#i thought about this during training by the way

[blackdykegirlblogger]

a/n: yes yes ik she's bi/pan but hey let's just pretend she doesn't like dick for a TINY second. this is pure butchcock (9 inches-) folks, take it or leave it (this came to me while i was in the midst of greening out and i was like woah!)

wc: a little over 1k

what can be said about ambessa medarda?

well, it depends on who you ask. to some, she's a symbol of everything noxus stands for: power, dominance, exuding an energy of strength and might so potent that it rumbles the battlefield. she was a symbol, someone to be admired.

to others, she was cruel. bloodthirsty. a tyrant who needed to be put down and stopped before she can inflict any more tragedy on whoever crossed her path.

but regardless of how one felt about her, one thing was always clear: she knew how to keep her clan in line. like any good chief, it was her sole responsibility to uphold a certain sense of morale among her soldiers. after all, it's mighty hard to feel like performing at your best day after day when that thought constantly plagued the back of your mind. the reminder that you were fighting for her, and fighting with your life. every conflict, every war. death knocked on your door constantly, and shit, it was just fucking spooky.

for her male warriors, the promise of typical medals and bragging rights hung over their heads, leaving them to jump and leap for it like the little pawns that they were (not that they knew that). men were always so easy to toy with, so proud, so arrogant. their egos being the only thing that they ever seemed to think with.

well, not the only thing. but, to put it bluntly, cock has never been her preference.

now, for all the fine gals armored up, she had a very different way of showing her appreciation for such blind loyalty.

your legs were thrown on either side of ambessa's lap, drooling cunt on full display as the warlord fucked you with a vengeance. her fat thumb flicked on your clit repeatedly, using the gallons to slick you were producing to draw little shapes onto the bud. she massaged her palm over your pussy, giving it a few firm slaps before sliding not one, not two, but three of her fingers into your cunt. the stretch was unforgiving, but you tried your hardest not to squirm away or resist. you were dumb and grateful for whatever she decided to give you, however or whenever she choose.

"this is what i expect from you all. submission. obedience." her voice boomed over the courtyard. it was barely the asscrack of dawn, the lanterns scattered around the lot of you making up for the lack of sunlight. and yet, the stage was filled. ambessa had a tradition of picking a.....soldier of the month, so to speak, and you had been her newest prize. every warrior with a cunt between their legs knew where to meet on the fated 28th of every month, praying that their good behavior had managed to catch her attention this time around.

you weren't even sure what you did, to be completely honest. you had slipped up several times during training, forgetting a certain move or staying off-guard long enough to get tackled when it was time to spar. you (along with the others) found the idea of you being her latest star student laughable.

and yet.....

she clearly saw something in you, whatever it was.

and it was enough for her to decide to make you leak with her godly touch. her digits pulled out before slamming back into you with rhythm, not only assaulting your g-spot, but areas you didn't even know existed. the tips of her fingers curled just right as streams of creamy white arousal oozed from you. maybe, if you were actually coherent and with half a brain, you would've felt some form of shame from being so exposed. maybe embarrassment. humiliation, even.

but again, you would need to have the ability to think in order to feel any of that.

your head was lolled back on her shoulder, eyes briefly meeting hers as she continued to drain you for all you had. you couldn't quite read her expression, but it only served to turn you on even more.

without even a fraction of a heads up or warning, she tears her fingers (and in turn, your orgasm) out of you, leaving you gaping and pulsing around nothing but air. oh, you were going to be the talk of the fucking town after this.

she lifted you with ease with only one of her hands, hovering you over where you were initially spread out as she used the other to guide her cock out of her pants. considering that she was well over 6 feet and built like a fucking military tank, it was only natural that what was between her thighs followed suit. you had seen it many, many times before (and creamed at the thought of it even more), but still.

it was kind of scary.

"look at them, girl. show your peers what they could earn if they perform to my standards." her dick, slathered in pre-cum and standing loud and proud, twitched with every minor movement. after what felt like ages of tense anticipation, she finally lowered you onto her. if you thought her fingers were enough to keep you full, you were in for a surprise.

"a-ah!" she wasn't even at the halfway mark yet, but gods. this was unlike anything you've ever felt, anything you've ever imagined. her hands were firm on your waist, directing you to exactly where she wanted you as you continued to face the remainder of the troop. their faces were coated in lust, with a few of them shuffling uncomfortably in their seats to ease the ache that was no doubt torturing them.

she lowered you even further, inch by inch as her girth began to suffocate you. you could feel her everywhere, and the bulge slowly appearing by your belly button only proved it. you really, really weren't sure if you could take anymore, but the last thing you wanted was to disappoint her.

no, never that.

so you had to grit your teeth and take it. absolute submission, just like she wanted. she was balls deep and tears were escaping from your eyes in bursts as you sobbed. it hurt, obviously, but it felt so fucking good. her tip kissed your cervix just right as she bounced you.

your grip welcomed her as much as it could, not even having the chance to squeeze her back out because she just kept on slamming you down.

she paid you no mind, piercing eyes raking over the crowd as she used you like a fleshlight. "let this motivate you all, hmm?"

"if you're lucky, you might be next."

[wlwxreader]

Not a Crush

not my gif

Jackie Taylor x fem!reader

Summary: despite what the entire team thinks, Jackie doesn’t have a crush on you. So why does it make her skin crawl when she sees a guy trying to flirt with you?

Warning(s): jealous!Jackie, possessive!Jackie, oblivious!reader, pre-crash!Jackie, Nat being a little shit, simp!Jackie

Word count: 2.6k

Masterlist: tba

No matter how much the team teased her about it, Jackie Taylor did not have a crush on you.

Did she like your soft smile? Yes. Could she spend days on end listening to a recording of your cheerful and sweet laugh? Why, of course. Did her heart stop whenever you looked at her a second too long? Maybe, but it was only because she thought you were beautiful —in a platonic way.

She did not like you. She didn’t think of you every night before she went to bed. Nope. Not at all. And Nat could shove her own words up her ass, because she sure as hell wasn’t a simp for you.

Yeah, as if.

“Hey,” you waved your hand in the air as you walked towards the field. You had just changed into your football uniform, and looked around. “Is everyone ready for practice?”

“Yeah,” Nat said, stretching her arms. “We were waiting for you for like, I don’t know, ten minutes.”

“You’re the last one. You know what that means,” Van smirked at you, and if it wasn’t for Tai’s presence next to them, you would have walked over to smack them in the face.

“Gotta run for ten minutes around the field,” Lottie said in a singsong voice. You narrowed your eyes at her.

“I’m gonna get you, Matthews,” you threatened with mock anger.

“What’s going on?” Jackie, who had been talking to coach Ben about something, asked. Her smile grew a little bigger when she noticed you within the other team players, and you swear you heard Nat and Shauna giggle to each other.

“Y/N was last,” Nat said. “She has to run for ten minutes.”

“Okay, fine—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jackie said. Her voice, always soft and bright, was commanding. She wasn’t the Jackie who played around anymore, she was captain Jackie, and everyone in the team knew it.

“What?” Van asked, offended. They looked between the both of you, mouth ajar. “That’s not fair! It’s a tradition you started, Jackie. Last one has in the field during practice has to run while the others train. Y/N was the last one today.”

“Enough, Palmer,” Jackie gave them a stern look. “Y/N was late because of me.”

You gave her a surprised look, taken aback by her lie. You should not have been bewildered, though— Jackie always had your back no matter what, using her easy charm to cover up for your slip-ups

“Making out before practice?” Nat asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Jackie’s cheeks turned a bright red color, but she didn’t dare to look at you. Instead, she clapped her hands together a few times, and everyone around sobered up.

“Divide yourself into two teams,” Jackie raised her voice. “Whoever team wins, gets to rest while the others run a lap.”

Everyone groaned, looking around to start to form the groups, trying to be as equitative as possible.

“Shauna, you’re captain of team green. Team blue is my team,” Jackie called, and the brown eyed woman nodded, wasting no time to craft the perfect team in her mind as she looked at everyone in the field.

“Okay, cool—”

“Y/N,” Jackie interrupted her best friend. “You’re on my team.”

“And in her heart,” whispered Nat.

Thankfully, neither Jackie nor you hear it.

If Jackie did not like you, she obviously also didn’t feel any ownership over you. She wasn’t jealous, she wasn’t possessive; there was no point in being those things, as you were both just two good friends.

But sometimes, someone would walk up to you and Jackie forgot her inner mantra, throwing it out the window of her mind. The person would smirk and lean in close, feigning they could not hear what you were saying, and Jackie would feel something dark and uncomfortable burning inside of her.

Sure, you weren’t hers, but that didn’t mean anyone had the right to talk to you, so obviously trying to flirt it was painful to observe.

They didn’t have the right because— because— well, because she said so.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jackie said, walking up to your locker. 

Her voice was high-pitched, and you turned to look at her. Anyone else would have thought nothing of her tone, but you knew her; it was the same voice she used when she wanted to be rude but knew she couldn’t.

“Hi, Jackie,” you said, completely forgetting about the man who was talking to you about the chemistry test you both had next week.

Jackie walked with purpose, and she stood in front of you. She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her body. You sighed in relief; it was starting to get cold, and her warmth was welcomed.

The woman smiled when you rested your head on her shoulder, and big green eyes twinkling as she started the man down.

“What were you talking about?” she asked, even though she wasn’t interested in the least. She knew how men were— she suffered their unwanted advances on the daily. It was all an act to get you on their bed.

“Oh,” the man said, clearing his throat. “We were discussing the next chemistry exam—”

“Well, I hope you study hard. Bye.”

You barely had time to close your locker before Jackie was pulling you away from that man.

“Hey— Jackie,” you complained, pulling your books closer to your chest. “What was that for?”

“That boy is a womanizer,” Jackie said through gritted teeth. “He just wanted to get in your panties.”

“You think?” you asked, turning slightly to look at the boy, who was leaning against your locker and staring at you. When he saw you looking back, he smirked and waved. “I think he just wants help studying.”

“You’re too naïve,” the blonde said. “He has tried that same trick with half the school.”

“Really?” you whispered conspicuously. “I thought he was just being friendly.”

Jackie shook her head, leaning in to kiss the side of your head. Her arm was still around you, and it made you walk awkwardly. You still didn’t complain.

“Boys are never friendly just because, Y/N,” she said. “They only got one thing on their mind.”

“Kissing?” you raised an eyebrow at her.

Jackie’s laugh could be heard all around the halls, a melodic sound that carried you out of the building.

“Every year it gets colder earlier,” you complained, shivering slightly.

“Are you cold?” Jackie asked, finally pulling away. You almost moaned in complain at the lack of warmth on your side, but before you could voice your discomfort, a weight was placed on your shoulders.

You looked to your side to see Jackie’s team letterman jacket resting over you. You smiled, putting your books in one hand to put the sleeve on.

“Thank you,” you said, with genuine gratitude. Jackie shook her head, simply reaching over to grab your books so you fully put on the jacket.

“Wanna hang out in the field?” she asked. Once you had the jacket on, she wrapped her arm around your shoulders again, because she wanted to but most importantly, because she could.

“The one time we don’t have to train, and you still wanna go over there,” you rolled your eyes, but followed her steps when she changed course.

She laughed again, turning to look at you. With bright big eyes, and lips pulled into a tight smile, you thought no one would ever be as pretty as she was.

As you walked, Jackie peaked behind you and saw the same man, looking over with frowned eyes. As she heard you talking about your day, she raised her arm enough for everyone to see the back of your jacket, where Taylor stood proudly over her team number.

She’s wearing my jacket, not yours. Dipshit.

To say she was ecstatic at his scolf was an understatement.

Yeah, she thought, let everyone know she only wears my number. Let everyone know she’s mine.

That time, she didn’t try to correct herself.

“I think Jackie has a crush on me.”

Van, who was tying up their cleats, stopped suddenly.

“Uh?” they asked, blinking a few times.

“I—” you cleared your throat, your cheeks suddenly turning red. “I think she might like like me.”

“Oh, shit,” Van said, rubbing their face.

“Did— did I say something wrong?”

“Yes!” Van let go of the laces, irritated. “You weren’t supposed to find out until November. You just lost me ten bucks!” they groaned. “Thanks, buddy.”

“What?” you gave them a puzzling look. “Wait— you have bet on me?”

“No,” Van waved their hands around. “Not on you. On your inability to see what’s happening right in front of your face, to be exact.”

“Okay, rude,” you said. “I’m not that oblivious.”

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Van said. Their tone was laced with sarcasm. “You joined the team two years ago, and only now you have realized.”

“Wait, she has liked me for two years?” you asked in a whisper.

“Duh,” Van gave you a long look. “Jesus, you’re a lost cause.”

“Screw you.”

“What made you realize?” Van asked, with genuine curiosity. They put their feet back down on the ground, leaning over the bench to look at you.

“She, um—” you looked around, making sure no one else was in the changing room. Feeling guilty over spilling such deep secrets, you moved over and sat down next to Van, so no one else would hear. “She kind of lied, the other day. So I wouldn’t have to run around the field.”

“She always lies,” Van scoffed.

“Jackie never lies,” you said, firmly. You gave the redhead a look, one that would have been threatening if it wasn’t coming from you. “She’s an honest person.”

Van chuckled. “She will lie to save your ass,” they said. “Because she’s the fattest crush on you.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

After practice a week later, instead of going back to the changing room with the rest of the team, you grabbed Jackie and pulled at her hand, forcing her to move toward the bleachers. She went willingly, allowing you to take her wherever it was that you wanted her to be.

She would walk through fire if it meant holding your hand.

In a platonic way, of course.

“Jackie,” you said in a serious tone. You took a deep breath, and stared into big green eyes who looked back with passion. “We need to talk.”

She frowned her eyebrows, quickly picking up on your mood swing. “What’s wrong?” she asked, moving closer.

Jackie’s hand rested on your waist when she saw you starting to pull away. She hated it; hated whenever there was distance between the two of you. She wanted you close to her always, holding your hand and laughing with you.

“I think— I think you might be interested in someone.”

Jackie gave you a puzzling look. Her, being into someone? Not a chance.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” She asked, as confused as she has ever been.

“Don’t make me say it, please,” you moaned, like a petulant toddler. “This is embarrassing.”

“Well, I can’t read your mind, can I?”

You looked away from her, incapable of looking into her eyes as you spoke.

“I think I might like someone, too.”

Jackie froze at your words. Her jaw dropped, eyes open so wide it looked like they might jump out of their sockets.

“You…” she gave a bewildered look. “You like someone?”

You nodded, and her hand tightened on your waist, as if she needed some support to keep her from falling over.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered, closing her eyes. You gave her a concerned look.

“Jackie—”

“Is it that boy from the locker? The one who kept trying to flirt with you?”

“No. It’s…” you cleared your throat. “It’s not a boy.”

“Oh, no,” Jackie blinked away the white spots that were starting to form on her vision. “Nat? Tai? Or—” she gasped, looking at you accusingly. “Don’t tell me it’s Shauna.”

“Why would it be— No! It’s not Shauna.”

“It’s not?” she gave you a look. “Thank god.”

“It’s you,” you whispered.

“Me?” Jackie asked, trying to make sure she had heard you properly. “You like me. Me.”

“Yeah. I like you, Jackie.”

She leaned in close to you, looking at your lips. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself for her kiss. Instead, you felt her weight over you, literally on you.

“Jackie? Oh my god!”

Safe to say, it took the Yellowjackets over a month to get over the little spectacle you and coach Ben had pulled off when Jackie fainted.

You had wanted to keep it a secret, of course— Class Queen and captain of the football team, fainting because a girl had confessed their feelings to her? The rumor would be too juicy. But you also couldn’t control yourself when Jackie fell on top of you, eyes closed and mouth open, and it took you approximately ten seconds to take all the information in before you were screaming for help.

The help came in the form of Ben, who had come over running. He frantically looked at the team captain, laying on the grass as you fanned her with your hand, and he ran back inside to get Bill’s help.

It didn’t take long for the girls to come out of the changing room, and soon enough they pulled the pieces together; your conversation with Van they had told the entire team (which had led to Tai waving around fifteen ten dollar bills around the showers), your nervous attitude over practice, the tension they had felt before they left the two of you alone…

“Holy shit,” Nat said, smirking as you tried to wake Jackie up. “She fainted. She actually fainted.”

The story soon spread, faster and more explosive than gunpowder around fire. Soon enough, Jackie Taylor’s untaintable reputation got washed away by the new knowledge that she was a hopeless romantic.

Two months later, people would still whisper about Jackie whenever she walked down the corridors of Wiskayok High School.

“You think you will still be Class Queen after… what happened?” you asked, taking notice of how many students were staring at the two of you.

“Of course,” she smiled that charming smile you loved so much. “I’m Jackie Taylor, baby. This highschool would be nothing without me.”

“You’re too full of it,” you rolled your eyes.

She wrapped her arm around your waist, pulling you in close to her. She kissed your cheek, smiling.

“It doesn’t bother you?” you asked once you reached your locker. “Y’know, everyone still talking about it?”

“Let them talk. They aren’t mean, anyways,” Jackie said, raising her shoulders. You gave her a look; she would never notice just how many people thought ill of her. She thought too kindly of the world, but that made it two of you. “As long as it makes them talk about how you’re my girlfriend, I don’t care.”

You put the books you no longer needed back into your locker, and once you closed it, she pressed you against it.

When her lips pressed against yours, you stopped worrying about the whispers and the teasing from the team; Jackie was right.

Let them talk.

[neptilius]

pre-dating gojo—him not giving up on her once his eyes are set on her. commenting on most of her pictures, following her on all her socials, having her and megumi pinned on his imessage , sending her flowers and little trinkets, him being the definition of “i see it, i like it, i want it, i got it.” wc; around 800

being a new teacher at jujutsu tech was overwhelming enough without the world’s most insistent sorcerer making you his personal project. from the moment you stepped foot onto the campus, satoru gojo had his sights set on you, and he wasn’t subtle about it. not even a little.

it started small at first, just lingering glances that made you wonder if you had something on your face. then came the compliments, always with that playful grin of his.

“looking sharp today,” he’d say casually, leaning against your classroom door. “you sure you’re not trying to impress someone?”

“just trying to look professional, gojo,” you’d reply, your tone firm even though his attention made your stomach flip.

but satoru gojo wasn’t one to give up when something, or someone, caught his interest.

within days, you noticed him popping up in your social media notifications. he’d followed you on everything, from instagram to twitter, even a random account you barely used. every post you made earned a comment, ranging from witty remarks to downright flirty observations.

“you really have an eye for photography,” he’d write under a scenic picture, only to follow it up with, “but the view isn’t as good as you.”

you weren’t sure if you wanted to scream or laugh, but the attention didn’t stop there.

flowers began appearing on your desk, beautiful arrangements with little notes scrawled in his messy handwriting. chocolates followed, and once, even your favorite coffee order appeared like magic during a particularly grueling morning. you tried asking who was leaving them, but every time, his students would either look away awkwardly or mutter something vague.

megumi, however, had no patience for it. “it’s obviously gojo-sensei,” he said flatly one afternoon when you found yet another bouquet. “he’s been insufferable lately.”

“fushiguro!” nobara scolded, but the slight eye roll she gave made it clear she agreed.

satoru’s antics didn’t stop there. he began finding excuses to help you with your students, offering “expert training tips” that often turned into elaborate demonstrations meant more to impress you than anyone else.

“see that?” he’d say after a particularly flashy display of cursed technique, turning to you with a cocky grin. “bet you can’t teach them that.”

“because it’s not practical,” you’d retort, ignoring the heat rising in your cheeks.

dont get me started on the memes chile... once you finally relented and gave him your number, your phone became a constant source of laughter; random memes, ridiculous videos, and occasionally, surprisingly thoughtful messages about your day.

“saw this and thought of you,” one text read, attached to a picture of a female cat on top of a male cat nuzzling noses.

it was impossible not to crack a smile, even if you tried to keep your responses measured.

but the cherry on top of gojo’s relentless pursuit? he’d even roped his students into it.

“you should just say yes already,” nobara said bluntly one day, crossing her arms as you prepared for a joint training session. “he’s annoying, but he’s also kind of great when you get past the… everything.”

megumi groaned. “don’t encourage her. he’s unbearable enough as it is.”

“he’s determined,” nobara corrected, smirking. “there’s a difference.”

you shook your head, trying to ignore how warm their words made you feel. it was hard to admit, even to yourself, that satoru’s persistence was starting to grow on you.

he was annoying, yes. overthetop? absolutely. but beneath the theatrics, there was a sincerity to his actions that you couldn’t ignore. he studied you, not in a creepy way. but in a way that made it clear he genuinely wanted to understand you.

the small things he did like— remembering your favorite snacks, asking about your hobbies, or noticing when you seemed stressed. spoke volumes about the kind of person he was beneath the surface.

one afternoon, after yet another “accidental” run in, you finally confronted him.

“what do you even want, gojo?” you asked, crossing your arms as you faced him in the courtyard.

he didn’t even flinch at your tone. instead, he smiled, that confident, playful grin softening ever so slightly.

“you,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

your breath hitched, and for once, you didn’t have a quick retort. maybe, just maybe, gojo’s persistence wasn’t as annoying as you thought.

[northoftheroad]

Variations of Dick Grayson’s and Robin’s origin, part 2

Since DC can't stop publishing new versions and AU:s I’ve decided to start a new post instead of endless updating of my first post (see here).

Batman and Robin: Year One

Writer Mark Waid, art Chris Samnee. In # 1 (2024), Dick has come to live with Bruce, has started as Robin and helped to catch his parents’ killer in three weeks after the murder, according to Bruce’s thought bubble. Which must be a new record and indicates that Dick came to Wayne manor pretty much straight after the murder. (As he did in the original comics, but he had to train for some months before starting to fight crime.)

Batman: Justice Buster

A 32 chapter manga by Eiichi Shimizu and Tomohiro Shimoguchi (started publishing in English 2023). In this version, R.O.B.I.N. is the name Batman gives the AI he constructs to help him fight crime. It starts taking action by itself and decides human’s sense of justice is the problem.

Dick’s parents dies at the circus, as per usual, but he is taken from the circus by Sam Reynaud, the clown, who says it was murder. Sam is soon after murdered by Joe Chill, who murdered the Wayne’s and possibly also the Graysons. Chill uses drugs and some thingy for a hypnotic spell to get Dick to believe he is Sam. (For fun, he later tells Jason.)

Jason Todd is older than Dick, works as a private detective and is a vigilante called The Joker on the side. He lets Dick train to become a detective, looking to find the man who murdered his parents (the guy he’s unknowingly is living with). Jason manages to weedle Batman into a partnership. Somewhat later, he is (apparently) killed by Chill, beaten by a crowbar. Chill says he’s going to take over the moniker Joker.

As I publish this post, the last chapters are still not published in English, so I can't say how the story will end.

Batman: Dark Ages

6 issues limited series (2024). Writer Mark Russel, art Michael Allred.

A limited series set in an alternate universe. Gotham's underground is run by False Face society which takes control of Wayne Enterprises after Thomas and Martha are murdered and use it to, for instance, spread drug addiction. Bruce has a very different road to becoming Batman; so has Dick to becoming Robin.

He's from a family of acrobats and is working for the Falcone crime family, as the only way to support himself and his parents. When he is part of kidnapping Jim Gordon he is shot, Batman takes him home but he escapes after a few days. By then, his parents are murdered by the Falcone's and he would have been too, if Batman hadn't turned up. Bruce makes him take an oath and he takes on the code name Robin (nothing is said about why Robin.) He later becomes Nightwing, working with Barbara as Batgirl. They marry and have a daughter that we see as Dr. Grayson with an old Bruce in the part of the story that takes place in the future (2030). Dick dies, in Nightwing suit, during a fight with the Joker. Batman tries to catch Dick when he and the Joker falls, but he gets hold of Joker.

Nightwing vol # 4, Tom Taylor’s run (#117)

Tom Taylor wrote Nightwing 2021-2024 and took the chance to tweak Dick’s origin. He gave Dick an older and previously unknown half-sister, Melinda Grayson-Lin, from a short relationship John had before his marriage to Mary. And he wrote that Tony Zucco had actually wanted to kill Dick, not his parents. How much of this will survive later writers remains to be seen.

[cinnaleaf]

「 Holidate | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you agree to fake date trent to save his image during the holiday season, but the lines on the contract start to blur | MDNI 18+

warnings: fake dating trope, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, language, smau, lighthearted angst, banter, kinda chaotic, **extended fam briefly mentioned are fictional 🎅🏾: sleigh got stuck in traffic so i’m late, forgive me | finale of my ficmas series wc: ~13.8k

You were halfway through your second cup of coffee, scrolling through emails like you usually did in the morning, when a peculiar email popped up.

From: Tyler Alexander-Arnold

Subject: Collaboration Proposal

You squinted at the name, thinking it sounded vaguely familiar but you weren’t sure why until it clicked. Trent Alexander-Arnold’s older brother. The footballer. You groaned, already feeling like there was going to be utter nonsense attached to the message. Athletes in your DMs and emails were nothing new, but they usually wanted shoutouts or some ‘collab’ that was a thinly veiled way of sliding into your messages for a hookup. You weren’t about to entertain a guy who thought sending his club’s match tickets was romantic.

But curiosity got the best of you:

Hi Y/N, I hope this email finds you well. My name is Tyler and I manage my brother, Trent Alexander-Arnold. PLG has followed your work for a while and we’re impressed by your authentic and engaging brand. I wanted to reach out with a unique proposal that I believe could be mutually beneficial. Trent is looking to shift his public image after recent media challenges, and we believe a collaborative effort with someone like you could help him accomplish this. The idea involves a short term arrangement posing as Trent’s girlfriend during the holidays with the possibility of extending the partnership into next year. We understand your time and reputation are valuable and will ensure all aspects of this arrangement align with your standards. Compensation and details are attached for your review. I look forward to hearing from you. Best regards, Tyler Alexander-Arnold

You stared at the screen, mouth slightly open. You had your fair share of wild pitch ideas before, but this was...new. A footballer fake boyfriend? For what? And why you?? You weren’t even the type – at least not for the girlfriend aesthetic they usually went for.

You scrolled down to the attached terms and your jaw dropped at the six figure amount of total compensation, and that wasn’t even including the performance bonus. The number was so pretty you wanted to print it out just to stare at it physically. A six month contract to ‘date’ Trent with a minimum of public appearances and the ability to control your own content. They were basically handing you all the creative freedom you demanded so often in every partnership you were ever a part of. But your pride was screaming at you. You built your brand on being authentic. Your followers trusted you because you weren’t fake. They would be able to sniff out any bullshit from you in milliseconds. You didn’t know if you could play it off that well.

Just as you were in your thoughts, doom scrolling through Instagram, you landed on a post about Trent. 

SpillTheBeansUK: Trent Alexander-Arnold spotted partying at 4 am while Liverpool struggles on the pitch. Distraction much? 

mintleaf: WHERE the FUCK is TYLER

realmrsTAA: he’s just having fun you miserable lot. leave my man alone 😤

YNWA_forever: he’s out clubbing while salah’s carrying the club? embarrassing look as vice cap

oh_shes_nosy: 4 am? with who though?? 👀 don’t let it be another ig baddie omg

ShutUpAndDefend: can’t defend on pitch but can defend a bottle of liquor fuck this guy

Footiebro: bruh just stay home and train. nobody asked for this shit wtf is his problem

DramaLlama12: this man said ‘defense’? never heard of her. shots at 4am? say lesssss

tumblrinagurl: need him to be so serious he’s messing up my fanfic posting schedule, follow the fucking script what the fuck

FPLQueen: this is exactly why i took him out of my fantasy team weeks ago. this is a big L

girl_shutup: not my man getting roasted while he’s just living his life 😭 y’all are haters fr

Shady_LFC: pov: you’re just a local lad from liverpool who wants to vibe

The entirety of the comments section was a battlefield. You sighed and toggled back to the email. It wasn’t your business what kind of PR storm he landed himself in, but if his camp was offering this type of money, he must’ve really fucked up.

Two days later, you found yourself in Manchester, sitting across from Tyler in a pristine meeting room at PLG. The room was sleek with chairs that looked expensive but were so uncomfortable. Tyler was polite but he didn’t look all that professional for someone who was supposed to be managing a high profile footballer.

“Uh, thanks for coming” he started, handing you a glossy folder. “I know it’s unconventional but I really think you’re the right person for this kind of arrangement.”

“Unconventional?” you raised an eyebrow, flipping through the paperwork. “Mate, this is unhinged. I’ve never had a request like this before.”

Tyler smiled sheepishly but just as he was about to respond, the door opened and Trent sauntered in. God forbid he enter the room like a normal person, he just had to be loud and obnoxious about it. He looked taller than you expected him to look, and he wore a tracksuit, totally unfashionable but it worked for him somehow. He nodded at Tyler before looking at you with an expression that was somewhere between bored and mildly annoyed.

“So this is her then, yeah?” Trent asked, as if you weren’t literally in the same room as him.

You leaned back in your chair, unimpressed. “And this is the guy who can’t keep his head on straight?”

Trent’s lips twitched as if he wanted to smile but refused to give you the satisfaction of it. Tyler exhaled, sensing there was likely more chaos to come from this little arrangement.

“Let’s stay focused” Tyler said firmly, pulling up the digital presentation he prepared. “The plan is to recalibrate Trent’s image and make him appear more serious and stable. Y/N’s audience aligns well with that narrative and her credibility can strengthen the likelihood of people believing this.”

“Sounds great” you said while closing the folder. “What’s in it for me though? Besides the headache.”

Trent snorted at your statement which earned him a glare from Tyler. “You’re getting paid aren’t you??”

“Trent.” Tyler replied sharply, then turned back to you. “There’s significant compensation and full creative control over your content. You also have the chance to build a connection with a large audience outside of your typical demographic. PLG will manage all the logistics and you don’t have to lift a finger unless you really want to.”

It was a good pitch, a lot better than you expected, but Trent’s attitude was already grating you. “I have one condition.” You snapped the folder shut dramatically and Tyler gestured for you to continue.

