#much less with a stick between my legs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artytaeh · 4 months ago

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as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷

warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.

’⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚

﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.

despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.

WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?

more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.

empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.

he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.

honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.

mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.

besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.

non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.

whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.

his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.

groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.

﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:

⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.

⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.

⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.

well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.

⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.

hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.

however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.

⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.

and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(

⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.

⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.

⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.

HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.

strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.

⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.

so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.

⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.

m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.

it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.

﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ

⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.

⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.

⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.

( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )

(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.

sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.

⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.

﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ

the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.

HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.

⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.

⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.

⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.

⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.

which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.

﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :

if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.

THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.

TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.

would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.

SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.

dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—

he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.

RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.

⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.

doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.

and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.

A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.

speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.

GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.

﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.

mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.

the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.

it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.

becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.

even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.

it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.

should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!

this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.

which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.

he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.

panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'

worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.

so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

#mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #headcanons #smut #smut headcanons #mattheo riddle headcanons #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle smut headcanons #slytherin boys react #hp fandom #Spotify

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stllmnstr · 5 months ago

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every fragile thing

pairing: park sunghoon x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au

word count: 12.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five

soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo

After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.

or,

every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.

note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡

Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition.

But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill.

In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best.

There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath.

Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?

That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come.

The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin.

But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you.

“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”

It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track?

“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”

Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals.

Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this.

“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly.

“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question.

Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.”

The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”

And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”

“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace.

But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”

You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”

“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully.

Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”

“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing.

…

You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue.

It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space.

The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left.

Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.

Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision.

With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door.

And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.

Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.

“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”

You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though.

Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next.

Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows.

“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”

“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”

You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.”

“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”

Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you.

“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”

“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes.

The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes.

Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs.

An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice.

“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”

“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it.

“Sunghoon?”

At that, he does finally look up.

Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either.

A beat passes.

Two.

Neither of you break eye contact.

The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second.

Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?”

Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink.

Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect.

Oh, you know him alright.

“___?”

And it would seem he remembers you as well.

It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough.

“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”

You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess.

You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—

You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again.

If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions.

And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane.

Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started.

“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours.

…

Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule.

Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes.

Including him.

Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be.

Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around.

“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”

You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”

“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.”

“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.”

“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.”

Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”

“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade.

“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”

“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.”

“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”

Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”

The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room.

Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.

It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible.

So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last.

Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.

With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back.

…

It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you.

Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.

Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance.

It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does.

Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.

“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”

“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth.

But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you.

“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”

You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate.

Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.

Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.”

You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”

“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”

You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out.

“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”

Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”

Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends.

And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant.

It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong.

Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious.

Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”

Jake just gives you a look.

You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”

Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”

Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”

Or not.

“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”

Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”

“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?”

“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”

“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”

The guilt on your face says it all.

“No way.” Jake says.

Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”

“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”

“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”

The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission.

But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap.

No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them.

Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.

“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces.

“That’s rough,” Niki agrees.

And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s.

That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice.

That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time.

That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater.

That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip.

That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once.

Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks.

Not until it all shattered in a single moment.

It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart.

And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all.

Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn.

In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger.

And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner.

So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance.

And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.

But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself.

That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed.

That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him.

You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone.

“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses.

“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods.

“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”

…

When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.

As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage.

If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other.

It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”

Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side.

Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always.

It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead.

“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”

That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight.

Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile.

“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”

If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he.

Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”

“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”

The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car.

“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”

You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely.

“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”

His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering.

Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home.

And he never says your name once.

…

The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness.

It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again.

Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays.

You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that.

Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first.

Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze.

The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat.

This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head.

“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests.

“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”

“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”

“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”

Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”

“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”

“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”

“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”

And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day.

“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern.

“Or something,” Jake agrees.

Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”

A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”

…

You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”

And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”

“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program.

It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts.

A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”

You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”

The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice.

You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”

…

The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.

Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake.

“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question.

“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”

“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off.

The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor.

“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”

“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again.

“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.

Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know.

Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine.

Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips.

“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod.

Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.

“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”

You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing.

“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”

You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”

“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant.

You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid.

Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife.

If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier.

“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”

“And you all go to school here?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”

“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”

You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”

Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later.

Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long.

Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low.

Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations.

“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”

Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off.

But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing.

You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”

The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”

“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”

“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”

“And a complete stranger to you.”

It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body.

When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”

“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you.

You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”

Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp.

Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation.

Last time, he let you fall.

You have no idea what he’ll do now.

In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target.

Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin.

When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.”

“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon.

Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room.

You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought.

You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.

It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt.

It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting.

He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”

Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier.

Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.

Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer.

His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers.

“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation.

“What?”

“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”

The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception.

“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”

“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”

He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape.

When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have.

In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe.

…

The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you.

With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie.

Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread.

In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd.

It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction.

But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared.

You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink.

Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible.

Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice.

The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year.

But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes.

For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.

In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit.

“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief.

It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past.

“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”

“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”

“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.”

“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”

It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?”

Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”

That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to.

And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes.

As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him.

And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear.

“I’m sorry.”

…

Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response.

But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame.

“You absolute idiot.”

“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry.

But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”

“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”

A beat of silence passes.

And then another.

Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to.

He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”

It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”

“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”

And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”

And then he’s kissing you.

Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right.

Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same.

“What are you doing?”

There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”

This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning.

And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace.

The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time.

Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought.

And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet.

…

epilogue

“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”

You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”

Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most.

You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates.

Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”

It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough?

Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”

“Hey! I—”

“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”

Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”

Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”

Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”

This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels.

He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout.

After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return.

It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”

“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin.

“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”

“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”

Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs.

…

outtake—five years ago.

Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission.

Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down.

Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore.

It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse.

Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact.

The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through.

He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger.

So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck.

Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.

But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him.

He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either.

Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors.

He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own.

It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him.

So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later.

Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you.

On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts.

And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.

.....

note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D

#sunghoon fanfiction #enhypen fanfiction #park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x you #enhypen x you #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

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angellic4l · 8 days ago

Text

thank you’s - s.r

in which; sunshine!bau!reader is demeaned by an officer on a case and season2!spencer sticks up for her.

content: fem!reader, reader described as having ‘girly’ flair, sexism, mention of blood/bloodstain, mainly fluff, protective spencer, and i think that’s it but lmk.

a/n: i just rawdog it and write on tumblr as a draft so i have 0 clue how many words there are. also, thank you all so much for the love on my first fic, i adore you all. these are my babies now and i hope you love them.

Warm sunlight warms the skin on your back while you’re crouched down at the latest crime scene, examining a bloodstain on the concrete floor. Despite it being November, it’s still considerably warm in Texas, a big contrast to Virginia weather for sure.

Despite official policies about dress code and such, you’re still a fun person, so you like to add your own girly flair to the professional attire you sport almost every single day. It doesn’t harm anybody, it doesn’t break any rules, and it’s cute.

However, pair the cute flair you add to your clothes with your enthusiastic, optimistic, ‘happy go lucky’ personality, and the fact that you’re a woman, and it causes people to make their own assumptions - typically sexist ones.

After doing bloodstain analysis on the red splatter that coats part of the parking lot’s floor, you go to stand up from your crouching position. Mid motion, you spot a small note on the floor, tucked under the wheel of a car. Crime scene analysis requires everything and anything to be processed, and the unsub has yet to make contact with authorities, so you make the decision that it’s worth looking at before motioning for Spencer to come over after seeing him somewhat idle.

He begins to make his way over from the other end of the parking lot as you stay crouching, waiting for him to come over because you don’t have gloves on. What you don’t see after you turn back around is an officer, an average sized male with blonde hair who appears to be slightly older than you, approaching you at the very same time.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, workin’ for the FBI? You sure yer pretty little brain can handle allathat, darlin’?” A man’s voice; a thick, Texan drawl, coated with a somewhat flirty tone, yet at the very same time, it’s seeping with disdain - ambivalence.

Unfortunately, you’re used to that tone of voice and can recognise it all too well. It’s not going to be the first time you hear it, and it certainly won’t be the last, no matter how progressive times are or how you express yourself.

Standing up, spinning on your heels, ready to give the - officer? that’s poor - a rehearsed response to ensure your own safety, yet keep a boundary, you see Spencer stood behind the average sized, blonde haired man that you don’t recognise. He’s giving the officer one of his looks, his face saying everything, as usual, despite the officer not being able to see it.

Spencer’s fully aware his face is saying everything without it coming out of his lips, he’s completely baffled at how someone could say something so demeaning to anybody, much less you. You’re probably the sweetest person he’s ever met, always so supportive and enthusiastic. He feels protective of you. He doesn’t even realise he does until the words are out.

“She’s perfectly capable of doing her job, if not more so than other male agents, not that it concerns you whatsoever. And I’m perfectly capable of reporting a sexist comment to your supervisor.”

Spencer’s tone is defensive, no, protective, and you can feel heat rushing to your cheeks. It’s the bare minimum - sticking up for someone to a discriminatory comment - and you know that. It’s more so that Spencer hates confrontation, but he’s doing it, and it’s for you. Thank God for the Texas weather masking your fluster as warmth.

With the threat of his supervisor being involved, the officer offers a mumbled apology before walking away, almost as if his ‘tail’ is tucked between his legs, like a scolded puppy. A soft laugh elicits from your lips at the sight. Once the sexist officer has gone, Spencer’s eyes find you, his expression changing to one of concern.

“Hey, you okay? That was demeaning,” the brunette offers, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck, a habit he has, typically more often around you.

“‘M okay. Used to it, unfortunately. Thank you, though, Spence. That was sweet; I know how much you hate confrontation,” you say, giving him a soft smile as you do.

It’s Spencer’s turn to blush now, you calling his actions sweet and that soft smile - god, that smile - flushing his cheeks a light pink while his hand still rubs at the back of his neck.

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me. Anyway, you called me over here. What did you find?”

With his question, you’re quickly reminded of why you did call him over, before the sexist comment and mini confrontation that’d ensued with the officer’s presence, but there’s something you want to do first.

“I don’t need to thank you, but I want to,” you reassure him before stepping forward, moving closer to him, leaning up on your tiptoes, turning your head to face Spencer’s cheek, and slowly placing a chaste kiss to his already pink cheek.

