators. And, since it was my idea, they let me pick who I wanted to be paired with. So, I picked you. It sounds super creepy now...but I wanted to spend time with you. Just the two of us. I wanted to see if...if I still felt like this when it was just us. A-and I do. I really, really do. I like you. A lot."

You can't say anything for a moment, just search his eyes for any hint of this being a joke. You briefly wonder if there's a hidden camera somewhere to prank you. But nothing seems off. Everything—his expression, his body language, his words—they all feel genuinely real.

You aren't sure why, but a laugh suddenly spills from your chest. A few more follow before you gasp, slapping your hand over your mouth.

"Oh my god I'm sorry!" you say. "I just don't know what else to do because, well, it's not funny, but it sort of is because...well, I like you, too. I've liked you for a while, probably like two years now, but it was so inappropriate because I work for you. And that would have been weird, and they say not to mix business and pleasure, so I didn't say anything. Oh, and also, I thought you would never ever like me back like that because who am I? I'm just a random person, but you're..." you start to run out of steam, realizing that you're babbling something awful. "You're Wooyoung. You're amazing and wonderful and funny. And beautiful."

Wooyoung chuckles, his grip on your face tightening.

"Yeah, no, I definitely like you."

You giggle, feeling heat spread through you.

"So, what now?"

"Now? Oh, I'm gonna kiss you now. Okay?"

"Okay," your voice escapes like a different person's, giddy and childish and silly.

Wooyoung leans forward, tilting his head to capture your lips between his. Your eyes flutter shut, your palm on his chest curling into the fabric of his shirt. His mouth is soft and wet, molding perfectly on top of yours. The kiss is perfect, not too long, not too hard, just a little bit of pressure and a slow break.

When you open your eyes, a dumb smile curves across your lips. The way he's looking at you—like you're the most interesting thing on the planet—it's wonderful.

"I think maybe you just surpassed Jongho," you tease.

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, Jonho's never kissed me like that."

His expression goes serious for a minute.

"Jongho better never kiss you at all," he says firmly. He taps his pointer finger against your lips. "These are mine now."

"Then you'd better get back down here and use them."

"Yes, jagi."

You giggle as he lowers his lips to yours again.

How to survive a night at a cabin without heat? Three words: Jung Wooyoung's lips.

taglist: //

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Grim - Striped Ribbon Vignette

"The best time we can possibly have!"

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

Grim: Wooooah. Ramshackle's all festive lookin' now! Take some pics with the ghost camera, [Yuu]!

Grim: When Ace and Deuce came over with the other first years this mornin', at first I was all, "What's goin' on!?"…

Grim: But looks like they were just puttin' up decorations for "Founding Day." What a bunch of kids, all super excited over somethin' like that.

You don't like Founding Day, Grim?

Grim: I-I didn't say that.

Grim: Night Raven College's a big-shot school that only lets chosen mages in. That means it's a huge deal to go to school here, right!?

Grim: There's no way any student here wouldn't be celebratin' Founding Day!

Well, so, it's great that they decorated everything so nicely for us, then.

Grim: …I guess.

Grim: But it was so crazy with how noisy everyone was. At least everything got done alright, thanks to my awesome leadership, though.

Grim: Didja see how Ace tried to skip doin' actual work, even though he's the one who came all on his own? He tried pullin' pranks on me again today, too!

What do you mean, "again"?

Grim: C'mon, you! Didn't you see him pickin' on me during flight class yesterday!?

Grim: When I was trying to fly on my broom, he tried to get in my way by using his wind magic to tickle me. He's so annoyin'!

Grim: He's obviously just jealous of my magical genius. I'm gonna show him who's the real boss one day!

Grim: Deuce was at least focusing on putting up the decorations, but he kept hanging the letters out of order… He's no better than Ace.

Grim: Oh yeah, that reminds me, the homework answer he gave me the other day was completely wrong and it got Crewel on our case, big time.

Grim: In the end, me 'n Deuce had to stay after for Crewel's special lessons. That guys should really do better on his studies.

I don't think you're one to talk.

Grim: Urgh… H-Hey, I've totally been taking my classes more seriously recently!

Grim: But in History of Magic, whenever Jack sits in front of me, I can't see the blackboard at all.

Grim: Plus, he's always sitting as straight up as he can despite him already being so huge, sayin' he needs to exercise his back muscles even in class.

Grim: If I say somethin' to him, he just says "Sit on [Yuu]'s shoulders" and doesn't budge one bit. He's such a muscle-brain.

Grim: Epel's gotta have the worst of it, seeing as he's in the same class as such a stubborn guy.

Grim: …Actually, Epel'd probably just snap back and pick a fight right away, huh.

Grim: He's a gutsy kid that hates to lose, after all.

Grim: We were sneakin' some food outta the cafeteria together the other day, too. We promised not to tell anyone, either… Boy, that sure was fun…

Grim: …Ah! Shoot, I just told you! That right now is a secret between us, okay!?