“I need your brother to at least pretend he’s interested in this. If he looks like he hates me in every picture my followers will clock it easily.”

Trent leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Relax. I’ll play nice.”

“You better” you shot back, grabbing your purse. “I’m not here to save your ass mate. I’m only doing it because the money is too good to pass up. And I actually know how to curate an image unlike you.”

Trent scoffed, rolling his eyes at your jab. “Curate an image? By doing what? Posting oat milk lattes and sunsets?”

“Try millions of people who actually care about what I say and what I buy” you fired back, standing up to adjust your bag strap. “But you? You’re lucky if anyone even reads your dry ass captions.”

Tyler pinched the bridge of his nose like he was deeply regretting his life choices. “Okay..enough. Both of you.” He turned to Trent with a warning expression. “Y/N is here to help you and we’re paying her a lot of money to make sure you don’t turn into a liability.”

Trent rubbed his hand over his forehead and crossed his arms, his smirk still in place. “Got it. I’ll be the perfect fake boyfriend.”

“You’re already bad at it” you muttered under your breath.

“Okay stop.” Tyler interrupted before Trent could come back with anything else. He stood up, motioning for you to sit back down. “We’ll need to go over specifics so you don’t mess up anything when this starts.”

“Right. Because I’m the one that’s gonna be a problem.” you answered back dryly, making Trent chuckle quietly. Tyler pulled up another presentation on screen with multiple bullet points and mocked up photos. “This is how this is gonna work. We’re going to start small with discreet hints like stories and maybe some pictures while you’re in Liverpool for the holidays. Make sure it’s subtle. Y/N, if your followers are eagle eyed we need to make sure it’s not too obvious at first.”

You nodded, already mentally calculating how to stage something that was lowkey but believable. “Got it. But what about him?” You jerked your thumb toward Trent, who looked like he would rather be anywhere but in the meeting room.

“He’ll match your posts,” Tyler said. “Simple stuff only though, like sharing ambiguous shots. Nothing too heavy.”

Trent scoffed and cocked his brow. “So what? Like a blurry picture of my trainers and call it a day?”

“Oh my god” you muttered, shaking your head. “You literally have no sauce. None. You’re so boring.”

“Moving on…” Tyler cut in before another argument could break out. “You’ll spend Christmas and Boxing Day with us at our family’s house in Liverpool. So you have to play the part for social media and for our parents, Marcel, and family friends. I’ll be the only one in on this.”

Trent frowned, not liking that idea at all. “Do they really need to be involved?”

“Yes.” Tyler answered matter of factly. “Because if we can’t convince them, then there’s no chance anyone else will believe it either.”

You raised your hand like you were in a classroom. “Mmk, quick question. What’s the backstory? How did we meet...how long have we been fake dating?”

Tyler pulled up a slide titled ‘Backstory’ and you glanced over it quickly, wanting to complain because it literally looked like he stole the idea from a girl blogger on the internet.

“You met at a private influencer event in London–”

Trent interrupted, “What’s an influencer event?”

You blinked at him. “Are you that fucking dumb?? There’s no way…”

“It’s like the stuff you post” Tyler deadpanned. “Clothes, photographers, influencers, models. Anyway...you hit it off, exchanged numbers and started seeing each other about four months ago and kept it lowkey because you wanted privacy.”

“Four months?” Trent questioned while frowning. “Isn’t that a little short?”

“Not when you’re a serial dating Libra…” you shot back. “And honestly the less time we pretend to have been together, the less likely we are to mess up the details.”

Tyler nodded. “Exactly that. But you still need to act like you’ve been dating for months. Know each other’s habits, inside jokes, favorite things.”

You tilted your head at Trent, narrowing your eyes. “Right. What’s your favorite food Trent?”

He looked like you asked him for the code to his house. “Um..protein I guess?”

“What? That’s not—I know you’re fucking lying” You slumped back in your chair, rubbing your temples from the regret. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Tyler ignored the tension and instead moved on. “After the holidays you’ll need to continue with the occasional post for the next month..just enough to keep the story alive online, but you don’t have to be seen with him publicly at all until February. We’ll do a hard launch in February with photos together and maybe a public appearance. After that, just a few photos online here and there.”

“And then we break up just in time for hot girl summer” you added, pretending it was a joke but it really wasn’t. You weren’t trying to let this affect your time on a yacht under the sun in Capri.

Trent smirked. “Hot girl summer??”

You gawked at him. “Meg the– wait are you serious? Are you on the internet at all??”

Tyler cut in with a firm voice. “Can you both shut up for two seconds? This will only work if it’s convincing. That means no fighting in front of people. Especially in public.” You rolled your eyes but stayed quiet, glancing over at Trent who was scrolling through his phone under the table. Probably googling himself knowing him.

After the meeting was over, you left the building with a heavy sigh that felt like it came straight from the soul. You couldn’t believe you accepted the proposal and were now under the contractual obligation to deal with Trent and his extensive attitude for the next six months. The cold air hit your face as you stepped into the car park and you pulled your purse closer as if to shield yourself from whatever chaos Trent was bound to bring in these next couple of months.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you groan internally. Speak of the devil.

“You always this fun or is it all for me?” His voice was smug, his accent rolled the words off in a way that made you have to pause just to think about what he said and that grated your nerves already. When you turned around, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his joggers, leaning against a black car. Of course he followed you out.

“Only for you mate. Consider it your welcome package..or an early Christmas gift” you deadpanned while still fumbling with your purse.

“Lucky me.” Somehow he made it sound like he meant it. Maybe he wasn’t all that clueless..or maybe he was just fucking with you.

“Don’t push it.” You yanked open the door of the hired car waiting for you, already done with his small talk.

“It won’t be so bad” he smirked, like it was some kind of joke to him. Like he wasn’t the one who needed this arrangement to clean up his trainwreck of an image.

“Just act like you’ve been somewhere before” You paused before you slid into the car. “Show up, smile, and don’t say anything stupid. That’s all I need from you. No more, no less.” You swung your legs in and reached for the door, about to close it, but his voice stopped you.

“Wait! What’s your favorite food?”

Your hand froze mid reach and you looked up to give him an unimpressed look. “Why?”

He shrugged, far too pleased with himself for someone whose job it was to not piss you off. “I think I should know. Seeing as I’m pretending to be the love of your life and all.”

The sheer audacity of this man was maddening. “Love of my life?? Please” you snorted. “I’m only mildly okay with you right now. I tolerate you. That’s it.”

“Ok. Fine. So what is it then?” he pressed, enjoying the way you rolled your eyes at nearly everything coming out of his mouth.

“Shrimp fried rice” you snapped, yanking the door shut. Through the tinted window you saw him grin and you shook your head, slumping into your seat as the car pulled off. You weren’t sure if it was the money, the challenge, or the audacity of Trent that made you agree to any of this.

Whatever it was, you knew it was going to be the longest six months of your life.

You made it to Manchester two days early to ‘acclimate’ as Tyler called it, but in all actuality you needed time to figure out how to make this situation feel less like reality TV. Posting subtle hints on Instagram was your first step. Just enough to start the speculation without turning everything into a circus. Your first story was a panoramic view of Manchester from your hotel room, where you left a cute caption about not being in London or Los Angeles for once. The comments rolled in nearly immediately. People wanted to know why you were in Manchester for the holidays, and whether it was for a brand deal, or a new beau. Your next story was a picture of your luggage, strategically unzipped to show a small piece of a Liverpool scarf tucked inside. You didn’t even caption it, you just let everyone draw their own conclusions.

Later that week, you were in the passenger seat of Trent’s car as he drove the both of you to Liverpool. It was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the silence was just there. You had your airpods in, half tuned into a podcast, while he had one hand on the wheel and the other scrolling through a Spotify playlist, probably looking for some stupid Drake song to play.

“This is your plan then?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You pulled out one airpod and glanced at him. “What?”

“This instagram stuff.” He gestured toward your phone. “I saw your story. Not bad. Kind of dramatic though..don’t you think?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the one having a PR disaster so terrible he had get his brother to hire a fake girlfriend for him.”

Trent smirked, turning his eyes back to the road. “Ah, fair. But a Liverpool scarf is a lot. That’s gonna cause some shit.”

“That’s the entire point. My followers will be on it in minutes and by the time we show up at your parents’, half the internet will have think pieces about how we’re madly in love.”

“Madly in love?” He shook his head, laughing. “That’s overkill.”

You shrugged, looking through your camera roll for your next post. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

The Alexander-Arnold house was exactly what you imagined. It wasn’t obnoxiously huge but it was comfortable and cozy. The home’s exterior was decorated with Christmas lights and a wreath hung on the front door that looked handmade. 

You stood on the doorstep with bated breath. Trent was next to you with his hands shoved in his pockets, as unbothered as ever. If he was nervous about selling this relationship to his family, it didn’t really show.

“Ready?” he asked with a faint smirk.

“Are you?” you cocked your brow. “I’m not the one who waited until two days ago to mention I existed.” Trent winced but didn’t respond and instead pressed the doorbell. You didn’t know why he did that considering he could’ve just walked in. Maybe he was nervous. Either way, him not taking the responsibility over the fact that his mum would probably clock both of you had you annoyed. The door opened shortly after and his mum stood there, all smiles and festive. There was a look in her eye that told you she wasn’t buying any of this nonsense from the start. “Oh! You must be Y/N!” she greeted warmly, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug before you could even say hello. The hug felt genuine enough, but it also had that undertone of ‘lets see whats really going on here’.

You blinked, trying not to overthink things. “Hiii, so nice to meet you Mrs. Alex–”

“Dianne. Just call me Dianne” she interrupted, pulling back but keeping her hands on your arms while looking at you. “No need to be formal. You’re family for the holidays.”

Family. Right. That’s what this was. You were Trent’s ‘girlfriend’. You forced a smile, ignoring the way your stomach was turning as a result of her response. Trent’s dad appeared behind his mum and he gave you a firm handshake, but his expression was less warm and more reserved.

“Welcome. Glad you’re here to join us” he said simply.

“Thanks for having me” you replied, trying to keep your tone polite but still warm.

Marcel was leaning against the staircase in the hall with his arms crossed, displaying a shit eating grin plastered across his face. “So” he began, dragging the word out as he straightened up and walked over with a stroll. “You’re the random girlfriend that’s popped up out of nowhere.”

You felt your pulse spike but you forced yourself to laugh. “Yeah..I guess that’s me.”

“Hmm” he hummed, tilting his head. “Funny you’ve never been mentioned before until two days ago. Not even once.”

Your smile tightened and you glanced at Trent, hoping he would swoop in and save the day with something clever but he just stood there looking like he was vaguely amused by the whole thing.

“Marcel, don’t be rude,” Dianne warned lightly.

“I’m not!” Marcel kissed his teeth. “I’m just saying it’s mad he’s never mentioned her and now she’s here for Christmas. I don’t know this girl..never seen her a day in my life.” He turned back to you with a cheeky grin. “How’d you meet? Paris? Milan? Ibiza??”

You really wanted to knock Trent upside his head at this point but instead you gave a sweet smile. “At a private influencer event actually.”

Dianne laughed, knowing her son wasn’t serious enough to attend a private event like that. She looked at him, trying to figure out if all of this was bullshit. Marcel didn’t even try to hide his disbelief. “Yeah, sure. What was the event called?”

Your stomach dropped and you went wide eyed. You could’ve googled literally anything about Trent’s past couple of months to make this more believable, but you didn’t and clearly neither had he. You paused to think for a little bit, which was just long enough for Marcel to attack.

“Yeah that’s what I thought” he smirked.

“Alright that’s enough” Dianne interrupted, but it was clear she was waiting for that answer as well. “Marcel leave the poor girl alone.”

Michael cleared his throat and stepped in. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

By the time Christmas dinner rolled around, you sat down next to Trent, almost too distracted by the food to notice the tension brewing at the table, but then his mum’s voice cut through your distraction like a blade wrapped in sugar. 

“So Y/N..” She handed you a gravy boat with a fake smile. “How long have you two been together?”

“Four months” you answered with ease, remembering the backstory presentation. You looked at Trent for a brief moment to make sure he was following along.

“Three” Trent said through a mouthful of roasted potatoes while not even looking up.

You scrunched your face, blinking back disbelief. “Four.”

“No it’s three” he insisted, frowning as he reached for some rice. “September, right?”

“August” you corrected him through clenched teeth and kicked him under the table. His fork froze mid air and he finally looked at you. 

“August?”

“Yes” you hissed, trying to keep the forced smile on your face while glancing back at his mum, who was watching like a hawk. “The end of August.”

Trent shrugged, and went back to eating the food from his plate. “That’s basically September.”

“It’s really not.”

Dianne’s eyes darted between both of you with a smile still there, but curiosity very obviously piqued. “Strange..” she started lightly. “I don’t remember hearing about you in August or September. He didn’t mention you until just a few days ago.” Marcel almost choked on his drink from laughing, and even their dad chuckled to himself before taking a sip of his drink.

“I didn’t want to jinx it that’s all” Trent said casually while leaning back in his chair, still popping food into his mouth.

You glared at him. “Jinx it?”

“Yeah” he smirked, looking at you. “Didn’t wanna rush things y’know?”

You bit down on the side of your cheek to keep from snapping at him. He wasn’t following the script at all. He was barely trying, mostly hoping to coast on charm like it would cover all the gaping holes in your ‘love’ story.

“Right…” Dianne slowly spoke while arching her brow just enough to make you feel nervous. “So where did this event happen again?”

“London” you answered fast before Trent found a way to ruin that too, but he answered at the same time as you, with a completely different answer.

“Paris.” 

Marcel snorted into his drink, laughing so hard he started bumping the table and made the cutlery rattle. Across from you, their mum had a smile still on her face but the look on her face drilled right into your badly built backstory. She didn’t say anything, but you knew she had more questions when she eyed Michael with a knowing glance. You turned to Trent, narrowing your eyes at him and gave him another kick under the table that landed on his shin. He jumped forward and dropped his fork on his plate.

“London” you repeated in a tight voice with a smile that was more of a grimace. “We met in London at the influencer event.”

Trent nodded, rubbing his shin but still smirking, not taking any of this seriously. “Yeah London. The city with all the..... influencer stuff.”

Marcel nearly slid out of his chair from failing to keep his laughs at an appropriate volume at the table. Dianne looked at him with a warning but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand with an entertained look on his face. “Oh yeah?” he said grinning. “Since you’re so in love, what’s her favorite food then?”

You could see the gears in Trent’s head trying their very best to come up with an answer while he chewed his food. “Uhhh....” He drew the word out for so long you wanted to answer for him. “Shrimp fried rice?” You let out a soft exhale, surprised he actually listened in the car park. Marcel wasn’t impressed and tipped his head back to cackle.

“Took you long enough to answer.”

By this point, the entire family was trying to hide their laughs from the absurdity of the situation. Their dad even cracked a smile and shook his head as he passed a plate of roasted veggies to Marcel.

“Trent” Dianne dabbed her mouth with a napkin, still smiling. “You’re absolutely hopeless when it comes to relationships.”

“I’m not hopeless” he contested, glaring at Marcel who was still in stitches over the whole ordeal.

“Oh, love” you said sweetly, leaning in close enough to lower your voice. “You really are.”

He tilted his head, cutting his eyes at you but he had a playful look in his eye at the same time. “Careful. You’re supposed to be in love with me, remember?”

You smirked, raising your glass like you were doing a toast. “I must be a really great actress then.”

The sound of the door opening saved you from whatever dumb thing Trent was about to say. Tyler walked in a casual rush, juggling a reusable tote bag and his phone. “Sorry I’m late.” He slid in the chair next to Michael. His wife wasn’t far behind and had a baby on her hip, smiling to make up for Tyler’s disheveled state.

“Tyler!” Dianne exclaimed, momentarily distracted by her eldest child. “We were just about to have dessert. There’s plenty of food left, let me fix you a plate.”

“No need” Tyler replied while waving her off with a smile. His gaze shifted to you first, and then Trent. “You two alright?”

“Great.” Trent answered, dragging the word out in a very unbothered tone.

“Fantastic” you added, side eyeing Trent.

“Good..” Tyler clapped his hands together. “Because I brought something to make this whole thing even better.” From the tote bag, Tyler pulled out two neatly wrapped presents and handed one to both of you under the table with a wink.

“What’s this?” you asked in a whisper, frowning while trying to discreetly look at the tag.

“Just go with it,” Tyler whispered back. “It strengthens the story. Just act surprised.”

Trent shook the box in his hands like it came from the North Pole, fresh off the sleigh. “What is it?” he asked, too loud for the covert operation Tyler planned.

Marcel’s eyes lit up immediately. “Hey, what’s all that?”

“It’s nothing” you glared at Trent and then Marcel. “Just something we brought for each other.”

Dianne’s attention turned back to you and you felt her sizing up the gifts that had randomly appeared all of a sudden. “How thoughtful…”

You reluctantly tore into the wrapping paper. Inside, there was a Diptyque gift set and a pair of designer sunglasses from Jacques Marie Mage that were so exclusive they had yet to hit most influencer’s feeds. It was perfectly on brand and very believable. Trent unwrapped his gift with the same flair of a child. Inside was a custom bag from Goyard with his initials engraved, and a high tech Hypervolt massage gun that hadn’t been released yet.

“Nice” Trent exclaimed while holding both up like it was a trophy. “You have good taste baby.”

Baby?

The table paused collectively. Dianne’s eyes froze on both of you, Marcel peered at you over the rim of his glass, Michael leaned back with a curious look on his face. Tyler gave you a subtle thumbs up from across the table and you wanted to strangle him.

“Baby?” you repeated in a confused tone. “Where did that come from?”

“Just felt right. Don’t you think?” Trent shrugged with a smirk.

You clenched your teeth, glancing over at the baby that was now side eyeing you too. You gave her a sweet smile and she frowned at you more. “Oh it’s perfect.”

Michael broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “Well..it’s nice to see you two so close.”

“Oh, we’re close” you said quickly, giving Trent a look that could kill.

“Basically inseparable” he added, winking as he set the gifts on the table. Tyler cleared his throat to try and get the conversation back on track. “So, Mum..what’s for dessert?”

Thank god Dianne didn’t press any further after Tyler’s distraction, but you knew this was far from over. When no one was watching, Trent leaned toward you in a low and smug voice. “Relax. You’re doing great.”

You didn’t even bother looking at him because you were so annoyed.

“Stick to the script or I swear I’ll throw one of these Diptyque candles at your head.”

Trent chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Looking forward to it…..baby.”

By the time dinner was over, you walked upstairs to kick off your heels and Trent had already claimed the bathroom. You could hear the sound of running water and his terrible singing drifting through the door as you sat on the bed, laying out your carefully curated skincare routine: cleansing oil for your makeup removal, glycerin cleanser for moisture, red light therapy, centella toner, hyaluronic acid serum, eye serum, ceramidin moisturizer, a spritzer of atobarrier cream mist, and a sleeping lip mask. You lined them up on the table like little soldiers. When Trent finally came out of the shower, his towel was wrapped around his hips and he paused mid step, staring at your collection of bottles and jars.

“What the hell is all of that?” he asked, pointing with his toothbrush still in hand.

“It’s called flawless, glass skin” you shot back, reaching for the oil cleanser and heading to the bathroom. He leaned against the wall with a smirk. “You look like a chemist.”

“Don’t knock it til you try it” you ignored him as you massaged the oil cleanser into your skin. “This is why I look like this” you gestured to your face, “and you’re just...you know.”

Cute? He was cute. But there was no need to gas him up.

“Just what?”

“Nevermind.” you muttered, grabbing your face towel.

“Nah. Finish it. Go on” he teased, stepping gloser. “Already halfway there anyway.”

You glared at him. “If you don’t get out of my face…” Trent turned to adjust the towel around his hip and it slipped. The towel fell on the floor and his dick was in full display. Not bad honestly – thick with a slight curve that was...kind of aesthetically pleasing. Your mouth dropped before you could realize and you turned around so fast you almost knocked over a serum bottle.

“Oh my god! Trent!”

“What?” he asked, way too casual for someone who just flashed you. “It’s just skin. You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before.”

“Not the point!” you yelled, keeping your eyes firmly on the wall while he laughed. Eventually, he bent down to grab the towel and you could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke again.

“Chill. Don’t act like you weren’t curious about it anyway. Gonna post my dick report anonymously online now?”

You turned back to glare at him now that he was safely wrapped back in the towel. “Please. I’m sure the girls you were with at 4am have already done that for you. Just..don’t let it happen again or I’m actually going to gouge my eyes out.”

He grinned at you, strolling over to the bed like he didn’t just traumatize you. “You’re dramatic. It’s cute.”

After the dick debacle, you climbed into bed, muttering under your breath about boundaries and respect. Trent flopped down next to you while scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.

“You’re actually so annoying” you said while setting up the perfect soft launch shot.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one a few times,” he replied without looking up.

You ignored him to focus on the picture. It was supposed to be subtle, yet strategic: your skincare bottles glowed under the warm light from the lamp on the bedside table. In the background, Trent was slightly blurred from the setting, yet identifiable as he laid on the bed, legs crossed with his phone in one hand. The caption you added: ‘never let santa stop this slay, skincare always 🎄✨’. By the time you posted the story, your phone was already pinging because SpillTheBeansUK had posted it with a quickness.

SpillTheBeansUK: Who’s the mystery man in Y/N’s background? The skincare? Impeccable. The vibes? Cozy. But that ARM…who’s claiming it? 🕵️‍♀️

ynstan99: WAIT. WHO IS THAT IN THE BACKGROUND?

liverpoolbabe01: that’s defo liverpool and that’s trent’s fam’s house i recognize it bc my mum’s cousin’s best friend’s sister’s brother in law lives just across the road omg she bagged a footballer???

nosygirlfc: GIRL WE KNOW THAT’S TRENT WE’RE NOT DUMB

“What are you posting?” Trent asked, glancing over at your screen.

“Work” you replied simply, turning your phone toward him. “You see that? That’s how you soft launch.”

He studied the story for a bit and nodded while smirking. “Not bad. My turn.”

“You’re posting something?”

“Yup” he replied plainly, scrolling through his camera roll. Minutes later he posted a random photo of his feet propped on a coffee table next to the Christmas tree downstairs, with your phone case barely visible at the edge of the frame that he took earlier. His caption was lame and boring: Holiday vibes.

“That’s so pathetic” you shook your head.

“It’s subtle,” he argued, leaning back against the pillows.

“It’s lazy” you argued back, setting your phone off to the side.

“Lazy works.” He turned off the light, smirking. You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond and pulled the blanket up while turning away from him. The room went quiet before he broke the silence with his sarcasm just as you were starting to drift off to sleep. “Night, my love.”

--

You should’ve known Boxing Day wasn’t going to be about lounging around in pajamas and eating leftovers while scrolling through Instagram in peace. Not when Tyler was involved.

The man had sent a fully detailed itinerary to both of you at an ungodly hour that morning, outlining what he dramatically called ‘The Boxing Day Stroll’. The plan was to head to Manchester, walk around casually, and let the pre-arranged paparazzi do their thing. Of course it wouldn’t be all that easy because the man had already messed up damn near everything else in this facade.

“Just act natural” Tyler said while driving you over to the staged area. “And look like you can’t get enough of each other.” As the car pulled to a stop, you glanced over at Trent who was slouched in his seat, lazily scrolling through a dating app on his phone when he was supposed to be fake dating you.

“You do remember what we’re doing, right?” you asked.

“Walking” he said without looking up.

“Walking and looking like we’re deeply, madly, dangerously in love” you corrected him. “So don’t glare, or pout, and don’t say anything idiotic when someone asks what my name is.”

Trent finally looked up and his lips curved into that same infuriating smirk that pissed you off. “You’re very bossy, you know that?”

“And you’re very bad at following directions.” you argued back.

“Relax baby. I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Don’t call me baby” you muttered while pulling the car door open before he could irritate you anymore than he already had.

The city was packed with people entering storefronts, couples and families carrying bags from Boxing Day sales, and kids running around screaming from sugar rush. The holiday vibes were still in full force and picturesque enough for you to almost forget the cameras until you heard the sound of a shutter. You tensed and looked over to the source of the sound but Trent was still unbothered by it, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He must’ve done these before. He annoyingly looked good even though all he did was throw on whatever was closest. Meanwhile, your fit was carefully curated and you wore a cute co-ord jumper over a wool coat, jeans, chocolate brown booties with a ribbed fold over knit fabric, a crossbody bag, and assorted jewelry from PR packages you received.

“Hold my hand” you whispered through clenched teeth with a frozen smile while passing a group of shoppers.

“What?”

“Hold. My. Hand.” you repeated with a forced expression while waving at an eager little boy who looked more interested in Trent than you. He rolled his eyes but reached for your hand. His palms were warm and comforting, annoyingly enough.

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” you replied through your fake smile, tilting your head to pretend you were saying something cute instead of wanting to knock him upside his head. As you walked down the street, you could see the paps positioning themselves and whispering about different angles. You stopped in front of a shop window that had the most gorgeous jewellery and pretended to admire a necklace while pulling Trent closer.

“That one’s nice” you pointed to a random piece on display.

“Eh. Too shiny.” he glanced at it for all of two seconds.

You side eyed him. “Too shiny?? It’s a necklace.”

“Yeah. It looks tacky as fuck” he smirked.

“You think that’s tacky?” you cracked back. “You don’t even know how to dress. You have multiple pairs of the same trainers and tracksuits. That’s tacky.”

“Nah. They’re not all the same. Some of them are for athletic wear and the others are for leisure. There’s a difference.”

You almost laughed but quickly covered it with a cough instead. This man was ridiculous in his own way, and it was kind of endearing. When you turned the corner to a quieter street, the paps pretended to be hidden behind strategically placed stalls, waiting for the perfect shot. “Okay..” you muttered, leaning into Trent just enough to be believable. “Let’s just make this quick. Look at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Not too hard to do. You’re easy on the eyes.”

You lost your steps for a little and muttered, “Don’t overdo it,” brushing a nonexistent strand of hair from your face to behind your ear. “Just be calm.”

“I’m calm” he countered, lightly grazing his thumb over your knuckles. “You’re really committed to this shit, huh?”

“Well..your management team is paying me for this so yeah..I am” you tightly smiled. The cameras kept taking photos but you didn’t look toward them this time so that they could get exactly what was needed. The pictures hit the interwebs almost instantly and they were good. There was a candid of you mid laugh as Trent looked at you with a soft expression and melting grin. The second one was a close up of your hands intertwined while you leaned into him. The angle it was taken in made it look like you were sharing a private moment in the middle of a crowded street. The final picture was of Trent breaking off a piece of chocolate and feeding it to you while smiling in a cozy corner of a small shop. That wasn’t planned though, the joy from that was the real deal.

Before you made it back to the car, Tyler was already in the group chat, hyping both of you up. The pictures were reposted by SpillTheBeans too:

SpillTheBeansUK: Trent Alexander-Arnold spotted out with influencer Y/N L/N looking very cozy in Manchester on Boxing Day. Rumour has it, this love story started a few months ago...Any thoughts, Beans? 👀

ynstan99: sobbing, crying, throwing up. LOOK AT THEM

whatRUonabt: PR but i can’t even hate she’s gorg and they look good

reds4vr_: not convinced after that stunt he pulled last week during match. this is obviously fake news to get us off his back

chirpchirp: she’s just like me fr but i can hold his hand better footiebro: she’s leng but i hope bro isn’t serious he’s got too many distractions

giseleeee_: i give it 3 months before they announce a break up this is fake as fuck

plsbereal: imagine him holding her camera silently while she films vlogs and ootd’s i’m screaming 🥺

YNsquad: i can’t wait until she posts her next chaotic story and he’s in the background. confirm it queen!!

You scrolled through all the chaotic comments, shaking your head as Trent leaned in to peek at your screen. “What are they saying?” he asked, more invested than he wanted to let on.

“My fans think you’re obsessed with me” you held back your grin while showing him the comments.

“Nah. Other way around I think” he smirked, cocking his brow.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes, still scrolling through your phone as the car pulled away. 

By the time midweek rolled around, you were wondering why you agreed to any of this. Sitting in the box at Anfield felt like you were walking into enemy territory. This was...cute, but not really your vibe. The launch strategy was working so Tyler insisted you show up to keep up this festive fairytale. The box was filled with WAGS and family members dressed up. You weren’t entirely out of place, your fit was eating theirs up rightfully so, but you still felt like a fish out of water every time someone looked at you for too long. You tried to make the most out of it and half an hour into the match, you posted a curated story of a video on the field, zoomed in just enough to show everyone on the field in clear view with the caption: not usually my vibe but i’ll allow it ⚽

The second slide was a chaotic close up of your freshly done nails in an almond shape holding a drink. The third was a shaky clip of the crowd cheering just as Trent assisted with a goal. It didn’t take long for you know who to start some mess.

SpillTheBeansUK: Y/N posts from the box after her Boxing Day photoshoot with TAA! Official or not? Let the investigations begin 🕵️‍♀️

loverpoolluvr: she’s just posting random stories. y’all are reading too much into it

overlibramen: how are you lot defending this? man has a new personality every week. let’s bffr

ynbabesfc: nails immaculate and she’s living rent free in your head and trent’s. COPE

sleuthysleuth: the timeline makes sense i’ve got the receipts and it tracks

trentsgfwannabe: i bet she doesn’t even like football and he deserves someone who can actually appreciate the sport

By the time you and Trent made it back to the house that night, you were drained to hell. The day was filled with forced smiles, cameras, and a lot of online chaos that you tried not to look at but ended up scrolling through anyway.

“You okay?” Trent asked in a softer voice than you expected for someone who supposedly didn’t care.

“I’m fine..” you mumbled while grabbing an oversized hoodie you borrowed from him earlier in the week and some pajama shorts. “I just feel like I’m so out of my element right now.” 

Trent had already claimed his spot on the bed and was scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating crisps out of the other. “You’re not that bad at it” he replied, looking up at you as you climbed on your side of the bed.