Spencer’s eyes widen before they close, realising what you’re doing and wanting to savour the feeling of your lips on his skin. Unfortunately for him, the brief contact is gone just as quickly as it had started. He opens his eyes again and moves his right hand from the back of his neck to touch his cheek, realising what he did in front of you, and acting as if he was wiping away your lip gloss stain.

“Oh, uh.. thanks. Anyway, the, uhm, you called me over to see…?”

Silently, secretly, he wills the feeling of your lips on his skin to never leave his memory, not even when he’s old and grey, and maybe, just maybe, he wishes that you’ll be by his side when he is.

#season 2 spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x sunshine reader #spencer reid x you #glasses spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #sunshine reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #fic #cm

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

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Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

HI I know the new Halloween character isn't out yet but I needed an outlet for my excitement (Yes, I am unfortunately a Nightmare Before Christmas girlie) 💀 so please be advised that he may not be in character here, I'm just writing based on vibes! This is technically a twisted!Jack Skellington x Reader fic, but the Reader is basically playing a role similar as Sally from the film.

P.S. I want everyone to know that I busted out my drawing tablet to make this special border for him the same day he was first announced... Yeah...

Boo.

On the nights with full moons, he liked to steal away to the Spiral Hill on the outskirts of town.

The outcrop of land overlooked a vast graveyard and field laden with pumpkins, perfuming the air with the crisp sweetness characteristic of autumn. Beyond it, uncharted territory. When he squinted into the darkness, he could make out the vague shapes of naked trees, their gnarled branches like fingers beckoning him to approach, whispering his name.

He draped his long, lithe legs over the hill, letting them hang in the frigid air. Spindly as he was, the wind easily blew them, knocking his legs around like the straw-stuffed limbs of a scarecrow. He kicked with the breeze, carefree as a child on a playground swing.

The moon stitched his pinstriped suit and tattered cravat with silver thread, touched his pointed crown at its highest points. Even the white ribbons ribbing his jacket and the pattern of bones tugged over his gloves seemed to glow under the celestial light. He liked the view, and the view seemed to like him, too.

Held in his skeletal hand was a single flower. He stroked a silken petal, then slipped another finger under it, plucking the petal free. The wind claimed it, setting it sailing off into the unknown.

He continued. A second, a third. So on and so forth, until the flower was left stripped down and barren, even robbed of its leaves.

He dropped the stem off the hill. The pumpkins below consumed it, and the once lovely flower’s body became one with the patch.

"I figured this is where you were."

He lowered his dark circular lenses. His bright eyes slid to the figure that had approached from behind, on feet so swift they hardly made a sound. They came in with the sweetness of deadly nightshade, the trace of a poisoning committed at midnight. "Not a lethal dose, just enough to knock the doctor out for a few hours," as they always said. "How else would I sneak out to see you?"

Dry, ghostly lips dashed with hatch marks pried into an open smile, both teeth and the gaps between them. Charming, in a crooked sort of way. "My dear. You've come."

You bent down. “If you don't mind, I'd like to join.”

“The spot beside me is always reserved for you.” He patted it, inviting you to take a seat.

"Such a gentleman." You sunk down, folding your hands in your lap. "And so handsome when you're brooding. You're terribly good at that."

He was, he was, especially silhouetted by the moon. The man was practically monochrome, but bathed in silver like this, his pale skin was less sickly and more ethereal. He almost appeared like a cruel angel in the light, descending to expunge evil.

"I'm not brooding," he pouted, "I'm dreaming."

“Dreaming." You reached out and tucked a strand of alabaster hair behind his ear. "Father says it’s a ridiculous, wild thing.”

"Ah, but that's what makes it so much thrilling. Life’s no fun without a good scare.”

His mouth quirked to one side, and his smile became off-kilter--as his ideas often were. "He'll bring us to ruin with his crazy, new-fangled thinking and flights of fancy," your father would complain. But you adored that about the boy. How spontaneous he was, how his curiosity was never-ending. He'd race about like a child, picking items up and sticking his face where it probably shouldn't go.

Full of life in this otherwise lifeless town.

"What's this? What's this?" he'd say. "I must know!"

"He's gone daffy," your father would declare.

"Mmm." You nodded absentmindedly, tracing your fingers along the shell of his ear and down to his arm. "What were you dreaming about today?"

He lifted his head, looking beyond the hill and to the woods. Not a word was exchanged. None had to be.

"The Hinterlands?" you whispered. "But we don't know what's out there. No ghoul or monster has ever ventured out that far."

"Then sounds like I'll be the first! They’ll put me down in the history books as a pioneer." His laughter brightened up the gloomy night. When he quieted, his gaze was solemn—more solemn than you'd ever witnessed him. "... Don't you wonder about what's out there? Stuff that's cold and fluffy and falls from the sky. Things that come in colors we haven't seen."

"Sometimes," you admitted quietly, "but those are just dreams. I don't chase them."

"Maybe you should. We should," he mused, fingers tucked under his chin. "I bet there's all sorts of things we've never even dreamed of, too. And wouldn’t you like to see something strange?”

"I would. I really, really would," you told him in a soothing tone. Trying to reassure him as much as you were yourself. "Let's not doing anything dangerous though. I sense something in the wind—tragedy at hand. I can't shake that feeling that something bad is around the bend if you tread that path."

You gingerly laid your hand over his. Behind tinted lenses, his eyes widened.

"Stay here with me," you begged. "We can be together. Gaze at the stars. Be safe in one another's arms."

“… Sweetness, I would love for nothing more than to have you and to hold you ‘til death do us part.” His voice fluttered like the brush of a falling leaf upon your cheek. He regarded you tenderly, locking his fingers with yours and squeezing. “But you know that’s not the kind of man I am.”

“Yes, you’re every flavor of foolish imaginable,” you replied, pressing your forehead against his, “and I love you for that.”

“As do I.” He brought his icy lips to the back of your hand. A chill spider-walked up your arm, and you shivered.

“Then…”

“That’s why I must depart one day.” He pushed his glasses up. You caught the tragic reflection of your face in his lenses. “Out there… something more awaits us. I’m sure of that. I intend to find it and revive our town, this season that’s gone stale.”

“I won’t stop you if you decide to go,” you murmured. “And I will count the days until you return to me.”

“I knew you’d understand.” His smile—now it was touched with sadness, the knowledge of soon parting ways. “Thank you, dearest.”

He stood slowly, drawing you up with him. Your feet followed, as if pulled along by a puppeteer. How in sync the two of you were, how nicely molded your bodies were to one another’s. Your joy melded under the watchful eye of the moon.

“Shall we share a dance? One for the road,” he crooned. An errant breeze tousled his pallid hair, his tattered coattails—but to you, he was fairest of them all. “Our last dance for a while.”

“Alright, let’s make this one count,” you chuckled, “so I can send you off on your travels with a smile.”

“Excellent 🎵” He slid a hand around your waist, guiding you to lean into him. “Let the merrymaking commence!!”

“Yes…!!”

The midnight waltz began.

He led you, step by step, and you trailed after. Movements easy and effortless, like two intertwining maple leaves, spinning and spiraling. Their partner, the center of their universe.

“It’s as plain anyone can see,” he breathed.

“We’re simply meant to be,” you returned.

They danced as if possessed or an enchantment was cast upon their footwear. The moment too sweet, too succulent, to relinquish so soon. They wanted to savor it, indulge in it—and each other.

For never was there a more perfect pair than the Pumpkin King and his consort.

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gingersxng · 10 months ago

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Sex Addiction

Pairing: f!reader x San

Summary: your boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself and isn’t sorry about the consequences which follows

Genre: Smut 18+

Notes: sub!reader, rough dom!San, San has a sex addiction, San is really horny, public touching, nipple sucking, pussy eating, fingering, spanking, bruising, unprotected sex (always keep safe), cum eating, cream pie, many rounds, overstimulation

Words: 814

you were invited to a family dinner with your parents at a fancy restaurant earlier this evening but halfway through your boyfriend decided it would be appropriate to start playing with you under the table. caressing his hand on your squishy thighs and then further up your short skirt while holding a conversation with your mom. you felt your heart race and your body froze cause you were so scared someone would notice. you squeezed your thighs together locking his hand in between them to give him a warning. a deep chuckle escaped his lips. he pinched your thigh making you jolt up with a “ouch”. you threw a deadly glare at him and he honestly couldn’t care less cause all you got in return was a dirty smirk. “everything alright honey” your mom asked with a worried look on her face. “she’s been having bad cramps lately, I think I should take her home so she can get some rest” San replied squeezing your thigh.

and that’s how you ended up on your bed with your boyfriend sucking on your nipples and a hand inside your panties. “y-you really can’t restrain yourself c-can you” you moaned out trying to sound angry. San let go of your nipple and gave you a smirk sliding in two fingers inside your hole. “oh how well you know me..” he chuckled pumping his fingers faster. his actions made your back arch and eyes shut tight. this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened when you and San were out together, his sex drive was almost too much but you wouldn’t have it any other way seriously.

he pulled down your panties and rubbed your clit a few times before he dove right in. tongue gliding up and down your folds tasting your arousal. you put your hand in his hair pushing him down a bit, he groaned against your clit sending electric waves to your stomach. your moans were like angels singing in Sans ears and he could feel his cock twitch in his pants. your orgasm hit you like a train and you came all over his tongue, your body felt so heavy. San didn’t waste any time, he licked you clean and hurried to undo his pants letting his leaking aching friend out. “you don’t know how hard it is to keep my cock inside my pants when we’re out darling” his voice were deep and serious making your whole body shiver. he took his cock guiding it to your aching hole, being too excited like he used to get he didn’t give you a chance to adjust to him and you let out a whimper from the burn. he rutted into you like his life depended on it, your hands grabbing around him scratching his back. his eyes were pitch black and his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, San wasn’t that vocal instead he was growling and it always made your pussy clench around his cock sucking him all in. “fuck, I’m gonna cum if you keep clenching like that” “then cu- cum mmh inside me” you moaned out. he almost came just hearing you say that. he pulled out grabbing you by the waist flipping you over on your stomach. “on all fours now” he growled. with shaky legs you obeyed him.

he hit your ass cheeks very hard a few times which would leave handprints before taking hold on your hips squeezing hard while he pushed himself inside again. you felt tears rolling down your cheeks from the mixed feeling of pleasure and pain, San always used to go very rough on you when you had sex which meant you almost never had romantic and slow sex. “my beautiful sexy girl gonna get filled up good with my cum” he groaned throwing his head back. you felt your stomach twist and your mouth fell open when he put one hand on your clit and the other squeezing your ass hard while thrusting in and out. “pls S-Saaaannn!” you screamed, your legs almost gave out under you. “cum for me baby” he spanked you one more time with force and you came while letting out a loud broken moan. San pressed his hips into you and you could feel his cock twitch inside you, a big load of cum spurting into you. San pulled out watching as the cum was dripping out from your stretched hole all over your thighs, just the sight made him hard again. before you had time to rest you felt him pushing his cock in again.

