#like AHH it's kind of giving me 'i could clean up good for you' from million dollar baby vibes in a good way tehe

[daisymbin]

21. "we should bake something together—it’ll be a disaster, but fun."

Vernon has a craving for chocolate chip cookies and asks reader for help. lots of fluff and very domestic pls 🙂‍↕️

omg I love this....thank you for requesting this ahh!!!!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hansol's m.list

fluff prompt #21: "we should bake something together—it'll be a disaster, but fun."

hansol stood in the doorway of the living room, biting his lip nervously. he shuffled his feet a little, as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to ask. you looked up from your book, giving him an expectant look.

"hey," he started, his voice soft. "want to bake something with me?"

you blinked, a little confused. "bake? really? you hate cooking."

"yeah, well..." he scratched the back of his neck, glancing away for a second. "i was thinking... maybe we could make chocolate chip cookies? it’ll probably be a disaster, but, you know, fun."

you raised an eyebrow, setting the book down. "fun? you do realize you can’t even make toast without burning it, right?"

"hey, that was a one-time thing," hansol protested, his eyes widening with mock offense. "i was just distracted."

you snorted, crossing your arms. "uh-huh. distracted by what? nothing burns toast like that except for someone who’s not paying attention."

he pouted, his bottom lip jutting out dramatically. "there's a good 90% chance that I was probably distracted by you. now, come on. please? i promise i’ll make it up to you if it’s a mess. i’ll even clean up afterwards."

you sighed, feeling your resolve crumble. hansol could be annoyingly persuasive when he wanted to be. "fine. but if the kitchen ends up looking like a war zone, you're cleaning it up."

"deal!" he said with a bright grin, practically bouncing on his heels. "it’s going to be a fun one, i promise."

as you both headed into the kitchen, hansol started pulling ingredients out of the cabinets with such enthusiasm that you couldn’t help but laugh. flour, sugar, butter—he was setting it all up like he’d done it a hundred times before, even though you both knew he hadn’t.

you grabbed the chocolate chips from the counter. "you know," you started, "it’s kind of weird that you suddenly want to bake. you’ve always said cooking’s a pain."

hansol paused mid-movement, glancing at you with a sheepish smile. "well, yeah. it’s not really my thing, you know? but..." he trailed off, his gaze softening. "i don’t know. i guess i just... want to spend more time with you."

you blinked, surprised by his sudden honesty. "spend time with me? we spend time together all the time."

he shifted his weight, looking down at the counter, clearly trying to find the right words. "i don’t know... lately, i feel like we haven’t really... been doing things together, y’know? with all the schedules and work, it’s like i’m always busy, and i miss you. i miss hanging out with you, just... doing something simple." he gave you a small, almost shy smile. "so i thought baking would be a good excuse."

you felt your heart soften at his words. he’d always been so busy, always on the move. the rare moments when he was home, really home, felt like treasures. you smiled at him, walking over to where he stood, and lightly nudged him with your shoulder. "you really do miss me, huh?"

"yeah," he said quietly, a little sheepish but undeniably sincere. "i do.

you chuckled, brushing a stray piece of flour off his cheek, and reached for the mixing bowl. "well, how can i say no to that? let’s make these cookies, then."

hansol’s face lit up with a grin, his earlier hesitation vanishing. "really?"

"yeah," you said, feeling your heart flutter at his excitement. "let’s make a mess. we’ll burn a few cookies along the way, but it'll be worth it."

"yes!" hansol cheered, practically jumping into action. "this is gonna be great, i swear."

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, flour dusting the air as you measured out ingredients and mixed them together. hansol was surprisingly good at cracking eggs without making a mess, though he did drop one onto the counter once and laughed it off.

"well, that’s one egg down," he joked, looking at the mess on the counter like it was no big deal. "but hey, we're getting there!" he quickly reassures you.

you laughed, shaking your head. "we’ll be lucky if the cookies don’t end up as hockey pucks."

"nah," hansol said, confidently. "i’m a pro at this now. we got this."

as you mixed the dough together, hansol snuck a piece of chocolate chip dough, only to be caught red-handed by you. "hey! no eating the dough yet," you scolded with a laugh.

he made a face, his mouth full of dough. "but it’s so good!" he protested through a mouthful. "you can’t blame me for sampling."

you rolled your eyes but smiled, pulling out the baking sheet to spoon out the dough. "just make sure the cookies are actually edible. that’s all i ask."

you both giggled your way through the whole process—laughter filling the kitchen as you dropped spoonfuls of dough onto the tray. even when a little flour splashed onto hansol’s shirt, he just grinned like it was all part of the plan.

when the cookies were finally in the oven, hansol leaned against the counter, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "thanks for agreeing to do this with me," he said quietly. "i know i can be a pain sometimes."

you reached out, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "you’re not a pain. i’m glad we did this. it’s nice... being here with you."

he smiled, his eyes lighting up. "i like it too. i like being with you."

the timer went off, and the two of you rushed to the oven, pulling out the tray with the cookies that were perfectly golden brown. well, mostly perfect. a couple were a little overcooked, but they were still good.

"they’re beautiful," hansol said with a grin, holding up one of the cookies as if it was a masterpiece.

you took a bite, and despite a slightly burnt edge, the warmth and sweetness hit you just right. "not bad for a first-time baker."

"i told you," hansol said, with a wink. "disaster, but fun."

you laughed, taking another cookie and handing him one. "definitely fun. and maybe not such a disaster after all."

hansol smiled, a little shy but warm, as he reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "i’m really glad we did this," he said softly. "i missed you."

you squeezed his hand back, your heart swelling. "me too, hansol. me too."

[mad-hunts]

[lunarmoves]

"friend! what do you wa— oh! well you're looking awfully dapper tonight!"

your eyes flick up on your bathroom mirror to meet with bright, white optics in the reflection behind you. sun has stuck his head through the open doorway, rays spinning slightly as he looks up and down your tidied up form. you try not to fidget too much, but you're unsuccessful under his surveying stare.

"is it too much?" you ask with a sheepish smile as you turn around, arms splayed out slightly at your sides to showcase your outfit. it's the cleanest and the fanciest you've got in your wardrobe—once you'd brushed out all the dust, that is. your bathroom counter is a mess of bottles and wet wipes from your attempts to neaten up your appearance as much as you could.

sun hums intriguingly as he steps further into the little room. he has to hunch slightly to accommodate his height, his topmost rays pulling towards his faceplate. he bends forward at the waist to meet your gaze at a better level, one of his hands moving up to the bottom of his face in an attempt to look thoughtful.

you can feel, more than see, his blank eyes rove across your body. "'too much'? of course not, friend! we have never seen you dressed like this before!" his head cocks to the side and it takes all your willpower not to feel self-conscious under his unrelenting stare. his eyes suddenly upturn into crescents as his smile widens. "go on, give us a little spin!"

you roll your eyes in good nature but oblige with his request, spinning around slowly in a little circle as he oohs and ahhs.

he claps exuberantly once you've made a full turn. a warm feeling encompasses your cheeks at his praise. you didn't even do much. "wonderful! gorgeous!" sun sways happily side to side, eyes nearly closed in his delight. his excitement for you is nearly contagious. "you look stunning, my dear! trying to impress someone, hm?"

this little flatterer. you make an oh, you! gesture and turn back around to the mirror so you can double check your reflection once more. stray hair tucked back into place. white spot picked at on your chin. you contemplate the fine details of your skin. "i promised my friend a while ago that i'd let her set me up on a blind date. she finally cashed in last night." you nod to yourself in the mirror, then glance up at sun when you notice him suddenly go still. "you okay, buddy?"

his smile stretches thin. "blind date?" there's an oddness to his voice that you can't quite place, but you brush it off all the same.

"yeah, i'm supposed to meet them at some fancy restaurant." you shrug and straighten out your clothes for what feels like the umpteenth time. you're nitpicking, you know you are. might as well get a move on. “my friend sent me the address earlier. it was kind of a last minute thing.” you eye the mess on the counter and decide to leave cleaning up for later. it’ll make you late otherwise.

sun doesn’t say anything, just looks down at you as you pivot on your heel to head out of the bathroom. he’s in your way, however, and you raise an eyebrow up at him as he clasps his hands tightly together. “uh, is something wrong?” did he reboot? wouldn’t be the first time that has happened. a small frown tugs at your lips, your brows creased in worry.

there’s a beat of silence where all he does is tilt his head slightly—like he’s listening to something over his shoulder. and before you can say anything else, he reaches a long arm out and promptly flicks the bathroom light-switch off.

the abrupt darkness makes you blink a few times, grinding gears and metal shifting in front of you until two hands reach out to grasp at your shoulders and a new light just above your head paints your vision in ruby.

“with whom?” moon hisses out as he presses his faceplate closer to you. you squint up at him and brush away his grip.

“wouldn’t be a blind date if i knew, moon,” you say with an amused chuckle. he growls something lowly, but you don’t quite hear it with your beeline out of the bathroom. the rest of the apartment’s lights are still on, so you do moon a favor and flick them off as you pass by the switches. the dewy moonlight seeping in through the open windows is enough to guide your way.

moon slinks after you as you head towards the front door so you can grab your jacket hanging on a hook nearby and slip on your shoes. he’s unhappy, you can tell, but you haven’t got the time to decipher his thoughts and figure out why. it could just be an off day for him. maybe some time away will help.

you can hear moon grumble something behind you. it makes you turn around to look at him expectantly. he hesitates for only a second, then seems to curl farther into the large hoodie he has on.

"you don't dress like this at home," he eventually says quietly, an almost pout lining his voice. petulant, almost. he's not quite looking at you. "we didn't know you h—" he cuts himself off, choking down the rest of what he wants to say.

you cock your head slightly, confusion starting to seep into your expression. "well, no," you reply lightly. he still won't look at you, but you don't take it to heart. "haven't got a reason to, really. takes effort, you know?" you shake your head and miss the small twitch of his faceplate.

"anyways, i should be back in a couple of hours," you tell him as you pat down your pockets to ensure you have your belongings. phone, wallet, keys... you're all set. you open the door and step out into the cool evening air, calling out one final time to moon. "please don't burn the apartment down while i'm gone!" and with that, you're gone, not even a final glance tossed behind you.

there's a quiet, quiet moment where moon stands in the darkness of your living room. staring at the front door you'd just disappeared beyond. the apartment feels cold, somehow. ruby eyes flick over to the couch and accompany coffee table in front of it, a selection of movies scattered atop its smooth surface. a cup of tea, still warm with wispy smoke rising from it, rests patiently on an embroidered coaster sun made not too long ago. its fate tonight will be at the bottom of the sink instead of in the depths of a belly.

moon frowns. and after a prod from sun, he looks back to the front door, still and waiting. there's no hesitation as he tugs up his hood over his head and slinks over to the door so he can open it and slip after you in the quiet shadows of the night.

[taintedcigs]

congrats on 1k babes!! you deserve it and more<3

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒- with the prompt “You have a soft spot for me, don’t you?” “I don’t.” “You answered too quickly for that to be the truth.” from the prompt list with best friend eddie who is a lil mean n scary to everyone but you?

soft spot

pairing: eddie munson x reader

word count: 2.1k+

warnings: nothing rlly, just some tooth-aching fluff! a little kiss, and VV cheesy!

a/n: IM SO SORRY IGOT SO CARRIED AWAY JESUS and ahhh thank you sm baby!! I LOVE THIS REQUEST SM AHH HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE <33 also i hate this sm the ending of this as always ok im sorry im so bad at endings >:(

join my 1k celebration!

Eddie had been in a sulking mood all day, first it started with his car stereo breaking down in the middle of his ride to school, he cursed as he tried to bump it a few times, but it didn't help.

Then, his hell-ish day got worse when he got to the cafeteria and a freshman bumped into him, spilling his food all over Eddie's favorite band shirt.