“Wow thanks” you responded dryly and grabbed one of the snacks he was holding out for you. You were both on your phones, scrolling through various apps while crisp bags crinkled noisily through the silence.

“…Do you ever get nervous or scared?” you asked to break through the silence.

“Nervous or scared about what?” He set his phone down, looking at you with a confused look.

“Of losing yourself with all the fame. It’s like.. I’ve built this whole brand online on my own and I have an audience that trusts me a lot because my whole thing is based on being real with them. But this is....not real. And it feels wrong.” You gestured at him and then you. “I’m scared it’s going to ruin things for me.”

Trent nodded at you and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I get it. Everything I do on or off the pitch always feels like it’s for someone else. I don’t always know what I want. And I change my mind a lot.”

You looked at him in surprise, taken aback by what you assumed was honesty. “Really?”

“Yeah..” he leaned back against the headboard. “Feels like I’m a product and not a person sometimes. Sometimes I rebel every once in a while but I guess I took it too far this time.”

For the first time, you saw him as Trent and not some footballer with a PR disaster on his hands. “Well...at least we have this to bond over. Being fake together.”

He laughed then grinned at you with a wide smile. “Yeah...something like that.”

“It’s kind of weird though. Because for something so fake...it’s starting to feel like it’s...not. Since we’re together all the time and whatnot.”

Trent cocked a brow at your last statement. You opened your mouth to backtrack and say something snarky or petty, but your phone rang against the bedside table. The screen lit up with a facetime call and your stomach dropped when you saw the name.

Romeo Cruz.

Romeo was a rising singer in LA that had all the charm, charisma, and a voice that made every girl want to melt. He slid into your DMs months ago, and while it wasn’t anything super serious, there was definitely flirting going on, and it was FUN. You glanced at Trent who was also looking at your screen.

“Who’s that?”

You reached for your phone with hesitation. “Uhh..just someone I know. No biggie.”

Trent leaned back on the headboard with a clenched jaw. “Yeah? Someone important enough to facetime you at nearly midnight?”

You rolled your eyes and ignored him, answering the call anyway. “Romeo! Hey.” On the screen, Romeo appeared with tousled curly hair, a signature smile with dimples, a sharp jawline, and beautifully glowing, sun kissed skin. “Hey beautiful” he dripped in his velvety, deep and smooth voice. “Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry” your tone was a bit light, a little flirty, but you were nervous because Trent was right there, burning his eyes into the side of your face. “Life has been....busy. A little chaotic but you know me, I love that.”

Romeo noticed the tension inflicted in your voice and cocked his head back from the screen a bit in concern. “You good? Where are you? LA or London?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer because Trent reached over and took the phone from your hands like it was his own phone. “She’s busy right now.” He answered for you in a flat tone, holding up the phone so Romeo could see him and his annoying smirk.

“Uh.. and who are you?”

“Her boyfriend,” Trent replied smoothly. “Thanks for the check in mate but she’s good. We’re in the middle of something.” He paused for the drama of it all and then looked at you.

Romeo had a look of disbelief and irritation showing on his face. “Well tell her to call when she’s–”

Trent didn’t let him finish and took the opportunity to cup your chin with one hand, pulling you into a kiss. For something that was fake it felt way too convincing. You felt butterflies in your stomach as his lips met yours. He didn’t pull away immediately, but when he did you were dazed and out of breath. Too stunned to speak. Romeo saw it all and Trent’s face lit up with the cockiest grin ever.

“Yeah I doubt that mate. She’ll be too tired.” He hit the button to end the call.

“What the fuck was that?” you stared at him, your mouth agape in shock.

“What?”

“What????” you repeated, the volume in your voice increasing. “You just kissed me and basically told him I’m taken..like I’m your actual girlfriend! What the fuck??”

Trent popped a crisp into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously and meeting your death glare with a calm look, then he shrugged. “Just following the script, remember?”

--

By New Years Eve, your public side of the bargain was winding down, but Trent was still annoying you more than ever, even after the kiss. The sound of him chewing in your ear was still echoing days later as you stood in front of the mirror of the hotel, adjusting your ponytail again. Your hair was slicked back with the ends flipped up in soft curls that bounced whenever you moved. You had two loose strands in the front. Your followers knew those strands as your ‘slut strands’ – a term you coined because whenever you had those two strands framing your face, things always ended up a little wild. Between the alcohol flowing at the NYE party, the DJ, and Trent by your side, you knew something was bound to happen. You were always a Chatty Cathy on the juice, and the strands were an unofficial warning label that signified you were about to be everyone’s best friend, or a major problem. You adjusted your dress and gave yourself a final look in the mirror. You were trying to give unbothered girlie with a hint of ruining someone’s life one drink at a time. You grinned at yourself, knowing you looked like you were that girl™.

Just as you were about to spritz your perfume, Tyler texted the group chat:

Start heading to the club. The event is popping off atm. Pap friendly corner is just outside near the bar’s exit so make it count.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. Of course Tyler felt the need to micromanage the party from a distance while acting like he wasn’t the most hands off manager in the industry. He could barely schedule Trent’s interviews on time but was now suddenly invested in making this fake relationship seem so solid. You just wanted to have a good time and be free of this nonsense publically like your contract originally stated.

“I can’t believe all three of the Alexander-Arnold boys are this annoying” you muttered under your breath while putting your heels on. 

Your contract made it clear that New Year’s Eve was the grand finale for the public part of the facade. After tonight, you wouldn’t have to parade around looking like you were madly in love anymore. The plan was to silently pull back and make the relationship seem more private with the occasional story, casual mentions, and reposts every once in a while until June, where you would announce a breakup and be free of him for good. You grabbed your purse and headed for the door to meet Trent downstairs. If this was going to be the last time you had to fake it, you were going out with a bang..and you were going to have some fun with it too just to celebrate the end of this mess.

When you reached the lobby of the hotel, Trent was waiting for you and scrolling through his phone. He looked good, his trim was crisp, his fit wasn’t terrible, and he smelled amazingly good. He lowered his phone, eyeing you from head to toe with a clenched jaw.

“Damn” he voiced involuntarily.

You tried to avoid smirking and adjusted the strap of your dress but a smirk still appeared anyway. “That’s it? Just damn? I put a lot of effort in for this look…”

He licked over his lips and finally looked you in the eye. “Then you already know how you look.”

“You’re lucky I’m feeling great or else I’d make you say it with more enthusiasm.”

“Trust me” he started, running a hand over his head. “I’m enthusiastic but you don’t need a bigger head than you already have.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him to head to the car waiting outside, your heels tapping against the marbled lobby floor. “Shut up and come on. I can’t deal with you while sober tonight. I need a drink.”

By the time you made it to the club, it was already pure chaos. The bass was so heavy you could feel it in your chest as you walked through the VIP area. There were strobe lights flashing around, illuminating random moments of chaos. A group of footballers were trying to outdrink each other in a booth stacked with empty Clase Azul bottles, an influencer in a bright dress was dancing on a table with a sparkler in one hand, and a model was yelling at a bartender because she couldn’t find a tiny baggie of white substance she drunkenly left at the bar who knows how long ago.

When you and Trent walked in, heads turned and whispers cut through the air. His hand brushed against your back to keep up with the facade. The scent in the air was...interesting. It was a blend of liquor, sweat, perfume and the faint tang of weed smoke. You knew tonight was going to leave a mark whether it be on your reputation, your conscience, or both.

“Where’s Tyler’s pap friendly corner again?” you asked, leaning into Trent so you wouldn’t have to yell over the blaring music.

“Near the bar. But let’s grab a drink first.”

You followed him as the hem of your dress brushed against your thigh. The bar was wild. People were pushing against each other like they would run out of alcohol, or maybe they just really wanted the Getty Images watermark with a top face card photo to memorialize the end of the year. The bartender was busy juggling a bottle of Hennessy with one hand, and pouring multiple shots with the other hand, all while someone was yelling for espresso martinis from the corner.

“Champagne? Martini?” Trent asked, turning to you as you perched against the counter with your hips leaning into the wood.

You shook your head. “A round of shots from top shelf and a coconut water.”

“Uh...that’s specific.” He turned to the bartender, ordering for you and himself.

“It’s so I can get fucked up but still stay hydrated from the electrolytes.” Your hands grazed over the two strands of your hair, very diva like. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s my whole thing..it even went viral on tiktok. Don’t knock it til you try it.”

The drinks arrived quicker than you expected and you downed a couple shots immediately in between sipping the coconut water. Trent nursed his vodka soda with lime, scanning the room with his eyes.

“Don’t be boring” you said, gently shoving two shots closer to him.

“I’m not boring” he replied, eyeing the shots and the way your nails grazed against the top surface of the bar.

“Then prove it. Drink the shots and come dance with me.”

He shook his head before reaching for the shots and downing them both. “I don’t dance.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up and live a little” you quickly finished the last of your shots and coconut water and then grabbed his hand, leading him to the dancefloor as the curls in your ponytail bounced between the bass reverberating through the club.

The crowd on the dance floor was just as chaotic in a sea of gyrating bodies and heat. You were too tipsy to be sure of what the DJ switched the song to, but it felt seductive and made you sway your hips automatically. The music took control before your brain could even think about it. You turned toward Trent, moving your body to the beat with ease while he watched. He was locked in, staring at you so hard it almost looked like he didn’t realize he was eyeing you like that.

“You’re really not gonna dance?” you teased, tilted your head as you stepped closer with a flirty smirk.

“I told you I don’t–”

“Shut up Trent” you playfully grabbed his hand and pulled him further into the crowd. “Just dance with me.”

As the alcohol coursed through you, you let your hips find the beat, rolling against him with just enough pressure to test him. You felt him tense up behind you, holding his hands just above your waist like he didn’t know whether to grab you or run away.

“Aren’t you Jamaican?” you yelled over your shoulder with a smirk. “Just relax and let the beat find you.”

He let out an exhale and finally rested his hand on your hip. You arched back a little, grinding into him more and his other hand landed on your ass. His body was betraying him and his breath quickened, trying to think of anything else but your ass grinding against his dick so he wouldn’t get hard. His jaw was tight but then his lips parted when his eyes dropped to the way you were rolling your hips against him. He was barely blinking as he stared. Trent’s grip tightened just enough for you to become aware of it.

“You like dancing, don’t you?” you teased again.

“This isn’t dancing.”

“No?” you dared, grinding against him harder. “Then what is it?”

Trent’s fingers dug into your waist and pulled you up against him. His head dipped closer to your neck and he bit his lip like he was fighting the urge to kiss you there. The lines were quickly blurring in the fog of alcohol and you weren’t sure who was pushing harder to cross them. His breath was hot against your neck as you danced up against him. You felt something stiffen against his lower half but you were so tipsy you thought it was his phone. Trent abruptly pulled back, letting go of you as you stood there confused.

“I need a drink.” He turned back toward the crowd, leaving you standing there trying to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding and your body was bouncing with energy that had nowhere to go thanks to the shots and coconut water you had. Before you knew it, a voice yelled your name, but it wasn’t Trent.

It was Levi Colwill.

“Ahh, Y/N! Trent’s better half” Levi slid into Trent’s place, handing you a shot. “Got your favorite.”

You handed it back to him, forcing a smile. “Levi…”

“You look like you could use some better company” he eyed the outline of your body. “Not that Trent’s bad but..you know I’ll dance with you. Just saying.”

You rolled your eyes but still laughed at him...because you were drunk. “Still stirring the pot like always.”

“You know that’s what I do” He downed the shot you refused. “What you been up to? I know you’re exhausted pretending to be with Trent.”

The alcohol made you bolder. “You get me! He’s so annoying sometimes.”

Levi stepped closer, yelling into your ear over the music. “You know where to find me. Send me a DM when it’s all–”

“Levi” Trent slurred in an irritated tone. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Levi shook his head, sipping the drink in hand and then smirked at Trent. “I was just saying hello.”

Trent gripped your wrist firmly but not painful as he pulled you away from Levi and into a quieter corner of the club, which just so happened to be near the bar’s exit where the paps were waiting for the perfect moment to take pictures.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, yanking your arm free.

“What was what?” Trent snapped back.

“Dragging me away like some jealous boyfriend. That’s not part of the script Trent.”

Trent’s jaw clenched and he stepped closer, leaning into your ear. “You were enjoying that too much. We’re supposed to be together..you can’t flirt with other guys here.”

You laughed, not believing your ears. “Are you dumb?! You walked away like you couldn’t handle it! I’m just trying to have fun tonight.”

“I walked away because you were making me hard.” he shot back in a drunken state, not realizing what he just admitted to.

Your brain short circuited under the fog of alcohol as the music thumped around you. All you could focus on was the thought of Trent standing in front of you, hard, because you danced on him. Then your brain took it a step further and you remembered the night his towel slipped. You had a split glimpse of him on soft and now your tipsy mind was wondering what it looked like on hard. You felt the heat from your cheeks trail down slowly, making your mouth feel dry and knees weak. You were trying to think of literally anything else but the alcohol coursing through your veins wasn't doing you any favors and neither was the way he was looking at you. Trent’s teeth pulled at his bottom lip like he was fighting his thoughts too. You shifted closer to him, playing with a strand of hair framing your face.

“Trent..” you began in a whisper. You didn’t know if you wanted to apologize, flirt, or tell him to just kiss you. His head dipped toward yours as his lips inched toward yours slowly. You were leaning in without even realizing it and his hands hovered over your waist hesitantly. Your eyes dropped to his lips and you saw him lick his lips like he was priming them.

“Y/N!”

A shrill voice broke through whatever was about to happen and you blinked back as someone grabbed your arm. It was another influencer you knew from a brand event but you couldn’t remember her name in your drunken state. She grinned and hugged you like she didn’t just ruin the most dramatic non-kiss of your life.

“Oh my days, girl I haven’t seen you in forever!” she yelled, dragging you toward a VIP booth that was probably just as chaotic as the rest of the club. Trent stood there with an unreadable expression watching as you were pulled away. He turned his gaze to the paparazzi outside who were very pissed they didn’t get their perfect shot.

Just as the countdown to midnight was about to begin, you found your way back to Trent. The club was louder than ever as the final minutes of the year ticked away. Trent was still in the same spot, nursing a fresh drink while the other hand was shoved in his pocket. He noticed you before you could say anything and you saw his eyes lock onto you with a certain look in his eye.

“Perfect timing” you giggled when you reached him, pulling him closer toward the exit where the paps were standing guard. “This is where Tyler wants us so let’s just get it over with.” You positioned yourselves near the glass doors so they would have a better view. The cold air from outside cooled you down a little, but it did nothing to knock any sort of clarity into you. As soon as the crowd started counting down, the air became tented with anticipation.

10...

9...

Your heart was beating fast against your chest and the alcohol made every sensation feel way stronger. You tilted your face up a little to meet his eyes, but he was already staring at you. Trent’s hand reached to cup your chin and tilt your face further upward.

8...

7...

His thumb brushed over the corner of your lip and the sensation made you exhale softly. He looked you in the eyes first, then at your lips, then back up at your eyes again, making you feel dizzy yet excited at the same time.

6...

5...

You parted your lips slightly with heavily lidded eyes. Both of you were supposed to be ‘acting’ but whatever was going on right now was not staged. His other hand found the dip in your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the fire in his eyes.

4...

3...

You leaned in at the same time, moving on instinct from the magnetism as the cameras outside began to flash. The paps were losing their minds and the shutters went off wildly, but all you could think about was how badly you wanted this kiss.

2...

1...

The room erupted into loud yelling, cheers, and champagne bottles popping as fireworks lit up the London sky outside. The second the cloud struck midnight, Trent’s lips lit a flame in you that made your whole body have goosebumps. His hand found your ass, gripping it firm enough to make you gasp and the tiny noise coming out of you motivated him even more. Your body arched into his as you continued kissing him in a way too entirely real make out session. You palmed the fabric over his dick and he groaned into your mouth, making you moan into his mouth in response. The crowd around you celebrated to a very random club remix of Auld Lang Syne but you were too wrapped up in him to care about celebrating the new year.

You finally pulled back breathless while staring at him. His lips were a little swollen but the fire was still in his eyes.

“We need to leave before they get the wrong pics” you blurted out, slurring your words from being tipsy but also flustered.

“Yeah” he said with his hand still on the curve of your back. “Hotel?”

“Hotel.”

When you made it back to the hotel and the lift doors closed, your back hit the mirrored wall as Trent pinned you into the corner. His hand slid over your thighs and the fabric of your dress bunched up.

“Thought I annoyed you” he muttered against your ear as his fingers slipped between your thighs.

“You still do” you replied back sassily, but then you gasped when he found the thin strap of your thong and tugged it against the folds of your pussy. The friction made you whimper and you dug your nails into his arm for stability. “But I can multitalk.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, gripping your thigh to open you up more. His other hand kept working the fabric of the thong, sliding it up and down until you were grinding against his knuckles. “Fuck you're soaked. This for me?”

“Shut up” you hissed while tugging at the button of his jeans with shaky fingers. When the lift dinged on your floor, you barely made it to the room before his hands were pulling, grabbing, and claiming you. He pressed you against a huge window of the hotel room while the fireworks were still popping off in the night sky.

“Take it off” you demanded, yanking at Trent’s shirt.

He pulled it over his head to show off his toned, muscled body that had been haunting you since the towel accident. You didn’t have much time to admire any of it because his hands were already undoing your dress, dropping it to your feet. The cool glass of the window pressed up against your bare skin and you shook a little when his lips latched on your neck, sucking and biting while his hands roamed over you. You moaned his name in a whimpered beg and arched into him when his mouth moved down to your boobs. His tongue ran over your nipple and he wrapped his lips around it, suckling gently and massaging the other with his hand. You gasped, clutching his shoulders and melting your body into his.

“You beg so pretty” he murmured against your skin. “What do you want, pretty girl? Tell me.”

“You” you panted in a trembling voice. “I need you inside me now.”

Trent groaned and ran his fingers between your folds to find your clit. The circles he rubbed against the sensitive nub made you moan loudly. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Need to feel how ready you are.” A broken sob escaped you when his fingers slid inside your pussy. His fingers were long enough to reach a spot that made your knees weak as he worked you open. Your head fell against the window as the squelch of your wetness filled the hotel room.

“Good girl” he coaxed, and your walls clenched around his fingers in response. He laughed and you could feel his smirk against your skin. “You like that, huh? You like being told how good you are?”

“Yesss” you gasped, grinding against his hand. “Fuck yes.”

He pulled his fingers out and you whined but the sound quickly turned into a needy moan when he ran the tip of his dick over your slit. He lined himself up, gripping your thighs to lift you up and push into you.

“DAMN” he groaned loudly, leaning his head back in both pleasure and disbelief from how you were gripping him. “You feel so fucking good gripping me.” You felt the curve when he stroked deeper, each thrust pressing you against the glass while the fireworks mirrored whatever was going on in this hotel room. “You’re so noisy” he teased when he heard you moan his name. He reached between your thighs to play with your clit again. “You want everyone to hear me fucking you, don’t you? You like that shit.”

You nodded, too far gone to care about anything but the feeling. “Oh my god, yes! Please don’t stop. You’re fucking me so good.”

Trent’s mouth latched to your neck again, leaving a mark you were going to have to cover up later. His hands gripped your ass, pulling you closer as he thrust harder..deeper. Your moans were nonstop, echoing against the window while he pounded into you.

“You’re creaming all over me” he groaned, dropping his eyes to his dick thrusting in and out of you with the perfect rhythm. “Look at that. Such a good girl for me.”

His praise and coaxing made you shatter. Your walls clenched around him while your orgasm rained over your thighs and onto him. Moaning cries mixed with his curses and filled the room until he took one last deep stroke into you and pulled out of you. You lowered yourself to take him in your mouth, sucking gently on his tip as ropes of cum filled your mouth. You got back up, very shaky and wobbly, but he wasn’t done yet. Trent carried you to the bed, lifting you up on top of him. Both of you were too far gone to care about the contract by that point and spent the rest of the night partaking in some ultra festive activities to bring in the new year as fireworks continued to pop off in the distance. 

The morning after, the sunlight was streaming through the large window you had just been fucked against the night before. It way too bright for how you were feeling now, even after the coconut water. Your head was pounding and you still felt groggy. Your lashes were barely clinging on and you forgot to do your skincare routine before falling asleep thanks to your activities. You groaned and reached for your phone, fumbling with it in your hands while Trent moved from somewhere else in the room to hand you a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning” he smirked at you, knowing exactly why you were in the state you were in. 

“Morning...and thank you” you muttered in a scratchy voice from a mix of sleep and..other activities. You took a look at yourself with your front camera and you snorted. Your hair was all over the place, your makeup was smudged and one of your lashes was hanging off. You took a glance back over at Trent, who had faint scratches on his back, making you laugh harder. The chaos was oddly on brand for the authentic, slightly unhinged content you were known for, so you decided to capture the moment to post online. 

You opened the camera app and switched to the wide angle just to make it that more authentic. You held your coffee cup in your hand with your messy hair and hanging lash on full display. In the background, Trent was off to the edge of the frame where only part of him could be seen digging through his distinctive Goyard wash bag, oblivious to his surprise cameo. You typed out the caption ‘Happy New Year 🥴✨’ and added it to the photo in white text before posting it on your story. You didn’t have to check the notifications...you knew what you did.

By the time you showered and made yourself look put together, your post had been picked up by SpillTheBeansUK where they did a full deep dive. Their post was a carousel of screenshots. The first was your original story in its chaotic glory, the second was a cropped version zoomed in on Trent’s hand digging into his bag and the faint lining of the side of his head, the third was a side by side of all the previous photos to confirm it was him.

SpillTheBeansUK: Happy New Year from Y/N and Trent Alexander-Arnold! 👀

realmrsTAA: sobbing into my pillow rn I KNOW THAT BAG

ynfansince2019: not her lashes hanging like that. IKTR QUEEN

yn_onlyyn: she’s so me coded i love her

leafygreens05: TRENT BABE TELL ME THIS ISN’T U?!? ARE THOSE SCRATCHES?

ballerbabyy: this feels like i’m on facetime with a friend i love her sm and they’re so cute

notyourfootiebae: Y/N and Trent 🏆 romeocruz: 😒

You laughed as you scrolled through the comments. Trent walked in, ready to head out for breakfast. Although, he was entirely too calm for someone who had just been moaning your name while you were bouncing on him just a few hours ago.

When you sat across from him during breakfast at the hotel restaurant, the realization of everything hit you all at once. You didn’t want this to end. Not the public antics, banter, or things with Trent. He was looking at his phone, scrolling through his apps. Unbeknownst to you, he was deleting his dating apps. All of them.

Meanwhile you were spiralling. Quietly, but definitely still spiralling. 

“What happens when this is over?” you asked quietly, cutting through your eggs benedict. 

He looked up, pausing his thumb over the delete button of the last app. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, stabbing at the food with a vanished appetite. “The contract. When June comes and we’re supposed to ‘break up’... What happens then?”

Trent deleted the final app and set his phone down to look at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

You laughed, trying to mask your nerves. “Well that’s not reassuring.”

“Why?” He asked, tilting his head. “You worried about something?”

Your fork tapped against the hollandaise sauce on your food while you gathered what you wanted to say. “Um..well..this whole thing started off as a job for your image. But now....” you trailed off and looked at him.

“Now?” he prompted, locked on your eyes.

“Now it feels...different.” you admitted. “It doesn’t feel fake anymore. At least not for me.”

You thought he would smirk and have some comeback ready but he didn’t this time. Instead, he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed loosely. “Doesn’t feel fake to me either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah” Trent leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. “It started off as a contract but I think that changed a little...we both know that.”

You stared at him. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying we don’t have to stop,” he replied, never taking his eyes off you. “We don’t have to make a huge deal about it or anything but I don’t want to stop seeing you. It feels…” He trailed off to search for the right words.

“Like something worth exploring?” you offered, finishing his sentence.

He nodded, giving you his signature smirk, but this time it made you melt a little. “Yeah. Like that.”

--

The day the public stint of the contract was supposed to end came and went like any other day. You and Trent kept seeing each other instead of posting fake launch photos like the contract originally suggested after NYE. Tyler was smug about it the minute he found out, thinking he was the best Cupid ever. The last time you saw him, he handed you a Valentine’s Day PR brief with a grin.

“Guess we’re not cancelling the hard launch then?” he asked in a satisfied tone. You wanted to throw the folder at him, but he was right. You weren’t going anywhere and neither was Trent. Your fans adored the idea of you with him. There were multiple theories flooding your comment section daily, micro analyzing every interaction. Meanwhile, Trent’s fans reluctantly admitted he looked happy in a relationship for once. 

The hard launch came in the form of a Youtube video thanks to the fans: Boyfriend Rates My Outfits

Your followers were begging for this video for weeks. You never announced having a boyfriend but they knew you better than that. You didn’t plan on giving in but Trent was all for it. Your chaos had rubbed off on him, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Do it” he said one night while laying in bed with you at your place after a date night. “It’ll be funny.”

“Funny for who?” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“For me.”

Eventually you agreed, and the video started with you sitting in front of your neatly organized wardrobe, clasping your hands together. “Okay..you’ve all been asking for it so we’re doing a ‘boyfriend rates my outfits’ video today. My man isn’t really a fashion connoisseur so don’t expect much.”

Trent’s voice came in from behind the camera, already flirty. “Nah, I have taste, don’t set me up like that.”

“Do you?” you countered, laughing as you disappeared to change into the first outfit.

You strutted back in the room wearing high waisted jeans, a blazer and a cropped top paired with trainers. It was chic and cute enough for a brunch or something similar. Trent zoomed the camera in dramatically on your feet. “Shoes are nice. I’ll give it...an 8.”

“An 8?!” you scoffed, doing a little spin for him. “You’re mad. This is a 10.”

“Ah..okay. 9.5 but only because you look good walking away.”

The next look was a silky midi dress with a thigh high slit, paired with strappy heels. You stepped in the room and did a twirl for the cam.

Trent let out a whistle. “11. Easily.”

“You can’t give it an 11!” you protested, hands on your hip.

“Why not?” he grinned. “I’d take you out in that.. maybe in Greece or Spain.”

For the third look, you went full streetwear and wore cargos, a fitted crop top, a leather jacket, and chunky boots. Trent panned the camera up and down with a lot of dramatics. “You look like you’re about to rob somebody.”

“Trent!”

“Hey, I’m into it though! Come rob me baby” he added quickly, smirking. “9 out of 10.”

The final outfit was a red mini dress with an open back that hugged you in all the right places, paired with heels and a statement purse. Trent was quiet as he looked at you, shaking the camera while he adjusted the focus. “Goddamn. That’s a 12.”

“A 12?” you laughed, walking up to the camera and playfully covering the lens while giving him a kiss. “You’re not supposed to go over 10, T.”

“I don’t care. You’re breaking the scale.”

Trent turned the camera to face the both of you as both of you smiled into the lens. “Alright. Like, comment, subscribe, and…” He trailed off, lowering the camera a little and looked at your lips. He whispered, thinking the mic wouldn’t catch anything but it did. “...and turn this off so I can take this dress off you.”

Your jaw dropped and you swatted at his chest playfully, giggling. “You’re going to get me demonetized if you keep talking like that.”

As you edited the video, you decided to leave that part in there because it was funny and also cute. The comments rolled in quickly when word spread around online about it:

ynbabydoll: THE WHISPER AT THE END??? HELLO? I’M FERAL

ynstanclub: trent stuns in Y/N’s youtube video!!

ynplustrent: the way the cam shook when she came out in that dress....i know they get real nasty

spicynsaucy: UNCOVER THE LENS I WANNA SEE IT

footieNfashion: why is this more compelling than any press interview he’s ever done?

LFCStan44: this feels like i shouldn’t be in the room watching them rn but i’m here for it idk. love to see him back to his happy old self

FreeKickFiend: ugh..the way he sounds when he called her baby. that should be me

YNWADefenseNeeded: bro’s focus on this video is what we need on the pitch ALL the time RedKisses98: this man has forgotten we exist. thanks a lot Y/N

You shut your laptop after the premiere of the video and sunk into the couch next to Trent. He was scrolling through the comments on his phone, with that same infuriating, yet extremely attractive smirk on his face.

“You’re really enjoying this huh?” you nudged him with your elbow in a teasing tone.

“Of course,” he replied without looking up. “I’m the star of your channel now.”

You shook your head, laughing. "Very bold of you to assume they’re watching for you.”

Finally, he looked from his phone, cupping your chin and pulling you into a kiss. “Nah...but I’m here for you though. Fully off script. No contract needed.”

[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 2: Ain’t It Funny?

modern au! hockey star! vi x idol! reader

summary: reader finally debuts and so does vi’s hockey career.

notes: thank you everyone for the likes on chapter 1! im forever grateful! your debut song is eung eung by apink

chapters: one, two, christmas special

The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-the ceiling windows of the practice room caught the streaks of your newly dyed and styled hair. You barely noticed, too focused on the beat of the music echoing through the room. Your movements sharp, deliberate, a reflection of the countless hours you’d poured into perfecting every detail of the choreography.

It’s been a year since Vi broke up with you and your debut was a few weeks away. The past year has been nothing but training, practicing, filming the music video and singing in the studio. You loved every second of it especially since you’ve got to spent it with Mel, who was now your roommate.

Everything about you had changed

Your hair, now a honey blonde to match with your girl group concept, but you loved it. It matched you perfectly and the way the stylist styled it made you love it even more.

The shy yet unsure trainee from a year ago was gone, replaced with someone confident, determined, and unyielding.

“(Y/N), let’s take a break,” Mel called, tossing you a water bottle. You caught it and sank onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall. Mel plopped down beside you, just as sweaty but somehow still composed.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Mel said, nudging your shoulder. “We all are. This group wouldn’t be the same without you.”

You gave a small smile, though your thoughts wandered. Over the past year, you’ve thrown yourself into work, and it had paid off. You’d managed to finish your senior year online, earning your diploma in the midst of grueling rehearsals.