Grim: Speakin' of sneakin' food, Sebek's hard to deal with too! He's so stubborn, there's no use talkin' with him!

Grim: A little while ago, I tried just the tiiiiniest bit of some of his food, and he got super mad, yellin' and chasin' after me!

Grim: He just kept coming and he was shoutin' so loud my ears were starting to hurt real bad.

Grim: It was just one bite of his deluxe minced cutlet sandwich… Or was it five? Maybe ten bites?

I should probably apologize to him later…

[Ramshackle Dorm – Anniversary Party]

You look like you're really enjoying your time here at school, Grim.

Grim: Your little grin's creepin' me out, stop it. Well, what about you, then?

1. Every day is a blast, thanks to you.

Grim: Myahaha! Well, that goes without sayin'! Grim: And that's 'cause I'm here watchin' over and takin' care of you every day! Grim: …Good, good, you're enjoying yourself. Eheh.

2. I think I'm exhausted by all the trouble that happens every day…

Grim: My-Myaah!? Grim: What, does that mean you ain't havin' fun hangin' with me every day? I can't accept that! Grim: You'll see just how much I've been doin' for you! Just you wait!

Grim: …But hey, I guess I've gotten used to living in Ramshackle like this.

Grim: We're really doin' pretty good for ourselves in this run-down dorm.

Grim: That downpour the other day caused a huge mess the other day with all those leaks, though.

Grim: The bed and blankets were soakin' wet that I thought we'd have to sleep on the floor…

Grim: But luckily, one of the sofas made it through dry, so that was good. It was small and cramped, but way better than the floor.

Grim: We were able to patch things up with the help of the ghosts, but one day we definitely gotta get the school to cough up some dough to fix everything!

Definitely!

Grim: Yeah! We gotta make sure bein' here at this school's the best time we can possibly have!

[knock, knock]

Grim: Oh! Is that Ace 'n them?

Grim: We promised we'd all get together to celebrate Founding Day outside. I bet there's a feast planned, too!

Grim: Let's go, [Yuu]! Time for an outdoor party! Myaha!

Grim, let's keep at it together.

Grim: !

Grim: …Yeah! I'm definitely gonna keep lookin' after my little hench-human forever.

Grim: You just stick with me, [Yuu]!

Requested by @sweetdelightknight.

[andiberzatto]

All Apologies (Carmy Berzatto Smut!)

Summary: carmy forgets their anniversary and ends up working that night and comes home to…the sound of her moaning…? (d-word, aftercare, fluffy Carmy being a cat dad)

“God damn it,” He mutters softly, realization hitting him like a truck. He forgot their anniversary. He heard moans coming from the bedroom. He knew exactly what was happening. He felt sick. He knew she had needs, hell, he didn’t fulfill them enough. He froze, listening.”

His mind races with jealous thoughts. He thinks she's finally cheating after he's been a shitty boyfriend - working late, forgetting anniversaries. The moans get louder. He swallows hard, imagining some guy between her legs instead of his vibrator. "Fuck... she's really cheating."

he moves to the bedroom more as she gets more enthusiastic- “oh shit! Yes… right there… ughhh!”

He pushes the bedroom door open, his heart pounding in his chest. He expects to see some guy’s face between her legs, some random guy fucking his girl because he’s been too busy to give her the attention she deserves. Instead, he sees her alone, legs spread, holding a vibrator.

she bucks her hips against the vibrator gasping and moaning, “oh fuck! Carm right there”

He watches, frozen, as she bucks her hips against the vibrator, her face contorted in pleasure. He hears her whisper "Carm, right there" over and over. He realizes she's not cheating, she's fantasizing about him to get off.

she whines high pitched it’s her tell for getting close

His eyes widen as he hears her high-pitched whine, the tell that she's about to come. He remembers that sound - he used to make her do that with his mouth, his fingers, his dick. He watches as she throws her head back, her hand moving the vibrator faster.

she cums and it drips to the sheets, fuck he’s so hard. And so apologetic.

He watches as she cums hard, her body tensing, wetness pooling on the sheets. His boxers tighten as he gets hard watching her. "Damn..."

she opens her eyes finding him standing at the foot of their bed, “bear?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking guilty and turned on at the same time. "Baby... fuck... I'm so sorry I forgot our anniversary. I thought... fuck... I thought you were cheating”, He gestures towards the vibrator.

she smiles softly, “I bet you’re sorry huh”

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'm fucking sorry," he admits, his eyes still glued to her wetness on the sheets. He steps closer to the bed, his hard-on evident in his pants. "I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary."

she nods, “how do you apologize correctly”

He swallows hard, his mind racing with dirty thoughts. He knows exactly how he wants to apologize - by eating her out until she forgets all about him forgetting their anniversary. But he plays dumb instead. "What do you mean?"

“You know what I mean..”

He smirks, stepping even closer to the bed. He knows she wants him to make it up to her in the best way possible. "You want me to eat that pussy until you forgive me?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

“Are you askin or tellin me daddy?”