“San you’re kidding…” you threw your head back to look at him. he gave you a sly smile letting out a little laugh. “when you have an addiction it’s damn hard to stop” he said bending over kissing your neck and grabbing your boobs as he started to thrust into you again.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #san x reader #san ateez #choi san #ateez san

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joeyfranchise · 1 month ago

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𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖

can’t catch me, i’m the…

fiance!joe x reader

a fun lil bulleted list blurb about playing a lil football with your fiance joe. sfw, but minors please do not interact with my account.

joe brings you to athens for christmas and of COURSE insists at some point he needs to have a football in his hands

and you’re like . ?!?!? bro chill it’s HOLIDAY TIME

like you wanna bake cookies with his mom and spend time with family and watch christmas movies and wear matching pajamas and

joe’s like okay we cannn but do you wanna come “play” with me for like half an hour

he’s standing in his parents kitchen tossing the ball back and forth between hands and. he looks so

HOT

gray sweats, college hoodie.. are you drooling?

fuck you’re drooling. you’re-

it doesn’t help that he hasn’t shaved his face cuz FUCK does he look good

“baby?” he asks, that playful lilt to his tone and smirk on his face tells you he KNOWS he’s won this one

fucker

but you’re like. okay let me ATTEMPT to be nonchalant. right?? cuz you really lost sO EASILY

“okay, fine. half an hour.” you tell him matter-of-factly

he’s still smirking. smug ass

you also JUST MADE COFFEE THAT YOU WANT TO DRINK. and here’s his beautiful ass wanting something knowing DAMN WELL

that you’ll do anything for him (HAHAHA WHIPPPPED)

and like you’re just in leggings and a hoodie and a beanie. and it’s COLD but

you guys go out to the backyard and then you realize like. THIS NFL QUARTERBACK IS ABOUT TO THROW YOU A FOOTBALL?

“um, joe? i’m not padded?”

“no yeah but it’s fine” — WHAT DOES HE MEAN..

like are you even coordinated enough to catch a ball from anyone, much less JOE BURROW?

he’s like baby. bubs. it’s fineeee i’ll go easy

YEAH UH-HUH OKAY

surprisingly he does

and you catch the first few and throw them back and he’s sO proud of you!!

but then

suddenly

it’s “oh, let’s run routes”

“hell nah. i’m not ja’marr or tee or anyone else. do that shit when your brothers get here.”

and he’s pouting. with his pitiful bottom lip sticking out

he’s not gonna make you feel bad is he? IS HE????

and now here he comes. strolling through the backyard and to you. and oH

his arms are around you. he’s hugging you. fuck he smells good

and now you’re kissing and

“pleeeeasseeee?”

THIS FUCKER— “fine. a FEW.”

it’s more than a few, but he’s singing your praises even though you have NO CLUE what the hell you’re doing

“no babe really you’re doing so well, yeah just like that”

WHY IS HE RILING YOU UP LIKE THIS!???? what the hell joseph

you catch a few more for him and then you’re like bro. i’m getting windED LET ME BREATHE.

he’s just smiling and happy-go-lucky

meanwhile you’re doubled over hands on your knees and PANTING

after a few minutes you’re like okay joey can we be done now? cAN WE

and he’s like one more *pouty face*

okay. fine. one more

so he throws it to you. perfect spiral. a dime. here it comes. and as it lands in your hands, you see him

RUNNING AT YOU FULL SPEED

JOEY WHEELS??

oh fUCK

so. you do what any idiot in the christmas spirit with a hot football player boyfriend does. you yell

“CAN’T CATCH ME, I’M THE GINGERBREAD MAN!”

now you’re running. full speed. as far as your lil legs will take you

(not far)

LITERALLY HE’S CHASING YOU AROUND IN A CIRCLE

joey’s on your heels and suddenly you’re in thE AIR

HE GOT YOU

and he’s spinning you around and

it’s kinda romantic. even though it’s colder than FUCK OUTSIDE

he lets you down and you pull him in for a sweet kiss and

hell yeah. he’s so hot his stubble is scratching at your face and

CONTROL YOURSELF THIS IS HIS PARENTS’ BACKYARD

oh a car is pulling in. okay separate HORNDOGS

he takes your hand and is admiring the sparkly diamond ring he gave you recently

beautiful oval shaped diamond that you LOVE SO MUCH. and you love HIM so much

he’s looking at you with bedroom eyes. JOE CHILL

the idea of you being his fiancée gets him HOT AND BOTHERED

BUT it’s one of his brothers and their family exiting the car, gotta go greet everyone. which you are excited about

but joe stops you and says

“next i’m gonna teach you how to run a slant, then an out route, and then a post, and then-“

you interrupt him like - baby. please

“wait. i DO want you to teach me what the hell dice right f fly whiskey brady is. and also the one where you said alert booty”

he smiles. shit eating grin. because FUCK, YOU JUST AGREED TO DO THIS AGAIN??

none of the photos or dividers used are mine. all cred to owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @bengals-barnesbabe @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @joeyburrrow @yomamaslays4lyfe

#joeyfranchise’s 12 days of fic-mas #fic-mas 2024 #joe burrow fic-mas #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #nfl #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joeburrow #joey burrow #joey b #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow bengals #bulleted list

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r3starttt · 3 months ago

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BLADDER CONTROL

PAIRING: dom! Abby x reader

Her fingers come to grasp at your cheeks, pressing them hard enough to make it sting. her fingers cup into your cheeks and chin, making you look up at her with those eyes she loved so much. you were desperate, everything hurting in a way it made you more aroused. “need to pee…” your voice came out as a blabber, a statement she couldn't care less about right now. "huh?" her thrusts become deeper, harsher. and your eyes close shut- mouth wide open, baby hairs sticking on the sweat dropping on your forehead, an unsteady whine hitting her ears.

Your thighs make a wesk attempt to close around her, but oh Abby knows what she's doing. "my poor girl..." she coos, pushing your head back into the matress to occupy her fingers with something else. She rubs small circles onto hour clit, your pussy now clenching at nothing as the tip of the strap barely grinds over hour hole. "Gotta hold it now baby, you can do that, can't you?" the friction over your wet pussy makes your bladder feel heavy, ridiculously full. maybe it's the orgasm almost building withing you. maybe not. either way it's painful into a way it feels good.

You shake your head endlessly, slipping quiet denials at her wish. Just this time. But Abby's quick to shush you, pressing her hand over your lower stomach as she leans to kiss you. Your knees coming up to your sides just to torture more if possible.

Yes she tastes good, yes the sensation is overwhelming to a point you might cum just by the tension over your stomach itself. But you'd like her to make it longer, not this easy.

So, you whine between kisses. It's sloppy and wet- as everything at this point. And she's so incredibly harsh yet gentle. Abby bruises your skin into the prettiest tones and her dick feels so good along her hands on the back of your knees. Her lower stomach over yours and the strap pressing over the right amout of skin with the right amount of friction. "abby-" You're quickly hushed by another kiss "please- can't" her tongue slides in and your hands come to cup at her cheeks. The strap wet against your slit. “cant what, baby?” her lips abandon yours briefly, taking a proper look of your fucked face.

her cock thrust inside you again. sliding deliciously slow into your wet walls. you clench just right. "mhm? can't take this?" Her lips hover over your jawline before she supports her full weight onto your legs again. dick in and out of your pussy, squelching at your wet. You catch her laughing. "you've been so good" her voice is shaky, out of breath "come on, sweet girl. I know you can take it."

your eyes close shut, nodding before nonsense slip through your lips. Your own nails digging at the skin of your thighs in hopes of pleasing her. But it's impossible. Abby just fucks you so good.

There's a growing warmth on your stomach, you're too full and to weak. and she sounds so good. Abby fucks good. "No- no- I can't... Abby-cant" you almost dig into the skin of her chest, failing to make her stop, find a way out. "It's okay baby, let go for me" you squeeze around the silicone in hopes to hold it, but its kess than a matter of seconds before youre already drenching the fabric beneath you. The sound obscene yet "Fucking perfect. Good girl"

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @levilvrr @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 | - abby taglist: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @bruhhtsukjf @twopeoplee @wastdstime @slut4ellienabby

#𝐊!𝐍𝐊𝐓𝕲𝐁3𝐑 ♱ུ⃛ᰭ #( 𓍼𓈀A𝕽𝐂𝐇𝖎V𝕰 ⨟ 𓍯 abby )#( 𝕽 𝜊S.mut )#tlou kinktober #kinktober #abby x reader smut #abby x you #abby x reader #abby x y/n #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you

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puppyplayhouse · 4 months ago

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Step brother Hyunjin things

Warnings: puppy reader, degradation, blackmail, choking at some point, dub con, kissing.

Lil headcanon of mean step bro Hyunjin (who maybe is possessive) being a dick (it's so delicious tho)

Has known you since you were both little because your parents were family friends before their respective divorces, so he knows every button to push.

Constantly using Dad against you. It's a core part of his blackmail, really. Every time you're a little less than compliant, he pulls up one of the thousands of pictures he's taken of you during your times together and asks what you think Dad would have to say about it.

Calls you puppy when people are around just to get you flustered. He's amazing at playing it off so that nobody questions it because well, he's just a good brother and you've always been SO close.

Any time he sees you alone on the couch, he's tugging his pants down and tapping his cock against your cheek. Of course, you protest. You tell him that you don't know when your parents are getting back. He doesn't care, though. He tells you that you should shut up and get to work if you don't want them to find out.

He's not always mean, though. You'd even say he's somewhat nice when you've had a really hard day and you come to him reluctantly, kneeling in front of him because you just can't be in control right now, and he's the only person who can take that from you.