But the cost had been steep. You haven’t spoken to Vi since the night of your fight. You cut ties completely, deleting Vi’s number, ignoring her messages, and avoiding the hockey rink on campus like the black plague. The one exception was her little sister, Jinx.

You and Jinx had stayed in touch, her chaotic energy and blunt humor was a strange comfort to you during the hardest days.

Vi’s knuckles tightened around the edge of the rink’s barrier as the shrill sound of coach’s whistle echoed through the air. The icy chill of the arena bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Hockey had always been her escape, her channeling every emotion she didn’t have the words to express. This past year, it became her lifeline.

Her rise to fame was meteoric. Every game she played brought her closer to being a national icon. Sport channels ran highlight reels of her devastating slap shots and lightening fast reflexes. Articles praised her for her aggressive, no-nonsense playing style, calling her a future legend. Fans chanted her name at every match, holding up signs with slogans like “Vi the Viper”

But beneath all the accolades and the roaring crowd, Vi was suffocating.

Off the ice, her life was a stark contrast to the glory of the rink. She had shut herself off from almost everyone, retreating behind a wall of icy indifference. Ellie, her team captain, noticed it first.

“Vi you’re late again dude,” Ellie said one afternoon after practice, her tone exasperated.

Vi shrugged, tossing her gear into her locker. “What the big deal? I’m here aren’t I?”

“The big deal,” Ellie said sharply “Is that you’re not yourself. You’re snapping at everyone, skipping team meetings to fuck bitches, and whatever else you’re doing…it’s affecting the team and you clearly”

Vi didn’t answer. What could she say? She didn’t have the energy to explain the gnawing emptiness that had settled in her chest since she walked away from (Y/N).

She threw herself into hockey and nothing else . Relationships? She didn’t do those anymore. They were messy too much effort. Instead she indulged herself in the occasional fan hookups—fleeting, physical distractions with no strings attached.

The backstage area buzzed with frantic energy. Stylist and coordinators darted around, fixing last minute touches on hair, makeup and outfits. You sat in front of a massive mirror, your heart pounding as you stared at your reflection. Your shimmering gold and white stage outfit fit you perfectly, the intricate details catching the glow of the lights above.

You hair was curled into bombshell curls. It was a far cry from how you used to wear it, but it fit you so much. It fit the new version of yourself you had fought so hard to become.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity. “You’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself. “You’ve waiting for this moment your whole life.”

A ping broke through your thoughts, and you glanced at your phone. It was a message from Jinx.

Tinker ⚙️💙: I managed to get tickets! I can’t wait to see you!

A smile appeared on your face as you looked at the message. Before you could respond, your manager, Steb, opened the door to your group’s dressing room.

“It’s time. Let’s get it!”

You stood at your cue, beside your group members. Each member was a picture of poise, yet the air buzzed with nervous energy. You had all practiced for this moment relentlessly, and now it was finally here—your debut showcase.

You smoothed down your outfit, your fingers trembling slightly. You had never felt so ready, yet so terrified. You stole a glance at Mel, who was adjusting her mic and grinning like this was just another practice session. “You okay,” Mel asked, nudging you gently.

“I think I’m about to throw up,” you admitted with a shaky laugh.

Mel snorted “Don’t you dare. Not in these outfits. You’re gonna be amazing.”

Right on cue, the lights dimmed, the massive LED screens lit up with the group’s logo, and a promotional teaser video played, showcasing their intense training and concept behind their debut.

You stood offstage with your group, your heart hammering in your chest as the intro to your group song began. You looked at your members and nodded, each of them silently reassuring the other. Together you all stepped into the spotlight, the stage exploding with sound.

The music started, and you moved effortlessly into position with your group, your heart racing but your movements steady. The debut stage was every bit of dazzling as you imagined: the flashing spotlights, the booming bass that seemed to shake the air, and the sea of glowing lights from fans cheering for them.

Your voice cut through the instrumental, smooth and powerful as you sang the first verse. Your dance steps were sharp yet fluid, your stage presence magnetic. You waited your whole life, and nothing could break your focus.

Until your eyes scanned the crowd.

In the middle of the second verse, you just got done with your line, staring into the camera. But out of curiosity, you looked down at the front row, your eyes naturally drawn to Jinx’s bright excitable movements. You smiled briefly before turning your gaze to the rest of the audience. That’s when you froze for the briefest of moments.

There, beside Jinx, hidden beneath a hoodie and cap was her.

Vi.

taglist : @lilttblog @alex-thegiraffeboyy @tobiotruther @krilara @snowbunnyboo @veladeangl @kl1q @maruiin

[dead-dolphins]

Mountain Girl and Doctor’s son AU

A while back, I came across a piece of art on my Twitter feed that inspired me to make a tweet about it (which surprisingly blew up, lol). In the tweet, I mentioned an idea for a Doctor’s Son and Mountain Girl AU where he gets her pregnant, and the story is just them living a quiet, peaceful life in the mountains. Nothing dramatic, just wholesome vibes.

Since then, I’ve been chatting about it with a friend on Discord, and I even watched this drama called Pachinko. It’s been giving me so much inspiration because it captures a lot of the elements I want to explore, or at least hint at the kind of themes I’m aiming for.

So, this is how it goes, taking, as i’ve said, some things of the drama and adjusted it to be chill and wholesome :D

I’ve been thinking about this idea where I take inspiration from something like the Japanese occupation of Korea, like in Pachinko, but I decided to twist it and make it Marley’s occupation of Paradis instead. (I want to make it clear here that I'm not aiming for a completely faithful representation of this delicate moment in history. Instead, I’m using it as inspiration for a story, much like how many stories draw from historical events.)

In this fic, Grisha is a Marleyan doctor who moved to Paradis for work. He marries his second wife and, eventually, they have Eren. Eren grows up surrounded by his father’s Marleyan teachings and becomes a doctor like Grisha. However, Eren’s training and experience are rooted more in Marley than Paradis, giving him a unique perspective on medicine and life.

Years earlier, while Grisha was researching something in the mountains of Paradis, he met Mikasa’s parents, people who had lived there for generations. Grisha formed a strong connection with them, and their relationship grew over time. Mikasa’s parents, while not directly involved in the events of Marley’s occupation, are well aware of the tensions between the two nations and are cautious but welcoming to Grisha, as he represents a different side of the conflict.

Fast forward to a few years later: Eren, now an experienced doctor in his own right, returns to the mountains of Paradis for a visit. He’s been living in Marley for most of his life, but this time, he’s back to Paradis for some bacteriological research (I think it will be cholera). He's aware of Grisha’s friendship with some villagers there, so he decides to stay with them as long as he researches last.

It’s during this visit that Eren and Mikasa finally cross paths. Mikasa, much younger than Eren, has spent her entire life in the quiet isolation of the mountains. She knows nothing about the outside world. Her world has been shaped by the simplicity of nature and the rhythms of rural life.

Eren, on the other hand, is a product of a world far removed from the peaceful mountains. His life has been filled with the hustle and bustle of Marley, his experiences shaped by his medical career and the tensions between the nations. When he meets Mikasa, he is struck by her innocence and the calm, grounded way she carries herself. He can’t help but wonder what it would be like to live in a world as untouched by conflict as hers.

Of course, they fall for each other. Eren is respectful and curious about Mikasa, while she’s shy, unaccustomed to being around handsome men with such a modern aura. They fall in love, share playful escapades in the forest, and eventually, Mikasa becomes pregnant. True to his character, Eren marries her as a man of respect and that’s all lol.

So, here is an art that I LOVE and kinda illustrate what I want to portray:

Oh! And I have a name for it already: Little Forest.

Any thoughts? :D

[lostintransist]

The Real Problem With The Trolley

Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 3

Part 1 here.

Kyle, as he introduced himself all those weeks ago, took all of twenty minutes to decipher your phone number and send a text to you.

>Would have taken me longer, but humming the ABCs tipped me off.

You read the message from the drop-down menu, not daring to open it and let him know you’ve seen it.

You weren’t bold. Kyle was gorgeous, and frankly, you were plain. You were pleased to be plain, let that not be misunderstood. Avoiding some of the nastier interactions with men but also never being singled out at the club or at a party would always be the curse/blessing of your face. Thinking it over you decide that stereotypes exist for a reason and that you would treat this like a woman in every port kind of situation until proven otherwise. You would chat with him and discuss philosophy and life but would let it go no further than friendship.

>Where did you learn to sign?

His second message appeared while you had been trapped in your thoughts. Taking a deep breath as if you were about to plunge into an icy lake you click reply from the menu.

<Something about the ABCs requires me to hum no matter how old I get. And I learned at uni. HBU?

When the message and reply box disappear you tuck the phone into your pocket and focus on the job you are being paid for. The buzz against your ass makes you jump. Quick bastard replied already. Rolling your eyes you ignore the tug in your brain to check your phone. You refused to get reprimanded for ‘looking at your phone excessively on shift’. Your manager was an asshole who couldn’t cut it at corporate and got sent back down to manage a store.

The shift passed in the slowness that only a retail job can manage. The journey home, thankfully just a single bus ride, gave you time to dip into Kyle’s messages. You cleared chats and videos from friends before opening his.

>Learned with the rest of my team. We use sign a lot on jobs and during training to communicate.

>Why do you study philosophy? Sounds like you’ve finished uni at this point.

A few hours later he sent another message.

>What are your thoughts on the trolley problem?

You reply to his messages out of order but figure if he isn’t smart enough to match them up keeping up a text chain would be harder than you cared for.

<I think the trolley problem misses the big questions.

<I am done with uni, graduated last spring but can’t find a job that cares about the paper I paid for.

< I like using my brain, feels like a good way to fight back against all the evil I see.

His reply comes in as you are stepping into the flat you share with your three other roommates.

>What questions should we be asking about the trolley problem?

You pause after shutting and locking the front door, shoes, and bag still on.

<First off who the hell owns these tracks? Secondly, how the hell did so many people get tied to them? Don’t tracks get checked regularly for safety?

You slip off both shoes and fire off one more message.

<It seems like we are so focused on who gets to live or die in the trolley problem that we aren’t asking who put us in that situation in the first place.

With that,t you lock your phone and set about the task of showering and finding something to eat after your long ass day.

Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist

@soldierservant I didn't know if I was going to make more of this but since I did I figured I would tag you once and if you want to get notified when more of these drop you LMK.

[eczlipse]

( 수빈 ) ─ 5:28 pm.

summary ; choi soobin, your tutor has had a significant yearning for you for a while. during a session, you seem to keep answering his questions wrongly- leading to you needing a break. what happens once he suddenly feels his jeans tighten during the session and becomes bold with you?

pairing & warnings ; tutor!soobin, fem!reader. dryhumping, smut, fingering, unsafe (no mention of protection), p in the v…

you thought more about the question you’d been asked— “explain to me photosynthesis.” he repeated. your mind had gone blank, your tutor— soobin stared down at you. the way you tried to puzzle your thoughts together and questioned yourself. you were so clueless, so vulnerable he thought.

soobin quickly recognized your extreme confusion and spoke once more,

- do you want me to explain again?

in response, you hummed lightly waiting for him to continue. your exam had been coming up, the next morning would be d-day.

- photosynthesis is basically how plants make their food using sunlight, carbon dioxide, and water. they turn these into sugar for energy and release oxygen. it’s important because it helps plants grow and provides oxygen for us to breathe. okay?

you sighed and nodded, you felt down— why weren’t you understanding things as easily as every other student. your tutor could easily tell you’d been stressed, tense even. you’d been shaking you leg, fidgeting with your pencil. he gulped before speaking again,

- do you need a break ? we can talk about other things or, you should get a snack?

you slightly smiled at his attempts to help you. you nodded happily as you got up from your seat. walking away into your dorm room kitchen, finding only a bag of chips from days ago. you sighed and took them, at least it’s edible. what you hadn’t noticed was that, soobin had been staring you down as soon as you’d gotten up. the way your shorts slightly rode up, your hair swaying as you walked- he needed to calm himself down. before he could think more, you stopped his train of thought,

- hey, do you want anything? i only have some chips from like before yesterday. wanna share?

he pressed his lips together and nodded. you smiled at his expression as you brought yourself back to your initial seat, placing the bag of chips in between you both. at that, he dug his hands into the bag of chips taking a few.

although soobin was your tutor, he felt a significant yearn for you. he hated to admit it but, he kind of liked you. his close friends had told him prior to coming to your dorm to 'shoot his shot' and 'be bold'. that was in fact his plan tonight. he didn't specifically plan what he wanted to say, but he knew that he wanted you to know that he wanted you. at that, he stared at you intensely as you got up once more; washing your hands, and bringing yourself back to your seat. he loved your demeanour. he felt a sudden tightness in his pants— he couldn't help it anymore.

- what about i soothe you?

he blurted out, shutting his mouth quickly after spilling out such words. your head flicked over to his, 'did he really just say that?' you wondered.

- what do you mean?

you questioned. 'shit shit shit' was all he could tell himself. he needed to stay calm and collected, and more importantly ; 'seductive' as his friend yeonjun would say.

- i'll make your stress go away, yeah?

he gave you a significant look, hinting that his words meant more than they seemed. you knew what he meant and you were down for it. you couldn't help but admit that you felt things for him, while he would mansplain things to you, show you how things were done and more.

at that, you climbed onto soobin's lap straddling his thighs. he could feel the heat radiating off your body, the soft fabric of your panties brushing against the growing bulge in his pants. his hands instinctively went to your hips, gripping them tightly as you began to grind against him.

soobin let out a low groan, his hips bucking up to meet yours. The friction of your movements was driving him wild, his cock now fully hard and straining against his zipper. he slid his hands up your sides, under your shirt, his fingers splaying across the small of your back.

in a flurry of movement, soobin stood up, lifting you with him. he then, carried you over to the couch, laying you down gently on the soft cushions. he hovered over you, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of you- your chest heaving, your lips parted, your legs slightly spread.

his hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of reddened marks on your skin. he tugged at your shirt impatiently, just long enough to yank it over your head and toss it aside.

soobin paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of you lying beneath him in just your bra and panties. his gaze was intense, filled with a raw, primal desire that made your heart race. 

— you're so beautiful.

he murmured, his voice filled with want. he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. his fingers deftly unhooked your bra, tossing it away and freeing your breasts to his greedy mouth. he took one hardened nipple between his lips, suckling and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

you arched into him, a loud moan escaping your lips as jolts of pleasure shot straight to your core. your hands fisted in his hair, holding him to your breast.

suddenly soobin's hand slid down your stomach, his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. he could feel the heat emanating from your core, the damp fabric- proof of your arousal. slowly, teasingly, he pushed your panties aside, his fingers brushing against your slick folds.

you gasped, your hips bucking up off the couch as his fingers made contact with your most sensitive spot. soobin groaned, feeling your wetness coating his fingers as he began to stroke your clit in slow, deliberate circles. his other hand continued to knead and massage your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

— soobin, you panted, your voice high and needy please, i need more.

he withdrew his hand from your panties, bringing his fingers to his mouth. he licked them clean, his tongue savouring your essence. 

with that, he hooked his fingers under your panties and tugged them down your legs, tossing them away.

soobin quickly shed his clothes, revealing his lean, muscular body, his skin flushed and glistening. he then positioned himself between your spread thighs, his hard member jutting out. with a swift thrust of his hips, he buried himself deep inside your tightness, a groan tearing from his throat.

he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, burying himself in you. he set a significant pace, the couch creaking beneath you with the force of his thrusts. your breasts bounced with each powerful drive of his hips, your moans mingling with his grunts and groans.

soobin then leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue plundering and conquering, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight, rapid circles. your inner muscles began to flutter around his pounded shaft, your body tensing up the more he touched you.

then, your back began arching off the couch cushions as your climax surged through you like a tidal wave. you let a final moan, your inner walls clamping down around soobin's driving length, as you came.

with a hoarse groan, soobin slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his own peak hit. at the last second, he pulled out, his pulsing cock erupting. at that, his seed painted your stomach and breasts as he found his release, his body shuddering above you.

soobin then smirked at you before speaking once more,

— do you feel calmer now ?

[akutasoda]

* ☆ my heart's wish, a lover's gift

╰➜ wriothesley x reader

synopsis - it was, was a humble wish. but sometimes they mean the world when they come true

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, small teensy bits of angst, maybe a tad ooc, probably the most cliche thing i'll ever write, wc - 2.5k

a/n: this is my secret santa fic dedicated to the one and only, super amazing sunni @scribs-dibs which i totally didn't rewrite completely with 5 days before the deadline... ahem- hope you enjoy this sunni!! im wishing you the absolute best and more, happy holidays :)

it was always a commonly known fact that wriothesley was always quite the busy man.

he spent most of his time down in the fortress. it was his job after all. although ever since you came into his life, wriothesley did try and spend more time away from the damp depths of the fortress - but when that wasn't entirely possible you could always count on letters back to you or even taking the initiative and visiting him yourself.

even during the holidays wriothesley was still required to be at the fortress, to nobody's surprise. he didn't exactly have the most flexible schedule and definitely didn't have defined holidays or even days off. so you weren't that disappointed to find out that he wouldn't have the winter holidays off as you expected that to be the case.

although that still didn't take the sting of realisation away. even a simple walk down the streets of fontaine could be a painful reminder of how little you saw the man you cherished so. seeing most people smiling and interlocking arms with their spouses or even simply being with their friends was a reminder painful enough to bubble that bitter feeling of loneliness back to the front of your mind.

even being home didn't help very much - opening the door to you and wriothesley's shared abode just to be greeted with silence was always a cold reminder as to where your lover was most of the time, at least the fortress was livelier than the lone rooms of the abode.

you often found solace in the fact that you knew that wriothesley would rather be spending his time with you. but the simple truth was that you loved him and he loved you, so you bore the cold isolation until he returned once more as you knew it would be worth the wait.

but was it really so much of an absurd wish for him to be home a bit more?

it was christmas eve.

the final chills of winter were more evident than ever, promising a few more days of sheer cold. but your day had been its same monotonous routine. a couple of errands had been run and companions of yours had been met - namely as most would be busy the following day.

but you were running out of things to do, ways to distract yourself. a part of you wondered if you could ever get someone to give wriothesley time off, although you had simply no clue on who would even be responsible for something like that

the streets of fontaine had never looked prettier. at least it was a pleasant sight while you wallowed in your own thoughts and dejection.

“may i ask what's weighing on your mind?” the calm, rather distant, voice served to startle you and scurry your thoughts away.

you looked to find neuvillette walking closer to you until he stood beside you, a quizzical yet composed look on his face.

your gaze became slightly downcast and you shook your head in an attempt to send a silent, unspoken, signal of “don't worry about me” before you looked up at him to finally verbalise something, something unrelated to his previous question

"what brings you out here at this time? surely you're quite busy?” and your assumption would be correct, it was barely the evening and so from what you remembered, neuvillette would most likely still be occupied with some kind of work

he let a small reassuring smile grace his face before briefly explaining something about having a break and taking a moment for himself

before he stopped briefly before continuing on a rather different train of thought, “apologies i digress from my true intentions, i'm here specifically to give you a message”

now it was your turn to be confused, “me? from who and what about?”

“i'm afraid it isn't that kind of message, as they only asked for me to ask you to meet them here” neuvillette hummed as he handed you a rather scruffy note

you read it's contents and something was itching at the back of your brain, you knew that handwriting. it looked so familiar yet you couldn't place exactly who it would've belonged to - perhaps your mind was too occupied to think clearly.

a brief thank you and a bid farewell was exchanged between the both of you as you began to make your way to the location. a million and one thoughts raced through your mind as to who would've wanted to see you right now, or even simply who.

it didn't take long at all for the named destination to be reached, neither did it take long for you to start thinking it was some kind of joke as it appeared nobody was there. maybe you were early? neuvillette wasn't exactly the kind to get himself caught up in jokes or pranks.. in your eyes anyway.

you looked down to the piece of paper again, rereading those same words, the handwriting still so painfully familiar yet completely lost on you as to who the owner was.

you flipped it over to see if you missed anything but the blank space led to that idea being quickly shut down. looking up again, you scouted the area to see if anyone was in the distance at least but yet again being greeted by the streets being bathed in an eerie silence, devoid of life.

a few minutes had passed since you arrived, it was cold and the evening certainly wasn't getting any earlier, so you decided that if this person didn't show up in the next couple of minutes you would just go home and confront neuvillette tomorrow. hopefully getting him to tell you who gave him the note and told him to deliver it.

just as you sighed to yourself, you heard footsteps approaching. looking around yet again, you managed to quickly deduce just where they were coming from - mainly by the distant shadow shrouded figure that was heading in your direction.

your eyes narrowed, attempting to try and deduce who it was and you swore from the figures stature and outline that you knew who it was immediately. but it couldn't be no? he would've told you if he had finally been granted time off.

your train of thought, and even slight bewilderment, was very quickly cut off when the figure got close enough for you to start distinguishing features.

features that undoubtedly belonged to your lover, the very same who you were not expecting to see anytime soon.

it took all your strength not to practically run and throw yourself at him - and judging from the way he stopped briefly before picking up the pace, nearly breaking out into a jog, wriothesley was fighting a similar battle.

although, he was losing his. as soon as wriothesley was in a reasonable range of you, he virtually tackled you into a hug. knocking you off balance to the point you would've fallen over should he have not been holding you.

wriothesley quickly had one arm around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as his over arm worked its way up to allow him to place it over your shoulder, holding the base of your neck. at this point he was practically squishing you, but for now you couldn't care less.

you began to relax into his grip, slowly beginning to attempt to wrap your arms around his frame. it was almost as if the bitter cold of winter was long forgotten and the evening could slip away freely as for right now, all that mattered was that wriothesley was here. in your arms, embracing you after so long.

although it was only a matter of time before you started questioning why he was here. it wasnt that you didn't want him here, if anything it was the exact opposite but

it was simply the fact that you kind of expected him to not have the time to be with you anytime soon.

he pulled away first, it wasn't as if you had the option to anyway with his bear grip making it near impossible, but he brought your hands into each of his as he did so, holding them low. almost as if he couldn't believe himself that he was actually with you.

wriothesley could see your slightly confused expression and he could take quite the accurate guess as to what was the cause of your confusion. so he soon broke the air of silence between you

“you didn't really think i'd let you spend the season alone, did you?” his expression was one that was somewhere between a smug smile and genuine slight amusement that stemmed partly from his curiosity.

the obvious answer was yes.

you knew he wouldn't have done so intentionally, but it was pretty much expected that wriothesley was always more likely to be stuck deep in the depths of the fortress rather than in the comfort of your shared abode. so you hadn't expected him to be around, and even the mere thought of him having the holiday off seemed like wishful thinking on your end.

and he hadn't exactly told you otherwise at any point prior.

slowly, and slightly embarrassingly, you shook your head no and he let out a small awkward laugh

he smiled, “i don't blame you, even i only knew a couple of hours ago after i managed to fight my way into gaining these next couple days due to-”

his reasoning was soon lost to you.

rather admittedly, you couldn't actually care less about how or why he was granted a holiday and you definitely wouldn't question it in risk of jinxing him, somehow causing him to lose it and then he would end up going back to the fortress.

wriothesley quickly clocked your lack of interest in his reasoning and shook his head subtly, stopping his explanation which was losing its point by the second in honesty.

“nevermind, all that matters is that i'm here now and able to spend my time with you”

and with that, wriothesley gave you a smile, “so, how about we head home now yeah? it certainly isn't getting lighter”

you nodded.

wriothesley let go of both your hands, walking away in the direction of your shared home with you by his side. but it barely took a minute before he interlocked his fingers with yours on the side that was between you both.

he raised your hand in his slightly, “how about we stay like this for the journey? wouldn't want your hands to get cold now would we?” he smirked slightly at seeing you practically stare at him in disbelief.

all of sudden, the streets of fontaine seemed all the more brighter and livelier - despite actually having less people in them.

the lights twinkled brighter, illuminating a soft glow onto wriothesley's features as he talked to you about whatever was on his mind, namely what you both could do tomorrow with his day off.

you couldn't help but stare shamelessly at the joy evident on his face - something that was caused by the fact that he was thrilled to be able to simply spend time with you.

the walk home felt unreasonably quick, perhaps you were simply longing for more small moments like that wishing that they never ended - even if the end goal was back at home, with wriothesley by your side which only meant more time with him in retrospect.

upon opening the door, your shared abode feeling warmer and happier despite nothing actually physically being changed.

wriothesley stayed glued to your hip at all times. barely sparing you a minute to yourself but it wasn't as if you minded that much. he followed you like a lost puppy as you went about whatever you had to do, occasionally, and very regretfully, he would part from you to do his own thing before sprinting back to you.

and before you both started getting ready to turn in for the night, he turned to you, smiling softly as he brought you in for a kiss - one that held many apologies from his end but still carried the same warm feeling of affection, almost as if it was a promise.

a silent vow to you - one that pledged that no matter what, he would always hold an unmatched love for you and how he would always return to your embrace wherever it may be as that was his home.

you awoke the next morning, in your grogginess you could swear last night was a dream. some kind of wishful thinking to keep your mind occupied from a bitter reality. fortunately, it wasn't.

it would be hard to believe it was when you could feel wriothesley clinging onto you like some overgrown puppy, almost as if he was too scared to let go of you for his own fear of it being a dream as well.

but it was in fact a welcome reality, as opposed to the one you were more acquainted with of waking up to a usual half empty bed that was always stone cold to the touch.

he stirred when you did, pulling you even closer toward him, a silent plea for you to allow him to indulge in the gentle warmth that was provided by the air of laziness that was still very much present in the morning air. and who were you to reject him?

and to sweeten the deal, wriothesley began peppering your face in gentle kisses. opening his eyes ever so slightly and giving you a syrupy warm smile that was infectious - his messy bed hair making him all the more charming, evidence that this was one of the best rests he'd had in a long time.

it was this domesticity that you both craved.

the snugness of having small moments like this to give the reminder of what kept you two together. love so much more present in these times. just the two of you, in your shared house, not even doing anything, but it was more than enough.

you both could bare those bitter droughts of being away from one another if it meant that this was always what you two could return too and treasure.

truly all you could ever wish for was wriothesley back home in your arms - and he would do anything to fulfil that wish.

[jooniperbonsai]

Penalty Shot (pjm) | Part 1

Pairing: professionalhockeyplayer!jimin x minorleagueplayer!reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 22,512

Release Date: December 24, 2024

Genre: Smut, holiday romance fluff, angst, hockeyau, holidayau, comedy, slight rivals to lovers

Summary: He's the worst hockey player on the worst team in the national league, with an awful attitude to go with it. You're the best player in the local chapter, but turned down your chance to go pro. After a scandal benches him for part of the season, he recruits your help to get him ice ready by the New Year.

Warnings: mentions of threesome, Jimin is bi, probably inaccurate ideas about hockey, Jimin is an asshole, swearing, misogyny in sports, slightly homophobic comments, hometown trauma, arranged marriage, corny Christmas references, holiday party stress, mentioned death of minor characters, teen pregnancy, abortion and discussions of abortion processes, emotions, and characteristics of shame angst, misunderstandings, Y/N is a self sacrificial person, fighting and threatening violence, alcohol, sexual innuendos, omg look it's Shinee's Minho as the role of bff, mention of random kpop artists on y/ns team, groping, oral (f receiving), hand jobs, unprotected sex, creampie, rivals but not, friends but not? Who knows, Christmas is all around and the cheer is in the air idk

a/n: It's here! I mean, kind of! Here's part 1 of what has become a monster of a fanfic. I just have 1. Learned so much about hockey it's ridiculous, and I feel like I need more time with these characters. To all who celebrate, Merry Christmas. I hope everyone enjoys this fic. Be easy on me with the proofing errors. I rushed the proof a bit to get it out on time.

“That’s it, babygirl; Cum on my cock. That’s it. Fuckkk.”

��No no no, what did I say? Did I say you could ride me? No. On your knees. Mouth open. Just your mouth, not your hands. Be a good boy or you won’t get my cum. There we go. Open. I said open. Do you want my cock or not? There we go. Ah-ah, swallow. That’s a good boy.”

“Fuck, Jimin, my turn, please please please.” 

“What did I say about begging? There’s plenty to go around.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Close the damn laptop. I’ve seen enough.” 

The sharp, wet slapping sounds and deep, guttural moans echoing through the conference room cuts off as the laptop is snapped shut. As if rehearsed, all bodies in the room turn toward the subject of the scandal, expectedly awaiting a very different response from the one they’re given.

“What? Everyone has sex, it’s not new,”  Jimin says. 

“Yes, everyone has sex. But not everyone is filming a sex tape, much less an orgy, and putting it out onto the internet,” Sophia, the public relations manager says. 

“I didn’t put it on the internet. I’m not that stupid. And, it was a threesome, not an orgy.”

“Well, clearly you are stupid, if you thought attending, much less filming, your not-so-private sexual exploits wouldn’t come back to haunt you. And yet, shocker, they have, and we are swiftly becoming the top headline in every tabloid magazine on the planet. You seriously thought none of these participants would want to brag about how they bedded the bad boy of the UHL?” 

“Park, you finished off last season being one of the most famous people in the Universal Hockey League, and not in a good way. Need I remind you that we just spent the whole summer trying to implement a marketing campaign to improve sales of your jerseys since manufacturers don’t even want to make them? That after ‘Park the Park’ became a trending hashtag on every social media site, you suddenly caught attention as the ‘Hottest But Worst Player in Professional Sports’?” Coach sighs heavily into his hands, clenching his fists as if he needs to punch something. 

It’s very much the Coach way. It’s not unheard of for him to be taking swings at the punching bag during gym training days. Clearly this is how he releases steam. 

Only the problem is, the steam is channeled directly at Jimin. 

“I thought any press is considered good press.” 