Eddie cursed at that, and his jaws clenched as he turned to the freshman in front of him, the boy looked back at Eddie horrified and he immediately mumbled apologies to him.

"You little shit-" Eddie started with his fist at his side but then your appearance interrupted him.

You knew everyone thought of Eddie as this mean and scary freak who played a satanist game, but you knew deep down that Eddie was nothing like that.

Eddie was kind, he was generous, he was nice, well at least that's what all he was to you. You didn't push him away and discard him as a scary freak when you first saw him, you didn't judge him like others did, and you insulted back everyone that attempted to insult Eddie, granted, he thought he didn't need your protection, but just because you stood by his side meant a lot to him.

That's why he had a soft spot for you, a weakness, something that he rarely gave others because no one did what you did.

He was enamored with you, no matter what you did, and even more so now when you stopped him from cursing out a freshman for an innocent mistake, and quickly defused the situation.

"I'll help you clean up, Eds." Your soft voice spoke as you gave him a warm smile, you took his fisted hand, and it eased just as with your touch, Eddie's hand gently held onto yours, you intertwined your fingers with his, giving it a firm squeeze.

Eddie's cold gaze had warmed up now, and his face eased at your presence, as dumbfounded as ever, "O-okay." He stuttered. He knew everything would be okay when you were there.

When you hurried him to the bathroom, you got wet wipes out of your bag as you attempted to scrub away the stain of spaghetti sauce.

"You're not having a good day, huh?" You asked, pouting your lips sympathetically, and Eddie nodded quickly, he loved how you immediately understood him, just his gaze alone being able to teach you a new language.

"Kinda having the worst day, actually." He attempted a slight smirk, and you gave him another smile, still working to get the scrub off, but all Eddie could see was your soft eyes and determined gaze. You looked so adorable when trying to help him.

With a few agonizing scrubs, you look up at him when you manage to get rid of the stain, a warm smile present on your face. "All done!" You exclaim excitedly and Eddie can't help the grin his lips twitch into because of how adorable you are.

"You seem all sunshines and rainbows today." He adds, nudging your shoulder lightly and you giggle, nodding.

"Well, I have a date today!" You excitedly spoke but Eddie's entire world almost dramatically shattered, that was the third worst thing that happened to Eddie today, and this one hurt him the most. With anxiety filled inside of his body, he started twisting his rings uncomfortably.

"Oh... a date?" He asked, trying to hide his disappointment, but he couldn't when his face fell almost immediately at the mention of a date, and his lips returned to a tight-lipped smile.

He couldn't help when his jaw clenched because some asshole was going to go on a date with you, not him.

He knew he had no right to be jealous, you weren't dating him, but you were perfect, so perfect, that he knew it was no surprise that other people wanted to date you, ones who were not a coward like him, and managed to ask you out.

But he felt stupid, he felt so stupid for not having the courage to tell you how much you meant to him, so instead, he's left to sulk the rest of the day, too.

Eddie can feel his mouth get dried up when you mention how excited you're for this date, he can feel his breath quicken, he doesn't think he can handle this conversation anymore.

"I'm really happy for you, honey." He lets out through his unamused lips, "I gotta go, so uh, I'll see you around?" He lets out in a disappointed voice as he turns around and sprints out, leaving you confused.

And he feels bad, he feels bad for not being happy for you, but he doesn't know how he's supposed to be happy to see you with someone else, he swallows down all his insecurities and ignores you calling out for his name, ready to skip the rest of the day and go home.

When he does come home he is miserable, he spends hours trying to distract himself, leg fidgeting as he debates whether to call you or not. He knows he's been an ass to you for no reason when you helped him.

His hand itches to pick up the phone, but when his debate is still going on in his head, the phone ringing startles him, and he's quick to pick it up.

"Hello?" He asks out hopeful that it might be you, but still nonchalant enough that as if he hadn't spent the whole day waiting by the phone to call you.

"Hi." Your voice is sour, and it sounds like it's almost cracking, Eddie's heart drops when he hears it.

"Sweetheart?" He speaks up, his voice laced with gentleness and you can't help it when your heart skips a beat to his nicknames.

"What happened?" He asks, his stomach churning when he hears you sniffle.

"It-it's stupid..." You murmur, but he reassures you quickly. "No... if you're upset about it then it isn't stupid, okay? You can tell me everything, honey." You can't help but smile at his words as you nod.

"I just had a really bad day..." You sighed. "First, I did something to upset you and you got mad at me I don't even know what I did and- and you got really upset which means I must have done something so bad because you never ever get upset with me-" Your rambling was quicker than Eddie could comprehend and now his guiltiness had returned when you sounded so upset.

"Take a breath, sweetheart." He encouraged you and you did, heaving a breath, as you continued.

"and then... The guy I had a date with... he bailed on me last minute." You sniffle, and Eddie's jaw clenched at the information.

He rolled his tongue inside of his mouth, annoyed as he attempted to contain his anger for the asshole who did not deserve any second of your time.

"I'll call you back." Eddie says unexpectedly, and you furrow your brows, "What?" You question, but before you can get an answer Eddie shuts the phone, and you huff at his behavior.

"Eddie, are you serious?" You ask groaning before shutting the phone to its place, getting annoyed.

You spent the next hour waiting for Eddie call you but also getting annoyed by him suddenly shutting you out.

When the door bell rang you stomped your feet dragging yourself, opening the door slowly.

Your eyes widen at the sight of you, out of breath, carrying a box in his hands, as his messy curls fall over his head, there stands Eddie, a small smirk on his lips. "Hi." He breathes out, and you can't help it when your anger washes away and you almost melt at his actions.

"Eddie?" You can't help the smile on your lips, and you can't help it when you realize how much Eddie cares about you.

You take the box from his hands, immediately recognizing it and squealing, "Double chocolate?" You ask with the biggest smile on your face, your heartwarming at his gesture.

"Yep." He grins, his hands gently give your shoulder a squeeze, and you raise a brow, "But how did you find them? The closest bakery that has double chocolate chip is 30 minutes away-"

"20 minutes if you go really fast." He grins at you, and your gaze is fixed on him, you look at him in such awe that Eddie decides he'd buy you those cookies every day if it meant you would look at him like that.

"That's why I was a bit late." He gives you a slight smirk, gesturing with his hands.

You're speechless, the mean and scary Eddie everyone is afraid of is now at your door, with your favorite cookies in his hand, as he's trying his best to cheer you up.

"You really would do all that for me?" You're stunned, and Eddie's heart skips a beat. "Yeah- yes." I would do anything for you, he means to say but he doesn't. He clears his throat, trying to seem nonchalant, but you see right over his act.

Eddie cares about you, he really fucking cares about you.

"You have a soft spot for me, don't you?" You ask, a smirk lingering on your lips and you narrow your eyes softly, Eddie huffs at that first, as if it's insulting.

"No!" He answers quickly, too quickly. “You answered too quickly for that to be the truth." You add, and Eddie can't disagree with you, so he changes the topic.

"I- I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry how I acted today, I had a bad day too, and it wasn't fair for me to just shut you out like that." His gaze was fixed on the ground now, he felt embarrassed.

"It's fine, I get it, Eds." You offer him a smile, and he looks up at you.

"What I don't get is, you could've said sorry, without getting me those cookies, which means, you have a weak spot for meee." You dragged out the end, giggling which caused Eddie to sigh weakly.

"Will you stop saying that!" He asked, seriously, but his lips were twitching to quirk into a smile because of how cute you looked.

"Come on, admit it!" You nudged him lightly as you took a bite of the cookie, over-exaggerating the way you eat the cookie.

"You're ridiculous." He scoffed as he dug into a cookie, biting harshly as he gave you a serious gaze.

"Just admit you have a soft spot for me." You giggled again but he shook his head.

"C'mon Eds! I know you care about me!" You tapped slightly on his shoulder and he groaned.

"Yes! Of course, I have a soft spot for you!" He exclaimed, his breathing heavy, he had never let anyone get this close to him, and there you were breaking all of his walls, and he was scared.

"I mean shit, I fucking care about you, honey, so fucking much that it scares me." His voice is timid as he's avoiding your gaze, you pout at him.

"I care about you too, of course Eds-" He shakes his head, interrupting, "No you don't get it, fuck- I care about you so much, so fucking much that it physically hurt me when you said you had a date!" His jaw was clenched again but it felt good to get his feelings out, you always made him feel comfortable.

"And that's why I acted so cold and left, because I didn't want you to find out." He murmured, "And that is why I was happy that you didn't give me that asshole's name because if I knew who he was I would've knocked his door down and beat him to pulp." He continued his ramble, his fist clenched at his side again.

"What, what are you implying?" You gulped nervously, you couldn't believe what Eddie was insinuating, you had always assumed the metalhead just tolerated you, you always wanted more with him, but it didn't seem like he reciprocated the feelings you harbored, but now, with this gesture, you remembered all the times Eddie had a soft spot for you, that's why you couldn't help but want those three words to come out of his lips.

"I'm saying I like you, sweetheart." He faced you now, studying your face, your plump lips turned into a grin, and you couldn't help it when you crashed your lips into his. You grabbed onto the front of his band shirt causing him to groan softly into your mouth.

Then, Eddie placed his hands on your hips, pulling you harshly towards him. You can feel your knees shaking at his sudden movements, and you feel as if you might crumple at his feet at any minute.

You pulled away slowly, while Eddie was still blinking to process what the hell just happened.

"Told you, you had a soft spot for me." You whispered, giggling and Eddie rolled his eyes playfully.

"How could I not, honey?"

[winchesterscorner]

[Dean Winchester] - Bruises

♫ - Lucky Stars - Lucy Spraggan

This was a request for @jayblove1994, I hope you enjoy! <3

Loving a demon hunter wasn't easy. Loving a hunter was not what you expected in your future. But, you most certainly were not complaining.

Dean Winchester was a hell of a man. Often times, he was straightforward, honest and headstrong. Whether that was a good thing all the time or not, you didn't know. What you did know, was that he could also be soft, kind and caring. The Dean you saw behind closed doors was not the hunter, it was just a boy. Over the time you had gotten to know him, Dean had opened up more than you thought he ever would, and you learned things that made you understand the way he was every day.

Your relationship had, for the most part, been quite normal. Sure, you'd been kidnapped by Crowley once or twice, but that's what you get, dating a Winchester. But, when the King of Hell wasn't being a menace in your local area, you found dating Dean was one of the most calm and natural things you had ever done. Loving him was easy, and being loved by him was the best feeling. 

Dean's love language has always been touch. Physicality was always the way he showed love; hugs, kisses, falling asleep together. You name it, Dean did it. You were never short of love from him. In turn, you always helped him after a hunt, usually when a demon had given him a good fight. Tonight was another one of those nights. 

It was about 9pm, and you were just wandering around your apartment, tidying up a few things before planning to settle on the couch with a good book and some hot chocolate. There was a knock, the same knock that only one man did to let you know it was definitely him. Standing, you opened the door, and there was your boyfriend, bloody and bruised. 

"Dean!" you exclaimed, partly shocked at the state of his face and partly happiness. "Come in, babe, what on Earth happened to you?"

He shook his head and smirked a little, eyes staring into yours. 

"The same thing that always happens, sweetheart."

That gruff, sarcastic voice always tried to make the best of every situation. You chuckled, and brought him to the couch. Fetching a glass of water for him, and some washcloths, you began to clean him up whilst you sat.

Dean still, after all this time, wasn't used to someone helping him in times like this. Not that anyone hadn't ever offered, Sam and Cas most certainly had, but he never took the help. With you, Dean knew he didn't have a choice. You were always there to fix him, in more ways than just this. He wasn't against it, and he didn't think he deserved it most of the time, but it never stopped you and your love was something Dean wouldn't give it up for the world.

As you sat, your legs touched and Dean's hand sat on your thigh, thumb stroking up and down against the fabric of your pyjamas. Every now and then, you'd catch each other's eyes and smile. From previous experience, you knew Dean wasn't too talkative in these moments, and you respected that. Each time you cleaned up a section of his face, you gave him a quick kiss on the area. Slowly but surely, you had patched him up everywhere. 