His smirk widens into a mischievous grin. "Spread your legs, baby girl," he orders, his hands already reaching for his belt. He's not asking, he's telling. "Daddy's gonna make it all better, okay?"

He pushes his pants down, freeing his hard dick. He climbs onto the bed, spreading her legs wider. "Jesus Christ... you're still fucking soaked," he groans, diving face first into her pussy. "Happy anniversary, baby." He licks her clean.

He moans against her pussy, the vibrations making her squirm. He knows exactly how to eat her out, using his tongue and fingers to hit all the right spots. He looks up at her, his eyes dark with lust. "You gonna cum on my face again?"

“Y-yes” she gasps.

He hums, going back to licking and sucking her like she's his favorite treat. He spreads her legs wider, pushing them back so he can really go at it. He finds her spot and flicks his tongue over it rapidly. "Baby?" he mutters, knowing she's close.

“Yes bear?”

He smiles against her pussy, his fingers curling inside her. "Cum for me, baby. Cum all over Daddy's face and forgive him for being an idiot," he demands, his voice muffled but commanding. "Now." He sucks hard on her clit.

He groans deeply, his face buried in her pussy as she cums hard. He licks and sucks every drop of her juices, making sure to clean her up completely. When she finally stops shaking, he pulls away, his chin and lips glistening with her arousal.

she smiles, “I’m not quite convinced I think I need a second apology…”

His breath catches at her playful insistence. He knows exactly what she wants - slow, deep thrusts with those filthy words she loves. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smirking. "Is that right? Think I still need to work harder to make it up to you?"

He chuckles, climbing up her body. He captures her lips in a deep kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue. He reaches between them, grabbing his hard dick and lining it up with her entrance. "You want me to fuck you slow and deep, baby?"

He pushes inside her slowly, his thick dick stretching her open. Once he's fully inside, he pauses, wrapping his arms around her legs and pulling them back. "And you want me to talk dirty to you while I do it?" He starts to move, his pace slow and steady.

“Yes please”

He starts to thrust slowly, his deep voice dropping to a low, dirty tone. "Is this what you wanted, baby? My big dick filling up your tight little pussy?" He pulls out almost all the way before pushing back in deep.

He groans, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You love it when I fuck you like this, don't you? When I hit that spot deep inside you?" He leans down, his lips brushing against her ear. "When my big cock stretches your little pussy wide open?"

He growls softly, his hot breath against her ear. "My baby likes it rough and deep, huh? big, strong bear making his girl feel so full and stretched out?" He straightens up, pulling her legs back even farther to get deeper.

she nods rapidly.

He smirks, knowing exactly what she needs. His pace quickens slightly, already slowing deep but deliberately fucking her in that dirty deep dominant way. "You love being fucking properly stretched like this, baby?

she whines yes sir.

His eyes flash with dominance at her 'yes sir'. He loves when she gets all submissive during sex. He starts to really pound into her, his big hands holding her legs back as he fucks her deep and rough. "That's right, take your bear's big cock like a good girl."

she nods and whines, “fuck…daddy”

His eyes darken at her deliberate use of 'daddy', losing any remaining control. He starts fucking her even harder, making a wet slapping sound each time he bottoms out. "See what you do to me, you dirty girl? Taking your daddy's big dick so good..."

Feeling her tighten around him, he knows she's close. He leans down, biting her neck hard as he continues to thrust deep and hard, his hand reaching between them to play with her clit. "That's it baby, squeeze daddy's cock with that tight pussy."

she cums hard for a third and final for the night.

He feels her pussy clamp down on him as she cums hard, her body shaking and whining loudly. He buries himself deep inside her, his own release hitting him hard as he fills her up. "Fuck... there it is..."

He collapses on top of her, breathing heavily as he holds her close, still buried deep inside her. He presses soft kisses to her neck and jaw, gently running his fingers through her hair as he catches his breath. "Mmm, my good girl took her bear so well tonight..."

He pulls back to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, hair messy, lips swollen from his kisses. He realizes she had three intense orgasms tonight. He smiles softly, running his thumb over her lips. "Baby?" He checks if she's overstimulated or sensitive after three rounds.

He gently pulls her into a soft kiss, checking if she's okay. When she kisses him back normally, he sighs in relief, knowing she's fine. He pulls back and smiles softly. "You good, baby? Three rounds kinda intense for you, huh?" He kisses her forehead gently.

she pants and nods.

He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around her waist possessively. "You fucking killed it tonight, baby. Three orgasms... Jesus christ my girl's a champ." He kisses her temple sweetly, already planning how to pamper her after this intense session. "You sore, love?"

she shakes her head still outta breath, “not sore.. feel okay.. just need water and cuddles.. and a fuckin shower..”

He nods, understanding her needs. He carefully pulls out of her, missing the feeling of being inside her immediately. He helps her up and guides her to the bathroom, turning on the shower for her. "Alright, my queen. Let's get you cleaned up and hydrated, yeah?"