Sophia snorts and rolls her eyes. “That is a load of bullshit that PR reps say to make shitheads like you feel better. But I’m not here to soothe your ego. I think it’s been stroked enough, based on what we all just saw.” She clears her throat, shaking her head. “The point is, JImin, you’ve cost this team a lot, and at this point, I can’t advise the staff enough to let you go. You’ve caused fights on the ice that almost turned lethal, you have the worst stats, and the highest lien we’ve had to take out after you damaged the rink in LA and caused them to end their season early. In any other job, you’d be fired by now.” 

Sophia scoops her laptop up off the table and places it in her bag. She stands, hastily collecting her other things. Her assistant-slash-lackey, some nameless, anxious young woman, follows suit, clattering her impressive collection of color-coded pens across the conference table. She bows in apology, shakily attempting to collect her things. No one, including Sophia, moves to help. 

“I have to go, because I need to figure out some way to spin this story now that we are receiving hundreds of requests for interviews, quotes, and extra footage.” She fake gags, as if Jimin and the debauching act on the screen is repulsive to her. “Stay off social media. Do not make a single claim unless advised by your lawyers. We are petitioning the website to take the video down. I know it’s out there forever, but I think if we act fast we can reduce views and hopefully end its virality quickly. Once I hear back from the firm I’ll send you an update.” 

The door shuts behind them slowly, but once the final click ensures that no one outside can hear what’s being discussed, Jimin turns to see the deep set frown of Coach and Assistant Coach Jay sharply aimed toward him. 

“Do you. Have. Any fucking idea. How bad this looks?” Coach’s voice is clipped, fury piercing through his staccatoed breath. Gone is the negotiator, the collected cool that he’d worn while Sophia was here. Instead is the same anger and resentment that Jimin has gotten used to experiencing in the locker room before and after every game, as well as his many meetings as of late. 

“It only looks bad because people take shit way too seriously. If this was a threesome with two women, I’m sure it wouldn’t be blowing up right now. But add a man into the mix and all the homophobes come with their torches and pitchforks. This’ll all blow over in a few weeks, or days even depending on what new scandal the tabloids decide will get the most clicks. Really, Coach, it’ll be okay.” 

A vein protrudes from Coach’s neck, and he huffs a heavy sigh. “You’re missing the point, Park. It’s bad because it’s gay or bisexual or pansexual or whatever the hell your generation is calling things now. But that’s only part of it. All those celebrity gossip pages have been reporting on you for months as is, detailing your explicit sexual appetite and partying with celebrities. You’ve built a reputation for yourself as a playboy, and they’re eating that shit up. And maybe that would all be fine and fun and you could be the next Travis Kelce of the world toting around your celebrity fuck buddies, but there’s one thing Kelce’s got that you don’t.” 

“…Taylor Swift? Whiteness? A mustache?” 

“No you dumbass, talent. Travis Kelce is good at his sport, Jimin, and you fucking suck at yours.” Jay interjects. He reaches into his padfolio, pulling out a complex spreadsheet. “We’ve pulled the totals of all the stats. In the Universal Hockey League, you have the lowest stats out of every active player. Minor players are doing better than you. A hell of a lot better.” 

Jimin reaches out and takes the page, scanning it, brows furrowed. “Okay, so I need to clean up my game a little bit. I don’t see how those two things are connected.” 

“Then let me explain it to you, son.” Coach leans back in his chair, revealing the lower portion of his suit coat, stained from the bit of pasta sauce that dribbled down during his lunch. Jimin finds himself staring at it for so long that it takes Coach three tries before his attempts at calling Jimin’s attention actually works. 

“Focus, Park.” 

“Sorry,” he responds reflexively. 

“Basically, what Sophia said in the meeting is true. I have been advised by her as the official Public Relations Director to fire you. You’ve caused significant risk in various ways. And what I didn’t tell her is that the manager of the Bells and team owner both called me this morning worrying about the integrity of the team. Your little bullshit behaviors have been adding up. Not only are you impossible to market to Bells fans, you’re untradeable and undesirable to any other team. No one wants the Scarlet A you’ve tainted the team with.” 

Jimin raises an eyebrow. He didn’t know Coach was so familiar with classic literature.

“The point is, investors are backing out. Brand deals are falling through. The capital gains of our team are dwindling because we have a shitty player with an even shittier attitude.” 

It feels like a brick has been launched at Jimin’s chest. A hot, crumpling feeling washes over him, and the very cool and collected nature he’s kept fresh this whole meeting has now taken the backseat. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, Park, but you weren’t always this way. When I scouted you and signed you onto the Bells, you were just this young kid with a dream. You loved the game more than you loved the fame. I miss that guy. That’s the one who I wanted. I wanted the fresh energy of early morning practices led by a player with eagerness and potential. And you were that for a while. 

“But all I’ve seen in the last two seasons is someone who cares about hair gel and being an A-lister for afterparties. When you’re supposed to be driving the net, you’re getting flanked. You can’t control your mouth so you start chirpin’ and hand every opposing team at least one power play, usually in the third period and leaving your team to handle the mess you created as you sit in the box.”

Heat floods Jimin’s cheeks. “Am I supposed to just let all those guys walk all over me? I’m one of the shorter players in the league, and they love to talk shit.” 

“Of course they love to talk shit when you’re such an easy target! It's a practical strategy! If you target the hothead, they’ll take themselves out of the game! They don’t even need to be good to do that!” 

“Isn’t that allegedly your strategy anyway?” Jay says, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like a very good one.” 

“Shut up, Jay,” Jimin retorts, blowing air sharply out of his nose. 

“Don’t you two get started on me now,” Coach says, snapping his fingers. Jimin refocuses his gaze. 

“So, what does that mean for me then? Am I fired? Just like that?” He folds his arms over his chest defensively.

Coach rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know, son. It depends on what you want from this.”

This shocks Jimin. Is he seriously being asked if he wants to be fired? Isn’t the answer obvious? He opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by Coach. 

“What I mean, is that now is a good time to think about your goals. Do you just want to be a celebrity or do you want to be a player? A good one, one who makes his team proud.” 

His chest twists with sadness. For nearly ten years, Jimin has been with the Bells. He’d been scouted by Coach himself at the age of 19, having just completed high school and graduating from his own league. During the try-out period, he’d been one of the best, and after a summer of ups and downs, he was offered a contract to be the rookie starter of the season.

 “I want to play. You know that. You know how much this means to me!” His voice trembles as the pain in his chest spring tears into his eyes. 

Coach gives him a sympathetic smile, nodding. “I do. At least, I used to. But now, I need you to prove it to me. To all of us. Which is why I think this break will be good for you to do so.” 

He knits his eyebrows, counting how many days of break he’ll have over the holidays. Then he nods. “Sure. It’s not much, I know, since we have a game between Christmas and the New Year, and one next week, but I’ll come to the arena every day, morning ‘til night. I’ll do explosion drills and I’ll rework my stickhandling. Shit, I’ll even do one better. I know we’ve been struggling to get the puck out of our zone, so I’ll focus on drills that shift us into neutral position. I know Zelensky was complaining about that last game and–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down kid. I’m glad to hear you’re taking this matter seriously, but it’s not going to correct itself in a matter of days. It’s going to have to be a change in attitude. You need to learn how to not let every little thing trigger you on and off the ice. That’s going to take some time. Therapy, maybe.” 

“I’ll get a therapist. Right after this, I’ll call my friend Yoongi who can recommend me to someone and…” But already they’ve moved on, Jimin’s promise hanging in the air. 

Coach opens the folder he has in front of him before digging into the pocket of his jacket to fish around for something. He produces a glasses case, and then pulls out his reading glasses, placing them on the bridge of his nose. “Let’s see here. What are you thinking, Jay?” 

Jay careens his body to glance over at the schedule Coach has unfolded and laid before them. “Well, you already know what I think.” 

Jimin and Jay haven’t always had such a sour relationship. They were friends once, before Jay was hired as the Assistant Coach. Before there was a significant power imbalance between them. Most days, they can get by without making snarky remarks. Some days, Jimin even likes the guy still. Jay is a good AC. He looks at problems with a square eye, knows usually before anyone else what strategy the opposing team is laying out. He protects and vouches for all his players in press meetings, including Jimin. But when he doesn’t have to be doing his job, Jay is ready to cut down anyone and everyone who gets in his way of going home early. 

Jimin sighs, looking around the conference room. A framed poster from the 2000 season Choice Cup championship stares back at him. It’s faded, but he can see the beaming face of his favorite player: Lee Wonhyuk. 

Wonhyuk is seen as a hockey legend, having more hat tricks than anyone in Bells’ history. Always a balanced player, he led his team to the 2000 Choice Cup Playoffs. Jimin was just a kid then, but that was what started his love for hockey. 

“Hmm, well, then I think this is going to be the only option. Park, you’re suspended until late January.”

Jimin freezes. “What?”

“Suspension. I don’t want to see you on the bench in your jersey until the 23rd.” Coach marks the calendar with a thick black marker and nods. “That’ll give you enough time to start getting your shit together and maybe we will have cleared the air from this scandal long enough to recover some of our team’s reputation.”

Coach stands, gathering his folder and heading toward the door. 

“B-but I said I was going to fix this! Did you not hear me promise I’d get a therapist?” 

“We heard you, Jimin. That doesn’t suddenly erase everything you’ve done. How can we even be sure you’ll take it seriously? It doesn’t seem like you’ve taken much of your career seriously for a while now. You’re just lucky you’re not being fired,” Jay knocks his knuckles on the table, almost like a gavel from a judge. 

“Don’t take this thing too much to heart, kid. A suspension is kind of like a break. A vacation even! Go enjoy Christmas with your folks and enjoy some eggnog. Watch one of those ridiculous Hallmark movies about the magic of Christmas making some uptight lawyer into a farm girl because of the hot ranch hand or whatever it is. Take a crash course in anger management, I don’t know. Either way, stay away from the team or else you might not be part of it for much longer.” Coach idles in the open doorway, wafting his hand for Jimin to leave. “Either way, let’s go, we need to go. Our time is up with the conference room and I gotta get home to the Mrs. to help make enough cookies to feed an army.” 

Jimin deflates, grabbing his bag and shuffling out of the building and into the mild winter air swirling around him. 

Christmas with his folks sounds like a nightmare. He hasn’t talked to them since the scandal leaked, despite the worried calls from his mother and the less-than-enthused follow-ups from his father who began calling on behalf of his mother. 

He wasn’t planning on going home for the holidays. The excuse of his work schedule would keep him away another year, and he also suspects that the invite to attend Christmas is one that has no real urgency behind it. He hasn’t been home since his first year going pro. He was just a kid then, trying to balance this new life with the one he left and heal a broken heart. He had hopped on a plane home, only to have to turn around just after the Christmas dinner was finished. The entire flight he was nauseated from overeating. 

The idea of coming home now, while being the biggest loser in the UHL just sounds like another way to rub salt in his wounds. 

He drives home, calling Yoongi and getting a number for a therapist, only to realize that they would be closed until the new year. Of course they will. He turns the key to his apartment, he can’t help but feel like the place looks completely different even though it’s exactly as he left it a handful of hours ago: blinds drawn, warm-lit sconces on his display shelves in his living room giving everything a soft glow. Everything is pristine. Jimin values tidiness and control of his home. Of his life.

Which is why standing here with nothing to guide him for the next 30 days suddenly feels paralyzing. How is he supposed to become another person in a month? He’s not allowed at the arena for practice, and god, he knows everyone will recognize him at the next closest community one, though who knows if he’ll even be allowed in after how “inappropriate” his type of fame now is. 

And it’s too warm here to skate outdoors. He checks the weather app on his phone. No snow is forecasted for the next two weeks. It’s looking to be a warm Christmas this year. Meanwhile, he knows from the location settings that his hometown he’s saved into his favorites is reporting frigid temperatures and at least a foot of snow by the end of the week. Which means the pond he spent so many winters on with his father learning the rules of hockey and practicing on will be frozen solid. A safe place to anonymously practice. 

“Fuck.” He knows what he has to do. And as the phone rings one full time before an answer, Jimin tries not to feel the heat that floods to his cheeks in humiliation. “Hi, Mom. It’s me.” 

“Okay, now drive through! Tighter, tighter! That’s it Y/N! Go! Go! GO!” 

You weave through the blur of jerseys, somehow avoiding a tripping maneuver that would have had you crashing head-first into the wall. Well, barely. Maybe you’d be easier to trip if you hadn’t calculated their positioning early enough in the quarter. 

You drive forward, just as you’re told, scanning. Where’s the weakest link in the defensive lineup? Ah, there he is. Number 55. The taller one who has already spent half of the game tailing you as if he’s an offensive player. The one that said shit on socials about your pussy being so tight because of how much you enjoyed being anal. 

As if that made any sense. Encountering an entitled, hot-headed loser in the minor leagues is about as unique as a tiny, crusty white dog being named Bella. They exist in abundance. Lucky for you, these are always the worst players on the team, and it became immediately obvious to you who was going to be your target for the rest of the game. 

As you redirect your position toward his direction, 55 seems to have plenty to say. 

“Hey Baby, why don’t you leave the big game to the big boys?” he coos, clumsily regripping his stick as he glides toward you. 

“Mm, if this is a game for the big boys, then why are you here?” you say with a smile, cutting the puck around his right skate before tapping your stick against his. It clatters to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch!” he yells, but you’re already well past him, leaving just the rookie goalie between you and the goal. 

He tightens up when he sees you barreling toward him, the puck guarded tightly behind your stick as you weave it, turning slightly to your side to make it seem like you’re going in for a slapshot on the left side of the goal post. 

Naturally, the goalie floats to the left, creating a huge gap on the right side. 

Suddenly, you pivot, shooting the puck to the right, where your teammate, Minho, has stationed himself perfectly to receive and slide the puck neatly into the net. 

Easy. As the buzzer sounds at the end of the game, you high five Minho, solidifying the hottest win streak the Griffins have had to date. The teams line up, a slur of “good games” parroting from the mouths of each team member as you go down the line tapping sticks. That is until you reach 55, whose expression has soured significantly. 

“Fuckin’ slut,” he mutters under his breath. You pause, turning to him. 

“But I thought my pussy was so tight since I’m so anal? Now I’m a slut? Wow, I really got around fast,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Leave it to the worst player on the team to have the most unoriginal, misogynistic insults. Maybe if you practiced holding your stick properly instead of trying to craft an insult, you would have one less thing to suck at. I’m sure not knowing how to handle your stick isn’t just a problem on the ice either. Yikes.” 

You feel a nudge on your back, knowing your team captain, Christopher, is bringing up the rear. 

“Easy there, Y/N, don’t make the guy pop a blood vessel when the season’s barely started,” he says and you chuckle. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t tolerate the sexist machismo you’re carting around. You’re lucky you didn’t lose some teeth this game. If I hear you chirping more bullshit on the ice next time, I’ll personally make sure you have a dentist on speed dial, we clear?” 

Christopher smiles with shiny white teeth, making his threat all the more menacing despite his usual golden retriever energy. 

55 deflates, giving you one more loathsome glare before spinning on the ice and skating away. 

“Bang, Y/N, hustle! We have a party to get to!” Your coach, Bee, curls one gloved finger in, her impatience apparent on her face as she waits at the end of the rink. 

You and Christopher shrug at each other before racing across the ice, the high of the victory still swirling in your head. 

“Oh, bullshit! You know for a fact that if given the chance he would rather be cameoing in some D list movie in LA than getting his shit together. I get that he was your idol, Chris, but times have changed.” 

Jihyo takes a swig of her beer, jabbing a tipsy finger in Christopher’s direction. 

“So he’s gotten a little big-headed with his team. It happens to the best of us. Jimin still remains a hometown hero and we should be grateful he put us on the map!” 

“What map? No one has come here to scout talent since Y/N was being considered for the UHL. I still don’t get why you turned that down. Fucking moron.” Wonpil scoffs as he bites down into his pizza, effectively silencing Christopher, and well, the rest of the room. 

“Ah yes, the awkward silence about me missing out on my once chance,” you snort, glancing around the room as the remaining members of your team devour the last of the team holiday dinner. Bee left not long after the party started, getting some phone call that appeared urgent. Slowly, your families and friends made their way home, leaving only a handful of you behind in the old bar. 

Taeyon, one of the servers you’ve known forever, smirks at you as you gather some plates together to make cleanup easier. 

“Why did you turn it down?” Soobin, the youngest and shyest member of the team asks. 

Everyone in the room turns to you. Everyone in the room besides Soobin knows why. 

“Uh, well, a lot was going on in my life at the time. I had a scholarship to go to college, but then I’d heard that some coaches were coming to scout for the UHL during the summer so I deferred the fall semester, just in case. I was up for consideration and offered a spot with the Bells, but um…I was…sick. And he only had room for one person on his team. While he’d told me I was his first pick, I don’t know, I was…sick, and the other player deserved it. He had a future in it, a need to get out of this place more than I can say I had. So I declined the offer and made plans to use my scholarship and go to school.” 

“I didn’t know you went to college,” Soobin says, eyes wide. 

“She didn’t. Finish the story, Y/N.” Minho says before shoving a tree shaped cookie into his mouth. 

You click your tongue. “Honestly. It was no big deal. It turns out my deferment voided my scholarship, so I didn’t go.” 

“So you gave up on both the major leagues and college? Who’s the other player?” 

You wince at the question, knowing the storm that Soobin has just unknowingly unleashed. 

“What do you mean who’s the other player? Who do you think? She’s talking about Park Jimin, dumbass. He’s the only pro hockey player from here.” Christopher says, delivering a light punch to the maknae. 

“Oh, right,” Soobin says, blushing in embarrassment. 

“And look at what he did. He’s fucking up his chance in this after everything Y/N went through. He knows how to rub it in.” Wonpil downs the rest of his beer. “Honestly, Y/N. If I were you, I’d want to beat that guy to a pulp for being such a loser when you were the one who was rooting for him the most, it seems. Bastard. Good thing he doesn’t come around here much.” 

“Yeah, ha, well. He’s probably off somewhere warm and sunny and not thinking about anyone but himself anyway. It’s for the best, probably.” 

“I never knew you were sick,” Minho says later that evening as you two gather the empty bottles of soju and beer and place them on the counter for the barkeeper to collect. “Bummer that was aligning at the same time that you were about to make it big.” 

“Yeah, it was. Um, hey, my mom wants to know if you’re going to the caroling party,” you say, hoping to change the subject. 

“Oh, uh, no sorry I can’t make it. I have a date.” 

“A victory and a hot date? Well, Minho, look at you! Looks like you’re growing up.” 

He rolls his eyes, chucking a wadded up napkin at you. “Shut up. She’s nice. We are going to that Thai place downtown.” 

“Well, it sounds like we need to get you out of here so you can get your ass downtown. Are you even going to be hungry? You ate like, a half a package of those cookies by yourself.” 

“I’m a growing boy! I need my calories! And yes, I’ll be fine, Mom. And I’ll remember to wear my coat and hat too.” 

“Well, good. It’s supposed to be sub zero tonight. Not the night to be outside without the proper gear.” 

You grab your purse, doing one last run of the room before you shove Minho out the door to prepare for his date.

“Fuck, I thought you said it wasn’t too cold, Mom!” Jimin climbs into the passenger seat of his mother’s car, his luggage practically owning the backseat. 

“It isn’t! It’s just a cold snap! I thought you’d be used to it from spending so much time in the cold.” She clicks the turn signal, pulling them away from the curb while Jimin fidgets with the heat settings. A thin stream of hot air puffs out of the ancient sedan. 

“I usually have tons of padding on me and am moving so much I’m sweating. That’s different from whatever tundra this is.” The heat finally kicks in. “Where’s the Kia I got you for Christmas last year? Don’t tell me you traded it in for the cash or something.” 

His mother scoffs, merging into the freeway. “No, we didn’t trade it in. It’s in the driveway. You can drive it while you’re here.” 

“Why aren’t you driving it?” Her annoyance is annoying him. 

“Because it’s too complicated. Touch screen and Bluetooth and heated seats and cameras. I don’t need that. I just need to go from one place to another place!” 

The old car roars as if it is in agreement. Jimin rolls his eyes. 

“You could have told me you wanted something simpler. I would have at least gotten you a car from this decade. This piece of junk’s falling apart.” 

“It does what I need it to. It’s fine. I didn’t ask for a car anyway.” The lights of the bigger city begin to fade. With a metropolitan city so close to where he grew up, it’s shocking how much Jimin’s mother is clinging to the outdated ideas of small town life.

The strained conversation dies out as his mother turns up the volume of the radio. As the final commercial clears the airwaves, the car is flooded with Christmas carols. 

“It’s good to have you home, my little star.” 

Jimin’s chest wrenches with guilt as he hears the term of endearment. His mother always called him that when he was a child. For a long time, he really lived up to it. Lately though…

I’m more like a fallen star. A star on its way to burning out. 

He lets the music do the talking for the remainder of the drive, and as his hometown comes into view, he’s surprised by how little has changed in the time he’s been gone. Everything is just more worn, older than it used to look. The faded sign of the main grocery store still has the same design. 

The bar where Jimin drank his first beer is still open, and he watches as two people leave through the door, a tall, handsome guy who is laughing and smiling while a woman with her hood up hits him with her purse, also laughing. 

For some reason, his stomach churns at the sight. God, what a miserable place to be stuck in. How can anyone still want to live here? How can anyone smile about the idea of being outside in that frigid air? 

He grumbles to himself and folds his arms, hoping to trap some of the heat back in his body while his mother drives confidently to the sounds of jingling bells. 

In the near decade since Jimin has last been home (he doesn’t count the quick stop-ins during longer layovers at the airport or his grandfather’s funeral), his childhood home has gone through enough renovations to disorient him but still create the same pang of nostalgia.

He goes to hang his coat up in the front hall closet and finds that there no longer is one. Instead, it’s an inset wall with a set of drawers tucked away. His parents have a new dog, Bada, who isn’t even all that new. He’s five now, a full fledged member of the family. Bada growls when Jimin walks through the door, but barely lifts his head off the couch cushion to do so before falling back asleep. 

“Are you hungry?” his mother asks as Jimin pads into the kitchen. 

“I ate on the plane,” he replies. His mother turns to him, her face twisted in disgust. 

“Ugh, that’s not food they serve on those things. It’s cardboard! Here, come sit down; I have some rice and mackerel from lunch leftover. And soup. You’re so skinny. It’s time we plump you up.” 

“I’m not skinny. I have a very specific diet and exercise regimen in order to stay light and fast on my feet while on the ice.” 

But his mother has already left to duck into the kitchen, the sounds of the rice cooker turning on making Jimin wonder if she really had leftovers at all. 

When she reappears about twenty minutes later, she comes with an entire filet of hot fish, black beans, radish kimchi, a mountain of rice, some clear broth soup, and cut up pears. 

“Eat! Eat my son!” she orders, and Jimin obeys, his full stomach betraying him over the promise of home cooked food. 

He is about to ask his mother where his father is when he hears the door open, his father bundled up tight with a dusting of snow on his coat. 

“Storm blew in earlier than I thought.” 

“Oh, honey. Come sit. Give me your coat, I'll hang it to dry.” 

With a grunt from his father, he settles next to where his mother was sitting before, casting his eyes across the table. 

“So you finally made it home to see your parents, huh? When’s the last time we saw you in person again?” 

“Uh, I think last summer. When you guys came to visit.” 

A year and a half. That was the last time they’d been partially together as a family. His brother comes home much more frequently, though this Christmas he’s in Hawaii with his girlfriend. 

Lucky bastard. 

“Well, it’s good to see you. How was the flight?” 

“Fine,” Jimin responds awkwardly. 

He and his father haven’t been close since he moved, and he’s gotten used to vague and scripted questions his father often asks. 

His father nods, slurping his soup from his bowl. 

“So did they fire you for being a porn star or is something else bringing you home.” 

His cheeks flood with heat. Of course his father would bring this up. 

“Um no, just suspended for a bit. And I'm not a porn star.” 

His father shrugs and continues eating. “Hey if it’s what you want to do I’m not here to judge. Just wondering what brought you back home after years of trying to convince you. Your mother was so happy to hear from you that she deep cleaned the house.”

A heavy weight of guilt settles in Jimin’s gut. He’s been gone for so long. And while he knows his parents will never wish for anything to be different for him and his career—well, up to this point— the fact still remains that Jimin has been distant and detached since he moved away. He looks over to the curio cabinet that has been filled with his sports memorabilia. A photo of Jimin when he was on his first team, the bulldogs, sits in the back, Jimin’s two front teeth missing as he gives a gummy smile to the camera. 

“It looks great, Eomma,” Jimin says to his mother when she returns, not even blinking an eye to the fact that his father took her spot. 

“Well, thank you. Now eat up, before it gets cold.” 

As the dinner carries on, Jimin learns that his mother has agreed to go to some neighborhood caroling event tonight. 

“Do you even know who is hosting it?” he asks when his mother fails to name anyone associated with the event besides her friend. 

“I’m sure she told me her name but I’ve forgotten. Names are hard to remember when your friend of a friend invites you. Even harder to say no.” 

“But isn’t there a storm happening?” He glances out the window, confirming the heavier sheet of snow blowing around outside. 

“Sure, but that’s no problem. It’ll make it more festive. Walking in a winter wonderland and all that.” 

“We’re already in one. There’s like, a foot of snow out there.” 

Jimin looks to his father, who has since abandoned the conversation for a sudoku puzzle. 

“Well, I need the exercise. If you’re so concerned, you can always come.” 

No. Absolutely not. The idea of caroling in a blizzard sounds like the bottom of the list of his favorite things. That’s just above dying. 

But as he watches his mother bundle up for the snow and move to grab the keys to her dying sedan, something prompts him to snag the keys for the Kia off the hook, and after a few minutes of painfully shoving his body into his former winter wear his mother kept all those years, he walks out into the snow, insisting to his mother that he drive. 

“Hot chocolate has arrived!” you sing, carrying a large steaming carton to the drove of community members who have shown up to bring “Christmas cheer to all”, as your mother has claimed. 

It’s freezing. You have heat packs shoved into just about every nook and cranny of your body. Even as you pour the warm, sweet liquid into cups to be passed around, you have to fight the urge to shiver. 

“Don’t worry, everyone! Once we get our bodies singing and moving, we’ll be warm in no time!” 

“I thought you said there would be a heat shelter we can go to!” someone says among the crowd. 

“Well, not exactly. It’ll be my house! I have my husband getting the snacks prepared now. And a warm, crackling fireplace. So let’s get this carolfest started!” Your mother beams, unfazed by the sour mood that has fallen upon the group.

With a deflated woo, the carolers set off on foot from the parking lot. 

You have been specifically instructed to wait ten minutes past start time in case anyone else shows up. But given how fast the clouds have rolled in to dump more snow on you, you don’t foresee anyone else coming. 

Still, you abide by your mother’s wishes, pulling your hood over your hat and rewrapping your scarf over your nose, hoping that will encourage less heat to escape. 

Just as your timer buzzes for you to ditch the greeter position and catch up to the crowd, you see a Kia pull into the parking lot, two people shuffling out toward you. 

“Did I miss it? Is it over?!” the woman says, panicked. 

“No, no, they just got started. They’re just down here.” You pull out your mother’s hand-drawn map she passed out to all participants at the start, and point to the one block your mother marked with a star for newcomers. “We will be able to catch up to them easily.” 

“Ah, thank you! Thank you! My son is visiting from out of town, so I was a little late.” 

“It’s no issue, really, this is a volunteer activity. I’m just glad you made it in this snowstorm. Would either of you like some hot cocoa? Or hand warmers? I have some extra.” 

“Oh, you’re so sweet. Nothing for me, really, but maybe my son would like some.” The woman pivots her body toward her son, who is still idling by the car, bundled up from head to toe and appears to be staring at you. “Jimin! Come here!” 

The second you hear the name, you freeze. 

No. There’s no way he’s here. Because he never comes home for Christmas. He’s always playing hockey around the holidays. But then you remember. He’s suspended. So where would he be able to hide and wait for his scandal to blow over. Where else could he hide but here?

Slowly, the bundle moves, shuffling his way toward you. You’re prepared for an awkward conversation, for some unenthused hey to leave his lips, but instead he says nothing, just looks at his mother. 

“What?” he asks. His voice is velvety and soft, just like you remember. Even annoyed, it’s a powerless annoyance, one without much heft to sting. 

“Hand warmers. Hot cocoa.” His mother gestures, forcing his gaze to follow her hands and over to you. 

“No thanks,” he says flatly. When his eyes meet yours, they’re empty, and something about how impersonal it is sours your stomach.

Jimin’s mother sighs before turning to you and smiling. “Is this the way we go?” she asks. You cock your head, confused. 

Before you can ask what she’s talking about, Jimin interjects. “Yes, Eomma, it’s this way. Come on. Let’s get this holiday bullshit over with.” 

His mother trudges forward and for a moment you’re too shocked to move. You stand there as the snow continues to float down onto your coat and bare hands, until Jimin speaks again. 

“Uh, hey. You comin’ or…?” 

You blink up at him, still seeing no recognition in his face, no anger, nothing. 

“Oh, uh yeah,” you say, quickly depositing the leftover hot z cocoa and maps into your car and matching your pace to Jimin’s. “So, um, how have you been?” 

You don’t risk looking at him, insteading focusing on placing your feet carefully into the snow. 

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he says, not quite answering your question. 

“Oh. Yeah, it is.” You pull a heat warmer out of your pocket. “Here, take this.” 

He eyes it for a moment, then relents, taking the heat pack from your warm palm. “Thanks.” 

The crunch of snow under you sounds loud, an occasional crack as you step on a patch of ice fills the silence. 

“So, you’re home for the holidays?” you ask lightly. 

He snorts. “Something like that. Although you’ve probably heard everything on the news already.” 

“Something like that,” you parrot, turning the corner of the parking lot to head down the side street you know the carolers will be on. Mrs. Park has outpaced the both of you, already joining the cluster of people on the far end of the block. 

“Are you home for the holidays too?” he asks and you frown, clearing your throat. 

“Oh, um, not really. I live here. Well not here, here, but in town.” 

“Right. Hm. Well…cool. And you grew up here?” 

You stop dead in your tracks, turning toward him. 