"There we go,back to normal," you said, then shrugged. "Well, you know, as normal as a hunter can get, at least."

"So, not at all then, hey?" He chuckled, then held his ribs.

"Everything alright, Dean?" you asked,and he lifted his shirt to reveal his bruised rib cage. Your eyes widened. "Dean!"

"Well I figured you can't exactly fix this with water, can you?"

You just shook your head. "You're way too stubborn, Winchester."

"Ahh, you love me anyway, Y/N."

"I do, now get your kit off and change into something less blood-stained." 

He stripped down and fetched a pair of lounge pants from his drawer. Dean came round to your apartment so often you bought a specific set of drawers just for him, growing tired of having no space for your own clothes. You weren't complaining though, there was always something of his for you to wear. 

"Better?"

You spun round to see your boyfriend in just his pants, without his shirt on. You cocked your eyebrow, and smirked.

"Not that I'm complaining, believe me I'm not, but where's your shirt?"

"Nuh-uh," he started, taking your hand and leading you over to the sofa again. "You never mentioned a shirt, just something 'less bloody', and I believe I have fulfilled that request."

"I hate when you're right, Dean."

Dean winked at you and pulled you over to him, so you were straddling his lap. He looked at you, eyes sparkling and smile present. When he smiled like that, his whole faced lit up. But, you knew it was mostly put on, as these situations drained him, and though eh wouldn't admit to it, they scared him. The atmosphere got a bit more serious now you two were seated again.

Dean's hands rested on your hips, and one travelled up to the back of your head, running through your hair as he went. Pulling you forward, you rested your forehead against his. His hand came forward, tracing your jaw and running his thumb along your lips before he spoke.

"Thank you."

Dean's voice was a low whisper, his eyes closed as he just being in the moment. He got very emotional after hunts, and you guessed it was the comedown of adrenaline, or the thankfulness he felt that he could come home. Sometimes, it wasn't too bad, and the risk was low, but he got especially in his feelings after a risky run. Such as now, where he held you and you stroked his hair. Dean listened to your heartbeat, calming himself fully by counting the beats.

"I've always got you," you whispered into his ear, kissing the top of his head. "You don't have to thank me. I'll always be here. No matter what, or however bad it feels, I'm here to fix it. Never forget that. I love you, baby."

A hoarse reply came from the man in your arms.

"I love you too."

Dean looked up, and you could think he was close to crying. He looked tired, very tired. You smiled down, and brought your lips to his. The kiss started soft, your hands on either side of his face and his hands on your waist. He pulled you both down, so you were lying side by side on the sofa, facing each other. The kiss broke, and Dean was looking down at you, fingers tracing up and down your side lazily.

"I got very lucky to have you, sweetheart. I'm sorry things get dangerous, but know that I'll protect you, okay? I'll fight hell twice over for you."

You cuddled into him, and his strong arms enveloped you in a safe warmth you only got with him. You had forgotten all about your hot chocolate and book, but that could wait. For now, you were cherishing the soft moments with your boyfriend, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanks for reading! <3

If you enjoy my content, you can buy me a coffee here :)

[myunghology]

hi hi if your requests are open could I ask for ritsu sakuma and rinne amagi x reader relationship hcs!! Gn reader!

ritsu and rinne general relationship hcs

featuring ritsu + rinne x gn! reader

warnings noneee

genre + layout fluff, crack, headcanons/bulleted layout

a/n SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG $/$/!/)/)

s. ritsu

becomes more possessive once you both start dating, but not TOO possessive to the point where he won't let you go, etc. because he knows you still have things to do.

also on how he confessed.. he probably?? did it on accident ☠️☠️

let's just say on a casual day you were just sleeping with him under a tree; on my because you fell asleep from looking at him. unexpectedly he woke up before you did.

confessed while you were quote unquote, “still asleep”. little did he know you were already wide awake.. ;3 your eyes were just closed!!

gets visibly flustered for about just one minute when he realizes your still awake, congratulations!! you've achieved the achievement ‘flustering ritsu sakuma’! difficulty; EXTRA HARD

feels bad when people talk shit about you just for dating him :(. it can scale from “they're not even good enough for ritsu?” to “why are they even dating him.. he's not all that.”

either way tho, he threatens people to stop talking bs about you. he's like that one meme!! “KEEP. MY. WIFES. NAME. OUT. YOUR. FUCKING. MOUTH 🤬🤬🤬” “RITSU STOP”

bro he is definitely starting a riot. sorry.

you have to patch him all up, plus you have to apologize to the person FOR HIM while he's just like.. “DON'T APOLOGIZE TO THEM. THEY CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES”

eventually. calms down. after like 10 minutes.

anyways,, he gives the bestt cuddles ever. don't we all know that though? this is just a personal hc, but i feel like he does origami for fun.

so whenever he has free time.. and isn't somehow sleeping, he teaches you what he knows. guys don't be like me cuz idk how to even make a paper airplane

+ gives the most RANDOM and OBVIOUS kisses and hickies, and if not, it's on the most personal places. on your (inner) thighs, your neck, your chest, etc.

"wow [name] you look like you just fought with a bear" spoiler alert: you just got a day with ritsu without mika in the room

im sorry if you get flustered obviously by touch, because OH NO.. who would've guessed.. he's so touchy and he absolutely bathes in your reaction whenever you squeal or/and blush at what he's doing.

sends texts to knights saying stuff like, “guys.. i miss them” “BRO STFU 😭” everyone is sick of him saying that, so please be with him 24/7 </3...

also talks about you obsessively to knights, probably even to rei if no one truly wants to listen to him ramble about you.. it's not that they don't like you!! it's just that it's a bit annoying sometimes. but it's also nice to get to know about you more.

just not from ritsu.

a. rinne

im so sorry you have to deal with him. hes so hot tho ill give him that

but when he loves, he loves HARDD, i swear. he'll be spoiling you both with money, and with his affection! it's a win-win situation for the both of you!

like ritsu, he spams his gc because of how much he rambles about you.. whether it be full blown paragraphs of you or little rambles.

these two are actually kind of similar when you're in a relationship with them. rinne is another one who gives very OBVIOUS hickies, and a lot at that. even his unitmates are embarrassed for you atp.. but they're happy!

cares for you a lot, even though it isn't that obvious due to.. yknowww, but it's really heartwarming whenever you see this side of him.

you're hurt by accident? he's already cleaning up your wounds and bandaging them before placing a soft kiss on it, telling you to be careful next time.

not on accident and someone caused it? well... heh... 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞! ahh reaction

likes teasing you a lot! pinching your face and tugging on it right after, just to trigger your natural blush he always loves to see.

HEAVY on pda, doesn't really care who sees, unless you care, then he won't mind! but still insists because he can't get his hands off you (IN A SFW WAY. u guys r gross)

HIIRO APPROVES! you take care of rinne and you look out for him, it's also a win-win for the both of you guys

netflix marathons.. but it's with sad movies. it's either he holds you or you hold him when the other cries their heart out

surprisingly good at comforting?? doesn't seem like it because of his character, but you've learned early enough that he's a good person to rant to!

also because of that, you two have gotten more closer than ever :). thinks you deserve the best— and so he gives it to you. that basically sums up your whole relationship

myunghology: IDK HOW TO WRITE FOR RINNE DIES

[burningfudge]

Ultimates (2024) #1

OHMYGODDD Ultimates #1 was fantastic! I have so many thoughts that I had to turn it into a post lol.

Poor Steve 😂 I'm very interested to see Steve's journey, though, because he's now the captain of a country that doesn't exist. How is he going to navigate that? I'm also looking forward to Steve and Tony's dynamic in this universe because Tony's a kid, which changes things a lot. He's a kid with the burden of the world on his shoulders, trying to undo everything that the Maker did, and Steve knows that as well. Plus, if they know about all the events on Earth-616, they also know about Civil War. I hope it's brought into the conversation soon.

NOOO IS CAROL DEAD?? MY GIRL This is brutal as a Captain Marvel and Hawkeye fan. Spider-Man is thriving for now (surprising, I know), but Carol is probably dead, and Clint has given up being Hawkeye. But even Spider-Man was near rejection as Peter was thinking about giving up until his daughter convinced him to be Spider-Man. The Maker really fucked up this universe, huh. I'd love for a certain archer to find the uniform and take up the Hawkeye mantle and then Clint to get inspired by Kate in this universe. I think it'd be a fun twist, especially since Tony also mentioned that they can find near-perfect substitutes. He eventually realized his mistake later on the issue, but I really do think Kate could have a big role to play.

Hehe, a fun little wink to Tony eventually becoming Kang the Conquerer.

This version of Tony is so interesting to me because he’s a kid, and making him the center of all this works very well because of it, especially his relationships with Reed and Steve. Reed is more pragmatic and cold, while Steve is idealistic, and seeing both of them influence Tony is fantastic. Tony himself is more idealistic than his 616 version because he’s much younger. Steve grounds the two and makes Tony and Reed understand that whatever they're doing isn't an experiment but a revolution.

While I love all the other characters, the standout in this issue for me was Hank Pym, which I didn't expect. He knows what kind of person he turned to be on Earth-616 and he doesn't want to turn out that way. I think that's a very compelling story arc.

Ahh, I love this. What Steve says is right; Hank can choose to be different. It's also interesting if we compare Peter and Hank because, in Ultimate Spider-Man, we're told that Peter always felt that something was missing from his life, and then he learned the truth about what the Maker did and became Spider-Man, which fulfilled his life. On the other hand, Hank was happy running an extermination business with his wife. (How Janet went from rich heiress to this is also something I'm wondering). Hank was happy, but now he's being told he was supposed to become Ant-Man, create Ultron, and hit his wife, whom he loves more than anything. I felt bad for him, honestly.

616 Tony should say this to his father, too lol. But this part is probably my favorite part of the issue because of the insight it gives us into Tony's mind, who is the center of the new Ultimate universe. As I've mentioned many times, Tony is a teenager in a world run by fascists, a world that his father was complicit in making. He's angry at Howard, but he also loves him. I think an argument could be made about Tony representing today's generation that's also dealing with the effects of (poor) decisions made by our parents and grandparents, and feeling the anger from it. "It's quite a mess you made, Dad. And now we have to clean it up. What choice do we have?" "If there's any hope of fixing things...it won't be enough to be as good as the heroes of that simpler world. We'll have to be better. I don't know what that looks like yet. But we're going to figure it out." "You were the smartest man in the world. You should've known better. And that is failure.”

[ofjunenote]

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

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

OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills.

pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader

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

wc — 18k

content — CLEAN VER. university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, swearing, dirty jokes bc of the word smash (lmk if i missed anything!)

a/n — HIIIIIIII. this might seem familiar to some and its because this has been posted before. This is the SFW version on my SFW blog!!!! so minors are allowed to interact with this as it’s been altered to fit for a general audience. as always, i hope you enjoy reading. all comments are welcome!

You enjoy sports.

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

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

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

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

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You inhale and try to tune them out.

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

So things are going great at this point.

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

“Am not!”

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

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

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

“. . . But.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A-as I was saying,”

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

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

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay then, who’s next?”

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

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

Why does he look so good? Show off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So when’s your next class?”

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

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

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same old,” You shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, feeling the heat of his palms spreading. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung huffs every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. 

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

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

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

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You flush slightly at the proximity of you two, but before you could attempt to mask your expression the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here.

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

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

“You’re so on,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s his deal then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

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

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

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

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

you: not too minty not too chocolatey

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: i’ll see you then <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung lips form a ‘o’, now stepping aside from the doors with your explanation, rubbing at his nape. You smile at his antic, nudging him quickly with a promise of being quick before going into the shower room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s good,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck does that mean?”

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

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

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

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

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I got into group B.”