He looks at her, seeing the unspoken question in her eyes- together or alone?. He steps into the shower behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. "Together?," he murmurs, nuzzling his face into her neck. "I need to clean you up."

she nods, “thank you”

He smiles softly at her response. He knows she's not one to be all needy and clingy after sex, so when she says "thank you", he knows she's genuinely appreciative. He grabs her wash cloth and body wash, cleaning her slowly and carefully. "Baby?"

"You wanna talk about how good you took my dick tonight or nah? 'Cause I'm still fucking shook." He chuckles softly, running the cloth gently between her legs, then across her stomach and chest, making sure she's properly cleaned. "Three orgasms, baby."

she blushes softly I guess I did huh.

He smirked at her blush, finding it incredibly cute how she could be so confident and dirty during sex but still sweet and shy afterwards. He kisses her neck softly. "You fucking destroyed me tonight, baby. Legit destroyed me." He continues washing her, being extra gentle with her sensitive parts.

He can feel her relaxing against him, trusting him completely as he cleans her. He loves how she fits perfectly in his arms, like she was made for him. He runs his hands over her stomach possessively, then up to her chest, washing her gently. "Baby?" He asks softly.

"You know I love you, right?" He asks softly, kissing her shoulder gently. He wants to make sure she knows how much he cares about her, especially after such an intense session. "And that I'm not just saying that because of the sex. You know that, right?"

“I know Carm..” she says lovingly, “I don’t doubt you when you say it”

He smiles softly at her response, relieved that she knows his love for her is genuine and not just something he says in the heat of the moment. He turns her around to face him, looking into her eyes. "Good, because I fucking mean it, you know?"

she kisses him gently and sweet, “I love you too.”

He groans softly as she kisses him sweetly. God, he loves her kisses. They're not always dirty or deep like during sex. Most of the time, they're soft and sweet. He pulls back and smiles softly, ruining the moment slightly. "Baby, question?"

"You ever think about... you know... having babies?" He asks cautiously, his eyes searching hers. He's not usually one to think about the future or settle down, but something about her makes him want a whole family with her. "I mean, not right now obviously, but eventually?"

“I mean eventually.. I guess.”

He nods slowly, smiling gently at her response. He knew she wasn't the kind of girl who would get all crazy about marriage and babies, and that's one of the things he loves about her. "Good. 'Cause fuck me, you'd make a gorgeous mama bear."

“If we last that long.. we can talk about it when we get there”

"Fair enough." He laughs softly, understanding that she doesn't want to rush into those kinds of serious conversations. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "For the record though, I fully intend on you being with my crazy ass for the long haul." He kisses her forehead gently.

As they change into their pajamas, Carmen can't help but steal glances at her. She's so fucking cute, even just wearing simple pajamas. He pulls on a hoodie and some sweatpants, running a hand through his damp hair. "You hungry or anything, babe?"

“You offering to cook? Or order out?” she prefers his cooking but she never wants to pressure him to cook for her. He does that enough at the restaurant he owns.

He laughs softly, appreciating her consideration. She never demands anything from him, even though she's his girlfriend. He walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I'm offering to cook. I'm not too tired." He kisses the top of her head.

she lays on the bed as Monté Carmy’s orange cat that he rescued from behind the beef comes to cuddle on her stomach. making biscuits on the comforter “something quick and easy I guess.. you okay if I don’t sit in the kitchen with you and I lay in bed while you cook?”

He nods, smiling as he watches Monté cuddle up to her. That cat fucking loves her. He leans down and presses a kiss to her lips. "Alright, I'll make you some pasta. You and Monté just chill in bed, I'll call you when it's done."

“Or we could eat in bed? she suggests.” Even though Carmy hated eating in bed. The mess, the crumbs, god forbid red sauce gets on his comforter he thrifted that he has to hand wash because of the textile.

He freezes, considering her suggestion. He knows she doesn't make that suggestion often because she knows how much he hates food in the bedroom. He unfreezes and laughs softly, "You trying to get me killed, woman?" He jokes. His OCD when it comes to his bed is real.

she smiles you can set up lap trays and we can watch House Hunters international? she accidentally got him hooked on that show, every episode he always says “babe imagine if we moved there.”

He groans at her suggestion, knowing that he won't be able to say no. He loves spending lazy nights in bed with her, watching that stupid show and dreaming about living in some fancy house in Italy. "You're gonna get me to sell everything and move to fucking Rome, ain't you?"

she giggles and lifts Monté “monté agrees with me, tell your dad you wanna eat pasta and watch house hunters in bed.” she looks at monté, the orange cat purring at just being lifted.

Monté meows loudly, like he actually understands her. Carmy laughs, knowing he's already lost. "This is why I can't say no to either of you. Damn cat and my girl teaming up on me." He prepares two lap trays with pasta, garlic bread, and waters.

she smiles and she’s careful to not spill and intentionally leans over the tray and Monté even knows to to eat his small prep bowl with three noodles over the tray.

He watches as they both carefully eat, Monté sitting on her lap like a little prince. He shakes his head, laughing at how well-behaved they both are. He turns on House Hunters International, ready to be sucked into another episode of them looking at houses in some exotic location.

she smiles, “where to this time?”