“What?” he asks, facing you. His plump lips look even more rosy in the cold, and his nose has gotten red to match. 

“Don’t do this. Don’t pretend you don’t know me.” 

His eyes flick across your face and he furrows his brow. “Why?.” 

“What do you mean why? You know damn well why.” 

He kicks at the snow under his foot. “Well, I mean we were good at pretending we didn’t know each other for so long, Y/N,” he says sharply. “So you’ll have to forgive me if that’s an old habit.”

Your heart sinks, and you shove your tongue into your cheek. “Right. Forget the fact that you were the one who initiated it. But the truth is that I do know you, Jimin. Your mom seems nice, by the way.” 

His head snaps up and he glares at you. “Are we just going to pick up on the same argument from a decade ago? I might have initiated but you’re the one who shut me out and never let me know what was going on. I think then, maybe it makes sense to say I don’t know you. And you may have read everything the tabloids have said about me, but let’s make one thing clear. You don’t know me, anymore, Y/N. You know nothing about me at all. So don’t start acting like you do.” 

His voice is cold, this time a true seething annoyance and anger leaking out of his words. 

You blow air through your lips. “Wow, yeah I guess I don’t. The Jimin I used to know wouldn’t jump down my throat the second that I ask him if he’s home for the holidays. Some hot headed macho temper you’ve got there.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Y/N.” 

He begins to stomp off toward the crowd, but clearly thinks better of it as he waits for you to catch up. 

“Temper tantrum over?” you say sarcastically, and he grumbles under his breath. “What was that?” 

“I said it wasn’t a temper tantrum. You’d be pissed too if your hockey career was pulled away from you because someone couldn’t keep shit to themselves.” 

Your mouth drops open, and while your stomach churns, all you can do is laugh, your laughter forcing you to misstep in the snow and land right on your ass, which only leads to more laughter. 

“What is wrong with you?” Jimin says, his eyes cast down on you judgingly. 

“Oof, man, I haven’t had a laugh like that in forever. A good joke coming from you of all people.” 

You pull yourself up from the snow, ignoring his outstretched hand in front of you. 

“I don’t think it’s all that funny.” 

“Yeah, well, you really should learn to lighten up,” you say, dusting the clods of snow from your legs. ”And work on that temper of yours.” 

“You sound like my coach,” he says, lifting his eyebrow. “Did he send you to watch me?” 

You squint your eyes at him. “Huh?”

“Forget it. Let’s get this shit over with so I can go dethaw in the comfort of my own home.” 

“Oh yes, heaven forbid Mr. Heatmeiser is out in the snow for any longer.”

Jimin is pretty sure that he’s a lost cause when it comes to redeeming himself as a somewhat decent person. 

He’s not sure what compelled him to lie and pretend he didn’t know you. Maybe it’s because when he stepped out of the Kia and he realized it was you, his throat dried up. Over the last decade, he’s distracted himself from thoughts about you and what happened when he left home. How much it destroyed him when you stood in front of him during one of the last days of warm weather and called it all off. 

He was so in love with you. So in love even though you were his biggest competition. Someone who had just as much of a chance at going pro as him. Maybe even more so. And while your town was too big to know everyone, but too small to not recognize people, Jimin had always known you. Had watched you on the rink practicing for your figure lessons while he waited for junior hockey practice. And how slowly your movements became less dainty and more powerful, less whimsical and more fierce as you dashed around the ice to be faster than everyone else. 

One day you were tossed into hockey with him, but as you both grew older and your bodies shaped themselves around different figures of puberty, it led to the eventual discontinuation of co-eds. 

His mother wouldn’t remember you. Because Jimin never told his strict parents that he was breaking the rules and went to your home games when his schedule allowed it in high school. That in the spring of his senior year, he finally got the guts to ask you out after he heard you’d broken up with your shitty boyfriend. That nearly every night after the first date he spent sneaking in through your bedroom window or driving you around in his car with the windows down. 

When he said he was going to practice, you always were in the parking lot waiting for him, your skates and gear ready for you two to practice drills and place bets on who could win in a shoot-out, only for him to buy you a blue raspberry slushie an hour later as you glowed from your victory, poking your stained tongue out at him to tease him. 

He loved that flavor when he tasted it on you. How many of those sweet kisses had turned hot and filthy, leading to your little whimpers and cute little sighs as he thrust into you in his back seat when everyone had left for the night? 

You told him you hadn’t told anyone you were together either. Not because your family wouldn’t understand, but because if word got out in this town, the chances of someone telling Jimin’s parents would mean the end of your relationship. It was easy, you said, to let things be private and just for you. 

Which is why the breakup felt like an unexpected death sentence when it happened. You’d both been scouted by Coach, and Jimin was certain you were going to be the one signed to the Bells. 

But then you’d both gone to a grad party for a classmate in August. And much like every other social event, you’d agreed to not be too friendly together, to not rock the boat of parental expectations or be a part of the town gossip. So you went to the party with your separate friend groups, danced around each other but never with each other. When one of the girls drunkenly stuck her tongue down Jimin’s throat, you watched without jealousy. And when Jimin begged on the walk to his car for you to forgive him, you’d laughed and said easily that there was nothing to forgive because he didn’t consent to the kiss.

But after that night, after you showered him with plenty of kisses in many places he did consent to and closed the door to his car, everything shifted. 

Suddenly, you were absent from try-outs and had texted Jimin saying you were sick. When he offered to come over, you replied that he needed to stay away for a bit. He’d tried to talk to you, but you often left his texts on read. After two weeks of pseudo ghosting, he had finally had enough.  

This wasn’t what you did. Something was clearly wrong. And after hearing that day that he’d officially been selected to contract with the Bells, he needed answers. He drove over to your house and snuck into your bedroom when your light was on. 

You were sitting on your bed, hair neat and dressed comfortably, with no signs of ailment despite what you’d said before. 

“So you’re feeling better I see. You don’t look very sick,” he said, bewildered at how normal you seemed. 

“It wasn’t that kind of sickness,” you’d replied, teeth gritted as you turned down the volume of your TV. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me?” His anger had started building, lifting the volume of his voice to above the whisper-level policy that you’d both implemented. 

“Shhh, my parents will hear you.” 

“Fuck it! Let them hear me! It’s stupid to keep this shit a secret anymore!” 

Your jaw had dropped. You had looked at him with venom. “I was only keeping it a secret for you!” 

“Why? Why then was that a secret you could keep between us but you couldn’t even tell me what’s been going on! Are you mad about the party? About that kiss?” 

By that point, both of you were talking loudly, and Jimin had heard your parents call up to ask you who was in your room. 

“Don’t worry about it!” you called back, returning to your argument. “I can’t believe you think I’m mad about that when I told you it was fine!” 

“What do you expect me to think when that’s the last time I saw you? The last time things were normal between us, Y/N?” 

“Nothing between us has ever been normal, Jimin.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re rivals. Competition for each other. You really think that this would hold up if either of us went pro? How would that work? The sore loser just carts themselves behind the other and sits on the sidelines despite their dream being crushed?”

“What? Baby, that’s crazy. Is that how you would feel if I was signed?” 

“Maybe, but maybe you’d feel that way.” 

“Y/N, I wouldn’t. I would be so happy for you. And maybe I would still have my chance too. To get signed for another team or–” 

“And then be on opposite schedules in different places? Really? You think that would work out?”

“It could! Why are you being this way? Did you fake being sick because you’ve been rotting in here thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet?” 

You shook your head. “No, I was sick but it’s whatever now. Anyway, I know you were signed today. Coach called me.” 

An early fall breeze blew through the open window, settling the heat between you. 

“I haven’t signed yet,” he said quietly.

“You will.” 

“Maybe I won’t!” 

“Oh be serious for one fucking second, Jimin. All summer you’ve talked about this. This is your dream. This has always been your dream.” 

“Yeah well that was before you! Before this.” 

“What is this?” 

“Love! I’m in love with you. I want to spend every day of my life with you, don’t you know that? Since we were kids on the ice, when you were a failed ice skater because you were too gruff. Don’t you love me?” 

Tears had welled up in your eyes, but you didn’t move from your bed. 

“You can’t give up on hockey Jimin.” 

“I’m not going to, Y/N. Now tell me, do you love me, too?” 

He sat down on the edge of your bed, looking over at you sadly. He wanted so badly to hold you, to wipe away your tears, but he knew if he moved any closer, you’d be sure to kick him out. He sat anxiously as you silently looked at him, more tears spilling forward. 

“You need to leave.”

“Then tell me you don’t love me. If you say that, I’ll climb through that window and I promise I will never bother you again.” 

“Stop it. Please, just go home.” 

“What is wrong? What happened? I don’t understand. We were fine. Please, tell me.” 

The desperation in Jimin’s voice cracked him open, tears falling down his face too. 

“It’s over, Jimin. I’m breaking up with you.” You didn’t look him in the eye as you said it. Instead your eyes were fixed on your shelf above your dresser, decorated with trophies, team photos, and medals from your years of hockey. Noticeably gone from that shelf was the stuffed purple whale he’d gotten you from an arcade that summer. 

When he looked around, that’s when he noticed every trace of him was gone from your bedroom. The little things you’d put there as symbols of your relationship like postcards he’d written love letters to you on the back of, a small picture you kept by your bedside of your reflections in the water, and the dried flowers from the field off the highway he’d picked for you the day his car stalled on your way into the city. Almost like every trace of him was gone.

“Y/N? I’m coming in.” The sound of your father opening your door pulled Jimin off your bed, wiping his tears as he turned toward the window. 

When your father saw him –and as Jimin assumed, you– he cleared his throat. “I think it’s time for you to go, son.” 

With one glance back, Jimin looked at you, pleading for you to return his gaze. And as he for the first and last time walked out of your bedroom door, you looked up at him. Your eyes were filled with an agonizing sadness. One that answered every question he asked that night. You loved him. But that somehow, didn’t mean anything. 

Now, as he stands in the deep snow looking out across the frozen pond in his parents’ backyard, Jimin can taste the memory on his tongue. Not just of you, even though since he’s gotten home from caroling with his mother he’s been obsessively replaying the memories he thought he put to rest. But he also is remembering his first time skating on the pond. 

Back then, it felt like it stretched on for miles, but back then Jimin was also about half his height and terrified the ice was too thin. Over time, he’s learned how to get a better idea of the ice’s thickness and safety, but even if he fell in, the water in the pond is only 4 feet deep. 

Carefully, he takes the shovel to the surface, trying to scrape away at the layer of snow that has caked over the ice. He knows by tomorrow the snow will just be another layer of thicker ice to reinforce itself, but he can’t wait. 

After shoveling, he returns to the bank and props himself on the old log bench his father put on the edge of the water, replacing his boots with his skates. It feels so natural and right to lace himself back into them, though the missing bulk and weight of his padding feels out of balance. Still, he pulls himself up, shuffling over to the pond and shifting his weight forward to feel it out. 

It takes a moment to get used to the rougher ice. It reminds him of the time the zamboni driver was on paternity leave and the roughed up edges from practice after practice made it harder to glide across. Yet this is the pond he first learned to skate on. He knows its bends, how to steady himself among it. And once he feels the ice glide easier under him, it feels like a giant weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

“Do you think they’ll want wreath cookies or tea cakes? Or those ones with the snowmen cutouts! Ooh, we should get those while we’re here, too, just in case.” 

Your mother has been leading you down aisle after aisle of the grocery store, nervously questioning every decision she’s made for her Christmas party. After the lackluster turnout post- caroling, she decided she wanted to try again, and for some reason has decided that the selection of cookies was the reason for low turnout, not the record-breaking snowstorm occurring during it. 

Unlike yesterday, when you were forced to carol alone, you managed to lie to Minho about needing to get a few things from the store and wanting to hear about his date, waiting until he got in the car to inform him that you would be meeting your mother at the store. 

You sigh as you turn the heavy cart around, back in the direction of the dairy section from where you just came. “They’ll be back here. I’ll go get them.” 

But her attention is focused more on the list in front of her, so you wheel the heavy load through the masses of shoppers, Minho grumbling behind you about how much he hates you. 

“Listen, now that we’re away from my mother, you can give me all the juicy details. How was the Thai food? How was downtown? Did you kiss?”

“I don’t think you deserve to know,” he pouts, pretending to stall at the discounted advent calendars.

“Look, I have stuff to tell you too, so let this be an equal exchange of tea.” 

“Y/N, I don’t want to hear about whatever some loser said to you on a dating app about hat trick record holders.” 

You arrive at the section with the pre-cut cookie dough. Minho snags two boxes and holds them up, trying to make you pick between the Rudolphs and the Christmas trees. After a second deliberating, he puts both in the cart, knowing your mother will be pleased with his decision making. 

“It’s not about dating apps. It’s about Park Ji-”

“Hi!” A bright voice chirps close by, and you jump, focusing on the source. You whirl around to see Mrs. Park waving with a tree shaped butter mold in her hands. Standing behind her at the handle of the cart is Jimin. 

“Oh, hi Mrs.Park,” you say, your voice strained. “How are you?”

Mrs. Park smiles at the question. “Good! Please tell your mom I had a fun time yesterday. Lots of good singing! Especially you. Are you a professional?” 

Minho snorts behind you, causing you to elbow him in the stomach. 

“No no. I’m really not good. I’m not a professional by any means.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, what do you do for work then? Is this your husband? He’s very handsome.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realize she’s talking about Minho. 

You try not to look at Jimin, but you do, and he still wears the same blank expression from yesterday, only his jaw is set and the tips of his ears are red. He looks back and forth between you and Minho, almost like he’s trying to imagine you two together. 

“Oh, you’re really sweet, but, no. I’m not her husband. Neither of us are married.” Minho pipes up, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back. Somehow, you know he has pieced what you were about to say together, and the comfort of his touch makes you feel a little less like running at full speed out of the store. 

Jimin’s blank expression has turned into a glare. 

You clear your throat, not only drawing his gaze up to you but also his mother’s. 

“I, um, I own the ice arena. So I am usually there, sorting out bills and repairs. Or driving the zamboni. When I have downtime I play offense in our hockey league.” 

This seems to draw Jimin’s attention. “You own the arena?” 

“Yeah, the Lee family who owned it? Both of them passed away a few years ago. None of their children wanted it, so I bought it from them about two years ago.” 

Jimin frowned. “Oh no, that’s so sad. They always gave me extra time to practice and always had those licorice laces at the food counter. Remember the time we–”

His mouth snaps shut as he realizes his mistake. His eyes flash to his mother, who is looking between the two of you. “Oh! Then you must know each other!” she says ecstatically. 

You raise your eyebrows at Jimin expectantly. What narrative is he going to choose?

“Yes, Eomma. Y/N and I went to high school together. And we saw each other a lot.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you say, quietly challenging him even now to say the whole truth. He responds with a shake of his head. His mother doesn’t notice. 

“Oh, how nice! Such a shame my son never mentioned knowing you before. He could be the one shopping with you now if he had gotten you sooner instead of your husband! But, my son was always so focused on sports. Do you know the UHL? He’s on a team there!” 

Something twinges in you at the mention of the truth. You know Jimin never mentioned you, as that was part of your arrangement. But the thing his mother says about getting you sooner really throws you. 

“She knows, Eomma. She of all people will know about the UHL. She had tried out during the same trials as me.” 

“Is that so? Well, a pity that he beat you then. He’s always been so talented. I guess fate really made things work out for both of you then.” 

You find yourself folding your lips into a thin line, trying to avoid spilling the details about her son’s talent. But just as you wrap your hands around the cart rails until your knuckles pop, you feel MInho reach over you, loosening the cart from your grasp. 

“Hey, uh, you know, your mom is probably looking for us,” he says, introducing the bait that you can take to escape the increasingly painful conversation. 

As if summoned, your mother appears, rambling on about how long it has taken before she recognizes who is standing in front of her.

“Oh, well hello there! It’s great to see you again. Thank you for attending yesterday, it was wonderful having you. Too bad you missed the post-caroling cookies!” 

You sigh, knowing that your mother is sounding passive aggressive to anyone within earshot. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry we couldn’t attend. My son had just flown in earlier in the day, so we went home after so he could rest.” 

Your mother’s smile falls a little, no doubt from the guilt. 

“Of course! Well, no harm done. In fact, I’m having a soirée on Christmas Eve, and you should attend! Bring the whole family!” 

You glance back at Minho, whose mouth is pursed to hold back a laugh, much like yours. A soirée. Sure.

“I don’t know Eomma, we still have–” 

“It sounds amazing!” Mrs. Park interrupts, shooting a harsh look at her son. “We would love to attend, thank you.” 

“Perfect, I’ll email you the details then. Well, we should get going. These cookies won’t bake themselves!” 

As you peel yourself away from the Parks, you take a deep breath. 

“Well,” Minho says, “I don’t think I need to hear your story anymore.” 

“Well, there’s something more I need to tell you, but not here.” 

When you first met Jimin, you were seven, though you don’t remember him. While he once claimed he’s known you for forever, it wasn’t until you were both teenagers before you actually remembered him. 

In high school, you’d laid low, avoiding just about every social event that you possibly could. Your focus was on academics and the ice, with 5am wake times to get to the arena to practice, and late nights doing extra cram school sessions to keep your grades in shape despite your busy schedule. You had friends, but they were ones who lived in different cities, most of them commuting to your traveling team. Because co-ed hockey wasn’t an option and your high school had only invested in boys’ leagues, Park Jimin wasn’t someone on your radar. 

Until you’d learned that you were on his. 

It started in the early spring. Rumor had it that major league coaches were scouting for new recruits. Of all genders. There was a special trial process, and the trials would happen during the summer, with a potential for newly contracted players to begin their rookie season as soon as the fall. 

You’d tried not to get too excited. With an early decision college acceptance under your belt, your future was already looking bright. There was even an athletic scholarship attached. You could play on the women's team. But the potential of playing for the UHL, to be scouted and live out your dream to play hockey professionally was still filling your stomach with butterflies. 

So you kept yourself chill until the rumor became official, and marched into the arena you knew so well with your head high, ready to take on the other recruits. 

It was then that you and Jimin officially met. 

He was a bit scrawny looking then, his mop of black hair almost shadowing his face. It was hard to believe that this kid was the one you knew to be the MVP of the boy’s hockey team at your school. 

But once you saw him move, you understood why. Jimin had the form and movement almost of a dancer, with his build keeping him strong but light on his feet to race forward and snake around even the most complex of defense measures. He instinctively knew how to bend his body and stick away from a targeted maneuver, and cut swiftly enough to throw off the goalie and score. He would have made a great figure skater. 

You, however, were different. From the start, the grace of figure skating wasn’t with you, with your skates sloppily digging into the ice so you could chase after the object of your affection. A little brutish, you were also cunning, and the strategy of hockey and the game board that laid before you made it all the more satisfying. Your patience and ability to unfold a game play before it fully manifested often led to your team’s win. 

It also made playing against Jimin all the more intriguing. 

Because during each scrimmage, shoot-out, and obstacle you faced for the try-outs, Jimin was often neck-in-neck with you, somehow knowing your own plan of attack, and sliding the puck out of your hold as if he was plucking a feather from a pillow. It appeared so effortless, like he’d studied you for so long and knew your every movement. When he would shrug and give you an angelic smile during his wins over you, it made you all the more angry. 

One day after a scrimmage, you were stressed and hormonal and pissed. Some of the other players had gotten under your skin, shit-talking you for being the only woman on the team. 

“You sure you aren’t on some steroids or some shit? Performance enhancement can happen to everyone.” 

“I’m sure your daddy taught you quite a bit when you played on your little ponds, sweetheart. But this is the big leagues. There’s guys out there three times your size who will ruin that pretty little face.” 

“Are you sure you’re cut out for this? The position of Puck Bunny is open. If you want to experience hockey with the pros, might as well be safely bouncing on my cock to do so.” 

The sexism was rampant in hockey, and you knew it. But that was a day where it was too much. With graduation on the near horizon, just breaking up with your boyfriend, and the scouting day schedule being released soon, your nerves were as tired as your body. 

When Jimin found you crying in your car outside of the arena, he’d gently knocked on your window, a light smile warming his face as he held up a protein shake and a Kit Kat. 

You’d let him in, and from there, your whole world shifted. 

The days grew longer, the sun warming parts of your life you’d forgotten winter took away. Jimin was there to listen, to sit and strategize plays with you, to eat Subway sandwiches after practice and walk you to your car after school. 

“Hey, so, there’s this movie coming out. It’s a documentary, actually, about my favorite player, Lee Wonhyuk? Would you, uh, like to see it with me?” 

You knew that was his favorite player. He mentioned Wonhyuk nearly every day, and wore his jersey when he wasn’t in his own padding. You also had learned other things about Jimin during this time, like how the tips of his ears would turn red when he was embarrassed, and that his parents had a no dating policy because he was supposed to have an arranged marriage some day. He dreamed of leaving the town you both grew up in, wanting more for himself and hoping the distance from his family would allow for him to be more himself than simply fulfilling the dreams of his parents. 

He wanted it so badly he repeated it like a mantra to you often, it sometimes sounding like a plea to the heavens as tears fell from his eyes. 

He had a tooth that was a little crooked, and sometimes when he was tired, his voice would lisp a little. When he laughed, it was often with his full body, a cute giggle that scrunched up his face and folded him nearly in half with joy. He was allergic to cats but loved them. He had a brother. He learned to skate on the pond in his backyard. 

But he never bragged. Never let his anger get him on the ice. Was respectful to you and held open doors or carried your equipment bag when your shoulder hurt. 

So of course you said yes to the date. Of course you let him tuck your hair behind your ear and kiss you in the warm night, his breathy finally he sighed when your lips broke apart ensuring you’d made the right call about him. 

“So you were seeing each other in secret,” Minho says, drinking his Americano smoothly, like it isn’t a pile of caffeinated sludge. 

“Yes,” you respond, the cinnamon on top of your gingerbread latte making you cough slightly. 

The café’s window is foggy, but you can still make out the figures of bustling shoppers. For the sake of discretion, you agreed to Minho’s suggestion to go into the big city for “decent coffee and the ability to be strangers in a larger public”. 

He was right. Everyone is either deep in their own discussions or blocking out the world with headphones as they work on their laptops. The soft jazz Christmas music makes it feel safer to speak your secrets into the air. 

“Well, then what happened? What led to you breaking up? It sounds like you two were in love.” 

“We were…I think” you say, correcting yourself immediately after. 

“You think?” 

“Can you be in love when you’re nineteen?” 

“Uh, yes? Nineteen is young, but have you seen the teens these days? I think they have emotional maturity.” 

“Well, I didn’t, I guess. Because that summer was so intense. We graduated, but we were already together. And then we were hanging out with our own friend groups and trying to balance things. But we saw each other just about every day. And then it was almost like an obsession. We were unable to go a singular day without each other. He would sneak into my room to be with me at night and then leave before either of us had to get up to go to practice. We didn’t want to get caught, so we would makeout behind the movie theater in his car or drive to a more secluded part of the woods so we could…you know.” 

“Have sex? Come on, Y/N, don’t get all shy on me now when I know you were eating up the details about me taking my date the other night and eating her out while she–” 

“Shh!” You look around, but if anything, your shushing is the thing that drew attention. 

“You’re such a prude,” Minho laughs. “Anyway, go on. So you would sneak around, make love, and spend every hour with each other possible. Sounds like you were being nineteen.” 

“Well, it was intense. And once the coaches came it was rigorous and terrifying. Jimin was getting better and stronger, but I was constantly getting slower and I felt weaker. At first I thought I was just tired, like I’d overworked myself, but then I was getting more anxious and nauseous. So I just assumed that it was nerves. But I was playing pretty good and I was drawing attention from the coaches in a great way. Well, one in particular. The coach for the Bells. He was the only one who seemed to be interested in signing a woman.” 

“Well, yeah, because we live in a hellish and misogynistic society and you kick ass!” Minho says enthusiastically, pounding his hand onto the table. 

A woman carrying her tiny Pomerainian in her purse whips her head over. “Do you mind? Snowball is trying to get her beauty sleep.” 

“Sorry,” you both say in unison. 

“Anyway, yeah, I was so excited about the opportunity. And so was Jimin. He kept going on and on about playing on the same team as his idol. But Coach approached me one day after practice and told me that despite there being another three weeks in the trial period, he’d already made his decision. He wanted to sign me on for the fall season. And he would see through the process to be fair, but he had already contacted the legal team to begin drawing up my contract.

“And I had to keep it a secret. While it’s kind of known that coaches do this, they usually keep it to themselves. But Coach said that he hadn’t seen the strategy his team needed in their play execution for quite some time and I would be a huge asset to the team. I’d asked about Jimin, too, out of curiosity but he kind of skirted around the details, saying that there would only be one recruit for the team from this area.” 

“Oh my god, that’s incredible! So why didn’t you go through with it? What did Jimin say when you told him?” 

“I didn’t,” you shake your head, fiddling with the cupsleeve of your latte. “I couldn’t. Not only was I sworn to secrecy basically, but how was I supposed to tell the person who adored the Bells that he wasn’t going to play for them? How could I crush his dreams like that? He needed this. Not only because he wanted it, but he was good at it. As much as I hated to admit my shitty opponents were right, I physically was going to be one third of the size of my competitors sometimes and there is a danger in hockey.” 

“Okay, but it’s not like Jimin is some massive dude.” 

“No, but you’ve seen how graceful he is. He slips out of the hold of the other team fairly easily. I’ve only seen him get body checked recently, when he got whatever that temper is he now is known for. He wasn’t like that at all when we were younger.” 

“Did he find out? Is that how things ended?” 

You shook your head. “I never told Jimin about this meeting. Maybe he knows now and that’s why he’s always pissed whenever he sees me, I don’t know. But there’s multiple reasons why I didn’t sign on, and yes there’s that part I just told you about, but there was more to it than that.” 

Minho sips his coffee, gesturing for you to continue. 

“So, as the week went on, my stomach was hurting more and more. And with all the stress and nerves but all the crazy workouts, I’d been skipping my period for a few months. Jimin and I had been safe for the most part, but not always. Sometimes we were too hot and heavy and we’d do the pull-out method instead. But I didn’t ever make the connection. A lot of the time, female athletes who are super physically conditioned have lighter or missed periods. It had happened before, but that was before I was sexually active. Stress, too, can sometimes make you miss periods. So one night Jimin and I went out to this party. Nothing really important happened but some girl threw herself at Jimin and he was worried I’d be upset. I wasn’t, but all-too conveniently I was super sick the next day. I missed practice. And that’s when I started putting the dots together and bought a test that was clearly positive.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N. What?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking a deeper sip of your drink. “Pregnant. And for a little while actually. When I got into the clinic and they took the blood tests and ultrasound, they suspected I was about 8 weeks along. Which means I had been drinking, getting body checked, and all sorts of shit during that time. But, they said it was still viable.” 

“Did you want it to be viable? I mean, how did you feel? Scared, I can imagine.” 

Your lips curve into a soft smile. “I don’t think I really gave myself much time to decide how I felt besides that I was terrified and that this was happening at the worst possible time. I asked for an abortion right then and there. So they sent me home with the pills, and I just waited. It takes a few days, and god, honestly it was awful to experience alone. I didn’t tell anyone, because if I told my parents I was afraid they would ask whose it was, and I didn’t want that to get back to Jimin’s parents. So, I just spent about a week at home, saying I had a really heavy period this time, experiencing heavy cramps and crying and letting it pass. The following week I had to go back in and make sure it worked, but in that time I just laid low and didn’t talk to anyone. 

“My parents didn’t suspect much, but Jimin was freaking out, thinking I had some infectious disease and threatening to come over every five minutes with soup or a Hazmat suit. I didn’t want him to be there, though. If he knew I was pregnant, I knew it would throw him off. He’d be worried about me even more and start thinking about us having babies together and getting old and staying in this town.” 

“I can understand why you didn’t tell him, I do. But I do wonder what’s so wrong about letting him think about those things too.” Minho reaches his hand out gently, stroking his fingers on the back of your hand. “I’m not saying what you did is wrong in any way, Y/N. It’s your body and always your choice matters the most. But based on how you described him to me before, do you think he would have thrown it all away or tried to make you keep the baby? Do you think that your decision and his wouldn’t be aligned in that way?” 

You think for a minute. “No, I think he would have been on my side. He was really adamant on letting me be independent and pursuing what was best for myself. I just couldn't give him the option at the time. I was too focused on making sure things went right for him.” 

Minho smiles softly and nods. “I just hate that you went through that alone.” 

“I do too. But I’m glad I can finally talk about it. I did end up telling my parents, about a year or so later, that I had an abortion. I didn’t say whose it was, but my mom cried for like three days because she was so sad for me that I went through it alone.” 

“Is that why you turned down the offer, then? Were you okay after?” Minho furrows his brow with concern. 

“Oh, I was fine after about two weeks. I felt completely back to normal. And it wasn’t really that reason that I turned the offer down. I mean, it was a part of it, obviously, but mostly when I was having the abortion and was alone at home I was thinking about how fucked up life is. I was a normal teenager and then shit I was pregnant. I was in love with someone but oh god we were almost parents. We were breaking rules despite being adults. We were living in secret and baby or no baby, life was going to change for us and soon. If I was signed to the Bells, I would be leaving home, but what about Jimin? Would he come with me, stay back? Would he get other offers and we’d play on opposing teams? If I said no and he said yes, would he seriously be okay coming back and seeing me or trying to figure things out while I was away at school? 

“Keep in mind, at that time, I didn’t realize my deferment was me rescinding my scholarship. I just suddenly felt like the world was so, so big and the tiny, romantic solitude we’d coveted was not going to work out. So I made up my mind. I turned down the offer for the Bells. I told Coach the world wasn’t ready for a woman in professional hockey and told him about Jimin and his drive and passion and dreams. I told him to sign him instead. Or at least I hoped I told him. I was really laying it on thick,” you laugh. 

“And then you broke things off with Jimin,” Minho finishes. You frown softly. 