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

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

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

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

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

[kzzeyno]

•nanami x femreader•

•office seggs/teachers/clingy-nanami•

•enjoy!•

••••••

“Ms. Y/L/N, are you free right now?”

Nanami Kento walks into your classroom, shutting the door.

“Kind of, I’m in the middle of grading. What’s up?”

He walks up to you, leans down and kisses you.

“I can’t wait any longer…”

Nanami and you have been together for a while now and things were going great. It was unusual for him to come and ask that during work hours. Usually he waits until you both get home but maybe he had a long day.

“I can give you a blowjob, you can wait until we get home.” You said kissing him softly.

“But I can’t wait, I want you now…”

It was weird that Nanami was demanding and rather clingy than usual but it low key turned you on. Before you could get a word out, he picks you up and prompts you on your table, kissing your neck as he does so. You let out little moans as you unbuckled his belt. You could smell his cologne that he wore, which made you turned on even more.

“Nanami, sit in the chair and I’ll-“

He breaks the kiss from your neck, takes his glasses off and looks you in the eyes.

“Please baby…just this one time?”

You liked that he plead. Seeing him not get his way was new to you and you wanted to enjoy it for a little longer.

“Only if you can make me cum first..”

He lifts your legs up and starts to finger you. You let out a loud moan and you quickly cover your mouth. There could still be other teachers in the building. Nanami smirked as he continued to finger you. You were moaning so loud that he had to stuff his tie in your mouth. He leans down and starts to lick your clit. You felt both his fingers and tongue inside of you. You’ve never felt more amazing, but you knew you were going to cum soon. You grip onto his blazer and release inside his mouth. He pulls back and licks it off clean.

“That was so hot…” You thought.

“My turn…”

He puts on a condom and slides inside of you slowly. You tilt your head back from pleasure as he begins to thrust gently and slowly. You were gonna lose your mind. You take out the tie from your mouth.

“Na-Nanami…go fa-faster ugh…”

He leans in your ear and whispers,

“Shh let me take my time, I wanna make sure we both feel good…”

He lifts up your legs a bit more and thrusts inside of you slowly. He kept a steady pace as he moaned in your ear. You felt everything. His dick throbbing inside of you, his big hands under your dress shirt as he gripped your breasts, the sound of the table rocking back and forth. It was thrilling.

“Ahhh na-Nanami!”

“Yes my dear?” He says catching his breath.

“Harder…I can handle it….ahh..please…”

Without hesitation, he thrusts inside of you deeper but still keeping his pace. You moaned and moaned and you were close to cumming again. He grips your tighter as he starts to go a little faster. The table starts to rock heavily and you felt like you were going to fall. He holds you tightly and thrusts faster inside of you. You could tell he was going to cum too.

“I-…ahh I’m most there…” He moans in your ear.

He gets a tight grip on you and cums inside of you. His thrusts became weaker as he came and once he pulled out, you were dripping wet. Your clothes were filled with sweat from yours and his, your panties were wet from before and you could see the used condom on the floor. You take a peek and boy was that a huge load. He sits you up and hugs you tightly. He kisses your head and starts to rub your back from the pain of the table.

“Next time…ha…let’s do this when we get home..”

He kisses your head once again and says,

“I’ll think about it.”

••••••

[moirindeclermont]

Happy Saturday!! It's day 26 and tonight's episode of BridgertonS3 Polin Kinktober brings us.... Foreplay and mommy kink (because as everything with them, they are definitely not staying still in one role) So... Enjoy!

There are two things that Colin loves more than being inside his wife. One is when Pen takes the rein in the bedroom, and two when the preamble was actually the main event. Sometimes those two things combined, leaving him wondering what he did right to deserve such lucky.

As everything in their relationship, they were happy to switch as often as needed, sometimes even in the same night.

That day Comin was nervous and overstimulated. He did snapped a couple of times.

He was going to bed, ready to apolige, when he saw Pen, the Robe on and a determined glimpse in her eyes.

"Someone needs to be reminded of who is in charge here," she said. Her tone was stern but calm, exuding confidence.

Colin went on his knees on reflex, knowing what was about to happen.

Nervous him? When? Pen had such power over him that he didn't need to be told twice. Pen got up and walked until she was in front of him, her hand finding its way to his hair.

He moaned on contact, as always.

"Untie me, wih your mouth," she ordered him and he was quick to obey, reaching to the knot that kept together the Robe and undoing it, revealing her naked and so beautiful.

"I apologize, Mommy. I was snappy and sarcastic today," he said, waiting more than anything to play with her m, in whatever way she wanted.

"Good boy," she purred and he responded in kind.

"Lift me and bring me back to the bed. When I'm settled, you can come on the bed as well."

Again, he was more than happy to do it. Pen was on the bed a minute later, her robe now down her shoulder, exposing her chest. He waited for her nod before going on the bed.

"Play with my bosom. You're not allowed to come until I said so."

He hesitate a bite "may I kiss you first?"

She looked like she was thinking about it, until she nodded and he kissed her with all his love, already playing with is fingers, teasing her nipples.

He went down, kissing her on her neck, before reaching his destination. He was hard in his pants but he ignored it.

He could literally stay hour just licking and sucking her t1ts. Her light moans giving him something to focus on as he showered with attention both breasts.

There was no rush. No need to be fast.

He was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Yes, Colin. Such a good husband for me," mmm he always had to moan when Pen called him a good husband.

Time seemed to slow down as his mind went blank, focusing just on the task ahead.

"You may touch my core, just with your fingers," she said eventually, just when he was about to ask her as much.

Touching her like that was always so special, no matter how many time she had done it.

Finding her wet didn't matter. He was a tool for her desires tonight. If she didn't want his d1ck, that would have been okay too. He went instead for her pearl, light pressure that made her moan.

"Yes, so good," she sighed and he continued single minded, until she was almost close. Then, she looked at him in the eyes and said 'since you've been so good, you may take out you cock and come on my tits after you made me come. But you have to clean the mess," she said and Colin just nodded, happy to get to come at all.

He reprises, touching and sucking and licking, until she was moaning under him.

"Ahh- yes. Colin!"

As she laid down, he took himself out. She looked at him with such pride and affection as she squeezed her chest for him and he was so hard that it was only a few minutes when he made a mess of her.

Then, as promised, he cleaned her thoroughly, as Pen sighed in pleasure.

He laid on her side, caressing her slowly.

"Are you good now?" She asked him, and Colin nodded.

"How you can get me from nervous to happy it's such a miracle to me."

She laughed. "It's the same for you, dummy," she answered, smiling as they fell into sleep, breathing in sink.

[melanieathene]

Mr. Wonderful

This is a love story.

I'd like to say it was a classic case of love at first sight, but I don't know if that's true.

All I know for certain is that it's a love that was meant to be.

We don't get many quality folk in this dump that calls itself a diner. Truckers who haven't seen a washcloth in days – weeks maybe. Bums who stumble in to get out of the cold, taking up table space long after they've drained the last drop of coffee in their cup. Old folks on a tight budget looking for a cheap meal. Cheaters looking to score, streetwalkers looking to oblige them. Impatient, forlorn, pitiful people. Losers, every one.

He stood out like a sunbeam slicing through a cloudy sky. Clean, well-dressed, and handsome – god, he took my breath away with his movie star good looks. He was way prettier than the models you see in those fancy magazines – the ones I leaf through in the grocery line, but can never afford to buy.

“I'm gonna to marry that man,” I murmured.

Rhonda snapped her gum as she turned her head to follow my gaze. “Him?” She snorted. “Honey, he's out of your league. Married. Or gay. My money is on gay. Look at the long-haired fella he's with. There's something going on between them.”

“I don't care. I want that table. I'll trade you for the party of six.” I hitched my thumb towards table three.

The cackling old biddies sitting there were fussy, but they were surprisingly good tippers. Regulars who liked to meet up after church, or their book club, or whatever. Normally, Rhonda and I butted heads over who got to serve 'em.

“Your loss.” Rhonda shrugged and sauntered away. I saw the good-looking guy shoot a glance at her ample bosom as she walked by.

Gay, my ass.

I popped a couple of buttons on my blouse, the better to display my cleavage. If he liked boobs, mine were an even bigger eyeful than Rhonda's. The rest of the package wasn't bad either.

The green eyes that turned my way as I approached the back-corner booth set me in mind of an emerald I once saw in a store window. Dazzling. No other word for it.

“What can I offer you, gentlemen?” I asked in as sultry a voice as I could muster.

“Well, I don't know,” Mr. Wonderful drawled – and damned if he didn't sound just as good as he looked. “What do you have to offer?” The suggestive smile that accompanied the question set my pulse racing and my cheeks ablaze.

“Dean!” the tall one barked.

Oh-oh. I quickly suppressed a sigh. Jealous boyfriend alert. Abort! Abort!

But it would appear luck was on my side, because the next words out of his mouth were:

“You'll have to excuse my brother. He... He's...” Mr. Tall flung up his hands, as if giving up on trying to explain the unexplainable.

His (hallelujah!) brother grinned unrepentantly.

“I'll have a salad – the house dressing is fine,” Mr. Tall continued, obviously deeming it better for all concerned if he changed the subject. “He'll have the double cheeseburger with fries. And, uh... two coffees, please. Make mine decaf.”

“And pie,” Dean added. His eyes caressed my name tag, before straying over to the curve of my breast. “Apple if you've got it, Sherri with an 'i'. With whipped cream –”

“And a cherry on top?”

“Ahh, a woman after my own heart. Thank you, darlin'.”

I could feel the weight of his stare as I walked away. Who could blame me if I put a little extra wiggle in my walk?

“Not gay,” I whispered as Rhonda and I crossed paths. “With his brother. And he's a first class flirt.”

“Hrmph,” she muttered. “That don't mean nothing. I might bump him from gay to bi, but that's the best I can do for you. My gaydar's never wrong.”

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Rhonda? She's my best friend and I love her to bits, but she can be an insufferable pain in the ass when she thinks she's right. Which is all the time.

I wasn't going to let her be right this time. Mr. Wonderful – Dean! – was the kind of man I'd been dreaming of for far too many years. I was through with settling for Cracker Jack toys! I wanted a real prize. And there he was... not ten feet away.

A glance over my shoulder at the booth showed Dean frowning as Mr. Tall shoved his laptop towards him. They both seemed pretty engrossed by whatever was on that screen. Real serious, like. So it would appear that I had a little competition after all. Digital competition. Pfftt! I wasn't worried about that. With my looks and bubbly personality, most men easily sway the way I want them to go. I fluffed my hair and unfastened yet another button. Hey, when you're going for the gold, you gotta give it all you've got.

I picked up the tray containing their order and called up my best smile. The megawatt one that best shows off my dimples and pearly whites.

That smile dimmed considerably as I turned to face them.

There was a third person in the booth. Another man. Another looker, with dark, wind-swept hair and heavy five o'clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Dean had scooched over to make room for Mr. Trench Coat, but they were sitting close. Really close. In fact, they were pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee.

Dean caught my eye as I approached and hissed, “Personal space!”

“My apologies,” Mr. Trench Coat replied in a low rumble that rivalled Dean's for the honour of sexiest voice ever. Though why he was apologizing wasn't clear to me. Dean was the one who hadn't moved over far enough in the first place. The bigger question was where he had come from, though. I hadn't heard the bell ring to announce his arrival. It was a mystery that didn't sit well with me.

“Would you like to place an order, sir?” I said, polite and frosty in the same breath, as I set plates in front of the two brothers.

“No.”

No, thank you. Lovely manners you have, there.

Blue eyes lifted to meet my gaze, staring at me – through me – as if they could see into my very soul.

“No, thank you,” he intoned.

And just like that, I was dismissed. I mattered less to him than the cockroaches in the kitchen.

His eyes turned back to Dean. Dean's gaze fell to his plate. Mr. Tall choked back what could have been a chuckle – or maybe he just swallowed funny.