He rewards you so well for that. For any willing submission you offer him, he returns it by making you cum over and over again on his fingers before he fucks you nice and slow, rolling his hips lazily into yours to drag out the low, whimpered moans that you let slip. He's only gentle with you when you earn it.

He loves to make you cum. He loves it even more when your pretty mouth is objecting to it and telling him he shouldn't be doing it, but your hips are bucking against him and your nails are digging into his arm in a pathetic attempt to ground yourself.

And he takes pictures every time. Sometimes, he'll force you to pose and use his fancy camera. Those are the more tasteful shots of you in pretty lingerie with wide doe eyes. Other times he's using his phone to capture the tears that spill down your cheeks as you gag around the length of his cock. He loves both equally.

He always has to degrade you. He'll pin you down completely still the movement of his hips as he makes you beg, always something along the lines of "C'mon, puppy. You were all talk before begging me to stop and now you're panting like a bitch in heat. Tell me you want it. That's it, more. I know you can do better than that. Tell me you're my worthless slut."

He knows you like it because your pussy is always dripping and practically pulses around him.

He would never admit it, but after a while you become the only person he fucks. Sure, he could have his pick, but he knows nobody else would look as cute as you do when you're staring up at him wide, panicked eyes, and tear stained cheeks.

He fucking loves seeing you cry. He loves watching you bite your pillow when he finds you laid on your bed and forces your pants down without a word, easily sliding his cock inside of you because you're always soaked at this point.

At some point he starts making you tell him that you love him. He has a firm grip of your throat and you're overstimulated to the point of becoming delirious as he uses one of your toys on you, thrusting it in an out of your aching cunt. "Tell me, and I'll stop, yeah? All you have to do is tell me how much you love me."

And you do. You say it like a prayer. You say it over and over again even after he's stopped, and he's got your cheeks cradled in his hands, cooing at you because you took everything he gave you without a complaint this time.

He was recording it, of course.

Recording you is his second favourite form of torture. He has so many videos of you sat pretty between his legs, your hands in fist infront of you like little paws as your tongue sticks out of your mouth, drool dripping down onto his lap to create a messy wet patch on the fabric of his pants. Those are his favourite to get himself off to.

Sweet brother Hyunjin is always nice enough to let you know when he's getting himself off to you. Which is every time. He sends you videos and pictures of his gorgeous cock fucking up into his hand and it's the only time he seems out of control, desperate for it to be you that he was burying his cock into instead.

Very rarely does he lay back and let you do the work. He likes taking charge and making a mess of you, but very rarely when you're being a good dog and sitting patiently, waiting almost excitedly for his next round of abuse, he lets you do the work. He'll pat his lap and wait for you to climb on top of him, watching in amusement as you fumble with his zipper and shove his pants down, messily grinding yourself against his bulge until he quietly tells you that if you don't move on, he'll leave.

You always perk up at that, taking it less as a threat and more as permission to sink yourself down on his cock. This is when he praises you.

He tells you how pretty you look and that you take his cock so fucking well, looking up at you with something akin to adoration sparkling in his eyes. He might even kiss you. His kisses are the ultimately reward, always slow and sensual. You become ravenous when he kisses you.

Maybe he'll even tell you he loves you. That you're his favourite puppy. He knows he loves you, and he has accepted that. But maybe he'll let you know when your grinding down onto his cock like the well trained mutt he has made you into.

He doesn't make it too sweet though. More like, "that's it. Take my cock, baby. Fuck, I love you. My desperate little slut. All fucking mine, yeah?"

#hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut

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glossykissies · 14 days ago

Note

telling some guy that you’re celibate but you tell clark he can nail your shit 🎶🎶

“celibate.”

the word left your lips so often it didn’t even feel like a word anymore. any time a guy got too close, any time there was a guy you didn’t want to touch you — celibate. you were celibate. yes it is a choice, no you can’t change my mind.

you had needs, of course you did — needs you were mostly happy with fulfilling yourself, because lord knows the guys around you wouldn’t know how to please you. you heard the horror stories from your girl friends, about how they’d get jack hammered for 3 minutes, or if they’re lucky — two fingers jammed inside them, digging for loose change between couch cushions. you were happy to be alone.

you often wondered how men could feel such uncontrollable lust, the type that makes them say such vulgar things out loud. all the disgusting terms you’d learnt, you’d learnt from the disgraceful propositions you’d received, or ‘compliments’ that you were meant to be thankful for. “i’d nail her shit.” one says when you walk by him. you’re more interested by his word choice than anything.

all of a sudden you understand when clark comes around. the ridiculous tidal wave of lust that filled your body. your poor virgin hole that would quiver when he’d smile humbly at you in passing or help lift something heavy, biceps rippling. you’d watched him peel his sweaty tshirt off his body whilst mowing the grass on the farm enough times for you to be able to memorise how it looks perfectly in your mind when you’re furiously rubbing yourself at night time. you were beginning to feel less in control. you were beginning to feel less celibate.

you know he’d look after you. he was respectful and competent and big in all the ways that left nothing to the imagination. he wouldn’t pressure you, he’d take the time to learn all your spots — just the thought had you pressing your legs together, and soon it was too much to handle. you became drunk on the thought of him having you, soon enough winding up in his barn, pawing at him, whining.

“i just want it to be you, clark i — i trust you!” you almost groan, gripping at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin.

“hey, what’s gotten into you?” he asks, voice filled with concern, tone still gentle as he wraps ginormous fingers around your wrists and effortlessly pries you off, trying to level himself with you. “you said you were celibate, i — i think it’s important you stick to your own rules, you know? you don’t wanna do anything you regret down the line.” he has the audacity to blush adorably, placing two hands on the tops of your arms to steady you incase you try to lurch for him again.

you were so needy that embarrassment had evaded you and tears filled your eyes. you shake your head.

“i only said that to guys because i didn’t want them, i… i want you clark, please.” you sound defeated and he softens, staring at you as he susses you out. you suck in a gulp, eyes fluttering as you ready yourself to repeat the vulgar words you once had placed upon you. “‘want you to nail my shit.” it comes out slightly rushed, slurred, bordering on a desperate groan. his eyebrows lift.

“you…what? you taught you that, sweet girl?” he’s babying you now and it’s not helping, cupping your cheek in concern— because who on earth could teach such an innocent girl such foul language?

“clark…” you manage a whisper, this time taking his hand. he allows you now, eyes curiously following as you shakily drag it to your crotch before stuffing it into your panties, shuddering at the feeling of his coarse fingers sliding experimentally over your slit until it finds the sticky honeypot of arousal at the centre of the fabric, soaking through obscenely.

“wow… you really need it, huh?” he breathes, voice laced with awe.

“you, i need you.” you correct, matching his tone as you search his eyes for any more hesitation. his confidence returns, falling back into his regular calm and self assured self as he adjusts to the situation.

“well i think i can help you explore that. why don’t you lay down over here?”

#hanasnx #c.k ♡#clark kent prompt #smallville ✮

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goldfades · 17 days ago

Note

blurb based of joes frustration at the end of the game pretty plzzzzz

it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, jaw tight, eyes stormy, the weight of a thousand unspoken words pressing against the set of his mouth. but tonight feels different. sharper, maybe. rawer. his shoulders slump as he sinks onto the edge of the couch, the post-game silence clinging to him like an ill-fitted coat.

you don’t say anything at first, because what’s there to say? you know better than to try and fill the cracks with empty words—he’d see right through you anyway. instead, you linger in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, studying the way his hands rub at his face, frustration bleeding through the spaces between his fingers.

“rough one,” you offer finally, voice quiet, testing. it’s not much, but it’s something.

he doesn’t look at you, just shakes his head in that way that’s less no and more don’t even start.

“joey—”

“not tonight.” his voice cuts across the room, low and strained, and it stings more than you care to admit. not because he’s angry—it’s not the first time the aftermath of a loss has made him short—but because he won’t let you help carry the weight. he never does.

you hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. you could leave him to stew in his own misery, give him the space he seems to want so badly.

but then again, that’s never been your style.

you push off the doorframe, making your way toward him despite the tension crackling like static in the room. the air feels heavier with every step, but you don’t stop until you’re standing right in front of him. he still doesn’t look up, but you can feel the heat of his frustration radiating off him, see it in the way his leg bounces like a drumbeat he can’t silence.

“i’m not trying to fix it,” you say, your tone soft but steady, letting the words settle between you. “i just don’t want you sitting here drowning in it alone.”

his hands drop to his lap, and finally, finally, his eyes meet yours. they’re tired, bloodshot, and edged with something sharp enough to cut. “i don’t need a pep talk,” he mutters, his voice a low rasp. “i know what went wrong. i don’t need anyone telling me how to feel about it.”

“good thing i’m not here to give you one,” you reply, easing yourself down onto the couch beside him. close, but not too close. it’s a delicate dance, one you’ve learned to navigate over time. “but i am here. whether you like it or not.”

his gaze flickers to you for a moment, a brief flash of something softer breaking through the storm before he looks away again. he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, head dropping into his hands. “it’s just… god, it’s so fucking frustrating.” the words come out ragged, pulled from somewhere deep and aching. “i know we’re better than this. i know i’m better than this. but tonight… it felt like nothing i did was good enough.”

there’s a beat of silence, heavy and loaded. you let it hang there for a moment before leaning back against the couch, your head tilting slightly as you watch him. “you ever think that maybe it’s not all on you?”

his head snaps up at that, and you can see the protest forming on his lips before he even says a word. “it is on me,” he argues, voice sharper now, cutting through the quiet. “that’s my job. that’s what being the quarterback means. i’m supposed to lead, supposed to—”

“supposed to be perfect?” you cut in, raising a brow.

the question hangs in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw working like he’s trying to find the right words to throw back at you. but then he exhales, the fight draining out of him just as quickly as it flared up.

“it’s not about being perfect,” he says finally, quieter now, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “it’s about…” he trails off, his hands running through his hair in a way that makes it stick up in every direction. “fuck, i don’t know. i just hate losing.”

“i know.” your voice softens, the sharp edges smoothing out as you reach over to nudge his shoulder gently with yours. “but it’s not just about tonight, is it?”

he doesn’t answer right away, but the silence says enough. you know how he gets—how the losses pile up in his mind, not just the ones on the field but the ones in his own head. every missed pass, every fumble, every moment where the weight of the world feels like it’s on his back. it’s not fair, but he carries it anyway, like he doesn’t know how to do anything else.