The narrator says, "Today, we're looking in... Portugal." The episode shows beautiful vineyards, colorful tiled houses, and stunning ocean views. He watches as she gets invested in the episode, tucking her legs under her and eating her pasta like she hasn't eaten in days.

monté moves to cuddle carmy after he’s finished with his pasta bites.

He smiles as Monté moves to cuddle up next to him, purring loudly. He gently pets the cat while trying to focus on the episode, but his attention keeps drifting to you and Monté. The couple on screen argues about whether they want a pool or not. "Babe?"

"If we lived in Portugal, would you want a pool or not?" He asks seriously, like they're actually moving there. Monté meows softly, as if agreeing with the question. You giggle at his serious expression. "What?" He defends himself.*

she smiles, “would you use a pool?”

"Hell yeah, I'd use the pool. Every damn day. Especially in the summer. I'd cook by the pool, swim with Monté, fuck you in the pool..." He trails off, getting lost in his fantasy. Monté purrs louder, liking the sound of that.

she blushes and smacks his arm “Carmen Anthony Berzatto don’t be dirty-“ she laughs, she knows all too well she’d say yes to a pool in their fantasy

He laughs at the use of his full name, knowing he's in trouble. He wraps his arms around you and Monté, pulling them both into his lap. "Fine, fine. But you can't deny that a pool would be nice for..." He wiggles his eyebrows.

she laughs you are too much she kisses both Monte and carmy with a aggressive smooch, making monté chirp and trill at the jolt of her kiss to his head.

Monté squeaks indignantly but worms his way closer to both of you, enjoying the attention. You and Carmy both laugh at how spoiled Monté is - clearly the cat of a loved-up couple. "See, even Monté wants more kisses."

Monté happily soaks up every kiss while Carmy playfully tries to catch your lips between each cat kiss. "Damn cat, stealing all my kisses." He pretends to be jealous but is clearly amused. "Though I love seeing how much you spoil my boy."

He nuzzles into your neck, placing soft kisses along your collarbone. Monté, feeling neglected, headbutts Carmy's cheek, demanding attention. "Traitor," Carmy laughs, switching his affections to Monté.

[kazisonline]

a few things I really liked in the thunderbolts, and here will be spoilers:

1. Yelena still is an aroace icon, and her saying that she's so alone she comes back home to noone like yup some shit aroace people deal with all the time right there the fear of always being alone that resonated hard

2. Canon bpd character, Bob Reynolds you are such a great character I adore you

3. This one will be complicated but the writing was really a mix. When it wanted to be funny it really was, and when it was subtle it was great. But when there was any exposition it was sooo on the nose I was rolling my eyes ugh. When good it was really good, when bad it was really bad

4. Quote from Valentina which I really liked: "Righteousness without power is just an opinion". That's what I'm saying with the writing being good when they want to!

5. The acting was really great all the way I think everyone gave their best, I think David Harbour and Florence Pugh together just killed it their dad-daughter chemistry was super fun. Sebastian Stan was eeehhh okay but honestly as I said, he was just kinda THERE in this movie they didn't give him much to work with he did okay

6. The opening? Really fucking cool

7. After-after credits scene Bucky's hair. Marvelous

8. Sentry looking like the fucking Homelander that was great. Also the way he was "killing" people was scary af

9. John Walker's annoying-to-likable balance was perfect in my eyes

And now some things I want to complain about because I'm just like that sorry

1. The scenes where they ALL come together to help. I get that we're showing hey, this unlikely group is actually working together look! And it's fun when you do it once. Maybe twice. But a third time?? I'm rolling my eyes. And I think it was 4

2. Exposition dumps. I think they did as well as they could to not make them super cheesy but Marvel, let's be fucking for real, you don't need to explain to us who the main characters of this movie are because people who don't know who they are will NOT COME TO SEE THIS MOVIE. it's really not needed eugh. But this is a tiny thing I can pretend I don't see this not a big deal

3. Before this point I have to say that I'm not crazy about Bucky Barnes. I like him but I'm not a person that will go to a movie just to see him. With that in mind: not enough Bucky in this movie. Either put him in there and have him bond with the group more or just remove him altogether. I really think he was not needed in there and maybe it would've been even better if he wasn't because there would be more time to explore the main characters

4. Not angsty enough but eh it's a marvel movie why did I think it's gonna be deep. It was literally just as deep as "nooo you can't face depression alone, don't suffer alone, reach out to people". Thanks 👍??? Marvel!