“Yeah. And it was awful. He begged me not to. He didn’t know where all this was coming from. He told me he’d only leave if I told him I didn’t love him, but I couldn’t do that. Eventually my dad busted into my room and sent him away. And that was it. That was the last time we talked or saw each other.” 

“Until now.” 

“Until now,” you confirm. 

‘Well fuck, Y/N, that’s one hell of a story.”

“I’ll say.” 

Your head pivots to the Pomeranian lady, who is turned toward you and Minho, sipping her coffee indulgently. 

“You were eavesdropping that entire time?” you ask. 

“Well, it’s not like you were being discreet. Either way, honey, these kinds of places absorb everyone’s biggest secrets. That’s what makes the coffee so good.” 

When Minho dropped you off at your house, you felt like a huge weight had been lifted off your chest. After years of holding onto something that wasn’t necessarily shameful but still heavy, someone else knowing the full story was relieving. 

However, one question he asked before leaving has been popping around in your head, taking up a residence that you weren’t quite expecting, even as you unlock the doors to the ice arena the next morning.

“Are you going to tell him?” 

Had Jimin not been only mere miles away from you at this very moment, you would say no. There’s no point in bringing up the past if it’s never around to haunt you. But it seems like Jimin is determined to make your small town feel even smaller. 

When he walks through the doors behind Bee, you can’t help but feel like you manifested him. 

“So, Y/N, here’s the deal.” Bee always tells you news this way. A deal, a situation. This is her way of telling you she’s made a decision and you’re probably not going to like it.

“I got a call the other day from the Head Coach of the Bells. I don’t know how, probably Jay gave it to him since he’s the AC but whatever.” Bee suddenly admitting that her long distance boyfriend, Jay–the Jay she has baby talked to multiple times after a game loss– is the Assistant Coach for the Bells is shocking. But not as shocking as what next comes out of her mouth. “He wants us to rehab Park. Drill him, get him back to his roots and all that shit. He’s hoping some time on a familiar rink will help him shape up. So starting today, he’s going to be training with you.” 

You blink silently at Bee, wishing you could communicate “I want to strangle you” through the pattern. 

“What?” Jimin says incredulously. “I thought I was just going to be training with the space, not with her specifically.” 

Bee cocks her head at Jimin. “You got a problem training with women, Park? Because if so, I would be happy to call Jay and let him know you’re not complying.” She smiles viciously. 

Jimin sighs in resignation. “No, ma’am.” 

“Bee,” you say. “That’s not fair. If he doesn’t want to train with us, he doesn’t have to. I have some opening slots since the junior teams and figure skating lessons are on hold until after the new year. He can just come do drills during those times if he wants to.” 

Bee flicks her gaze between you and Jimin, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with you, Y/N? You’ve never disagreed with my plans before. Are you guys ex lovers or something?” 

You suck in a breath, ready to deny the accusation, but Jimin beats you to it. 

“Yeah, actually. We dated in high school.” He says it calmly, with no malice or venom. It actually shocks you a bit. 

“Oh. Well...do you think you two can make it through the holidays without killing each other?” 

Jimin laughs lightly. “I don’t know, you’ve seen her slapshots. I think you know how lethal she can be.” 

Bee smirks, nodding. “Fair.” 

You knit your brows together. Jimin making light jokes to Bee? What reality do you live in? 

“So, Y/N? Can you not enact Kill Jimin at this time?” 

Despite yourself, you find yourself smiling, allowing a light laugh to fall from your lips. 

“Yes, I promise I won’t kill Jimin.” 

Practicing with you feels like a weird dream Jimin is walking through. Familiar because the arena looks about the exact same as it did back when you were teenagers. Only now, you are both older, and when Jimin gets a good look at you without a giant winter parka over your body, he can’t help but notice how good you look. 

Your body has filled in, with wider hips and strong legs that lunge forward with ease, carrying you as you slam the puck into the goal post, chiming in the air before it pivots in. Your ass has gotten bigger, too, and it looks perfect in your leggings you’ve chosen to wear for practice. He can’t see much of your arms due to the bulky hoodie you’ve chosen, but he can tell by the way you bodycheck one of your teammates that they are far from weak. 

It’s almost enough to get him hard. Until he hears you laugh, and then he remembers how long it’s been since he’s experienced your laughter, and the empty ache of his past drags his sulky mood back up. 

Being home sucks. Seeing his parents is great, but he’s been coddled since he got here, being sent off with homemade lunches from his mother and warnings from his father not to stay out too late. He’s almost thirty and he feels sixteen. This morning his mother woke up even before him just so she could corner him in the kitchen and ask if he’d reviewed any of the potential matches she sent him so he can also go on a date while he’s home. 

He’d said not yet, but what he wanted to say was “No, Eomma, because marriage couldn’t be the furthest thing from my mind right now when my career is dying in front of me.” 

Now, witnessing you be still so much of yourself after nearly ten years, Jimin can’t help but feel even worse about himself. 

“Park, you’re up.” Coach Bee whistles for Jimin to begin his drill, handling the puck quicking between a set of cones. It’s a familiar drill he’s done hundreds of times with the UHL, but this time there’s a twist: he must avoid the agitator, a player who will skate behind him tightly, not only trying to intercept the puck, but also piss him off. 

Naturally, you’re the agitator. 

“Before we do this, no low blows,” he says as you glide up to him. “Treat me with the same knowledge any other player would have. Nothing too personal.” 

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t going to, but sure,” you say softly. 

When Coach Bee blows her whistle, he begins, curving his body along the cones, with you right behind him. 

“Pussy,” you say, which catches Jimin off guard immediately, throwing him into a laughing fit and knocking a bunch of cones down.” 

Coach blows her whistle. “Reset! Come on Park, Y/N, be serious.” 

“I am being serious!” you shout back, but Jimin is still laughing hard. 

“Oh come on! Pussy? You’re kidding me!” Jimin wheezes. Your lips twitch. 

“Okay, fine, I haven’t gone into my zone yet. Give me a break.” 

“I know you can be mean,” he says. Your face falls. 

“I don’t want to be mean.” 

“Well that’s your job right now isn’t it? To agitate me? So just suck it up and do it. Or are you a pussy?” He raises an eyebrow. You clench your jaw. 

This is how he knows he’s got you. All it ever used to take was a little bit of a challenge to rile you up. And Jimin knows just what buttons to push. 

“Reset your shit and let’s go,” you say. 

He smirks. 

This time when Coach Bee blows her whistle, you’re practically on top of Jimin, careening your body so your stick is just millimeters away from his. 

“You know, you used to be hard to crack. What’s wrong? All that fame get to your head? Or was it the fake orgasms you gave that girl in your little sex tape?” 

“Oh, baby, you of all people should know those orgasms were real.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. You were going awfully hard on the poor girl with your needle dicking. Does being shitty at hockey now amount to being shitty at sex these days?” You smack his hockey stick, causing it to rattle uneasily in Jimin’s grasp. 

He chokes up on the handle, reshaping the curve of his arm so the puck tucks behind the stick when you go in for another slap. 

“Aw you’re asking about sex? Has no one fucked you since me or are you just having awful sex?” he retorts. You scoff. With a twist, Jimin begins the second set of cones, this time with a more fluid movement that feels natural to his body. 

“So interested in my pussy, aren’t you. If you were maybe more attentive to the other people you fuck, you wouldn’t be the worst player in the major league.” 

“As opposed to what? The best player in the minor league? I’m not the one stuck at home.” 

He feels your skate sliding between his legs, the force of your body checking, almost knocking him to the ground. He steadies, glaring at you as you coast behind him gracefully. 

“Oops, sorry. Did I almost trip you?” 

“You always played dirty,” he spits. “Come on, babygirl, give me your worst.” 

You roll your eyes and fall into position as he passes the puck back and forth between his stick. 

“Being awfully quiet back there. What’s wrong, big boys got your ego down?” 

“Hardly. I think you’ve got enough ego for the whole fucking town.” 

“And how did I get it, hmm? It didn’t come from sucking, Y/N, it came from talent. Something you didn’t try hard enough for.” 

“And you did? I’m sure Coach really loves to tell you all about your talent.” 

“He does, he said I had drive and passion and that’s why I needed to come back here. To show how far I’ve come from this shithole. How skilled I am and how much I deserve to be there instead of here.” 

“Well lucky for you to have been the top contender.” Your voice drips with anger, and Jimin peers back to see your eyes piercing through him. You drop your stick, shifting to Coach Bee. 

“Bee, I’m done. Send in someone else to agitate.” You skate off the ice, whispering angrily to her as you jab your finger in Jimin’s direction. She nods, blowing her whistle. 

“Alright, reset! Let’s get this show on the road. Wonpil, you’re with Jimin. Minho, go take goalie position. Hustle! It’s Christmas Eve, we all want to get home!” 

Everyone resets, and the player named Wonpil pulls up behind Jimin. As the fellow players begin their drills, Wonpil immediately jumps in where you left off. 

“God, I can’t believe they let an asshole like you in here,” he says, leering over Jimin’s shoulder. 

Jimin snorts, focusing on his positioning. 

“Seriously, you’re the scum of the entire UHL and you really think you’re the shit? Embarrassing.” 

“Well, at least I have a contract. How's a dinky rink going for you, bud?” 

“You know you only have that contract because Y/N turned it down, right?” 

Jimin grips his stick harder. “Nice lie, you almost got me with it.”

Wonpil laughs, empty and cruel. “Oh you don’t know do you? Your coach scouted her for the Bells. She only turned it down because she was sick and felt bad for you.” 

“You’re lying,” Jimin said, teeth gritting. 

“Sure I am. Keep telling yourself that. But facts are facts, Jimin. You playing like a piece of shit is a disgrace to not just yourself, but everything she built for you too.” 

“Stop. Lying.” Heat flares through Jimin’s body, and he pivots on the ice, slamming his body into Wonpil. 

“Oh, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Wonpil says, teeth sharp as he smiles at Jimin. “Someone really needs to put you in your place, and I’m more than happy to do it.” 

Jimin grabs Wonpil’s shoulders, jerking him into the barrier. “Go for it, bud. Show me how cool you think you are.” 

Wonpil jerks his arm up to bring his elbow down onto Jimin's face, but something stops him. A hand squeezes his forearm, and as Jimin follows the limb, he sees you.

“Stop it, Wonpil. That’s enough.” Your voice is soft but ragged, and Jimin realizes you’ve been crying.

Somewhere in the background, the whistle is screaming through the arena, and the entire team of the Griffins are streaming forward to break up the fight. But it’s your touch, your voice that seems to break Jimin from his fury. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, but the question confuses you, and you stand there staring at him, your body only looped through one arm of the hoodie, your skates untied. 

You don’t answer, instead skating back off the rink, grabbing your equipment bag and disappearing behind a door marked for employees. 

Jimin doesn’t see you until closing time. While practice ended hours ago, he stayed, doing drills, eating a hot dog from concessions, and most of all, waiting for you. 

Your hair is messy, eyes puffy and red, but when your eyes land on Jimin, you don’t look fazed by his presence. 

“I saw you on the security camera,” you say softly. 

“Ah,” he responds. Your arms are crossed, the long sleeves of your shirt confirming the muscle definition he suspected before. 

“I assume you wanted to talk to me?” you ask. 

Jimin clears his throat, nodding awkwardly. “Um, yeah. Your teammate, Wonpil. What’s his deal?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Does he have it out for me or something?” 

You shrug. “I’m not sure what you mean. Besides you trying to beat the shit out of him. Did something happen?” 

“Well, I didn’t try to beat the shit out of him for nothing. The guy has a screw loose or something. He was saying all sorts of shit.” 

“Didn’t you tell me that this is what the agitator does? Of course he’s going to say shit. Come on, follow me. I need to lock up.” You lead him through the various lobbies and areas around the arena, checking bathrooms and corners for anyone who might be loitering. Jimin saw the last people leave about an hour ago, but he doesn’t say so. 

“Yeah, but this was crazy stuff.” You duck your head into the women’s bathroom. 

“Mhm.” 

“He said that the only reason I’m contracted with the Bells is because you turned it down. Isn’t that nuts?” 

You freeze, your hand on the key that turns off the lights to the south side of the arena. 

“Oh.”

Jimin watches you. Your voice sounds shaken, and when you turn to him, you don’t meet his gaze. 

“Y/N,” Jimin says. 

“Yeah.” 

“Look at me.” You obey. “Is that true? Did you get a contract for the Bells?” 

“I did,” you say. 

Jimin’s chest clenches but he forces a deep breath through it anyway. 

“And did you turn it down so I could go?” 

“Yes,” you say. Tears well up in your eyes. Jimin blinks in disbelief. 

“Why? Why the fuck would you do that? It was your dream and you just threw it away!” Anger pulses through him again, making him flushed and hot. “Why didn’t you tell me? What the fuck, Y/N?” 

“You wanted it more than I did, Jimin! You needed it more than me. What was I supposed to do? Leave you behind?”

“You were supposed to tell me! You were supposed to be honest so I could figure things out for myself! If I wasn’t the first pick, I deserved to know! Now I know I was the pity pick? All this time I was thinking I was chosen because I was wanted, but I wasn’t even good enough for that?” 

He rubs his eyes with his hands, trying to stamp out the burning he feels in them. Despite himself, his throat tightens, and the hot lick of tears begins to fall in mirror to your face. 

“Of course you were good enough! Why else would you have been contracted! He saw in you what I saw!” you yell, a ragged cry leaving your chest. 

“So that’s why you dumped me all those years ago? Was it guilt for what you did?”

“No! No, it was because I couldn’t be the one dragging you down, Jimin. You spent that whole summer telling me how badly you needed to escape. You talked about your dreams, everything. If I went and played for the Bells, would you have been happy for me? Would you have been okay with letting your dream go?” 

“Of course I wouldn’t Y/N! Because you were my dream. You never seemed to get that! All along you were playing with my future like I was your puppet on strings. Did I live up to your expectations? Hm? Is watching me fuck strangers in a threesome that has since ruined my life been a dream for you? Has watching me become the loser that I am been satisfying for your sick idea of reality?” 

“No, it isn’t. It’s been sad, Jimin. It has been absolutely awful to watch! And keep in mind, there’s no way for me to be a puppeteer if I’m not around to pull the strings. You became who you are now by your own hand. Not mine. Yeah, it was wrong of me not to tell you, I know that now. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you. But I’m not responsible for your career failing. That’s all you.” 

You turn the key to the set of lights, shutting the arena down into darkness. 

“Now, excuse me. I have a Christmas Eve party to get to.”

You manage to get the swelling of your eyelids to go down with some cold spoons your mother shoves into the freezer when she sees you arrive at the party. 

You know you’ll have to face Jimin again tonight, but some resolve has washed over you in the time since you left the arena earlier this afternoon. You’ve had time for a shower, and thrown on some makeup so no one can ask you why you’ve been crying. 

With Minho here, things are feeling a little less stifling, as he instinctively knows how to assemble a killer charcuterie board while also wearing a dashing smile on his face when your aunts ask him if he’s single. He’s good for the distraction, giving you more time to mentally prepare for when Jimin walks through the door with his parents, wearing a white button-up shirt and open suitcoat. 

He looks good. Put together, unlike earlier when he and you were crying and screaming at each other. Composed in only the way a celebrity with PR training could. 

“Oh, hello Y/N!” his mother says as you greet them at the door, taking her pea coat into your hands. 

“Hello, thank you for coming. My mom will be happy you’re here.” 

“Thank you, dear. It’s our pleasure to be here. Jimin, help Y/N with our coats while we go put the tapenade on the table.” 

Mechanically, he obliges, taking his and his father’s snow-dusted coats and following you to the spare bedroom down the hall that has become the coat room. 

“You look nice,” he says, nodding in your direction. You chose to wear a sparkly black dress with shooting stars on it. It was one of the few things in your closet you could deem festive enough without being tacky. The only downside is that it’s shrunk in the wash, making your breasts spill over and your ass practically falls out the back when it rides up. 

“Thank you,” you say, trying not to notice too much that his eyes are glued to your chest. You feel a light jolt of warmth in your stomach. “You do too.” 

Jimin flushes, looking down shyly. “Thanks.” 

Without much effort, you turn toward the door, falling back into the warmth of the party. Your mother clinks her glass, drawing the attention of others. 

“Thank you all for attending this party at the last minute,” your mother beams, clearly pleased with the turnout. 

“That being said, we have lots of games at the ready, song sheets with lyrics, and plenty of eggnog and mistletoe to help you feel some holiday cheer.” She looks at you and winks. “So, enjoy! And cheers!” 

The partygoers cheer, and some swingy, festive rendition of “Deck the Halls” kicks on. You retreat to the designated bar table, where Minho is pouring a heavy glass of something. 

“What’s ailing you?” he asks. 

“Jimin,” you scoff, gesturing for him to pour you a shot of vodka. He goes to top it with cranberry juice, but you shake your head. 

“You sure you want to get wasted?” 

“Absolutely. I can’t imagine getting through any of this sober,” you grimace. Minho laughs. 

“Fair point. Cheers.” 

You clink your shot glasses, downing the alcohol quickly. The burn pulls down through your chest, warming you instantly. 

For the next two hours, you and Minho take turns pouring each other drinks before jumping into games like Christmas Pictionary, where your father draws the worst reindeer you’ve ever seen in your life, looking more like a group of sausages on a grill. 

Jimin hovers around, refusing to partake in the fun, and his Grinchy attitude is still weighing on you too. 

When your mother passes out her caroling sheets and your father shoves someone over to the piano, you find yourself stuffed into the corner with him. 

“Having fun yet?” you ask, the alcohol giving you the guts to feel daring enough to speak to him. 

“Is this supposed to be?”

You frown. “God, you’re such a grump. You better be careful, or you’ll be visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future tonight.” 

“I’d say that I’m already experiencing it,” he says, gesturing toward you. “You get to be all three it would seem.” 

You roll your eyes, putting some distance between the two of you. 

At some point, you’re stuck together again. This time near the snack table and you try to pad your stomach with something other than alcohol. As you load your plate with salami roses and lots of different cheeses and vegetables, Jimin reaches over you, grabbing the bag of potato chips and depositing some of his plate. 

“Here,” he says, when he sees you struggle to balance your stash, and he carries it into the kitchen so you can eat against the counter in peace. 

“Um, thank you,” you say, and pop a tomato into your mouth. 

“About earlier,” he says. Something in his voice sounds less tense than before, and it prompts you to look at him, taking in the softness of his face. 

“Yeah?”

“I was being an asshole,” he finishes. “I’m sorry. I just…it was a shock is all. And a bit disappointing.” 

“It’s okay to be upset,” you say, dusting your hands off on a napkin. “And I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t right of me. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was really young at the time and I was scared.” 

“I was scared too,” Jimin says, lifting his eyes to look at you. “God, leaving here was terrifying.” 

The room is warm from all the crockpots still heating the various delights your parents have encouraged others to serve. Jimin’s face is rosy, and he looks almost like a teenager again.

You nod. “I can only imagine. A new place to start from scratch. Trying to get a hang of everything and be independent. You were practically a kid.” 

“I was,” he smirks. “We both were.” 

“Yeah,” you smile. 

“I do have another question, if that’s okay,” he says quietly. 

“Sure.” You bite down on a piece of cheese, chewing softly.

“When you broke up with me, you said something about how if you got the contract you were worried that I would be miserable. Was that why you did it? Didn’t take it.” 

You sigh. “It was more complicated than that.” 

“How so?” 

In the living room someone whoops as the partygoers sing along to “Jingle Bell Rock”. 

“Not here, let’s go somewhere more private.” 

He follows you into the guest room where you left your coats earlier. The room feels colder than the rest of the house, since the door has been closed despite the groups of people warming the living room. 

You sit. Jimin sits, too, though on the far side of the bed. 

“Well, I guess that me worrying about you was part of it. But I think looking back, I was also worried about myself. We had such a hot and heavy summer and this contract felt like a huge question mark over both of our futures. And we’d never talked about it. While I was at home, I just kept twirling the idea of how things would work out over and over in my head.” 

“Did you skip trials because of it? I had no idea you were so anxious. When I saw you and you didn’t look sick, I thought you’d lied. I never considered that you would have made yourself sick with all of that.” 

“Um, well that wasn’t fully it.” His composure takes you by surprise. “The week of the party. The one you assumed I got mad at you for? I was kept after practice by your coach. He said that while the try-outs weren’t done, he had made his choice. He picked me. And I had to keep it a secret from everyone. Including you.” 

Jimin folds his lips into a line. “Ah, I see.” 

“But, I also had been feeling really shitty. Nausea, heightened anxiety, stress related stuff. Missing periods and stuff, which I know I told you some about. But the day after the party, I felt really bad. And then I finally realized what was wrong. Um…I was pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes flare wide. “What?” 

“Yeah. Turns out a lot of my symptoms were signs of pregnancy. And you and I weren’t exactly careful a lot of the time.” 

Heat floods to Jimin’s face, and you watch as his ears turn pink. “No, we weren’t.” 

“I knew I couldn’t have a baby. I wasn’t really thinking what you would want in that but–” 

“What I would have wanted doesn’t matter.” 

You smile, some warmth spreading to your chest over your instinct being right. “Well, thanks. I got an abortion. And then I turned down the contract. I was going to go to school but I guess my deferment resulted in me losing my scholarship.” 

Jimin stares at you, unmoving. 

“You okay? I’m not shocking you too much?” 

“It’s not that it’s just. Holy shit, Y/N.”

“People keep saying that,” you chuckle. 

“Because it’s a holy shit situation. Were you okay? Did your parents take you?” 

“No, I just did it alone.” 

“Fuck, god. And I was just off dicking around on a rink while you were going through that”

“Which is what I wanted you to be doing, Jimin. I didn’t want you worrying about me. You had to focus!” 

Jimin rolls his eyes. “God, you are ridiculous. You were all alone having an abortion by yourself, going through that pain by yourself. Something of which I caused and you were still thinking about me instead of yourself?” 

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. You never thought of it like that. 

“I’m not mad you didn’t tell me, just so you know. I don’t think I really have a right to be mad because it’s not my body that had to go through it. I just…I would have wanted to be there for you through it. More than anything. You were my world, Y/N.” 

“But I couldn’t be. I needed you to be your own world. I needed you to go make something of yourself that wasn’t just because of me.” 

He snorts. “But it was because of you that I made something of myself. I got contracted because of you. I played hard to not think about you. I kept myself busy for nearly a decade with my career so I could forget about you.” 

“Well, did you get close?” you ask carefully. The alcohol has made your head feel a little fuzzy, but the conversation has sobered you up. 

He picks up a throw pillow and tosses it at you. You laugh. “No, of course I didn’t. It’s you, for fuck’s sake. You were my every wet dream of my teenage years, do you think I would just forget you like that?”

“Well, you tried to pretend you didn’t remember me.” 

“God,” he runs a hand over his face. “I think I was just shocked, honestly. I thought you would have left here. Gone away to college and got your sports physiology degree and I would run into you one day in LA after a bad injury and I could convince you to fall in love with me again.” 

You scoff. “Oh is that the dream?” 

“Well it was. I really didn’t think I’d see you ever again, actually.” 

“I hope it’s not too much of a disappointment.” 

“Well, we’ll see…it wasn’t because you were pregnant that you broke up with me, was it?”

“Oh my god, no. You’re obsessed with this like there’s a singular reason but there wasn’t. It was a culmination of everything. Besides, I’d had the abortion during the time I was home. When you showed up, I had just gotten clearance from my doctor that it was a success.” 

Jimin frowns. “Were you sad about it? The abortion? Not that you had to be.” 

“I was sad that I was alone. I was sad that I felt like I couldn’t tell you. I was worried that if I did, I would be the reason for you not getting contracted. It was a lot of worrying for you. But also for myself. I worried I wouldn’t be okay. And I worried I would regret it somehow, that I would wake up one day wondering what could have been.” 

“Did you?”

You look down at your hands. “No, I mean, not really. I have since, I guess, but it’s less wondering what life would have been like without an abortion and more what life would have been like if I didn’t call everything off. That decision hurt me. And it never felt completely right. But my fear of things ending kind of ruled over me. I was so in love with you that I couldn’t imagine a lifetime where things would work out. Not when you had an arranged marriage you’d someday have to fulfill, or one of us would go pro and have to figure out how to make both our dreams work.” 

Jimin nods. “Well, thank you for telling me. I’m glad you made the decision that was best for you at the time. It gives me some closure.” He scoots closer to you before reaching over and squeezing your hand. “And I hope that if you ever go through something like that again, you have someone by your side so you feel less alone.” 

“Thank you,” you say. 

The warmth of his hand comforts you both as you sit in the room. Your mother squeals in the other room, shouting at your father for allegedly grabbing her ass. 

“Come on, babe! It’s Christmas!” he replies. 

You and Jimin burst into laughter. 

“You know,” Jimin says behind gasps of air. “I don’t think I hate being here as much as I thought I would. Sure, it sucks being under my parents’ roof again, but god, the sound of a holiday party is a welcome change from a bunch of locker room groans.” 

“You smell better too,” you add. You sniff the air between you too. “I always liked that cologne on you.” 

He smirks. “Remember when I ran out and you drove your car, broken A/C and all, into the city to get me a replacement?” 

You groan. “God, my car was truly an oven that day. When I finally got home I thought I was melting like an ice cream cone.”

“I remember that.” 

“I have a question for you now,” you say. Jimin blinks a bit, taken aback by your abruptness. 

“Oh, sure.” 

“Why are you home? Why didn’t you stay at your place and just see your celebrity friends? Why come back here which is clearly full of bad memories and feelings and experience all of this?” You gesture around you. 

He takes a sharp breath. “Well, it felt like something that I had to do. First of all, I’ve been instructed by our PR team not to be seen out with any of my celebrity friends. I’m not supposed to be seen anywhere near Bells Arena, so practicing locally was out. And with it being too warm there to skate on a natural body of water, it seemed like home was the only option.”

“That sucks,” you blurt. “I mean–”

Jimin laughs. “Yeah, it does suck. But home isn’t the worst place to be, and I feel like there hasn’t been a lot tying me to anything lately. The last few years have been rough. Threesome notwithstanding, but my life hasn’t been exactly private for a while. And I guess that kind of presses you to become someone else.” 

“Like a prick?” 

“Am I really that much of an asshole?”

“Uh, yeah. You lost your drive because you’re too busy chirping on the ice and not focusing on the game.” 

“You’re sounding like Coach again.” 

“Well, he had a good point. Do you have your gear with you by chance?”

“It’s in the car, why?”

“Go grab it and meet me out back.” 

“Why?”

“Just do it,” you roll your eyes and stand up, smoothing your dress. When you turn to face Jimin, his gaze moves from your ass. 

You pretend not to notice. 

“You have a rink in your backyard?”

“Yep, Dad built it back when we were trying out for the pros, thinking that during my break times I could come home and practice.”

Now knowing the truth, Jimin can’t help but feel an ache in his chest for you and the dream you left behind. 

“It’s incredible. But are you sure that you’re not too drunk to skate?” 

You balk at the question, laughing. “You think I haven’t skated absolutely wasted? Come on now.” Fair point. “Besides,” you add, “I feel fine now. The fresh air is nice.” 

You’ve traded your tiny little dress he was admiring in the bedroom for a more sensible outfit. “Now, lace up your skates, Park. Let’s get to drills.” 

An hour later, Jimin is sweating through his button down. He didn’t have an extra outfit with him in the Kia, just his skates, so he’s been sweltering in the stiff button down. A little perspiration is beading your forehead, but you still have a healthy glow to you, and are not nearly as out of breath as he is.

“You’ve gotten sloppy with your passing,” you say nonchalantly. 

A lick of heat prompts Jimin to argue, but he shoves it down. He’s supposed to be working on that, after all. 

“Just a tiny bit,” he says. 

“You’ve got a long way to go if you’re going to be ready to hit the ice in less than a month.”

He pouts a bit, despite himself. 

“Oh come on, you used to love the challenge of beating me on the rink. Did time change that much?” 

“Well, there was a pretty good incentive for winning. Like seeing you naked.” 

“Is not being kicked off your dream team not enough incentive?”

“I mean I’m a guy, Y/N. Of course my career is important, but I’m just saying, sex was always my best motivator. And if I remember correctly, yours too.”

You look away from him for a moment, thinking. 

“Well, then, fine, let’s give you an incentive then. If you beat me in a shootout, I’ll let you see my ass.” 

Jimin stalls. “What?” 

“I know you’ve been checking me out like, all day. It’s obvious. So, you beat me in a shootout, I’ll show it to you.” 

Jimin chuckles. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Y/N, I’ve seen your ass. And while I’m absolutely sure it’s even better than I imagined, I hardly consider that a motivator.”

“Fine, then what do you propose? What is it that you would like to do?”

Heat pools into his stomach. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Jimin can’t ignore the intense attraction he still has for you. It’s like 10 years hasn’t changed much about his body chemistry. 

He skates up to you, putting his hand on your waist, testing the limits of what in his desires he truly is allowed to ask for. As his hand works up your side toward your breast, you let out a small gasp. And that’s when he sees it in your eyes: arousal. Unmistakable, just as easy for him to spot as it was all those years ago.

“Do you remember that time we went to the beach? And you got vanilla ice cream all over your bikini because it melted before you could even eat it?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Yeah?”

“And so I licked every inch of you? That’s what I want.” 

“Jimin!” you gasp, but as his other hand loops around your back, you don’t fight his touch.

“You tasted so sweet,” he whispers, his mouth hovering over your neck. 

“Stop.” But it’s a weak gesture, mechanical. 

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” 

Your heart beats a little faster. “I did.” 

“What else did you like, hm? When I fucked you that summer.” 

Jimin’s voice lowers, a deeper, seductive tone replacing his usual, cheerful one. It’s the same one he used to use on you, and the pressure building in your core tells you that it’s having the same effect. A hand finds its way to the curve of your ass, and you melt into his body.

“Jimin,” you rasp. 

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck.” 

“Tell me,” he whispers. “What used to make you come so hard that I had you screaming?” 

“God.” 