“you’re allowed to be mad,” you say eventually, your voice low but firm. “you’re allowed to be frustrated, to hate losing, to feel like shit about it. but you don’t have to shoulder all of it alone. that’s what i’m here for, joey.”

he doesn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders drop just a fraction tells you he’s listening. you reach out, your hand finding his on the couch between you, your fingers brushing lightly against his knuckles. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like enough.

for now, at least.

his hand shifts on the couch, brushing against yours for just a second before he grabs it. firm, almost desperate. it’s a small move, but it catches you off guard—joe’s never been one to reach out like this, not when he’s all wrapped up in his head. but then he’s tugging you toward him, his grip strong enough to make it clear he’s not letting go anytime soon.

he doesn’t say a word as he pulls you into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. the hug is tight—bone-crushing, really—but you don’t mind. if anything, it tells you just how much he’s been holding back.

“i hate this,” he mutters against your skin, his voice muffled but no less raw. “i hate feeling like this. like i let everyone down. like i’m not good enough.”

“joey…” you start, but he shakes his head against you, cutting you off before you can say anything else.

“just—let me get it out, okay?” his words come fast, tumbling over each other like they’ve been bottled up too long. “the offense couldn’t get going. the o-line was all over the place. and me? i was fucking useless out there. missing reads, throwing late… i don’t know what the hell was wrong with me tonight.”

you don’t interrupt, don’t try to argue with him or tell him he’s being too hard on himself. you know better than to try and fix it for him, not when he’s like this. instead, you just hold him tighter, your hand moving to his back to rub slow, soothing circles.

when he finally pulls back, it’s only to sink down onto the couch, pulling you with him until you’re lying back against the cushions. he rests his head on your chest, his weight pressing into you in a way that feels grounding, like he’s letting himself find a moment of peace in the chaos.

your hands move without thinking, running up and down his arm in that slow, rhythmic way you know he likes. it’s a small thing, but it’s enough to make his breathing even out, the tension in his body easing bit by bit.

“it’s not all on you,” you say quietly, your voice breaking the quiet that’s settled over the room. “you know that, right?”

he doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s fallen asleep. but then he shifts, turning his face into your shirt, his voice muffled but steady. “i know. i just… i can’t help feeling like it is sometimes.”

“you don’t have to carry it all, joey,” you murmur, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm. “that’s why you’ve got a team. that’s why you’ve got me.”

he doesn’t respond, but the way he relaxes against you says enough. and as the silence stretches on, the only sound his slow, steady breathing, you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let himself believe it, too.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#joe burrow bengals #joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow smut #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fic #nfl imagine #joe burrow fluff

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bb-eilish · 4 months ago

Text

desperate and whiny dom!anakin (not proofread)

-he’d have you pressed against the wall of the shower, your leg propped up by the ledge and everything. Your hair in his hand as he lightly pulls your head to the side, his forehead and nose resting against the side of your cheek and head.

-his hand would be groping your ass, drifting over the wet skin of your thigh before he gently reaches your pussy, feeling up the wetness that so fiercely calls to him.

-he’d groan, tracing his fingers along your folds. “So perfect, baby, so perfect for daddy. Letting him play with you wherever he pleases, my little princess”

-his voice is strained and desperate but loving no less

-“Little pussy is so wet, you been thinking of me, baby? Hm? Thinking about daddy getting home so he can have you again? His fingers tightened in your hair, causing you to mewl and whine.

-“Missed you so much, daddy, missed you inside me” Your voice is high pitched and your words are slurred, it only makes him harder, knowing how little he has to touch you before your little brain practically melts in your head

-“I know, baby, i’m here, gonna take care of you” He says before slowly pushing a couple fingers you, your mouth parts and your eyes close

-doesn’t take long before he’s pulling out long, whiny moans from you and you’re begging him, not exactly sure why

-“That’s it, that’s right, baby” He’s practically drooling now, moaning with you, desperate to make you feel good. “Love my favorite girl’s perfect fucking pussy”

-and when you cum around his fingers he’s quick to insert them in his mouth, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his skull at the taste

-his self control is no where to be seen as he lowers himself and kneels in front of you, shoving his face in between your thighs to greedily lap up any juices he can

-you gasp, fingers curling in his wet hair, weakly trying to pull him away

-“daddy no, too sensitive” you’d whine, body twitching at the oversensitivity

-“i know, baby, daddy’s sorry” he’d reply before encompassing your entire pussy in his mouth, soon opting for sticking his tongue inside you, as far as he can

-his actions are crazed and desperate, tears sprout in your eyes as you babble out nonsense, not able to do much else besides that and taking what he gives you

-his nails dig uncomfortably into the fat of your thighs but you can’t seem to mind as he seems to whimper into your pussy, his eyebrows upturned at the front as though you’d let him taste the most divine flavor he’s ever encountered

-his groaning stimulates you further, beckoning you closer and closer to the edge once more. Your head is spinning and you don’t even feel the drool that dribbles down the corner of your parted lips

-“Thank you, baby, daddy’s so grateful to have you, to have your pussy”

-his hands moved to the globes of your ass, pushing you further into his mouth which causes you to lock up and cum again, which knocks the wind from you

-he moans when he senses you, nose pushed up against your clit as he collects all you offer him with his tongue, murmuring thank you’s that you can’t even understand anymore

-unexpectedly he lets out a series of whines and moans before he grips you harder, reaching his own orgasm hands free. The tile of the shower is splattered with his cum, a result of the desperation you stir in him so easily

#anakin skywalker smut #star wars smut #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker fanfic #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x reader

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bandgie · 5 months ago

Text

Rule Breaker | Armageddon Event

Request: Lust | Kim Seungmin & Lee Minho (SKZ) by anon song!

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, somno, dubious, PIV, no protection, 3some (minho doesn't do much), bondage/tentacle, incubus!minho, incubus!seungmin, human!reader, seungmin's first time with a human, piss mention, brief aftercare

notes: this one took a min sorry !

Seungmin’s a little grossed out, a little nervous, and a lot of turned on. He can’t help how his cock chubs up at the sight of Minho flipping you on your back. His slimy appendages work diligently to make sure you stay sleeping, your slow breaths never changing as you settle comfortably.

“You must do this often.” Seungmin can’t help but notice the smooth way Minho does everything. Even removing the blanket, you don’t so much as shiver.

Minho smiles somewhat pridefully. “Oh. She’s used to it.” He’s mindful of keeping his voice low. “A ‘lil something we like to do pretty often. You’re just a surprise for her.” Seungmin rolls his eyes at Minho’s wink.

The elder chuckles. Minho lifts you off the bed with the tentacles sprouting from his back just enough to slide in. This time, you do shift in your sleep. Seungmin holds his breath as Minho stills, waiting for you to stop squirming against him before you inevitably slump back.

Seungmin exhales. He didn’t believe it when Minho told him he found himself a human lover. Incubi have a rather…difficult time sticking with one partner, so a mortal girlfriend seemed like a weird prank.

But as Seungmin stands there, his sharp nails digging into his palm as Minho finally rests between you and the bed, that joke seems to be the very truth.

Drool begins to pool in his mouth when Minho’s appendages spread your legs. Your demon lover had told you to sleep nude. You listened, obviously, and now your cunt is on display for Seungmin who stands at the edge of the bed.

His cock jumps.

Minho smiles as if he knows. He does know. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Seungmin breaks eye contact with your folds to glare at Minho. “No. I’m not.” To prove his point, Seungmin chucks his shirt off. He ignores how Minho blatantly ogles at his bare skin, moving to remove his itchy, human pants next.

The first step is to subdue the human, which is…already done. There’s hardly much to do with Minho keeping you open, asleep, and restrained. But Seungmin is glad to do less work.

The next thing would be to provide stimulation. Not enough to wake them, but enough to work them up, oozing with arousal. Oral is the quickest way. Seungmin is already beginning to lie on his stomach when a tentacle halts his shoulder.

He has to try not to smack it away. “Don’t touch me with that thing.” Minho ignores his rude comment. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But the rules state it’s mandatory to-”

The appendage pushes harder against Seungmin until it forces him to sit straight up. “Damn, Seungmin.” Minho scoffs a bit. “Don’t be such a square. Demons are supposed to break the rules, remember?” The same tentacle that moved Seungmin takes place on your stomach. It squirms around the flesh of your tummy, reaching up to slide and curl around your breasts.

“Every human is different,” Minho turns his head to look at you. “Some prefer head, others breasts play. There’s even some that skip the bullshit and get straight to it.” His eyes turn affectionate when he looks at you, an emotion Seungmin doesn’t too often see in Minho.

“This one likes…well…I’ll just show you what my human likes.”

Two tentacles hold your legs apart, one wraps around your breast, and the fourth one slithers its way between your legs. The point tickles your folds, not daring to travel further down as it focuses on your clit.

Your reaction is almost instantaneous. Your lips part and a soft sigh leaves your chest. All there is to feel is the tip of the moist appendage sliding against your most sensitive spot. Arousal gushes from your hole and Seungmin watches as a drop pathetically slides down your ass.

“It’s pretty easy once you know what the human wants.” Minho continues his lesson. “Just the smallest touch on her pussy gets her so wet. Just gotta rub in little circles and she’ll open up real nice for ‘ya.”

Seungmin watches in real time how wet you grow. Your hips swivel just the tiniest bit in your sleep for friction. The tentacle flicks faster, getting you to make tired whines. Seungmin doesn’t know why Minho’s dragging this out. Their job is to get in and out. You’re more than ready for penetration. Your hole clenches with every swipe of his appendage. Your thighs grow damper with every grind.

Maybe it’s because of your human scent, but Seungmin has never felt such an intense desire. It’s his job to get you aroused. Yet, judging by the aching in his cock, that seems far from the truth.

Seungmin crawls closer, his hands on your soft thighs to get a good look at your dripping cunt. He licks his lips. “Hyung. How much longer-”

“Now.” Minho sounds a little breathless. “I just wanted to give you a hard time, but I can tell your dick’s about to explode if you don’t put it in soon.”