I beat a hasty retreat. But I wasn't done with table nine yet. Dean was clearly a dessert man. And I had pie as my secret weapon. Homemade pie, too. None of that pasty store-bought stuff most dives like ours serve. I baked it myself twice a week to squeeze a few extra bucks from our skinflint boss, and I wasn't beyond letting that little fact slip when I brought a slice over to Dean. So, take that, Blue Eyes.

Confidence restored, I felt almost generous towards the poor guy. I even brought him a glass of ice water – which he didn't touch. Nor did he thank me for it.

It was a fairly busy night, but I kept glancing over to that corner as I hurried about my tasks. Dean had once again inched closer to Blue Eyes – or maybe Blue Eyes was crowding him? Either way, their knees and elbows were knocking. Mr. Tall noticed this too. Judging from the knowing little smirk he wore, it wasn't the first time he'd seen it happen. But even his eyebrows rose when Blue Eyes casually swiped a fry from Dean's plate, and Dean didn't so much as blink. He'd slapped Mr. Tall's hand when he'd tried that trick not five minutes before, hard, growling something along the lines of, “if you insist on eating rabbit food, don't expect me to share the good stuff.”

Blue Eyes dove in for another fry. And then a third. And then he snagged Dean's coffee and took a tentative sip.

Apparently, that wasn't much to his liking. I had to turn away from the sourpuss face he pulled, just so I didn't laugh out loud. When I turned back, Dean was doctoring his coffee – pouring in creamer and adding tons of sugar – all without taking his eyes off the computer screen or his mind off his ongoing conversation with Mr. Tall. He removed the stir stick from the mug and licked it. Blue Eyes took advantage of his distracted state to grab the coffee and cautiously sample the results. He smiled and took a second, deeper drink. And a fourth fry.

It was with considerably less enthusiasm than I had originally planned that I delivered the pie and declared it was made by yours truly.

Oh, I hovered in the vicinity, ready and eager to reap the rewards of my labour, but I had a sinking feeling that Rhonda – once again – was going to be proven right.

Sure enough, I wasn't the one Dean sought out after the first bite. The look of bliss that crossed his face was all I'd wished for – and more – but it was Blue Eyes he turned to. Blue Eyes on the receiving end of an ecstatic smile. Blue Eyes who obligingly opened his mouth when so prompted, and thus received the second forkful of my pie.

What Blue Eyes thought of it, I'll never know. For at that very moment, the bell that had been faithfully announcing arrivals and departures (except for Blue Eyes', of course) blasted from its place above the door, followed by the door itself. Shattered glass flew in all directions, and the metal frame embedded itself in table five. I heard Rhonda scream, saw her limping for the kitchen with blood seeping from a gash on her left leg. Customers who jumped up, preparing to follow her example and flee, were trampled as a horde of people poured into the diner – fifteen – twenty – maybe more. They looked like a biker gang, all dressed in black leather with dangling chains, all tattoos and piercings and unkempt beards. We've had a lot of bikers pass through. Most of 'em never cause a spot of trouble, though a couple of times we've had rival gangs rumbling in our parking lot. But I'd never, ever before seen black eyes like this lot had. Black. So very black. Like the gates of hell must be...

I'm a little hazy on what happened next. There was a lot of hollering and pushing and crashing. Things flew through the air – tables, chairs, even people.

I slipped in a puddle of what I sincerely hoped was ketchup, and felt myself falling... but, somehow, Dean was there to catch me. He scooped me up in his arms like the hero in one of those stupid romance novels Rhonda likes to read. He carried me through the mêlée, shoved me into the restroom, and told me to lock the door and keep it locked.

He didn't have to tell me twice. I didn't have to see any more to know that whatever was happening out there, it was bad. Really bad.

I just prayed the bathroom door was strong enough to keep it from happening to me.

If there had been a window, I would have climbed out of it and run away.

But there wasn't a window. And I would never have known the end of the story if I had skipped out at the middle.

Two clear voices rang out, rising above the continuous chorus of furious shouts and frantic cries. A sudden wash of light crept under the door, almost blinding me with its intensity. The silence that followed was almost worse than the horrible noise that preceded it.

I'm not ashamed to admit I screamed like a little girl when a quiet knock sounded on the door. I was bawling like one too, I was that scared: snot and mascara smearing my face, breath hitching and heart hammering fit to burst.

“Sherri? Sherri, it's Sam. It's over. It's okay to come out.”

“I don't know you, Sam.” I sniffled and drew closer to the door, but I wasn't about to open it. “Why should I trust you?”

“I'm Dean's brother.”

“Where's Dean?”

“He was injured in the attack. Cas is... uh... patching him up. Don't worry, Dean's in good hands.”

“Is Cas a doctor?”

“No... not exactly. He's... It's hard to explain. Sherri, will you open the door? We have to get you out of here.”

“Dean told me to stay put.”

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” I heard Sam mutter. And then, louder, “Cas! Can you help Dean over here? I need him to convince Sherri that it's safe.”

Slow, shuffling footsteps made their way across the floor. It felt like an eternity before the voice I wanted to hear finally spoke my name.

“Sherri,” he said wearily. “It's Dean. Open the door.”

Blue Eyes was standing there scowling at me when I cracked the door open. His arm was snugly draped around Dean's waist, clearly supporting most of his weight. Dean's arm was slung around Blue Eyes' shoulders, further steading himself. I suppose I should have felt guilty for making Dean come to me in his condition, but I didn't. I flung myself against his chest and hugged him tight. But not too tight, and not for as long as I really wanted to hold him. His quick gasp let me know how much his ribs were hurting him.

“Thank you,” I said, reluctantly stepping back. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“It's what we do. Besides, how could I deprive the world of a five star pie maker like you?” The cocky grin was back and (damn!) it looked good on his face. Even bruised and bleeding, he was one fine looking man.

Blue Eyes' fingers twitched, knotting into the fabric of Dean's shirt. His little finger brushed against bare flesh where the shirt had rucked up. Dean shivered and turned a questioning gaze his way. “Sam will take you home,” he said absentmindedly, as if he'd already forgotten I was still standing there. It was obvious he was trying real hard to fit a puzzle together, as if he'd just found a missing piece and the picture was finally making sense.

Sam ushered me away, his giant hand hovering near my face, ready to shield me from the worst of the carnage, or so I believed at that moment. We were almost to the door when a thought struck me.

“Rhonda!” I exclaimed, suddenly stopping dead in my tracks. “She went into the kitchen. She was hurt.”

“Wait here.” Sam righted a toppled chair and gently but firmly insisted I sit down. I bit my lip as I looked around. Carnage? Where was the carnage? There should have been bodies. Lots of bodies. But there were none, just a strange, dark ash that coated every surface. As if the people had been burned away.

I remembered the blazing light.

Just before it flared, I remembered a voice calling, “Dean! Dean!” Desperation filled the cry. The anguish of a man about to lose all that he held dear. The voice of a blue-eyed man who liked his coffee overly sweet.

And I remembered Dean's voice crying out in reply. One single word: “Cas!” As if the name carried with it a thousand conversations they'd never had – should have had – might now have.

The kitchen door swung on its rusty hinges, and Sam came towards me carrying Rhonda as if she weighed no more than a kitten. She was unconscious, but alive. I felt my heart blossom in relief as I rose from the chair and rested a hand on her arm. Sam led us out the door. Out to the blessed smell of fresh air, where a hint of rain lingered like a promise on the breeze.

I don't know why I turned around for one final look at Mr. Wonderful.

He didn't look back at me.

He and Blue Eyes were too busy staring into each other's eyes.

Slowly, Dean leaned forward. Just as slowly, Blue Eyes tilted his head and leaned in to meet him halfway.

All love stories should end with such a tender, yearning kiss.

And, like I said at the beginning, this is a love story.

It just isn't mine.

Originally posted 2015-03-03. Just thought it might be fun to post some old stories here. :)

[enjoy-the-butterf1ies]

Everywhere, Everything-

CL16 (Chapter 2/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc × female!reader

Series Summary: In which a rising singer gets her biggest break yet; opening at the Austin Grand Prix. All record companies would have their eyes on her- along with a certain monegasque driver.

Trope: Slow burn with a mix of other tropes in there (He fell first, one bed, roommates, all the good ones!)

Chapter Summary: After the performance of her dreams, Y/N finally heads back to her hotel room. But a certain mix up sends Charles and Y/N headfirst into meeting- literally.

Warnings: Cussing, rushed chapter, probably typos 🫣

You were sure Diane’s screeches would deafen you at any minute. Wincing, you pulled the phone away from your ear in an effort to quiet her. No avail.

“Y/N this is huge!!” She squealed. “They loved you, love, love, loved you! I could totally tell, the energy even on TV- oh my god-“

You chuckled. Despite her nearly unintelligible screams, you could tell your manager was genuinely happy for you. “Yeah I’m literally, like, speechless right now,” You whispered. You fumbled the hotel keys from your pocket, staring at the door of your hotel room. You allowed yourself to drink the events from the night in. You felt euphoric, on top of the world. “Okay Diane, I gotta go. I’m exhausted. I stayed behind to watch the other bands and help them clean up afterwards. Sometimes I’m truly too kind.”

Diane laughed. “Yeah yeah, you’re definitely a saint,” She joked. “Get some shut eye. I have a feeling tomorrow is gonna be filled with chatter about you.”

After a quick goodbye, you swiped the key card to your hotel room. Fancy.

A little too fancy, in fact.

Any other night- any normal night- you would never be able to afford staying at this hotel. It was one of the best in Texas, reserved for only the richest of the rich. Thank god the band you opened for booked and paid for your room. You suppose staying back and helping them clean was the least you could do to thank them.

Swinging the door open, you shuffled into the room quickly, afraid of looking too out of place in that hallway. Perhaps the fact that the lights were already on in the room should’ve set you off, or maybe the pile of hoodies and t-shirts on the floor. But you didn’t even get a chance to question any of it because as soon as you looked up, you slammed headfirst into a taller man.

“AHH, WHAT THE HELL??!” You screamed, backing up in fear, grabbing whatever defense you could possibly find. Your guitar. That would do. You held it up like a baseball bat, hopefully threatening him more than he threatened you.

Not that he was threatening you, the man had backed up in fear, holding his hands up in confusion. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He shouted, eyes wide. You picked up on a sweet accent in his voice. “What- What is this- Why are you in my hotel room?!”

“Your hotel room?!” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at that statement. Still, you didn’t drop the guitar. “This is mine, I had a friend of mine book it for me.”

“Okay, well let’s just put the guitar down and we’ll figure it out,” The man said calmly. “I’ve been staying in this room for the past few days, I’m fairly confident it’s mine.” He chuckled a little bit at you.

Your eyebrows furrowed deeper at his amusement. Slowly, you lowered the guitar and tried to stand as confident as possible. “Okay…” You muttered. Now that you weren’t seeing red anymore, the man in front of you looked awfully familiar. His deep green eyes and pointy nose stood out to you, something about his scruffy brown hair was comforting. But you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Charles inhaled deeply. The moment you stepped into his room he recognized you, instant flashbacks to your beautiful performance. Ideally, his first meeting with you wouldn’t have been giving each other concussions and you threatening him with a guitar- but beggars can’t be choosers. His hands found their way to his phone, showing you in an effort to calm your fears. “Let me give the hotel a call,” He offered.

You watched the familiar man wander into another room, on call with the hotel manager. You could still hear his voice, hardly making out bits and pieces of the conversation. “Okay… What… None at all… Why…” Is all you could hear. You sighed and checked your watch. It was 1:30 in the morning. So much for you getting a good nights rest.

Eventually the man came back out, waving his phone on the air. “So, uh… the hotel screwed up and double booked this room,” He said. You blinked in confusion. “They didn’t realize I was already staying here.”

“Oh, okay, well are they going to get me another room?” You nodded, bouncing on your heels. You were really freaking tired.