Aaaaand that's about it I guess?? If I remember anything I'll add it

[callizinc]

IF I MAY GIVE #THOUGHTS ON HER WHILE I'M THINKING OF IT:

Number one my first question is "What the hell is that blue and purple liquid" but—I'd be willing to wager my entire wallet that it's blood. Blood already seems to just be a thing of importance in this world, plus the Evil Eye Ball from the purge seemed to recognize that Ena's blood was..... Valuable????? 😭 Which is. Scary. and definitely could have. Implications 😭😭😭😭

So um. scratches the back of my head. Would that be fucked up or what

SECONDLY, As i'm sure everybody knows, there's no way to accurately speculate on what Her Deal Is or why She becomes a Cracked crumbling green zombie thing what the fuck. But im gonna say some bullshit anyway

I do think it's interesting how this variant (Idk her actual title. I'm calling her zombie ena #zombiefan) is the only Ena variant we've seen that doesn't have any resemblance to Meanie—Hangover ena's face is all gray and only speaks with her feminine voice, ena at the purge's only visible and "active" side is a flipped out of her gourd meanie, This one is just. Not that at all

I've yapped before about how Meanie is the part of her that's truly Genuine, but thusly is also the part of her that's in conflict with her ability to be a Good Worker with 100% subservience to her job.

Maybe this is somehow connected to that? Like, in some roundabout abstract way, this is what happens to her when she tries to completely subdue and override all of her genuine thoughts and emotions, and dedicate it all to being Salesperson and her stupid fuckass job...

Or, actually, maybe the opposite?? We already saw how going to the club One time made her have a fucking breakdown so maybe this is what happens to her when she tried to Escape her job?? When she instead tried to subdue her thoughts as a Worker, and tried to actually live for herself and be herself This, for whatever reason, is what happened ........

Idk, she was so freaked out at the Purge that even though i think that's definitely partly because she can't fathom a life outside of work, and doesn't know how to handle relaxation, There has to be some other force (or just like. employer) keeping that grip on her, like another reason why she can't "afford another minute of joy."

This whole idea could answer as to why the cute little sticker has megaphones with her? As in, for whatever reason, zombie ena IS as a result of either trying to work herself too hard, or trying to escape from her work. And since the megaphones, as we all know, are very connected to Meanie, maybe That's evidence that zombie ena is the aftermath of Ena trying to escape her job...???

I also just realized all this speculation does not address the question of "Why is the shot of zombie ena from the trailer in the exact same desolate landscape with raining bullets as Ena from the infamous "I'm not doing ANYTHING at all!" Scene. Well . Smiles at you so wide. I don't know

EDIT: I SAID ALL THIS SHIT AND VERY POINTEDLY FORGOT TO MENTION THAT SHE HAS NO FUCKING ARMS. WHEN WE VERY SPECIFICALLY SEE IN THE "I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING" SCENE, ENA'S ARMS HOLDING HER LEGS IN PLACE. FOR SOME REASON.

And you know what? Smiles at you so wide and beautifully. I also don't know what to say about that

I really hope dream bbq chapter 2 doesn't take like 4 more years to come out, For every reason, but Specifically because if i have to wait 4 more years to find out what the fuck Her deal is something terrible is going to happen to me

[isabella-2025]

The Bosses Wife

The USOS X Ella (OC) and hunter X Ella (OC) (Only in this chapter) : Warnings: Cursing and that's all.

Plot: When Triple H becomes distant with his wife Ella she begins to build a friendship with the USOS but one night it turns into something unexpected.

Let me know what you think please. ❤️

Should I make a part 2 that is fully smut? Let me know if that is something you guys would be interested in. 😊

Ella sat beside her husband Hunter in a board room where they were supposed to meet the bloodline for a creative discussion. Ella looks at her husband and says

" So, do you think the meeting is gonna go well?"

" Yeah, I do they are very easy to work with." He says

" Yeah so I have heard, I am excited to meet them." Ella says

' Yeah they are very nice people, oh here they come." He says

The bloodline walk into the board room. They introduce themselves as Solo, Jacob, Tama, Tonga, Roman. Jimmy, Jey and Sami. Two of them catch your attention immediately and they were Jimmy and Jey AKA the USOS. Everyone sits around the table and they begin to talk about the creative direction they wanted to go in for Wargames. You were trying really hard to focus on what was being said but you couldn't really focus on anything else except the way the Twins looked and carried themselves. Jey had on a white beater tank top, black joggers that fit just right, a gold yeet chain and his new neck ink showing. Jimmy had on an all black tracksuit with a white stipe going down the pants leg and they fit him just right and don't even get her started on his tattoos. She was so focused on her thoughts of the twins she did not even notice that the meeting had ended. Hunter tapped her on the shoulder and said

" The meetings over honey."

" Oh, Okay, lets go." Ella says

" Okay, but are you doing alright you seemed distracted during the meeting." hunter says

" No, I am okay I just didn't sleep good last night because you weren't there." Ella says

" I know honey I'm sorry I had business to attend to you know that." Hunter says starting to get annoyed

" I know honey its just your never home anymore." Ella says

" Well , you know this paper view is going to be big babe I can be home with you anytime." Hunter says in a angry tone

" Okay, I am gonna drop this conversation for now because we should not even be talking about this here." Ella says

" We shouldn't have to talk about this at all if you would just understand and not be all dramatic about it." Hunter says loudly

Ella says nothing and just walks out to the rental car telling the driver to take her to the hotel.