The snickers from Minho are ignored as Seungmin lines up his tip with your entrance. There’s no doubt in his mind you’ll wake up. Not that he’s the biggest guy out there, but Seungmin can easily see how much your walls would have to stretch.

You’ll be so tight. So warm and wet inside. Seungmin’s been told countless times that human pussy just feels different. They’re imperfect. Some spots are softer than others, some cunts break easily whereas you have to work for some. He’s eager to get his first taste of mortality in its rawest form. Even if Minho’s eyes watch him almost uncomfortably and his tentacle swoops down to help him push it in, he’ll endure it.

The slime acts as an extra lubricant. Minho giggles while he strokes Seungmin, finding amusement in his twitching face. “You can be pretty cute, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin only groans in response. Minho must've gotten you wrapped around his tentacle with that stupid smooth talk.

Minho’s tentacle forms a tight ring around the base of Seungmin’s cock. It gently tugs until Seungmin gets the message to ease his tip in.

Everything between your legs is sticky. Strings of slickness from both you and Minho look arousing as Seungmin sinks in. Your legs twitch from the intrusion. Seungmin should slow down or come to a full stop, but he can’t with Minho pulling him deeper in and your walls caving easily.

The rules he’s learned state that you should be sleeping the entire time. It’s for precaution mostly. You wake up confused as to why your sheets and pussy are wet while Seungmin and every other incubus keep their identity hidden from humans.

But like Minho said - when did demons ever follow rules?

So Seungmin buries himself until Minho’s appendage touches your cunt. The tentacle quickly unravels itself and goes back to your clit. Seungmin moans when he finally fills you to his hilt, his cock completely vanished inside.

“W-what…” Your voice is groggy. Everything is blurry even as you try to blink in front of you. “Why are you…” Seungmin can feel the moment when your eyes properly adjust on him without having to look up. “You’re not-”

He presses deeper until his pelvis is flush against you. Your words are cut off by a squeal. Your walls twitch and convulse around Seungmin’s cock and it’s nothing he’s ever felt before.

Hopefully, your lover's words will be enough to soothe you while Seungmin finds a pace.

“Shhh. That’s just my friend, jagiya. He’s testing right now.”

Your eyes focus on the demon in front of you. His nails dig sharply into your skin and you swear you can see the glint of curved horns on his head. His cock bullies into you relentlessly like an animal in heat. Minho’s words are drowned out by the constant pounding of his hips, but that doesn’t stop him in the slightest.

“I think he likes you.” Minho smiles against your ear. Your body jolts on top of his, but the tentacles hold you still enough. “Should have seen him when I first brought him here. He wanted to fuck you real bad.”

Seungmin’s cock slides in and out with ease. The pleasure feels almost unbearable as you're restrained. There’s no way to move with him, to adjust yourself so he stops hitting that gummy spot too deep inside. All you can do is take his strokes and endure the sharp pleasure in your stomach.

“L-likes me?” You should be more concerned with who this stranger is, but he’s fucking you too good to care.

Minho hums. “A lot. You’re the first human he’s had. So make sure to be good to him.”

You nod furiously, unable to look away from the cock that digs into you. So much cream and slick froths up with every pound. It’s impossible to tell which one of you made the mess, but you’re willing to bet Minho had more than a helping hand in it.

Seungmin’s chest heaves with every pump. He can feel your essence build quickly, giving him little spoonfuls of your energy that he greedily takes. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he can’t himself when he finally makes eye contact with you.

You look like a lustful dream. Your breasts bounce with every move that the tentacle follows and your eyes glaze over naturally. Incubi have a natural aphrodisiac during mating, but there seems to be no need to amp it when your own aroused scent covers the room.

“I-i’ll be good.” You gasp. Seungmin's gaze pierces you and he watches you shiver. “Am I good?”

He moans again, sitting back on his haunches to get a good angle. Seungmin smiles just the faintest when you whine. “Real good. You gonna give me your cum?”

Minho raises an eyebrow at his underling. He almost mocked him, but he stops himself when you nod. “Yes. So close.”

They can tell. You gush exceptionally on Seungmin’s cock and Minho knows your body all too well. His hand gropes and twists your free nipple while the other keeps your chin steady on Seungmin, making you clench even tighter on the demon fucking you. You let the appendages hold you as they fit. Even if it makes your legs ache from being bent at the knee, you happily remain pliant for the incubi using you.

A flick to your clit makes you keen. Minho’s slippery friend smoothes over your cunt, making sure to grind so swollen nub has no choice to feel it.

“Shit!” Some white cream forms a pretty ring on Seungmin’s cock. “Look at that.”

Minho picks his head up to gaze down. He smiles when he sees it. “Cute, huh? My human does it all. Cream, squirts, pisses…nasty slut.” Minho grips your tits harder. “I love it.”

Seungmin’s pace becomes less sharp and more fluid. His cock seems now familiar with your cunt, finding your cervix he has no issue kissing with his tip. All you can feel is them inside and outside of you. Your orgasm claws its way through your body unbelievably quickly.

Your wrists twist from Minho holding you captive. “Cumming! ‘m cumming, ‘m cumming!”

Seungmin’s supposed to still his hips. He’s supposed to make sure your energy coats his cock and embeds in his skin. His own orgasm doesn’t technically matter, he’s supposed to be satisfied with yours alone.

But you’re squeezing him just right. Your walls keep hugging like you don't want him to stop. For fucks sake, your cervix keeps kissing him back. How is he supposed to pull away?

So he doesn’t. Even as your moans turn into babbling sounds and you lay completely spent on Minho’s chest, he fucks you until his cock twitches and his orgasm approaches.

“I don’t think this part’s in the handbook, Seungminnie.” But Minho’s face is far from concerned and closer to satisfied. “Don’t you think you’re enjoying your first time a little too much?”

The only response he has is a guttural groan. Ropes of cum shoot deep inside and Seungmin doesn’t even think of the repercussions he might face finishing in Minho’s woman, but he doesn’t care too much.

“How about you, jagiya? You like Seungminnie’s cum inside?”

“Ngh~”

Seungmin chuckles despite his face still contorting in remnants of pleasure as he slides out. Cum seems to pool out of you obscenely. Every twitch and pulse from your cunt has more cream oozing out and as if it knows, Minho’s appendage scoops up the release to shove back in.

“What did I teach you?” Minho playfully tuts “Gotta keep it all inside, remember? You’re embarrassing me in front of my coworker.”

You babble some more, turning your head to tiredly look at your lover and snuggle closer. Minho pecks your nose, his bunny teeth poking out as he carefully releases you from his hold and tucks his appendages into his back. His arms wrap around your nude torso, flipping to the side so he can snuggle behind you comfortably.

Seungmin feels as though he might vomit.

“Don’t look like that.” Minho scrunches his nose in distaste. “You’re the one that did this, you know.”

The younger demon only rolls his eyes. He means to put on his clothes and leave you two love birds alone, but when he sees you made grabby hands almost innocently, he finds himself sandwiching you between him and Minho.

Your lover giggles and looks straight at Seungmin, your back flush to his chest as you slowly slip back to sleep. “This isn’t part of the rules either. You’re a bad little demon.”

“I’m gonna fucking punch you.”

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #armageddon event!#minho smut #lee minho smut #2min smut #seungmin skz #seungmin #seungmin smut #lee minho skz #lee know smut

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letorip · 6 months ago

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kiss with a fist [ii]

"Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit, a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you signed up to help tara with her stupid plan. not whatever the hell one would call this.

warnings: implied sex, use of alcohol, puking, arguing loudly and wrongly, curse words(?)

word count: 5.2k

A/N: sorry to make you wait so long, but here's the second part. there will probably be a third, so fear not, the story doesn't end here. i originally thought i would be able to just end it off right here, but it’s going kind of really well and i think a third or maybe even a fourth part is more reasonable

===+++===

For almost the entire walk to the frat house, Tara didn't actually say much. It surprised you too, the way she just glanced around the city that passed as you walked and fiddled with her nails. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you were so used to Tara having something to say that it made you speak instead.

"Wow, for once, you're speechless," you commented as you passed under a streetlight. Tara shot you a glare, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.

"Would it kill you to shut the hell up?"

“There we go, back to normal. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” she scoffed. “Mind your own business.”

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't say. Don't say."

===+++===

The party fucking sucked. It was quintessential college, with frat boys who attempted to yell over the loud music that rattled your eardrums. Coolers upon coolers of shitty, cheap beer sat against the far wall, and a crowd had gathered around them to pick off all the free alcohol they could. Maybe a year ago this would’ve been fun. Now you found yourself disenchanted with the ordeal.

Tara was off god knows where, doing god knows what, which you figured was the point of the arrangement anyway. You weren’t too concerned with tracking her down, especially if situation also presented itself as a pleasant bonus— not having to put up with her.

Chad had wandered out of the room when he saw you and Tara arrive together hand in hand, going deeper into the party without a word. He was usually the one you hung around with at these kinds of things, but he had been a sad little dog with his tail between his legs since you and Tara announced you were meant to be a few days before the party. It seemed some of your friends were still adjusting.

The immediate reaction after Tara said “soooo, we’re together,” was to laugh, like you two were doing a bit. It got less funny when they saw you both blankly staring back at them and then Tara grabbed your hand and held it up with a forced smile.

The whole group was going through a somewhat awkward seven stages of grief thing. Chad was avoiding you completely, Quinn was a bit annoyed you were off the market now after an egregious few months of hitting on you, and Ethan was the only one to be a bit normal, even though it was clear he too had a crush on Tara and was disappointed with the matter.

When Mindy had gotten over her disbelief, she dove right into an endless game of questions, only occasionally staved off by Anika. "So who confessed first?" had been one of the first ones, accompanied by a glint in her eye. Tara jumped in before you could even open your mouth, eager to answer.

"(Y/n) showed up on my porch, all sweaty and disgusting looking, just smelling so unbelievably bad it was overpowering-”

“I had been working out,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s why I was sweaty."

“Mhm, whatever. Anyways, apparently they were just being such an asshole because they were in love with me," Tara said, with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Right?"

You had to hide your glare behind your solo cup. "Mhm. I was just overflowing with it. I have so many things to say about you."