“Do you think about that as much as I do? Do you think about the little whimpers you made when you came all over my lap that day? Do you think about how hard my cock was for you? How desperate you were for it after I told you you’d have to wait?” 

“You’re such an asshole,” you heave. 

“I know. But if I win, I want you under me again. I want to lick every inch of you until all you can think about is me.” 

He pulls away, ignoring the hardening of his cock, rasping a deep breath. You blink at him, confused, before taking in his form as he sails the puck into the net. 

“That’s one, babygirl. Now show me what you’re made of.” 

Sex, it turns out, is Jimin’s greatest motivator. Which is why after he wins in the shootout up to ten, you end up naked in the guest bedroom. 

“Your nipples are so hard,” he says, sucking one into your mouth. “That’s how I always knew how needy you were. How badly you needed to be fucked.” 

A moan escapes you. He squeezes your thigh again, his other hand roaming up your side. 

“You were always so sensitive there. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

Your hands lurch forward, digging into the open ends of his jacket, pulling him closer. 

“When was the last time someone fucked you good, Y/N?” he asks, and your brain searches through your list of ex lovers, turning up empty handed 

“I don’t know,” you groan, hissing when you feel his other hand land on your breast. 

He clicks his tongue. “You poor thing. Tell me, what do you need, hmm?” 

“I don’t know,” you say again. Your thoughts are jumbled, how you got here, stripped naked while he still hovers over you fully clothed, your focus faltering as you clench your thighs. Jimin pulls away, grinning down at you. . 

“I bet you’re just as sweet as I remember,” he says. “I bet you still get so wet that when you get fucked the nastiest little sounds come out of you.” 

“Fuck, Jimin, god.” 

“I told you I would like every inch of you. Do you think I was joking?” 

“We can’t,” you say, your eyes flitting to the door. 

“Does the door lock?” he asks. 

“Yes, but–”

“Then lock the fucking door and come sit on my face.” 

Heaven. Jimin has died and gone to heaven. As he laps at your clit again, he can’t believe this is really happening. 

“Fuck, harder,” you order, and he finds himself grinning, sucking your bud into his mouth hard. Your legs immediately squeeze around his face, and he reaches up, forcing your thighs down harder, pressing himself deeper into you. 

You really shouldn’t be doing this. He has no idea how long you’ve both been away, but all he knows is that they’ve finished singing the entire “12 Days of Christmas” and someone has been getting your friend Minho to do a rendition of “Santa Baby” that hopefully everyone is too drunk to remember. But he can’t help himself. Couldn’t help the electric feeling when he squeezed your hand, couldn’t ignore how your tits spilling out of your dress had him rock hard the second you gave him a knowing look. 

And now, knowing what Jimin knows about you, about your past and why things ended, he can’t be mad. While yes, he’s frustrated by your positioning of him as the priority in your life, even seemingly now, he isn’t mad. And whatever happens after tonight, he hopes you’ll both be able to talk about it so you can reframe the future. 

Until then, he really, really wants you to come on his face. 

His fingers leave your thighs. You lift off of his face, gasping as you look down at him. 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“Yes, now smother me with your pussy.” 

You roll your eyes, lowering yourself back down onto him. He laps at you again, this time flicking your clit with his fingers before rubbing them through your slick folds. “Fucking missed this pussy. Do you know how many times I think about this? How much cum have I spilled thinking about this?” 

“God, you’re such a perv,” you say. But he can hear the lightness in your voice, knowing that despite the slight embarrassment, you’re also flattered. 

“How tight is it, hmm? Do you ever fuck your toys thinking about me?” 

“Not often,” you tease before you wail as he bites your ass. 

“Liar.” 

“Ugh, fine. I think about your cock a lot, okay?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes, now are you going to make me come or not?” 

“You know, I could, but now I can’t stop thinking about you thinking about my cock and fuck, I’m so hard.” 

Jimin feels you leaning forward, your hand roving down his toned chest until you reach the tent in his pants. 

“Please, babygirl, don’t tease me too much,” he warns and you chuckle, tugging at the zipper and clasp and reaching into his pants. 

Your hand dips into his briefs, tugging the elastic and pants down his hips to free his throbbing cock. 

“Fuck,” you say, sliding your hand up and down his leaking shaft. “Were you always this big?” 

Jimin groans, sliding a finger into you. You moan. “Shit.” 

“You used to take this cock like such a good girl,” he says, sliding a second finger in. “Though I’m not sure how with such a tight little cunt you have. I think I need to fuck it open.” 

“Oh.” 

“You like that, baby? My fingers fucking you open so you can take my cock? You’re so wet, god, listen to you.” 

The room fills with the wet sounds of his fingers fucking into you, his tongue returning to your clit and sucking hard. 

“Shit, shit, we need to change positions or I’m going to collapse on your face.” 

He obliges, pulling his fingers out so you can lie on your back. You watch as he sucks your juices from his fingers, your mouth slightly parting as he moans. 

“So sweet.” 

“Fuck,” you say suddenly, your eyes once more turning toward the door. “We gotta hurry. Once we get to the cookie shots, it’s only a matter of time before my dad makes us do round two of competitive games, and they’ll be looking for me.” 

 “Aw, but I was just getting started,” he whines.

You roll your eyes. “You can fulfill your fantasy later. Skip the foreplay and fuck me already.” 

“I don’t know if you’re warmed up enough for that–”

“Jimin, I promise you the second I feel your cock slide into me, I will be ten seconds from cumming because of how good it feels. Now you can take your time with me later, but if you don’t fuck me right now, I might lose my goddamn mind.”

He feels precum dribble from the tip, and he looks at you. “Shit, okay. Well, um, I don’t have a condom.” 

“IUD. I’m clean. Please,” Your voice cants into a whine, which makes Jimin feel delirious. 

“Okay, lie back down baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

Despite your desperation, he moves slowly, sucking your nipples back his mouth, giving a little bite to one that makes you whimper. 

“Please, Jimin,” you beg again. He reaches down, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing it through your slick entrance. As the head of his cock dips in, your eyes meet his, and a sigh leaves your throat. 

“Yes,” you say when he seats himself to the hilt. You pulse around him, and Jimin hisses at the tightness. 

“Shit, watch it babygirl or I’ll come right now.” 

“Just feels, so good, fuck,” you pant, your body convulsing around him once more. 

He pulls out slightly and thrusts back in, his cock tapping your cervix. Your whole body quakes and you moan loudly. 

“Shh, do you want to get caught?” 

“Kiss me, then,” you say and Jimin being the fool that he is, he does. 

Your lips meet, and you taste like a peppermint candy cane. He licks along your lip, trying to get more of the taste in his mouth. Your lips part, welcoming in, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrusts fully into you. 

You moan into his mouth, silencing yourself as his pace increases, sharp snaps of his hips making you curl and clench around him, your wetness coating his pelvis and balls as it drips down your thighs. 

On a particularly hard thrust, you come, your body shivering and pussy spasming around him. Your nails dig into his back as you seat him deeper into you, riding out the aftershocks. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper. 

“Mm, feel good baby?” 

“Yes. You’re so big; It feels so good.” 

He kisses your nose.”Well, I want to make you come one more time before I do, so hold on.”

He rolls you over, propping you up on your knees. 

“When I saw you earlier at practice in those leggings, I was imagining this moment. My cock deep in you while I watch your ass bounce on me. Do you think you can show me that, Y/N?”

You moan a yes, thrusting yourself back onto him as he pounds into you. The flesh of your ass bounces against him, and Jimin is hypnotized by it, his hands repeatedly slapping to spank your cheeks as you fuck yourself on him. With each slap, you clench harder, and as he places his hands firmly on your hips and bucks into you with speed and precision, it’s only a matter of time before you’re face down in the pile of coats, moaning freely as he thrusts into you. With one final gasp, you come, legs shaking violently as you succumb to your orgasm. Jimin follows behind, is cock pumping a heavy load of cum into you. You sigh satisfied, holding your hand under yourself to catch it while Jimin watches it leak out. 

“Jesus, Y/N. That’s so hot.” 

“Well, hot and practical. I’m not spilling your cum onto all my guests’ clothes. Now go get tissue from that bathroom over there. I need to clean up.” 

Despite Jimin fucking you within an inch of your life, you manage to make your reappearance with your guests fairly easy, a glass of some concoction your mother has named Jingle Juice in hand. 

“So,” Minho whispers after your father divides up the room into teams. “Are you creaming of a white Christmas with Jimin?” 

“Ew, Minho! No! That’s disgusting!” You slap him on the arm. “How did you know?” 

“Well, first I saw you two go out back and grope each other on the ice. And then you practically ran into the guest bedroom. After about thirty minutes of not seeing you, I figured I’d come check. But then I heard you and that confirmed my suspicions.” 

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Were we loud? Oh god, does everyone know?” 

“I think everyone was too busy drinking or eating or singing to notice. But to answer your question, my god, Y/N, you’re so loud. He should put a muzzle on your or something.” 

“Shut up. Besides, this is no big deal. A little Christmas stress relief. A one time thing.” 

“Sure it is. Well may Santa bring you more stress relief very soon because you’re glowing from the orgasm he gave you.” 

“Two.”  

“Huh?” 

“Two orgasms. With the promise of a third later if I meet up with him."

Minho looks at you uneasy. “I want to be happy for you, but I’m honestly not sure what to think. I thought you hated him. Or at least wouldn’t fuck him at your parents’ house.” 

Heat floods your cheeks as the reality of your decision begins to set in. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know.”

Minho takes a final sip of his drink, grimacing as he sets it down. “Well Merry Christmas to you, Y/N. Maybe you can fuck him into a better attitude while you’re at it. Because you’ve only got a few weeks before his suspension ends and if he isn’t ready by then, he can kiss his professional career goodbye.” 

“I think he can do it. We have plenty of time.”

“I hope you’re right. Not to ruin your post-fuck glow, but be careful. People don’t change overnight. While I’m glad you two had a fun little reunion romp, there’s still a lot of work to be done with Park Jimin.” 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[berryispunk]

Happy Accidents

pairing: Oberyn Martell x trans! reader

summary: a handsome and mysterious stranger enters the coffee shop you’re working at. (modern day AU)

tags: meet-cute!!, fluff, compliments, no physical description of reader, no smut

notes: This is for the secret Santa of @pedrostories ! It was truly a challenge but I hope I did decent. My giftee is @crowandmousewritingco I hope you like it 🥹💛 this is unbeta’d. We die with the sinking ship :)

It is a crazy busy day at the cafe. Nothing unusual for this time of year. When people are so lost in the Christmas preparations, too focused on their own misery to be nice to employees, time flies. You always tell yourself you don’t care. After all it's nothing personal you try to remind yourself. But today, when the fifth person yells at you that they ordered cappuccino without caffeine and not with it something inside of you snaps. You glare at the man who’s dressed in a suit that looks like it costs more than you make in a month.

“Sir, we’re all just doing our job. I am sorry if my colleague made a mistake with your order, but this doesn’t give you any right to be so rude,” you throw at him, your voice threateningly calm causing every pair of eyes on you and for a split second you regret even bothering to open your mouth.

That’s until the man answers, a dismissive look in his eyes as he scoffs “I want to speak to your manager.”

“I am in charge today, so if there’s something you want to discuss feel free, sir, ” you triumph and for a moment it feels like winning, like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that there would be a prize for it anyway.

The man musters you for a moment longer, anger and vanity seeping out of him, tinting the whole atmosphere until suddenly another man steps in, dressed in slacks and a really deep v-neck button down in mustard yellow.

The off white winter coat just casually thrown over his right shoulder, holding it with his big left hand, on every finger a gold ring, each one of it more splendid than the other.

He’s standing really tall, his confidence overshadowing the energy of the suit guy by far. His dark hair, a stark contrast to his golden skin tone, is perfectly trimmed and styled.

You caught yourself staring at him way longer than what would be considered decent as he winks at you and turns his attention back to the suit guy.

“Sir, please step back so the rest of us can make an order as well”, he purrs in a really deep voice. His voice is calm and calculated, but something else swings in the way he talks.

Authority.

The other man frowns a bit at the dark haired man, but instead of protesting he nods, takes his allegedly wrong order and flees the cafe causing the man in front of you to smile satisfied and his attention shifting back to you.

“Sorry,” he says almost apologetically, way softer in the way he talks than moments ago. “Some people just don’t know any manners.”

His comment causes you to snort and he gives you an honest smile back, a warm one that almost makes your heart flutter.

Fuck. He’s attractive.

“Nothing new, especially not during the holidays”, you answer.

“So, what can I get you ?” you ask in trained professionalism.

“I’d like a big black coffee to go, please. And maybe…” he drifts off, taking a step closer to the cake display. “A lemon cheesecake muffin as well.”

You nod in response, packing the muffin in a small paper bag and starting to prepare his coffee.

Your back is turned to him, but you’re really aware that his eyes still are on you. Maybe even checking you out and the thought simultaneously amuses and flusters you.

You think of the way this man handles himself, the way he’s so confident but also so kind should be a paradox. Usually people this confident are cocky and don’t care the slightest about employees like you. But he seems different. In a good way.

As you’re finishing up his coffee order, you decide to ask for his name. Usually you don’t do this here, but you think it’s a sneaky way to know more about this mysterious good looking man.

“Which name can I write on your cup ?” you ask with a professional smile.

“Full name or just my first name?” he asks back while he plays with one of his rings.

“Whatever you prefer,” you reply and he smiles in response as he leans a bit more towards you above the counter.

His gaze on the coffee cup in your hand before his eyes meet yours.

His eyes are dark brown, warm and welcoming.

The smile that still decorates his face reaches his eyes and causes small wrinkles around them.

It’s an honest smile, one that is really rare especially during the holidays but also incredibly flirty.

“Oberyn Martell.” he finally replies. “That’s my name,” he adds and you scribble it onto the coffee cup.

“Okay, Oberyn Martell,” you repeat and let the name ring in your ears, tasting the way it sounds in your own voice.

“Cash or card?” you ask as you place the paper bag and coffee cup on the counter, typing his order in your cash register system.

“Card,” he replies and hands you his credit card, a black american express. You push the payment device wordlessly closer to him and wait for the confirming beeping sound.

“You know you’ve got a beautiful smile” he smirks, causing your cheeks to get hot as your eyes meet again.

“Excuse me?” you ask to reinsure you heard it right while the heat creeps further up your face.

He chuckles cockily and repeats, a bit lower this time.

“I said, you’ve got a really beautiful smile”, his eyes wandering to your lips before they find your eyes again.

You swallow for a moment before you’re able to mumble a “Thank you.”

He shakes his head slightly, clearly enjoying getting you flustered that easily. The smirk never leaving his face as he takes his order from the counter.

“So, can we quit the chit-chat and I ask you for your number instead?” he asks, like it’s the most normal thing ever and not absolutely crazy considering the fact you two just met by accident in the cafe you’re working at.

You blink in disbelief about the absurdity of the moment before your brain kicks back in action.

“My phone number?” you ask back, clearly still puzzled by his bluntness. “I–”

You try to come back with something, anything, to let him know that this is out of line. That it’s too fast, too early, too much. But you can’t.

All you can focus on is this handsome stranger in front of you and the blush on your cheeks.

You finally snap out of your trance-like state and write down your number on a sticky note.

He takes it from you, making sure his fingers brush over the back of your hand as he gives you another charming smile.

“Thank you, beautiful,” he purrs and just as you thought you’re finally able to function like a normal human again, you start giggling like a teenager.

What the hell is wrong with you.

He still holds your hand and place a soft, feathery like kiss on the back of it, his eyes locked on you as he whispers

“I’ll call you as soon as I can, that’s a promise,” he smirks and as he’s in the movement of leaving he adds

“By the way, nice pin,” pointing to the little trans flag enamel pin on your work apron.

Usually people never notice it or just don’t say anything about it. Either because they don’t know what it is or simply because they don’t care but something about the way he noticed and pointed it out makes you giddy.

“Thank you,” you retort and smile genuinely at him.

“I need one of those with the bi-flag. If you have any recommendations where to get those, let me know” he winks and suddenly this man, who’s not even way too attractive for you, is also part of the LGBTQIA+ community and it makes your heart flutter even more.

“Will do,” you snicker. “Bye, Oberyn.”

“Bye, beautiful. See you soon.” he answers with a smile so bright it’s illuminating his whole being.

And as quickly as he came in the shop, as fast he vanishes out of it and leaves you alone with blushed cheeks, a racing heart and a million questions on your mind.

[stxrrynxghts]

Re-watching Star Plus Mahabharat (1/?)

DISCLAIMER: Whatever I say in this is about the CHARACTERS as per the way this SHOW showed them. The show=/= The Ved Vyasa Mahabharata. Don't want any more controversies, lmao. IF I mention any canon event, I will state IT. So pls, DNI if you can't handle a joke/criticism.

Starting with a shankh naad and the iconic promo woohooo

show start karte hi Arjun ke darshan ho gaye. WAAH. No but really. The face card is insane.

Why are their mukuts dangling tho o_O

Me thinking why is Satyavati shown as a main character since she is js there for the 1st quarter of the story, but then I realized that the entire reason all of this happens is because she was so manipulative during the Princess of Kashi portion, lol.

Krishna posing to give me a jaadu ki jhappi ToT

Okay, we are greeted by some classical music. I feel so peaceful.

ANDDD now that I have seen Shatanu and Satyavati, my mood is ruined.

Why are they having an affair tho

Shantanu not liking being a king and complaining. Funny how his descendants are going to have a blown war to GET this burden, LOL. #richpeopleproblems

ANDDD now we are going to be shown how ambition is bad.

Arre, why let poor Satya get all the blame? Where is her Daddy?

Satyavati: im greedy af, Shantanu: wanna be yours *puppy eyes*

Ladki ka chakkar, babu bhaiya, ladki ka chakkar

Krishna being happy in his lil garden uwu

Bhishma arriving with his superman style entry XDD

There was no need to put his feet in that kichad tho

Hastinapur ki praja being tortured by Bhima's future in-laws while Shantanu is busy doing aashiqui haha

Satyavati being rightfully shocked tbh

Ok but I thought Maharani, aka Queen, is a person who a) inherits the throne and rules in her own right, aka Queen REGNANT, or b) marries a King, aka Queen Consort??? What does that have to do with whether your son sits on the throne or not o_O

Not all of them assuming that they will have sons, what if you had daughters, Satyavati

OK BUT SOMEONE PLS WRITE AN AU WHERE SATYAVATI GIVES BIRTH ONLY TO GIRLS, I WANNA KNOW THE CHAOS THAT HAPPENS AFTER THAT PLS

Bhishma willingly signing on a slavery contract LOL

Ok but Im genuinely curious. How will Satyavati be a good queen tho? She is prolly not as well educated as princesses are, neither is she trained to be queen...

Bhishma: Make Vichitraveerya Great Again (except he was never gr8 to start with, lol)

I see, even Drupad's Father/Grandfather is fiery af. Runs in the blood, eh?

Okay but wait a sec. The Panchal King is right tho. Bhishma cannot interfere in the matters of their state, even if HIS prince is the one to do all the shit. He is a criminal, and he cannot violate the rules of other kingdoms!

Srsly, Bhishma time and again, in both canon and the show, gets his will done by the other Kingdoms, who do not oppose even if it's wrong because they know that they will be killed. Is he an unknown bully, by that standard?

Unnamed Panchal King, you are my fav from now on

Ok so, this is Prishata. Okay okay. Noice.

Vichitraveerya being cocky af. There are some things that Bhishma can't protect you from, like TB.

EW VICHITRAVEERYA SPAT ON HIM

bro clearly lacks etiquette and manners.

I'm sorry but Vichitraveerya really needs the belt treatment

Bhishma comparing Vichitraveerya to Hanuman o_O

Okay but PANCHAL cannot punish Vichitraveerya for committing crime on their land, but BHISHMA can abduct princesses from Kashi without their permission? Hypocrite much, eh?

Not Bhishma using his warrior skills so that the other kingdoms follow Hastinapur's bidding o_o

this is unfair af

poor Panchal tho, why are they being mistreated so much like can't even punish a criminal who burnt their fields

OH WOW, So not only has Bhishma entered Panchal to stop the justice system from carrying out justice, he also brought an entire army with him?!

I bet all my life savings that Shikhandi is Prishata's fav grandkid, lol

Amba doing the same crime that Vichitraveerya did XDDDD

NGL, but Amba's makeup is on point.

What is Shalva doing with Arjun's earrings and Dury's mukut

Vichitraveerya is so incompetent, GOD

Hm, Bhishma, I'm sure 99% royals drink, both male and female. Surely they must not be drunkards like your bro, tho.

um....Kuru and Panchal are enemies? Since when tho?

OH MAYBE ALL THE KURU PRINCES GO AND COMMIT CRIMES IN PANCHAL AND ESCAPE WITHOUT PUNISHMENT HMMMM

Krishna giving pottery class lmfao

Satyavati is that mom who thinks that her bahu will fix her son.

Bhishma going to interrupt a swayamavara and take the decision to marry on their own from 3 girls, LOL. How tf is this dharma?

At least in the show, Bhishma is against this. In canon, he js justified his actions saying that this form of marriage (aka rakshasa vivaha) is upheld by saints o_O

Bhishma, I like you, but why do you so much questionable stuff in the first half of MB

[al-hekima-madara-blog]

What if we rewrite Madara as a hero?

We know in Naruto, most villains aren't born this way, they are often the product of their environment and also the consequence of solitude when dealing with hardships.

Kakashi was on the verge of falling in the dark side but was saved by Hiruzen. Oroshimaru was an orphan of war that developed a nihilist vision of life and absence of moral in his scientific approach. Pain is the consequence of forever war in the Rain village, the lost of his family and his friend. Gaara the absence of love, Sasuke also became briefly mean due to his hate for Itachi and later his hate for the village.

Madara shippuden

Alright so how can we rewrite Madara in order that he doesn't fall for the dark path, while keeping most elements of his life :

If you have read my serie Yin/ Yang part 1 and part 2 you know that Naruto as the MC is strongly a Yang shinobi. Naruto's mind never change. he's always the same exuberant, strong-will and stubborn character. His challenge during the whole manga is to become physically stronger. He started as doing poorly in ninjutsu, learnt by himself shadow clone technique, rasengan, to control Kyubi, to work as a friend with kyubi.

If Madara was the main character in a series centred during the warring state era, he would have Yin-type of challenge to face. His power is through dream, vision, imagination. In other world the main goal of Madara should have been to develop a power capable of changing people's heart rather than change people into becoming evil cf Obito or forcing people living inside a illusion. It's so real that Madara stated himself when he was young.

In other words what he's saying : how can we trust others? how can we be sincere and be friend with former enemies?

Have you noticed that most Yin shinobi (with Obito being the exception) don't struggle to become powerful physically. Their strength grow steadily with training and discipline. Itachi, Sasuke, or Madara, They excel at school, smart and learn techniques with time and creativity. They're downfall is... their mental instability (*Tobirama entering the chat*). The problem isn't how to get stronger but how to keep a sane mindset in order to use this power for good.

1/ Face your fear

The main obstacle for Madara achieving this is to confront his fears. He is scared of trusting people behind him and this phobia is manifested by his susanoo with two faces and four arms. It can be understand in many way, the back is the most vulnerable part of the body. It would be interesting to know if in his early childhood he has been betrayed in his back which has caused this phobia. He also doesn't trust future generation, he doesn't think they can come with better idea than him. This is a feeling that he shared with Indra : Him, alone can solve the world's problems. Obito for instance was supposed to follow a path already thought through by Madara. He despised so much others than even when he gives his plan to Obito he needs to do it in his name. That's an extreme side of egoism. "Only me can achieve this dream and I'm gonna divide myself in other me (Obito, Black Zetsu) to finish the job."

So obviously to glow up as a hero he needs to confront his fear, having children and students

2/ Accept failure & learn resilience

One of the hardest part for Madara was accepting death. I personally don't think Izuna was the only people he lost in his life, but Izuna is certainly the straw that broke the camel's back. His brother was special because he was the last one and a promise he made to himself to keep him alive. The main reason of Madara's spiralling in despair was the absence of any support (Izuna was mostly holding this role)

to rewrite we might need to invent a new character that can be this new emotional support during this moment. When Naruto is about to fall Hinata is the one bring him back. I'm thinking about a moment in Jujutsu Kaisen, the MC Yuji has lost many people he cared in a short amount of time and he's in the verge to fall apart until Todo gave him the blablajustu of his life and it works!

So this brand new character can be a friend from his clan who still trust him or a girlfriend/spouse even his mother! In my opinion a woman will perfectly do the job. Because women force men to channel their ambition into something realistic : Yes you want to conquer the world but can you pay the bills? Can you feed your child? Can you protect me? Can you built our house? Are you seriously gonna blow up Konoha and abandon your family? Also intimacy with a woman is generally the rare moment where a man fall the mask of the tough guy. It's socially more acceptable for a woman to show vulnerability but generally frown upon for men. So yeah relationship with the opposite gender is important to give them the security to express their vulnerable side. And Madara is known for his gigantic ego, I think he deserves to have in this rewriting a partner that let him fall the armour and just be himself, just be a man. Who knows, in his private garden maybe Madara is a poet and read romcom?

To illustrate the importance of women I remember Mikoto revealing to Sasuke that his father is actually his secret biggest fan.

Anyway it needs to be someone with a strong emotional wisdom able to tell him : "yes you lost Izuna and you're experiencing your biggest failure. But you can't give up now because it means all those people you loved has sacrifice their life for nothing. I believe in you, you can surpass this challenge and keep going to honour your people."

3/Don't leave Konoha... or partially but come back stronger

Ok I know weird coming from me who never defend Konoha. But if Madara is written as the hero he can't completely abandon the village.

Also contrary to other character like Sasuke : Madara is one of the founder! He's not a 12 years old and an orphan. At this period he was between 25 to 30 years old (Izuna died at 24 for reference), unpopular sure but still a well-known, experienced shinobi and powerful head of clan. He had way more leverage to influence the village than Sasuke. The village wasn't yet the strong institution and the children killer machine it would become later on. He might leave it for a while in order to improve his skills. but he has to come back to confront...Tobirama. Leaving was literally giving free hands to the Senju to build Konoha with this generational paranoia mindset toward the Uchihas. If someone should have use all his Yin power to change relationship between Senju and Uchiha it should have been Madara but he run away from his duty. Yes Tobirama is Hashirama's brother AND Izuna's murderer. But how many orphans and widows Madara himself did he create? All shinobis including Hashirama has blood on their hands. It's hard, but as a hero he has to find a way to solve this conflict.

The infinite Tsukuyomi is escapism. Reality is too hard so better live in a dream. Madara said he can see the shadow taking over the village well that is his role as someone understanding well the Yin side of chakra to prevent it. Hashirama doesn't listen to you? find an other way inside the village! And this moment was illustrated by Onoki's flashback the previous tsuchikage about not giving up his will in front of challenge. It also applied to Madara's mindset toward Hashirama. At some moment Madara became resentful rather than finding a different perspective to change the village's mindset.

Izuna's death is also the opportunity for being accountable of his own failure. Why is he misunderstood by his clansmen? Why is he hated by those in the village that he wanted to protect? If anyone has read the manga Viking, the season 2 covered something similar. the hero was first introduce has a fierce warrior motivated by vengeance, in season 2 he lost his goal and became the shadow of who he was but during this introspection he confronts his demons and came back with a new vision of the world. Why not introduce a new villain that can be confronted only by someone with a mastery of Yin release (in order to put Hashirama on the side and bring the Spotlight on Madara's power). Like the challenge that Pain was for Naruto. This new villain may force Madara to unlocked his power at a higher level. So this character must be someone mastering also Yin release. Similar to Naruto when he met Killer Bee that control Hashibi at a higher level. Since Madara is a dojutsu expert, I think of a Huyga villain for that role. Byakugan is the other greatest Dojutsu if we put aside Rinnegan. Byakugan vs Sharingan can be an insanely good fight!

4/ to put it in a nutshell

Madara has to stop being pee-shy for character's improvement

Find a partner so he won't feel alone and go crazy even in his darkest moments

having children and students could have been a good way to trust the new generation. I'm sure he would hate first having students like Kakashi in the beginning but later being the best teacher ( just look how he was the only one to see Obito's potential and made him someone even stronger than Itachi in short among of time. Being able to control Kyubi at 16 years old is incredible)

He should learn patience : yes it may take time to be valued in Konoha and as a Yin Shinobi it's his role to confront Tobirama and his bullshits.

Unlocked insane Yin release, become konoha's hero like Naruto after Pain.

Clarify the rumour that he stole his brother's eyes, just tell the truth: he gave it to you. Period. If someone ~Tobirama to not name him, disagrees he has to come fight him in the battlefield.

He could have then become the 2nd Hokage

If truly relationship has been pacify between Senju and Uchiha after a generation Konoha would have been so powerful that probably the shinobi world would have been unified with Konoha has the main power.

The World is now safer under Madara's hegemony. Black zetsu can't have any influence because he has no more weakness to exploit, Kaguya won't be awaken and the Otsutsuki won't look for her she's still sealed inside the moon and no need for Boruto to exist.

⋆꙳•❅‧₊⋆☃︎‧❆₊⋆The End.⋆꙳•❅‧₊⋆☃︎‧❆₊⋆

[chuu-huahua]

PROFESSIONAL SQUASH PLAYER DAZAI FOR THE SOUL because he doesn’t need the arm strength that chuuya has to hit the ball, and he calculates his opponent’s moves fast enough that he can just walk across the court to where the ball lands

his racket is expensive from the money he earns as mori’s prodigy, and the court is the battlefield where he will always walk out victorious 

he gets injured very often though, so he always turns up with bandages all over his body and has to change them every time he finishes up

he’s predicted to take over mori’s title of number 1 squash player internationally, and he would also take over port mafia club’s entire organisation 

chuuya is his no.1 fan btw cuz dazai looks so slay and sexy when he’s focused

[surreal-duck]

live drama adaptations part 2 (prev)

cast reveal and girls movie night 🔥