The man grimaced. “I tried, they said literally every single room in this hotel is taken,” He said sheepishly.

Your eyes widened. “What?? Then where the hell am I supposed to stay?” You rubbed your face in your hands. Frustration instantly consumed you. “Just lovely.”

The man rubbed the back of his neck. “We could try calling around- although most places are probably closed and- yeah…” He realized the error of his word as he said it. “Many many places have been completely booked because of the Austin Grand Prix this weekend. It may be difficult to find somewhere safe in this hour.”

As soon as the words Grand Prix left his mouth, the gears in your brain clicked. The man standing in front of you was an F1 driver, and not just any F1 driver; it was Charles fucking Leclerc. “Holy shit,” You breathed out.

Charles took your sigh as a breath of frustration. “We could possibly share the room tonight,” He offered. The words spilled out faster than he could stop them and he kicked himself for even offering that. You two were strangers, what girl would want to spend the night in a strangers hotel room? “I’m Charles, uh Charles Leclerc by the way.” He stuttered out. There. Now he wasn’t a stranger anymore.

The corners of your lips turned slightly upward, but your eyes were still wide at his offer. You were surprised he would say something like that, being who he is. “I know,” You finally said. He furrowed his eyebrows a bit and you spoke up quickly. “I mean- don’t worry, I swear I’m not a crazy fan or anything. I do enjoy F1 but it’s not to the point where I’m like insane- okay, I just watch it from time to time and you’re- you know. Yeah.” You shut yourself up. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

Charles smiled widely. “I know,” Now it was your turn to be confused. He swallowed nervously. “Your performance tonight was nothing short of incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.” You had no idea how sincerely he meant that statement.

Your mouth hung slightly agape when he said this. You were unable to comprehend that someone so famous would even pay attention to your music. Much less be impressed by it. Your shoulders instantly relaxed at this easy conversation, all the fear from the beginning of the night was slowly fading away. “That means a lot, thank you,” You laughed, unable to stop the light blush forming on your cheeks. Charles couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your laugh. You fidgeted. “I think we could work out sharing this hotel room, just for tonight. I’m exhausted.”

Charles nodded. “Only if you promise not to beat me with your guitar in my sleep,” He joked. You giggled heartily at that and Charles immediately felt weak in the knees. “There’s only one bed but there’s a small couch right over there. You can have the bed, I really don’t mind.”

“Oh? Thank you so much,” You said sincerely. He just shrugged and started moving all his items off the bed for you. You were taken aback by his kindness. First he let you stay in the room, and now he’s letting you have the bed. It was shocking to say the least. But then again, so was this whole situation. “This is weird, right?”

“Very weird,” He chuckled. He met your gaze with sincere eyes. “But I’d rather have you stay here than go out to look for a hotel room on your own. We’ll figure out everything else tomorrow.” He paused. “If you’re okay with that.”

You scoffed, finally setting down all of your bags. It felt amazing to get the extra weight off your shoulders. You tucked them neatly beside the door and gave Charles another grateful smile. This could be the worst mistake of your life, were you crazy for agreeing to spend the night in this hotel room with him? Sure, it was nothing creepy. He was an F1 driver, he was far too famous to kill you in your sleep. Right?

Hopefully right?

“Yeah, it’s all good,” You nodded, flopping down on the bed. You let out a deep groan as exhaustion overtook you. Your hesitation was forgotten.“I’m so tired.” Your voice was muffled from the sheets.

Charles chuckled and took a pillow off the bed. You eyed him as he did so. “What? I need a pillow to sleep at least,” He said in defense.

“Ah, right,” You sat up and held out a blanket to him. “Probably need that too.”

“Just a little,” He smiled at you as he took the blanket. He felt his fingers brush against yours for a millisecond, and thoughts of holding you close flashed in his mind. He pushed them down immediately. Nope. Not tonight. The last thing he wanted to do was creep you out by getting nervous around you. Just be normal, Charles. Normal.

You then disappeared into the bathroom to change. One deep skincare routine later, you returned to the bed, surprised to see Charles still awake. He was sitting on the couch, listening to music from his phone. His smile was wide.

“This song is incredible,” He said happily, flipping his phone to show you an all-too-familiar album cover. It was your very own song, one of the first ones you had ever written. It was inspired by your childhood dog, but all of your friends and family said it was a beautiful love ballad. You’d never correct them.

You grinned widely at him. “Thanks,” Was all you could get out. You were surprised he even found your little spotify account, it only has 60 or so monthly listeners after all. “It was one of my first songs I ever wrote, kinda weird to look back on now.”

Charles hummed in approval. He watched you sit down on the edge of the bed, full attention on him. “Well you just played in front of thousands of people,” He pointed out. “I’d be worried if it didn’t feel a little strange looking back on your old work. You’ve come a long way. That’s something to be proud of.”

You gave a soft smile to him, not sure what to say. You had never been complimented like this before. So genuine. His heart rate sped up at the sight of your grin. “I could say the same for you,” You finally spoke up. “P2 today, yeah I saw. I feel like you get better each race, despite all odds.”

Charles shrugged. “Racing is everything to me,” He simply said. “It’s always been a part of who I am. I’d be doing myself a disservice if I never improved.”

You nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean,” Charles eyes caught your gaze and, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so alone. “I think we’re meant to improve everyday, set new goals with every dream we make come true. That’s what it’s all about, I guess.”

Charles’ eyes crinkled in the corners, unable to tear his gaze away from you. “Yeah, it is isn’t it,”

You yawned widely, stretching your arms out as you did so. It was such a natural conversation between you two, you forgot just how late it was. “Thank you again for letting me stay the night here, I think it’s time for me to get some rest though,” You said shyly.

Charles swiftly stood to turn off the lights and the room was instantly blanketed with darkness. Outside the window, you could see city lights and the stars. It was breathtaking. You watched shadow of Charles’ body as he laid down on the small couch. ‘That can’t be comfortable’ you thought to yourself, biting your lip in guilt. Once again you internally thanked him for letting you use the bed. “Goodnight Charles,” You whispered, unsure if he even heard you.

His heart skipped a beat at the soft sound of your voice. “Night Y/N,” He said as he smiled to himself.

He closed his eyes, drifting to sleep, your beautiful music playing in his head.

[minkkumaz]

CROWNS CAN'T KEEP ME AWAY FROM YOU

the love life of a prince and a maid was never supposed to happen, but he couldn't help his feelings for you grow. he wanted nothing more than to show you the world, but the world itself wasnt on your side in this kingdom.

PAIRING park sungho x fem!reader WC 4.0k TAGS prince sungho + maid reader. forbidden love. fluff. angst. OMI NOTE this is for my lovely @woonhakist because i know she's always been talking about prince sungho since forever (specifically prince eric sungho but it's not quite similar hence why i added some other stuff to give it that vibe) and i rlly wanted to make this for her ahh she's my best friend and only deserves the best so i must pull through. i hope you like it ml <33

falling in love with a maiden as beautiful as you wasn’t in his honor. and whilst you were far from a princess, his heart still grew as he watched you effortlessly sway along to the music. there were ethereal women on every corner, yet it was a difficult task to pay attention to the one in front of him while you were there. 

the ballroom was crowded with royalty from kingdoms down the way. high ceilings that were richly decorated with elegant moldings and dazzling chandeliers that hung from above, casting a romantic glow throughout the space. the hard marble floors echoed the sound of high heels and dress shoes tapping along with the music. 

sungho politely held onto the corset - covered waist of the girl in front of him. she was well - mannered, courteous like any princess should. but what she lacked is that she wasn’t you. these fantasies drowned him, unable to properly focus. 

“are you even paying attention to me?” she scoffed at the zoned out look in his eyes, trying to snap him out of his daze.

“my apologies, miss. what was it you’re saying?” sungho sighed, pulling his attention back to her.

“i’m unsure if i can keep dancing with you if you won’t even look at me. what kind of prince are you?”

“i was raised to be charming, not sincere. i hope you find a prince for you in the future.” he bowed politely as she walked away from him, leaving him there alone.

and while he felt terrible, he was relieved to be out of reach from the grab of a princess. he looked around the scene of party gowns and neat suits before going in your direction. 

you stood in a corner, humming to yourself pretty melodies while cleaning up messes that guests left over by the snack table. 

the uniform you wore was clean despite the work you normally did, you tried to stay out of view from the rest of the elegancy. it felt out of place otherwise. though sungho had his eyes on you the entire time.

“good evening, y/n. have you been enjoying yourself at the event?” he questions, making you turn your head quickly. 

“ah– it’s quite difficult to enjoy a party when you’re cleaning up after it. but i hope you’re having fun!” you tell him, leaning on the broom you were holding.

“why don’t you loosen up a little? there’s so many people i doubt anyone would care.”

“mistakes like that could get me fired your majesty, but i appreciate the suggestion.” you put on a smile despite the frown on his face. 

“how about we get out of here then, yeah?” he grabs your hand before you could even respond. the contact shooting electricity through your veins.

sungho analyzes the crowd before pulling you around a corner, away and out of sight from the people. you run behind him to keep up with the tug of your arm, your flats pattering against the marbled floors. it wasn’t long before you reached an unfamiliar room.

he reached into the sage green collar of his shirt, moving aside his silk - like hair to unclip a long chain with a key attached to the end. it fit perfectly into the door, making a click sound upon opening. he lead you into the room before closing the door behind the two of you.

the view you were met with was beautiful. unlit candles stray along newspaper scattered desks, books on top of books stood tall next to other various knick knacks. and amongst it all, there was a large canvas that was illuminated from the moonlight peering through the stained windows. it had a multiple strokes of different colored paint, creating what could only be described as a masterpiece.

“your majesty? what’s all of this?” you asked curiously as he let go of your hand to place in his pockets.

“just call me sungho, we don’t need to be so formal when we’re in here.” he states, running his fingers along the dust on the shelves.

“sungho.. are you sure we won’t be caught? why did you even take me here?”

“is it a bad thing that i find you interesting? that i want to get to know you? status aside we can always be two friends that hang out, y/n.”

you chose to ignore these words he spoke to you and the blush that crawled up your porcelain cheeks, admiring the numerous collectables around the room. yet your focus trailed to the painted canvas you saw previously, standing tall on a wooden easel. 

“do you paint?” you query, moving your face closer to look at the finer details. 

“when i’m bored, or find something that inspires me.” he appeared next to you, looking into your curious eyes.

the proximity between the two of you was short, his features barely seen as he faced away from the glow that came through the window. however, the tension was still there. his pupils were small despite the darkness, as he felt there was enough light right in front of him.

you could feel his breath against your face, making you flinch and stumble backwards. a bucket of paint tipped over when you hit the floor, quickly scrambling to pick it up. thick gold pigment poured across the floor and on your uniform. panic ensued while sungho just chuckled.

“y/n, it’s okay. nobody ever comes in here, you don’t have to freak out.” he tells you, pulling up your distressed figure from the gold soaked floorboards.

“i’m so sorry! god i don’t know why i have to be such a clutz, i’ll go get the cleaning supplies–”

“i said it’s fine. no harm done, you didn’t even spill that much, i have a rag and some water in here. you can just take off your apron.” he reached around your waist to untie the white cloth around you, making you freeze sheepishly.

the apron was discarded into the trash behind him and the mess was wiped from the floor while you stood there embarassed. somehow you looked even cuter like this.

“here let me show you something, to get your mind off of this. no need to be embarrassed, pretty.” he signaled you to sit with him at the desk in the corner, smiling to himself at the deep red color on your face. 

the smell of fresh books and glue became more prominent as he pulled a scrap book from the side, removing the elastic keeping the pages together. gorgeous calligraphy titled each fragile sheet of paper.

“this is where i put photos of all the places i’ve travelled. other castles specifically. you’d think being a prince would make you sick of the sight of all this royalty stuff. but i appreciate the structure.” he pointed to a large palace.

“wow.. i’ve never seen this one before, what’s it called?” you looked between him and the pages.