“All nice things,” Tara corrected.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

Mindy’s questions followed you everywhere she did. Who kissed who first? Who’s more cuddly? Have you guys slept together yet? They volleyed back and forth and you and Tara fought for the first word each time to pin it to the other with gleeful sadism. Of course, it was then flipped around once the next question came and you would huff in annoyance at the other for being an asshole.

It wasn’t as bad of an arrangement as you had dreaded. You only had to be couple-y when other people were watching you two interact, or when Sam would glare in suspicion. Hold hands a few times, smile, share a glance. Other than that, things stayed mostly the same. The group probably appreciated you both not acting head over heels for the other and you liked it because it meant you didn't have to pretend to like her.

Tara had a brazen way about her that made you roll your eyes. She never took no for an answer, had a teasing remark for anything, and always felt the need to be doing something. Other people seemed to find themselves charmed by it. Others, but not you. Never you.

The walk there had been about all she could take of your personality, and the moment after you two were seen together, she ditched you at the door and wandered off to the dance floor. After that you had lost track of her, and ended up splitting your time between the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front room, away from the crowd. Mindy found you there, tugging Anika along with her.

"Cut the bullshit," She said with an eye roll, sitting right down on the couch in front of you. Anika plopped down next to her. "There's no way in hell you got together with Tara."

You grinned, sipping your beer and partially using it to block your expression. "No, we're together. I really like her."

Mindy scoffed. "You're a terrible liar." Your cheeks warmed and you tilted your head to the side.

"We have to separate you two like warring chihuahuas every time we hang out together," Anika said. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes in a study of your face. "You're not confessing your undying love."

"I did."

"You didn't!" Mindy said, and she threw up her arms.

"I did."

"You didn't," Anika snorted.

"I...," you looked at them both, "...are you guys going to snitch?"

"Snitch to who?" asked Mindy. Now they were both leaned in, like eager children around a campfire. You swallowed.

"Sam." Mindy blinked. Then she sat back.

"What the hell did Tara get you involved in?" she asked. As much as Sam was part of your group, it was known not to fuck with her, and that's exactly what Tara was making you do.

You frowned. If anyone was going to ruin the plan, it probably wouldn't be Mindy or Anika. "You can't tell Chad, but we're not actually together."

Anika raised her eyebrows and shot Mindy a glance. "That didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out." You shrugged.

"Well, we fooled Sam. Tara needs a fake partner so she can go to parties and see people and stuff. And, well, you know how Sam is about that stuff."

Mindy crossed her arms. "And you said sure?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I didn't really see why not. Plus, she was being super annoying about it. Showed up at my house. She was begging, almost."

"So, you what, took pity?" Anika asked, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes.

"Trust me, it's not because it's fun. She's way too annoying and she'd probably say the same thing about me."

Mindy frowned, looking out the doorway and into the booming party. "Chad wouldn't like it."

You sent her a worried look. "Please please please, don't tell Chad. I know he's upset by the whole thing, but Sam would literally kill me if she knew I was helping Tara run around town."

"I don't know...," she said. "I know Tara wants freedom, but this is kind of bullshit, (Y/n)."

"It won't be for long. She just wants to meet someone. When she does, it's over. Life goes back to normal."

"Do you guys have a target in mind, or something?" Anika asked, a bit amused.

"Not even a little a bit. It’s like, her second party ever,” you shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s really dead set on a person yet.”

“Well… she better figure it out soon.”

“Mhm.” You looked out the same glass door and into the booming party outside. Through the jumping crowd, you could see in the distance Tara, who was dancing with her eyes shut and a smile spread wide across her cheeks. She looked happy like that.

You took a swig of your beer.

===+++===

The boom of a fist on your door shook the thin walls of your apartment, and you jolted awake to hear three more hit the wood.

“OPEN UP (Y/N), NOW!”

Immediately, a headache washed over you and you groaned. You tried to smush your head into the pillow to make it go away but there were the banging fists again, and you sat up, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” came the voice again, and you blinked. Oh shit. You knew that voice. You clambered to your feet and stumbled out your bedroom and down the hall in a dusty pair of shorts and shirt. “I’M NOT KIDDING! OPEN THE—”

You pulled the door open like a deer in headlights, seeing Sam seethe on the other side with her fist raised. Nostrils flared, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to rip your head off.

“You,” she said, spitting the word. You flinched. “Where the fuck is Tara?!”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Had she not gone home the night before?? Things felt a little bit fuzzy still. You remembered grabbing another beer from Ethan and flopping down in an armchair, then another and another, and then maybe wandering home while the sun started to rise. Had you seriously lost track of the attempted murder victim on her first night out???

You blinked, already aware that your cheeks were a dusty pink. "I, uh... she, um..."

Her hands went to her hips, glaring at you expectantly. "Well?! Where the hell is my sister?!" When you were still staring like an idiot, she threw up her arms. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her! This is what I get"

You stared, feeling a lie (though probably a clunky one) come to your brain. "I think her phone must've died, but she just left."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but you weren't sure if it was in disbelief or even more rage. "What do you mean?"

"We, um," your eyes went to the floor, feeling her glare laser itself into you as you spoke. "We got super drunk last night at the party, and I brought her back here and we both fell asleep," you looked back up to see her giving your pyjamas a once over, nose wrinkled. You flushed. "No! No— we didn't do that. We just fell asleep."

Sam looked at you for a moment, then crossed her arms. "I waited all night for her, you know," she said.

You nodded. "I know. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

"It won't." Sam repeated. "When I don't hear from her for a whole night, you know what I assume happened, right? You know how that feels?"

You swallowed. "I do."

She sighed. "I'm really trying here. I know she doesn't want me worrying about her, and I know she wants freedom. So I'm trying, (Y/n). Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, Sam." It felt like a giant wedge in your throat, and you tried to smile at her but she continued to frown, and she turned around and walked off. The moment she was gone, you spun around and slammed the door. You dashed through your apartment, grabbing your phone off your nightstand and quickly pulling up her contact.

Little Shit (do not pick up). You pressed the button and put it up to your ear, wandering over to the nearby curtain and lifting it to look out onto the city. "Come on, come on," you pleaded aloud. "Fucking pick up, asshole."

After the third ring and a good prayer to god even though you weren't especially religious, it stopped ringing and you could hear her grumbling.

"Tara??" you rushed. "Tara, where are you?"

"Mmm," she groaned, "the hell do you want so early?"

You scoffed. "Tara it's almost noon." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Uh huh," you grunted. "Your sister just almost ripped my door off it's fucking hinges because she doesn't know where you are. And you know what, neither do I!" There was some shuffling from her end, and then what sounded like running footsteps.

"I went home with this girl last night, I just woke up," she rushed. "Sam is going to kill me!"

"She almost killed me!" You almost yelled into the phone. Now that the worry had subsided you were left with anger. "She almost killed me because you wandered off and didn't go home."

"It's not like I meant to fall asleep," she argued back, and you could hear some talking in the background in faint voices. "I must've slept through my alarm— wait, what did you tell Sam?"

"That your phone died, and you were on your way home."

"WHAT?! (Y/n), this girl's apartment is at least fifteen to twenty minutes away," Tara said into the phone.

"Well it's not like I knew that, now is it?" you shot back, scratching your arm, "considering I didn't know if you were even alive until you picked up."

"God, not you too. I'm fine, drama queen."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah, drama queen," Tara repeated, and more noises flooded in. It sounded as if she was in the city now, walking, "you sound just like Sam. I picked you because I thought you knew I didn't need a babysitter."

"That's not being babysat, Tara. That's making sure you're not dead," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm not."

"Good."

"Great."

"Fine!" you shot back.

"Awesome."

You sighed into the speaker. "Pick up some flowers or something on your way back. Claim that's why you're late."

"Good idea, actually," Tara hummed.

"I know." And you hung up.

===+++===

You found yourself at an identical party the very next Friday night too, and the Friday after that, and after that too. The walls were just as stained. It smelled just as full of mold. This one didn't have a front room for you to barricade in, so you sat at the bar top instead, in the kitchen with your chin rested on the cool granite.

It had taken a whole night to get rid of the hangover from a few weeks before, and in doing so you had remembered why it was exactly that you didn't find these things too fun, anyways. You hadn't gotten anywhere near as drunk since. Mindy and Anika had decided on date night instead, and Chad and Ethan were off to watch a movie that originally you would've been invited to, had it not been for Tara.

It was painful, that Chad was ducking you. The irony wasn't lost, that the more time you spent with your fake girlfriend at parties and outings like a couple, the closer you got to actually repairing your relationship with him. You still would've rather gone to the movie, though.

You could actually see Tara, from where you sat. Through the bar window in the kitchen, she was on the dance floor, moving along with the rhythm of hard EDM as best she could. It was a giant mob of people, all clumped up and hopping around in excitement, and you didn't especially want to be out there.

As you watched, a guy came up behind Tara, tapping her on the shoulder and smiling down at her. You thought nothing of it, until you got a longer look at the guy's face. In the revolving, multicoloured lights that hung over the crowd, you recognised him in an instant, standing straight up and weaving your way through the party.

"You having fun, Carpenter?" He asked, with a douche-y smirk on his face as he said it. You rolled your eyes, coming up behind Tara and standing right behind her.

"I—" but you interrupted her.

"She is, Frankie," you shot, staring at him and crossing your arms. Tara whipped around to you with a glare.

"(Y/n), go away," she whispered loudly. But you stood your ground.

"Tara, literally anyone but him. I mean, anyone—"

"That's not your decision."

"Sam tased him in the balls last time. I mean, come on, you have to know he's a douche."

Frankie scoffed. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) is just a—"

"—We're dating," you interrupted again. "So fuck off."

"No, we aren't," Tara shook her head. "Not really."

"Yes, we are," you nodded at Frankie. "Please leave. She's not sleeping with you tonight." He frowned, but started to walk off.

"That's not your decision, asshole!" Tara scowled and she reached out an arm to stop him. "Frankie, stay. You know what, I wasn't going to, but I will now."

"Frankie, leave. I mean it, you creep." You turned to her and glared. "Tara, listen to me, you—"

"No! Frankie, stay. Maybe I need the company," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. Frankie looked between you both, as did a few other people in the room who were starting to notice.

"They literally call him Date-Rape-Frankie, Tara. There's no way in hell you're sleeping with Date-Rape-Frankie. Frankie, leave."

"Frankie, no, stay. Well, what if I want to?"

"Then you're being stupid."