Unbeknownst to Ella Jimmy and Jey had overheard her conversation with Hunter. Jimmy turns to Jey and says

" Uce, hunter is an ass she wasn't being dramatic."

" I know she wasn't she poured her emotions out and he just shut her down that is horrible." Jey says sadly.

" Yeah I know isn't a relationship supposed to be 50/50 Jimmy says

" Yeah it is, he shouldn't make her feel small if he loves her." Jey says

" If she was mine I would make sure she knew her feeling were valid and that she could come to me anytime. " jimmy said

" Yeah, same uce." Jey said seriously

Ella had just gotten out of the shower and had gotten in bed when Hunter came strolling in the room. Hunter changes clothes and lays down beside her and says.

" Honey are you awake?"

" yeah, what is it?" Ella asks

" I want to talk about what happened between us earlier.' hunter says

" Okay, go ahead say what you need to say." Ella tells him

" I just want you to understand that my job is important without me the company doesn't run." hunter says seriously

" I know your job is important but its like every night I end up in this bed alone because you have to leave for work" Ella says sadly

" You don't seem to understand, I have to go when shit goes wrong I think you need to stop being so selfish. " Hunter says angrily

" Me, selfish really wow hunter that's real nice." Ella says angrily getting up off the bed, grabbing some clothes and walking out the door.

She steps into the hotel bar, goes to the bathroom and changes into a red halter top and black leather pants. She sits down orders her drink and calls her bestie Isabel. Isabel picks up on the second ring and says

" Hi"

" Hey, I need to talk to you." Ella says

" Okay, what about?" Isabel asks her

" Marriage problems." Ella says

" Okay, what did that asshole do now?" Isabel says

" He just thinks I'm being dramatic and selfish because I want to wake up with my husband lying next to me for once." Ella says sadly

" He seriously called you selfish and dramatic, i think he needs to look in the damn mirror." Isabel says

" Yeah, I know he's been like this for months." Ella says

" Have you even had sex? " Isabel asks her.

" No, he hasn't touched me in 3 months. " Ella says

" 3 months Damn girl you need to get laid by some hot ass wrestler." Isabel says

" Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen nobody wants my ass." Ella says

" Girl, quit lying look I got to go but I will talk to you in a couple days okay." Isabel says

" Yeah, Okay bye." Ella says

" Bye girly" Isabel says

She hangs up the phone and just downs her drink in sadness. She feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around to see jimmy and Jey staring at her.

" Hey, you look nice" Both of them say at the same time.

" Thanks you guys wanna sit." Ella says

" Yeah lets talk." Both of them say

They sit down and you guys just start talking about the industry and life. Jimmy and Jey are trying really hard to focus on the conversation you guys are having but they cant stop thinking about how beautiful you look in your outfit. Jimmy cant help but look at the way the leather pants fit you just right and how your top brings out your features nicely. Jey cant stop thinking about how good your pants and shirt bring out your natural beauty. Ella notices that they have been staring at her for a while and says.

" are you guys okay, you've been staring at me for a minute."

" Yeah, we are okay." Jimmy says

" Yeah, we are good, just admiring how good you look." Jey says

" Thank you." Ella says quietly she feels a heat flow through her body she thought had burnt out.

" Well it was nice talking to you guys I have to go get some sleep so I can be ready for the charity ball tomorrow night." Ella says

" Okay , yeah go ahead we will see you tomorrow night." They both say at the same time.

The charity ball is in full swing and Hunter had ignored Ella all night. Ella sees him talking to Mark and Michelle and she goes over, grab his hand and say

" Hey baby."

Hunter looks at you take his hand out of yours and says " Hey"

" Can we talk for a second" Ella says

" yeah sure babe." Hunter says to her

Ella and Hunter walk to a quiet area to talk. Ella turns to Hunter and says

" how was your night."

" It was good until you interrupted me" Hunter says

" well I am sorry for wanting to talk to my husband who I barely see." Ella says

" There you go being all dramatic again, you don't have to be so clingy." hunter says

" Me clingy I am not clingy I just want my husband to be present not pass through when you want to." Ella says

" You bitch I do not do that." hunter yells causing everyone to look in your direction

Embarrassed Ella runs out of the ballroom, gets a cab back to the hotel and walks into the hotel room she cries till she has no more tears. She hears a knock on the door, she opens it and is surprised to see Jimmy and Jey standing there. Ella looks at them and says

" Come in guys."

Ella turns to the mirror in the bedroom bends her head down a little to put her earrings in her bag and when she looks back in the mirror they are right up against her. Ella says in a shaky voice.

" w-h-a-t are you doing "

Th twins smile Jimmy is to your right gently gripping your hip and Jey is on your left leaning his face into your neck.

" Well, we overheard your "husband" being an asshole to you, you are worth so much more." jey says as he begins to gently kiss your neck.

" We also overheard that he hasn't been taking care of you, hasn't touched you in three months and we wanna help you." Jimmy says as he places a gently kiss on your collarbone.