“this is koz kingdom, i have a couple cousins there so we visit often. their gates are quite tall aren’t they?”

“very! they must have a lot of people trying to break in?” 

“every kingdom has it’s enemies, but they always have a large force of guards to protect them. but they’d rather be safe than sorry, you know?”

“mhm.” you mumbled as he flipped the page.

“these photos bring back a lot of memories, photography is an item that helps  you keep a lot more things. i take for granted how much of the world i’ve seen. this is your first time working under royalty, right?” he wonders, watching your expression shift slightly.

“yes but i don’t mind it at all. there are some moments that make me want to quit but, it pays great enough for me to get by.” you frown.

“i don’t understand how anyone could treat you terribly, my family can be harsh sometimes but they mean well.” he pauses, “just– don’t quit. i’ve enjoyed our time together.

“me too, sungho.”  you let your guard down around him, maybe this could get you in trouble but you didn’t care.

it didn’t occur to you how much you didn’t know about the prince, but you felt honored to get such deep insight about him. this broke down the walls of the idea that all princes were stuck up, waiting for a princess to appear around their arm for the sole purpose of ruling a kingdom. sungho was different.

the two of you carried conversation for the duration of the night. music got a little less loud and voices became almost non existent. he showed you beautiful things, varying from places he’s visited and souvenirs he’s collected over time. all of it fascinated you, you’ve never seen anything so unique.

time passed like a whirlwind, distracted enough to not bother checking the clock. angry footsteps became audible from down the hall, interrupting the soft moment between the two of you. you stood up suddenly at the sound of the doorknob turning, rushing behind a bookshelf to shield yourself from whoever was coming in.

“sungho! you were absent the entirety of the party my darling, what kind of prince does this make you?” a womans voice beamed angrily, it was the queen.

“i sincerely apologize, mother. but it felt like i danced with every princess in the room. couldn’t i of had a break? i have zero feelings for any of them.”

“excuses, sungho. you need to find a princess before the year comes to an end. your father and i aren’t getting any younger!” she spat, “love is irrelevant in these circumstances.”

“yes mother..”

“now go freshen up for bed, we have a lot of things planned for tomorrow.”  she left the room as fast as she came in, leaving you and sungho alone once again.

“can i come out now?” you peaked from around the shelf while sungho signaled you back.

“i’m sorry about that, y/n. but i think it’s best we continue this another time.” he exhaled, slightly annoyed.

“oh my gosh it’s no worries! i um– i had a lot of fun. thank you for showing me all of these things…” you confessed nervously.

“you’re cute, y/n. i’ll see you in the morning.” he raised a hand to ruffle your hair a bit before walking away from you. the room felt ten times more empty once he was gone, so you quickly escaped after he was decent ways down the corridor.

morning came quickly like a dream, the sun barely rose and you were awake in a happy mood. the night before almost felt unreal, the tenderness of the time you spent with sungho felt like it was out of a story book. but anything that happened, anything that could happen between the two of you was impermissable.

you were far from a princess. the closest thing to gold you’ve ever owned were the silly chocolate coins you’d get as a reward from your parents when you were little. thinking about whether a prince like him would like someone like you made your head hurt. 

trying your best to push these unrealistic thoughts away, you gathered a breakfast plate to take up to his room. it was your turn for room service this morning, and life couldn’t be any more on your side.

you left a gentle knock on the tall doors before letting yourself in. sungho was still sleeping peacefully, sprawled out on his large mattress. there was something about seeing him lay comfortably that warmed your heart. some people thought he was quite intimidating, but that couldn’t be true, he was like anyone else. 

while you moved the cart closer to  his bed, you went to open the curtains and let the light in. it emit a low groan from him and the rustling of sheets.

“goodmorning, your majesty.” you beamed, going back over to his bedside while he sat up.

“i said you can just call me sungho when it’s the two of us.” he said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“right. sungho. sorry it’s just still a little weird to me.” you told him, “i brought you your breakfast.”

“thank you, y/n. hang out with me while i eat, yeah? my parents are way too busy in the morning, i need the company.” he takes the plate in his hands, nodding his thanks.

“of course. did you get good sleep?” you ask while sitting on the edge of his bed.

“the best sleep in awhile actually, did you have fun last night?” he spoke in between bites.

“i did have a lot of fun, so thank you for that. i’m a bit shocked they didn’t catch on that i wasn’t cleaning up though.”

“there are too many employees in this castle, they can barely keep track of them, let alone how much they’re paying them.” he ponders for a second, “when i become king i’ll try to be better to my people.”

“well i’m sure you’ll do wonderfully. maybe i’ll be working under you soon, considering you’re already searching for wives.” you laugh it off, fiddling with a spare fork from the silverware bin under your cart.

“i highly doubt i’ll find a princess anytime soon.” because they’re not you, he thought. “ i’m more in it for love. but i know my parents think otherwise. plus, if i was the king i wouldn’t let you work under me.”

“what do you mean?”

“you deserve better than that. you need to see the world.”

“maybe if i get enough money i’ll travel to all of these places you told me about. check out their villages, see if they have good bread. then i’ll make sure to take lots of pictures for you to see when i come back!” you think ahead.

“oh– also y/n, i have a present for you.” he perks up, fishing through one of the drawers on his nightstand. the item he pulled was a dainty piece of jewelery, a small gold chain with a little lock at the end. 

“this is for me?” your eyes go wide as he turns your body so your back is facing him. shivers went down your spine as the cold material wrapped around your neck, the slight touch of his fingers against you during it all made you blush.

“looks pretty on you. i found it on a table right by the door before i left.” he smiles, turning your chin upwards so the top of your head lay at an angle against the middle of his collarbone. the position was romantic, making your head malfunction.

“sungho–” you stutter out, extremely flustered. seeing you shy also seemed to ignite something in him, as he quickly pulled away from you.

“sorry! i’m um– sorry about that. i should’ve asked, i just wanted to see what it looked like on you..” he rambles out, a change in attitude from what you’re normally used to.

“it’s okay! i should probably take the dishes out now but– thank you for the necklace it’s gorgeous sungho.” you stammer, grabbing his empty plate before rolling the cart out. when you are away from his room you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

your mind wandered as you paused in the middle of the hallway, leaning into the classical staircase railing. whatever happened couldn’t resurface again, or you’d have to deal with the consequences. and as if your mind was read, you heard your name being called from a ladies voice.

“y/n, we need to have a chat.” her stern voice shook you, her large gown creating significant distance between the two of you.

“yes, your highness.. what’s wrong?” you ask, trying your best to sound professional.

“what was that with my son?”

“i know nothing of the sorts  your highness, could you elaborate? your voice faltered.

“don’t act like a stupid maid. you were clearly flirting with my son and i cannot have any of that happening in my castle.” she accused, making your heart feel as if it was dropping to your feet.

“i apologize if things seemed that way but i could assure you that–”

“you’re fired if i see you getting anywhere close to sungho. you were hired to service us, not to play romance with my son. he has much better worries to tend to than someone like you.” she warned.

“of course. i understand.” you agreed, trying your best to hide the pout on your face.

she waltzed away, leaving you uneasy and hurt. just when you thought things might’ve been going up, they crashed down before you could even do anything to fix it.

wake up, work, ignore. you spent these next few weeks in refusal to break your silence, not wanting to risk anything further that could detriment your job. it was a difficult task pretending like you didnt see the dejected look on sungho’s face. how the boy that was deemed unnerving looked so solemn.

there were times when maybe you thought it was okay to say something, let him know that you could never hate him. but she was always there, staring daggers into your soul. the difference in status intimidated you.

on his account, every attempt to talk to you or initiate something failed horribly, as he watched you blatantly disregard him. it was your job to work under him and his family, not be his friend (nor his lover).

but when days like those became extra hard, you found comfort in the sea. the castle was atop a hill, not too far away from the salty ocean. you walked down a small, jagged path during your time off, leading you to an alluring sight.

waves crashed against the grainy rocks, washing up sand and other small fish before quickly returning back to the vast blue waters. you climbed over to the tallest one, just enough so you could dip your toes in the water without getting your whole body soaked. 

you sat there for awhile, letting the breeze flow through your hair and comfort you. being alone with your thoughts wasn’t the most ideal, but this view made up for everything. it was a complicated situation you found yourself in. a love found in the prince sounded stupid, but it didn’t seem so far away.

something interrupted your thoughts, as you felt a figure approaching behind you. looking behind your shoulder, you saw a distressed sungho. the top few buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and his hair slick back.

“i wasn’t sure if i’d find you here, but i’m glad i looked anyways.” he called out to you over the sound of the waves. you turned your head away in your best attempt to ignore him.

“you can’t ignore me forever, y/n. what did i do wrong?”

“it’s not about what you did, sungho, it’s about what we can’t do.” you claimed.

“someone found out about us hanging out, didn’t they?” he guessed, earning a sorry nod from you.

“i appreciate how kind you’ve been to me since i started working here, and all the beautiful things you showed me that one night. but we were too close for comfort and i can’t risk that.” 

“everything i did, it was all for you, y/n. have you not caught on how much i adore you?” he approached the rock you sat on, sitting down next to you.

“don’t say things you don’t mean, sungho. this isn’t a fairy tale.”

“i can’t just pretend like i didn’t imagine our whole lives together the second i saw you. why can’t it just be true?” his words sounded more broken.

“there wasn’t a life to imagine. even if we’re meant to be together, we aren’t meant to last.” you wept, letting the tears finally fall. he wrapped an arm around you, finally letting you cry into his shoulder. the cold from the wind couldn’t compete with the heat you felt against his body.

“but why does it have to be like that? can’t we run away to a world where i don’t have to be a prince that marries a princess?” he whispered.

“that’s impossible.”

“nothing is impossible, as long as we have the drive to do it.” he cupped your tear streaked face in his hands, closing the gap to kiss you passionately. lips moving against one another to trap a love so immense that nobody but the two of you would be able to understand. 

he pulled away, the only evidence being the miniscule strand of saliva that still connected you both. you looked at him shocked, mouth gaping to say something.

“we don’t have to be prince and maid, when we can just be sungho and y/n. theres a village not too far down the dell, we could purchase a boat and explore the world.”

“and what happens when we’re found?”

“i know we can figure something out, we can’t give up until we’ve at least tried.”

“sungho.. i still don’t know about all of this.” you protested.

“just come with me, y/n. even if you say no it won’t change how i feel for you. it won’t change how i’m constantly thinking about you.” he wiped the tears from under your eye, kissing the spot afterwards.

“i don’t know what i’d do with myself if i told you no, you’re a little too convincing.”  you gave him a small smile.

“theres that pretty smile. everything will be okay, just follow my lead.” he reassured, giving you another peck on your lips.

you and sungho fled into the woods that night, leaving no traces or what - ifs, just a note to inform the king and queen that he was okay. their prized son that they worked so hard to shape into the charming prince he was today, escaping away with the girl of his dreams.

hand in hand, you kicked dirt behind you as you ran quickly through the bushes and trees. your laugh sounded melodic behind him as he lead you through the dell. everything about this felt wrong, but with you it was so right. he never wanted to go back if it meant the relationship between you and him had to be painted in his mind.

upon arrival at the village, everyone treated the two of you kindly, handing you different foods and necessities. orange hues from lanterns nearby casted light upon your face, and sungho thought you looked unreal like this.

and though you both could mutually go on about how much you cared for one another, this was the moment that dreams turned into reality. watching him untie the rope from the dock, you sat prettily in an outfit he bought you at the village. it was something new from your usual uniform, and sungho couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“are you ready?” he asks, settling himself across from you. the small boat sinking slightly at him entering.

“never been more ready. i was thinking we could hit this island first since it’s the closest.” you showed him a blob on the scroll you were holding.

“they have delicious foods in their town, i think you’d enjoy them.”

“really? i’m excited then!” you exclaimed.