"Bold choice of words coming from you! You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be your mom, Tara. I'm using basic common sense. That guy is a creep and a perv," you pointed to him.

"Hey!" Frankie interjected, raising a hand to your shoulder.

"Fuck off!" you and Tara said in unison, dismissing him to glare right at each other.

"Well maybe I deserve the freedom to sleep with weirdos and whoever I want! I mean, who are you, the fucking sex-Nazi?"

"I don't have a problem with literally anyone else, Tara, but he's a weirdo!"

"Well then let me make that call! I'm not five. You don't need to baby me, I know he's a weirdo!" People were definitely staring now. You were both shouting, but a lot of it was drowned out by the EDM. It didn't stop others watching you point in each others faces and scowl.

"It's not babying you, Tara! It's basic caring! You have no clue about this shit, this is like your fourth party ever!"

"I've managed this far, haven't I?!"

"What, you want a cookie?!"

"Yeah, maybe I fucking do! I'm an adult, asshole! Let me do adult shit!"

"Wow, it's so adult and mature of you, to sleep with creeps and get hungover every Friday. How adult."

"Well, maybe it's not, but who gives a shit! I'm having fun for once! I'm being free without a fucking serial killer on my ass! I know you can't relate, but Christ, take the stick out from your ass!"

"Real nice," you shook your head. "This is what I get for helping you. Of fucking course." Before she could reply, you turned around and headed out the sliding glass door, into the fenced-in backyard. There was a pool back there, and you collapsed into a wrought iron pool chair, right near the edge.

People watched you warily, as you sat out there, but within minutes, the party was resumed. Even from outside, you could hear the thumping bass shake the windows gently as the glass moved in the panes.

There was a faint scent of petrichor from the small patch of grass out there, and the sky rumbled in the distance. It was peaceful out there, with small hanging fairy lights and the pool in front of you. You propped your legs up on the glass table and tried not to scream.

This was exactly what you should've expected, from Tara. Of course she would be selfish. Of course she would be brash. A part of you wasn't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. You just sat there and tried to cool your breathing, watching the city lights in front of you.

You must've sat like that for an hour or two, just watching the city. It didn't feel like long enough. You might've even felt at peace, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?" You craned your neck around, looking up in your chair to see a concerned guy looking down at you.

"Are you (Y/n)?" He asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. You nodded, confused.

"Uh, yeah? Do we know each other?"

"No! No, I was asked by Tara, I think was her name? She wanted me to get you. She's your girlfriend, right?"

The worry came back, and you stood up. "Why, what happened? Where is she?" Sam was really going to kill you.

"She's in the guest bathroom, I think she's sick."

===+++===

"Tara?"

"(Y/n)?" you heard a very uneasy voice on the other end.

"Can I come in?" you asked, and when there was no response, you let yourself inside. She was on the other end of the massive bathroom, leaned up against the bathtub with her head close to the toilet bowl.

Tara looked absolutely green, with her hair sweatily stuck to her forehead and eyes barely open. "Christ Tara, how much did you have to drink?" you asked in worry, coming to stand over her.

"Oh, just—" she gagged like she was about to puke and you bent down to grab her and tug her towards the toilet bowl. You spun back to the guy in the doorway, who stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Can you get me some crackers and Gatorade?" you asked him, sending a hopeful glance. He nodded and closed the door, and you turned back to Tara, who was bent over the toilet bowl.

You moved her gently and lifted the toilet seat up. "Are you okay?" you asked with a frown. You felt like an idiot the moment it left your mouth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look okay?" Tara mumbled.

"Well, no."

"Thass' good," she slurred. "I had too many," she hiccupped. You nodded.

"I'd say so. How much did you have Tara?"

She giggled. "This many." She held up four fingers with a giant, toothy grin and slumped with her arms encircling the toilet bowl.

"Since when?" you blinked.

"Since you got allllllllll pissy!" You sighed, hands going to her hair and pulling it back. She wrinkled her nose at you. "Why are you touching my hairrrrr?!"

"So you don't vomit all on it, idiot," you replied, shaking your head. Tara huffed.

"I'mnuh gonnuh puke."

And then Tara puked. Everywhere.

===+++===

You both sat there, that way, for about ten minutes. Tara vomited three times, during that span, and when she was done, you handed her the crackers and Gatorade and told her to do her worst.

She downed them in another fifteen minutes, sitting in the bathtub and eating while you sat leaned up against the bathroom wall, across from her, just in silence. The sounds of the party seemed to have died a little bit as the night droned on, and by now people would be wandering home or to someone else’s place.

While you waited, you shot Sam a text, letting her know you’d bring Tara home and that she was okay. Sam didn’t reply but she saw the message, and you figured that was good enough. When you checked the weather app, Tara finally spoke, coming to her senses a bit with more food in her system.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, staring down at the package for the crackers in her hand. “Thanks.”

You shrugged, staring at the toilet in front of you. It probably reeked in there, but at this point you were nose blind. “For what?” You meant for that to be it, just a small little acknowledgment, but Tara shook her head.

“Thank you for that. For being here.”

She stared right at you when she said it, and you knew she meant it with conviction. You nodded. “I know we don’t always get along, but I had your back, back there.”

“You have my back?” she asked, smiling a little and grabbing her Gatorade from the edge of the tub.

“I agreed to help you, didn’t I?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “You did, yeah.” Tara looked over at you, then tilted her head to the side. “I still don’t get why, though.”

“You were honest, for once.” It came from a surprising place, and you said it before you entirely knew you were speaking. You didn’t completely know what it meant either, until after you said it, but the words passed between you almost like a new understanding.

A few moments of silence came and went, before she spoke again. “I walk silently places at night in case I hear I’m being followed. By Ghostface. Same thing as when I’m home alone. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I still do it sometimes. Don’t tell Sam, please please please. She’ll make me go to therapy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding gently. You leaned your head back up against the wall, craning it up to look at the ceiling.

“Why are you being nice to me?” She asked. You laughed, tracing the popcorn pattern of the roof with your eyes.

“I’m not the devil, Tara.”

“…Neither am I.”

“I know,” you said, and you reached your arm out for a cracker. She gave you one and you crunched down on it, while an especially large bass hit came from the speakers outside. “God, this music fucking sucks,” you groaned.

Tara nodded. “It’s really hard to dance to.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “it didn’t seem like you were struggling earlier.”

Tara frowned, then tilted her head in curiosity. “What’s your favourite song?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Okay… you’re going to laugh, though.”

“Am I?” she grinned. You nodded.

“Do you know that one song, The Promise, by When In Rome? It’s from the 80s, it’s super cheesy?”

She stared off for a moment, in thought, then shook her head. “Don’t think so, how’s it go?”

You rolled your eyes, but began to quietly sing it in a tone that wavered in between spoken word and humming. It was terrible and you were tone deaf, but it was the song. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a straaanger. You know in the end,” your voice broke a little at the low note, and Tara giggled but you continued, “I’ll always be thereee.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. And then it skips a little bit and the chorus goes, ‘I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to beee.’”

She cut you off with her hand, laughing hysterically. You felt your cheeks flushed, and in any other time you would’ve been annoyed with her laughing at you. But this didn’t feel mean. You just smiled right back.

“That was good, actually,” she managed, between small laughs. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Um,” you shrugged, “my brother used to sing it to me, years ago when I was scared.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tara said, leaning her head on the tile wall of the tub.

“I have six.”

She blinked, then sat up straight. “Since when?!”

“Always, Carpenter,” you shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone who?”

“Chad, Mindy, Anika. Even Quinn.”

“I didn't know. How come you never talk about them?”

”I just don’t,” you frowned. Tonight was definitely not the night to get into that. Instead, you pivoted topics. “Why, what’s your favourite song? I showed you mine, now you’ve got to show me yours.”

“I’m ninety nine percent sure that’s not how that saying is used,” she laughed, “but fine. When I was crying as a baby, my mom sung me this song, called Baby, I Love You by The Ronettes.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Tara shook her head. “Probably not, but they’re the same group that does that one song Be My Baby?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently my mom had Baby, I Love You playing in the hospital, when I was born and everything. It’s kind of comforting. When I miss her, I play it.”

“How often is that?”

She shrugged. “More than you’d think, considering she’s a giant asshole.”

"That's always how it is."

"Mhm... and just so you know, I know Frankie was a creep. I wasn't actually going to do anything with him. Just flirt. Have fun."

"I know. I wasn't trying to babysit you, I just wanted to warn you. That creep has so many stories."

"I know. I just don't like being told what to do, sometimes. It's a whole thing. I'm working on it, seriously."

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. You both sat in what you assumed was a prolonged silence, until you looked down finally to see Tara’s eyelids falling heavy.

You stood up with a sigh. “You should go home.” There was no reply, and you checked out the small window in the bathroom to still see it was pitch black out. It was definitely too late to send her home this sleepy, and after the incident a few weeks ago, there was no way Sam would let her stay at yours. “Tara,” you nudged her.

She groaned, rolling over in the tub and snuggling up. You rolled your eyes, then looked out the window one more time with an annoyed grumble.

===+++===

The longer you had to walk with her on your back, the more you regretted this. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, face pressed onto the back of your shoulder and knees held up by your hands. You couldn’t see her, but you knew her eyes were shut and she was super close to being actually asleep.

"We make a good team, you know," she mumbled into your shoulder. You knew she was being funny, but you were too tired to laugh as you trudged up the hill. Carrying a drunk girl home was not at all what you had anticipated of the night, and though it had been shitty at the beginning and shitty until almost the very end, you could definitely say it wasn't shitty right then.

When you arrived at her apartment complex, Tara was soundly asleep and Sam came out to meet you both, taking her sister from you and stumbling with her towards the door. In the distance, right over another hill, the sky was already beginning to lighten up a bit.

Right as both Carpenters reached the door, Tara stopped for a moment to turn back to you with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she said with a cheeky grin that was only half awake. You smiled back.

"You too, babe."

Sam rolled her eyes, pulling Tara through the door. It was a pleasant night, still with the same faint scent of rain oncoming. In your weird, newfound peace as you walked home yourself, you didn't see that Quinn was watching you from the upstairs window.

===+++===

so that was fun lmao. anyways there will be a part 3 but you and tara are kind of maybe friends now? now it's time for feelings 😈

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter

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