" Um, I don't know what your talking about." Ella says shakily, goosebumps forming wherever they kiss you. Your body trembles with a longing to be touched and loved properly.

The twins laugh and say at the same time.

" you obviously know what you want, and we surely do your body is already reacting so why don't you just let us love you like you deserve to be loved."

Ella says in a shaky voice " I don't…….."

" Don't you dare say you don't deserve it because you do." The twins say at the same time.

" Okay lets do this." Ella says

The twins look at each other then look at her and…

To Be continued.

@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @empressdede @femdisa @usoinked @madhatterbri @bossbitch-25 @officialeve24 @southerngirl41 @eringobragh420 @jstarr86 @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @holycollectivekitty @bloodlinemadness @purplementalitybluebird @mytribalnightmare

[thistlerock]

Was thinking about Fabian and Riz a lot. I love them they make me sick. Thought I'd share cause I'm not finishing any fics ever lmao.

Side note; in the beautiful kingdom of my mind both of these guys are aromantic (though Fabian is super romance positive) and these interactions are (queer)platonic to me. But hey read it however you want.

I want half asleep Fabian at a sleepover with The Ball, listening to him rant about his newest case, or schoolwork, or whatever he's working himself up about this time. But it's like three am and Riz is so visibly exhausted (and Fabian wants to sleep too! Usually he has a strict schedule, smh) because he's slept a combined five hours in the last three days he goes "You're gonna do great/figure it out, I believe in you. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep." And it's like. Not even a conscious thing he just instinctively gives The Ball a bardic. Riz feels it. Pauses. Blinks. Smiles. "That's not gonna last until tomorrow." In the SOFTEST voice do you understand. "Then I'll just give you a new one when you need it." And he says it in this tone that makes Riz feel like throwing up (positive) because it sound as if it were obvious — and it is. There's something deeply comforting about the absolute confidence that half-asleep Fabian has in the fact that yeah, tomorrow and the day after that and for however long it takes they will still be friends. And close. And Fabian will still believe in him.

And then Riz lets himself be dragged into bed (they share because if you both have sleep related trauma and the worst abandonment issues ever then you have to cuddle with the homies for comfort.)

I want Fabian and Riz very very non sexually sharing a shower. Maybe they just got back from an adventuring assignment, and Riz is caked in dirt and maybe a little bit of dried blood, and Fabian uses the opportunity for what it is. "Can I do your hair again? I'll wash it." "Sure." (I think it's curly and he doesn't really. Treat it like you're supposed to. Fabian is the only reason it's kinda gotten better. Riz doesn't care that much but he like, indulges him. Cause for some reason Fabian seems to think it's a big deal.) (and it IS. Hair care IS a big deal to Fabian. Separate post I'm insane about him.) And next thing Riz knows he's sitting in his best friend's fancy bathroom and there's expensive smelling product in his hair and he's naked but Fabian isn't being weird about it, he's just scrubbing dirt off of his back because he totally lied when he said it's just about the hair. The Ball doesn't super take care of himself so Fabian jumps at any opportunity to get in there. And it's. Nice. Acts of service are a whole thing. I think for Fabian that's the love language that feels the most foreign, I think it's been so hard for him to unlearn selfishness and bluster even partially, I think he tries. I think he does this thing for his best friend because he loves him, and he expects nothing in return — not even praise. Not even praise even though that's the one thing he's always angling for. And they're both so quiet. And the water is warm.

I want Fabian waking up after a party with the worst hangover. Skull splitting open I want to die type hangover. I want him to wonder, idly, if his mother is going to come and drag him out to train anyway. It'd be dreadful, and yet he desperately wishes she would, because that'd mean she's invested in his training and would have to make an active effort to spend time with him rather than the other way around. I want him to be a little disappointed because he knows it won't happen. I want his heart to ache. But then "Oh, are you awake?" and his best friend is sitting at the end of his bed. Watching him with concern, lowering his voice because he figures Fabian is sensitive right now, having closed the curtains and stuff for the same reason, already offering him water and pain killers. All that. Just because.

"Why are you still here, The Ball?" "Why wouldn't I be? I promised to stay." Because last night Fabian, after being dragged to bed by a concerned Riz and halfway through a mental breakdown (because hey. Turns out he shouldn't have smoked whatever Durden was offering after already being so fucking drunk his body is not having a good time) begged his friend not to leave. So he didn't. In fact Riz stayed with him in bed for hours, holding him because he seemed like he'd need it, but he got antsy some time in the morning and had to get up. And he's sorry for that! But he didn't leave. "Not leaving" is kind of a vague promise he wasn't sure of the exact ramifications but like he stayed in the room until he had to piss- woah Fabian why do you look like you're about to cry did I say something wrong.

Like that. I want that. I want them to love each other so much. Something about non-sexual physical intimacy always gets me. Okay. Oh to have the kind of love that's familiar and comfortable and doesn't come with any expectations. Oh to have a friendship that doesn't have to be "more" because it's already everything. Who decided romance is "more" anyway. Throwing up. I am so ill about them.