“i’m glad you’re excited. there’s so many places i want to take you. especially my cousins kingdom. the gates are tall but when you see everything inside it makes so much sense!”

“cooler than your kingdom?

“everything is cooler than my kingdom, love. the only thing i got out of it was you.” he responded cheekily.

“gosh sungho you’re such a goof.” you grinned ear to ear as he pushed into the water.

“it’s just because i’m so in love with you. i would’ve backed off if you didn’t want to be with me you know.” he admit, rowing the two of you in the direction of the island.

“i’ll always want to be with you, my prince.”

“the feeling is mutual, my princess.” 

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[nancypullen]

October Eve

Ahh,can you smell it? Can you see it? Fall is knocking on the door. Summer always takes forever to leave the party, she keeps coming back for one more goodbye, but she's at the door and waving. Fall has sent her calling card.

Since the last time I posted, I've had birthday. I am lucky enough to be loved by some very kind people, so my day was absolutely wonderful. I don't know how I reached 61 so quickly, seems like the last five years are a blur. Pandemic and lockdown, then our move, it's been a lot. I want those years back, what a shame it doesn't work that way. Anywho, my birthday was fun and I felt spoiled rotten. I've been busy putting out fall decor trying to get ready for our trip. There's really not a lot to do. Pack, and give the house a good clean. I love coming home from a trip and walking into a tidy home. The cat caretaker is confirmed, and I've purchased ibuprofen in bulk. Our last couple of trips have been pretty easy on my feet, in Ireland we drove from place to place and explored. This time around we'll be taking trains to different villages and then walking. All day. Maybe it will be fine, but I'll have a sack of ibuprofen if it's not. I've been keeping my hands and mind busy with a few crafts. I'm gathering items to decorate a witch hat. I suppose I could just pull the stuff off of my old one and redo it, but the hats are cheap, so why not have two? The only reason I'm decorating another is because I found the PERFECT Halloween costume. I'll be wearing it while trick-or-treating with the grandgirl. It's just a sweater, but it's all I need.

You guys, the letters are sparkly gold! Ignore the fold marks from shipping, I'll probably have to steam it. Don't let my poor photography fool you, it's a creamy ivory color (and so soft!). The fact that it's got my title on it in sparkly letters is a bonus.

Of course I need a witch hat with cream-colored flowers, little cream pumpkins, gold ribbon, and gold-tipped feathers, right? Duh. Would you believe that I ordered that sweater from the Costco website? Yeah, I'm classy like that. I can wear it all month & still use it as my costume. WInner, winner, chicken dinner! It truly doesn't take much to make me happy.

In other crafty news, I've been trying to recapture part of my childhood. My Grandma Ethel, who could make beauty out of scraps, taught us to make gloom chasers. At least that's what she called them. We adhered pieces of colored, tempered glass to big brandy snifters (mosaic style), then grouted them, and eventually put little votive candles inside and watched the colors glitter & chase the gloom away. Sounds simple, right? You'd think. Turns out the fact that we did that craft 50 years ago and I didn't take notes makes it a bit more interesting. I remember that Grandma had bags of colored glass and we were able to choose our color scheme. Good luck finding that. It had to be shattered tempered glass for the crackle effect. You can find bags of clear glass, but the pieces are really tiny. Mickey purchased a sheet of tempered glass, we wrapped it in craft paper and whacked one corner with a hammer. That did the trick.

I'm now the proud owner of a box of broken glass. I'd picked up a goldfish bowl at Goodwill to use as my gloom chaser, but still didn't know how grandma colored her glass. I suppose I could have painted it before the hammer whack, but would that have kept it from shattering properly? I have no idea how her colored glass came to be. So I decided that I'd just paint the goldfish bowl and then put the clear glass pieces on top of that, the color would still shine through once a candle is inside. Problem solved, sort of. I decided to use pink as an ode to Ethel. Her house was pink and she was all things pink and sweet to me. Then I started trying to glue the pieces on the goldfish bowl. Again, I have no idea what adhesive we used 50 years ago, but nothing I had was working. I have a drawer full of glues and pastes, but I needed something that would dry clear. Everything I used (even E6000) made it impossible to work efficiently. I'd put one piece on and have to hold it in place for 15 minutes to prevent it from sliding around. Gluing to a goldfish bowl is no different than gluing to a brandy snifter, so what the heck did Ethel use??? There was no way I could hold each piece in place until it dried, working at that pace would take weeks to finish the darn thing! I eventually resorted to Super Glue gel, which worked, but the tube is so tiny I'd need three of them to do the job. So it's a mishmash of adhesives, but I got them on there!

There are some unwanted spaces where a piece fell off and I decided that was God's will. I let that all dry overnight, with some pieces still migrating, and then mixed up some grout. As I grouted it the following day more pieces fell out, but I didn't care, I just kept slapping that grout on. Today I'll give it a good buff to get any grout off the glass, and I'll finish painting the rim gold, but she's already working hard at chasing away the gloom.

As soon as my bloody fingers heal I'll try another. Again, how did we do this as kids? i remember it taking two afternoons and being very easy. Know what's not easy? Communicating with a man. After 42 years together, this is what "a little kale" look like to him.

I put 3/4 of that in the freezer because it'll be good in soups and omelets. But I'm not sure I have it in me to finish what's left before we leave in a week. He brought me a shrubbery.

Other than what I've shared here, not much going on. I spend my days with my girlfriends, and by girlfriends I mean...

Don't look at the mess on the sofa. We live here. My girlfriends and I like to watch true crime and eat snacks. They're also big fans of Jeopardy but can't stay awake that long. Yep, that's the view from 61 - talking to cats and doing crafts. I'm slowly evolving into the swamp witch I was always meant to be. It's a comfy place to be. I hope you're comfy and cozy and enjoying your day. Treat yourself to something fun, even if it's just a new nail polish or a fancy cupcake. That's what makes life bearable, little pleasures. As always, I'm sending you love. Take some and pass it around. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[macawritesupdates]

Ow ow ow ow hey damn I need to wrap that poor angsty Sukuna up in a blanket burrito like a little baby (feral) kitten and hold him until he calms down. I need to swaddle that man like a baby until the pain inside his chest goes away. I need to smack that Yuuji upside the head and force him to see what he's done. Fuck man excellent chapter now I have to cry. The emotional whiplash I just experienced was insane BTW I just finished watching a rom com with my family and I checked your fic for an update only to get that. Again phenomenally written but I went from laughing to sitting in a fetal position on the couch feeling intense emptiness in my chest. Ooof I haven't even read the fluff chapter you wrote to offset this pain I think I need more time to process it before I can just move on. I hope the person who requested this chapter is happy with it. God my chest hurts. Ok OK listen maybe it'll be OK it's totally possible to survive a fall or maybe Yuuji will catch him or some thing and then he'll realize how much he still loves Sukuna and they'll fix things. Or Sukuna will hit his head survive and get amnesia and forget the whole relationship and then move on without being tortured by what he lost. Yuuji can then realize how much he still loves Sukuna but its too late the mans regained his lost fire and moved on and subconsciously remembers the pain so he refuses to let Yuuji get close. Idk I'm just trying to cope. Man I was always told that it's very cruel to continue to date someone out of pity if you know that the relationship isn't working you just have to end it because its cruel to keep dragging things out and to waste their time it'll only make the heartbreak worse in the end thanks for writing a chapter that so clearly illustrates why that's important. A clean break would have been better than dragging things out thus slowly killing something inside Sukuna as he tries to fix things on his own. Fuck the way he acted submissive hurt he changed himself but that's not good at all. I always hated people who date others with a certain personality type and then expect their partner to change completely for them I think those people suck especially when it seems like once their partner gives in they start to lose interest. The reason I bring that up is I wonder if by acting more submissive Sukuna stopped acting like his firey confident self when it was his intensity and his fire that Yuuji fell in love with in the first place. Not that Yuuji told Sukuna to act more submissive I just wonder if it had something to do with him not feeling the "spark" anymore. Although he changed his behavior in response to Yuuji chsnging his so maybe yuuji started it and then the spark didn't come back because there was no fire left. Ahhh it was a good one i think I'll just sit on it for a bit before I can move on. Ahh man my emotions are in shambles tonight good work. Thanks for writing and sharing with us I'm gonna go contemplate the curse of love. I'm gonna go read that chapter of the yuuji files where Sukuna goes through Yuuji's head and evening confesses to recover as soon as I feel like a person again and not a boneless pile of goo with an unlimited void where my heart should be.

...

Then eventually I'll get to the cute cowboy chapter and maybe finally remember to comment on the latest chapter of broken in ways no one sees.

It is rare to see fics where Yuuji's desire to be kind and thinks what he is doing is right can turn to unintentional cruelty ; w ; I always felt that there is a lot of potential to look at Yuuji from a point where he could be cruel in his own ways and this fic gave me an excuse to poke at that!

Even if it did hurt a lot to write it ; w ; Go read the comfort fics you need to regain your form! It will be a little bit before the next angst (depends on how long this MoL update takes 83;;)

[managician-tls]

Botan Affection solo - 1

Botan is a very fun character, since she's kind, but sort of absent-minded and harsh at the same time. Her trademark sweet tooth also comes to play in this.

She starts off many of her sentences with a sound of agreement (うん). So you'll see plenty of 'Mm' or 'Mhm' whenever she speaks. It's pretty cute!

Featured characters: Botan, Protag-kun. Reika also gets mentioned.

Location: Classroom

Botan: Ummm...... Ahh, you, the boy over there. Do you have a moment?

Could you enter this classroom? Maybe you were cleaning or something, I'm sorry to inconvenience you. Alright then, excuse me...... ♪

Mm. You must be "Transfer Student-kun", since you're a boy. I've heard the rumours — you help out many of the girls, right?

I also do something like that. Well, not that that matters.

I'm Botan Komatsu, from Class 3-A. I play in the Basketball Club, somewhat. Sorry for the suddenness, but could I ask you for a favour?

Don't worry, it's not anything difficult to do. I usually take care of most things on my own, anyway.

Umm. I'd like you to sample this cake a little bit.

Mm. Try eating it. Here, say aah...... ♪

Mm. There, I gave you some cake now. Could I ask for your honest opinion on it?

Mm, that's right. It really...... doesn't taste good, right?

Mm. Don't worry, I won't get angry. It's not like I'm the one that made it.

Sorry for making you basically act like a poison tester.

Mm. I thought I might be getting picky with the taste after eating too many cakes, but...... This really just tastes bad, doesn't it?

It feels like it's got the salt mixed up with the sugar, right. And it's burnt, too, but it has pretty decorations, which makes it deceitful. Overall, it causes a choking sensation?

Mm. Thank you, that was helpful.

Shall I explain the circumstances now, at least?

Um, you see. I have this one classmate named Enjouji-san.

Lately, she's been giving out handmade cakes pretty often. Enjouji-san does other things to perfection...... so, since I thought the cakes tasted bad, I wondered if there might have been something going on with my tongue.

That's why I gave you some cake to eat. What a relief, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with my tongue ♪

Mm. The rest of my classmates, they were only singing praises for Enjouji-san. I couldn't even dare to say "This tastes bad" in that kind of atmosphere.

However, Enjouji-san won't improve like that, hm. It won't be good for her, hm. Mm, I understand. I'll be honest and tell her it tastes bad, and give her some advice, as well.

But how should I go about telling her, I wonder...... I don't want to bring down Enjouji-san's mood too much.

Mhm, mhm... Got it, I'll try saying it like that.

You've helped me plenty, Transfer Student-kun.

As a thanks, I'll give you this cake. Enjouji-san gave me lots of them, but frankly, I don't want to eat any more of this.

You don't need it? Mm, that figures, huh......?

Then, from now on...... If there's something troubling you, will you talk it out with me?

I'll act as your support, that's why. It's my thanks for what you've done for me, okay.

Mm. First up, I'll help you with the classroom cleaning I broke you off from...... ♪